Quoteful Thursday-Boris Pasternak

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I don’t like people who have never fallen or stumbled.

Their virtue is lifeless and it isn’t of much value.

Life hasn’t revealed its beauty to them.

Boris Pasternak

I know I haven’t written anything lately. I haven’t stuck to my format either. Life is crazy, crazy, crazy. So here’s a quote for Thursday. I promise that I’m writing a story for Friday Fictioneers. It’s a sad one, because that’s what I write best.

Sometimes words dry up, or I stop giving a shit. Or the family I’ve been trying to keep together for 24 years finally falls apart because of me. I would rather beg for forgiveness of my children than write a journal entry or post a Tunesday entry.

Maybe I’m trying to stay sober and need to write out my fourth step. That’s more important than writing about romance. I love the written word, but ‘writer’ is only one of the many names I bear. Today I’d rather be a mother, daughter, friend, employee, etc.

I’d like to hide, but I won’t. I’d like to go running, but I’m out of shape.

I’m not asking for pats on the back or kind words. I don’t want to be told it will be all right, because it won’t.

Tonight, I’ll drive home while music blares on the radio. I’ll be chair dancing and singing along. When I arrive, there will be dogs barking and warm kisses from Wonder Schnauzers and Baxter my grand dog. Roger Darling will be there with a cup of coffee and conversation. Dinner will commence and dishes will be done. I might pack a few of my things up before I head to bed.

During the night after I head to the bathroom for the third time, I’ll snuggle back down in bed and listen to the silence.  I’ll pray that the next time I fall, I don’t take my whole family down with me.

Amen.

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My True Garden by Lily Miller

As I was sorting through my FB news feed yesterday, I came across this beautiful poem by Lily Miller. She is the bright young child of my friend Trista. I commented that her daughter is a writer. Even at the tender age of ten years old. I asked the proud momma if I could post this on my blog. As you can see, she obliged. I have read the verse repeatedly. I find such feeling in the simplicity of the words. How blessed Trista must feel having a child feel this way about her. Then be able to convey those feelings. I am in awe. I know that the proud momma is too. Lily has built a great memory for her mother. I hope that the lovely young writer keeps writing. She most definitely has the talent for it.

Now to finish my coffee and write another story. Happy Saturday my dear friends.

The Locket

 

A woman wears her tears like jewelry.  ~Author Unknown

Mom placed the locket around my neck. I hadn’t worn it since I was 17 years old. She and I opened it. We looked at the sepia toned photos inside. Grandpa Howard, a man I never met and Grandma Mable, a woman that I will never forget. Grandpa drowned before I was born and Grandma, she died in her late 80’s after walking the Mackinaw Bridge on Labor Day.

Whenever I visit Mom at her home Up North, I ask her for a piece of jewelery. Most of the time I’m joking. I know she doesn’t want to part with any of the pieces in her collection. She has some beautiful antique jewelry that belonged to many women in my family. I know the pieces mean a lot to her. The home that she lived in a few years ago had been broken into at least twice during the 20 years that she lived there. Of course the thieves always took the jewelry first.

Her collection had been hit hard by those robberies. A few years ago my Grandma Bobbie died. Mom has slowly but surely acquired my grandmother’s prized jewelry. Family issues have made it hard for her to obtain all of the items that she should have. It isn’t fair that she doesn’t have all them. But then death makes some people act peculiarly about the possessions of the deceased.

Today my mother and I were getting ready for the day and of course I jokingly asked for a piece of her jewelry. I don’t know why I always ask such a silly question. I don’t really want any of it because it belongs to her. However, we rummaged through a box and she brought out my Grandma Bobbie’s locket. She placed it around my neck and said that it now belonged to me. I hugged her, gave her a kiss and told her thank you. Then I told her I loved her.

It is now my prized possession. I will treasure it always. Until it is my time to pass it on to one of my children.

Happiness is Strong Pain Meds and Valium YAY!

Pain makes me a whiny baby bitch.

The last four or five weeks have not been good ones. I have been dealing with chronic pain that has been steadily getting worse. I’m no longer able to hold a pen or pencil and after about a half hour of typing, my left hand becomes immobile. The pain in my back has been excruciating. I was hoping that after quitting my job in the salon that I would heal on my own. That turned out not to be the case. I am now having muscle spasms that radiate from my shoulder blade to my finger tips. The spasms last anywhere from 15 seconds to at least one minute. The Motrin and muscle relaxer the general practitioner prescribed didn’t do much of anything. If I wanted any relief, I had to keep my arm completely immobile. That’s not easy for this busy woman to do.  It fucking sucks!

I’ve seen a chiropractor and he’s awesome, but I’m still suffering. I finally gave up and went to the ER today. Roger Darling had a mandatory meeting so I called my Meggie to come be with me. She shows up at the ER with what I think is the entire contents of her house. She’s got her book bag, her computer, her cell phone, and her purse. I think she plans on moving in. My sweet girl cheered me up, and made me laugh a lot. She spewed the F word about as much as I do. We talked about her fiance, the wedding, school, her goofy dogs, her all organic food kick. We talked about everything. Then I’d have a muscle spasm. We’d wait it out and then she’d bitch because we had to wait almost three hours to see a doctor.

Meg decided we needed lunch. She took off to Whole Food for organic pizza, salad and soup. In the meantime the doctor finally showed up. It was discovered that I have a severely pinched nerve in my C7 vertebrae. They prescribed heavy duty pain meds and another muscle relaxer. After Meggie got back, Dr. A came into my room to introduce himself. We set up an appointment on Friday afternoon for an MRI and to discuss the next course of treatment. After he left the room Megan start singing the Ali Abua Abua song from Disney’s, Aladdin because that’s exactly what the specialist looked like. She told me I had to sing the song to him when I  see him on Friday. I called her a giant music geek. She just cackled. My God her laugh is just like mine!

After I was discharged we walked out together. I thanked her for staying with me and she said she was happy to. Said I’d been there for her all those times when she was sick, so she had to take care of me. My heart swelled and I got a little misty eyed. I told her she was a good daughter and that I loved her. She gave me a hug and a kiss and said she’d see me soon. We went our separate ways. She back to Livonia, me back to Tecumseh. As I was driving home I heard my favorite song by U2. It brightened me right up. I cranked it and sang along with the lyrics, It’s a Beautiful Day, don’t let it get away….. I may be in pain but the day really is quite beautiful indeed. Especially now that the pain meds have kicked in. Hope you all are having a beautiful day yourselves. I need a nap.

There She Stood, A Vision in White

“No one is as beautiful as a daughter talking about the man she’s going to marry.”

Author: American, Somerset, Pennsylvania (Newspaper)

I corseted Meggie into her wedding dress a couple of days ago. We laughed so hard during the process. It seemed to take forever. We began lacing it upside down.

I screamed, “FUCK!”

Meg laughed and we pulled the silk ribbon out and started over. I almost had to put my foot in her back to draw it tight enough to keep her boobs in the dress. After it was tied, she turned around. I lost my breath. There she stood, my beautiful blonde haired, blue eyed daughter in her wedding dress.  She looked exquisite. I think my heart skipped a beat or two.

She smiled when she looked at me, and said, “Mom, it’s okay, don’t cry.”

How could I not? Here was a beautiful woman standing in front of me. I bore this child 22 years ago. And she’s wearing her wedding dress! She’s going to get married in less than three months to the love of her life.

Meggie had on not one stitch of make up, no shoes, and her hair was straight. But to me she was the most beautiful that I had ever seen her. Her smile alone cinched my awe of her.

When she started flitting around looking for the full length mirror, she reminded me so much of myself at her age. I had to step back, and take in the sight of her. She was wandering all over the bedroom trying to get her boobs to stay put, all the while talking too damn loud about the fact that her boobs were all over the place.

I asked, “May I take your picture?

She said, “Of course, but no posting it!”

I told her, “No way would I do that! I share a lot, but your wedding dress is sacred.”

She stood in front of me, then turned on a slight angle. She looked up and smiled at me. Perfectly content.  I took the picture, looked at the result and sighed. My baby girl is getting married, and I couldn’t be happier and more scared for her. What will the future bring? There’s no way of knowing until we’re in it. I pray that it’s good for Chris and her. I really do.

Going Home

Home should be an oratorio of the memory, singing to all our after life melodies and harmonies of old remembered joy.

HENRY WARD BEECHER, Proverbs from Plymouth Pulpit

She and Baby Girl sit side by side on the plane. Baby by the window, Momma in the aisle seat. She looks out the window while holding her young one. Baby Girl is sleeping and cuddled in close. She looks at her baby. She’s seven, but she acts like she’s 20. She’s beautiful, like her Daddy. Brown hair, hazel eyes, her hair is long with curly ringlets. Her baby is seven, but looking at her still takes her breath away. Why is that? Why do Mommas feel that way about their children? She turns her attention out the plane window. She gazes at the beautiful clouds; she daydreams of home. Remembers what it was like when she was young. She looks down at her young one, and wants for her what she once had. The fun and sad experiences. Playing with neighborhood children and growing up right.

She closes her eyes. Sees home in her mind. What it once was, when she was young. Green everywhere. Trees. A garden lane leading to an enormous wrap around porch. The house is more like a plantation home. It should have been built in the South, in all of it’s Antebellum splendor. It’s not just a house. It’s a home. She’s still daydreaming and holding her young one close, as she feels the plane begin it’s descent. She knows that they’ll be home soon. The taxi will drive up that tree lined garden lane. She’ll see Momma and Daddy standing on the porch of a house that should have been built in the South. They’ll run to each other, hug, laugh and cry tears of joy. She’ll look at her young daughter hugging her grandma and grandpa. She’ll know that after searching for so long, that she and Baby Girl are finally, finally home.

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.