"She stumbled to the kitchen, one eye half shut, and the other still struggling to open, she knew that coffee had to be first on her agenda for what would prove (she hoped) to be a long and productive day. "Mmm...coffee..." Her love affair with the dark fuel had lasted for decades, and this morning would be no less passionate. But upon opening the pantry to retrieve the coffee grounds, her olfactories were assaulted by the unmistakably putrid, rotting smell of old potato. After a great deal of searching, she found it: tucked into it's packaging and back on the floor next to the hot water heater. The stench was gag-worthy, but thankfully, now it could be remedied. "How the heck did that get there??" she wondered in a loud and salty voice. Was it a set up? Did someone intentionally toss that back there, twirling their mustache, just waiting for the day the house would smell like raw sewage? Did the Almighty put it there just to ruin her day?? Who knows? Doesn't matter, yuck. "The pantry needs a good rearranging and cleaning anyway," she thought, grabbing her daily list to reprioritize stinky potato grossness/pantry cleaning at the top." ---Actual excerpt from 'A Day in My Life', by Tammi VanBuskirk, dated 07/07/2021 Super great way to start my day, but you know? Doesn't matter. Things come at you. Sometimes small potato sized things, and sometimes, great big T-Rexes. And some days, a potato feels like a T-Rex. There will always be a dino-tato waiting. I'm no guru, but I feel like it's important to acknowledge the challenge, maybe take a breath or two, and then maybe two more, and then you can start processing a solution. Sometimes there really isn't one, and you have to learn to accept that and move beyond it. That doesn't make you any less of a person, or any less 'strong'; it just means you're moving on, hopefully in grace. It's hard work. It takes time. And its a never ending lesson. Or at least it should be, as we all evolve and in so doing, require evolved internal dialogue. Wow. Didn't mean to ramble. I've only had a sip or two of said coffee, but lots of time to think lately. I surely hope this finds you in good health and spirit, and that your 4th was nothing short of spectacular. Meanwhile, I've got a pantry to clean. Blessed Be, My Friends
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“Magicae et Plumbum”
(“The Magic Pencil”) CHAPTER 1 “MEPP!! MEPP!! MEPP!!” the alarm yelled at the top of it’s lungs. “IT’S TIME TO WAKE UP!!” it seemed to yell. “MEPP!! MEPP!! MEPP!!” 7 year old Kellen slowly opened his eyes and groaned at the sound of the noisy alarm clock. He reached over and turned it off, and then closed his eyes again for a second so he could think about his day. It was a school day. Only a boring Wednesday, but he was looking forward to hanging out with Cyrus later to show off his new Pokemon cards, or maybe play a little Hydro Thunder. Cyrus was his best friend and one of the keepers of his secrets, and he always knew that when they hung out together there were going to be some good times and some good laughs. “Well, time to get up,” he thought, and sat up on the side of the bed. It looked like the sun was just coming up outside of his window as he slipped his feet into his slippers. He could hear his brothers and sister in the dining room already eating their breakfast and noisily chattering about the busy day ahead. He heard a soft knock on the bedroom door. His grandmother, Tutu, opened it and said, “Breakfast is on the table, Sweetie. Better hurry and get ready for school.” “Okay Tutu. ‘Morning,” he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Morning Kellen. How’d you sleep, Honey?” Tutu asked. Through a yawn, Kellen said, “I slept pretty good. But I had a really strange dream.” “I want to hear about it,” said Tutu. “But can you tell me while you’re having breakfast? We don’t want to be late.” “Sure. I’ll be there in a minute,” said Kellen as he stood up and started to get ready for his day. Tutu, his grandmother, had made French toast for breakfast (one of his favorites), and his plate was ready for him at his spot at the table. His brother CJ who was 5 was debating with his sister Kaily, 9, about the Anaheim Angels versus the Los Angeles Dodgers. His older brother, 14 year old Brenden, was busy playing a game on his phone. Tutu was in the kitchen washing dishes. As she finished, she reached for the kitchen towel hanging from the hook , and as she dried her hands she said, “Okay Kellen. I’m all ears. Do you want to tell me about your dream?” “Sure. Okay. I was dreaming that I was in school, and Mrs. Jimenez was giving us a math quiz. I thought I knew most of the answers, but I wasn’t sure about some of them. Then the weirdest thing happened: When I was trying to figure out the answers to the ones I didn’t know, the pencil started moving in my hand all by itself. It was writing down numbers that turned out to be the right answers! I think it was a magic pencil. It would be so cool if they could make one of those in real life!” “Wow! What a crazy dream!” said Tutu. “You’re right, that would be fun! It would be great if someone could invent a magic pencil that only wrote the correct answers to all of the questions. It might get kind of boring, but…” “Why do you think it would be boring, Tutu?” Kellen asked, thinking this would be the best invention ever. “Well, it would be boring for me,” she said, “because I like to figure things out for myself. It makes things more interesting, don’t you think?” Kellen nodded his head, but he crunched his eyebrows up just a little and thought about what Tutu had said. It would be so cool to have something like that. It would. Right? “Alright everybody, time to go. Get your stuff together!” Tutu said, loud enough to be heard over the ruckus. Kellen put his plate in the sink and jogged off towards his room to get his backpack. His homework was still out on his desk, so he grabbed that and his pencils and other supplies and quickly crammed them into the backpack before jogging back to the kitchen and out the back door. It was important to get to the car early so you could get the best seating with such a big family, but he ended up stuck in the back anyway. “Oh well,” he thought. “I’m cool. I can do this. ****************************************** Kellen waved goodbye to Tutu as she dropped him off at school. As he walked towards the front door he saw several of his friends standing in a circle, and it looked like one of them had just told a good joke because everyone was laughing and smiling. Manny, Darren, Eric and Sebastian (or “Seabass” as his friends called him) turned to shout, “Hey Kellen!” to him as he approached the group. They stood around for a few minutes talking about how they thought the day would go and baseball and XBox games. Cyrus walked up just in time to hear the school bell start ringing to announce that it was time to head to class. As they all began to walk towards the entrance, Kellen walked next to Cyrus to make plans for the afternoon. And since he’d been thinking about it all morning, he said to Cyrus, “Hey! I had the weirdest dream last night! It was about a magic pencil that always writes the correct answer. That would be so cool! Don’t you think?” Cyrus nodded his head up and down quickly. “Man! That would make school so much easier! Somebody should invent that!” Kellen smiled, because that’s what he’d thought, too. And he didn’t think about it again that day...at least not until Mrs. Jimenez announced a math quiz right after lunch. “Hmm. That’s strange,” he thought. “It sounds kind of like my dream. But it couldn’t be. Wish I had a magic pencil right now, though.” Kellen was good in all his classes, but sometimes he was a little worried that he didn’t understand quite everything in math, even though he had an A in the class. Seabass, who sat in front of him, made a nervous face as he passed the blank tests back to Kellen, who then passed the rest backwards to Manny, and so on. He was only a little nervous. He thought he might do well, but you never know. Mrs. Jimenez stood in front of the class and said, “Okay class. Please turn your quizzes over, and begin solving the math problems. No talking, and please keep your eyes on your own paper. You’ll have 15 minutes to complete the quiz.” She then walked behind her desk, sat down, and began grading papers. Kellen looked at the quiz, and there were only 10 questions. It would be close, but he thought he could complete them all in time. The questions seemed easy enough, and he answered them each, quickly and neatly. Question 5 seemed a little tough, so he decided to skip it and come back to it. He finished the rest with no problem, so he went back to Question 5 to try it again. “You have 5 minutes left,” Mrs. Jimenez alerted the class. He was still unsure of how to solve the problem. He tried a couple of different ways, but none of it looked right. So he closed his eyes for a moment, just to clear his mind. And that’s when it happened. Kellen felt a small tickle in his hand. At first, he thought it was just an itch. But it kept going, and pretty soon, he had to open his eyes to see what was happening. The pencil was wiggling, just a little, but enough that he could feel it in his hand. He thought he must be imagining it, but no, he wasn’t. The tip of the pencil began to move slowly in small movements on the page, and then right before his eyes, it began to draw what looked like numbers. Kellen couldn’t believe his eyes! In a matter of moments, the math problem had been solved. This was amazing! He couldn’t wait to tell his friends about his good luck! The possibilities were endless. ***************************** A gentle hand upon Kellen’s shoulder startled him as he realized he had fallen asleep in class. His friends snickered a little, and he realized that when he closed his eyes to concentrate he must have dozed off. He looked down at his paper and saw that Question 5 was still blank except for the eraser marks from his earlier attempts to solve it. He did his best to answer the question, and then handed his completed quiz in to Mrs. Jimenez with a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry for falling asleep, Mrs. Jimenez.” “That’s okay Kellen. Just try getting a little more rest so that you can do your best while you’re here.” She smiled, and he smiled back. ******************************* Later that afternoon while Kellen and Cyrus were comparing Pokemon cards and eating an afternoon snack, Kellen told him about his dream the night before, and how he had a dream just like it during the math quiz that day. They both thought it was pretty weird and laughed about it, and agreed it probably wasn’t a big deal. Some of their friends came over to play baseball in the park across the street, and they never talked about it again. Kellen thought about it every once in awhile though. He thought it was strange to have a dream one night, and then dream the same thing again the next day. “Hmm. Probably nothing,” he thought. “But, what if…?” Tammi VanBuskirk, 04/18/2019 Revised 04/29/2019 You know when you step on a piece of gum (or something worse), and it's nearly impossible to get rid of all of the residue? You can walk a few steps to try to scrape it off, or use a stick to try to poke at it, but you're probably not going to be able to get rid of it all in one pass. You'll probably still feel it in your step as you continue walking...the tiny, sticky tug of the gum, trying to hang on to both the sidewalk and your shoe, all at once. After awhile you might forget it was ever there. But likely, it'll take some time and attention to get rid of all of the gunk. And honestly, who actually still spits gum on the sidewalk? Just rude and gross. And now, I've got to bear the burden of their laziness and work to get my shoe gunk-free while trying to keep their germs at bay, and they get to just keep on walking and spittin' gum all carefree and willy nilly. In this analogy, I'm pretty sure I'm the shoe. Although to be honest, I've also been both the gum and the sidewalk. Maybe even the foot. But I digress. The shoe just does it's job of keeping the foot warm and protected, going along minding it's own business, not knowing any other way to be. It has no control over the foot that lives inside of it; is it a stinky or hairy foot? It doesn't matter, because the shoe is just there to do a job. That was me as a kid. A lot of scary and even mean things happened, but to me, that was just how it was. It's not that I was okay with any of it, but I didn't know how to stand or speak up for myself, and even if I did, I suspect circumstances would have remained the same. But that's not what this is about. None of it really matters anymore. I don't have nightmares, I don't have a lump in my throat or pain in my chest anymore when memories come bubbling up from the deep. I'm pretty sure I've made peace with those particular demons. So, imagine my surprise to find more gum stuck to my sole/soul. What? Hundreds (maybe) of hours of therapy and self-discovery, all for naught? "Ridiculous," I thought. "I got this." And so I thought I did. My childhood traumas became nearly anecdotal to reassure others that I had miraculously survived the ordeals of my youth. I gradually evolved into someone very proud of my story, and while that sounds so very empowering, you have to peel away some layers to understand all of the different effects those early years, and early chapters of my story shaped me. I escaped the bonds of abuse at 17. I don't dwell on it anymore. At least I didn't think so. And at 17, I married a young man I had only known for 2 months. I wanted desperately to get away from my "step-monster," the first full fledged narcissist I'd ever met. My new husband quickly revealed his dark side, and so I spent the next 3 years with a new abuser, and a whole new level of fear and anger. It was definitely not the escape I was hoping I'd found. My sons were born during this time, and I can't lie, I was resentful. I resented everything and everyone that had anything...ANYTHING...to do with my problems. And yes, I resented my children. I was a young mother just hoping to live a normal, house-wifey kind of life, but it just wasn't to be. I resented that it was now completely up to me to raise these children on my own when I was promised to be loved, honored, and cherished forever. I yelled. A lot. I broke things. I had the temper I was never allowed to have as a kid. I just wanted to be, above all, normal. But it never happened. Fast forward to a couple of years ago. My kids are grown, I'm married (please don't ask me how many times now, lol), and I don't really have many reasons to complain. A couple of my kids are struggling, and I'm worried. And I'm pissed. And I'm scared. I'm desperate to help them figure things out, and although I try, I can't seem to help them realize that they can fix things. I don't sleep as I lay in bed at night with butterflies in my stomach, and thoughts of them living under an overpass in a tent won't stop banging around in my head. The thing is, I'm sure it's my fault. All of my rantings and lectures and screaming must have caused irreparable damage. And so I continue to want to fix it and pay penance for my sins. But I can't fix it. It's killing me, but I can't fix it. So I have to sit on the sidelines and hope they don't find the self-destruct button. I'm pretty over-dramatic, I know. I was doing my household chores a few weeks ago, and having my typical out loud and pretend conversation with these kids, really telling them what they need to do, and that they are old enough to be "adulting," and their past does not entitle them to special treatment. Then suddenly, "WHAM!" It hit me. Holy crap. I'm the Queen of Entitlements. And it turned me ugly. I mean, really ugly. I didn't realize how much I used my traumas to my advantage. I thought I was done with them. I didn't realize, on a conscious level, that I was such a manipulator. Really did not see that coming, but there it was, plain as day. I was appalled. I had to be honest with myself, and it hurt. I've always been able to convince myself that I'm a good person that would never hurt anyone, but in fact, I'm a schmuck. And now, a schmuck that has to question everything about myself and my motivations. Scary work. So that's what I'm doing: questioning everything. Rethinking all of my default settings and motivations. I still believe that I've made it through the trauma, but I think that what I carried with me was the mantle of a victim who deserves some sort of compensation for her troubles. I'm no longer such, and haven't been for many years now. But my learned behavior never evolved, and so, neither have I. The kids are doing what they can do. I know that. They're good people, and intelligent people, and they'll get it figured out, I have no doubt. But it sure did throw me for a loop to have that little break-through about entitlements. How many people and bridges did I burn? And can or should I rebuild them? Have I ever really left anyone/thing better than when I found it? I don't know. I know that letting go of guilt and shame in my own life has helped me understand my kids better. I'm still working on it, almost every waking minute. I'm finally sleeping, and I don't feel so overwhelmed and hopeless. I kind of laid down and let life run me over for awhile while I was still trying to sort things out, but that's improved as well. (I'm actually working on getting my driver's license back after having given it up a couple of years back due to perceived vision problems...it's a big deal!) I'm making a point of not only listening, but encouraging my family, friends and acquaintances to share what they have to say without just waiting for my turn to talk so that I can inject personal anecdotes, and make the conversation about me. It's been enlightening, to say the least. And it really feels good to just talk without agendas. Moral of the story? You're never too old to scrape away that gum. And it never hurts to check every so often to make sure you haven't stepped in anything new. It might not be easy to get rid of it, but man. You get to meet a new you with every layer you remove. I'm starting to like this person. I can't wait to see the next evolution. Blessed be my friends. And happy Summer! Tammi- Jo awoke with a start, though she hadn’t even known she’d fallen asleep. She had begun falling asleep while sitting half-dressed at the end of her unmade bed, folding the last load of laundry. She was married to a military man who was currently deployed, and with three busy kids in the house, laundry certainly never slept.
What awoke her was the sound of a door slamming somewhere in the house. Hard. Her first thought was to check the kids’ rooms, and then the house. Even though she lived in military housing, intruders were not unheard of. She quickly grabbed a tee shirt and the baseball bat from behind the bedroom door, and ran towards the hallway while hastily donning the shirt. Adrenaline coursed through her veins and rocketed her into full-on protection mode. The lights weren’t on, and the only sounds she heard were those of her children sleeping as she searched each room. The kids were safe, so that was a relief. But who slammed the door? The rest of the house waited silently to be searched. Holding her breath, and wielding the bat in a fashion Babe Ruth would have envied, she began to creep the rest of the way down the hall. The floor plan prevented her from seeing very far into the kitchen and living room; the two rooms were divided by a tall pantry which allowed easy access to both rooms from either side. She would have to choose which room to search first, and pray that the intruder wouldn’t ambush her from behind. She instinctively chose the kitchen because of the additional “weaponry” to be found there. Frying pans, kitchen knives, all manor of possible devices to inflict harm. Not that she had any training in the art of self-defense. (She made a quick mental note to look into those classes if she survived this, whatever “this” was.) Cautiously, she felt her way through the dark, and reached for the light switch. She could barely breathe. She quickly flipped the switch and then returned to her previous stance with the bat held high. Nothing. Nothing out of place, no menacing figure lurking in here. She began to relax a bit, but then quickly remembered that she still had to inspect the living room, the last place for anyone to hide. Listening intently for anything out of the ordinary, she wished she had placed a lamp closer to this end of the sofa. This meant she would have to hope to get to it before the intruder did, and that left a lot of time for her to be exposed. Fortunately, dim lighting from the kitchen provided a bit of illumination as she crept into the room, heart pounding faster than ever in her life. She gingerly reached for the lamp switch, and just as her fingers brushed the knob, something rustled in the far corner, somewhere near the potted ficus tree. She froze, slick with fear now, and suddenly aware of just how far away her children lay sleeping. What would happen to them if anything happened to her? What were his plans for them? Thinking of the children gave her strength, and more than a little anger. It’s funny how quickly you can shift gears to protect the ones you love. In the bravest voice she could muster, she yelled, “Who’s there?” No answer. Just another rustle. She grew more angry, so she demanded again, “Who are you?” Still no answer, so she decided to turn on the light. The phone was on the table next to the lamp, and she thought she might stand a chance between her bat and 911. She turned on the light, and to her surprise, there wasn’t a big scary intruder. It was the cat. The damned cat. And finally, the adrenaline began to recede, and the tears began to fall. She had been terrified, angry, and fiercely protective of her babies. The threat, real or imagined, felt real and had awakened emotions she hadn’t felt in years. She sat on the sofa, crying, and realizing that she also had felt so alone with no one to protect her. It was the first time she had had to be in this role, and it left her ragged and exhausted. It was time to clear the laundry off of the bed and finally get some much needed rest. She climbed into bed without the sheets, grabbed a blanket and pillow, and closed her eyes to rethink the evening’s events. As she lay there, once again dozing off, her eyes opened wide as she realized, the doors were locked from the inside, but she still didn’t know why the door slammed. She didn’t sleep the rest of the night. Apparently, the alarm has already gone off not once, but twice. I've blissfully slept through both, but with a warm smooch from my husband, and some insistence from my bladder, I think I can reach over and grab the coffee said husband placed on my nightstand a few minutes earlier. The bladder can wait a few extra minutes while my body adjusts to consciousness. The next step is to actually get my body into an upright position so that I can spend the next couple of minutes preparing to stand up and start the day in earnest. But even that is a process these days. It hurts to close my hands, and it feels like the wasps' nest that's firmly cemented to my sacrum has been poked by a stick. When I stand up, the sound is not unlike stepping on a sheet of bubble wrap. I realize that any career opportunity for me as a cat burglar would be short-lived; there's no sneaking around with these feet and ankles. The body doth protest, and loudly at that, and although I'm taking steps to mitigate against a complete rebellion, my body still likes to have it's opinion as to how the day should proceed. I'm far from having any serious physical impairments. I have vision troubles (a genetic miscalculation that's only surfaced in the last few years), some joints that don't play well with others, a back that doesn't let me do much for longer than about 15 minutes, and an appetite for my homemade chocolate oatmeal chocolate chip cookies that greatly influences my curves. I've got a few mental hang-ups that resurface now and again and convince me that I'm "less than", but I try to stay aware and take the steps to diffuse that mental implosion before it has a chance to ignite. I kinda feel like I finally have an idea of what to realistically expect from myself, and although I haven't in a long time, I also know I can handle pushing myself further. These might be things other people learn about themselves earlier on in life, but my path took just as much time as it needed to take, and that's alright by me. My husband recently turned 50, and I'll reach my own half-century mark a little later this year. I gotta tell you, I've been focusing an awful lot of energy on the meaning of life these days. I think it started probably about the time we had to euthanize my kitty a couple of years ago. Till then, I hadn't had much first-hand experience with death. When I was in elementary school, my great-uncle passed away. I remember that he was in his late 80s, and that he was cantankerous. He yelled at me for playing the piano too loud, and had to tape his eyelids open because his wrinkles were so deep that the lids drooped so far down he couldn't see. I didn't have a very personal relationship with him, and when he died, it wasn't much more than a blip for me. One of my school's aids asked me to go for a walk with her (something that would never happen today),and while I was gone, my classmates all signed a condolences card to mail to me. I wasn't around when my grandparents passed, and my dad and I had never been much in each other's lives when he passed. So really, my cat was my first up-close, front-row seat in that sad theater. More frequently, I find myself pondering the real meaning, no, the whole point, of life on Earth. I think I've learned what an "existential crisis" just might be: I'm not at peace with death, and my mind is really struggling to come to grips that I have no control over it either. When, how, where, why, maybe a who? And a big one, why even be here in the first place? Don't worry, I'm not suicidal. I think these are legit questions, but I'll be damned if anyone can answer them for me. The patent answer is always, "That's something you have to figure out for yourself," or, "The answers you seek will only be revealed to you when you seek within yourself," or something to that mystical effect. I'm not fancy like that. My spiritual beliefs are unorthodoxed and very personal, but I cannot help but to think that their foundations are man-made, and again, man has not been able to directly answer my questions. So, I gotta keep looking. My struggle has not remained limited to the basic "meaning of life" dilemma. For awhile, I really got myself into a pickle imagining all of the painful and unexpected ways I could meet my end. My overthinking was crowding my happy thoughts, and I worried at the idea, like plucking at the edges of a frayed handkerchief. I stopped watching or reading my favorite scary fare, and the evening news became fodder for my ever darkening imagination; I couldn't bear the thought of all of the nameless people whose deaths are reported every hour of every day. It even began to affect me in my dreams...I dreamed of being buried alive, and vividly remember taking my last breath, turning my head to the side, and saying to myself, "It's okay. It's over. Just let go." Yikes, right? Maybe it's the realization that I'm not going to be famous for pretty much anything, even though I'm pretty convinced I'm amazing at everything. Maybe it's the realization and acceptance that honestly, I've been a shit. I've mostly gotten by with some tap-dancing, a little razzle-dazzle, and a lot of sympathy/empathy from people who genuinely cared. Maybe I'm hoping to find out if there's still time to make everything right because sometimes I lay late at night chasing the demons and dark deeds in my head. I have no answer. I can only try to minimize any future negative impact I have on the world around me, and increase the beautiful impact I can inspire and create. Because although I'm historically a screw-up, I also have a few things going for me. So, there's that. I'm not completely certain, but I think I may have caught a small glimpse of the meaning of life, at least for me. I was stressing over something, insignificant now, and my husband was being his usual wonderful self. I looked at him, and I was completely gobsmacked by how much I love him, and what a beautiful human being he truly is. It caught me off guard, one of those pure emotions with no hesitation or justification. And it occurred to me that maybe this is why I'm here. Not just this one moment with Vince, but for all of the moments when I've been in complete awe of Love in it's purest form. My children, my grandchildren, my husband, my family, my friends...all are sparkling reminders of my life's meaning. These are the precious memories I pray flash before my eyes during those last few seconds. Whether or not I'm right, it feels right for me. I think I've got a better perspective than I have in a long time, if ever. I won't lie and say that this nugget of personal growth has completely resolved my fears. I'm still an unwilling participant in the end game...I don't wanna miss out on anything! It's just easier now, knowing what to seek, and remembering to be open to inspiration. Until next time, Blessed Be Tammi- Awake again. Her eyelids slowly drag across the sandpaper orbs beneath them known as eyeballs. She also has a matching sandpaper tongue that carries with it the strong smell of fermented grapes. She lays there for a moment, and then realizing it's still dark outside, she hastily glances at the clock on the dresser: 2:15 again. Fortunately, the vomiting and tremors have not yet begun for the day; however the empty bottles and the recent contents of her stomach that have filled the garbage container next to the bed assure her that it won't be long before it starts again. Another quick glance to the nightstand confirms a large, half-empty bottle of chardonnay, along with a tall kitchen glass that was still more than half full from the night before. It's always a surprise to her how much is left, because by the end of the night she's already swam into the oblivion of the blackout. Maybe if she drinks enough of what's left, she can pass out and sleep a few more hours before starting her day in earnest. But then, she promises herself she won't drink anymore for the day and actually get some real housework done. There is enough to do the job and she dozes in and out of a fitful sleep for another hour or so. If there's no wine left to help her back to sleep, she'll just have to lie there until the alarm goes off and it's time to make coffee. She just needs to wait a couple of hours. And if there IS any left after the pre-dawn gluttony, she'll finish that while she makes his lunch and helps him get ready for work. He knows she's already drinking before 6, sometimes 5 in the morning, but he also knows about the withdrawals, so he'd rather she be passed out safely in bed than stumbling, shaking, vomiting, possibly falling and injuring herself. If he has any cash on him, he'll give it to her for the convenience store across the parking lot. They know her well, so if there's not enough cash or change (which she counts as soon as he leaves), she knows they'll let her have one on credit until he comes home and pays for it while he's buying "essentials" for the evening. None of her self-promises come true. She's lost most of her friends and family, and she hasn't left the house without coaxing in months, mostly because she's afraid she might run into someone she knows who'll take one look at her and know what she's been up to again. She sleeps most of the day. By the time she finally shakes it off enough to check the clock, she realizes that her husband will be home in less than an hour, and she's done nothing for dinner, not even the dishes. She quickly straightens up the messy living room and kitchen, and throws the comforter and pillows on the bed. By now she's panicking. Not because her husband will be angry (because he never is), but because sometimes he forgets to pick up the wine and she's not sure she'll have enough for the night, and by now the side effects are kicking in. First comes the shaking hands and legs, and by the time he gets home she can barely walk. She can barely write, let alone hold a pen. She is afraid to prepare dinner because she's not sure she can hold a knife without hurting herself. It's hard for her to finish sentences. The next side effect isn't far off: The vomiting. Sometimes the convulsions are so strong she's certain her eyes are going to pop right out of her face. It's embarrassing for her because her husband stands right by her side and helps her in anyway he can. This means being helped to the bathroom and in the shower. She feels like an invalid. Right now. Right, now. This is when she remembers again how hard it is to recover each time this happens. Each time, it happens for longer periods - more days of recovery. And she has to again make a choice: Is she drinking today? Or can she survive another attempt at quitting? Because they are getting harder. It's easier and less painful if she just succumbs. And so she does. ************************************************************************************************************** This is what it's like for someone in active alcoholism. At least from my own personal experience. I've heard many times that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over but expecting a different outcome. The above shows that cycle in action. This is nothing short of a deadly disease. Fun fact: Healthcare professionals are in agreement that you can safely (though maybe not comfortably) withdraw from many substances without much physical harm. They also agree that withdrawing from alcohol (and benzodiazepines) by quitting cold turkey can prove deadly. So when you're wondering why someone just can't seem to stop, remember that it's not necessarily a weakness of the mind. It's also a life threatening physical "re-boot" that really should be medically supervised when the decision is made to quit. www.aa.org is a great place to start if you're ready to make a change. ************************************************************************************************************** Awake again. Her eyelids slowly drag across the sandpaper orbs beneath them known as eyeballs. She also has a matching sandpaper tongue that carries with it the strong smell of fermented grapes. She lays there for a moment, and then realizing it's still dark outside, she hastily glances at the clock on the dresser: 2:15 again. Maybe things will be different today. She knows what to do, and knows she's been on the other side of this, even though it wasn't easy. She knows she needs to live life, and not the other way around. If she fails, she tries again. Today, she vows again to persevere which is a victory in itself. And she remembers that to be successful, she must be respectful. Because she knows that she's always just one drink away from tumbling right back into the bottle. Tammi- This morning was a little rough. I know you know what I mean. All was going well; I'd made coffee, fed the cat, and while waiting for the coffee to brew, crawled back in bed for a few minutes. I didn't close the door all of the way, so Phil the Ginormous (our kitty) decided to come in and say good morning to us both. The second alarm had just gone off, and Phil jumped up on the bed to let us know how his evening in the living room had gone. I giggled a little, and apologized to my husband for allowing the cat in so early. He was half asleep, and not pleased, and said, "You woke me up for that?" The alarm had gone off less than a minute before. Well. I was also half asleep, and not yet in a humorous frame of mind myself. My half-hearted giggles quickly turned to clenched teeth, and a new purpose. The dishwasher was emptied, the kitchen spotless, and his lunch done in a matter of minutes (don't lie, you know you've done it, too!). I did not try to be quiet; if I had already awakened him, there was no point for me to muffle the sounds of the dishes clanking as I emptied and reloaded the machine. After a couple of cups of liquid personality, I felt a little ridiculous. My husband apologized, and I did the same. A silly reason to be pissed at someone you love, especially when you know they'd never do anything intentionally to be a jerk to you. Our goodbye kiss was a little longer, and we apologized again and began our individual journeys for the day. I picked up my phone to see if anything amazing or scary had happened overnight. The first thing I saw was a post/thread commenting about certain strained current events. The Internet trolls had been busy overnight; the thread was long, angry and mean...one of those "no holds barred' threads, where people have forgotten basic decency and manners. The Internet has given us a sense of anonymity previously not available, and it seems no-one has attended the Miss Manners' "Lessons on Being a Decent Human Being" class. If only there were such a place. Fortunately it didn't take me long to realize that I was being drawn into the fray. I have no desire to be part of the fray. I do not hurl insults, share memes/"factoids" that are unfounded or hurtful. I do not believe that Facebook or other social media platforms are a reliable source of news. But there are plenty of those who revel in these rants and outrageous claims and statements, and accept whatever is posted as gospel truth. I am not them. My head is not in the sand, but I have no desire to engage in battle with strangers (or acquaintances) who utilize social platforms to ignorantly and crudely share hate. I used to consider myself the "Facebook Police," and when I came across something that seemed just too "extra" to believe, I'd fact-check and post my results to prove them wrong. But there's no way to keep up with it all, and so I retired from my ivory tower and decided to be more discerning about not only what I read, but what I say. I refuse to propagate more hate. These are all of the things and thoughts that happened in my world before 7 o'clock this morning. Busy start. And super easy to allow the negativity to set the mood for the rest of my day. instead, I put my phone away and decided to focus more on being present. In the now. My reality these days (besides the global realities we're all trying to navigate) is a renewed sense of direction. I think I may have grown up. I don't know when it happened, but I don't feel the same desperate attachments to the trifles to which I used to cling. I'm all about here and now and rather than pine away for days long since passed, I want to know what I can do to live strong and happy NOW. Perhaps it's advancing age. I'm edging ever so close to 50, and honestly, I'm a little pissed that so many years have stolen behind my back while I've tried so hard to live a life based in great part on pieces of my history that I considered to be indestructible bricks in my foundation. They weren't bricks, and neither were they solid or supportive. So, I get to craft new bricks. I may not get to choose the ones that are placed without my consent, but I can choose how and what I do in response. Confidence has never been my strong suit. Because of this, I've altered my body in hopes to conform to what I perceived as an acceptable norm. I've had breast augmentation, gastric bypass (which completely re-plumbed my insides), you name it. Fad diets, exercise...I've tried it all, sometimes to harmful excess. I've been successful in my endeavors, and I've failed. But it feels as though my perception of and need for acceptance has fallen to the ground. In a good way. This is life. This is what it is, and this is what I can or can't do about it. Sometimes you just have to accept that you are enough. Sometimes, it's okay to let the cowl of appearance fall away, and just be yourself. The true you. I've been embarrassed about what you might find if you saw the true me, but I'm weary of the facade. I am enough, and then some. I just know it. What prompted these internal conversations? Actually, more of what I considered to be failings on my part. I've been struggling to keep my head above water for a long, long time. But I think now that it's just been my own fears that have kept me from finally breaking through that invisible, self-imposed barrier. Even more importantly, I don't really give a rip anymore about the barrier. I can't afford to. There's only so much time, and the older I get, the clearer this fact becomes. I trust myself to be a good human, to be a good mother, a good wife and a good friend. I have not always been these things; I have failed in every category more than once. And yet, I am enough. I accept that I have flaws and ghosts from realities past, but I was even enough then. I just didn't believe it. I am happy. When I review my life and all of the pieces that are part of my puzzle, I am happy. There are still times when I feel that I've failed and could have done better, but I believe that's part of the human condition. My history does not define me. Rather, it serves as a series of events that have brought me thus far. While I cannot predict the hurdles or even the gifts that are presented to me, I can choose to face them with strength and grace. Sometimes, I sill feel as though the universe is out to get me. It's not. It's life. And I am enough. I've gained a bit more weight than I wanted (First World problems, right?). I was determined to be as thin as possible, and it became unhealthy. Now I'm again at the other end of the spectrum. I started to mope about it (that realization came about the same time as a truly horrible haircut and discovering that none of my clothes fit anymore). I realized, however, I could either just continue doing the same thing, expecting a miracle to fix it, or I could actually do something. I'm doing. And that's what's important. I'm doing. I may not ever be a swimsuit model (in fact, it's highly unlikely), and that's okay. I'm making changes instead of accepting the inevitable fate that comes with complacency. I am awake now. I am aware. And I am enough. My inspiration for writing this morning was a mysterious, homemade flash-card that I found tucked away inside an unused journal. The journal had never been used, and had been hidden away in my nightstand for years. I'm not a very consistent "journal-er." On the front of the flash-card was a single word: "Surpass." On the back, "To be better than expected." I'd love to surpass others' expectations of me. But you know? It's a good feeling to surpass your own expectations, and finally realize, I am enough. You are too. Blessings, Tammi - The sun is shining brightly outside, somewhere. Unfortunately, here, it's hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds and a steady, albeit light, drizzle of Pacific Northwest rain. The meteorologist defines the wind currents today as "breezy," which in PNW language equates to 20+ mph sustained winds. Although it's mid-January, it's about 50 degrees, which the meteorologist assures us is the average temperature for this time of the year. Perhaps I've become acclimated over the past 20 years because I'm warm enough inside the apartment just wearing summer-appropriate clothing without the need for the heater (or "faux-place"). I am restless; my chores are done for the day...and yet, I can't seem to unwind the internal springs of my mind. Too many thoughts racing, and too many stuck in the gears. My posts, while personal, are also meant to give hope or share experience with anyone who may be seeking it, even if they don't know it. But today is just for me. The process of writing is therapeutic for me, and is the best free therapy I know. Today, you will find no advice or helpful suggestions. Today, I need this. My heart is broken, and I have to find some way to start putting it back together because I'm so weary of all of the tears that seem to dance precariously just behind the curtains of my eyes. So, today is just for me. I first met him when my son lied and told me he was a stray. He said that since the weather had been so cold, he didn't want the tiny kitten to starve or freeze to death. So, the garage door was left cracked open just enough for the tawny little tabby to find food and shelter. It wasn't very long before he grew brave enough to come inside when coaxed...he always was a fraidy cat, so I'm not sure where he got the courage. I eventually convinced my then-husband that this little guy needed a home, and why would we want to take him to the shelter when he had a perfectly good home with us? (My son learned from the best.) He spent his nights curled between my arm and my chest, and used every tool in his arsenal to bury himself deep in my heart. His two furry compatriots were not as easily impressed. The oldest, Phil, was definitely not happy about the new little pain in the ass and took every opportunity to remind the kitten of his lowly station in life. Phil is himself a pain in the ass. Cooper did not give me the opportunity to decide just where he stood with me. I sat, and he sat on my lap, or anywhere close enough that I had to pay attention to him instead of what I was doing. He was my Boyfriend Kitty (BFK), and he was madly in love with me. When he spoke, it sounded as though he were saying, "Ma-maw," which I'm convinced meant he was calling me "Mama." He slept in that spot between my arm and my heart as often as he could. He shed like no other; I'm telling you, I could have built another cat every week with the hair that fell off of his chunky little self. He did not purr; rather, a muffled grunting sound expressed his content.
He loved to dance with me. I know. I'm imagining things, right? But I'm not. I have witnesses. He loved to dance to Justin Timberlake's "Can't Stop the Feelin'," and Shawn Mendes' "There's Nothin' Holding Me Back." He had this signature move that we called "The Jumpy Thing." You only got one jumpy thing per day. You just kind of held your hand above his head, and he would sort of leap upwards to pet himself with your hand. ONCE a day. If you blew it, that was it. No second chances. But when we danced together, he was all about the jumpy thing. For my birthday last October my husband and I stayed at the Manresa Castle. It has been deemed one of Washington's most haunted locations and is a glorious hotel, full of stories and mystery. The day we left for our weekend, I noticed that Coop seemed a little lethargic and was using the box a little more frequently. I made a mental note to get him in as soon as we came back, and asked my son to give him extra attention and to let me know if something changed. He sent me a text the day we were coming back with a picture of Cooper's litter box that showed a pinkish tint to his urine. When we got home, Coopy was indeed looking like he didn't feel so well. I got him in to the vet the next day, a Monday. They said they thought he had a UTI and prescribed antibiotics and a pain med. We tortured that poor little guy for 3 days, forcing him to take a pill that I would have had a hard time swallowing. During those 3 days, he was miserable. He could only walk a few feet before collapsing. He curled up on the floor next to the litter box, under the bathroom sink and in front of the washing machine. The meds didn't seem to be doing any good, and I just couldn't do it to him anymore, so back to the vet we went. They asked us to leave him with them so they could run some tests. The next day, they called and said we should come in soon. We got there as fast as we could, The veterinarian told us that Cooper had crystals in his bladder. He explained that they were fairly large, and that one had become lodged so deeply into his urethra that the only way to fix the problem would have been to basically create a new urethra for him, essentially turning him into a female. The odds did not look good; the surgery was a rough one, and he probably wouldn't survive it. I couldn't bear to hear what was next, but that sonofabitch said it anyway. There was no warning; he was not old, nor did he ever appear sick. I'm so afraid it's all my fault. Did I not keep his water fresh enough? Did I not feed him the right food? I didn't get him to the vet fast enough. When he died, did he know I loved him? I feel like I betrayed him by holding him on my/his lap as his life slipped away. I feel so guilty, like I let him down when he trusted me. Should I have gone ahead with the surgery? I just don't know. I only know that it feels like I did the wrong thing and he's gone because of me. I held him in my arms, on the lap he always loved so much, as the vet released the life of my very best friend. I asked for something, anything, to keep, as though I would ever need anything to remember him. They presented me with a thick tuft of the softest tummy fur I've ever felt. But it wasn't enough to build a new Coopy. His ashes are spread at the base of Mt. Rainier. He was 11. Three days later, we received a sympathy card from the veterinarian's office with a piece of parchment inside that had Super Cooper's paw prints stamped on it. The card was kind, but an unexpected blow that brought another fresh, flash flood down my cheeks. It really didn't matter though, because I hadn't stopped crying anyway. It's been 2 1/2 months. I still ugly cry. Hell, I'm doing it now. Phil misses him, too. He's already a vocal kitty (read: annoying). Nowadays he roams the apartment searching for his little pain in the ass while meowing very loudly. He scratches at closets, meowing loudly. He lays in the same places Coop-Coop lay during his last days. He lays next to the litter box, under the bathroom sink, in front of the washing machine. He mourns. He has stepped up, and is now in charge of the lap. It's his job to keep it warm now, although his terms are less possessive than his predecessor. He's doing a great job, but he's lonely. We play together more now which is good, because Phil is ginormous and needs his exercise. We're still working on learning to dance together. ******************************************** Well, if you've made it this far, thank you. Again, today was just for me. Perhaps this will bring some closure, I have no idea. I'm new to this. And I just hope the sun comes out tomorrow. Blessings, Tammi- *Original artwork at the top of the piece painted by local artist, Shelley Brown Not being of a political mindset, I've found myself in uncharted territory this past year or so. I've definitely become aware and impassioned by global (and personal) events, and like so many others, I just want things to be right. I'd say, "right again," but I think it's been awhile since that's been a thing. It's just that I'm finally paying attention.
My husband and I have both developed a new neurological disorder. It's called, "Politically Inspired Tourette's (or "PITs")." This causes us to raise our voices and yell obscenities at our televisions in response to the continual stream of ridiculosity and chaos that flow through the infosphere. Symptoms vary, but frequently include elevated blood pressure, nausea, anxiety and depression with occasional righteous indignation. It can be an incurable disease; left untreated, it can cause eventual and irreversible insanity. But with proper treatment and a healthy respect, the symptoms can actually be used to the betterment of the patient. It's important to recognize your symptoms and their triggers. And as with any disease, rather than treating only the symptoms, it's important to learn the root cause and address it accordingly. You may never completely recover, but you'll have a better understanding of what's truly important to you. A lot of us actively seek spiritual peace. My mother began seeking her personal spirituality in earnest sometime during the 70s (sorry for dating you, Mom). There were always different books that encouraged readers to embrace and expand their inner selves, always with the prospect of becoming one with the universe. I personally believe we are all threads in the universal tapestry, each of us adding color, and each dependent on the resilience (perceived or otherwise) of our surrounding threads for growth and strength. One such book offered a simple solution for a happy life. It suggested that adhering to the acronym "H. E. A. L. T. H." might bring you the peace you've been seeking. As a child, I memorized the acronym's meaning word for word, never really understanding the value behind it. But as an adult, I get it. I get the importance of listening to what's inside of your heart, and the importance of understanding your personal truths. More importantly, understanding why they are your personal truths. So, submitted, for your approval, is the acronym, "H. E. A. L. T. H." May you find it as useful as I. H - Have Happiness. Do you know how it feels to be truly happy? To actually live in the moment, and not worry about what others may think? For me, actually having...no, actually owning happiness, isn't always an easy task. It's become easier with age because I realize that I don't have to impress anyone else. I now enjoy gardening and cooking (two of my favorite past-times) not just because I feel the need to impress or out-do my acquaintances. I love feeling the earth in between my fingers, and scrubbing the soil from beneath my fingernails. I love that the food I create is not only tasty, but it brings me great joy to know that what I've prepared will nourish someone I love. It humbles me and yet nurtures my soul when my music touches another's heart. Sharing my talents and gifts is just one of the many things that makes me happy. The list goes on, but the acronym is waiting, so... E - Endorse enthusiasm. It's easy, especially with social media, to go with the flow. To become indignant over a cause, and lash out without aforethought. And it seems there is a support group for every cause imaginable, just or not. Oh, the hateful and malicious things I've read or started to read but couldn't finish. The anonymity of social media affords us the right to say and do as we please (mostly) without consequence. Some people (a "bigly" amount) seem to thrive upon this ugliness. I've caught myself "sharing" posts to the public that I probably didn't need to share. But I've recently made a commitment to refrain from forwarding negativity. I'd rather share positivity and run the risk of encouraging another than most certainly add another chink (no matter how tiny) to their armor. Rather than adding fuel to an already blazing fire and proliferating further hate, I choose to keep my side of the street clean. It's not my job to police the Internet; rather, I see my position as one which provides a little bit of inspiration where I can and where it's needed. A LOT if you can stand it. So, inspire and encourage. Generate and endorse that enthusiasm. It's far better for your blood pressure than CNN. A - Affirm Appreciation. For some reason, I'm struggling with defining this term. Not because I don't understand or embrace the concept. It's another over-used and frequently misunderstood word. One definition from www.dictionary.com is as follows: noun gratitude; thankful recognition: "They showed their appreciation by giving him a gold watch." I dunno. Appreciating a gift is important, to be sure. But for me, it goes beyond what you receive. I've learned to appreciate the people in my life as the individuals they are. I still occasionally refer to my children as "The Kids," usually around the holidays when we're wondering if "The Kids" will be over for dinner. But they're each unique, and I not only appreciate but relish the human beings they've always been and continue to become. I appreciate my husband for all he does and has accomplished, and for the strength of his love. For the cloak of protection he provides to comfort me, I am eternally grateful. My Mama? She's loved me my whole life, even before I was a thought. She's always wanted me, enough so that she picked me out of all of the other babies she could have chosen. Just me. And she's loved me ever since, no matter how crappy I've treated her. And my friends? Well? That would take another post. These are all examples of the gratitude and appreciation I am honored to carry through my life. But there's more... What about the girl who made your latte` this morning? Did you appreciate that she probably had to be up before 5, expected to look her best, and then lean awkward and uncomfortably out of the window to give you that coffee with a smile? Your mailman, out doin' his thing no matter the weather. All of the people you interact with on a daily basis...surely you can let them know you appreciate them! The stranger walking by wearing the cutest outfit (Guys: read, "most bad-ass jersey")? There's no reason you shouldn't say something and make their day. It never hurts to give someone a reason to feel appreciated. And bonus? You'll feel better, too. L - Love Life. What brings you joy? Not just of the fleeting, "Yay! I got a Snickers!!" variety. But those things that you keep close to your heart, those activities and memories you can always turn to for a smile. Things like music, or nature. Or maybe you're a painter or gasp, a writer? Are you depriving yourself of these things? Because if you are, I'm here to tell you, you're depriving yourself of those things, and you need to stop doing that right this minute. Mama was right when she told me that the older you get, the faster time flies by, so grab a hold of the steering wheel and drive like the wind before your license is, er, revoked. Sometimes it's not that easy; sometimes you have to do a little detective work to find out what brings you joy. But I would encourage you to step away from the box and explore your world. There's no point in having your license revoked if you never took the chance to use it in the first place. So get going! T - Think Tranquility. I can't shut my mind down at the end of the day. At least not without assistance of some sort. Whether it's meditation, supplements, medication, or wine, I've always needed something. Needless to say, I'm still working on this one. I try to keep my mind clear, and not dwell on the day's events, but it's not always easy. I'm learning to glean the peaceful moments and shuck the unimportant. The difficult part for me is discerning which is which. I have an inner scale (think Lady of Justice) that prohibits me from throwing anything aside without over-thinking it to death. A decision in either way pains me, sometimes physically. And just when I think my ducks are in a row, my inner voice shows up. She has no inside voice either. She can't just mutter to herself quietly in the corner. Oh no. She's a one-woman marching band, tromping across my frontal lobe at 2:18 in the morning, redecorating the apartment, making shopping lists, deciding if a job should be in her future, replaying 32 miscellaneous songs (all at once), and did I mention all of the important conversations being practiced?. It's fairly exhausting. Clearly, I have (as I used to tell my employees) areas of opportunity for improvement. So, this is still a work in progress for me,. Any suggestions (PG only please) are welcome. And last but not least...the second "H"... H - Harvest Harmony. I believe that we are connected by energy. I imagine that energy to be much as the tide, it's ebbing and flowing encouraged (or discouraged) by the many energy fluctuations entwined within it. I try my best to add my positive energy to the mix, but that's not always the case. I have my pity parties, my bursts of anger, my guilt, fear, all of the negatives that are part of life. But I try not to push that out in the world (I said, "TRY...", there's a Yoda joke in there somewhere) because I know it's not helping anyone else. The Bible tells you that,"Whatever ye shall sew, so shall ye reap." There's also a little line you may have heard or read that talks about doing unto others. In some spiritual circles, your actions come back to you three-fold, whether good or bad, so you better be nice. Heck, even Santa's keeping track. So just stop slinging gunk out there. And stop being such a sponge for the gunk. That's what it means to harvest harmony: don't sew any nasty seeds, and harvest only the fruits that bring you nourishment. Weeds don't nourish. If you've made it this far, I commend you. I initially began this post yesterday, but the household gremlins decided I had better things to do and deleted my draft. It's all good though. Apparently what I had written was meant for my eyes only. So I'll consider it a lesson learned. Until next time, be good humans. Pay attention to not only the flaws, but the beauty and grace that make up life as well. Blessed be! Tammi- Reflections... As if synchronized to an internal grandfather clock, the tails of the two felines resting at my feet swish back and forth across my toes. It tickles a bit, although not quite enough to make me giggle. The three of us bask in the warmth of the afternoon sun filtering through the screen door. We've had quite an eventful day; the gremlins have been busy challenging our patience with their various snares and tricks. But it is now afternoon snuggle time, so the gremlins will have to resume their antics another time. Normally, I am not as restful. Normally, I am frenetic, to the point of exhaustion. But I am learning to watch for signs of these impending frenzies and take steps now to manage the coming tornado. So today, I am peaceful. The previous weeks have been riddled with chaos, some of the happy variety and some tearful. I was fortunate enough to attend my husband's family reunion camp-out and finally meet more extended family. It was wonderful listening to my husband and his brother strumming their guitars together while a few of us sang along. One thing's for sure, my husband's family sure knows how to throw down a good reunion. I'm blessed to be part of the clan. The day before we were to leave for the reunion I learned that a dear childhood friend had passed on. I wasn't prepared for that news whatsoever, and I'm still trying to understand these emotions. I feel as though I'm trying to solve a Rubik's cube, but I just can't seem to get it right. I can solve one or two sides, but it's going to take some more work to put it back the way it used to be. That is IF you can put it back together. I already miss you Lisa. And those beautiful freckles. Epiphanies, Part 2... I wish I could interview Alicia. I don't want to know the meaning of life, or what she regretted. I have so many questions and I know that her responses would be genuine and peppery. I want to know about the part where your life is supposed to flash before your eyes. Does it really? I want to know what's on the highlight reel, and what fell to the cutting room floor, realizing of course the highlights and the reasons for them are different for each of us. And there are more questions, but perhaps the answers are moot because they just wouldn't apply to me. I have my own reality, and have walked my own path, so my reasons and beliefs are unique to me. But I still wonder. I wonder what her answer would be if I asked her what she would have done differently. Or why she would have done it differently. Or if its even important to her anymore. While pondering this the other day I was advised that it's best to just let things go. But I don't think the person who gave this advice to me realized that I'm not clinging to the past. Instead, these ponderings remind me to appreciate my present. Not in the, "YOLO!" sense; I am in no way a thrill-seeker. More in the, "Don't sleep your life away," or, "Pay attention to life!" category. Life has been a little 'tricky' these days (when isn't it?), and it's easy to find yourself surviving rather than living. I'd like to imagine I have many gifts, but communicating with the other side isn't one of them. I don't know if she would have wanted us to remember her in a certain way or behave unemotionally in order to ease her passing. I suspect that's not the case; we tend to varnish the unpleasantries of life so as to make them easier to palate. I choose to remember her for the beautiful and genuinely compassionate (and yet spicy, lol) soul that I knew her to be. We built forts together in my closet when we were very young. She welcomed me on my first day of high school when I was new and knew barely anyone else. We sang together in choir. Our lives took different directions, and yet, I still feel as though if she were to walk through that door, we would fall right into step, and I would have my ass chewed for letting it all just pass by without so much as a toe dangling in the water. Cliches aside, we really do only live once (most of us, anyway), so pay attention. I realized the other day that I'm close to pushing 50. I have 3 grown children: 29, 26 and 20, and one glorious grandson who just turned 5. I often wonder to myself if I could have done a better job. The answer is always a resounding, "YES!!" But maybe it shouldn't be. Maybe it would enrich my journey to finally accept that my life in the past really did happen, explanations and excuses aside. I may not embrace the thorns, but the blossoms still bloom on the same vine. I may not know how much time the bloom has left on the vine, but I know that it doesn't waste time worrying. It simply lives in beauty. I still have questions, although I'm not sure the answers would be life-changing. An answer cannot change a life without action. What would you do with the information if you knew everything your future held? Even better, why would you want to know? Lisa has taught me that I don't need that information. I simply need to live, and remember all of the lessons I've learned thus far. They provide the framework for who I am today and I have the privilege of filling in the spaces. We're waking up to clouds and maybe even some rain here in Washington. That might seem typical, but we're just wrapping up a record-breaking streak of days without rain. I'm looking forward to another lazy day with my "boys" and my husband; Are you ready for some football??? I hope your weekend was as productive as you needed it to be, and if that means resting up, then that's as productive as you need. Be good humans. Don't dwell. Don't overthink or try to predict the future (unless you get paid for that, and then you probably should). Knock it out of the park this week just to say you can. I promise you'll feel better. Brightest Blessings - Tammi- PS - I finally decided that the only way to "solve" the Rubik's Cube was to deconstruct it and put it back together correctly. That's cheating. And it never lasts because as soon as you start playing around with it again, it becomes seemingly unsolvable again. Just do the work. |
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