Thursday, January 27, 2011

Hello, Memphis

Next week this time, I'll be packing. I'll be feeling like this. Next week, I'll drive to Memphis to meet Diahn for our bi-annual visit. Next week is my birthday. I'll be forty-something. I have a tendency to round-up my age. Might as well be 50. Ask Diahn.

Next week, I will shed my responsibilities for three blissful days and head north, just to be Melinda, with someone who probably knows me better than I know myself.
I will wear my imitation converse sneakers and mismatched colorful scarfs. I will take endless photos of everything I see. I will drive through the great state of Arkansas, alone.

I will sample fabulous Bar-B-Que.

I will listen to The Decemberists, the Dixie Chicks, Mat Kearney and Springsteen along the way and bellow at the top of my lungs.

I will stay awake until nearly dawn, talking, taking in every moment, every smile, every story, drinking fine wine and being silly...downright goofy, really. That's how we roll. We've known each other for so many years. And we're eerily alike. Sisters.

I will explore.

I will bask in the complete and utter beauty of doing whatever I want, whenever I want to. As long as Diahn wants to do whatever I want, whenever I want to. And she will. Because we're like Ike and Mike.

Here's what I will NOT do during those three days:

1. Doctors appointments
2. Ortho appointments
3. Dentist appointments
4. Cleaning
5. Cooking
6. Laundry
7. Sweeping
8. Working
9. Try to reason with teenagers (oxymoron)
10. Worry
11. Pay bills
12. Do dishes
13. Anything else that involves putting anyone and everyone else before that selfish?'s just three days.

And FYI...I WILL FIND ELVIS. I'm pretty sure he's still alive.

Monday, January 24, 2011

The Book

read between my lines,
like you're scouring a novel.
Pick apart metaphors,
my sentence structure,
turn my contradictions,
speak the words unspoken.
Deconstruct me,
black ink fading from the page,
wall of words, crumbling.
Leaving me read,
like a dime-store novel.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Slump Lords

It's winter. Most everyone I know is in a slump. But this pro-active blogger has decided to take matters into her own hands and find a way to emerge! To triumph! To spread some joy! And she's doing it in the best way that I know giving. Go check it out and join in the fun. Thanks, Zelma!

A Winters Slump ~ Red Hot GIVE AWAY!

Monday, January 10, 2011

Therapy in a Bowl

Ahhhh....crawfish etouffe. For something that looks so disgusting, it sure does warm my soul on a cold, bitchy, winter day. That and a whole day of laying on the couch, watching movies and a nice, warm batch of chocolate chip cookies. My family has been saved from my wrath and all is well with the world.

Sunday, January 09, 2011

Unappreciated in Louisiana

I strive to keep my blog a "complain free" zone. I really do. I want this place to be encouraging and a place to focus on how wonderful I believe life can be. And when I am feeling discontent or blue, I usually disappear for awhile because I feel that if I don't have anything nice to say, I shouldn't say anything at all. I try, people, I really do. If you sense a "but" coming on, you would be correct. Or in this case, a great big...


First things first. We are experiencing a wintery mix in Shreveport, Louisiana today. I made the grave mistake of not jumping on the bandwagon and heading out to the grocery store yesterday for bread, milk and flashlight batteries. Apparently, I was the last person in town who didn't purchase my eggs yesterday and they saved this last carton just for me, at Target. Thank the Lord. I don't how I could have survive without these eggs during the frigid hours ahead.
So now the stage is set. I braved the wet, sleety, snowy, windy weather for my family because as usual, there's NOTHING to eat in this house. My teenagers remind me of this frequently. Even after I've spent a small fortune at the store, apparently, there's still NOTHING to eat. Translation: We don't have any cookies, chips, ice cream, frozen pizzas, cereal, chocolate, pizza pockets, carbonated beverages, Little Debbies or the makings of s'mores.

While I'm at the grocery store, I received numerous texts and calls from the "teenagers" requesting the items listed above. Also a call from daughter number 2 requesting that I stop off at the bookstore where she's studying and leave her my debit card so she can fill up her car with gas. Because she's waited until she's on empty. And now her lack of planning constitutes an emergency on my part. Because she's SIXTEEN. And oh my God, Mom, why are you being so unreasonable? I load the groceries into the car, in the cold rain, cursing under my breath the whole time.

By the time I get home, I'm irritated and my husband, who's powers of perception are usually lacking, asks me what's wrong. I unload a month's worth of frustration. In a nutshell, I feel disrespected, overworked, ignored, unappreciated and virtually invisible. I feel like a live-in maid. I feel like a burnt-out Mom and wife. I feel like I want to get in my car and drive miles away for a week, no, a month and take care of no one but myself. I tell him that I would just like a little help around here. I say that it would be nice if he, or the girls would maybe empty the dishwasher sometimes or pick up their clothes or fold some laundry. It's the little things, I tell him, that would make a big difference for me. I'm tired of doing it all, I say. To which he replies,

"Stop doing it," he says.

"Stop doing what?"

"All that you do. Maybe then the girls, and even me, will appreciate you more."

Seriously? What was wrong with my solution? It seems to me, and correct me if you see a flaw in my reasoning, that his solution is the easy, lazy way out. Because he knows that I'm not able to "stop doing it". We would wallow in filth and hunger. And because I care about our home. I basically feel like he's saying that it's my problem. And NO ONE can help me. It's beyond their reach.

Anyone? Advice? Especially from the three or four men who read this blog?