Category Archives: Gratitude
Deep thoughts @ ‘too bloody early O’Clock’
SO I was thinking. (Uh-Oh). I’ll begin with why I’m up. My alarm went off, I blatantly ignored it with a thump to the snooze button, then actually acknowledged the 2nd set of beeps.
PANIC! Oh crap! It’s 6:33! I’ve got to wake Nic up! Get his breakfast! Get him out of the door in 7 minutes to make the bus! Okay, if I hurry, I can get ready for work and drive him to school … (yes, he’s 17, get off me, I like our routine, besides, he sleeps like a log and doesn’t hear his alarm).
Oh. That’s right. It’s Saturday. And he’s not even here.
Ta-da. I’m up.
I’m not one of those ‘go back to sleep’ types. Dammit. So I’m up.
Back to thinking.
I have a book someone loaned me called ‘The Big Book of If’s’. Thought it would be fun to post one a day on my Facebook page and see what people had to say.
This morning was ‘If you could have God perform one miracle today, what would it be?’
Yesterdays was ‘If you could change one thing about your mother’s life, what would it be?’
Now – I recall every birthday as a girl, blowing out the candles, squeezing my eyes tight and (oh so originally) wishing for a pony. Actually, I wished for a horse.
Never got one – did go on to become quite a good rider in both English and Western. But I digress.
What if *poof* there was suddenly a horse in the garden?
When we’re little, we don’t think about the fact that the horse might actually need things. Like, oh say, food. Room to roam, medical care, new shoes, accessories, baths, being picked up after, etc. etc.
Had a similar thought when the Power Ball lottery here was up to half a billion dollars. No, not that I would buy a pony, but about our initial gut response to what we would want, or want to do without considering the side effects.
If you’re not a greedy, self-centered bastard, which describes no one I know thank goodness – one repeated answer to ‘what would you do if you won the lottery’ is usually ‘I would give a lot of it away, help people’.
Very noble. Very kind. Very. However, (and this is how my mind works) what about the butterfly effect?!
What if you help (with all good intentions) someone out of their tough situation and they were supposed to be going through it?
I can vouch for the fact that when things were really the darkest, I came out of it stronger, more self-aware, more spiritual and a hell of a lot more grateful.
I’d have to carefully assess someone’s entire situation before giving them the ‘gift’ of money. Money doesn’t make everything okay.
Are they working? Are they trying? Are they making the best of things?
Bailing someone out is a lot different from helping someone up. I’m not saying I wouldn’t be giving money away left and right, because I totally would – I’d just have to take time to know if it was the right thing to do in each situation.
OK. Onto the ‘If’.
Thought long and hard about the mother question. In some selfish way, I considered a lot of changes I could have wished for her, but then I probably wouldn’t have been born. We can’t have that! Good grief.
Even if I wished she knew her value – that could have deleted me right out of the picture. If she knew her value at a younger age, she may never have slept with my dad! She might have remained celibate for crying out loud.
Remember the monkeys paw people!! (What is it with the critters? Butterfly effect, Monkeys paw)
So my answer ended up being ‘that she had her dad longer’. He passed too soon. And she has regrets that she didn’t get to say good-bye and they weren’t speaking at the time. But, then again, who’s to say that didn’t teach her to be sure to tell everyone from that point forward that she loves them while they’re here?
This is my point. Everything has a ripple effect. We may not see it. We may not understand it. We may not like it. But it’s true.
If I hadn’t lived my ‘Debauchery’ bits, well, first, this blog would be called something else. Secondly, there would be no Nic.
Reminds me of that song by FUN – the last part:
“My heart is breaking for my sister and the con that she call “love”
When I look into my nephew’s eyes…
Man, you wouldn’t believe the most amazing things that can come from…
Some terrible {lies|nights}…ahhh…”
So we have to be careful what we wish for. And as for today’s ‘if’. Could wish the miracle would be ‘no war’. ‘No sickness’. But – if there werent’ sickness or disease, how soon until the Earth just spiraled right out of orbit with the intense weight of the mega-population? We procreate faster than we die these days you know. (I have absolutely no facts to support that, and I’m not going to look it up either).
I shall answer today’s ‘if’ this way.
‘If you could have God perform one miracle today, what would it be?’
I would ask that he fill everyone with compassion. (That or Serenity, I can NEVER just pick one thing!)
And then I would hope that one of the compassionate people would come by and give me a pony!
My Dirty Laundry
Scandalous … eye-catching. But yeah, this is really about my dirty laundry. Literally.
The only thing scandalous that happened was someone took the laundry cart I’d selected and I had to pick another one. :-O
Here’s what I wrote for you.
Busier than usual at the laundromat today. “You’ve lost that loving feeling” is playing on the little boombox (are they still called that?).
Smells of fabric softener, detergent and warmth in here. The white noise of the dryers hum over ‘don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t let it slip away’.
All clothes sound so soft tumbling around in an industrial dryer! I swear, the scratchiest article of clothing would sound like a fluffy, high count cotton towel in there.
I like watching people fold. I mean, I don’t stare at them or anything, but I notice.
My favorite ‘folder’ was a wisp of a man. I dubbed him ‘Handkerchief Man’.
He must have had at least two dozen of them at his folding table. All white.
He halved, smoothed, quartered, smoothed. Then placed the little square to one side once he was satisfied.
Okay, I did stare at him. I got lost in his concentration. He was old and thin, I wanted to wrap him in cotton wool he looked so fragile. He kept folding, I was smiling. Inventing his back story in my hypnotic state – just dreamy.
That is, until he walked past me muttering one foul word after another. I was shocked – a giggle bubbled up into my throat. It had to have been some sort of tourettes or illness saying those words, not my delicate old gentleman!
I saw him a couple of months later in line at the bank. He was muttering again, appearing a lot less precious without his linens.
Today I’m sat in a chair in a corner. My usual spot and my back up spot taken. Great view of the room though.
How must I look scribbling onto my little yellow pad? Am I now someones ‘Writing Girl’? I’ll look different at the bank. LOL!
There are 4 machines by the front windows. A ‘grabby’ game with cheap stuffed prizes, a beverage vending machine and two antiquated video games. I know one has ‘Frogger’ on it. (Before the novelty of the laundromat wore off, Nic used to come with me. We ventured over that direction with some quarters).
Now I come alone. Usually I’ll toss the dirty into a couple of machines then leave to run other errands.
Not today.
It takes half an hour for the wash to finish – then I grab a cart (usually a yellow one, my favorite color) and push over to the dryers. Nine times out of ten, a pair of underwear (always mine of course) mischievously throws itself to the floor during transfer. I do the glance around, bend, scoop and grab manuever hoping no one saw. Dryers take about twenty minutes.
I don’t mind so much coming here. It’s nice to get all the loads done at once. Sometimes though, I wish I had my ‘days off’ to be at home.
I smell of bleach from my part-time Sunday morning job – I’m grateful though.
When I get home with the clean laundry, I’ll put mine away. Give Nic his basket (where his clothes will stay until he dips in for something he needs).
I’ll take a shower, put comfy ‘at home’ clothes on and take the afternoon to refresh before starting dinner.
That’s after I share this with you of course.
You can always count on me to share my dirty laundry.
Writers Remorse
I’ve been pretty careful about skirting around some issues for the purpose of respecting people in my life – or protecting people in my life. This has been a little frustrating, but par for the course of ‘going public’ with my blog.
Originally I wanted a spot I could write anonymously (other than my journal). A venue where I didn’t have to edit myself. I had hoped to share and help others with some issues I haven’t addressed yet. It is what it is though, and I do have to edit myself.
Yesterday, after my post about my son I felt pretty rotten. I shared my concerns with a writer friend who told me not to edit it – to stick with what my gut told me to write.
And he was right. I wrote from my heart and from the place I was in right that second.
So consider this an amendment of sorts.
My son is kind-hearted, funny, loving, intelligent, and good.
My frustrations yesterday had to be looked at. Examined. Because the fact that I was having a physical reaction to something that wasn’t even intended to piss me off, definitely deserves to be contemplated.
If I have learned anything in the past few years, it’s that most emotions stem from fear.
I am scared.
I am fearful that I haven’t done enough, taught enough, instilled enough and the clock is ticking on my sons childhood.
He will be 18 in March of next year.
I want him to say ‘thank you’ when people do kind things for him. I want him to see someone obviously up to their elbows in work and offer a helping hand. I want him to be aware of his surroundings and make sensible choices. I want my son to know and show gratitude.
I can want these things for him until I’m blue in the face – but I can’t make them so.
I have tried to teach by example. When I missed his first step, his first laugh, a school assembly, I hoped at least he would grow up knowing the importance of hard work. Knowing that providing for your family is important.
I’m demonstrative with my gratitude, my love, my compassion. I want him to see those things in action and have them become a part of who he is.
I’ve never beat him, never told him he was less than and never has he gone without a meal or an article of clothing that he required.
My son has had the best of me and my time is almost up.
He’s going to be in the worlds kitchen while it’s population is carving, cleaning, juggling tasks. And I don’t want him behaving the way he did in mine.
I tell myself ‘God doesn’t have grandchildren’. I also remind myself that it took me a long time before I knew half of what I know today.
I guess it all boils down to that age-old wish. I don’t want him to make my mistakes.
But this isn’t about me.
I could have handled yesterday a lot better. So obviously, at 43 I still have a great deal to learn. Why be so hard on a 17-year-old?
A giant is coming!
I slept until 9:30 this morning. It was delightful. I do vaguely remember being roused from sleep to let Butters out, but I blissfully found my way back to bed and back to sleep.
It’s my last full day off. Tomorrow the alarm will sound and I’ll be off to my Sunday morning job. I’m so grateful for it. But I’d be lying if I said I’m not already looking at the clock like it’s an hour-glass.
I do that. I live this juxtaposition of soaking in every moment while a countdown is happening in my head.
I’m currently counting down until my son returns from picking up his friend, who is a giant. When he’s here, in our little shoe box, the living room is impossibly dwarfed even further to the size of a matchbox.
He’s a good kid. (I suppose he’s not a ‘kid’ really – he turned 18 and graduated from High School last year). Nic has a knack (say that 10 times fast) of attracting ‘good kids’. What a blessing.
But I’m sitting here typing and … tangent. Hold on. I heard somewhere if you use ‘but’ in a sentence, you’re not saying what you really want to say. But I couldn’t very well just put a post up that says ‘I’m losing my living room’ could I?
Okay.
But I’m sitting here typing and the hour-glass is almost out of sand on my vacation time with my living room. They’ll be hooking up Xboxes – my little 3 foot Christmas tree (yes, I already put it up) will be scooted off somewhere to make room for his friends laptop – or monitor or whatever it is.
I’ll be like a jury member on a high-profile case – sequestered to my room with a hall pass to the kitchen.
And that’s okay.
I’ll clean around them and maybe paint this afternoon. I’ll go to the market and pick some things they’ll smile about when I unpack them from the grocery bags.
I’m so grateful. Grateful that my son chooses to be here. That his friends like to be here. Grateful that the electricity bill is paid so they can plug their consoles in. Grateful that I can go to the store and bring food back.
UPDATE:
See what happens when I assume? They got creative with the monitor and the little tree issue.
And, now they’re all settled in. Time for me to run errands 😉
The stained ceiling.
I will never forget my first night in the home I now occupy. I lay on my bed, staring up at the water stains on the ceiling with tears running down my face into my ears.
It had been quite a road to that night.
Long story short, I went from owning a two-story home in Nevada and making amazing money at a job I loved – to renting a single wide mobile home that I could afford with my unemployment stipend.
When I was laid off due to the mortgage/banking debacle, I was married to a man who adored me – I had two step-daughters, a dog, a cat, and of course, my Nic.
I was the main bread-winner. The home was mine before the marriage and so, when the income wasn’t just cut in half, but quartered, there wasn’t enough to sustain the household.
I lost the house.
We moved across the river to Arizona into what we could afford to rent as a couple.
And then I lost myself.
My drinking had increased after I found myself made redundant. It was a trigger for the inevitable. I already used alcohol as an escape – it was already escalating, and before losing the house, I found myself confronted by my husband and heard myself telling him I would quit.
I did for a little while. Then it became my secret. Who did he think he was? I drank when we met? It seemed to be okay when I was supporting the family!
I told myself that, and it seemed to make sense.
I was lying to myself.
Because really the black outs, the arguments, the misery that was my drinking problem, had never been okay.
In our rented home I hid my drinking. I couldn’t buy obvious amounts of what I liked, and I’d heard that vodka didn’t have a scent – so I would buy purse sized bottles (plastic so you couldn’t hear the ‘tink’ of it against my keys as I snuck it in the house) and hide it in various spots in the house.
I would then dispose of the bottles in public garbage cans. Outside of grocery stores, fast food restaurants. Where ever I could look nonchalant tossing a small brown bag.
This went on for over a year, give or take.
I couldn’t stand it anymore!
I quit drinking, got help and came clean with my husband.
I also told him in no uncertain terms that I didn’t want to be married to him anymore.
While this is my blog – and these are my truths, it’s also public. I won’t go into much more detail about why I didn’t want to be married to him, that’s not fair.
(There’s so much more I want to share with you all, about many things! One day perhaps – but find myself having to edit myself a lot more here than I had anticipated).
In quick succession – my husband left, I never saw my step-daughters again.
(On my 21st day of sobriety I had to have my sweet dog put to sleep).
I looked for work. I was ‘over qualified’. They ‘couldn’t pay me what I last received’. Or, there just plain wasn’t work in our area.
My son and I found ourselves on food stamps and public health assistance.
Friends and family came to our aid from time to time.
I fought and fought to find a way to stay in the home we were renting at the time – and finally came to the conclusion to LET GO! This was after selling my nice furniture, my appliances. Anything I had of material value was sold piece meal to make it one more month.
We found something I could afford. No washer, no dryer, no dishwasher. But it was shelter! It was do-able.
Came OH so close to losing this place too. I sold my wedding ring, my engagement ring. His wedding band. I even sold our DVD’s to a local pawn store for gas money.
Then I found a job.
(That year a dog adopted us and I had to have my sweet cat put to sleep).
I haven’t had a drink in over a thousand days now. And in less than two months, it will be two years since I started that job.
But back to that first night.
I looked up at those ceiling stains and felt like I was in some sick motel. I felt like I had let my son down. I felt inadequate, scared, alone, angry.
I realize now, it wasn’t so much the actual state of the home, but what seemed to me at the time to be a representation of my life. I was that ceiling.
I was still sheltering my son, but I was stained. I was in need of repair.
I’ll glance up from my bed from time to time now and notice the stains. But with my imagination back to its healthy overdrive, I now see pictures in them. They’re oddly beautiful, their shapes have become familiar.
It has been well over two years since I that night I cried into my ears – and I have repaired myself.
Debauchery Soup 