“Take Me With”

February 28, 2009 at 10:16 pm (Search Engine Stories, Sunday Scribblings)
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Once again Selma at Search Engine Stories has given us another interesting prompt. Her prompt this week, “Take Me With You” brought back a very bittersweet memory for me. The prompt of “Loss” at Sunday Scribblings fits perfectly also. Warning: you may want to get a tissue. I’ve used several during the writing of:

‘Take Me With’

 

Nothing sounds so sweet than hearing your baby garble their first words.  I recall focusing so much time to getting my daughter to say her first word.  Kelli was such a pretty baby.  At nine pounds at birth, she was a chubby little thing with big blue eyes and dark brown hair that hung in ringlets. It was such a joy to play with her and try to get her to say words. Of course the first word I chose for her was ‘momma’.  But, of course, her first word was dadda. It seemed she went from that one word to speaking abbreviated sentences overnight. It was not long before “take me with” was her favorite saying, whether I was going to the laundry room or to the grocery store.  And I always would. I loved that she always wanted to be with me. In those first months of her being so dependent on me, I never considered a day would come when she wouldn’t need or want me to be with her. But there did . . .

Kelli was a very quick at learning. By the time she was one, her favorite toys were her books, a love that has lasted a lifetime. I would spend hours reading to her and helping her color in her very favorite coloring book featuring Micky & Minnie Mouse. The years passed quickly and all too soon the first day of kindergarten arrived. We lived in the country and Kelli was so excited to ride the school bus with the ‘big kids.’ The day before classes were to begin, I took her to orientation to become acquainted with her teacher, her classroom, and the school bus. It was so bittersweet to watch my little girl display the confidence and independence that I had worked so hard to instill in her. As her teacher was explaining to me that I was welcome to bring my daughter to school for the first few days, Kelli quickly spoke up and said she would be riding the school bus like the big kids. I couldn’t help but laugh on the outside while my heart was bursting with pride and a sense of loss on the inside.

Kelli was in the afternoon class so we were able to enjoy a daily ritual of having lunch together with her two-year old brother and then all of us would walk down the half-mile lane and wait for the school bus. She was so excited on that first day. She spent most of the morning deciding which of her new school dresses she would wear. It was a very hot late August day and I assumed she would want her long now-blond hair pulled up in a pony-tail. I assumed wrong. “Mommy, this is the first day of school. I have to wear it down with barrettes that match my dress.”  Once again the bittersweetness of her independence tugged at my heart.

After lunch, we all walked hand in hand down the lane singing nursery rhymes. As we waited for the bus, Kelli was assuring her little brother they could play on the swings when “school was over.” I had known for several weeks that I was having a difficult time accepting it was time to begin to let go of my little girl, but as I stood there watching her be the big sister my heart began to break. The school bus arrived and Kelli kissed her brother and then me, and with the strut of a runway model made her way to the opened doors and walked up the steps. She stopped at the top and turned and waved good-bye.  I smiled a big smile and waved back, whispering ‘take me with’ under my breath.

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The Search is On!

February 27, 2009 at 10:53 pm (Cricket Chirps)
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I am just another American becoming angrier by the day by the craziness that has overtaken our country and even the entire world. I am fed up with false promises of politicians and totally disgusted with the fact the United States of America has evolved from the “land of opportunity” to a nation of opportunists. How can this be? We have grown from our countryside being dotted by one-room schools with 15-20 students to having 76.6 million students enrolled in classes from kindergarten through graduate school in 2000 at a cost of $827 billion (with B). But with all this education taking place, it seems the worst has happened:

common-sense

Yes, it seems Common Sense has died. But has it? I refuse to believe it! Join me on my journey to find Common Sense at a new blog I call Is There Common Sense Out There.

I will warn you now, I pull no punches. You see, I am tired of following along with the crowd and excepting things as they are for the sake of being politically correct. We can make changes and get our country back on track. We just have to use our Common Sense – of course we have to find it first!

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Sweet Dreams – Harsh Reality

February 22, 2009 at 3:21 am (Search Engine Stories, Uncategorized)
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I am sure Selma’s prompt this week at Search Engine Stories, Sweet Dreams, will reap many interesting love stories, and I guess mine is to. I hope you will enjoy listening to one of my very favorite songs by my absolutely most favorite country singer, the one and only Miss Patsy Cline.

Sweet Dreams – Harsh Reality

I received a phone call this morning just as I was making my morning coffee. The conversation began like this;

“Hello.” I answered.

“Hello.” he replied.

Silence. Followed by more silence.

“Hello. Don’t you recognize my voice.” he questioned.

“Yes, yes I did. I was just stunned. I thought you were dead.” I replied.

The voice on the phone was my husband’s. I had not heard from him in almost two years and I truly had come to believe he had indeed died. In a previous post ( http://cricket51.wordpress.com/2008/10/31/the-stars-were-aligned-with-mars/?preview=true&preview_id=437&preview_nonce=12965c6a75 ) I wrote about how we met and why our marriage didn’t last. Ever since I wrote that post, I have had regular dreams about Harvey. Most times they are sweet dreams about what could have been.

I think my dreams were because I truly thought he had died since I hadn’t heard from him in so long. Since our separation, Harvey usually called me three times a year; usually in the Spring, again in early August once he remembered he forgot our July 31 anniversary, and again sometime around Christmas. I would call him on his birthday in November. Our last conversation was in April of 2007 with him calling to tell me he had moved to the UpperPenninsula in Michigan following a partial foot amputation due to his diabetes. Since I did not hear from him, I tried several times to locate him through his daughters and friends, but no one had seen or heard from him since a few months after he last called me. Last spring, I even went through a people finder’s company and paid to find out where he was. They could not locate him and said if he died it could take several years for the death to show up in the records they had access to. I began to believe he had indeed died while passing through a strange town after moving from his daughter’s house.  As the months and years passed with no one hearing from him, I became more convinced.

I find it strange that the more convinced I became of his death, the more dreams I would have. I think part of having such wonderful dreams about him came from knowing it could never be since he was dead – something to do with not speaking bad of the dearly departed as my grandmother would always say. Of course, I know our marriage had its good times and I will admit I do miss those parts. Many times I would wake during a dream and become angry and speak into the darkness of my room, “Dammit Harvey why don’t you call me?”

He called me this morning. He has been very ill, going from hospital to nursing home back to the hospital for the past 18 months. He had his right leg amputated at the knee and is now walking with a prosthesis. He chose to call no one, partly because he felt no one would care, which he said he understood why they wouldn’t. He now has an apartment and called an old friend 2 days ago and learned I was trying to find him. We talked for almost two hour this morning and by the end of the conversation I was drained.

Now I know I am not a widow. I wonder what my dreams will be tonight.

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Midlife Odyssey

February 15, 2009 at 4:47 pm (Search Engine Stories)
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Selma has given us another interesting prompt at Search Engine Stories this week. Check out her picture to see how you are inspired by “The Hill.”

Midlife Odyssey

Throughout my life, cartoons and jokes along with movies and self-help books led me to believe a crisis was imminent once I crossed over an imaginary line into mid-life. Supposedly the crisis would be the result of a great feeling of sadness and loss for not achieving my dreams. Obviously (since so much ado has been made about it) for many a crisis does occur as they search in all the wrong places to prolong their youth, fulfill their lost dreams or alleviate their discontentment. Too late, and many dollars lost, many discover a new red corvette, a face lift and belly tuck, and a fling with the neighbor’s spouse does not fill the emptiness midlife brings.

What I have discovered however is midlife is more of a time for reflection and reconciliation. I have now lived through my 40’s and most of my 50’s and I have to say my ignorance in pre-midlife protected  me from facing up to my responsibility for  my life. It was much easier to pretend I didn’t see what I saw, know what I knew, or feel what I felt. There was always someone else to blame for the trials and tribulations in my life: my parents, my childhood, my husband, my boss, the economy, or even the stars not lining up correctly . . . anybody, everybody, anything. Granted some events may have been beyond my control, but I did not make myself accept the responsibility for how I responded to what happened in my life. I allowed myself to be moved through life like a leaf in the wind – sometimes floating along on a soft breeze only to be rudely awakened by tornado-force gusts.

Midlife has been a time of transition for me. I am slowly moving away from being naïve enough to constantly strive to meet the expectations of everyone in my life – from my parents to my children to the community, hell, to even the damn lazy paperboy. I am gaining strength to believe in me and my values and to validate my needs and wants. Just yesterday, I met the paperboy at the top of the hill and told him if he wanted my continued business he would have to walk down the hill and put my paper inside the storm door instead of just hanging it on the gate. Hey, you have to start somewhere!

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Be Still

February 9, 2009 at 1:07 pm (Search Engine Stories)

I want to apologize for not posting in a while. Without making excuses, I will just say it has been a soul searching month for me.  Selma at Search Engine Stories has provided yet another thought-provoking prompt this week.  I am beginning to think she is able to read my mind or see deep into my heart. This is my response to her prompt of “Be Still.”  The image is from http://farm1.static.flickr.com/103/316811218_f2659db0d4.jpg

Be Still

be-still

I have always found it difficult to “be still.” As a child these words were often spoken along with an “or else” attached.  Most times, they were the screaming commands of my overstressed mother who was seeking a few minutes of rest from chasing after four small children. Sometimes, they were whispered threats of a sexually abusive uncle.  Needless to say, I developed quite an aversion to being still.

I have spent much of my life being busy. I was the student who completed all of the questions in a homework assignment, not just the odd numbered ones. When assigned the chore of cleaning the living room, I would not only dust the top of all the pieces of furniture, but also the sides, legs and back. Once my children were old enough to be “in things,” I became the Girl Scout leader, den mother, PTA president, 4-H advisor, and baseball coach. I was very involved in my community serving on various committees, most times as the chairman. Some might think I took the Bible passage, “idle hands are the devil’s workshop” to heart, but to be honest, that is not true.  Only recently have I come to understand my need to be constantly busy – - – if I was busy doing something good, then I didn’t have to deal with the fact I didn’t like being me.

I find it quite ironic for a person who grew up in the generation famous for “finding themselves” I never knew who I was.  I always knew what I was expected to be or not to be, and I tried to meet those expectations. But alas, like an actor who did not research his character, I was mediocre at best in most scenes and failed miserably in the close ups.  How does one truly find who they really are after living a lifetime of being someone else?

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