It’s not good. Not good at all. Just not good. Just sayin’. Not sure how the next week or two will play out. it’s that bad.
on the upside, the Hub and I have otherwise had a nice weekend road tripping and going to Winterfest, so there is that
Iris the Iguana
Iris was a carefree, curious and cordial iguana. She spent her days joyfully slinking and roaming around the small village, occasionally stopping by the pond to hang out and drink water with her other iguana friends. Iris had dark green stripes across her back, strong legs for crawling and climbing and a long, slender but magnificent tail for swooshing and swirling.
Iris wasn’t like the other iguanas though. She had a special ability for changing colors in a unique way, but none of her friends would believe her. Sure, she could adjust from the usual dull green to brownish when she moved between the grass to a tree trunk, but Iris’ talent went beyond the typical skill-set. Iguanas’ bodies can change color to blend in with nature, but Iris could do much more. For example, while she remained green for most of the summer days, when it rained she became aqua. Once during a heat wave, she became as red as a radish. In the autumn, when the other iguanas began to migrate to warmer parts of the country, Iris generally alternated between shades of orange, gold and brown. She realized that during the winter on snowy days, she turned white! None of her reptile friends seemed to ever be around when Iris turned a new hue because they all wanted to be in more comfortable places, but Iris liked the changing seasons and, being the warm-hearted individual she was, learned how to acclimate.
Not only could Iris change colors to match the climate, she discovered that she could adapt to the sounds of certain forms of music as well. One day in early spring, while her iguana pals were finally returning to their warmer weather home by the pond, she was happily frolicking and batting with her tail at a tennis ball she’d found in the shrubs beside a house. She was scurrying to and fro chasing the ball when she suddenly noticed musical sounds coming from inside the house. Iris felt curious and managed to find a cracked open window where she could peer inside. She saw a lady jumping, turning and stepping while watching another lady on a big box who was also jumping, turning and stepping while shouting out commands like: “Four steps to the left; now right!”, “now six squats”, “You got this! Now ten jacks!” The music coming from the box was rhythmic and lively. Iris quickly discovered that the stripes on her back were turning neon pink, yellow and blue! She loved that look and quickly dashed off to show off her new image to her iguana buddies lazing down by the water. By the time she made it to the banks of the watering hole, her color had retuned to ho-hum, basic green again. Iris sighed. No one would see proof of her talent.
Another time when Iris was roaming by the amphitheater, she happened upon a band playing called The Evil Emo Eels. Again, Iris was curious and crawled in closer to see the show. The singers seemed to be practically screaming to very loud, almost scary sounding songs about how ugly and miserable their girlfriends and boyfriends were. Iris gasped in terror when she realized that her entire body had turned completely black except for her toenails which were now blood-red. She bolted back to the pond as fast as she could, but, alas, she’d turned back to her usual shade of green, and her fellow iguanas all had a grand laugh when she tried to explain what had happened.
It was Memorial Day which was pretty exciting because a bunch of fire trucks and cars with lights and big horns and people waving flags and wearing funny shirts with stars and stripes all showed up. Iris hid shyly in the bushes, but still, she wondered what was going to happen with all these people and vehicles. Then! The music came! Marching bands rounded the corner playing John Phillips Sousa music. Drummers banged on base drums with large mallets, horn players honked, pipers piped and flautists fluted. The music was very exciting and gave Iris such a happy feeling. She looked down and saw her color transform to red, white and blue.
A couple of weeks later, another parade took place in the vey same area. This time the bands and marchers were loudly and proudly blasting Y.M.C.A., Born This Way and also Dancing Queen. It made Iris want to jump out from the security of the lush landscaping and dance too! So she did, and from snout to tail she became every color of the rainbow! She spun, she dipped, she skipped, she stomped she leapt through the air. The parade meandered all the way down to the little pond where all the other iguanas were roaming about, sipping water and rooting for snacks. They looked up when they heard the sounds from the procession off in the distance. The marchers drew closer, and there she was in all her glory! Iris the iguana! The beautiful, colorful, elated iguana, was dancing and loving every minute of it. At last her pond pals believed and understood what Iris had been struggling to tell them for years. Instead of laughing at her, this time they joined in the fun and followed the parade. Iris’ outlook improved and her fellow iguana pond mates found a new appreciation for their colorful, joyful neighbor.
This is the link to the poll.
I don’t have a huge “fan base” most of my friends here are also participants in this writing event if I get in the Top 20 it’s a personal best for me.
Yesterday we babysat the HoneyB and the Tie-Breaker. my SIL and his bro had to go help their grandpa who has been recovering from a broken foot and can’t do all physical activities involving care for his property yet . Today was more of a get $h!t done day: laundry, yard care, house sitting neighbour's yard care, exercise, vacuuming, cleaning bathrooms. A mirror broke in our exercise/treadmill area. we don’t know how that happened so there was a clean up job we never expected. The Mothership is sluggish and dopey but okish. It’s part of the progressive CHF. I bought her Skyline Chili for dinner, which she actually ate. Now watching the Cincy/KC game.
back to work tomorrow.
Locked away
hidden in plain sight
not her choice
being alone in a crowd
filled with
chatter, squeaky sneakers, slamming lockers, morning announcements, laughter, hugs, high-fives, and “How was your summers?”
No one knows what she
wants,
likes,
needs,
notices
or hopes for.
She’s alone
in her head,
and that’s nobody’s fault,
except Mother Nature’s
because she was given a 47th chromosome;
isolating her,
confusing her,
overwhelming her,
creating a one-child island.
We have pictures,
flash cards,
a talk box,
support staff
and above all
hope.
Hope for giving this sweet, yet befuddled 12-year-old
clarity and confidence,
bravery and balance,
comity and communication,
affability and accord
positivity
and
peace.
This year,
and possibly more,
she is one of mine
to nurture, teach and assist
so that she can live her best life
and find connections
have choices
and grow strong.
She doesn’t have to exist alone.
What will you do?
What will you know?
How will you get along?
How will you grow?
A new chapter in life;
a fresh path to take;
wonders, creations,
and new friends to make.
Read all you can.
Do your best every time.
Be helpful and honest.
You will do fine.
Some tasks may seem hard.
Not all will play fair.
At times it’s not interesting.
But never despair.
You have talent and charm.
You know right from wrong.
You’ll always have people
with whom you belong.
You’re loving and kind,
savvy and smart.
Always remember to
follow your heart.
Love,
Granny
I have always been compared to my brother
by others.
I have always compared myself to him
as well.
It’s human nature to compare;
right or wrong.
But comparing can be toxic.
I never felt good enough
until lately.
He was the outgoing one.
I was the reserved one.
He was is the boisterous one.
I was the shy, reserved one.
He was the go-getter.
He was going to grow up and be a rich doctor or a lawyer.
I would grow up, be pretty and someone’s wife.
With comparisons like that, why would I ever think I could be an achiever?
As things turned out,
He got straight As all through school.
(Notice how I did not use the word “earned”.)
I had mostly B’s and Cs, except in math when I had D-minuses
because in spite of my failing scores,
I was a nice girl who did not make trouble and at least showed up for class.
He excelled at music and theater.
Senior year he had the male lead in Hello Dolly!
I was an extra once freshman year in some obscure play no one has ever heard of.
I won ten dollars in an art contest one time that the assistant principal ran to show how students need to clean up better in the cafeteria.
Only two people ended up submitting posters, but I came in first.
I never told my parents because it wasn’t much of a competition.
When Gigi died
I sobbed for weeks,
or was it months?
He said,
“Yeah, but we still have Mamaw”.
He and I saw the world in vastly different ways.
As much as I dearly loved Mamaw,
something about that outlook didn’t seem right.
He made Mamaw sound like a spare.
Not everything or everyone is replaceable.
He’s had three marriages.
I have had one for almost 40 years.
As an adult, he has lived in a dozen or more homes.
I have lived in one.
He has burned through relationships with colleagues and friends over the years.
I still have my friends from grade school, and I am loyal to my workplace.
He’s been in some big trouble and taken many risks.
Not all have ended well.
I won’t even go there.
Our lives and beliefs are opposites.
We’re so obverse we don’t even mirror one another.
The only thing we do agree on is this:
When Dad died 28 years ago,
we made a promise to him
on his deathbed
to always take care of Mom.
And this is what we do.
It’s dark and looming in there.
Like a dark chasm
of mystery.
I sneeze
three times.
Dust bunnies abound.
My nose tingles.
Two more sneezes.
Damned California closets.
They aren’t as amazing as they once seemed
back in the 90s.
One-by-one I dump the contents
of drawers, racks and cubbies.
piling clothing and accessories on the floor
to sort through,
and papers.
I had no idea of the paper accumulation.
Memories flood past my itchy eyes and sinuses.
A pack of 1990 Cincinnati Reds World Series baseball cards
still unopened.
Those are worth something.
Keep.
A torn paper sack with nothing in it.
Trash.
My Princess Diana Beanie Baby bear
in it’s plexiglass box.
I will always remember where I was when I heard that news.
In my car driving home from a bar mitzvah weekend
with my best friend.
Keep.
The red beret I bought at the France pavilion at Epcot.
Oh, keep that.
My Banner House purse…
The wooden handle is still in good shape.
That’s something I wanted badly but was ashamed to ask for at Christmas
because those purses were expensive.
My future mother-in-law bought it for me as a gift in 1983.
She never knew I wanted one, but opening that box was like
JACKPOT!
Keeping it!
A drawing my youngest daughter did of an outline of her hand and a pair of lips,
because she loved the story called The Kissing Hand
when she was in kindergarten.
“I love Mommy” is written under her illustrations.
Definitely keep.
An old photo in an envelope of me nursing my baby.
I was modest and didn’t want anyone to see the picture,
because of my boob,
so I hid it away in the closet
but I would never destroy it
because that’s one of the earliest moments
with me and my first-born baby girl.
Absolutely keep.
Next is an old belt
with a huge cloisonné buckle.
It’s red
and I loved it,
but it’s time to go in the donation bag.
Vintage blue Adidas with white stripes on the side.
The last gift my grandma ever bought for me.
They still fit.
If I ever get invited to a retro party or if we have “Vintage Dress Day” at school…
I am never giving these up.
Never.
(clutches pair of shoes close to my heart)
Random Morbid thought:
I don’t want my kids in the future to have to clean out this closet and find dumb shit I should have tossed.
Artifacts from an era long gone.
Did it even happen?
Were those times even real?
I did work retail
in high-end shops
and acquired way too many purses, shirts, skirts and sequined hair scrunchies
on discount.
I used to live and dress by the Rule of Thirds and the Eight-Point Rule
back in the day,
but nobody does that now;
At least nobody in my circle.
Bye-bye hair scrunchies.
Bye-bye shirts with ruffles.
The only skirts I keep have to at least have pockets.
Bye-Bye pocketless anything.
What’s this?
(unfolds crinkled up notebook paper)
A love letter/poem from my boyfriend/husband.
It’s super-corny.
Bad, mushy writing,
but it’s sincere.
Keep!
How did these times go by so fast?
40 years of memories
in a bedroom closet.
Life has been good.
For reference for the younger readers:
The Kissing Hand book: https://www.amazon.com/s?k=the+kissing+hand+book&crid=3FX2304X3REAR&sprefix=The+Kissing+Hand%2Caps%2C122&ref=nb_sb_ss_pltr-data-refreshed_2_16
Cloisonneé: https://www.amazon.com/cloisonne-jewelry/s?k=cloisonne+jewelry
Adidas shoes: https://www.ebay.com/itm/186425241086?itmmeta=01J43B7CPJH027T2T3ZHZSDKHP&hash=item2b67cf6dfe:g:aCAAAOSwmk5kdthW&itmprp=enc%3AAQAJAAAA8EY2oPnIny3EZQj0qwk8OaAFEcuV0%2BqIw3fyCi%2FLMFefMZYMPZHt0ApciuYwTeDyr3Vn3Sj3grG34lv9KM71ZjSFJHpHIHUiQORFOKG%2B47SwZfgwtirRRR7ElYQkt%2Fys90wlzr0V606xDod9E49PN1O96RiDxoBET4IDmtYRhYOjEbhEmeS9sUz8qQ1NIkUATY5H%2FN%2FW%2FNRscBZ7XidqItEIWE0d%2FwYKYkb29PBiR6DscBAdtY0ZpL0Z%2Bt7HV9EJcAPwaz01VMOami3lNunJkrGumTPIe6rzY%2FVekADZPaI%2FY%2BAQtKWXaMwzd%2Bo%2FOuiElw%3D%3D%7Ctkp%3ABFBM7sud66Bk
I sleep independently.
I work independently.
I shop,
walk,
drive
and bathe
all by myself.
I bought a car and a house
on my own,
birthed & raised my children,
and I worked two jobs.
Growing up,
my fears frustrated you.
I wasn't the kid you'd expected.
I was afraid to swim.
I dreaded falling off a bike.
It felt impossible to catch a ball
without being beamed in the eye.
I couldn't hold a pencil right.
I was klutzy and knocked over things.
No social graces.
I was hard to teach.
I rebelled and was sometimes unladylike.
Still,
you taught me a love for animals,
drove me around when I needed rides.
took me on trips,
encouraged my education,
saw that I graduated high school & college,
taught me thriftiness & money managemt,
showed me how to do laundry,
& how to make a bed.
Like Mary Poppins,
you made tasks look easy, even if they weren't.
You looked after me if I was sick,
& gave me an appreciation for the arts like drawing, painting and writing.
You passed on your love of gardens,
& you documented our lives with countless Kodak slides,
So that we could always remember the most important things in life.
You’ve been my mom for 63 years.
You've been helpful but at times a handful,
Optimistic yet pragmatic,
Both conservative yet progressive
& oh, so determined.
Now,
I face my fears instead of crying & running.
I'm learning complicated life lessons.
I have willpower because of you.
But,
what am I going to do
one day
without you?
I have never for a minute regretted making the decision back in 1987 to search for and reunite with my birth relatives. Although much more mainstream today, 35 years ago the idea of adoption research was avant-garde and even regarded as “threatening” because it went against the traditions of society. Admitting to people that I found my birth relatives was almost like “coming out” because not everyone was comfortable with this notion. Many people (mostly older or very conservative) believed that adopted people should just be grateful and move on in life. If you tried to find birth family, something must be wrong with you.
Had I not pursued my curiosity and hopes there are many blessed things today that my children and I would not have in our lives: travel experiences, a greater appreciation for the world of special education, more reasons to celebrate, and most importantly all the friend and familial relationships I have amassed over the years. (BTW, this includes being introduced to the worlds of LJ and DW.)
Last week my cousin came for a visit. I had only met her one time before (last summer at our birth-sister-cousins reunion in Portland, Oregon), but I knew Cousin Patti was a lot of fun and up for anything. She is artsy, wears colorful flowey tops and big earrings. She cracks jokes, keeps up on current events, loves kids and going out to eat. In short, my cousin is like that whacky, crazy-in-a-good-way older cousin or auntie every kid wants who, if asked to babysit, would let the youngsters eat all the candy and cookies they desire, help make a huge mess while they design and sculpt with glitter, markers, feathers, paint and glue, dance around to loud, high-energy music in the living room, watch scary movies till late at night and never judge your friends. Cousin Patti has a vivacious, larger than life personality and a funny anecdote to share about everything because she has worked several careers, traveled, had two dads, three husbands, and three kids.
Like all good Hippies, Cousin Patti is into recycling and repurposing items. When Patti came to visit, she hadn’t been back to her/our home town in over 30 years, but she came bearing gifts for everyone. She even had a special present for my mother. It was a tea light candle holder, made from the bottom half of a plastic Coke bottle. She’d found a little artsy-crafty, bohemian store that sold reimagined plastic “trash” that would be loved and appreciated as a new innovation.
This link shows photos of finished products: https://www.anunlikelystory.com/product/klikety-klik-recycled-gift-boxes
This is a YouTube link to the video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Y_ZDycgA7c
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if nifty little items like this were not so unconventional and more the norm?
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if being able to freely think and experience life outside the box could be more available and accepted by all?
Kinship or Kintsugi?
In 1959 Mom and Dad united in marriage. That era was an idyllic time of glamour, prosperity and classic traditions. Their home was immaculate and everything shined bright like the rising sun. Dad carried Mom over the threshold just like the newlyweds used to do in old television shows, and their lives began. They cultivated a new routine with him dressed in a jacket, shirt and tie, working in an office in town every day eight-to-five, and her adorned in a modest yet flattering house dress, dusting, straightening, decorating and meticulously following recipes. In 1960, a son arrived, followed by another boy in 1961. Mom and Grandma dressed the two boys alike and friends and neighbors took delight in their almost- twins.
Mom and Dad were baffled however how two lads born 14 months apart, coming from the same parents and household, and same education could be so incredibly different in temperament, interests and talents. Elder Son excelled in school with high grades and dedication to learning outside the classroom. He took life seriously, even at a young age, had an advanced vocabulary and everyone expected he would grow up to be a doctor. Younger Son was adventurous, outdoorsy, loved sports but did not always do his homework. Still he was praised for his charming ways. Elder was sensitive, studious and cautiously awkward in social situations. Younger played hard, partied hard and dated a different girl every weekend. The brothers had very little in common aside from some DNA.
They did very little together.
As young adults, Elder Brother earned a college degree in computer science and married his high school sweetheart. Younger Brother took longer than expected to finish his business degree, had a hot-and-heavy romance with one young lady which ended abruptly. No one knew why, but everyone had a theory. He eventually married his other girlfriend. Elder and his wife bought a simple but well-constructed home in one suburb near Mom and Dad’s house, while Younger and his wife bought a larger-than-life home in the same suburb as their parents. The brothers didn’t NOT get along, but the also did not get along. They were just too different in spirit. Most communication between the brothers happened through Mom’s or Dad’s relayed news and messages.
This enabled lack of direct communication caused somewhat of a crack in the family foundation, but the family continued on regardless because everyone tolerated the peculiar dynamics and never spoke up lest someone make waves.
The Elders had two daughters; free spirits with long hair, who preferred animals to people, wore the dye shirts and old jeans and were sensitive like their dad and artistic like their mom. They had messy rooms and made forts out of old cardboard boxes and sofa pillows. The Youngers had a son and a daughter who won many sports trophies, wore coordinating outfits and kept their rooms and walk-in closets spotless and orderly.
Mom and Dad were in charge of all the family dinners and holiday events. Christmas Eves and Days were the were a 48-hour spree of euphoria, fun and family times. The parents transformed their home into a glorious holiday wonderland with garlands, wreaths, a live tree with twinkling lights, holiday music playing on the old Regina music box, and, of course, Mom’s growing collection of Hallmark singing snowmen! They served turkey and prime rib plus all of the side dishes you could imagine for everyone, including all the cousins, aunts and uncles. They never wanted anyone else to bring anything. They supplied it all and were happy to do so. It was a magical time of scents, tastes, sounds and sights you associate with kindness and joy on those days.
Once Christmas was over and the tree was down it was not the same. Mom and Dad chose to spend more of their free time going to the activities and sports events for Younger’s children. They even took trips together. The Elders would invite them to their home for a meal and almost always they were too busy or too tired.
The Youngers began to take over the Thanksgiving duties as Mom and Dad aged. They were delighted to spend time in the immaculate Larger-Than-Life house. The Elders tried to invite the whole family to the Simple-but-Well-Built home for Easter, but everyone said they were too busy or too tired. The Elders noticed that there were more and more occasions where Mom and Dad were spending lots of time with the Youngers, but it was like pulling teeth to get them to spend time with the Elder side of the family. It was like if they did spend time with the Elders it seemed to be more out of duty than by choice. It made that crack in the foundation deepen, but no one could do much about it.
It began to feel as though the Youngers were usurping every opportunity for time together and that Mom and Dad were allowing this to happen. Mom and Dad felt hesitant to host or spend time with both families together. Mom called these one-on-one gatherings “special time”, but to the Elders it seemed more like a cop-out and a way to keep the two sons and their respective families apart. Mom and Dad, in all of their wonderful ways, had never been good at providing the two brothers with sufficient positive experiences of togetherness, and this issue carried into their adult lives. Were Mom and Dad prepared for a possible fight between brothers that never happened? As different as the two young men were, no one had any intention of starting drama at a cherished family gathering. It just wasn’t their way. Coping with fears of confrontation by avoidance only created greater divisiveness and less trust.
It made the Elders feel only accepted under certain perfect conditions. For years the Elders went along with the system so as to not cause problems, and they knew if they spoke up they would be gas-lighted with remarks like, “That’s not true. We love you very much”. However, the parents’ actions seemed to indicate something else. Even if the Elders were loved, they were not deemed as acceptable because they made other, less conservative life choices regarding child-rearing and friendships.
Then Mom was diagnosed with Alzheimers. Dad continued to look after her for a number of years without a problem until he began to suffer from PF and the associated dwindling energy. The Elders had a plan to take meals to their house and cook there so that Mom and Dad could enjoy nutritious, warm dishes and not have to work so hard in the kitchen. The bonus was getting to spend more quality time with them while trying to give back for their kindness, even when the Elder family did feel left out and misunderstood.
The next Christmas rolled around, and the Elders realized it would be the last one as everyone knew it. No one else would say it, but the Elders just knew. Everything was planned to be hosted at the Youngers’ Larger-Than-Life house. All the cousins, etc. came for the meal on Christmas Eve, as was the norm, but the Elders were not invited for the Christmas Day festivities. They did not understand why, since this had always been a family tradition to have the group of 10 plus the first cousins present ever since forever. (The first cousins were invited.)
Instead, the Elder family celebrated Christmas as a family of four quietly at their own Simple-but-Well-Built home that morning and had a “special time” dinner of leftovers with Mom and Dad without anyone else later that evening. It did not feel very special since the usual crowd had dispersed. Elder son tried o ask why there was such a division of the family on Christmas Day this year, But Dad could only say that the Elders should start to find their own traditions going forward. Dad wasn’t wrong, but it would have been nice to have had that one last Christmas day as a whole family.
As a result, what was once perceived as a significant but still functional crack in the family structure due to poor communication and lifestyle differences became a painful rift.
When Dad passed away a few months later and Mom moved to an assisted care facility, the remains of the magical on the outside family unit shattered to irreparability. The loss was greater than just the family patriarch. Like Dad, the solid, sturdy family establishment became ashes in an urn.
................................................
Over time, the family has taken on a new shape and energy. We cut some losses and gained more wins. We added two kind and caring sons-in-law and two clever, sassy but beautiful grandchildren, (plus a 3rd on the way!) When we celebrate, we have begun to include neighbors and friends in our circle, and we embrace the diversity and giftedness everyone has. We strive to never divide our children and their respective families from one another and to continue to work to repair any damages in family relationships that occur on the spot. We have found healing in understanding that you cannot make other people like or accept you unless they want to and that having differences spiritually or politically is okay. We believe that those differences (or any others) should not have to be closeted away because our home is a safe place for all whether you like sports, play video games, believe that Bigfoot is real, embrace Jesus, cast spells, light a menorah or identify outside the “traditional” perception of male/female. “Special time” is any time and every time we are together.
