It’s funny how much we change as we get older. If you really think about the whole thing – it’s just downright weird.
In our youth, it’s easy to go with the default belief that certain things will always stay the same. I remember thinking there’s no way on earth I would ever love any type of music other than heavy metal. I adored it, almost likening that love to the point of being in a relationship. I immersed myself in it, attended concerts, adorned my walls with posters… I just couldn’t and wouldn’t allow myself to imagine it any other way.
As the majority of us age, I believe our minds expand. It’s pretty amazing, really. We become more open to try new things, to advance ourselves in ways we never contemplated possible. This has indeed been the sum of my lifes experiences. When I reflect back on all the chapters of my book, it makes me both happy and sad – with some shades of gray in-between, of course.
Whether or not we want to admit it… we become more emotional as the aging process progresses. Instances that would normally roll off our shoulder earlier in life will now have an overwhelming affect on our emotions, which can often add confusion to an already delicate situation.
The maturity process also ushers in less patience for the asshats of the world – a statement that needs no further explanation.
I now appreciate the finer things in life more than ever before. Just as strong though, is the realization that these finer things will not be traveling with me when I leave this earth.
Probably my favorite thing about ongoing maturity is not giving a shit what others think. This shouldn’t suggest certain values which we hold dear to our own character; such as honesty, integrity, causing distress to others, and the like. I used to be what’s known as a people-pleaser, would go out of my way to accommodate someone who was unreliable at best. Now, largely – I don’t care what judgement others may hold against me for my actions. As long as I’m going about life to the best of my ability, obeying the law and not harming others – I really couldn’t care any less about what others think of me. Past or present.
There’s more to come, I hear… as long as the Good Lord allows me breath.
What a whirlwind of a year 2014 has been. It does seem now that every year goes by quicker than the last, and as time marches on I find myself saying it more and more.
My ‘word of the year’ usually comes pretty easy for me. As this year drew to a close, I found myself still searching for one. 2013’s was Persistence, 2012 was Disclosure, 2011 was Transitional, 2010 was Serene, 2009 was Colorful, and of course my inaugural word of the year for 2008 was Monumental. So how do I compete with any or all of those?
Personally I’m ready to put 2014 behind me. In this particular year, my father was diagnosed with dementia, and my mother with breast cancer. I’ve actually contemplated the word tumultuous to describe the year, but I find that an extremely negative description to mark an entire year with. Can’t say I didn’t think about it for a minute, though.
The word Endurance seems fitting. Because no matter what life throws our way, we’re pretty much forced to steel our resolve and keep moving forward. The only other choice would be to lie down and give up, and that’s just not a choice I’ll make.
Yep, Endurance. It’s got a nice little ring to it.
And hey, 2014 – don’t let the back door knick your heels too hard on the way out.
This weekend, most of us will get back that hour we lost in the Spring for Daylight Savings time. If you happen to still be in denial of the fall season (like me) – the time change could very well serve as an alarm clock to fall’s arrival.
The subject got me thinking this morning about time, and change, and how we change as we get older. My thinking time during the drive in to work will sometimes get me in trouble.
In the past I never really considered how much a person changes over time. Guess I figured you just travel through life keeping whatever preferences you always had. Now that my 46-going-on-26 year-old self is finding out that’s not the case, it’s got my attention. Here are a few things that come to mind when I consider these changes.
My taste in music. As far back as my adolescent years, I’d never listen to anything but rock. The heavier, the better. Now, country music has my heart. It actually soothes my soul and brings me peace.
My driving. I admit I used to be an aggressive driver, where even simple things set me off. Because of this I would experience cases of road rage at the drop of a hat. Now, my motto is ‘just get there safely’. I now look at operating an automobile through an entirely different set of eyes.
My taste in food. When I was young, there weren’t many things I would eat. I hated mac & cheese (any cheese, actually), pizza, seafood, cole slaw, and many others. The only fruit I would eat was a banana. From my 20’s to my 40’s, my ex was a picky eater. In this era, everything I cooked had to be bland – there was no ‘slipping in’ of an onion, tomato, cheese, mustard, etc. – lest he refuse to eat it. Fast forward to now – I love so many different foods and enjoy cooking new recipes with no restrictions as to the ingredients. I actually welcome opportunities to try foods from different ethnicities.
Life in general. I have found simplicity is the better way. This was not always the case for me. The older I get though, the more I search for an easier way to do things. This can range anywhere from household chores down to how I style my hair or what I wear. I’m constantly looking for better ways to save time. Maybe this is because with each new day we have less time left. We live in a world now where everything is complicated – government issues, terrorism, religious wars and a short-staffed workplace just to name a few. I yearn deeply for a world where everything is simple.
I never thought I’d see the day where my sweet Mom watches football games, y’all. If none of the above convinces you of people changing with time, maybe this one will. She inspires ME to watch more.
Time changes, all right. It’s become clear to me this will likely be an ongoing venture with many more changes to come. And, I’m okay with that.
If we allow ourselves to admit it, we are all constantly learning new things about ourselves. In reality, perhaps it’s only the realization of some already existing traits; or where certain events have led us. Through spurts of time, I enjoy compiling certain findings to peruse at a later date – thought I’d share my most recent ones.
• Unlike the majority of the population, I do not trust cruise control – therefore I don’t use it. And I’ve tried. When enabled, I experience the most profound sense of loss of control ever. For this reason I must maintain control of the brake and gas with my own foot – just my own personal preference.
• I have found that you can learn a lot about a person simply by watching how they treat a stranger. I’ll go so far to say that it speaks volumes.
• I cannot understand why someone would purposely choose to stay in a relationship without a strong sense of commitment from each side. Of course, I’m aware there exists an entire rainbow of exceptions on this little finding.
• I can sit with the insides of my thighs, calves and ankles flat on the floor like a frog. When I was younger, I secretly enjoyed the looks of horror from others when I did it. I kinda still do.
• I’ve never broken a bone, had stitches or been in the hospital (with the exception of having my daughter, and a hysterectomy some twenty years later).
• I have found that under most conditions, I drive better with one hand instead of two.
• The $5 taco bell ‘box deal’ will generally be a disappointment due to a lot of dough. It’s better to just order what you like.
• I’ve abhorred any type of seafood my entire life, but 2 years ago found I love sushi. Not the veggie stuff, but good reputable sushi with raw fish. I have it at least once or twice a week.
• I dated Clyde Pickler (Kelli Pickler’s father) back when I was 17 and living in Albemarle, NC. This was long before he had Kelli. He was a nice guy and a gentleman – and of course we thought the whole ‘Bonnie and Clyde’ thing was treacherous. Back then, treacherous was the word Albemarlinians substituted for cool.
• I have a scar on the back of my right hand that looks exactly like the Starship Enterprise on Star Trek. It happened when I was washing dishes while swirling my hand inside a glass and the glass decided to bust. Thus, the ‘Scarship Enterprise’ serves as a daily reminder never to stick my hand in a glass again.
• Certain dreams have much significance to me, so I pay close attention to them. One such recent incident occurred two nights before Keith hit that deer. My mother has a very strong hold on this ‘gift’, and apparently my daughter as well – as she dreamed of the tragic 2005 tsunami two days before it happened. Unfortunately, with dreams you sometimes have to read between the lines and figure the details out.
• The power of certain words continually amaze me. Like a man who opts to use the word ‘dear’ condescendingly on a female. You can always spot it – I’ve found it’s almost always used in a persuasion effort. ‘Here here!! SEE THINGS MY WAY… NOW.’ Guys, you gotta know we don’t like that shit. So am I one of those females that will call you on it? Damn straight, every time. And for the record, it’s not my husband who does this. He’s a smart one, he is.
My, how I’ve missed my little weblog. The last time I posted, Keith had hit a deer with his truck. He thankfully escaped injury to his self, but his truck (and the deer) was a hot mess.
What I failed to mention was the very next day was to be our 5th annual New Years beach trip. I was honestly ready to cancel any out of town plans at this point, but he seemed intent on going and rented an SUV so that we could still accommodate Mojo. Our first full day there, a small tornado touched down and ripped the roof smack off our condo. I was sitting on the couch against the wall and actually felt myself being lifted when it hit. Soon after, we discovered a large piece of the roof missed hitting our rental car by mere feet. Although it doesn’t show the extent of the damage from everything that fell (roof lights, concrete bags, etc.) here’s a photo of the aftermath.
Parts of the roof are visible on top of the adjacent restaurant and under the palms on the asphalt. Keith had just walked Mojo in this same area 10 minutes prior to it happening. What is it they say again about those silver linings?
Aside from a lot of cleanup noise including chainsaws, a crane and lots of workerbees – the rest of the trip was awesome. One of my favorite memories would be our farewell balloons. We each assigned a few private hells from our past, then sent them out to sea forever. The picture’s pretty poor, but believe me when I say it’s very therapeutic to watch these babies go until you can’t see them anymore. Then they’re just… gone.
I so enjoy watching the souls of the surfers… had to share this shot.
Flash forward to now. Other than a few sushi dinners, a winter storm, watching my fellow southerners make national news with their stupid driving, a dog that wouldn’t allow us to build a snowman, an extreme gum-popper at work, a few dozen Twilight movie reruns, a couple nice unplanned car repairs and vet visits, and a sick husband diagnosed with pneumonia at the urgent care today – life has been pretty typical since the first of the year. Aside from the temporary pneumonia bit, we’re still on our honeymoon and we don’t see that ending anytime in the near future. 😀 But I’ve definitely got my nurse Bon hat on, the poor guy.
Have I mentioned I’m stoked for full-time flip-flop wear again?
2013 – time just keeps ticking on by, doesn’t it? Jerry Garcia once wrote into a song, ‘Lately it occurs to me… what a long strange trip it’s been.’ This is surely the truth.
It’s hard for me to believe the series of events that have been jam-packed into one lone year. Honestly, I’d never have believed it even if someone had forewarned me. A lot of things stand out, too many to mention really. If you follow my blog, you know them already anyway.
Every year, I pick one word in an attempt to describe the year. 2008 was Monumental. 2009 was Colorful. 2010 was Serene. 2011 was Transitional.
2012 was Disclosure. That one just looks so out of place with the others, I figured it deserved it’s own paragraph.
I hadn’t even thought about a word for this year, until my husband started monkeying around with our dog while using the word on him. Only then did it hit me – BAM… there’s my word.
My word of 2013 is Persistence. Maybe I should say it’s Keith’s word instead, since it was his own persistent efforts that played out in both our favors. In any case, I’m forced to use it just because it fits better than a glove.
Continuing firmly or obstinately in a course of action in spite of difficulty or opposition. Donning your suit of armour, setting forth a plan of action for something you feel you can’t live without, never accepting defeat – making something so worthwhile to you actually happen.
Gotta admit I admire your persistence, baby. And at least Mojo’s pronunciation of the word is considerably different than our own… Per·thith·tenth.
And guess what… WE DID IT!!
What started out as any other beautiful sunny September day slowly and surely graduated to rain as the evening fell. Ah, well. Thank goodness for that glorious Plan B, which is one big reason we chose this particular venue. Besides, a little rain never hurt nothin’.
The original plan was to be married by the lake in front of a beautifully draped alter adorned with hanging crystals to reflect the sun and water. As it turns out, we wed indoors in front of the fireplace – nonetheless very beautiful in it’s own unique way. (And believe me, I’ll find a fanciful DIY project with which to use the hanging crystals and reams of unused alter material!)
In addition, I’ll always have the memory of that beautiful sunset night at rehearsal.
While our real pictures are pending final edits from the photog, we’re currently depending on the ones our friends and family have so graciously supplied.
This man has made my dreams come true. Speaking of which, after the ceremony we danced back down the aisle to our chosen recessional “You Make My Dreams Come True” by Hall & Oates, with everyone behind us following suit. I consider it my very own True Romance. Hey, Tarantino… can ya top that one?
My post is simple today, though indeed thought-provoking. Below would be my number one pick of all Bob Marley’s quotes. The amount of love that erupts from this one wise paragraph has always overwhelmed me. Even so, I never could grasp the full intensity of it – just the intense yearning to someday find this beautiful kind of unconditional love. One without judgement, one that makes you want to learn new things, one that makes you feel beautiful, one where you openly invite vulnerability into your life. One Love.
Hope you enjoy.
On this day four years ago, Keith and I went on our first date. For this reason, we’ve always celebrated it as our anniversary.
I remember I didn’t want him coming directly to the door of my third-floor apartment. I think this was a combined reasoning of not wanting to add to his stress level of a first date along with if I didn’t want a second date, the exact location of my apartment would be kept secret. 🙂
Wearing high heels while descending wooden-slat steps could prove to be a recipe for disaster for any woman, especially an accident-prone one like myself. I was certain I wouldn’t make it down without a catastrophic fall. I didn’t, though. As I rounded the sidewalk and the parking lot came into view, so did this tall, dark and handsome man – flashing a grin while leaning back ever so cool-like on the hood of his Volvo. Four years later, I can still see it as clearly as I did that evening. If memory ever eludes me when I get older, I pray for this one memory to remain because it is seriously that precious to me.
We went to dinner at a restaurant called The Grid Iron, which is still open today. Through the course of the meal, the conversation seemed almost too easy, if that makes any sense. He talked about his job as an elevator installer and came across as just a kind soul in general. It didn’t take me long to realize that I was spot-on in that analysis.
To bide a little time before the movie started, he asked if I’d like to ride around his town of Gastonia for a bit. I found him to be an excellent tour guide, narrating this and that, gingerly pointing out an establishment or two he’d installed elevators in.
I’d never seen a Harry Potter movie, actually don’t think I’ve seen another one since. But Harry Potter it was that night, and looking back it was probably the best choice by far. After the movie, he drove me back to my apartment in Lake Wylie. Because of a few losers I’d been out with prior to Keith, I decided I didn’t care much to kiss goodnight on the first date, and so I held fast to that. I reached over the seat, hugged him and told him I’d had a good time. That was it – our first kiss didn’t actually happen until another week later on our second date.
The rest is history. He got the car door for me that night, and he still gets it for me today. He still sings Josh Turner songs to me in that deep sexy voice and it still makes my stomach flutter. His tour-guide antics still entertain me, especially when we’re up in the North Carolina mountains where he’s spent so many years working.
And so inspired a little tribute to you, baby. Happy Anniversary to my precious tour guide…
Keith’s father’s wedding was this past weekend, and it was a beautiful ceremony centered completely around love. My future sister and her husband hosted a lovely reception at their house afterwards, which was so enjoyable. Keith’s side of the family is very kind and loving, so the time we enjoy with them is always priceless.
The older I get, the more cognizant and appreciative I am of incessant acts of selflessness. Every good thing I witness reminds me to try and be a better person. I look at it as a sort of pay-it-forward view on life, for lack of a better term.
The priest officiating the ceremony spoke about the sanctity of marriage and how you wake up each morning with the goal of putting your spouse’s needs before your own. Just because of that thing called Love. Because that’s what real love does, you want to give as much as possible when you love someone that much. It’s a mutual respect between each other that is never ending – it’s not something that changes with passing time.
When dinner time came, we stood back and waited on others to get theirs. I’ve always preferred to get my plate after everyone else has gotten theirs, never first or even middle. Keith attempted to hand me an empty plate and usher me in line. I politely refused, telling him I’d rather wait. He went on about midway through and filled his plate, while I stood conversing with a few family members. A few moments later Keith stood smiling in front of me, presenting me with a large plate of food. What he had just gotten was for me.
Now I know this might not sound like a monumental act of kindness to some, but to me it speaks volumes as to the type of man he is. This is Keith, every day. Even after four years, he’s constantly putting my needs above his own, as I do his. When I wake up every morning, he’s the first thing I think about. He’s the last thing I think about before I fall asleep. We both hold a strong mutual respect for each other. Our time apart at the beginning of the year only served to make us stronger, resulting in deeper devotion to each other as one whole. As it should be. As it always will be…
Have I mentioned we can’t wait for September to roll around?
I’m constantly amazed at all the events that have transpired in this short year.
I moved to my own apartment. It didn’t take long for me to realize that Mojo was not cut out for apartment living, so I made the gut-wrenching decision to re-home my precious boy. In the interim I put forth my most valiant effort in the quest to start a new life. Early March, Keith donned the suit of armor I always knew he had and formed an attack plan to win back my hardened heart – which I never thought would be possible. He’s since ran the entire marathon with a few extra miles thrown in for good measure.
The missing piece to the puzzle was always Mojo. I’ve wanted to write about it for a while now, but the subject was just too painful. On April 3rd, I pled my case to the gracious couple who had agreed to take him. On a stormy April 4th, we made the drive up to Salisbury to retrieve our baby boy. I am forever grateful to Debbie and Danny for allowing us this most precious opportunity… for my heart is once again full and complete.
I’m one of those people who believes every thing happens for a reason. I didn’t think so at first, but I believe all of this was actually meant to happen, and I don’t regret a single thing that’s happened this year.
Near sunset on the last day of summer in front of Lake Wylie, Mojo and Camille’s mommy and daddy will officially become one. The plus? Keith seems even more excited about it than me.
As I came to the first red light on the way to work this morning, I was stunned to see a car stalled between it and the busy highway which I was waiting to turn on. An elderly lady with a desperate look on her face sat in the drivers seat on the phone, and her husband sat slumped in the passenger seat with a blank look on his face. The ass-end of their car sat poised in the busy intersection of the highway, just waiting to be t-boned. She’d even called the cops, who still hadn’t showed by the time I left a half-hour later.
When I finally got her attention I asked if her car was stalled, she replied yes. I asked her to hang on since I was forced to make the green light turn. Maneuvering a quick U, I pulled in front of her, ran back to their car and asked her to put it in neutral. I immediately took note of the incline it would have to be pushed up – even though I had doubts about handling it alone, knew I had to try anyway. They always say adrenaline kicks in the moment you need it, and these people desperately needed to be moved out of a very busy intersection of a highway. The cars came and went, some honking and rapidly switching lanes to avoid hitting us at the last minute. I finally had to face the brutal stomach-sinking reality that I couldn’t move the car by myself. I started locking eyes with passerby cars who came to rest at that red light, spotted what I thought was a guy, and waved them down. Lo and behold, the door opened and out popped a female. I yelled over to her that we needed to find a man, but she ran over anyway and became my teammate.
Inch by slow inch, we made tiny progress. We both put our entire body weights into it, which even combined didn’t seem enough to get the job done. The elderly disabled husband began exiting the car very slowly (as we were moving it). I noticed his arms didn’t work – they just hung to his sides. I tried to get him to step to the side but he wouldn’t. He leaned his back end into it and did what he could, bless his heart.
My cohort and I proceeded to inch the car along, with it coming to rest every few seconds. Her and I didn’t speak, but every time the car stopped I knew we were thinking the same thing – we both had to fight to keep it from reversing backwards on us. I truly believe it was God’s hand that helped us push that car upward…
For the next 20 minutes, car after car whizzed past us while we expended every bit of energy we had to get the car up the hill. Once we got her pulling into the grass, a van stopped and a man got out. With three bodies pushing, the car finally came to rest safely in the grass.
When it was all over and I was back in my car, I found myself beyond infuriated. Why, you may ask? It’s simple, really. WHERE THE HELL WERE ALL THE MEN?? I mean, are you serious? Out of the scores of cars that passed us in that 20 minutes, my money’s certainly not riding on the fact that they were all female. This includes all the ones at the red light who were already safely stopped, who came and went.
I know of a good many men that I feel sure would have stopped and leant their strongarms. I’m hoping that chivalry is indeed not dead and the people I encountered this morning who ‘opted out’ were not in the majority of the population. This chance encounter only dimmed that hope, unfortunately.
My beloved South got it’s snow yesterday. It came in swift and accumulated very rapidly. It was a blessing for it to occur on a Saturday afternoon/night of the weekend! The residents here seemed perfectly content to have a warm night tucked safe in their homes, and enjoy the scenery of the beautiful white snow outside.
It brought along with it thunder and lightning, which has been endearingly termed Thundersnow. The conditions that lead up to this type of event are extremely rare, and usually only occur in the states along the East Coast.
This morning, I couldn’t resist the urge to walk down the pathway adjacent to my building to the lake. Although the overnight ice was treacherous, I went slow to reach my intended target.
A true photographer at heart, whether professional or amateur (I’m most certainly the amateur), will do almost anything to get their intended shot.
This is my second weekend here. Along came the cleansing white snow which, to me, signifies a clean white slate. That’s how I see it, anyway.
Can you tell I have this little thing for trees?
It seems to be the hardest thing to ditch, this transition from the plural “us/we” to singular “I/me”. This morning I was telling a neighbor about the discipline training “we’d” gotten for Mojo. I recognized my blunder as soon as it came out of my mouth, and walked away feeling awkward.
Right now I’m angry. I hate admitting it, but I am. As I look back on the mistakes I’ve made, I’m angry at myself for being so naive. I’m angry for staying, for believing, for surrendering my whole heart to someone who didn’t appreciate it for what it was worth, for holding out hope, and for all the wasted time. I’m angry at him for being such a damn good receiver. For the lack of communication, for the broken promises when the hand of communication was forced, and for the sheer selfishness that made him, well – him. I’m angry at him for not even once asking me to stay. It stands to reason that I have been played for a genuine fool.
There are some hard lessons to learn in life. Sometimes that one ‘sure thing’ that feels so certain turns out to be the devil himself dressed in a thin veil. As my dear uncle used to say – such is life, I suppose.
One thing’s for certain – the walls surrounding this ticker will be rock-solid from here on out.
I’m well past the time I normally post this little entry as I do at every year’s end. With each coming year, I pick a new word to try and sum up the prior year in a nutshell.
In case you missed it in priors years’ posts, here’s the rundown. 2008 was Monumental. 2009 was Colorful. 2010 was Serene, and 2011 was Transitional. The word I picked for 2012 was Disclosure.
I guess I was dead wrong in last year’s post when I said ‘this butterfly has completed her journey’. I have not. In fact, it would appear the journey never ended, and indeed is far from over.
I wanted the fairy tale ending. Can’t blame a girl for that, can ya? Even though fairy tales rarely if ever come to fruition.
The commitment I so yearned for is not to be. Over the last year I’ve heard a spectrum of excuses ranging from the somewhat believable to the absolutely ridiculous. You may remember I didn’t want to open my mouth to begin with, but with year after swift year passing, what else is there left to do? Just as I thought, as soon as I allowed those sweet thoughts to pass my lips, I felt less-than. Less than the woman I’d worked so hard to uncover – the woman who’d previously remained unknown, even to myself. I, as a whole, had immediately been lessened.
He just wasn’t ready. His job security was unforeseeable. He’d set a (silent) 5-year mark for himself before ever contemplating a commitment to anyone. He’d known all along about my wishes but avoided the issue. Why is it so important to you – it’s just a piece of paper, after all. Our exes names still remain on both our mortgages. You’re like a kid wanting candy. My credit didn’t go through. I was gonna wait until your birthday.
Like a kid wanting candy. Gotta admit that one burned.
I have to take blame where blame is due. I should never have given up my home and moved in with a man, in his house, in hopes for a commitment. I didn’t and don’t approve of living this way, and I know right from wrong. I went with my heart instead of my gut instinct, and we all know love is blind. That’s my bad.
I will have a home of my own again soon, planned for the beginning of February. After 3 1/2 years I have much healing to do and feel the need to once again find and complete my inner Bon. Being single isn’t so bad. Being in a relationship with someone who has no desire to make you a permanent fixture in their life is a bad feeling.
Here’s to 2013 and the goodness it may bring to us all. And always remember change can often be a good thing.
This picture was taken after a harrowing storm in the Philippines over the summer. The image packed a big punch with me, so I thought I’d update the wording and share with all of you.
The original was posted via Twitter back in August by this fine gentleman/rescuer – God bless him. 🙂
It’s always worried me when a fellow blogger disappears suddenly and never comes back to let you know they’re okay. In these albeit rare instances, it serves to feed a pit of never-ending questions and scenarios in my head. Did they have an accident, did they die, are they sick, the list goes on – and believe me, I can create some scenarios. It’s for this reason that I wanted to let you guys know I’ll be taking a blogging break. Heck I as much as have already, anyway.
When I started posting back in 2009 it was something I needed to do, and it ended up being very therapeutic. It was also something I enjoyed doing. The past few months, maybe more actually, it’s become (can I be frank?) more of a chore. All of you should be able to relate to this honest admittance, since we’ve all likely had an occurrence of being burnt out on some thing at some point in our lives. To be honest, I’m dealing with a lot of ‘stuff’ right now, and a blog isn’t always the best place to, ahem… bare it all. Sometimes it is, just not all the time. So I also consider it ‘removing the cell phone from the drunk’. Yeah. That’s a good analogy.
I’ll try to visit in here and there, and may even be back again in good time. I value all of your friendships through the years more than I can tell you. I’ve met some truly wonderful and inspirational people who, I like to think, have influenced me in very positive ways. For this I feel so blessed, and I’m thankful for each and every one of you.
With that I’ll bid you all adieu for a while, and in typical bon-fashion will leave behind a couple of renegade thoughts.
- As much as I prefer routine, it seems as if my life is always changing.
- Never take communication for granted. It’s such an integral part of life.
- A promise is a promise – it’s not made to be ignored or left to dry up, as if never mentioning it again will make it disappear. That’s simply not the way it works.
Hugs and Kisses
The following is a widely spread story/poem in which the author remains unknown… I felt Mother’s Day weekend was a most appropriate time in which to share. I wish all of you exceptional ladies a very special and memorable day spent with loved ones.
And, Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. 🙂
The child asked God, “They tell me you are sending me to earth tomorrow, but how am I going to live there being so small and helpless?”
The child further inquired, “But tell me, here in Heaven I don’t have to do anything but sing and smile to be happy.”
God said, “Your angel will sing for you and will also smile for you. And you will feel your angel’s love and be very happy.”
Again the child asked, “And how am I going to be able to understand when people talk to me if I don’t know the language?”
God said, “Your angel will tell you the most beautiful and sweet words you will ever hear, and with much patience and care, your angel will teach you how to speak.”
“And what am I going to do when I want to talk to You?”
God said, “Your angel will place your hands together and will teach you how to pray.”
“Who will protect me?”
God said, “Your angel will defend you even if it means risking it’s life.”
“But I will always be sad because I will not see You anymore.”
God said, “Your angel will always talk to you about Me and will teach you the way to come back to Me, even though I will always be next to you.”
At that moment there was much peace in heaven, but voices from Earth could be heard and the child hurriedly asked, “God, if I am to leave now, please tell me my angel’s name.”
God looked softly down at the child and whispered, “Your angel’s name is of no importance. You will simply call her ‘Mom’.”
I love wind chimes.
Maybe it’s because they’re one of the few things left in life that are non technology-related. Maybe it’s because it’s the first thing I bought myself a couple of months prior to moving and starting a new life in 2008. Or maybe it’s because they provided such good company during the times I felt alone.
I paid only ten dollars for this set of windchimes, which is a steal for chimes (I know mine isn’t such a vintage set, but I’ve grown accustomed to their harmonial sounds). I’m sure at times my neighbors could’ve shot me for the relentless chime songs coming from my third floor condo, but I never got any complaints.
My chimes are still with me, though now weathered and worn. Much like an old flag proudly waving, both require that common denominator of wind in order to perform their duties. I’ve always thought weathered and worn adds character to pretty much anything. Weathered and worn tells stories.
This morning I ran across the Mother of all Windchimes -they’re called Corinthian Bells. I can’t afford them, but if I ever can you can bet I’ll have a set. Aside from the beautiful music of a harp – I’ve never heard anything quite as lovely. Thought I’d share one more video (not mine) showcasing this beautiful set – it’s so sweet. The end of this video made it an instant favorite of mine… and who couldn’t use a little more sweetness in their day?
I was raised living with both my Mother and Grandmother (Mammaw), to whom I give credit for many ‘old-school’ morals I had instilled. Looking back now, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Born in 1917, she rose in the era of the Great Depression – a gentle, vibrant and curious child number five out of an eventual ten. Of her nine sisters and brothers, Marjorie McCorkle was the only child who was not assigned a middle name. At the very least, these odds alone might deliver a hefty blow to one’s own self-worth. The others were all given distinguished middle names, such as Coolidge, Fletcher, Louise and Gleason – so it still behooves me as to why her parents would choose to let one child go without that very important integer in their life.
I overheard the story several times throughout my childhood. “It must not have been important at the time. All the other children were given a middle name – except for me.” Whenever she talked about it, she always smiled – but I knew that smile all too well. Marjorie had become a master of hiding any hurt behind that beautiful smile of hers.
The meaning of the name Marjorie is ‘Pearl’ – I found the description to coincide as closely with her persona as it did the effect she had on people. It is a strong and elegant name, one of empowering status. It may be pronounced the English way by way of MAARJHeriy (to sound like a ‘zh’ instead of a ‘j’). I wish I’d known the meaning of Marjorie before now, as she would have had some damn nice pearls. What is it they say about hindsight again?
It interested me to learn of some famous personalities who were born in 1917: Zsa Zsa Gabor, Desi Arnaz, Nat King Cole, Dean Martin, Lena Horne, Richard Boone, Phyllis Diller, Joan Fontaine, Robert Mitchum, Susan Hayward and Jane Wyman. At this very moment I can almost sense her reply, “I’ll bet they all had middle names.” And you know, she was probably right.
In pondering the subject, perhaps for too long – I have decided to give my dear grandmother an honorary middle name. I ended up with two full legal pad pages of names. My final choice was not taken lightly, nor was it made quickly.
From beginning to end the name Elizabeth refused to leave my head. At some point during my childhood, I remember her telling me she did love that name – perhaps would have even picked it for herself. In biblical times, Elizabeth was John the Baptist’s Mother. The name Elizabeth is from a Greek translation of the Hebrew name Elisheva, meaning “God’s promise”, “oath of God”, or “God’s daughter”. Elizabeth has always been a widely used English name, of which my grandmother was of Irish-English ancestry. It makes perfect sense for her to have been given an English first and middle name, whilst carrying the Irish surname – eventually changing back to English once she was married. How I do love things that make sense; there are so very few in the world that do.
It may be 95 years late, dear Marjorie – but do know that you were extremely worthy in all aspects. This albeit ‘honorary’ bestowal comes with much love and adoration from your ‘bunny rabbit’ who misses you still, every day.
Until that fabulous day when we meet again, Marjorie ‘Elizabeth’ McCorkle Jones. And guess what, Mammaw? It’s got a real nice ring to it…
Today is Betty White’s 90th birthday – so here’s a big ole’ shoutout to one of the funniest ladies ever. I heart Betty White. I mean I really-really BIG ole’ heart Betty White. Why? For a whole truckload of reasons, really… the main one being that she’s always reminded me so much of my own Mammaw.
Betty and my Mammaw share the same birthday. Betty was born on January 17, 1922; Mammaw on January 17, 1917 – both children of the great depression under very different circumstances. Betty had originally aspired to become a writer, until she wrote and played the lead in a graduation play at school where she discovered her interest in acting. She has always had the unique ability to sustain grace, class and elegance while showcasing her superior wit, charm, and sense of humor.
Marjorie McCorkle Jones not only possessed that graceful and elegant forte, raised to appreciate the finer things though her life had many struggles – she had an extraordinary sense of humor. She could light a dark room up with her smile and laughter. One day, she’d hop like a bunny across the floor for me – the next, chase my bully off across the school parking lot (if you’ve never seen a bulging pre-teen boy running from a white-haired lady hauling ass out of a yellow Ford Pinto, I highly recommend you do). My Mammaw was a good Christian lady who always knew her place and loved the Lord dearly – but like Betty, she hadn’t a single inhibition of the occasional curse word passing her lips when so warranted. She loved to laugh more than any person I’ve ever known, lest I include myself.
Through the years I’ve followed Betty’s career, I’ve found the two personalities to so closely mimic each other that I could actually imagine a scenario of Betty and Mammaw being best friends back in the day. Her and a group of her girls skipping a day of high school together as they swung from vines underneath an old one-lane bridge on Old Dowd Road – where one eventually fell, broke her arm and brought the fun to a screeching halt. True story. Minus the Betty White scenario.
For the above and many more reasons, I’ve officially added Betty to my I’d love to Spend 24 Hours With… list. To hang out with this chick for a whole day would be a much-needed blast. In my book, she’d be right up there with Ellen.
So… Happy 90th, Miss Betty White Ludden. And Happy 95th to you up there in Heaven, dear Mammaw – if the earth numbers even matter now. Big hugs and kisses, from your bunny rabbit. 🙂