A Lodge Worth Leaving Home For

I think I might have mentioned something about Bren and I taking our kids on a mini-holiday a few weeks ago, and since I just got my film developed over the weekend, I thought I would share at least two of them. Above is the lodge we stayed at while in Queensbury, NY which is part of the Six Flags/Great Escape theme park. And below is a rather dark and dingy shot (that would have been far better if I had remembered to kick the flash on)of the upstairs tree house unit of the indoor water park.

To say that the kids had a great time would be putting it mildly, although if you ask the adults, they might be more prone to remember two of the little ones heaving over the toilet bowl getting sick in the middle of the night.

Awake at 2:45 AM

Writing this early in the morning, or this late at night, whichever one you consider it to be, is never a good sign when it comes to me. Few things pull me from my bed from a deep sleep. A loud noise in the middle of the night. A dream too real to continue on with. And now it seems it's the things I don't hear which seem loudest of all.

It would be in my best interest not to care, though try as I might there are moments when I don't do as well doing that as I should, momentarily allowing myself to plug back in and feel where I'd rather not feel at all. Detachment is the far better option that allows me the security to feel nothing. No hurt. No rejection. No expectations. No disappointment. But it takes a true master of control to remain so disaffected by everything around her, and I'm afraid that though I am quite good at it, it's not a skill at which I exceed at being my very best.

I miss what I would describe as passion in my life. Miss it like one would miss breathing if all of a sudden our lungs stopped working on their own leaving us to rely on forced air being pushed into our chests to make it rise and fall. Without passion, the promise of something more falters. And what we're left with is the feeling that we're living a half life, a life incomplete of itself. A life that lacks an element of joy.

And what I want is something more to come home to. To open up the door with a smile on my face with the same eagerness of a child waiting to hear the final bell on the last day of school, heralding the beginning of summer. I want the rush of euphoria, the tingle of happiness down my spine as I make my way home each night from a long day at work. I want the promise of companionship that offers the safety and security of love, and a friendship that would not falter even in the worst of storms.

They say good things come to those who wait, but it seems to me that I've been waiting all my life for nothing much to happen. If I were a gambler I'd be sitting before you with empty pockets, for my choices each time that they are made are never on the crowd favorite, or what some may call the sure thing. I can pick them, but seldom has it been where they've panned out.

I guess what it comes down to is that in order to cut ones losses, one must truly cut their losses. And one must be able to wake up the morning, present themselves with a new day, and give all their effort to making it a day worthy of the passing of time. Allowing youself to stagnate, to give in, or resign yourself to things being the way they are with no hope for change is not the answer. Sometimes it is the slightest change and effort on our part that makes all the difference, though these moves often require our bravest face to do so. LeAnn Rimes says it best with one line in a song, "Fear of leaving is no reason to stay."

A Swan In Final Flight

There is nothing now of you that I can keep.
No memory, no train of thought, no lost letter
to call you back.

And my heart that thought it couldn't bleed,
beats one last time, a slow and steady staccato,
in memory to all those moments that we had shared.

You and I - we were temporary things.
And between us the future could only be measured by the minute.
But how I treasured each minute that we shared,
storing them away for the inevitable winter to come,
when your words alone would be enough to keep me warm.

One last swan song is enough to bear witness to the truth.
That love and life seldom walk one path in the same direction.
You must live as you see fit, even if that living leaves me far behind.

Once upon a time he wrote...

You excite me Stacey; you make me feel good about myself and about life. I don't know many people that can do that! Call me silly, but I still have some of the messages you left on my answering machine, regarding its rudeness. I never deleted them. I wish you could see the smile I get each time I listen to them. :) I think you and I have many of the same thoughts. I don't know where it will lead, but I am gonna enjoy the ride.

So many years in-between now and then. And I suppose I knew a long time ago that he'd gotten married. Still finding out for sure, I had that single moment when I let myself be saddened by the news, though in truth, I only wish him the best of everything...

Mazal Tov Michael.

Three Strikes and Mom's Out...

KC's softball game was interesting tonight. Interesting being defined as how long I managed to hold my temper and my mouth in check before finally giving way to my grievances in what could probably be described as a loud and obnoxious tone, if one were really so inclined to describe it at all that is.

And it is becoming painfully obvious that I'm turning into one of those parents who will eventually be ejected from their child's sporting event by some off the wall official with an overdeveloped propensity for whistle blowing. But in this, I blame my daughter's coach for being the absolute tool that he is. And a clueless one at that.

Now don't get me wrong as I'm sure he's a real swell guy off the field, but on it, he's a complete ass... God forbid he ever get quizzed on the names of the girls on his team, or actually have to tell them to play a spot that wasn't the same spot they played the inning before. Or teach them about the game of softball in more detail than just hit the ball, run around the bases and when the other team is up to bat, try to get them out. In other words, everything they already know.

Then again holding practices might count for something if he bothered to have any which technically he hasn't done and I refuse to call his half hour before the game warm up sessions worthy of such a word. But tonight absolutely beat the cake, hands down, as the worst almost non-practice prior to the big show.

Tonight two little boys, obviously related or closely associated with the coach, took the field with the girls and then proceeded to catch the ball, throw the ball, and basically make it so every little girl on the field either starting drawing diagrams in the dirt with their cleat clad feet or pretty much sat down in the grass as if they were bored spectators rather than up and at 'em participants in the sport.

And poor KC was livid.

I could see it in her face, the stubborn tilt of her chin, complete with the look of absolute disgust in her eyes and the movement of her mouth which was gearing up to tell them exactly what she thought of them. (This is a good point to mention that my daughter is the not so watered down smaller version of me, and really it is quite a scary sight to behold at times.) So being the wise and wonderful parent that I am - and not so politically correct at times - I yelled out as if to my daughter, "Hey KC. Why don't you just sit down exactly where you are until the boys finish with their softball practice!"

(Hey. I never said I was the poster child of parenting and good role modeling...)

Really though, I thought it was quite a charming way of saying. "Why are you letting the boys out on the field when it's the girls who are supposed to be practicing?" Needless to say, other than my daughter giving me the thumbs up sign from the pitchers mound, it went pretty much unnoticed and the game started about three minutes later. But don't ask me who won, because no one keeps score...

Common Misconceptions

She sat on the other side of the table and I felt superior,
feeling so much smarter than she at her age as
I made a mental list in my head in order of importance,
checking them off.
Things that were non-negotiable,
things that no matter what I just wouldn't tolerate.

And I watched - listened too -
as he talked to her and shook my head.
Shook my head because I wished she knew that
he didn't really matter at all.
That what she really needed to do was to
take charge of her destiny,
and forget all about the little boy man who
threw fast balls at the heads of defenseless children,
taunting them to retaliate.

He's in Peter Pan world I would tell her.
Not ready to grow up.
And you deserve more than a man who treats you like dirt,
but calls you when there's no one else around,
and says come on over but I really don't want you here.

Men create women like her...
Women like me.

They tease us with false promises,
dangling precious pearls of hope,
pretending the one thing we want is just within our reach.
And we think we can make ourselves better.
We can win the prize if we just try harder,
if we change ourselves,
our expectations,
if we surrender our pride.

And after she left, he continued to complain.
I listened with one hand over my mouth not
wanting to create a stir
as he went through a littany of woe is me
and it's so hard to get rid of her.
And had I not been trying to be polite,
I might have clued him in.

Perhaps I might have said that
this is the cost of toying with a woman's heart.
The cost of manipulating her affections.
That it is his own actions which
have born the fruit of creating the woman who
sat silently by his side today.

She is not at fault.
Not for feeling the way she does.
Or for believing in his multitude of lies.
She is not at fault for wearing her heart out on her sleeve,
or holding it in her hands,
sitting at a table amongst a group of strangers thinking
pretty thoughts that being
there will make a difference.
(We both know that it won't.)

She is not at fault for the wanting of more
and the earning of less.
Nor should she look to him to validate her worth.

He is an empty pocketful of change,
and he could never afford such jewels.

The Trouble With Being Ill

Lucky me. I've a three day weekend and here I am just a hacking and coughing away with a vicious early summer cold. It's just not right. And believe me when I tell you, I know exactly who I should blame. Two people in fact. The very two who sounded much like I do now except much worse and who despite being afflicted with the bubonic plague kept coming into the office, day after day, for the sole purpose of passing their contagion around. I mean really, why use a sick day when you're actually sick?

So here I sit, mug of hot chocolate to the right of me and an open door to the basement to the left of me. And I think that perhaps I should be doing more than I am, like finishing the laundry I took downstairs yesterday, or cleaning up the dishes I left behind last night in favor of sleep. And while decisions will have to be made, at the moment I've decided upon not making them. Not a single one. I'm sick after all and as far as I'm concerned that is a good enough excuse to last me until early afternoon if not later.

In My Dreams

I woke up this morning with leftovers of a strange dream still lingering on the fringes of my mind and I thought to myself, "It's funny sometimes, the things you think in your sleep. The bits and pieces you're left to wake up with. Sort of like a puzzle where you have to figure them out, and put them together to make a coherent statement. The things that don't make sense, and the things that do and how in dreams they always manage to combine themselves all into one continuous story."

For months I haven't been remembering my dreams. I'm not sure I've even been having any. But this past week, it's as if someone has turned my dream faucet back on, and every morning I wake up with new technicolor images in my head, foggy images, and memories of conversations I've had but have never had. It's like they've been gone so long they're trying now to make up for lost time. So many of them crammed inside my head, bursting at the seams to get their story out, or educate me with their images. And I'm convinced that my dreams are manifestations of my internal dialogue at work. Things I need to approach head on, deal with, or keep holding out for hope for. It's all there when I close my eyes, like a sigh of relief of finally being able to say all the things that need to be said.

Happy Mother's Day...

I may be a bit prejudiced in my thinking, but as far as I'm concerned, I've got the best Mom in the entire world.

I guess I just must have been born lucky...

Sliding Into Home

My daughter is going to play ball for the minors... And even though I'll be fresh out of whatever it is you're supposed to snack on at a softball game, I'll be up in the stands just a hooting and a hollering away, and if necessary heckling the other team and the ref all at once. There are refs in softball, right?

Tonight is KC's very first game for the little league I signed her up for way back at the tail end of March. And even though they've never even had one single stinking practice and can't possibly even know the names of all the members on their team, I'm sure this game is going to be top notch. Especially since the coach has such faith that practice does not make perfect and that somehow a group of ten year old girls will pull forth their psychic connections and automatically know that Jill Jones is on first, and Jane Doe is playing centerfield instead of being forced to scream, "Hey! Girl on second! Catch this!"

Yes, you heard it hear folks. The smell of sarcasm rising up high early in the morning. As far as coaches go, KC's coach is less than impressive with a questionable commitment level to the game in serious question. In fact, the general buzz of all the other parents would lead me to believe that Sir Coach is going to have his ears set aflame tonight if he doesn't get things a bit more pulled together before this season is out. I mean really... We all shelled out fifty dollars per kid to have them play softball, I believe we all need to see some bang for our bucks!

Batter up y'all.

Salt In Open Wounds

My heart bleeds and breaks and makes wishes for things it cannot have. My anger is my sorrow, my sorrow, my pain. I don’t know how to disconnect one feeling from the other. I am a river that rages lost and out of control, hoping always to return to you.

I wish I could paint you a picture to make you understand, or make sense of these things myself. The way the pain can overtake me as suddenly as a violent summer storm, living here with you, but not with you, scared of the loneliness that refuses to leave my side, scared of my own future now so uncertain.

How can you live with someone you love and know that they don’t feel the same? How can you live with someone who breaks your heart every time he picks up the phone and you know it’s not you he’s talking to? How can anyone even begin to imagine that kind of pain unless they themselves have felt it?

I thought that I could put this all behind me, moving on from here without really moving on from here. Opening myself to what I thought could be new options, new dreams to make come true. But at the end of the day, my need to displace the emptiness I feel inside is as tenuous as the connections I pretend to make. And nothing and no one can stop my tears once they begin to fall. Not even you…

And I know that it would be best to listen to those that have counseled me, my family and my friends. And I feel bad for what I’ve put them through. Days and nights when they have listened patiently when I could barely speak between my tears or keened my sorrow loudly like a lost child in the woods. They have seen me at my worst; a pitiful broken thing as helpless to make a decision as a newborn lamb and they have implored me to change.

But still I wait. Wondering if someday soon you might remember who I am, and the reasons why you chose to find me when I was lost to you. You came back to me of your own accord, opening doors I thought I’d shut. You made me a believer in fate and perhaps it was foolish of me to think that we should be destined to be together when truth seems to be saying that we are destined to be apart.

The way you love leaves me little doubt that somewhere in your heart there is a space for me. Some corner I’ve already claimed. But even I can see that you’re nowhere near ready to allow anyone any closer than where you want them to be. Love is a dangerous weapon. Give your heart away, and there is a strong possibility that you will never get it back. And despite what we think, we cannot live without our hearts.

And so I’m taking mine back and asking you to understand that my pride, my passion, and self-preservation has made this the only move that I can make. I cannot love you and allow myself to fall apart. I cannot love you and surrender my pride. I will not love you and ignore my passion. And I will not put my entire life on hold hoping and waiting for you to figure out that your next move should be with me, beside me... Together.

Eventually I will leave, and be not like the wife of Lot, who in her need to look back on all she left behind, was left to stand a pillar of salt.

Following the Road ...

It's been a few days again in-between posting and I'm afraid that this is now the norm on how life goes on here at NWTLO. I'm not sad about this though because it means I am taking the right steps to getting back on track with actually having a life and so, I'm okay with letting my writing life slide back a bit into every so often rather than each and every day.

One of the best things on my agenda is that I'm taking a few days off from work this week to spend time with my Mom who is coming up from North Carolina. I am beyond excited about this as talking to her on the phone is just not the same as being able to spend time with each other in the same room, talking and laughing over every little thing.

I also went out after work Friday night with some of the guys and had a most excellent time. Granted it was short, but it was nice not to be going straight home. Although next time I listen to "Jake" and follow him on a supposed short cut to our destination, I'm going to seriously consider how not short his last short cut turned out to be. The minute I decided to follow him, I just knew I'd made a colossal mistake ... No offense there Jake darling, but you know all of this is true.

Anyhoo, I wrote a very interesting email last night to someone I don't really know but might like to, and I thought I'd share it here since it's been a long time since I've posted anything that might actually be considered funny, or at the least minimally entertaining ...

Dear Mr 80%,

I would have gotten back to you sooner, but I was carried away by a nomadic group of conga line dancers and well, there was no stopping them once they got started ... Actually that's no where near the truth - they weren't actually nomadic. It was however an interesting way to start off an email when simply saying, "Hi. My name is Stacey," was a bit too run of the mill for me ...

So if you're still with me, and not running around your house making sure there's no chance that the rhythm is going to get you, I'll tell you just a bit about myself.

Like you, I put a high value on my friends and family. And considering how long I've known them, it's also a testament to how well I deal with dysfunction. Lord love them, but my family seems to think that any and all gatherings are open mike night at some comedy club, and with three other siblings, my Dad takes full advantage of having a captive audience. Luckily he hasn't yet gotten around to making us pay a cover charge at the door ...

While I do like to go out on the town, I'm more homebody than not. To me, the best way to spend an evening would be deep in conversation, or simply sitting next to each other enjoying a movie, or mocking it beyond all recognition.

I like to have fun. And I like to be around other people who enjoy spending their time laughing, talking, and simply being in the moment. Life shouldn't be treated as one big stress test, when it's true value is finding the things that make you happy, making this world we all share a much better place to call home.

A few other quick facts before I turn this email into a short novel - give or take a few hundred pages - I am a single Mom of one child (10), and work full time professionally. And like you, I agree that any relationship needs to start off with the basic foundation of friendship in order to build and grow. I appreciate a good sense of humor but also know when to turn it off and let my serious side take over. I'm the kind of woman who once committed to something or someone, believes in the value of a true team effort.

I would definitely like to hear more about your wild side or whatever else you'd like to share.

Hope to hear from you.

Stacey

Backlash of a Verbal Assault

We're back to living with the petulant child. Rules being do as I say but not as I do. Nagging little threats to make sure we tow the line. Expectations that often exceed reality as well as integrity. How easy was it to say in the beginning that we would agree on how to disagree and then veer completely off that path. How easy was it to say everything I wanted to hear while knowing the value of follow through would never honestly follow through. This is all water under the bridge now. Been there, done that, except here we are still running around ourselves in circles, chasing our tails the way some people chase demons away.

There's got to be a way to stop. There's got to be a solution somewhere in my head to cash in my chips and quit this game. You have opened my eyes and for the first time I see clearly the things I don't want are the things I don't need. And I can live without you. For a day. A month. A year. A lifetime. There will be nothing that I will miss. A nothing so pure that the thought of you will never invade my mind once I am gone. And there will be no return to this season we have shared, allocated to the darkest winter of my mind.

I have no pity. No feeling that I should share to make this seem less harsh than what it is. You killed off that last little piece of innocence in me. The part of me that could have seen your side and felt sorry for your shame. But you have made your bed with the consciousness of your decisions, and the deceptiveness of your actions and the petulance that seems to invade all aspects of your character.

I can do no more than bide my time. The end draws near of its own accord.

Taking It Down in My Little Black Book

Praise the Lord people ... This girl has finally had her light bulb, earth shaking, oh my God I can't believe it took me so long to catch on moment! And damn, if it wasn't just in the nick of time. I'm talking the bottom of the ninth with bases loaded and one out left at bat ...

It seems to me that what I haven't been doing these past few months - okay, let's be honest - these past ten years is taking charge of my own future. I've been cheating my own destiny by being too uninvolved in my own life. And I've been content to sit back and take what comes to me without ever really being proactive about getting out there and getting what I want.

But no more ... I'm about to take charge in a big, bad way and I'm about to take names ... Names, numbers, you name it. I'm taking it all down, and getting myself a little black book to call my own. And that's not just Dr. Phil talking ...

A Million and One ...

The Untrustworthy Speaker


Don't listen to me; my heart's been broken.
I don't see anything objectively.

I know myself; I've learned to hear like a psychiatrist.
When I speak passionately,
That's when I'm least to be trusted.

It's very sad, really: all my life I've been praised
For my intelligence, my powers of language, of insight-
In the end they're wasted-

I never see myself.
Standing on the front steps. Holding my sisters hand.
That's why I can't account
For the bruises on her arm where the sleeve ends . . .

In my own mind, I'm invisible: that's why I'm dangerous.
People like me, who seem selfless.
We're the cripples, the liars:
We're the ones who should be factored out
In the interest of truth.

When I'm quiet, that's when the truth emerges.
A clear sky, the clouds like white fibers.
Underneath, a little gray house. The azaleas
Red and bright pink.

If you want the truth, you have to close yourself
To the older sister, block her out:
When a living thing is hurt like that
In its deepest workings,
All function is altered.

That's why I'm not to be trusted.
Because a wound to the heart
Is also a wound to the mind.

Louise Gluck

I'm sure a million other people have blogged this very same poem for various reasons of their own. Truth - even that which is seen with the borrowed words of another - still retains its authenticity among kindred spirits. In some ways, we are all the walking wounded, carrying around old hurts and broken dreams. And haven't I too felt the weight of my own invisibility, the words that course through me like molten lava at my core and listened to the sound of my own voice betray me as if it were not mine to own.

And me, I have been much like a tightly wound cord, wrapping myself and all my hurts in a binding so tight that I gloried in my control. But these past few months I've been unraveling - years and years of hurt I always knew I had but wasn't ready to admit to or deal with.

Perhaps it is an explanation as to why the winter seemed eternal here, as if the cold had somehow seeped into my bones, and frozen me in place to shiver with its contempt. I thought to myself that this was what dying must feel like, the absence of everything. And for a short time, there were moments when I felt like giving up and letting go just to be done with the pain. But those thoughts - even as they crossed my mind - were quickly discarded. I have walked away from many things, but God spared me from having to walk away from myself.

Even now as the first Spring flowers show their faces above the ground, I am rebuilding my foundation, digging deep into the core of who I am and what I want. There are some things that I will not accept less than what I should be offered. And for these things, I am non-negotiable. And even if I am the only one who values me, I am still worth every choice I make to solidify my future.

I will find the light. I will feel it on my face. And I will go on ...

Talking Outside Ourselves

As human beings we are quite complex. Who we are and what we become is a process learned from the very moment we take our first breath of air. Memories from childhood are time stamped on our hearts and minds, and sometimes without even knowing the reactions they illicit from us as adults, the reasons for why we feel the way we do don't always seem that clear.

Sometimes it takes talking to an outsider. A third person. Someone who knows you not by whose daughter you are, of whose mother you are, or whose sister you are, but by the pictures you paint and the stories you choose to share. And you can tell them anything. Say whatever you want and you know that whatever you say won't leave the room you've told it in.

It is a trust. A trust to tell your most secret thoughts, or cry your most secret fears and know that your words are protected and safe. And it is a Godsend to let the things you've been holding onto go. Or feel confident enough to believe in yourself again and trust once more that the choices you make are solid and won't turn to quicksand beneath your feet.

It takes learning about yourself from the inside out to understand how your life has been shaped. And it is this same learning that allows you room to grow, and the ability to change.

I have learned many things these past few months.

Some demons need to be chased down, and looked at dead center before they'll abandon their post beneath your bed. Some fears need to be faced before they can fade away into the oblivion they belong in. Some beliefs need to be challenged in a way that the truth of what is will never be confused with the truth of what was. And sometimes it's okay to be the one who needs a hand to hold, and a shoulder to cry on. Because true strength is as strong as your greatest weakness. And true weakness is not asking for help when it's the one thing that you need.

Life as enjoyable as it can be, often has its rough patches, places and times when nothing seems to come very easy at all. But if you make it through that cold and lonely winter to the thaw, the Spring brings blooms as bountiful as they are bold.

Better Days

Silence is not overrated. Ask any busy Mom that and she'll tell you that there are moments at the end of her day, when she craves nothing more than the sound of nothing itself. When all she'd really like to do, is come home, throw her keys and her purse on the table and slouch down in an easy chair, while giving absolutely no thought to dinner or whether or not there's homework to be checked on, laundry in need of folding, or dishes needing to be done.

Sometimes I leave the dishes in the sink to sit overnight, or wait until the weekends before I'm really desperate for a load of whites, or opt to eat out rather than go through the trouble of eating in. In moments like these, I act as if I'm a one woman revolution, drawing my line in the sand and daring someone - anyone really - to cross it.

I'm done with trying to be perfect or attempting to maintain a persona of someone who has got it altogether. Sometimes I crave a little bit of chaos to keep me on my toes like two weeks worth of dust on a dresser. Living isn't about how clean my house is, or whether or not I've had the oil checked in my car every 3000 miles. Living is about laughing out loud, long and as often as you like for the sheer pleasure that it brings.

So get out there, do some living. Forget about the things you think need to be done, and do the things you've been wanting and waiting to do ... I promise you, you'll feel better about a lot of things in the morning, and if not, you've just got to keep pushing ahead until you make yourself a better day.

Sweet Sunday

I am posting from my local library and don't I just feel as if I am the thing. Somehow typing in a room full or people, feels more like a secret spy mission, as I'm constantly looking over my shoulder to make sure that no one is attempting to read what I'm writing, and then wondering if they would be bored to tears is they were. This I suppose is neither here nor there.

Brenda and I took all the kids (along with a friend of KC's) to the movies earlier this afternoon to see Ice Age 2 ... It was an interesting enough movie, and I have to admit, I did shed a tear (or two) at the end. Not that it necessitated tears, but hey, I know what I'm good at.

Meanwhile - back at the library at which I am currently sitting - I have two books to tide me over for the week and a CD of piano solos by Samuel Barber. This whole library kick I'm on just may put Barnes and Nobles out of business. I love free books!

Anyhoo, time for me to get moving along as I'm sure the kids are getting bored over in the kid section and honestly, they're not to be trusted alone for too long.

Helloooooooooooo ...

In respect to my own self interest, the hoochie koochie post is on hold until further notice, or at least until I know someone other than my Mother and my best friend are reading this blog again ...

Sad, isn't it? You go away for a little while and suddenly realize you've been abandoned. Not that I can blame any of you who went away. A blog without its writer is a pointless read indeed.

But that I suppose is the awful and honest truth. Life has its own agenda, and sometimes it goes in a different direction than we would have it go.

Anyhoo, my daughter is waiting on me to turn off this contraption and get to the business of movie watching. So I must be off ... Life for me is more often than not beyond this world with a limitless amount of windows.

Calling It a Day

Now I know you all want to know just how my appointment went today at the doctor's, but I promise, that's one story you want me to share when I have more time to do it justice.

But for now, my head is pounding with a furious headache, and since I am quite alone, I am going to go put on a pair of comfy pajamas, slip under the covers of my wonderful, warm bed and call it a night.

Until sooner ...

On With the Scooching

Tomorrow is the dreaded Doctor appointment and I need to go to bed in the next few minutes so as to mentally prepare for it all. I can't believe that Bren and I made these appointments all the way back in January and now here we are, a mere hours away from having to scooch down ... And I don't really want to scooch down! Not today. Not tomorrow. And certainly not a week from next Friday.

Thankfully however, we've got ourselves some motivation. Knowing just how dreaded these appointments were going to be, we decided to take a full blown vacation day and live it up large, with plans to meet our friend Robin for lunch, followed by a mad spending spree. Okay maybe not so mad, and not such a spree, but a little shopping can help soothe any flustered soul, or at least soothe our egos ...

Creatively Writing

A friend asked me to write him a story today, and it's been so long since I've really put my mind around anything, that it took me a minute to come up with the right thing to write about. But write I did, and 2000 wonderful words later, I felt blessed to remember how it felt to write without any care or consideration for anyone other than myself and the story that wanted to be told.

Welcome back muse, you've been gone far too long ...

Inside I'm Butterflies

I'm sitting here with a strange little smile on my face. The kind of smile that has trouble written all over it. I can't explain the why just yet. And in fact, the why is rather irrelevent when it's the feeling that matters most.

I've got butterflies in my stomach and I feel like flying away ...

Be Blessed

It never fails to amaze me how it is my Mom can come through in a pinch. Sometimes it's just a few short sentences in an email, a card she sends snail mail, advice she gives me over the phone, or a song she knows will strengthen my resolve and encourage me through moments of difficulty.

If I could figure out a way to clip the song she sent me last night to this post, I would, but as far as my computer knowledge goes, I'm still in the learning to turn it on stage ...

So even though you won't be able to hear the music, an R & B Gospel sound, the words alone can speak for themselves.

Be Blessed - Yolanda Adams

Verse1:
Too many storms have passed your way
And you’re all washed out cause it rained on your parade
Seems nobody cares about you anyway
Now you’re living your life like a castaway
Searched for strength inside was it all in vain
Cause the deeper you dig you find more and more pain
Don’t let your tomorrow be like yesterday
Cause I spoke to God, I called out your name
And on your behalf, I just asked if He would be there for you
I want you to

Chorus:
Be Blessed, Don’t live life in distress (Be Blessed)
Just let go, let God, He’ll work it out for you (Don't stress out)
I pray that your soul will be blessed
Forever in his rest, Cause you deserve his best no less

Verse2:
Enter a place where you never have to cry
Never have to live a lie, never have to wonder why
Never want for nothing you’re always satisfied
In the peace that his arms will provide
He will erase any guilt or shame, any bad habits you’ve got
You won’t wanna do em again, Yes we all can change, I can testify
See I spoke to God, I called out your name
And on your behalf, I just asked, If he would be there for you
I want you to

Repeat Chorus

My prayer for you today, Is that you trust and always obey
On this day keep calling
On this day keep calling
He’ll keep you from falling
He’ll keep you from falling
He’ll supply the answers
Yes He will, if you stand in faith and trust Him to make a way out of no way

Repeat Chorus

Be blessed from the bottom of your feet to the crown of your head
Your life be blessed
Your family be blessed
Your finances be blessed
Everything about you
Give it to Jesus, give it to Jesus,
Let go, let go, let go and let God do the work in you
Be blessed

Whatever your'e going through, just know I'm praying for you
Be Blessed

He can change your situation in a minute
Just be blessed

Don't do anything that God would not have you to do
Be blessed

I know it ain't what you want right now but it sure could be a lot worse
Just Be Blessed

Let him do his work in you
Be blessed

The Queen of All Fools

Relief is saying what you know to be true out loud. This - whatever it was - didn't work. Not for me. Not for him. Not for anyone. I lived for months trying to be someone and something I wasn't. Trying to please and failing at every turn. Giving more and getting less, killing my joy with each bitter disappointment.

I was a woman in love with the idea of being in love. I couldn't say no to the opportunity he offered. And I knew even as I made my decision to leave my home last October, and the only life I've known for the past ten years, that to do so would be a horrible mistake. One I've regretted from the very moment I made it.

Inside my head I tried to rationalize my decision, telling myself that life is about taking chances and exposing myself to new experiences. But what I really think, is that I was so scared of trying to continue on alone that I told myself what I wanted to hear. But life is also about listening to that little voice inside your head that never lies or tries to steer you in the wrong direction. Only fools ignore their own voice of warning. And I cannot be gentle with myself and say that I haven't acted the fool.

And I'm so scared to death over what needs to happen now. The prospect of leaving this house, the house that could have been my home had there been love to fill its rooms rather than the cold indifference that flourished here. And it's no wonder that I feel sick to my stomach, and my head feels as if it's caving in. I had so much riding on hope. But hope isn't enough to make a relationship work when one person wants more than the other is willing to give. I wanted more and I'm not ashamed to say it. I wanted love. Perhaps I wanted the one thing he was incapable of.

And I think that maybe he doesn't know how to love. (And maybe just by saying this, it somehow makes it easier for me to explain why he didn't want me.) Just as he doesn't know how to listen. I think of everything I've said tonight and know that there are words I'm sure he didn't hear. But what good are words to me when they don't make a difference anyway? Words will not change what needs to happen next. Words will not make him suddenly realize that losing me - this time - is a permanent situation that won't be undone. His second chance has been and gone and I have no more left to give.

But the most painful part of this mess for me is knowing that I've caused my daughter unnecessary heartache of her own. I know it hasn't been easy for her to see her Mother turn into an emotional car wreck on two feet and that despite my attempts to shield her from my tears, she saw them all the same. And for this she worried. And spent those night worrying, tossing and turning in her own bed until it got too much for her and she with blanket in hand came stealing into mine.

Heartbreak is when your ten year old daughter climbs into bed with you at two in the morning so she can whisper into your ear that she wishes that we could go back home, to our cozy little house out in the country, with the big flat field outside our front door and the smell of farm fresh in the air with Grandpa right down the road. I'm ashamed to think what my daughter has learned about her Mother in such a short time. Instead of the strong and confident woman I wanted to portray, I've shown her the definition of weak and spineless. And no matter how I fix this situation, she will always carry a piece of it with her. Her Mother's folly. My greatest mistake.

A Woman With Chances

Inside she knows that it's inevitable. Time could stand still, and yet there would still be a conclusion waiting in the wings. Fate is fickle that way. One day it seems like it's on your side, and the next it never had your best interests at heart.

She often wonders why it seems that fate is always against her. Things that work out for other people, never work out for her. And like the cheese, she stands alone. Always watching from the sidelines, always wishing for something more.

She wonders where the last ten years have gone, and worries that she'll lose the next ten in the exact same way. Waiting for something that doesn't exist except in the pages of all the books she's read. Imaginary people with imaginary lives that are so much more fulfilling than hers.

She knows that in every woman, there is a weakness in the wanting to be saved. She's quite familiar with that small kernel of hope; the light that shines despite the darkness. She tries to warm herself with that glow. With thoughts that someday she'll look behind her with the wisdom of a different age and know that the cost of a little while was worth the price of the bigger picture. But right now she feels the loss like a tear to her soul, and everything inside her bleeds out to run red across her world.

It doesn't make living in this moment any easier. It doesn't make the pain go away to know that eventually it will pass. She gets up each day hoping to make it through just one more day. To find that conclusion she's so ready to make. To say goodbye for what will be the very last time to all of her mistakes, both big and small. And because she's always believed in second chances, she'll give herself one more.

In a New York Minute

I have absolutely nothing to write about. Or at least I actually do, but just don't have the wherewithal to constructively put it down for all of you tonight.

However in my attempt to re-commit myself to NWTLO, I'm here. Because darn it, I do remember how to do this blog thing. I really, really do ...

Now if only I had something more spectacular to write about other than my spaghetti measuring tool find, signing KC up for little league and that unfortunate incident with the, at the, when I was ... Well, let's just say that that one will keep.

(Oh and yeah ... I am incredibly jealous that my father and my nephew both got to see the fabulous Billy Joel concert (that I was supposed to go to) last night! From all accounts, it was one hell of a show!)

From the Free Throw Line

Considering what time I have to get up in the morning to go walking with Bren, I should be a smart girl and go to bed. Only problem is, I'm not tired. Not in the least. Instead I think I'm still on a laughing high from having had so much fun tonight. And it was good medicine, along with a good learning experience ...

I learned that I should never make any comments out loud about basketball - a sport that I know absolutely nothing about except for the fact that there's a ball, a net and aside from the Harlem Globetrotter's not much call for spinning the ball on your fingertip - because when it comes to basketball, I know even less than I know about football. And the only thing I really know about football is to occasionally shout obscenities at the TV screen, suggest that now would be a good time for a little play action, and mock the refs with some of my own handcrafted hand gestures.

So I guess the most important thing I learned about basketball is that the people behind the tables on the sidelines are NOT judges. Unlike the Olympics or other sports where the judges ALWAYS sit behind a little table off to the side, these people who sit there during a basketball game are in no way contributing to the scoring of said game. I mean like, who knew?

Okay ... I'm kidding just a little bit. I really knew that they weren't judges but was just saying so to amuse those around me. And I think it worked ... I mean really, if you could have seen the looks on their faces, only one word would have described it ... Absolutely priceless.

Remembering Blue Mountain

In the half light, the trees stand like silent white ghosts. Arms extended, reaching across the distance from one lawn to another. Inside it seems all that much brighter, sitting beneath a fluorescent light as darkness descends outside, hiding the gentle sway of the wind through barren branches.

If I could close my eyes and be anywhere else in this moment, I'd be sitting on the edge of a cold mountain lake, my feet half buried by sand and water as a lemon moon rose slowly in the sky. I'd lean back, my hands digging deep into the softness of the sand and fill my eyes with an ocean of stars, content to be alone with only the sound of the lapping water beside me and the distant crackling of a fire that waits with both my family and my friends for my return.

The Story of Stacey

Decisions are made everyday in the realm of realistic possibilities. But some decisions are made, not with practicality in mind, but rather with the intense longing of our hearts. Sometimes the things we choose are chosen just for their "What if" factor ...

"What if I did this and it could all work out?"

But what if's can also morph into shouldn't have dones. The things we realize later on that had we given it just a bit more thought, we would have known that the decision we made, wasn't the right decision at the time. And that's when the trouble begins. That persistent nagging voice that bleats like a lost lamb in the background, begging to know how it is we plan to fix whatever it is that we have done.

And the horrible truth is that once done, easy to fix isn't even easy to say. The real world doesn't stop to give you time to deal with a new dilemma. No matter the status of your heart, there will always be bills to pay, jobs to go to, and people who seem to trip you up more often than offer to lend a hand. Can it be any wonder that so many of us succumb when introduced to such sadness?

At first you don't even notice that you're laughing less or that something that you used to enjoy doing on a daily basis (blogging, for example) is something you haven't done in weeks. Or in months.

You can't sleep. You sleep too much. You cry. And you don't just cry some of the time. You cry all of the time. And you wonder while you're crying why it is you can't seem to figure out where the shut off valve is.

And everything seems hopeless, because it is hopeless. And you care so much that somewhere deep inside you, you just don't care at all.

Depression is the constant pulling down, the pulling in, the giving up, the letting go of everything. It is easing into pain, and foregoing all pleasure. It is living a life you were never meant to lead, and abandoning the future. And it is a choice.

A choice to go willingly into the blackness of despair. To sink to the bottom and make no attempts to swim for the top. To drown with the sorrow of knowing that things did not go as you planned, that life tossed you a few curve balls, that you were struck out before you even had a chance at bat.

It is allowing other people to make you feel that you are insignificant and small. That despite how hard you try to be your very best, you will never be good enough in their eyes. That you are unworthy of being loved. That you are nothing more than nothing. That you are the problem that makes everything too difficult to solve.

And when you feel that kind of pain, it's hard to pull yourself out and not keep taking it all back in. You forgot that true strength is not being able to withstand the break, but being able to live through the bending.

And this is what I know. I know that things aren't going to get any easier over night. I know that right now, I have to be open for change and new possibilities and willing to let go of the odds and ends that don't fit into my story line. Because this is my life, and only I can be its author ...

Speaking the Truth

I am writing but not to post anything of consequence, though I have succeeded in doing just that tonight. Four months of words on paper whose ink has yet to dry. And I sit here slightly dazed of what I've had to say. Truth, even coming from my own mouth is hard to swallow. Truth like light diminished, still capable of shining with the smallest of refractions.

And I am speaking to my own truths now. Speaking in order to hear myself. The voice I've ignored because I thought it would be easier not to hear. But the truth is I never stopped listening.

Lies, like water can evaporate, but both eventually return in another form. In the punishment of rain; in the silence of snow.

- The Language of Good-Bye
Maribeth Fischer

Trying to Survive

She feels the shivers down her back in the straightness of her spine. Bending by degrees she refuses to give in to the break. She keeps thinking that if she could just find some magical new way of looking at things, she'll be able to abide.

Four Winds In Different Directions

I went for a walk tonight to clear my head. But my head wouldn't clear and my face felt as if Jack Frost himself were pressing his hands against my cheeks. Cold and angry I spurred myself onward, listening to the sound of my feet moving against the pavement with a steady stride. And I thought to myself that I remembered doing this before. Walking in the darkness to get away from something, or someone, just long enough to give myself time to think or room to breathe.

And now sitting in this cold kitchen, the only thought I have to think at this very moment is about how tired I am, and not just exhausted in a way that requires sleep. But sleep is what I need right now ...

In the Absence of Sleep

My head touches the pillow and I close my eyes and pretend that I might sleep. And I try to think warm, comforting thoughts to encourage the soft pull of dreams to give rest to my racing mind. But as tired as I am, I am wide eyed awake sitting at the kitchen table with my bare feet pressed against the cold laminate floor and an icy shawl wrapped around my shoulders.

Some days I just don't know what to do with myself. Either I'm going too far in one direction or I'm giving up on the other entirely, spinning myself around in circles to get nowhere very fast.

I wish to God that things could be different. I wish that if anything could be in overabundance it would be laughter and not the anger and tears that seem to fill my days. I guess I just painted myself a rose colored picture of the reality I wanted, and didn't realize how hard all of this would really be.

And it's not that I'm afraid of things not being easy. God knows I am no stranger to hardship. But I feel so out of control that there are mornings I get up and look in the mirror and wonder if it's me, if it's him or if it's just us combined that makes this so much harder than it has to be.

I don't mean to sound as if I'm trying to place blame. It doesn't make much sense to even bother with those kind of thoughts. Instead I wish that I could think of a thousand and one solutions. Anything to make things better for everyone involved. Anything to allow joy back into this world we've created.

And maybe my sorry's don't count. But they are heartfelt and sincere.

Reconstruction

The beauty of being human is to know the power of our own hearts and to own all that we feel inside. We are the key to open any and every door.

The Whispering of Wishes

The wind is howling something fierce tonight. Pushing against the house causing it to creak and moan while I sit here warm to my toes inside. Earlier thoughts of a summer breeze and the memory of a lush green field that once grew outside my bedroom window, had me wondering whether or not the crickets would sound the same here as they did at home.

I always found them a comfort. The gentle serenade that often lulled me to sleep, interrupted at times by the throaty call of a bullfrog adding his voice to the tune. And sometimes when I couldn't sleep, I'd slip quietly outside and watch the stars with my back pressed up against the porch, listening as if there were something more I was meant to hear.

Thoughts like these remind me of Ms. Manchester, my creative writing teacher. Perhaps it is true of all those who dabble in the world of written art that we live between two worlds. The world that is, and the one we dream. During our last class, I can remember how she took out a piece of paper and as she stood in front of her desk with the olive green chalkboard empty at last behind her, she read what she believed her hopes and dreams for the future of each one of us would be. I have never forgotten what she said.

"Stacey will change our lives with words."

And from the moment it was said, I felt an odd prickling at the back of my neck. An odd fluttering in my heart. And I knew without a doubt that she believed the truth of her words, just as I believed from that very moment, my life found the course of its true direction.

My goal in life is simple ... To say something in a way that everyone can understand. To show us all that we are not alone in what we feel. And if I touch even one life with words that seem to come so easy to me, it will be enough. More than enough.

Leading With My Best Foot

Sometimes I take too much on myself. Other times I don't take nearly enough. Lately I've been thinking that there are some things I need to change about my life and the way I'm living it.

I've made a ton of errors. Quick fixes I thought would hold. I thought if I could just control everything around me, it would be enough. I could live by just getting by, and make peace with being stuck in middle ground. I thought I could make do.

But I can't. And I'm beginning to understand that there will always be a part of me that won't be happy with second best or second place. My dreams have to come first.

And if I give up on me, then who will be left to have faith in me?

And I know me too well to know that I have never been a quitter. And I'm not the sort of person who runs from anything without a fight. There are some things I can't change, there are some things I can't undo, but there is a future that is decided with every second of the day and every minute that passes and what I do right now - in this moment - counts.

We only fail when we don't try. And I'm not ready to give up that easy.

A Well Earned Night Out

Maybe it's been quite a while since I've had enough fun to remember what fun is, but going out to dinner tonight - even if a little work was on the table - was a good time. I laughed, made silly faces, and enjoyed being in the company of my friends. Many thanks to Jake, Sean'O and Jim for a pleasant evening out on the town and for picking up the tab ... You guys rock!

Opposing Forces

I am not the enemy. But I am ill equipped with the necessary armor to engage in battle. Rest assured your arrows have found their marks, and what feelings I thought I might have had, have fled in the light of your cold indifference.

Sedimentary anger knots me up inside, stealing my breath until I am doubled over with pain radiating out from my soul on fire. And in this silence, everything goes unsaid, even as I try to tiptoe around the truth of what I already know. That I cannot sustain this high level of hyper vigilance; a pent up prisoner in this shifting house. I cannot rock this boat should it tip over. I cannot rock this boat I no longer want to be on.

It is enough to measure the return of sadness without having to counter measure the weight of my fear. In the early hours of this morning, a man's shadow crossed the lawn, walking steadily towards my window, a purpose in his gait. I measured his steps with the breathlessness of my fear and stood immobile within my own darkness, helpless to move, rooted as I was to the floor. My mind - stumbled - prepared - swarmed with the adrenaline of flight or fight. But all I heard was the weakness of my, "How?" Forgotten was the baseball bat in the corner of my room, the phone beside my bed. Remembered was my inability to move.

I gave into my fears, even as his ride pulled up and drove him away and found myself cowering in my room, though he had never even crossed the road. This is what toxic energy has fueled. And as the discord grows, my insecurities reach full bloom, leaving me a walking touchstone to soak up your anger and irritation. The small hurts you direct my way as if to remind me that I am nothing. I have no place. That I have not come in from the cold. And I mustn’t forget that.

And in this I forget myself.

Keep Your Eyes on Her

Control is a funny thing. Just when you think you've finally lost it. Boom! You get your backbone back and begin to set to rights the things you've let go wrong. And it's almost like it's an instant shot of courage to the soul. To look at yourself and say, "Now isn't it about time we got this fixed?"

And I'm in mid-fix. Because fuck it, it's more than about time I got with the program. No more running with sharp objects or from sharp objects or towards things that offer no more comfort than a cold cup of coffee and a two day old doughnut.

I want more than some made up half-life. I want - what's the word?

EVERYTHING!

In Memory of Mia

Mia the hamster has died. And yet despite this, we go on as if she isn't missing. In fact she's already been replaced by a hamster with no name. No name because the exact sex of this new wee beastie has yet to be determined and somehow the choosing of a brand new identity doesn't seem to be all that important to any of us right now.

We buried Mia, KC and I on the side of the house where the earth was damp and there wasn't any snow to impede the progress of my spade striking into the ground and laid her gently there to rest next to a dormant bulb that held the promise of life continuing onward.

And while the tears had already been cried much earlier that morning, we both bowed our heads and said a silent prayer for the hamster that had towards the very end of her life, trusted us enough to sit still in the palm of our hands. And somehow knowing this made it easier for KC to move forward and not look back.

Putting Myself on Pause

You're only a writer if you write. And I haven't been a writer for the past few months. Instead I've become a worrier. Excessively worrying about all things big and small. And it has done damage, from the tear stains left to linger on my cheeks to an ever growing void that I cannot fill.

I am a master now of being in-between. And even though I try to get a feeling for where I'm going, I keep looking over my shoulder to see where I've already been. And it's hard not to blur the lines between the present and the past when so much depends on having a future.

But maybe there is no future to be had. Maybe all of this is just a whole bunch of something for nothing. And nothing is guaranteed save for the theory of cause and effect and our reactions to it.

Betting everything can mean losing everything. And a true gambler knows their odds before placing their bet. There is no such thing as a sure thing. No false sense of safety. There is only chance. The randomness of possibilities. The sweet call of victory and the low cry of defeat. It cannot be avoided.

Just as I cannot avoid my feelings of uncertainty even though I know it would be in my best interest to keep my mouth shut. To say nothing. To wait. To stop pushing. But I can't seem to shut up. I am manipulated by my own fears. Words, thoughts and images that tumble around in my head questioning the giant world of everything. Whispering to me a need for answers. Proof of my worth.

I can't explain myself in a way that makes sense. And for the life of me I can't make sense of myself. I only know that I am the cause I'm reacting to.

Ringing In

Why do I still feel like it's 2005?

What's all the hype about 2006?

What's going to change this year? What's going to stay the same?

I have questions ... Mind you, they are without answers. At least at this point.

But I'm hoping it's a better year than last year. A better day than yesterday. And that tomorrow, I'll wake up and put the world to rights where it has went wrong. At least my little corner of it.

I wish the same for you dear reader ... Dream big, laugh often and love with your whole heart.

Call It What You Want To

Whether you say Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays, the message should all be the same, "Peace on earth and good will to all mankind."

Why, you ask?

Take a look around. See past the end of your nose. The end of your driveway. The end of the street on which you live. The world is a big place.

There are so many wars we could be fighting. Wars to end hunger. Wars to end violence. Wars to fight for the good of all, and not just one ... So why start another war?

No matter what you call Christmas, Christmas should be in your heart. So Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays ... No matter how you say it this season, live it ...

More Than Words ...

I can't help but focus on words. Words always have meaning to me. Some people say things without meaning to. I say things meaning to say them, even when I know that sometimes I shouldn't. Sometimes I should order myself to sit down and be quiet. And other times I take pride in my verbosity.

Sometimes word are all I have. Even when I'm only saying them to myself. Or writing them down in a secret journal wishing that my thoughts could be as easily heard as the ink that scrawls them across the paper.

But there are some thoughts that I keep to myself and do not share. These secret words live inside me like small dragons breathing fire. But I do not melt. And I seldom say these things out loud.

I have a passion for words. The way they look. The way they sound. And how they tell the story of my soul. Words are my energy. And energy lasts forever.

Learning the Curve

I have been a very bad blogger once again. Just when I thought I was back on a straight and narrow path, I prove to all of you out there that indeed the world is flat and more often than not, I'm all about sailing right over the edge ...

But here I am, and all those days in-between now and then are simply spilt milk days.

However I must bring you up to date on recent events as I do believe I've learned something of value from them.

And what I've learned is ...

That sometimes it isn't always about the money. And although we did get our child support issue fixed, the real issue was a whole lot of things that were waiting to be said for the past ten years.

I don't know about all of you, but I know that I feel so much better when I'm not hanging on to old anger and old bitterness. Because the truth is, when you hang on to all of those things, they're never old. They're always fresh and new. And how can you really expect to go on with life and move on from whatever it is that caused you pain, if you never allow yourself the joy of getting over the past. And honestly, don't we owe ourselves the opportunity to find a new kind of happiness?

I'm not saying however, that we should always choose to forgive and forget. Some things are simply unforgivable. And no matter how hard we might try to put them from our minds, they will always be there. The key is learning where to store them, and when to allow them entrance into your life. And we all know that it is far easier to say that, than it is to do that. But we have to try. For ourselves and for the people we care about.

I know that it's not fair to temper everything in my life according to old hurts. But I know I do. It takes me far too long to trust. An eternity to believe. And doubt hangs on me like it knows me better than myself. And when I'm hurt, I put my heart on ice and close myself away. Growing a distance. Because I know how to do that so well. It's what I've learned. A self-preservation of sorts.

When conflict arises, my first instinct is always to run. To get myself out of whatever situation it is that has become too much for me. When I was a little girl, I hid under the covers whenever my parents would fight, or I would run into my sister's room and crawl into bed with her. My safety blanket was knowing that I could always flee. But the thing I always sought to hide most were always my tears.

But that is a topic for another day. And to be honest, my mind is occupied elsewhere at the moment ...

So until tomorrow. And if we're lucky, I'll even finish my thoughts from this post.

Wiping the Slate Clean

I was reading one of my regular blogs tonight when something she said really hit home ... (L ... I hope you don't mind.)

This has always been the Petitioner’s “modus operandi”– the Petitioner consistently threatens and harasses the Respondent when he does not “get his way” while steadfastly refusing to comply with the Stipulations previously agreed to. Almost every letter the Petitioner has written contains the threat of taking the Respondent back to court, leaving the Respondent feeling she must comply with his demands.

Boy, have I been there, and it's like making deals with the devil and letting someone walk all over you, just to get a little peace in your life, so you can live it without full out drama all of the time. You give up on fixing things you know need to be fixed because you can't handle the stress. And it feels like you're handling it all alone. And no one has your back ...

For the past five years, I've ignored a pretty big problem, because I didn't want the stress of going back to court, and because I got tired of trying to fight all my battles on my own. I know those threats well ... The kind of threats some people make that make you decide not to rock the boat, because you know if you do, they're going to send some pretty big waves in your direction. And when you're only trying to stay afloat, the last thing you want are waves ...

But I'm making waves now. And I'm rocking the boat. And I'm saying you know what, do your worst, I'm not scared of you anymore. I've waited five years to stand up to you and even if the courts don't grant me every last cent you owe, damn it will still feel good.

So when we're sitting across from each other at that table tomorrow, and you're looking for someone to blame, take a really long look at yourself Pinnochio, and then maybe instead of being a wooden boy, you'll be a real man.

Just My Ten Cents

Well, I've started my Christmas shopping, not that I was nuts enough to attempt the 5 a.m. Black Friday morning rush. Working enough years in retail (during my younger days) gave me more than enough common sense to avoid that kind of pandemonium. And seeing the carnage on internet video more than secured my thoughts that no deal at any given WalMart store or any other of its ilk is worth getting up at the crack of dawn and subjecting my body to the trampling. Not my idea of a very Merry Christmas trying to knock someone else over for some gotta have toy ... Screw that. I don't even like to grocery shop during the holidays!

Because around here, it's quite obvious that the holidays do something to your head. Suddenly every moron who ever got behind a wheel is out and about, cutting and weaving through snow laden roads and heavy traffic. And every penny pincher is playing their own version of Mr. Scrooge in holiday lines that seem to go on forever as they argue with the cashier over the "Principle of ten cents" ... Get a clue people! There is absolutely no principle of saving your ten cents when you keep me waiting in line for over ten minutes! Move on and get over it or if need be put the damn item back!

For instance I tried to buy a new snow brush for my car the other day. But when I got to the register, wouldn't you know it, there was no price sticker on the item. Now I could have been a miserable bitch (I am getting quite good at it you know) and held everyone and their mother up for a price check but I said screw it. I wasn't about to waste my own time for some four dollar snow brush that I could probably get cheaper somewhere else anyway. You see, I have no principles. At least not when it comes to my holiday shopping ...

Swirling Patterns of Snow

The snow falls, swirls outside the kitchen window, dropping down in a diagonal fashion when the wind gently nudges its side. And though it seems as if it should stop - so much has fallen already - it just continues on, falling where it will and how it will with no thought to itself that by now the sky should be empty.

But the emptiness isn't outside.

The emptiness is all around us. In our hearts, our minds, our dreams, our beds ...

And every morning we wake up to this same emptiness. Feeling like a flame that with one breath can be extinquished from burning.

We are not on fire.

We are as cold as the snow that falls outside.

We are freezing from the inside out.

An Hour Before Dawn

I must call it a night early and get myself to bed. Though it's not a 12 hour road trip to North Carolina (though to be honest I wish it were) KC and I are taking off early tomorrow morning to head towards the mountains and Grandma's house.

The drive is pretty easy and as long as the weather holds off from dumping more snow on us than we need at the moment, it should be smooth sailing to and back.

So I'm off to bed ... Perhaps I'll find some good dreams to come and keep me company until morning.

And if for some reason some of you go away on holiday before I come back ...

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

A Beginning of Thoughts

Once upon a time ...

There were a thousand different stories. A million pages or more filled with names, and faces. There were fantastic tales of fantasy, and devastating memoirs of reality. And real commingled with imagined in such a way that it was hard to tell just where the line was drawn or crossed.

Once upon a time ...

There was an equal amount of light to compare with the darkness. And the darkness only lasted as long as it took for the sun to reappear along the horizon. And where there was no hope, hope still existed. It existed in solitary moments and in moments when you could be anything but alone, making its presence known like the first frost of winter, sharpening the fine green blades of grass into frozen portraits of stillness.

Once upon a time ...

We took chances to prove our worth. And gave in to the idea that our sense of worth was dependent on anyone other than ourselves. We sought perfection, only to prove that it didn't exist. And learned that happiness must be based on something more than somebody else's standards and ideals.

Once upon a time ...

We decided to live. To love. To laugh. To cry. To dream. To hope.

It's My Party ...

I'm thirty-one today. And it's strange to think that I could really be that old when it seems like it was just yesterday I was turning sixteen and learning how to drive my Mother's car. And the day before that I was running around half naked in the back yard with an Indian chieftain's hat on my head pretending I was a great warrior with a green cape wrapped around my shoulders.

It amazing to think that I'm really a grown up now. I remember when my Mom turned thirty-two and how old I thought she was. And now I'm just a year away from that same age and the truth is, I don't feel old at all.

Maybe the thing is that no matter what age you are, you're always who you were the day before. Even when I'm old and gray, I'll still be the same little girl with the big brown eyes and slightly mischievous smile ...

Where the Time Goes ...

I'm alive ... And breathing. And thinking of all the things that I'd like to write about again some time soon. But for now, I'm becoming familiar with this silence. This pulling together of thoughts, one by one, until sooner or later this page will await them all.

Don't give up on me. Some morning in the near future, when you sit down before your computer with your coffee in hand, looking for something worthwhile to read and waste a few minutes of your morning, something will be here.

I'll be here ...

Geeked Up

Just read a book that I thought was a good read ... I won't go so far as to say that everyone I know would care much for it at all, but tonight it was something that I was glad to have read. Perhaps what I needed was a new perspective after all ...

Night Swimming by Robin Schwarz

Unsent, Unspoken

Silence speaks louder than words. Censure alone speaks volumes. And it's what isn't said that does most of the damage. Because when we're forced to read between the lines, we draw a line that can't be crossed. Not by ourselves. Not by others.

If we're left to guess, we often guess wrong. We error in favor of what we think is sound judgment. Our interpretation of what is and what is not as we seek to understand. But all we do is redefine our language. And play back conversations in our minds. And wonder how something so simple as a sentence can go in one ear and out the other and remain misunderstood.

I cannot put my text in bold letters to make you understand. Your perception as you read will alter from my own. And what I'm saying will make no sense. But in my mind the wheels are turning, just as I turn from left to right, tossing in my bed with my desire to know what thoughts occupy your mind, and why it is your mouth moves with empty words.

Glitch In the System

Okay ... So here I am all ready to post and what do you think happens? I get so tired that all I can think of to say is that I need to go to bed ...

Damn ... Derailed already.

Getting Back on Track

It's time to get this blog back on track. And despite my recent thoughts of finding an appropriate way for it to meet its end, I've decided to throw it a life line and rescue it from its self imposed extinction.

So much has happened this past month that it's hard to know where to start or even what I should, and of course, shouldn't say ...

But as you've all gathered by now, KC and I moved our entire household. And it was quite an experience. I am convinced that you never know just how much nonsense you own until you've had to sort and pack it all away into boxes. I've still all sorts of unpacking to do, and rearranging to do as well, but for now, this week, I'm keeping rather low key getting used to the hum of the fluorescent light in the kitchen and the sounds this house makes in the middle of the night.

There is some humor in this move however ... The house I'm in boasts one thing that no other place I've lived ever has. I'm now right next door to my boss. And even though car pooling is now an option, I'm really going to miss those mental mind break days I used to take every now and then just for fun ...

I met some of my neighbors tonight, and KC quick to make friends at her new school was overjoyed when we met one of her classmates while walking the roads trick or treating. And it was nice to know that after one day at her new school, my daughter has proven to be far more resilient in dealing with change then I ever have been in my entire life. This is a quality I hope to encourage in her as life really is about living in the moment and opening yourself up for the possibilities that change brings. Maybe I should take a lesson from her on this ... Change doesn't always have to be about rolling with the punches. Sometimes it's a light you need to follow to leave the darkness behind.

Or as George Michael was once known to say, "You've got to have faith-a-faith-a faith-a."

An Odd Sort of Emptiness

Maybe there is nothing left to say. I just don't know. All I know is that the words don't come easy anymore. Maybe because I've grown so out of practice with writing them on a regular basis, or maybe because I watch those words far closer than I should. Either way, it's as if my muse has left me and this a blank page.

My Last Night Home ...

Kiss today goodbye.
And point me towards tomorrow.
We did what we had to do ...

For nine years this house, my home, has served me well. I've laughed here. Cried here. Been my worst and my best here. But soon, like the rooms that already stand empty and waiting for someone else to arrive, I will be just another memory here, an echo sounding off of bare walls.

And these walls won't remember me. Soon they'll be decorated with someone else's things. And people I don't know will use my key to call this place home. And they will laugh here. And they will cry here. And they won't know how I spent my last night here. One part of me very happy to begin somewhere new, and the other half of me wanting to cling to what I know. The comfort that is home.

They won't know that I spent my last night sitting on the floor surrounded by candlelight. Or how I listened to my favorite Joni Mitchell song and didn't bother to wipe away my tears as they rolled down my cheeks. They won't know how red and swollen my eyes were, or the headache that resulted from all those tears. And they won't know that had I been able to find the aspirin packed away in some box, somewhere, my headache would have been gone long before I went to bed, to sleep one last time in this house that I've called home.

And they won't get sentimental over trees in the front yard. And they won't always begin their conversations with remember when ... And they'll start making their own memories from the very first time they walk in the front door. When they open the kitchen cabinets to put their dishes away. They'll barely spare us a thought. Perhaps one to remark about how clean the place was when I left, or perhaps comment on the morning glory vines that I'll leave growing wild on the back porch. Perhaps then, they will take a moment and remember that someone lived here before, and was honored to have called it home.

An Amazon Reminder ...

Just because I didn't forget that today is your special day ...

Happy Birthday.

Would've, Could've, Should've

Yeah. I know ... Those really aren't words. But we've all said the same thing more or less at some point in our lives. And Lord knows, I was singing this phrase last night as I was driving home in the rain from the hospital. The hospital where one of my sisters should have been, but wasn't ...

And yet, no phone call. No quick call to me at work to say, "Don't go to the hospital after work, I'm not there ... It turned out to be a quick in and out and go back home procedure." No. Instead I hurried KC out to the car, stopped at my Dad's to pick up my other sister and drove all the way to where the hospital was only to realize ... I'd just wasted a quarter tank of gas.

And gas is STILL expensive!

Needless to say, I wasn't all that amused. And even less so when I realized that I could have gone to Terri's last night after work and socialized with some out of (and in) town friends that were up only for the day.

Instead my youngest sister and I spent the night chilling out and talking and watching some weird game show called Lingo where Sal (a contestant) gave new meaning to the word dumb luck. He was however extremely entertaining, and if we were to ever meet in real life, I'm sure we'd get along ... He did after all attempt to protest another player's move at one point in the show, which scored him mad points in my book. It didn't work of course, but it was funny.

TGIF!

The Good Old Days ...

If I were to write all of my weird dreams down, someday I'm sure I could sell the movie rights ...

Last night I sat around a table filled with high school friends and another group of people I had little - if nothing - to do with in high school (whenever it was humanly possible to avoid them) as we sat around a table staring at plates of really bad looking pizza and bowls full of fresh cut carrots, each one of us offering a little glimpse into what our lives had become.

I remember sitting across from Brian, and noting the fact that he didn't look a bit like he had changed until he began to talk, telling the story of how he and his boss had started an affair that his wife didn't know about. And the only thing I could think of to say was, "Anyone up for a smoke?"

And so we went out on the front porch which looked out onto Westwood Drive and I could see my old mustard colored house, and Bren's house as well and we all stood outside shivering with cigarettes dangling from our hands, waiting for someone else to say something that would make sense. But the silence was deafening.

Back inside, girls were clamboring for rights in the bathroom and the popular boys talked of football, their best games and the line of girls who had begged them to wear their jersey's. My crowd milled around the edges of the room, all looking a little older, a little more responsible, and a lot less like the kids I remembered.

All in all, the dream made no sense. It had no clear start, no clear ending and no message it sought to relay.

Something Fishy

My body is in a world of hurt. My fish tank moved to the new house. My really bad idea of using plastic totes to transport water proven as a really bad idea. And my car ... Well, smelling slightly on the fishy side, though I am really hoping for a nice warm day tomorrow to air it out. But between you and me, I don't think it's going to happen. Like the geese, I believe all our warm and sunny days have headed South.

Filtering Out the Spam

I've been a very bad blogger ... Ignoring NWTLO has not been my intention, and yet it's been the reality.

Anyhoo ... In the off chance that I post something again worthy of comments, I'd like to apologize in advance for turning on the spamming content filter.

For a while, I thought I could just go in and delete the occasional spam myself, but after deleting over twenty of them yesterday on OLD posts - ancient posts, to tell you the truth - I decided that even a gracious host would have to require a little extra effort from her guests.

So Spam filter on and posts ... Well, let's hope those will be on again too.

The To Do List

The list keeps getting longer. And despite how much I've already moved, gotten rid of, or stored away, there is an endless supply of more just waiting for me to decide what - if anything - I should do with it.

On top of that, I've appointments and so much miscellaneous paperwork to fill out, and calls to make to almost everyone who is anyone in the phone book, that my brain is close to nervous breakdown mode.

Appointments however are on the top of the to do this week. At present time we've two for the minor child, one for the cat, and one long overdue one with my hairdresser. And I think, if I can find the time this week - maybe Thursday, if all the planets align just right - I can get myself in for a much needed haircut. Goodbye and good riddance Cousin It!

Until then my dreams are filled with professional movers ...

Happy Birthday, Brenda!

House Inspections

My house is a mess and I just don't care ... And really, does it matter to me what the people who are doing the house inspections think of it when I'll be out of here within the month? Okay. So it does matter a bit to me but I've got to not let it. There's not enough time to get it all sparkly fresh so it has to be what it is. And what it is, is something that looks a lot like someone who is moving nine years worth of stuff. Really, the fact that this place is messy should be expected when considering all that ... Maybe I'll leave a note taped to the front door that reads,
"Please excuse the mess. I was too tired to care."

Oh well. I better get to starting my day before it starts without me.

A Mouth Full of Marbles

Your selfishness knows no bounds.
Words you say trip off your tongue to tangle with lies
and truths only told in halves.
Every other weekend you appear perfect.
The good Dad just up until the time she can be returned.
Then you are what you have always been,
someone who can leave his responsibilities behind.
Someone who can easily forget they exist.
Someone who points his fingers
and places blame on those who have done no wrong.

And I am amazed
at how much hurt you can spew from your venomous mouth.
And I am so angry
that I dare not trust myself to be in a room alone with you.
Or even on the other end of a phone.
For I would tell you what it seems you cannot figure out.
The barbs you think to send my way,
sting the child you say you love and would not harm.

Calling In the Calvary

My body feels like someone has trampled over it a thousand times and even though I always knew that they were there - though truth be told, I did have my doubts - my calf muscles are staging an early protest this morning against any and all movement. Like an army general with a riding crop in his hands barking orders, the sensory message from my legs is telling my brain to, "Sit on the damn couch girl and don't even think about moving!" And being that I'm not all that qualified to refute that command, I'm more than happy to oblige. Well, at least until I get hungry and need to commandeer something for breakfast or switch out the load of laundry from the washer to the dryer.

KC's room is on the agenda today. As in I'm going in and if no one hears from me in the next two days, someone really ought to send a search party. My girl is a bit of a walking disaster. Wherever she goes, a trail of destruction seems to be left in her path, all leading directly to her room of course. And if you could see her room, oh Lord, you'd cover your eyes and pretend you never saw it to begin with. Who says ignorance isn't bliss?

But for now, I'm content to quietly usher in the morning in relative peace and tranquility. Well, at least until the general in my head that's not attached to my legs decides to spout orders of her own. Then I'm toast ...

Perhaps what I really should be doing today is concentrating my efforts on calling in the Calvary. When one is about to move an entire household, it's time to start dialing the phone and calling in as many favors as you can from your family and your friends ...

In the Checkout Line at the Grocery

"I don't want it."

"What do you mean you don't want it?"

"I don't want it as in put it back. Take it off the order. I'm leaving without it."

"You don't want any of it?"

"No," I said, giving the cashier an exasperated look.

"But it's on special."

"And according to the sign you have it's also buy one get one free and if you're telling me that the sign is incorrect and it's not buy one get one free, then I don't want either."

"So you're saying that you don't want them?"

"I believe I've been saying that for the last five minutes ..."

Moving Towards Change

An Autumn storm howls on the wind this morning, bringing with it a cold September rain. And though I've said it a thousand times before, more than enough to know that all of you know without me saying it, this is my idea of the perfect day. The kind of day that involves a warm cup of cocoa, a soft fuzzy blanket, and a good book to get lost in.

Being that it's a Tuesday however, my day is more apt to involve a desk piled with work and the constant ringing of a phone in my ear and then a short ride home to collect my daughter from her day at school, time in the kitchen to prepare dinner, a little family time, and then back to work upstairs to my bedroom which has been pulled in a thousand different directions with the opening of yet another closet.

This one however is proving much easier. Instead of years of clothes and other assorted odds and ends, this one is packed full of books. Books that as of Friday will be up for sale at the garage sale Brenda and I are having. And though it will be difficult parting from a collection started more years ago than I can count, I have come to the conclusion that a book sitting dormant on a shelf in a closet has no purpose. Books are meant to be read and being that I have read all of them, at least once if not twice, it's time to let some of them go.

Packed already are four cases of books, not including the two cases of books already sitting in Brenda's basement waiting for Friday. And at the deep discount price of exactly one dollar a book, simple math says that if I were to sell all of them (as I hope to do) I will have more than two hundred dollars in my pocket by day's end. Although since I'm not exactly done going through the closet yet, that figure may go up just a bit more. (I really should have done this year's ago.)

By now some of you may be wondering what all this closet cleaning is for since most people are bitten by the cleaning bug in spring and not at the tail end of September. And the truth of the matter is, that after nine wonderful years of calling the place I live home, I'm getting ready to leave home.

And it's no wonder I've had no time to blog. What with so much on my mind, and so many things to do, there just hasn't been time to sit down and find the right words to say that everything I know is about to change.

Drive By Posting

No ... You're not seeing things. This is the world's shortest post.

Caught in the Crossfire

She should have caught the ball. Instead she caught it with her face. It was nothing more than an accident created by bad timing. A ball in motion just as her attention was focused on something else.

She held her hand to her cheek and absorbed the sting, ignoring all the voices around her. Sheila offered to go grab her an ice pack. Bob asked if she was okay. And poor KC, her small face flushed with guilt, was intent on grabbing onto any part of her Mother in her attempt to make amends.

But what she really wanted was for no one to make a fuss. For everyone to just back off and give her room. She didn't want to be touched. Or held. Or have to listen to any words of comfort. No. What she really wanted was just to sit there and feel the throbbing in her cheek, forcing her mind to focus on the sting and control the pain into submission. To detach herself from all of it. The feel of the ball's imprint on her face. And the conversation that had ended abruptly when she got hit.

Cleaning Out My Closet: Part Two

So I was tempted last night to pull an Eminem joke with the whole cleaning out my closet thing, but somehow without the sound of me saying it, like I am at this very minute saying it again, my best guess is it would get lost in the translation and you wouldn't find it funny. It IS however funny ... So please, just to humor me this one little time (Though it should be said if you give in now, you'll probably give in again, and then I'll be doing more of this because I'll know you'll do these stupid things I'm bound to ask ...) say it with me.

Ready, set, go ...

(Sniffle)

That was beautiful. You are the best darn bloggers this side of the Hudson! I mean it! We'll do lunch ...

But for now, I'm off to do work ...

Cleaning Out My Closet

I am sitting dead center in the middle of chaos, surrounded by ten years of I'm not even sure what all of this is or how it really got here. In the past two days alone, I've done six loads of laundry. Five of it from a closet I stopped opening years ago and for good reason. The reason of which I am now speaking.

And I am kicking myself for not having done this long ago. I mean seriously, how on earth did I manage to cram so much shit into one small closet anyway? I must have skills I didn't even know about ...

Although I suppose I do have a very checkered past with closets ... At least maybe my Mom would say so.

But enough stalling on my part. There's work to be done and it doesn't pay to hide out at your computer pretending it isn't there.

Road Block for Writer's

If you're disappointed that there's nothing new to read ... Rest assured, this whole word embargo has me disappointed too.

Oh well ... Tomorrow is another day.

Welcoming the Fall

There's silver frost on the grass this morning and outside it's unnaturally quiet, not even the birds sing from their perches in the trees. If summer has finally come to the conclusion that she can't keep fall at bay much longer, the cold itself will attest to that fact. This morning is the kind of morning where a warm, fuzzy sweatshirt and a pair of jeans seems more appropriate to wear than the business casual I'm currently sporting. And I think with some regret over the pair of sandals I threw out only yesterday, knowing that they were in no shape to continue on and the need for them had already expired.

Fall has come to stake it's claim. It's cold fingers reaching out over the land to touch the tops of trees to inspire a new bloom of color.

Nocturnal Ramblings of the Seemingly Sane

It's hard to sleep when you're blogging and harder yet to blog when you want to go to sleep ... And yet (note the hour) I cannot fall asleep. I went upstairs and I tried. I really did. I snuggled up under the covers, listened to the cricket orchestra outside, adjusted my pillows to their perfect positions and laid there with my eyes wide open staring into the darkness, until the darkness started to move and I decided that lights were good things ... And then found myself coming back downstairs to pull my laptop out and take up residence on the couch where I currently still am. Just as uncomfortable as ever sitting on this horrid hand me down couch of mine.

I blame my brain on this night of wasted sleep. It just won't turn off. No. It wants to think and think and think. And I for one am wanting none of that. No. The only thing I want is the cold side of the pillow and sweet dreams to lull me to sleep until I gently awaken tomorrow morning ...

Not that I ever really gently awaken ... More or less some shrill device normally wakes me in form of alarm clock or screeching Mom doesn't need to sleep past seven on the weekend daughter.

But I suppose I need to give it one more try. My left eye has officially closed for business and my right eye is threatening to do the same. And pretty soon, if I think about it, I'm going to be doing really bad pirate impersonations to amuse myself while making jokes about peg legs. Not that I know any good jokes, but the things that come to my mind when I'm in this state of tired are usually of the oddest sort.

So I'm to bed ... Again.

Elvis has left the building.