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Magnolias and Memories

17 May

It’s the beginning of summer. When the air is still cool enough to enjoy being outside even when the sun is at its peak and high overhead. The wisteria and honey suckle are long since gone, but the magnolias are blooming.

Magnolias are not our state flower, but I have no idea why. They embody our great southern state of South Carolina. They represent us…Just go to any tourist jaunt and you’ll find something magnolia….a candle, a plate…a sign. They pepper our back yards and line the parking lots of nearly every place I can think of.

Magnolias = a southern state of mind.

magnolia

When my grand-precious and I take our bike rides,  her on her beloved frozen bike with silver tassels swaying from the handle bars and a fuzzy pink troll helmet a top her head, me walking briskly behind, we make a pit stop by the grand magnolia trees lining our neighborhood to drink in the fragrance. Burying our noses into the blossoms deeply, until the dream like fragrance fills our lungs and reaches our toes. They always bring a smile and a bit of amazement. Giant, bold blooms. Stark white petals, unfolding one by one to reveal the cone. The cone is a wonder all its own to be honest. Dancing with the branches, it releases the seeds (or carpels according to google) as the bloom begins to die. A last ditch effort for survival, I suppose. Hoping one of the seeds returns to ground to become a new. My grand-precious collects the seeds in her pockets as if they were treasure. “Look at this one Gigi” as she points to a new bloom. Scooping out the seeds of another to add to her collection.

I watch her and the corners of my smile nearly touches my eyes. When we first started this routine, I just wanted to point out new things for her to wonder about and to stretch her imagination. To ride around (and not over) the centipede crossing the sidewalk. To notice the way the stream moves and winds under the bridge. To see new wild flowers that were not there yesterday and wonder where they came from.

Today as I was watching her, I thought…when I’m long since gone, I hope she smells a magnolia bloom drifting through the early summer air and thinks about me.
The way I do when I think about my Gram….I can’t see a Burger King commercial without thinking about her. The lady loved her a whopper! Or the way my son does – my grand-precious’ father, when he sees a Sonic….because she equally loved a banana split and often used his visits to indulge in one with him! It’s funny the way the mind works and triggers memories.

Yesterday we were in Gram’s “neck of the woods” over on Folly Beach. We passed a Sonic and my 28 year old said “I think I had my first banana split over there.” We talked for a few minutes about Gram, banana splits and whoppers until the air fell heavy with the sadness that rises from losing someone you loved. My son said, “I miss Grandma Cox.”

“Yeah, me too buddy. But man did she love us. She loved us so hard.”
‘Yeah, she did.” He replied softly.

And so when I saw my little, beautiful, grand precious breathing in that big, bold magnolia blossom, I thought – I hope these memories get etched in her magnificent mind. When she is grown and I’m long since gone, it will serve as a reminder that she was loved. Loved so hard, and so deep, with every ounce of my being. Down to her toes and to the very tip of head. She is loved.

The way I do when I think of my Gram.

lina

 

XoXo,

Lady Chats A lot 

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You can’t always get what you want…

31 Mar

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From my IG feed: Photo Credit Very Jane.com

Ya’ll….We are living in crazy times…CR.AAA.ZY  times.

I’ve been on the search for toilet paper for the last week. We are not dangerously low yet, but we are creeping up on it!

I’ve gone to SEVEN…SEVEN  stores over the last week and have yet to find a single roll. I can’t begin to count the number of times I’ve google searched it to no avail. Even AMAZON.Freakin’.PRIME is out of toilet paper. FOR REAL YA’LL….WHY can’t I find toilet paper? Why is this a thing? Like a  real  thing?

I already feel like I’m taking my life into my hands when I enter Walmart. I try not to breathe the entire time. I have my sanitizer wipe in my hand. I wipe down the surface of the cart and nearly everything else. By the time I’m through, my wipe is shriveled and dry.  I’ve pre-mapped out my game plan in my mind based upon my shopping list and the store layout.  I’m half exhausted before I even walk in the door….I secretly curse anyone who comes within my six foot radius. There has been at least once that it was not so secretly ….

Now, I’m out there going in and out of SEVEN different stores looking for something I clearly took for granted just weeks ago.

My husband, who is already very picky about his TP, thinks he has an idea. When I say picky – I mean to say, we have to pack toilet tissue on any over night trip because he doesn’t want to risk using whatever they may have there, picky….SOOOO he says “well, we will just use wipes”….Nope…Those ARE ALL OUT TOO! Someone already had that idea, Fred. (That’s not his real name, it’s just what I call him from time to time.)

So I mention this  rant  to a few friends.  They have some they will share with me they say.   No, no, not yet. But I leave the door open in case I do get desperate.
Oh my geezee…

And then…then ya’ll

My coworker calls me. She is at the store shopping for her elderly parent and has found the holy grail! She asks me if I still need it, to which I practically leap through the phone YES! And, then – she offers to deliver it… To do a drive by and toss it on my porch. (Six foot Corona virus rules.)  I mean…How freakin’ great is that.

I have tears.

TP Delivery

Text between my husband and I after our delivery

You guys – I love my coworkers. I really, really do. I count myself so blessed that I get to go to work and spend time with these fantastic people. Over the years we have been through so much together. They are my work family! Today, one of them rescued me in more ways than one.

I’ve been trying so hard to find the positive in this Corona Virus mess. But truthfully, it is wearing thin. I. WANT. TO GO. BACK. TO WORK….Like physically, go into my office. Chat with my work friends at the coffee pot, argue with my work friends in the conference room, and have “ah-ha”, breakthrough, fantastic ideas to “fix” or “resolve” a seemingly impossible problem. It’s what we do. It’s my favorite work thing in the world – to make hard things simple…I want to go back to work (in the office).

I also want to go to the beach…I want to hang out with my girlfriends…I want my kid to go back to school…I want to go to the park…to the store without holding my breath….I want to stop worrying if my family and friends will get this damn thing…to stop worrying if the economy will ever recover and if my friends who have lost their jobs or those who run a small businesses will find their way back again… I want this virus thing to be over with already. The thought of it lasting eight more weeks makes my insides hurt.

And yet, with a deep sigh and adult understanding (I get it…I really do)  I will stay home – and I be grateful that I still get to work with these awesome people from my make shift desk in my home “office”.

If you don’t have people like this in your life – people who will hunt for toilet paper for you and throw it on your porch in the middle of a pandemic – get some! Get on it pronto! Seriously! It’s not to late…Because when you are stuck and a friend rescues you – it puts your world back together again, if only for the day.

“You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, well you just might find, you get what you need.” ~ The Rolling Stones

Today, I didn’t get what I wanted…but I got what I needed.  I’m so thankful for my TP Angel and for drive by deliveries.

xoxo,

Lady Chats A Lot 

 

Caution: curves ahead

22 Mar

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This week I watched a recent video of myself that I made with my son.  I was shocked  at the image I saw reflecting back at me. I’ve had a rough couple of years with some things …and apparently, I am an emotional eater….or possibly an emotional drinker… maybe…I’ve found a fondness for red wine and it found a roomy home on my hips.

Over the last few months, I began moving the clothes that no longer fit to the left side of my closet. I’m still flabbergasted  when I’m unable to pull up the pants I’ve worn for the last 10+ years past my thighs….The pile on the left of the closet  is large.

This means I’ve also had to  purchased new pants – begrudgingly. My collection is minimal in comparison. It was either that or go naked… I had no choice in the matter. Yes, leggings work well and are cheap…but they hide the fact that I appear to be growing – out, not up. At this point, my ass could qualify for it’s own zip code…

So, I’m watching this video thinking – How in the world?  Really.  How did I let myself gain 30 pounds? When I look in the mirror I know I’m bigger…but this video.  Lord, please promise me that the camera adds 10 pounds…that I really don’t look that way in REAL life.

But the truth is I’m now heavier than when I delivered both of my children.  I know I’m teetering on the verge of no return….and I don’t know what to do about it.  Don’t get me wrong. I know there are many women larger than myself. This isn’t about them. THEY ARE BEAUTIFUL. This is about me feeling good, or not, in my own five-foot-five-and-half skin.

This is how my day starts:  I try on a new black skirt that arrived yesterday.  To tight.  I contemplated keeping it for “when I lose the weight” but more than slightly depressed at the likely hood of that NOT happening, I tossed the skirt on the bed to return later.

I then selected white slacks that I knew were a size or two larger. They fit, but the view from behind was not so cute….On went the Spanx – boy shorts.  Spanx, the well-known by ladies around the world (but rarely seen by men) undergarments that are made to make me look skinner.  Yet, I some how now feel like a sausage.  A bratwurst to be specific…But damn it to heck, I have to go with this outfit because I’ve already worn the other two pants that fit me this week.  Tomorrow it’s jeans….

I tossed on a cute shirt from a local boutique that I haven’t worn since last summer. It was a little snug across the chest but nothing terrible I thought…However, the more I moved my flat iron across my hair, I realized it was too constricting.  I no longer liked it.  Crossing my arms at my waist to lift the fabric….I find I can’t. I was stuck. I couldn’t get this damn shirt off my body.  I twisted, I tried….I grunted…I thought, “Imma have to cut this bitch off.”…For a second I contemplated running downstairs to wake up one of my children to help me pull this sucker off….I’m not sure I’d live that one down…EVVAHH… Five minutes and a few tears later, I wiggled out of  shirt looking like I’d been on a subway fight. Red in the face, hair a mess…

I promptly moved it to the left side of my closet.  My first thought?

You know you are fat when you get stuck in your freakin’ shirt. What the hell…

On to work. As I’m walking up the sidewalk I say a little prayer.  “Lord, I don’t like this. I don’t like how I feel about me. You love me and have helped me in so many ways.  Help me to lose this weight.”

Fast forward through my day.

I’m in the ladies room where a coworker asks How I’m doing. “busy. good.” I say.    I tell her she looks beautiful today.  She shrugs, not believing my words, her eyes drifting away from me.  Then she says, “You look good too. How did you gain your weight? Eating too much.”

Yessssss. She said those words.

Before you get riled up and ready to kick ass, please hear her story.

She is from South America. She LOVES curves.  Which until her recent weight loss, she had — curves for dayyyys!  She tells me, almost too eagerly, she can’t wait until she can put on some pounds.  She is serious…This I know.

I tell her I’ll shift her some of mine – If only it were that easy!   She then says with a large grin and wiggling eyebrows,  “I bet your husband is happy” as she points to my zip code carrying ass….

She is losing weight not because she wants to friends, but because of the chemo.  You see, she has breast cancer.  She wears a scarf to cover the hair loss which makes her self-conscious.  She has a hard time looking me in the eyes,  really – looking anyone in the eyes, these days.  Yet, I think she looks more beautiful than in any day prior.  Her warrior spirit is shining.  She is fighting and it shows. Without the distraction of her hair, which was indeed gorgeous, her eyes become the focal point, dancing in the light.  She is simply stunning.

I get back to my desk and think, “You know your fat when…”

Then I stop.  I close my eyes….I sense God’s hand…and I pray.

I thank God that I’m healthy.  Specifically, I thank him for my cancer free body.  With embarrassment, I apologize for believing anything different. A few extra pounds is nothing in comparison. I thank him for this lesson, for humbling my spirit.  I know I have some work to do…and I will.

Ladies, would you please join me in shifting our focus away from who we want to be and allow ourselves permission to be who we are?  Let’s not put our self-worth in our hair, our bodies, our curves – or lack of…

PS – If no one told you today, let me have the honor of doing so.  I love you. You are beautiful.

Put that on repeat.

Perspective.

In the Eyes of the Beholder….

18 Apr

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In an effort to declutter our home, I’ve posted a few items on Craig’s List.  One item happens to be a heavy desk we’ve had in a spare room for many years without use.  Because of it’s shape and girth, the deal required someone to come to our home for pick up.

We’ve met some characters during this process.  The last lady, purchasing another piece of furniture, and her family came in our home as if they were looking for a place to shack up. Each eyeballing and commenting on the rooms as they passed.  “Oh you have xyz, that must be nice….Ohhhh, and the high ceilings….I’ve always loved those” …..I half expected to find them on my sofa when I came home the next day.

While I find humor in it all, and I like the cash, my husband finds it more burdensome.  Not because he doesn’t like cash….just because you never know what you are going to get when someone pulls up to your house…. and that makes him a wee-bit uncomfortable.

After several messages and missed appointments our buyer for the desk finally arrived….thirty minutes late.  My husband is now shifting his feet, anxious to get this over with as it  dinner time….  And dinner time takes priority over all else in this house!

I meet the young blond outside and noticed his slightly broken English. He states twice in a rather short period of time that he is not from the area so I asked the question, where are you from?  The Czech Republic.

What the heck are you doing here?

He couldn’t contain his smile and his eyes danced wildly as he told the story.  Turns out, he was “finishing university” and applied for a green card on a whim.  He received the notification that he won! His mannerisms and body language  told me that it was a major, lottery size win to get selected for the green card. He was joyous…boundless joy exuded from his every movement.

So, he said, “I packed up my book bag and came over.”  ….

That simple I thought….Just a book bag and a smile.  A new country waiting for you to explore awaits.  How fantastically scary, yet tremendously awesome. Brave!  Good for you!

My husband on the other hand, is now looking at him as if he were crazy…Our travel book bag, for day trips, barely zips with all the crap we tow.  He is thinking…a book bag? Your whole life fits into a book bag?  He clearly does not share our last name!

The young man goes on to talk about the work he found while here, a German based company.  He has high hopes that he will be able to transfer when his green card expires.   He states he will one day need to go back home because he is a “child of one” and will have to take care of his parents. The duty understood and accepted without question.

As he says this, urgency builds and he spins on his heels. He says “I’m sorry. I just need to look”…..pausing…  “This is so beautiful, his arms wide, an effort to take it all in. I’ve never seen anything like this… but in the movies.”

Huh?  My husband I both twist and turn trying to see what he saw.  Nothing.  Our faces perplexed he said, “I’m living downtown and it looks a lot like my home. But here, you have grass and yards, and trees….It’s so…so beautiful.  I’ve never seen anything like this.”  He truly is almost brought to tears.

We smile back, softly….kindly….unable to match his energy.

In our minds our house is nothing special in comparison.  We bought it with the sole purpose to keep our oldest child in the school district we wanted him to attend.  It has never been our dream home, only our in-between home.  In fact one of the reasons we are decluttering is to prepare to sell it over the next few years.  Sadly, we’ve never been in love with it.

His words, his pure wonder and excitement….sit with us through dinner and into the days that follow.

I recant the story to my youngest on our drive to school. He says, “that makes me sad for him.”

“Why?” I say

“Because, what must his country look like if he thinks this is beautiful?”

Taking a few minutes to ponder, I respond, “You know what? It makes me think I need to travel more.  I’d like to see his country. He said it looks a lot like down town.  Because he is so used to that, the beauty has worn off….It just is normal…boring…to him.  Yet people travel from all over to vacation in our city.  Here, with green grass and birds and trees…that is beautiful, because it is different.  I may feel the same about his country if I saw it.  It may be so, so beautiful to me because it is different than anything I’ve seen before.”

He nods in agreement.

Thank you Lukas for the lesson.  I’m not sure I’ll ever look at my home the same.  Your words echo in my ears when I pull into the drive way, and I am grateful.

I pray my young man grows up to be just as courageous one day. Following his dreams with his smile and his back back.  Ready to take on the world, fearlessly educating himself through experiences.

I pray that my eyes continue to open wide enough to see beauty in all things… even the beautifully… normal things.

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Dear Mrs. Victoria Secret,

3 Jan

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Dear Mrs. Victoria Secret,

I’ve tried on two of your garments in the last two days. One came in the mail, the other in my local shop…..Mrs. Secret, we need to chat….A little heart to heart…girl talk…

First, let’s start with the bathing suit I ordered (on sale) which was received this week. Since I’m now a grandma and all, I thought I may need something to cover my tummy on future boating outings….I mean, I certainly don’t remember my grandma sporting a bikini….

The price was right, the color hot! A bright peachy / pinky coral number, which looks fantastic on my olive skin. I read the dimensions more than once, carefully selecting the correct size. When the tankini (a tank top swim top) arrived, I was eager to try it on.

I ran over two miles that day and walked my dogs…I guess I could have been a little worn out, my muscles a little tired….

After the first 5 seconds of attempting to slip the tankini over my head, I knew this would not end well….

My arms splayed over my head, elbows touching, my eyes blinded by the fabric which is simultaneously gripping  my upper rib cage, it is now cutting off the circulation….my breath is becoming shallow…I sit on the toilet, arms still lifted, trying to fill my lungs…I feel like I’m caught in a bad game of Chinese handcuffs…the more I pull, the tighter it is…

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Breathe in, then out completely, like they taught me in yoga…now try to pull that damn thing down to my hips….it only took a couple of tries…maybe three…or four….I rest on the side of the bathtub before examining in the mirror.

Whewww… It looks fine, I think……smoothing it down, turning side to side…but it feels…It feels a bit like a sausage casing…and I can only imagine how I will get this damn thing off when it is wet…Scissors may be required…

We actually wear these things to swim in right??? Or am I the only one?

Fast forward to yesterday. Imagine my surprise when I land smack dab in the middle of your semi-annual sale. Yippeee…happy dance….My husband and I are just returning from a getaway, I think – ooohhh, I’ll try this little number on…Strappy and black… the bra connected to the skirt. As I walk into the fitting room, I wonder, how exactly does this thing work?

I try stepping into it…nope….

I try pulling it on over my head

….and I’m repeating the day before… Chinese handcuffs….

Now, I’m cussing…and my mood is foul….

Wholly shit…I don’t think I can get this damn thing off…and I’m certain I’m not ‘IN’ it to begin with….

I contemplate calling in the sales staff…I’ve seen three working the floor…flipping through the list, I wonder who would answer the call? The young 20ish, size 0, who could probably somersault into this get-up? Oh my Lawwddd…I close my eyes….shake my head…no, this is an adventure I must tackle alone….

….breathe in, breath out…pull, step… breathe in, breath out, crouch, push, sit….geezzzee…Who knew yoga could come in so handy?

I had no idea the level of athleticism needed for such a small amount of fabric….I mean, I’ve been working out and all…but COME ON VICTORIA!!

Mrs.Secret, I really like the IDEA of your garments…I’m sure they would look super cute…However, should you require six years of gymnastics experience and ownership of a trampoline to get your “outfits” on, it really should be noted in the description.

Exhausted,
Lady Chatsalot

PS – HIRE MORE WOMEN DESIGNERS!!

Recurring Dream

22 Dec

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Lately, I’ve been having a recurring dream…

I’m being chased by a man in red suit….velvet and fur-lined.

Funny thing is, I think the same thing may have happened last year. I wonder if it is the pie I’ve been eating…a turkey allergy, maybe?

Gluten?

I really should be able to out run him. He’s a little over weight…and a smidge older than me. But man, is he QUICK. Faster than you would think….

Nipping on my heels, waking my slumber with the booming of his voice.

HO..HOO…Hooo…

Taunting with his winks and pointed fingers….

Man, I don’t  e.v.e.n …know.YOU.

Quit calling me names.

They profiled someone on the news last week who looks similar. Hard to tell with that beard….Could it be? They think he is responsible for multiple neighborhood break ins… A little delusional they said….

This guy..this guy carries a sack…Like a big mamma jamma one. He could fit some stuff in there.

Looking over my shoulder, I realize he is closer than before. We are almost face to face now….

And then I wake…

Don’t poke the bear

16 Nov

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I remember watching my younger cousins bouncing around the den. Their laughter piercing the ears of my grandfather as he silently sat in his chair, his lips forming a straight line. My gram hunched over the coffee table, lost in her own thought, searching for letters to fill the boxes of the daily crossword puzzler, as she would say, a grin of known cleverness spreading across her face. They were watching the People’s Court, Judge Wapner presiding, a daily six o’clock ritual.

Rolling on the floor, and throwing pillows. I watched the agitation wash over my grandpa’s face, his body. Twisting in his chair, willing my cousins to silence with the narrowing of his eyes until they were nothing more than slits. His jaw hardening with increasing speed….and yet no one else seemed to notice.

I could see the eruption forming. His feet near the edge of a cliff. I darted up the steps, hiding in my Gram’s bedroom turning up the t.v..

My cousins would soon follow, a wash of tears and embarrassment, the intense tongue lashing leaving their heart bruised.

I knew better than to poke the bear. In all my years, I don’t remember him ever exploding on me.

I would venture to say by the age of eight or nine, I had already become very adept at reading people and situations. The river of alcoholism and dysfunction running deep and wide in my lineage. Learning to alter my behavior to fill the box that would offer the most protection was necessary to avoid  the land mines hidden beneath the surface.

On one hand this skill has served me very well, catapulting a career and opening doors. However, it is also a double edged sword, whittling away the wholeness of who I once was, trying to morph into a space that is not mine to fill.

As a child it was essential. As an adult it is exhausting.

Round peg, square hole.

Tight and uncomfortable. Claustrophobia searing through my veins as the walls creep in a little closer, another piece of myself falling away. My inner voice screaming to get out. She knows she was created for more. She does not belong here.

Fueled by faith, and little else, I trudge through the muck of confusion. Footsteps heavy, deliberate, requiring  more energy than normal to place one in front of the other. Bending to pick up the pieces of my former self, haphazardly strewn throughout the path I’m walking. I hold each in my palm, examining closely under the microscope of recovery. Knowing they will never form the same puzzle  they once did, they are nonetheless valuable. Tarnished, I brushed away the lose dirt and slide them into my pocket.  I inch forward. Slow but diligent.

I could say I don’t know how I got here.  Truth is, I do.

I know better than to poke the bear.

Unwilling to stay in the box.

Feet on the edge of the cliff.

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Go Left

3 Nov

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Getting ready for work this morning, I slipped on a familiar pair of pants. Hmph…tighter than I remembered.

The side zipper biting into my fleshy hip. I take a few steps, shake out my legs… trying to decide if I can tolerate 9 hours with the pinch….Undecided….Shruggingly rationalizing that maybe they will get looser as the day goes on….Sliding a sweater over my tresses, I glance at my reflection.

Muffin top….

Not.gonna.work….I flip through the hangers with a bit more force than necessary to find a slightly roomer version… without the pinch.

One more look….Turning to the left, then the right.

WHAT THE HELL? My sweater, which I’ve  decided at this VERY moment is my favorite, has a spot on the sleeve….not a little spot either.  Surely it wasn’t there the last time I wore it. I wouldn’t have wasted the energy to wash, dry and hang…damn the wasted energy!

Frustrated…feeling like I must have gained five pounds JUST this weekend…. and THIS is why my clothes shrunk…and has stains.

I’m mad…mad at my weekend food choices….chocolate drizzled popcorn…wine…cheese…Oh to HELL with the Mexican deliciousness!

I toss the sweater in the trash. Heading back into the black hole that is my closet, it  has now consumed my daily dose of self esteem. I don’t even care at this point. Wherever my hands land, that is what I’m going with.

I forgo cute shoes for flats…the right toe slightly chewed by the Damn Daisy Dog. WHATEVER, that is how I feel at this point.

BLAH…

Spilling my coffee…dropping my phone…and my book…using fumes left in my tank to get the car on the road.

I listen to music in an attempt to sooth the angry spirit now roaming inside. It is looking for any little trigger to sink it’s teeth…I mouth the lyrics without much energy. Drinking the last of my  coffee, the heat long gone from the 45 minute ride.

Traffic is unusually light.

I glance at the clock, noting that  I’m actually a little early. Fishing my sunglasses from the bottom of my purse, I look around at the other cars rushing around me. I wonder if they are running late…or are they early too?

And…out of no where the fog lifts.

 

Of course my belly is rounder than it used to be….

I have never known the feeling of hunger. I have enough.

My tummy isn’t as toned and etched as it once was in my twenties….I’ve lived a couple extra decades…happily.

This abdomen stretched to hold two healthy miracles to full term, a decade apart. They changed the world for the better. They are my greatest gift.

 

It is softer, wider, lived in….

  I’m blessed. I am thankful.

No complaints. Just gratitude.

Perspective changes everything.

Into the Light

11 Oct

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Because life isn’t always sunshine and puppy dog tails….and it is OKAY to bring that part of you to the table too. Pull up a chair and have conversation with it….and about it.

Surely we’ve learned by now that life is to short to hide behind the curtain of perfection. Keeping you trapped with the illusion of control, it is nourished by fear.  Movements limited by the box you’ve constructed around you. Each layer of protection adding a brick to the pile, building until it towers over you,  impairing your vision… and ability to see the future. When hope retreats, the shadows slithers in.

Shining a light on the pieces I’d rather hide leaves me vulnerable. Yes.

It allows space for judgment. Yes.

But where there is light, darkness must flee.

I fight the demon of depression with all my might. Tremendously thankful that he rarely wins these days. However, it isn’t for lack of trying on his part. Like an old boyfriend who thinks there is a snowball’s chance that the love will rekindle, he shows up regularly at the gate holding roses and calling my name.

“Aren’t you tired? Sick and tired? Come rest in my arms.”  he whispers

Tossing a small wave as I walk by the pen that contains him, I smile internally.  Smirking because today I have the upper hand.  He doesn’t know just how blessed I am.  Don’t misunderstand, he isn’t interested in hearing. Unreasonable and manipulative, he is.  He disputes my truth, throwing daggers into my picture perfect memory.  But today I move like a ninja, avoiding his taunts with quickness and agility. My bouncy step flippant to his gestures. His words rolling off my shoulders, crashing on the cement beneath my feet, my ears muffle the sounds.

Admittedly, though,  there are times I get a little to close to the fence. Mesmerized by the reflection of self pity, he pulls me in. His breath swirling into mine. Brushing the hair out of my eyes he requests a dissertation of all the wrongs. His arms around my shoulders, pulling me closer as I melt into him. Buying me drinks while we talk, he piles each ill on top of the other. Stacking like a game of Jenga. Trusting him now, I mouth the last crime against my heart. Before the sentence completes,  the ills tumble to the ground, embarrassing me with erupting  sound of shattering glass in an otherwise quiet room. Heads turning quickly in my direction  to see the mess I’ve made. It is public humiliation.   Knowing my weaknesses, he pushes my emotions to the top until they over flow, spilling out in the form of tears.

He is no friend of mine.

Yet my feet do not move. Stuck as he dives deeper into my pain exposing wounds that have yet to heal.  I’m paralyzed in the darkness.  Weak from  being in the pit to long, the lack of sunshine and food. I use the last remaining scraps of energy I can muster to rally the truths of Faith.  I lean into the scripture they speak, allowing it to form a shield against my body. Limp from exhaustion, their wings carry me to the safety of the sidelines… and I rest.

Breathing in God’s grace until my lungs are full,  I rise stronger than the time before.  Bones mended, heart healing by the freshly oxygenated blood in my veins. Vowing to never return to this cottage of despair, I stand to brush the dirt from my backside, shaking lose the excess. My legs still wobbly, I walk towards the sun. It’s light eclipsing the mess I’m leaving behind.

Desperate  for more control over the curves thrown my direction. I recant the words softly spoken over me in battle.

 Choose Life. Choose Happiness.

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One of my favorite songs that help me walk into the sun: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VzGAYNKDyIU

Redeemed by Big Daddy Weave

The Mask

9 Oct

mask Stepping onto the scene of the masquerade ball, my mask broadly smiling with dimples in my cheeks, long lashes and painted lips. I dance until my feet tire.  My belly hungry for connection.

With the setting sun, I wrap up the sum of my day and eat it for dinner.  The taste not quite what I desire but I chew it anyway.  Swallowing slowing, drinking between bites, so as not to choke on the pieces.

My mind craving light. I search for it in the history of the hours previous, flipping through the words, the movements, allowing  space for kindness.  But finding myself standing alone on the porch, my offering brought inside, the door closed behind.

I turn and walk home, sadness riding on my shoulders.

The mask that  previously fit like a glove has become a bit lose lately. The elastic stretched and fraying. It is possible that I’ve outgrown the mold from which it was formed. Afraid it will fall off at the most inopportune time, exposing the pink skin beneath, I keep my movements small. Contained.

Working to replace what is worn , I try to fashion the mask into something usable.  My spirit prolonging the effort…mobility slowed. It is conflicted.  Uncertain if it should repair or remove, noting that each presents its own challenges. Undecided as to which is worse….Which it can endure.

The road is quickly disappearing beneath me…. Road

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