Okay, I know I haven’t been too active on here and I’ve missed you all but you know how this thing called “life” works. Many of you have also found yourselves bogged down with “stuff” and social networking AKA blogging is out for a bit. There’s still a lot of “life” going on at the moment and a Calgon moment on a deserted island (well, not completely deserted: just a masseuse, gourmet chef, and a well-stocked library) would be much appreciated. Instead, I will have to settle for a steaming mug of Chai (soy latte). Yes, coffee is still out (I’m holding up *barely* in case you were wondering). I hope all has been well with you and, in case it hasn’t, here’s some positive thoughts via cyberspace. Hoping for some tranquility and lulls. . .
While on Facebook the other day, I stumbled across a friend’s Mother’s Day status. Kim is a hard-working, married grad student who is “temporarily” functioning as a single mom. I use the word “temporarily” because her husband, Steve, is serving in our Navy overseas in Kuwait. He is sweating in the sandbox, trying to stay out of sandstorms (sometimes driving through them), risking his life and missing his wife and child. She is working as a grad assistant, studying for her own classes, is mom to their adorable little boy and misses her husband. Since she is “sharing” her hubby on behalf of our country, she is winging it solo until his return. What does this have to do with Mother’s Day (stop the impatience)? Come on, you should know me by now! I’m getting there!
Anyway, she and her son headed to Disney on Mother’s Day. Kim just finished up a semester and needed some time to unwind. What better place to relax than DISNEY? After a fun day in the Magic Kingdom, they headed back to the resort. Once inside, Kim discovered some Disney magic right in her hotel room. Awaiting her was a Disney tote bag embroidered “Mommy” overflowing with goodies and snacks she and her son like. Nearby was The Box. The Box was nestled atop a magic wand (yes, it looked like the Fairy Godmother’s) and inside was a beautiful bracelet adorned with a heart. Romantic enough? Nope. Along with the tote, treats, bracelet and sparkling wand was a note. Not just any note. It was written in golden calligraphy and looked like a wedding invitation. It was a “A Magical Wish.” Part of it read:
Disney is known for fairy tales/ and making dreams come true/ For the Fairy Godmother in my life/ is someone I love. . .that’s you!/ You’ve inspired me to dream/You’ve encouraged me to grow/Your time spent with me means far more than you know.
Jealous? You shouldn’t be (kidding). Here is a deserving woman whose husband loves her so much that he planned and executed a surprise from another country in the middle of sandy somewhere! They’ve been married for long enough (six years) and were friends for long enough before marriage (sixteen years). Long enough for the “I love you’s” to wane, long enough to get so caught up in the daily grind that he could forget to appreciate her. But he doesn’t. It’s not magic. There’s no wand to wave to make relationships easy (especially being apart for lengthy time periods). There’s no Fairy Godmother to bring Steve home when she needs someone to hold her or he has had enough of 100 degree temperatures and needs some loving. They just make it work (and make it work well).
So kudos, Kim and Steve. May you celebrate many, many more happy years together and may your son enjoy the stability of growing up in a loving home. Here’s to great marriages, friendships, inspiration and hope!
P.S. Steve, thank-you for your service!
Okay, you all decide. After visiting Charlie over at his blog and reading his post entitled Liar Liar Pants On Fire, I have a proposition for you (no, not that). I will have a poll attached to this post. Please take the extra 15 seconds to vote. Thank-you. Charlie’s post talked about lies. . .the white lies people tell when planning a surprise party, more lies when turning someone down who’s asked you out, etc. The basic gist (if I am interpreting it correctly) is that everyone lies and this lying is sort of inevitable. Of course, at the end of his post, he encourages us to think twice about the lying we sometimes engage in and to address the lies some of us tell ourselves because they can be damaging.
I started thinking (yeah, watch out) that myself (along with my BFF’s) have little or no patience for lying (unless of course someone is throwing us a surprise party ). When it comes to relationships (romantic, platonic, whatever), I just don’t have the patience for lies whether little or big. I’d rather skip the B.S. and get down to the nitty gritty. If you like my eyes, say it and mean it. If you don’t, there’s no need to lie and say you do. Compliment me on something you are sincere about. If there’s no chemistry, I’m going to tell you. I won’t be cruel about it but I’m not going to lie. If I get asked out by a sixty-plus year old man (yes, it’s happened), I’m not going to reply, “I already have a boyfriend” or “I’m busy” etc. I’m going to respond with, “I’m not interested” and mean it!
I am realizing more and more that my dislike for lies and what I interpret as game playing stuffs me into a wee little container along with the few others who feel the same way. But, hey! I’m not in my teens anymore, I was married for nearly twelve years, and if I’m going to be in a relationship I want nothing less than complete honesty! Am I being too honest in this post? Maybe so, but you do know this is my blog . If my beliefs cause me to check the “single” box for the rest of my life, so be it. I will never settle for a man who lies (whether in the white, gray, black, purple areas) again. I still think that a person (not gender specific) who lies to themselves and others about small issues exhibits a predisposition to lie about the big stuff, the important stuff (lying to oneself can be pretty bad). Okay *stepping down off of soap box* I’m done. But what do YOU think about lying? Good sometimes? Bad all the time? Don’t really care? Remember, the poll!
|I am sitting at my desk taking a break from working. My heavy, thick glass window to the world is open. Life filters in. Jays screech about their dampened feathers, a male cardinal calls his absent mate, the wind blusters about, enters my room, restlessly rustles my papers, chills me. The sky is steel. An overt warning of hair raising, electric flashes and deep, shuddering anger that booms and bellows while raging torrents pummel. I am swept up in the emotions of this gray afternoon. Poetry fills deep voids, gaping hollows with substance, meat, food. Then, I receive bad news. Perfect day for those pained, hurting. Falling tears may be disguised as precipitation. Poetry is needed, read, to shake the shadows of the Grim Reaper, so close, so near my friend’s family. Attempts at poetic therapy, self-medication. The following distracts me, a selection from one of my favorite poets filled with such passion his words often drip with seduction.|
|It’s good to feel you are close to me
I love writing and I write for a living. Yet, I still find myself compelled to use words to channel whatever muses are flirting with me at the moment. I have an on-going love affair with. . .words. So, really, I write to live and live to write. My life force cannot be divorced from getting down onto paper whatever must be there. It’s pure survival for me. If I’m not near my laptop, I’m scribbling thoughts onto paper. If no paper is present, I improvise and write on my hand. I have sat on a beach with the beautiful, soflo sun shining overhead and, having forgotten my pen, used my phone to text myself bits of prose that popped into my head. If there was a way to write while in the shower, I’d do so. Then there would be no need to try and remember what it was that came to me while shampooing my hair. Blogging is relatively new to me and I like it. It’s nice to occupy a piece of cyber space and express oneself. It is weird knowing anyone can read whatever is written (since I know some off the wall people) but those people do not mean anything to me (therefore, who cares)! There is much more I would like to write but am unable to because of life’s circumstances. This currently unpublished material should land me a gig as a script writer for Lifetime. In the meantime, some of the words I tap, scratch, and text into existence get published through this venue. Others do not. Blog world, readers, friends, and loved ones, welcome. I’m honored and happy you came. Do stay for a bit. Kick off your shoes, settle yourself on my couch, and enjoy a great cup of coffee. Sugar or creamer, anyone?
Meter reader guy: “I inspected your service line and nothing’s been tampered with.”
Me: “Thank God, I was worried for a minute.”
Meter reader guy: “I went ahead with the maintenance and you should be good to go.”
Me: “What do I owe you?”
Meter reader guy: “Nothing. Says here you’ve paid in full.”
I am happy to announce (no, not that, what the heck were you thinking?) that my B.S. meter is fully operational. It is so sensitive that it picks up the slightest B.S. kilowatt. Then the small hand moves. Fortunately, I am not charged for B.S. read. I’d be in a hell of a lot of trouble. However, I am developing a portable, handheld system that may be purchased for a reasonable price for those of you whose meters are not working properly. I have many people to thank for my highly, specialized meter but I will reserve my accolades for another time and place (the B.S. Oscars 2011). In the mean time, you know who you are. I do, however, have my speech worked out.
Me (accepting my award): “Thank-you. I am so honored. I would like to thank my family and friends for supporting me during times of
high stress B.S. Next, I thank those red hands for spinning out of control and saving me from unnecessary naivety. I will treasure you always. For those of you who have fine tuned my meter because of the spoonfuls truckloads of B.S. you have dumped my way, my future appreciates it (bowing)!”
Friends, welcome to my Valentine’s Event. A “Dear ?” love letter which you have written (whether sweet, sarcastic, or saucy) and will post your links below in the comment section so we all can have grieve, giggle, or gasp! I will admit. When this idea jumped into my brain, I wasn’t daunted. HOWEVER, as I sit here about to type my own letter, I’m overwhelmed, a tad bit intimidated, and wondering what on earth I was thinking when I started this. Those of you who know me well are aware of my stubborn perseverance. Hence, onward. Enjoy and happy Valentine’s Day. Not the commercialized hype but the everyday love we hold in our hearts.
Many of you have directly or indirectly shaped me into the woman I am today. I wouldn’t be Pamela without you. Some of you have taken my heart down spiraling staircases into dank, dark basements where I suffered pain, wrenching hurt, abandonment.
A couple of you have led me through enchanted forests where rainbows arched overhead, the grass was soft, the castle walls had crumbled, and we loved as first loves.
Still others have taught me the foundation of love, how love isn’t based on emotions, how it demands action, requires being able to mouth or write two words (I’m sorry), and mean them. That anger doesn’t necessarily reflect lack of love, although, at times, it may indicate lack of “like” (or sheer frustration).
Another has shown me that no matter how much I get angry, or question, or cry, or vent, He will remain faithful and, even more amazing, love me despite me.
All of the individuals who do not hesitate to pick up the phone to let me know they care, reach out with a card or letter, laugh with me, scream with me, or who hold me when I cry across the miles in a tight, virtual embrace.
Then there are the up close and personals who cling to me, climb me as if I am a tree, and hold on with little arms tightly clasped around my neck. There are older ones who reach out when I least expect them to, grab my hands, sit close to me on the sofa, or hug me unexpectedly in passing.
There are those of you who have touched me so deeply that even though we are separated by this seemingly vast expanse of the other world you continue to move me, fill me, motivate me, cheer me on, and you are alive to me in my dreams, my memory, my soul.
There might be a person out there on this planet who could, through honest eyes, stir up flames in me once more. Who, through sincerity, persistence, humor, character, empathy, gentleness, and time, has the capability to evoke in me passions which have yet to be completely drawn out. He may exist. . .
In the meantime, I love and am so loved. For all you, hole fillers, and you, hole makers, I thank-you. It’s been real, raw, and, at times, raucous. Even though, some days I harbor a few, wee regrets, I wouldn’t change any of it. I have learned and will continue to learn. My heart’s love journey (I hope) has, like my parent’s wedding song, “only just begun.”
All my love,