I’ve been working so hard on learning my new job, that I’ve missed out on some things this past week. That needs to change. I need to be present when I’m home. Mannequins freak me out. Seriously. It’s so bad. And why is it that when I bump one or walk too closely to one, I feel the need to apologize? I’m too polite sometimes. I’m too polite a lot of the time. Can’t Touch This by MC Hammer was the first song I ever slow-danced to. It’s the first song I ever danced to at all (dancing alone in my room doesn’t count). Weird, huh? Needless to say, I wasn’t paying too much attention to what was playing at the time that I was staring into those eyes… although now I can’t even remember what color they were. I know they weren’t blue. 9th grade was hard. 10th grade was harder. I’ve had a little bottle (you know, the ones like on an airplane) of Jack Daniel’s on my desk since mid-April and I haven’t even touched it. I bought it for a class project, and then changed the project and didn’t need it. It’s dustier than the Chocolate caramels… I won’t be earning my alcoholic badge at girl scout camp this year. The kids did their own shopping for school supplies. What a relief!!! I hate doing it, so I made them a list, we gave them money, and they did it. I just sat there today drinking my free birthday coffee from Starbucks. That was the best hour of the whole day! The day is not over yet, but I’ve already decided. I love my iPhone case. I hope nothing ever happens to it. I may buy the rest of them just in case. (no pun intended) It looks like water, and I love water so much. I should have been a mermaid. If I were a mermaid, I could never take a shower. I love showers. Now I don’t want to be a mermaid. I changed my voicemail message finally, and now I can’t remember what it is. It used to be “You know what to do, and when to do it”. If my life depended on it, I don’t think I could remember it right this minute. I’m still thinking about water. I wish we could have one of those big pools in our yard. I don’t want to wreck the grass, nor do I want to put a bunch of gravel down over the grass, so we don’t have a pool. I silently judged a woman in the store this afternoon because she dressed her baby badly. Something is wrong with me. That is all. #BrainDumpFriday
(I am really sad today, and this is a less-than-happy post. You have been warned.)
Tragedy is a funny word. Not funny “ha ha”. Funny in that it is so often misused. So often people say, it casually. It is not a casual word.
It is not a tragedy when the purse you want isn’t on sale.
It is not a tragedy when someone embarrasses you at school.
A tragedy is losing both of your parents before you’re 37. A tragedy is my kids growing up not knowing their grandparents. A tragedy is those grandparents never knowing my kids. A tragedy is losing a parent just as you are finally getting to know them. Having them finally move close to you (after 16 years of asking) and then you find out they have cancer, and then they die a year later.
THAT is a tragedy.
A tragedy is devastating.
I lost my father when I was 18. He died of a heart-attack. He’d had one before, and my parents kept it a secret from me. I came home from school one day, and he was dead. I sat with him for what felt like hours, crying and begging God to save him. To wake him up. To please not take my daddy from me. Did He hear me? Probably. Did He fix it? No. My dad died. I was devastated. That was a tragedy. I didn’t get over it. I still think of him all the time. I still hurt. I still feel his loss. His loss, to me, to my family, is still and will always be a tragedy.
Privacy is not lying.
Not telling someone everything about yourself is not lying. It’s keeping the private things private. That’s a big deal to some people. So, if someone doesn’t share every single thing, or every milestone, or every sadness, they’re not deceiving you, they’re being private. Private is, for some, a necessary thing. Not everyone looks at privacy as secrecy. Privacy is safety. It’s a way to not remember the parts of themselves that are broken or hurt. It’s a away to keep those parts safe. To allow them to heal. To help the pieces learn to function again.
I don’t talk about my dad’s death, because part of me is still broken. I still protect that part. I’m very private about that part of my life. Especially that day, and the days surrounding it.
Tomorrow is my birthday. I don’t talk about my birthday. I don’t tell people the date. I will not be celebrating it at all. In fact, I’ve been given an opportunity to work. I will be at a health fair all day, promoting my company.
I would like the day to just go by. I would like it to be unnoticed.
My family will do something because they cannot do nothing. Otherwise, I hope to just live in peace tomorrow without any fuss.
I’ve always hated birthdays…that might be explained at another time. That is a private thing because of the pain that is associated with my past birthdays.
I was going to try to leave it up on Facebook this year. I was going to try to leave it there, so that if someone wanted to acknowledge it, they could. But I couldn’t do it. I made it private at the beginning of this month. I don’t think I will put it back on my Facebook page. That way it’s not an issue.
It might seem trivial to most people. Maybe it is. It’s not to me. If no one ever noticed another of my birthdays, it would be just fine with me.
I’m really sad today, and I’m probably not making sense.
It hit me this morning that this birthday will be the first of the rest without any parents. No phone call at 6:32pm (Mountain Time) from my mom telling me the story of my birth. How she got a speeding ticket on the way to the hospital from Officer Lamb. How he wouldn’t let her off with a warning. How he made her get out of the car and stand on the side of the road while she was having contractions in the summer heat of Arizona, waiting for him to finish writing the ticket so she could get to the hospital to have me “come into this world and make it brighter”. How my daddy wanted a girl so badly, and how he cried when he found out.
As many times as I rolled my eyes hearing that story, I’m devastated to know I will never hear it again. That is a tragedy.
Facebook status for today:
Tragedy: An event causing great suffering, destruction, and distress.
It is not missing a sale. It is not feeling embarrassed. It is pain. It is incredible suffering. It is a loss that cuts so deep, that you may never get over it. It is, more often than not, a word wasted on meaningless, trivial things. It is a loneliness that grips your heart and threatens to tear it out of you. It is falling and never stopping.
I am sad today.
I am sad because I have known tragedy.
I am sad because I have not recovered from it.
I have often wondered about eHarmony. If I signed up, and Barry signed up, would we be matched together? I’m afraid to find out. I thought it would be a fun experiment, until I (surprisingly) over-thought it. If it didn’t match us up, I’d probably never sleep again. I barely sleep now. I was going to make a treat for Bible Study tonight, but I still don’t have all the stuff. I never make a recipe the first time if I can’t get all the stuff-even if it’s a little thing. I’ll have to try it out on my family to see if it’s any good. I haven’t really ever had a sweet tooth, and I am beginning to think it’s completely gone. I’ve had a bag of Godiva Milk Salted Toffee Caramels on my desk for about 6 weeks now, and I haven’t touched it. Clearly this shows two things about me: I don’t clean off my desk often enough, and I should have gotten the dark chocolate something-or-others. Those would have been gone in a week or less. The bag is even a bit dusty. That’s just sad. They’re gonna take away my girl card any day now. I just looked at it (after I stopped choking on the dust) and four pieces is a serving. FOUR. And those four pieces are only 160 calories. Still…I don’t want them. Maybe I will bring them to Bible Study. Surely someone will want them. I’d rather have a steak. I painted my nails with a gold-ish glittery polish this morning, and with the sun shining in my window, it’s making them look all sparkly and pretty. It’s very distracting. I get stressed out shopping for school supplies, so this year the kids have to buy their own. I hope they can jump and roll out of the car as I drive by Target on my way to get a good steak.
See this picture?
I’m always fascinated with pictures like this. I love seeing old things become new. I love when someone has the vision to “save” something that’s still useful and re-purpose it. I do not usually have this vision. Or, if I do, I don’t have the means or determination to follow through with it.
What would someone do with a couple old windows? Maybe use them in a shed, or do something crafty with them. Maybe. Most likely, the windows would be thrown away, given away or sold, or in storage for so long that the glass breaks and they are deemed “worthless”.
This building made of windows reminds me of each of us.
Each of us is made of little parts. Everything that has happened to us throughout our life has given us a new window to the world. With each movie we see, book we read, new adventure we embark upon, person we meet, or day we live, we are given a new view of the world. A new way of seeing life and those around us. Broken hearts may have tinted some of our windows, and, sometimes we are hurt so badly that the window is completely shattered. In turn, each moment of joy lets the sunshine in.
We all start out with the building and the windows our parents put in for us. As we age, we add our own windows. We begin to see the world in our own way. As our world grows larger, so our windows multiply. When we change things that we don’t like about ourselves, we clean the windows, and get the smudges off so that we can see the world more clearly.
What started out as a product of those who raised us, slowly, over time, becomes our own.
My hope for us all is that our windows are shiny and sparkling. That we have more sunshine than tinting, and that, even when it rains, we can see clearly the break in the clouds above, and the rays of joy shining through.
One of my goals for this blog is to be brave enough to allow you to see into my windows. Pulling the curtains back is scary. It exposes me in a way that I don’t particularly enjoy. I don’t like people knowing my thoughts. I don’t necessarily want people snooping in private places. This blog is in the top 5 on my Bucket List of things most important to me. It is important to me to not have all my curtains drawn. It is important to me to let people in. One of my biggest fears is to be unknown to those around me…to those I care about the most. This is a way to try to avoid that. A way to be what I am so afraid of. A way to share what I can about the thoughts that I have. (I have lots of thoughts)
Hopefully you will like what you see, but more importantly to me, you will see truth, honesty, and a girl just trying to keep her windows full of sunshine.
There are a lot of things I hope for.
Things I want to own. Some sensible, some not so much. Some purely vain and materialistic, but I still hope to have them. I’m not typically a vain or materialistic person. I quite sensible in most things, which is why when I ask for something off the charts for Mother’s Day, it’s met with, “You want WHAT?” I don’t believe that gifts should always have a sensible purpose. I don’t want a blender for Mother’s Day just because our household needs a blender. You can buy a blender on Tuesday. I want XYZ instead. I got XYZ. I love it. I’m happy with it. I am not now, nor will I ever be ashamed of it. I’ve wanted it since I was 16, and I finally got it. Achievement unlocked.
There are places I hope to see. Places I hope to see for the first time, and places I hope to see again. Places I didn’t truly appreciate the first time. Places my dad always wanted to take me, and never got the chance. I don’t know if it would be important to anyone else for me to see those places, but I like to think that if he somehow were able to follow me, to know what’s going on in my life, that he’d appreciate me seeing them. It doesn’t really matter to me if anyone else understands. I do.
There are people I’d like to meet. People I know and love and would very much like to see again. Even if only for an hour or two. Even if only to see from afar. There are people I’d like to spend hours with picking their brains, and learning from them. People that used to live here and have moved. Maybe I was the one who moved. Either way, we’re apart, and I’d like us not to be. There are people that live near me now, and I don’t make the effort. Why? Will I regret it when they’re gone? Probably. There are people for whom I would drive a thousand miles just to say HI…
As of yesterday, I have completed the first part of my (somewhat over-thought) Bucket List. I say first part, because I have it all written down now. The second part is to create a chart listing places to go (Country, City, Landmark, etc.). For example: I don’t want to get to California and miss seeing the sunrise over the ocean, miss taking a whale-watching tour, or miss In-n-Out Burger (that is an extremely unlikely thing, but I do forget things). So I will have it listed out according to large place, smaller place, main thing to do there. Kind of like my own (OK, I admit, supremely over-thought) filing system. I haven’t quite worked out all the details, that’s why I’m still on the first part.
I hate that title, “Bucket List”, but I’ve been unable to come up with a better title that doesn’t include the word “DIE” in it, and Google was no help, unless I want to call it “Beverly’s Bucket List”. (I think Google missed what I was going for)
So far there are approximately 550 entries.
That is a lot of things to want to do/see/experience/eat/drink/whatever.
There are a few I have already completed. They’ve been on the mental list for quite a long time (like my Mother’s Day present) and I felt it was right to include them. And then to check them off. I put the date, any people I did it with, and where I was, if the item is not a location. For example: Ride an elephant. Summer 1988. San Diego Zoo. With Suzy G. (See also: Ride a camel)
I’ve been gathering ideas for quite a while now. Making a mental note, or jotting something down. I was able to throw away quite a lot of little pieces of paper.
What I’m trying to get at is this:
I have dreams. I have goals. I have a lot to accomplish. So much, that I may need to ask for more time on the earth to get it all done. Some are very costly. Most are almost or totally free. They just involve being in the right place at the right time. For many there are several things I can do once I get to a general location. Several birds, one stone.
I saw something this morning that read, “97% of what you worry about never happens”.
That’s good news for the times when I hear creaks in the night, or hear a door close when I’m home alone and in the shower. What about the times when my kids are out and it’s getting dark, or I’m watching my son at a track meet and some strange, creepy guy walks up to my daughter while she’s closer to the fence than I am so she can see her brother run? (I got to her very quickly, and the guy literally ran away-after I got up in his face and snapped a picture of him, just in case.) If I could worry less about that stuff, it would be great. I won’t, of course…
Then I thought, “What about the stuff I hope for? How much of that is never going to happen? What about all the dreams and goals and wishes and hopes I have?”
97% of anything is a lot. Almost all.
If this is the case for my Bucket List, then that means that 533.5 of those things will never be done. Goals I will never accomplish. Feats never attained.
It means there are only about 17 things that I will actually accomplish.
If I were to narrow that list down to 17 things, what would they be?
What are the most important things on my list? Should those things be the most important? Why or why not?
How do I narrow it down?
I won’t, of course, it just made me think.
I just counted the things I’ve done. I have already completed 36 of the things on my list.
Maybe I’m ahead of the game.
Maybe I’m not going to do anything else.
Maybe hopes and fears are very different, and I’m foolish to even correlate the two.
Hopefully I’m just getting started.
I am a little bit off today.
Sometimes I look inside myself and I know I’m there, but I feel like this picture. Off. Not quite right. The person is there, and you can see them, but they are out of focus.
I’m not sure why. I’m missing my mom really bad, and that is an unexpected feeling. I still miss my dad quite a lot, even after all these years, but to miss my mom is an all new feeling. I didn’t miss her when she lived in California all those years after we moved to Iowa. I missed her a lot when I was younger, but since she made her choices, I learned to live with them, and I stopped missing her as much.
The first restaurant here in Boone that we went to together nearly burned down this morning. Could that have something to do with it? Maybe. Maybe it’s that I can’t just call her if I want to. Maybe it’s still settling in that she’s really gone.
An old friend asked me how I was doing, but she asked it like this, “Aren’t you just dying without your mom?”. What an odd way to put it. The answer is no. I’m not. My world is still turning. Much like it was before she moved to Iowa. I don’t know what it’s like to be friends with my mom. I don’t know what it’s like to be close to her. I wanted to know. I tried to get close to her when she moved here. We got closer. We’ve never been close. She would complain to me after she moved here that I didn’t do enough with her. I didn’t spend enough time with her. I didn’t know how to respond to that. I wasn’t used to her being here. We’d been in Boone for eight years when she moved here. She was coming into our world, and our world is a crazy, busy place where one or more of us are going somewhere or doing something all the time. We tried to include her in things, but most of it was just daily life, and it was over before we knew what hit us. I would call or text and she wouldn’t answer, or vice-versa. It was so hard at first.
Even when we did live close to her in California, she stayed away. We would have to beg her to come over to see us and spend time with Jessup. She was kind of a loner. Always thinking that she was intruding on our space or our time. She raised me to be just like that, so why then did she expect her loner daughter to need her so much?
She was a complex woman. Sometime when I write about her it will seem as though I’m slamming her. Sometimes it will seem as though I’m cruel.
I will NEVER write about her just to be cruel. I will never write about her to make myself feel superior, or to make her look like a bad mother. She was a difficult mother, to say the least. She tried. That’s all any of us do. I’m sure that my kids have issues with me. I’m sure that if they don’t now, they will at some point. I’ve been the best mother I know how to be. I hope that they remember that. It’s hard, but I try to remember that she did the best she knew how to do. Her mother was not easy or kind to her (although she was never anything but loving and wonderful to me), so I know she had a tough time. Her model of what a mother should be was askew. So was mine.
Part of the reason I’m doing this blog is so that I can deal with this stuff I have in my head. I’m doing this so that I can let go, and go forward. I’m doing this so that I can forgive her for things she said and did to me that hurt me, broke me, ruined some part of me.
I keep trying to put her out of my head, and I’m realizing that I cannot do that. Not until I come to terms with some of these issues. Not until I forgive her and let it go. Not until I get it out.
I don’t have many stories where she is the hero. I don’t have many memories where she was really present at all. Many of the memories I have of her are painful. Many of them are memories of a way in which I was somehow damaged or broken by word or deed. Many of my memories are only of my dad, and don’t include my mom at all.
This is not a place where I will put things to get sympathy. I don’t want sympathy. I want my daddy back. I want to deal with my mother. I want questions answered that never will be. I want a lot of things, but sympathy is never one of them. Don’t feel sorry for me. I had the parents and the childhood that were chosen for me. I have to deal with that. I have to figure out what to learn and what to take away. I have to learn what to let go of, and how to heal.
I also ask you not to judge me. No one lived my life. No one was there every day behind closed doors. I am not an angry person. I get angry, but it is not my disposition to be that way. I’m a giggly, sometime funny, sometimes melancholy, usually silly girl. I like that girl. Hopefully you do too.
So, I’m out of sorts today. It’s weird to miss her. It hurts more than I ever thought it would.
Thus begins the inside stuff that no one knows about… But not right now. Right now I have a Bible Study to host.
That is all.
Scaring people is the best. I love it. As long as I’m not on the edge of something (like stairs), or about to pee my pants, I don’t mind it. (Note to all of you: DON’T scare Barry. He will flatten you. I only did it once.) My crazy week of running this way and that way is finally over after about 12:30 today. *takes deep breath* Next week will be slightly less crazy. It freaks me out when I show up to a website I’ve never been to, and because of Facebook or Google, they have my picture and know who I am. *heebie-geebies* I think my apps on my phone are like other peoples tattoos. I can’t get enough of them. Besides, they’re cheaper, and I’m allowed to have apps. Yes, I said “allowed”. When I mention an app, I don’t get OT Bible verses thrown at me. Thank you, God, for never forbidding iPhone apps! Speaking of apps, I have a new photo app that I really like, but I still love Instagram more. New one is “Be Funky”. I saw mustache bandages the other day and I wanted them so bad. I could cut myself shaving my upper lip 24 times. But then I remembered that I don’t shave my upper lip, so I didn’t get them. The tribulations of being a girl…or, at least, a mostly hairless girl. I saw something that said “Dream Big Because Dreaming Is Free”. I like that. I think I’ve forgotten how to dream big. I think sometimes, when a person is in various situations, be it job, family, social, whatever, that they forget how smart and talented they really are. Even when people say they are talented, they shrug it off, and only think they are capable of whatever their current situation is. We are not our jobs, people! (or our lack of jobs, in lots of cases) We are all so much more than that. No matter what you do, you should dream dreams and make plans. You should be the person you were created to be, nothing more…and especially nothing less. *end of pep talk* Did you realize that the BDF for Brain Dump Friday is, not only in alphabetical order, but also every other letter of the alphabet? …aBcDeF… Probably not, because you’re not crazy or weird about so over-thinking things that they don’t make sense anymore. I do that, so I would notice. This is the kind of crap that runs through my head at night and doesn’t let me sleep. I was up last night thinking about this, and about a hundred other things like that. Ridiculous! I learned yesterday that math is hard. I mean, I KNEW math is hard, but it was confirmed. I don’t really know who Luke Bryan is, but he seems to be acceptable to quite a few ladies over on Pinterest. I should Google him. (that sounds kind of naughty) Oh. Country singer. Meh. Oh brother! Here it comes…are you ready? Why doesn’t everyone know they lyrics to the Star-Spangled Banner? (apparently he doesn’t) Wouldn’t you think that these famous people who get paid to go out in public to sing the song should maybe, I don’t know, LEARN THE WORDS? (Here’s a hint for everyone: It’s GLEAMING and then STREAMING. That’s where everyone gets messed up. It’s ALPHABETICAL ORDER, folks! G then S.) Don’t write them on your hand like a cheater. LEARN THEM. Maybe, if they mess it up, they should not get paid for singing it. THAT would make them learn it in a hurry. It’s sad that I could go sing the National Anthem anywhere, at any time, and not screw up the words, and yet these famous people, who are “talented”, can’t get it right. They get paid to memorize words. Why don’t they do it? Maybe someone should pay an everyday American to do it instead. *end of unintended tirade* Don’t even get me started on garage sale signs!!! Maybe I’ll think on that next week. Well, that’s what was in my brain (and partly on Google) this morning… Have a fabulous Friday! That is all. #BrainDumpFriday