I miss my Lala girl!!!

She hasn't been around for a long time. She's placed her heart in someone's hands and chooses not to share. Honestly, sometimes I want to shout and holler her back to us, back to who I know she truly is, but that's not what good mothers do. Other times, oh hell who am I kidding, I just want her back, period. I've been advised that it's just her trying to find her way and what kind of life she wants to live. I understand it but don't like it. I am allowing this to break my heart and it scares me to think this is how it's always going to be. I know she's hurting because I can feel her heart. I don't care how bizarre that sounds. It is this truth that I have always been able to experience when it comes to my children. The only way I can explain it is that it's like I'm able to crawl inside them and feel what they are feeling, become them emotionally for a moment. If I had a choice, this wouldn't happen to me, but it does. I miss my Lala girl.

Because I love you

because i love you,
i will smile in the morning
and caress your selfish thoughts
into

existence



because i love you,
i will tumble down
first and
only whimper softly
when i collide with

reality



because i love you,
i will curl up into myself
and give you the
blanket of cuddle

down



because i love you,
i will spill out, slip out
silent-like, stealth-like
into the night
and never say

why

and never look

back

into the reflection
of what you thought we

were

*************************************************************

Make a Smilebox slideshow

To Market, to Market I go.

If I told you going to the market made me cry, you would think I was a bit off, wouldn't you?

Well, then I'm a bit off. Going to the market to buy good healthy food for myself is a big thing for me.

Long story short - Cancer nine years ago. No, have to go back further. Father violent alcoholic growing up, always felt like I/my feelings didn't matter. Of course trust issues came along with the anger. Hereditary rage, is what I called it. Get married. Have four children in five years. Get fibromyalgia. Get breast cancer. Have to learn how to put myself first but I really want my husband to step up and care for me the way I would and do care for him. That was nine years ago.

Have fought, trying to make him "do as I say, not as I do", for the past 27 years. I have finally given up, or so I thought.

Jump to Sunday. No, make that Saturday. My mother calls me, has a heart to heart with me about not taking care of myself and says she is going to talk to my husband about it. I say, no because she'll be disappointed. I finally agree with her and so come Sunday morning I head off to the market.

I tell J. that I'm going to the market to buy good food for me. He doesn't offer to go with me but does point to the cash on the table. I stall and offer a few opportunites for him to volunteer to come along. No bites.

I walk out the door and as I reach my car I am crying. The voice in my head is saying, "see he doesn't care about you. You don't have anyone who wants to take care of you. He's just like your dad". I argue back, point out all the ways that J. does show me he loves me. That how I'm feeling is about my father and not my husband. That I can do this for myself. That I care about me!

I had a great time at the market.

Sock Monkey PJs

and UPS tattered sweatshirt, still on at 9:30 in the morning. Deadline to get out of them - before he gets home. Oh, and the migraine has to go with them!

"it's not depression, it's intelligence",

I said as I closed down my computer

pajamas are my best friend

I can always count on them for

comfort.

they never complain

that I have had

unproductive day

or that I have worked them,

worn them,

out and down to the threads

bells are my enemy

they are so rude

and

inconciderate

interupting my crying

sentimental moments

like they have a place

in

my silent ignored world

playing this tag team game

door->phone->door->phone

until I realize I hold the power

and pull the cord and the shades

enemy is now

silent

dark cold memories

are not sadistic

they are

honesty resurfacing

after being so

badly neglected

and mislabeled

in order to appear

healthy

and

normal

I have decided to be Carly Simon

(without the harmonizing offspring)

and

drive straight down

as well

as up

and I will come up

as slow as need

be

I will be fine

with the bleeding

because I am fine with the resulting

scabs

they are a sign of

healing

I had them as a kid

I have them even

now

they leave behind very becoming

scars

needles, pens, and paper

are my doctors

forget about

the pills

and january appointments

no service there

on good days

I can handle the mailbox

and maybe a shower

I know I am on my way out

when the cats,

the dog,

and I

get fed

it really is all about intelligence

which can be a different

kind of depression,

just not dressed in pajamas.

Remembering ... Who?

So I've been working on family stuff for a while now. By family stuff I mean genealogy. I have some great stuff, thanks to my mother. Some really old stuff like handwritten birth records of my great grandfather's children ( all 13 of them), by my great grandfather. Photographs of my gg grandparents. I even have my great grandmother's wedding shoes. All of this stuff was taken out of a family garage a few months before one of my mother's cousins accidently started a fire, when she was a child. And then there's the family tree. I have close to two thousand people listed but some of them are branches that are very distantly related. It's interesting and I enjoy it.

I recently started a project for one of my husband's cousins. I'm still working on it but I gave him want I had so far, which was about four pages of family history, records and such. He was very happy with it. Actually, he really liked the file folder I put the pages in most of all! Such a guy thing. I put the information in digital scrapbook form. Like I said, I'm still working on it.

Remembering family, past and present, is important to me. That's why I did the video biography on my dad. I miss him. I think I'll order a pisa (aka pizza), play UNO (by myself?), and watch my Papa on the tv screen talk about how my sister and me brought him "a feeling of complete joy".

Old Year-New Year

Okay, so I haven't been keeping up here with this blog at all. No excuses, just haven't made the time. I have made time to view and read a number of other people's blogs. Does that count? I say yes, since I'm not just doing the asking but also providing the answers. Actually, I have been writing but not here or even on my computer but longhand and in a journal. Remember those? Remember pencils-pretty pencils covered in floral pinks? Oh, and hey what about pens? Pens with dark rolling ink that can produce any angle of curve or line your brain commands your hand to execute. My new journal is an old fashion composition book that I covered with stuff to make it my own. At the moment, it is my pride and joy. My adult children are not amused by the fact that a writing journal has bumped them down a few notches, on Mom's Pride and Joy List.

This year is all about getting myself in gear. For a few years now that gear has not gotten any futher than first. Not because of mere laziness, well maybe a tiny bit, but because of health issues. So this year I decided that I'm moving into second gear and doing it the right way. If you have ever had to deal with any kind of cronic illness/condition, you have found (usually the hard way) that living a life that's deamed a quality life, can be tricky. I consider myself an intelligent woman. I would even say I pride myself on being a problem solver. Why just today, because I didn't want to look for a safety pin, I grabbed a couple of those photo sticker squares and put them done the front of my blouse so it wouldn't pop open. Ingenius, if I do say so myself! So second gear it is and lots of fun while I'm at it. CHOOOOWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!