Finding the "others"

I didn't know much about Timothy Leary until today, and even now I'm not sure I know all that much about him, (I do wonder what XDell thinks of him!))...but I found a quote today which struck deeply into my heart.

“Admit it. You aren’t like them. You’re not even close. You may occasionally dress yourself up as one of them, watch the same mindless television shows as they do, maybe even eat the same fast food sometimes. But it seems that the more you try to fit in, the more you feel like an outsider, watching the “normal people” as they go about their automatic existences. For every time you say club passwords like “Have a nice day” and “Weather’s awful today, eh?”, you yearn inside to say forbidden things like “Tell me something that makes you cry” or “What do you think deja vu is for?”...

Who knows what you might learn from taking a chance on conversation with a stranger? Everyone carries a piece of the puzzle. Nobody comes into your life by mere coincidence.
Trust your instincts. Do the unexpected. Find the others…”
-T. Leary

"Find the others..."

This morning when I awoke, hours before I read the quote above, I decided to spend more time on my blog and less time on FB- it's kind of a New Years thing, except it's a birthday thing.   I realized, after reading the quote, that I had ALREADY found the others.  Here.  In MY blog world.

The funny thing is that I blog weekly for WORK.   It's not that what I write isn't interesting, but it's all work related and written to generate content and online traffic.  There is no following.   No one in their right mind is going to check in with me on a weekly basis to find out what I have to say about vehicle wraps, or window wraps, wall murals, floor graphics, pool art, building wraps, or how best to wrap an elevator.  The blog is informational, and if you are a company in need of such things the material is helpful, but it does not attract "others" the way Mayden's Voyage does, or once did.  (you are always welcome to leave me a message though :)  http://www.capitalwraps.com/blog/ )

FB is an easy thing to default to because I can do it from my phone.  I believe it is also possible to BLOG from my phone, but I haven't quite figured it out.  I will.  I expect no one to get upset if I start using my blog like a fb page...but please don't POKE me :)

I've had some big life changes happen in the last 6 months, which I have not posted on my fb page, but I will write about them here.  Obviously there are some stories I'd like to tell, and honestly, some bloggers I simply miss having conversations with.  I'll be around to visit soon.
I am so fortunate to have found "you"  :)

Islands, Ducks, and work...

  NYD was asking/writing about how none of us are an island, except we are exactly like an island in that we are trapped within our own bodies and minds/imaginations.  In the comment section, I compared us to rubber ducks floating in water...bumping into each other, but mostly floating alone.  Mom's are different to some degree because our little ones paddle along behind us, but mine are quickly leaving the nest...

I wrote:
We are like islands in the way you wrote of...individuals trapped in our own little worlds, yet floating around independently, but covered in a sort of membrane (much like a blood cell) which is permeable. We receive information and energy, as well as give information and energy. But rather than being an island, I more think of us like rubber ducks in a big tub...surrounded by water, bumping into each other on occasion :) We ARE all in this thing together, but also, at times, very much alone. (Perhaps the blood cell idea is actually better than rubber ducks, but the ducks are cuter!)

I wish, often, when I'm alone and thinking of someone one far away (blog friends, dead loved ones, or people who live in Alaska :) that there was a way to break through the barrier of time, space, and location and simply communicate. Sometimes I do speak, almost prayer like, to the person I'm thinking of. The alternative, of course, is texting- which is almost as good, except it doesn't seem to work with the dearly departed or bloggers in other countries. I guess this is why we have computers and email? ;)

Above all- what I read and feel in this post is about connection, as well as lack thereof. It's the thing that tickles my brain too...wondering how and where I fit in, especially now that my "place" in the world is radically changing as I watch my kids go and emerge into adulthood. My baby rubber ducks aren't paddling behind me anymore...

The best question I should be asking is, "WHAT do I want to do now? and How?"

Super Awesome Chocolate Chunk Ice Cream

                                                        

              "Sadness is but a wall between two gardens."

                                        -Khalil Gibran

I love the hope of the poem above, but even gardens aren't free of difficulties.  Most gardens have blooms as well as thorns, buds as well as bugs, and beauty as well as mud.   It seems lately my garden/life has been full of dying plants, drought or flood, and a sad absence of honey bees.  No doubt there are some things I could manage better, but much of what's happened in the last 18 months has been the work of mother nature- and she is a force over which -even I -have no control.

For years here (at Mayden's Voyage) I have tried hard not to "journal" my actual journey, but rather I have written reflections on situations, events, and even people who have touched my life, for good or ill, without giving away details of the back story.  I have kept a journal since I was 8.  Being able to find a place where I can write all the sordid details of my life has been an important outlet, but a very private one.   I suppose if you knew me in day to day life you might be able to read between the lines and fill in the blanks, but honestly, each of us have enough burdens of our own.  Details are heavy.  It should be enough that I find a poem I want to share because it spoke to something in my life, and then I hope it touches something in you.  If it does, beautiful, if it does not- you don't walk away concerned with details you can do nothing about.  

Currently the sadness in my life deals with connections, and wants vs needs.  Some of the connections are faulty and tremendously painful.  When you were a child, did anyone ever let you "have as much as you want" of something, like a favorite ice cream, or candy, in the hope that your over indulgent behavior would teach you a lesson?  My mom always let us have as much cake and ice cream as we wanted on our birthday.  I clearly remember feeling sick on several occasions after having more cake than I needed.   Curious how all these years later I would parallel a spiritual pain to a physical one-  both having to do with excess, and failing to be mature enough to know when to stop.   As an adult I almost never eat cake, I don't even care for it.   When am I going to mature along similar lines in the spiritual realm?  Why do I go after the emotional equivalent of 10 gallons of super awesome chocolate chunk ice cream and fail to put my spoon down when I've had 12 bites too many?  And then why do I weep when the super awesome chocolate chunk ice cream makes me throw up, stains my dress, and makes me gain 10 lbs?  It happens every time, and yes- I have done this more than once. 

I simply can't get enough of that ice cream, even though it's no good for me.  I'm spiritually lactose intolerant.  It spikes my blood sugar.  I can't just have one dish- I want the whole tub.  It makes me feel like a greedy little kid getting her way...until I don't get my way, and then I'm heartbroken.  Heartbroken for ever wanting it in the first place, yet craving it still.  The smart thing, like a person in recovery, would be to stay clear of the ice cream and cut it out of my life.   Admit I am powerless before it and that my life is unmanageable with my freezer full of the stuff.   I do admit I have a problem.  I also admit I'm not ready to fix it.   I realize this also means nothing is going to resolve or mature on my part for a while longer.   The wall of sadness between gardens is something I'm going to keep running into.   

I wonder if I can paint a mural on it?  

 

     

a last page...

It was mother's day.
The heavy iron saturated odor from his blood filled her nose, brain cells, and caused a chemical reaction in her body.   He screamed in terror for the sake of terror because he did not know the truth...he was not dying, but he felt as if he might.  She held him in her arms and looked at the face she loved beyond her own flesh, beyond her own soul.  His face, torn in 3 places, she tried to gently push back into place, trying to make his features familiar once more, but it was to no avail.  A plastic surgeon and prayer were needed, and needed soon.
He screamed, she shhhed, and he screamed above her voice in panic.   Only when she said, "Son, we need to pray." did he stop screaming, and immediately, with the epic faith of an 8 yr old, he simply said, "Dear Jesus, I need a miracle."

Unsure if there was brain damage, she sifted through her mental files and training.  She asked simple questions like, "What is your whole name?  When is your birthday?  Who is the President?  What year is it now?  Can you add 70 +30?"   He answered correctly and quickly.  A temporary peace settled over her as she thought to herself, "For now, at this moment, he is ok- at least for now- I will not lose him."

The Ambulance finally arrived.  All at once, when the paramedic came to take her son, her fear of letting go of him, and yet the intense understanding that she must trust the stranger in the blue jump suit, was a battle of wills like none other, all played out in her mind and heart.  A bloody white flag of surrender, and a faint hope her son would be in capable hands is what released her grip, but few realized how close she came to brink of madness in the seconds before.   No one ever imagined.

It was at this moment, as she stood up, she realized the blood from his head wound had soaked all the way to her flesh.  His blood.  His precious blood.  The child she knew so well externally...now she knew something of him internally.  It was awful knowledge. Red, thick, and sticky, the smell alone would leave a scar on her soul. 

Backbone and Mirth

My best friends mom, N,  was diagnosed with Parkinsons Disease several years ago.  She fought with meds, determination, and a profoundly defiant personality.  She had been a charge nurse for ages and she knew what she was up against.  Refusing dialysis when her kidneys began to shut down she knew would be a painful choice, but it would end her suffering more quickly and in a natural way.

During the last week, despite 2 seizures, she drifted in and out of consciousness- but would smile when you held her hand and spoke to her.  She had been an active member of her church, was in the choir for many years, and had been married to my best friend's dad for 38 years.   She was well loved, respected, a fabulous cook, took charge of anything entrusted to her, and was not a woman to be trifled with.   She was full of 2 things, backbone, and mirth.

Yesterday, barely awake, her husband held her hand and asked her how she was.  Her reply was, "I don't like it, but it's ok."   A little later he told her he was going to sit by the bed and read the newspaper, and her last words were, "If you are going to read the paper, then I am going to sing."
And sure enough, for about 10 seconds she sang as best she could, an indecipherable song she had hidden in her heart.
We lost her this morning.

When her husband told me this story I was at a loss for words.  Utterly and woefully trapped in a body which was actively dying, in tremendous pain from the toxins building up in her system, unable to move, feed herself, or take care of her own basic needs...and yet there was ONE thing she could do.
She could sing.

She didn't complain.  She didn't weep- even with the understanding her moments were numbered.  She didn't yell, or fuss, or cry for more time.  She sang.  She faced her last hours with a song in her heart, and a tune on her lips- inspite of the disease which had ravaged her body and taken her years too soon.
She sang.

It occurs to me, as I struggle with my own mom and her illnesses, kids in college, and moments of pain, heartache, and difficulty...as well as the beautiful fact that I am well, can run 3 miles, have never been in better shape, can cook, clean, go to the beach, sit in the sun, and love with abandon...
I do not sing enough.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LW0WA8OSXZg

Sunset at the beach~

Mr. Sun, please stay with me,
Just 15 minutes more, I plead-
But He sinks behind the waves and sea,
Other places he must be.

While waking faces look ahead,
Stretch and yawn, climb out of bed,
The moon and stars have slipped away-
And my Mr. Sun begins their day.

He never pauses when I ask,
My pleading does not alter task-
Yet at the dawning, bright and wild,
His whispers golden, "Love you child!"

Miracles

"Miracles do not, in fact, break the laws of nature."
C. S. Lewis

However, lies full of malice and corrupted intent will break your heart.
I suppose, at the sum of brokenness, lies a silver lining of truth- that one's heart is tender enough to actually be broken, and for that we can be grateful.  The shards of a shattered bottle can be repurposed for a beautiful stained glass window, or melted down and and made anew.
The bitter sting of betrayal is doubled when you realize a "friend" was NOT a friend, and all the nagging doubts you had about their true intentions, words, stories, and motives prove, yet again, your gut instincts were dead on.  ALWAYS listen to your gut.

The miracle of my day is knowing one simple truth...Love is never wasted.  What you plant with love always yields a crop, although it may not bear the fruit you were expecting.  Love is an energy which always comes back to you, and it heals, mends, soothes, and comforts.  Our brokenness is akin to a dry cracked patch of earth, and love is like a slow steady rain, followed by warm sun, and flowers will grow where it was once barren.
Love is never wasted, and forgiveness is a miracle.
May my life be full of both.

Writing for money, or writing for love...

One is a job, the other my vice-

The former I must focus on,

The latter simply spills out of my life.

My little bloggy writing corner,

I wish I could move and live in here-

Within these walls of words and friends,

Resting in laughter and the sharing of tears.

So much has happened in the last 18 months-

Good, bad, trauma, and new beginnings.

Life stuffed me in a blender and went on spin...

Most days my head is swimming.

But alas, very recently, I took a big step,

A step which will change my life's direction-

Unlike me, it was done for self preservation,

And in the end- brings health and protection

I'm on the mend, I promise you-

And no more surgery for a year or more

And I insist to dust off my bloggy world

Thus finding my way to my core!

Spirt, Soul, Body...

This morning I heard someone say, "You are a SPIRIT, with a SOUL, who lives in a BODY."


I often think of myself in the exact reverse...which is to say I  incorrectly view myself as being a Body, with a soul, and a Spirit.    When we change the order and correctly understand we are eternal Spirits FIRST- doesn't that change your outlook on life?     We are all Spirits...each of us created by divine and almost indescribable material.  Our Spirit is eternal...and will endure in joy, love, and pain, or we will endure in misery, despair, and pain.
Pain- in our physical form- can not be avoided.    How we respond to our pain reflects the way we have chosen to feed and nurture our Spirit, as well as the way have fed our bodies and minds.

Watching garbage on television always makes me feel depressed- it has for as long as I can remember.   TV shows where people are screaming at each other over children (Maury..."I'm NOT the baby's daddy!), or programs with over the top violence, are akin to eating fast food 3 days in a row.  It just makes me sick.  
However, a long walk in the woods, or time spent in an art museum, or hours spent reading a good book give me a boost of joy and energy.   Why is it I so often deprive myself of Spirit food- and then wonder why I don't feel good?

I think the Body is the weakest of our 3 components.   It  needs the quickest attention, but it should serve as guide book to the greater parts of ourselves.   Starve the body and it will die slowly.   Feed it a poor diet and the organs will stop working smoothly.   Just as each of our bodies are different (perhaps you can drink orange  juice, but I can not)- so are our Spirit and Soul.   Part of our journey in human form, I think, is to discover what food is best for our particular Spirit.    I know first hand some Spirits need to paint, others need to write, others need to swim, or run, or plant gardens.  Some Spirits need to create music, or sing, or make beautiful things with needles and thread or yarn.  Some Spirits need to be bee keepers :)

Some people fail to recognize they are a Spirit at all.   I have seen those beings, those who do not know what they are and refused to ever look beyond their bodies and their earthly treasures.   I see people everyday who have no idea what they are really made of and cripple the Spirit...but the Spirit endures past the life of the body.   I know for certain this is true.

One evening, while in the ER with a family member, I heard a man moaning in abject misery just beyond the curtain next to us.  He was being attended to, but when the nurse would leave his side (and the hospital was very busy) he would cry out as loud as he could, "Help! Help!", and someone would run back and he would shout about needing pain medicine.    What they couldn't hear after they left was his mutterings, which were "There is no God, no more church...next time only gasoline."  He repeated this over and over.   I knew he was planning his physical death.  He was unkind to every person who tried to help him.  He was rude.  He was selfish.  He was also in a difficult position of living alone and being very sick.   His kidneys were failing, his legs were full of open wounds.   His Spirit was so starved and ignored it seemed to me a darkness had settled over his section of the ER.   His condition was worse than pathetic...it was hellish.   His neglect of himself, both Spiritually and physically had led him to a very dark place.    I actually prayed for a quick passing for him, because to me- he seemed beyond healing of any sort.

I am keenly aware today I am a Spirit first.  I have known this for a long time, but I didn't fully understand it until this morning.   I looked in the mirror and saw beyond my reflection.  For a split second I saw the divine and hard to describe material I am made of.  Even more shocking was to look around me and see the Spirit of each person I encountered.

Today I am feeding my Spirit good stuff.   Hopefully- if you read this and understand what I mean...you are feeding on good stuff too~

Love to each of you ♥

From the Past...but worth repeating~

I wrote this back in 2007...and wow.  So much has changed, yet the landscape hasn't been altered enough for me to not recognize the writer, or remember where I was when I penned (typed?) this.  5 years have passed...the words still ring true~


"What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset."
- Crowfoot, (1811-1890)
a Native American warrior of the Blackfoot tribe.

I guess I'm pondering where the time goes...
But Perhaps the REAL question is, where does life go?

Behind us- stretched out forever like the highway in a rearview mirror, and before us...vast and expansive like the ocean or the desert.

If we were outside of time and space, as some think we will be one day, things would look differently to us.
Grief would not have the stonghold it now posesses.

Love would be grander- because, as I think about it, love is the one thing that will endure...will flourish~
I also think that love is planted while we live, and while we reap the benefits of love as we are living- I suspect the greater harvest comes even later.

I'm not sure how to explain this...except to say that at the ripe old age of 37 (stop laughing!)- I planted seeds long ago in the past- that bear a greater crop today than I ever imagined possible.
What if I hadn't taken the time to get to know that person? What if I hadn't apologized? What am I missing out on because I was an ass sometimes?

Life
Love
Friendship~
Pride
selfishness
emptiness~

The planting time is short.
The harvest, good or ill, is lasting. Love endures, and so does emptiness.

The flash of a firefly is beautiful and quick, but can be seen from quite a distance.
And if given a choice- I'd rather lose myself in a sunset than disappear into the dark.

Here's to life...and to love...and friends...and to not being an ass whenever possible.

:)

Beautiful Youth~

You had no idea how perfect you were-
No idea how to hold on to peachful lusciousness.
I see the photos of perfection and I weep-
but only for a moment.

The aging peach is worth something-
Still sweet- still younger than prune juice....
but older than strawberries picked in may-
A fragrant rose yet.

Some I see are no longer flowers- or roses or fruit.
They are the vine itself, or the tree well rooted.
Beautiful, strong, weathered, still perfect,
While others fade out.

And why are some resilient?
Disease and poor tending make a difference.

Wisdom with time is far lovelier still~
and what I long for in these middle years.

None are exempt from time or mother nature-

Yet some are still glorious in advanced age..

And some bitter- in beautiful youth.

I want the best of both.   

"Tomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes in it."
-Lucy Maud Montgomery 


I am ready for tomorrow...

BOOBS: for sex or food?

The brew-haha over the Breast Feeding mom on Time Magazine didn't disgust me, or make me proud, or even surprise me all that much.  My split-second initial reaction was "Why does a 6 yr old have his mouth on that woman's boob, and why is he standing in a preschool chair?   Next, as my eyes drifted to the title "Are You Mom Enough",I felt a tiny urge to slap the 105 lb woman whose posture and look seemed quizzical and defiant.   I myself, being a well endowed woman, could feed an entire nation of small babies with just ONE boob if I thought it would have made a difference*, but sure as hell I'd have cut the kindergartners OFF!   (Otherwise, this leads me to thinking of the awkward conversation I'd have with the Kindergarten teacher about Johnny's feeding schedule and making sure he drinks ALL of his pumped human milk at lunch time,...blech!)

 The loud and mixed public reaction surprised me more than anything.   The above photo was TACKY.  However, just about anything I walk past on the news stand/magazine isle is TACKY.   People have lost their common sense, which of course explains anything about TV programs involving Housewives with more money and mascara than they know what to do with.  This also explains Coco. On a public beach in Miami.  Seriously.

Later when I discovered the little boy in the TIME  photo was only 3 (almost 4, but tall for his age?), I started thinking about the creepy moms who put lipstick and fake eyelashes and press-on nails on their little girls and put them on stage at the tender age of 3.    How would you like to be nursing this precious little face plastered with Maybeline and Cover Girl?   I've never tried to get lipstick off my nipple before.  (Wait, there was that one time, but NO children were involved!)

I breastfed both my kids, and I did it as privately as possible.  To me it was an intimate time of caring for my children in a way that only I could.   In that phase of my life I did think of situations and times when a mothers milk was all a child needed to be nourished, and she did so for as long as nature intended.   Weaning usually happens when a child develops teeth and wants something more solid than milk.   Baby birds learn to fly, baby cows move on to hay and grass, human children move on to cheerios, cheese puffs and mountain dew.

I don't blame a mom and dad for wanting to hold on to their babies for as long as they can...because they indeed grow up SO fast.  I agree with families and Dr.s who think kids are pushed to grow up quickly and are over involved in a myriad of things to keep them busy...mostly because parents are afraid they aren't good enough at parenting to begin with.   The TIME magazine article didn't help much, well, except for their bottom line I'm sure.

We live in an insane time.  I wear more clothing when I take a shower than Coco wears on a public (and non nude) beach.   Kids on Toddlers and Tiaras wear more make up in one photo shoot than I wear all year.   And if I ever figure out what a "Snookie" is and how it got pregnant, then you'll know I've been kidnapped and chained to a tv and forced at gun point to watch damn Yankees ruin their livers.

Breast feeding, like reading a good book, or kissing your favorite someone, is a pastime a person can do anywhere, but not something we should demand the rest of the world to take part in, or insist they watch, or take tacky photos of to sell magazines in the name of "public discourse".    Furthermore, asking the ridiculous question "Are You Mom Enough" is only going to drive flaming arrows and razor blades into the hearts of mothers who desperately wonder every day if what they do is enough, and are they doing it right, and how screwed up will their kids be when they really do make a mess of things.  

As for the lame ass loser moms who don't give a shit and never think twice about rum in the mountain dew to make their 6wk old baby sleep through the night, this article has no effect.   And their boobs, trust me, are only used for making more babies, not feeding them.

Maybe I should write an article for TIME  which exposes the truth about boobs... which are good for both sex, AND food.

 BUT I doubt though anyone would read it :)  It would be full of common sense, and thus boring.  


*breast size has NOTHING to do with the amount of milk a woman can produce.   It was a joke.   But I do  "look" like I could feed a nation of hungry babies

**post edited after re-reading and editing.   Who knows how great a 3rd draft might be!   (my mantra to my kids...always WRITE something 3 times....always.)  

Long Overdue

I can not believe Valentines Day has come and gone...
It is my favorite "holiday", especially with my bloggers, but the day is passed- along with many other days I've missed since the end of December, or even as far back as August when I lost my father in law.
Trying to describe the 7 weeks mom was in the hospital with a few words would be akin to trying to describe the horror of the Civil War in a sentence or 2.    I just can't, aside from telling you it was exhausting, heart wrenching at times, and thankfully- over, at least for now.
After 3 near death experiences and a small army of Dr.s,  mom is out of the hospital and in a lovely assisted living place not far from here.  It was hard to move her away from her apartment, yet the absolute right thing to do.   Her body is much older than that of 62 yr old woman, and yet- that is her age.   I shudder to think of being in her condition or location in less than 20 years, but I don't think that will be my fate.   Hopefully by then I will have tracked down Billy Idol and will be chasing him around with a walker?  lol!

Reflections on my Mom...

This is a re-post from several years ago.   Mom passed away last night, she was 63.  I will miss her dearly-

My mom has been ill, and is now in the hospital.   For the last 3 years, in addition to caring for our families, my sisters and I have been taking care of the lady who brought us into the world...
She is not well.

Last week as I stood at her kitchen sink and washed her dishes I discovered 2 knives she had bought many years ago in her marriage to my dad.    The knife distributor was a door to door salesman who had "everlasting" blades in his bag, and he was selling top quality cutlery which "would last her a lifetime".   It donned on me, as I stood there, in mom's government subsidized apartment, these knives were all she had to show for her 38 year marriage.   My sister reminded me that "I" was also something to show for all those years.   Sigh.   I felt tears in my eyes.   Somehow, the 6 of us didn't, or couldn't, quite validate the importance of the woman who was sick and dying before our very eyes.

She is better, but things are changing.    Unlike my beloved Foamy, I can't move mom in with us and give her all the physical and medical attention she deserves.   Her needs are great and beyond my skill.   She understands and accepts this fact.

As I move through this period of grief, and it is grief- even though she is still here, I lose a small part of her every day...I want to write about the things she has said and done which imparted wisdom, laughter, and joy to me from my early years until the present.   Even yesterday she made me laugh!

She is allergic to percocet, and she said, "It makes me itch like a monkey with a flea!"
LMAO!
I know you do not KNOW my mom, but that is one of the funniest things she's ever said to me!    And I have seen her itch on percocet...so maybe that's part of why the phrase is so funny :)

When my Grandmother (mom's mom) saw me for the first time as a baby, Grandma said she saw a halo around MY head.    She told my mom I was special.   Before last night I had NEVER heard that story.     I'm not sure my Grandmother or my mom were/are right- because I have certainly made a TON of mistakes and bad choices...but my mom swears the story is true.    I am NOT an angel.   I am ONLY holy if Jesus has made me so, and I feel very far from all those things these days.

Eternal life has less value to me than this present life, and forgive me if I sound like a doubter...because I am not.   I do believe in God, and I think He has a special place for souls like that of my mother.   I feel certain life exists beyond this dim plane- and people I have loved deeply have made it clear to me their love still exists for me- and is extended to me, despite being in a form I can no longer hug or touch.    LOVE is an ENERGY.    Period.   Figure out what ENERGY is and can do and you will understand what I mean.

My mom used to sing nursery rhymes to us as a kid...one was "Sam, Sam, the garbage man- washed his face with a frying pan, brushed his teeth with a monkeys tail, and died with a toothache---in his..heel"

she always paused before saying the word "heel"- knowing full well we'd think that didn't quite rhyme...

???"Died with a toothache- and went to hell...."???

Our Dentists ALWAYS said we had the BEST TEETH!

I so love my mom.

More soon :)

The surgery went smoothly, and it seems I can type fairly well and with almost no pain now that the bandages are off.   The recovery though, as I feared, has been a bitch.
I am simply a miserable person when I'm "limited".  "Limited" by pain, or a handicap, or being lost in an unfamiliar city- I'm miserable.
Add to the misery of hoping the regular things will be taken care of, like the shopping, and cooking, only to find my "helpers" sitting on the sidelines and waiting for instructions...as they always do.

I wonder if I died how long it would take before someone realized they'd need to write a grocery list and go to kroger?   I suppose if I actually died family and friends would jump in and handle a multitude of motherly tasks for a period of time, at least until the life insurance kicked in- then they'd order take out until they ran out of money?   I want to get better soon, but I don't want to return to the castle and be the ruling queen just yet.     Unfortunately it is my castle (or hive?) and no one else knows how to run it smoothly.   For now I'm trying to find contentment in the fact I can wash my own hair (with a water proof glove) and dry it with only a little help.

More soon...and hopefully I'll be back to normal...or whatever I was :)

Left Handed Fun and Fumbles...

With the knowledge my right hand will be of little use to me after the carpel tunnel surgery next week- I've been trying to see what I can and can NOT do with my left hand...I mean, there are people who have lost limbs via accidents and injuries who play basket ball, and play drums, and cook, and make beautiful paintings holding a paint brush in their teeth for heaven sake!  Surely this minor surgery will not be a big deal for me?

The results are comical and somewhat humiliating.   I can brush my hair, and my teeth, and put on most items of clothing.  However, a bra is going to be tricky.   For fun I tried on a sports bra one handed and it worked out ok- but it's amazing how much twisting and jiggling, and adjusting is necessary to make it fit properly with TWO working hands- much less one.   I'm sure I would have won a "funniest video" award if it had been on tape...thank GOD it IS NOT on tape!
Buttoning blue jeans is right out.   Blow drying my hair is almost impossible.  Putting on mascara with my left hand is tedious.  Making tea (thankfully) is no problem.  Opening items with a twist off top requires me to sit down and use my legs as vice to hold whatever needs to be opened.  Texting left handed is a hoot!  (if you have free texting, text me- I'll gladly email you my number).   I'm a rabid texter with both hands and I can write paragraphs easily in a matter of seconds, but left handed my answers look like a 2nd grader got my phone and started drinking.
Text from daughter:  Mom, what are we having for dinner?
My answer, left handed: Wwe 3e having trky w greebeans.   Ughhhhhb

Something about the "alt" key makes the letters A and R the number 3.   Don't try to understand it, but trust me, it's a disaster when I text left handed.   A touch screen phone would be a big help- but I'm not sure that's in the budget right now.

Of course I won't be driving for several days after surgery- so I won't be a menace on the road.   Showering is ok, but washing my hair will take extra time.  I'm thinking I just need to go to the beauty college for a cheap wash, dry, and style.  Maybe they will do something jazzy with my barbie hair?   I'm sure by Friday after surgery I'll be happy with anything they want to do.   (the friend who does my hair lives about 20 minutes away, and I'm not going to be up for the drive- but the beauty college is 2 miles from my house).
I am, thankfully, proficient at all other bathroom requirements.  'Nough said about that!

I tried writing the alphabet with my left hand...then a complete paragraph.  It's mind blowing how perfectly well I know how to write letters and form words, and how idiotic and elementary my handwriting looked when I was finished.   I would have guessed it was written by a 7 yr old if I hadn't written it myself.   AND to make matters worse- I couldn't focus on the content of what I was trying to write because I was focusing so hard on HOW I was forming each letter and word.   It was maddening.   I will not be signing any checks, or sending cards with handwritten notes for a while after surgery.   (unless I can sign the card as if it was from my 6 yr old nephew Asher :)

Cooking is a slow and arduous affair with one hand.  Cleaning is too.  Playing Angry birds kind of stinks left handed!  (Poor me- not!).   Using the remote for the TV is a skill I have mastered, as well as opening Dove chocolates, sipping hot tea, reading my Kindle (and other books), and feeding my bunny.   It looks like I have all the important stuff figured out :)

For fun, try not to use your dominate hand for just 15 minutes during your day.   I was going to say try not to  use it all day, but that seems unfair.   Just 15 minutes.  (Hint, open the wine bottle before you start the 15 minute exercise- you will be glad you did- lol!)  

I can not complain.  This will be a temporary set back and will make my life better when it's over.  I'm sure the real adventure will be even more interesting (like putting in and taking out my contact lenses- I haven't tried that one yet), but I probably won't blog about it much---I hate having to hunt and peck!   But who knows- I might! :)

cora.blue@hotmail.com

Up To Date at Mayden's Voyage

                                     (Mug says, "I love you this BIG".  It's at least 4 cups!)

The Carpel Tunnel:  My surgery is on November 22nd.   Life with one arm (for a few weeks) will be interesting, but I always like a challenge.   I will absolutely enjoy and take advantage of the "down time"...even though I can only sit still for so long :)   I will NOT have to cook or participate in any of the Thanksgiving madness that typically swirls around me during this time of the year.  This holiday will ACTUALLY be a holiday for me...a break, a time out.   However, not being able to write will be hardship for me.  I enjoy the process.   I imagine I will give my left hand a shot at putting words to page, and I wouldn't be surprised if I mastered it.

The Job:  About 2 years ago, via my best friend, I met a friend of hers who owned a vehicle graphics company.   When he asked me, "What do you do?" and I said, "I'm a writer"- he was curious.   I sent him to Mayden's Voyage as well as my Coraspondence blog, and told him of my work as the Public Relations rep for a child who needed a transplant- and I handled all press and media material for her campaign- as well as articles I've written, newsletters I've published (big and small), curriculum material for pre-school, and even an obituary.   Over time he went and read my stuff.   He liked it.

This Spring he approached me about writing web and blog content for his company web site.  I was nervous to accept at first, mostly because I knew NOTHING about vehicle wraps, but I was curious- and I was a good enough friend to be comfortable going with him to visit job sites and LEARN about what his company does.  Thus my "getting paid to write" era began- and as of yesterday I have written 28 blog posts about Capital Wraps ( www.capitalwraps.com) look for the blog.   I'm also working on a blog for my brothers law firm in California, but would like to add other companies to my writing list and perhaps turn this into a career.   Several years ago Blogs were seen as (and can be) places where people vent or keep an online journal.   However, for a company, a blog on a business website is the VOICE of your company.   It's cheap and informative advertising.   The company already owns the website, why not give customers a place to read and get a feel for what the company does?

While I am definitely not able to pay the mortgage with my part time writing jobs and my bee keeping skills, I am earning a little to put aside for me.   Not to mention the validation I get from doing something I love- and someone in the world actually paying me to do it.  (and it being legal- lol!)

I've been kept from my personal blogs for a number of reasons.  I've discovered being away from this community is a detriment to myself, and I love it when I'm here.   This place is home.  The friends I've made here have a significance and value that can not be replaced.  Upon re-discovering a printed email (written in 2006) from a blog friend last week, and him being in so many of my thoughts- I realized I was missing out on something important.   I want to return to this community with the same passion I had early on.  I'm tired of facebook, tired of reading the endless dribble from people who have "friended" me because we went to the same high school.   I should delete my facebook page and start one called "Mayden America" and just use it as a marketing tool for my honey and home-made items.   I like the way FB keeps me in contact with distant family, but there is something kind of creepy about the social networking sites in general.   FaceBook is the fast/frozen food version of a BLOG.     Give me the real deal...the grilled steak and baked potato, or the stuffed turkey and all the veggies...keep the hamburger and fries.   Yes, I see where and how there is a place for both, but just as with eating out, it should be the exception and not the rule.   Same with blogging.   If you have something worth saying- sit down and pound it out.   Otherwise, I'm not really interested in anyone's laundry and To-Do lists.   My time is a little more valuable than all that.

Hugs and more soon.   I'm itching to write about our local prison and judicial system, which I've seen a bit of here lately due to the arrest of a childhood friend.   Prior to 2 weeks ago I had never been inside the front doors of our local correction center.   It's been an eye opener to say the least!
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Bunnies and things...

A little over a year ago my daughter started asking for a pet bunny.   She found a farmer in a nearby county who sold rabbits...and she and her father went over to pick one out.   They came home with 2.   They were the sweetest, tiny, most precious Holland Lop bunnies I have ever seen.   Fortunately they were both girls- which has it's own set of problems, but at least there won't be tons of baby bunnies running around at my house.  (although, as sweet as this one is- I don't think I'd mind).

My bunny is named "Kitty"- mostly because she liked to snuggle like a kitten when she was a baby.   My daughters bunny was a rambunctious little creature and was always looking for an escape route- which she finally found.   Kitty remains with us and is undoubtedly my bunny.   She still likes to be held and petted and I spend about 30 minutes a day with her on the deck.   She is litter trained and definitely enjoys the freedom
of the closed in deck.  
 

Yesterday I was diagnosed with Carpel Tunnel in my right arm/wrist- and need to wear a brace for most of the day.  Unfortunately I probably waited to late to see the Dr. because the nerve damage has begun to weaken the muscles in my hand.  On a positive note the surgery is not terribly complicated and will undo most of the damage.   While the condition is painful at times it's mostly irritating, and the way the brace limits my daily function is aggravating.  I feel fortunate to have a good Dr. close by who is taking care of me.   By this time next week I will have had a nerve study and that will determine what we do next.

I need to tell you all about my newest job- and actually getting paid to WRITE :)   More soon, but I hope this post finds you all well.   I send my best to each of you ♥

The vibrancy of Autumn

It's always hard to write a post like this one...hard because I mostly want to inspire and share light.   Yet, even the darkest moments of life have their purpose, and death is indeed part of life.  

Grady, Paw-paw, passed away just over a month ago on Aug 24th.   His health took a heartbreaking turn for the worse a few days after he returned from the nursing home- and in less than 3 days he died.   The kids and I drove to the coast in a hurry on Tuesday the 23rd and stood around Paw-paws bed to say goodbye.  We cried, we told him we loved him, we re-told funny stories about times he made us laugh or feel special- kind of like a toast...and even though he was unable to speak to us, I am certain he heard every word.
I am also certain he knew how very much he was loved by all of us.

The following day, when he passed, his entire family was standing around his bed.  His son and daughter were holding his hands, the kids their dad and I were at the foot of his bed, Granny was at the head of the bed.   We were all there, surrounding him, and at the same time letting him go.   He took his last breath within a circle of   ones who loved him, and entered a new realm of beauty and peace.   There was no pain in his expression, no fear, no worry...just a peaceful and rested appearance.

The memorial service would be held that Friday.   There were reasons for the hurry, as a hurricane was bearing down on us.   We were 15 minutes south of Morehead City and Ireene was due to make landfall in Morehead the following morning.  When we came home from the service on Friday we literally boarded up the last set of windows on the front of the house, filled up as many water pitchers as we could find, and hunkered down.

It was a wild and stormy night.   Having never endured a Cat 2 hurricane before I was both excited and nervous.   Had the circumstances been different I would have been a little more jovial, but as it was, there was a pall over the house- a heavy sadness, a grief which hung about each of us like a heavy cloak.   At times it was easy to even forget the storm was brewing outside because something bigger was going on inside.  However, when the 90 mph winds whipped around the house, and threw debris, and drove the rain sideways...and then the power went out...Ireene had our full attention.   In a way, when the electricity was cut, it was kind of a relief.  We had to look up from our individual sadness and focus on something else.   Unfortunately we were shaking off the stupor of heartache only to deal with the terror of a large and powerful hurricane.  

As it goes we were, thankfully, unscathed by the storm.   We may have lost a shingle?  All in all we were blessed and protected.   Most of the food in the fridge had to go, but the stuff in the freezer was still frozen after 24 hours.

The next 4 weeks are mostly a blur.   Mr. Mayden and I took turns being with his mom at the coast, but we were both finally home by the 3rd week of September.   The one month mark of Grady's passing was last weekend.   This weekend was my son's 18th birthday party.    I'm still in something of a blur.  

I look forward to brighter days.   The oppressive heat of the summer was broken this weekend.   I'm ready to feel the vibrancy of  Autumn, both with my eyes, and with my heart.