poetry. thoughts and more than make-believe.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010


As I left for work this afternoon I watched the neighborlady get her husband ready to get into the car.

He had a stroke a few years ago.  I didn't really know them.  I still don't KNOW know them, but can have pleasant neighbor conversation.  He has struggled with walking and for a few years has only used a wheelchair.  On occasion I see a PT working with him, teaching him how to use his walker, but for his wife I'm sure the wheelchair works the best.

And as I glanced their direction the word INDEPENDANCE came to mind.  We want it.  We teach it.  We hope our children are capable of taking care of themselves...
Then I thought of the newest neighbors with young kids and her vacuuming her van.
INDEPENDANCE from kids for the moment.

INDEPENDANCE--what does that really mean though?  For the stroke-man, I'm sure it is simple living. Walking. Eating. Making simple life decisions. I'm sure the wife hopes for it, but has accepted it is most likely not attainable. And is it different for a man than a woman?  I do think independance is different between the sexes.
For the mom, it could be time alone--I know for me it is wanting my girls to be able to take care of themselves incase I die at any moment.
Ok--alittle dramatic, but true.
When the girls were little, that was a fear--death with small babies at home and who would find them?  Us?  How long would it take?

Now that they're older, it's simply wanting them to know who they are--be true to themselves. 
Be able to do laundry.
Get themselves ready, brushing teeth--oh sigh, --and most days, I feel pretty great about those things.

Other days I wonder where I've gone wrong, but we all have those days.

And then I want them to know that through their independance--they also need to connect, because that's what keeps us growing and going.
The people waiting on them at the grocery store.
The folks on the bike trail.
School friends.
Quiet peace.
Inner joy.

Sunday, August 22, 2010


You either believe in fate.
or you don't.
Or you fall somewhere in the middle...
not knowing whether it's possible because if you do believe-- well, then is everything predestined? Or just the big things?  Or what???

Once upon a time or 16 years ago I met my former husband.
I don't like the word ex:
Sounds so death-like ...
So--I met my FORMER husband and without sounding wistful,
it was fateful.
I was 22, getting ready to graduate from college and living the urban fun life.
I wasn't into dating.
I was into dancing and drinking with my friends.
I had just gotten out of a horrible relationship a year before and spent a good year doing whatever my heart desired.
Then I met my former.
He asked me out.
I said no.
He asked me out for another night.
I said yes.
September 22, 1994.
Listening to music and drinking beer.

September 22, 1995.
A year of dating... I got him an anniversary gift...he said, "it's not like a real annivesary" and we laughed about it--and I didn't let him forget it.

September 22, 1996.
He proposed.  Our first baby girl was 4 months old.  He told me..."now it'll be a real anniversary" and we laughed...and cried.

Then life happened for many years and like how many couples..I hate to even think about myself being yet another statistic...we separated 1 1/2 years ago with 3 girls, amicable. 

This past week I received the court date for our dissolution.

September 22, 2010.

And I cried.
Cried because my dream of whatever family I had created had been altered, but also because of the
FATE of this date.
I felt/feel there was/is a reason.
It's poetic, as Tammie would say...and I see that sometimes it's ok to believe in fate--even if you don't what that actually means.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

As it should be

I glance at the clock.
It's 3:0something in the morning.
"I don't feel good"
Ok..I'm in bed, it's 3--she doesn't feel good and my brain says,
"I feel like I'm going to throw up"
Oh..I need to be more awake--
"Then why don't you go do that?"
And she did.



Over again.

After the first bed conversation I told her she didn't have to worry about
waking me up, I'd hear her.
And I did.



Over again.

And I sat with my baby girl.
My 14 year old baby girl...who for whatever reason, decided to wake me up
to let me know she didn't feel good.
And I realized no matter how grown up she's becoming--going off to highschool
and all in 2 days--she is still that little girl.

The one I had first.

And now--she's better--well not so much puking anymore.  And I know one of these days she won't wake me up to let me know she's sick--if she's still at home--well, I'm sure I'll know, but one of these days--she'll just be sick.

And then let me know.
As it should be.

Wednesday, August 04, 2010

To be

Back in April I got my first UTI.  Pretty good for being 38.
Until then I had a medium amount of sympathy and empathy for women who had UTI's.  I really thought it was livable and if you didn't think about it, as in peeing "it"--it wouldn't bother you.
Little did  I know you CAN'T NOT THINK ABOUT PEEING.  When you have an infection, that's truly all you can think about because you're constantly inflamed somehow somewhere.  So--anyhow I took most of my med back in April and understood the pain involved.

Fast forward to now and I have to wonder why I've gotten now 2 (maybe 3) UTI's in the last few months...ok--I know the scientific bacteria reasons, but I'm talking psychological.   And even then--I may know why I'm getting these UTI's, which I'm sure the devil I don't believe in, created.

I'm laying or is it lying (chicken or whore Tammie?) on my living room floor, attempting to find comfort.  My body has decided it can't do anymore today.  I went to bed with an impending infection.  Woke up with it--went to the dr's and yes--blood was detected...and came home forced to rest.


I have alot of work to do.
Ok--I don't run the world like my BFF, but I do have a summer reading club party to plan, children and teens and I have like 3 million things to finish at home--and I truly believe in rest, downtime and simple being--but it seems I've gotten that part lost somewhere along the line.

But my body has not forgotten.
And I guess my mind will have to let go all the responsibilities I feel, to remember how to be.
"Happiness is only real when shared".....from Into the Wild

Blog Archive