CHRISTMAS WITH THE WALTONS

I wish I could take credit for this story but alas, it is not one of Mildred's. It was written in 2006 and is titled Christmas, Family and Porn but is still worthy of reposting reading today in my most humble opinion. There's no need to worry because it contains ABSOLUTELY NO PORN so you won't need to cover your eyes! lol

It’s a few days before Christmas and I’m visiting my sister. My brother-in-law’s mother lives with them in a very nice suite in the basement, she is however in California for the holidays. My Dad and step mom are visiting from California and occupying the guest room. Bare with me folks because sleeping arrangements figure into the story.

After dinner, conversation, and libations we all head off to bed. I get the mother-in-law suite. I get into bed and notice someone is still up and watching an action film in the home theater room. Now, I don’t have to tell you, but I will, it’s a tad loud and booming through the walls. In the spirit of the holidays, I decide I’ll just watch the tube until whoever goes to bed. My sister’s house has like a million TV channels. Poor peasant that I am I don’t even have HBO. I’m flipping through channels, there’s Harry Potter, nah, then Dexter, nah, half over and then the show REAL SEX, bingo! Like most folks I find sex mildly interesting so I’m gonna watch.

This particular segment was about the company Real Dolls who manufacture those $7,000 sex dolls. Well they have finally come out with a male doll. I will refer to the doll as Beach Boy Bob or Bob. All products must test marketed and this one is no exception. The company hired three “experts” (porn stars) to run Bob through his paces. So I’m watching. Now this probably a good time to mention that the bathroom connected to the suite has a second entrance from the hall. I hear the door open from the hall. I’ve left the light on in the bath so I can see. Into the bathroom walks my brother-in-law and he appears to fishing in his sweats for his little soldier. He notices the sounds coming from the room and begins to wander in asking, “Hey who’s in here?” I say, “It’s just me.” His attention moves from the bed to the TV where one “expert” has mounted Bob and the other two are helping her so to speak. The action is at a fever pitch. I say, I’m watching that show Real Sex. I say this as if that will make it clear that I’m not just watching any old porn but the classy HBO kind of porn. My brother-in-law gets a look of embarrassed horror on his face, a look that screams my eyes, my eyes, and in my mother’s bed. He tries to quickly retreat from the room and close the door behind him. Unfortunately, for both of us, I have hung some of my clothes on the door and they are preventing it from closing. They fall to the floor, he picks them up, places them back on the door and tries to close it again, and they fall to the floor again. In frustration, he throws the clothes onto the lazy boy and slams the door.

I find the whole thing hysterically funny and I can’t wait to tell everyone in the morning. My sister refers to this episode as, THE INCIDENT THAT DARE NOT SPEAK IT”S NAME. My brother-in-law claims that his therapy will be very expensive and I won’t find the bill so funny. So how was your Christmas?

I'll have to admit after reading this post, I was curious as to whether there have been any advances since 2006 and was surprised to find out they have all sorts of devices and gadgets to blow one's mind sexually! They even have robots for those who can afford them. Color me old-fashioned, but it makes me wonder if people even want to have sex the tradional way or some variation of it any more or if it's all about games, gimics, toys and marital aids? Geez! Maybe I need to go back to that website and have another look-see! lol 

DAY 3 - 30 SONGS IN 30 DAYS

Day 3: A song that reminds you of summertime

While I don't agree with Kid Rock's political views, I am tired of the divisiveness this country has grown to known as normal. In the spirit of unity, of when we all were young and carefree this is the song I wanted to share today. This song was recently shared with me by someone I respect.

*Kid Rock's music is noted for its eclectic sound. According to The Village Voice writer Chaz Kangas, "[Kid Rock’s] own love and incorporation of his musical references isn’t rooted in a nostalgia or a 'tribute,' but rather in his actively engaging the elements he finds compelling into a wholly new hodgepodge of his own invention."Because of this unique musical approach, Kid Rock has been described as a postmodern artist. His musical style encompasses hip hop, country, outlaw country, country rock, rock, rock and roll, Southern rock, swamp rock, heartland rock, hard rock, rap rock, heavy metal, rap metal, nu metal, blues,funk, soul and blue-eyed soul. Kid Rock's music has been described by Pitchfork as a cross between Run-DMC, Lynyrd Skynyrd and AC/DC.

Kid Rock's lyricism ranges from the braggadocio to the introspective; many of his raps consist of broad, humorous boasting, while other songs in his catalog have dealt with more serious topics, including poverty, war, race relations, interracial dating, abortion and patriotism. Kid Rock also developed a "redneck pimp" alter ego to complement his humorous lyrics.  According to Kid Rock, "I use straightforward words, you know. I’m not politically correct."

Kid Rock's influences include Bob Seger and the Beastie Boys. Cowboys & Indians claims that Kid Rock's song "Cowboy" had a major impact on the country music scene; the magazine wrote that artists Jason Aldean and Big & Rich, among others, were influenced by the song's country rap style. Kid Rock also had an impact on hip hop, serving as an influence on rappers like Yelawolf.

 * borrowed from Wikipedia

MY HERO

I awoke this morning needing exactly this post written by daughter years ago. As I read the words she wrote about me, I wept knowing how lately I have failed miserably to live up to her words by sinking into some self-imposed abyss. Honestly, I don't know if I have the courage or the strength to pull myself from the crevise in which I've fallen. I may need Lassie to come bring me a rope to help hoist me out of here...

"Wimpy Daughter" aka Christina was given an assignment to write a paper about her hero for one of her college classes 7 years ago (2004). The following is the paper she wrote:

By definition a hero is somebody who is admired and looked up to for outstanding qualities or achievements, somebody who commits acts of remarkable bravery or who has shown great courage, strength of character or another admirable quality. I find all these traits in my hero. "Try to picture a person who stands apart from the crowd who sees things not in black or white, but in varying shades of gray. Try to picture a person who closes their eyes and hears the beat of a different drummer, then marches proudly and eagerly away to do their own thing regardless of the consequences or popular opinion. Try to picture a person who is not a polished gem, but a diamond in the rough...someone who believes true beauty is in the eyes of the beholder and that the best things in life are free." (an excerpt from blogsite, Abnormally Normal People written by Red Kitten aka Mildred Ratched) When I picture this person, I see my mother and she is my hero.

Ever since I was little, I always knew my mother was different. It was not until I grew up that I later could appreciate the “difference” in her versus the stereotypical normal mother everyone else seemed to have. My mother raised us to be leaders not followers, to chart our own destiny and to be no one’s fool. This was daunting to a young child whose only desire was to fit in and have what everyone else had, a normal mom. My mother always taught my two brothers and me that the mind was a wonderful thing and we should use it. As far back as I can remember, probably to when I was three, I was told, “you are a smart person, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Now I realize that all mothers will tell their children that, but most would not have done what she did. She let us use those brains instead of thinking for us. She told us that God gave us a brain and to use it, if we made a mistake or got into trouble we were to use our brain and figure out a solution. We had to, she was not going to suffer our foolishness and molly coddle any of us. Does this make her different? At the time I certainly thought so. When all my friends bragged about their parents giving them the answers to homework problems, kids picking on us at school or about how so and so parents was screaming at someone about their child’s actions my mother sat back and said to us, “You figure it out.” How I hated that, I wanted normal so bad and I didn’t have it, but it taught us to use those brains and boy did we figure it out.

Normalcy was not ever in abundance with my mother. Living in an area where racial slurs were the norm, my mother taught us to respect everyone equally as a human being regardless of skin color. She taught us to look beneath the surface of a person’s outer skin and find the true essence of who that person really was. I never knew what racial discrimination was until I became an adult and heard it. It was shocking to realize that the person making those remarks was so narrow minded. I guess witnessing such narrow mindedness opened my eyes to the fact that once again my mother defied what was normal and instead of seeing things in the standard black and white, she saw those gray areas. I never realized as I was growing up that she taught us from those gray matters more than from the black and white. As a young child I was allowed to watch what I wanted to on television. Most parents shudder to think what a child would choose, not my mother; she just sat back and allowed us to make those choices on our own. Instead of choosing stupidly we chose wisely and by doing so were taught a valuable lesson, the reward system. If you show that I can trust you, I will extend your freedom, but if you mess up you lose that freedom. I can honestly say our freedom wasn’t yanked away very often.

My mother will never be a polished gem; she will always be a diamond in the rough. Like an uncut diamond she has many flaws that I once saw as imperfections and now badges of courage, lack of selfishness and a kindness that is so overwhelmingly generous. I was taught it is better to give than to receive and always thought, "you’ve got to be kidding, right? You can’t really believe that bull!" But time and time again, we learned through her actions she meant just that. Her kindness and generosity to family as well as strangers will linger forever in my mind. What I saw as a weakness in character, thinking she was being taken advantage of, was an error on my part. You can only be taken advantage of if you let someone do so and she never allowed that. She showed strength in choosing to help those in need instead of doing the easier thing and ignoring them. She did without when others needed because she felt they needed more than she did. She didn’t just talk to us about these things, we saw her doing them time and time again. My mother taught us about the beauty found in the art of giving, the courage to love when you wanted to hate, to be strong when you wanted to be weak and to have the strength to go on when you feel that you are failing.

Christina (Wimpy Daughter) and Karen (Mildred Ratched)

My mother has not lived an easy life. The choices she has made are choices she has to bear, but bear them she does. Sometimes in frustration, in wishing she had done different, sometimes with laughter as she recalls a happy moment, but however she does it, she always bears them with honesty. She explains, not lectures, about her mistakes she has made along the way, in hopes that we will not have to go through the same things. I don’t look at them as mistakes though, because without the things she has witnessed and gone through herself, she would not be the person she is today and that person is my hero.

 Repost and edited from 12/01/2011

DAY 2 - 30 SONGS IN 30 DAYS

Day 2: A song you like with a number in the title

I thought long and hard on this one. There's many great songs with numbers in the titles, but the one I selected is America's favorite telephone number 867-5309/Jenny. While we may remember that telephone number from 1982 we probably can't remember our own telephone number from that time. I know I can't! 

Now for some song facts:

*In a June 2004 interview with Songfacts, co-writer Alex Call explained his version of the song's real origins:

Despite all the mythology to the contrary, I actually just came up with the 'Jenny,' and the telephone number and the music and all that just sitting in my backyard. There was no Jenny. I don't know where the number came from, I was just trying to write a 4-chord Rock song and it just kind of came out. This was back in 1981 when I wrote it, and I had at the time a little squirrel-powered 4-track in this industrial yard in California, and I went up there and made a tape of it. I had the guitar lick, I had the name and number, but I didn't know what the song was about. This buddy of mine, Jim Keller, who's the co-writer, was the lead guitar player in Tommy Tutone. He stopped by that afternoon and he said, 'Al, it's a girl's number on a bathroom wall,' and we had a good laugh. I said, 'That's exactly right, that's exactly what it is.'

Tommy Tutone's been using the story for years that there was a Jenny and she ran a recording studio and so forth. It makes a better story but it's not true. That sounds a lot better than I made it up under a plum tree in my backyard.

I had the thing recorded. I had the name and number, and they were in the same spots, 'Jenny... 867-5309.' I had all that going, but I had a blind spot in the creative process, I didn't realize it would be a girl's number on a bathroom wall. When Jim showed up, we wrote the verses in 15 or 20 minutes, they were just obvious. It was just a fun thing, we never thought it would get cut. In fact, even after Tommy Tutone made the record and '867-5309' got on the air, it really didn't have a lot of promotion to begin with, but it was one of those songs that got a lot of requests and stayed on the charts. It was on the charts for 40 weeks.

* borrowed from Wikipedia

THE ART OF BRIDGE BUILDING

Have you ever given any thought to the bridges you build with other people? We all build bridges with people with whom we associate and depending upon our skills as a master craftsman is how sturdy the bridge will be. Factors like the length of the relationship and the nature of the relationship also play a big part in bridge building process. Keep in mind also, that as we build our side of the bridge, the lanes going the other way may not be constructed at the same speed and with the same materials. 

Once a bridge is completed we then have the pleasure of traveling across it. That journey should never be taken blindly because we may miss spots that require additional work and reinforcement. The other side of the bridge reveals new destinations to move towards and carries an element of the unknown, yet the bridge itself holds a sense of security and familiarity because each step of the way was designed and hand-crafted by us. A bridge is our work of art and sometimes our legacy. So we should take great pride it what we built. 

Sometimes we burn bridges to end a relationship and other times we hang an Under Construction sign on it while repairs are taking place. The destruction or reconstruction effort depends solely upon the amount of damage done and our priorities. Keep in mind some bridges can’t be repaired and once a bridge is burned we can’t cross it ever again. Sometimes we get the opportunity at some future date to rebuild the bridge. It’s up to us if we devote our time and effort into that endeavor. I highly recommend not building the same type of bridge as before, but a new and improved model that is resistant to past damages and flaws. 

Sometimes what becomes confusing to us is when we have built a bridge and try to surpass its capacity. A hemp bridge over a dangerous ravine might be functional, but hardly the type of bridge you’d carry a heavy load across or travel across quickly. The durable bridges made of steel and concrete are the ones that withstand the test of time and are made for strenuous journeys. Hemp bridges become easily frayed and worn, while more durable bridges seem to last a lifetime with less maintenance required. Just as it may take a whole village to raise a child, it takes a whole crew to build a bridge. As long as you treat the crew right and reward them justly, the bridge you build will be a masterpiece. 

Gratitude statement: While I have to shamefully admit to building some rather flimsy bridges at times, the bridges that matter most to me are the ones that have withstood the true test of time. 

DAY 1 - 30 SONGS IN 30 DAYS

Day 1: A song you like with a color in the title

Motivated by my previous post, I'm starting a 30 songs in 30 days challenge for two reasons: 1) I'm extremely bored in my cave. 2) I love music. I will attempt to select music that isn't the usual go to selections that have been played into the ground a millions times. I'll also try to write a little background either about the song or the artist or both. Let's try to have a little fun with this!

For this selection I chose Kenny Wayne Shepherd's Blue on Black. 

Shepherd stated in a 2011 interview that he began playing guitar in earnest at age seven, about six months after meeting and being "pretty mesmerized" by Stevie Ray Vaughan, Labor Day weekend in 1984, at one of his father's promoted concerts. His self-taught method employed a process of learning one note at a time, playing and rewinding cassette tapes, using a cheap Yamaha wanna-be Stratocaster made out of plywood basically and learning to play by following along with material from his father's record collection.

Blues musician Bryan Lee invited 13 years old Shepherd to play guitar onstage. He subsequently made demo tapes, and a video was shot at Shepherd's first performance at the Red River Revel Arts Festival in Shreveport. It was this video performance that impressed Giant Records chief Irving Azoff enough to sign Shepherd to a multiple album record deal.

From 1995 on, Shepherd took seven singles into the Top 10, and holds the record for the longest-running album on the Billboard Blues Charts with Trouble Is...In 1996, Shepherd began a longtime collaboration with vocalist Noah Hunt, who provided the vocals for Shepherd's signature song, "Blue on Black." Shepherd has been nominated for five Grammy Awards, and has received two Billboard Music Awards, two Blues Music Awards, and two Orville H. Gibson Awards.  

* borrowed from Wikipedia

LYRICS ARE LIFE

Many years ago while driving home from work I heard three songs...all of them got me singing along and all of a sudden a verse in each song jumped out at me and seemed to stick in my head.

And you can’t fight the tears that ain’t coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies
Yeah, you bleed just to know you’re alive
~Iris by The GooGoo Dolls

 

Momma always told me not to look into the eyes of the sun
But momma that's where the fun is the calliope crashed to the ground.
Cause she was
blinded by the light...
~Blinded By The Light by Manfred Mann

Don't say words you're gonna regret
Don't let the fire rush to your head
I've heard the accusaation before
And I ain't gonna take any more
Believe me
The sun in your eyes
Made some of the lies worth believing
~Eye In The Sky by Alan Parsons Project

These words that other people have written seemed to reflect what I've been feeling lately.  It just goes to show, the human experience is very similar for all of us.  We all suffer at times and some of us become creative in our pain while others wallow and fade away.  Who hasn't followed the lies of others into the light?  But how many of us return unblemished? unscorched? I believe one of the best tans I ever got was the one I had from that experience! 

Reposted and edited from Abnormally Normal People 5/16/2005 

THE FUNNY SIDE OF REALITY

And to that all I can say is, may I please have my straight jacket in a deep purple or burgundy? When I'm done with it, I'll put it on Ebay! 

FORGIVENESS

As I step into this vast arena, the words of Socrates come to mind. "An unexamined life is not worth living." Today, I looked inside and discovered it takes a stronger person to forgive than it does to remain steadfast on my principles and beliefs. Anger, disappointment and fear are all very powerful negative feelings. More often than not, those negative feelings are created by someone close to us and designed to manipulate and control. Today, I learned how to be free and look past the negative feelings. The gamble isn't in loving, but in stepping outside the safety of the all the positive feelings and being able to choose a particular path based solely upon what my heart tells me to do. Doing that gave me an incredible sense of personal power and freedom. Today I learned love isn't about being right, but about being me. 

They say "to err is human and to forgive is divine." I guess that makes me extremely human and working towards divinity. Forgiving others is a cinch! I find what's hardest is to forgive myself, yet I truly believe it's okay to make mistakes as long as I learn from the mistakes I make. Without mistakes a person can never grow, learn and test the boundaries of life. Have I learned from my mistakes or will I repetitiously do the same stupid things? I think as I examine my life and the world around me within this blog, the answer to those questions will unfold. This journey may get a little bumpy along the way, so please fasten your seat belts and put your crash helmet on as a safety precaution. The air bags are functional and the driver hasn't lost anyone yet! Just follow the yellow brick road, but look out for the wicked witch!

Reposted and edited from Abnormally Normal People  12/05/2004

ARE YOU ABNORMALLY NORMAL?

Picture a person who stands apart from the crowd who sees things not in black or white, but in varying shades of gray.  Picture a person who closes their eyes and hears the beat of a different drummer, then marches proudly and eagerly away to do their own thing regardless of the consequences or popular opinion.  Picture a person who is not a polished gem, but a diamond in the rough...someone who believes true beauty is in the eyes of the beholder and that the best things in life are free.  When I picture that person, I see myself.  Who do you see? 

Put your thinking cap on and describe yourself! Be honest! Mildred is dusting off the cobwebs from the "abnorms"for another spin around the block. None of the old crew is still around, but the new crew is filled with so many great possibilities! Hop on the ship and take a seat, folks! The next stop is the "second star to the right and straight on ’til morning..."

Reposted and edited from Abnormally Normal People 12/23/2004 

A SIGN OF OUR TIMES

 

I want to know where this person learned how to read and/or if they had problems following directions as a child. 

Everyday along this side of this parking lot cars and trucks park this same way and it is clearly posted all along the railing that parking is for HEAD IN PARKING ONLY! 

The reason for this is the steep, immediate drop off on the otherside of the railing. This photo doesn't show it, but the railing has been badly dented in many spots from all the imbeciles who have failed to read the signs. They back into the parking spots and ram into the railing. Someday the railing is going to give way and they are going to end up in the doctor's office below. Hopefully, when that happens they have an appointment to be seen!

2005! 2005! 2005! 2005! 2005!

Over time I’ve come to the realization that I’ve possibly never been more than just a blip on anyone’s radar because I doubt any man has ever truly loved me.  No, this isn’t self-pity waving its flag in some horrific surrender. Perhaps it’s more aptly named self-realization and I blame no one other than myself for this happening throughout my lifetime. Who else can I blame? I certainly can’t blame someone else for not loving me. No, the fault lies with only me. It’s that ornery, independent streak in me that keeps decent men at bay. Oh yes, the ones that claim to have been attracted to me for my independent nature seem to only want to change me once they deem they have "captured" me. They feel I no longer need to be that way. Thus I should change or "tone it down" a little and become someone I no longer recognize as myself.  Of course, I've always strongly resisted and often become offended at the thought of relying on anyone when the intent wasn't to change me, but to help make my life easier or better. 

Is that how the game is played? Is that why I'm still alone? Do I not know how to compromise? Do I not know how to properly blend? Instead of allowing myself to need someone I push all decent, rational men away and invite the freaks and losers in like it’s open season at a Turkish bazaar. I get used and abused until there's nothing left. I can’t ever let myself feel or seem too vulnerable to a man who wants or needs a real relationship. What I do instead is make horrible choices that end in disaster that would make most people cringe in utter whatthefuckery.  

From an early age I convinced myself that the only men who would want me are ones who are severely damaged and broken to the point they can't be repaired. I never believed I was worthy of anything good or long lasting, so why would I ever look in that other neighborhood? I convinced myself that neighborhood was boring! I always went slumming on bad boy side of town. And then one day I totally gave up!!! I just stopped. I said no more! While extremely stimulating as it might be, relationships don’t thrive on insanity or neglect. So I said I’m not doing this any longer. That’s how it’s been ever since.  I've been in time out since 2005. Would I like to find someone? Absolutely! Do I trust my own judgment? Absolutely not! So, until I get a panel of fully qualified judges capable of selecting an appropriate significant other for me I guess I’m up the creek without a paddle. It’s me, myself and I! Wouldn’t it be nice if a good guy just would tell me to shut the fuck up and deal with it because he loves me? Ha! If it were only that simple! If only there were someone that brave!

I’ve been married twice and I would wager neither man could tell anyone when my birthday is, what my favorite color is, what my bra size is, what my favorite season of the year is and who my favorite author is.  That may be hard to believe but it’s true. In fact, I doubt they know much about me at all. This inner turmoil I feel now has finally allowed me to see something from another perspective than my own. Yes, it made me feel much smaller and insignificant but I can accept being smaller and less significant if it allows me to finally see the truth about myself because that’s where the true freedom lies. I can accept that role because sometimes we aren’t meant to play a lasting role in a person’s life.  

In the past I've referred to myself as an emotional cutter, someone who tears the scab off an old wound just so she can feel something…anything. I think my life has become so blah, so nothing that ripping that scab off is an act of final desperation to feel even if feeling is just to feel some old emotional pain.  Who does that? Why do that? Is feeling something that important? OMG! I'm so ashamed of myself!

Why not go for the gusto and feel happy for a change? Yes, for a change I think I’d like that, but I’m clueless and don’t know where to begin or how to begin. It seems like such a foreign concept that it makes me ashamed to admit that where love is concerned I’m a complete novice. Just the thought of the whole process scares the hell out of me.  But will I allow that fear to continue to paralyze me? I need to make some changes. I need to first make a commitment to myself before I can make one to anyone else.  The time is now to move forward into the future or be buried by the past.  Too many bones have weighed me down for too long! It’s time sling those bones aside and rejoin the land of the living. 

Okay, Mildred one foot in front of the other, Take baby steps if you have to, but damn it, move forward! It's way past time... It's time to hit one out of the park and make the crowds go wild or at least make yourself go wild with some real happiness for a change. Just keep telling yourself everyday when you wake up 2005! 2005! 2005! 2005! 2005! If that doesn't motivate you, nothing will.

I CAN STOP TIME BUT CAN TIME STOP ME?

“Time is an illusion.”
-- Albert Einstein --

Lately I've been giving a little more credence to things that have no reasonable explanation. For example, I have spent my entire life not being able to wear a watch made by any manufacturer. I even killed a Rolex! What happens is shortly after I put one on my wrist, it stops running. I have the same affect on ink pens if I hold them too long and if I use electronics for any length of time without a break they start screwing up and acting wonky. Believe it or not, I've had lights flicker when I've entered into rooms, but when you've had this sort of thing happen your entire life it becomes no big deal so you don't think much about it.  

I've just learned to live with the annoyance. For some reason clocks and watches have always bothered me. Watches I have have forsaken long ago because I simply can't wear them and clocks just seem to annoy me. In my younger years I never would have one in my living room because people seem to love to sit and watch a clock for some reason. I like for a person to feel as if when they come to visit me like they're off the clock for a few minutes! If they're constantly looking at the clock that's never going to happen.

Because I didn't have a clock hanging in my living room, people always assumed it was a great gift idea to buy me as a Christmas gift. One year I received clock from someone significant enough that I had to do something with the gift, but I really hated the thought of people coming to my house and sitting in my living room staring at the clock. So my solution to the problem was to hang the clock on the back of the bathroom door because I figured if anyone stayed long enough at my house they'd eventually make their way to my bathroom and they could check the time then. I can't tell you how many funny looks I got when people would come out from using my bathroom. Of course this was long before cell phones and now people can just endlessly look at them and ignore everything going on around them. There's really no need for watches or clocks or alarms anymore! I guess there's no need to personal interaction either.

My other clock that was a definite throwaway was a cat clock.  Because I love cats my closest friend bought me a clock that meowed on the hour every hour. OH NO! It did that for about a day before it got taken down and found its way to the nearest dumpster because it was so loud it lifted me out of my chair and woke me out of a sound sleep.  It sounded like a bunch of alley cats fighting and mating.  The cuckoo clock my mother brought me back from Europe had to go by the wayside also because it drove me crazy. 

I do, however, have a Dali melting clock on my bookcase in my living room that my daughter bought me several years ago. (I don't know if I have any batteries in it! lol) That's a keeper! I bought my mother a HUGE clock for the living room a few years before she passed away. I kept that, but just for sentimental reasons. If the power goes out and the time on the microwave and oven needs to be reset, it may be days or weeks before they get reset because I care so little about time. I used to be that way about calendars. It would drive my daughter's first husband, Steve crazy. He would ask her why I would do that because sometimes I wouldn't turn the pages on the calendar for 6 or more months. She'd laugh and tell him that's my mother! She hears the beat of a different drummer and her clock isn't always set to the correct time.

MY QUEST FOR GOD - PART II (REPOST)

The summer of bible camp was "The Summer of Love."  How ironic I thought, while others everywhere were tuning in, turning on and dropping out, I was trying to understand basic human nature and to find out if God really does exist. From a child's perspective, I grew up thinking if the people who claim they love me and want to protect me will hurt me, then what will the rest of the world do to me? That isn't actually the right stuff to guide a person into adulthood, but nonetheless it guided me into being clueless where romantic relationships are concerned. The "funny" thing about it is that I've gone through life waiting and wanting someone to prove me wrong, but to date no one has. My logic says since people are human and humans are flawed, anyone is bound to hurt/disappoint someone else, but on a deeper level...one still filled with idealism and good things that can't be destroyed by this cesspool called life, I choose to hold onto the belief that love is a good thing and in many situations is the only thing that keeps us afloat. So until love comes my way, I'll just stay in my canoe and hope I don't lose my paddles. 

After that summer when I fell short of receiving God's grace, I turned to trying to understand evil instead. When Anton LaVey's Satanic Bible was hot off the presses, I purchased one and read it from cover to cover hoping for a lightbulb moment. Needless to say, it was just another book filled with words written by man and it didn't explain the great mysteries of life any more than the Christian Bible had. My spiritual journey I suppose some would say was corrupted by my inability to believe what I couldn't see. Instead of blindly believing, I questioned EVERYTHING instead. If God loved us so much then why do bad things happen to good people? Where are the miracles? Why are there wars, famine and disease? No one seemed to be able to adequately answer these things through the Biblical verses they would throw my way. I needed more than meaningless words on a page to help me swallow anything I was told about God. I needed more than just empty written words to make God a reality.

Eventually my salvation was found in my experimentation with drugs. As that experimentation deepened, I found certain drugs had a numbing effect. That feeling was one my whole body craved.... especially my emotions. Nothing bothered me as long as I stayed high, so by the tender age of 14, I stayed high ALL the time. I could easily sit back and blame my choices on my genetic background. I'm sure the long line of alcoholism that runs on both sides of my family would be enough of reason to say I didn't stand a chance not to be a substance abuser. Yes, the odds were against me, yet somehow I know that's not why I changed the path I had walked as a small child. I didn't begin life as an addict. You see, I actively sought out finding something that would make me numb. It took me many years to realize that without drugs I would have been a much uglier statistic. I choose drugs to stay alive if that makes any sense. They didn't choose me. 

Looking back on it, I call the next 16 years of my life "my leap of faith". They say God looks out for fools and drunks, but I think He/She has a special fondness for all addicts. Addictions, whatever they may be, cause an emotional bankruptcy in the person. No love is greater than that of a person and their drug of choice. When I say "drug," I include food, sex, gambling, shopping, work or whatever it is a person uses to escape. All other things in life come second regardless of what we try to tell ourselves and everyone else who is in earshot. That moment, at the climax when nothing else matters, I found freedom from pain and a facade that made me think nothing could ever hurt me again. Many years later, when the truth stared me in the face daring me to look elsewhere, I realized the truth and only the truth would set me free. 

MY QUEST FOR GOD - PART I (REPOST)

My first exposure to religion was as a young child. At the age of 5, I was baptized into The First Congregational Church in Brewer, Maine. For all those not familiar with the Congregational Church, a quick history lesson should refresh your memory. Does the word Puritan mean anything to you? It was a quaint church overlooking the Penobscot River. The beautiful stain glass windows illuminated the interior as the morning sun rose in the sky. I went to church with my family on Sundays, sat quietly and very still on the pew mimicking what the others did when they did it, yet I can't remember a word of what was ever preached in that church. My only memory is the feeling that there was more to it than what I was being told. I wanted to be touched by the real hand of God, but somehow, I always eluded His omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent grasp.

By the time I was 11, often, I walked to church alone or with my best friend, Margie who I asked to accompany me after she'd spend the night at my house. Her mother was dying from Hodgkin's disease, so she sought comfort elsewhere during that time in her life. My door was always open and I welcomed her companionship (and still do after all these years). One Wednesday night she asked me to go to church with her. But it was Wednesday...who goes to church on Wednesday? I soon found out. The Baptist preacher bellowed from the pulpit condemning all sinners to burn eternally in the flames of Hell. As he spoke and thumped his fist on the pulpit to drive home his words, I was certain he was speaking to me personally. I was doomed to burn in Hell if I didn't seek out Salvation, so when my friend asked me to attend Bible camp with her during that summer, I eagerly accepted. Maybe God would reveal himself to me at Bible camp.

We met in old army style tents outside a host church on Eddington Pond for various daily religious classes and activities. Each day, we were expected to memorize a new Bible verse. When that feat wasn't accomplished, off the person went to see the preacher. They always would return subdued and extremely repentant. When they upped memorizing the verses from 1 to 2, I panicked. I had trouble focusing and remembering the words. So naturally, I froze when I was asked to stand and recite my verses. My mind went blank and the interior of the large tent seemed darker and filled with impending doom. I felt true shame as I walked to the preacher’s office inside the church. I remember my long, slender legs shaking and feeling weak as I entered his office after knocking. I stood before him looking down at the floor.

At first, he spoke softly, and I lifted my eyes to meet his. He peered into my soul and I shivered. He stood and walked around me, then laid his hand on the back of my head. I trembled as he prayed for me and it seemed my fear ignited something in him. His voice slowly became louder and louder until it filled the whole room. I was a sinner and without a doubt, I was going to burn in Hell for all eternity.

As the tears ran down my face, I was instructed to kneel. I felt almost relieved to stop standing. My legs were weak and trembling. I cried and prayed and asked God's forgiveness. My pleading was frantic. I asked God to enter me and fill me with His Spirit. I truly wanted His Grace, but the only grace I would receive that day was being bent over a desk and being told to bare myself. As the pastor spanked my bare bottom, his voice trembled as he prayed for me. Each time his hand met my flesh, it lingered for a moment. When he finally stopped, he stood behind me while I repeated the verses.

I could feel the intensity of his eyes gazing down upon me. Each time he said, "say them again," his voice trembled, and his breathing quickened. Suddenly, his voice changed and the words that came from him were ones I had never heard before. He was speaking in some foreign language I didn’t understand. And then silence. It was finally over! By the time I covered my bare bottom, my skin was so tender it hurt to have the fabric of my panties brush across my bottom.

As I walked back to the tent, the realization filled me that something had just happened, but I wasn’t quite sure what that something was. Did God finally “touch” me? Had I finally received His Grace? It wasn't until many years later when I awoke screaming from a nightmare that I realized what had happened that day and I wondered how many others like me had been filled with the good pastor’s Spirit of God.