me

To understand the living, you got to commune with the dead.

On my way home from the doctor’s office this morning, I went to the cemetery where my beloved Grandaddy is buried. I wrote about the cemetery in a post called memories. But today it wasn’t about the cemetery itself. It was about talking to Grandaddy.
It’s been a while since I was there to spend time. The last time I was there was to reattach the broken angel statue quickly before it began to rain.
Today I went for advice. To talk about how I feel and see what it might mean.
I’m fully aware that no “real” or tangible answers come as I’m sitting in the grass while the sun warms my body and the granite of the headstones.
But somehow I get what I’m searching for for.
Today was no different. I felt what I needed move through my body like a wave, and I had my answers.
Does that mean what I’m searching for is already inside of me?
Why do I have to go to the cemetery to talk with my Grandaddy to access it?

You know what Minerva said, “To understand the living, you got to commune with the dead.”

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Wait a minute! I’m a grown up?

I believe I’ve remarked before about how I sometimes don’t feel like a real adult…it could be that I haven’t written about it, but I know I’ve talked about it in day to day life.
Sure, I did do grown up things. Sure I had adult responsibilities, but I never really felt like a grown up. Not exactly “fake it till you make it”, more like “feelings follow actions”. So I acted like a grown up to the best of my ability.

The first time I officially felt like an adult was when Thing 2 was moved to the NICU. Sure I was already a mom, but I was a young mom and I was still growing up while I was being Thing 1’s mom.
The second time I felt like a proper adult was when I took my suicidal first born to the hospital. Leaving her there in on the adolescent mental health floor of the hospital was the hardest thing I’d ever done.

So far, both times I’ve considered myself a real adult involved leaving my babies in a hospital and going home without them.
Other things happen in life that make you feel like a real adult. Finding your first “real” full time job. Divorce comes to mind.
When my mother died, I didn’t have that feeling of being an adult. I think it was because I was experiencing shock and disbelief. I’ve since wondered if it’s because I was never treated like a grown up in my relationship with her.
The day my father died, I never felt more like a child but I’d never behaved more like an adult. Isn’t it curious how that works?

You know you’re an adult when people you know, respect, and love need important things from you. Help with children, support after a death in the family. A strong sounding board for the tough questions.
I was an adult when I stood in church surrounded by all the people I love most and pledged my life to YBW.
I was a grown up for my friend and mentor when her beloved died. And that realization just hit me.
Today, I did a real adult kind of thing when I had to write a recommendation letter for my friend in Arizona’s application to graduate school.

So it’s occurring to me the more I write this post that I really must be an adult.
It feels normal and natural, like the most comfortable article of clothing I own.
But I don’t always want to wear that, you know? Sometimes I want to wear impractical clothing…oftentimes in the form of shoes.
It feels like I’m still figuring out how to be a proper adult. It also feels like I’m still figuring out how to be me as an adult.
But the jokes on me, right?
I’m an adult.
And I don’t suck at it.
I guess I never realized that.
Perhaps I didn’t want to?
I’m not sure how I feel about this. And I guess that’s OK too. I can wear my grown up clothes, but put on my impractical non-adult shoes every now and then when I need to.

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communication is (sometimes a tricky) key

Communication is key.
That’s a saying, right? I’m not dreaming that up, am I? Nopity nope. Not dreaming it up, I just Googled it.

I know that I’m “wordy”. I also know that I’d make a terrible poker player. My face completely fails at hiding my thoughts. Apparently my facial expressions come across as offensive when I’m being wordy. My facial expressions happen as I’m trying to make sense of what I’m saying. But it seems the perception is that my face is saying is that I think everyone else is an idiot.
Do I think everyone else is an idiot? Um…no.
What I think is I’m trying to answer questions I’m being asked…and doing a “double check” in my brain to make sure I know what I’m talking about and that the answers are correct as much as I know. This is what shows on my face.
I grow weary of being told I look like I think people are stupid. Especially when it’s the furthest thing from my mind.
My initial reaction is, “I give up.” So much so that I say it out loud even.
But that’s not realistic. And I’m not a quitter…
So, I have made a bargain with myself to “fix my face” when I talk. I’m hopeful it works to change the perception of what I’m thinking. Because no matter how many times I’ve said what’s actually going on in my head, folks get their feelings hurt.
I don’t want to hurt folks’ feelings. I’m just trying to understand what’s coming out of my own mouth.
Sometimes I wonder if I should just write everything and never actually talk. When I write, I can edit as I go…and that would take care of the facial expressions. (I make the same faces when I write, but nobody ever sees them.)

I don’t want to be forced into changing who I am…but I’m weary of hurting folks’ feelings. I’m weary of having explain myself.
Communication doesn’t have to be this tricky, right?

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best of both worlds

Dear all men, everywhere,

Sometimes women say things with great thought but not necessarily with great feeling. You see, we think we know what we want. We think we know who we are. We think these things because it’s what we’re taught, or society steers us in that direction.
Most of us are educated and capable human beings. But we think things should be a certain way. In fact, we’re so busy thinking that we sometimes forget to feel.
(Bet y’all thought it was the other way ’round, didn’t you?)

We do forget to feel. To let how we feel help guide us.

I realized recently that I’ve been guided by thinking.
I maintain that I’m strong and independent in my own right. I’m the queen of my queendom. There is no king because if there’s a king, the queen has no power. Therefore, I rule with my prince-consort, but I rule.
I’ve spent my entire adult life thinking this.
I’ve been so hellbent on being free that I will take on everything.

As far as I was concerned they are two sides of a coin: be your own queen, or be some man’s princess.
Well, up on my soapbox I’d go as fast as I possibly could. I’d shout about Girl Power! and equality, and the like. The responsibilities modern women have and the debt we owe the women who came before us.

But I’m beginning to feel as though it is a hard, and sometimes lonely, way to be.
I can’t always rule the world, after all, I am just one girl, and sometimes I just want to lay my head in someone’s lap and have them pet my hair. I want to be petted and spoiled. Treated like a princess.

It’s not all or nothing. It’s not two sides of one coin. At least it doesn’t have to be. Why has it taken me forty five years to understand it is actually safe, and even healthy to be both?

So, to every man I told ‘I’m the queen but you’re not my king.’ Well, actually I meant it and I’m better off for it…none of you were right for that job.

But, I have this theory.
(And this is where the ladies should also pay attention.)

The right man is willing to accept you as his queen, but still treats you like a princess. That’s when you get the best of both worlds. So, don’t think you should thumb your nose at it. Don’t be prideful. Accept it and see how lovely life might begin to feel.

My friend and mentor and her beloved were like this. She was his queen and he worshiped her. But he also treated her like a princess and “spoiled” her with love. It was truly something to behold.
I know one other couple that is close to this, and as time goes on, they’ll achieve this perfect balance. My friend Nora and her husband Dale. They are on their way to mastering this way of being.

Can I be both warrior queen and fairy princess?
I guess we’ll find out.

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Are you even alive?

At the doctor’s office this morning. The nurse I really like takes my blood pressure. 99 over 74.
She says to me: Girl, are you even alive?
We laughed. But as I sat waiting for the doctor, I began to question it.

Am I even alive?
I breathe.
I eat.
I walk.
I laugh.
That surely means I’m alive.

But sometimes I have that nagging feeling my body is alive. It goes through the motions of this life. But my spirit is disconnected from this body that lives my life.
I can’t quite put my finger on it.
I’ve been feeling hyperconnected to this life over the last few weeks. My spirit firmly integrated into my body, my life.
Spending sacred time in Charleston with my friend and mentor, and my family. Doing good work from my heart.
Being home has been more of an adjustment than expected. I did not realize how much I missed my sister in law until I spent that time with her. I didnt realize how much I’d missed YBW until I saw his face.
I’m present in this body. In this life.

I didn’t sleep well last night. Plauged with bad dreams, and woke with head pain.
Am I alive because I have pain?
Pain can make one question everything.

I physically shook my body in an attempt to shake off this line of questioning.

Here’s what I believe:
I am alive becuase I am aware.
And I’m going to leave it at that.

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back door slam

A very cool someone shared this guy and I’ve become obsessed!
Obsessed!
Y’all gotta check it out!

Davy Knowles and Back Door Slam

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sassy Robynbird

Sometimes I’m so good I even surprise myself.

I’m writing things that move.
Accomplishing things I didn’t even set out to do.

I’m editing things that need to go.
Words that no longer hold meaning.

Even took my new colored pencils for a spin.
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They don’t work the way I expected them to work, but they make beautiful color.

I’m having a rather sassy sort of day.
Can I get an amen!?!

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Samsung stainless up in here!

New appliances arrived yesterday! They’re resting beautifully now in the kitchen. The refrigerator hums quietly and occasionally drops ice into the tray.
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The marks on the fridge are from me hugging it.
This just might be the new love of my life!

The gas range still wrapped in cardboard and plastic slid perfectly into place.
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I can hardly wait to cook with this!!

The dishwasher stands next to it’s new home waiting to be installed.
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Meh, I hate to do dishes…but a new dishwasher means clean dishes the first time around AND (hopefully) no more of my plates get broken.

An old family friend comes tomorrow to install the two smaller appliances.
So it’s kind of like two appliance days in the same week! I get to oodgey-goodgey them for a couple days before I even use them! Wonder what I’ll cook first!?!

Categories: around the house, me | Tags: , , , , , , | 3 Comments

red like me

I bought myself a little pressie yesterday, and thanks to Amazon Prime, it arrived today.

They’re oil based colored pencils! They’re supposed to work like oil pastels without the mess…guess we’ll see about that.

Look! This one is red just like me!

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my time in the Holy City

I’m in Charleston at my sister in law’s house watching my ten year old niece practicing push ups. I moved here yesterday. It was a smart choice as my friend and mentor’s family came to visit. Our time overlapped one day, it was lovely to see them. It felt like a natural end to our time together. We decided she should be with her family and I should be with mine.
She and I had our sacred time together. So it only makes sense we should have that time with our families too.

My friend and mentor’s boudoir and en suite are now the “Perfect Greige” thanks to Sherwin Williams…and me. She picked me up at the airport and we never stopped working until yesterday after breakfast! The results are magazine worthy! I’m so tired, but I loved every moment of helping her make that house her home.
We were catty. We laughed heartily. We sat quietly with sadness. We drank obscene amounts of wine. We worked hard. We enjoyed our time together fully.
She is handling the death of her beloved with such grace. I am in awe of her. She is feeling everything, accepting each feeling as it happens. She embraces “Sad” as much as she embraces “Joy”. I kind of want to be like her when I grow up.

My niece has moved on to “bowl V’s” and a “lemon squeezer” which pretty much means she’s working her core. I am amazed at what she can make her body do.
We’re waiting for the rest of the family to get out of bed. Her mom is awake, but lying in bed reading the news. Her dad and brother are still sleeping. Scratch that. Her brother is awake, I can hear him sneezing. I guess we’ll begin our day soon. I hear there’s french toast in our future. Yay!

The beach still calls to me…perhaps this afternoon…

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