Always Be Humble and Kind

This song has been resonating through my life lately. I liked it alright when it was first released, but it wasn't one of my favorites. However...the words are so important.

These aren't things we should have to think about every day. It should be a simple part of human nature. However, so many people aren't taught these lessons as they grow up. And if they are taught those things, they forget them as they age.

Humility is simple. You don't need to brag about the good things you do or how good you are at something. You just do it. There was a very crude comedian who spoke about how people are so quick to talk about their good deeds. He said that just because someone doesn't step forward and demand a pat on the back, that doesn't mean they aren't doing good things. They just do it and don't expect to be applauded for it. It makes me think of all the volunteers and people who work behind the scenes of organizations, but the CEOs are the ones who get the rounds of applause.

And kindness...well, that is just something not many people practice. People are so concerned about themselves and where they are going.They look at a mother with 5 kids, who are dirty and unkempt, and think she must be a horrible mom. They don't see the woman who just got off work, picked her kids up from their grandmother's where they made mudpies, then remembered that she needed to pick up food for dinner and didn't have time to take the kids home to change. They see a woman using food stamps to pay for her groceries, but has her nails done, is wearing designer clothes, and has the latest iPhone.  They aren't seeing that she is a single mom because her sister is in prison and she has custody of 3 kids she wasn't planning on raising. Her designer clothes came from the closet at the local woman's shelter so she could go on an interview for a better job. Her manicure is done at home and the iPhone is a gift from a friend who knows she needs to be able to be contacted in case of an emergency. People miss these things.

What should be simple things to offer others are the hardest because we judge people so harshly. You don't know everyone's story, their history, or their reasoning. I was always told that people in glass houses shouldn't throw rocks or walk around naked. Unless your record is spotless and you have never done wrong, then you definitely shouldn't be judging someone else. 

I find myself making snap judgments on people, then saying, "Gemma, humble and kind." If you look at people and situations through a different lens, you may just find that the world isn't quite as bad as media, politicians, or others would have you believe.

Words to the wise: Always take a breath before judging another. After all, unless you have walked in their shoes on the exact same journey, you have no idea of how a person became the person they are or why they make the decisions they do.

Oh, Grow Up!

RANT ALERT:

Something happened the other day that sort of got this author wound up. Someone very near and dear to me made a post, a very mild mannered post, about how this political crap people are posting on social media had her unfollowing certain friends until after this election is over. She used two, count them two, expletives. A "friend" thought is was suitable to tattle to my near and dear's mother. Seriously? Are we in grade school?

As adults, we are supposed to be setting examples for our children, right? If we get all butthurt over the fact that someone doesn't use language we approve of or doesn't believe the same way we do, how do we expect our kids to grow up to be healthy adults? Yeah, I'm that woman. I don't believe in "participation" ribbons/trophies for sporting events. I believe that teachers SHOULD use red pens to correct papers. I believe that children should be allowed to stand up for themselves.



I am so over this generation of kids who have entered the world believing they are entitled to something. They are raised thinking the world owes them something for their existence. They don't have to study or train to prove themselves, Simply drawing breath means they are entitled. They don't understand the words "menial labor." Things like daily chores are a thing of the past in most households because little Jack wants to play video games or has football practice and little Jill NEEDS to be on her social media pages with her friends. Guess what, parents! You are not here to be your child's friend. You are here to raise children into adults who understand the world will say no more often than it says yes. That hard work and perseverance will get your kid further in life than buying them everything they want will. Discipline! Holy crap! Lack of discipline is why the world is falling apart. No one understands that there are consequences for their actions anymore.

There are kids on the college campus who are delusional enough to think that because they are paying for their education that they are entitled to the grades of their choosing. They don't believe they should study hard and have to work like the rest of the students.I actually had a boy (and I do mean boy) in a math class last semester who got upset when the professor told him she couldn't read his homework assignment. And I don't mean just got upset. I mean, He slammed his chair into the table, stormed to the front of the classroom, threw the remote controls for the projector, etc. at the professor, then slammed the door shut on his way out. Half of us were so busy taking notes that we didn't realize there was a problem until the remotes spit batteries all over the front of the room. And his punishment? He wasn't allowed to return to the class. Having heard this boy's conversations with other students I can tell you that he didn't know the meaning of criticism or hard work. He didn't understand that illegible work means the person grading your papers will simply give up no matter how well you're doing. He would often walk into class worrying about studying for other classes and ask other people for their homework. Poor over privileged punk!

This boy isn't the first I've heard of or born witness to either. You have student athletes who perform well on the field for their team, but can't pull their weight in classrooms. However, they get away with it because they win for the school. This leads to professional sports players who think they can get away with things like hitting their wives, raping women, dogfighting because "Hey, I'm a winner, right?"

We have generations of these kids growing up and getting away with things simply because they have talent or a name. And as parents and a society we are tolerating it. Why? Why are we raising these kids to be this way? What ever happened to having to work your way to the top? What ever happened to struggling to get that music contract? To playing in dive bars until you make it? What ever happened to paying the dues needed in any job to get to the top? Whatever happened to "starting in the mailroom" of a company? Can anyone answer this for me?

I have to work 40 hours a week plus go to classes plus write plus work out time for a personal life. I'm not complaining, I'm stating a fact. But, I can tell you why I am in school. To get an education which will lead me to a job where I can support myself in a better lifestyle than I have now.

Do you know I have actually heard girls on campus who are there looking for a man? They will only date guys with certain majors because "mom wants me to marry well." See, this is where being an introvert isn't such bad thing. I hear things like this. Not in just one class either. This is in the hallways, at the cafes on campus, all over. We are raising our girls to worry more about finding someone to take care of them than how to take care of themselves. Which just makes them prey for the boys who don't feel like they have to earn anything...like respect. Nice combination on a college campus, huh?

I know I've strayed a bit from the opening paragraph, however, these things go hand in hand. I swear like a sailor most days. I don't care. If people don't like it, they can walk away or unfriend me. I'm not going to be someone I'm not simply because you can't handle it. I don't say things on this page or my social media pages that I won't say to your face. If you get butthurt, well, that's on you, not me. I'm entitled to my opinion. There's this little thing called the Bill of Rights that my dad and my friends have fought to defend. You want to tattle to my mommy for things I say? Go ahead, who do you think raised me? My beliefs run deep because they've been ingrained in the very heart of who I am. Remember Mr. Charming Smile from my math classes? Yeah, we talked about this a lot. Being raised in a blue collar family, we learned hard work and discipline. We weren't handed things, we had to earn them. Our families taught us the meaning of what it means to be an adult even though it frustrated the fuck out of us at the time, but...we have a great respect for our families, our community, and ourselves. And that counts for something!

Teaching your children about discipline, respect, and responsibility isn't a foreign concept. But we are so worried about giving our children their own voices that we forget that theirs aren't the only ones. Everyone is allowed their opinions...it's what makes this world so amazing. No one has the exact same beliefs and that is perfectly okay. What we forget is that if we shut up long enough and listen to the other person, maybe, just maybe we might learn something from the other humans on this planet.

He Saw Her

To get back into the rhythm of writing, I've been writing short pieces based on writing prompts that get my muse up and running. This particular prompt was "Write about someone that most people wouldn't notice."

It made me think about myself and how I have tried so hard to blend into the background. I never wanted to be the center of attention. Then, one day, this man with a charming smile walked in with this energy that coaxed me out of my shell. I've been told by boys throughout my life that I'm beautiful. Gorgeous boys who are almost half my age (some even more so). And they get me to halfway believe that they are telling the truth. But there was something different about this guy with the amazing smile. He isn't your standard issue college guy. He's special. There is nothing boy about him. He's the first man I've actually spent time getting to know. And he actually made me believe that I was beautiful.

So...here's a little writing piece for you:

She was nondescript in so many ways. She blended into the scenery and crowd. She was seldom noticed by anyone. She carried herself in a way that drew no attention. There was no wiggle in her walk. She walked with her shoulders back and her eyes on the crowd in front of her. She stared blindly in front of her, not noticing anyone. Her jeans and t-shirt or sweater attire made her look like every other college girls. Her body was hidden by her baggy clothing. She was full-figured with curves, but she didn’t accentuate her curves. She felt better hiding them away in a sea of sexy co-eds. The only thing that stood out immediately was her hair. It was blue-black with rainbows of color showing. Pinks, purples, blues, and greens drew the eye to the fact that she was no ordinary woman.

She sat in the back of the class and kept her nose in her book, earbuds in her ears. She avoided eye contact with anyone. Her eyes held pain and insecurities. She would diligently take notes and paid attention to the professor’s instructions. She never volunteered answers or asked questions; after all she couldn’t risk the chance of sounding stupid.

One day, a man walked into class. He caught the eyes of the quiet woman and smiled at her. Then, the woman who nobody saw did something that made her beautiful. She smiled at him. He decided in that moment to make it his mission to make her smile every chance he got. Because where no one else saw the beauty of this woman who attempted to blend into the background, her smile lit up his day. He made a point of telling her that her smile was something he missed when he wasn’t in class which only made her smile brighter. Her eyes danced with mischief and her laughter came easier each time. For an entire year, he made her smile, laugh, and her impish side came out to play.

He learned more about her than most people knew. She was easy to talk to and her teasing manner was fun to play with. She knew how to take a joke and could hand it right back to him. He opened up to her and let her into his world. He was the first person to initiate physical contact with the woman and, while it scared the hell out of her, she relaxed more and more in his presence until it felt normal for the touching to occur.

He knew someone had been unkind to her and made her feel as if she was less than she was. It raised his ire, but he continued to show the woman kindness. She opened her heart slightly and allowed him a glimpse at the sheer beauty of her. It wasn’t the clothes she wore or the way she styled her hair. It wasn’t her make-up or her shoes. It was the way her brain worked and the way he could make her smile like no one had before. It was the way her hand felt in his. It was the way she trembled when he touched her knee. It was the way her body fit against his when he took the chance to hug her. It was the way she sighed against his cheek as he held on longer than she expected. It was the way her hair tickled his nose and her scent lingered in his memory. It was the way he caught her watching him when he turned his head to look at her. It was the way she challenged him and made him question things. It was the confident way she gave him her phone number and encouraged him to use it. It was the way she was his personal cheerleader and believed he could do anything. It was the way their beliefs coincided. It was the similar ways they had grown up. It was so many things that made her beautiful. It was just the fact that everyone hadn’t seen her for what she really was…beautiful. What everyone else overlooked as a simple stone was actually an iridescent opal filled with color and fire if only it was held up to the sunlight and allowed to shine. 

Tell me what you think! Tell me about the man in your life! Tell me about how you find ways to stand out! Talk to me :)

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.

Roots and Wings

I don't write a lot about where I came from. It isn't a conscious thing. I thought I'd come a long way from that farmer's daughter in southern Michigan. Turns out I haven't.

I was born and raised in rural Michigan. Born to a family of dairy farmers, I was expected to help when I could. Responsibility was a big deal. Everyone had to pitch in where they were able. From shoveling manure and cleaning the barn to feeding calves and baling hay, my hands have been in it all. I remember spending a day or two over one summer caring for a calf that was born and needed some extra attention. I took a bag with snacks and books to the barn to lay with this precious little bundle. It wasn't a hardship. It was something I loved. 

I grew up with a menagerie of animals. Cows, calves, pigs, rabbits, peacocks, a pony, a lamb, chickens, ducks, geese, cats and dogs. And I LOVED it. At the moment, I didn't appreciate it for what it was...a learning experience. I learned that it was my job to take care of these beings if I wanted them to take care of me. Sure we ate the pigs, cows, and rabbits, but it was the cycle of life. I have a deep appreciation for the cycle. Death and birth was a big part of my life. Doesn't mean it's easy for me, it's just an understanding. When I lose one of my dogs, I will go into a deep depression that lasts for days, sometimes months, but I do understand that they don't live forever.

I also had the opportunity to grow up with my original parents. There were no "steps" involved. (That happened later on.) I got to see the love and devotion my parents had for each other. Through the toughest of times, they were there for each other. They fought. They argued. They fussed. But the most important thing: They loved. Each other. Us kids. Life. We were never financially rich, but we were rich in love. My parents laid out an example of love that I have tried to replicate in my life. Unfortunately, not everyone was raised with that sort of love and they don't understand it.

Holidays were spent in the kitchen with my mom. I've always said I am my father's daughter, but I'm just as much my mother's as well. Side by side in the kitchen, we'd cook dinner, bake cookies, clean up after the meals. Most of what I know I learned at my mom's side. But it was more than just cooking or baking. It was life lessons that I carry with me. I learned fractions by doubling recipes. I learned that the most special ingredient you can put in the things you cook is love. And I learned that how you feel as you bake/cook can translate over to the people who eat  your food, so be careful with your emotions.

I remember wearing farmer hats and my grandpa telling me, "You are gonna get cauliflower ears." I literally thought my ears were going to sprout cauliflower. LOL  I was the only granddaughter and being a tomboy was...well, not what was expected. I've always been a jeans and t-shirt sort of girl, but as I've aged, I gained weight. So, I hide it. Wearing hats fell by the wayside. I left the farm and left all of that behind. I turned my back on who that girl was and forgot a lot of who I was.

I got married and moved into town. Never really made it back to the country. However, I've lived in several different places and have spent the majority of my life searching for who I really am. It is funny that I found her on a back road in rural Wisconsin with the radio turned up and the wind blowing through my hair, the scent of cow manure in the air. 

Do you wanna know who I am? I am that barefoot country girl who loves walking through the grass, catching ladybugs, and feeling a breeze ruffle through my hair. I am the ponytailed girl in a camo ball cap climbing into her 4-wheel drive looking for a little mud. I'm the girl who shoots her whiskey straight, likes her steak medium and on an open pit, and will dress up pretty to sit in a church pew on Sunday morning. I am who I have always been...a farmer's daughter.

One final word before I end this. I remember watching "Designing Women" and Suzanne Sugarbaker said something that has stuck with me all of this time: "To you, my child, I bequeath two things. One is roots. The other is wings." I've learned that after all this time, my wings have led me where I needed to go, but my roots run deeper than I ever dreamed.

Funk It

I've been in a bit of a funk the last week. I'm not sure why. I don't feel like writing. I don't feel like doing much of anything. Just that sort of funk I can't shake. I've tried to mediate. I've lit candles and incense. I've prayed. I'm just in a funk.

It may have to do with the fact that everyone is back in classes except me. I made the decision to take the semester off to write and refocus my thoughts, find my direction. I needed to take a break, but I'm regretting it. I miss the people I talked to on a daily basis. (That is a big confession for this introvert.) I miss sitting in the cafe with a cup of coffee and talking to my friends. 

Writing is important to me and I love doing it, but for some reason, something is off in my world. I mean, off to the point of crying because this is my passion. Why am I not feeling it? Why am I having this issue? I put my butt in the chair and I have the keyboard in front of me. No thoughts come to me and I just can't see the point.

I'm not feeling inspired, I guess. Even my cooking and baking is slacking. I'm sticking with the basics and not really trying anything new. A lot of easy meals with no thought process required. Cut the chicken, put it in the pan, cook it, add the veggies and any sauce, let cook. Serve over the rice. (I eat a lot of Asian food.) 

There are people who will tell you that the situation with my rental house is the problem (crappy landlord who refuses to fix things, like the ceiling that is falling in my dining room), and maybe they're right. Everything is in disarray due to the landlord not dealing with the issues that need to be handled. Most of my stuff is packed up, waiting for a place away from this town. I'm just not meant to be a city dweller. Others would tell you that my employer drains me. Now, they're not wrong either. I'm run down on my best of days. I take vitamins to keep my energy level up. I don't eat a lot of junk. Truthfully, I think my depression is cycling again. And all of the things above probably add to it.

I'm trying to make the appropriate changes, but it feels as if the universe is conspiring against me until I learn the lesson I need to learn. So, yellow brick road is keeping me returning to this point.

Somebody sent me this video. Thought I'd share the love with you: