A Day Like Today

It is on days like these that
make me feel worthless.
Drugs cannot help me now...
want to pierce my heart with the hot blade of
a cold knife
blood leaving my body
soon lifeless
Seems hopeless
It all does.
No matter what.
Death is inevitable but long coming
Maybe if I write, he'll hear me...

So tired of the pain,
attempting to cope.
Miserable I sit here,
Perplexed by things unseen
Groping for hope.

And hope does not fail us...

except on days like this.

Music to My Ears

Music is an interesting phenomenon. It can make you laugh or cry. It can stir the emotions like nothing else can. Art can stir emotions as well, but music is altogether different. I was listening to a CD at work today, one that I hadn't listened to since December. Even though it is spring now, flowers blooming and warm breezes blowing, because of this CD I could have walked out the door thinking it was the dead of winter with black ice on 635 and snow falling as I drove home from work. I had vivid pictures and memories of walking through Love Field, bags in tow with Christmas presents for my family boarding a Plane to Midland/Odessa. It reminded me of seeing warm friends who light up your life just by their very presence whether you've known them a few weeks or many years.

There are some songs that I will never again be able to listen to because of the people or times in my life they remind me of. There are others that take me to places so bittersweet it makes my heart long for more and ache for it to stop all at once. O the turmoil! But it is a rich and blessed turmoil. It amazes me that sounds can cause the brain to register such emotions. The science of it is dumbfounding.

I guess I have been called to the right field of study.

Memaw & Grandmom

I have been blessed with tremendous women in my life. I wouldn't be half of who I am today without their presence in my life. Yesterday, I sat with my grandmother and cried. Sometimes we sit and cry, others we laugh so hard we cry. Yesterday we cried. The great thing about it is that we're both o.k. with it. Neither of us is embarrassed or feels we have to explain anything. Unspoken understandings - I love those. That's what makes life worth living.

This particular grandmother has been there and back again. She has been taking care of someone her whole life. A true servant, never complaining. She's the one who tells me to "get over it," as I have mentioned in a previous blog. She is one of the hardest working, most humble, generous persons I know. She is still in love with the man she married in her youth, who died of ALS when I was only a year old. She doesn't have a college education, but she's one of the wisest people I know. I owe much of who I am today to her.

My great grandmother B, is an amazing woman also. This woman climbed up on the roof of her house to re-roof it while in her 60s. She doesn't play around! She has the best attitude of anyone I know. I love the way she laughs, it is always music to my ears. And you haven't had gravy 'til you've eaten it at her house brother. She'll tell it to you straight and if there's a snake or "critter" or "varmit" within 10 miles of the house, you better believe she'll take care of it. Thanksgiving will forever be my favorite holiday due to spending it at her house. I owe much of who I am today to her.

Both of these women have taught me to be self reliant enough to get by, but gracious enough to let someone else help you when you need it. They have encouraged me when I thought there was no need to go on, when I thought I didn't have a prayer in the world. They have taught me its o.k. to laugh at yourself and o.k. to cry when you need to, just so long as you don't feel sorry for yourself. They have been examples of the most important lessons in my life.

If I am even a 1/4 of what these women are when I am their age, if I can be even a small example of what they have been to me, then maybe I will have done the world some justice. I am thankful that I have been able to spend as much time as I have with them. I pray I cherish every moment of it until its gone. This is what makes life worth living.

Masonry

how well you perform your craft
"practice makes perfect"
and you have long since
practiced
the grout - a perfect blend of non-chalance
and
ambiguity
calloused, well worn palms and
digits
blisters as a result of hard
labor
so skillfully you lay each
brick
with such focus, such devotion
to your task
build it high
build it wide
And, when you are unable to see me
standing
start another wall
make sure that my frustration
will be insured
They only come down when you
want
Them to
and such a slow process,
to unbuild a fortress
so carefully laid and founded
convinced; converted by your
callous ways
Apprentice
I mix my grout alongside you
learn your techniques, your
crafty ways
sharing a wheelbarrow
taking turns with the trowl
we build our walls

soon, one of us will need our
own wheelbarrow for
The Distance will be to great,
to far to keep our wall-building
efficient
Achievement: finally working together.
and I fall in love with The Distance
with your work becoming mine

The Return of Bloggy Bloggerson

Ok ladies and gentlemen (mostly gentlemen... or mostly men anyway)... I'm back! And I must say that I have been over Gerbert awhile, Writer... I was merely out of town, away from the computer. I have been itching to post though. I have had so many ideas for posts and now that I sit here tapping my fingertips on the keys I find my brain numb without the thoughts I so wish to remember. So, I will give you a brief recap of my weekend.

The singles group I participate in went to a children's home in Stephenville and spent some time there with the kids. It was fabulous. First of all, kids are great. Second of all, I got to meet all kinds of new people from church and we have all agreed that we like each other and will hang out together often and participate in cheap meaningless activities and laugh alot. I'm so excited.

On a rather disheartening note, the bull that this heifer had so been longing to be courted by, has been seen courting another. So, alas, no bull for this heifer. And he is a good bull. A very fine Godly man. The kind your mom prays for. But anyway... on a lighter note, I discovered that there are other bulls in the pasture and one of them is a fine specimen as well. He is great. This heifer has never been around so many bulls that are willing to step up and take the leadership role and be active and participate! Praise God. And he's hot too. Its seems to me that before I was in a cespool but now, I am in an oasis (not really, but its late, I'm tired, and the whole point of this paragraph is to cause ceaseless wretching and vomiting in Beef.)

Anyway, all in all it was a great weekend. Had some quality time with good girlfriends and made new friends and played ALOT with great kids and that makes life worth living. Puts things in perspective.

Have I so pleased the masses? I do promise, however, that the next blog will be better. Much more intellectually stimulating. Bigger words. You know, the whole nine yards.

Gerbert the Office Fish

Gerbert, my labidochromis (yellow lab), (a fish at work) died today. I have never cried over a fish but today I considered it. I don't know why but I did. Its really rather silly because I had been telling Gerbert to die for quite some time now. In fact, I had been coming to work in hopes that I would find him belly up in his tank. I was tired of him making eyes at me all day while I did my work. All he did was dirty up the tank (for me to clean up), look pretty, eat, dirty the tank, eat, and dirty the tank. L (my office mate) joked that he had a crush on me. Well, it was unrequited love I guess. Maybe the reason he died was because of a broken heart. Well, I guess that's kind of romantic then, in a Romeo and Juliet kind of way.

Anyway, all joking aside, the fish dying was kind of tragic because he jumped out of the clean water I moved him to (so that I could clean out his tank), landed on the counter, and flopped around for a second. I scooped him up with the net, put him back in the clean water, he jumped out again (scaring me for a second time) and I again put him back into the water where he immediately turned upside down and brown (labs do this... I'm not exaggerating).

So, after my stunned silence and shock, I took the clean water with the recently dead fish and ceremoniously poured it into the toilet. Gerbert then took the ride down the porcelain express.

Rest in peace Gerbs. You were the best office fish a gal could have.

Mingling

I hate mingling. I think that we as Americans are supposed to enjoy it, but I hate it. I love my class on Wednesday nights, but I dread the closing of it because I know that come the end everyone will mingle and I will be expected to participate in such practices. If I leave early, I miss out and thing is, I really and truly don't want to miss out, I just have a hard time going up to people I'm still getting to know. It's so hard... after all, you don't know if they are mingling with you, simple as a type of lip-service, doing you a favor or if they really do enjoy spending their time with you. How can you tell? I do not want to be the girl that when people see me coming think, "Oh, here SHE comes again..." That's terrible but you all know that kind of people I'm talking about.

So, I'm at a catch 22. I feel I am at a forever catch 22. What is a catch 22 anyway? Maybe if someone explained what one was then I wouldn't have such a hard time with them in the first place...

I'm from Artesia, New Mexico?

So there you are, sitting with a group of newly acquainted people and what is one of the first questions usually asked... yup, "Where are you from?" I hate this question. In fact, I'll go so far as to say that I loathe this question. Why ask this? I have to say that for most this is an easy and simple question to answer. However, for persons such as I, it is most devestating and perplexing.

When you were born and raised in Texas but your parents up and moved you to the God-forsaken desert of New Mexico (in the middle of high-school, mind you) and then decided (for reasons you will never understand) to stay there, you should not be forced to say for the rest of you life (married or otherwise permently affixed) that you are from there. Oh the horror! So, when people ask this question, the Texan in me feels compelled, yes, even obligated, to speak up and recount the story of my transplantation.

I was sitting with a group of people just the other day. An older couple was accompanying the group and asking where everyone was from. I of course, told them, that, I was actually a native Texan, but that my parents lived in Artesia, New Mexico and so thats where I was from. Not a long narrative, but not the usual three word answer either. Hey, it never hurts to spice it up, right? So, when it came time for everyone in the room to introduce themselves and where they were from and whatnot, the older gentleman leaned over to me and said, "Just say you're from New Mexico," with a smug grin on his face.

What's there not to understand people? How would you feel if you had to move to New Mexico, a place some map companies "forget" to even put on United States maps? So, maybe I have some "You got to live in Texas and experiance high school Texas football your senior year" envy! But who could blame me? This is God's country people and I will forever annoy any person with my transplantion story for that very reason.

So the next time you here some sad sap of a transplantation story have some sympathy, their parents were abusive and may not have known any better. Unless of course, they're talking about moving from New York and longing to move back. Then my friends, well, just have pity.

Ecclesiastes

I was helping a friend from work, and elderly lady, hang pictures in her new apartment last weekend. She wouldn't need a new apartment if she wasn't divorced. But her husband ran around on her and so here she is after 45 years of marriage without a husband, by herself in an apartment. So, I was helping her get some stuff done. We got to talking about our life's situations... it just blows me away at the similarities of them. A couple their age, a couple my age, and both men acting like complete jackasses for God-knows why. And my friend told me that she still does not know why he did what he did. I guess none of us will ever know, but its strange to think about some days. My friend wouldn't hurt a fly; I know people aren't perfect but when a person is trying so hard to do the right thing, how can that be denied? I can't get my mind around it...

She would beg her husband... beg him... it just breaks my heart and tears at my soul.

What is it that makes everything in people's lives so similar? Nothing new under the sun, that's for sure. Just different faces, stories sung to a different tune; similar melodies and harmonies even... and yet, despite all this, people will continue to be judgmental. Ha, once again, nothing new under the sun. Nothing new...

Blockbuster

The Blockbuster closest to my house is an interesting place on Friday nights. Full of bored, single... well, extremely single people. Ha. Its really funny. In fact, it makes me laugh. Everyone knows, that everyone else knows, that if you're in there by yourself, it's because you don't have a date or anything else better to do than rent a movie and go home and watch it by yourself (which is what I really preferred to do last night anyway... but that's not the point.) Because everyone knows that everyone else knows, this makes for the perfect opportunity to play the all-time favorite game of Avoiding Eye Contact. So, I make it a point to say, "Hi!" and make as much eye contact as possible with everyone in the store just to make things as awkward as possible. I've always liked breaking the mold.

You can take one look at some people and know why their single and others you kind of have to wonder at. I, of course, like to group myself with the later, on account of my gorgeous good looks. *insert sheepish grin*

Sydney (and we ain't talkin' Australia)

Taking my dog for a walk is like unleashing the dogs of hell. I come home from work today (its been absolutely gorgeous outside), change, get Sydney's leash on and lock the door on our way out. While walking through the neighborhood I run into various friendly folks, many commenting on how cute my dog is. Little do they know. If those same people walked by us a mere 20 minutes later, they wouldn't think her so cute or docile.

At first, Sydney is great. She's enjoying the fresh air, walking at an acceptable pace and behaving nicely. Every good dog owner wants their dog to act respectful in public, as a parent does with a child. What do we think when a child is misbehaving? We blame the parents. So, Sydney represents me well for the first 1/4 of our walk together. Sometime between the 1/4 mark and the end we run into trouble. Maybe its the birds that make her crazy or maybe all the annoying little dogs people walk (that would serve much better purposes as a scooby-snacks for dogs like Sydney). Maybe the internal "Good Dog" clock goes off and she switches to "Demon from Hell" mode. I'm not sure but needless to say, its embarrassing.

When Sydney begins to act up, she walks faster (which may not seem like too much of a big deal, but when a 50 lb. dog starts pulling a 130 lb. woman... we begin to have issues). So, instead of me walking the dog, Sydney is now walking me. As the cars drive by, I'm sure their drivers are amused at the circus going on along the sidewalks of Cowboys and Valley View streets. My arm extended as far as it will go and my stride now lengthened to keep up with the canine, I look ridiculous. But it only gets better because every now and then (from a full gallop, mind you) Sydney will stop dead cold, hunch down in a sort of sitting position and scrap at her face (where her head-collar fits), in an attempt to get it off. In this position, she looks very much like a giant rabbit trying to clean its face after eating some sort of delicious morsel. I'm sure people driving by think, "Damn Fred, thats a mighty big rabbit over yonder." I of course, trip over her every time this hunching rabbit situation occurs, making the scene even more humiliating. You'd think I'd see it coming, but nay, I 'ner do. We repeat this cycle of bumping, tugging, tripping every time we walk.

Sydney's head collar helps our walks immensely because it aids in discipline (believe me, its a lot worse when we use a reagular leash). It works on the same principle as a horse's bit and bridle, but without the bit option. Instead of a bit, there is a small loop that goes around her nose and when I pull the leash, it tightens so that she knows that the behavior she is presenting is unacceptable. If only they made these for kids, right? Anyway, this concept of discipline is ludicrous when walking Sydney during her crazed moods. I try to reinforce her with "Good girl" and "NO ma'am" while at the same times releasing or tightening the tension of the leash. Reinforcing her in tones not audible to those walking their dogs (or significant others) is a challenge and I'm afraid that more often than not, I come off sounding like a lunatic to passersby.

By the time we reach my apartment we are both tired and ready for a cool drink of water. Sydney is now foaming at the mouth (because no matter how many times I tell her, she still insists on choking herself with the leash by walking faster than I am willing to go). People are now running and screaming in terror yelling, "Oh dear God, what is that thing?" as Dogzilla and I end our cement ribboned escapade.

She's a good dog... especially in the evenings when we turn in for bed and she wants to snuggle. It makes up for all the leash-pulling, drool-dripping, arm-wrenched out of socket experiances. And I might add that she is so much better than my last bed buddy (who never wanted to snuggle and thats just a crying shame - and I did cry). Snuggling is fabulous, especially with ones you love. Even if it does happen to be a dog and even if the dog is a public humiliation.

Bulls & Heifers

I decided to ask my Dad about the male phenomenon the other day due to a certain situation (regarding a male) that has me quite puzzled and in a constant state of perplexity. This is what he told me:

"Well, when the bulls recognize that there is a genetically superior heifer in the herd, they will compete for her attention. When I was that bull and I saw that the other bulls were nosing around, competing for that superior heifer's attention, I would back off. I don't like to play games. Maybe that's his problem, he just doesn't want to fight with the other bulls. He'd rather play it straight."

Or something of the like. Anyway, you get the idea... (and for all of you scratching your heads right now, wondering what the heck is wrong with my family - I'd like to say thanks because we've never taken to being like everyone else anyway.) Ladies, you may be wondering how I was not gravely offended by my father's comparison of me to a heifer... but let's get one thing straight here, I'm not just any heifer, I'm a "genetically superior" heifer and that has to earn points somewhere, right? Bulls can smell the perfume of my sweet genetics for miles... aaaaahhhhh, can't ya smell it?

Let me take a moment to thank my father for all his wisdom and insight over the years. Thanks, Dad. You really know how to 'splain it good.

Work Sucks

Yesterday was one of those days. At lunch, a co-worker and I sat and vented our frustrations with the office. We came back from lunch unsuspecting the impending doom before us. Was there a microphone at Jason's Deli? Could she have heard? Her door was shut and the whole office was laying low.

"We're having short staff meeting," The Boss announced as she made her way to everyone's offices. We wheeled our rolling chairs into her office and sat down, pens in hand. The long and short of it is that my boss told the office that she didn't appreciate our "playing around" or "excessive talking" and that those who continued in the behavior would be "terminated." None of us, however, have been able to figure out what type of playing around or excessive talking she is talking about. She won't give an example of a situation or tell who has been exhibiting these behaviors... no, that would be too easy. But she has designated "Talking Times". Yes my friends, apparently our office is so out of control that we must have supervised times to discuss our personal lives. These times are between 10:00-10:10 am and 3:30-3:40 pm. This is so stupid I think it needs no further comment.

So, this morning while creeping along 635E I wailed with Sammy Haggar and let Eddie soothe my soul with the sound of his fingers on the frets of his guitar. Upon arriving to work, I decided to put the band on my desktop in defiance of this tyrannical window-less bulwark of insignificance. I also derived much pleasure and satisfaction from a little sign I posted near my computer a few weeks ago. It all started when the ladies of the office decided to go to Jason's Deli for lunch. I decided while eating that I was in desperate need of one of their little metal number holders, so after asking the manager if he would mind if it disappeared, I took one. I printed a sign that says, "Back off dillweed." Aaaahhhhh.... sweet satisfaction. I hope my boss read it loud and clear as she squeezed my shoulders this morning when giving me a hug and telling me she loved me. Give me a break (and not one at 10:00 am or 3:30 pm, mind you.)

Breakfast

I woke up on Saturday morning, stomach growling... insatiable hunger. I wanted some of Memaw's sausage and biscuits. So, thinking that maybe if I got ready fast enough and drove at just the right speed I could get there in time to smell the warmth of the biscuits on the aluminum pan and the grease in the iron skillet. I lept from the bed. Quickly getting dressed, hunger pains growing, I grabbed my keys and raced to the car. I notice when turning on the ignition that I'm out of gas. Dang it. That will slow me down. So, I speed to the gas station... change already light... I've got places to be! Insert debit card, won't this thing pump any faster! Full tank. YES! Green lights and I'm homeward bound. Right turn onto Baxley drive, pull up to the curb of good 'ol 1818 and ignition off. Run to the front door. Stop. Wait a second. Let's savor this... three, two, one... pushing the gold door latch down I unlock the door to my awaiting happiness. I knew the living room would be empty so I make my way straight to the kitchen to find... utter disapointment. A fate worse than death - no sausage and biscuits. No breakfast period. Slap me. I walk into Memaw's den area to find Jon and her sitting happily eating egg burritos. Oh no. Don't tell me I missed egg burritos. This is going to be a terrible day. "You're about 2 minutes two late," chimes my brother. Stupid gas pump, I think to myself. "You need one?" asks Memaw. Duh, I think to myself again. I say nothing and sulk to the kitchen. Ug. The skillets are in the sink. I pull them out and manage the will power to dry them off and set them on the stove. Enters Memaw. She pulls the eggs, cheese, butter and tortillas out of the refrigerator, sets them out around the stove ceremoniously. And we begin, with out many words (as is customary) to make a egg burrito - Memaw style. God help me.

So, this will be a good day. My frustration with the lack of sausage and biscuits was null and void. A homemade egg burrito (only the best), not just made by Memaw but with Memaw. Who could ask for more?

Cancer

I found out today that a lady I knew in a past life (I say that because I feel that in each city my family has lived in, I have lived a different kind of life) died of ovarian cancer. She wasn't always the nicest person to be around, but she was there for us when we moved to to B/CS and was there for us when we left. Her son was best friends with my second to youngest brother and they enjoyed terrorizing the community together... she caught a lot of flack for her quirky idiosyncrasies but can be praised with the best of them for lending a hand when needed. She'd drive you nuts and make you want to hug her all at the same time. I guess we're all that way. Anyway it (as most things do) got me thinking...


We all have cancers... various cancers of the brain. The tumors reside, infecting our minds daily. We medicate ourselves with various over the counter drugs, alcohol, nicotine, idols and such. Choose your weapon... We live as though they the tumors... the cancers... don't exist and then wonder why we're in a constant state of exhaustion...

How do you medicate your cancer?

Somethings of the Past

Upon much debate, I have decided to post some of my writings. Some recent, some not so recent. Since none of you know me from Adam, I figure I can get away with it with out too much embarassment. So here we go...

To gain a second, and lose the hour.
To win the battle, but lose the war.
To seize the moment, but relinquish the day.
To forget the past only to be reminded of the future.
To gain control, only to lose command.
To be admired, only to disappoint.

Get Over It

My whole life my grandmother has been telling me to get over things. There was a time in my life when I was offended. I'd worry myself sick (as I am custom and very prone to doing) over something I thought was very important, very grave and she'd say, "Get over it!" I didn't come to understand what exactly it was she was trying to communicate until very recently. She was never trying to offend or discourage; never once was she disregarding my feelings. No, she was in fact giving me excellent words of wisdom, praying one day I'd come to the maturity to understand her point (knowing I was too stubborn to listen at the time in my life to any explanation she might have for me... so why waste the breath explaning, right?) Well Memaw, I understand now.

So, after that being said: those of you mouring the Pope's death... in the words of my wise and sometimes crass (but never by intention) grandmother, "Get over it."