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 how...by giving. Go check it out and join in the fun. Thanks, Zelma!
A Winters Slump ~ Red Hot GIVE AWAY!
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
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...
HOWEVER...
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?
HOWEVER...
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?
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Ties that Bind
I was talking to Lisa the other day and the subject of blogs came up. We were talking about one of our blogger friends and wondering what was going on in her life. We've never met her in person, or spoken to her on the phone, yet we were talking about her like we knew her and hoping that she is doing all right.This lead to a discussion about how amazing it is to connect with people through blogging that you would never have the opportunity to meet. That's the reason we blog. To connect, to encourage, and to receive encouragement. We blog to be reminded that we are all tied together in this immense world.
One of our mutual favorite bloggers is Brian. He writes prolifically, honestly and beautifully. And he leaves encouraging, warm comments...as if he feels everything we're writing. He pays the utmost attention. This is no small feat considering he has about a million followers.
Recently, I've been a dry well and I wrote about that on my last post. Brian left a comment, said he's going through something similar. I went back to his blog and read what I've missed the past of week and found this piece. And it reminded me of the poem below. It's one I wrote twenty years ago during a very dark period of my life. Brian's takes place in a coffee shop and mine takes place in a bar. Brian mentions Charles Bukowski and at the time I wrote mine, I was reading everything I could get my hands on by Bukowski. If you've ever read any of his work, you'll see it in my piece. I was trying to imitate his style and it reeks of Bukowski...absolutely reeks. And though the two pieces are different, they are similar. Especially that one line about fitting. You'll recognize it if you read them both. And immediately, I was reminded about how we all search for that connection. I was reminded that even in this big, sometimes sad, world, we are all looking for some place to fit. A place to belong.
I was lucky enough to have it published in the Marr's Field Journal, an undergraduate literary journal published by The University of Alabama. I say lucky because it's horrible. My creative writing teachers tore it apart and I've tried to rework it a few times, with no success. And here it is, twenty years later, somehow tied in a mysterious way to a piece written by someone I've never met. Maybe it's just me, but I think the connection is pretty cool. And maybe I'm the only one that sees the connection and that's just fine. It got me writing again. Thanks, Brian and Lisa.
Crazy for you, baby
Back in my tequila drinking days, I knew a lot of insane people
who used to hang out at a bar I know.
They are the best people to be with because they're honest.
They don't know any better.
One guy named Glen was from New Jersey and a manic depressive.
He used to cry like a baby everyday while sitting on his bar stool.
He was good at suffering.
He had a friend named Mike who used to be a psychiatrist at Bryce Hospital.
Mike was fired for being aggressive with his aggressive patients.
He was good at beating the shit out of people.
Glen and Mike would sit there everyday, on those same puke green bar stools in
that nasty, smelly bar, and disagree.
That's what they did - that's where they fit.
Glen hated the south and Mike would tell him to shut up and go away.
Said if he couldn't handle eccentric southern bullshit, he should go back to Jersey,
and that's when Glen would start to cry.
The drunker they got, the better they got so I bought them tequila and we drank it straight.
None of that salt and lime bullshit.
It was smooth and hard going down.
One afternoon, after too many shots and a round of Jeopardy which
included a category on Jewish history, Glen started to cry again.
He couldn't stop so I took him home.
His apartment was empty except for his depression which smelled like something dead.
He told me about his girlfriend, who he had driven crazy, and I said,
"No big deal, we all drive the ones we love a little crazy."
He said, "No, she's really crazy.
She wears a straight jacket like a security blanket.
She eats nails like candy.
She feeds one me."
Insane.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Scattered, but still here
Every now and then, I run out of words. I don't know how this happens, or why. It's as if I've completely forgotten how to write, how to string a sentence together or even, how to spell. I'm amazed at the people who crank out a poem or a thoughtful post almost everyday. I lurk in the shadows, silent, and read.
But I know the longer I go without writing here, the more foreign it becomes. My thoughts are scattered, though, and so is this post.
Remember when I mentioned Panting with a Twist? I had a great time and this is the result.
See the sweet girl on the left? That's my daughter, Stevey. She just turned 18. Eighteen. 10 + 8. Two years less than 20. She's going to college in eight months. I have so many mixed emotions about that, I can't even begin to write about them yet.
This guy is one of my most favorite people on the planet, my grandson, little Brian. We had a scare a couple of weeks ago when he was pretty sick with Kawasaki Disease. He was in the hospital for four days. He's fine now. Great, actually. I have amazing friends and family who prayed for him. In this photo, we're at Barnes and Nobles. We go there often and he asks me to buy him every book in the children's section. It's hard to resist that little face, people. He rarely leaves empty handed.
My three favorite girls, daughters Stevey and Sara, on the left and right, and granddaughter, Makaila in the center. This was two nights ago at Makaila's first Christmas program. She was in the center of the stage, dancing up a storm to "Happy Birthday, Jesus". Not really a dance song, but she made it her own. We all had to fight back the tears. She was beautiful.
Let's see...what else? I'm still riding my bike every Saturday. I'm getting stronger, lasting longer before I keel over and pass out. This coming Saturday should be challenging because it's supposed to be wicked cold.
Christmas is in 8 days. I haven't bought one thing yet. I planned on getting it all done the week after Thanksgiving but life got in the way. I think I self-sabotage early Christmas shopping every year because I secretly like the hustle and bustle of last minute shopping. Or maybe I'm just a procrastinator. Which I am.
And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to watch Polar Express for the umpteenth time with B. He loves that movie, and so do I.
Merry Christmas!
But I know the longer I go without writing here, the more foreign it becomes. My thoughts are scattered, though, and so is this post.
Remember when I mentioned Panting with a Twist? I had a great time and this is the result.
See the sweet girl on the left? That's my daughter, Stevey. She just turned 18. Eighteen. 10 + 8. Two years less than 20. She's going to college in eight months. I have so many mixed emotions about that, I can't even begin to write about them yet.
This guy is one of my most favorite people on the planet, my grandson, little Brian. We had a scare a couple of weeks ago when he was pretty sick with Kawasaki Disease. He was in the hospital for four days. He's fine now. Great, actually. I have amazing friends and family who prayed for him. In this photo, we're at Barnes and Nobles. We go there often and he asks me to buy him every book in the children's section. It's hard to resist that little face, people. He rarely leaves empty handed.
My three favorite girls, daughters Stevey and Sara, on the left and right, and granddaughter, Makaila in the center. This was two nights ago at Makaila's first Christmas program. She was in the center of the stage, dancing up a storm to "Happy Birthday, Jesus". Not really a dance song, but she made it her own. We all had to fight back the tears. She was beautiful. 
Let's see...what else? I'm still riding my bike every Saturday. I'm getting stronger, lasting longer before I keel over and pass out. This coming Saturday should be challenging because it's supposed to be wicked cold.
Christmas is in 8 days. I haven't bought one thing yet. I planned on getting it all done the week after Thanksgiving but life got in the way. I think I self-sabotage early Christmas shopping every year because I secretly like the hustle and bustle of last minute shopping. Or maybe I'm just a procrastinator. Which I am.
And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to watch Polar Express for the umpteenth time with B. He loves that movie, and so do I.
Merry Christmas!
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Hey, hey it's the monkeys!
Nearly every Saturday morning for the last eight weeks, I've been on a bike ride with a couple of guys from the band at church. It's been a Saturday ritual with them for about a year now. They don't ride in the streets, though, smooth blacktop roads and few inclines. No, they ride on the nature paths that wind through the woods down by the river or on the six mile trail that's winds around Chimp Haven. You read that right, Chimp Haven. It's a very cool place that provides homes for chimpanzees that have been retired from the medical research field, entertainment industry, or chimps that have been kept as pets but are no longer wanted. The guys I ride with, Ryan and Greg, refer to it fondly as the Monkey Farm. Yesterday was my first day to ride the trail at the Monkey Farm. It kicked my butt. Five and a half miles on a narrow, winding, hilly, root-infested trail. I think I almost died.
The guys have been very patient, stopping with me when I need a moment to catch my breath, or I don't know, just to make sure my legs are still there because I haven't been able to feel them for the last five minutes. During these breaks, the conversations are the highlights of the ride. Yesterday, during one of these breaks, we could hear the chimps loudly screaming in the distance. It was actually kind of scary, they didn't sound happy. Greg said sometimes that sound makes him keep riding when he feels like he can't pedal another inch, must less four more miles. He imagines one of them crashing through the woods chasing him.
Me: This place isn't open to the public, right, like a zoo?
Ryan: No, it's a sanctuary for burned-out chimps, basically.
Me: Wow, that's pretty cool.
Ryan: I think once a month they let the public in to look around around and see the monkeys. Last time that happened, we had to leave and ride somewhere else. You couldn't even get in here because of the line of cars.
Me: I'll have to check it out the next time they open. I'd love to see what they're doing here.
Greg: (somberly staring off into the trees) I don't like to look at monkeys.
(pause...Ryan and I look at each other questioningly, and then at Greg)
Ryan: Did you have a traumatic experience with a monkey or something, Greg?
Me: Really, I mean, who doesn't like to look at monkeys?
Greg: They just make me uncomfortable. Seems like they should be wearing pants. It just ain't right.
(Ryan and I, looking at Greg like he's insane)
Me: Pants?
Greg: Yeah. Or maybe overalls.
Ryan: Or a three piece suit?
Greg: Nah, that would be strange.
Me: Right.
Ryan: Yep.
I love Saturday morning bike rides. You just can't buy this kind of entertainment.
The guys have been very patient, stopping with me when I need a moment to catch my breath, or I don't know, just to make sure my legs are still there because I haven't been able to feel them for the last five minutes. During these breaks, the conversations are the highlights of the ride. Yesterday, during one of these breaks, we could hear the chimps loudly screaming in the distance. It was actually kind of scary, they didn't sound happy. Greg said sometimes that sound makes him keep riding when he feels like he can't pedal another inch, must less four more miles. He imagines one of them crashing through the woods chasing him.
Me: This place isn't open to the public, right, like a zoo?
Ryan: No, it's a sanctuary for burned-out chimps, basically.
Me: Wow, that's pretty cool.
Ryan: I think once a month they let the public in to look around around and see the monkeys. Last time that happened, we had to leave and ride somewhere else. You couldn't even get in here because of the line of cars.
Me: I'll have to check it out the next time they open. I'd love to see what they're doing here.
Greg: (somberly staring off into the trees) I don't like to look at monkeys.
(pause...Ryan and I look at each other questioningly, and then at Greg)
Ryan: Did you have a traumatic experience with a monkey or something, Greg?
Me: Really, I mean, who doesn't like to look at monkeys?
Greg: They just make me uncomfortable. Seems like they should be wearing pants. It just ain't right.
(Ryan and I, looking at Greg like he's insane)
Me: Pants?
Greg: Yeah. Or maybe overalls.
Ryan: Or a three piece suit?
Greg: Nah, that would be strange.
Me: Right.
Ryan: Yep.
I love Saturday morning bike rides. You just can't buy this kind of entertainment.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Maybe I'm a Slacker
Today, I had an unexpected break from watching my grandson. I'm having one of those rare days when I'm completely alone. I crave these days but I find when I have them, I'm lost. When everyone leaves and the house is empty, I stand in the middle of the living room and absorb the silence. Then I start to think about all the possibilities that lie before me and my free day! Free! I can do anything I want! My first thought involves Starbucks, a comfy chair and a book. Then I think maybe I deserve something new and consider going to Target or TJ Maxx in search of a new top that will make me look like Gwyneth Paltrow. Or maybe I'll work on my novel (snicker) for a while or write some more angst-ridden poetry. Maybe I'll call Diahn. Or Lisa. Or Troy. Or hey, why not visit a museum or go for a bike ride?
Instead, this is what I've done the entire morning.
1. Decide to eat some Blueberry Muffin Oatmeal @ 9:30am. Make more coffee to go with the oatmeal because I've only had three cups. More.
2. Check my blog for new comments which leads me down a rabbit trail of blogs I've never read before for at least two hours.
3. 11:30am, decide I need to re-watch last night's Glee episode which oddly enough, featured Gwyneth Paltrow. She rocked.
4. Need a good snack with Glee, so I finish off a bag of Zapp's Potato Chips (Mesquite Bar-B-Q).
5. Channel surf for a while and end up watching the last half hour of The Wedding Singer.
6. Do an intense google search which asks the question "How many movies have Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore starred in together? (Answer: Two, plus she had a small bit part of the swedish receptionist in Big Daddy)
7. 12:30pm, consider getting dressed in something besides polka-dot pajama pants and old t-shirt and flip-flops.
8. Nah.
9. 12:30 pm, time for lunch, tuna in a pouch and wheat thins. And maybe some Zapp's dill pickle flavor chips. And Chips Ahoy.
Don't worry. Tonight I'm going to Painting with a Twist with a friend so I'll be exposed to some culture. That is, if you consider painting the same picture with a room full of middle-aged women while drinking multiple glasses of red wine, culture. And I do.
Happy Friday.
Instead, this is what I've done the entire morning.
1. Decide to eat some Blueberry Muffin Oatmeal @ 9:30am. Make more coffee to go with the oatmeal because I've only had three cups. More.2. Check my blog for new comments which leads me down a rabbit trail of blogs I've never read before for at least two hours.
3. 11:30am, decide I need to re-watch last night's Glee episode which oddly enough, featured Gwyneth Paltrow. She rocked.
4. Need a good snack with Glee, so I finish off a bag of Zapp's Potato Chips (Mesquite Bar-B-Q).
5. Channel surf for a while and end up watching the last half hour of The Wedding Singer.
6. Do an intense google search which asks the question "How many movies have Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore starred in together? (Answer: Two, plus she had a small bit part of the swedish receptionist in Big Daddy)
7. 12:30pm, consider getting dressed in something besides polka-dot pajama pants and old t-shirt and flip-flops.
8. Nah.
9. 12:30 pm, time for lunch, tuna in a pouch and wheat thins. And maybe some Zapp's dill pickle flavor chips. And Chips Ahoy.
Don't worry. Tonight I'm going to Painting with a Twist with a friend so I'll be exposed to some culture. That is, if you consider painting the same picture with a room full of middle-aged women while drinking multiple glasses of red wine, culture. And I do.
Happy Friday.
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