The Hardest Words to Say

Somebody shared a meme similar to this the other day and I laughed. Out of these 3 things, Worcestershire sauce is the easiest for me to say. "I was wrong" is even easier to say than #2.

I am an "I love you" whore! I tell everyone who matters in my life that I love them, but "I need you"? Those words seldom cross my lips.

Things have been a bit difficult in my life lately. While I have friends to turn to, saying, "I need you" is extremely hard for me to say. I don't want others to hold space for me. Everyone has so much going on in their lives and I feel like my shit is just that...shit.

Now, I know there is at least one person reading this who is thinking that she and I are going to tussle because I will hold space for her no matter what. When everything goes pear-shaped in her life, I will drop whatever I'm doing to be there. When she says, "I need some Boo time," I rearrange whatever I can for her. 

Let's be clear: I have people who will drop everything...IF I would just ask. I just don't ask. My Boo and my Peanut? They'd move heaven and earth for me if I only said, "I need you." 

I like to be needed. It helps me push my drama aside for awhile to focus on someone else. I just hate to need others. For so long, I have lived my life without needing someone to lean on. And needing someone has the connotation (in my mind) of being too weak to handle my shit myself. 

I do know that there is strength in saying the words, "I need you." And when others say those words to me, my first thought is "How can I help you carry the weight that is on your heart?" But my flawed thinking has me believing that if I ask for time or help, then I am being judged for being weak.

Tell me: What words are hardest for you to say? How are you learning to say them anyway?

Life is Good

How is everyone? I'm praying you and yours are all doing well. I'm still standing and counting the blessings that grace my world.

I started a new blog. I celebrated a birthday. I sat in my sadness over the anniversary of my father's death. I've got on with life and taken a deep breath over the opening up of my world again.

I haven't been into an actual store since March and I'm finding that I don't really miss it. I have a local store that I miss, but, in general, I'm just don't care. I order my groceries online and pick them up on my designated day at my designated time. Anything else I need can either wait or I will order it and have it delivered to the house. The dogs love it! They know when their food is delivered and they get so excited to see the boxes. 

Did I tell you I adopted 2 dogs? I don't think I did. My boss and friend knew my heart hurt over losing Diesel. She knew of 2 dogs who needed love, attention, and training. I hesitated simply because neither of them had ever been in the city, let alone a house. I was worried that this would be more than I could handle. I'd managed to train the other dogs because I'd been home full-time. Working full-time would make this dynamic an interesting one. So, just before Halloween 2019, I drove the 30 minutes to pick up these boys. Jaxson is a Jack Russell terrier who hated to be picked up and really didn't want a lot to do with me. Opie, on the other hand, is a blue heeler/border collie mix. (Yeah, energy enough to fuel a small city.) He has been a tryer of my patience. However, he's a good boy who is finally settling into a much more comfy life. Wanna see a picture?

As you can see, they're having an AWFUL time adjusting. LOL The little one is finally learning to snuggle and it just warms my heart. He has been giving kisses and will let me hug him when the mood strikes him. And the big oaf? Well, he's never had an issue with being loved and adored. Walking on a leash? That's a whole different ball game. *eye roll*

Back to the topic of conversation. I have been working through all of this mess, so I'm blessed more than others. With unemployment being a mess and people being out of work, I am so glad to be still working and getting a steady paycheck. I know of small business owners who are being hit so hard right now and it breaks my heart. 

And I've opened up a couple of my Word docs to work on my writing. Don't know how far I'll get, but it feels good to stretch my fingers across the keyboard and let the characters come back to life.

So, tell me, how are you faring? You have all been covered in my prayers and will continue to be covered in them as we test the waters of reopening the country, our states, our cities...our lives. Be safe. Be healthy. Be kind.

Caring for Myself

Let's face it, 2018 was a bitch! If it could go wrong, it did. And I think December was the culmination of a perfect storm. It all came to a head and it wasn't pretty. Health issues arose. Family stuff blew out of proportion. My dog got sick and scared the crap out of me. My job was taking over my life. I was ready to throw in the towel. 

Before the beginning of 2019, I was giving some in-depth thoughts to my life, my goals, and my dreams. I began to focus on the important things and noticed that I was not one of them. I wasn't practicing self-care in any way, shape, or form. So, I knew it was time to make a few changes.

I began to look at my life as if it were a bulletin board. One of those corky things, overstuffed with papers. For the last few years, I've just been thumbtacking things to the board and ignoring them. Book ideas, dreams, goals, hopes, ambitions...they all were piled on top of each other. 

When I decided it was time to make a change, I began to clean off the "bulletin board". Like saved yellowed receipts and newspaper clippings, photographs, souvenirs from trips, recipes, phone numbers, etc., each piece was removed one by one and examined. I began to throw away things that were no longer of use. I put the photos in a box. The recipes got tucked into my recipe book. I cleaned up my social media. I deleted apps that I no longer use. I got rid of contacts that I  no longer have contact with. I organized all of my book notes.

Once the bulletin board was cleaned off, I took a look at the blank space. I made the decision to only put the things of great importance on that board. I put a pin in the friendships that I knew would understand I needed some time to get my life together. 

I realized that I had been neglecting myself for so long. It was time to get my goals put back on track. I found a way to accomplish some things that I have had on my to-do list for a long time. I had ignored them and pushed them aside for others. 

I have started to take time for myself, too. Long hot showers with relaxing soaps, mani/pedi days, coloring my hair when it is needed, napping, relaxing, and turning off social media. I also began to appreciate the blessings that I had been given. My job isn't the center of my universe these days. When I'm home, I'm fully committed to being in the moment. Whether I am writing, cleaning, or simply hanging out, I'm present for everyone and everything. I am beginning to love my life again. My depression has lifted. My anxiety is almost nil. I'm in such an amazing place.

Some days it means I simply sit down and enjoy the quiet while drinking a cup of coffee, but damn! It feels good to put myself first for a change. After all...

Angels Unaware...

This year has been a lesson in humility and patience for me. If you've read my sporadic blog posts, you know what I'm talking about. 

I've had to put things on the back burners for the time being and I've been very frustrated. My depression has spun out of control some days. I've scared more than a few of the people who love me most and for that, I am deeply sorry.

My mom sends me her morning devotions on the occasion that she feels they fit my life and are messages I need to hear. Trust me, when I tell you, I cry every single time because they hit so close to home. (Nobody knows you like your mom, I swear!) Most of the time, they are messages about believing, having faith, watering the "good" seeds, and trusting in God. What is always funny is that I've just shared my frustrations or such with someone my mother has never met, yet the next morning is a picture of her devotion with the message that I needed to hear.

Last night, I was at work. I was unpacking panties to put on the display. There are days when I hate working retail, others I'm kinda "meh" about it. Last night was a "meh" day. I got to work with my manager who I simply love working with. We have so much in common and can talk about anything with each other.

Anyway, I was standing at the packing table, unpackaging panties. There were two couples in the store. The older couple were sort of wandering around. I asked if I could help them find anything. The lady assured me that I couldn't and that they were simply there with their daughter and her husband. I went back to sorting and unpacking the panties, joking with my manager. 

The older gentleman came back to have a chat while I stood there. He was a funny man! He told me how he'd been married for 57 years and how his wife keeps him on his toes...his tiptoes. I laughed and his wife swatted him on his backside as she walked through. He went on to tell me that he'd been a store manager for JCPenney's for years. He'd been working in a factory making busses and got laid off. He needed a job so he went to work for JCPenney's. He never wanted to work retail and hated it when he started but learned to love it as he worked his way up to store manager. He said he always feels blessed to have had that opportunity and how God is good. He continued to share how he and his wife had lost a son. Their marriage was not going well and they were at odds with each other. He said that loss hurt so deeply, yet it was essential to the survival of their marriage. The petty troubles fell away as they clung to each other and fixed what was broken. And "Isn't God good?" I took a deep breath and said, "He certainly is." He, then, began to share words from each one of my mother's devotions. How the destination is amazing, but the journey is equally so. How having faith is essential to living. How God has written out every chapter of our lives and He knows how it all comes together to our advantage. He kept telling me, "God is so good." 

His wife and daughter got ready to check out so I handled their transaction. As they prepared to leave, the older gentleman stood at the counter and smiled. "Have faith, child," he said with a twinkle in his very blue eyes. And as he walked out, he turned around, "May God bless you." 

Luckily, the store was slow. I had to excuse myself because this man had touched my heart in a very profound way.

Later on, a woman and her mother came in to shop. The younger woman was looking for a new winter jacket. I assured her that the jacket she was trying on was WAY too big. Turns out that, at the age of 42, she got the surprise of a lifetime...she is pregnant! As we chatted and searched for bras, she shared her concerns for this pregnancy and how things are so different than when she was pregnant 11 years ago. She gives me hope that this particular dream of mine isn't lost yet!

The night wore on and my manager was telling me about a movie she had just watched. "I Can Only Imagine" was the title. I had heard about it, but when she shared the video to the song, I fell apart...again. She understands my heart better than most as we both lost our fathers...our rocks. We spent the evening discussing the men who had raised us. Two very different men from two very different walks of life, but two men who had raised their daughters with love, laughter, and strength. She lost her dad at the tender age of 20 while my loss was 20 years later. However, we each wonder how different our lives would be if they were still with us. Two very different women from two very different walks of life, yet our hearts are drawn together by the love of our daddies.

These things seem to be very important as Christmas approaches...rapidly. Like I said, this year has been one of frustration, humility, and learning patience. My mom tells me that I am working where I am for a reason. After last night, I'm beginning to see that she isn't wrong. 

Things will be crazy in my life for the holidays, but I want to take a moment to thank each and every one of you for walking with me on this journey. From my house to yours, I wish you a very happy holiday season! Blessings and love to you all :) 

Another Brick in the Wall...

Sorry I've gone for so long. Had some things I need to work through.

Without a date in sight, I've had to work past the fear that I may never return to school. That means putting a lot of my dreams aside and looking at the future. However, that made me sad and my depression amped back up. So, I had to look at where I am and learn to make the best of every single day.

See, I have a job that I really don't care for, but there's a problem...I'm good at it! LOL I don't despise it like I did. It just isn't where I want to be. I keep being told there is a reason I am in this place, so I'm learning to just go with it. I don't mind the people like I did. I've learned that I am more like my grandmother than I ever dreamed possible. Hahahaha

This job requires me to take care of myself a bit better. I need to look a particular way when I go to work which means that I have to pay a bit more attention to me. I polish my nails, put on make-up, do my hair, and dress nicer. I interact with people who aren't always the kindest people, yet I get some people who absolutely make my day. So, not only am I learning to be kinder to myself, I'm learning to be kinder to others.

I've also got some downtime. Lately, I've been using it to just push past the brick wall in front of which I find myself. I may have to take it apart brick by brick, but I'll get through it somehow. 

However, I've also been writing. Yes, actually working on a book! No promises on when it will be finished. I've got a tough scene coming up and it is tearing me apart to write it, but it needs to be done. I've also been working on redesigning the covers so that they reflect more of me and my style. I've waffled back and forth quite a bit about changing my author name. After my divorce, I just don't feel right about using the last name, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there. 

So, I haven't forgotten about you, this blog, or the books. I've just had a lot on my mind that needed to be worked through. While I'm still a long way from finished, I am feeling better day by day. 

Birthdays

Anyone who knows me is highly aware of how much I HATE celebrating my birthday. For years, I've said "It is just another day. It's nothing special." It is just a day where I'm reminded how old I am and I'm tired of being reminded that time is rolling by. I want to grab onto the bumper of time and hold on, slowing it down.

I haven't always hated it. I'm not sure when it started exactly, but I'm guessing around the time I turned 30 and saw life passing me by. I had so much I wanted to accomplish and no idea how to do it. 

Now, I'm accomplishing goals and checking things off my list left and right. I'm enjoying my life and I want it to slow down a little bit so I can make sure I have time.

My mom and me with my cousins, Mark and Doug

This is a big year for me. I'm heading into a downhill slide toward a number I'm not ready to face. I have so much left to do and as the numbers go up, I find myself panicking because I may never see the fulfillment of some of the things I want to do. I just don't feel like celebrating this year.

The other day I was told, "Did you ever stop to think it is the day of the year where we get to celebrate you? That it is maybe the one day of the year where those who love you get to be grateful that you were born into this world? Maybe you could be a bit happier since while yes, the number goes up every year, some people aren't as fortunate. And what about your mom? She went through pain for you and if for no other reason, it is a day SHE gets to celebrate."

So, I took a step back and let the words sink in. Okay, this hit me in the head like a ton of bricks. I hadn't stopped to see it that way before and have had to admit that I've been more than a bit selfish through the years.

One of the only pictures I have of my dad smiling

So, here I am, embarking on another year. And while I'm quite anxious to see where this one leads, I can only hope that it is as deliriously wonderful as the last few years have been. I've been blessed in ways others haven't been and for that I am grateful. I have so much left to do!

My grandma always said "Time flies when you're having fun," so I must be having the time of my life :) But my uncle would always say that he'd never laid the last brick on one project before starting the next. His reasoning? "God can't call me home until the job is done." So, I'll keep having fun, but I'm not going to finish one job before I start another. That way, I'm serving a purpose, right? LOL

Here's a big thank you to my mom! For carrying me under her heart and in her heart from the very beginning, for putting up with a daughter who seems scattered, but really had a purpose, and for loving me through all the bullshit! On my birthday, I am celebrating her and all she's done for me!

Silent Night

In the still of a very silent night, the only sound is coming from the great beast at my feet whose rumbles of snoring quake my bed. My holiday candles are lit and the flames are flickering softly, making shadows on my walls. I have music playing quietly. Not the holiday music most would think, but music to soothe my soul. It is Christmas Eve eve.

It won't be long now before sounds of "Santa can't come if you're still awake" will be heard as children are tucked in. Followed by the sounds of laughter as the gifts under the tree are unwrapped in the earliest of morning hours. Food will be cooking away and families will descend upon loved ones to enjoy some time together.

But I ask you for a favor: As you sit with your family and friends, eating meals that have been lovingly prepared in your homes, please remember those who are unable to be around their family's tables this holiday season.

I wanted to share this story with you, in case you have never heard it. It's one I heard a long time ago, but it touched my heart in such a big way. It's the tale of how the Christmas song "Silent Night" stopped a war. "On a crisp, clear morning 100 years ago, thousands of British, Belgian and French soldiers put down their rifles, stepped out of their trenches and spent Christmas mingling with their German enemies along the Western front. In the hundred years since, the event has been seen as a kind of miracle, a rare moment of peace just a few months into a war that would eventually claim over 15 million lives. But what actually happened on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day of 1914 — and did they really play soccer on the battlefield?
Pope Benedict XV, who took office that September, had originally called for a Christmas truce, an idea that was officially rejected. Yet it seems the sheer misery of daily life in the cold, wet, dull trenches was enough to motivate troops to initiate the truce on their own — which means that it’s hard to pin down exactly what happened. A huge range of differing oral accounts, diary entries and letters home from those who took part make it virtually impossible to speak of a “typical” Christmas truce as it took place across the Western front. To this day historians continue to disagree over the specifics: no one knows where it began or how it spread, or if, by some curious festive magic, it broke out simultaneously across the trenches. Nevertheless, some two-thirds of troops — about 100,000 people — are believed to have participated in the legendary truce." (You can read the full story here.)

How amazing to think that, even in the midst of war, people on the opposing sides can find the magic of the holiday! So, while we should remember them all year through, can I ask you to pause a moment in your family celebrations and whisper a prayer, blessing, or thought for our military men and women? We often take them for granted. They have the tough jobs, the thankless jobs, and are putting their lives on the line every single day!

I want to take a moment to wish you a happy holiday season! From my home to yours, "Merry Christmas" and may 2018 find you happy, healthy, and grateful!

Some Days I Open My Mouth and My Mother Comes Out

Have you ever walked past a mirror and catch your reflection out of the corner of your eye? I did that today and I caught a glimpse of my mother. At an earlier point in history, that would have terrified me. But now...it's a badge of honor.

In my last post, I posted some pictures of my mom. One of the comments was how much I look like her. I used to hear that a lot as a teenager. It drove me crazy! Not that I didn't think my mother was beautiful...I just wanted to be seen as my own person and everyone was so busy comparing me to her. "You look just like your mother," I'd hear more often than not. Not "You're so beautiful" or "I love your outfit." Just "You look just like your mother" or even worse "You're just like your mother was at this age."

Not too long ago, I sent my mom a picture of my hand. Never mind why, just that I did. She sent me a picture of hers back with the question "Whose hands do you have?" I had to laugh because aside from some cosmetic things, our hands are identical! But I know those hands of hers. They've held babies, comforted people, worked hard, been cracked open from cold, calloused from carrying buckets and hay bales, kneaded countless batches of bread, made so many cookies, and loved. Mine haven't experienced that much wear and tear, yet I look at our hands side by side and there they are...almost identical.

As I age, I notice more and more of my mom coming out. I opened my mouth to say something to someone just the other day and my mother came shooting out! It happens more and more. It's not always positive. Especially when it comes to my body. I hear her words emerge from my mouth when I tell people how I feel about my curves. I watched my mom struggle with her body issues all of my life. There was no size small enough to make her happy. I remember looking at her stretch marks and thinking they were beautiful because I was one of the reasons she had them. Yet, I look at my own and there hasn't been a person born from these marks. She hated her stretch marks and I, in turn, hate mine. As she's aged, she's become more positive about her body. I've still got a ways to go.

We've had our ups and downs through the years, but when it comes to my mom and all that she's done in her life, I look up to her. She taught me a lot and I'm sure I'll keep learning from her as I go. Hopefully, she can forgive the child I was and see past that to the woman I'm attempting to become.

Happy Mother's Day to all of you mothers! Fur kids, feathered kids, fin kids, scaly kids, or skin kids, you are a mom and you are loved!

Happy 2017

This last year has been a roller coaster ride. Lots of dips and twists and even a few loop to loops. So many highs and lows were seen individually and as a world. Yet, here we are, still standing despite the world's best efforts to keep us down. We're here for a purpose. What is your purpose? I don't know.

As for me, I believe we are all here to be teachers. Whether it is about lessons or blessings, we are here to teach others about kindness, respect, honor, and love. I've had people who have come into life for several seasons who have taught me lessons, both good and bad. I've also had people who have merely brushed across my life who have blessed me. It doesn't matter how long a person stays in your life. What matters is how their visit impacted you, caused you to grow, gave you insight, or how it changed you. So, this is my challenge to you as we look forward to the upcoming year: Will you be a blessing or a lesson in the lives of those you touch? I am hoping that I'm a blessing always, but I know that isn't the case.

So, I'm going to take a brief moment to say "Thank you" for following me on this journey. Remember to find the magick in every day, dance like no one is watching, sing like you know all the words, love like you'll never get hurt.

Happy New Year from my house to yours!

Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve was always a HUGE deal in my family. We would all go to Grandma's for a dinner of cold cuts, baked beans, potato salad, and snacks. My mom would bring trays of goodies. We would all gather to hang out and celebrate.

But it was the lead up to Christmas Eve that I remember most. Us grandkids would show up to help Grandma decorate her house. Sometimes it was just Grandma and me. However, it was always fun. Then, I'd help Grandma make up the treats she always provided: Chex mix, goodie bars, date bars, and such. We would hang out and talk. It was one of the best times! Grandma loved having her grandkids around and she loved us all so much. The bond she and I had was unique because I was her only granddaughter.

Grandma had a fake tree every year, but there was always one ornament that she'd put on herself. It was a pinkish purple and white ball. It was the first ornament she and Grandpa bought their first Christmas as a married couple. All the rest of her ornaments had stories as well, but that one was always my favorite.

While we baked and prepared for Christmas Eve, Nat King Cole would serenade us.

And while this may seem disrespectful to some, if you knew my Grandma, you'd understand how respectful it truly is. She and my cousin had this running joke when this song first hit the airwaves and this became one of her favorite Christmas songs. So, in memory of my dear Grandma with the  twisted sense of humor (should I mention that my Grandma was a fan of Queen and Smashing Pumpkins?), here is my second choice for today:

Angels Among Us

Let me share a memory that not a lot of people are aware of.

Newly divorced and living in a new town with no friends, I celebrated my first holiday with just my darling boy and me. I wasn't working. I was a broke-ass college student. I was depressed and not looking forward to Christmas. There was no tree. I had put up a few decorations, but there was absolutely no gifts. I felt like a shitty canine mom.

I'm never one to ask for anything because I'm a big believer in only taking what I earn. However, I was a member of a Facebook group and I asked for prayers, positive energy, and good vibes. What ended up happening showed me more love than I can express. This group of people from around the world came together to make Diesel's Christmas a special one. He got presents from around the world. He got a new dog bed, toys galore, a new leather collar, treats, and so much love.

What's funny is that we haven't been the only recipients of the generosity. So many people have been blessed. Even this year, I got a message from a friend who asked if there was anything we needed. I told her that I didn't, but she still sent us gifts. The love continues to grow and I am blessed to be in the presence of angels. My sincerest wish is that someday I will be able to pay all of these blessings forward.

Today's first choice is sort of an obvious choice:

This song always brings a tear to my eye. The message is so deep and profound. Not all angels have wings that are visible. Oftentimes, we are entertaining angels unaware.

And my second choice is this one:

Growing Up Grinch...

Being called a "Grinch" isn't bad in my world, but maybe I'm more of a Cindy Lou Who. I don't see the Christmas spirit a lot these days. I look around at the shopping carts overflowing with gifts being pushed by people who are frazzled and overwhelmed by the entire experience. The introvert in me loves observing the people and how their stress levels always seem higher as the contents of their shopping carts grow. The empath in me feels for them because they are trying to fill the holes in their lives with stuff.

See, I grew up in a family where the spirit of the holiday was more important than the physical gifts. It was about remembering your neighbors who maybe didn't have family to visit or spend the holiday with. My mom would bake and bake her heart out simply to give it all away. I remember her getting up extra early on Christmas morning to bake off loaves of bread, wrap them in dish towels, and put the loaves into the already prepared boxes of Christmas cookies and candies so Dad could run them to our neighbors before we opened gifts.

What's funny is I would sit and look through the catalogs for hours to prepare my Christmas lists every year. I don't remember a lot of the gifts I got (there are a couple that stand out in my mind), but I remember how I felt. I remember watching my parents. And though neither of them realized it at the time, I'm sure, they were teaching me about the true spirit of the season. What else is funny is this: I don't remember going shopping with my mom for gifts. But I do remember being in the kitchen, baking, cooking, stirring, dipping, washing, laughing, and loving.

My mother swears that I'm very un-Grinch-like. (She's my mom. She believes only good things about her baby! Lol) She doesn't know that when I'm driving to work, if a Christmas song comes on, I switch the radio station. Today, however, there was a song that came on and I couldn't change the station. Why? Because I heard the music start and I was transported back to that kitchen on a snowy December night. Cookies were baking. Fudge was bubbling away. My mom was in a pair of polyester pants and a sweatshirt. My dad was in his stocking feet, jeans, and a flannel shirt with a thermal shirt beneath it, sleeves rolled up. And he was singing this song: 

 

There were tears in my eyes as I drove along. As much as the holiday music drives me crazy, this is one song I just can't turn the station for. This is another: 

So, from now until Christmas, I'm going to make posts about my favorite holiday songs. Something to give you a bit of insight in the world of Gemma and what makes the holidays happy for me.

A Box Full of Darkness

As most of you know, I've been on this journey. Lately, I've been looking at the things that have gone wrong in my life, either due to my bad judgement or because I allowed the wrong people to take the helm (so bad judgement on my part). I've been counting my blessings and learning to bless others as I walk along the yellow brick road.

Here's a thought: What if the darkest parts of the road where actually the times I was most blessed? Those times when I felt the lowest, I walked the path with hesitancy and trepidation, but I still kept putting one foot in front of the other. It was in those times that I found my strength. It was during those times when I found my determination. It was in the moments when I stumbled and fell, but rolled over for a moment or two to look up at the sky to watch the stars, that I saw the light.

I've always loved the dark. Someone once asked me why I loved the darkness as much as I do. I told them "Because in the daylight, we all put on masks and hide our true selves from others. But in the night, the masks come off and we get to be ourselves. The darkest part of the nightfall is where the freaks play." (Freaks is very much an endearment as I am one of those people.)

I don't know why I think the light of day will guide me and show me what I need to see. Bad things hide in the shadows of the daylight, but in the darkness, well, the true light shines. I look at some of the events of my life and think "Wow, what the hell were you thinking? If only you had taken that right turn at Albuquerque. If only you would have stuck to your guns and not listened to friends. If only you would have followed your heart." Do you know what? If I had taken that right at Albuquerque, not listened to others and followed my own heart, I wouldn't be here, in this place, in this moment, in this time. My path may have been easier, but we don't learn anything when things are easy. The struggle is where we learn who we are and what we are made of. I could have avoided a lot of pain and sorrow, but I wouldn't have learned the lessons I needed to learn. I've learned that I do value myself more than I believed, that I'm stronger than I thought I was, that I'm more intelligent than I originally believed, that I am beautiful (maybe not to everyone, but to more than I could have imagined), that I have the right to have crazy colored hair no matter what my age, that tattoos are works of art, but most of all, that I can allow myself to be loved in the same way that I love. 

It is in the darkest times when we truly find ourselves. I don't need people to tell me what I should be studying or where. I don't need to hear that I'm beautiful, intelligent, or incredible. In the darkest times of my life, if I would have listened to my heart, the answers were right there. The stars were the true light, guiding me to my destiny and showing me the path that has been right in front of me all along. 

With this realization in mind, I am putting one foot in front of the other and seeing where this road leads. This time, I'm allowing the stars to light my way and I'm following my heart.

A Grinch I Am And A Grinch I'll Be...

The holiday season has me in its sights and has locked onto me like a heat seeking missle. I guess I should explain: I don't love holidays...at least, not like I used to. Somewhere through the years, they lost their magick. Maybe the baubles that hang on evergreen branches tarnished. I don't know.

I've been called many things over the past years, but Grinch seems to be what fits. I don't try to diminish everyone else's joy, but I'm gonna be honest...holiday decorations hitting store shelves before Halloween? Seriously? Steals a lot of my holiday joy. Growing up, I remember our radio stations playing holiday music, but before we could hardly get the Thanksgiving leftovers put away? It's as if we are trying so hard to rush through the holiday season that we forget what we are celebrating.

Halloween isn't merely about getting candy and dressing up. For some, like me, it is about honoring our ancestors. It is a time when the veil thins between the worlds and we communicate with those who've gone before. Sure, I like a good Reese's as much as the next girl, but there's so much more to it.

Then, we have Thanksgiving. Yeah, I know Pilgrims, Mayflower, Native Americans, blah, blah, blah. For me, this holiday is about giving thanks and showing your gratitude for what you have. Counting your blessings should be an every day experience, but taking one day to be with your family, friends, or lending a hand at a soup kitchen doesn't kill any of us. No shopping. No worrying about what little Bobby and Sue want for Christmas. Just time spent enjoying this life we've been given.

By the time Christmas rolls around, we are so wrapped up in the gift giving that we lose sight of what's important. We have an entire month that is hopelessly devoted to: how many presents does each person have, did I spend the same amount on each person, and did my sibling buy our parents a bigger/better/more expensive gift? When did we stop having fun? I remember my mom making gifts for people. She would spend hours sewing things for them, making sure the colors were perfect. But I also remember getting up Christmas morning, excited to see what Santa brought. I believed in the magick of it all. Somewhere along the way, Santa was sold out to Walmart. Gifts from the heart were tossed aside for big and expensive yet cheaply made items. We lost touch with our roots and reality. I remember gifts I was given as a kid that made me question some relatives' sanity, but I smiled, said "Thank you", hell, I even had to write thank you notes! And I did it. I still do. For me, it's important to sit down and put pen to paper to tell someone how special you feel because they took the time to think of you. I would rather have one simple gift that tells me a person took the time to thoughtfully purchase a gift for me, than to have several shiny, expensive gifts. Someone I loved deeply once bought me a 5-pack of my favorite ink pens. I cried at the thoughtful gesture. That meant more to me than if this person had brought me diamonds.

The holiday season has become so wrapped up in consumerism and selfishness. Your two year old doesn't need a tablet of his own to watch his shows on. He needs a dump truck or coloring books or maybe even a day spent with you. Something to show him that HE matters to you! Not your phone, your computer screen, or your shows, your child! Your kids won't remember the year they got their phone/tablet/video game/etc., but they will remember watching Christmas movies in their jammies, sledding down a snowy hill, playing a board game, or even helping make cookies...with YOU! You are the key to a magickal holiday season! You won't always be here and those gifts don't create memories.

I'm a little older and a little wiser (I think) so let me tell you something you may not know: People seldom remember the gift you gave them 30 years from now. What they do remember is that you took the time to make memories with them. One of my favorite memories? Being in the kitchen with my family, making cookies, fudge, and candies. Me stirring the pan of fudge on the stove. My dad beating the other batch of fudge at the table. My brother being annoying. My mom baking off the sugar cookies. The radio playing and the laughter...so much laughter! We were making so much more than goodies. There was love, laughter, and memories being made in that farmhouse kitchen. 20+ years later and all I have to do is close my eyes. I am transported back to that farmhouse kitchen in rural Michigan on a snowy night surrounded by love.

Thank You...

It's that time of year again (where on earth has 2016 gone?) and everyone is posting things they are thankful for. Me? I'm happy to be here!

I'm thankful for my family and friends, for this life I have, and for the ability to do the things I love. Working in the field I do, I appreciate the little things like taking a shower by myself, going to the store (as much as I despise shopping), and even cooking meals. Sometimes it really is just the little things that we don't think about.

As much as people complain about how people have to work on the holidays, there are some of us who don't have a choice. Yes, I am one of those. Stop for a moment though. Who would take care of us in an emergency situation if the doctors, nurses, and EMTs all were home with their families? Who would be there when we have to stop for gas as we travel to see our families? What about those family members who are in nursing homes? Or what about those people who have no family to spend the holidays with? They still need care. They need showers, meals, etc. Not everyone is equipped to deal with an aging or disabled family member.

And I would be remiss if I didn't mention the members of our military who guard us day and night, keeping a vigilant watch over our borders and our families. While I know we are extremely thankful for their service, if they didn't work 365 days  a year, where would we be? And what about their families who are struggling through without them? It's not an easy job being a military spouse or kid! You learn to cherish the time you get, holidays or no.

So, for the people who are working the holiday, I thank you! Yes, even the retail clerks! Do you know why? Because I am me and I will have inadvertently forgotten something. I will have to rush out and pick it up at the last minute. If the store were closed, well, I'd be SOL. And having worked retail, trust me, I've been thanked plenty. From the mother who forgot to pick up formula for her baby to the old man who simply had no place to go for the holidays and decided to do his shopping, I felt lucky to be part of their day.

And while we are on the topic of retail people, can I give you a word of sound advice? If you are out shopping this holiday season, please remember that your cashier is merely doing his/her job! They did not set the prices. They do not know every single item that is on sale in their store, let alone someone else's. They are not responsible if you are shopping out of state and your bank has a spending limit and your card is declined. (Yes, I was told I was incompetent at my job over this issue.) They are not responsible for expired coupons. They are on their feet with minimal breaks dealing with customers who are...let's just say, less than pleasant, and they are barely making minimum wage. They are not there because they wanted a "fun job." They are there because they have to be. They are there working to put a roof over their children's heads, food on their families' tables, and pay their bills. You may be stressed out by all the frantic hassle and mobs of people, but these people are doing it 8 hours a day and not necessarily by choice!

I want to send out a big "Thank You" to all of you who are working this holiday! It's not easy and you'd rather be home with your families, but I appreciate you! I'm thankful you sacrifice time away from your family to be on call for mine. And, in case, I haven't said it enough, I'm blessed to have all of you in my life. Thank you for being here, for reading my blogs, and for supporting me on this mixed up, messed up journey I call my life!

Blessings and Love

I was raised in a home where, no matter how much or how little we had, blessing others was a given. The belief was if you blessed others, then you'd be caught up in a storm of blessings. I can see the point to that, honestly. After all, I was taught that you never knew when you'd be entertaining unawares.

This is the problem though: so many people are preaching to others about how their religion is the right one, yet so many have forgotten about the blessing without conditions. And when it comes to entertaining angels, have they stopped to think that the homeless man or woman may be that angel, but what about the fact that your child could also be that angel? I know people who become so wrapped up in "serving" the church and community that they forget that they can serve their gods by being dedicated parents, too. The homeless man deserves your respect just as the elderly couple in your church do, but...so do your parents, grandparents, children.

I know people who profess their religion, but don't live it. They gossip ferociously about the woman who shows up to Sunday services in a disheveled state, but they don't see that she has worked the night shift at a job she hates, but still shows up to thank her God for his blessings. These same people will give their time to the community events, but skip their kids' football games because they "don't have the time." They will offer to mow the yards or shovel the driveways of the elderly people in their church, but can't be bothered to do the same for their parents who live a block or two away.

As humans, we need to practice the faith of being good to everyone. After all, who is to say that the angel in your life isn't your mother, your son, your spouse, or your grandparent? Blessing others isn't a hard thing to do. But we are so determined that it is about blessing the people outside our family/friend units. We forget that they need to be blessed, too.

See that is the cool thing about love and blessings: they multiply when you give them away. But it multiplies tenfold when you bless those you love. They don't ask for too much too often. Sometimes it is simply a phone call to see how they are. Or maybe it is a couple of hours cheering them on. Or maybe even taking a plate of baked goods to them and visiting for an hour or so.

Why do we find it so hard to bless the world, but we forget the people in our families who need the blessings as well? What if when you get to the gates of wherever you're going after you die and you discover that the only religion needed to enter that space was one of blessings and love?

The House that Built Me

This song plays and my mind (and heart) go back to my childhood home. In an attempt to gain deeper knowledge about myself, I've been digging into the memories I have from growing up.

The house I was raised in was a family home. My great-grandparents lived there. My grandparents lived there. My parents lived there. There was history there. And not just history...MY history. The rooms I played in, my grandfather played in as well as my mother.

I remember lying in my bed at night and I imagined that I could feel the heartbeat of the house through the walls. Not in a creepy Stephen King way, but a soothing way. So many people talk about a house bursting at the seams. In my mind, our burst at the seams from all the love that had been created in that house.

It wasn't a house that would win awards from HGTV, but to me, it was beautiful. In the front yard stood a HUGE maple tree that, for years, held an old tire swing. One of the roots had grown above the surface and made the perfect step for us kids. There was a lilac hedge that grew the length of the front yard. The breeze would blow through them in the spring and scent the entire house. Tiger lilies grew out by the mailbox. Two large oak trees grew at the end of our driveway and a yellow maple grew in the front yard near the road. The willow in the backyard made an excellent hiding place until Mom trimmed it. *G* I can still see the clothes blowing on the clothesline in the summer breeze. Freshly washed and dried sheets just off the line are always amazing to climb into at night. I miss that feeling.

Inside the house smelled clean and filled with baked goods. It was a rare occurrence that Mom wasn't in the kitchen, baking something. Whether it was pies, cookies, or cake, she always had something in the oven. Then, there were the meals. On the cool fall or cold winter days, ghoulash or chili would simmering away on the stove with homemade bread in the oven. Spring and summer usually brought lighter fare like creamed potatoes with fresh peas.

As much as I cringed over the pink rosebud wallpaper in my room (wasn't quite the girly girl), I loved tracing the pattern as I sat in my bed reading. As I grew up, I added bits and pieces of furniture to make my own living space. I had the perfect little apartment set up. A living area and bedroom plus I used the hallway as a place to set up a desk. I loved having my own space to be alone.

Before we lost the farm, my summer days were filled with all sorts of things. Gardening, picking berries, taking care of the animals, and on those rare days with nothing to do, I'd pack a bag and take off across the pastures to the creek that ran along the back of our property. A couple of hard boiled eggs, a shaker of salt, a glass of lemonade, and a couple of cookies along with a towel and books, I'd set off for the afternoon. Getting lost in my own imagination was the best way for me to while away the hot summer day, dangling my feet in the creek.

I remember Saturday lunches of burgers, homemade fries, and malts while watching television. On occasion, Dad would get out his guitar and play. Summer evenings meant playing ball in the front yard once chores were done. Winter nights meant board games or television. If it were Christmastime, lots of baking. Dad would turn on the music and we would sing and dance while fudge bubbled away on the stovetop and cookies baked in the ovens.

Sure it sounds ideal, right? Let's not forget the arguments...especially when I became a teenager. Mom and I had more than our share of arguments that ended with either one or both of us in tears. Dad would tell me later how he tried hard not to laugh at us because we were often saying the same thing and both were so damned certain we were right. We learned that communication (at least for us) worked better if we wrote out our feelings. Often, I'd come home from school and there would be a note, written on stationary, lying on the stairs to my room. I'd read it, cry, smile and then reply. Then, I'd take my own note and put it on the counter. It's not that we didn't communicate. It was that we expressed our feelings better on paper. (Not a huge surprise that I became a writer after knowing this, right?)

When I left that house, my heart broke. I knew every nook and cranny of that old farmhouse. It was home. I have spent all of my adult life trying to have a home like that and I haven't managed yet. I've lived in many different places in a few different states, but home? Never have achieved that feeling. I'm still trying, but I've learned that it isn't necessarily the actual building, but the people who make a house a home. Of course, after re-reading this for any errors, I can see the truth. The house was just the storage place for all that love. It was the people who made that old farmhouse home. I'm still working on building a home my own to hold all the love that is created.

Perfection is Highly Overrated...

I am more than a bit of a perfectionist. For me, the attention lies in the details.

If you come to my home, I am apt to provide a meal that is delicious with a dessert to make your mouth water. While you may not notice it, I will have spent days cleaning, dusting, vacuuming, mopping and scrubbing counters, sinks, bathrooms, etc. Everything will shine. And the menu will be planned and executed with precision. While you are in my home, I will be extra diligent with every day tasks like sweeping my floors of dog hair or crumbs. My dishes will be done and put away. And I will not ask for any help. In fact, I will insist that you put your feet up and relax. After all, this is your vacation, not mine. I will have had lists made of what needs to be done by what time and date. I will never make you feel like you are a burden or that your needs are silly.

But what you won't see is how tired I am or as much as I want you here, I can't be comfortable because I'm waiting for something to go off schedule. I'm not a "roll with the flow" kind of person. I need things to be perfect...or at least I used to.

Then, something shifted in my universe. I learned that it is more important to be present in the moment than for the floor to be swept and mopped daily. That all that is required of me is to love and be loved and that does not require the dishes to be done after each meal. That an hour or so of snuggling is more necessary than making sure the housework is done.

Being perfect is highly overrated! After all, the beauty lies in the flaws.

I have tried so hard to be perfect. Or at least what I thought everyone's idea of perfect was. When this shift in my universe happened, I saw that I don't need to be perfect for the world or even myself. The beauty of me lies in my imperfections. I've been told that my flaws are what makes me unique and the more unique I am, the more beautiful I am. 

I wish I had realized all of this before. When I was told how horrible my smile was or how guys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses or how much prettier I'd be if I lost weight or how women my age don't color their hair with fun and funky colors and (more recently) how women my age shouldn't wear jeans like this: 

I love these pants! I wear them as often as I can simply because they are fun and funky! I dye my hair blue black with blue and green streaks. I recently added purple and pink to the mix. Why? Because I like being different. I don't do these things to stand out. I do these things because they make me smile and feel beautiful. If you don't like how I wear my hair, dress, or smile, that's your problem! There are people in this world who love me for my imperfections, my quirkiness, and my funk! 

So today I am encouraging you to embrace your imperfections! Wave your freak flag! Be the most genuine version of you! After all, none of us are getting out of here alive! Might as well have one helluva ride instead of worrying about what society says! 

In the Eye of the Beholder

Last night a friend tagged me in a Facebook post about being beautiful. I needed to upload and post 5 pictures of myself where I feel at my most beautiful. I cringed. I had a small panic attack. I am not known for posting "selfies" online. I have a lot of image issues.

Let me explain:

I have very crooked teeth. I have had them my whole life. There was never enough money to afford braces so I learned to live with the smile. I was told to cover my mouth, smile with my lips closed, anything so no one could see my teeth.

I am not a small woman, never have been, never will be. I have rolls, always have. I was told how much prettier I'd be if I lost weight. I've tried, but I LOVE food.

I wear glasses. "Guys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses" was something I heard repeatedly as I went through high school. I got contacts and wore them constantly. Guys didn't make passes at me then either.

I wear make-up and do my hair...when I feel like it. My grandmother always had earrings in her ears and her bright pink lipstick on her mouth. "You never know who you're gonna run into."

My feet are HUGE...like a size 11 huge. Dad used to say we'd be better off buying me gunboats to wear. I've never been horribly self conscious about them, but they are substantially obvious.

My eyelashes are short and stubby. I have one pupil that is larger than the other. I have a double chin. I have thinner lips. My cheeks are chubby. My "trunk" looks like a hoarder is hording way too much junk in it. And I get easily distracted. Maintaining focus is hard for me. My life is in constant creative chaos.

HOWEVER:

I've been told my smile is beautiful and lights up a room. So what if my teeth are crooked? It's a smile uniquely mine.

I'm a bigger girl. That is one thing that will never change. However, I eat healthier foods, I don't snack very often, and I am learning to take care of this body of mine. It is a body that has been called voluptuous and sexy on a few occasions.

I wear glasses. I can't change that. I need to see! Years of contact wearing destroyed the blood vessels in my eyes enough that I've been told that even wearing a pair of contacts for 10 minutes could cause me to lose my sight. So I buy flattering frames to make me look like the sexy nerd girl that certain men like to flirt with.

I put my make-up on when I'm feeling insecure. I put it on like a light mask to hide myself from the world. If I'm not wearing make-up around you, then I feel secure enough to let you see the real me. My hair is colored (because the gray makes me look too old), but rarely is it straightened, curled, or done in any way. I like the waves that have come with age and the bounce that is there.

My feet? Well, I can't change them. So, I put them in cute shoes...when I can find them. When I do find them, I tend to buy multiples simply because I can't always find cute shoes in my size.

As for the rest of me...well, I can only change so much. Most of it I have to live with. And I'm learning...I"m learning to see the beauty in myself.

Let me share some things I've learned while I did this little challenge:

We are not made to be perfect. We are made to be unique and individuals. Our bodies are ours. They are what makes us...us. We don't need to look like whatever celebrity is popular at the moment (not a pop culture sort of woman) because even THEY don't look like themselves. Air brushing, touch-ups, professional make-up artists and hair stylists, SPANX, etc. keep them looking like their "natural" selves. The things we see as flaws in ourselves are what the people who love us see as beautiful. We are imperfectly perfect just as we are.

The friend who tagged me in the post stated how you fall in love with someone's laugh, the way their eyes shine, the way they talk with their hands, or the way they move. We can't necessarily see someone's beauty simply from a photograph.

To wrap up this post, I'm going to quote an old adage: "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." I'm not beautiful to everyone and that is okay. BUT I am beautiful to someone...a lot of people if the comments on my Facebook post are any indication. Beauty isn't merely in looks. It is your heart, your compassion, your intelligence, your wit, your mischievousness, your confidence, and so much more.

So go forth and shine like diamonds, you beautiful beings!

Fighting the Fear

   

                                                       


I hate to admit it, but I am scared. I am fearful of so many things and I allow them to hold me back. Being insecure is part of my comfort zone. Being insecure is all I've ever known. I meet people with confidence and think, "Wow! How awesome are they?" But to be confident, I'd have to believe I am good at something, that I have something to offer the world, that I matter. And I'm aware that for my life to begin means that I have to step outside of my comfort zone.

I'm scared of failure which I allow to keep me from writing. If I don't write, then I can't fail, right? WRONG!! I'm failing myself by not trying. I'm aware of all of this. However, with my depression weighing on me like a Mack truck, I just wanna throw in the towel. Instead, I write my blog posts. I put all of my feelings out into the universe and release them. I am hoping that my scattered and random thoughts will make sense to the people who need to know they're not alone.

I get up every day and go through the motions of my life. Walk and feed the dog, shower, eat, get dressed, go to work, go home, walk and feed dog, eat, crawl into bed, talk to my sister, and pray sleep comes easily. Some days, I go to bed laughing. Others, I cry until I'm exhausted. And the rest? Well,I allow my brain to run wild and tell me all sorts of horrible things. 

I chuckle as I write this because I have so many people fooled. If you met me on the street, you wouldn't believe that I'm the woman I am. You'd see my smile and think "She's so confident." We'd speak and you'd say to yourself, "She's so friendly." You may overhear a conversation with someone I know and think "She sounds so funny and intelligent." But it is the fear that you are missing.

You're not seeing the fact that it took me two hours to work up the courage to leave the house. You don't notice the white knuckles as I cling to my keys. You've missed the routine of parking in front of the store so I don't have to interact with many people. You don't see the fear behind the smile and the thought process of "Please don't let anyone talk to me!" And gods forbid if someone should reach out to touch me! 

I was in a math class in college two semesters ago. I chose to sit in the back of the class, in the far corner. My nose was in my book. My earbuds securely in my ears until class started. I was getting in my zone. Then, HE walked in. You know, the one guy who has a smile on his face constantly and has such a charismatic personality that you can't help but smile back? Yeah, I got that one. He'd walk into class everyday and he'd want to chat. Being the only other person in class, we'd visit. Then, he did the one thing no one does...he put his hand on my knee and squeezed. Inside, I was losing my shit. Outside, he saw nothing wrong. This continued until I grew used to his touch, then he took my hand. He'd hold it for a brief moment. He always had his hands near mine, fiddling with my binder, twirling my pencil, just being the outgoing man he is. One day, he walk into class, borrowed my notes, returned them and he hugged me! And all the negative thoughts, the panic attack, the "oh gods, he's touching me" thoughts went silent. He just held on. Tightly. I hugged him back and attempted to let go. He did the one thing I never dreamed would happen to me...he held on when I tried to let go. I worked so hard to keep my shit together. I was close to a panic attack, but I didn't have one...until later. I went home from class that day and cried. A panic attack set in when I realized what had happened...I let someone get close enough to feel the rolls of fat on my body, to smell the essential oils I wear as perfume, to smell my shampoo, to notice my breasts aren't perky and perfect. I was petrified that this man would touch me again (and he did...a lot!!!!). He was constantly touching. This was hard for me because I am a person who CRAVES touch. That physical brush of skin against skin, body across body...I yearn for it, but to have a complete stranger (and a beautiful one at that) reach for me first was both amazing and terrifying. 

I am aware that I have lost weight over the last two years. I buy clothes that fit me now and look nice. I don't buy muumuus and large patterned items. I don't dress in all black anymore. Stretch pants and yoga pants are for home use only. I wear jeans and skirts, bright colors, things that reveal and show off my assets. I'm very proud of myself...however, I am still overweight. 

I fear standing out. I don't want people to notice me, but they do anyway. I scurry along the sides of a room like those furry spawns of Satan I hate so much (mice). When someone speaks to me, I often find myself looking around as if I'm thinking "Are you talking to me? Why are you talking to me? Why do you think I should speak? "

I'm scared to allow my voice to be heard. I don't want people to look at me and think "How stupid!" I know I have a brain and common sense. I don't consider myself intelligent though the man from math class thinks I'm smart! 

I'm on a college campus of about 4,000 students on a somewhat daily basis and I rarely speak to anyone. I sit in class with my mouth tightly shut (unless I'm called on) and take notes. Every semester, I will have 1 or 2 people I will speak to on a regular basis, but once the semester is over, I don't talk to them again. In this electronic age, I am more content to keep my earbuds in and my nose in a book for fear of people thinking that I'm too old, too fat, too stupid, too something, to be there.

However, I'm trying. Mr. Charismatic Math Man has me talking to so many different people that I have no choice but to interact. In fact, because of him, I may have made a friend (or two) who I actually text from time to time. I owe this man a debt of gratitude and maybe a plate of cookies.