Baby Cheeses
Midnight - not a sound from the pavement.
Has the moon lost her memory,
She is smiling alone.
In the lamplight, the withered leaves collect at my feet,
And the wind begins to moan.
Memory - all alone in the moonlight.
I can smile at the old days,
I was beautiful then.
I remember the time I knew what happiness was.
Let the memory live again.
"Memories" - from Cats
We loved chocolate. Sundaes. Hershey bars (her). Toblerone (me). My triple layer chocolate-within-chocolate-on-top-of-chocolate cake. Chocolate pie, courtesy of the pie crust recipe from Grandma Lucille that I shall keep secret for all the days of my life. Suffice it to say that we were chocoholics through and through, my daughter and I. Granted, it was probably more like a genetic disease I passed on to her much like a rare chromosome or some sort of genome. Still, in the grand scheme of things, it was a cross we carried together. Proudly, too. Endorphins, rejoice. Calorie what?? We don't care. Housework makes you ugly. Exercise makes you smell bad. Dieting makes you a tad, well....let's just say irritable. Chocolate, on the other hand, soothes the soul much, much better than chicken soup. Rich. Decadent. Velvety. Chocolate makes the world go round. Just ask Johnny Depp and Juliette Binoche.
2006 - I think it was a Thursday night. Couldn't be a Friday- there would have been a drill team this or a football game that. Wouldn't have been a Saturday night. Nope, this definitely would have been a Thursday night main event. See, Mondays are for fresh starts - eat your veggies and get to bed on time. Tuesdays are still on target- maybe slightly less homework and a few more clothes on the floor of her bedroom, but it's all good. Wednesdays? She was either at or teaching a CCD class. Yessiree, this was definitely a Thursday night. The conversation must have gone something like this.... Me: I've eaten nothing but a piece of lettuce and a single English pea all week. Her: That's your own fault. I don't know why you do this to yourself. Enjoy your life a little, why dontcha? Me: How is it that you're so wise? Her: I'm your daughter. Me: Enough flattery, what do you want? Her: Chocolate!! How bout a DQ run? Me: It's 11 pm. They're not open, punkin' pie. Her: What can we do? Me: Let's make something!!!! Necessity, while it might be the mother of invention, can also be the undoing of us all!
I do lots of things that don't make much, if any, sense. I collect old buttons. I hoard books. I prefer black and white movies over technicolor any day of the week. I still like vinyl records. I clip coupons. And, best of all, I collect recipes. Most are good, but some definitely belong in the "what not to do" file. In 1985, I was 18, married, and pregnant with my firstborn. I was also working and going to school. Apparently, I was also consuming quite a bit of Velveeta cheese. Enough so that I saved the appropriate amount of boxtops to qualify for the official 1985 much-heralded (not) Velveeta cheese cookbook. Odd that I would, over 20 years later, choose that very "cookbook" on that Thursday night. How perplexing that I would be possessed by the cheese muses as I looked at my daughter and stated...."Let's make cheese fudge!"
Don't ask, please. I have no words. An hour later, the two of us gathered over a steaming casserole dish concoction of what I can only describe as a mutant, rancid, chocolate impostor. It was hideous! We both held our noses and took a bite, You don't want to know. Equal parts human feces and oily jello, it was not a pleasant experience. What I remember most, however, was her laughter. Mom was a dork that night. Mom suddenly didn't know nearly as much, and wasn't the the rock-star e'er do well she normally was in such circumstances. Mom was just goofy, gullible, clueless old mom. And, we belly laughed for an hour. So, there you go. One of my colossal goofs became the stuff legends are made of, I guess. Tears were sliding down our cheeks. Tummies were clutched in laughter. I distinctly remember having to sit in the kitchen floor so I wouldn't wet my pants in this hysterical fit. It was blissful.
So, tonight, Chynna, I miss you. I miss your laughter. I miss my best friend. All hail the power of the Velveeta cheese fudge. A bad recipe can do wonders for the soul. I promise to keep being the oddball I've always been. I promise, also, never, ever to make Velveeta fudge for anyone else. It's our pact. We'll always have cheese fudge.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
(Mid)Wives Tales
Okay. I'm really, really ashamed. It's been (gulp) 11 months since I blogged. Honestly, I was just going to take a break for a month or so, but life happened.
I moved (twice) lost and got a couple of jobs - s'ok, thinks are cool now!!! I have a new little muse-friend who shall remain unnamed. She wants to be my editor for some book she's sure I should write....on grieving, of all things. Okay - maybe she's onto something? Maybe this could be a chapter?
Outside the rain begins and it may never end
So cry no more, on the shore a dream
Will take us out to the sea
Forever more, forever more
Close your eyes and dream, and you can be with me
'Neath the waves through the caves of ours
Long forgotten now
We're all alone, we're all alone
Close the window, calm the light
And it will be all right
No need to bother now
Let it out. let it all begin
Learn how to pretend
Once a story's told it can't help but grow old
Roses do, lovers too, so cast your seasons to the wind
And hold me dear, oh hold me dear
-Boz Scaggs
So this is how it starts. I drank an entire bottle of castor oil 3 days before she was born. At that moment in time, she was a boy. Her name would be Steven. "He" was too big to deliver, they told me. A tiny little thing like me couldn't birth a baby exceeding 11 lbs. If he were any later, grew any bigger, I would rip from stem to stern, like a wayward boat tossed upon the rocks, somewhere. Maybe my boat was attracted to a nameless, faceless siren singing an other-worldy song to purposefully lure hapless sailors into the netherworld. Perhaps my siren is a mermaid, I now think. Hold onto this thought. You will need to call upon it later on.
They don't tell you the horrible things an entire bottle of castor oil will do to a body. They don't tell you about the disgusting indegestion. Or about the stomach cramps that are almost as bad as the actual labor. Or that you won't be able to look at orange juice the same way, ever again. Still, I did it. Labor ensued. Midwives gathered around me. Both moms arrived. My then husband did the thing he had done on the other two occasions I had labored to bring a child into the world. He cleaned. He organized. With baby #2, it had been our closet. Suddenly, the most important thing in the universe was that all my clothes be on my side, and that all his clothes be opposite. This time, his obssession is the refrigerator. Silently, I am thankful that he's at least becoming more useful with each labor. Maybe another baby is not a bad idea - he could get the carpets next go-round. He scrubbed. He scoured. He made pancakes. I walked. I panted. I worried - the thing I do best. Instantly, a crack formed between the two of us, him with his cleaning and me with my panting. Hold onto this thought. You will need it in about a decade or so.
I am in my bed. An annoying woman I thought I liked until now sternly reprimanded me to hyperflex my legs. Not understanding this olympian athletic verbiage, I continue to bare down. "Hyperflex your legs, honey!" There she goes again. Exasperated, tired, fat beyond belief, and definitely visualizing my fist connecting with her top lip, I finally give in and scream back, "What in the hell do you mean???" As she explains that my knees should be rougly parallel with my ears, I must have looked at her as if she was asking me to speak to her in perfect Swahili. I do not get it - and finally, she does - get it, that is. "Grab her other leg," she yells to her counterpart, a horrified as yet to deliver a baby on her own lay person midwife wannabe. Together they manage to manipulate my legs into an inhuman pretzel-like position. I distinctly remember, even though that was well over 19 years ago, seeing my own foot very near my eyelashes. Thankfully I'd managed a quasi-successful self pedicure within the last few days. I don't know why that matters, but it does. Seconds later (or was it hours?) someone told me not to push. Would they step in the path of an F5 tornado and tell it not to descend, I wondered? I tried to stop. Actually, that might or might not be a lie. I wanted to stop. That much is definitely true. I am a rules girl. I try to do the right thing, do what I'm told. I try. But, all is fair in love and war. Childbirth is both.
I see Steven. I am keenly aware that this was too easy. My last baby weighed well over 10 lbs. How much over is a million dollar question, since that other midwife, at that other house, in that other state, didn't think to bring a scale that would weigh a baby in excess of 10 lbs. We only knew that 18 hours later, in a disapproving anti-home birth pediatrician's office in Herdon, VA, he still weighed 10 lbs. But, back to the matter at hand. Steven popped out with much less pomp, circumstance, and pain...so I knew something was amiss. Time passed. How much is unclear. There were other matters to attend to. Like the blueness. Everyone spoke simultaneously. I have no idea what they were saying, I was only looking at this blueness. My baby had a blue face. Not sky blue, like the Heavens little chubby cherabs fly through when God sends them to steal the heart of the boy you like in the 5th grade. Not a turquoise blue, like the water in the ocean from a distance - funny how it's not the same color when you're knee deep in it and still can't see your feet. It was a dark, forboding blue. A midnight blue. A blue so dark and opaque that it enveloped everything in it's midst. A blue that was impenitrable. The kind of dark blue that theives in the night wait for all year. Pea soup blue. Can't see you hand in front of your face, dark blue. The whole room turned that evil blue.
Suddenlly I was crying, Suddenly I was pleading. Though I can't remember the specifics, I feel sure that I bargained every good thing that would ever happened to anyone I ever knew in exchange for the removal of this horror. Please. Please make my baby pink. Please take away the blue. Poor, poor little Steven. Please erase this memory.
They took the baby, the two midwives. Suction. Clap the baby on the back. Suction. Clap some more. Suction.....moments later, the blue turned gray, then lavender, then, finally, the blessed pink color I had been waiting to see. "Are you sure?" I said. "Is he okay?" I cried. "She's fine", a chorus of angels answered. This is the first time I learned about prayers. They are always answered, you see, just not always in the way you hoped. My baby was going to be fine. And, Steven, so it seems, isn't Steven after all. But, Mommy and baby girl are tired. Too tired to argue. Too tired, even, to smile. So we snuggle and sleep, this nameless little feminine creature and I.
I remember things. The Grandmas are in and out. Flowers are delivered. Baby girl and I can't be bothered with all of this nonsense, though. In our world, there is only us. Big brothers both filed in with one of the Grandmas, wide-eyed and incredulous. I hear my mother telling them both that mommy is so tired. She asks them if they see their baby sister. Do they love her? Do they want to kiss her? Do they see her thick, jet black hair? Do they see her brilliantly pink cheeks? Don't they think she looks just like a China Doll? Later on that same day, upon being asked if he had a new baby sister, my oldest son, my little man, looks up with enormous blue eyes and states, very matter-of-factly, "Nope. I have a China Doll." Welcome to the world, Chynna. Become my world, Chynna. Take over my world, Chynna. I will never say a cross word, never become quick to anger, never go to bed with dirty dishes in the sink, never say another curse word......for this is the bargain I have made. The bargain I made to banish the blueness. My prayer was answered. Permanently, I assume. That's the thing about a covenent, though. There are always strings attached, strings like loose hems on cheaply made garments. Don't pull too hard. Something might come unwound.
I moved (twice) lost and got a couple of jobs - s'ok, thinks are cool now!!! I have a new little muse-friend who shall remain unnamed. She wants to be my editor for some book she's sure I should write....on grieving, of all things. Okay - maybe she's onto something? Maybe this could be a chapter?
Outside the rain begins and it may never end
So cry no more, on the shore a dream
Will take us out to the sea
Forever more, forever more
Close your eyes and dream, and you can be with me
'Neath the waves through the caves of ours
Long forgotten now
We're all alone, we're all alone
Close the window, calm the light
And it will be all right
No need to bother now
Let it out. let it all begin
Learn how to pretend
Once a story's told it can't help but grow old
Roses do, lovers too, so cast your seasons to the wind
And hold me dear, oh hold me dear
-Boz Scaggs
So this is how it starts. I drank an entire bottle of castor oil 3 days before she was born. At that moment in time, she was a boy. Her name would be Steven. "He" was too big to deliver, they told me. A tiny little thing like me couldn't birth a baby exceeding 11 lbs. If he were any later, grew any bigger, I would rip from stem to stern, like a wayward boat tossed upon the rocks, somewhere. Maybe my boat was attracted to a nameless, faceless siren singing an other-worldy song to purposefully lure hapless sailors into the netherworld. Perhaps my siren is a mermaid, I now think. Hold onto this thought. You will need to call upon it later on.
They don't tell you the horrible things an entire bottle of castor oil will do to a body. They don't tell you about the disgusting indegestion. Or about the stomach cramps that are almost as bad as the actual labor. Or that you won't be able to look at orange juice the same way, ever again. Still, I did it. Labor ensued. Midwives gathered around me. Both moms arrived. My then husband did the thing he had done on the other two occasions I had labored to bring a child into the world. He cleaned. He organized. With baby #2, it had been our closet. Suddenly, the most important thing in the universe was that all my clothes be on my side, and that all his clothes be opposite. This time, his obssession is the refrigerator. Silently, I am thankful that he's at least becoming more useful with each labor. Maybe another baby is not a bad idea - he could get the carpets next go-round. He scrubbed. He scoured. He made pancakes. I walked. I panted. I worried - the thing I do best. Instantly, a crack formed between the two of us, him with his cleaning and me with my panting. Hold onto this thought. You will need it in about a decade or so.
I am in my bed. An annoying woman I thought I liked until now sternly reprimanded me to hyperflex my legs. Not understanding this olympian athletic verbiage, I continue to bare down. "Hyperflex your legs, honey!" There she goes again. Exasperated, tired, fat beyond belief, and definitely visualizing my fist connecting with her top lip, I finally give in and scream back, "What in the hell do you mean???" As she explains that my knees should be rougly parallel with my ears, I must have looked at her as if she was asking me to speak to her in perfect Swahili. I do not get it - and finally, she does - get it, that is. "Grab her other leg," she yells to her counterpart, a horrified as yet to deliver a baby on her own lay person midwife wannabe. Together they manage to manipulate my legs into an inhuman pretzel-like position. I distinctly remember, even though that was well over 19 years ago, seeing my own foot very near my eyelashes. Thankfully I'd managed a quasi-successful self pedicure within the last few days. I don't know why that matters, but it does. Seconds later (or was it hours?) someone told me not to push. Would they step in the path of an F5 tornado and tell it not to descend, I wondered? I tried to stop. Actually, that might or might not be a lie. I wanted to stop. That much is definitely true. I am a rules girl. I try to do the right thing, do what I'm told. I try. But, all is fair in love and war. Childbirth is both.
I see Steven. I am keenly aware that this was too easy. My last baby weighed well over 10 lbs. How much over is a million dollar question, since that other midwife, at that other house, in that other state, didn't think to bring a scale that would weigh a baby in excess of 10 lbs. We only knew that 18 hours later, in a disapproving anti-home birth pediatrician's office in Herdon, VA, he still weighed 10 lbs. But, back to the matter at hand. Steven popped out with much less pomp, circumstance, and pain...so I knew something was amiss. Time passed. How much is unclear. There were other matters to attend to. Like the blueness. Everyone spoke simultaneously. I have no idea what they were saying, I was only looking at this blueness. My baby had a blue face. Not sky blue, like the Heavens little chubby cherabs fly through when God sends them to steal the heart of the boy you like in the 5th grade. Not a turquoise blue, like the water in the ocean from a distance - funny how it's not the same color when you're knee deep in it and still can't see your feet. It was a dark, forboding blue. A midnight blue. A blue so dark and opaque that it enveloped everything in it's midst. A blue that was impenitrable. The kind of dark blue that theives in the night wait for all year. Pea soup blue. Can't see you hand in front of your face, dark blue. The whole room turned that evil blue.
Suddenlly I was crying, Suddenly I was pleading. Though I can't remember the specifics, I feel sure that I bargained every good thing that would ever happened to anyone I ever knew in exchange for the removal of this horror. Please. Please make my baby pink. Please take away the blue. Poor, poor little Steven. Please erase this memory.
They took the baby, the two midwives. Suction. Clap the baby on the back. Suction. Clap some more. Suction.....moments later, the blue turned gray, then lavender, then, finally, the blessed pink color I had been waiting to see. "Are you sure?" I said. "Is he okay?" I cried. "She's fine", a chorus of angels answered. This is the first time I learned about prayers. They are always answered, you see, just not always in the way you hoped. My baby was going to be fine. And, Steven, so it seems, isn't Steven after all. But, Mommy and baby girl are tired. Too tired to argue. Too tired, even, to smile. So we snuggle and sleep, this nameless little feminine creature and I.
I remember things. The Grandmas are in and out. Flowers are delivered. Baby girl and I can't be bothered with all of this nonsense, though. In our world, there is only us. Big brothers both filed in with one of the Grandmas, wide-eyed and incredulous. I hear my mother telling them both that mommy is so tired. She asks them if they see their baby sister. Do they love her? Do they want to kiss her? Do they see her thick, jet black hair? Do they see her brilliantly pink cheeks? Don't they think she looks just like a China Doll? Later on that same day, upon being asked if he had a new baby sister, my oldest son, my little man, looks up with enormous blue eyes and states, very matter-of-factly, "Nope. I have a China Doll." Welcome to the world, Chynna. Become my world, Chynna. Take over my world, Chynna. I will never say a cross word, never become quick to anger, never go to bed with dirty dishes in the sink, never say another curse word......for this is the bargain I have made. The bargain I made to banish the blueness. My prayer was answered. Permanently, I assume. That's the thing about a covenent, though. There are always strings attached, strings like loose hems on cheaply made garments. Don't pull too hard. Something might come unwound.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Bag-o-rama
Come here sister.....Papa's in the swing
He ain't too hip...about that new breed thing
He ain't no drag
Papa's got a brand new bag
Come here mama....and dig this crazy scene
He's not too fancy....but his mind is might clean
He ain't no drag.
Papa's got a brand new bag
"Papa's Got a Brand New Bag" -James Brown
Okay....I'll admit it! I've sucked massive amounts of wind, lately, as a blog author. I'm worse than Stephen King's review of Stephenie Meyer (who I actually like - a whole bunch, Mr. King!). I'm worse than the author who came to old recruiter Dina looking for a job and brought along the "book" he just published (he also did the illustrations, if that gives you any idea. I am saving that book. Not necessarily because I think it's going to be a big hit one day, but you remember how the media hounded that entire town after the unibomber was discovered? Some hot shot news persona might want to interview me if this dude who wrote the book is ever discovered to be a serial killer! I refuse to miss out on my 15 minutes of fame!). Anyway, I'm back (guess who's back?). Tell a friend. Shady's back...
I have to ease into this writing thing now. It is like riding a bicycle, true, but my bicycle right now looks like the one Pee Wee lost in his big adventure. You know, the one where he figured out that the Alamo doesn't have a basement? So...hang onto your girlie bicycle basket! I'm going to blog in list format today.
I had a fantastic weekend. Lots of football, courtesy of the world's greatest 9 year old phenom, Carter Moon. Did mucho, mucho house cleaning, too. Used enough WalMart sacks to possibly - if they could all be adhered to each other - make sails for both the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria. Which leads me to my blog topic. One can do amazing things with a WalMart sack! Yes, I know, I know, we should bring our own bags (& I do), but still, the little plastic sacks are like ants...they creep into your house in the night and multiply! Here's a master list of things I did with a WalMart sack in the last month. Enjoy - feel free to comment on some other grand WalMart sack escapades!
1. Rain bonnet - because I can NEVER find that umbrella & the disco fro must be restrained!
2. Galoshes - because no one wants to step in soggy dog poo when you're walking dogs at work!
3. Great place to hold the cat litter clumps hostage
4. Bathroom trashcan liner (my bathroom trashcans are somehow little hostels for spit cups??)
5. Master holder for other WalMart sacks
6. Car trash bag
7. Posh "door storage" (as in..."honey, look in that WalMart sack hanging on the back of the door")
8. Floor mats for the car
9. Lunch bags, though Chynna REFUSED to be seen with a WalMart sack at school - what's up with that?
10. Toothbrush holders on trips - keeps your toothbrush and your dirty underwear a very safe distance from each other
11. Great for picking up dog poo at the park - your dog only, of course
12. Makes a fantastic glove for mixing up hamburger meat with your hands (I'm a vegan, but I still have to make the occasional hamburger)
13. Great for tossing veggies in batter
14. After a ginormous blow-out in church, once I realized I had absolutely ZERO diapers in the car, I made a diaper out of an old t-shirt and....you guessed it! A WalMart sack!!! That's just pure genius!
15. Rub a bunch of sacks together to REALLY irritate my cousin, Jennifer. She's allergic to them, I think!
and....the one that started this whole idea.
16. Last night, in a desperate attempt to make Kevin a chocolate pie, I disassembled a WalMart sack and used it in lieu of wax paper to roll out the pie crust!
And that, my friends, is probably how fire was made? Talk about necessity being the mother of invention. Thank you for joining me in this blog adventure. You can unbuckle your seatbelts now. Feel free to move about the cabin!
He ain't too hip...about that new breed thing
He ain't no drag
Papa's got a brand new bag
Come here mama....and dig this crazy scene
He's not too fancy....but his mind is might clean
He ain't no drag.
Papa's got a brand new bag
"Papa's Got a Brand New Bag" -James Brown
Okay....I'll admit it! I've sucked massive amounts of wind, lately, as a blog author. I'm worse than Stephen King's review of Stephenie Meyer (who I actually like - a whole bunch, Mr. King!). I'm worse than the author who came to old recruiter Dina looking for a job and brought along the "book" he just published (he also did the illustrations, if that gives you any idea. I am saving that book. Not necessarily because I think it's going to be a big hit one day, but you remember how the media hounded that entire town after the unibomber was discovered? Some hot shot news persona might want to interview me if this dude who wrote the book is ever discovered to be a serial killer! I refuse to miss out on my 15 minutes of fame!). Anyway, I'm back (guess who's back?). Tell a friend. Shady's back...
I have to ease into this writing thing now. It is like riding a bicycle, true, but my bicycle right now looks like the one Pee Wee lost in his big adventure. You know, the one where he figured out that the Alamo doesn't have a basement? So...hang onto your girlie bicycle basket! I'm going to blog in list format today.
I had a fantastic weekend. Lots of football, courtesy of the world's greatest 9 year old phenom, Carter Moon. Did mucho, mucho house cleaning, too. Used enough WalMart sacks to possibly - if they could all be adhered to each other - make sails for both the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria. Which leads me to my blog topic. One can do amazing things with a WalMart sack! Yes, I know, I know, we should bring our own bags (& I do), but still, the little plastic sacks are like ants...they creep into your house in the night and multiply! Here's a master list of things I did with a WalMart sack in the last month. Enjoy - feel free to comment on some other grand WalMart sack escapades!
1. Rain bonnet - because I can NEVER find that umbrella & the disco fro must be restrained!
2. Galoshes - because no one wants to step in soggy dog poo when you're walking dogs at work!
3. Great place to hold the cat litter clumps hostage
4. Bathroom trashcan liner (my bathroom trashcans are somehow little hostels for spit cups??)
5. Master holder for other WalMart sacks
6. Car trash bag
7. Posh "door storage" (as in..."honey, look in that WalMart sack hanging on the back of the door")
8. Floor mats for the car
9. Lunch bags, though Chynna REFUSED to be seen with a WalMart sack at school - what's up with that?
10. Toothbrush holders on trips - keeps your toothbrush and your dirty underwear a very safe distance from each other
11. Great for picking up dog poo at the park - your dog only, of course
12. Makes a fantastic glove for mixing up hamburger meat with your hands (I'm a vegan, but I still have to make the occasional hamburger)
13. Great for tossing veggies in batter
14. After a ginormous blow-out in church, once I realized I had absolutely ZERO diapers in the car, I made a diaper out of an old t-shirt and....you guessed it! A WalMart sack!!! That's just pure genius!
15. Rub a bunch of sacks together to REALLY irritate my cousin, Jennifer. She's allergic to them, I think!
and....the one that started this whole idea.
16. Last night, in a desperate attempt to make Kevin a chocolate pie, I disassembled a WalMart sack and used it in lieu of wax paper to roll out the pie crust!
And that, my friends, is probably how fire was made? Talk about necessity being the mother of invention. Thank you for joining me in this blog adventure. You can unbuckle your seatbelts now. Feel free to move about the cabin!
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Tumbling After
If you could read my mind love,
what a tale my thoughts could tell.
Just like an old time movie
about a ghost from a wishing well.
In a castle dark or a fortress strong
with chains upon my feet.
You know that ghost is me
and I will never be set free
as long as I'm a ghost that you can see.
If I could read your mind love,
what a tale your thoughts could tell.
Just like a paperback novel,
the kind the drugstore sells.
When you reach the part where the heartaches
come the hero would be me.
Heroes often fail.
And you won't read that book again
because the endings just to hard to take.
"If You Could Read My Mind" - Gordon Lightfoot
Fairy tales are supposed to get happy endings, right? The prince rescues his princess, the dish runs away with the spoon, there's a wedding, woodland creatures rejoice, Jill finally catches up with Jack....and they all live happily ever after...correct? So, I try and pretend like there wasn't a you - you were never here to begin with. I try and erase you and forget you and pretend like there was never a daughter. Never a third child. Never a princess in my castle. Then, maybe I will get a happy ending too? Is that so selfish?
But, then, inevitably, someone mentions your name. And, I remember. I remember the way you smelled the day you were born. I remember your gorgeous green eyes that turned brown. I watched you dance. I measured your height every year. I remember your hair that was black, then turned blond, then turned back. I remember how you loved someone. Who was it? Wait....it was me, wasn't it? Didn't you love me? Didn't we love each other? Weren't you my little princess?
Yes - I do remember you. I do. I really, really, really do. Sleep tight, angel. We will get our happy ending one of these days.
what a tale my thoughts could tell.
Just like an old time movie
about a ghost from a wishing well.
In a castle dark or a fortress strong
with chains upon my feet.
You know that ghost is me
and I will never be set free
as long as I'm a ghost that you can see.
If I could read your mind love,
what a tale your thoughts could tell.
Just like a paperback novel,
the kind the drugstore sells.
When you reach the part where the heartaches
come the hero would be me.
Heroes often fail.
And you won't read that book again
because the endings just to hard to take.
"If You Could Read My Mind" - Gordon Lightfoot
Fairy tales are supposed to get happy endings, right? The prince rescues his princess, the dish runs away with the spoon, there's a wedding, woodland creatures rejoice, Jill finally catches up with Jack....and they all live happily ever after...correct? So, I try and pretend like there wasn't a you - you were never here to begin with. I try and erase you and forget you and pretend like there was never a daughter. Never a third child. Never a princess in my castle. Then, maybe I will get a happy ending too? Is that so selfish?
But, then, inevitably, someone mentions your name. And, I remember. I remember the way you smelled the day you were born. I remember your gorgeous green eyes that turned brown. I watched you dance. I measured your height every year. I remember your hair that was black, then turned blond, then turned back. I remember how you loved someone. Who was it? Wait....it was me, wasn't it? Didn't you love me? Didn't we love each other? Weren't you my little princess?
Yes - I do remember you. I do. I really, really, really do. Sleep tight, angel. We will get our happy ending one of these days.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Any night I can quote Shakespeare is a good night...
Hey, did you happen to see the most beautiful girl in the world?
And if you did, was she crying, crying?
Hey, if you happen to see the most beautiful girl that walked out on me
Tell her, "I'm sorry."
Tell her, "I need my baby."
Oh.... Won't you tell her that I love her?
I woke up this morning and realized what I had done
I stood alone in the cold gray dawn
I knew I'd lost my morning sun
I lost my head and I said some things
Now come the heartaches that morning brings
I know I'm wrong and I couldn't see
I let my world slip away from me
"The Most Beautiful Girl in the World" - Charlie Rich
Oh, Chynna... How do I miss thee? I cannot even count the ways. Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to storm the beach at Normandy, only to be riveted by bullets, with limbs and entrails flying every-which-a-away? Maybe you've wondered how a body responds to a plane crash: oxygen masks dangling from the suddenly irrelevant reading light thingy, stomach up in your nostrils, plummeting into a sub-stratosphere....yeah,I think it's a little like that, this losing a child deal. Humans are mysterious,intense, complicated & yet single-celled-simple all at the same time beings, aren't we? We don't know. We just don't know. Until we know.
How do I miss you, Chinks? Well, for starters....wait. Disclaimer time! For all you Moms out there. You know who you are. I was you. Pretty girl. Handsome boy. Elizabethan tragedy encroaching. Mustn't let them too close to each other. Mustn't allow them any unsupervised courtin' time. Well, get this. Turns out, that's something I miss. I miss my daughter and her first love. I miss her talking about him incessantly. I miss her wishing she could spend every waking moment with him. I miss her begging for that extra 15 minutes on Sunday night at his parent's house so she could talk more with his uber-awesome mom. Yes, I miss taking a back seat to someone else in my daughter's life. I see so clearly now. It's crystal clear, baby girl. All those times you told me that he was the one? I believe you now. I'm so sorry I doubted you. He's off at college now. He has a life to carve. He has obligations. He has intentions. He has horrible-sweet memories of you. I am so glad that I'm not where he is, baby. Please, please watch over him. I don't know how he stands it, this aftermath of ours.
So, back to the ways that I miss you....I digress, as I always do. But, here it is. I miss you these ways: I miss your dimple (it was an AWESOME dimple). I miss your mole - right above your lip. I miss your smell - it was like cotton candy and wilted roses. I miss your chubby toes that looked like tiny little sausages. I miss your gorgeous eyes that started out looking just like your father's and winded up looking just like mine. I miss your fiery temper. I miss your strong will. I miss your faith. I miss your convictions, so much stronger than mine. I miss the fact that you never once in your entire life admitted that you were wrong. I miss shopping with you on Saturday afternoons. I miss you wearing all my clothes to church on Sunday morning. I miss your messy room. I miss your super-clean car (at least you FINALLY kept something organized!). I miss your good grades. I miss your brilliant mind. I miss the things you did. I miss the things you didn't quite get to do. I miss your arguments with your father, the ones that always sent you running to me. I miss your arguments with me, the ones that always sent you running into my arms exactly three hours later. I miss our laughs. I miss our cries. I miss us. I miss you. I miss the me that I used to be...when I had you.
I spend all of my time telling people that I'm OK. I can do this. I can sleep. I can eat. I can go back to work. I can do the things that I need to do to appear normal. I can hold it together. I can, too. But, then, some days you walk through life and you see people going through the motions and you realize...hey! My daughter did this one day, and then the next day she disappeared. She never went back to Wal-Mart. She never went back to church. Or to school. Or home. Or anywhere. It just makes you think, doesn't it? She was here! She was right here. And, now she's nowhere...but she's still my daughter. And, isn't a rose by any other name just as sweet? I think so, especially the wilted ones.
And if you did, was she crying, crying?
Hey, if you happen to see the most beautiful girl that walked out on me
Tell her, "I'm sorry."
Tell her, "I need my baby."
Oh.... Won't you tell her that I love her?
I woke up this morning and realized what I had done
I stood alone in the cold gray dawn
I knew I'd lost my morning sun
I lost my head and I said some things
Now come the heartaches that morning brings
I know I'm wrong and I couldn't see
I let my world slip away from me
"The Most Beautiful Girl in the World" - Charlie Rich
Oh, Chynna... How do I miss thee? I cannot even count the ways. Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to storm the beach at Normandy, only to be riveted by bullets, with limbs and entrails flying every-which-a-away? Maybe you've wondered how a body responds to a plane crash: oxygen masks dangling from the suddenly irrelevant reading light thingy, stomach up in your nostrils, plummeting into a sub-stratosphere....yeah,I think it's a little like that, this losing a child deal. Humans are mysterious,intense, complicated & yet single-celled-simple all at the same time beings, aren't we? We don't know. We just don't know. Until we know.
How do I miss you, Chinks? Well, for starters....wait. Disclaimer time! For all you Moms out there. You know who you are. I was you. Pretty girl. Handsome boy. Elizabethan tragedy encroaching. Mustn't let them too close to each other. Mustn't allow them any unsupervised courtin' time. Well, get this. Turns out, that's something I miss. I miss my daughter and her first love. I miss her talking about him incessantly. I miss her wishing she could spend every waking moment with him. I miss her begging for that extra 15 minutes on Sunday night at his parent's house so she could talk more with his uber-awesome mom. Yes, I miss taking a back seat to someone else in my daughter's life. I see so clearly now. It's crystal clear, baby girl. All those times you told me that he was the one? I believe you now. I'm so sorry I doubted you. He's off at college now. He has a life to carve. He has obligations. He has intentions. He has horrible-sweet memories of you. I am so glad that I'm not where he is, baby. Please, please watch over him. I don't know how he stands it, this aftermath of ours.
So, back to the ways that I miss you....I digress, as I always do. But, here it is. I miss you these ways: I miss your dimple (it was an AWESOME dimple). I miss your mole - right above your lip. I miss your smell - it was like cotton candy and wilted roses. I miss your chubby toes that looked like tiny little sausages. I miss your gorgeous eyes that started out looking just like your father's and winded up looking just like mine. I miss your fiery temper. I miss your strong will. I miss your faith. I miss your convictions, so much stronger than mine. I miss the fact that you never once in your entire life admitted that you were wrong. I miss shopping with you on Saturday afternoons. I miss you wearing all my clothes to church on Sunday morning. I miss your messy room. I miss your super-clean car (at least you FINALLY kept something organized!). I miss your good grades. I miss your brilliant mind. I miss the things you did. I miss the things you didn't quite get to do. I miss your arguments with your father, the ones that always sent you running to me. I miss your arguments with me, the ones that always sent you running into my arms exactly three hours later. I miss our laughs. I miss our cries. I miss us. I miss you. I miss the me that I used to be...when I had you.
I spend all of my time telling people that I'm OK. I can do this. I can sleep. I can eat. I can go back to work. I can do the things that I need to do to appear normal. I can hold it together. I can, too. But, then, some days you walk through life and you see people going through the motions and you realize...hey! My daughter did this one day, and then the next day she disappeared. She never went back to Wal-Mart. She never went back to church. Or to school. Or home. Or anywhere. It just makes you think, doesn't it? She was here! She was right here. And, now she's nowhere...but she's still my daughter. And, isn't a rose by any other name just as sweet? I think so, especially the wilted ones.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Dina Moon - Human Glow Stick
Wake up and see the places
It's all you got and all you take
You don't have to fall to pieces
You have to prove it
Make up your pretty face it's a lovely trip - a lovely place
You got one life here to make it
For the movies
Do you feel singled out
Do you feel less than all the rest
You know it's interchangeable
That spotlight and the pain
I want to get on top of this
I want to build that trust again
And if I give it all I got I'm sure
You'd do the same
"For the Movies" - Buckcherry
Good early mornin' people! Yep, it's just shy of 6 am on this lovely Tuesday - course, I've been awake since 3:30 am. Yep, it was me who had the bright idea to fall asleep at 9:45 last night, barely 15 minutes into "The Way We Were", only to grind my teeth ALL NIGHT LONG (I'm surprised I don't have those little pointy pygmy teeth)& awaken with a nasty headache....but why, you ask - what am I worried about? Well, if I didn't know better, I'd think it might be time for another.....BOOBDATE!
Extra, extra, read all about it! Woman with uncooperative boob takes experimental meds! Now she's growing horns, or dew claws, or several other boobs - just kidding. Here's the good news - drain removed (whelrkj#$:O*$%&&^#O!!!!!!!!!!...and that's a REALLY, REALLY BAD WORD), no more gigantic boob pimples that cause leaky fluid (thus far, at least), AND now sporting the super sensual sports bra! That's not even a joke, either. Every time I had to put on that surgical bra I craved hair nets and chanted "gravy on those potatoes"? I feel GREAT - mostly. I've even managed to start cleaning my house again - sort of. Have I hopped on the hot tamale train to super boobdom??? I think it's a bit premature to assume everything is hunky dory just yet, especially when you hear the other news.
Bad girl, right boob! Very, very bad girl! Apparently, she does not enjoy being all hot and supple. No...she would prefer to run around all knotty and lumpy, so we grow excess scar tissue at a rate that slightly exceeds the speed of light (think of that meteor grass that grew all over Steven King in "Creepshow"). Scar tissue pushes on implant, fluids collect, trouble ensues. So, what is a girl to do? Usher in the age of medicine....how about brand new medicine that just came onto the market? How about medicine that is so new that you can't even Google it (yes, I Googled)? Yikes, Doc! Are you sure about this??? Apparently yes, since I'm picking up said experimental meds this morning for a two month trial run.
Fast forward 2 weeks....will I glow in the dark? Turn into a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle? Have super-powers? Attract hot vampires? Guess we'll have to wait and see. In the meantime, we'll keep on keepin' on. Kevin is doing a GREAT job with the other medical prescription - the boob massage. He doesn't seem to mind at all!
It's all you got and all you take
You don't have to fall to pieces
You have to prove it
Make up your pretty face it's a lovely trip - a lovely place
You got one life here to make it
For the movies
Do you feel singled out
Do you feel less than all the rest
You know it's interchangeable
That spotlight and the pain
I want to get on top of this
I want to build that trust again
And if I give it all I got I'm sure
You'd do the same
"For the Movies" - Buckcherry
Good early mornin' people! Yep, it's just shy of 6 am on this lovely Tuesday - course, I've been awake since 3:30 am. Yep, it was me who had the bright idea to fall asleep at 9:45 last night, barely 15 minutes into "The Way We Were", only to grind my teeth ALL NIGHT LONG (I'm surprised I don't have those little pointy pygmy teeth)& awaken with a nasty headache....but why, you ask - what am I worried about? Well, if I didn't know better, I'd think it might be time for another.....BOOBDATE!
Extra, extra, read all about it! Woman with uncooperative boob takes experimental meds! Now she's growing horns, or dew claws, or several other boobs - just kidding. Here's the good news - drain removed (whelrkj#$:O*$%&&^#O!!!!!!!!!!...and that's a REALLY, REALLY BAD WORD), no more gigantic boob pimples that cause leaky fluid (thus far, at least), AND now sporting the super sensual sports bra! That's not even a joke, either. Every time I had to put on that surgical bra I craved hair nets and chanted "gravy on those potatoes"? I feel GREAT - mostly. I've even managed to start cleaning my house again - sort of. Have I hopped on the hot tamale train to super boobdom??? I think it's a bit premature to assume everything is hunky dory just yet, especially when you hear the other news.
Bad girl, right boob! Very, very bad girl! Apparently, she does not enjoy being all hot and supple. No...she would prefer to run around all knotty and lumpy, so we grow excess scar tissue at a rate that slightly exceeds the speed of light (think of that meteor grass that grew all over Steven King in "Creepshow"). Scar tissue pushes on implant, fluids collect, trouble ensues. So, what is a girl to do? Usher in the age of medicine....how about brand new medicine that just came onto the market? How about medicine that is so new that you can't even Google it (yes, I Googled)? Yikes, Doc! Are you sure about this??? Apparently yes, since I'm picking up said experimental meds this morning for a two month trial run.
Fast forward 2 weeks....will I glow in the dark? Turn into a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle? Have super-powers? Attract hot vampires? Guess we'll have to wait and see. In the meantime, we'll keep on keepin' on. Kevin is doing a GREAT job with the other medical prescription - the boob massage. He doesn't seem to mind at all!
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Anything but the Argentinian Tango, please
Oh very young, what will you leave us this time
There'll never be a better chance to change your mind
And if you want this world to see a better day
Will you carry the words of love with you
Will you ride the great white bird into heaven
And though you want to last forever
You know you never will
You know you never will
And the goodbye makes the journey harder still.
"Oh Very Young" - Cat Stevens
There are days, and then there are days. And then, my friends, there are days. I wonder, do hearts break because the mind says it must be so - or does the heart break of it's own accord, & the mind comes tumbling after... like a nursery rhyme? I guess it doesn't really matter. The brain and the heart go hand in hand. I think they take turns leading like two little girls trying to dance together. Maybe my brain accidentally stepped on my heart's toes?
I woke up today and it was raining. I was so happy! The gift of time is a wonderful thing - no rushing, no mayhem, no foolishness - just time today. Time for me. Time for some good nesting. Time for coffee & deep breaths. Time for making biscuits from scratch, drizzled with real butter and honey. Time to think. It's that thinking part that gets me every time.
Do you lie? Ever? Even to yourself? I do. I tell myself that I don't miss her all that much. I tell myself that she's better off where she is - without me. I busy myself with this day and the next one, and the next - until weeks, until months, until years have flown by insignificantly. I tell myself that the world is still an important place, without her. And, then I remember. It's time to think about today. It's time to think about her. The world is not a better place without her. I think, now, for once, that this is not ok. Or fair. Or anything. And, I realize, today is a 12th. Any day that's a 12th is a bad day - it's her day. Her 17th month day. I think she wants me to miss her today - and I do. Brain - it's time for you to lead us off this 12th day dance floor, please. Anyway, I think my heart has two left feet.
There'll never be a better chance to change your mind
And if you want this world to see a better day
Will you carry the words of love with you
Will you ride the great white bird into heaven
And though you want to last forever
You know you never will
You know you never will
And the goodbye makes the journey harder still.
"Oh Very Young" - Cat Stevens
There are days, and then there are days. And then, my friends, there are days. I wonder, do hearts break because the mind says it must be so - or does the heart break of it's own accord, & the mind comes tumbling after... like a nursery rhyme? I guess it doesn't really matter. The brain and the heart go hand in hand. I think they take turns leading like two little girls trying to dance together. Maybe my brain accidentally stepped on my heart's toes?
I woke up today and it was raining. I was so happy! The gift of time is a wonderful thing - no rushing, no mayhem, no foolishness - just time today. Time for me. Time for some good nesting. Time for coffee & deep breaths. Time for making biscuits from scratch, drizzled with real butter and honey. Time to think. It's that thinking part that gets me every time.
Do you lie? Ever? Even to yourself? I do. I tell myself that I don't miss her all that much. I tell myself that she's better off where she is - without me. I busy myself with this day and the next one, and the next - until weeks, until months, until years have flown by insignificantly. I tell myself that the world is still an important place, without her. And, then I remember. It's time to think about today. It's time to think about her. The world is not a better place without her. I think, now, for once, that this is not ok. Or fair. Or anything. And, I realize, today is a 12th. Any day that's a 12th is a bad day - it's her day. Her 17th month day. I think she wants me to miss her today - and I do. Brain - it's time for you to lead us off this 12th day dance floor, please. Anyway, I think my heart has two left feet.
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