I’ve wanted to write something for a few weeks now but every time I start, I back up and delete it. Perhaps it’s because I’m so unsure of myself at the moment – or that yet another dismal post will disappoint my gentle readers. This post will likely be all over the place, for that I apologize. I must get past whatever it is I’m feeling and just write though… because I need to.
January was a topsy-turvy month to say the least, but the busy details of my move kept my otherwise scattered brain very occupied. The US Post Office took it upon their selves to forward my mail a month early, even though the forwarding order had a start date of February 8th. Three weeks worth of mail is now who knows where, and believe me I’ve called everywhere about it. I also had to find a living room suit, as I had ditched mine previously.
I guess I’m still in shock. There’s a bit of anger deep down in there too, but right now just mostly shock. This not being my first time, I understand the many levels of emotions you go through when it comes to breakups – at least that should make things easier. This morning in the grocery store checkout, the cashier asks me “So who are you pulling for in the Superbowl today?” For whatever reason I had to fight a flood of tears back. I paused for what seemed like a minute, and stumbled to him, “I’m neutral on this one, to me it doesn’t really matter.” And it doesn’t. But what an inopportune moment for tears.
It’s gonna be okay. I just need to type that, to read it, to believe it, because it will be. Five days from now, I’ll stand… once again.
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.
I too, at times, have felt a great hate for those that have taken so much, with no sorrow for what they do.
But hate wears you down, and does not hurt your enemy. It is like taking poison and wishing your enemy would die. I have struggled with these feelings many times.” He continued, “It is as if there are two wolves inside me. One is good and does no harm. He lives in harmony with all around him, and does not take offense when no offense was intended. He will only fight when it is right to do so, and in the right way.
But the other wolf, ah! He is full of anger. The littlest thing will set him into a fit of temper. He fights everyone, all the time, for no reason. He cannot think because his anger and hate are so great. It is a helpless anger, for his anger will change nothing.
Sometimes, it is hard to live with these two wolves inside me, for both of them try to dominate my spirit.”
The boy looked intently into his Grandfather’s eyes and asked, “Which one wins, Grandfather?”
The Grandfather smiled and quietly said, “The one I feed.”
I got to fly again last night, although it was not my preferred method of flight. I wait patiently for the two (sometimes three) instances a year in which a dream allows me to take flight. Each time this most exhilarating opportunity is presented to me I will fly all on my own, in a manner that transcends light years beyond extraordinary. I glide much like a bird, very high-up where it is quiet and peaceful. Despite my severe acrophobia, I am never ever afraid.
Last night’s flight was anything but peaceful or serene. It all started at a place where I was having a dinner party with people I don’t know. Though it was a very elegantly catered dinner, expensive platters and other items were breaking so I was busy trying to repair them with super-glue. After dinner, we all moved out onto the balcony overlooking a beautiful scenic view that much resembled the oceanside of Greece. Above the sea, several small-engine planes were flying high and performing very daring maneuvers. I was told that momentarily I was to ride ‘back home’ in one of these planes, apparently having no say in the matter. I watched on as the planes repeated their risky antics, and remember asking someone at least twice if my designated plane would still have enough gas afterward to complete the return trip back.
I strapped in tight with shoulder harnesses, seat belts and the like, and much to my surprise I found my faithful man sitting beside me – I was no longer alone. The small plane took off like a bolt of lightning and immediately commenced into the daring moves I had witnessed previously. Unaware that my heart had stopped, the seemingly fearless pilot made a complete nose-dive towards the sea, only to pull up at the last moment. He then inverted and carried us for what seemed like ten minutes, for which I kept my eyes closed. Flipping over, and over again and then again, he picked a building on dry land as his next target. The absolute last second before impact, he pulled up – we found ourselves flying straight up at a 90 degree angle. All during this terrifying ride I could physically feel my stomach drop, my head pound, and the gravity pull me when inverted. I was completely helpless and ode to this crazy pilot on a death mission who seemed quite intent on taking us along for the ride down.
In the past I’ve had much success with ending an undesirable dream. I’ve also learned that if I’m unable to end it, I can at least change it’s direction. This wasn’t the case last night. In my lifetime I’ve heard many people say you don’t feel pain in your dreams. Maybe some people don’t – but even as a child I’ve always felt pain in mine. In fact, any physical sensation that can be felt in reality can be felt in my dreams. Pain is just my least favorable one.
Risky. Out of control. Careless.
Dear Dreams: I’ll man my own flight next time, thanks.
How hot was it this weekend? It was so hot that the Jehovah’s Witnesses decided to make phone calls in lieu of visits. (Hey, it’s a joke. Be easy on me, I’ve got at least two for every religion.) In all seriousness, this heat has been one for the records. Unless I’m near a large body of water you won’t find me outside in it.
I received a super-sweet nomination for a ‘Very Inspiring Blogger Award’ from sued51too. Although I don’t really ‘do’ the awards, I’d definitely like to express my humble appreciation for this and urge you to visit her blog http://sued51too.wordpress.com. She writes very inspiring and meaningful posts which I enjoy immensely and I think you will too.
Today is a monumental day for my
sweet girl sidekick automobile. My little baby car will turn over to 100,000 miles today on the ride home from work. Know that I WILL be pulling over at 99,999. It’s just something I’ve gotta do.
No, it doesn’t take much to entertain the old Bon… not much at all. I think I’ve mentioned before that I have a personal ummm, bond with my car. Those who know me understand, and I’ll leave it at that.
You know that 2-tire blowout Keith had last week? While en route to get fireworks last night, it was crudely brought to our attention that little incident did more damage than we originally thought.
Cruising down Highway 321 in Clover, SC – a large kathump happened on the passenger (my) side of the car and the brakes completely locked up. We went SCRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR for 200 feet or so while Keith struggled to maintain the wheel, making a split-second decision to take an opportunistic pull-off into a closed service station. He narrowly missed smashing into a big green dumpster before coming to a stop with the ass-end of the car still hanging out in the street. Neither of us said a word while it was happening, but once stopped we both cried out “what the f*ck!?!” in unison. What is it they say again about finishing each other’s sentences?
If you’ve ever wondered (raising my hand) what happens when you pop a ball joint from an axle… well, it looks something like this.
So much for that brand new
set of four three tires and rims.
Reckon’ we gotta scratch that last-minute fireworks run, honey. Looks like them there wheels don’t roll end over end after awl!! Hell, maybe if we climb up on the roof o’ the house later we can enjoy some of those mortars our neighbors bawt…
Silver linings are everywhere to be found. There was no 105 degree weather, the rain had stopped an hour prior, and Keith wasn’t going the usual 65-70 mph down the interstate on his way home from work. We are safe, we are blessed – and God is good.
Last weekend we took a day-trip back up to the town of Blowing Rock, NC. With the majestic Blue Ridge Mountain scenic views, the town shops and our favorite barbecue restaurant, it tops our list of favorites. We had never actually been on the Blowing Rock, so we paid admission to see what it was all about.
I admired this little bird who chose to sit atop the Blowing Rock.
This little girl beside me looked lonely. 🙂
I’ve always loved a good legend. Something about them always connects me back to my childhood, where things could instantly turn magical and mystical. This, to me, is one of those tales that takes me back to that time.
It is said that a Chickasaw chieftan, fearful of a white man’s admiration for his lovely daughter, journeyed far from the plains to bring her to The Blowing Rock and the care of a squaw mother. One day the maiden, daydreaming on the craggy cliff, spied a Cherokee brave wandering in the wilderness far below and playfully shot an arrow in his direction. The flirtation worked because soon he appeared before her wigwam, courted her with songs of his land and they became lovers, wandering the pathless woodlands and along the crystal streams.
One day a strange reddening of the sky brought the brave and the maiden to The Blowing Rock. To him it was a sign of trouble commanding his return to his tribe in the plains. With the maiden’s entreaties not to leave her, the brave, torn by conflict of duty and heart, leaped from The Rock into the wilderness far below. The grief-stricken maiden prayed daily to the Great Spirit until one evening with a reddening sky, a gust of wind blew her lover back onto The Rock and into her arms. From that day a perpetual wind has blown up onto The Rock from the valley below. For people of other days, at least, this was explanation enough for The Blowing Rock’s mysterious winds causing even the snow to fall upside down.
I’ve got my own handsome Cherokee brave. 🙂
I have a lot of pet peeves, probably even more than the average person. After my experience going home yesterday, thought I’d touch on just one.
Anyone who knows me knows I have the utmost respect for a good motorcycle driver. I’m always on the lookout for that one headlight and allow extra following room when behind one. However… I hate those crotch-rocket motorcycles with drivers who are on a suicide mission. I literally cringe when I hear the high-pitched ‘niiiii-niiiii’ of one – I liken it to the whine of a bitching kid. You’ll never go fast enough to please them, they simply have to be in front of you. Cops can’t catch them, and engaging in a high-speed chase isn’t worth the danger to others anyway.
One of the disadvantages of living off a long country road are these underground groups who congregate their whining little bikes and drag race. The act of drag racing changes everything – from putting their own lives in danger to inserting you and I into the mix. That’s my ultimate peeve about the assholes that choose to drive like this, the total lack of respect for others lives.
The long road I was on yesterday maintains an unspoken rule of going 5-10 mph over an already generous speed limit. I’ll go a step further to say I rarely have anyone on my bumper, if you know what I mean. In an instant, two unmistakable whines mysteriously appeared behind me. Just as the dotted line ended (did you expect anything less?) the helmet-less crotchers wizzed by doing at least 100. As they both reached the top of the hill to pass the car in front of me (seriously guys, I can’t make this shit up) the guy in the back ducked.
He DUCKED. Like that’s gonna help him out of a lethal situation. He should know that with this kind of ‘driving’, someone will eventually have the not-so-pleasant task of scraping his brains off the asphalt. I wonder how much that person gets paid? Think I’ll pass on sending in a resume for that position.
Word. There’s a time and place for everything. I like my life, and I want to keep it. If you want to
risk play roulette off yourself, have at it – but know that you’re an unspeakable piece of shit if you take my life while doing so. Hey, somebody had to say it.
I’m so pissed off as I’m writing this that after I finish I may choose to not even post it at all. At the least this will be a raw and jump-all-over-the-place post. The question lingering in my head is, how can someone choose to abandon their animal? What god-given right do they think they have to consider these defenseless beings disposable?
In the small neighborhood where I live, we know each and every dog that ‘runs around’ (yes, there is a leash law but not really enforced) and know that each one indeed has a home. Three days ago, a white adult male Boxer showed up at the house next door. He will not leave the area, and has even made a huge bed of yard brush in the back yard of the house we think he was abandoned at. Our street is but a cul-desac consisting of four houses. The house two doors down was foreclosed on a few months ago, so the bank sent a contracted group of cleaners and yard personnel to get the house ‘ready’. It was approximately an hour after the hired personnel departed from their second visit out that the collared AB (abandoned boxer) showed up.
He appears to be a senior dog who’s non-aggressive, but he won’t come to anyone. I later gathered he is deaf since he didn’t pass my hearing test of several loud noises when he wandered in our front yard. Once he notices me by arm signalling, he always slowly turns around and walks back to his ‘house’. He will wander a short distance throughout the four homes on our cul-de-sac, but always returns to the spot where he was abandoned. It doesn’t take a damn rocket scientist to figure out what happened.
He’s waiting on his family to come back for him.
Yesterday I contacted the SPCA (humane society) who gave instructions to call the pound. I am not calling a kill shelter on this animal, it’s not his fault his family doesn’t want him anymore. Today I’ve spent hours attempting to reach boxer rescue organizations in the area. Though I’ve found a handful, half won’t consider a stray, another is full, most want to be contacted via email, and I’ve left messages with the two others. It appears that Sunday is not the optimal day to reach anyone.
I live in Gaston County on the North/South Carolina border – if anyone has any suggestions as to other contacts, I’d sure be open to them. Other than that I’ll just wait and hope I get a returned call back tomorrow at work.
I’ve always been concerned with how people perceive me, more than I ever should be. I’m not talking about outer appearances – mostly I mean seeking approval from others which is impossible half the time anyway. I continually watch what I say, how it may be taken, and a truckload of other crap that I shouldn’t even bother with. I’m well aware this trait is a complete waste of time and energy, but it’s a curse that I’ve never been able to completely harness. Maybe someday.
Acts of kindness, compassion and generosity which are shown at ‘less than favorable’ times in your life can and should be seen as a huge blessing. Things such as receiving a sympathy card when a loved one has passed away, being brought a prepared dish that someone made just for you – even a personal phone call can be equally as significant. In this day and age, if someone thinks enough of you to pick up the phone and call you – you’re special. Know that you actually have meaning and worth to them.
Each and every act of kindness and concern I was shown during the past few weeks humbled me. It was, in fact, overwhelmingly humbling. If knowing that people are thinking kind thoughts about you isn’t humbling to us as an individual, then I’d be stumped as to what is. It’s just that black and white to me.
My dear mother called me a couple times each day, so worried. Even now, I so wish I could have kept that worry from her. My dad and daughter were very concerned. Keith’s sweet sister called me every day, too. Keith was, of course, an invaluable help with everything. I received many phone calls, visits, texts and emails from various friends, family, neighbors, coworkers and blogging buddies. Another coworker had chocolate strawberries shipped to my house. The day I came back to work, three pressmen in our shop had bought flowers and had a sign sitting on my desk welcoming me back.
Humbling, I tell you. Looking back on it brings tears to my eyes just writing about it. So I got to thinking… maybe I really should try harder not to worry about what people think of me. I feel the love.
Never have I felt so introverted and withdrawn from my old life, from day-to-day society even. It’s not a good feeling. When this is allowed to continue for a few weeks, a person can start feeling less than whole. What feels like a month or more to me actually has been, as all the pre-op jitters I had beforehand had really started to get to me. For at least a week and a half before surgery I could barely eat. I skipped breakfast and lunch at work, and the few bites I ate for dinner were forced in a subconscious effort to keep myself going. I go back to work on Monday. What seems to have lasted a month has actually been a record two weeks. I’m eager to get back to work, which in essence is a huge part of my ‘normal life’. So for now I’m back… at least in written form. As of today I have 264 unread emails. I’ve really missed reading everyone’s thoughts and posting every now and then.
Of course me being me, the surgery couldn’t go off without a hitch or two. The night and day afterwards my blood pressure dropped to an alarming rate. Each time a ‘team’ of about 8-10 people rushed in, which can totally make a person forget how bound up their bowels are. In all seriousness, it brought back memories of my late grandmother and uncle, who had that same type of team rush in as their own BP plummeted. There was a concern of fluid on my lungs and/or a heart problem, so various tests were ordered including x-rays, labwork and an EKG (I was actually grateful to get the EKG since it’s been about ten years since my last one). With the exception of a high white cell count, the tests came out fine. Come to find out later, either the buildup of medicines I’m on for high blood pressure, the administration of morphine, or possibly a combination of the two was the culprit for the BP nosedives. For the duration of the next week I was kept off my BP meds. Two days after I was released, the nausea set in – of course this came after I bragged about being one of the women who didn’t get sick. Along with the post-surgery pain, I knew my fluid buildup was becoming a serious issue. My ankles looked like thighs and my feet resembled pillows – it was literally cracking my skin on the top of my feet I was so swelled. I couldn’t breathe well or even take in more than a shallow breath. On my second trip back to the doctor that week, I was told ‘Oh yes! You need to resume taking your BP meds immediately!’. I provided a gentle reminder that on Monday I’d been told to hold off on all BP meds until further instructed – Keith was sitting beside me in the exam room and remembers this very well. Bottom line, I was off the meds I urgently needed for nearly a damn week. Pardon my uber-long, exasperated sigh.
That Saturday, one day after I started back on my normal BP med regimen, almost all of the fluid was gone and I could breathe easily again. I don’t even want to even consider what being off of them for another day or two might’ve done to me (the word stroke does come to mind). If I’d ever doubted before how important those medicines are to me I never will again. They are literally my lifeline, and it’s scary to contemplate any natural disaster or other happening mandating my existence without them. Millions of people with different healthcare scenarios are in the same situation, having to depend on prescription medicines for their very existence. It’s yet another stark reminder of the healthcare crisis we’re dealing with in America, as so many individuals are having to do without or not getting the care or medicines they need in order to survive. Just thinking about it boggles my mind. I know that I’m one of the lucky ones, for now at least.
That time has come. I have to be at the hospital at 0530 tomorrow for surgery at 0730. For the past week and a half the sheer apprehension of it has all but taken it’s toll. I’m anxious to have this behind me and get back to my life… a life where I can actually eat a full meal, the food tastes delicious and my stomach isn’t tied up in a knot.
Peace out and talk to ya soon.
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’.”
It’s been a while since I’ve written a complete BS post, so I figure I’m about due. Forgive me in advance for my rambling.
My new boy Mojo has been keeping me busy. When I get home in the afternoon, my time belongs to him – I often don’t start dinner until Keith gets home (sometimes not even then). I’m completely okay with this. There’s always an adjustment period for any new member of your family, as well as for you. The time he mandates is so worth it and he’s such a sweet boy. I’m ever so glad he found me. 🙂
In a little over a week I’ll be having surgery (a word I don’t much care for). Anyway, I made the decision to have a hysterectomy. I’m not one who feels the need to keep female ‘things’ hush, so I’m not embarrassed to talk about the type of surgery it is. What I will say is I’m silently terrified at the concept. I hate that it’s turning into this, and I’m trying real hard to hide it from most people. The closer it gets, the more I’m thinking about it – my stomach is torn up and burning and I’m a nervous wreck. I know everything will be okay and my doctor is great, but this old mind just won’t let it go and it’s just consuming my thought process. Wish I could just fast-forward to recovery and all these pre-op worries would be gone. I have several friends who have gone through it and they tell me it’s nothing. I trust when they tell me this, and can only hope I am as strong as they are. I guess I don’t have any choice – I’ll just have to be.
My big beef is having to be out of work for a couple of weeks – and I would never have agreed to it if it were the formerly mandated six weeks. Now it’s actually four, but in my line of work I’m told I should be able to return in two. Apart from family, my job is everything to me. It’s the reason I eat, drive, and have a warm bed to sleep in. Additionally, it’s something I respect and will never take for granted. If you’ve ever been screwed over by an employer of long tenure and are lucky enough to find something a hundredfold better, a place that actually appreciates you back – you won’t wish to be out. To me it’s about surrendering this huge part of my life, of my familiarity. Might sound corny, but that’s just how it is. Even contemplating being out of work gets me emotional and I’m not a big fan of emotional. Maybe I need to try some yoga.
As most of you know, I have a new ‘son’ – Mr. Mojo Risin. He was unusually nervous on the way to get groomed for the first time today. Although the little man was afraid, he trusted his new Mommy implicitly. In fact, everything seemed more than okay – as long as we were Together.
When is the right time to bring up a subject that means everything to you? Is there ever really an optimal moment? Perhaps it’s an instance when you’ve both had an easy day, are feeling great, and possess an entirely open mind? I don’t think that perfect moment exists.
What the hey… my life is all but a damn open book anyway. There aren’t many secrets I actually have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m good at keeping secrets – just not my own.
That word – Marriage. I finally said it out loud.
But if you remember, I sure didn’t want to. I fought broaching the subject – with good reason. What can I say, except the timing just never seemed right. I couldn’t even fathom starting up the conversation, and resented being the starter anyway. What if the response was negative? Was I really prepared for that? So I waited. I put it off as long as I could, which wasn’t very smart. Hindsight strikes again.
Question of the Day: would you consider yourself honest if you admitted knowing your partner wanted to get married, but completely withheld the fact that you don’t? My own answer would be no, it’s far from being honest. Realizing communication is an integral part of any relationship, the fact that I didn’t want to communicate it in no way exonerates me from any blame. Fact is, I should have bit the bullet and said something a long time ago. So my bad there.
The phrases ‘I’m just not ready’ and a silent ‘five-year mark’ set for himself whenever he is ready are still ringing in my head from this weekend, I guess they will for a while. For the record, I consider both naturally-born cop-out statements. It would’ve been nice to know about this five-year mark, that’s assuming it even holds water. The last time I checked, I wasn’t growing any younger.
It’s neither how he feels nor his view on marriage that I have a problem with. The pill that’s hard to swallow is him admitting to know how I felt all this time while keeping his own agenda hidden. All the hints, writings (guess he really does read my blog, at least certain ones) and printed ideas were actually seen and heard – just never addressed. The ghost subject was always skirted and left to hang suspended in mid-air. Prior occasions, day trips and vacations continually evolved into me thinking “could this be it?” – each time ending in disappointment. I realize now he ultimately had no intention of addressing or even acknowledging the subject of marriage, much less doing the deed. It was simply never an option. This has killed a portion of me inside.
“Blessed is he who expects nothing… for he shall never be disappointed.”
**Note: I have closed comments off this post, guys – just needed to vent. Love to you all.
I found the little boy an hour after he was posted on the shelter’s website, and immediately called to inquire on him. I was told there was someone else also interested, but that the staff would put a ‘note’ out for him with my contact info signalling I was interested too. I know how this works and have done it before, many times. Realizing the shelter operates on a first-come first-serve basis, I literally ran up to my boss and asked if I could leave work an hour early, which he graciously obliged.
As I walked in the door, my heart sank – a large woman with another small dog in tow already had him in the acquainting room with her. I watched as she shooed him off with her foot and leg, and barked out commands which the little eleven-week puppy had yet to learn (she was also blissfully unaware of her loud voice bellowing into the corrider for everyone else to hear). I went to the front desk and spoke to the girls about ‘pup’, telling them I also had a note out on him. To my chagrin they informed me that Mean Lady™ was going to adopt him. Mean Lady™ had been there for hours waiting to adopt, but their computer system was down and they had to wait for it to come back up to complete the adoption. I verified once again that this was to be a sure thing, and they told me it was. As I walked toward the exit door, I noticed Mean Lady™ had her oversized leg and foot outstretched again towards the pup. I left the shelter in tears even though I’d never even met the little fella. I wondered just what kind of life he had in store for him.
That night at home I told Keith about my misadventure at the shelter and that Mean Lady™ was probably at home with her new pup by now. I pulled up the shelter’s website on the internet to show Keith his picture and immediately noticed he was still listed. They probably haven’t updated their database, I thought. I called them up anyway.
“Hello, my name is Bonnie Melton and…”
“Oh, Miss Melton, we were just about to call you!“
As it turned out, Mean Lady™ thought the pup would grow to be ‘too big for her needs’ (I’m thinking she knew she couldn’t kick around a larger dog). Just as well.
SCORE ONE FOR THE BON.
Meet Mr. Mojo Risin. That’s Mojo to his homies. I guess now I’ll be able to say with full confidence… I’ve got my mojo back.
NewMommy said we’re going HOME now. I like the word home… it sounds homey.
My new sissy. I like sissies, cuz’ they give good kisses.
See?? Told ya.
I think NewMommy needs some direction here…
What?? Who, me – pull?? Never.
The little eleven week-old border collie mix has stolen my heart from the very beginning. How someone could mistreat these little defenseless animals is beyond me. Here’s an added bonus… Mojo and Camille have the same color scheme going on! So does that mean I can say I have designer pets??
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?
That Saturday night after I ingested my second dose of castor oil, I thought it might finally be ‘time’. I was almost three weeks overdue, after all – her originally scheduled arrival was to be on or near my own birthday. The next bright and beautiful Sunday morning, I was holding the most precious bundle God could have ever entrusted me with. We named her Julia Christine.
I’ve never seen anyone love their birthday more than she does. I can still see her now at 3 and 4 years old, both palms facing up while shrugging those little shoulders, saying “tomorrow’s my birf-day!!” Even now, she literally starts planning birthday gatherings a couple of weeks ahead of time. She’s an expert at managing my side, her dad’s side, and her friends. 🙂
Where has the time gone? It sure didn’t take long for her to grow into a strong, independent, beautiful woman with a heart the size of Texas. She’s opinionated, witty, polite, and her kindness knows no bounds. I’m proud of her work ethic including everything she accomplished in school and college. I’d love another one like her, or even two… but I’ll remain happy with the one God bestowed me with and continue to be ever thankful.
Happy big 24, babygirl.
If I have to say it out loud, it’s going to change us. It’s something that’s been in open sight for a long time now. I’ve written, hinted, and black & white printed. How much this actually means to me is well-known… though still it goes ignored and unacknowledged.
Silence is not always golden.
If I have to say it out loud, it will become clear that my aspirations are one-sided. Because saying it out loud will abolish any real chance in experiencing the joy of that profound moment – the moment when I realize that I am wanted. Really wanted.
If I have to say it out loud, it could indeed serve to confirm my deepest and darkest fears. Fears such as I’m not the one, I’m not good enough, I’m not worth the risk – perhaps even that I’m not deserving of the life I’ve yearned for so long.
If I have to say it out loud, know that will forever change our dynamics. Once it’s done, it’s done. After it’s said, we can never go back to our old life as we knew it to be before…
I had to say it out loud.
~Life of Bon, 2012
Each in separate cars, Keith and I were on our way somewhere. As I drove behind him, all of a sudden he made a quick turn and disappeared from my sight. I immediately took note of the fact that my phone was not with me. Of course, I could still ‘see’ him worriedly dialing it over and over to no avail, not understanding why I didn’t answer. A mile or two further up the road I turned the car around, parked, got out and started walking back the direction I’d seen him last.
As I was walking, I happened upon a grocery cart. Not just any old grocery cart – one that I could push off with one foot and ride on down the sidewalk like a skateboard! This baby was slick as a whistle and was getting me places fast. That is, until I noticed I was skimming through what seemed to be a bad side of town – then it started skipping and giving problems. Suddenly passersby started throwing garbage at me and calling me homeless. Not a good feeling.
While still pushing the cart along I noticed a familiar face – a former schoolmate named Seth. I asked Seth if he’d seen Keith, to which he replied “Yeah, he’s over at DNA.” Now I had no idea where this DNA place was, but it didn’t appeal to me to find out. I turned around and began the trek back to my car.
I never located Keith.
By the time I reached my car I’d made the decision to take a little vacation all by myself. I somehow ended up with a reservation at what was to be a very large and swanky log cabin located in the mountains. I remember draining my savings to pay for myself 3 nights at this place for the sum total of exactly $2967.00 or $2963.00 (that last digit is foggy though I repeated it several times). I got there only to find I had to dig my way underground in a tunnel to actually reach my final destination. I used a huge outdoor umbrella and other objects to push the heavy dirt out of the way; it took a long time to dig my way there. When I finally arrived I was filthy, but gave the guy a check and went inside to check out my beautiful One-Grand-Per-Night posh quarters. I was appalled to find it resembled something like a concentration camp, with one huge darkened room containing 8-10 double beds; meaning I was bunking with others. The linens and curtains were yellowed and worn. No bath or shower was afforded, just one 4×4 room with a toilet. The other ‘guests’ seemed as appalled as I was, but for some reason were planning on fulfilling their stay.
I demanded a full refund, which I received after having to wait an hour for the guy to return from lunch. Meanwhile, my Mom met me ‘on the outside’ after I emerged from the tunneled hole (exiting was the same as entering, after all). I’d forgotten my luggage, and was despaired to find I would be forced to dig back through that long set of tunnels in order to gather my belongings. My Mom insisted on coming with me even though I’d advised her how hard the trip would be. And so, we began.
A kiss on the cheek awoke me from the dream. I was told to have a great day and that I was loved. Keith was leaving for work.
Because you know this is how I roll, here’s a few search results in my quest to find the meaning of this dream. I find that a few closely correspond with current events in my life… a few don’t.
- To see freshly stirred dirt in your dream symbolizes thriftiness and frugalness. Dirt is also representative of situations where you have been less than honorable and may have acted in a devious manner. You are trying to conceal or bury your questionable behavior.
- To dream that you are living underground signifies a loss of status and wealth and even the longing for a greater piece of mind and sanctuary. You may be placing these matters and thoughts into the subliminal part of your mind.
- Dreams that take place underground represent the dreamer’s need to explore feelings – possibly painful ones – that up until now they’ve kept hidden. Coming back up or emerging from underground in the dream suggests that the dreamer is ready to do this.
- To dream of being underground is associated with feeling the need to hide oneself from other people or situations. Such a dream is typically the result of great shame, guilt and low self-esteem. Something could be going on under the surface or a change in lifestyle may be indicated.
- To dream that you are digging, indicates that you are working to hard to uncover the truth in a problem that is haunting you. You may also be overly preoccupied with trying to find out about yourself, your reputation and your self-identity. Alternatively, the dream suggests that you are working on getting to the root of some issue. Or the dream could be a metaphor to imply an insult.
- In a nutshell, any type of dream where you find yourself underground shows that you have a prominent fear of losing control of your life and that you are worried about failure.