I'll Always Remember You Young

This song has been playing on the radio a lot lately. It catches my ear, but I seldom hear all of the words simply because I'm lost in my own thoughts most days. However, the other day was a rough one. 

Christmas is always tough time, but this was the first one without my partner in crime, my rock, my best friend...my beautiful boy, Diesel. My heart has been a bit heavier this year. I've been missing my grandparents, my dad, Diesel, my cousin (and now his partner) and my mind has traveled across the ethereal plane, wondering if they are all okay.

The first time I remember asking my grandma how old she was, she answered, "I'm 53." She wasn't much older then than I am now. I cannot imagine Grandma coloring her hair wild colors and wearing the clothes I wear. But in my mind, she is forever 53. Playing ball with us kids, making date candy into dog turd shapes to give to her baby brother, and playing Chinese checkers on rainy Saturdays.

My grandpa is frozen in time as a younger man. Reminding me to hold my silverware like a lady, to not wear my cap so far down on my ears cuz "ladies don't have cauliflower ears", and buying his only granddaughter plastic collectible ponies for Christmas.

My parents will be forever in their thirties. Back when they were happy. Back before Dad's PTSD took over his life. Back when we were still a family.

My cousin will always be 18 (and I can hear him laughing). I remember his smile...god, how I loved him. Driving to town with him to pick up his paycheck, Billy Idol blasting on the radio, no cares in the world. 

I know my cousin, Beth, will laugh, but to me, she'll always be 16. Rimming my waterline with black eyeliner while Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons rocked out on the television in her parents' living room. She is the closest thing to a big sister I've ever had.

And my darling Diesel will forever be the puppy who loved to be carried to bed, sung "Baby Mine", and was the best friend a girl could ask for.

 

My friends are forever frozen in time at 18. When our futures were bright, life was simple, and the world was ours for the taking.

The other day, someone asked me what I was like when I was younger. I paused a moment or two and let my mind travel back in time. I wasn't much different than I am now. Ballsy. Full of sass. Full of spirit. I was the girl who hung out with the guys with jacked-up trucks on Main Street on Friday night, her best friend by her side. Driving backroads with the windows down and the music up loud. Seeing just how much trouble we could find. My nose wasn't always in a book, but pretty damn often. I dreamed of getting out of the one horse town and being someone special. I had big dreams and lofty aspirations. 

I've often wondered how people remember me. If they remember me at all. I'm sure I'm the bad guy to some, wounded to others, beautiful with an ugly heart/ugly with a beautiful heart, unlovable, untouchable, and I'm sure the list goes on. I just hope someone somewhere remembers me fondly as someone who gave her all. And always remembers me young!

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!

My Grown-Up Letter...

Dear Santa,
     There are people in the world who would say that I'm too old to be writing a letter to you, however, Grandma always told me I was never too old to believe. (My grandma was a smart woman :)) And I just don't give a shit about the world's opinion.
     I'm usually pretty snarky about these "Dear Santa" things. But here I am, being sincere and all. I have quite a list for you and all it comes from the deepest depths of my heart.
       I have a few things I want for myself, but first, I want to get the big stuff out of the way.
     Santa, I know most of this is big stuff and for most people it would be impossible, but I believe that if anyone can do it, you can.
     1) I want all of our soldiers to come home, safe and sound. So, I guess what I'm asking for is Peace on Earth. Our men and women in the military deserve so much more than we, as a nation, give them.
     2) I want every child of the world to know what it is to feel safe, secure, and loved. No child asks to be brought into this world and so often, we forget that.
     3) I also would like every animal to know they are loved and cherished members of the family. We tend to forget that their care, too, was given to us by their Creator.
     4) I would love to have every homeless veteran to have a home, the medical attention they deserve, and the financial help owed to them from an often ungrateful nation.
     I could be selfish and ask for so many things that only money can buy for myself, but, in all truthfulness, Santa, I've gotten older and maybe a bit wiser. I've learned Christmas isn't about stuff or things. Christmas is about love, laughter, friends and family, and joy. So for myself I ask for the following things:
     1) May my friends and family know how dearly loved they are and may the new year bring them all the happiness their hearts will allow. May they be blessed this holiday and all year through!
     2) I've worked hard this year. I've studied until I can study no more. I've typed, added, edited, divided, read, learned, and tested until my eyes and brain hurt. Please, Santa, let me get passing grades in all of my classes!
     3) The next two I will not give words to, however, I was always told that you know what's in my heart. I don't ask for perfection, Santa, but you know my sincerest desires and what lies in the cold black depths of my heart.
     I know this is short notice and some of these things are next to impossible, but it weighed on my heart and mind tonight. 
     I still believe in you, Santa, and I hope you still believe in me, too!
     With love,
     Gemma
P.S. Diesel would like to add Nudges and squeaky toys to the list.

     

Being a Grinch

I want to apologize for not posting much lately. The final weeks of college have been horrendous. I've been focusing hard on getting through finals and not much else has gotten done.

However, let me say, I feeling a little extra "Grinchier" than normal this year. I'm not sure why. I'm not sure there really is a reason. I'm just not feeling the holiday spirit.

I saw a post the other day that spoke to my heart. I wanted to share it with you. And now I can't find it. The gist of it was this: "The Grinch didn't hate Christmas, he hated people." Now, my spin on it is that the Grinch didn't hate people, per se, he hated the greed and meanness that came out of people during the holiday.

I've seen the sweetest people in the world become so horrible and mean to their fellow man during the stress of the holidays. It breaks my heart. 

Maybe this comes from my growing up poor (though I never knew it). So many years, there were handmade gifts under the tree. My mom would sew dresses or new shirts for me. She'd make gifts because money was tight. Sure I wanted the toys that all my friends were asking for, but I knew in my heart I'd never get them and that was more than okay. In a couple of months, their toys would be cast aside because they wanted something different. But even as young as I was, I knew that handmade gifts came from the heart. I knew the love and time that went into each stitch my mom made.

I'm curious as to when Christmas stops being about stuff and becomes about loving one another. Remember how at the end of How the Grinch Stole Christmas, the Whos remember what Christmas is truly about? It's about family, friends, community, and loving one another. 

I avoid the stores, if at all possible, so I don't have to deal with the worst in humanity. After all, at the end of my day, I really do want to like people. And some day maybe I'll shed my Grinchy green fur and allow my cold black heart to grow 3 sizes bigger.

Long Line of Love

The other day I was getting ready for school and I pulled out a necklace that I'd put away a while ago. There's nothing wrong with it. It's an unusual piece and I adore it. I just don't wear gold jewelry. I lean toward silver or, better yet, stainless steel. But as I was preparing to leave the house, this piece spoke to me. And it hasn't left my neck since.

When my grandma died, there was one piece of her jewelry I wanted more than anything. I remember asking for it and no one cared for it. It wasn't something they would wear. What's funny is that no one knew the story behind it. Grandma had only bothered to tell me.

My grandmother's father passed away in 1983 (I think it was). I was right around 11 years old. Grandma and Grandpa were divorced. Grandma, in a sentimental act unlike her, took her mother and father's wedding bands along with her and grandpa's bands to the jeweler. He melted the gold down and formed the pendant below.

I remember going with her to the jeweler to pick it up. She came out of the store, got into the car, and told me the story of the pendant. 

When times I got hard and I struggled financially, I had to sell a lot of my jewelry to have cash simply for groceries and gas. I often thought I would have to sell this piece, but my heart broke just thinking I might have to. Just when things were to the point where I was having to think of selling it, money would come through and I'd make it another month.

It is an odd looking piece and not something people would love to wear. However, it is a reminder to me...that I have come from a long line of love. During the holidays (and sometimes along the way), I need to be reminded of that.

Do you have something that reminds you of who you are or where you come from? Tell me about it, please!

The Art of Storytelling

It isn't really a surprise to anyone that I became a storyteller. After all, it's in my blood.

I remember sitting on my grandmother's lap as she told me story after story. She'd tell me about where my family came from, how her and grandpa met, the night of my mom and dad's first date, the night I was born, growing up, losing her mother, and life. 

There are some of these stories I can recite in my sleep and others I have lost the thread of. However, I'd give anything for another story from this beloved woman.

I've been watching one of my favorite movies lately. It showed up in my Netflix suggestions and my heart did a little flip. How To Make An American Quilt is the title and it has made me a bit nostalgic. Women sitting around a table, having conversations about relationships, life, and love. 

All of this reminiscing has me wondering if women do this anymore? Do they sit and share stories with their children? Will this next generation know where they came from, where their roots lie? For so long, women have been the storytellers, the secret keepers, for their families, for the world. I'm afraid that there will so much lost to future generations when we stop telling the stories of how our families came to be. We are so involved in the future and how we want things to turn out that we forget to look back and realize how we came to this place.

I'm going to wrap this up with an example of the importance of storytelling: My grandma started a tradition when I was small and it carried on until she passed away. She would tell me the story of the night I was born. When she died, my mom and dad began telling me their versions of that same night. When my dad died, my cousin picked up with her version. That story is a very special part of who I am and I know that the art of storytelling has impacted who I was, who I am, and who I have yet to become. 

This piece always touches my heart in a profound way. Carry it with you.

The Funny Thing About Sisters...

Do you have that one friend who you know will always have your back no matter what? The one who will sit with you in the silence? The one who doesn't care if you speak because they understand your heart without any words being said? I do!

I met my younger "sister" almost 10 years ago when we worked for an online company. I'm not sure how in hell this all even got started, but we began to chat and this friendship emerged. She was simply my person. She kept me sane through the chaos of my life. When I lost my dad, she was online, asking what she could do. When my marriage began to fall apart, the phone calls began. I'm talking 16 hour conversations. I know that sounds like a long time to talk, but those conversations kept me sane. She got me through some long ass nights! Then, when it came time for me to make a decision about ending my marriage, she was the one I talked to. When other people were saying to give my marriage another chance, she told me that I needed to worry about me. She showed me that I was settling for less than I deserved. She was the one who held my hand and helped me do one of the most difficult things I've ever done...save myself. I don't know how I would've made it without her. She keeps me sane and lets me be crazy. She knows my heart better than I know my own some days. When I moved to Wisconsin, she was there. When my ex-friend moved out and left me with no one, she kept me from going so far over the edge that I couldn't get back. When I dated someone who was very toxic for me, she is the one who kept telling me how scared she was that this wasn't going to end well. (She came close to being right on that one.) 

When my world seems to being spinning too fast for me to keep up, she's the one who reminds me to take a deep breath and look at who is making the world spin. It's my world and it will only spin as fast as I allow it. She's also the one who with two words can set me into a fit of laughter that makes my sides hurt! She sends me pins, memes, etc. that have me dissolving into a fit of tears because she knows my twisted sense of humor like no other. She reads my stories and tells me what is working and what isn't. She loves my characters like I do, but she knows when to push and when to lay off. She will interrupt a conversation with "Okay, so off topic for a minute..." and launch into something completely out in left field which leads to nine other strings of conversation only to bring us back to the original topic an hour later. 

Here's the funny and amazing part about us: We've never met! I mean, physically, face to face met. She's a southern girl and I'm northerner. She complains to me about the heat and I share my pictures of my snow with her, listening to her ooh and aah over how nice it must be :) She's an only child and I'm the oldest of two. I remember wanting a little sister when my brother was born. I'm not sure if either one of our mothers could've handled having the both of us as daughters! I'm afraid we would probably have caused more trouble together than we did apart. (I still say I'm the good one! LOL)

As far away as we are from each other, we always message each other "Good morning" to let the other know that we made it through the night and "Good night" to let the other know we've made it through another day. We message (or talk) during the day as time will allow, but we let the other know that we're doing okay. When my ex-friend moved out, I was all alone here. I could've died and the only person who would miss me would be the landlord when rent was due. So, we set up a system to keep each other aware of what was happening. I go out, she knows who I'm going with, where we're going, and what time I should be home. I text her at least once while I'm out so she knows that I'm okay. Even being as far apart as we are, I know that if something happens to me, she'll know before anyone else.

I've always believed that family isn't flesh and blood alone, it's who is there for you when shit hits the fan. That is the perfect example of my little sister! So often I talk about my family, but I neglect to mention the one person who understands my cold, black heart and twisted, tangled mind. I often say "Thanks" to others, but hers is very much a thankless job! 

Love Actually...

Love. It is a four letter word and some people liken it to the other four letter words that cause much disdain. Love actually is what the holidays are all about.

I'm a big fan of the movie "Love Actually" and this is one of my favorite quotes:

For me, this is what the holidays are all about...LOVE. It is about loving your friends, your neighbors, your parents, your siblings, your children, your partner/significant other, yourself. It is about celebrating that love wherever you might find yourself.

Love is visible everywhere you look. You may have to look harder in some places, but look around your world and you will find love is actually quite prevalent. It is the young man shoveling his elderly neighbor's sidewalk. It is the mother holding her child's hand while shopping. It is the couple strolling down the street looking at the window displays. In this world when so many are discouraged and upset with the way things are going...LOVE actually exists.

So many people celebrate the holidays alone or with a mish mash of friends. Not everyone has a family to bicker with, to share a meal with, to argue about who's team is the better team with, to LOVE. We have elderly people who sit in their homes with no family visits. We have families who are spread across the country with no way of getting to each other. We have men and women in the military who are forced to be away from their families for the holidays. Yet, if you look closely, you'll find that LOVE is still alive within this world.

For my first choice today, I give you:

And here is my second choice: 

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.

Happy Winter Solstice

Last night, I spent the evening with friends...not just any old friends, but the special type of friends who are more family than mere acquaintances. We had terrific food, filthy and fun conversation, laughs until our bellies hurt, a few tears shed, but we had the most amazing time.

I was reflecting on one conversation in particular. This beautiful friend lost her father at the end of May this year. This is her first holiday season without him. I understand her grief in so many ways. I told her recently how I pick up the phone to dial my dad's number whenever something amazing happens to me, then I lay the phone down because I know he's never going to answer the phone. She's been checking her phone for messages from her dad and realizing he will never call her again. Two women met due to, well...similar interests, yet bonded in so many ways...losing our fathers is merely one of so many.

The conversation we had on the way to the solstice bonfire came back and made me realize that these people, though I haven't known them long, are my family. I don't have to hide who I am, what I believe, or any other thing you can imagine. They accept me for simply being me. They don't judge (okay, maybe a little, but that's okay) me for my faith, my beliefs, my relationship status, or anything else. I think we hug more than most families, too. And I mean those nice long hugs that tell you that these people miss you when you're not around and care about you. That is so nice! I'm such a touchy-feely person. I love to touch and be touched.

My family may not be made up of a mother, father, and siblings. My family is one of friends who are very like-minded. We are accepting of each other's weird little quirks and love each other in spite (or because) of them.

Last night was the only "real" holiday I will spend with family. That is perfectly fine by me since I've had way too many family holidays where I feel like the odd man out. I'm usually the butt of the jokes with my biological family. With my 'self-made' family, everyone gets equal teasing and ribbing, but when we walk away, it's always with a hug and a promise to see each other again soon.

I want to take this moment to tell you this: Family is who stands with you, for you, and beside you. It doesn't have to be people who share the same DNA or bloodline. Your family is those who accept you at your best and love you at your worst. They are the ones who allow you to be zany, off the wall, serious, mournful, loving, and most of all, yourself.

I want to wish you and yours a very Happy Winter Solstice, a Blessed Yule, a Merry Christmas, and most of all, an incredibly wonderful New Year!!!

What I'm Thankful For...

"A day late and a dollar short" as my grandma would say. Yes, that is me. I've been so neglectful lately and it shows in everything. From my writing to my friendships to my homework, I've been neglecting way too much.
I promised everyone that this was going to be a year of change, but I never dreamed how many changes would come my way. What a difference a year can make!
Yesterday, I spent my first holiday...alone. I cooked a small dinner for my Diesel and me. I spent the day in my pajamas, working on homework, playing on the internet, and watching movies. My baby sister called and we talked. Okay, I cried a lot, she coughed a lot (she's sick), and she listened to me bitch. Then, I realized that I never wrote out what I'm most grateful for.

So today I will share what I am most grateful for (in the order of which they came to me):

My baby sister who listens to me. She makes me laugh, cry, think, and roll my eyes. Her humor is twisted and dark. Her brain is weirdly wired like mine and her weirdness can catch mine toe to toe. She lets me vent when things aren't working and doesn't laugh (too hard) when I realize the situation isn't nearly as bad as I thought.

My roommate, my best friend, my partner who gets me. He gets all of me...most of the time. He came into my life when I felt more alone than I had ever been. He walked through that classroom door and flipped my world upside down. He gave me hope. He cared when I felt no one else did. He helped when I didn't think I had a friend in the world. He organized and strategized. He gave light to my darkness and showed me the weird freak that lives inside of him. His weirdness dances with mine and  my demons quiet at the sound of his name.

My furkid who has been there through all the insanity of the last year. His paw was always there for me to hold when I needed that physical contact with someone or something. He's made me laugh more than anyone else could. He accepted the changes in our life like a trooper and fell in love with the people who have come into our lives. He doesn't begrudge me the times when I leave him alone for a few hours to go out and explore my darkness. He's been my constant through it all.

My friends who helped me through the worst summer ever. I don't know what I would have done without you. You gave Diesel and I a place to live while asking for very little in return. You listened as I cried and bitched about the move we were going to make. You kept me from making the worst decision of my life. You helped us move into our new home and helped out with the little things we needed...like a shower curtain and a bed. You came to visit and told me I always had a home to come home to. You are my friends who became my family and I love you more than you will ever realize.

The friends who have often sent a text message or FB'd me just to check in and let me know they are there if I need a shoulder.

My fans, new and old, who stand by patiently (or not so patiently in some cases) while I get my shit together. You've been faithful and loyal. For that alone, I am truly grateful. Book 3 is almost finished, I promise.

To live in the country I live in where I can get an education and become anything I wish to be

To have had the childhood I did

To have been raised by the most incredible man in the world...my daddy.

To have known the love of a mother, even though she wasn't MY mother

To have had the courage to make the changes I made

For my talent as a writer

For my family who still stands beside me

For the new friends who have come into my life, accepted me and showed me that I'm not alone in my darkness. You've helped me grow and you've shown me that I'm not nearly as weird as I thought I was. I've learned so much from all of you in the short time we've been acquainted. More often than not, you keep the light burning bright inside of my cold, dark heart.

There are many things that I'm sure I'm forgetting, but these are a few things (and people) I am most grateful for. Without the people in my life, I would be more lost than I ever thought.

One more thing, I'm grateful for...snow. I have discovered just how much I love the stuff. It is beckoning to me now and I need to get out and shovel. It's actually more invigorating than I ever imagined. One of these days, I'll post some pics for you.

For now, be good to each other, love one another, and hug those you love most!