Vegas Memories

Just a bit of a memory stroll today. 

I ran across this and thought of a fun December trip to Vegas a few years ago. 

What a show these guys put on! One of my older brothers and favorite SIL (Psst! They all are my favorites!) had such fun. 

This is what I remember from the day and night we were there: 

• My SIL (from Arizona) was wearing a freaking mini parka because she was cold (what?) in the 68-degree weather. My body was still Alaska-nized/Iowa-ized so I was wearing shorts and drinking anything that had ice in it. 
• I got drunk off 2 drinks) at the bar in Crush with the SIL.
• After Crush, my cheap drunk self thought I was hallucinating when we walked past the Jabba's store and the "mannequins" suddenly came alive for a moment.
• The SIL and I drank some more and drinking made me want to smoke again. I paid something like $15 for a single pack of cigarettes - because I bought them in the hotel instead of going to a convenience store outside down the street... I was more than happy to go back off the tobacco immediately after that trip but I smoked like a hooker's coochie for 2 days.
• The show we had bought tickets for was canceled while we were standing in line to board the flight to Vegas. We decided to go ahead and make the trip. Since we were staying at the Grand where the dancers were being featured, I chose to see the Jabbawockeez Jreamz show instead. We stopped at a street kiosk on the Strip to find another attraction, and...
• the 3 of us tried hard not to laugh out loud on the street as we watched a couple of 80-year-old women who'd been on our flight hilariously cuss out the artist who'd pulled the no-show.
• I (again, coming from Alaska - home of the best pot in the world - or so I've heard) got absolutely wasted just breathing the weed fumes while walking down the Strip. My brother practically had to hold me up. And it's Vegas so no one noticed. 
• I couldn't help myself and started crying (probably cos I was still unintentionally high) while watching the Fountains of Bellagio synced to "Oh, Holy Night".
• The Jreamz show was amazing. I got my hand kissed by a Jabba who came through the audience pre-show and I am to this day trying to understand what is so sexy about a man who can dance even when you have no idea what they look like.
• My brother tried not to show it but he liked the show as much as the SIL and I did - and we were dancing in our seats through the whole show.
• Even at my age, I love being with my family. Being with any of my brothers always makes me feel safe and loved. Being with my SILs makes me feel like part of an exclusive group of crazy-sexy-cool ladies.

This is not the first nor will it be the last time I say this: the best gift my parents ever gave me is my sister and brothers. We don't always like each other but we love each other always. Watching that newer video from the Jabbas brought back a lot of good memories. 

Peace

--Free

Big and Beautiful Moments

One of my nieces got married this past week. I stream-shared the service with our extended family by recording a Facebook Live video. The one thing I can love about Facebook is that it was a way for our family spread all over the world to witness the service.

A wedding ceremony is such a beautiful event. And I'm not talking about the clothes or flowers or all the other ornate things. It's just such a big moment with big consequences that I always feel like life is suspended for that little while. A wedding is, just by itself, such a holy and sanctified event that, as a guest, I always feel like I'm sitting in the presence of angels.

Actually, I love all kinds of ceremonies for deep and meaningful things. I remember vividly the christening of my sister's twins. That was just the most amazing thing - to see those babies sleeping so peacefully while we had them blessed and prayed over. They weren't even aware that, no matter what happened all the rest of their lives - long or short - people had asked God to bless and keep them.

And funerals are the hardest ceremonies to experience. It's like the very public acceptance of the reality of death. Sad but, I believe, necessary. Funerals are never for the dead, but only a way for those left alive to begin dealing with their grief. A way to force us to deal with our grief.

Weddings though, there is just something so special about them. It doesn't matter if the couple is rich or poor, royal or common. The location and surroundings don't have to be exotic or formal. The biggest thing about the wedding is that two people are about to start a life together. That's a really big deal.

While I was watching my niece go from being a single person to becoming a family with this person she loves, I kept thinking of her as the little girl she used to be. When she was young, she could be shy, she could be daring, and she could tapdance on your last good nerve by pushing the rules. To paraphrase Stevie Wonder, she had once been a little nappy-headed child. Now suddenly, she was this grown woman standing at the wedding altar with this aura of joy radiating out of her. Just unreal. And the groom couldn't take his eyes off of her. He looked mesmerized and I wondered if he was remembering to breathe. I can't even properly describe how happy they both looked. They found something that not everyone does.

I don't care what modern vibes dictate, I still believe in old-fashioned commitment so I love everything about taking vows and coupling up. That's why I was fascinated by something the officiating minister did during this ceremony.  Before reciting the traditional rites, he handed the bride and groom cups of sand, each of a different color. He spoke about what it means to be two separate and single people, each with their individual thoughts, ideas, and emotions. He said that marriage was the act of those separate people willingly coming together, joining their hearts and goals to become as one. He then had them pour their cups of sand into a single bowl, explaining that, like the sand, they were now coming together to make something new. That was the nicest illustration of marriage that I have ever witnessed.

You need to know that the groom is already the father of a young child who stood next to the best man during the service. So, while I am already tearing up at the whole pouring of the sand thing, the minister went next level. He called the child forward and explained that was an extension of this new union between the bride and groom. Then he gave the kid a cup of sand to pour into the bowl.

Listen, at this point, I couldn't hold back the tears any longer. Not just me, but everyone in the church is sniffling and snuffling. I'm trying to hold the phone up to keep recording while I wipe my eyes and nose. I'm a complete mess. People watching the video are commenting that they can hear me crying. Yeah. Like they weren't all crying right along with me. We can, on occasion, be an emotional bunch of folk.

Anyway.

It's a week later, and am still thinking of the wedding. What a big moment for those two young people. Huge moment. I hope they cherish the magnitude of what they have done. I wish that I had appreciated my own ceremony and what it meant. I was so young and foolish. Thankfully, I truly believe that my niece and her new husband get it. I could almost see her shining with happiness and gratitude as she was escorted up the aisle by my brother. As she and the groom came down the aisle, on the way into their new life, they both looked so happy and giddy. Almost like they were thinking, "Did we just do this?" They were so dang adorable. And now there are even more people in my family to love.

So, yeah, that was a big, big moment. For the couple and for their child. I don't think I can take any more ceremonies of any kind for a while. I'm still feeling the emotional high from that wedding. I just wish so much that my mother could have been here to see her youngest son's youngest daughter getting married and becoming all in one day not just a wife but a mother too. Mom would be so proud. And she would have right there, crying with me.

Now I am over here, holding my breath, waiting for the next beautiful thing to happen, whatever it may be.

Peace
--Free

It's a little sugary sweet, but it's also perfect for this post

**GRIOT** Named and Loved

Okay, so I was chatting online with some of the nieces and nephews about these Griot posts. They love hearing about their 'grandpeople' and I love sharing what I can remember. Since the cousins are all about the genealogy these days, I thought that I could talk about some of the names that run in our line.

A name is a special thing. Your surname can be a kind of placeholder in history. Your first names sometimes are meant to reflect the hopes pinned on you. In the Bible, names are very important. God would change people's name or bless their names. Today, we honor our Adamic past by giving children Bible names. I watched a documentary the other day where the presenter noted that you won't find a lot of children named after Judas Iscariot. I had never thought of that before. Personally, I have always believed that the name a child grows up with can have a serious impact on their personality and attitude, not to mention in how the rest of the world might see them. That's why we make cruel fun of people by calling them a "Becky" or "Shanequa" - and I have been cruel in that way...

In my family, nicknames were kind of a big deal. My mother had an older brother named Eber but everyone called him "Mutt". Uh, yeah. Don't ask because I don't know. There were other male relatives or close friends known as Sonny, Sonny Boy, Snookie Boy, and Bugs.

One of my mother's sisters - the one who passed before I was old enough to know her - had a beautiful name: French L. The "L" didn't stand for anything, it was just part of her birth name. I do remember that some of my folks would pronounce her name as "Frānch L.", going long on the 'a'. Apparently, she was as beautiful as her name. She must have been a riot though. I heard one story about her once being a little tipsy and admonishing a child for having their shoes on the wrong feet. The child knew better than to mention it, but the adults who were there cracked up laughing because Aunt French L's shoes were also on the wrong feet. Aunt French L's granddaughter was named after her but we mostly called her just "French" or "Frenchie".

Some of the adults I knew as a child were always referred to by their initials. To this day, I can't tell you what Aunt French L's husband's real name was. We just called him Mr. J.B.

My father always called my mother Hon but most of her other family and friends called her "Tootsie" (or, as they pronounced it, "Too-see"). This is because she was very dark complected but, as a child and teenager, had fire-red hair. Being so black-skinned with that red hair, she looked to them like a Tootsie Pop. She dyed her hair a deep brown for years until it started to grow in as a darker auburn. Here's something crazy: I'm very dark-skinned like my mother and my hair also tends towards auburn if I don't keep it dyed. In addition to that, I inherited from my father blue encircled irises. It's a harmless condition and not a totally uncommon thing although it can freak people out when the sun hits my eyes the right way. Without the sun shining into them, most people don't notice anything different about my dark brown eyes.

Back to the wonderful nicknames, one of my favorite uncles - formally named a Jr after his father, Oscar Sr - was always called Hot Shot (or 'Hah-shot'). My grandfather was known to his friends as "Bud". Oscar Sr's wife (my step-grandmother) was "Miss Ollie" to everyone, including me and the other grandchildren. By the way, young Rudy Cosby sounded just like Miss Ollie did when saying "Bud".

Granddaddy Bud's first wife, my grandmother, was named Gretchel but, for some reason, everyone called her "Aunt Jack".For the longest time, I thought her first name must have been Jacqueline or Jackie.

I had a cousin we always called "Yogi". Whenever a teacher in school used her birth name of Saundra, everyone - including Yogi - would look around to see who she was referring to. Other cousins and peers of mine had names that had to do with sweetness: Peaches, Cookie, Sugar, Candy. I use those names for characters in my stories because I loved the real people.

Now that  I think of it, my Texas family were the ones with nicknames. Not so much with my Arkansas relatives. I'm going to have to think about that a little bit. Actually, my dad's father was never called George; everyone called him Mr.Tampa and I don't know why that is since "Tampa" was no part of his actual name... Now I'm going to have to get in touch with one of the aunties! I need to know what was going on with my grandpa's name!

Remember now that my paternal grandfather - Mr. Tampa - was a Louisiana man. His relatives did have nicknames. I remember a distant female cousin (?) that was called "Big'un". I really am going to have to talk to my paternal aunties because I cannot remember some of the other nicknames for the Lousiana family...

My oldest brother was called "Chubby". When he was younger, he was, in fact, kind of chubby. My sister who I've talked so much about over the years was nicknamed "Mike" and there's a story behind that. I was Penny to my parents and siblings up until I became a teenager. One of my older brothers still calls me by that nickname on occasion and I had one uncle who called me that until he died a couple of years ago. Apparently, as an infant, I was copper-colored like a new penny. As I got older and my skin darkened, one of my older brothers started calling me "Black Knight". Yeah. Cute... In high school, I went through a phase where I used only my middle name: Michele. Some of my closest friends back then called me Bones because I was so rail-thin. Oh, the good old days of carbs without consequences!

Names are not just an identity. Your name belongs to you in a way that can help shape your identity. When you love someone - through kinship, friendship, or romance - their name on your tongue has the taste of your relationship with them. You might remember that favorite quote of mine is by a child who defined love as keeping someone's name safe in your mouth. That's so real.

Thinking back to some of the first people, Adam's and Eve's names had meaning. Even God has several names and they each have a special meaning. I personally like to think of Him as El Shaddai and Elohim. To go further, even love has different names. In reference to my faith, Agape (or Agapao) love is the one that most comforts me.

So, when you think of your loved ones and speak their names, remember what the Bible teaches about the power of the tongue. Keep those names safe in your mouth. Speak their names with love and peace and hopes for their well-being. Even when speaking of your enemies, be careful not to use their names in ways you wouldn't want anyone to use yours.

Peace
--Free

And since I am in a praising the Lord mood right now, here's some Third Day with beautiful lyrics

Where the Loved Ones Go

Does anyone else get in a mood where they just sit and think about the people they've lost touch with or just lost? I don't mean in a sad way - like when you start grieving all over again like you never got a chance to in the first place. I mean, like when you just thought about one of the people you've loved, then think of another and another until you go ahead and give in to all the memories? That's the mood I was in earlier today.

It dawned on me long ago that I do my best thinking when I'm not trying to think. This is why I have notebooks and pens scattered all around my apartment. It's also why I have notes scribbled on pieces of scrap paper. If someone ever cleaned out my purse and tossed out all the gum wrappers and receipts, I'd break down and cry. Every now and then, I do have to go through my purses and backpack just to collect the bits of my "thinkings". I'll either transfer them to one of my journals or put them into a folder to be dealt with later. What's crazy about this is that, when I move, I have to make a box just for all that paper and the journals. Too many memories and story ideas are buried in them. I sometimes fantasize that when I die and someone is handling my belongings they will read those scribblings and think, "She wasn't crazy, she was trying to remain sane."

A lot of the notes I have are about the people I love. If I remember a story my mother or father told me, I'll hurry and write it down. My memory is bi-polar reliant so I've learned to take mental snapshots and then print them out of my brain onto a note asap. Anyway.

This morning when I was cleaning and gathering up laundry, I thought of my Auntie "Lenore". I had a scarf turbaned around my hair so I wouldn't mess up my twists. My aunt never wore a scarf like that but something about it reminded me of her. I used to call and talk with her at least a couple of times a year, then it was once a year and then it was once every other year. I hardly ever call anymore. That's because we have the exact same conversation that lasts about 3 minutes. We run through this checklist of how I and my siblings are doing, then she tells me she's doing fine, and then she wants to get off the phone because she thinks it's costing me too much money. I don't think she gets the whole AT&T gouges me really good once a month so I can make all the calls I want. The gouging does not get any more gentle if I never even touch my phone. And don't think I am heartless for not calling Auntie any more often. I have younger aunts who use social media and keep me up to date.

Once I thought about Auntie "Lenore", I thought about another of my aunties. I'm going to run out of fake names here, but let's call my other auntie "Rosa". She was killed about 15 years ago when a drunk driver ran her down. She was one of my favorite younger aunts. She was sweet as southern tea and so shy that she practically whispered when she spoke. She had a beautifully innocent smile that I will never forget. I remember how she had a habit of ducking her head if anyone paid attention to her. She was that shy. I already have some notes tucked away that I scribbled about her.

Of course, I also think a lot about the mother of one of my SIL's. I remember feeling so broken when I was leaving Alaska once because it was right when she was suffering from dementia. (By the way,  but I didn't mind sharing Marie's real name because her daughter and I decided that she would have wanted me to.) People use the term loosely but Marie really was so "full of life". I'm happy to say that if I concentrate, I can clearly hear her voice right now. I have not forgotten her sense of humor or the way she and my mother got along just enough to drive the rest of us crazy.

Anyway, there's something I started wondering about while I was in this mood. Do you suppose that when we are dying we are already glimpsing whatever is on the other side? And what do you think it feels like in your heart or soul as you realize that "this is it?"

I have very distinct memories of watching at least 2 people die. One was my mother and the other was my sister. Neither was awake for a while before the machines flatlined but they had been so still and peaceful for so long that I always wonder if their souls hadn't already gone on. With my sister, I know that at least for a while she was somehow aware of me sitting next to her. When I held her hand and talked to her, she squeezed my fingers once. But that was early in her last hours. Just before I dozed off on the night she died, I had combed her hair and talked to her. When I held her hand then, she didn't squeeze back. Like we had done with my mother, I told her she could let go because I would be okay without her. I'm such a liar

Are you afraid of dying? Why? I don't mean do you want to die. I don't think that anyone does on most days. I want to know if you are afraid of what it will mean to be dead? I have always joked that I'm more afraid of getting dead than being dead. That's true. I really would rather not see it coming. I don't want to have to stress about things left unsaid, undone,  or finished. If I had a say, I'd want to just be here one minute and gone the next. Let's make that the next second. No need stretching things out even a little bit.

On the other hand, there are times I think I'd like to get a chance to take care of a few things. Say that last "I love you" or "I'm so glad you were in my life."

Never mind. I take it back. I'd rather not have time to plan or think about it.

I also wonder what it must be like "on the other side" (and I hate that term!). I've read the Bible and some other books about the afterlife. I've never been very clear on the whole subject. Once I asked someone if they thought we were going to be instantly "aware" after death. They made a point that maybe only Christians will find interesting. They reminded me that the Bible teaches that the thief hanging next to Jesus was promised that he would be in paradise with the Lord "this day" - meaning no sleeping in his buried body or anything like that.

No matter what you choose to believe, I want to have all this stuff sorted out in my head and in my heart before I die.

When I think about sudden death, I remember one friend and former co-worker who died of a brain stem stroke. She was in her forties and had just fallen in love for probably the first time ever. "Sue" was damn near family because a cousin of hers was dating a brother of mine. She had this maniacal laugh that was freaking contagious. It sounded like Dudley Moore playing "Arthur" - only more feminine. She'd had some difficult times in her personal and work life and just when everything was coming together in a positive way, she was taken. There wasn't any time for her to ponder the situation. She woke up for work not feeling especially well but just assumed she was coming down with a cold or virus. She made it to work but developed such a bad headache that she returned home to sleep it off. And she died.

Sue and I had discussed more than once how sometimes life just didn't seem worth living. We were both dealing with heartache and disappointment. You go through enough of that as you are getting a little older and you start to feel like all your chances for happiness have passed you by. Sue struggled to live during the times she felt like dying would be better and then she died just when her life was getting good. This will make you examine your beliefs.

I always imagine that "Sue" probably laid down with that headache thinking of all the things she'd do once she felt better. Maybe she worried about the work that would have piled up on her desk in her absence. Maybe there was even one particular client she knew would be impatient about the holdup in their paperwork.  I wonder if she had gotten to kiss her boyfriend or lay down with him in love one last time. I wonder if she got to tell him she loved him before he left for work that last morning. These are not things that are easy to ask the ones who remain behind. These are things that we can only wonder about and hope the best for.

When my father died, he was almost 5000 miles away from me. On the morning he died - a couple of hours before my aunts called to tell me - I had mentioned to my mother that I thought I heard him calling my name. Of course, we knew he was sick and I had just come back from visiting him. My mother told me that it was probably just because I had him so much on my mind. I'm not sad about my father today (like I can sometimes be). Today I am thinking of his smile (much like his sister/my auntie) and how he pronounced "either" and "neither" as "eezer" and "neezer" because he never lost his Arkansas countrified accent. I inherited his flat fingernails and these nappy assed curls that have to be tamed with all kinds of products. But I also got his long-for-our-height legs and decent metabolism. And If I really get to missing my daddy, I can always go look in the mirror or visit my little brother who looks "the spitting image" of him.

So, yeah, I get in these moods where I can't help thinking about the people I've loved. I think about them and I wonder if they know how much I love and miss them even when they can't hear me saying it.

And not because I am sad today, but because I love this song and forgot to add it to my list. It's by Dani and Lizzy. Please go support them for sharing something beautiful with those of us who grieve the loss of loved ones.

Peace
--Free

Love and Aging

My best friend and I were talking (because we talk on the phone at least once a week) and I asked her if she wanted to find love again. Her answer was that she had never found it before and that she is no longer looking.  Since I guess I am relatively younger (she's 20 years my senior) she lobbed the question back at me. My answer is more complicated.

Here's the thing: I've not been good at or "lucky" in love. A just-uncoupled friend sent me a meme once that said, basically, that being in love and being in a relationship are two different things That is so true that it stings. So, I guess I would take either - love or the relationship - but would prefer the latter.

Love is tricky and, in my opinion, very rare. I know that a lot of people talk about being in love and having found the love of their lives but I think it's more complicated than that. I believe that most people have just found someone they can love and be happy with. I don't think that most people find their truest love or "soul mate". Sorry if that offends anyone.

So, yes, I would love to be 'in love' - who wouldn't? I'd love to just be with someone who most perfectly matches the edges and curves of my soul. That probably won't ever happen but I never give up hope. I would, at this point, settle for being in a really good relationship. And I consider a good relationship being one based on comfort zones, acceptance, and loyalty. I'm not a person who likes to be smothered. I don't want someone breathing up all my air and I don't want to suffocate them. I'm too much of a hermit crab (Cancerian here, remember?) but I do want to make someone happy and I'd prefer not be grow old(er) alone. I take that back. I don't want to grow old lonely.

A long while back I posted what some children had to say when asked: "what is love?" Kids are so damn pure! One of my favorite answers was given by 4-year-old Billy:

'When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.'

Billy was four at the time, people. I can't imagine the man he will grow up to be.

A 7-year-old Noelle gave an answer that, in my opinion, describes a relationship:

'Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday.'

She has the concept down. There is a tricky difference between loving someone and being in love with someone. It took me until my thirties to figure that one out.

So, love or relationship? Again, I'd like to have both. I'd rather have my name safe in someone's mouth, but I'd take having them just care enough to make me a priority.

I don't think there are many men out there who would want a relationship with me. For one thing, I'm more sensual than sexual and I get the feeling that most men my age date younger because they want children or porn-like intimacy.  I'm the chick who needs my space when I need my space but will often want to sleep in a cling-wrap cuddle.  And I don't like having mundane, pointless conversations because nothing should be mundane and pointless. How nice to be able to enjoy someone in their silence... I want a person who has their own "thing" - something they care so much about that they don't mind if I don't care about it with them; something that gives them a reason to have their own space every now and then. And I want someone who has gotten over themselves enough to be flawed and awkward; someone who can laugh and cry and think without caring what anyone thinks of them for laughing, crying or thinking. I just want someone who makes me feel comfortable being who I am. I remember being married and waking up early just to get rid of morning breath and crawl back into bed with the whole fake I-woke-up-looking-this-good. F*ck that!

Someone once told me that, often, people aren't looking to be loved but looking to be rescued. This may be truest as we age. For certain, there is hope for older people looking for actual love. One of the people who used to live in this apartment building started seriously dating a few months back. And get this: he is dating someone around his own age! The judgemental witch that I can sometimes be was surprised by this. The guy is nice-looking and I suspect that he is really comfortable in his retirement (some seniors here hide their money to live in the building), and he likes to 'party' (read that as hitting up the VFW almost every night). He even asked me out once. Alas, I don't 'party' like that. Of course, because I can be bitter and critical, I just knew that dude had hooked up with someone half his age. Nope. She's kind of hot, but she is most definitely "mature". He likes to bring her by every now and then when he visits with his buddies who still live here. I'm a little jealous now. LOL

As for my best friend, I tease that she doesn't have to be looking to find love. As a matter of fact, I think it's when we aren't looking that it finds us. Now I'm a little scared.

Peace
--Free

P.S.:
I am such a fan of  JM Storm (his Facebook link). He's prolific on Instagram and has books and an Amazon page.

Tales from the Vacay

Last night was the first night that (almost) all of us were under one roof for the evening. It was madness. And I loved it.

We are almost all together. Repping Alaska, Colorado, Texas, Maryland, California, and our host city of Arizona.

Sisters....
the one on the left wants to be
an astronaut. One of the right is just
spacey! LOL

Repping the AZ

She's going to kill me for this one!

DJ went wandering the halls
when he got bored with adults

He found the laundry room
but couldn't escape!

2 brothers, 1 sister, a sis-in-law and a niece
#Ohana

Nephews and girlfriends
and video games

Hope they aren't talking bizness
#realtors & #brokers

 Tonight is the biggie. I missed the morning's Turkey Bowl games (I mean, 7 in the morning! Really?)

Our last bit of family made it in at noon and midnight. We are now complete (except for the couple of us that couldn't get away from work and school... :-(

Let the Thanksgiving pre-fam events begin.

Peace
--Free

Reunion of the Youngest

I have a younger brother. We are not the youngest of six siblings, we are also most alike in temperament. We have both lived lives that have soared too high and dropped too low. Now, in our more mature years, we may have the chance to share some years of balance and calm.

My "little" brother (who towers over me), is a gently soul. When he tried to live a life hidden in other people's dreams, he soared. When he tried to live a life that he thought he wanted, and found it so contrary to what his heart is meant for, he dropped.

His life and mine have been so similar, yet wildly different. We've flown, and not been happy; we began falling from the heights, and still felt lost. When we hit ground, we had the humility to look to God. We've been rescued and redeemed; picked up and dusted off. We are here.

Soon, God willing, I will be living near my little brother again. We've made it through everything to find ourselves as grown-up versions of the children we used to be.

It's such a beauty and a blessing.

I was watching out for my little brother...

This time, my "little" brother is the one honoring our parents by watching out for me. Thanks, bro.

Peace
--Free

**FILM ALERT** "The Loving Story"

I watched a film recently that caused me to stop and count my blessings about a lot of things.

This might sound familiar: "The Loving Story" is about two people who had to battle the state of Virginia for the right to live together...

...After they were married....

...In 1958 (not 1858, but 1958).

Oh - and because he was white and she was not.



I won't go into all the details of the documentary (there is a website you can check out), but I will say that I needed the reminder of how hard a lot of people had to fight for freedoms the rest of us now take for granted. That we do take some things for granted is sort of a good thing. The bad thing is when we forget why we can now take those things for granted.

I am always bothered when people aren't serious about educating themselves, or voting, or travelling, or working hard. Whenever I think of people who are not being allowed to live fully and healthfully and with all the advantages that most of us take for granted, I get so mad. But, sometimes, I am reminded of my own ignorant waste of blessings - like marriage and freedom.

The story of Richard and Mildred Loving sent me into a little bit of an emotional tailspin. Not just because it used this couple's marriage to showcase real commitment and courage, but also because Richard and Mildred were such a perfect example of what a marriage contract is.

My sister and I agreed that, it's often too easy to "play" with the idea of marriage - and work and education and finances and family. That's the curse having a life that's easier than our forefathers did. When you come by things the hard way, you hold them a little more dear.

I didn't know that, when I married my first husband in the early 80's, that our union would have been illegal in Alabama. Why did I not know that? Knowing how stubborn I am, I would probably have stayed married just for G.P.

Isn't it funny how we need to be reminded of our history in order to appreciate our present?

Peace
--Free

We Have the Wrong Ideas About Love

The very title of this article was so offensive ("14 Sexiest Celebrities With Ugly Significant Others"), I fell into the trap and read it. That's what I get for stumbling across sites with names like "Celebrity Romance". (Actually, I was reading news on The Root and clicked on a link...)

First of all, "romance" - celebrity or any other type - is about romance and not "hot bodies" or cheap hookups. Second of all, as stated in the article's title, those celebrities are with their chosen and "SIGNIFICANT others". A person does not become a romantic and committed significant partner to anyone too shallow to see past the exterior.

I guess the author of the article thinks it would be better for a "sexy" person to be married to an equally sexy serial killer - or woman-beater, ice-queen, rapist, cold-heart, or whatever. Apparently, that author has never gauged love for themselves with anything other than their own vagina or penis.

And by the way, "ugly" is such a four-letter word. I don't think that even the most attractive person wants to be wanted only for the way they look.  Sometimes I wish that, instead of our bodies, we could see the state of our hearts in a mirror. (By the way, I sure didn't see a photo of the article's author! I hope they can consider themselves "hot" since that might be all they have going for them.)

When I think of spending my life with someone, I don't think of having to be beauty-queen perfect most of the all the time. I hope that I will just be as beautiful as I am to that person. I sure as hell am not going to give a damn whether or not some tired-ass loser thinks I don't deserve to be with someone.

Since I am ranting all over the place on the topic of love and couples, let me tell you about a couple I saw today.

This morning, while I was waiting to see my doctor, I watched a mid-aged daughter come into the waiting room with her elderly parents. The dad was in a reclining wheelchair and the mom didn't look very well. Apparently, they were there for the father's appointment because the mother was as concerned for  his comfort as the daughter was. While the daughter took care of insurance forms, I watched her parents tease and banter with each other. I sat there thinking about how hard it must be for the wife to see her husband not feeling well. I'm sure she's worried and maybe even thinking about the "What ifs" of a life without him.

I kept thinking how that couple was young once, and their daughter just a baby, and their life as a family just starting. Imagine what they've been through together. Imagine the good times and bad times.

Like a lot of older single people, when I see loving couples, I have a habit of being envious of the "easy" parts of relationships. Looking at that husband and wife today, I realized that there are so many more parts of a lifetime commitment that are difficult. I also realized that I even envy their difficulties.

Anyway.

Whoever wrote that disgusting article has surely missed the whole point of love and commitment and desire. I think most of us are surprised by what will make a person attractive to us. And by "attractive", I mean truly attracted. Hormones are one thing, but real devotion is something else.

Personally, I get so sick of the media paying all this attention to "hotties", "yummy mummies", and "sexiest" whoever. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate sexiness, but I guess we all have our own definition of what that is. There is a huge difference between I-wanna-sex-you-up and I-wanna-spend-my-life-with-you. Love is blind because we love with our hearts and not with our eyes.

Peace
--Free

Real Friends

• I talk with them using my 'real' voice and not that one I use for answering the phone and talking to strangers.
• They talk to me the same way.
• We laugh about our other voices.
• Laughed with them and didn't worry what I looked like while I was laughing.
• Let the them see see me looking like hell, when I had a good reason for looking like hell.
• Let them see me looking like hell, even when I didn't have a good reason.
• They encouraged me, without hurting my feelings or esteem, not to look like hell unless it was for a good reason.
• If it was for a good reason, they didn't care what I looked like, they only cared what I was feeling.
• Exposed my body, my mind and my soul, without thinking about being exposed.
• Spent time with them - with no music, TV, or noise needed to mask the silence.
• Cried my eyes out when I was sad.
• Cursed a rainbow-ed streak when I was mad.
• They know my family and have met the skeletons.
• They and my family (and the skeletons) are now family too.
• I might not hear from them for weeks but, when I do, we are the same friends we've always been and will always be.
• When we are out together and look at someone, then look at each other, we read each other's minds.
• Doing that sometimes gets us in trouble.
• We are used to getting into a little trouble together.
• Walked away in the middle of their visit when the urge to write hit me.
• Let them make my home their home.
• Fell asleep next to them (male or female) in bed after we spent hours talking, or because it was way too late/dark/cold for them to go home, or because they were too tired/drunk/cried out/silly to drive home.
• If one of us is sick, the other one is going to be there or call or do what we have to do to show we care.
• I let them use my computer and not worry about them seeing my browser history.
• I've seen their browser history and we're still friends.
• Pulled down my pants, lifted my bra or took off my shoe to ask if they knew what the hell that was about.
• Did a Google Search with them when they had no idea what the hell that was.
• Laughed like a maniac with them when we finally did figure out what the hell that was.
• Didn't drop them as a friend for life when they told me why I should never, ever, wear that one pink shade of lipstick again.
• Didn't even get too mad at them when they told another good friend why they suggested I never wear that damn pink lipstick again.
• Let them have a copy of that one really embarrassing photo from my childhood - not the embarrassing-but-cute-in-retrospect photo, but the photo that one hundred and ten years from now will still be embarrassing.
• Being able to act like I am a silly, giggly, ten-year old girl again with them one minute, then being as grown as needed the next.
• I can call them at anytime - the middle of a busy day, in the dead of night - and they are going to answer my call.
• They might end up cussing me out if my call wasn't urgent, exciting, raunchy or entertaining, and I interrupted something that was, but they won't hate me. Much. It depends.
• I'm okay with them cussing me out because of those calls. At some point, I'm going to cuss them out for the same reason.
• They are still going to answer my future calls. I'm still going to answer theirs.
• We know that not all family is blood-related.
• Told them about my fantasies, dreams and goals - even the ones I won't tell anyone else. Ever.
• They've seen me nappy, happy, crappy, cute, bitchy, petty, feral, contemplating naughtiness, regretting wrongs, and being wholly, totally, truthfully, no-holds-barred me.
• They know me and still love me.

"Friends come in every shape and color and, most importantly, in every kind of crazy." (me)

Peace

--Free

From Pinterest...

This is my kind of friend!

Friendship for real

Christmas Past

Someone sparked a wonderful discussion over on G-Plus, asking her circle to share their favorite Christmas memories. (Mine was watching my mother decorate the tree, but I have many favorites.) A few of us replying admitted to getting tearing during the chat.

I have some sadness during the holidays, and not just because I've lost some family and friends. It just feels like there was more of a holiday spirit all through the year.

Remember when we made more time to enjoy our family and friends more often? A lot of us can recall a time when we gathered at somebody's home more often than on holidays. For my family, it was my mother's house. At any time of day, someone was dropping in. During the week, it was after work. Maybe one of the many folks who called my mother "Mom" would have stopped off on their way home. They'd come in "just for a minute" and end up staying to help Mom with something - say, reach something off a high shelf - and then they'd end up helping her finish "picking" greens for dinner. Or she'd have them sit and have coffee with her and watch the news or catch up on their life news.

After work, I'd go in to see my mother and she'd have two people watching TV in the living room, someone bringing up the the laundry from downstairs, and someone stirring whatever was cooking on the stove. By dinnertime, we could have five to ten us us setting us TV trays and fighting over who was going to leave their plate to get rolls out of the oven. My mother would be watching over us, like the contented grand dame she was.

On weekends, with all us siblings (blood- or love-related), our kids, their friends, Mama's friends - whoever we had gathered into our clan - the driveway looked like Walmart's on Black Friday.

There was never a week that passed without some kind of "company" being around my mother's home. I didn't have five siblings and one living parent, I had love flowing from hundreds of people into my life.

Ironically, it was Christmas that gave me time with just blood family. Well, Christmas Eve. The night before Christmas was traditionally a family-only event. Still, if my mother had taken in someone for a while, they were included. And my mother took in people who needed to be taken in. If someone living far from their own family ran into my mother (with 2 military bases here, that happened a lot), they were going to be part of her family if that's what they needed.

This was one Christmas Eve with just some of the kids that year...

Mama is the little dark lady surrounded by just some of her babies." This us the year before she passed away.

Christmas Eve, the kids (little ones and grown ones!) got to open one present. Mama picked the present.  She had the mind of Sherlock when it came to her tree. If any of the kids touched a single ornament, gift or candy cane, she knew.

For me, whatever year this photo is from, it's when I got one of the pearl rings my mother always got me. Not because of the gift, but because of Mama, I haven't had a Christmas so happy since. I think I was about 36 or 37 at the time. It was a Christmas or two before Mama died.

Check out the tree behind me. Every ornament just so!

So, really, Christmas was almost like any other day in Mama's house. Throw in some gifts and a turkey dinner, any day could be Christmas.

I don't think that my family was unique as far as spending time together.

What's happened to us? What happened to making time for each other? Why does it take a designated day for us to put away our computers and briefcases and cellphones and actually relate to each other?

How does the saying go: "Tis the reason for the season"? So why does the season have to be the reason. Why does Christmas have to be the day for family and showing our love and gratitude for each other?

Peace,
--Free

My Mama's Music

When I was watching "Only the Strong Survive" on Netflix the other night, something disturbed me a little. (No. It disturbed me a lot.) My mother and father loved so much of the music the film featured. When I actually paid attention to the lyrics of "The Night Time is the Right Time" and "Midnight Hour," I wanted to wash my brain.

Parts of "Right Time" made me smile with the memories of the good, sweet love my parents had for each other (only it was Mama who cried when my Daddy passed away). I can remember my parents sharing a smile or glance while listening to their favorites songs. But there were parts of the song that was just too much for me.

When I come home, baby, now
I wanna be with the one I love, now
You know what I'm thinking of.

Yeah. I know, and I wish I didn't.

 ~washing my brain, washing my brain~

It gets worse with "Midnight Hour":

I'm gonna wait til the midnight hour
That's when my love comes tumbling down
I'm gonna wait til the midnight hour
When there's no one else around
I'm gonna take you girl and hold you
And do all the things I told you in the midnight hour
Yes I am, yes I am
One more thing I just wanna say right here

You've said quite enough, Mister Pickett.

Yeah. So. I'm going to lay off the old love songs for a while. I just can't take thinking of my parents in that way. Grown ass woman that I am, I want to think that I was the product of something very mysterious and platonic. That's kind of hard to do when I have 5 siblings.

Oh, mommy...

#I'mNEVERGoingToGrowUp

Peace
--Free

When Life Hands You Lemons...

When life hands you lemons, make...

Blah, blah, blah-ba-de-blah. Just another cute saying. Unless you put it into action.

After I read about this family - who turned an unfortunate happening into a beautiful event, I had to ask myself when was the last time I did something for anyone.

To be truthful, as generous as I would like to think that I am, I'm really more apt to break out into a rendition of "What Have You Done for Me Lately" than I am to be a quiet blessing to someone in need. And, you know what? Shame on me. My mother raised me better than this.

I can only count one decent thing I've done in weeks and weeks, and -  still being honest for the moment - it wasn't totally without selfish motive. (Loussac Library has set out places for food to be donated to hungry children. I dumped in a couple bagfuls a week ago. Generous of me if you don't count that I had just cleaned out every pantry in our apartment. Cleaned out of all the can goods and box-stuffs that the roommate and I never use. Don't even know why we had them in the first place, so... Yeah. Hold that applause for us two greedy, over-fed bitches.)

My parents taught me that generosity isn't giving a dollar when you have ten, but giving ten when you have eleven. In the case of my sorry-assed donation to those hungry children, I had ten dollars and gave ten cents. To children!

While there are young ones out there, in need of basic nutrition, I'm hoarding boxes of cereal (when I eat cereal once about every other Saturday) and 3 bags of brown sugar because, heaven help me if I ever run out of brown sugar for me coffee. Isn't that kind of pathetic? Even worse: my roommate has, at this very moment, a Costco-sized box of breakfast sausage in our freezer. That heifer don't cook! How big of us to give away three-month old food that we were never going to eat... Basically, we gave those children our throw-away food. We gave them our garbage.

(Right now, If I believed in ghosts, I'd be looking for my mother's hand smacking me upside my head.)

Since I read about the Fowlers, I've been telling myself that I really want to be better about sharing. I want to be a better person. The next time I have a chance to do something for someone - with time or money, or whatever - I want to give ten of my eleven.

I hope we all take the Fowler family up on their challenge to start a trend in giving.

Peace
--Free

I Believe Fat Meat's Greasy

Growing up, I heard my mom use a particular saying for someone (me) who was stubborn or "hard-headed."


If I made a mistake once, Mom would hug me and tell me to learn from it. If I made that same mistake a couple times over, Mom would give me the side-eye and say, "You don't believe fat meat's greasy."

The saying also applied when I knew I was making a mistake, but just didn't want to believe it. Like when I trusted the wrong "friend," or tried to convince myself that the ground was Up and the sky was Down. (Or that Mama wouldn't know that I was lying about something...)

I don't know what it says about me as a person that I only learned a few years back to be more cautious in my life.

Until I got my little heart broken real good, I believed that if someone told you they loved you, they meant it. I didn't think that person would lie to you or cheat on you. I thought that if someone said "I love you," they knew how to love. It took getting hurt to learn that, while every one of us wants to be loved, the love we need is not all the same.

Last evening, I got a call from an old friend. There was a time that my heart would have jumped right out of my chest at the sound of his voice. I'm not that person anymore. I've grown past anything I could have had with him. Now, if he had been ready for me way back when... Well, two people can be together and grow apart, but they can't grow together, apart. If you know what I mean.

I talked to my old friend and it was nice, but I won't be hearing from him anymore. What he has to give now doesn't apply to who I am today. Probably, he was a mistake back then and I just didn't know better. I am learning, though. At least now I know and believe that fat meat's greasy.

Peace
--Free

To Be Loved or to Be Rescued

I had an interesting email conversation the other day with someone who was sweet enough to give me advice. He gave me great advice, and the best part of it will probably stay with me all the rest of my life. More on that in a sec.

My running for advice was like a hormonal scream of frustration. I will be 50 + 2 this June.

50-anything is a milestone but not devastating, really. I feel smarter, more beautiful (in the fullness of the word) and sexier than ever. But there are regrets that keep me wake some nights.

There is the almost-perfect relationship that I think I must have just imagined into being. There is the devastation of losing someone I really did love. And then there are the kids I didn't have and never will.

Age is a little bit harder on women. We get past the age of child-bearing. Men don't. We get past 40 and society starts telling us how great we look "for our age." If men get a little depressed at growing older, they should understand why we women feel damn near suicidal.

So.

I was feeling really low a few weeks back. I was feeling like all my hopes and desires suddenly had expiration dates. Falling for someone I can grow old(er) with, having my life validated by the blessings I've secured... I told myself that if all this didn't happen pretty quick, it was going to be too late.

For about a month, I walked around trying to avoid being a witness to anyone else's joy. I don't like to covet or curse what someone else is blessed with, but it's so hard not to feel weary when you see anyone else with what you don't yet have. That's another symptom of aging: when you are young, you feel you have time to get yours; when you get older, every thing you don't yet have feels elusive.

The person I went to for advice is Christian. They are wise and direct and too full of love to lie to a brother or sister. The advice they gave me was perfect, but the part of what stuck with me was this: You aren't looking for love, you are looking to be rescued.

I should be looking for happiness as I am, then I might or might not find someone to share love with. The point is to understand my blessings as things stand.

So I am standing - right here where I am, with my life as it is - and praying and being thankful. If there is someone in this world meant for me, I ask God to bless them. If there is no one, that has to be okay with me too.

Peace
--Free

Take a Nap. Please?

So... since I haven't spent any real time with my little great-nephew in the past couple of weeks, I went over there the other day. I told his folks I'd watch him while they went to a bar to watch the fight on TV.

He is so dang cute. Got his second "big boy" haircut and he is so handsome that I wanted to cry. The barber "edged it up" for him! Yeah, he is a darling little  boy.

Pretty brown eyes... breaking my heart...

Before I went over to babysit him for a few hours, I packed up some treats: animal crackers and apple sauce. He has his favorites, you know. He already has a ton of toys, so we were set in the entertainment department.

My sister warned me that Baby Boy has gotten a lot more active since I last saw him. I saw him two weeks ago, I told her. Yeah, she said - but he was harnessed in a car seat. Tonight he's loose.

Hmmph. She was talking about my little Stinka like he was Hannibal Lecter or someone...

While Baby's parents were still around the house, I used their elliptical machine. Might as well get my exercise the indoor way, is what I was thinking. Well, I could've saved myself the trouble.

Baby's parents were so happy to leave the house, you would've thought it was on fire. I figured they were just glad to be getting a night out. Bless their hearts.

Yeah.

About ten minutes into my "quality time" with Baby, I was getting a better idea of why his parents left so fast.

This kid just learned to walk without falling and, all of a sudden, he's sprinting around the house like Jesse Owens. I'd catch up with him in the back room and he'd giggle and take off like a shot. I'd catch up with him in the dining room - same thing. That maniacal giggle that I used to think was so cute was starting to grate on me...

I couldn't figure out why he wouldn't just chill and play with one of his nine thousand toys...  The next time I chased behind him, I skidded around a corner and dang near slid through the glass patio door. When my sister finished laughing and caught her breath, she explained, "He's playing his version of hide and seek."

"But he isn't hiding, he's just running like a madman."

"That's his version of it. If you leave him alone, he'll sit and play by himself," she said. "For about five minutes."

"Then what?"

"Then you better go see if he's cooking food or performing surgery on his puppy."

Oh man.

Sure enough, I sat where I could keep an eye on him without him seeing me. It was nice to catch my breath and wipe the sweat off my forehead. He played really nicely with some little plastic golf clubs. I think I went into a restorative coma for a couple of minutes. I came to when I heard that crazy giggle of his...

I got to the dining room just in time to see Baby feeding his puppy (Shadow aka "Saddow") some Puppy Chow. Okay. Not too bad, I thought.

"He's being so sweet, feeding his dog," I reported.

My sister almost popped a wheelie in her wheelchair. "You better get hi-"

I heard the puppy growl.

When I got to the scene of the near crime, Shadow was dang near scaling the cabinets to get away from Baby. That little terror was waving his golf club like Tiger's wife.

"Shit, Saddow, shit!" (This translates to him telling his puppy to sit.)

Shadow had latched onto a cabinet like he was corkscrewed in.

I got the golf club away from Baby just before he almost cold-cocked me. For some reason, I had a quick vision of Jesus sending demons into a herd of pigs. I found myself praying over Baby the way the old sisters back in church used to do for the drunks they fed on Saturdays.

"Loose here, Satan!"

My sister was having so much fun watching Baby run me all over the place that I wanted to hate her. I looked her way once and she was munching popcorn and sipping on a soda. I guess I was the night's entertainment.

It's been years since I've had to deal with toddlers, but I remember that the best thing to do is tire them out so that they will take a long nap.

I played more Hide and Seek with Baby (his version), we played with his police cars, dump trucks and fire trucks; we rolled his bouncy balls down the hall; we had a tea-party with fake tea and real cookies. I fixed green beans and tuna for Baby's dinner. I changed three diapers - one just wet and the other two needed hazmat clearance. I decided that Baby would only be getting graham crackers for the rest of the night...

After two hours, twelve minutes and eighteen seconds, Baby's eyes began to droop. Thirteen seconds later, his eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply. My sister had warned me not to use the word "sleep" to describe this blissful circumstance. Apparently even thinking the word "sleep" will awaken Baby.

Let me tell you what. I have never been so very glad to see a child with their eyes closed and their body not in motion. My own body was buzzing with fatigue.

When Baby's parents got home that night, I was so happy to see them, if I hadn't been so whooped, I'd have thrown them a party.

I was packing up my stuff to go home while Baby's mother started dressing him for bed. He half-woke when she pulled his shirt over his head.

"Say goodnight to Ya Ya Auntie," his mother prodded.

When I looked over at him, the little imp had turned back into the angel I love.

"Yayabye," he mumbled.

Awwww.... My heart is still tender.

Peace
--Free

Not Much, But Enough

I can tell that spring is coming because there's been so much talk about dating. A couple of my friends are out there, trying to get matched up; people in my social network groups are talking about relationships and dating. I've been a little back and forth on the whole subject. One day, I'm bah-humbug about relationships and the next, I am in a hmmm-maybe state of mind. There is one thing I am sure about and that is, I know exactly what I want in a future relationship: honesty, not perfection.

My roommate thinks I'm just feeling jaded because I've been hurt, but I think I've only just come around to having the right idea. I have come to see myself as I am and not through a trick mirror. I try to see and accept other people as they are and not as I want them to be. Here is what I want (and have to give) in a relationship:

For the right man, I have a heart full of love and laughter and comfort. When I am in love, my smile can light up a man's whole world. When the world has beat him up and tried to knock him off his feet, I'll be in his corner to help calm his mind and soothe his heart. For the right man, my heart is wide open and belongs only to him.

He doesn't have to be Mr. Handsome, but he has to have a twinkle in his eye that I put there. He has to know how to smile at me and make me feel like everything is going to be okay. He doesn't have to be rich, but he has to have personal pride and a traditional sense of manhood. He doesn't have to be one of my "girlfriends," but he has to be my best friend. He doesn't have to "get" every feeling I have, but he has to acknowledge that I have them. He doesn't have to be perfect, but he has to accept my flaws in the same spirit that I accept his. He doesn't have to love my family and my friends, but he has to accept that I do.

When I look at him, I won't be looking for his physical "imperfections," I will be looking for the sincerity in his heart. He doesn't have to be the everybody's idea of Mr. Right, but he has to be the right one for me.

Every woman wants to be swept off her feet, and it would be nice to live in a beautiful home with a great view. But my life isn't a sitcom with writers and directors. I've been swept off my feet and landed in a nightmare of fear and hurt. I've lived in nice homes where I cried so much that the beauty didn't matter.

My dream? My fantasy? To have a man to hold my hand and tell me it's going to be okay. To put my arms around someone who makes me feel safe in his. To be with someone who loves me when I am silly and happy and worried and nervous. To be with someone who feels better about everything in his world just because he knows I am there for him. To love someone and accept their friends and family as people they love. To grow old with someone who isn't afraid to grow old - because he knows that there is love and fun and silly and sexy at any age. To be with someone who looks at me like he knows I am his.

The most beautiful thing I have ever heard about relationships comes from the Bible:
"My beloved is mine, and I am his" (Song of Solomon 2:16)

Some days, I am not sure if I believe in true love, but I sure would like to be convinced it exists.

Peace
--Free

Valentine's Day in Perspective

There are misconceptions in most cases and the truth in some about Valentine's Day for...

Singles:

• Dread going to work where everyone will be flashing their gifts & getting flower deliveries.
• Curse Saint Valentinus for putting your esteem through this annual torture.
• Sit and dissect the pitiful lives of people who are tied down to one person.
• Allow yourselves more beer and alcohol or ice cream than usual.
• Talk yourself into settling for the guy/gal you  don't really love so you won't die alone. Or with cats.
• Lie to the world about how you really don't think V-Day is that big of a deal.
• Drunkenly admit to your closest friends about how much it hurts to be single right now.
• Spend too much time thinking about "the good one(s) that got away."
• Get into bed, pretending that it's okay to be alone on Lover's Night - or
• Feeling pressure to come up with a good reason to be happy - alone.
• Go to sleep, thankful the day is over.

Non-Singles:

• Dread not getting your lover's gift or flowers in time for them to gloat for the Singles.
• Curse Saint Valentinus for putting your wallet through this annual torture.
• Sit and dissect the lives of people who are lonely & gift-less.
• Allow yourself to spend more money on one person than you did for everyone at Christmas.
• Talk yourself into staying with the worst person in the world so you won't die alone. Or broke.
• Lie to the world about how your lover is worth all that crazy money you spent on a gift.
• Drunk dial your credit card company to see what your balance is right now.
• Spend too much time thinking about "the crazy one you got stuck with."
• Get into bed, pretending to feel sexy because it's Lover's Night - or
• Feeling pressure to look thrilled to be in love for the next 364 days.
• Go to sleep, thankful the day is over.

In reality, life cannot be planned. Love and happiness, joy and sorrow - they rise and fall like the tides. Wherever you are, whoever you are - single or not - I wish you a Happy Valentine's Day. If only one person cares about you, you are blessed. I'm a Single and happy because I've learned that there are people who love me - they really, really do! lol

Oh - I'm writing this early because I plan to be eating more ice cream than usual on Thursday...

Happy Valentine's Day

To the Singles:

AKA: Happy unimaginative, consumerist-oriented and entirely arbitrary,
 manipulative and shallow interpretation of romance day!

To the Non-Singles:

Show how mature love has made you. Don't gloat on Thursday.

And to D. R., wherever you are:

Still & Always

Peace
Free

What Will I Have Left?

So....

As everyone who has read this blog in the last month or two knows, I have quit smoking. (Day 41 9 hours, 8 minutes. I've given up counting the seconds so I must be getting better.) Giving up cigarettes was easy compared to my next inhuman feat: I am giving up ~sigh, gasp and clutch my freaking pearls~ cursing.

Do you know how hard this is gonna be for me? Cursing was my second language. It was my poetry.

Ask me why I am trying to be cleaner with my vocabulary and I can spit out a dozen reasons (I'm more mature, I'm better than bad language, it's not ladylike, I'm Christian, and on and on), but the real reason?

He walks. He talks. He COPIES everything I do.

Yep. It's all because of that little kid there.

I adore him. Everything he does is a wonder to me. No matter what is going on or what he's getting into, if I do just a couple notes of a song, he starts smiling and bopping his head. He's a huge piece of my heart. And in the past few weeks, he has started watching every word coming from between my lips.

The other day, I was visiting with my niece and sister and we all sat around my sister's room, chatting and looking over some recipe books. Baby D.J. was back and forth, going from my sister's room and down the hall to his mom and dad's room. No worries, he's gated in from the stairs and he's got his puppy to play with. It was a very "family" kind of scene - all quiet and cozy (and quiet is rare for us). I was at peace with the world until we heard D.J. talking to his puppy.

"Shit, Sadow!"

("Sadow" is really "Shadow," the little lab mix puppy.)

We ladies went dead silent and waited to see if we had heard D.J. right.

"SHIT! SHIT! No, Sadow, SHIT!"

Right. Now, I don't think it's fair that my sister and my niece were suddenly looking at me like I was the one who farted in church. It's not like they never use a curse word...

But, okay, okay. I am woman enough to admit that I have had, on occasion, a bit of a potty-mouth. But, understand this, I am not a half-stepping kind of chick. When I love, I love hard. If I am mad, I'm boiling. When I curse... Well, let's just say, I don't mess around with the playground type of language. I get down and dirty. Am I proud of that? I used to be, yeah. I have 4 brothers and, for years, I worked around a bunch of mean and stressed out men - not my brothers. I can run rough with the big boys when it comes to "cussing." If D.J. had picked up a word or two from me, it wasn't going to be something found in the Bible - like "ass" or "damn." The ess-aitch-i-tee word is not a whopping big deal, right?

Still, I had Mother Theresa and the Queen of England looking at me like I'd better go handle the situation. As if I can make a baby understand bad words when he can't even say five "good" ones... But I decided to try.

When I got to the hallway and saw D.J. pointing his finger at the dog and tapping him on the head, it dawned on me what was really going on.

"Shit, Sadow."

I reported back to the Inquisition panel.

"He's trying to make Shadow sit," I told them before we all fell out laughing. I just about wet myself.

Still. That episode gave me something to think about. This little kid loves me and, for the time being, he thinks I'm fabulous. He's pretty amazing to me and I have a responsibility to be a good example to him. He already knows about love - because we show him every day what that is. He knows not to spit and hit. We are teaching him to count and give hugs and feel empathy. The only thing I don't want him to learn from me is how to curse. At least, not before he learns how to pray for someone.

So, yeah. No more cursing for "YaYa Tru." Damnit. (Give me a little break. This is only Day 4.) I think I will learn sign language. Can you curse in sign language?

Peace
--Free


Train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old, he will not depart from it. Prov. 22:6

"Intelligence plus character - that is the goal of true education." Dr. Martin Luther King