Wednesday, November 14, 2018

Love is Blind

I had come to the end of a long day of pickleball and poker when I fell into bed a happy but exhausted camper. Oh, and don't forget beautiful. I was was a happy, exhausted, beautiful camper because without thinking, I had hit the sack that night with all of my jewelry and my fake eyelashes still on. As soon as it occurred to me that I was still all blinged out,  I rolled over and carefully removed the adornments and set them on the table for the next day.

At least that's what I thought.  I thought I'd wake up and find everything as I left them, but I was wrong.  The next morning one eyelash piece was missing.

For those of you that don't have any experience with false eyelashes, there is one thing you should know....they don't walk away. In fact one of their best qualities is their inanimateness. So, finding one of them missing, as you can imagine, was unusual. But how?

I don't mean to species profile or anything, but let's face it.  Nobody likes spiders.  Why? Because you can't trust them.  They crawl all over you while you're asleep; traipsing in and out of your open mouth,  taking lewd spider selfies while licking your face and apparently ALSO stealing your fake eyelashes.

Of course such a creepy creature is going to be lonely.  And desperate.  Of course they are going to fall for the first dark, leggy, delicate creature that doesn't eat them alive after sex or lay eggs on top of their head.

It's really that simple then, isn't it?  Mystery solved.  My eyelash is at this very moment sitting at a teeny patio table for two on a veranda overlooking the Seine (or the sink).  A love-sick spider sits across from her, mollycoddling her, waiting for some sign of reciprocity.  It's almost sad, really.  He'll take anything;  a wink, a touch, a coy little giggle...

Or maybe she just won't eat him.  That would be nice too. 










Thursday, January 4, 2018

My Broken Umbrella

I should just believe you
When you tell me
That I'm beautiful

I should be mature
And confident
And past self-doubt

I should love me
Even when
I'm outnumbered by she

And you leave
And love
What I'll never be

I should
I can
And I do.

I can handle
Some rain.

But not
A typhoon.






Wednesday, September 13, 2017

As a category 3 germaphobe, the advent of the self-flushing toilet was significant to me.  Sure, I had long since mastered the one-legged-foot flush but now not even the bottom of my shoe had to touch the toilet.  Brilliant! Or at least that's what I thought.  As awesome as these fecal-focused feats of technology are, it has become apparent to me that we need to change at least one thing; voice activation instead of motion activation. Here's why: You know how sometimes after you have done everything on your part to "close the deal" but it’s still not flushing so you’re waving your hand in front of it and pushing things that look like they should be buttons but they’re not buttons and before you know it you realize that you have touched the toilet way more than you ever touched a manual one? Clearly, no matter how many times you reenact the lifting of your tooshie off the seat for the sensor device, motion activation isn't the most reliable approach.  And you can't just leave.  You can't just abandon shit, so to speak.  You have to stay. So what I'm saying is let's make them voice-activated. When you are ready to wrap things up you could just turn around and say “get out of here”, or “it’s go time” or “bye”. "Pee you later?"

I think it would be a good change; and quite empowering too. Just think of how accustomed we'd become to telling crap to get out of lives.  Because frankly, turning our toosh to the problem sometimes doesn't work; it can be too subtle.  Sometimes to avoid being 'stalled in the stall', we just need to say what needs to be said and hear what needs to be heard.  Kerplush!  Time to move on.
Girl:  Am I “a girlfriend” or am I “your girlfriend”?
Boy:  I’m somewhere in the middle on this.
Girl:  That’s not an answer, that’s like wishing for more wishes. You have to pick one.
Boy:  I will buy you clothes
Girl:  Ok

Thursday, August 17, 2017

The Life Flu

If I never have to relive today, I will be ok with that.  It was just too much for one little girl to handle in a 24 hour period.

I had to learn too much...about myself.
I had to feel too much...that I had been avoiding.
I had to swallow too much...pride and expectations.

As a result, I came down with a bad case of the Life Flu.

What's the Life Flu?  Well, you've heard of the other flus like the Bird Flu, and the Stomach Flu and of course...H1N1.  The Life Flu has very similar symptoms as these other strains of influenza with one exception...they are completely figurative.

There are headaches with the Life Flu, just like you get with traditional strains of influenza.  Except the headaches you get from the Life Flu don't come from congestion or viruses, they come from learning stuff about yourself. Stuff that can be mind blowing, mind boggling and possibly make your head "hurt" as the truth so often does. It can hurt so bad that you just might want to bury it in the sand... or in a Netflix binge.  Take your pick.  Same difference.

And then there's feeling stuff that you've been avoiding.  All that avoidance means there's a whole lot of build up.  Yep,  just because you've been avoiding them doesn't mean those feelings have gone away.  They're most likely heavy by now and your muscles are gonna feel pretty weak under all that weight.  This explains why people with the Life Flu often slump down against walls or in really acute cases, curl up in fetal position.

As far as that sore throat goes, the pain from swallowing your pride may make it hard to talk for a little while.  Same goes for those unmet expectations.  Go ahead...open your mouth, but don't be surprised if a good cry comes out instead of words.

The result you get from combining all of these maladies at once is...you guessed it: watery eyes.

We all get the Life Flu once in a while.  It's not you.  It happens to all of us and it's helpful to know that it's gonna come and it's gonna go.  You WILL get better.  It's just gonna suck for 24 hours or so and you may wanna take a time out.  Stay home from work.  Take it easy. Hopefully you have a good friend, who comes over and puts their hand on your cheek and kisses your forehead, just to make sure you don't have a fever and to let you know that you're not alone.


Sunday, July 23, 2017

I am 47 years old.  For at least the past five of those 47 years, I have lived with a recurring mantra of sorts.  Maybe it was more like a silent threat.  Or was it a reassurance?  Whatever you want to call it...it sounded like this: I'm getting a divorce.

Like the Wasatch Fault Line, it lay hidden under an otherwise peaceful environment.  I heard it's rumblings several times a month but spoke of it to no one, ever keeping up the peaceful, happy landscape that was to everyone the essence of who I was.

Why?  You want to know reasons.  I have reasons, three of them to be exact, but for the time being...they are not what is important.  In fact, I would discourage you from asking the reasons for a divorce of anyone unless you are yourself entering a relationship with them.  They just took giant, courageous steps to leave their yesterday so they could have a healthier today.  Meet them where they are.  Help them now.  You can gawk at their back then's later...when they are ready to bring it up.  Instead, just know that it was a heavy, painful decision and one that, just like any natural disaster, will alter the landscape of multiple lives for a long time.

So the thing with mantras or promises or whatever it is, the longer you listen to them, the bigger and more powerful they grow until they manifest themselves like a magnitude 8.5 earthquake.  All the dirt, homes and streets will move aside to loose the monster.

And that's exactly what happened in my case.  I took the echoing four words that rang inside my head from ear to ear for years and I invited them to come out of my mouth.  I invited them to leave. They left my head and entered that of my husbands.  And of my children.

That was a year ago.

We have all since walked through the rubble.   This is critical information.  We WALKED through it, which means we are NOT lying beneath it.  We were not buried or destroyed.  Our futures are still wide open and ready to be whatever we decide to make them.  The pieces of yesterday stare back up at as we kick them around, but we decide if and how to use them and then we move on.

Sunday, June 25, 2017

You are View-tiful

I'm sitting on the stoop of my duplex in my underwear.  I can't decide if this makes me trashy or classy.  They are boyshort underwear for your information, so as far as skivvies go...these could easily pass for exercise shorts.  But technicalities aside...I'm sitting outside on my stoop...in my underwear.

Let me tell you some more.  My stoop is in the shade of this enormous tree whose branches stretch out wide and low and that cover the entire width of a three car driveway.  So as far as stoops go, this one is pretty chill, both aesthetically and climatically.

I don't know what kind of tree it is. The leaves don't match the standard and easily identifiable shapes of the oak, maple or pine. It's pretty.  It's old. It's big and often messy.  I'm obviously no expert...but I think it's doing a kick-ass job of being a tree.  That's all I know.  Thank you tree, for being you.

Some people cut trees down, because they are messy.  Or because they block their view of something they would like to view. An old neighbor of mine campaigned to cut down a huge maple tree that blocked his view of the mountains.  The tree in question didn't just sit on my property next to my bedroom, it hugged my bedroom.  Branches from the same tree graced the window behind my bed as well as the window next to my bed.  Reason after reason as to why I would not let him cut down my tree fell on deaf ears until one day I simply said "You can't cut down that tree because every time I wake up and see those branches outside my window, I know Heavenly Father loves me."  The campaign ended.

He wanted to cut it down because it blocked a view.   How come he couldn't accept that the tree was a view? A perfectly good, useful view.  Who better to ask that question than nature observer extraordinaire himself,  Henry David Thoreau? He is quoted as saying "It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see."

To be honest, I can't help but wonder if some people will want to cut me down because I'm blocking their view.  I mean right now.  If I post this, will someone be upset that I'm sitting outside in my underwear, and that I had the nerve to write about it publicly?  Scandalous, I know.  Will they want a different view of the world, where 47 year old women do not sit on fabulously cool stoops on lazy summer evenings and quote Thoreau on the internet in their undies?

Me and my tree. Not pictured: my underwear.
Of course they will. They (and when I say they, I mean WE) do it all the time.  We decide how we want people to be and then when they show up as just themselves; just old, big, pretty, messy themselves, we fire up the chainsaw. "Hey....you're blocking my view of the pretend people that I made up in my head.  Please don't be you right now."  Brrr...umbrumbrumbrumbrumbrummmmm.

But wouldn't it be more fun to find out why I'm out here without pants on?  Oh yes.  The answer is yes.  If you saddled up here next to Henry and I, I promise you'd have way more fun hearing my story than you would by merely walking by and rolling your eyes at me in disdain. Way, way more fun.

So back to my original question: am I trashy or am I classy?

My Aunt Holly says, "You are at your best when you are true to yourself.  Classy all the way."

So there lies the answer.  I'm not sure what kind of tree I am, but I'm me.  I'm a view.  And I don't know what kind of tree you are either, but it doesn't matter because you're a view.  And he's a view and she's a view and I'll be damned if we aren't doing a kick-ass job of being our own view-tiful little selves. Look at us being all classy and stuff.  And when you look at us, I hope you see a bouquet of incredible persons all ready to open up their worlds to you; give and receive light and love in ways unique to each of us.

So thank you, for being you. I see you, you're amazing.