THE THINGS MONEY CAN'T BUY

I've decided 2013 is going to be a banner year for me. Why? Well, why the hell not? I've decided to cast aside my health problems and other woes and either sink or swim. Yep, I'm going to finish out this bitch of a year and dare the next one not to yield some great stuff for me. I'm going to end this year not by making a list of foolish resolutions that I can't or won't keep, but by simply allowing myself to experience some much needed joy and even some decadent pleasure here and there instead.

I sometimes write questions in my posts and more often than not the questions aren't aimed at reflecting how I personally feel about something, but as a question just thrown out in cyberspace hoping for some light to be shed on a topic by others wishing to leave their imprint upon this empty vessel. I like when people interact and share what's inside (that's something there should be more of in the world instead of bitching and not listening to one another).

I've always been a people watcher and make a plethora of observations. I have to admit the conclusions I form from my observations are entirely based from a single-minded way of looking at things. I've always prided myself in being an open-minded individual, but how open minded are any of us when the only way we can see things is through our own eyes? Perhaps, next year will be different!

Sometimes I sit in a restaurant and see those around me not interacting with each other and I wonder how two people could possibly sit and eat a meal and not have anything to say to each other. Maybe silence is golden and most likely what I think I see isn't how things really are. Perhaps the anger, the frustration and the silence I think I see is really something else...perhaps indigestion, the flu or a work-related headache?

One person claims to hear the voice of God and who am I to say that God has not spoken to that person or that God doesn't exist? Oh yes, I can claim the person is mentally ill or explain what they claim to hear or see by using good old rational thinking and logic, but to that person who heard the voice or saw a vision, wasn't it real? How about a person who is a true visionary, someone ahead of their time and a great leader or on the other end of the spectrum a tyrannical dictator? Both see things in a way that others can't or won't. They set out to change the world one person at a time by trying to alter others perceptions of reality. A skeptical person has a hard time taking a leap of faith, but it does happen. When skeptics leap, they do it with their eyes wide open. Just look at history and just ask yourself how logical or rational life really is!

And for those doubting that the spirit of Christmas really exists, all they need to do is open their heart and reach out to someone in need. What better way of saying "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays" than by giving to someone else and not expecting anything in return? What better way to keep the Christmas spirit alive all year long than by stepping outside yourself and paying it forward wherever and whenever you can? Things that might not mean much to you when given to someone else might be the miracle they've been waiting for or the spark that might ignite a chain reaction of giving and not taking. Good will might be as infectious as the flu and just might change things one person at a time! So, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. I hope everyone who stops by has the same type of awakening in the new year that I intend to have.

THE HOUSE WITH PEACOCK CURTAINS

The year was 1974. I remember eating a lot of bologna sandwiches and actually liking them. Sometimes those bologna sandwiches were washed down with mushroom tea. I guess when you’re young and perpetually high, eating anything tastes great even the putrid tasting mushroom tea cut with kool-aid in attempt to hide the horrid "earthy" taste.

We lived in a small 2 bedroom house on Highway 90 in Chipley, Florida (population: approximately 3,000). My bedroom had peacock curtains. Looking back, I really think those curtains were symbolic of my life and times…loud, proud and wowed. We would fell asleep each night listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd and Pink Floyd then awake to Bad Company. And in between there was sex, sex, sex…lots of drugs and a few bologna sandwiches to keep our strength up for those midnight rodeos.

We were 3 females, Carol, Theresa and I who lived together, worked together at Evergreen Construction Company and played hard together. Of the three of us, I was the only one who stupidly got pregnant during that era. I had a beautiful baby girl, but my life was meant for anything, but traveling down some conventional avenue. I was on the fringe teetering gracefully on the edge and there I have remained doing my own thing whatever and wherever that thing has been over the years. Carol married and became a teacher. Theresa remained single and I have escaped finding a love as colorful as those peacock curtains. 

Those days seem like so long ago, yet when I get together with Theresa or any old friend it all seems like just yesterday. Our lives have changed immensely over the years, but I think the more things change the more they ultimately remain the same. So in remembrance of those good old days and the people who imprinted themselves upon my life, I flick my Bic and inhale slowly…deeply until my smile glows from within and the memories warm my chilly heart. Here's to you, the peacock curtains and the love I've yet to find!

STAYING ALIVE

While many people participated in the Disco Era, I was someplace else altogether. I was actually as the song says "staying alive" (Ah, ha, ha, ha, staying alive, staying alive Ah, ha, ha, ha, staying alive...) I do however, remember the music well and now, I have to admit when I hear all the pulsating melodies, it makes me want to shake a tail feather (do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight, get down tonight). Back then, the music seemed so disconnected from where I came and from where I was headed. I now wonder if Donna Summer or Robin Gibb reside in the great hereafter along side all the other great and legendary singers and musicians who are gone, but not forgotten? It makes me wonder where John Travolta would be today without disco. Would he have forever remained just Vinnie Barbarino?

You know, sometimes I really wish I had faith and the same spiritual connection everyone else I know seems to have. Sometimes I want so much to believe as they do and wonder why my thoughts...my heart...my compass keeps me from seeing and feeling what they do where God is concerned. I don't fear death nor do I welcome it, but somehow I'm left out of the loop when it comes to believing that the hereafter is some grand reunion where all things are made infinitely perfect and we miraculously are reunited with one another. Wow! That's just way beyond my comprehension and paygrade. My beliefs seem rather sedate and quite boring compared to that. I think I'll stick to simpler things like hating Walmart. Yes, there I admitted it. I HATE WALMART! I guess that makes me among other things simply and utterly unAmerican.

I really believe if Christians want to find the true Anti-Christ, they need not look any further than their local Walmart Superstore. Who else, but the Devil Himself would coerce an innocent shopper into spending $200 when all they needed was a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread? Who else, but Satan would stock a store that prides itself on being the all-American dream corporation with goods primarily made in China? Yessiree, I think Walmart is one of the greatest clusterfucks on Earth ranking right up there with Logan Airport and driving Interstate 95 between Boston and Richmond (I'm sure other parts of the country have comparable versions of my all time favorite things). Now, that I've gotten that out of my system, I can go about my merry way and prepare for my drive to North Carolina on Thursday. Oh boy, I get to drive through Atlanta and if I'm really lucky I can hit rush hour traffic both going there and coming back.

THE GIRL MILDRED BUILT

As far back as I can remember I felt awkward and self conscious over everything...the way I talked, the way I walked, the way I looked, the way I thought. When I was a child, it wasn't fashionable for women to be tall. I had to buy boy's Levi's so the legs would be long enough to cover my lanky gams. Wearing Levi's spared me from looking like I was getting ready for the Great flood. Yes, I was tall. In fact, I was always the tallest in my class until I reached Jr. High School/ Middle School and the boys had a chance to catch up with me. I was tall and didn't have any hips until sometime after I started having children. I think one of the most damaging things my mother did to my feminine psyche as a child was when she made me get all my hair cut off into the new "Twiggy" look. All that accomplished was to make me look more like a boy. Maybe if she had followed up my new look with showing me the virtues of make-up and how tall, thin brunettes could be as stunning as their short, curvy counterparts my struggling ego would have had a chance to develop a positive "hey, look at me" attitude instead of the negative "fuck it" attitude I did develop.

I was tall, wore glasses and was kind of nerdy without even knowing it. Instead of just accepting who I was and making the best of what I had to work with, I over compensated for all those things I deemed as imperfections and flaws by never letting anyone see how vunerable and self conscious I really was. I was the class clown. I was the first to do anything and everything. I had no fear...no regard for my own personal safety. I wanted to fit in and be noticed. I just wanted to be loved. I overkilled everything I did until I woke up one day and I really was what I tried so hard to be. I was that cool kid who had friends from all socioeconomic back grounds. I didn't judge people by the standards most people were judged by. I tried very hard to look inside of people and not on the outside and as I came so very close to being what my heart ached to be, I started to gradually shutdown. The horrors of life, my life could no longer be kept at bay. Those addiction demons found me. I no longer could hide from them so I started to run. I run fast and furious to a place I felt safe. It was a place no one could touch me or hurt me. It was that place all addicts become familiar with as they become comfortably numb.

When I emerged unprepared many years later, I looked at myself in a new way, but instead of a real change I simply traded drugs for other addictions. Yes, life was nothing more than a huge, confusing barter system with many interesting trade-offs along the way. My metamorphosis had truly begun and I once again spun out of control. I allowed the slow road of self destruction to mold every aspect of my life. As I aged I grew weary and my body started to breakdown. Years of abuse had finally caught up with me. I was no longer that skinny, self-conscious girl who just wanted to be loved. Instead of choosing to find love and happiness, I chose the path of chaotic, unhealthy, drama-filled relationships that never had any chance of succeeding. I chose a road that would only bring me misery and despair.

I sit here now wondering why I felt I needed to punish myself so severely for such a long time. I wonder why I was always able to forgive others, but never myself. I sit here now afraid of what the future will bring and want so desperately to change the road I chose so many years ago. I wonder if all the harm I've done to myself in so many ways can be reversed. I wonder if I can heal and finally feel the peace there must be in being healthy. Have I waited too long? Sometimes a change in course takes drastic measures. Yes, my health is bad, but I have taken the necessary first steps in attempting to correct the ills that have ravaged my body for the past decade. Those steps I'm sure may be viewed as being drastic measures, but anyone who knows me wouldn't expect any less from me than a new journey started via drastic measures and the tenacity of a hard-headed Irish lass.

TRIPPIN' DOWN THE YELLOW BRICK ROAD

Wimpy Daughter gave me a gentle nudge today as I began to "work" the waiting room at the yoyo inspector's office while waiting for the empty pod (my mother) to reemerge. What better place to start up a conversation with strangers than at a therapist's office? Wimpy Daughter simply reminded me Mildred has not written very much lately. When I tried running the excuse that I haven't been in the right frame of mind to write, she gave me "the look." Okay Wimpy, here I am! 

In between listening to a man tell us how in his youth women used to be shy and reserved and knew how to dress and act like ladies, I scanned the room for interesting architectural details. I like to multitask and realized I must have been skipping school the day they taught all that being a lady stuff since being shy and reserved is definitely not my forte! He went on to tell us that in those days men didn't chase after women to get into their pants! REALLY??? It must have been due to all the saltpeter their mothers sprinkled on their Wheaties every morning. The climax to his dissertation about women was when he revealed the fall of womankind happened as a result of the drug revolution. I immediately jumped to my feet, threw my arms stretched upward to the heavens and hollered, "HALLELUJAH!" Not really, but as his wife was ushered into see her therapist, I wondered what being married to someone that narrow would be like. Missionary style sex for 40 something years must be as inspiring as his dissertation was. I know it made me hot...and moist in just the right places! As we left the office, Wimpy Daughter later told me that she had forgotten how people always just seem to open up and talk to me wherever I am. Lucky me to be cursed like that! 

 And now for the rest of the story: Yesterday morning I got a phonecall just after 8am from my primary care doctor's office to let me know my mammogram came back with abnormal results (again). It's difficult to keep going through this each year and feeling like I'm a timebomb just waiting to go off. So far each time I've rolled the dice, luck has been with me. This time I was immediately referred to a surgeon who I see on the 10th. I've been struggling since yesterday to remain positive. Hopefully, it'll be nothing, but I have to admit I'm tired of those people who have been through previous abnormal mammograms and breast biopsies who have reduced my situation to being "nothing to worry about." 

Hey, guys it is something to worry about and minimizing it doesn't make me have any less anxiety especially when my mother is a breast cancer survivor and one of my closest friends is going through chemo now after having a mastectomy. I know whatever happens next week, I'll handle it because what other choice do I have? So instead of being off to see the wizard this year, I'm off to see the surgeon! The way I see it is that starting the year off badly is much better than starting it on a good note because the only direction I can go is up! So that's my story and I'm sticking to it...at least for a day or two! You know how pathological liars are! 

WALKING THE GANGPLANK WITH MARTHA

Occasionally we meet people who can give their friendship without some kind of price tag attached. I was fortunate to have found several friends at an early age who not only loved unconditionally, but also withheld making judgment calls as well. My first memories of having friends date back before I went to school. My neighborhood was filled with families who had children of all ages. In my minuscule world that encompassed 4 or 5 houses, Linda was among my first friends. 

She was a soft-spoken, friendly child who later became the hot vixen all redheads seem to become. Our time together was always an adventure as we went from playing with dolls and hopscotch to skipping school and lusting after boys to becoming reunited after missing all those years in the middle where people become adults and have families. I’ve always tended to gravitate towards the edge and tested any boundaries that stood in my way. It’s where I felt most comfortable. Maybe it was the suspense, the thrill, the uncertainty of the outcome that made teetering on the edge so appealing to me. Whatever it was, that certain something was a definite factor in what kept a smile on our faces in those days of our adolescent angst. 

When I think of what a bad influence I was on so many of my friends, I now feel a little regret, but I won't lie...I also smile as I remember the progression of things and the fun involved. Back in those days among many other things, we became quite familiar with 5 finger discounts. As we built our collection of free make-up, jewelry, records, clothes and whatever else struck our fancy at the time (all things we really didn't "need"), it was the thrill of seeing how outrageous we could be that kept us going back for more. Why we were never caught is beyond me, but I suppose it was more dumb luck than skill that keep us on the right side of the law. 

By the time we were teenagers, my attic was transformed into a place to wile away the hours skipping school, while we waited for my mother to go to work at 2:30 each afternoon. Anything in my house that wasn't being used seemed to always found its way to the top floor making the attic a true cornucopia of treasures. As our collection of discarded paint cans grew, the whole spectrum of colors was represented. We had purple that was used to paint one of the bathrooms and blue from the other. I snagged what was left from when my mother had painted on an old sea captain's trunk a most delightful shade of tangerine. Buttercup yellow from the kitchen and lime green from my bedroom were among the many colors we collected. As we collected our decorating materials, we decided that what needed to be done was some original artwork to adorn our sanctuary. Jackson Pollock's "drips" had nothing over the hand prints we put all over the walls and large-planked wooden floors. 

My only regret is that I never took any pictures of it. Years later after my house was sold and the new owners discovered my magical hideaway in attic, they made several inquiries to my cousin who lived next door about the artwork in the attic. What a surprise it must have been for them stepping into what appeared to be a colorful insane asylum (if they only knew how true that was). Many, many years later my eyes twinkle as I think about last summer when I was "home". Somehow it seems fitting that the person who blossomed into a ravishing redheaded vixen is the saucy tart who insisted on giving me a blue streak in my hair that "would wash right out". Ha! All I can say is "thank you, Linda" for reminding me that growing old may be inevitable, but growing up especially when in the company of old, dear friends is quite optional and never preferred.