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 |   You never know what you'll find - humor, ramblings, rants, randomness- it's all me! |
This description part is challenging. I never know what I will blog about until I start typing. I do know there will be typos. I don't reread or correct my blog. Otherwise it turns technical instead of my feelings and thoughts. Trust me, on stories and poems I'm a grammaraholic, but this is freedom. Sometimes to keep it from getting too personal, I even turn my head away while I type. Weird, right?. I hope you find this somewhat entertaining, thought-provoking, and humorous.   A little about me. The most important things in my life are family, especially my son, Reese, and my husband, Bruce, my walk with God, and making a positive impact in some way. I am a teacher, currently teaching 6th grade Language Arts. While at times my job can be trying, overall, it is one of the most rewarding passions in my life.   This is my wonderful son, Reese. He is now 20 and and a junior at Oklahoma State University. I may be partial, but he is an exceptional kid with the best heart I've ever known. He makes me laugh, think, and want to be a better person. We are both huge Oklahoma State Cowboy fans - Gooooooo Pokes!  This is Reese's dog, Betty. She shares a name with my mother. Reese named her that because she was beautiful and kind just like his Nanny (my mom). I'm not sure my mom is quite convinced it is a compliment though. Betty is a huge part of our family. She even had her own blog for awhile. Poke around at your leisure and shake your head at some of things that go through mine. I always return reviews/comments, though admittedly, sometimes it does take me awhile depending on what life is serving me at that point. Keeping the faith, Audra  |
July 7, 2011 Prompt Music can be inspirational. Has music ever inspired you to write or to create? If so, what music inspires you the most? Any particular song(s) or artist(s)? If not, what inspires you to write? I think most people are inspired by music in one way or another - whether it's writing, athletics, drawing. Music is a part of our history. It has such power. Studies have shown it helps with memory, decision-making, quicker healing, and productivity. Okay, I admit I made that last line up. . . but it sounded good and I bet I could find studies that say that. Music inspired this poem: "Reasons why I Sing" I have no pitch, nor musical ear. In fact, my voice is something to fear. And yet I sing . . . . I sing for coffee, good grades, sleeping late. Crowing about smiles, cash, even a first date. I don’t know the words to many songs, so I happily repeat them tragically wrong. And yet I sing . . . I sing for babies, cake, a sparkling clean house. Crowing about football, phones, leaving that louse. I embarrass my son with my tone deaf voice, but hey, he’s my kid so he hasn’t much choice. And yet I sing . . . I sing for family, Jesus, good hair days. Crowing about my son, snow, a job that pays. I’m not Celine, Madonna, nor the Backstreet Boys. I’m just an ordinary mom making a joyful noise. And yet I sing . . . I sing for hotels, rainbows, our dog without ticks. Crowing about dominoes, nachos, good lottery picks. I sing in my car; it’s my personal stage. I’ll keep my song, you keep your road rage. LalaLalalala LaLa lelelalalal La La Leeeeee Lala lalala LA! I am now caught up on my blogs!!!! Now if stupid infections will just stay away, I'll be good. |
| If life had a "redo" or "rewind" button would you use? If so, what situation comes to mind? If not, why? What if life was a cassette player? Again, I'm showing my age. For you youngsters, google it. It was after 8 tracks and before CDs. When I first thought of this prompt, I was convinced I wouldn't use a rewind button on life, because who we are is made up of all our experiences. But to be honest, I'd use ALL the buttons. Rewind Moments: Plenty of moments come to mind, but I won't bore you with all of them. How about 2? One sad, one happy? 1. Just a couple of weeks ago, we had gone to the vet for my puppy, Bella. She had an infection and we got some medicine. After giving it to her, I set it in the middle of the kitchen table. Something in my head said to put it in a cabinet, but I didn't listen. Bella's a tiny dog. I got her from the pound; they think she's a pug/chihuahua mix. With her size, I told myself it was a safe place for the medicine. I was wrong. I don't know how she got to it, but she did. She ate it all, and I watched my best friend die at the animal emergency hospital. The guilt I have mixed with the grieve is beyond explanation. Rewind . . . be more responsible . . . bring my Bella back. 2. Giving birth to my son. I know that sounds strange. The pain and all, but I didn't think it was that bad of pain, and he was a big boy. I'd just like to rewind it,and experience it again to see his face for the first time again; capture each new look in my mind, feel the kind of love you can only experience with a child. Don't get me wrong, I love every moment with him, but I had know idea the extent of love I could feel, so in some ways I think I didn't take fully comprehend the miracle that was happening. Rewind . . . Hello, Reese . . . This is going to be fun. Fast Forward: Okay, we all have to admit there are moments we would fast forward - getting a shot, being yelled at by the boss, heart break, etc. I'm trying to think of something witty here and it's just not coming. Oh, I know a fast forward moment - it's not witty though. When you take teacher certification tests, you don't get the results for over a month. It sucks! I would fast forward those results so that I know whether to celebrate or bang my head against the wall. Ohhhh and I would fast forward through all commercials on So You Think You Can Dance and Criminal Minds. Record: Well, life pretty much does have a record button. . . .It's called memories. However, I've noticed I'm losing more than I thought I was. It seems in the past year over and over I've been asked, "Remember that time . . . .?" and my answer is a confused look and a 'no'. It's pretty bad when don't even vaguely remember it. I thought for awhile people were just messing with me. But not that many people could have the time to screw with my mind. Pause: I would pause that moment where you are laying in the arms of someone you love, feeling safe, loved, content, and like the rest of the world doesn't exist. Wait...... Who is the mushy person typing? That doesn't sound like me at all. Holy Hat, is blogging actually making me show various sides of myself? This could be dangerous. I'm glad there isn't an erase button on a cassette player. I don't think there was anyway. I'd hate to have to think that deeply right now. Thanks for reading! audra |
30-Day blogging challenge Day 5: July 5, 2011 ~ Prompt: When I Do Good – “When I do good, I feel good. When I do bad, I feel bad. That's my religion. Abraham Lincoln” Boy, that Lincoln guy knew what he was talking about. This reminds me of a "Seinfeld" episode where, I think it was Chandler, and Phoebe had a bet that she couldn't do an unselfish act, because when you do something good you get something back even if it's just a good feeling about yourself. I teach middle school, and as I'm sure you all know, teenage girls can be brutal. Not all, of course - there are some who still maintain a sweet persona. But those mean ones -- Man, they make me happy to be 42. When they are in the midst of yet another "drama" which consists of verbal attacks and social manipulation, I try to get them to examine how it makes them feel about themselves. I remember my mother always trying to comfort me as a teen, explaining they say mean things because they are jealous or want to feel better about themselves. I just took what she said as truth . . . She's my mother. But in retrospect, I wonder where that theory comes from. Now, I do understand that adolescents' brains are not yet at the point of looking past the conflict to see the reasoning. But who puts in our mind that meanness makes us feel better about ourselves? One more thought on this: I am currently dating someone (Yea, I know -- I'm shocked too). He asked me the other night what was one thing I liked about him. Without even thinking I said, "Something about you makes me want to be a better person." (Not that I'm a bad one - but hey, I'm not at perfection, yet). I think maybe that's a good test to see if you are in a healthy relationship. Does the relationship make you feel good or bad about yourself? It doesn't just have to be romantic. For instance, I have a family member that I recently decided I couldn't have in my life right now. It wasn't an easy decision. But, I realized having this person in my life was creating negative effects in every area. And it's not something I can handle, at least right now. Well, that was a downer. Do a random good deed today - for yourself! I think I'll review someone. Peace, love, and laugh Audra |
Subject: Day 4 - Just go with it or go against. This is a bit controversial... Some countries legalize same sex marriage. Which is your stand, Just go with it or go against? Well, I'm prepared to get bashed on this one, but I can handle it, I suppose. I know the Bible pretty well. I understand that it says homosexuality is wrong. But I also remember it saying that judging another is wrong as well, and that sin is equal in God's eyes. Here is kinda where I stand. We live in a world that contains quite a bit of negativity and hate, so if someone finds a piece of love and happiness, who am I to tell them they don't deserve it because it may be unconventional? Some will say, let them be together but not married. If you look at the changes of the make up of American families over the last 50 years, you would have to admit a "typical" family unit is hard to define. Then I find myself thinking. . . ."Why would anyone want to be married?" Just kidding, marriage can be a good thing. You know what else can be a good thing? Reminding yourself that a person is more than their sexuality, and happiness and love come in different forms. For example, I feel like getting a little love at Starbucks right now. Please . . . no protests and picket lines. Well, I started as Switzerland and ended as caffiene addict! |
Subject: Day 3 - Good Traditions Every country has its prestigious traditions. Some of those are our favorites. In the community you live now enumerate the good traditions you and your family are anxious to celebrate. I've thought about this a lot while I've been laying in bed with a stinkin' blood infection. Note to everyone: When a red streak starts going up your leg, it's not a good sign even if it's just from a blister on your toe. I always come down with the freaky illnesses. I'm trying to get caught up on my blog challenges, so I'm just going to do a list. I do need to preface it by saying my family is a portrait of off-beat humor. While some families might light a candle as a remembrance of someone or an event, we are doing things that might seem bizarre, but let me assure you, they are meaningful to us. I think anyone who has ever visited another family on a holiday will admit that it always seems a little odd in some way. Maybe it's simply different food served, or maybe it's that we grow up celebrating one way and it fosters a feeling of what the holidays represent - to me that's comfort. So here's my zany list (think less of me if you must; just be careful, I may invite you to Thanksgiving dinner) 1. I have a 14 year old son. Manners are a huge deal for me. So before his birthdays we would "practice" opening presents. I never wanted him to offend someone by saying things like "I already have that" or "I don't like Power Rangers". I have to admit he was a quick study. My dad made fun of me for this. And his clever mind got to working. My father was taking the trash to the big dumpster at his place of work one day, and in the dumpster he found this old, 2 foot, straggly, one-armed doll. For my son's 3rd birthday he wrapped it up, and put it with the other presents. (Of course, he got him something else too). Well, this was the biggest present, and my son's eyes were huge. As he tore into the box with excitement, his face became utter confusion as he pulled out "Lila" (we've named her). His eyes glanced at me, and then without pause, he looked at my father and said, "Thank you, Pa. I've never had a doll before." I couldn't have been more proud. lol. Not only did he have manners, but the trick ended up on my father. So. . . the tradition began. Every major holiday, the doll is gifted back between them, with something new done to it. For instance, my son painted a tatoo on Lila that says "I love Pa", and my dad had Lila write Reese a love song. 2. I don't even know how this one started. But every holiday I bring my dad a couple of bottles of Boonesfarm. For those of you who aren't hicks, it is the cheapest wine in the world. It's like soda. That's what my dad first drank in his younger years, so I guess it takes him back to the good ole days. One time I stopped at this little liquor store on the way to his house. I looked and looked and could find Strawberry Hill Boonesfarm. I asked the lady behind the counter. She turned up her nose saying, "We would never carry that wine." I smiled back, and politely replied, "Really? Your loss. You could be getting my $3.99 every holiday!" 3. This is just a tradition my son and I have. It's just the two of us. Well, we all know how crazy the holidays get, and how sometimes they are more chaos than joy. Well, Reese came up with a solution. The day before the holiday, we have a "do nothing" day. We stay at home in our pajamas, just doing whatever we want. It gets us happy, relaxed, and looking forward to the next day. 4. This one, I'm slightly embarrassed about. My mom doesn't handle "stress" well all the time, and holidays seem to do her in because she wants everything to be perfect. And there is no way with as many people as we have coming over everything is going to go just right. Inevitably, she goes in her room and cries (just for a little bit). And then comes out and is fine. Well, at some point in our teenage years; my brother, sister, and I somehow came up with the idea to bet when she would go cry. Whoever came closest won. I know, I know . . . it's awful. I'm sure it couldn't have been me that came up with it. Okay, I had more. But I'm going to stop there, because I can see I may have already alienated half of WDC with this post. By the way - Happy Holidays. P.S. Dad doesn't usually drink it straight from the bottle. We do have dixie cups. lol |
| I have a feeling this is supposed to be a "deep" journal topic. Hmmmm.... Do you know me? Actually, I found it kind of ironic. Here's the prompt: *Idea* Ponder the spectre of yourself as one human being in the over six billion people on Earth. We are so minute as to be nonexistent. And yet, we have the power to visualize, to imagine the entirety of the cosmos. In your journal, write about the paradox of being both microscopic and immense. Normally, I'd be like, "What the hell?" But you see last night I went to the move The Green Lantern. See, when you have a 14 year old son, you rarely get to see a movie of substance. On the bright side, most movies are in 3D now so I can sleep behind the glasses. That is until I start snoring (yes, for real), and then I get the "You are sooooo embarrassing, Mother" lecture. Yes, yes, yes. . . Back to the prompt. In this wonderful (cough, cough) movie, we learn that humans are the youngest race among many others. They did tell the exact number of other races, and I wasn't asleep yet, but I was still in a state of shock that I had just spend $31.00 on nachos and drinks for two people. Next time, I'm sneaking in a bog of Doritos and jar of Tostitoes queso. Hey, it can be done. . . My sister and I snuck in a bucket of KFC chicken in a diaper bag before either one of us even had kids to need a diaper bag. I know, I know . . off topic again. So apparently, we're the youngest race, not as "developed' as the others. The phrase "I'm only human" comes up. And the human, (played by someone who I admit was amazing to stare at for 2 hours - Ryan McDonald - no, that was one of my students. . . Ryan Reynolds or something like that ---mmmmm those eyes . . . and other body parts) explains that when we say this, it's to show we are fallible or perhaps something is beyond our capabilities. Well, this got me thinking. Why is "I'm only human" an 'excuse'. How and why did the phrase get a negative connotation (check it out - big word there)? Why isn't "I'm human" followed by an exclamation point, and smile, and an ear bursting cheer? Do we use our humanity to limit ourselves or to empower ourselves? Remember Anne Murray's "I am Woman Hear me Roar"? Okay, I'm showing my age. Truthfully, even that one is before my time. It makes me think; we are supposed to be a "step up" from animals. But do you think the lion say, "Hey Pete, are you crazy? I can't catch that antelope. I'm only Lion." Or does he say, "Dude, Pete, check this out. I'm going to annihilate that creature faster than you can get that thorn out of your paw!" I kinda have a point here. Maybe, we're only minuscule if we choose to be. If we limit ourselves with excuses and negative self-fulfilling prophecies (I knew my BA in Psychology would pay off one day), how can we expect to accomplish immense things? Are we just a speck in this incomprehensibly, vast universe? Heck yeah, but I belief tiny specks can do immense things. This is Captain Audra signing off from a once again Rambling Journey to the center of my Brain. |
| Glory Days, huh? At first when I saw this prompt, I was like "Ohhhhh, yesssss, BABYYYYYY!" After all, I'm what some mean people might call middle-aged. I've lived! Things have happened to me. I know LIFE and a little bit of GLORY. But then, I read further and realized it was about the glory days of this year so far. Come on, now. I'm 42. It's not like I'm going to shoot the winning 3-pointer at the buzzer of a basketball game, or be nominated Prom Queen. Reflecting, it almost made me sad that I thought "glory days" only happened in youth. Determined to recognize my glory days of 2011, I turned to the dictionary for support. This is what we have from Mr. Webster. (Well, actually dictionary.com - not sure if they are related or not.) glory days: the time of greatest achievement, popularity, success, or the like Many events came to mind, which, trust me, was a relief. Otherwise, we'd be whipping out the Xanax and curling up to watch Lifetime movies while crying that my life had passed me by. After careful study (apparently, I have way too much time on my hands right now), I realized the definition defined nothing. Look at the words it used: 1. Greatest Achievement - vague. Whose standards are we talking about. Honestly, my greatest achievement so far was keeping the house clean for three months, yet I'm sure for many of you that's no big deal. Maybe some would say it was being nominated Teacher of the Year. But while honored, it didn't seem to fall in the greatest achievement category. I mean I didn't do my job any differently in hopes of obtaining the nomination. If we are talking work here, then it would be making the majority of 8th graders at my school realize that writing is not hell, and can actually be enjoyable. But that's not something you can measure or consider tangible. 2. Popularity - I have to admit this one pissed me off. First of all, again there is no measure - completely subjective. I like myself, so therefore in my eyes I'm popular. My students like me. Most my family like me. (We won't go there. . . yet.) Does the world love me? Are they screaming A-U-D-R-A as I enter the room, reaching forward trying to get a touch of my clothing. Well, not on most days. So to me as far as the popularity portion of glory days . . for me. . . at this time. . . it's the fact that I like who I am. I recognize there is vast room for improvement. But just the fact that I can admit that and know that each day I am working to be a better person means a great deal to me. Not seeking perfection, but rather progress. 3. Success - really? If we're calculating success by financial means - well, I'd have to stop writing here. SUBJECTIVITY - Honestly, I know many wealthy people that I wouldn't consider successful. Now, don't yell at me; some are, and I know and admire such people. I define success as accomplishing something that either I wasn't sure I could do or required effort that goes above and beyond normal activity. The first success that comes to mind for me is passing two certification tests that allow me to teach more subjects. I didn't need to do this, and I'm probably not ever going to use them. But I needed to see if I could. I didn't want to be stuck in a rut. I wanted to keep pushing myself. The day I found out I passed, had been a tough one for a variety of reasons. When I got the email with my results it was an instant validation that I did have strength to accomplish and overcome. It may seems silly to some, but it's what I needed. It was one of my "Glory Days". I really haven't answered the question except to realize that your glory days don't stop as you get older, they just change. Instead of huge events, like a wedding or graduating, they sneak up on you daily. My glory days are seeing my son smile up at me when I wake him up for school. Sharing any knowledge or time I have to help someone else. I'm not a saint, trust me. I benefit from the good feeling of helping; it's not selfless. The day I had all the laundry in the house done and put away -- now that was a glorious day. I have to say The Boss (Bruce Springstein) got it wrong in his song "Glory Days", when he sings: Glory days well they'll pass you by Glory days in the wink of a young girl's eye Glory days, glory days They don't pass you by, Bruce. They just don't scream out at you anymore. Maybe it is "the wink of a young girl's eye". Glory Days are giving me a subtle wink and saying, "You ain't doin' too bad, kid." |
| I know . . . .I was shocked too. How could I just now be discoering a new pet peeve when I've been exdposed to this world for 42 years . . . and yet, yesterday it happened. No, I'm not just gonna tell you. You must suffer through the whole story. My primary physician tells me she wants me to see a dermatologist about a mole I have. Personally, I think she's a hypocondriac. She should see someone about that. This mole isn't new, it's been there for years. I mean I wouldn't mind getting rid of it; it's not like I'm "attached" (lol) to it, but do I really want to go see another doctor? No. So my doctor treats me like a child. "Well, you can just cut it off yourself and see what happens." Smirk. Smirk. She's crazy. Clipping a hang nail is about the extent of my self-mutilation. I know you are thinking I just don't have to go. I'm an adult. Well, apparently my doctor (who I do really like, usually) is something of a control freak. Until I go, she won't sign off on my physical. I"m beginning to think she is in cahoots with this dermatologist and some major kick backs are taking place. But under great protest. . . . I go. You need to understand two vital points before I go on. 1. I know we all pretty much think we have high pain tolerence, but I'm pretty sure of the fact I do. See, I'm a freak, a clutz - everything weird happens to me; I've come to take it with a grain of salt. Birth wasn't bad; having both my knees replaced at the same time wasn't really even that bad, biting clear through my tongue was gross, but it wasn't like I was screaming for morphine. 2. Oops, I forgot #2. Give me a second. Oh yeah! This mole is on my upper (very Upper), inner (very inner) thigh. If you are catching my drift. This will be a 'drop the drawers' appointment. After filling out 5 pages of paperwork, half of which all asked the same questions, I went to wait at the receptionist desk to turn my homework in. I kept thinking this is a mole, not a heart transplant. Is it really necessary to know I had my tonsils out 6 years ago. While I'm still waiting, the nurse comes to the door and calls my name. I'm a little perplexed because I still have all my medical history, consent forms, and God knows what else (I'm glad He does, because I sure didn't read them.) But being the good patient, I take my nurse who is holding a folder with my name on it and give her my paperwork. She's now confused, "You filled it out twice?" Me: "Yes, it was so entertaining the first time." She misses the sarcasm. "Oh my gosh, we put the wrong paper work in your file." This is funny to her, less reassuring to me. Eventually, I get called back with my file and my paperwork. A different nurse comes in and asks me all the same questions i just filled out. I"m polite, even though part of me wants to give different answers to see if anyone will notice. Enter Dr. Andes (name changed in case I ever want to use her again). She asks me again, these same questions. I smile and say, "I have a mole." She seems excited by this. (Wow, I have got to start appreciating my job more.) "How about you drop those drawers, and we'll take a look." Me: "Okey, dokey. Once you drop those blinds so people can't see in." Dr.: We're around the back of the building, no one ever comes by there. And i'm pretty sure it's a one way window." Me: I know we've just met, so you can't possibly know this, unles of course it's in a chart that nobody reads, but I am the most unlucky person in the world. So the moment I depants myself, I'm quite sure a landscaping crew will be touring the back of the building." She closes the blinds. She reenters with yet another nurse. This one looks maybe old enough to babysit my newphews. Dr.: Ahhhh, I see it. Do you wanna just go ahead and remove it today? I'm thinking I must not know the meaning of the word "consultation". Me: Do you want to? Dr.: I don't see why not. A numbing shot, and snip we're done. This doesn't seem like the way things usually go wiht me, but obviously I have issues with saying no to doctors. Dr.: Okay, this shot will feel a little like a bee sting. It's just to numb the area. I brace myself. Pfffft that was nothing. That was the nicest bee I've ever met. Give me 3 of those suckers. And then my ass comes flying off the table. Me: What the hell is that 12 rapid hornets hungry for a mole? Dr.: Oh, do you feel that? Me: Well, yeah! You just now took the numbing needle out. Give the bee a little time to work. Dr.: Sorry about that. But do you know what? She doesn't stop. She keeps cutting. And tugging. And cutting. Dr.: Wow, this goes deeper than I initially thought. Me.: Hey, so, I don't have to pay for the numbing shot, right? She laughs. Her teenage nurse laughs. Great, I'm a comedian with my legs open gripping a table that is too small for my butt in hopes that my mole of years will finally surrender. (Dang, I should have named him or her) Dr.: Ahhh, there we go. We'll need a small bandaid for the area, Bambi. (the nurse, of course) Now moles are disgusting enough looking when they are on you, but when they are in a little jar removed from you, they are vile. I'm thinking the jar should go somewhere other than beside my small table. Bambi: Oh, I thought you meant a little bandaid - this is a bleeder. It must be more vascular than it looked. Now, I know in my heart I'm pretty sure Iknow what vascular means, but I try to convince myself that it is a good thing. After all, it kinda rhymes with muscular. What it means in this case is i'm gushing blood that they are having trouble stopping. Dr.: We may have to cauterize it a bit. I'm wondering what thismeans exactly when a machine is rolled in that looks like Freud might have used it to measure the effects on mental patients. Great, I'm in my own horror movie; well technically I guess it could be horror/porn since my unclothed legs are spread and the ever-so-thick sheet fell off me about the time the hornets were feasting on my flesh. The heat the metal tip of this monster up. I"m praying little bee has finally numbed me. And the Dr. lets Bambi have a try at it. Bambi: Do you take aspirin? Me: No thank you, but I could use a couple of shots of tequila right now. She laughs. Of course. Well, why wouldn't she? We both know she's not old enough to serve alcoholic beverages. But thank you, World. She is old enough to burn me. Bambi: I just asked because sometimes aspirin causes bleeding. Me: Yeah, cutting a mole out does to. I look over at the small table by my side. My mole is being kept company by several blood-filled gauze friends. Bambi: You don't look so good. Are you okay? Is seeing the blood making you feel faint? Are you going to be sick? It was uncanny how she could know this. Unless of course, she actually heard the gagging sounds emitting from my throat. Me: Surprisingly, no. However, the smell of my own burning flesh is about to make me vomit in my mole jar. That won't effect it when they test it, will it? Bambi: You have the best sense of humor. I'm sorry, I'm just having a little trouble getting it all to stop. I don't want you bleeding on your pants. Dr.: Lay her back, let me give it a try. More burning flesh. Mine. . . This went on for, well, a while. I swear I could taste the metal in my mouth. I know that sounds crazy. In fact, I can taste it even now as I think about it. Ughhhh. Dr.: Whew, finally got it stopped. I guess we should have had you come back in for that. Leaving is a blur. But for the record. I did still get blood on my pants. I didn't care though. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I waved at the landcaping crew feeling as if I had at least avoided one awkward moment in my life. So my pet peeve? The smell of my own burning flesh. That, and chomping ice. ** Image ID #1529452 Unavailable ** |
| I don't know how many of you read my writing, or even blog for that matter. But if you do, you might realize with my stories there is usually some truth in it mixed in with some fiction. It's not so much to make it more interesting (well, sometimes it is - depending on the story), but truth be told, it's to keep it from being "too real" for me. It's like even if one thing is changed, I don't have to deal with it on any dee3per level, or show myself completely to anyone else. I suppose it's a silly way of keeping an invisible wall up. This won't be the case with this blog. In fact, what happened this morning deserves to be its own essay or story, but I know I won't have the stregnth to reread it, much less proofread and edit it. Eight days ago, my dog, Bella, died very unexpectedly. Now, I know not everyone is animal people, and to be fair, I've had quite a few pets I didn't care for. Come to think of it, in my 42 years on this earth I can only remember one other pet that I felt this type of connection with. Even if you don't enjoy animals, please read on because you may learn to appreciate people. When Bella passed, I didn't cry, I sobbed. I didn't feel like I could ever quit. But looking at the helplessness on my 14 year old son's face, reminded me I could not do this to him. It's just been Reese and I since he was 6. He's very protective of me. Something I sometimes worry is too much for a kid. Most of the time I"m strong, not just because I have to be, but because I feel I should be. Usually (okay, almost always), I'm fine being a single parent. But I admit I resented being alone at this time. I don't know who I resented, but it pissed me off to have to deal with the decisions while I was in such pain. That I was the only one who could come to my rescue. And then I was pissed for feeling that way. As strange as that sounds I'm sure many of you understand. Well, this moring I was walking in my neighborhood. Perhaps it was because I was alone with my thoughts or it was all the neighborhood dogs barking as I passed, but the tears began sliding down my cheeks. For the first time I didn't hurriedly wipe them away. As I turned a corner, I saw a familiar face heading my way. I don't know this man, but I see him all the time, and we share the customary neighbor wave. He's a large man confined to a wheel chair. I don't know if he's confined because he's large, or he's large because he's confined. It doesn't matter. But I always see him in his wheelchair taking his dog for a walk. It doesn't matter if it's 100 degrees or 4 degrees. (Oklahoma varies in temperature quite a bit.) As he passed me smiling, his dog came to sniff my feet. I bent to pet it, and the tears rolled faster. I don't know for sure if I was thinking of Bella, or I was mourning how this man would ever feel if he lost his dog. The man looked at me. "What's a matter, Hon." Normally, I would have said I was fine, or my allergies were killing me, you know how high the pollen count is. But for some reason I didn't. I said, "I recently lost my dog." I didn't apologize for crying. Again, a new thing for me. Heck, I apologize for crying even when no one else is around to see it. He didn't tell me he was sorry. Instead, he asked if I'd like to share a cup of tea. Normally, I can make up about 25 nonexistent excuses to keep me out of a potentially uncomfortable situation. But to my surprise, I told him I'd like that. We didn't say anything as we walked the half a block to his house, and up the wheelchair ramp that led to the door. I'm sure some of you are thinking, this wasn't a safe thing to do. Maybe you're right. It didn't enter my thoughts. Sure, in retrospect, I suppose he could be a serial killer who fakes needing a wheelchair, but he'd been doing a good job because I've seen him in it the whole 3 years I've lived in the neighborhood. And Oklahoma may have plenty of tornadoes, but not so many mass murderers. I sat at his kitchen table petting his dog that sat at my feet. The man heated the tea and set the cup in front of me. You might think the silence was awkard; I know in different circumstances I would have. But in this little kitchen I seemed to find some peace. He didn't ask me how Bella had died. Instead, he said, "Would you like to tell me about Bella?" I smiled as my lip quivered, and even more tears cascaded down my face. "We got her from the pound eight months ago." He didn't respond, "Well, since it's only been a few months, it will be easier to get over." Others had said this. In fact, he didn't respond at all, just waited for me to continue. "She slept with me every night, curled under the blanket by my knees." I waited for 'Now you'll sleep better, studies show you get better sleep without pets in bed with you'. He simply handed me a tissue. "When we got her, for some reason she liked to sit on my neck while I was at the computer. She wanted to be with me all the time." He didn't say unfortunately death is a cycle of life. Well-meaning words with empty meaning when you are mourning. He poured me more tea. I told him how the condolence card and bill from the vet had arrived the same day. He didn't brush it away, claiming coincidence; or say that it was callous. Nodding his head, he reached for my hand. I was concious of the wet tissue in it, but knew he didn't mind. I told him how I had to be strong, because I didn't want my son to hurt. He didn't say, "It's just a dog, not a human." I explained that I was scared to hurt ths much. He didn't say, "Just get up and get on with life." I told him of the guilt I had over spending money we didn't have to spend on an animal. How I knew I didn't have any other choice, but at the same time, my family has to be taken care of too. He fed his dog a biscuit. My heart melted. This man understood. A couple of days after Bella's death, I had been at a close relatives house who treats and loves their dog better than any human. They kept their dog outside the whole time I was there, and never spoke of Bella. At first I found it odd, but then I realized they couldn't face the potential pain that they may at some point have to experience. And seeing mine was even too much. This neighbor I had never said more than 'hello' to, listened to me talk, sob, snot, and sit in silence. He didn't say, "At least you know you gave her a great life." Whether he knew those words would be empty to me, sometimes too casually said, or because he knew I felt guilt over not being able to save Bella and feeling like I hadn't give her a full life; I don't know. As I was finishing what had to be my third cup of tea, his wife came in from the back yard. Strangely, she didn't seem shocked to see an unfamiliar person sitting at the table with her husband. "Did you at least offer her some cookies with her tea, Dear?" She kiddingly scolded him. We laughed; I assured her the tea was more than enough. As I begin to push the chair away, the man kindly grasped both my hands. "May I just say one thing?" I figured it would be, "I'm sorry for your loss." Words I'd heard and never quite felt. I nodded. "Sometimes it is more difficult to be weak than strong, Dear. And sometimes that is what our heart needs." I didn't respond. I didn't know how to. I stood and knelt to him and hugged him, thanking him and saying my goodbyes. As I walked down the ramp, I realized I didn't even know his name. For some reason, I needed to. Walking by his mailbox, I glanced at the side. My heart swelled when I read: Daryll and Bella "Smith". ** Image ID #1529452 Unavailable ** |
| Talk about life coming full circle - or at least a semi-circle. I don't blog often; i want to but I guess I'm lazy or sometimes my thoughts don't even interest me, so why put them down? But for some reason today, I started going through my blogs and now I get it! The reason we blog - or at least - I SHOULD blog, is because the memory that I thought was impeccable is obviously deteriorating. I read a blog from 7/29/09 -- that's about 2 years ago? I should remember this. Here's the thing, I didn't until I read it. Even better? It's about a trip to Jose's tire center. Here's the kicker - I need a drum roll. Jose and I are now dating. Exclusively I think . . I don't know that's another blog. But of the times we've gone out and talked recently, this past occurence never once tickled my brain. I actually love it. I get to reexperience an interaction that kinda has to do with someone that I think is pretty great - (well, today anyway). Who knows Imight read this blog 2 years from now and be shocked that I didn't realize he was the Mexican Mafia or be happily still dating him. Blogs - they are memory triggers. By the way, my main reason for writing this blog right now is procrastination. I really don't want to clean the house. I'm pretty sure in two years that will still be the case. I know some people write blogs to share philosophical ideas, tear at heart strings, etc. I think I blog so that some of these useless thoughts can get out of my head, so perhaps I'll have an intelligent one. Here's the thing with me and this blog. Usually (okay always) when i read or write - i am obsessive about grammar, spelling, style, punctuation. But not the blog - it's like the devil side of my writing. It says, "Don't reread it - They'll get the point, Woman." And I grin and say, "Amen, Buddy." Why is the devil on my shoulder a male? The angels a girl. But quite honestly, I think most females are meaner than men so it should be switched. But hey I canot go around reinventing my conscience. I wonder if Jose's random thoughts are in Spanish or English? I really have the need to know this. Would it offend him if i asked? I'm going to have to. I'm obsessing over it now. He's a good guy - he'll jsut laugh. Or dump me. Either way . . . I hope he tells me. Well, I've tortured the internet enough with my weirdness for today. And I believe the femle angel is whispering that I'll feel "productive" if I clean the kitchen. Geez, I wish she'd take a vacation. Peace and a little Love, Audra ** Image ID #1529452 Unavailable ** |
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