Sweet Child O’ Mine, A Meeting with an Old Friend

She was drunk. She had hoped it would help her sleep. She had hoped it would help her to be able to finally climb into the bed that she had shared with her husband of over 20 years with. She was so tired. So fucking tired. Her husband had been convicted of hurting a child. Her youngest son had run off in response, while her oldest stayed by her side. She’d been barely holding it together for too long. Living in a little cocoon. But at that moment of trying to get into bed, she finally broke down. Finally, she laid on the floor and wailed. Her oldest son, her child, her baby, had to see her in her weakest state. Drunk, and sobbing uncontrollably because she couldn’t get into the bed she had shared with a man who was now in jail, as he would be for years to come. She begged her son to call her mother. He did, while taking care of her as well. He waited for his grandma to get there and put his mother to bed, so she could get some rest after living a nightmare that actually came true.

She walks into the bar and I see her as she once was, when we were just teens. Striding towards me, she is statuesque, blonde, violet blue eyes, and wearing a huge smile. As she zips to the table, so many men turn their heads to look at her. Some of them appear to get whiplash as a result. She’s a ravishing beauty after all that she’s been through. We hug for what seems like forever. We haven’t seen each other in 26 years, but you’d never know it, by the sounds of our laughter and the constant exchanges of “I love you.” I think to myself, “Oh my God how did I ever let this light out of my life?” We were best friends at one time. But life pulls us in different directions. Even though we lived just a few towns away from each other, our lives were busy. She was married, and so was I. We’d each had two children. We were part of our community, and our kids kept us plenty busy.

I’ve already ordered her a Bud Light. I’m sipping white zinfandel and water, because I have to drive home after our meeting. We sit down and start talking. She goes first because she has a story to tell. One that is difficult to hold in. I let her have the floor. I let her go, and let go she does.

But this story is not about her ex-husband. This story is not about her sons. This story is about her. A beautiful woman, that was my best friend during our teenage years. She and I fell away as high school friends often do. We find lovers that we marry and plan on staying with for the rest of our lives. We have children that mean everything to us, that make us better somehow. That we in turn make better by raising them up right. We become involved in the places that we live, in our communities, in our children’s activities, in our lives. It becomes our lives and nothing else matters. But then the unthinkable happens: your husband is accused of taking advantage of a young woman.

She told me that she knew that the light had switched in his brain somehow. They’d been married for 20 years and he started becoming abusive – mentally at first, and then physically. But she had been living with the mental abuse, or as she called it, “passive-aggressiveness” for so long she knew how to diffuse it. For some reason though, this time she no longer could. He started hitting her. Why after so long? She has no idea. But he did hit her. He made her feel small, like she was inadequate. He turned into a stranger. Someone she didn’t even know. She stayed though, for her kids, for the idea that they were “pillars” of the community. They took good care of their kids and the kids of their friends.

When her husband eventually went to prison, she hid herself away. Her youngest son started his senior year of high school shortly thereafter. He told her that he was dealing with some aggression at a home football game. That was what brought her out of her funk. She said to her self, “no one is going to make my child pay for the sins of my husband.” So the next football game, she went. She dealt with the animosity, so that her son didn’t have to. She is one tough momma bear and she loves her boy immensely. While she was there she saw a good friend of the family who, taking her hand said, “If you need anything, anything at all, call me.” She looked at him and knew that he meant every word he said.

She did eventually call him, and they became inseparable. He brought her back to life. He helped her figure out her way, helped her figure out how to continue to take care of her boys, even though she was damaged. He helped her to realize that the man she had married all those years ago was no long the same man. He helped her figure out that the men that were contacting her with offers of help, were only wanting to take advantage of her. To fuck her, own her, hurt her even more, and then disregard her like yesterday’s trash. If she didn’t have this wonderful, flawed man in his own right by her side during this time, who knows what mistakes she might have made.

She finalized her divorce as quickly as possible. She lived in utter poverty for two years. Sometimes, without even electricity, warm water, heat, or food. In short, all the damn things that we normally take for granted. She had nothing. Every time she went to an interview, they would uncover her history and the job offer would disappear. She would think to her self, “They have no reason to judge me. I am NOT the sins of my husband. I am ME!”

Taking a break, we both look at the crucifixes around our necks. As our conversations have progressed, we keep touching them throughout. This recognition turns our conversation towards the topic of faith, and therapy, but mostly faith. We realize as we hold hands across the table and cry, that our faith is what’s gets us through. I told her I haven’t taken my crucifix off for 14 years. When I had to have an MRI recently, it killed me to remove it for even that hour. She told me that her original crucifix broke, and she found herself lost without it. She then acquired the one that she wears now, and she finds herself touching it daily. It’s her center, as it is mine. She says that without her boyfriend, her faith and her therapist, she would have never made it through this part of her life.

She’s grown. She’s changed. Yet she’s still the wonderful and fun girl she always was. With a twinge of jealousy, she looks at me and says, “You are so lucky. You get to grow old with the man that loves you. My ex-husband stole that from me.” She does tell me though that she has been redeemed with her new love. The man who simply took her hand at a football game, and said if you ever need me, call. God, she is so glad that she did.

I think she’ll make it, I do. I think she has found her happiness. She’s found it in her children and in this new man that accepts her for what she is – good woman, with a tough past. But then again, who doesn’t have a tough past? Who doesn’t have a broken road? Isn’t it astonishing when that broken road leads us to the right one?

As I leave her, we hug some more. We once again exchange our “I love you’s.” We promise to not leave 26 years between us again. And we haven’t. We talk almost daily. She is of my heart and one of the strongest women I know. I love her now and forever. What her husband did, doesn’t define her, or her grown up babies. I admire her strength and the ferocity of her love. She is a good woman, a strong woman. And she always will be.

***Edited by t from aslongasimsinging.wordpress.com. Read him. The man rocks my world, and makes my pretty words more beautiful with his touch. This may be my last post for awhile. I promise to come back. Just not sure when. Take care my dear readers and followers.***

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You’ll Swoop from Incredible Highs

‎”You’ll swoop from incredible highs when you’re just glad to be alive, to those lows when you wish you were dead. And just when you start thinking that you’ve accepted who you are, that changes, too. Because who you are is not permanent”
— Andrew Davidson (The Gargoyle) 

I’m really busy today and don’t have much time to post but I’ve been reading one of the most incredible books. It’s called The Gargoyle. t from As Long As I’m Singing wrote a top 10 book list that I’m trying to work my way through. Of course I had to read a tragic love story first, because it’s the kind of girl that I am. I LOVE love. Especially impossible love. Redemptive love.

I’ve been thinking a lot about redemption this week. About changes. About why I’m still here. About how I could have killed a 19 year old boy that was just going to get a pizza. About my life. About slowing down. About losing two best friends. About, everything. And re-connection. And love. Of course about love. I forgot about the love for myself. The one person that I’m supposed to support I forgot about. Me.

I’ve been so busy flitting from one shiny thing to another I forgot to take care of myself. To stay in touch with old friends. I forgot about God too. I forgot to pray. I forgot to ask for guidance and forgiveness. I forgot my way. Do I believe my car accident was divine intervention? Yes, I do. I know it was. I could have killed a boy. I could have died. I looked down to fuck with my stupid phone and that was all it took.

I have no lasting injuries from the accident. I actually slept better that night than I had in years. The next day, as I lay in bed listening to Roger get ready for the day, I wrote one of my best posts about comfort. The comfort of him. Of his being in the next room. It really was one of my best. I took a pain pill and drifted back to sleep. Roger went to hang out with my mom. They’ve known each other longer than we’ve been married. It’s a long story of how we met. Some day I’ll tell it to you, I’m sure. After I woke up I called the young man that I hit to make sure he was okay. He was and I thanked God.

I’m still thanking God. For the fact that I was injured and he didn’t have a scratch on him. I thanked God for that young man having the where with all to call 911 while I sat in my car in shock. I thank God for that young man, although visibly shaken, kneeling down and holding my hands while I sat in my car. I thank God for that young man that pulled me out of my stupor and my car. For standing in the middle of the road with me and waiting for the police. He and I didn’t let go of each other.  I asked him how old he was and he told me 19. I reached up and touched his face, and said, “My God, you’re a baby. I could have killed you.” After that the police, ambulance and Roger arrived. It was chaos and I remember nothing.

It took a friend telling me she was worried about me to make me realize that maybe there really is something more to my incredible highs and my incredible lows. My impulsiveness. My need to be always doing something and never slowing down. It’s all about fear. Fear that there is something wrong with me. Fear of not being happy. Fear of growing old. Fear of getting fat again. Fear of fear. Fear of love. Fear of not being loved. Fear of not being pretty. Fear of being full of myself. Fear, fear, fear. Fucking stupid fear!

Talked to Harry and Rory and told them that I forgot about God in all of this. Said I needed to pray. I’ve been praying so hard, it hurts. It doesn’t mean that I’m going to get all Christian up in here and stop saying the F word.  I am a Christian and I always have been. It took me smashing my head up against my driver’s side window and the thought of possibly killing a young man to realize that I need to slow down.

The accident was a divine intervention, yes. It was my epiphany. I’ve been receiving them in so many ways, but I ignored them. I just wanted to keep feeling good. Keep feeling everthing after being numb for so long.

Now I don’t feel good. I feel like shit, and I have to realize it’s okay. I don’t have to feel good all the damn time. Because if we don’t have the bad times, how the hell can we love the good times? How the hell can we tell the difference?

I miss my friends B and K. I sent them a message this morning. Still haven’t heard from them. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I will. I know they read me. I hope they know that I love them. They’re my family. My sisters. And I miss them so. Today I’ll pray for them to come back to me. I’ll pray and pray and pray. For them to come back me. And for me to come back to me.

With Her Words She Healed Him

Michelle and Michael touched each other in a way that best friends never should. Then again, they never really did touch. However, for one night they gave each other what they needed because they knew their connection was strong. They knew that they could trust each other. That is until Michelle fell for Michael. She had became lost in his words. She believed him when he said she was beautiful. He awakened her soul and her body. Then, she being the silly girl she was, she swooned so hard, she fell and broke her tender heart.

Michelle was online late one night chatting with friends and playing some boring online solitaire game. She saw Michael’s message pop up and responded to him immediately. It always made her heart skip a beat when she saw the green light appear next to his avatar on her social network page.

“You there?”, he asked.

“Of course I am, aren’t I always?” Michelle responded.

“Want to chat for a bit?”, Michael asked.

What a dumb question for him to ask. Of course she wanted to chat with him. She longed to see his words appear in the private message window. He was her best friend, but she loved him too. A little too much sometimes.

“Honey, you know we never chat for a bit”, she said.

He responded with little smiley emoticons. Then they talked about life. How their families were. What was going on at work. About their idiosyncrasies that their spouses never understood.  For some reason they always “got” each other though.  Michelle thought about how over the years they built a great friendship and a strong emotional bond. Michael felt it too. He’d made sure to tell her as much.

They always bantered sexually. It was typical for them to do that. Michelle always felt safe with him. Needed, necessary, smart, and loved. Like she mattered. Michelle had been drinking vodka, so her tongue, words, and body felt loose. Their messaging turned to more intimate talk. More sexual than usual. More primal.  They discussed their sadness over not being touched in such a long time. Of needing to be needed. Desiring to be desired. They wondered what was wrong with them. They kept questioning why. Then Michelle let the vodka take over and started talking dirty.

Michelle asked, “What are you wearing?”

Michael responded, “Pajama pants. You?”

She said, “I’m fully clothed, but I can take something off if you want.”

He said, “Make yourself comfortable and take everything off.”

She laughed and then typed, “Of course I will, I love being naked.”

He responded, “Great, now I have a hard on.”

“Good”, was all she said in response.

Here she was a little drunk, sitting naked in the living room and chatting with her best friend. For some reason it felt right. Like it’s what she was meant to do. She’d always healed with her body, even if it was virtually.

She asked, “What do you want me to do?”

He said, “I haven’t been touched in so long and neither have you. Let’s take care of each other tonight.”

Michelle was scared but knew that she wanted to please him. To please herself. She longed to have him touch her, make her feel alive. Fuck her. But they belonged to others. Michael loved Michelle, but never felt that spark that comes from love and longing. But this night he longed for her, even if it was virtually. So she gave him what he wanted. And ultimately what she wanted.

Michelle said, “I’ve never done this before, please tell me what to do.”

Michael said, “Talk to me like you usually do. Tell me what you’d do to me if you were here, naked, and in bed with me.”

She did. She told him all the things she would do to him. In vivid detail. She knew that it was affecting him because he had stopped typing.

She asked, “Honey are you still there?”

Michael said, “Of course, but you’ve made me feel so good and I’m so close, I can’t type anymore.”

Michelle said, “Then don’t type. I will. I’ll give you my words and you let go for me. I want you to feel me. Like I’m right there with you.”

She kept typing. She kept telling him things she’d do to him if she was in bed with him. She kept telling him that she loved him and wanted nothing more than to please him. To have him please her. He didn’t type anything for a few minutes, but that was okay. She just kept saying how much she wanted him. A few minutes later,  he typed the sweetest words she’d ever seen.

He said, “Thank you for giving me what I needed. You made me feel incredible.”

Michelle replied, “You know Michael, I’m always here for you. I love you.”

“Now it’s your turn”, he said.

She replied, “No honey, I’m good. Knowing that I helped you. That I made you feel good is pleasure enough for me.”

They said their thank yous, and I love yous.  Promised that what they did would never change their friendship and their bond. That night when Michael signed off,  she was still naked and alone. She re-read her words to him, touched herself and came.

At the crescendo of her orgasm, she  yelled to an empty room in all her nakedness and vulnerability, “Michael, I love you!”

When she was done, she saved their messages and then closed down the computer for the night. Threw on a t-shirt and boy shorts. Poured herself a Ketel One on the rocks and slammed it. Crawled into bed, laid there waiting for the let down of the alcohol and cried herself to sleep.

Bittersweet Day in Pines

Cherry pie from Lee and Carol for mulching their gardens. Game nights at the Perez’s. Campfires on our patio unitl 3 AM. Wine, beer, and booze flowed along with our running mouths that never tired. We talked politics, religion, food, children, love, family and the meaning of life. We’ve even done some dancing on that patio.

The kids drove around on golf carts until curfew. Then there’d be tons of them playing cards and video games all over the house. Meg’s first love lived there. They would see each other every weekend. They were even caught making out on the beach. Imagine my surprise when the ranger came to tell me all about it!

Meggie and Adam Boy lived and worked a few summers there.  They were lifeguards, recreation staff, and the keepers of little children. They even created a competitive swim program.

I loved the beach, the pool and the hot sun. I read tons of books, wrote and slept. I’ll miss that part of it I’m sure.  I find peace on a beach, with the sand in my toes and sunscreen on my skin.

Roger and his crew rewired the the Florida room. I wouldn’t let them have a cocktail till the work was done. After the work was finished they proceeded to get hammered. Roger passed out in living room and Adam and I ate his pizza.

Roger Darling went airborne when he tripped on a loose patio block. I nearly lost my ever loving mind I was laughing so hard. He didn’t find it that hilarious as he was laying in the flower garden.

I showed my boobs to one of our best male friends. I thought Rog was going to faint he was laughing so hard. I tell ya, he’s never surprised by the crazy shit I do.

I threw my back out and had to be taken by ambulance to the hospital. My wonderful neighbor Max came over and held my hand. Everyone around me was freaking out and yelling. But Max, he knew exactly what to do to calm me.

We’ve changed houses, built decks, landscaped and beautified our little piece of the Pines. Our little piece of heaven. It’s D, G and M’s place now. I hope they make as many wonderful memories there as we did.

I Think I’m Finally Spent

God Dammit, I’m exhausted-Lili von Shtupp

So after running around like a chicken with my head cut off for the last 18 months, I’m spent. Because of all of the changes in my life and the sedentary lifestyle I lived for 13 years, I’ve been running on overdrive and adrenaline. Don’t get me wrong it’s been fun for the most part, but I’ve become distracted, disoriented, and disorganized. This Sparkly Girl needs to disconnect and re-group. I’ve found something I’m good at and I’m extremely passionate about it. I’ve found writing. I never in a million years thought I was good at it. This all started from funny Facebook status updates. Serious status updates, lyrics and quotes. Inspirational shit too. Somewhere along the way, I got over-extended and tried to do too much. I’ve lost sight of family, friends and well, the rest of my life.

I need to slow down. But I want to write every damn day. 24/7 preferably. I don’t care if I get paid for it. I get new followers every day, so I must be doing something right. I’ve been told by friends and acquaintances that I’ve given them a voice. That I crawled into their heads and brought out their innermost thoughts. By putting myself out there, I’ve helped them sort out their shit. Unfortunately, I haven’t taken care of my own life. I’m going to take a few days off. I’m not going to post until next Monday, when I’m in West Virginia with my sister from another mister. Hopefully I won’t be chased by a huge ass snake while I’m there. I’m sure Tracy will be glad to take pictures of me running around, peeing on myself, and screaming like a girl. I know she and I will make great memories that I’ll want to share. I’m going to post some of her beautiful photography. She is a goddess behind the lense.

No worries, I will keep writing. On paper for now. As I’ve told K., it’s called longhand. Why I call it that, I’m not sure. Think it’s what my great-grandma called it back when I was a kid. I’ve got a book noodling around in this lovely blonde brain of mine. Some parts of it have already spilled out onto my blog. We’ll see what happens. Keep following me. Keep sending me pictures for stories. I think that’s my favorite. A lot of my readers send me their pics. They tell me a bit of their story and I create a story from it. I embellish of course. Add my own characters, my dreams, my wishes, my past. But it’s fun to go back to the person who sent it to me, and they tell me how close to the truth I get. I’ve even done it for one of my followers. I think that was the MOST fun!

So long for a few days. This demented Tinker Bell and blonde bombshell is going to sleep the sleep of the dead. When I get back, WATCH THE FUCK OUT! Giggle. Oh wait, Roger Darling is telling me to go clean the cat litter. AWESOME!

We are NOT our Daughters, Our Daughters are NOT Us

A daughter is a mother’s gender partner, her closest ally in the family confederacy, an extension of her self.  ~Author Unknown

As long as a woman can look ten years younger than her own daughter, she is perfectly satisfied.  ~Oscar Wilde

When Meggie was a teenager, it was never my intention to live vicariously through her. Try as I might it did happen on more than one occasion though. It happened with competitive swimming, with music, with boyfriends. School work too, I’m sure. I saw her, this gorgeous and viable young woman. I wanted everything for her. I wanted her to do everything I didn’t when I was growing up. If she wanted to pursue a new endeavor, Roger Darling and I did our very best to ensure that she got the chance to do so.

She is such a beauty. She looks like Kate Hudson. I saw boys swarm around her like bees take to honey. I didn’t understand it. She looked exactly like me. Acted like me. How could it have been so easy for her to attract attention from young suitors, but I had to work hard for every boy that I wanted to date. Except for Roger Darling, that is. He was always a good one for me.

I never tried to push her to date a certain guy. Well, I take that back. I tried a couple of times. One was with her BFF, M. He’s one of my “other” sons. I love him like he’s mine. I guess he sorta is mine. Rog and I think of him as one of our family. He’s blonde, beautiful, and loves my girl like no other. But there was no more feelings  for her other than best friend love. And though it was hard for me to deal with, I had to let go of the hope that her true love would be her BFF, M.  He is going to be her Man of Honor at her wedding in December. I think that’s pretty damn cool. I don’t know what it is about she and I. We like being friends with dudes. I think it’s easier sometimes. Less hormones to deal with.

I did want her to date another guy, A. But only because I knew he was going to be rich when he was all grown up. They’re BFFs too. Now that he’s done with college he is well on his way to great success. Oh well, she’s found the love of her life, and he climbs and trims trees for a living.  The boy is super damn smart and looks like Eddie Vedder. He’s got a bright future ahead. I worry about her getting married at the age of 22, but she’s a determined sort. She’s like her momma in a lot of ways. God help her future husband. He’s in for a rough ride, that’s for sure.

I have found that Meg has done so much more in her life than I have. And she’s only 22. I told her just because she’s getting married, it doesn’t mean that she can stop pursuing life. She is to get her ass out there and hustle. Do what she wants before she has babies and settles down. Find hobbies, and do them. Travel, sing, write, hell, whatever she wants. Sometimes I want to be her. But then I have to remember that this is her time. My life is not hers, and her life is not mine. We must love and respect one another. And we do. I love that she has my free spirit. I couldn’t be more proud of her. She is an amazing young woman. She will continue to do great things.

Though I’m older than her, I’m still pursuing life. Trying new things. Becoming more me than I have been, in years. It’s partly because of her. Because of my girl. She’s taught me that it’s never too late. It’s never, ever too late.

 

It’s Time for a Road Trip!

Almost Heaven, West Virginia-John Denver

It’s been about 30 years since I’ve seen one of my dear BFFs, split apart, soul-mate, love of my life. She and I were friends when we were in high school. Not close by any means, but we always ended up at the same parties. In the same social situations. I was in awe of her. She was a beautiful young woman. Blonde haired, blue eyed and gorgeous. Vivacious. Full of fun. Dangerous. The boys loved her. I wanted to be her. Wanted to be closer to her. She was older than I was by a couple of years, so we didn’t connect until years later.

We became friends on Facebook. We shared stories, laughs, tears, and memories. We also found out that we had dated a lot of the same guys from back in the day. We found that we were also so much alike. We write. We love to read. We find life to be incredibly exciting and cosmic. We live for adventure and love. She is a beauty. In mind, body and spirit. She completes me. I talked to a mutual FB friend who told me I needed to get my ass to West Virginia. I agreed it was time. It was time to pack up, load the car with another good friend or friends and head down the road in Candy Blue, the stripper mobile.

It’s time to find my split apart that I haven’t seen in 30 years. It’s time for us to hang out in an old cabin and look at all the beauty surrounding us. It’s time for us to sit at a campfire and contemplate the universe in all of our infinite wisdom. It’s time to get a little Thelma and Louise and have ourselves a kick ass time. To realize that life is still worth living and that we are still just as viable as we were when we were teenagers. To laugh ourselves silly and cry a bit too. To reconnect and find out why we love each other so much, even though we haven’t spoken out loud to each other in 30 years. It’s time for new memories. It’s time for some new ink. For an angel to sit upon my shoulder. Or possibly the top of my foot. So that I will always, always remember who has my back. Who always loves me. To remember that a bit of my heart belongs in West Virginia. I love you T, my angel, I’m going to be there to see you soon!

My Kath, My BFF, My Split Apart, My Partner in Crime

Nae, Kath, Beck (The only one missing is Sarah Jean, as usual. We can never pin that woman down.)

Good friends are like stars. You don’t always see them, but you know they are always there.-Anonymous

She’s a tiny bit of dynamite. She’s got a gutter mouth and a dirty, dirty mind. She’s most definitely my kinda girl. Her dark hair, tiny frame and big laugh drew me to her. Her son and my son, they used to be BFFs. They were inseparable for a time. So naturally we were BFFs too.

She’s moving away. But in my heart, she is still here with me. We all are. We’re still swim mommas. We’re still trying to raise our babies the best way we can. We’re always going to be wild, crazy, bawdy broads. She’s leaving to be with that wonderful and handsome husband of hers. He IS a company man. A good provider. Cute as the day is long. A good man, and funny too. Her children, all of them almost grown, are beautiful creatures.

I call Kath June Cleaver. She is the most domestic of the four of us swim mommas. She works hard to keep her family together. I envy her in some ways. I’m a domestic goddess, but I don’t thrive on it like she does. For  She makes domesticity look fantastic. Har!

She has held my hand, my heart, my secrets, my tears, and my happiness. I have done the same for her. We will continue to do so till the end of our lives. She completes me. She may be in Tennessee with that wonderful husband and family, but part of her will always be here with me in the T. Wherever our travels lead us, part of our hearts will always be here together. Taking care of each other, and our families. We are the family we chose after all.

I love you Kath. You’re my sister. Never forget that. You are my sister. I love you forever and ever. No matter where you are…..