Sunday, December 1, 2013

CRAZY CARD LADY



Crazy Card Lady

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, before emails, instant messages, texts, chat sites and other social networks, there were different ways to keep in touch with family and friends.

Even though nowadays, it's difficult to imagine the great amount of prep, time and effort it took to keep in touch: it was done.

Not to shock anyone, but a few of these ways of communication still exist, and are STILL being used.

For instance, in my lifetime*, a single land-line telephone was the most instant way of reaching someone, especially in case of emergency. (*I have never received a telegram, and "Party lines" were before my time, so, you'll have to research those experiences on your own..).

I grew up in a family of seven, where for many years, we had just one rotary wall telephone, which still hangs in my mother's kitchen. Eventually, my father obtained a pink rotary desk phone, which he had (a friend, I presume) connect in a bedroom, upstairs (not mine..).

Of course, we didn't have caller-ID, I still don't have caller ID on my current landline, much to the phone company's disappointment, but there is always *69. Nor did we have an answering machine (an answering machine is my method of weeding out salespeople who disregard the "Do not call" list). Back then, we answered every call.

We learned phone etiquette; took and wrote down messages for others, learned how to limit and share the phone line. My father was insistent that we kept the calls short: his explanation always was that he was "expecting a call from
Washington...George Washington!"...then he would laugh at his own cleverness while his oldest teenage daughter ("moi") would sulk and/or pout...probably both.

Another method of communicating was writing a letter, on paper, by hand. Longhand, in my case. When many of my girlfriends moved away from this town full of upwardly mobile transients, we would keep in touch by writing letters. We would seal the envelopes with big clumps of sealing wax. I can't imagine what those clumps did to machines of the post offices, but the letters always seemed to make it to their destinations. A reply, with just as many clumps (and colorful, hardened drips forming a heart or smiley face) would arrive within a week or so.

When my sister and I were young mothers, she would spend her summers in Maine, with her boys. We wrote long letters to each other almost every day. I looked forward to the mail, and she did as well. When she was back home in Massachusetts, we would phone each other almost every week day, until it was summer, again.

My other sister's husband was in the Army, so I would also correspond with her through letters and post cards, to the many states and countries where they were stationed over the years.

I don't hand write letters, too much, any more. I can type so much faster than my old hands can write. In most cases, it's much more legible and I don't have to look each word up to check the spelling in the dictionary (or write "sp??" beside it if I'm not sure of the spelling!) Spell check and google are my new best friends, as long as auto-correct doesn't kick in with a totally absurd word!

I do send out mail by way of "greeting cards". When I was young, I couldn't afford to purchase cards, so I would buy a bulk package and hand personalize each card, because that was the best that I could do.

Now, as the person in the house, who retrieves our mail, and deals with the sorting and paying of the daily pile of bills, I love to see an envelope addressed to me, that is from a friend or family member just connecting, or saying 'hello'...It's such a nice change from some organization trying to get me to buy or donate.

One of the many things I miss about my late friend was the cards we sent back and forth to one another. This was the cherry on the top of our friendship. We used to get together often, we spoke on the phone several times a week, and we would text silly things to each other while we were cooking dinner for our families...but we still sent out cards.

It started many years ago, early one October, when I saw a photo of an almost naked, gorgeous, hunk of young man on the front of a raunchy joke Halloween card. I knew she would make a comment about it, so I bought it, sent it to her, but signed it "Guess Who", and disguised my handwriting.

I felt bad when she called me, almost  in hysterics- because she was creeped out, spooked and scared, asking if I had sent it to her. Right away, I calmed her, admitting to her that I was so very sorry to have frightened her (and refrained from telling her the joke in my head about Halloween being a scary holiday). Once she stopped shaking and calmed down, she got into fun of the card.

From then on, we went back and forth with fun-filthy-sweet-kind-joke cards. She never disguised her writing, I always did, but made sure whatever comment I wrote inside (if it was supposed to be anonymous) made her realize it was from me.

I miss her and her funny, thoughtful cards. I still send out cards to lots of people.

My son, who lives across the country, told me before he moved out there, that he used to love the cards I sent him when he was away at college; so I do make a point to mail cards out to sunny California.

I also send cards to family members and friends, when I come across a special one that might make me think of them. After being made fun of and called a 'crazy card lady', I now only send them to friends I think would appreciate them.

I'm in the process of mailing out family holiday cards to some people who I haven't connected with since last Christmas, but also to some who I see every day.

I'm hoping as they sort through the bills and the junk, that my card will at least make them smile for a few minutes.

12/1/13

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

ONE YEAR CHICK UP!





One Year Chick Up


One year ago today, I declared myself "reborn".

At first, I was a little scared, but very excited!

It was my time.
My turn.
Me first!

The first couple of days, I was in the blissful numbness of afterbirth. When the cold of real life woke me, I learned, as all newborns do, some things are easy to achieve, while others take time in developing.

The old, familiar habits were hard to break. Cutting the cord from my mother-care left a open wound. I didn't know what to do. Each time I found a fresh new skin forming, the frail and tender nerve endings seemed to be so sensitive. I would burst into tears from the slightest sign of pressure and stress.

It took a while for me to learn that it was going to be okay. That I could depend on others. That it was okay to depend on others.

They were there for me.
They comforted me, while
They took over.

About a month later, I was feeling hopeful. I was learning to think beyond my old duties and responsibilities. This new life seemed too good to be true, so instead of embracing it and growing forward, I would look back. Old thoughts would cause me to be stuck and not move. A selfish person like me didn't deserve this. The guilt weighed heavy in my head.

My ever-faithful support was loving and strong, but becoming tired. This weariness was not from the work they stepped in and took over, but from trying to ease my constant guilt and worry that they would fall apart like I did. I didn't want that to happen to these people I loved.

I was going through my own much needed mental metamorphosis. It was similar to when first years of life involve the speediest growth spurts of not only the body but also brain cells, while puberty's extreme physical changes cause confusion; I was a mess.


My rebirth year became a fast forwarded collection of emotional development and growth. Starting fresh and raw, undoing the old feelings and thoughts, learning who to trust, I made impulsive decisions due to a confusing roller coaster of conscious thoughts and a hungry ego. I didn't stop to think things through or use common courtesy or common sense. I refused to trust my decent instincts.

I made many choices that I regretted later.

Some of my most dearest long time friends were hurt terribly by a cruel and immature decision on my part. I was in my Jr. High stage of mentality, where I was easily persuaded to follow the cool "in crowd" and cut down and cut out anyone who I judged for the moment, because everyone was doing it. The popular clique did it, so I was cool.

My darling friend and her children didn't know what hit them. I held an imaginary grudge to defend my ego. All the while, the other people I loved in my life, stepped back and let me work through what I was feeling. They knew I was wrong, but waited for me to learn it by myself. And I did. One day, I just woke up, and thought, "What have I done?"

I went from Jr. High to adulthood overnight.

I knew I had to apologize and ask for forgiveness. I also knew I had to and was willing accept the consequences of my cruelness. I carefully worded my apology, I didn't want them to think in any way that I blamed them. I didn't. It was all my fault. They were innocent victims of my 56 year old adolescent stage of life.

Much to my wonder, these dear friends turned out to be the best friends.

True friends.
Real friends.
They forgave me.

They used kind, loving and forgiving words. They didn't chastise me or lecture me. Their sweet love poured through their words and I felt the greatest weight lifted off my mind. My heart was full.

Over the year, I would often take one sure step forward, then land on my behind. My balance of life was off a bit. I'd have times of lowness, but also great moments of joy and enlightenment. I realized that I must "Be the change that I wish to see in the world", to paraphrase Ghandi. It was easy to see, but not to do.

Gratefully, my relationships seem to have grown stronger over the year. In most cases, I have recognized and accepted people for who they are. But, many people still don't recognize me. A goal of mine is to be honest with my words, because I want others to be honest with me. I no longer sugarcoat words just to please the world. Sugar is bad for us, so now my words are plain truth. They may be said bluntly in a kind way. The truth may hurt, but it doesn't have to be used as a weapon.

One truth is that I'm only human.

I have accepted it. I know I'm not perfect. I don't (I won't and can't!!! It's exhausting!!) behave "perfectly nice" all the time, now. I have lost friends because of this. It's still work to stop and think, and trust that gut of mine. A couple of times, when I didn't trust the warning of my instinct to stop and not push; I pushed.

I watched someone just being their typical self, and reacted with a raging rant. I hurt several innocent, bystander friends in the "crosswordfire" of my tirade. This caused the end of what I thought were real friendships. Now, a couple of those friendships are over, even after I apologized. Some were graciously forgiving. Others were not. I have accepted the consequences of my impulsive reactions.

Another truth is, I was very sorry I hurt those mutual friends. I was also sorry I hurt the feelings of the receiver of the rant.


But, I'm not sorry I exposed my "I'm only human" side, at all.

My real friends forgave me.
I'll never forget that.
Jr High is history.

I've grown up.

It's time for me to cherish this short life by continuing to move forward.

It is our time.
Our turn.
All together!

Many thanks to everyone who knows who they are, for being here for me!! I love you all and thank you all.

You gave me my life back, and I am honored and grateful to have you in it.

xxxxx

5/29/13


Friday, March 8, 2013

FINALLY! AT LAST RESORTED: A POETRY BLOG UP!





Life In the Past Brain


I finally took some time to pull together some of the poems I wrote last year and started another blog page here! 

http://lifeinthepastbrain.blogspot.com/

I have posted 8, so far, but plan on finding more old ones and writing more in the future.

Each one is how I felt at the time I wrote it, I may feel the same way still, or not.

Check them out. They are much shorter than the Good To Flow entries!

"Red Walls" was my first. Although I did take all the photos for each poem, I also sketched the 'Red Walls' picture...which actually might have been before I was thinking of that poem, I can't recall.  At least it was within the same time period.

Finding I really couldn't express myself the way I wanted to in drawing, I went back to using a camera and keyboard.

Here's to Springtime, it can't come soon enough.

"REDRUM"?!?

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

ITCHY-BITCHY SPIED HER



Itchy-Bitchy Spied Her


I was out of shape and mentally low.

I knew what I had to do.

I didn't want to do it. I have always been able to make up excuses quicker than anyone.

Everything in my life seemed overwhelming.

I couldn't focus or concentrate.
I had no motivation.
I was becoming one with the couch.
I felt as soft as the couch.
I felt as big as the couch.

Acknowledging it brought me down even lower.

I knew what I had to do.


With every bit of strength I had, mental and physical, I found the playlist I used to like best, which also happened to be the shortest; twenty minutes, tops. My goal was to force myself to walk until the entire list was done.

I descended the cellar stairs, and worked my way over to our old treadmill. I took several gulps of water, to prevent "thirst" from being an excuse to quit. I hung my iPod in my makeshift clear hanging pouch, and got "in position".

I started slowly. As I hit play, I turned on the treadmill to the slowest walkable speed.  I held on with both hands while I closed my puffy, tired eyes, to concentrate on the music. The first song did not stimulate me or excite me as it used to.

I decided to sing-along, which goes to show how slowly I was walking. I sang at the top of my lungs, actually shouting-screaming out the words, in between sobs, I choked as tears flowed down my face and my throat.

Just minutes after I had started, I felt I couldn't go any further. I knew this is where I often gave up. I knew if I stayed just a little bit longer, I would get that second wind. I also knew if I pulled that plug I could get off the treadmill. I really wanted to stop.

I opened my eyes to see how many minutes I had gone. I hadn't turned on any lights, so reading the counter without my eyeglasses was impossible in that dark cellar.

As I was about to pull the plug, "I saw the light" of the rising sun stream in through the dirty window.  I continued to walk, due to a fascinating distraction which caught my eye.

I noticed a tiny, graceful spider dropping down, then slightly back up,  then down again, as it was delicately spinning a web. Meanwhile, a huge, ugly bug of some sort was already caught and struggling vigorously to get free.

The web wasn't old. It was made up of a couple of silky strands. Under it, there were just a few droppings. I decided they must have been recent, because they were dust free.

As I walked, I was intrigued with both the spider and it's victim. I was feeling almost ashamed, of how my life seemed so easy compared to theirs. The spider was steadily and rhythmically working without hesitation, while it's prey was fighting vehemently for its life.

Had I knocked the web down, the spider probably would have started over...Unless I crushed the spider, which I wouldn't do because I feel like spiders help keep the population of "bad bugs" down.

After watching the spider and the struggling bug for quite a while, I stopped my treadmill to go upstairs. They both continued at what they had to do.

Neither of them had stopped working on their way of surviving life on my account. I doubt they even noticed me. But I noticed them.

I often think about them, when I start to become overwhelmed by life.


That was a few months ago.


The web is still there.  Since that first time, I haven't seen a spider working as diligently on that web.

The evidence of progress is there, though. The web has grown more elaborate, resembling a fine net curtain, gracefully hung, flowing in front of the window.

There are many more droppings now. Occasionally, I see a spider. I know nothing about the lifespan of spiders. Could it possibly be a descendant of the original one I observed?

On stormy or frigid days, I often decide to use my treadmill. I still walk, but at a much faster pace, to a longer, peppier play list.

Each time I use it, but especially on the days I really don't want to, I hope for the rays of the rising sun to break through my dark gloomy mood and shine through the cellar window.

But, if that doesn't happen, I still have that ever changing web to remind me that even if I am stuck & struggling, life continues to go on all around me.

I just have to open my eyes.

Friday, February 1, 2013

Happy Birthday Baby





Happy Birthday Baby


Today is my husband's 56th birthday. I am hoping he is having a happier one than I had when I turned 56.

That's right, I robbed the cradle, just barely, for once we reach a "certain" age, we are all the same. At least from the point of view of "we" who have reached that "certain" age! I do recall being young and gasping at some "old person" who had done something. I have no clue what she did...but she was 25 and as I thought back then, much too "old"!

Now, "my baby" is 25. Speaking of him, I am thinking of not calling him "my baby" anymore...I still call his older brother, who is almost 31 (He is my first baby!) "Baby" and I'm not sure how appropriate it is?

Then, again, I don't give a fuck about being appropriate, I spent over 50 years behaving (what I thought was) appropriately. It stifled me, and kept me from being me, to the point that I really didn't even know who I was anymore. That doesn't mean I have to be a jerk, I want to be polite and kind. I don't want to hurt anyone. Anymore.

But, I am concerned about how each of them feels when I call them "Baby". I think I will ask them. Well, there's one thing I'm not going to worry about for the moment.

That was an off the track way of getting to my first blog of 2013!

Happy Birthday to my husband!

So far today, we have been eating Boston Cream Pie- which was his 10 am birthday "cake", with Hood Ice Cream & coffee.

Then, his new favorite: Key Lime Pie-his lunch time birthday "cake" & coffee, on top of our much earlier healthy breakfast and healthy homemade soup for lunch.

It's his birthday, after all. He deserves a day of gluten, sugar, dairy, eggs, and lots of other stuff we have been trying to avoid since the end of November.

Back then, he and I decided not only our emotions weren't up where we felt they were supposed to be, but our bodies were aching, feeling worn out, bloated and weren't down (in pounds) where we felt they were supposed to be. We had no energy, mentally and physically.

So, on the Thursday after Thanksgiving, we both started a new restrictive diet, that had to be followed for 21 days, with no excuses.

I could give you all the details, but unless it's happening to you, how boring would that be!?

Anyway, we both lost some weight.

But, we knew we couldn't stay on that diet for the rest of our lives, at least not together!! We each had our own issues with it. However, we are keeping it as a guideline to use in making good food choices. It did open our eyes to healthier options.

As for the emotions...Well, our marriage has worked this long because I know when I am hungry and I know when he is hungry. We are both much nicer people if we are nourished on time!

...But, with this diet, I didn't always feel the hunger during the day, which wasn't a good thing...because I got bitchy, and/or weepy. Once I ate, I was good, but it was a see-saw ride of emotions.

Stress isn't good for our bodies or our minds. Most of the extra weight I was trying to lose had originally come from stress eating, so it was an emotional diet as well. By that I mean, I had to deal with emotions I used to be suppressing with food.

We decided we wanted and needed to find that spark of excitement and direction we used to have, back when our lives were so much busier. We both felt lost in our own ways, and were seriously acting like that cliché, "The blind leading the blind".

I realized that my husband had been very supportive during my weepy, low, angry moods, for a long time now and he was starting to look defeated. It hit me that if I was sick of me, he must have been getting there, if he wasn't already.

So, one night, in early January, I was whining to him about how boring and uninspiring my playlist had become and how it didn't motivate me in the least to get on the treadmill, never mind stay on it! (Lack of exercise made me mopey, and craving comfort food.)

My husband listened and in the piece below (which I wrote a few weeks ago and meant to use as my first blog of 2013) it explains what happened...

The following is dedicated to my husband, who walks along by my side on our bumpy, twisted, but beautiful path of life together. We make wrong turns, sometimes apart, sometimes together, but we always end up finding each other just in time for a cup of coffee.



'Mourning Has Broken'
1/7/13


One night, last Week:

I was ready.

My ego had me in its constant, controlling hold.  Thoughts and worries seemed to consume and overwhelm me. I couldn't take all the noise in my mind anymore.

I judged every idea, everything, everyone, including myself. I worried about the past: "why?!" I worried about the future: "what, if, then...?!"

I knew I needed to fix this.
I just didn't know how.

My concerned husband spoke to me in a gentle voice. Because of past experiences, I could see his cautious hesitation.

 I FINALLY decided to put down my conditioned, stubborn reactions of defense.

I let go.
I silenced my thoughts.
I listened.

Without the proud shield of doubt and resistance,  I accepted a thoughtful suggestion with no predetermined judgement.  It was a simple idea to help fix the problem I was complaining about at that moment.

I don't know why I made that choice at that moment.

 I was ready.

It was the easiest thing to do, surrendering to the moment and opening my mind to the words.

It was so easy.

In that one decision of changing my direction of thinking, not only did my excitement of hearing these words make me feel so much better, it also was a refreshing relief to my husband, who has lovingly tried so very hard lately, to help me in the way he knows.  His past efforts have been met by my bitter resentment and demeaning rage. Often, when he'd offer a suggestion, I would snap at him,  "Stop trying to fix things, and just listen!"


This time:

I stopped.
I listened.
It was easy.

I was ready.

I heard!

In taking a different path in my actions (or reactions), a big shift has happened in my life.

Now:

I'm making a conscious effort to listen more.
I am making a conscious effort to make more thoughtful choices.
I am making more of an effort to be in the moment.

No, I haven't found religion, but I have found my inner spirit, again. As I mourned the past few years for the lost loved ones, I also mourned for that lost feeling of hope and purpose.

I found out it didn't die. It was lost in my sorrow, buried deep beneath piles of memories, and the pain my mind wouldn't stop churning up and rehashing!

In stopping the thoughts, just letting go of them, then listening to someone else's, mine stopped.

They disappeared!

I was ready for this.

In taking care to explain, "This is what works for me...", and not saying, "Do this...", my husband helped me listen.

His words, whether deliberately chosen or not, gave me (aka: my territorial ego) no reason to feel attacked, only listened to and loved.

I took his advice, and have thanked him every day, since.

It is so hard to explain, how at peace I feel at the moment. After year of easily posting my emotions through words, mostly rants,on this blog site, I'm having a hard time describing the calm and the contentment I am feeling right now.

Each day, since, I've awaken to the moment, take it all in, and am grateful for my life.

This is what worked for me:

I was ready.

I let go.
I listened.

I got it.
Because I was ready.

Mourning has broken.
The sun shines again.




Happy
Birthday
Baby!
(Oh, I forgot, I call him baby, too!!!)