Roads Not Taken

Every day is an adventure, right? I took a road trip yesterday with no real destination in mind. I spend a lot of time driving, both personally and for work and I always see so many things that I want to stop and look at or take a picture of. That’s what yesterday was. I got in my car and drove; if I saw something I wanted to take a picture of I would do a quick U-turn and go back. (I made many U-turns yesterday!)

There appears to be a lot of serendipity involved in doing things like that, in the spontaneity—or maybe it’s just a lesson in taking things as they come.

My first U-turn happened when I passed an old tiki statue that was overgrown with weeds. It was in front of an old abandoned Chinese restaurant, and I pulled into the parking lot to take pictures. I love and hate abandoned buildings. There’s a certain beauty to them, yet the visible “what was” is sad. There was a large parking lot next to it with two other buildings on the same property. One of them was a house with a few cars in front and there were two guys working on a truck outside at the far end. Outside of making sure they weren’t going to come over and yell at me for trespassing, I didn’t pay much attention to them until a few minutes later when they drove up to me. The one driving (he never gave me his name) said his father (or father-in-law), Ed, wanted me to take a picture of him. I laughed, because I had misunderstood, thinking they were worried about him being in one of my pictures. So I took a picture of them. This is them (first, the tiki statue):

Poor Ed; immortalized in a girly blog.

I told them what I was doing, and while I was talking to them I had a thought that this was wonderful, this random conversation. Ed offered to take me inside the abandoned building so I could take pictures—I’ve always wanted to do that. At first, I actually almost said no, because I didn’t want to feel like I was bothering anyone. But I thought about it; he offered, it was something I’ve always wanted to do and the opportunity was handed to me! So Ed brought me inside to explore for little while, while the other gentleman went to get the bolt that they had both initially been leaving to get.

Ed pointed out a few suggestions for pictures and he gave me a little bit of the history of the place as we walked through. I honestly could have spent all day there, exploring. But I was still aware that he was busy. Before I left, we exchanged emails so I could send him the pictures that I took and the link here, and then I left. But as I was driving away I realized that that little experience was exactly what the day was supposed to be about; doing different things, having new experiences. Even meeting new people. I was so happy that I was lucky enough to show up at an abandoned building to take pictures, on a random day, at the same time that somebody else was there in a way that gave me a fuller experience.

Mother Nature cooperated nicely, as well. I had the top down (on my car!) until about 6 PM. And of course, the music playing was awesome. I really do love driving.

And I kept driving. And I stopped and took pictures of whatever struck my fancy. There was another serendipitous moment when I passed a sign on a tree in front of a house. The sign said, “This tree is pretty neat!” As soon as I passed and I realized I needed a picture, and made another U-turn to go back to it. As I was pulling up a 20 something year old boy was just coming out to check the mail, and I asked him if I could take a picture of the sign. I also asked him if there was a story behind it. His answer killed me, because it was so… me, and worded almost exactly the way I would have spoken. He said, “There’s no story. We are just ridiculous like that. We love that tree and it’s fun to climb on.” I don’t know how many times I have used the word ‘ridiculous’ to describe myself-- I felt like I met a long-lost family member! I laughed and told him that I was ridiculous, too, and that was why I wanted a picture.

Those little moments made my day. And they wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t stopped.

I stopped in the town of Monson, MA (and if you are like me and had no clue, Monson is pronounced “Munsen”—I never made that connection!). I had half a plan to go through there anyway on the recommendation of a friend (Thanks, Jonathan!), and Ed spurred that decision on further when he mentioned that I may find a few interesting things to take pictures of, not just because it was a beautiful town but because of the tornado that had gone through the town a few years ago.

It is beautiful town. The majority of the tornado damage has since been fixed, but there are still traces of it in the trees, and one building that is well into its renovations.

The restaurant I had planned to lunch in was closed, and the only place open in Monson was a local pizza place. It was already late in the day, well after lunchtime, so it was empty. Of course, I ended up talking to the guy behind the counter, in between his phone calls for takeout orders. I was looking around the small restaurant, and it struck me that you could go to any local pizza place on any main street in any town and they would all look the same. Even the signboards on the wall with the menu. When you walk into any pizza place and walk up to the counter, there are always two or three signboards over your head with the menu; they are white, with a black frame, and the interchangeable letters which are always black for the food description, and red for the prices. And there is always going to be one or two random letters out alone in whatever empty space is on the sign. And I started scanning the restaurant, looking for every similarity it had with every other pizza place and began to mentally write about it. As I’m forming it in my mind, I come up with a line about “… and Tony is working behind the counter—of course his name would be Tony; it’s a pizza place.” And then I reminded myself to make sure to ask the guy behind the counter his name before I left. A few people came into the shop and picked up their order and left. The guy behind the counter starts talking to me about the tornado, and the damage that had been done, and gave me of a lot of information about one house in particular (the one that was undergoing renovation) and directed me to a side street that would lead up a hill behind that house where I should be able to get some nice pictures of the entire town and maybe even of the path the tornado had taken. He gave me directions, and pointed out a few other areas of interest. Before I left I introduced myself and asked him his name. He said his name was Tony. Of course.

The day was spent driving through places I’ve never been before, and talking to people. Robert Frost was right when he said, “I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” It’s not just about making your own path and not following the flock; it’s also about stretching your vision by seeing new things, and talking to new people. This is not the same thing as taking a vacation, especially since most vacations can sometimes tend to be be planned even more tightly than a daily life schedule. What a difference it makes in a day when it is not governed by plans and boundaries. We are all advised to “stop and smell the roses,” to notice and appreciate what we have and what’s around us. Sometimes, it’s even better to go outside your own little world and look for roses to smell along roads you have not traveled before.

***

After today, I realized two things:
1. I need to do this more often.

2. I need a dashboard camera.

I Hope My Daughters Never "Come Out"

It’s time for me to add my two cents.

Many celebrities have been somewhat forced by the general public to “come out of the closet” and tell us their sexual orientation. Society has decided that this is necessary. I don’t know why. We seem to think we own them in some way and that they ‘owe’ us that. I don’t get it. Does it really matter? Will they sing better, act better, or be funnier if we know?

Anyway, some people have recorded their own ‘coming out’ to their families. I watched two of these videos. They were young kids, maybe between the ages of 17 and 22, telling their parents they were gay. In one video, the parents were very supportive; in the other…

I can’t even begin to describe (or understand) the angry, hateful and hurtful response of the parents in that second video. It is never easy to witness hate on any level, but to see a parent direct that emotion (any degree of it) to their own child is… vile. I cried when I saw that. And to them I say,

Shame on you.

I can’t say that enough. Shame on you.

To judge your child because you believe that they are going against God? To anyone who makes that judgment in any way (for any reason) against another person I have to say: Who are you? Who are you to put yourself in the position of God? First of all, if God is the be-all and end-all, let Him be the one to judge them. Secondly, you preach that God is the ‘Creator of Everything’ and you seem to forget that that includes even your own children. You are not the Creator of them, you are merely the vessels in which they were brought forth. You were allowed the special privilege of bringing them into the world. There are so many people that wish they had that privilege. You were entrusted with their care.

And you broke that trust.

You judge your child (or anyone) on how they love or who they love? Shouldn’t you be grateful that they have the capacity to love? At all?

(Which is, in some cases apparently, no small accomplishment.)

Shouldn’t you be grateful that they are alive to experience love of a romantic kind? And to be able to share it with you? I would bet my life that the parents who’ve lost young children and babies would kill—literally kill—to be able to be in that position, to have their child alive and present to be able to share with them anything. Anything at all. If your child is alive and healthy, you should be eternally aware of that blessing. Blessing.

Shame on you.

I will include myself in that. Shame on me. And I will include every other parent. Shame on all of us. Because we all played a role in this, collectively, to some degree, in the expectations we put on our children. Whether it be to fulfill our own dreams that we didn’t or weren’t able to for whatever reason (like forcing a specific career), or to simply conform. Be like me. Be like everyone else. Don’t make waves. Perpetuate the societal norm (even if we don’t like it). Don’t color your hair like that. Don’t dress like that. Don't feel that way. Don't say those things. Don’t be like that. Shame on any parent who judges their children, forgetting that they themselves were children, too.

In any case, we are denying them the opportunity to be who they really are. What we should be doing is to encourage them to be.

I remember when my older daughter was in preschool. There was a little boy in her class that came to school every single day wearing a Batman cape and hood. I was so happy to see that. To see that his parents were allowing him to be him. I also remember when my daughter was 11, she painted a streak of green color in her hair. She loved it. But she came home from school crying because other kids made fun of her for it. Now I know that children can be cruel, and it can’t always be helped, because they are learning. But it is our responsibility as parents to teach our children to be good people. I know that I struggle daily to let both of my girls know that they should never—NEVER—have to be afraid to be who they are. And I also let them know that they should never—NEVER—attempt in any way to take that same right away from someone else.

Parents do not own their children. As parents we are given the privilege of caring for and tending to another being that is going to contribute something to the world. Every person alive contributes something, in some way. As parents, our job is to guide them. To guide them to be the best person that they can be—in whatever capacity, and to be a person that cares for people. All people. Male or female, any color, any race, any ‘difference’. It is our job to show them love and to show them how to love—not how in the specifics of who and why (and there should never have to be a reason why or why not), but to be able to love and to show love.

We should NEVER be ashamed of our children for being who they are. You are not here to take credit or discredit for them. How arrogant is that? If our children can be true to themselves, we should be proud of them. Especially if they’ve had to stand against the tide to do it. And even that pat on the back goes to them, not you. Because they did it. Not you.

We are all part of the same Whole. Every single one of us. It is our small (and they are small) differences that play a role in the contributions we have for that Whole. If everyone were the same, no one would have anything to contribute, and the world wouldn’t evolve.

In a perfect world, no one would have to explain their differences. We could just be. Nobody would have to “come out”. What bearing does that have on anything? I hate that we constantly draw lines between “them” and “us” as if there’s a difference (in any capacity). We are all human beings. We are all connected.  We should just be able to be who we are and be accepted by those around us, as people. Parents would know of their child’s sexual orientation simply by seeing who they brought home for dinner, and there would be no reaction, whoever they brought home.

For you children who are forced to come out—and I’m including all of you, celebrities, sports figures, adults—because you are all someone’s child: I’m sorry that it has to be this way for you. I’m sorry that you have to suffer in any way for being who you are. I’m sorry that it seems necessary that you have to stand up and expose yourself like that, as if you are adversely different from the rest. And I’m sorry that part of your contribution to the world is something that has the potential to hurt you.

Know that you are the pioneers. You are affecting positive change. That ideal world that I mentioned earlier? You are contributing to that, and your actions now will make that happen later. You are Rosa Parks, you are the suffragettes, you are the whistleblowers. You are every person that takes a stand against injustice (I know that is small consolation right now).

And you are my hero.

As a parent, and one of your parents in this Collective, know this, too:

I love you and I am very proud of you.

When I hug my child in my small corner, I am hugging you, too.

That being said, I hope my daughters never “come out”.

Because they shouldn’t have to.

Let it Go (Admit it, you are singing it now)

A few weeks ago I let it all out.

Before I go further, I would like to thank all of you. For reading, for offering support or a laugh. Even those of you who were embarrassed for me. And even those of you who are still treating me with kid gloves (I get a little giggle from that). I’m fine. And I was then, too…just maybe not as.

But I did learn something. A couple of things, actually. Go figure.

I remember when I was finished typing and it was time to hit the ‘publish’ button. I sat there, hesitating for quite a few minutes, unsure all of a sudden. Those of you who write will understand when I say that writing all that had been building in my mind quite forcefully and I had to—had to—write it all out. Yet when push came to shove, at that last moment, I hesitated. Then I had to stop and think why. I looked back at what I bled onto the page again, and still felt that need to let it out. And still I hesitated to push that key. Why? And then I realized what was stopping me. I was so fucking pissed that I hit the publish button fast…and then a second time to make sure it took.

What would people think?

What??? Did I not just get through saying that I didn’t care what people thought of me? Ouch.

That was lesson 1.

Lesson 2 came a few days later. It’s kind of hard to explain the daze I felt like I was walking in. I was still…not entirely happy, and I was hyper-aware of everyone around me. I felt exposed (duh!), very conscious of what I let people see and, if I’m honest, I also felt a little embarrassed. Not happy about that. And I watched closely how people talked or reacted to me. I did feel ‘naked’—and not in a way I like, either (I normally like naked).

I was sitting out on my porch drinking my coffee…and yes, mentally replaying everything. I wasn’t sure what to do next. I wasn’t sure if I could just write another blog as casually as I did before. Everything I’ve written is personal in some way, but that was beyond personal for me. I crossed one of my own lines. Then it hit me.

That felt good.

No. It felt better than that. It felt…

Freeing.

I let go of my own control—of my own control. That’s two things right there. I grew up believing that emotions were bad and had to be hidden. Not the good emotions. I let those fly all over the place when I’m feeling them. If I’m happy to be with you, if I love you, if I’m having fun I say it and I show it. A lot. If I’m REALLY enjoying a piece of steak or my coffee or chocolate, everyone will know (I will even post a picture of it on FaceBook so that no one misses how much I’m enjoying it!).

But when I’m down, or scared, or unhappy, or ‘emotional’ (I’m going to make everyone as sick of that word as I am) I have to keep that hidden. Keep it under control. Put on a face. Everyone knows what putting on a face is like. Parents have to do it all the time in front of their kids. I’ve had to do it since I was a kid, because nothing less was allowed.

I’m not saying I hide totally everything. I vent. And I vent sarcasm. Humor, even biting humor, was allowed at home, and I got good at it. Maybe too good. I had a boyfriend who actually told me that my humor could sometimes hurt his feelings.

Right this moment, looking back, I have to give him props for admitting that and communicating that to me. I don’t imagine that was easy to tell me. We weren’t having a fight and it wasn’t brought up in anger. He just talked with me. Thank you, David.

Humor got me through many things—everything. My ex and I owned a bar. It was the best bar, and I loved it (I still miss it). But he was battling a drug and alcohol addiction. I was so naïve and ignorant that I did not see the signs in the beginning—maybe because he wasn’t battling it, so much as enjoying it then. I was eight months pregnant when I found out fully what was going on, when he pulled his first multiple-day bender. I knew nothing about cocaine, or the signs of use. I may not have liked how much he was drinking, but if he came home before the bars closed he wasn’t doing anything (or anyone) else, right? I learned fast. I had a lot on my plate all of a sudden, with a new baby and a business to run, pretty much alone. It became a game staying one step ahead of him and his friends trying to keep the drugs out of the bar—which meant even keeping him out. I even repainted every smooth surface in the bathroom with a mixture of sand and paint so they couldn’t “line anything up” in there (It became obvious that lines outside the bathroom door meant there were lines inside as well).  Let me state that addiction SUCKS for everyone involved. And recovery is even harder. “Friends” of his knew he was trying to stop and would show up and “shake his hand” in that gesture normally reserved when trying to bribe a maître d’ to get a good table at a restaurant, only they wouldn’t have money in their hands. But my ‘face’ was in place. And I ran that bar. And it was a fun place. Yes, people knew. It was a small neighborhood bar in a smaller neighborhood. We lived two floors over the bar. I would work during the day and we had our friends bartending on the nights I couldn’t work. At 2:00 am when the bar closed, whoever was tending bar would cover the windows and use the back stairs up to my apartment to stay there while my daughter was sleeping, so that I could go down to close up and do the paperwork. Karen, one of our friends and bartenders, would sometimes stay with me, just to hear me vent. I was entertainment for her. She loved when I went off on my tirades, every other word was ‘fuck’ and ‘fucking’ and she would just laugh and tell me how funny I was when I was angry.

But I wasn't just angry. I was sad, and isolated, and I felt so alone. And I was afraid. Afraid that we would lose the business that was my only means of support (I had to double my efforts to keep him and his friends out when I found out we were being watched—because of the activities of another of his ‘friends’), afraid that I would get a call saying he was dead…and then afraid for me, when in his worst moments he threatened to ‘take everyone out’ because if he was going down, we all were, too.

I even wrote one of those “If anything happens to me…” letters. He knows about it. Eight years of trying to get sober. In and out of meetings. In and out of rehab. Steps forward and steps back. And a smile on my face for most of it, even when I was behind the bar, humiliated, serving the many women he was having ‘sexual relations’ with—depending on your Clintonian definition of ‘sexual relations’. Eight years in survival mode, of putting on that ‘face’, dealing with that mockery, pity (from some), and even the bullshit chauvinism from his friends, who would pull him aside and say stupid shit like, “She knows too much about your business.” Kinda had to, right? He wasn’t running it.

Maria knew all of it. She was his friend first from childhood, and then mine when he and I got together. We had the biggest ‘custody’ battle over her when we split up. I miss you, Maria. In a few weeks you will have been gone a year… <3

My ex will be celebrating 17 years sobriety this coming month. I am proud of him, because I know how hard it was (for both of us) and there is no more anger. I have to say we get along quite well now.

But I’m talking about the control we feel we have to have, to be able to put on that face for others. One year ago (this week, in fact. Wow!), I had been out of work for eight months, borrowed from everyone around me to keep afloat and managed (THANK YOU to all of you) to be only one month behind in my rent (that was quite a feat)—and I woke up to a ‘For Rent’ sign on the lawn for MY apartment. It took every single ounce of control I had for my face that day—especially when my then 8-year-old asked me, “Who’s moving?”

I’m not the only one who has had to put on a face. We all do. Many of you have been through much worse than what I have. But a few weeks ago I didn’t put on that face. By choice. And I realized later that it made me feel free. Because—you all know this—keeping that tight control is exhausting. So letting go actually felt good (better than taking the bra off at the end of a long day—Ladies, you know what I’m talking about).  

The past couple of years have been exhausting for me. I’m not saying that for your benefit—I’m saying that to myself, to give myself permission to not be ok all the time. And while there may have been a little embarrassment, it wasn’t the same as an accidental embarrassment—like the time I had to reach way down and in the back for a gallon of milk at Shaw’s and found out when I got home that the entire back seam of my pants had let go. Those moments are worse because we have no control over them. I still had control, even though I didn’t feel it at the time. I made a choice to be that open, to let myself be seen without the plaster.

And the walls didn’t collapse. I still did my work and (most of) what I had to do. Even my ‘letting go’ was controlled somewhat. I stepped outside my comfort zone (again. Lol). And I’m still here. And I still have my job, my family, and my friends. I still have everything I need. And I’m still fine.

I guess sometimes we all need to let go, even if just to prove to ourselves that the world won’t fall off of its axis if we do.

Of course, this doesn't mean I'll be doing it all the time from now on, either. :)

I was serious about the bra thing. It was even better than that.

Why I love FaceBook

Back when we were kids in the dark ages, our worlds were smaller. Our lives were encapsulated by our location (our children now live in a ‘bigger’ world, thanks to the internet). If you wanted to learn something, or learn about something, you had to pray that the encyclopedias you had at home were up to date, or that your library carried new information. We have access to everything now. Everything. Yes, good and bad, but that really goes without saying. With any kind of progress there will be bad things to worry about. With anything there is good and bad. But I’m focusing on the good.

People complain that because of the internet and social media sites like FaceBook that we don’t communicate anymore. I don’t believe that is totally true. No, virtual communication will never, ever, be able to replace real face time, but it allows us to never fully be isolated and to keep in touch no matter what we have going on in our lives that may have otherwise kept us apart. It allows us to share; our thoughts and feelings, little trivial bits of our lives that make for good memories later. It allows us to support each other or to just make each other smile. What is better than that?

·         It provides affirmations.

The power of making anyone laugh, or even smile for a moment. I couldn’t believe it when I heard there had been a number of large studies on the effects of positive FaceBook posts and people’s moods. Apparently, reading positive posts makes people feel more positive.

--I’m sorry, but can I say, “DUH!”? I actually thought that was a given, and I couldn’t believe that money was spent on that. (Wish I’d thought of it!) Wasn't that already covered in all of the studies about advertising and ‘mental programming’ and brainwashing? Whatever is repeated is learned, yada, yada, yada…

Anyway, that is still good. We are bombarded with bad news regularly. Many of us have stopped watching televised news. Isn’t it nice to have a place to share a smile or laugh that often? Enough to ‘program’ ourselves to think more positively? Better than television.

·         It provides acknowledgment.

      Hi. Here’s a Hug. Thinking of you. Hope you are doing well. Miss you. I know what you are going through. I Love you. Thank you. (‘nuff said.)

      Birthdays and Holidays. A couple of years ago one of my friends who was new to FB at the time had said to me, “I don’t use FB too much, but I have to say that if it’s good for anything, it’s birthdays. I loved all the birthday wishes I got!

·         It’s a virtual scrapbook.

The scrapbook we never have time to work on. I used to be a scrapper. Now, I’m a wanna-be. Don’t have the time or the room for it. But the timeline on FB gives us a virtual scrapbook (and if I ever do have the time, I can single out items from FB—no in-home storage needed—and print them out! Do you know that you can go on friend’s page and click on “see friendship” and see only posts and pictures of you and that friend?)

·         It’s open 24 hours. 

I am a night owl. I went from working nights in bars after 14 years to working days in an office when I became a single mother. Nobody I worked with stayed up late at all, or would consider going out after 8 (it got worse when I started driving a school bus—damn, those bus drivers go to bed early!). And I would be home, the kids would be in bed and I’d be wide awake. Facebook gave me social time, without me having to get a babysitter and leave the house. It was the same when I was working out of state; I could still ‘visit’ with my friends.

·         It allows you to make and keep connections.

There is a safe feeling in the anonymity we feel when hiding behind a computer screen. For some, it does give them the opportunity to put on a false front for causing trouble—but we aren’t focusing on them right now. We can drop our masks and be fearless and say what we want. And sometimes, that can lead to some real friendships when conversations turn deep. I’ve made some wonderful friends that I treasure this way, and we’ve even gone out of our ways to meet each other in person.

·         It can encourage spontaneity.

Not doing anything? Want to? See what your friends are doing, where they are going. And just go. Friend surprises are nice (just don’t interrupt anniversary plans or anything like that!) J

·         It’s good for reunions.

Any kind. How nice it is to find someone again that at one time had a big part in your daily life. Not just find them, but be able to be in constant communication with them. No more thinking, “I wonder what happened to…” Social media even affects school reunions. More people are able to be contacted. And it’s nice that with even only the barest of online communication, when you see each other face to face there is still enough recent contact that the ice is already broken. No more, “Oh my God! It’s SO nice to see you again…” and then both are staring at each other with smiles plastered on their faces, not knowing what to say, until someone just walks away! There will be enough recent information for conversation!

And then there are other types of reunions.

...reunited and it feels so good... (sorry! song break!)

·         It offers free advertisement and promotion.

While the Home Plate restaurant in Taunton may not know Kathy-O, I’m sure they were well aware of an increase in sales of Rocket Pop Martini’s after her first picture was posted!

Our friends are writing books and making music and art. We can find out when they’re performing, or when their product comes out. Groups of friends can follow another friend’s band.

·         It encourages us to go out and get together.

(See previous paragraph). We create groups on Facebook and do things together. We create artistic masterpieces and abandon them randomly for whoever is lucky enough to find them. We give each other ideas of things to do. We try new recipes (or, in my case, find someone to cook for us) and we share them. We have more meals together because of this. We see our friends going to a certain bar or family establishment and we decide to go because of what they had to say about it.

·         It promotes sharing.

(See previous paragraph). Ideas, information…even things. “Hey, I have this item and I don’t need it anymore…”

A friend’s mother passed recently. My friend lives out of state. But I was able to go to the wake because I heard about it on FB, and it was held here near me. I hadn’t seen her mother since we were in high school. I hadn’t seen my friend since our high school reunion, and before that not since high school. But when we were kids I went on a number of their family trips with them. They were the ones that got me liking the clam cakes at Rocky Point Park. Even without having had new time to have spent with them, I would have been sad if I hadn’t found out about it and been able to pay my last respects to a woman who included me in her family for a period of our lives.

We are given the opportunities to share memories with shared friends. We can remember together, and laugh and cry together.

·         We can talk to anyone, anywhere, anytime.

Conversations don’t have to wait until someone is near a phone—or even awake, for that matter. Even when time is an issue (or time zones), you can have an ongoing conversation with anyone. Yes, it may take longer than a call or face-to-face, but when life gets busy this is a little sunshine. And, it even encourages more face time.

When I worked in an office I was able to just turn to my co-worker if I wanted to take a moment’s break and just talk. I work at home now, in my bedroom. There are no co-workers to hear me, even if I yell. I’m already on the computer, so I just click the mouse and can have a quick chat or laugh with someone and just as quickly go back to work.

·         It adds to travel plans.

Driving somewhere? How many friends are on that route? How many let you know that you are welcome to stop by and visit? Flying anywhere? Who lives near where you will be? Wouldn’t it be nice to see them?

And now for the “What ifs”:

What if the global climate has changed so much 100 years from now that our pictures of sunsets, the sky and the moon mean something to someone who doesn’t have the same sky to look at? What if cooking is so different then that someone finds a picture of a meal or recipe that was posted and relearns food? Or makes an actual scientific discovery about something because of something, anything, that showed up in one of our pictures? What if something we did now just made someone smile later?

Or, you could look at it this way:

We are the record keepers. One day years from now someone will be looking back and find something we left. I remember how cool it was, when I worked in a law office and we found a will that was handwritten from the early 1900’s. Or when I was working in the bar (established 1924) and found some really old bar tools, coins and handwritten receipts and tabs. With the exception of those who created time capsules, most of us aren’t looking to really ‘leave’ anything for posterity; we just go about our lives. What a record we, those of us born to baby-boomers and just after, are leaving about this whole historical period of technology? We who were getting into the job markets as they were changing so drastically? Those of us who got “introductory” computer classes in school without a computer in the room? All the changes made and being made in schooling? How many incarnations of television and home video (video games?) have we seen? Or the cell phone?

How much easier would researching our genealogy be if they had then what we have now?

Maybe later someone will find something we wrote or posted and say, “Wow look how they did that!” or “Even that long ago people felt this way!”

Or, they may just say, “Wow. They were fucking idiots back then!”

(Either way, they’ll have enough proof to write a book about it.)

FaceBook and other social media sites do not replace real time with real people, but they don’t kill real communication, either. We do that on our own. It all comes down to us.

This Nest will Never Be Empty (Freedom, NH)

A gathering spot

forged by the determination

of the matriarch

A Robin built her nest

keep Family rooted

Feathered by photographs old and new,

artistic creations, markings of growth

Expressions of all who’ve come and gone

Line the walls, the trees, the land, the breeze…

A Living History

For each member, a fortress of solitude

surrounded by loving memories.

Obvious even to the outsider

that no matter how far one bird flies away

her song remains.

Cindy was here.

I was lucky enough to be invited to this special place that has been a friend's family's gathering spot for over 50 years. I was in awe and humbled by the history around me, not knowing a place like this myself. A place you can be alone, or to visit those who've gone and feel they're still there, and of course to create new memories. Whatever we think about our own family members, whatever problems we've gone through...they are still a part of us. I imagine that such a place can make one feel whole. To have a place like this is a real treasure, and it makes me want to start one for my own family.

Easy like Sunday Morning

Easy...Easy like Sunday Morning...

Sorry for any unintentional earworm; that song still beats the “Que Sera, Sera” that I woke up to. It's also better than the other Lionel Richie songs that have been tormenting me all week!

But this morning was easy (it certainly helped that my headache was gone). I woke up to a quiet house with the sun shining through the windows. Neither of my girls are here, so I can walk around wearing whatever I’d like and there are no immediate “have-to-dos” until I’m ready to do them. For the first time in almost 2 years I went out on my porch with my coffee and sat there a long while. I did it a lot the first summer I moved in, but then my friend Don passed…and many things happened all at once making it hard to have any kind of relaxing mornings. I’m not a morning person, either, which also makes a difference.

I’d like to thank Mother Nature for this morning as well. It feels like summer today. I remember two weeks ago stepping outside one morning and feeling that change in the air; it felt like a school morning, the beginning of those days where you need a jacket in the mornings and evenings, and I remember cursing that summer was already over. I needed summer today. Thank you.

I stayed out on the porch for a long time, quietly, feeling the sun on my back and shoulders. Almost like meditating, I thought, which reminded me that I was going to try it again this week. Maybe I can do it without falling asleep this time.

And I thought…and thought. Without hurt or anger. Without beating myself up about anything (that alone is an accomplishment). I just enjoyed my coffee and my porch. My porch. I have a great job now that’s allowing me to keep it.

I went to a friend’s house the other night.

--Have I mentioned yet that I have the best friends? I do. And I can’t say enough to anyone out there, male or female: surround yourself with true friends. You will always feel love.

Anyway, I was able to pull my head out of my ass long enough to talk about my job. I noticed that. I was wary of spending any one-on-one time with anyone, because I talk (and write) about whatever’s first on my mind—and at the time, I was so sick of my own thoughts that I was afraid I wouldn’t talk about anything but what was bothering me. So it was nice to talk about something I felt positive about. The whole evening was very nice—and needed. And then another night by the fire with my best friend (and her father) while our daughters played together. My conversation was not as productive, but the company was still awesome. So was the music, the food, and the wine.

While I was sitting out on the porch my new neighbor from across the street went out to his car. He gives me a chuckle every time I see him. He and his girlfriend moved in less than five months ago. They’re not very social. He must work from home because I see him all the time. He must forget (and have) a lot of things in his car, because that’s all I see him do—go out to his car, get something and go back inside. The real funny part is how he dresses; socks with sandals, some type of plaid (or patterned) shorts that always hang low—not like the low pants that the kids wear today; it’s more like he just forgot to pull them up (or maybe he threw them on just to go out to his car), and a white T-shirt that doesn’t fit properly. He looks like the hung-over college kid who is always passed out on someone’s couch, even when he is standing up.

Not that I’m totally one to judge; since I started working from home my ‘attire’ –even when I leave the house for a quick errand—could be considered…questionable.

I just gave myself a chuckle there.

I have to work on acceptance. And patience. I really, really, really, hate that fucking word. I cannot control anything or anyone, other than myself (and even that is questionable at times). But I still have everything that I need, and I do want what I already have. I’m grateful that I’m quiet today, and that I’m able to be (it doesn’t usually happen), even if there is a tinge of sadness about all of it. Okay, more than a tinge—but I’m still here. Will any of this matter five years from now? (laughing at myself for that one). Yes. Maybe not in the way I had hoped, but whatever positive work I do now on myself now will make me better later. I may not even be here five years from now; I learned that from Don, Maria, and Mark. So while I’m working on myself I will remind myself to also live, and enjoy what I have. And to try to stop beating myself up. I’m not perfect—or not the way I want to be. But I’m perfectly me (I’ll appreciate that later).

I’m grateful for my porch. I’m grateful for my friends. I’m grateful for my family. I’m grateful for music. I’m grateful for my job. I’m grateful for you. I’m grateful for my wonderful daughters who I hope will grow up to be more adjusted and confident than I was or am (even just a little will be an improvement). And, of course, I’m grateful for coffee.

I’m grateful for how I feel right at this moment. I hope any steps backward I take don’t take me too far back from this point right now. I hope for nothing specific outside of that.

I guess this means it’s time for me to move on…or just move. Just keep taking steps. It’s all a dance, right? Move side to side, forward or back. Be light on your feet and try not to step on anyone’s toes. Spin in circles, but only to enough break things up without making yourself dizzy. Allow for mis-steps, but keep dancing. Even if you trip and fall, get back up. And enjoy the music, whatever song (happy or sad) is playing.

Thanks for listening.

Morning Coffee and Desolation...Mourning Desolatte?

I’ve been advised
that it’s like playing poker
it’s all a gamble.
Sometimes you win
Sometimes you don’t.

But I’ve played poker before
The thing is
That every time
--every single time--
Before I even sat down to play,

I knew I was invited to a game.

**********

I’ve grieved before.
I know this feeling
of watching the world carry on
business as usual,
and not feeling a part of it.

**********

I put away your birthday gift. Though sad that I never got the chance to give it to you I was glad, because I know now it would’ve meant nothing. My own words in the card that I made mocked me; reason, season or lifetime? I guess I have my answer.

**********

I gave you one less thing to worry about
one less responsibility
though I was low on the list of priorities
more of your time is now free

**********

The flame throws its warmth
to everyone near
It can live forever
by igniting others.
Or it can die
snuffed immediately by a breeze
that left you wondering where it came from
It can flicker,
slowly dying,
fighting valiantly to hold on to the oxygen
that is now in short supply.
No matter how it’s extinguished,
when it’s gone,
you feel the chill.

**********

You taught me many things
I’ll value those lessons later
But you held back on your best skill
Something I would’ve appreciated sooner
Because right now
I wish I knew
how to be
cold

**********

Silence was one thing I never expected to get from you
Complete and utter

**********