How do you see yourself, and how does this differ from how others see you?

Serious question, not a cute montage of quips.

I recently learned others see me as a negative person. It seriously shocked me, because I try very hard to look on the bright side of everything. I am supportive and empathetic and I don't whine on FB like a petulant teen about how eating a PB&J makes me miss my mother. I try to inspire other writers and from the feedback I get assumed I was successful. (And damn it, people like me!)

But typing this out I see that "try" by definition implies a lack of something. Therefore I'm compensating for a lack of cheer with manufactured cheer, which seems a totally normal and sane coping mechanism if you ask me. I've obviously not mastered the tactic or it wouldn't show.

I'm quite ambivalent (a normal state) about whether I should give a shit. If my melancholy shows, does that make me a lesser person? No. Can a "negative" person inspire others? Yes, I've had several of these friends over the years. But to think someone sees me as some sniveling, snide, self-deprecating emo bitch kinda hurts. (Hyperbole but still.) Like a dragon tattoo everyone can see but me.

I admit to my flaws, my mood swings, perfectionism, bossiness. And my humor is mainly aimed at me, because humor at the expense of others is rude. At least that's what I've always told myself. Maybe I should take a tally.

"I'm a bitch, I'm a mother, I'm a child, I'm a lover
I'm a sinner I'm a saint
I do not feel ashamed
I'm your hell, I'm your dream
I'm nothing in between
You know you wouldn't want it any other way"
Bitch, Meredith Brooks

Shit. Where's the nearest tattoo parlor?

Big changes at the Key house. This should sum it up.


The Mad Hatter lisps like a drunken boy
blind and deaf when he's flying his toys.
Mercury fumes crawl the walls
while the baby stomps
and cries
but steadily chomps
on paint bits.

Once mute
reflecting dowdy shame
dangling askew
in a cracked, gilded frame
the Seer crashes and falls
and bites off her tongue.

The Queen shudders and sobs
crumples to the creaking floor
glittering shards stabbing
her knees
face to face with the
empty gray reality
flimsy cardboard
backing a giant
pretty lie.

One last inkling of truth
falls on her head
like sparkling sleet
a sliver of reality reflected
winking back at her
in the waning light

A single demand
from the Wonderland mirror~
screaming cold, hard truth
through the sticks and bricks
through the brocade curtains
hiding the dawn
from the day~

"Off with his head!"







 

My daughter got a D in writing. I feel like the worst mother in the world. We worked on multiplication tables, book reports, and research projects, but I can't sit in the classroom with her and make her pick up the pencil. And that's exactly what it is--pure laziness. I've seen her stories and they're cute, they're just not finished.

Wow, do I see some parallels there. Easily distracted, not finishing work, not remembering due dates and homework. Except that's all recent for me; I was a model student. Is it something environmental? We all seem to be sick in this house but we've remodeled most of it, covered the asbestos tiles, clean the ducts regularly, etc.

Is it because she's spoiled? Wants to make friends more than please her parents? We've already taken away all technology and we're making her clean when she's not working. Doesn't seem to be the punishment it once was. No playdates either. Short of beating her ass, I'm at a loss.

So I'm going to drive her to and from school each day until she remembers to bring her work home, or turn it in, or whatever. Maybe the embarrassment of an overprotective mother will be the catalyst under her butt.

It feels like I'm the one failing, because I know she's ten times smarter than her mother. And as far as I can tell, she doesn't have any learning disabilities like the ones I had to overcome with no help. She's just not paying attention. I'd hate to get her labeled as "ADD" so young, but maybe it's time to take her to a shrink. Couldn't hurt. (Maybe.)


 

My stepfather passed on Friday after a long illness. Although we miss him, we are joyful he is finally free of pain and at peace with my mother.

We will be having a viewing for my Father on Wednesday the 26th, from 5 to 8pm at Adams Greene Funeral home in Herndon and a Grave Side Service at Mt. Olivet Cemetery in Frederick Md. on Thurdsay at 12 noon, following the burial we will recieve family and friends Thurday night from 5 to 8 at our our apartment Club house in Herndon. If you plan on attending the fellowship on Thursday night and need directions contact Kathy, Karen or Kim.

There is also info at www.adamsgreen.com

Sometimes a seemingly ordinary event can change your entire perspective. Yesterday was one of those days where everything that could go wrong did go wrong. Here's what this old dog learned.

1)New experiences mean more than new toys.
My daughter has a half day school on Wednesdays. She likes to have playdates, so I invited her bestest friend over, and surprised them both with a mani-pedi for Doodle's birthday. Those kids thought they were princesses and didn't stop smiling the whole time.

2)You can't always get what you want, but you get what you need.
My husband and I argued for weeks over the perfect gift, right down to the wire. Doodle wanted a $600 electronic drum set, which I vetoed because she's only 9, we have a small house, and she's already spoiled. Plan B was a swingset, but after Dad begrudgingly agreed to wiping out our savings account, I couldn't find one in stock in the area. Plan C was a good artist's easel, which you'd think would not be a seasonal item. Maybe there was a run on easels, who knows?

3)A parent will do anything to see their child smile. My husband drove all over Northern Virginia to find an easel, even though he was sick, even though he arrived home when the party was almost over.

4)Family makes a party, not cake and ice cream or decorations.

5) Where there's a will, there's a way. Despite a lack of expected help, the wrong grocery items, and missing presents, we made it work. I can run all day, pull off 2 birthday parties and a beauty event, make food for a hungry horde, and never never let Doodle forget how much I love her without ending up in the hospital. Related to number 5...

6)You can wake up with a hangover even if you don't touch alcohol.

7)Don't sweat the small stuff. When you wipe up a mess and leave a clean spot instead of a dirty spot, it's time for a new couch cover.

And the most amazing realization of all,

8)The dishes can wait. Waking up to the aftermath of a bomb exploding in your house doesn't need to cause anxiety. Instead of freaking out and grabbing a broom, I'm just dancing around the debris. Strangely, I feel like a princess, and I can't stop smiling.

I've written at least 10 stories in the last year, all unfinished except this one. Not perfect, but good enough. Crits most welcome.

ID: 1818450   (Rated: 13+) The First Call is Free  In God we trust, all others pay cash. (What a Character, dialogue.) by 1296462 Rising Stars' Best

Fair disclosure--I despise country music, but this song kicks me right in the heart. Add to that a young deaf woman who commands a gorgeous horse with her hands and well, color me a tearful wreck. In a good way.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TKK7AXLOUNo&feature=mfu_in_order&list=UL

 

I believe I've hit the perfect note in my newsletters.

Unscientifically speaking, a third of the responses contain praise, a third hold relevant opinion on the topic, and the last third seem to imply I'm full of shit.

Which sometimes hurts, but ultimately it's a good sign. I'd rather see vehement disagreement than mindless adoration; it means people are THINKING about the subject. Not listening to my opinion, not parroting dogma, but forming their own ideas. A teacher might not like those stats, but for a writer, they're just right.

Kiss me or fight me, but for Kuan Yin's sake please don't ignore me because apathy kills creativity.
 

Doodle is off so we're writing a children's story "Sneaky Stinky Feet" and having tea parties. Actually planned! and budgeted! this year's landscaping projects. Stagnant chi sucked right out the windows by spring.

Basement, check, carpet ordered, junk pile gone, furniture shopping this weekend, along with a trip to Home Despot for flowers and concrete pavers. Next up: Watch Kimmie's hysterically funny histrionics as she attempts a retaining wall.

Gotta keep up with the (Jones?) who will buy the 1.5 mil monstrosity being built by little Hispanic men who, by the ten Spanish words I know and the singing and joshing and "Hallelujah"s, love their work. The Smiths live on the other side of us, clean, neat professor and government worker, you know, cocktail parties I'm not invited to where they discuss literature and politics. High falutin' liberals toasting the demise of the very government teat they drink from. With the crystal glasses they hopped into the Subaru and bought at Kohl's.

I'm lying. I could give a fig (cuz we got thousands) for what the neighbors think of our house, and the Smiths rock out loud. It's just the delineation between lawn and flower bed formed with mismatched brick-like items and disintegrated wooden beams has blurred so much it's hard to mow and weed. With flower beds around three sides of both house and yard, you can imagine how sore my hands get even with gloves. Work smarter, not harder.

So I guess my fear is that our new neighbors will be all house and no castle. Of a different mindset, where granite is a given and the idea of doing your own landscaping foreign, and only one toilet to clean seems quaint. It is quaint. And I'd love another bathroom to clean but this country girl loves her ginormous backyard (for the area, anyway) even more. Room for badminton and swimming and hanging on the deck.

The massive tulip poplar that has inspired so many writings. The sister trees next door are gone, one old oak with five perfectly aligned branches begging for a treehouse. It was like watching someone cut off my mother's arms, but I felt I needed to be there for her. The new neighbors will have 4 feet of grass on each side and maybe 15 in the back. A gorgeous new castle and no ancient trees to guard it. They may have room for a hot tub, but I guarantee I'll have an in ground pool before they ever do. Nyah, nyah!

I suppose everyone feels invaded when their old 'hood gets yuppified and sterilized. And after WWII, this was a new development; it just happened to be built on what used to be a massive nursery. The main house sold last year and boy does that old Victorian on the hill have charm. And problems of course. And I'm willing to bet a ghost or two; there's a spot in the back sitting room and an even colder spot in the attic-turned-playroom that gave me goosebumps. So I got the hell outside and looked at all the plants and herbs and trees. No way we could ever afford it, but glad I got to get a sense of the history.

Here's hoping that house has enough lineage to save it from the bulldozers. I know my cul-de-sac is safe for now, until one of the old people dies. And as long as we can pay the taxes, this house is safe. Actually, even though we've poured every dime we have into making this place livable, it could burn down tomorrow and I wouldn't shed a tear (if I got all my pictures out). But a tradition of love has been planted with every vine, fruit tree, and flower. With Eric's family all living in Indonesia, the oasis his parents built here are really his only roots. In different ways, the house and gardens keep us both grounded. They're sacred.





 

I recently received one of those uplifting chain emails: you know— you’re an amazing woman, best girlfriend evah, or the master defender of Taoist quotes and feline wisdom. Risking immense peril to my own luck as well as the stability of the intricate spiritual “web,” I do not forward these glittering jewels of wisdom within nine minutes to nine of my fellow amazing zen cat lovers. I know, I know; playing with fire.

But when your supah sistah sends you a prayer, you read it. Because she’s my (real) sister. She read this prayer and then sent it to me to let me know. That’s something entirely different altogether. Whether I like the prayer or not is irrelevant; whether I like the method or not is irrelevant; she prayed for me.

But it wasn’t really the prayer itself that moved me; it was the adage tacked on the end. Not merely inspiration for a newsletter, but inspiration for my life. Just what I needed to hear, just when I needed to hear it. As you might suspect I don’t believe in coincidence, so I guess it’s time to pay it forward.

Here’s hoping a single newsletter can balance out my bad karma and improve my horrible luck.

ID: 473168   (Rated: E) Follow Your Dreams  We owe it to the world and to ourselves to follow our dreams. by Kenzie

ID: 572194   (Rated: E) Leaves of Green  Sometimes it takes a helping hand to change a life. by Shaara

ID: 1531872   (Rated: ASR) Quit  Quit hating us for who we are, quit preaching your hate by * §apph *

ID: 1679916   (Rated: ASR) Preacher  A short poem regarding the dangerous influence of those we dare not question. by Free_Rip

ID: 1705202   (Rated: E) Practice what you preach  created for Coloring the world on given propmt by Sherr G.+1 by jaya h

ID: 1705166   (Rated: ASR) PRACTICE WHAT YOU PREACH  Written for Sherri Gibson's Coloring The World Contest - another challenge! by Countrymom- Spirit of '76

ID: 1684833   (Rated: E) My Grandmother  A picture of a picture of my grandmother, just before she passed away. And a Poem for her by BBWOLF Turning 23 6/3

"Spiritual Newsletter (March 23, 2011)"