August first
Well, it’s now August. I can’t believe how fast this summer has gone by. This summer, and well, the whole year for that matter.
August 1st is a special day for me. It’s the one-year anniversary of mine and K’s first date. I can’t believe it’s been a year already…
We love reminiscing about how nervous we both were on that Saturday night a year ago. Being that we hadn’t seen each other in so many years, I opted to walk down and meet him in my parking lot instead of the added stress for both of us with him coming up to the condo. The walk down all the steps from the third floor seemed to take forever, and I was hoping to God I wouldn’t trip and fall down them in my heels. There, leaning back against the hood of his car in true 60’s Greaser fashion, was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen – grinning like the Cheshire Cat on Alice in Wonderland. As I went up to hug him, my heart was about to beat out of my chest and I hoped he couldn’t see it. On that first date we ended up going to a place right across the river to eat, then catching the latest Harry Potter movie. Guess you could say we’ve been kinda stuck like glue together ever since, and well, I wouldn’t want it any other way. 
I’ve got more up the ole’ dayplanner sleeve that I’ve nostalgically saved, but posting some of those monumental moments on here just wouldn’t be fitting. But hey, don’t I get a pat on the back for not kissing him on the first date? Or is that more deserving of a slap? **dumbass**
It should go without saying that having a high level of mutual respect for each other is a must-have in every successful relationship. Just a couple of weeks ago, K’s ex made a grave attempt to worm her way back into his life – even being so desperate as to use their daughter as bait. The transparency of the lies she told were obvious to everyone. Of course, there was also a hidden agenda behind the facade. You see, she’s faced with much certainty of losing her case in court, and trust me when I say it’s gonna be sweet retribution for a man who was put through absolute hell for so many years. But not to worry – I didn’t just take his word for it. A woman with even half a brain will do her research on a prospective partner. I’m friends with a couple of people who actually know this woman… and she is indeed lower than a snake.
Last night he and I went out and did a little pre-celebrating. The restaurant we ate at last year has since closed down, and word has it that the local pub and grill across the street has the same owners, just took on a different name. He suggested going there for nostalgia’s sake, so we did. The food and drinks were excellent but the service really sucked! Upon learning that we were ‘only’ ordering appetizers and drinks (which still resulted in over a $30 bill) the waitress apparently decided we were deserving of neither good service nor a good attitude. As with most things though, we joked and took this in stride, and moved on across the street to the much more upscale restaurant that my own daughter works at. Of course, we got excellent service there – along with the additional bonus of us all getting to spend some quality time together and cut up for a while. 🙂 She was right… we shoulda just went there in the first place.
✔ You’ve got…. Mail.
More drama unfolds at the old Bon-stead. For those of you who don’t know me personally let me say that I abhor drama – be it a hint, piece or load of it. I had far too large a helping of it in my old life and let’s just say it soured me on any future meals. Anywho…
Yesterday my boyfriend’s *ex* contacted me via email. She wanted to clue me in on some not-so-nice things about him, one in particular. This time, I was willing to listen to what she had to say. After all, I’m a strong adult female, and I deserve to ‘be in the know’ on a person that may very well become a part of my future. I thought… after I hear what she has to say I can then make the decision to believe all, some, or part of it – or none, as the case may be.
Let me just say I don’t dis-believe what she had to say. Now let me attempt to break this all down.
While I don’t profess to be a psychiatrist, I will say something stands out here in the fact that she would contact me in the first place. This isn’t the first time, either – just the first time I responded back. Either a) she still loves him and wants him back, b) she hates him and doesn’t want him to be happy, or c) all of the above. My choice? C. Ding-ding!! I do believe I won the prize…
Case in point – my own ex has dated a wonderful woman for about a year and a half now. Not only is he undeserving of a woman of such statutes as she, but he does nothing in an attempt to improve his lifestyle in order to even try to reach her level. Never have I seen two more different people. When I learned of them dating, I immediately felt much empathy for her – and admit I even contemplated contacting her and trying to warn her. That thought lasted an hour at the most – I would’ve been a fool to do it. I mean c’mon, she’s a big girl – and would you like to try and guess how it would’ve been taken? Just like I told my guy’s *ex* yesterday… it likely would’ve either fallen on deaf ears, or she would’ve have immediately thought I wanted him back. So, I opted not to. And I know it was a good decision.
Something else to consider is the fact that people do change. While this change isn’t always for the better, miracles do sometimes happen. I’ve seen a few hard, hard souls out there make the switch from dark to light – I know that it is possible. Now… should you use this possibility as an excuse to remain in an abusive relationship? Absolutely not. What I am saying is sometimes a person comes out of a relationship having actually learned something – and applies it in their next one. That is all.
Thought I’d attach a pic I took this morning of my little haven in the sky, while at least some of my plants are still living. I’ve already lost three to the heat. Speaking of heat, best get out and enjoy a little outdoor time before it kicks in today. (Note morning bagel to your immediate left.) Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off for a much-needed recount of my many blessings.
Peace, y’all.
Oh…I almost forgot!! Please check out my friend’s blog… and welcome Southern Sweet Tea! She’s a real gem, folks. Southern Sweet Tea’s blog
Gripes©
No one likes a person that constantly complains. I like to refer to them as ‘downers’, because let’s face it – unless it’s done in humorous fashion, it does bring you down. Sometimes though, you just need to get things off your chest. Things you might normally let slide or roll off your back on a daily basis can mount up and come out in a very bad way if you don’t unload every once in a while.
So, gentle readers, be forewarned that today will be my bitch day. Hey… I’ve done a ‘things I love’ blog before. It’s only fitting that I have a ‘things I hate’ one…
- I hate running across people I call ‘provers’. These people basically need to have whatever you tell them proven right then in order to believe you.
- I hate when I say something about a restaurant that I went to the night before, and a downer is listening and informs me that they don’t have any food in their cabinets.
- I hate when I pay extra for a Marie Callendar’s frozen entree for lunch, and the contents ends up being smaller than that of a Lean Cuisine or Healthy Choice.
- I hate the fact that apparently I’m the only person at work that has the expertise of changing a toilet paper roll. I’ve tested this theory several different ways on many occasions.
- I hate when a stranger 20+ years your elder brazenly uses their age as an excuse to advance ahead of you – and I’m not just talking about lines.
- I hate when a guy believes certain chores are not made for them to do.
- I hate when a guy postpones vacationing, even a simple 2-day beach trip – then suggests tagging along with his mother for the weekend on her trip.
- (Red flag)
- I hate when a guy suggests hopping on your cellphone plan, and you blog about how much that bothered you – then the next night he tells you he’s hopping on his mother’s plan.
- (Dark red flag)
- I hate when normal grooming habits are forgotten or ignored. Everyone I mean everyone knows how I feel about this. Enough said.
- I hate when an otherwise enjoyable trip to a local Japanese steakhouse is thwarted by patrons who believe your space should include their conversations and children.
- I hate when my financial situation is prejudged by another, as in “you should be doing okay now that your car is paid off”.
- I hate when people have trouble addressing a problem and end up just letting it go without confronting and/or attempting to fix it.
- This list will most definitely be continued at a later date. Until then… thank you, dear readers, for the unload.
A Voice
I have a good friend that’s decided to bite the bullet and start blogging. Not only is she an extremely smart and beautiful lady, but well-versed. I’m willing to bet she will enjoy it – and I look forward to reading. I’ll be sure to cue you in on the page when she gets it up and running.
Many of us have been subjected to broken trust and loyalty throughout our lives – some more than others. The last thing you need is to keep it all to yourself… what you need is to be heard. An outlet, a source which you may unload on every once in a while. A while back I suggested that a blog might be the very venue my friend needed. It provides an opportunity to be heard, a chance to voice anything and/or everything you’ve wanted to say for a long time now. She asked me ‘do you think the word bitch in my title would be offensive and draw negative feedback?’ To which I replied chuckling, ‘ya know, there’s always going to be something that offends someone out there.’ And that’s true, no matter what.
It got me to thinking about life in general, and how it is we’ve arrived at the point of being a functioning adult human being… exactly what it is that has made up the mindset, emotions and character of who we are now. Do I believe that we continually change throughout life? Yes. Do I believe that what we’ve been through in the past actually shapes the person we are today, as well as the person we are to become? Absolutely. We will not be the exact same person a year from now as we are today. These changes will be determined by the events and occurrences within our lives, and how we choose to react or deal with them. Like my grandmother always told me… ‘bunny-rabbit…it ain’t always easy’.
BREATHE
I recently received an email entitled “Courage”. It got me to thinking. What exactly is courage? Furthermore, what about the courage to love?
Fairy tales? No such thing. Forever afters? Hac-tuiii. Pardonne moi….
I have to laugh to keep from crying, more. For the past couple of days my face has resembled something monstrous and I’m growing weary of it. Quite simply, my heart is breaking. Right now I just feel like retreating inside my cave for, well forever.
The Courage to Love. I’ve always been a firm believer of the old saying ‘If you love something, set it free – if it comes back to you, it’s yours. If it doesn’t, it never was.’ Well… up to a point, anyway. One should never go so far as to allow their selves to become a doormat for anyone else.
I guess I’m old fashioned, I’ll admit that. I am southern, after all. I’ve never been one of these feminists who mandate equality of the sexes, and never will. It’s my belief that women shouldn’t ‘chase’ men – it should be the other way around. I also believe that if a man loves a woman enough… I mean really loves them… they won’t let her go without a fight. They’ll do anything and everything to keep her – anything less than that simply isn’t real. Call it what you will – it’s an illusion. Don’t fool yourself. Life’s too short.
Hey, self – remember this: I Myself, will NOT… break. Already been through Hell and back once – and I ain’t planning a return trip anytime soon.
Post Pardon
So remind me please of why I’m up at 4:30am perched behind the keyboard. Maybe it’s because after lying in bed for over two hours prior with my brain scrambling at 200+mph, I opted for the only escape hatch in sight – my computer. Yes, today should be a nice little productive day at work. Seriously, I’m thinking maybe I can just submerge myself in the huge workload I’m supposed to have coming and forget about everything in my personal life for a few to eight hours.
I’m living the whole once upon a time theatrical bit. I don’t know what it’s gonna take in life for me to realize that there are no fairy tales, nor fairy tale endings. The reality is, no matter how happy you are, or how happy you think your partner may be – there’s always going to be that third person infiltrator. Hell, maybe fourth fifth and sixth, for that matter. They may come sooner, they may come later, but make no mistake – they always show up. And sometimes, they just walk right on into the house without even knocking. Without being asked or invited. Because that’s what a little harlot infiltrator will do. Oh, sorry… just thought I’d throw an example in there for ya.
Oh, girl… you should always ‘fight for your man’! Love will prevail… stand tall and don’t let anyone infiltrate what you have, break out the big guns!
Ummm – nuh.
I am not in my twenties or even thirties anymore. Trust me when I say the old ‘fire in me’ can still be ignited – but it won’t be happening for the soul purpose of an attempt to save a relationship. I learned a long time ago that doesn’t work… it simply cannot be that one-sided. So what am I saying? That I am well past the point of exhausting myself in a heated battle or debate over a) how a partner should handle said infiltration, b) addressing the harlot personally, because it’s not me who should be taking care of the situation, c) launching an all-out war, thereby leaving not a shred of doubt as to how I really feel… or d) any or all of the above. No, instead, I’ll just opt to gracefully take a step back. If the situation continues… well, I don’t know how graceful it’ll be, but I will be bowing out completely.
Simply put.
She’s gone country
I love country music. It calms me… soothes me.
It amazes me how we all change with age. The fact is, we all do change – even if it’s only something others recognize in us. If you’d told me even a year ago that I would want to listen to nothing but country, I’d have slapped you then told you to go find your mama. Seriously though, I was a metalhead growing up, all the way through my twenties. Still love that era, and pretty much all the 80’s music. Once in my thirties, I increased my musical genre by adding in alternative to the mixture. As well, I’ll always love my alternative. None of this will ever fade or go away, I’ll always consider it my musical ‘roots’.
It amuses me to watch people’s reaction who haven’t seen me in a while when they hear me singing or listening to country music. ‘I can’t believe you listen to country now!? All the time?!’ (jaw dropping in succession). ‘What on earth made you change to country?’
Hmm. Good question…
Back to my theory that we all change in time. Well, sometimes that change comes about in unexpected venues. My most recent ‘growth’ just happened to manifest itself within my music selection.
I find myself craving it. There’s almost always something a song offers that I can relate with. The morals seem high, the love always radiates from them, at times they can be hilarious, and they’re not shy about their love for our Lord. So many of the songs actually mean something personal to me, or signify a person or time in my life. There’s too many instances like this to even start listing, so don’t worry, I’ll spare you the boredom.
The sweet melodic tones of country music seems to soften, or at least take the edge off of life. For me, anyway. 🙂
Six legs too many
It’s spider season again. Time to break out my double-wammy industrial-strength pow-wow… ummmmm, concoction.
Spiders??? Oh Bon, surely you can’t be talking about now… it’s June!!!… simply can’t be. In any case, I’m sure the problem is minutely miniscule…
Ahem. Never mind the Fall season when you see all the Wolf ‘writing’ spiders. Ole Bon’s spiders say the time is now. Every morning I go down two sets of stairs looking like a zombie – left arm filled with my workbag, purse, lunch and sometimes trash, and right arm waving back and forth in front of me like a freaking moron. If I try to throw in a glance around myself to make sure no one’s watching, I lose balance and almost fall down the steps – it must be hilarious to watch. As recently as this morning, I was clotheslined by yet another invisible web on the second floor. I promptly **dropped** everything and completed two full 360’s all while appearing to have a seizure, all done in order to entertain the average viewer. You are welcome.
This takes me back to when I first moved in my current residence. It was May of ’08, and the first thing I noticed was a spider infestation. The couple that resided here for ten years prior to me were elderly, and it didn’t seem to bother them. Enter Bon. Believe me when I say it did bother me. Apparently my predecessors either a) didn’t care about the spiders or b) literally couldn’t see them. I’m shooting for the latter. I mean, these people were in their 90’s…
I was absolutely horrified. Here I was, finally, in my own little condo – perfect in every way except for a spider infestation. The balcony seemed to be the worst, so that’s where I picked to start. I made a trip to the local hardware store and bought a gallon-sized industrial strength pesticide which even came equipped with a strong pump-stream system. Just pull back on the external trigger nozzle until completely loaded, and that baby’ll spray for a full 20 seconds at warp speed. Once I positioned myself on the stepladder and started spraying through the rafters, I completed the first two walls rather quickly. All the sudden the damn things started coming out by the dozens, spinning their long silk and swinging towards me. I immediately felt like a character out of a Stephen King book, already visualizing myself taking that accidental fall from a ladder over a third story ledge. I’m not talking small spiders – the littlest ones were about the size of my thumbprint, and that doesn’t include legs. These ‘things’ had been allowed to infest the place for so long that they had ‘morphed’ into some sort of amazon gargantuan thing not from this planet. A mega-spider, if you will. I panicked screamed. Ducked left, ducked right, and finally ducked inside – all while cursing myself for spraying more than one wall at a time, in turn pretty much barricading myself out of my home. Finally, after a couple of days of exterminating (one wall at a time from here on out, thank you) the porch was wiped clean of spiders.
Ahhhh… I am victorious!! And so was born the quest for a huge superhero applique for the front of my t-shirt. SB, for SuperBon. Or maybe even SpiderBon.
What I neglected to address in my extermination efforts was the fact that I may well have pushed some most of them indoors. Maybe they existed beforehand, I honestly don’t know. What I do know is that within those couple of days, more and more spiders began making their glorious appearing indoors – and that didn’t work for me. One night, I pulled back the comforter and sheets to get in bed – unveiling two very large black spiders smack-dab* in the middle of my bed. Realizing their newfound exposure, one shoots off to the right and the other to the left (again, like something fresh out of a nightmare). To this very day I maintain those things were mating in my bed. I managed to kill one, but never found the other. As for me, I remained in a light-filled room sitting upright in the fetal position for the rest of the night. Tucking my knees under my chin, I balled my eyes out. And come morning, I was completely unrecognizable by the people closest to me – although by this point it was questionable as to whether I had actually been bit by spiders and might be having a bad allergic reaction that swelled my entire face up.
I can laugh about all of this now. It wasn’t at all long after the ‘bed incident’ that I was completely spider-free… thanks once again to the heroic efforts of SuperBon/SpiderBon.
(But I wouldn’t want to do it all again.)
*Southern Slang definition of the day: Smack-dab: squarely, and directly.
Visit from beyond
I was ushered in through the foyer, past the living room and down the hallway. The doorknob to the right was turned, and the door opened for me to enter the room.
Their room.
The room itself was bigger than I remember, and had a radiant, almost heavenly look about it. I immediately noticed that it was cleaner, whiter, and less congested. It was almost pristine – with much extra room to move around. Just as quickly as the door closed behind me, they appeared.
The dogs.
My dogs. The dogs I had to leave behind through a marriage separation, now well over two years ago. And they were smiling. C’mon now, no bashing… any dog-lover out there knows what I’m talking about. They DO smile.
I don’t remember actually getting down on the floor, but in the next moment that’s exactly where I was, and where I remained. Chance and Rebel were all over me, and I was all over them. They were both clean as a whistle and smelled so good. There also was no gray in them whatsoever. The dogs weren’t pups, but they certainly weren’t old men, either! Along the empty sides and corners of the room, there were lots of clean blankets and sheets, all neatly folded – there must have been 8-10 of them scattered throughout the room. As time went on I kept grabbing them, unfolding each one and spreading them out for us, all while continuing to love on them. I remember thinking, ‘boy is someone gonna be mad at me for unfolding and messing up all these linens…’, but the dogs were loving it, and loving me. All three of us were so happy and comfortable, in that room.
The tears continue to fall as I write this. This particular visit occurred in a dream I had last night, on Tuesday night.
I believe it all started when I asked my daughter to take a picture so I could see them. I was at work Monday when I received them, and it immediately made me cry. My girlfriends at work saw this and were very sweet and caring – they are good friends and fellow animal-lovers to boot, so they understood without even saying anything. Just to see how gray the little and big guy’s faces had both gotten in two years was shocking – in particular Rebel’s, the boxer.
I’ve tried to force them out of my mind for a long time now because it’s just been too painful to think about. That still remains the case. I guess somehow, unfortunately, love really is associated with pain. Whatever the case is, I do still miss them greatly.
It was a good visit. No, it was better than good. The visit was awesome, even perfect. I hope they visit me again soon. Or should I say… allow me to visit them.
One of the pictures my daughter sent me
My way
It’s beautiful out today – true summertime in every since of the word. Honestly it seems like the first day of summer was over a month ago, never mind the fact it’s still a week away. Back to the days of leaving your windows cracked two inches and placing that anti-seat/steeringwheel-burner-device-thingy in your windshield.
I get a treat today, going to ‘get my hair did’ after work. I consider it a treat because I haven’t been for a haircut since January, and haven’t had it colored since last summer. I ought to just shock the hell out of everybody and go short and red. Being that my stylist knows me personally, I don’t think she’d do it even if I asked her.
Cooked a big old pot of s’ghetti last night. I really enjoy cooking it ‘my way’ (great, now I’ll have Sinatra in my head all day). For 20+ years, all I was ‘allowed’ to have in it was the meat and sauce, and that sauce better not have any visible onions in it or said meal would be ruined. Oh, I could add some garlic salt, forgot about that. Even too many tomatoes in the sauce would constitute a 10-minute period of ‘picking them out’, one by one, until a nice little pile was accumulated beside the now lukewarm/cool plate of spaghetti.
I now put fresh minced garlic in it, and cut up a vidalia onion and green pepper. Add a can of mushrooms to the sauce, throw in a large can of diced & spiced tomatoes, and my little array of spices don’t forget the cayenne pepper. Let that puppy sit in the fridge for a day and have it for dinner that next night… simply delectable. And I’m not the only one who thinks so. 🙂
To thine own self be true
It doesn’t do me good to sit and ponder life too often, because when I do so it usually makes me want to cry. And anyone who knows me knows how much I hate to cry. The massive headache and swollen frog eyes afterward always make me regret it. Psshh, like I could’ve done anything to prevent it, anyway.
The things in life I have no control over. Okay, I can’t do anything to improve our economic crisis. I can’t prevent the massive amount of crime in the world. I’m not able to do a damn thing about that oilspill disaster that appears to have no end in sight. But what seems to be the hardest pill to swallow is hearing of someone you know and care about sit back and ruin their own self. And of how it’s affecting the ones who love them most.
A countdown to self-destruct. And I cannot do or say a thing about it. I cannot interfere.
Cry along
Although being a parent can be one of the most rewarding responsibilities in life, it’s also well-known to be the toughest.
Parenting. Everyone has their own idea of what it means, a mental list of what all it entails. There are no two sets of individual views that are exactly alike, because even if they possess similarities – the end result is always the same. Bottom line, God really does break the mold when he finishes making each and every one of us.
No matter how old they get, we as parents will never stop worrying about our children. As a young lady, I used to shrug that sentence off when my very own Mother would say it, usually throwing in the old eye-roll. I remember how I used to feel when I was young. As a young adult, I believed my parents either thought I wasn’t smart enough in my own decision-making, or I perceived them as trying to ‘rain on my parade’. Boy have I ever made some wrong choices in life that I’d been forewarned about. When I would fall down, there would be no “I told you so’s”. What happened then, when I fell? My Mother knelt down to me and cried along with me.
It’s hard when you see the wants in life overpowering the needs. I’m talking about the real needs. The Necessities. I was always told, ‘just worry about getting what you need… your wants will come later’. I still have a lot of wants, but that’s okay, I have most everything I need. The week-to-week struggle to maintain daily life definitely takes it’s toll sometimes – but I never forget to be thankful for a good job. Because of that, there is gas in my car and food in my belly. And by the Grace of God, a roof over my head.
Control is no longer an option. There comes a time when our babies wings are finally developed enough to soar the skies – we can’t and shouldn’t hold them back. But sincere advice, cordially delivered, is an option. And as a lifelong loving parent, a God-given right. I only pray for the realization of basic needs to overpower the wants. Any parent who genuinely loves their children only wants the best for them – for them to have sincere happiness, health and prosperity. As for what the future holds – if there ever is an instance of falling down… I will do the only thing that I’m able to do as a parent.
I will kneel down and cry along with them.
New Year, New Beginnings
2009 – a colorful year it’s been for me. In addition to my love for the ocean, there’s actually a hidden reason behind why I chose my particular banner picture, which I pasted a copy of below.
Color.
Those who know me know that my ‘word of the year’ chosen to represent 2008 was Monumental. 2008 was my year of change, a change that required an extreme strength and perseverance – the type of strength I thought never could exist in me. For this reason I believe the word Monumental to be ever so fitting for that year.
I find it just as fitting to associate the word Colorful with my year of 2009. In this little rainbow prismatic year of mine, I’ve basically created a complete series of making mistakes and learning from them. But never mind the mistakes I’ve made, or the repercussions from them – I still have to look back and smile, at all of it. I’ve come to realize how I’ve grown and have been made a better person now, by just having been associated with some new people that came in and out of my life.
I look at it this way. 2008, the last half of it anyway, started out as a shockwave. Fast-forward to sorrow, self-pity, and finally moving into that godforsaken lonely empty feeling. As I moved into 2009, the search was on. For what… I didn’t know. I was however reaching out for something, with arms wide open. I found that, like a butterfly who had just discovered her wings, the world was mine for the taking. The territory left unchartered was endless. So many opportunities, and so much lost time. Nope – the objects I landed on weren’t always in my best interest. I’ve taken much from these experiences though – through weathering the storms and learning some pretty hard lessons. I’ve found that it’s how we react and learn from our mistakes that will determine our success in life, or lack of it.
Hmm. Can’t help but wonder what my word of 2010 will be.
Banner picture for 2009
Christmas pasts
No, I didn’t spell it wrong, or mis-phrase it. The way it reads just makes more sense to me. Not Christmases, or Christmases past. But rather the many ‘pasts‘ that stick out in my mind whenever I think of Christmas.
Barringer. A brand new pair of shiny black patent leather lace-up boots from my uncle and aunt. Came all the way up to my knees, they did. I laced ’em up right there on the couch as soon as I unwrapped them, my family laughing while my uncle videotaped me. Back then, these videos landed on movie reels. That same year in ’73 I got a jewelry box slammed full of jewelry…. I felt like a princess with all that bling. A princess with mega bling and shiny black boots. I didn’t know it at the time, but the pattern of my taste in life was forming, even then.
Collingwood. Mom and Mammaw had both worked that Christmas eve. Still in her uniform, Mammaw was so exhausted that she laid down in the floor right underneath that Christmas tree. My uncle, Mom’s youngest brother, trotted in with many bags and a huge stuffed dog that was taller than me. That dog ended up being mine, it was too big to wrap. Every year he would go out on Christmas eve and to do his Christmas shopping, hauling the load in at the last minute for Mom and Mammaw to wrap up. That night, Mom laid down with me to get me to sleep so that Santa could come. She fell asleep with me, and Mammaw decided to let her sleep. Later that night, through the bedroom window, I saw my Mammaw and uncle dragging a new bike in for me – to Bon, from Santa. 🙂
Old Dowd. A box FULL of new books. Not any old box – I’m talking a box of epic proportions. There must’ve been 40-50 new books in that one box. The Little House on the Prairie collection, several Tom Sawyer adventures, Little Women, and so many more that I can’t remember. I recall sleeping with some of those books that night, the smell of fresh new books was intoxicating. It was an awesome gift that I enjoyed for many years, from my loving Mama.
Hartford. Ham and lots of goodies to eat. Great uncle J talking with no one listening. My first pair of designer jeans, Calvin Klein himself embroidered on the rear pocket. They were too small and had to be exchanged later, but it was official – I was now cool. Maybe not in my peers eyes, but definitely in my own! Archie, the family dog, gets to experience his once-a-year visit inside the house – much resembling the running of the bulls with the addition of a red Christmas bow stuck to his head.
Ever notice the memories of your childhood Christmas pasts usually involve the gifts you received? The ones that made the biggest impact on you often stick in your memory like glue.
Sloan. My Mother’s boyfriend. I wasn’t so sure about this guy…. didn’t think his intentions were quite up to par with what I knew she deserved. Besides, who did he think he was trying to horn in on our family time? I go my own way, where I want, when I want. Hell I just moved back in from being gone for almost a year, and this guy’s practically running the show. Then again, my Mammaw seems to like him. Mammaw’s a pretty good judge of character, and she’s rarely wrong. Hmm, he gave me a stereo for Christmas. This guy may not be all bad. I’ll just have to keep my eye on him.
Fort Mill. My precious little baby girl made out like a bandit, and I’m so glad. Christmas is different now, somehow… I can’t quite put my finger on why, but know enough to realize it involves the newest part of me – my baby daughter. So THIS is why they say that children make Christmas. I have a family of my own now, added to my existing family, plus my new extended family – that of my husbands. Wow, this holds promise of getting a bit hectic. But hey, that’s Christmas! Oh, and that boyfriend of Mom’s? He’s now my stepdaddy, and pawpaw to my baby girl. And a fine job he’s doing at both.
Abbey/Village Lake. Blessed Christmases. Always blessed, always getting way more than we deserve. It’s not necessarily gifts that stick out in my mind now, rather it’s the multitude of bounties our families bestow upon us during Christmas that seems to always catch us up. We all truly have an abundance, thanks given to our families and God. Okay, there is one time around this era where gifts really do stick out. That would be the Christmas when my husband accidentally threw all his gifts away.
Scarlet. Mammaw’s sick. Really sick. She insisted on getting through Christmas without a hospital visit, but this was a bad idea. She can barely breathe, both her face and body are really swollen. Congestive heart failure is what it ends up being – little did we know then. Fast forward to another Christmas. Pawpaw isn’t feeling well. He’s trying to deal, but running a fever, thinks it’s the flu. It might’ve been the flu then. But it wasn’t the flu that caused his heart to fail in front of us two weeks later.
Poplar Forest. New house, and so proud to have Christmas here. Much has changed in past years, we have two who are no longer with us and are reminded of that pain especially during the holidays. Baby girl is continuing to grow into a fine young lady – downside of this is gifts are getting much harder to pick for her. My most memorable gift – my wedding ring set that my husband had reset from yellow into white gold, given to me on Christmas eve. Little did either of us know then of what was to come in the near future.
Hamilton’s Harbor. I have only one Christmas here, so far – but in a couple of weeks I’ll have two, and with that more memories made. The one Christmas here consisted mainly of my past memories. This can be a good thing, as well as being detrimental – but I have to remember that every single thing we’ve experienced and endured in our lives shapes the person we are today. You either learn and grow… or you let it defeat you. Things change, life changes, and we must go on.
‘God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.’ ~James Matthew Barrie, Scottish dramatist & novelist; best known as the creator of Peter Pan
Life of Bon 
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