I may be a little late to the party, but there is no way I’m missing this one.
Happy Frist Birthday to the Ten Things of Thankful hop!!
I may not write a post every week, but I do in fact read several of the thankful posts, and I am always so inspired by all of you who are able to find the sunshine through some rather rainy days and post about gratitude.
Having a bit of a rainy week myself, and not just because it started out in fact raining, but because…pfft…life, I thought it might be difficult to summon ten things, but as it turns out, I have a lot for which I should say “thanks.”
My mother is going through the mean stage of her dementia this week, so I’ve spent most of the week on the phone to her getting berated and feeling terrible and helpless and wondering what I can do to help my father. In the middle of an almost all out breakdown on my part, I decided it was time to check my mail, which I’m pretty sure had not been done in over a week because…pfft…life. I sifted through bills and catalogs and junk mail, and then laid my eyes upon an envelope that was addressed to me in writing I did not recognize, and I instantly knew that my favorite Brit in the entire world sent me something. Immediately, my frown turned upside down and I ran into the house and carefully opened the package excited that there might be my first official glitter bomb waiting to explode. Inside was not just a glitter bomb, but a very pretty decorative ornament that is just so Lizzi, a beautiful and kind letter written way before my mother started her downfall, and a poem that is so perfect and so beautiful that it should in fact be song lyrics. Wow. To be loved by Lizzi, how did I get so lucky? And the timing was just perfect.
My son plays baseball with other kids his age (7), and although he had a rather good season last season, he has struggled this year and had a difficult time finding his mojo among his team who all seem to be more advanced in skill than he. I worried for a while that he was going to want to give up with all of his strike outs and missed outs, etc., but this week, something clicked in him as we made up three rained out baseball games, and he found his mojo. He hit the ball, and scored, and even got a kid out on second base, but most importantly, he scored the tie-breaking winning point, which with aged 7 year old boys is not that big of a deal, but his coach made a huge deal about it, and my son’s esteem soared. He said to me on the way to the car as I was forcing him into a hug with mom, “Hey, Mom. Did you know that I won the game for my team?” And the smile that spread across his face, and the pride in his shoulders almost made my heart leap out of my chest. That boy…sometimes I wonder if he makes the world turn.
Having had such a great game, we treated him to a late dinner at his favorite restaurant, where he got to tell the waiter about his glory and order the dessert of his choice, and while we were there, my three year old daughter finished her dinner and with a messy face and sticky fingers climbed into my lap, and fell asleep in my arms. I’m not sure there’s any better feeling than having your sweet child sleep on your chest.
Sleep Baby Sleep
Early in the week, my best friend, Kimberly, called and invited me to the first official “sister day” with her and her two sisters. Being that I have no sisters of my own, I adopted Kimberly and her sisters the minute that we met. These girls and I share our childhood. We grew up next door to each other and lived in each other’s homes. Where they were, I was. Where I was, they were. Without them, I wouldn’t be me. We’ve been through everything together: first loves, first heart breaks, first marriages, teenage pregnancy, loss, so much loss, and we’ve held each other’s hands and loved each other and cheered each other through every heartache and every milestone. This is our 30th year of friendship. That’s right…Thirty Years. And I have no doubt that thirty years from now, my pseudo sisters will still call me and invite me to sister day. I am so thankful to share my life with these gorgeous amazing women. Oh, and we watched Dream a Little Dream (a childhood favorite of ours), from which I’m pretty sure I learned life’s most valuable lessons.
So happy birthday to the most uplifting blog hop I’ve seen in the blogosphere. Cheers!!!
Aussa Lorens is a bonafide Hacker Ninja Hooker Spy, and I may or may not have a huge cyber crush on her. I’ve had a long spell of writer’s block, and in a recent conversation, I mentioned rather casually that I once had a stalker, which led to her insisting that I blog about it, so here it is….my stalker story. Continue reading →
I am so excited to introduce you again to my absolute favorite Brit, Lizzi, from Considerings. She joins me today with her latest and final installment of Anitra’s story. If you haven’t read the first three parts, please get caught up, and do it quickly:
Now go find a soft welcoming chair, settle in making yourself comfortable, and sink your teeth into Lizzi’s brilliant words.
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Have you ever mourned the loss from your life of someone who’s made you angry; whose very memory causes your brow to furrow and your heart to become hard, even as part of you twists in pain because they’re gone? Have you ever lain awake at night worrying about them one second and hating yourself for giving them head-space (again) the next?
Have you ever wished and wished that they’d return safe, just so you could punch them in the middle of their face to let them know how much they hurt you?
My winter was cold and dark and immeasurably long as I tried to continue life, now thrown off-balance by the third loss of Anitra. I seemed cursed by my inability to unhook or maintain any sense of proportion as I wished for her return, at the same time nurturing a boiling rage against this woman who had taken our friendship and wantonly shredded it in front of me, throwing the tattered pieces in my face in defiance.
I trudged back and forth from the homeless shelter after my working days and at weekends, taking a masochistic pleasure in braving the bad weather; the sleet falling down my neck, my soaking shoes and damp coat serving as reminders that I meant it – I was helping because it was the right thing to do, not just because of the faded harmonies of years-old memories.
Throwing myself into helping, I vehemently protested with every deed, that this wasn’t just about her – and I convinced everyone except myself that this was the case. So much so that as the days began to lengthen again, I was given a new task, this time seconded from my job as an outreach volunteer (it looks good when your company has employees involved in ‘outreach’ – it makes the brand more personable, more human, and ultimately far more appealing than those faceless corporations who don’t care for the community which supports them).
A community garden.
The transformation of a council-donated patch of wasteland into a miniature park and shared vegetable plot, where the homeless could work alongside the homed, the lion could lie down with the lamb, and the sharing would be restricted to trowels, not needles. “A pipe dream of Eden”, I thought at first, telling the director that it was unlikely to happen – that the homeless were essentially a selfish, transient bunch (no matter how much we might want to help them) and that they would never stick around long enough to dig more than a few spadefuls of dirt, never mind see it through to harvest.
He looked at me sternly, over the top of his glasses, and firmly told me that this was my chance to prove my commitment to the cause – to do something outside of my comfort zone – to engage in a collaborative project which would rely on the homeless proving themselves to me.
“Give it a try”, he urged. “Let them show you that they aren’t all like Anitra. They won’t all hurt you. I’ve already got other shelters keen to be involved – we’re going to make a real go of this, for the sake of the whole community. And I want you to be there. Let their efforts begin to heal those broken chords in your heart.”
Grudgingly at first, then with increasing excitement, I pitched up each weekend in my scruffs and boots, greeting familiar faces, new faces, old co-workers, and together we scythed and burnt and stripped the patch of wasteland of its shroud of weeds and litter, huddling together around the bonfire, drinking tea from thermos cups and enjoying an easy camaraderie. We toiled and tilled, our backs bent as we broke the clotted soil open and let in new life, planting ready for harvest, and transforming the formerly useless into something beautiful and practical (a process we could hear echoing in our souls).
True enough, people came and went over the ensuing months – both the homeless and the homed were inconsistent in their participation, but a core of people never failed to show up and gradually my faith was restored. All was well in the garden.
Until she arrived.
The minibus from one of the other shelters disgorged its usual huddle of volunteers, and there she stood amongst them, looking around her with curiosity and a genuine interest in her eyes.
Gone was the look of haunted desperation. Her stick-thin figure had filled out, leaving her looking healthy. Clean? Who knew, but the pinched look had left her eyes, and her skin was no longer grey. I experienced the curious feeling of my soul simultaneously flying up into a crescendo, and crashing into the dirt, and I turned away, not ready to face her yet; unsure of how I’d react once we were standing in front of each other again.
I was sullen that day, and in spite of the sunshine baking my neck and shoulders, a chill remained inside, my heart dark and my digging rendered vicious by those painful memories:
Holding her close, watching her finally relax and give in to peace once the storm of tears was over. Her smile of genuine happiness when I said I’d do all I could to help her get back on her feet. Her jeering, insouciant eyes as she mocked me for caring. Her jutting chin and bold defiance as she told me that she was beyond help and that the therapy group were all clueless dickheads. Her glazed, unfocused eyes as she reached for me, spewing lies and violent words…
The next weekend she was there again, and I still didn’t let myself look at her, my tongue now laden with a week’s worth of angry barbs, prepared for her next attack, however it might come guised. She noticed me, though, and I caught her in my peripheral vision, staring at me then starting towards me. I turned away swiftly, and she didn’t materialise, having presumably thought the better of it. I pruned several rose bushes so harshly they ended up as near stumps, taking delight when one raked me with its thorns so that I could hack and slash at it, turning the branch into ribbons of mulched waste.
I waited for her to leave, but as summer progressed, she was there every week, without fail. She worked diligently, quietly, making no effort to intrude on my hurts, letting them quell with time as I became used to her presence again. A peaceful presence, this time, which gradually soothed the jags and corners of my anger, allowing my heart to re-focus and revel once again in the delight of the growing garden – in the beauty of the place we’d crafted together – and immerse myself in the scent of sunshine on freshly-turned earth, the flowers spilling their fragrance over cupped petals into the air, and the sound of honeybees as they busied themselves amongst the abundance.
The vegetable garden swelled and proliferated with good things as they came into ripeness with the season – simple foods planted quickly to give us a sense of achievement: squashes, marrows, a giant, orange pumpkin and a climbing, green tangle of beans. We tended, watered and weeded, smug looks being exchanged around the team as we surveyed our success.
I stood one afternoon in golden light, infused with the richness that only the middle of autumn can bring – when the orange and red hues in the trees seem to pour their notes forth into the air and mingle with the lighter warmth and deeper resonance of the sun – and watched a red-breasted robin flitter down and peck through the freshly turned earth, searching for bugs. A step behind me caused him to take flight, landing in a nearby tree, where he cocked his head, fixing us with a beady, black eye before opening his beak in a glorious torrent of song.
A whistle echoing his song was released into the air, fluting past me, my ears not deaf to its beauty even as they pounded with anxiety and I turned to see Anitra standing there. A half smile stretched her lips as her eyes darted, making only glancing contact with mine, which I could tell had narrowed, feeling my guard coming up like shutters closing behind them.
“Nina…”
The sound of my name was all it took: the slap rang out, my hand stinging as I watched her head snap back. I was shocked because I hadn’t known I was going to do it, nor that I had such force within me. She reeled away from me, clutching her now-reddening cheek, the imprint of my fingers clearly visible. From the corner of my eye I saw the robin fly away, scared, and heard a sudden ripple of whispers travel out across the garden, where everyone had frozen, like statues at a children’s party.
The atmosphere was charged. No-one moved, and my narrowed eyes bore down into a full glare, my jaw tightening, turning my face into a stony mask.
She hesitated, then seemed to make her mind up, stepping back towards me. She dragged her eyes up to meet mine, and in a strained voice disseminated a clipped version of her time since I’d seen her last.
“I found somewhere – I didn’t go back to the streets. You insisted that my life could be better, and I wanted to try again. I didn’t know you were doing this: I got involved through the shelter who took me in, cos now I’m alright, I’m trying to help – trying to give something back. When I saw you here, I was glad, because I thought we could try again too, and that I might have a shot at fixing what I broke. If you don’t think so, I’ll go now, and that’ll be the end of it. And I’m playing again. Not well, and not often, yet, but I thought you’d like to know.”
“So…” her voice trailed off as she looked for my response.
I turned away from her, raising my hands and clasping them, fingers laced behind my head. I attempted to blinker myself from the world with my own elbows, breathing shakily, deeply, and trying to figure out what to do next.
The skies held no answer, just memories zipping past my mind’s eye, accompanied by seventeen jangling, clashing soundtracks and the timpani of my pulse.
I closed my eyes and willed them not to spill over, then exhaled at length, shaking my head, bewildered as I heard her start to walk away.
Then I heard it. A pause.
We turned at the same moment, briefly dipping back across the years into that old synchronicity as we said, in unison “Can we just go for coffee or something?”
She grinned and I rolled my eyes, the mood transforming instantly to a lighter pitch.
Around us, the garden came back to life as the people resumed their work, realising the spectacle was over. Anitra fetched her gardening tools over, and set up alongside me as we busied ourselves harvesting the beans, chatting as we waited for the end of the day.
At some point in the fading afternoon, the robin returned to his perch and began to sing for us again.
I’m a deep thinker, truth-teller and seeker of Good Things. I’m also silly, irreverent and try to write as beautifully as possible. My thoughts are prolific and can be found at my blog, Considerings
She woke early that day to make sure she packed everything. A weekend away with the husband was just what she needed after an exasperating week alone with the kids having to taxi them to school, sports, practices, and lessons. She couldn’t wait for her mother-in-law to arrive so that she could start her peaceful journey. She loaded up her eReader with several of the top Indie books of the week and sat on the couch patiently waiting.
As soon as she heard the doorbell, she gathered her bags and sunglasses. She kissed her son and her daughter, gave her mother-in-law an aggressive thankful hug and was on her way. She drove to the airport with the sunroof open enjoying the warm spring air and the sunshine spraying in from the cloudless sky singing along with Bruno Mars about Young Wild Girls.
She made it through security seamlessly, heading straight for the bar near her departing gate. She ordered a Bombay Sapphire and tonic and sipped it quietly anticipating seeing her husband after a week of his absence. He was in California for a meeting at his corporate office and suggested she meet up with him for the weekend so that they could have a little much needed together time. His work travelling had picked up speed the first quarter of the year, which resulted in their spending a lot of time apart.
She finished her drink, paid her tab, and headed to the gate just before the plane began boarding. She boarded the plane along with the other people in the First Class group. Having a traveling husband had its benefits, one being automatic upgrades. She settled into her seat and sipped champagne, hoping that the seat next to hers would remain empty and buried her nose in her book, ignoring the crowds as each passenger made his way to his assigned seat. Out of the corner of her eye, a passenger stopped on her row and started struggling with the overhead bin. Her eyes traveled up, taking stock of her potential flight mate, clearly a man, youngish in Levi’s and a hooded sweatshirt. She couldn’t see his face but noticed that he had his ear buds in and would probably be unlikely to try to make the obligatory small talk fellow passengers always tend to make with one another. She took a deep breath and turned her attention back to her book when she felt rather than saw him sit down in the seat next to hers.
“First class is the only way to travel.” He said as he typed something on his phone. Her ears perked at the familiar voice.
“Hey,” she said and turned her attention to him.
He studied her face for a minute as a wide smile took over his. “What are you doing here?” He asked.
“What are you doing here?” She matched his tone.
They both jumped from their seats and gave each other a quick hello hug and laughed at the coincidence that brought them not only to the same flight but to neighboring seats. The flight attendant asked them to sit back down as the plane began preparing for takeoff.
They spent the entire flight talking, laughing, drinking the complimentary drinks, and getting to know each other in person after a year of being online buddies. She asked him what he was listening to, which prompted a very lengthy game of “guess this tune.” When one guessed an incorrect answer, they both had to drink. They kept the flight attendants busy for the three hour flight, which seemed to go by in just 20 minutes.
When the plane finally landed, they departed at the gate, exchanged hugs and promised to actually get together again some time. Just as he was walking away, she called out, “See. It’s not such a big world after all.”
You are my Huckleberry. Let’s define that, shall we? According to the Urban Dictionary, (that’s a legit source, people) it means “I’m the man you’re looking for.” (That’s a direct quote. Anyone who knows me knows I would never end a sentence in a preposition, so there’s that.)
So in keeping true to my whole Friendship theme, I’m jumping onto the Ten Things of Thankful train, but I’m doing it my way. I’m going to give you a list, a version of what my best friend and I created years ago… (Hopefully she won’t kill me for sharing this.)
A Top Ten List
My Top Ten Thankfuls for This Weird Funky Week
(We work our way to #1, so let’s start at 10.)
#10: Lizzi because you are so full of love and light and encouragement and help, and you send me music (which speaks straight to my heart, my love language for sure.) And every time I see the little chat bubble with your smiley face, I smile back. I’m so glad I found you, Lizzi. Oozing thankfuls all over you.
#9. The rest of my blogger buddies: Don, Aussa, Phil, Dana, Sandy, Nicole, Kate, Mike (and Phoneix), and so many more. You are all so so so very awesome. I love peeking into your worlds and reading your stories which make me feel like I *know* you, like I’m a part of you. I’ve been in a funk this week, but your words were a step in the ladder that pulled me out of that funk, and today the sun shines bright in the sky, I’m well rested, and I’m no longer blue.
#8. Also in the running for pulling me out of my funk: my new cyber-besties, Hella Buzzed and Magpie. What in the world did I do with my day before I met you? I can somehow spend an entire day chatting away with you guys about anything and still be hungry for more. My cheeks hurt from smiling, and my belly hurts from laughing, and my heart is so very grateful that Michelle ignited this flame.
My girls: you know who you are. (in no particular order)
#7. a) You coined the name “Mandicap” which still haunts me. You pushed me to class in my wheel chair. You introduced me to my forever. You stood by me when I married him. I’ll never forget the day we walked around Manhattan together and the walk through Central Park….sigh. That was one of my favorite days of all time. Soon you’ll become a mom and welcome your baby girl, and I hope she has even a spark of your humor, your love, and your beauty.
b) You’ve been my mommy go to, the one who always tells me that I’m not crazy. You wait for me in Carl’s Corner with a scented candle and a smile. You can sell me anything just by saying, “You love it. You do.” Even if it’s tofu. And when I hear Dave Matthews Band or Sublime, I imagine your little red eclipse and spending hours driving around our college town in it. Without our talks, I’m not sure I’d still be sane. Oh wait – I’m not.
#6. We didn’t hit it off right off that bat, which had nothing to do with who your ex-boyfriend is. Very few people get me on the level that you do. You are almost as funny as I. Ok, ok. You’re as funny. I will always admire your eyebrows, and when you asked me to stand up next to you as your matron of honor because I “represented a happy marriage,” you stole more of my heart than you know. You’re a great mom, a great friend, and a trivia wiz. I’m so glad I met you, even if you hated me that day.
#5. Mi amor, you will always be….esta es siempre en mi corazon. You bring me wine and other stuff and sit outside with me until our lips are stained purple while we talk through every inappropriate topic and piece of gossip until the wee hours of the morning. Squelched laughter, rule-breaking chat sessions, and Freaks of the Industry will always remind me of mi amor.
#4. You are my wingman (you can totally have a vagina and be a wingman). You helped me make the rules to Drunk Around the World. You’re my Dust in the Wind, my synchronized swimming partner. Our friendship began as a seed planted by our husbands to get to spend more time together, but it’s taken root and bloomed into something so much more. I adore you, but this you know, and the friendship between our children makes my heart swell.
#3. Beth…where do I begin? I still can’t believe how many play-dates we wasted being polite. I love the weird bond our sons share and the fact that they brought us together. I don’t know where it finally happened, but we sparked, and I’m so very grateful that we did. I truly cherish this friendship. I love our Big Truck Tuesdays, that we share a sick dirty mind, and the pictures we send back and forth…le’ sigh. I love your humor and your brain, and I cannot even comprehend your talent. I believe in your book, and I sit on the edge of my seat and wait for the rest of the world to get to read it. #threechapterthursday is my favorite day of the week. How lucky am I that you trusted me with it first? And now I love beards, and trees, and tattoos, and tattoos of trees. (But I love you even more than all of that.) What have you done to me?
#2. Nikki, my kindred, my soul mate, my fellow lover of books. You are beautiful and funny and smart, and so very talented. (She’s published two books. Rebound & Resilient) The fact that you’re about to publish a third book amazes me to no end, and I squeal with delight every time you post a new teaser. You have become so much more to me than a friend. I look forward to our Thursdays and relish the memories of sitting for hours in a bookstore on the floor talking about these fictional characters as if they’re real people. You win best hugs ever, which says a lot since you know I’m not a hugger. You are so dear to me, so very special. You make my heart smile.
And the Number One Friend for whom I say thanks each and every day:
Kimberly (yes I’m using your name. Suck it.) 30 years ago as I sat outside in my backyard literally eating mudpies, my mom called for me and made me come inside, wash up and change out of my mismatched “boy” clothes and go introduce myself to the three little girls who moved in next door. I huffed and argued, but she urged and insisted and finally shooed me out the door. She had no idea what an impact that introduction would be to her little girl’s life and the inseparable friendship that would result from her insistence. Kimberly, words cannot describe you. You’re brilliant and brave and funny and weird like me and so opinionated and full of red headed stubbornness. You’re a wonderful mom, an amazing principal, a devoted wife, and the absolute “dearest” friend, my full moon. I have to stop, or I’ll cry, and you know. I. Never. Cry.
So there – my weird attempt at TToT. You can join, too. Just grab the button and follow the rules. We’ll see if I get kicked off of this one, too.
Cellulite Looks Better Tan 
