Today has been an odd one for me. I feel more like a shell of myself, than myself. A phone conversation last night drove home some conclusions that I knew were really there, but I wanted to deny...have denied their existence for so long. A few things also occurred to me that if true (and I believe they are) then I don't have the luxury of living in denial anymore. There's no cloudiness in the crystal ball, no smoke to hide in, and no benefit of doubt from which to feed hope.
It seems the very quality that makes me a survivor is also the quality that hurts me the most in the end...and that would be my unwillingness to quit, throw in the towel, fold my cards, i.e. give up. When life has told you, "this ride is over...you must give up this life and all things connected", you resist. Okay, you will give up the big things, and it hurts...but you hang on to a few chips -- with the thought that it will be enough to keep you in the game until such time you can return to where you were before the robbing. Precious seeds for your future garden, even though the odds are horribly stacked against you.
The only problem with this is that you've lost your momentum, your forward steam. And this is like a progressive disease where once the system is compromised, you can never fully recover. Each little piece of your former life/self that you've managed to save eventually becomes infected, and you are unable to stop the degeneration. It's like swimming against a riptide. As hard as you swim to stay even, you watch the landscape pass by, and you slip farther and farther away.
So when do you quit struggling, let go, and just let the tide take you where it will? At what point do you say, "I simply cannot play anymore. I'm out of chips." (?)
So now over the next weeks to come, instead of dreaming up ways I can ramp up on my game plan, I will begin the dismantling of the little stash of good things I held on to, and one by one, I will send them down the road. This is very humbling and somewhat numbing, and I will have a new brand of loneliness to deal with. Saying goodbye is so sad at times. Saying goodbye to people, places, and things. And saying goodbye to long-held dreams. That's the worst for me. I don't really know where the tide is going to take me, because I have no new dreams at this point, but I know now that I can never go back, I'm fighting for nothing, and I'm finally, finally letting go.
I guess you could call this the ultimate in re-gifting. My sister called early in the week and said "I was just at Mom's, to double check things because they are showing the house again this weekend. I know we've already taken the keepsakes we wanted, but every time I go by there I see something else. I found something I think you'd like to have. If you're going to be home Sunday afternoon I will bring it by."
She just brought it by. When I first looked at it I said, "Oh how pretty", (but why would a watercolor painting of a barrel of daisies be something I'd want? It's not really my style). It was pretty, though. I think my sister saw the momentary confusion on my face because she took her finger and pointed to the artist's name down in the corner. It was me.
Looking at the picture again, I slowly began to recognize each petal, stem and leaf. Thirty-two years ago I had painted this for my mother (because it WAS her style) and had given it to her for Mother's Day. Mom, through my sister's loving heart, has given it back to me for Mother's Day.
Happy Mother's Day to all.
...by Purplesque. The meme-- to summarize your life in a six word memoir, with optional photo illustration. Then, tag six others. (No promises on tagging anyone, but I like these games.)
Here's mine:
"It was fun while it lasted."
What personality trait has gotten you in the most trouble?
That's an easy one. Trust.
I've been busier'n a cat coverin' up shit the last couple of weeks. I plan to catch up to my Vox neighbors' news soon. (probably tonight) Didn't want y'all to think I wasn't on the green side of earth anymore. I've finally booked my ticket for my yearly Mecca to NY-Maine-Ontario in July. I get to see my dogs and Mr. U's dog perform against other 2-year-olds in the U.S. and Canada. I will also be hangin' out with Mr. U while I'm up there. If I'm lucky, I'll get treated to dinner on the St. Lawrence River. Looking forward to the trip.
Okay, so....anybody know how to lose 40 pounds in 8 weeks? No? Oh well.
Today was my sons' father's birthday. He ws born on Easter Sunday. If he were still living he would have been 54 years old today. His birthdays may have stopped in 1995, but our love for him lives on, and he remains in our thoughts and words.
Warren Tabor Johnson was a brilliant man. He was self-taught in many areas of tooling, electronics (before it became popular) higher mathematics...he was an inventor of sorts as well. I would have put him up against any college-degreed engineer. Warren had more common sense in his pinky finger than most anyone I ever knew. He loved us, and took his responsibilities as a father/husband seriously. He provided and we wanted for nothing. We were hardly wealthy, but we were healthy enough to buy good things when we bought them. He was uncompromising when it came to quality. Even our dog had the best doghouse known to man at the time...shingled and sturdy enough to withstand a tornado, lol.
My kids will have their own tributes to their Dad, but one thing that I'll always remember was the way he supported me in anything I wanted to do, (except work when the kids were little -- he wanted me home with them). But, even so, if I expressed an interest in photography, he bought me the best camera available, the accessories, and several instructional books. I mentioned one time that I wished I had learned to play piano as a child, and one day there was an upright piano delivered to the house. He knew I loved music, and he provided me with a Sony Stereo for my 30th birthday, and the first CDs to ever hit the market. When I was collecting the dolls, he bought me the sewing machine I still use to this day, and he encouraged me to take the correspondence course to get my official 'Doll Doctor's License."
I don't think he was wonderful because he "bought me things." I think he was wonderful because he didn't want me to become stagnant in motherhood. He respected me as a living, thinking person...and he forgave a lot of bad cooking as I was developing my culinary prowess ;-)
Warren had the dryest sense of humor, and used some of the funniest expressions I've heard to date. He was stone-cold serious, but hilarious at the same time. There wasn't a lazy bone in his body, and there was nothing he couldn't figure out. I still miss him, and I wish I could tell him I'm sorry for any time I might have given him the impression that I didn't appreciate him. Sometimes I talk to him and ask him what I should do about this, that, or the other. He would have been proud of my magazine. I know it.
So, I didn't want this day to end without him being remembered. He was one of a kind, there'll never be another one like him, and I at least have the gift of still seeing him so very strongly in both of my sons...their mannerisms, brains, looks, and their loving hearts. Thank you Warren, for two of the greatest gifts one person could ever give another. We love ya.
The rules:
- Each player starts with 8 random facts/habits about themselves.
- People who are tagged, write a blog post about their own 8 random things, and post these rules.
- At the end of your post you need to tag 8 people and include their names.
- Don’t forget to leave them a comment on their blog and tell them they’ve been tagged, and to come back and read your blog for the whole story.
I've been tagged so here are mine:
1. I'd never tasted cottage cheese until the age of 23, and I can balance an egg on the countertop. (that's 2 things but it's both food-related so no foul, lol.):
2. As a young adult I played semi-pro volleyball right after highschool. (Back then there wasn't much volleyball promoted -- most highschools didn't even have a volleyball program, but ours did. I started playing with the Parks Dept at age 9. The teenage boys wanted me off the court but the Center Director made them let me play. So, they were rough -- slam-spiking the ball at me and other things to discourage me. Being the brat I was, I just got tougher, developed a wicked overhand serve, and by the second year I was usually second or third pick when forming teams.
3. I'm a fairly good seamstress. Although I took Home Ec in 8th grade, I was too much of a Tomboy and never got the hang of sewing. This disappointed my mother a little bit because she was an excellent seamstress. It wasn't until after my second child was born and I started collecting dolls that I learned to cut my own patterns and sew clothing for the dolls that didn't have any. Some of the dolls were very small, and cutting/sewing those tiny, ruffled, inset sleeves were a feat unto its own. I apologize for the poor quality of the pics. These are scans of photos from before digital cameras were out:
4. I used to have naturally straight hair. When I donated my uterus and associated parts to science at age 40, it became the very curly mess I have now.
The rocking chair I'm sitting in is one I picked up at a garage sale when I was 18. After the first divorce when I had to move back home for a few weeks, I left it with my mother. 31 years later (when Mom passed away) I went to her house and retrieved the chair. It's in my living room now.
5. I can put five 12-gauge slugs inside a 4-inch circle at 65 yards (with no scope).
6. I never set foot into a bar until I was 36-years old. (then I made up for lost time)
7. The ring on the third finger of my right hand has been there since I was sixteen and has never been taken off - even during surgeries, etc.
8. I can drive cars, motorcycles, fork trucks, boats, snowmobiles, 4-wheelers, jet skis, ride horses, and fly small airplanes. (no, I do not have my pilot's license...)
I haven't tagged anyone yet.
What's holding you back from your dream job?
Submitted by Question of the Day.
A non-compete clause that expires in 11 months.
The only SUIT I have is cobwebs. *giggles*
This one is prompted by EmJay's Why? post. *waves to EmJay!*
My 52-year-old ass listens to music in the car (or anywhere else, when I can get away with it) as loud as I can stand without rattling the rear-view mirror off its base. I was raised around rock bands, and my son is a drummer for one, so besides being a music junkie, it seems only natural to me to crank it up loud enough to hear the squeaks of fingers on the frets and the vacuum of the high hat.
This is one of those things I sometimes fail to appreciate about my life right now, as I stay work-tired and still broke most of the time. Little things go unappreciated that shouldn't go unappreciated. Sometimes the good little freedoms squeezed in between the big scary must-dos are all we have, so we must acknowledge them and take delight. I wasn't always able to do this -- listen to music in my fashion in the car. Any of the four times I was married (*crosses self*) I had to listen to what my partner could tolerate...at the level he could tolerate...or suffer wrath and loathing I liken to that of a freshly-bathed cat:
"JEEEZus CHRIST, turn that down!!! Don't you have any Reba?"
*sighed* I need to stay connected, but methinks I'm out of time with most of my peers.
So now I can listen to whatever I want, whenever I want, as loudly as I want.
I like to make these hokey little music videos from time to time, so I have scads and scads of candid video, gigs of raw video, of which I may later only use a few seconds of each for a finished project. Before the cropping, muting, splicing, frame-by-frame editing, transition inserts, special effects, and the final song overlay, the raw clips are pretty much like this -- me going down the road, single, and doin' my thang.
Speakers on if you dare to take a 3-minute ride with me. (This video makes one wonder how I keep my eyes on the road to drive, lol.) I hope nobody trying to watch this is on dial-up, 'cuz I have high-speed cable and it was a mufucka to upload:
