Holding Back

So close,
Yet you're not really there
Deep rift between us,
And I don't even care

Looking for escape,
To find a way out
Searching for something,
To obsess about

In the sound of his voice,
Comes a distant ringing
An alarm going off,
My intuition singing

Close my eyes then,
Follow the sound
Of a singing heart
Where peace has been found

Alone in the dark
I grasp for something to hold
A hand in the blackness,
Pulls me from the cold

Refuge is near,
If only I could see
The one holding back
Has always been me

Missing

Another sucessful Thankgiving under my belt. As I lounge in a turkey coma, I reflect on the many years I've spent this holiday with the ones I love. This is the first year that Grandma wasn't in the seat next to me at the dinner table. Her absence was obvious. No one pages through the Black Friday ads with me quite like Grandma did. Even when the sales were less than impressive, we always had good conversation over a glass of cranberry slush and a mound of newspaper.

This year I made the meal and although Grandma wasn't here to enjoy it, I know she would have been proud of me and showered me with endless compliments on my cooking. After dinner in years past, we would sit around a partially cleared dining room table, just the ladies, while the guys vegged out in front of the tv. We'd talk about everything and nothing at all, laughing at each other in spite of our full bellies.

Grandma was always the hub in the wheel that is my family. Without that hub, the wheel still turns, though quite more freely and with less direction. No one is quite used to life without that matriarchal pillar and holidays expose our confusion. As they say, change is inevitable, but it seems so out of place when it comes to tradition. The whole point of tradition is the constant practices we come to rely on with fondness. Loss of our loved ones tears at the fabric of our traditions, but the memories give us pieces to start something new.

From Grandma's love and adoration, I create a sense of togetherness with those I hold dear. That's really the best way for me to carry on our family traditions and her memory. I will still always miss the feeling of having her in that seat next to me at my mom's table... bumping elbows because she's left handed and I'm right, passing the mashed potatoes one too many times and in recent years, fixing her plate for her because the neoropathy made it hard for her to do it herself.

I didn't know for sure that 2012 would be our last holiday season together (although I suspected), but I remember taking very detailed mental pictures of so many things, as if they were my last chance to experience them.

Get out and shop... with turkey still stuck between your teeth!

I bet you thought this was going to be another one of those "Black-Friday-takes-over-Thankgiving" rants, right? Well, not exactly.

For the first time in many years, I'm actually not interested in Christmas shopping at all. Not even a little... which feels a bit strange. I view myself as a recovering (mild to moderate) shopaholic. First of all, I'm a female and for a good percentage of us, shopaholism runs in our DNA. Don't ask me how or why, because any argument I can come up with to support my theory sounds ridiculous. Just trust me on this one... girls love to shop.

The fact that I haven't been plotting my strategy for the biggest excuse to shop all year, is an achievement in itself, but knowing deep down that I don't even care -- now that's progress!

I blame this new found lack of interest on gratitude. You know the old quote... "Gratitude takes what we have and makes it enough" (or something to that effect)? It's amazing how well that works! Since practicing an attitude of gratitude, I've noticed just how much my daughter and I have. We both have enough clothes to avoid doing laundry for at least two weeks, (not that I've tested that theory). She has more toys that sit in her toy box, untouched, than I think I had throughout my entire childhood. The books are overflowing from the shelf and the stuffed animals have taken over my house. (They really have. Drive by on any given day and you're likely to see a couple sitting in the front window,  creepily watching you drive by.) My closet is stuffed to the gills with clothes and other crap that I don't seem to have a better place for. I keep telling myself that I need to get more organized,  but really, I need to stop aquiring shit!

Christmas has always been a great excuse to shop and the American economy loves to depend on our blind consumerism. I'm not here to try and talk anyone out of shopping on Thanksgivukkah or any time, for that matter. If that's what you want to do, go nuts. (Just please don't buy my kid any stupid plastic junk or Rainbow Loom bracelet makers. I will have to hurt you.)

Maybe some of us need to think about what we and our loved ones already have. I know I need to keep reminding myself to be thankful for what I already have, even if there's something better out there. There's always going to be something better. I think it's probably best that I save my upgrades for life circumstances, instead of electronics. I'd much rather be looking for ways to improve my life, than running up my credit card bill to aquire more shit that doesn't make me happy.

See, the thing about opinions is...

...society doesn't really think you're capable of changing them.

I kinda have a hard time putting how I feel about stuff in print. It's really a lot less of a hassle if I just think stuff and occasionally say it (to selected people), because... What if I change my mind? It happens all the time, actually. I have a new experience, someone brings some information to light that I didn't previously have, or I just decide to look at things from a different perspective. Once I put how I feel about a subject in writing, I have essentially locked myself into that point of view. It's much easier for people to use my opinions against me if they're in print. "See? It says so right here! You hate country music!"  If later on I decide that I feel differently (Highly unlikely with country music, but you never know.) and I want to change my opinion, there's all this red tape to deal with.

I find it interesting how people all around me are constantly trying to sway my opinions to favor theirs -- "Abortion is wrong! Jesus saves! Obama sucks! Guns kill! Team Edward!" -- but actually changing your stance on an issue is often viewed with skepticism. You're wishy-washy if you change your mind. People can't trust you because you can be easily swayed, blah, blah, blah. I find it's much less of a headache to have ideas and keep them to myself, if possible. Not that I'm opposed to giving my opinion when asked, but I've learned the hard way that even if it's not a permanent point of view, the score keepers certainly think so.

Blowing the dust off.

I was just discussing with a friend  how most of what I've written lately has been in the form of eulogies. It's sort of a bittersweet predicament to be in. The honor and appreciation I feel having known someone well enough to write about who they are and the life they lead, is a privilege. Losing that someone... well, that just sucks balls.

So anyway, that got me thinking about my writing (or lack thereof). I realized that I have some oldies that I could blow the dust off of and share, so here you go. I might even throw a eulogy in here at some point. 



This is a poem I wrote in 2006. It's scarily still quite relevant.

No Back-Up Plan

When love is lost to confusion

Resentment takes its place

The harsh reality of stress

Scores a little girls face

The one she always looked up to

Becomes the source of her grief

The sun has set on that time

Leaving her no sense of relief

Destruction all around her

There is no refuge she may seek

Alone with her own struggles

Pain always claws at the meek

Vulnerable and innocent

Alone she enters into humanity

To find nothing but grief

To feed her growing insanity

A lifetime of struggle

Had so long ago began

But it’s now that she sees

She has no back-up plan

This piece was also written in 2006. I suspect my motivation at the time was a job in Human Resources that I had at a school bus and motor coach company. I won't mention any names, but the school bus portion of that company has since gone under. *quiet applause*

Sorrow Tomorrow

Everyday I waste myself

This energy of creation and rebirth

Is subdued for something that returns nothing

No satisfaction, no reaction, do it all again

 

Tomorrow

And the next day, and the next

Looking for a couple days to rest

When I find myself again

Spend my time, rushing for pleasure

Healing the wounds that will be opened again

Tomorrow

And the next day, and the next

Numb what is really inside

Serve for a faceless end to the means

That gives me the things, I have no time to enjoy

Because I choose to be a victim of

Tomorrow

And the next day, and the next

Slave to a corporation

That doesn't know my name.

It owns my tomorrows

Because I trade. Them…for a check.

Okay, so this next one is making me blush, as I read it some 7 years after it was originally written. If I remember correctly, this was the prologue to the cheesy romance novel that I never quite got around to writing. It's probably a good thing that I never really started that book; however, it's clear that I still have a pretty active imagination for such things. ;-)

Warmth

I pressed my face close against the frosted window pain; the warmth of my breath, leaving a cloud of condensation beneath my nose. As I gazed into the outside world that I had left for so long, I felt his arms wrap strongly around my middle. His excitement was obvious, against my plump, bare bottom. Soft brushes of his lips and a day-old beard caressed the nape of my neck and the tip of my shoulder. A slight nibble sent shivers down my bare back and I squirmed inside the shelter of his tightly wrapped arms, turning at once to face my captor.

Without hesitation he drew his head close to mine and planted his full wet lips upon my slightly agape mouth. A warm rush filled my blood as his enormous tongue forced its way into my mouth, claiming the space as his own. I responded in a similar language, returning the trust with my own tongue, feeling the intricacies of teeth and mouth. A large hand, then another, slid from my waist, down to the crest of my bottom, cupping it with playful force. One quick pull and I was balancing on his waist, wrapping my moist thighs around his middle; his bulging muscles, my only grip against a warm back, dripping with sweat.

He continued to kiss me with strength and passion as I slowly slid downward to my final resting place upon his manhood. The thick sensation filled me at once, as I prepared to make him my own.

Whooo! That was hot!

This last piece (for now) is one I'm particularly delighted to find. I had forgotten about it and it makes me smile. I'm still trying to figure out how I knew, 16 weeks into a pregnancy where I didn't find out the gender of my baby until birth, that I would have a daughter? Maybe I later edited this... Jury is still out.

.

The Poor Things…
(an edited excerpt from my MySpace blog – dated November 3, 2006)

I understand that there are things that happen in this world that I can do nothing to change...but does that mean I should let those things bother me any less?

There seems to be this "death alley" area on a local road near my home. Everyday I drive through "death alley" on my way to and from work and everyday it seems there is something else dead on the ground. The dead usually consist of the ever-popular road kill candidates, possums and raccoons...but lately there's been cats, deer, bunnies and even trees that have been cut down to make way for a subdivision or some extra power lines or some such "progress". 

I guess the dead cats bother me the most. I've been a cat lover my whole life and it saddens me to see these poor helpless animals smashed to bits on the road. Is there anything I can do, aside from not running them over myself? I'm afraid not. 

What bothers me maybe even more than the fact that these animals are being killed, is the fact that they remain on the road for days and days after their demise. Maybe the road kill clean-up crew was the first to go with the county budget cuts, but it would be nice if someone could remove the poor things from the road...at least to spare the hearts of sensitive viewers such as myself.

I've often thought about what I'm going to tell my daughter someday when she asks me why dead animals are on the road in the first place and why no one picks them up and buries them in a nice cemetery somewhere. What do I say? Do I tell my child that animals' lives aren't as valuable as humans' lives and no one really cares about the dead raccoon that's been run over about 300 times, until all that's left is a streak of blackened road and a few tufts of fur?

Somehow I don't think I'll be able to desensitize her that way. But what will I say? How will I explain that the reason all these animals are running into the road in the first place is because we're destroying their homes to build condos and office buildings? All the noise and destruction from bulldozers and front-end loaders are scaring the poor animals away from their familiar habitat and into the path of speeding motorists. How do I explain this to my daughter without her wanting to just cry...cry for the animals?

Maybe I need to write a book about it. Does a children's book make a problem go away? No, but I guess it helps explain something to our children in a way that only a book with colorful pictures and characters can. So I guess that's the answer to my problem. Write a book about the things that piss me off and maybe then I'll feel better about it. 

Someday.


And I file that one right next to that trashy romance novel I'm still writing in my head! :-D

I guess I'm starting a blog...

I've talked about writing a blog since I knew they existed, yet it's taken me until the end of 2013 to actually do it. Why? I suspect laziness is probably a major factor, but I think I've never felt confident that anyone really cares what I have to say. We'll see if I'm right.

I was encouraged by a friend to do this... a friend who I am getting to know a great deal, through reading his blog. It's offered me a perspective into his life that I otherwise wouldn't have. At present, I think every blog post he has written is from before we met. His stories are deep, humorous and entertaining, as well as inspiring. Normally I would only have limited glimpses into those experiences, whenever he had cause to tell me about them, but because of his blog, I can read about them as if they occurred yesterday. How lucky am I?

So here I am... starting a blog. What have I got to say? My experiences as a mom of a little girl, a residential and commercial cleaner, a tattoo addict, former mechanic trainee and amateur writer and artist certainly give me plenty of material. I suppose it's time to start digging through my thoughts and articulating them into something worth reading. I'm not sure who will read this, but I suppose it doesn't matter. The art of putting the words together is therapy for me.