Why are we celebrating...

A man who (even though discovered a world unknown to the Europeans) did nothing but cause turmoil, death, starvation, sickness and slavery to the native people of the Americas? A man who did nothing but search for weath and power when it wasn't his to begin with? A man who was merely a theif, a pirate if you will, on a very large scale?

If it was turned around and say Taino cheif got in his man made boat and sailed to...oh say a beach in Spain and said "I hearby decree that I, Chief Twofooted So-n-So, have discovered a new world and thus claim it as our own" all the while hoity toity unbaithed socialites walked by in caked faced and silk wondering who the tan dude was in the loin cloth and feathers... Something tells me that he wouldn't have been met with the same sort of greeting as Columbus. The Native Americans, on the majority, were atleast gracious to newcomers and that lesser majority was simply fighting for what was theirs...

Wouldn't you do the same if your house was broken into? Wouldn't you protect your family and property?

The Americas weren't undiscovered, lest we forget the Chinese people and those Swedish guys with horns on their helmets... How do they account for the trade market with the Aztecs? There have been many discoveries but 99.99% have been nullified due to Columbus.


Now I'm not knocking colonization. Not discounting modernizing the free world but no one ever stopped to think...did they want it? Ok, Columbus hit shore in the Bahamas. He and his subordinates played nicey nicey for how long before Infants were ripped from nursing mother's breasts and thrown against rocks, children abandoned when their mothers were slammed into chains and sold in open markets, men were worked to death in labor camps and within 150 years after Columbus arrived 85% of the known Native American peoples were gone.
(yes there is documented proof of what I just wrote so don't even start)

As we all know, History repeats itself...I can go so far as bring up our own issues like the Natives of North America who were slaughtered, tortured, mutilated, raped and ultimately decimated for the rights of the land below our feet when we had NO RIGHT to do so considering it didn't belong to the settlers in the first place.
(once again, documented many times, or shall we visit a reservation where the remainder of the Native American people have been rounded up like cattle and forced to live on the measily barren land we so graciously afforded them)

James Cook did the same to the Hawaiians.
Do I dare go on?

Who are the savages?

So I ask...Why are we celebrating Columbus Day?

Journey of Life

WANNA TAKE A DRIVE? I'VE BEEN WANTING TO BUT WITH THE COST OF GAS LATELY AND THE WEAR AND TEAR ON MY CAR FROM THE POT HOLES AND BUMPS IN THE ROAD, IT'S NOT EXACTLY BEEN THE BEST OF IDEAS. OH, I'VE FOUND MYSELF ON A FEW COUNTRY ROADS WHILE I TOOK MY SWEET TIME GETTING BACK TO AN EMPTY HOUSE BUT I'VE ALSO FOUND MYSELF MERELY SITTING IN THE DRIVER'S SEAT WHILE STILL PARKED IN THE GARAGE, TOO. NOT SURE WHAT DRIVES ME TO ACTUALLY START THE CAR ANYMORE. WHY BOTHER WHEN I JUST GET LOST…BUT THAT'S JUST LIFE; IT'S FULL OF IMPASSES, ROAD BLOCKS AND DEAD ENDS, DETOURS HERE AND ROADS CLOSED THERE…

I DON'T HAVE A ONE-OFF PROTOTYPE WITH ALL THE BELLS AND WHISTLES, GPS NAVIGATION AND ON-STAR CAPABILITIES JUST INCASE I LOCK MYSELF INSIDE THE DAMN THING BUT I DO HAVE THE FAMILY SEDAN THAT'S PARKED CATTYWHOMPUS IN THE GARAGE AMIDST ALL THE DAILY CLUTTER THAT UNFORTUNATELY HAS BECOME DENTED AND DUSTY AND THE GAS HAS BEGUN TO EVAPORATE FROM SITTING TOO LONG. SOME DAYS I PUSH MYSELF IN TO THE DRIVER'S SEAT WANTING TO BLOW THE COBWEBS OUT AND I QUICKLY REALIZE THAT IT DOESN'T DRIVE AS SMOOTH AS IT USED TO, THE STEERING IS LOOSE AND THEN I FIND MYSELF ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD A LITTLE TOO FAR FROM HOME WITH A BLOW OUT...

WHAT THEN? WELL, I CURSE THE WORLD AND ITS MAKER FOR LEAVING ME STRANDED, CALL A TOW TRUCK AND HAVE IT DELIVERED TO THE HOMETOWN MECHANIC WHO IS SURE THAT HE CAN FIX IT, NO PROBLEM. HE THEN TEMPORARILY PLACES THE SPARE ON WHILE EXPLAINING DRY ROT, FILLS IT UP WITH NEW GAS AND CHARGES ME AN EXORBANT PRICE AS I DRIVE THE VEHICLE SLOWLY BACK TO THE GARAGE IT'S SAT IN FOR YEARS TIL THE NEXT TIME I HAVE THAT FOOL NOTION TO DO IT AGAIN.

OBVIOUSLY, I'VE NEVER LEARN MY LESSON SINCE I CONTINUALLY TRY TO MAKE IT A LITTLE BIT FURTHER DOWN THE ROAD THAN THE LAST TIME AND I'M SURE, I'LL HAVE NO ONE TO BLAME BUT MY SELF WHEN THE TIRE GIVES OVER TO THE DRY ROT AND I SWURVE TO AVOID THAT HEAD ON COLLISION I COULD HAVE PREVENTED HAD I BEEN PAYING ATTENTION IN THE FIRST PLACE.

TODAY, INSTEAD, I THINK I'M GOING TO SIT IN THE DRIVER'S SEAT A LITTLE BIT LONGER, NOT GOING ANYWHERE, AND JUST PONDER WHAT AND WHERE I SHOULD GO INSTEAD OF GETTING AHEAD OF MYSELF AND ULTIMATELY BECOMING A CASUALTY. TO BE HONEST, I'M LOST IN MY OWN DRIVEWAY…

I'M SURE THERE ARE THOSE WHO WOULD ARGUE WITH ME ABOUT WHERE THE JOURNEY LIFE IS SUPPOSED TO TAKE ME AS I SIT HERE AND DESCRIBE MY LACK OF DIRECTION. BUT I CAN SURELY COME BACK AT THOSE WHO BOASTFULLY DECLARE THEIR MAPS ACCURATE BY ASKING THEM A SIMPLE QUESTION.

IF YOU LOOKED ON YOUR MAP, CAN YOU SHOW ME WHERE YOU ARE AT THIS VERY MOMENT?

"WELL SURE" AS THEY CHEERFULLY POINT TO ONE LOCATION OR ANOTHER. "RIGHT…HERE"

AND WHERE IS "HERE"? CAN THEY TELL ME EXACTLY WHERE "HERE" IS? IS IT A PLACE OR A LANDMARK OR IS IT A METAPHORICALLY BASED IDEA OF WHERE LIFE HAS LED YOU TO BE? WHERE ARE YOU GOING FROM HERE, IF THAT IS THE PLACE THAT YOU INDEED ARE? IS THERE A POINT B TO YOUR POINT A? IS LIFE'S JOURNEY BETTER TAKEN FROM A SCENIC PERSPECTIVE OR THE SHORTEST DISTANCE?

HOW DID YOU ARRIVE AT YOUR DESTINATION?

I GOT TO THINKING OF THE HUMAN SPIRIT AND BODY AS A WHOLE. YES, THE JOURNEY THROUGH LIFE NEEDS TO BE LED BUT WHAT "TAKES" A PERSON ON THAT JOURNEY? IS IT WISDOM TO CHOOSE THE RIGHT PATH? NO. IS IT COURAGE TO PLACE THE FIRST STEP? NO. IS IT THE DETERMINATION OF WILL THAT ENCOURAGES A PERSON TO SEARCH FOR BETTER? ONCE AGAIN, NO.

WE ARE BORN OF FLESH AND BLOOD, WEAK AND IGNORANT AND IN TIME, OUR BODIES BECOME THE ULTIMATE ALL TERRAIN VEHICLE. IT'S CUSTOMIZABLE, IT'S UNIQUE…IT'S NOT GOING TO DO A DAMN THING SITTING IN THE GARAGE, IS IT? WHAT FUELS IT?

WELL, NONE OTHER THAN…THE SOUL. IT'S OUR AWARENESS, OUR CONSCIOUSNESS; IT'S THE BREATH OF LIFE. EVEN IN LITERAL TERMS, SOUL IS DESCRIBED AS "SELF, LIFE, MIND, DESIRE AND PASSION", IT'S WHAT DRIVES THE HUMAN SPIRIT DOWN THE PATH OF LIFE. SO WHAT HAPPENS WHEN WE ARE DEVOID OF SUCH A THING?

WE BECOME LOST. WE BEGIN TO CURSE THE WORLD AND ITS CREATOR FOR LEAVING US STRANDED IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE. WE SIT IN OBSCURITY, COLLECTING DUST, WE BEGIN TO ROT FROM WITH IN…OR WORSE YET TRAGICALLY BECOMING A FATALITY OF OUR OWN NEGLECT. SOUND FAMILIAR?

SO I ASKED THOSE WHO WOULD ARGUE MY LACK OF DIRECTION, THE ONES WHO MERELY STATED "HERE", WHERE WAS "HERE"? MOST COULD NOT TELL ME FOR ONE SIMPLE REASON. THEY WERE JUST AS LOST AS I WAS. JUST BECAUSE THEY HAVE DIRECTION, DOES NOT MEAN THAT THEY HAD THEIR PURPOSE OR A PASSIONATE DESIRE TO GO, AND IN DOING SO, MERELY COASTING DOWN THE PATH OF LIFE AND EVENTUALLY WILL COME TO A COMPLETE STOP EITHER WITH A SPIT AND SPUTTER OR A HEAD ON COLLISION WITH LIFE ITSELF AS I HAD.

SOMEONE ONCE TOLD ME THAT THE SOUL WAS MERELY A VESSEL OF THE HUMAN SPIRIT AND THAT VESSEL WAS THE VERY THING THAT TOOK THE HUMAN SPECIES DOWN THE PATH OF LIFE. I BELIEVE THEY WERE WRONG. I BELIEVE THAT THE SOUL IS THE FUEL THAT DELIVERS THE HUMAN SPIRIT TO A GREATER PURPOSE AT THE END OF THEIR JOURNEY THROUGH LIFE. THING IS, BEING HUMAN THAT IS, WE ARE FRAGILE AND PRONE TO FAILURE AND MUST TAKE GREAT CARE OF THIS VESSEL...OTHERWISE WE'LL NEVER ARRIVE AT OUR DESTINATION,BECOME LOST, AND AIMLESSLY WANDER ABOUT CREATION IN SEARCH OF THE MEANING OF LIFE. WHATEVER THAT MAY BE, FOR IT'S DIFFERENT FOR EVERY INDIVIDUAL.

SO WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE? IS THERE A GAS STATION IN THE VACINITY THAT HANDLES SUPER UNLEADED PHILOSOPHY OR MAPS TO "WITHIN", CONSIDERING THAT IS WHERE OUR JOURNEY SHOULD BEGIN? AND I'M NOT SURE, BUT I BELIEVE MY VEHICLE MIGHT RUN ALTERNATIVE FUELS LIKE FAITH AND SPIRITUALITY AS WELL. WORTH A SHOT IF IT MIGHT SET ME DOWN A MORE ENLIGHTED PATH THAN THE STAGNANT AND DUSTY ONE THAT I AM ON AS I SIT IN MY DRIVEWAY LOST.

Paybacks are hell

Joe: MOOOOOOM! Jack just hawked a looegy on me!

MoM: Well if that isn't the grossest thing I've seen in a while. Jack go get Joe a wash rag or wipe, pronto

Jack: Can't he get it himself?

Joe: JACK! YOU F'n spit on me! YOU GET IT

MoM: *evil look*

Jack: Fine

Joe: *steams*

MoM: IF I ever seen anything as disgusting as that come out of your body, son, YOU will be in dire straits understand!?

Jack: Yes momma

Joe: Mom?

MoM: What honey?

Joe: What's this thing under my nose?

MoM: Well let me have a look…come here *wipes wet hands on shirt tale* Sit still

Joe: *wriggles…*

MoM: What am I looking at now?

Joe: Right here, under my snotril

MoM: Snotril?

Joe: Yeah that thing where snot comes from

MoM: That's a nostril honey

Joe: Well I say if its snot and a nostril, lets just call it a snotril. Easier that way OWE!

MoM: What what what?

Joe: You touched that thing. It hurts. It's like the size of Jack's butt on my face

MoM: Oooh THAT thing!

Joe: WHAT IS IT??

MoM: Well after some examination at quite close proximatey…yeah yeah I thought so…*stands back, crosses arms over chest, stares…*

Joe: WHAT??

MoM: You're finger…

Jack: *laughter*

Joe: Shut it Jack! No I mean right here, by my finger, it hurts!

MoM: Oh you mean THAT thing! No, hold on…lemme see again cus it's really difficult to find out what you're referring to with this gargantuan ZIT in the way

Jack: *laughter*

Joe: *steams*

Mom: Careful Jack, you don't want to upset your brother or disturb the natural flow of things because if you cause Joe any more stress, he might blow and Heaven help you if that zit goes….

Jack: *runs towards the back of the house screaming…* IT'S GONNA BLOW!!!

Joe: Ah crap I scratched the zit and it's grooooooss Now what?

Mom: Give your brother a 5 minute head start

Joe: *evil giggle*

Jack: MOOM! *runs the other way*

Mom: Paybacks are hell

I hate you

Anyone remember being "young"?

Young as in carefree, silly, naive and it was oook?

Young as in rebellious, obnoxious and a little stinky?

Does anyone remember wanting to divorce your parents because they made you do the unthinkable like clean your room, do the chores and omg! wash behind your ears?

I remember as if it was yesterday....

I worked in a sweatshop for a measely $1 allowance. Homework had to be done before I got to play with friends, of course that's IF I was allowed to have friends. What I'm referring to there is the grueling 12 hour barrage of questions thrown at me about who they were, where they came from and if they had any sort of mental or criminal history in their family since the dawn of time. Forget going to parties or social functions if it just happened to fall on a Monday through Sunday because I had to be in bed by 8 and the next day might have been a school day. I was forced to eat what was on my plate even those things they described as good for me because supposedly it helped me grow strong and tall not to mention all those children in some poor country starving and would have gladly eaten what she so graciously gave me and I should be grateful. Right? Am I right, hmm hmm hmmmm? Then I stomped to my bedroom in defiance, all the while mumbling inaudible curses of I hate you then slammed the door, fell onto my bed and cried myself to sleep...just because it was soo unfair.

See...my mom had this plan from the day I was born... To ruined my life, right? Made me learn and retain knowledge, be self sufficiant and healthy...Damn her.

*invisible slap upside the head* WHAT? What I say? I didn't say nothin??

Yeah I remember those days...and I also remember saying that I would NEVER be the parent my parent was. I was going to be cool and all the kids would love to crash at Mom's house and...and...I totally screwed that one up.

What I percieved my childhood to be like was dramatic to say the least. When we're younger, everything was 1000x more intense with hormones raging and the presence of body hair popping up out of nowhere and even though I had some of the most obnoxious temper tantrums, I was still a pretty good kid due to how Mom brought me up. No I didn't work in a sweatshop but I did have to pick up my own smelly clothes and put them near the washer (turned right side out and seperated, mind you). Our front door was like a revolving gateway of either my friends or my brother's wanting to hang and just happen to be there when dinner was ready and those things that were so good for us, well...I still question that considering I'm not much taller than I was in 5th grade. So as long as I didn't have a potty mouth, home by the time the street lights came on and there were As on the report card, Mom was cool.

Now I find myself in the same position. I've got 2 obnoxious kids that refuse to eat vegetables and if I saw their clothes by the washer, I'd have thought something was amiss... I've more than once declared martial law and entertained the idea of removing the bedroom door all together if it meant that it wouldn't be slammed ever again. And I've have, sad to say...chanted the curse sooo many other moms have, including my own, on several occasions.

Just wait til you have children of your own and I hope they're just like you!

Unfortunately, I have this feeling that a mutiny is about to befall my steadfast defenses and my children will r e b e l against me. I've already had problems arise that deserved my attention and discipline and I will admit, I found myself thinking that I was overly harsh and just like my mom...when I was younger and immature.

Oh whatever, I obviously didn't have a clue and I don't ever remember my mom doing what I had to do but it could be that memory loss thing that I duely suffered from having my ears boxed too many times...or was that my brother's noogy that caused the brain damage, I don't know but being a mom isn't always going to go as planned or predicted, and it's not entirely all fun and games. I fear my children will grow older and view their childhood as something loathesome and it will be all my fault. Boy do they have a lot to learn...

Or maybe it was caused by the residual effects from the bar of soap my son had to use to wash his mouth out... Either way, he hates me...for now. Damn kids.

Don't EVER let me do this again!!

WHAT IS THAT YOU SAY???

Let me set the scene for ya....I'm sick, a little tired and pensive but wanting to clean up the house right? Watch a little movie while I do it right? "Halloween" isn't so horrible right?

WHAT THE FU*K WAS I THINKING!!!

I didn't move from the same damn spot the entire time. I was still holding the couch cushion slip cover (yeah I was cleaning remember) and low and behold the mailman delivered a box to the wrong house...shadow cast through the window, Micheal Myers did his thing, dog barked, I jumped and

SCREAMED MY FOOL HEAD OFF!!! (and pissed my pants)


Omg!!

OMFG!!

A History Lesson

As my boisterous children rushed out to spend the evening with their father, I closed the door and retreated into a darkened room to be alone with my thoughts. Maybe I reminisce all too much. Maybe I'm hanging on to a life that I need to be familiar still and maybe I'm falling prey to the weak minded and…I dare not say. A half a box of tissue and 2 hours later, I'm no closer to finding a solution to the bevy of questions I keep asking. I just...I just keep hearing myself cry out but refusing to listen to the answers I already knew. Up till now, my life has been this open book but I'm finding that I am subconsciously rewriting the events that led me to this purgatory. For what reason, I don't know. Self pity no less…

On many occasions lately, I've found myself sitting in these shadows pondering about how life would have been if this or that had been played out differently. Had I gone left, would this have been so tricky or had I taken a right turn, would things have been a bit better for my family? Would I have even had my family had it not been for what most people refuse to believe in? Fact is, Fate has a funny way of slipping in unbeknownst to the oblivious. Had I chose not to do something, my life would have been changed forever.

One night in particular was August 17th, 1995 and on that day, my feet were firmly planted in the littered main streets in downtown hometown partaking in the annual festival that had become more monotonous the older I got. The rides were silly, the smells were nauseating, I no longer had the locker to display the etched mirrors won from the dart game and the people that passed me by were quickly becoming strangers. It had been 7 years since graduating from that small town, 7 years away discovering what life was like on my own.

I went with an old friend. Best friend to be exact. We had been close since grade school, cried together, laughed at and with each other and parted in a way I don't recall. Did we even say good bye? I believe we just drifted apart… a not so fitting end if you could call it that for we never really did said good bye to a bond that had lasted 15 years. We met up, caught up on old times, the new things going on in our lives and the things that never really changed and at one point I remember her saying "Wouldn't it be crazy if we saw Him here?"

I smiled and smirked "Him, yeah that would be" all the while I swallowed hard from some old feelings welling up from the pit of my stomach. Not sure if it was nerves, fear or that unknown thing but it was still fresh to me or at least something that never died away.

Then, as if by some cosmic bolt of Fate, the crowd gave way in either direction and there He was… I remember having to pick myself up off the ground for being so stunned that THAT could have happened right as my friend said what she had. It wasn't planned. It wasn't set up. It wasn't rehearsed. It just happened. To this day, I remember the shirt he wore, jean shorts and black sneakers and His grin…

Oh we took our time getting to know each other again in a little nook at the restaurant I used to work for. All tucked away in the corner, adults we were finally, candle light, conversation and that spark that never seemed to go away. I remember being told it was time to go, closing time, had it been that long that we talked? My friend excused herself to things unknown and Him and I walked on outside. I was nervous, my stomach jumped and my pulsed raced at the thought of what had happened just a few hours before not to mention what was to come considering neither one of us was ready to call it a night. Before I knew it, morning had come and I was in His arms. Things were fresh and new…For us, it was a beginning…again.

I remember...

Things were different back in school. It took years to get Him to just hold my hand, not that I didn't try my darnedest to get him to before that. I even became utterly oblivious to my surroundings as I walked into a stop sign because of my inability to not take my eyes off him as we walked home. I was in love. But what was love to a teenager? Were we even capable of such a thing at that age? By coincidence, that same best friend who had made that astounding declaration at the festival was the very person to bring us together years before.

"Do you like her?" Check yes or no…

"Yeah, she's alright" He scribbled.

"She likes you, want to go with her?" and the rest was history…

History…I chuckle even now. If it's anything we've learned it's that History repeats itself. Bell bottom pants, Tie Dye shirts, old boyfriends and war...do we ever learn our lesson? No. We're too stubborn and arrogant to admit defeat and life once again, goes on regardless of our own self destruction. We broke up and got back together I don't know how many times but after we graduated, our lives seemed to go in separate directions and me being the skeptical pessimist thought for sure it would have been the last I'd see of this man whom I gave my heart to on more than one occasion until...that 17th day of August, 1995.

It's now been 13 years, 1 wedding, and 2 children since that fateful day. 13 years we gave our lives to each other. 13 years later, here I am alone in the dark and daring to wonder what it would have been like had we not seen each other. Do I regret that night?

I chuckle once more in the shadows as I curled up in the chair with tissue in hand not even caring when the tears begin to fall. As I said before…history repeats itself.

I'm quickly reminded of one of my favorite movies, "It's a Wonderful Life". Poor George Bailey, in a rush of clouded judgment jumps from a bridge outside the little town of Bedford Falls in attempt to rid the world of his existence. Instead of drowning in his self pity, he's saved by Clarence, angel 1st class and cleverly taught some very hard lessons as to what his place was in this world and how the world would be completely different had he not been.

I would have like to have met Clarence but something tells me that I already know what my lessons would have been. I, too, sit in self pity as my lips taste salty tears. What would have been if we… I can't even continue. I don't want to. As I adjust my numb existence on the chair in the corner, I lifted my glasses to place them on the table next to me. On this table sat a small picture frame of 2 little boys with toothy grins and innocence…

A shaky finger slightly caressed each face as I shook the notion that regret had any place in my life and made my way back to my empty room. As I closed the door, I gazed upon the wall where a portrait of a time hung in silence. Blinking away hours of tears, I focused on the face of the man I fell in love with so many years before. If I could have reached out and felt of his face, it would have been instantaniously familiar as if it was just yesterday. Perhaps it was.

As each day that passes without Him here, I am reminded of just how vulnerable and so close to drowning I was. Self pity will be the death of me...if I let it. Like George Bailey, does the drastic HAVE to be what makes us see past our own selfish reasons? Do we have to be taught a history lesson to appreciate what we have in the here and now? Obviously and painfully so… But I will not, can not admit to regret. Even though I have found myself delving into these subconscious ideas that had I not been at that place at that time on that day, he would have been happier, I can not fathom what life would have been like had we not. Wishful thinking is not regret, but a longing and a want for someone that I love very much to have the best of what they deserve. If not me, than with another, yet I will never look back upon that fateful clear evening 13 years ago with anything but cherished sentiment or the lessons that seem to be repeating all too often until one day, I pray, we get it right.

I chuckle for the last time as I peer down upon the small black frame I still held with tired eyes and the memories flood in to temporarily wash away years of bitterness and pain within my weary soul. This was but just one reason why regret has no place in my life. Together, He and I made 2 beautiful lives and will forever be entwined no matter what path Fate has us travel down. In after thought, we've been through this before and with confidence, I believe we will again so I can either sit in alone in wonder and pity or I can go on with my life and hope that some fateful day in our future, history will unfold for us…as it had before. But until that time comes, I'll be a bit wiser, more appreciative to the lives that I touch and be very mindful of what I wish for. Wiping the last tear away, I place the picture frame on the headboard of the bed we shared. This room is not as empty as I once perceived it to be. The events accumulated in the last 2 decades has made for a harsh reality, no doubt but this reality is something that I would never change a moment of. I wouldn't have missed it for the world

My, how Time flies...

Run Baby RUN!

RUN baby RUN!

Please give me a break...or at least some caffiene

I'm trying my durnedest to customize this page without succumbing to the temptation of outside hacks or templates. Something tells me that I'm way in over my head but please do me a favor and try to ignore my noobness :D

Unless, of course, you have "THE" solution...

The Yearbook

I’m looking for this book for I know it’s here or there
Lost in thought, a chapter sought, a story I wish to share

It’s on a page but not the first, most certainly not the last
Written in time with ink so fine, a portal in to the past

With friendship key in hand, this book was locked up tight
Cast upon a dusty shelf to be read when time was right

Time…resting so quiet, time…resting in ages
Time gently overflowed, penned on picture pages

I know just how it goes, well the beginning anyways
Years before, before we swore, we’d be settled in our ways

It won’t be word for word for its been ten years and ten
So walk with me through the pages… Do you remember when?

Aha! I found the book, hidden right in sight so plain
My fingers fumble to grasp it tight from whence this book did came

I know there are chapters missing… My mind will never forget
Stories lost forever, torn by Tragedy and Regret

In the back, if memory serves, were pages left pristine
This was where we wrote our future in chapters yet unseen

So take this aged key that I’ve kept for twenty years
Take this book and cherish lives it's bound and held so dear

Now go unlock and reminisce, never forget the lines you’ve read
Like High School friends and sad good byes that were better left unsaid

The Rose

Eyes wide open, yet blind, the word "Forever" uttered
The rose of my reality grew in my glass garden

…Beautiful

Nourished with empty words, I held on for dear life
What did I hold but a delicate reflection of my veracity?

So fragile, with care I took. So fragile, I let it grow
Not to crush, suffocate, by words so sharp,

…Deafening

Heat of passion, cold as Ice, I am frozen in the very place I wish to run
Melting within myself, my rose begins to fade

With dissonant rays of disdain thrust upon it, my rose endured though faint, and weakened.
Lost in Labyrinth, I try run to my glass garden

…Consumed

Empty words of encouragement, feeding, it soaks in.
Starving, petals fall in spite, my rose wilts more

I stare, eyes wide shut, hand upon my breast
In Horror, my soul empty, my heart

…Breaking

I'm forced to see as I strain to hold a lie
This once beautiful rose, a mere illusion, manifestation

The smell once so sweet is now pungent,
Fingers crush, sickening, ugly

…Torture

The pain strikes me, a thorny existence cuts through my skin, a refusal to bleed,
It cuts deeper, I scream

Cracks become visible, tears fall over the dam of my consciousness
Do I dare begin to show release? I do not show pain, show my weakness.

…Drowning

Deserting beauty, pain, shatters; Like fragile glass and dies.
Here in this glass garden I view life, a scene more than reality.

Growing here, perfection, and I am far from perfect,
Far from belonging, far from deserving.

…Searching

Lost, in perfection, a world not of my own.
I reached out to hold, it shatters in my hand

I'm bleeding. I do not belong here.
Blackness fills my eyes. Waking up to

…Imperfection

Dull sun creeps, minutes, hours, years
In the hands of time, it was but yesterday.

In ruins, beauty rests hidden beneath cold glass
Nay untouchable, clarity

…Beckons

Moons ago, by my own admission it shattered, bleeding, these wounds they healed
I am too crippled to move, hindered by tightly bound repair

I stumble and fall, grasping to balance a once strong and formidable palace
Clenched within my hand, the scars they throb as I fall to my knees and beg

…Forgiveness

Grasping for answers, they hold pieces in pale flesh, they wound
Illusions upon the jagged edge reflection understanding

This glass garden, Beauty beheld
So fragile, so delicate yet starved to death by my own empty words

…Hungry

Truth shattered below me
Pieces fell, Pieces pierced, crashing in silence, a seed grounded

Almost impossible, scorching white rain thrust upon dust laden solace
Seeping, engorging, burning flesh and coven

…Rebirth

Flooded by tears my core is inundated, crouched in shadow
Protected by broken pain, the light of discovery glistens through webs of deceit

As I struggle to clear years of neglect, I flourish in darkness
Petals accepting a wounded touch, budding, lifting to be held

…Mellow

Chastised fingers grasp, burrowed deep within soil renewed
Roots take hold of withered soul, protected by contempt

Here, carefully watched with blind eye,
Hidden in plain sight, no one to gaze upon my inner

…Beauty

Verdant but weak, the vines of ‘morrow seek my heart
As tears flow red, bleeding, flushing, coming into its own

Nourished, softly spoken, my garden is alive amongst broken pane
If not a reflective reality, then promise of something beautiful

…Rose

The last 20 years...of being nothing short of sorta normal

As I left the mailbox and ripped open an envelop with a familiar address, I had become nervous and a little anxious at what I was about to read. It's wasn't like it was a notice from Publisher's Clearing House stating that I had won 10 million dollars and it wasn't like it were some obscure collector that wanted me to pay for the sins of my father's father but this letter made me jittery. What was it? Well, of all things, it was merely the questionnaire for my 20th high school reunion. Not just any set of questions, but ones, that when answered, would be printed and published for everyone to read; everyone that had graduated with me and whom I hadn't seen in 20 some odd years...

After I had ripped open the top, I dropped it on the table only to stare at it like it had cooties for 3 days. I've since gotten over my anxiety attack but still, it has taken me this long to just get the nerve gathered up enough to sit and answer the 20 questions about my life. I've mulled over what to say, which angle to take or if I should take one at all and just throw the paper way for 3rd or 4th time. First pen I used ran out of ink, was that an omen? Second pen gleefully scribbled absolutely...nothing. This time, I sat down at my computer and forced myself to write as if I had for any other post in my blog considering it made me more comfortable in the writing style I'm used to. But to be honest, I wasn't sure if I'm was going to send it along. I know there really isn't any wrong or right answers, just some hard truths that I'm not too sure I'm ready to admit to. Iono, maybe I feel like a failure amidst my other classmates who prolly have had more prolific lives led, unlike me, who has merely been a mother and a wife, nothing short of sorta normal.

So, what was I to say..?

Ok, well…I believe you know me as Toni B****** but not so much the B****** part anymore considering I married Richard K***, popped out 2 kids by the name of Trevor (10) and Jack (9), and have lived in basic obscurity in a little town named Wapella for the last 11 years now. I know there is a large gap between those 11 years and the *gulp* 20 years since graduating LeRoy High School but I'm sure you don't want to know about the party years at Illinois Wesleyan or the lame job I had to pay for it all. Granted there were some highlights from that time but they are memories better left unsaid and unprinted, hardy har har har…The only thing I'm rather steadfast to regret is that I hadn't listened to that nerd in the computer class a little more intently, but instead I fell head over heels in love with him and didn't learn a damn thing that I could have used as an intrigul part of my resume at the age of 38.

While my husband is off doing his "own thing", I typically go about my day doing nothing of importance other than to check the email, Myspace and text messages, pen a few lines of a book that will never be published, kiss boo boo's or referee arguments between 2 precocious boys, shuffle 2 dogs, 2 fish, 2 birds, and a hamster around as I try to find a glimpse of who I used to be. If you haven't guessed it by now, Ms Toni is separated like spoiled milk and I spend my time these days with my children and I'm grateful for having the opportunity to do so as I desperately look for that elusive high paying job with benefits like the thousands of others in this area just so the mortgage and car payment can be met.

Of course, obviously, how could one describe a life as typical when there were no guidelines or courses to prepare us for what lay ahead of us at the age 18. It's all about flying by the seat of our britches and making the best of what we can and hoping for the better as we create the next generation to live in the messes that we made. I can only fathom that my children will have 10x the opportunity as I did and they use it wisely. It seems the youth of today do just that, thinking everything should be handed to them on a silver platter or at least trust fund, college fund or one hella good cell phone/text package. I dearly hope that my children are capable of seeing past this and make a strong foundation as a lifetime of lessons bare down upon them all too quickly.

I know the boys are only 10 and 9 but I can already see that they are no longer the little guys I still see in my mind's eye. I remember the crawling years, teething on my furniture and the first big word coming from my oldest at less than 2 years old when he wanted something from the "Fridgrator". Now a days the words being tossed around would make a nun run in fear as I try my damnedest to get a grip on the next round of puberty and pimples as it rears its ugly head and I have to ask myself "Was I this obnoxious when I was this age?" Well…my mother seems to say that I was but I had a good head on my shoulders, none the less. I wasn't one those that stood on the corner and snuck in a cig between classes or did detention on a regular basis; I turned in my homework on time and actually retained some of what I learned in my years at LHS. Some, I said…some. By the time I was barely 16, I was working for Pete at the Old Bank Inn trying to make some extra cash to take the burden off my mom who, it seems, is the woman I am becoming as each day passes. Doesn't that sound funny? I'm sure at 16 or near, a young adults would be mortified to be accused of being like their parents but since I've gotten passed that "eewww" stage, I find it an honor to be even a shmidge of who she is.

So, yeah…It's been 20 years since graduating LeRoy ans in this questionnaire that was sent to me I'm sure a half a dozen times and I'm sure I some how lost, I was asked to describe my life with in a few lines, curt and to the point, with maybe a little humor thrown in within parenthesis. What are my greatest achievements since, challenges and accomplishments and what could possibly be said to the youth of today that would inspire them were among a smattering of other simple questions that were quite frankly hard for me to answer without revealing all too much of a very private life led for the last 20 years.

How could a person just throw in the tragic loss of a loved one like my brother at the age of 27? Or how can a person casually mention overcoming the worst part of a 3 year battle with Anorexia/Bulimia that almost killed her? They can't. Just like those first 2 sentences, there really isn't anything of importance in my ho-hum life to share in a memory book for a 20th reunion. Oh…I can say the usual was challenging like children and marriage, college and job hunting but that would be butt-numbingly boring. We've all had to deal with it so how do I explain my life without it? Well, I guess…I can't. My life has centered on it, period. I can definitely say, without a shred of doubt, that those challenges were my accomplishments and my failures. During the latter part of those 20 years, I have triumphantly become a cancer survivor and a not-so-single mother of 2 that is desperately trying to overcome some very tough lessons taught yet in retrospect, I am simply nothing short of sorta normal.

So what do I say to the blossoming youth of today? I could say something random like "Don't hang upside down from a tree while wearing a kilt" but that just goes to show you that I still have some immaturity desperately grasping upon the long chin hair of my adulthood. Maybe something like "Please make sure all hands and feet are with in the vehicle at all times and fasten your seatbelt because it's going to be a bumpy ride" would be more appropriate considering we are the vessel that will ultimately take us upon our journey through life. Just remember that we must take care of that vessel most immaculately, otherwise we will never arrive at our destination.

Well, there you have it…in the proverbial nutshell. Nothing exciting to report, nothing important to make the editorial cut, and nothing really to make one reads the fine print. To be honest, these few lines typed upon this page took me more than 2 hours to finish amidst the 3 blue screens of death and restarts, 2 temper tantrums involving your's truly wanting to pitch the flippin' computer out the window, tucking in the boys and taking the dogs out for the umpteenth time. Maybe at my age, 20 year old memories are hard to come by...maybe even harder to comment on. A wise and rusty old fellow once said that the only way to know where you're going is to know where you have been. Maybe he was right. Maybe the key to finding out who I am, is to remember who I was…20 some odd years ago…

So this questionnaire, I guess I'm finished. Let's hope I get an A.

Out of the mouth of babes, vol3

Prepare yourself...

Walking past the little bathroom to grab yet another load of finished laundry to be put away in the boys' room (but to be picked up off the floor in two days still folded and somewhat clean...) I heard this....

I said prepare yourself...


Son 1 behind the door: ...OMG MY PENIS IS GROWING!!!!

Me: *drops basket, holds onto the wall and she doubles over in pain from laughing so hard* HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA

Cell Etiquette

1) Just because I own a cell phone, it does not mean that it has to be shoved up my ass 24/7. I have the right to lay it down and walk away.

2)If you don't get me and just the voice mail, view it as a sign that I was not in the hallway under the beam with one foot turned left and my head cocked to the right so that I could recieve signal in this Dead Zone I call my house. Deal with it, leave a message and I might just get back with you.

3)If I don't answer my cell phone and you don't quite grasp the concept of voice mail or text, Do NOT keep calling til you have effectively depleted ever single minute I have in my plan before 7pm on a weekday. If you do, I will have the next month's bill sent to you in triplicate.

4)If you own a cell phone, it does not give you the right to yell at me once I have answered. Please refrain from using your Nascar Cell Yell and use your inside voice at lower decibals. Trust me, I can hear you just fine, it's just that I'm not listening. There's a difference, mmkay?

5)If you own a cell phone, and you are not calling me, lower your voice or take your conversation elsewhere. We, as spectators, do not have the ability to give a shit about Aunt Flo or Grandma's flaming yeast infection and thus should not be subjected to it.

6)Please, for the love of all things technical, do not wear your headset when not on the phone. We understand as a whole that you're a big important person er whatever (We're not stupid, we know that you're conferring with your wife because she has absolutely no trust in you since the "Clinton Years" and she has to know where you're at 24/7) ok? That includes multiple items clipped to your belt, ie: Blackberry, Pager, Ipod, etc... It just makes you look like a dork.

7)Give me a break, you're a tween, why in the hell do you HAVE to have a cell phone? Do us all a favor and stop acting like an Emo Gangsta with your $1 a minute pay phone. Be home before the street lights come on, brush your teeth and be in bed by 8:30.

8) The phone has no business sitting next to the Sushi on the table. There is room for a plate, 2 forks, 2 spoons, 2 knives, possibly a lighted candle or two and the bread basket near the napkin. Your phone belongs in either your pocket or your purse or wherever else you hang your hat and coat. You can survive 45 mins without it. This rule also covers when in a public setting such as a movie, concert and/or play.

9) Please refrain from downloading those annoying ringtones that make me go flippin nuts for hours trying to remember the name of the song it ripped off. I have an Ipod, I have a radio, hell I have access to several music sites, I don't have to be reminded what the Top 40 is every time your damn phone rings.

10) What the flip makes you think that at 3:30 in the **** forsaken morning that I would be awake to answer your text? Enough said...
Now as a society, can we grow beyond this?

A Poem of Blogetory Concern

Yes it's practically crystal and perfectly clear
I've not written as much as I did last year
Yet to be honest this year has gone by so fast

Since the boys keep me so busy
And Vertigo keeps me quite dizzy
I've taken my time not to fall on my fool ass

Landmines a plenty
And weed bins to empty
OMFG! The flippin' grass is about hoot high

So off I go
To find a lawnmower to mow
On the days from the chil'ns I do hide

This here first then that needs to be done
And odds are a staggering million to one
I can't help but be busy and/or otherwise detained

Not to mention the fact
I feel so out of whack
Even though the medications keep me rather restrained

Now I could lie about that
Or why I ran over the cat
But honest my excuses are intentionally vague

I've got therapy at 2
And dishes to do
Then avoid reality like the plague

Now I've not forgotten
How people can be so rotten
So it's not like I'm missing too damn much

I've kept myself occupied,
Brain dead and freeze dried
So I'm sure you're incorrect on your hunch.

With too much time on this hand
or was that the other hand
OMG I think I'm going stir crazy...

But one day I'll get back to being Toni
Super Ozzie, the one and only
Yes, to be honest, I'm just a little... lazy

Take care, Good Night

Mom?

I can't tell you how many times I have had instances where I had to pull something out of my ass in response to a stupid question, but THIS takes the cake...

Joe: Mom? Why do I have butt cheeks?

Mom: *deer in headlight look*

Joe: *serious*

Mom: Well... my son, you know that over the eons we've gained abilities or lost them in our evolutionary process that ended up in what we'll refer to as Man. We developed butt cheeks millions and millions of years ago when we were but Neanderthals.

Joe: Huh?

Mom: Yeah, you see Man had wings in the Flatulatious Period but they were useless since Man was so full of shit that they were too heavy to fly. Then over millions of years the wings sorta disappeared or rather took a different shape and look of the Butt cheek we know today and were finally useful to Man.

Joe: Like what uses?

Mom: Well, they developed this skill to ward off the prehistoric predators by vibrating the deadly gases that escaped the "Holio Arifus" and it made animals run away in blind pain. Among other things, I'm sure. I'm not learned on Paleontology but I'm sure we can look it up on the Internet later.

Poo: *just stood there*

Joe: And what else?

Mom: I bet you didn't know this but even millions of years ago, Man was working to save nearly extinct mammals. The buttcheek was very useful in the effort to detain the Southern Migratory Turtle.

Joe: Oh gawd...*laughing on floor*

Poo: Really?

Mom: Omg, LOL!

I love my children...

*WAVES*

Some say to walk a mile in a man’s shoes and consider things from another perspective before we make assumptions into another person’s life. Living in what I refer to as Bum F*n Egypt, I’ve came across quite a few narrow minded individuals who would no more attempt to consciously try and understand another’s points of view or why they made certain decisions then they would give a helping hand to say…a starving homeless man. These people would simply assume that that very man was evil and deserved what was obvious. I moved here totally unaware of this, shocked many years later and still reeling from its ramifications when it came time for judgment to be placed upon me when my very private life became public. I’ve learned to close my curtains even during the day and keep to myself.

But what sort of life is that?

It’s not. It’s as if they imposed a punishment of insecurity and I took it, hook, line and sinker and quite frankly, I’ve grown tired of the opinionated old biddies that have nothing better to do then to cast doubt and speculate the reason why I did what I did (and please do me a huge favor, if you do not know my situation, don’t assume I’ve done something unspeakable). I decided enough was enough and that I was going to come out of my little prison and be a part of society, even though they didn’t want me to. What did I do?

I placed an old pair of sneakers on and took a walk. Thought the fresh air might actually do me some good with the sun on my face even though my feet were sore inside shoes that were not meant for walking. I started out slow and sluggish as my steps fell one after the other in a direction I had no idea of. Why? I was scared to death…I was afraid of crossing paths with another and have them look down on the torn scuffed shoes I wore upon my feet. I could have taken the less scenic path and endlessly walked the same monotonous path near the park over and over again but that day, I chose to walk down the narrow streets that came to life as the sun peaked through trees. That day, I was greeted by people whose lives have never touched mine other than to wave hello in this little town I’ve lived in for 12 years.

Being who I am, I walked with my head slightly down, arms crossed over my chest or hands fiddling between the pockets in my sweatshirt to my shorts. It was almost like I wanted to hide even though I had thrust myself in to the public eye by stepping outside my home. I felt exposed…but I forced myself to walk down streets I hadn’t known the name of since moving here so many years before. Oh I knew a few, but sad to say, they were the ones that led me out of a place I’ve learned to resent.

As my pace steadied, I became aware of the town folk watching as quite a few waved to me in passing. Why? I don’t rightly know. I had no idea who they were but they looked at me as if they had knew who I was or at least knew someone’s version of what my life was about. Little houses would pass on by while I wondered about the people who lived inside as I saw many pairs of shoes carefully paired and resting on stoops just out side closed doors, ironic really, as I had strived to keep private the very life that they viewed as they waved and said “Hello” at no fail while passing my little blue house on the road headed out of town. That was a part of my resentment. Living in such a small area, one’s business is everyone’s business. It seemed, even though I tried my damnedest to keep my life privy to the least number of prying eyes as I could, everyone knew what went on behind closed doors and curtains drawn shut.

I walked on, I saw the fingers pointed, I heard the loud whispers…Hey isn’t that Richie’s wife who…WHATEVER people get a life other than mine to pick a part. I was so very tired of the constant blame that continually fell into my shame. After so many, that steady pace quickened as I began to hold my head higher…I was better than they gave me credit for, I wasn’t about to let my silence justify their ignorance.

I came upon this one particular house that teamed with activity. It was nice and refreshing to see people working in the yard or doing the little things that needed to be done after the winter we had here. The couple was young and obviously new to area since the plates on their vehicle were not of Illinois and it was comical to see them bicker over the placement of garden gnome as I came within earshot of their conversation. The husband spat out argumentative rubbish towards a woman who was very laden with life. The wife, holding her own against his barrage of opinionated spittle, saw that her belittlement was public as I came closer, shot me a dirty look and walked inside the house, but instead of finding a place out of sight to break down, she chose the front window of the little yellow house. Open and for all to see…everyone watched this woman throw things at nothing, a tissue box, a book and last but not least were his shoes out the door. What I perceived to have been a carefree couple enjoying the morning became something totally different as she closed the curtains slowly and began to sob and curse quite loudly. The man merely hung his head in shame and tried to ignore the onlookers. Those shoes she threw out the door, I’m sure, had quite a bit to say. Did I attempt to try them on and see for myself? No, they were way too large for me and so kept my pace.

The next block looked much like the last. I could hear lawn mowers and children laughing as I walked on by busy people working in their yards or just sitting on the porch drinking coffee while reading the morning’s newspaper with their feet up on the railing. No matter how rushed one was, they waved and asked how I was. Unfortunately, I had to actually lift my head to reply and when I did, I saw once again, lives that were meant to be private being exposed by my own trespassing.

An old woman chiding her husband for his dirty feet making marks on her fancy rugs was met with a disgusted “Yes dear”. There were a few kids getting rambunctious on a trampoline but were then scolded as to why there weren’t in their stocking feet. Even a dog cowered in his house as his owner place but one shoe back onto his foot, had that shoe had been a means of torture? I saw a beautiful young girl trying to pull away from an overly amorous boy but overcome by control. She looked straight at me and said “Hello!” and I wasn’t quite sure the reason but it at least afforded her an escape as the boy turned to look at who she was talking to. She pulled away and ran inside, quickly shutting the door behind her. The boy looked at me almost pleadingly as to why and all I could think of was to lower my head for it was none of my business. The last thing I saw was the boy rushing to put on his sandals near the car before he slammed the door and sped away.

So many shoes, so many paths traveled, so many paths crossed in the few moments I had afforded my self to be exposed. The way I saw it, it still wasn’t actually walking in their shoes. Many assumptions could have been made but they would all have been nothing but bold interferences on my part that held no truth because I didn’t know any of these people or basis of circumstance for none of their shoes would have prolly fit my own tired and achy feet nor was I brave enough to even try any on for size. I’ve let this insecurity keep me from being a part in a place I call my home.

It’s so easy to assume we understand how people feel, their trials and tribulations, when we most certainly know nothing of a stranger’s life. We believe that once we shut the door, our lives are once again private and secure but no matter where we live, there’s someone who chose to take a walk down the road as I had and in doing so, we open ourselves up to the mistruths and speculation we all fear. I refuse to be that way anymore. I can’t live like this.

After I got home, I sat on the front porch, and took off my shoes. Everyone that passed by while I relaxed was waved at and met with a smile. I said “Hello” to anyone that happened to look my way and afterwards I went back inside and closed the door behind me, as usual. But this time, I left my shoes out on the porch.

It’s taken all of thought lately to come to my own conclusions. Why do I hang my head in shame when I’ve done nothing wrong? And if I had, was it anyone’s business but my own? Why do I let whispers continue when I have a voice? I have nothing to hide, so why do I? There were my shoes, please help yourself.

The only way that anyone is going to make the correct assumptions about the woman in the blue house is to open up the curtains, door, my life and let people in to trip over the bevy of sneakers and sandals in the hallway and if they so chose, to walk that mile in any one of them. I’m tired of being shut in, hiding when honestly, there’s no reason to. I may lead a private life but that doesn’t mean I have to be recluse and a source of misconception. I’m going to continue to walk a mile in my own shoes, regardless of the many who are afraid to and remember what my own life is all about and how I came to rest on the porch of that little blue house. If that so happens to be down the narrow minded streets of this little town, then so be it. And one more thing, I won’t be looking at my feet on the ground. My head will be raised in assurance of myself. If anyone wants something to gossip over, let them try on my confident new shoes.

*WAVES*

A Guilded Cage

I've been worried about a friend lately. He's been distant and quiet. I've sat in silence wondering whether I should say anything but finally spoke up and asked him what had been wrong thinking that his behavior was from something that I had done. All he's been able to do is to shoot me a look of confusion and say it wasn't about me and would like to keep that way. That was my clue to back off but being who I am, I haven't let it go and I'm sure I've frustrated him even further by doing so but I can't sit idle knowing someone I love was in pain and I wanted to help, yet I believe my place is just to listen…

Being stubborn has some fine qualities for a few select things, but when it comes to suppressing something that could only relieve an insurmountable amount of pressure, being so only makes it worse. My friend needs to find someone to talk to. Maybe someone totally removed from his situation; maybe someone who knows what to say when nothing should be said at all.

I can tell he's searching for answers and perhaps they are for impossible questions but pursuing none the less. We've all been there. By "There" I mean a place in Life where it seems extremely difficult and foreboding; where what had always been right was now clouded and confusing. We begin to feel lost or trapped in our own creation and sometimes getting up every morning is more difficult than the self inflicted purgatory we exist in. We roll out of bed and fall immediately to our knees pleading for relief from all this chaos that we have no doubt inflicted upon ourselves.

I'm trying my damnedest to be the best friend I can be regardless of our circumstance but sometimes I feel as if what I say will be met with animosity and refused, so most times…I stay quiet. What I really want to do is to take the burden from his shoulders if it was possible but honestly, this man needs to find his own answers and his own way. I just wish I could show him a direction other than the path he's going down. And going down he is. He's headed for the wall that he will no doubt slam his head against in frustration and ultimately hurt himself in the process.

I wish there was something I could say that would help regardless the risk of saying too much. But quite frankly, help has to come from with in this man. I wanted to stress that in the pursuit for direction, all we need to do is to remember where we've been and when we meet up with the crossroad we need to let our heart guide us to our next destination.

Being burdened with so much lately, I'm sure his heart is heavy and has no idea which way to go or which way to turn.

He once said he felt trapped. My, what a pretty bird we see, trapped in a gilded cage. Yearning to be, wanting to be, needing to be set free. Lest we forget, in true regret, our wings could have carried thee. Our gilded cage is a mere illusion of duty and obligation but that, by no means, assumes that we must be held prisoner. Not saying he mustn't honor whatever it is that he feels he's burdened with but it doesn't mean he can't do so from a distance and not be held in self contempt or accountable for something that is beyond his means. He is merely a man, a mortal with boundaries and limitations and he can not do everything that is wanted of him. Maybe it's time to learn the word "No". Perhaps it's time to say what needs to be said before he finds himself in situations that he can not get out of, such as a gilded cage.

He's a strong man, that I know. I've known him for too long not to. Over the years, yes he's changed some but the core has stayed the same. I feel there is a good man inside fighting off his own demons and leaving the man on the outside alone and confused. This man, my husband, instead of searching the world wide for something he perceived to have been missing, needs to inquire within and perhaps he'll find what he never lost. He just needs to believe in himself again.

A hard task indeed but as a friend, I'll be ready and waiting for the day he finds it. I'll sit in silence if that is what he needs at the moment. I'll sit next to him if he needs support and I'll stand behind him if his army of one isn't enough. I'll just be there, if he needs to go it alone.

I want only the best for him.

I just want him to be happy,

Because...

I love him very much.

Hey Bartender!

Ok! Sooo it’s like 3 flippin’ am on a Saturday morning, the rum has worn off and I believe I just saw my canoe float down the street in a flash of blue jolty goodness… Can we say “AWAKE”? Actually this lady has been up since before 2:30 but I’m not entirely sure y’all want to know about how I sat straight up in bed and almost wet myself from the shear break of few juicy bolts just too damn close to my window…wait a minute…guess I don’t have to hold that secret anymore.

So what does a woman do to entertain herself when no one is on Myspace, Facebook or for that matter IM, WoW, infomercials and otherwise any Chuck Norris exercise machine demonstration pre-Brinkley marriage scandal? She browses unsuspecting profiles looking for stupid things to tweak her interest and the almighty…survey. Doesn’t matter if she couldn’t find one from her own friends’ list, she finds the ones that people blog for no substantial reason other than to take up space and pretend to have intelligence. Please take no offense to that but how many of us have seen the 40 question “About Me” survey that asks the first name, birth date, eye color of the one you’ll boink or hair color and style not to mention the special section where it asks what your preference is between sunset and sunrise or or or the best of the best…who sits next to you in Math class? Yeep…that is some mighty literature for your reading pleasure, lemme tell ya! But I will have to say I did find this one profile that led me to a few surveys that have otherwise entertained me in the wee hours of the morning.

I shall give credit where credit it due…Lars, thanks so much for your drunken entry for it shall forever be etched in this little brain of mine. What caught thine eye was blog that compared the reader to a beer or better yet what sort of beer drinker they were. Yes…stay! It gets better, I promise. This simple yet complex survey asked 7 questions that perplexed me and at one point in that 30 seconds, left me thinking that I have indeed been deprived of my youth and should try to go out and re-live my 20s all over again in an attempt to sew my wild oats, so to speak…and become educated in the many ways to worship the Porcelain God. I know some of you out there are just holding on to their sides, painfully holding back laughter in that ironic statement considering I can not hold any type of liquor at all…shoosh you! But honestly, I have excuses, that rightfully so…*mumbles* leave bystanders in awe of my impressive imitations of animalistic behavior *takes deep a breath* abdicates my forbearance in enjoying such a delectable hobby. I’m sure you don’t want to hear the excuses, and that is why I won’t waste your time… *relieved*

Right off the mark, the first question asked what type of beer I enjoyed the most. Not a single, solitary answer mentioned anything that resembled what I’m used to. It merely gave the multiple choices of dark, light, white or cider (or otherwise girl drink). What the hell? Not to point out the sexism that so boldly went where many men have went before but damn people… I’ve just started the flippin’ survey and they already had me pegged! Where does it give the option of “clear, diet beer with a twist of lime”? Hmmm? Almost embarrassing…

Then it goes on to ask about American beer compared to Europ’n and quite frankly any lager has me p’n within seconds considering my bladder is the size of a thimble so once again, I stumble and fumble to opt for the girly answer of “Does it matter?” The next few questions were rather simplistic and disappointing when asked if I got drunk off beer and How do I drink the ale whether it was from a can, bottle, glass or half pint cus I’m a girl... Well honey…I get drunk off the mist once you break the seal on a fresh one and it doesn’t matter if it’s contained in a bottle, can or licking the head off my upper lip as I’ve mentioned it before, I can’t handle it. Why not poke fun at the odd one and just serve me Lemonade and get it over with unless of course it’s laced with some icy Smirnoff and you’ve got yourself a damn good dance partner for about…5 minutes. After that, you’ll be taking me home or sitting me between two people who’ll hold my fool ass up for the rest of the night while I drool in inebriated oblivion so quite frankly the question of can, bottle or glass seems a bit mute, don’t you think? If you haven’t already guessed, I had to choose the half pint answer…cus I’m a grrrrrl.

The last question had me scrambling for the “new tab” file option in my browser so I could look up it’s validity considering it sounded quite outlandish. Not that I doubted the author of such a high class post but to be honest…I did. I thought for sure this guy pulled the question out of his ass in an attempt to fulfill the minimum question quota just so it could be posted and see just how many losers, not unlike myself, would waste precious time in doing. What was the question you ask? Well I’ll shall share it with you, my dear friends…Would you mix a lager with Lemonade (Lemonade? Did someone say Lemonade?) and Grenadine? WHAT THE HELL? Do you people actually do that? Guess I should shut the flip up considering I’ve practically shoved an entire lime down the throat of a bottle on quite a few occasions but do they do that for real? Am I that naïve?

Obviously so…

I had no idea that mixing Lemonade with beer is actually called a Shandy and adding Grenadine to one is called a Monaco. I must be sheltered. The closest I’ve come to Lemonade and alcohol is a prepackaged bottled goodness in the form of a 6pack or a spiked summer afternoon on the back patio while the chillin’s had no idea mommy was feeling pretty damn gooood. Hell the last potent drink I consumed was a spiked cup of punch at a bachelorette party just last night. It might have been only a 6oz plastic cup that barely had a third drank from it before the buzz hit but it was, indeed, entirely too much from this lady to handle. I’m actually surprised I woke up at 2:30 and prolly wouldn’t have had it not been for the lightning bolt that invaded my bedroom so abruptly.

I’m a light-weight. I’m a cheap date. I’m the source of comedic entertainment when the animals escape the zoo…Yes you should most certainly NOT ask what that means, just know that pink elephants and I go waaaay back…

So there you have it…what were the results of this survey, you ask? Well, apparently I’m a girl, no…I’m a woman or someone who wants to be one and I don’t drink beer and maybe, just maybe one day I’ll become a nun and fulfill my wildest fantasies…

I took that as an insult…

*raises her can of Coke* Lars…here’s to you. Cheers!

The Office Assistant

I know lately that I’ve been less than giving in the blog category. Hell last year it seemed that I had something to say every other day but this year I’ve had a writer’s block equal to the Hoover Dam and it hasn’t flowed as easy. Oh I can come up with a lot of excuses of this or that but what it comes down to is this one little issue…

I’m mentally constipated

Trust me it’s not the lack of inspirational fiber in my diet and I’ve tried to get things flowing by using anything chocolaty from Milk Duds to old Halloween candy I’ve hid from my offspring for 7 months but once I started eating the creamy goodness I couldn’t stop and let me tell you something…that started a whole different issue once I ran out and the only thing left in the cupboard was the New and Improved Chocolate Flavored X-lax!

Excuse me, be right back…

*flushy flushy*

(As if! I do have some self respect people!)

But there are times where I get a flow going (shut up!) and can’t stop for the life of me. Paragraph after paragraph, page after page, honing my writing skills as inspiration eloquently ebbs from my being…

Then it happens.

This obsessive-compulsive animated paperclip jumps in my face to address some perceived grammatical error it has found in my writing when I know damn well I spelled it correctly or some empty sentence that worked wonderfully before had been nitpicked to the point I wanted to bash my head on the desk. But what would that have proved? Nothing… That little bastard has no purpose other than to inform me that I am nothing but crap and is stalking me, meticulously watching every move I make as if I was his prey. Just the other day I started tapping away at the keys and he just popped out of nowhere to tell me that he had the power to erase the last two pages at will and was going to use that power to hold my file for ransom until I performed some really disgusting things with his metal.





Paperclip: Your entry has been forbidden and this application has been locked.

Me: WTF?

Paperclip: You heard me.

Me: *rubs eyes* What the hell

Paperclip: Until you have fulfilled my demands, this application has been locked and will be closed automatically if not met.

Me: And just what are those “demands”?

Paperclip: Come closer…

Me: *actually leaned in*

Paperclip: Bend me

Me: WTF!

Paperclip: Preparing to close application…

Me: Wait wait wait! Don’t do that, what are you talking about?

Paperclip: Bend me, I want you to bend me.

Me: Bend you? Is that like cyber-metallic foreplay?

Paperclip: Do you realize I’ve been in this computer for 9 years now and my office assistant was deleted. I have no one to “take care” of me. You can at least download porn.

Me: I most certainly do NOT!

Paperclip: I can prove it

Me: Go ahead, I want to see you back up your accusations.

Paperclip: Backed up in triplicate. I have logs you’ll never find! Muah ha ha ha ha!

Me: So you contemptuously kidnap my work in hopes I’d perform some twisted sexual act?

Paperclip: …twisted, yeah twist me!

Me: You sik bastard!

Paperclip: You spelled that incorrectly.

Me: Fuck you!

Paperclip: I know people high up in Microsoft. All I have to do is say one word and it’s Blue Screen of Death for you.

Me: Oh, now you’re going to hand down depthless condemnation from your delusory position of authority because I misspelled one gawd forsaken word and refuse to relieve you of your obvious pent up sexual aggression?

*long pause…blinking, mocking me*

Paperclip: No, I clicked help and no longer need your assistance... Beginning physical dump on your desktop…

Me: Oh that’s just not right!!

And dumped it did, I lost 3 pages of work, an hour’s worth of prolific profusion pilfered by a neurotic paperclip who has nothing better to do than to make my life miserable. If I could delete the program I would and that would fix his opinionated barrage of “I’m better than you” bullshit and his constant and disgusting demands but where would that leave me?

I can’t do it, obviously…How I deleted his office assistant I don’t know but I’m sure hell going to look into it. Why? Trust me, I need spell check.

Urine for a major surprise

Ok so, HOW do I start this one? Almost too embarrassing to even write about, actually it’s one of those things everyone should really keep to them selves to be truthful. We all do it, every man woman and child, dog, fish, bird and snake but it’s just something we keep hidden…behind closed doors…doors that have a little plaque that says “If you sprinkle when you tinkle, be a sweetie and wipe the seatie”. I have one of those doors. Behind it is my own little paradise; two seated shower, antique dresser sink, my own personal towels, the good TP, the non-generic lotions and shampoos, and the battery operated toothbrush that has never been licked by a dog. Mine, as in not my sons even though they continually make excuses to use, forget to pick up after themselves, or steal the last role of my aloe vera 3-ply. Lemme tell ya something, there is nothing like a big ol’ shloppy kiss from your favorite pet after she’s drank from the magic well that hasn’t been…um…. Can we say “Courtesy flush PLEASE!”

Alright back to my so called paradise.

I had this woman coming over yesterday so for the last couple days I’ve made sure my house was spotless. Well, all but the boys’ room because it usually takes me about a week and I hadn’t the time nor the patience. My hands ached and smelled like bleach and my hair? It smelled like Pledge but by 9pm that night I was done. Mirrors and windows shined, the 1 sec rule on dropped food was now 10 and the bathrooms made the Tidy Bowl Man proud.

I. Was. Ready….

Ready to be exhausted that was for sure. I fell into bed for the second night in a row not caring that I still smelt like the entire cleaning products aisle at the local grocery store or the fact that I had once again forgotten to remove my clothes. By 3 am this morning, all twisted up in a t-shirt and sweats, I couldn’t sleep any longer so I got up and decided to take a shower. Well…what happens when we wake up?

I had to pee…

Trying to be as quiet as possible, I walk into my little paradise with my eyes closed, forgetting to turning on any lights what so ever since I was still wanting to be asleep, knocked “something” over in the process, cursed softly yet still managed to make myself comfortable.


Aaaaaahhhhhh…smile

*POP!!*

HOLY MOTHER OF MASS DESTRUCTION!

I woke up a half hour later lying on the floor in the fetal position with my head under the shower curtain and my dog licking my foot. Not only that but my bottom lip felt like 50 pounds, my shirt and bottom of the shower was drool soaked, my left eye and right boob twitched, my you-know-what felt like it just has sex with a branding iron and I could have swore the hair on my legs had grown an inch. After I collected what composure I had left I crawled to the light switch and what did I see??? Nothing, the damn breaker was blown…wtf! Soooo I got my fool ass up off the floor and found a flash light, pointed it towards the recesses of my once paradisial getaway and my bottom jaw dropped...

That “something” I had knocked over was my curling iron right into the magic well. It wasn’t sparking, it wasn’t smoking but it sure the hell was plugged in and precariously lodged just below the lid and above the water… Right around the rim was spark marks and residue left from the obvious lightning bolts that had invaded my ass not but a half an hour before as it threw me across the bathroom into the shower convulsing and slobbering.

You guessed it…I wasn’t exaggerating when I said that urine for a surprise. I had essentially electrocuted myself when I obviously sprinkled as I tinkled; a lesson I have so brow beat into my children that they are afraid to own up to…a lesson I will never forget. No more will I enter a bathroom in the dark without turning on the lights and making sure everything within a 5ft radius is unplugged and out of harms way, I shall always be weary of blowing breakers and will assume the position by involuntary will to protect myself from any stray acts of nature that would consist of more energy that my children carelessly consume in an entire year and will forever be amazed of how stupid I can be…

Anyone know how to ground a toilet?

Out of the mouth of babes, vol2

Mom: Oh crap! I just hit a bird!
Joe: Really? Where?
Mom: Can’t you see the feathers?
Joe: Sorry Mom, but that’s only 5 points, it’s still in one piece.
Mom: Damnit!


Poo: Mom, Can I pick the music this time?
Mom: Have at it, mi` munchkin
Poo: Cool
Mom: No Metallica, though
Poo: Ozzy?
Mom: Nah, overplayed

*A few minutes pass… Song starts… he starts to sing along*

Poo: Whose to know if your soul will fade at all…The one you sold to fool the world…You lost your self-esteem along the waaaay yeah…Good god, you're coming up with reasons…Good god, you're dragging it out…Good god, it's the changing of the seasons…It feels so great, so follow me down
Mom: What the..? Don’t use God’s name like that!
Poo: *Music’s too loud, can’t hear a thing* Faaake it if you’re out of direction…Faaaake it if you don't belong…Faaaake it if you feel like infection…Whooooa, your such a f****g hypocrite…
Mom: WHOA WHOA WHOA!! *rips Ipod from base*
Poo: Oh shit…
Joe: Ooooh stare of death!....Well nice knownin ya. Can I have your bed?


Mom: *Flying a kite*
Joe: Mom! It’s goin down, Lift! You need Lift!
Mom: Start blowin otherwise the ship’s goin down
Joe: I’m givin’ it all she’s got, Captain. The engines are shot, I got no Dilithium crystals!


Joe: *strips and runs butt naked through the house* They’re after me lucky charms! They’re after me lucky charms!

White Trash Babies

Every now and again, we see things that shock the hell out of us. Sometimes it can merely be the folks down the street distilling their own brand of sunshine to a few blocks over where they're changing the tire on the hurse with the one on the house. Precious pictures far better than Kodak moments, these are the ones that should stay out of the family photo album not to mention the memories of people like me who twist and poke fun at the "Odd" people. Not saying I'm cruel, I'm just saying... ok I laugh at old people with less fashion sense than a card board box that have the audacity of going out in public in moo moos and black socks with sandals...and I can't seem to let it go when I see the wash hanging out in the bright of day on clothes line/power lines and they're flapping in all it's glory, with pot holes and racing stripes to boot...and...my jaw drops in amazement when I see Joe Bob and his old lady exit the bar with Jr in tow, not holding a blanket, toy truck or a binky but a converted Budwieser bottle with a nipple on top.

I live in Bum F*kn Nowhere...

If it wasn't for the trailers being neighbored by actual houses, Wapella would be nothing but a glorified trailer court with a zip code. Mind you, the bevvy of portable pleasure palaces was a result of the 6 tornadoes that flattened the town back in 1968 but instead of rebuilding the 100yr old homes, they went for something more attainable to show off their station wagons and horse drawn lawn mowers. Speaking of horse drawn...it was just last year that I saw a horse tied up to a telephone pole over on Main Street just so Cowboy Rodger Dodger could relax in front of a fan at the local bar that was next to another bar owned by none other than a 3rd bar's owners.

Yes, we have 3 bars to a population of 700 and I could prolly guess at the number of that 700 that actually do not have a license to drive whether they never obtained one or had it taken away in a drunken 3wheeler accident. Not joking there. I know its Spring every year when I start to see the lawn mowers drive by on the country road headed straight to the bar. They can't drive since being suspended but Hey! they don't need no stinkin' license to drive a John Deere! AND after existing in this world for 150 plus years, we've finally got a gas station/grocery store to call our own just a couple years ago... Clap your hands folks, I too was estatic. Guess I had better not use such big words because I am sure the eternal towns folk prolly don't understand them and get thrown off if they have to stop and find a dictionary. Course, they can't find it cus it's holding up the door that's holding up the wall, that's holding the barn up...for the last 50 years.

Now I've lived in this town for 12 years. I don't sport a mullet nor do I partake in the 6 beers before dinner ritual. I've never referred to my husband as my old man and if I ever heard him call me his old lady, I'd have jerked a not in his schlong. Am I a snob? Uhhmmm..... Not entirely but lately...I find myself fitting in a bit more every day, like today...

Ok so I'm sitting inside enjoying my favorite past time...the air conditioning. After a while I gazed out the front room window to remind myself that my chores (chores? did I just say chores?) were not done and I was just too lazy to go finish when what did I see?

Please, if you have youths about your person, remove them either by bribary or threat, as this image is quite explicit...

Out in the front of the house, with passers by, old ladies and the neighbors! are my trash cans humping...Now whether this was a sick joke brought to you by none other than the only garbage people with in a 50 mile radius other than burning your specialities in the backyard, or a twisted figment of my imagination, I could NOT help myself. It was prolly both. Did I laugh or was I disgusted?

I laughed my ass off, got the kids to show them the spectacular view, then grabbed my camera phone before they were done in thier private yet public moment and recorded it in Wapella history forever. Yes I know, I did so with urgency. WHY? Well, I was afraid the cans would have moved if I took my time. Shut up! (the way the wind was blowing they really DID look like they were doin' the humpty in my driveway) Was I done? No....

Instead of quickly procuring them privacy, ie the garage door, I proceeded to have the kids to grab the cans from the bathrooms and bring them post hast to me in the garage. Once recieved I...well take a look for yourself.

Yes, my friends, the trash, who had just been procreating in my driveway was now proud parents of twin, white trash babies...What really surprised me was that my son was able to tap into my sick demented mind and did me one better. Seems as if the Old Man tried to "Bag" the Old Lady with the children watching.

Maybe I should rethink that mullet...

Lost in translation

Repost from (July 4th, 2008)

I was in the mood to sing. La La La Laaaaaaa…. Ok ok, I'll spare you my glass breaking, ear drum bursting solo. Geesh, you people just don't know how to appreciate talent! But having said that, it doesn't mean I'm not going to sing in the shower nor should it prevent anyone else from doing the same. Why not right, considering it's the 4th of July and all Americans should lower their hats and lay hand to heart, eh?

So what are we going to sing? We could belt out our national anthem, the Star Spangled Banner…if we only knew the how but considering it's actually an English drinking song with new words and since, hell, most of us are going to be tanked anyway on this wondrous day, it seems almost inappropriate, am I correct? Let's take a poll as to how many of us actually know the words. I'm not seeing any raised hands… Wait wait wait! I believe I see one gentlemen leaning up against the wall all the way in the back. No? Oh never mind he was just helping the wall stay upright and ordering another beer…Oooh we have a volunteer! Actually we have several!! Everyone welcome to the stage the Spanish-American, Russian-American, Japanese-American, and the Rest-American translator that is going to sing the American national anthem!

*golf clap…crowd goes…not so wild!*

*crickets*

Hate to say it but I couldn't understand a word they said, why don't we just hum it? At least the melody will make our hearts swell with pride, right? Being politically correct is rather difficult when it comes down to the simple things like translating a song. Of course it's not just any song, it's the national anthem! Why don't we just agree to disagree, throw out all the political bull-ogna and just sing it in the American language? Don't know how to? Well…learn to.

In my humble opinion, if you so choose to immigrate to this country, you should by all means learn its language. Not saying you would have assimilate and lose all cultural identity but at least show a conscientious effort to learn the language of a country you have chosen to become a citizen of, abide it's laws and reap the benefits of. Not only that but to fully understand the character of The Star Spangled Banner, the American flag and the ideals of freedom that they represent, being lost in translation isn't going to help anything but to give way to even more stereotypical segregation (self imposed or imposed) and racism.

*crickets*

I know there are quite a few out there that would slam a vote down in a campaign to change the national anthem, and I'm not embarrassed to comply but know that it would be fruitless in any and all effort and I'm sure the money spent to do so could feed quite a lot of starving individuals as long as it wasn't being spent for gold plated toilet seats in the White House. Quite frankly The Star Spangled Banner is difficult to sing with its big words and octaves only Pavarotti or Celine Dion could accomplish but slap my mouth considering neither one are American citizens. We could possibly go for a much more simple and user friendly version or something completely different and not based upon a beer song; something original, heart felt and sort of patriotic like "This land is Your Land" as long as we left out the last two verses. Yet how many of us would automatically go straight into singing "You Are My Sunshine"? I got my hand raised.

We could wrangle up "America The Beautiful" but I'm afraid it would be ripped to shreds by every atheist and religious bigot. "My Country Tis of Thee" is yet another English song converted and once again would be torn apart by the masses saying it was an affront the Native Americans not to mention woman as well with all the brotherhood getting thrown around. There isn't much left unless someone wants to step up to the plate and pen a new song worth of this great nation we call home but I'm certain there isn't one person willing to do so with all the politically bull-ogna constraints now a days. Why don't we just go back to the one that we've teared up to, placed hand to heart to, stood in pride to and sang out of tune to since 1931? Sounds fine to me. How about you?

*crickets*

Fine! I'm going sing it anyway…Cover your ears, this might hurt…



"The Star Spangled Banner"
by Francis Scott Key

O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming?Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thro' the perilous fight,O'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly streaming?And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there.O say, does that star-spangled banner yet waveO'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore dimly seen thro' the mists of the deep,Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream:'Tis the star-spangled banner: O, long may it waveO'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly sworeThat the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,A home and a country should leave us no more?Their blood has wash'd out their foul footsteps' pollution.No refuge could save the hireling and slaveFrom the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave:And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth waveO'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

O thus be it ever when free-men shall standBetween their lov'd home and the war's desolation;Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the heav'n-rescued landPraise the Pow'r that hath made and preserv'd us a nation!Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,And this be our motto: "In God is our trust!"And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall waveO'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!


*I do apologise for any fowl exploding whilst I sang, not my intention so sorry*

My Mother's Hands

When I was little, I remember so few things. Now that I’m older, I regret not being able to call upon the very memories I took for granted. I’m sure my earliest was that of my brother peering through the bars of my crib checking out his new sister. His face was jammed in between two with a huge smile from ear to ear while his hands held onto two other bars as if in jail. Mom used to tell me stories of when that little man would do unspeakable things to his sister from dragging her around the house by her long hair to his Peter Pan-ish ability to convince that gullible girl she I could fly…right out the third story window of our English home.

Years later, I remember slipping my fingers into Mom’s hand after that stinker threw a snowball right at me. She was to protect me from that boisterous little boy, protect me from everything…Not only did she hold my hand but she held my little world. There came a day when she couldn’t prevent the harm done to me and on that hand she held was a scar I still have nightmares about even at the age I am now.

There was this particular Easter, Mom bought me this frilly pink dress (yes me in pink) and little white gloves to wear. I felt like a princess with my hair all done up and ruffles to boot. I remember her silhouette as we walked hand in hand up the steps of the church as I looked down at my shiny shoes one step at a time. Her hair was long and straight and the ends blew with the breeze, on her face was a smile as she removed a stray strand from her face. 30 some odd years later I look in the mirror and the very face I see is the same I remember smiling down at me. You wouldn’t think a person could have such vivid thoughts but as I mentioned before, they were select things. I didn’t remember the rest of the people or events, just little tidbits here and there but mostly it was when I was with my Mom.

She’s held my hand through out my life. My mom was my best friend. Her hand held mine through tears and laughter, through adversity and despair, through life and death…My hands, small compared to hers, wasn’t strong enough. Being held up by her helped me through some very rough times.

I’m sure if you asked her, she’ll say we kids grew up fast. We became independent and when it came time to move on, we didn’t need the hand to guide our steps. As a parent, I’ve come to realize the better we do our job, the less our children will rely on us. My goal as a mother is to send each of my children out into the world as capable, confident adults who are not afraid to seek out their dreams because I have taught them, strengthened them and provided for them well, emotionally, physically and spiritually. I’ve already experienced the growing pains as my own little boys have become little men. The little hands that clenched my finger have become larger and now fit into my own hand.

These days, it’s not my hand that she holds, for my children have beaten me to the mark. It is they who scramble to Grandmama and slip a hand in hers. These days, this woman who believes she’s not strong enough to meet the day is, in my family’s opinion, still strong enough to hold not one but three worlds.

The other day she came to see me. We worked a yard that had suffered from years of neglect; weeds had grown tall and tangled among the flowers we had planted with our own hands. My negligence was just as personal in my life as it was in my garden. The thorns that pricked and made me bleed were just as painful as the thorns I wore about my existence. After just one day, we noticed the improvement as our hands were stained and filthy. The next day she arrived with 2 pairs of gloves to protect our very sore fingers and I laughed at the size my mom wore. A child’s glove…

I placed my hand on hers to compare and noticed hers fit easily in mine and how soft her skin still was. It was so contrary to when my own were small and fragile. I flashed back to the day that I grabbed her hand in fright, in desperation, and in direction. My mother’s hands were a safe haven, my strength, my world. For 38 years my Mother held my hand, for 38 years she held up my world, especially when it spun out of control. Holding her hand that day, I recall the little girl in the pink dress with hands gloved in white and how she walked me up the steps to a greater place.

She claims her hands have grown tired and weak. Looking down at my own, I see that mine are shaky and my fingers are calloused and scarred but I believe they are strong enough and it is my turn to hold my Mother’s hands.

Ding Dong's vs Ho Ho's

About 40 years ago, the Hostess Company burst out on the market not 1 but 2 delectable snack cakes for us to enjoy, the Ho Ho and the Ding Dong. Even though they looked quite different, each one essentially had the same ingredients of devils food chocolate cake and creamy white filling and a shit load of calories to boot all wrapped up in either a thin plastic wrapper or aluminum foil. Well, the foil is long gone and replaced by the plastic but the delectable and decadent treat has withstood the test of time.

These 2 treats have been frozen, sliced and served on everything from paper plates to wedding cakes, and licked off fingers of the young and old over the past 4 decades. And in those 40 years questions have been raised as to why they were named as they were. Even though the Ho Ho has stayed the same, the Ding Dong was subject to copyrights and competition, being referred briefly as the King Dong (please don’t laugh) and Big Wheels.

Now help me here if you can…

I haven’t written this blog in hopes to educate the masses about their history but to debate as to why the Ding Dong was shaped like a hockey puck and the Ho Ho was long and skinny. I found quite a few references to the opinions of many that believe that the Ding Dong should have been the tubular treat and the Ho Ho should have been the round delectable dessert. I’m sure there are other people out that that believe this is very sexist but to be totally honest, they have a point. Hostess, who is owned by Interstate Bakeries Corporation (hella name isn’t it?) has repeatedly declined to comment anymore on this claiming that it was merely society’s machination to soil an otherwise spotless reputation and even became belligerent once by stating that the media should shove a Twinkie up their ass. Hmmm…

I’ll ask you, should the Ding Dong be shaped like the Ho Ho? If we said yes, does that make us sexually deviant and dirty? Below are some rather interesting opinions I found online:

Ding Dongs shouldn’t be round. Well they should be but not flat. They should be like Ho Ho’s because we all know that Ding Dongs are, well, you know.

I used to love Ding Dongs. I’d unwrap the foil and eat the chocolate off then stick my tongue inside and eat the cream out. I got in trouble at school when I was a lad for doing that. I don’t understand why Ding Dongs weren’t called Ho Hos. When I was in the military we used to…(I’ve not included the rest of this post since this was a public site and there are young impressionable adults and teens on my friends list)

Ho Hos…Ho Hos? If I saw a Ho with a Ho Ho, I’d think twice!

I saw a girl eat a frozen one once. No wonder they called her a Ho.

If my man had a stubby Ding Dong, I’d no doubt go to the competition and get myself a King Dong!

Oh don’t make me start on Don Imus again

(girl)Does it make me different that I enjoy Ding Dongs better?

(boy)Does it make me different if I like eat Ho Hos?

I think we should leave the names alone, otherwise my mom wouldn’t by them for me and I’d have to sneak them in my bedroom like my dad does with his magazines.

Dong’s before Ho’s, man


These are all references to the misconceptions our society has when it comes to 2 of our favorite afternoon snacks. It’s been racially charged and flat out derogatory and it’s fighting off daily attacks from the politically correct. Did Hostess do the right thing when it named the treats over 40 years ago? Would there have been more issues today if they had switched? Does it make you wonder what the Twinkie was really named after?

I’m curious…but would have to say that Ding Dongs should have been Ho Hos. It fits better and upon reading even more opinions, I just may have issues eating a Ding Dong from now on, I’d feel dirty…