Hi there, Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. It has been far too long since we’ve talked. Lately, I’ve talked too much, eaten too much, and probably gained too much. (I say probably, because I’m afraid to get on the scale to check!) but that‘s just what one does during the holidays. Now it’s time to get serious, fun time is coming to an end and I need to make some difficult changes this New Year. I hesitate to call them New Year’s resolutions, because that seems like just setting myself up for failure. So, I'll share with you my New Year's changes.
One of the first things that I need to do is to become more diligent in my bible studies. I go to a great bible study class, but I only do the lesson assigned. I need to read my bible more so that I can have that spiritual Godly connection that is intended specifically for me. I need the peace that the connection affords. Don’t get me wrong, I believe and I pray, but I’ve got a long way to go. It’s a lifetime journey, but I’m on my way. Again I need to work on me and those things that contribute to my happiness and well being. This brings me to my next change. I have to learn how not to let folks upset me.
There are many people be they friend or foe, who don’t know how they affect others. I’ll give you an example of one such person, my father. He’s the type of person who is never wrong, who takes issue with everything and everyone. This makes conversation with him tedious at best. He never backs down, and he thinks that no one else knows anything. His reality is right and that’s all that there is to it. It’s difficult to talk to someone like that. There is no such thing as a casual conversation with people like him; everything becomes a debate and cause for heated discussion. My new mantra is going to be Listen, Leave it alone, and Let it go. If he says that the sky is green and I know that it’s blue,he can have his reality as long as it isn’t harmful to anyone else. I’m going to try to apply the above (henceforth known as the three L’s) to any conversation with someone who is inadvertently stealing my joy. Life is too short to be bothered just because someone else would rather fight than switch. (Old cigarette ad reference.) No but really, I have to choose my battles, because my psyche can’t take too much negative energy. All in all I need to take better care of myself, mentally and physically.
I’ve mentioned before that at the tender age of 52 there is so much that I need to do, just for me. As a mother, a wife, a sister, a friend, I’ve spent a good deal of time worrying more about everyone else and how they feel. Well my question is who cares about me? I mean really, if I don’t take care of me, no one else will. I must, yes I said must, lose weight and exercise to become healthy. It seems as though whenever I listen to the news,some famous person around my age has died. Blue eyed soul sistah Teena Marie is the latest in a string of deaths of people around my age. They said that she died of natural causes. What does that mean? I imagine that anything short of an airplane dropping out of the sky or a train wreck would be considered a natural cause. I have to assume that she had a heart attack or something. My gosh, she was only a few years older than me! I’m fortunate, despite the fact that I’m overweight with a few medical problems, I’m relatively healthy. Unfortunately food has been my friend, my comfort, my port in the storm, you get the picture. I’m just saying... I don’t have much money, my job is temporary and my buddies are spread out all over the country. All of this and I have to deny myself a piece of chocolate cake? The injustice of it all! Yet, I know that I can do this.
Over the last 20 years I’ve reached a couple of marvelous milestones. When I was in my late 30’s I began to drive, up until that point I’d renewed my license every year, but I was scared to drive. At the young age of 45 I completed my undergrad degree; so one might assume that I’m a late bloomer. Well, I’m bound and determined to lose weight. I want to look good and feel good while I’m young enough to still really enjoy life. Pray for me, this weight thing is difficult. I swear I think that my metabolism is on permanent hiatus.
Help me, help me please! I want to wear a t shirt and jeans and look good! I know that I can do this, but I’m just weak, weak to sugar, and weak to the problems that cause me to crave sugar. It’s a known fact that it’s harder to lose weight the older that you get. Everything slows down, no fair!!!! That’s life and there’s nothing I can do but accept it. So, it’s off to the treadmill, the track, or whatever gets me moving. I am determined to be that vital 50 something woman who looks fresh and full of life. I want to be like one of the models in the commercials for osteoporosis. After taking their medication they are full of vim and vigor. I want to be like that; walking along the beach, with pants rolled up wind blowing my hair in the breeze. Oh alright so that's TV, but I can still look good! I want to be healthy, look and feel better. I want to improve on me and in doing that I'd also like to fulfill some of my longtime dreams.
I'm going to change my habit of being scared to do things. I've always wanted to go to the Essence Jazz Festival in New Orleans. I love music and I've always wanted to go to New Orleans. I'm planning to go this year. I need to start saving my money for my trip, maybe I'll rent a car too. I would love to go with a girlfriend, but none of my buddies really want to go. I'll do it alone; and it will be an adventure. I guess now in my life travel is more appealing to me. I also want to do a weekend trip to New York to visit with friends and take in a play. I'm going to do it. In the past I have restricted myself from doing things, and I don't know why. NO MAS! It's a new day for Trena Rosette Poole Carpenter (ok so now you know my middle name, keep it to yourself!)
I've chosen to focus on a few big changes, wish me luck! Change is always a challenge, but I'm going to try to stop my emotional obstacles from stifling the me that I am. My friends, I support you in your changes also. We can do it, we can go on that trip, lose that weight, get that new job. Just do it! Feel free to share with me those "changes" that you hope to make this New Year. Have a safe Happy New Year! Don't drink and drive, we want you around so that you can implement those New Year's changes. Talk to ya next year!!!!!!
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Fifty and Holding:ER Trena Style
Hello my friends, I've missed you. I've had computer problems and you know me and yellow lights. I've also just not felt well. As it turns out, I think I'm alright, but I'm getting older and I'm outta shape and.. and.. better safe than sorry. Let me explain.
Week before last I noticed a "funny" feeling in my chest. It wasn't a pain, or heaviness, just a funny feeling. It would go away for a while and then reoccur. I was concerned, because my husband had a heart attack last year, and I really do not take care of myself like I should. In any event those two little words "chest discomfort" strike fear in the hearts of 52 year olds who are out of shape. I hoped that the problem would go away, and it did, but it came back, this time in my back. I thought that I'd just pulled a muscle or something. In any event I had back pain, it wasn't severe, but just enough of a pain to be an annoyance. I slept ok that night, but the next day I found that the chest discomfort had returned. This was about the third day of this issue that I'd had. I thought maybe I needed to go to the emergency room. I just did not want to take a chance and ignore what could have been a heart attack. I knew that my husband actually had an appointment with his cardiologist (who was also my cardiologist) the next morning. I figured that I'd wait till the morning and tell the doctor of my discomfort. That was a horrible night for me.
My chest bothered me all night, and I think that anxiety over the situation made it even worse. I was afraid to go to sleep, thinking about all of the stories I'd heard about people who'd died in their sleep. Again, I wasn't in any pain, but my chest just didn't feel right; it felt bloated. Once more, I thought about stories that I'd heard throughout the years about people who had suffered from what appeared to be indigestion, only to be found dead the next morning from a massive heart attack. "Lord" I prayed "I know you don't mean to take me know, take care of me Lord." Finally I slept for a few hours. I awakened, glad that I had actually awakened. I was anxious to get to the cardiologist. I couldn't get there fast enough. So, we got to the doctor's office and found out that he had been detained with an emergency procedure, aaaaaargh! My husband was able to go ahead and do his stress test, but there was no one for me to confer with. My husband, in an attempt to help me out, asked the nurse if she could give me an EKG. I told her all of my symptoms and of course she said "No not without an appointment." I kept hoping that the Dr. would show up, but he didn't. On the way out of the office, I scheduled an appointment that was two weeks off. I was scared that I'd had a heart attack. I still didn't feel well, so I decided to stop by the office of my primary doctor to get checked out.
My doctor also takes urgent care patients. I walked in and asked the receptionist if my doctor was there. She replied, "She is, but she isn't taking any urgent care walk-ins, just patients." I left dejectedly, convinced that for some reason, I was not going to be able to see a doctor.. I wasn't thinking straight, because if I had been, I would have insisted on seeing my doctor. I am actually one of her patients. Well after dropping my husband off at work, I went home and googled my symptoms, once again. This time it seemed that all of my symptoms pointed to a heart attack. Without a moment's hesitation, I jumped into my car and drove myself to another urgent care clinic. Once there, I told them about my chest discomfort, and they hurried me to the back and hooked me up to an EKG machine. The nurse was very kind; she ran the EKG and then told me that the Dr. would be in to discuss it soon. At this point I was pretty calm, for some reason I thought that the EKG was probably alright. The nurse hadn't gasped in horror when she looked at it, but then again they are trained not to show emotion before the doc gives you the results.
After a few minutes, a young looking fellow came in, introduced himself as the doctor, and proceeded to tell me the results of my EKG. He told me that he didn't like the way that some of my EKG looked and he wanted me to get checked out. I said "Ok, but I have to pick up my husband first." He said "No, I can't let you do that. I'm going to call an ambulance to take you right now." I was stunned, had I had a heart attack? After I picked my bottom lip up off of the floor, I asked him if I could call my husband to see if he could get a co-worker to bring him over to the urgent care. He said yes,and I made the call.
As I waited for my husband I spoke with a very nice nurse who comforted me like " We know you don't want to be here. "she said "We're going to take good care of you." She gave me four baby aspirins and a nitro glycerin pill. It seemed like I felt so much better then. By this time my husband had arrived and for some reason I began to tear up a little... just a little. Soon after, the paramedics loaded me onto the gurney.
As the paramedics rolled me away the doctor said "God Bless You." Now if he'd just said that in passing I’d have been ok, however to say it as I'm being whisked off to the ER....hmmmm you must know that I was a bit concerned. The ambulance folks were kind, and we joked on the ride over to the hospital. It was a little embarrassing for me to look out of the window when we were at a stop light and actually see someone behind the ambulance looking at me. I tried to sink into the gurney mattress so that no one else could see me. (Why does sickness embarrass us?) When I got to the hospital I was rolled into a room, and two women started pulling off my clothes. One of them put a gown on me, another started and IV, while yet a third woman asked me questions about why I was there. Someone came in and took several vials of blood from me. I was nervous about what the tests would show. One heart attack indicator is the presence of certain enzymes in the blood; and I was praying that those particular enzymes wouldn't be there. They had allowed my husband to come back into the triage room with me;soon we'd get the results of all of my blood tests.
I was hooked up to a monitor that showed all of my vital signs, and they were good. Blood pressure, pulse, all that was good,so I turned on the TV in the room to take my mind off of things. After a while the doctor came in and he told me that there was no evidence of heart attack. Whew! What a relief, they were going to keep me overnight to run tests, and the following morning they were going to have me do a stress test. I was ok with that. I even began to think about the benefits of having a night at the hospital where somebody else would take care of me for just once (pitiful just pitiful). I wondered what they were serving for dinner, I had a taste for a ham sandwich and milk (hey, I was hungry!) So I began the waiting game, waiting for them to put me in a room. I turned to Jeopardy and began to play along.
After a few minutes a gentleman came in and introduced himself as a hospitalist. He explained that his job was to decide if I needed to stay in the hospital. He told me that he thought maybe I could go home for the night. Hmmmmm, I thought, not a bad idea, going home, after all it's really hard to get a good night's sleep at the hospital. The hospitalist put in a call to my cardiologist, and long story short, they allowed me to go home. They also scheduled me for a stress test the following day. I passed the stress test with flying colors. There is no denying the fact that I'm horribly out of shape, but my stress test didn't kill me. The doctor told me to make sure that I take an aspirin a day, and sent me merrily on my way.
I slept well that night. I think that my chest discomfort was the result of a pulled muscle. I'd moved a bookcase by myself earlier in the week (I know, I know, I'm no super woman.) Yet, as I said before, better safe than sorry. The take away from all this is that I was fortunate, blessed even. I'm overweight, with high blood pressure and other ailments, and I so need to get myself together. It could have been a heart attack. Sisters if we don't have our health, we don't have much of anything.
We all know the deal, exercise and eat well. It's easy to take care of everybody else. Why is it so hard for me to take care of myself? It's a struggle, but I simply must do better. I promise we'll talk again soon. I've been a little out of it lately, but that's life. I've left you with a few links for websites relating to heart attack symptoms. Hopefully, you'll never need them. Live long and prosper! Later..
Click on the following Links for more info:
Mayo Clinic
Web MD
Week before last I noticed a "funny" feeling in my chest. It wasn't a pain, or heaviness, just a funny feeling. It would go away for a while and then reoccur. I was concerned, because my husband had a heart attack last year, and I really do not take care of myself like I should. In any event those two little words "chest discomfort" strike fear in the hearts of 52 year olds who are out of shape. I hoped that the problem would go away, and it did, but it came back, this time in my back. I thought that I'd just pulled a muscle or something. In any event I had back pain, it wasn't severe, but just enough of a pain to be an annoyance. I slept ok that night, but the next day I found that the chest discomfort had returned. This was about the third day of this issue that I'd had. I thought maybe I needed to go to the emergency room. I just did not want to take a chance and ignore what could have been a heart attack. I knew that my husband actually had an appointment with his cardiologist (who was also my cardiologist) the next morning. I figured that I'd wait till the morning and tell the doctor of my discomfort. That was a horrible night for me.
My chest bothered me all night, and I think that anxiety over the situation made it even worse. I was afraid to go to sleep, thinking about all of the stories I'd heard about people who'd died in their sleep. Again, I wasn't in any pain, but my chest just didn't feel right; it felt bloated. Once more, I thought about stories that I'd heard throughout the years about people who had suffered from what appeared to be indigestion, only to be found dead the next morning from a massive heart attack. "Lord" I prayed "I know you don't mean to take me know, take care of me Lord." Finally I slept for a few hours. I awakened, glad that I had actually awakened. I was anxious to get to the cardiologist. I couldn't get there fast enough. So, we got to the doctor's office and found out that he had been detained with an emergency procedure, aaaaaargh! My husband was able to go ahead and do his stress test, but there was no one for me to confer with. My husband, in an attempt to help me out, asked the nurse if she could give me an EKG. I told her all of my symptoms and of course she said "No not without an appointment." I kept hoping that the Dr. would show up, but he didn't. On the way out of the office, I scheduled an appointment that was two weeks off. I was scared that I'd had a heart attack. I still didn't feel well, so I decided to stop by the office of my primary doctor to get checked out.
My doctor also takes urgent care patients. I walked in and asked the receptionist if my doctor was there. She replied, "She is, but she isn't taking any urgent care walk-ins, just patients." I left dejectedly, convinced that for some reason, I was not going to be able to see a doctor.. I wasn't thinking straight, because if I had been, I would have insisted on seeing my doctor. I am actually one of her patients. Well after dropping my husband off at work, I went home and googled my symptoms, once again. This time it seemed that all of my symptoms pointed to a heart attack. Without a moment's hesitation, I jumped into my car and drove myself to another urgent care clinic. Once there, I told them about my chest discomfort, and they hurried me to the back and hooked me up to an EKG machine. The nurse was very kind; she ran the EKG and then told me that the Dr. would be in to discuss it soon. At this point I was pretty calm, for some reason I thought that the EKG was probably alright. The nurse hadn't gasped in horror when she looked at it, but then again they are trained not to show emotion before the doc gives you the results.
After a few minutes, a young looking fellow came in, introduced himself as the doctor, and proceeded to tell me the results of my EKG. He told me that he didn't like the way that some of my EKG looked and he wanted me to get checked out. I said "Ok, but I have to pick up my husband first." He said "No, I can't let you do that. I'm going to call an ambulance to take you right now." I was stunned, had I had a heart attack? After I picked my bottom lip up off of the floor, I asked him if I could call my husband to see if he could get a co-worker to bring him over to the urgent care. He said yes,and I made the call.
As I waited for my husband I spoke with a very nice nurse who comforted me like " We know you don't want to be here. "she said "We're going to take good care of you." She gave me four baby aspirins and a nitro glycerin pill. It seemed like I felt so much better then. By this time my husband had arrived and for some reason I began to tear up a little... just a little. Soon after, the paramedics loaded me onto the gurney.
As the paramedics rolled me away the doctor said "God Bless You." Now if he'd just said that in passing I’d have been ok, however to say it as I'm being whisked off to the ER....hmmmm you must know that I was a bit concerned. The ambulance folks were kind, and we joked on the ride over to the hospital. It was a little embarrassing for me to look out of the window when we were at a stop light and actually see someone behind the ambulance looking at me. I tried to sink into the gurney mattress so that no one else could see me. (Why does sickness embarrass us?) When I got to the hospital I was rolled into a room, and two women started pulling off my clothes. One of them put a gown on me, another started and IV, while yet a third woman asked me questions about why I was there. Someone came in and took several vials of blood from me. I was nervous about what the tests would show. One heart attack indicator is the presence of certain enzymes in the blood; and I was praying that those particular enzymes wouldn't be there. They had allowed my husband to come back into the triage room with me;soon we'd get the results of all of my blood tests.
I was hooked up to a monitor that showed all of my vital signs, and they were good. Blood pressure, pulse, all that was good,so I turned on the TV in the room to take my mind off of things. After a while the doctor came in and he told me that there was no evidence of heart attack. Whew! What a relief, they were going to keep me overnight to run tests, and the following morning they were going to have me do a stress test. I was ok with that. I even began to think about the benefits of having a night at the hospital where somebody else would take care of me for just once (pitiful just pitiful). I wondered what they were serving for dinner, I had a taste for a ham sandwich and milk (hey, I was hungry!) So I began the waiting game, waiting for them to put me in a room. I turned to Jeopardy and began to play along.
After a few minutes a gentleman came in and introduced himself as a hospitalist. He explained that his job was to decide if I needed to stay in the hospital. He told me that he thought maybe I could go home for the night. Hmmmmm, I thought, not a bad idea, going home, after all it's really hard to get a good night's sleep at the hospital. The hospitalist put in a call to my cardiologist, and long story short, they allowed me to go home. They also scheduled me for a stress test the following day. I passed the stress test with flying colors. There is no denying the fact that I'm horribly out of shape, but my stress test didn't kill me. The doctor told me to make sure that I take an aspirin a day, and sent me merrily on my way.
I slept well that night. I think that my chest discomfort was the result of a pulled muscle. I'd moved a bookcase by myself earlier in the week (I know, I know, I'm no super woman.) Yet, as I said before, better safe than sorry. The take away from all this is that I was fortunate, blessed even. I'm overweight, with high blood pressure and other ailments, and I so need to get myself together. It could have been a heart attack. Sisters if we don't have our health, we don't have much of anything.
We all know the deal, exercise and eat well. It's easy to take care of everybody else. Why is it so hard for me to take care of myself? It's a struggle, but I simply must do better. I promise we'll talk again soon. I've been a little out of it lately, but that's life. I've left you with a few links for websites relating to heart attack symptoms. Hopefully, you'll never need them. Live long and prosper! Later..
Click on the following Links for more info:
Mayo Clinic
Web MD
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Fifty and Holding:How I Spent My Summer
Hello, my friends, it seems like forever since we last talked. Summer is now over and fall is upon us. I remember as a child going back to school in the fall and feeling so excited about starting a new school year. On the first day of school one of the assignments for the class was to write an essay entitled "How I Spent My Summer." So, I thought that I'd share some of the events of my summer with you.
My summer was filled with heat, ants, vermin and just consternation in general. This summer was one of the hottest on record in Raleigh. Most days the temp soared to over 90 degrees. Every time I walked back into the house, I said " Thank God for air conditioning." Hot weather brings with it many consequences. Ants come into the house in search of water. I walked into my kitchen one night and there was a trail of ants running in and out of my sink. That made my skin crawl, and amidst a barrage of expletives I dealt with the intruders with a can of Hot Shot. My pragmatic husband has a different way of dealing with our little guests. There is an ant killing substance called Terra that gets to the root of the problem. You spread a little of it down, and ants eat it and carry it back to the colony. The only problem is that it takes a few days. My husband expects me to just let those creepy crawlies share my kitchen until the colony has been demolished. Usually I break down and counterattack with my trusty can of Hot Shot. Hey I refuse to let those little critters win. We fought them all summer, maybe they've moved on......
Oh and I've found out something else about these particular ants. Let me tell you first that my research shows that the ants that we've fought all summer are little black ants commonly known as "sugar ants." Fortunately the red fire ants have stayed outside(TYJ) they can give one a nasty little sting. However, I've found out that some of the black ants bite also. Apparently, the soldier ants will bite when threatened. I was bitten twice on my pinkie finger. The actual bite itself was a little sting. It was the itching that drove me crazy. Ah such is my life, bested by a mere ant. But my critter fight didn't end with the ants.
One night when I went to find a roll of toilet paper, I noticed that the last roll in the cabinet was shredded in places. I thought perhaps there was a reasonable explanation, but I couldn't figure out what it was. The next frightening thought made me look for "droppings" but I didn't see any. I kinda forget about the tissue until I spoke to my mom and mentioned the incident to her. She said casually "Oh it sounds like a mouse, and if the tissue was tattered it is probably building a nest." Great! Not only did I have a mouse, but now I had to worry about a whole mouse family. Uggggh!!!!!!!! Time to do rodent battle!
My house has a crawl space and I think that the little critter or critters reside there most of the time. I think they crawled up the bath room plumbing into the cabinet where I kept the TP. Well we weren't going down there, so we decided to get a trap. I was tasked with finding the proverbial better mousetrap. It really turned out to be an easier task than I had imagined. I just wanted to make sure that I didn't get the old fashioned trap, you know the one that leaves em flailing and squealing! Not fun. I found a mouse hotel, mice go in, but they don't come out. Poor little Mickey! I was satisfied with my trap of choice and scurried on home for the hand off. I had bought the trap, surely my husband could "set" it.
And set it he did. The process only involved placing the trap in the cabinet,and then waiting for the deed to be done. On one hand I felt sad for the little intruders, but then there's bubonic plague and other diseases...hmmmm. The next morning while I was in the kitchen cooking breakfast, I heard my husband's elated shout "Got him!" With a little trepidation, I hurried to see. I was afraid that I'd see a bloody mass of tail and fur. It wasn't quite that bad, all that I could see was the edge of a tiny little mouse foot. It was really rather sad, but such is the circle of life. I draw the line at sharing my TP with a mouse. As it is, I think that I've developed a phobia that makes me sweat and breathe rapidly when I have to open the bathroom cabinet. I'm always afraid that I'll see the tip of a rodent's tail disappear into the corner, just as the cabinet opens. Ding dong the mouse is dead! I hope that there aren't any more! We only did away with one. As you can see I spent some of my summer fighting bugs and mice, but it wasn't all bad. I did get in some quality time with friends and family .
I visited with some good friends from college; and in the same trip I got to see more of DC, courtesy of my little sister. I also was able to spend a little time with my great nephew, he's a precious lil thing. You know he's spoiled rotten, but nowadays lots of kids are, (spoiled I mean.) My mother's side of the family had their regular summer family reunion, and I hung out with my younger cousins and my son. On one occasion I didn't get home until 4:30 in the morning. It took me a few days to recuperate from that one; I did however, learn a new skill. I can now tie a cherry stem into a bow with my tongue. Ok, so I can't put that on my resume, but it's a cool party trick. All in all it was fun hanging out with my family, they are nice fun folks.
Fall is here, my favorite time of year, and the beat goes on. I continue my quest for self fulfillment and to find a meaningful job. I did get a bit of good news, I'll start a temporary job mid Oct. and that's good. Things are looking up! Thanks for checking in with me. Hope you have a great week and weekend. I'll talk to you again soon! Ciao!
My summer was filled with heat, ants, vermin and just consternation in general. This summer was one of the hottest on record in Raleigh. Most days the temp soared to over 90 degrees. Every time I walked back into the house, I said " Thank God for air conditioning." Hot weather brings with it many consequences. Ants come into the house in search of water. I walked into my kitchen one night and there was a trail of ants running in and out of my sink. That made my skin crawl, and amidst a barrage of expletives I dealt with the intruders with a can of Hot Shot. My pragmatic husband has a different way of dealing with our little guests. There is an ant killing substance called Terra that gets to the root of the problem. You spread a little of it down, and ants eat it and carry it back to the colony. The only problem is that it takes a few days. My husband expects me to just let those creepy crawlies share my kitchen until the colony has been demolished. Usually I break down and counterattack with my trusty can of Hot Shot. Hey I refuse to let those little critters win. We fought them all summer, maybe they've moved on......
Oh and I've found out something else about these particular ants. Let me tell you first that my research shows that the ants that we've fought all summer are little black ants commonly known as "sugar ants." Fortunately the red fire ants have stayed outside(TYJ) they can give one a nasty little sting. However, I've found out that some of the black ants bite also. Apparently, the soldier ants will bite when threatened. I was bitten twice on my pinkie finger. The actual bite itself was a little sting. It was the itching that drove me crazy. Ah such is my life, bested by a mere ant. But my critter fight didn't end with the ants.
One night when I went to find a roll of toilet paper, I noticed that the last roll in the cabinet was shredded in places. I thought perhaps there was a reasonable explanation, but I couldn't figure out what it was. The next frightening thought made me look for "droppings" but I didn't see any. I kinda forget about the tissue until I spoke to my mom and mentioned the incident to her. She said casually "Oh it sounds like a mouse, and if the tissue was tattered it is probably building a nest." Great! Not only did I have a mouse, but now I had to worry about a whole mouse family. Uggggh!!!!!!!! Time to do rodent battle!
My house has a crawl space and I think that the little critter or critters reside there most of the time. I think they crawled up the bath room plumbing into the cabinet where I kept the TP. Well we weren't going down there, so we decided to get a trap. I was tasked with finding the proverbial better mousetrap. It really turned out to be an easier task than I had imagined. I just wanted to make sure that I didn't get the old fashioned trap, you know the one that leaves em flailing and squealing! Not fun. I found a mouse hotel, mice go in, but they don't come out. Poor little Mickey! I was satisfied with my trap of choice and scurried on home for the hand off. I had bought the trap, surely my husband could "set" it.
And set it he did. The process only involved placing the trap in the cabinet,and then waiting for the deed to be done. On one hand I felt sad for the little intruders, but then there's bubonic plague and other diseases...hmmmm. The next morning while I was in the kitchen cooking breakfast, I heard my husband's elated shout "Got him!" With a little trepidation, I hurried to see. I was afraid that I'd see a bloody mass of tail and fur. It wasn't quite that bad, all that I could see was the edge of a tiny little mouse foot. It was really rather sad, but such is the circle of life. I draw the line at sharing my TP with a mouse. As it is, I think that I've developed a phobia that makes me sweat and breathe rapidly when I have to open the bathroom cabinet. I'm always afraid that I'll see the tip of a rodent's tail disappear into the corner, just as the cabinet opens. Ding dong the mouse is dead! I hope that there aren't any more! We only did away with one. As you can see I spent some of my summer fighting bugs and mice, but it wasn't all bad. I did get in some quality time with friends and family .
I visited with some good friends from college; and in the same trip I got to see more of DC, courtesy of my little sister. I also was able to spend a little time with my great nephew, he's a precious lil thing. You know he's spoiled rotten, but nowadays lots of kids are, (spoiled I mean.) My mother's side of the family had their regular summer family reunion, and I hung out with my younger cousins and my son. On one occasion I didn't get home until 4:30 in the morning. It took me a few days to recuperate from that one; I did however, learn a new skill. I can now tie a cherry stem into a bow with my tongue. Ok, so I can't put that on my resume, but it's a cool party trick. All in all it was fun hanging out with my family, they are nice fun folks.
Fall is here, my favorite time of year, and the beat goes on. I continue my quest for self fulfillment and to find a meaningful job. I did get a bit of good news, I'll start a temporary job mid Oct. and that's good. Things are looking up! Thanks for checking in with me. Hope you have a great week and weekend. I'll talk to you again soon! Ciao!
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Fifty and Holding: Nearer My God to Thee
Hey there my friends, I hope that you are all well. I have a bad cold and every time that I think I’m feeling better, I actually feel worse, and this too shall pass. Sick time actually means downtime, and too much time to think. I think that maybe I can do it now. What is it? It is everything that I should have been doing all along. I accredit this revelation to the fact that my spiritual self has a newfound boost. It happens every now and then (more then than now) however the older that I get, the more that I feel the need to get right spiritually. According to my mother, if I go to church more often, things will fall into place. I think that there’s a little more to it than that.
Let me begin by telling you that my religious upbringing was limited. My father disliked anything resembling religion because of his exposure to hypocritical Christians that attended his church. He says that when you see a preacher he’s usually licking his lips and zipping up his pants. In other words, preachers just want a good home cooked meal, and your wife. I used to think that his, ah, theory was far fetched, however nowadays I’m not so sure. It seems like more and more I hear about preachers getting caught with their pants down, literally. The problem is that we all need to realize that preachers are mere mortals, not Gods. I’ve shared my father's philosophy with you to let you know a little of my religious upbringing. I actually learned about God through my father’s mother, my grandmother. She was a devout Christian. She taught a Sunday school class and was very active in the church. My father was a teacher by profession, and we spent summers at Grandma’s in North Carolina (we actually lived in VA) Grandma took us to Sunday School, Church, and Vacation Bible School when it was in session. We went to The Autumn Festival at church and the Christmas party for kids. I learned about Jesus and God and the Devil. I’ve always wanted to be a good person. I’ve tried, really I have tried.
When I went off to college I visited churches from time to time with friends. I joined a gospel choir and most of our singing was done in church. I enjoyed singing and I got a taste of different churches along the way. I went to Baptist, Methodist, Pentecostal, and even Catholic churches. I know that it’s good to be good, and to forgive. I know that despite my shortcomings, I’ve always tried to do the right thing. Yet, there is so much more to do, I want to know what love is (to quote the song by the same title.) I want to actually feel the love of God. Is it a feeling, a true feeling, or an intangible emotion?
I see evidence of God and his mercy all the time. God has kept me afloat in my chaotic life despite my bad choices. I pray (not as much as I should) and I talk to God all the time. I think I have a personal relationship with God. Will I know by what happens in my life, or will I really hear his voice? Is it just the knowledge that he is there? I wonder what others are feeling. When I ask a Christian what it means to have God talk to you, I’m told it’s different for different people. Apparently if I don’t know when he is talking to me then I must not have a good relationship with the Lord.
I wonder if the voice of reason, or justice, or anything else good that I choose to do is indeed the result of what God tells me to do. I have not spoken to anyone who can really tell me. I want to know if some Christians just say that they hear God because anything less would make them unholy. Is God the one who tells you to return the extra change that the clerk at 7 Eleven gave you? I have a friend who says that she moves based on what the Lord tells her to do. Yet, she seems (in my humble opinion) to be making decisions based on what she wants. Needless to say she keeps making bad decisions that thrust her life into chaos. You can’t tell me that God is whispering the wrong advice in her ear; she is going on her own free will. Honestly, is it what you feel or what you believe? What is the voice of God? Is his voice my voice telling me to do those things that will please him? I know that the answer is in the Bible. I’ve often felt that I know so very little about the Bible. I always make a New Year’s resolution to read my bible every night; and I always fail miserably at keeping it. So, I decided to join a bible study group last spring.
It’s great, and I’m learning so much. It seems however that when my classmates talk of the good that God has done for them, there is a hush and in my mind a celestial choir begins to sing (I said in MY mind.) Don’t get me wrong, I so believe in God and his goodness and mercy. His mercy has carried me through some very tough times. Why just this morning I locked all of my keys in the house. I pulled out the old credit card and began trying to ‘jimmy’ the door open. I prayed Lord, help me get this door open. I tell you no lie, seconds later the door opened just as smoothly as if I’d used the key. I believe, but am I hearing God through his actions? I hope I don’t sound crazy here, most of my friends were raised in the church, but I wasn’t. I don’t know all of the hymns and I must use the index at the front of the Bible to find the right book. I can’t tell you how many busy body old ladies have found it necessary to reach over in church and point me to the right passage. I’m getting a lot better now though. Maybe someday I’ll be the old lady helping someone to find the right passage…maybe….someday. Till then I’ve got a lot to learn and there are so many things that I need to do in order to cultivate my spiritual self. One important thing that I must do is to find myself a church home.
Over the years I’ve visited many churches. There are times when the preacher actually put me to sleep. Others screamed so loudly that I spent most of my time trying to cleverly hold my arms up to give praise while protecting my eardrums from the deafening roar. Other times I’ve genuinely enjoyed the sermon and come away with spiritual food for thought. I haven’t joined a church because I haven’t felt that I'm good enough. I know that no one is perfect, but there are so many people who extol the virtues of Christianity to others while they themselves are backsliding all over the place. I know that I can’t be worried about what everyone else does. I’d better be concerned with my own salvation, and I am. It’s just that I don’t want to be one of those hypocrites who doesn’t walk the walk.
I do try to live my life doing unto others as I would have them do unto me. I treat people as I want to be treated, with respect. I am kind and compassionate. I give in order to help others feel better. OK, before you jokingly begin to call me Mother Teresa, I do realize that I’m far from perfect. As some folks will tell you “I am a work in progress.” I’m gonna be alright, I am on the way and salvation will be mine!
Well friends, I hope you have reached a better place in your spiritual journey than I. I’ve been told that religion and politics are subjects to be avoided, yet I think that perhaps both need to be discussed and pondered, often. Communication is key, especially with religion. Can I get an Amen? Until next time, have a good today and a better tomorrow. I’m out.
Let me begin by telling you that my religious upbringing was limited. My father disliked anything resembling religion because of his exposure to hypocritical Christians that attended his church. He says that when you see a preacher he’s usually licking his lips and zipping up his pants. In other words, preachers just want a good home cooked meal, and your wife. I used to think that his, ah, theory was far fetched, however nowadays I’m not so sure. It seems like more and more I hear about preachers getting caught with their pants down, literally. The problem is that we all need to realize that preachers are mere mortals, not Gods. I’ve shared my father's philosophy with you to let you know a little of my religious upbringing. I actually learned about God through my father’s mother, my grandmother. She was a devout Christian. She taught a Sunday school class and was very active in the church. My father was a teacher by profession, and we spent summers at Grandma’s in North Carolina (we actually lived in VA) Grandma took us to Sunday School, Church, and Vacation Bible School when it was in session. We went to The Autumn Festival at church and the Christmas party for kids. I learned about Jesus and God and the Devil. I’ve always wanted to be a good person. I’ve tried, really I have tried.
When I went off to college I visited churches from time to time with friends. I joined a gospel choir and most of our singing was done in church. I enjoyed singing and I got a taste of different churches along the way. I went to Baptist, Methodist, Pentecostal, and even Catholic churches. I know that it’s good to be good, and to forgive. I know that despite my shortcomings, I’ve always tried to do the right thing. Yet, there is so much more to do, I want to know what love is (to quote the song by the same title.) I want to actually feel the love of God. Is it a feeling, a true feeling, or an intangible emotion?
I see evidence of God and his mercy all the time. God has kept me afloat in my chaotic life despite my bad choices. I pray (not as much as I should) and I talk to God all the time. I think I have a personal relationship with God. Will I know by what happens in my life, or will I really hear his voice? Is it just the knowledge that he is there? I wonder what others are feeling. When I ask a Christian what it means to have God talk to you, I’m told it’s different for different people. Apparently if I don’t know when he is talking to me then I must not have a good relationship with the Lord.
I wonder if the voice of reason, or justice, or anything else good that I choose to do is indeed the result of what God tells me to do. I have not spoken to anyone who can really tell me. I want to know if some Christians just say that they hear God because anything less would make them unholy. Is God the one who tells you to return the extra change that the clerk at 7 Eleven gave you? I have a friend who says that she moves based on what the Lord tells her to do. Yet, she seems (in my humble opinion) to be making decisions based on what she wants. Needless to say she keeps making bad decisions that thrust her life into chaos. You can’t tell me that God is whispering the wrong advice in her ear; she is going on her own free will. Honestly, is it what you feel or what you believe? What is the voice of God? Is his voice my voice telling me to do those things that will please him? I know that the answer is in the Bible. I’ve often felt that I know so very little about the Bible. I always make a New Year’s resolution to read my bible every night; and I always fail miserably at keeping it. So, I decided to join a bible study group last spring.
It’s great, and I’m learning so much. It seems however that when my classmates talk of the good that God has done for them, there is a hush and in my mind a celestial choir begins to sing (I said in MY mind.) Don’t get me wrong, I so believe in God and his goodness and mercy. His mercy has carried me through some very tough times. Why just this morning I locked all of my keys in the house. I pulled out the old credit card and began trying to ‘jimmy’ the door open. I prayed Lord, help me get this door open. I tell you no lie, seconds later the door opened just as smoothly as if I’d used the key. I believe, but am I hearing God through his actions? I hope I don’t sound crazy here, most of my friends were raised in the church, but I wasn’t. I don’t know all of the hymns and I must use the index at the front of the Bible to find the right book. I can’t tell you how many busy body old ladies have found it necessary to reach over in church and point me to the right passage. I’m getting a lot better now though. Maybe someday I’ll be the old lady helping someone to find the right passage…maybe….someday. Till then I’ve got a lot to learn and there are so many things that I need to do in order to cultivate my spiritual self. One important thing that I must do is to find myself a church home.
Over the years I’ve visited many churches. There are times when the preacher actually put me to sleep. Others screamed so loudly that I spent most of my time trying to cleverly hold my arms up to give praise while protecting my eardrums from the deafening roar. Other times I’ve genuinely enjoyed the sermon and come away with spiritual food for thought. I haven’t joined a church because I haven’t felt that I'm good enough. I know that no one is perfect, but there are so many people who extol the virtues of Christianity to others while they themselves are backsliding all over the place. I know that I can’t be worried about what everyone else does. I’d better be concerned with my own salvation, and I am. It’s just that I don’t want to be one of those hypocrites who doesn’t walk the walk.
I do try to live my life doing unto others as I would have them do unto me. I treat people as I want to be treated, with respect. I am kind and compassionate. I give in order to help others feel better. OK, before you jokingly begin to call me Mother Teresa, I do realize that I’m far from perfect. As some folks will tell you “I am a work in progress.” I’m gonna be alright, I am on the way and salvation will be mine!
Well friends, I hope you have reached a better place in your spiritual journey than I. I’ve been told that religion and politics are subjects to be avoided, yet I think that perhaps both need to be discussed and pondered, often. Communication is key, especially with religion. Can I get an Amen? Until next time, have a good today and a better tomorrow. I’m out.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Fifty and Holding: A Special Occasion
Hello my friends. I hope that you’re all doing well. You know I missed sharing with you last week. I’ve actually written several blogs in the last week but they just did not feel right at the time. I’ll share them with you another day. This week I’m writing about a Special occasion.
That word special usually brings about thoughts of something good. We ask if there are any drink specials at the restaurant. In my case, I’m hoping to get a Pina Colada for half price. Sometimes there is an appetizer special, buy one get one free. Maybe one of my favorite department stores is having a one day special event sale. You see special can be a good thing, sometimes. However, special can mean not so good too, different. Have you ever heard anyone refer to another person as “special?” They usually do it with a nod and a wink. Well, my special occasion falls into that nod and wink category. It’s my anniversary!
I woke up very early this morning and I was sad. Sad that I couldn’t celebrate my anniversary the way most folks do. As a matter of fact, I decided that I would begin a new tradition. I decided that I will no longer say "Happy Anniversary." That phrase is reserved for happy couples, people who wake up each morning thanking God for each other. From this day forth,when the date of my marriage rolls around I will simply call it Anniversary. I will ask that anyone who chooses to recognize this day should look at me and say "Anniversary." A simple acknowledgement is all that’s needed. No hoopla, no parties. You see this day reminds me of all that I haven’t had, all that I will not have, while in this relationship. When I woke up this morning I was thinking of how I’ve spent 27 years of my life waiting around for someone to care. I thought about how I couldn’t remember if I’ve ever had a Happy Anniversary. I thought about the fact that I may not have another 27 years of marriage…or anything else (I am 52 ya know.)
The past is the past; don’t cry over spilt milk, but what about wasted time. I’m afraid that I’ve wasted my youth wishing for happiness, praying for love. No, my head wasn’t in the clouds. I was just hopeful. I was hopeful that one day I’d awaken to find that he’d appreciate me. Maybe he’d wake up and see that I was and always have been a good wife, mother, and friend. No such luck. Day after day, after day I set myself up for failure; hopeful that one day my kindness would be appreciated. How could he ignore the heart full of feelings that I carried around with me, for him. I guess it really never mattered. At least he never acted like it did.
There will be no flowers, no candy; this year I didn’t even bother with a card. What’s the use in pretending? One would think that after all this time my heart would be hardened to the painful fact that my anniversary isn’t the good ‘special.’ I think that I watch too much TV. You see on TV there is always a dinner by candlelight, coupled with the presentation of a wonderful gift and champagne, followed by a passionate night of love. LOL! So as the younger folks say “It is what it is.” After half the day had passed I called him up at work and said, following my newly created tradition, “Anniversary.” He stumbled over a couple of sorrys, and I told him no big deal.
Really, it truly is no big deal that he forgot something that he really doesn’t care about anyway. I don’t need a perfunctory act of kindness just because. I celebrated my day by listening to music, lamenting my situation, and dancing to some of my favorite tunes. I looked at my 52 year old self in the mirror and I was glad that I was alone at home dancing. Who cares but me? It was just another day and hey, at least I am able to get up and dance. It’s the little things that count, or so I’m told.
I know that I have options, but right now I’m in emotional limbo. No one’s holding me back but me. Yellow lights as far as the eye can see (smile.) Right now happiness is a small mocha frappe from McDonald’s, and guess what? I got it free with a special coupon. The little things, the little things….Until next time, don’t start nothing won’t be nothing. In the words of Mint Condition (I was listening to them as I lamented) “There’s Nothing Left for me to Say.” Later y’all.
That word special usually brings about thoughts of something good. We ask if there are any drink specials at the restaurant. In my case, I’m hoping to get a Pina Colada for half price. Sometimes there is an appetizer special, buy one get one free. Maybe one of my favorite department stores is having a one day special event sale. You see special can be a good thing, sometimes. However, special can mean not so good too, different. Have you ever heard anyone refer to another person as “special?” They usually do it with a nod and a wink. Well, my special occasion falls into that nod and wink category. It’s my anniversary!
I woke up very early this morning and I was sad. Sad that I couldn’t celebrate my anniversary the way most folks do. As a matter of fact, I decided that I would begin a new tradition. I decided that I will no longer say "Happy Anniversary." That phrase is reserved for happy couples, people who wake up each morning thanking God for each other. From this day forth,when the date of my marriage rolls around I will simply call it Anniversary. I will ask that anyone who chooses to recognize this day should look at me and say "Anniversary." A simple acknowledgement is all that’s needed. No hoopla, no parties. You see this day reminds me of all that I haven’t had, all that I will not have, while in this relationship. When I woke up this morning I was thinking of how I’ve spent 27 years of my life waiting around for someone to care. I thought about how I couldn’t remember if I’ve ever had a Happy Anniversary. I thought about the fact that I may not have another 27 years of marriage…or anything else (I am 52 ya know.)
The past is the past; don’t cry over spilt milk, but what about wasted time. I’m afraid that I’ve wasted my youth wishing for happiness, praying for love. No, my head wasn’t in the clouds. I was just hopeful. I was hopeful that one day I’d awaken to find that he’d appreciate me. Maybe he’d wake up and see that I was and always have been a good wife, mother, and friend. No such luck. Day after day, after day I set myself up for failure; hopeful that one day my kindness would be appreciated. How could he ignore the heart full of feelings that I carried around with me, for him. I guess it really never mattered. At least he never acted like it did.
There will be no flowers, no candy; this year I didn’t even bother with a card. What’s the use in pretending? One would think that after all this time my heart would be hardened to the painful fact that my anniversary isn’t the good ‘special.’ I think that I watch too much TV. You see on TV there is always a dinner by candlelight, coupled with the presentation of a wonderful gift and champagne, followed by a passionate night of love. LOL! So as the younger folks say “It is what it is.” After half the day had passed I called him up at work and said, following my newly created tradition, “Anniversary.” He stumbled over a couple of sorrys, and I told him no big deal.
Really, it truly is no big deal that he forgot something that he really doesn’t care about anyway. I don’t need a perfunctory act of kindness just because. I celebrated my day by listening to music, lamenting my situation, and dancing to some of my favorite tunes. I looked at my 52 year old self in the mirror and I was glad that I was alone at home dancing. Who cares but me? It was just another day and hey, at least I am able to get up and dance. It’s the little things that count, or so I’m told.
I know that I have options, but right now I’m in emotional limbo. No one’s holding me back but me. Yellow lights as far as the eye can see (smile.) Right now happiness is a small mocha frappe from McDonald’s, and guess what? I got it free with a special coupon. The little things, the little things….Until next time, don’t start nothing won’t be nothing. In the words of Mint Condition (I was listening to them as I lamented) “There’s Nothing Left for me to Say.” Later y’all.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Fifty and Holding: FEAR
Hello friends, how is everybody? Last weekend I was out of town on Holiday in Northern Va., and I had a great time. I visited with a good friend and spent an enjoyable time with my sister and her son. My sister has a lovely home, and it’s very comfortable. The only problem that I have with it is the fact that her security system is not currently activated. Her house is three levels, and I always jokingly tell her that someone could live in the lower level and she’d never know. One night while there I thought I heard a noise, turned out to be the neighbors, but it scared me. I guess that I watch too many police dramas where home invasions are not the exception but the rule. So this week I thought that I’d talk about my fear and what it is that scares me.
When I was a little girl my family and I sometimes went up to the mountains for the day. We lived in the Piedmont (foothills) of Virginia and the mountains were close by. I remember my father driving up those winding roads, up, up, up until we got to our destination. It was an overlook with a stone wall where one could see out over the valley. They stopped the car and everyone got out, except me. “Come on Trena” they said “look, look at how pretty it is! Come on Trena.” “No, I don’t want to, I’m scared,” I cried. Soon after that I was bent over pulling backwards as my father pulled me forward. I can recall looking down at my white ruffled socks and patent leather Mary Janes as daddy pulled me out of the car. After he pulled me out of the car, I stood up and tearfully looked around. I relaxed as I looked around and smiled. It was alright.
For some strange reason I’d had a notion that there was a steep drop off at the top of the mountain, and that I was doomed to fall off into an abyss. I’d like to tell you that after that I was alright with mountain trips. Sorry, to this day, I am still afraid of heights. I’m scared of being “up high.” I really do have a fear of heights. Was I born with it? I don’t know, and I’m not going sky diving to face my fear. If the situation occurs where I must face this fear or die, then I imagine I’ll face the fear. Until then I’m ok with not riding Ferris Wheels and staying away from mountain climbing. I’m just saying, I’m scared but this fear really doesn’t affect my quality of life. It’s alright to be scared sometimes…. right?
You know I’ve never been a risk taker. Perhaps I think that being high up is risky because I could fall. Maybe that’s where my fear begins. Perhaps, risk is the true cause of my fears. I didn’t actually drive until I was 37 years old. I had my license because I knew that it would come in handy one day. But I didn’t drive because my father had put the fear in me. When I was younger I can remember hearing him say “Don’t ride with other folks, you can get in an accident and get killed!” His words stuck with me, for years I was afraid to drive. I was scared to get behind the wheel for fear of dying in an accident. Hmmm risk again, but even deeper than that, the risk, the fear, of death.
When I think about my deepest fears, the culmination of them all is death. I’m scared that I’ll die if I fall from the mountain. I was afraid of driving because I could have an accident and be killed. (I drive now, have had a few accidents, but I’m still here, TYJ!)
I even have panic attacks sometimes that come about as a result of my fear of dying. Really, when you think about your biggest fears don’t they ultimately involve someone’s mortality in some way? Every time we worry about the whereabouts of a loved one, really aren’t we worried about them being taken away from us? Is it just me? I hope not. It’s just that we don’t talk about our fears. We bare the burden of them in silence.
I guess that when one reveals his or her fears that person is also revealing vulnerabilities. Fear leaves us raw and open to attack. Yet we all have our fears. Maybe we’re all just scared little boys and girls putting up a good front because we’re adults now, and we shouldn’t be scared. Shouldn’t be, but can’t help it. Life is scary because it is finite, and that’s just hard for us to wrap our human minds around. When I’ve had these discussions about fear with my mother, she ultimately tells me that my peace hinges on my belief in God, and the life that he promises all Christians if they believe and live life accordingly. I believe, I believe, but I am a mere mortal. Sometimes mortals get scared. Well, at least I do. I’m working through these emotions, it’s a tedious process, but I’m hopeful….
Wow, I hope that I haven’t gotten too deep with you. I didn’t want to bum you out. It‘s just that sometimes I want to know that I’m not the only one. After all, this blog place of mine is supposed to be a “comfortable place where we can share.” Remember? There are so many people in the world walking around with questions, hang ups, and fears. Talking about them may not make them go away. However, sometimes the distraction of conversation can be good. Dr. Phil anyone?
Well, that’s it for now. I could go on, but maybe some other time. Again, I hope that this topic hasn’t left you sad or in a funk. I’m just sharing, and I tell you that no matter what fears you carry, you should enjoy your life. Rely on God and the people who love you. Drink in the laughter and feed off of the love. Peace Out my friends……
When I was a little girl my family and I sometimes went up to the mountains for the day. We lived in the Piedmont (foothills) of Virginia and the mountains were close by. I remember my father driving up those winding roads, up, up, up until we got to our destination. It was an overlook with a stone wall where one could see out over the valley. They stopped the car and everyone got out, except me. “Come on Trena” they said “look, look at how pretty it is! Come on Trena.” “No, I don’t want to, I’m scared,” I cried. Soon after that I was bent over pulling backwards as my father pulled me forward. I can recall looking down at my white ruffled socks and patent leather Mary Janes as daddy pulled me out of the car. After he pulled me out of the car, I stood up and tearfully looked around. I relaxed as I looked around and smiled. It was alright.
For some strange reason I’d had a notion that there was a steep drop off at the top of the mountain, and that I was doomed to fall off into an abyss. I’d like to tell you that after that I was alright with mountain trips. Sorry, to this day, I am still afraid of heights. I’m scared of being “up high.” I really do have a fear of heights. Was I born with it? I don’t know, and I’m not going sky diving to face my fear. If the situation occurs where I must face this fear or die, then I imagine I’ll face the fear. Until then I’m ok with not riding Ferris Wheels and staying away from mountain climbing. I’m just saying, I’m scared but this fear really doesn’t affect my quality of life. It’s alright to be scared sometimes…. right?
You know I’ve never been a risk taker. Perhaps I think that being high up is risky because I could fall. Maybe that’s where my fear begins. Perhaps, risk is the true cause of my fears. I didn’t actually drive until I was 37 years old. I had my license because I knew that it would come in handy one day. But I didn’t drive because my father had put the fear in me. When I was younger I can remember hearing him say “Don’t ride with other folks, you can get in an accident and get killed!” His words stuck with me, for years I was afraid to drive. I was scared to get behind the wheel for fear of dying in an accident. Hmmm risk again, but even deeper than that, the risk, the fear, of death.
When I think about my deepest fears, the culmination of them all is death. I’m scared that I’ll die if I fall from the mountain. I was afraid of driving because I could have an accident and be killed. (I drive now, have had a few accidents, but I’m still here, TYJ!)
I even have panic attacks sometimes that come about as a result of my fear of dying. Really, when you think about your biggest fears don’t they ultimately involve someone’s mortality in some way? Every time we worry about the whereabouts of a loved one, really aren’t we worried about them being taken away from us? Is it just me? I hope not. It’s just that we don’t talk about our fears. We bare the burden of them in silence.
I guess that when one reveals his or her fears that person is also revealing vulnerabilities. Fear leaves us raw and open to attack. Yet we all have our fears. Maybe we’re all just scared little boys and girls putting up a good front because we’re adults now, and we shouldn’t be scared. Shouldn’t be, but can’t help it. Life is scary because it is finite, and that’s just hard for us to wrap our human minds around. When I’ve had these discussions about fear with my mother, she ultimately tells me that my peace hinges on my belief in God, and the life that he promises all Christians if they believe and live life accordingly. I believe, I believe, but I am a mere mortal. Sometimes mortals get scared. Well, at least I do. I’m working through these emotions, it’s a tedious process, but I’m hopeful….
Wow, I hope that I haven’t gotten too deep with you. I didn’t want to bum you out. It‘s just that sometimes I want to know that I’m not the only one. After all, this blog place of mine is supposed to be a “comfortable place where we can share.” Remember? There are so many people in the world walking around with questions, hang ups, and fears. Talking about them may not make them go away. However, sometimes the distraction of conversation can be good. Dr. Phil anyone?
Well, that’s it for now. I could go on, but maybe some other time. Again, I hope that this topic hasn’t left you sad or in a funk. I’m just sharing, and I tell you that no matter what fears you carry, you should enjoy your life. Rely on God and the people who love you. Drink in the laughter and feed off of the love. Peace Out my friends……
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Fifty and Holding: When Grown Folks ATTACK!!!!!!!!!!
Hello friends, I hope that you’re doing well. I had a great weekend hanging out with family. It was a blast! Even though our ages were varied and we only see each other once a year, it was really cool. This was the first time that I’d actually hung out with my grown son. There were no major disagreements and there was no negativity from anyone. That isn’t always the case when adults come together. Au contraire! This leads me to this week’s topic: When Grown Folks ATTACK!
I am at a place in my life where it is important for me to give back, to be active in my community. As a result of this new found need to serve I’ve joined a few organizations. Let me begin by saying that anytime you bring adults together and ask them to make decisions, you’re in for an interesting experience, to say the least. If you’re lucky, you’ll be a part of some lively discussions that will make you think out of the box and draw on each others unique perspectives to come up with great ideas. OK, I said if you’re lucky. More often than not, you’ll see people fighting to be seen and trying to make a name for themselves. There are people who just don’t understand that there is no I in T-E-A-M.
I’ve only been in this one particular group for a short while, and since joining I’d befriended one of the senior members. I thought that she was nice and I admired her because she is skilled at fundraising. I am terrible at networking for profit and I told her that I thought that I could learn from her. She is a type A personality, hopelessly driven and very hyper. She expects everyone else to be just as driven as she is. I made the mistake of listening to her complaints about other group members. I listened and even sometimes agreed that things could be done differently. The first time that it happened I’d known that something was going to go down. She told me that she was planning to address some “issues” Little did I know that she was preparing for an all out attack.
Her attack was swift and merciless. She proceeded to tell the other ladies how they were incompetent. She argued that no one could do what she does. She systematically went around the table tearing into each unsuspecting victim, her words leaving each person raw from the gnashing. I thought that I was safe, but before she finished, she turned and pounced, accusing me of cowardly behavior because I wouldn’t take sides. I had tried to stay out of the row, and told her that I really did not have enough knowledge of procedure to speak to the mistakes of others. She scrunched her mouth and mockingly said “She’s sitting over there scared to say anything.” I quickly let her know that it had not been my intent to come and fight; and that I resented that fact that she’d tried to pull me into the mêlée.
When I left that meeting I really felt bad; I hadn’t signed on for this. I was tense and annoyed. I felt as if I’d been ambushed. After the meeting I questioned her as to why she had treated me that way. Of course she had no good answer. What makes some adults believe that they can talk down to others? I understand that people often disagree with one another. I know that sometimes tempers flare. However,I only have one mother and it ain’t her. My own mother doesn’t talk to me that way.
I thought about the incident later, and I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps she was tired or sad or….No, the fact of the matter is that she is harsh, and she talks down to people. She doesn’t just talk down to people. Her every conversation turns into a scolding, an “I told you so” fest. I have seen her tear into the hides of other team members as if they were wilder beasts in the Serengeti. She’s just downright mean when things don’t go her way!
Her attacks have continued. At one meeting I found it necessary to confront her. I simply explained to her that we all want the same thing. All of us want success. We want all of our projects to go well. After that exchange I thought that things would be better. It seemed as if she had calmed down. NOT! The most recent meeting was last Tuesday. I was about ten minutes late, and they (the rest of the team) had just begun to get down to business. Things had gone well. All of the items on the agenda had been covered, and we were about to adjourn. I turned to the lady who’d been rude to me previously and asked her a question. She looked at me and barked “That was in the notes, didn’t you take notes. You’re the vice chair, you should have it written down!” I said sarcastically “excuse me for bothering you,” I then told he that there was no need to fuss. Needless to say I left angry. Once again I’d let this woman steal my joy.
You know, life is too short to stress over other people and their issues. Yet sometimes they still manage to pull you in. I’m stressing over what to do about this situation. Do I tell her how I really feel and prepare for battle? Or do I just steer clear of her, do my part in the organization, and call it a day? I’m afraid that I’ll end up giving her a piece of my mind, but it just isn’t worth it. Pray for me to do the right thing, whatever that is…
Well friends, I’ve taken enough of your time today. However, I knew that you’d appreciate my dilemma. Look at what I’ve told you as a public service announcement. I just want you to think about what you’ll do When Grown folks ATTACK!!!!! Have a good week and stay cool. Talk at ya again soon!
I am at a place in my life where it is important for me to give back, to be active in my community. As a result of this new found need to serve I’ve joined a few organizations. Let me begin by saying that anytime you bring adults together and ask them to make decisions, you’re in for an interesting experience, to say the least. If you’re lucky, you’ll be a part of some lively discussions that will make you think out of the box and draw on each others unique perspectives to come up with great ideas. OK, I said if you’re lucky. More often than not, you’ll see people fighting to be seen and trying to make a name for themselves. There are people who just don’t understand that there is no I in T-E-A-M.
I’ve only been in this one particular group for a short while, and since joining I’d befriended one of the senior members. I thought that she was nice and I admired her because she is skilled at fundraising. I am terrible at networking for profit and I told her that I thought that I could learn from her. She is a type A personality, hopelessly driven and very hyper. She expects everyone else to be just as driven as she is. I made the mistake of listening to her complaints about other group members. I listened and even sometimes agreed that things could be done differently. The first time that it happened I’d known that something was going to go down. She told me that she was planning to address some “issues” Little did I know that she was preparing for an all out attack.
Her attack was swift and merciless. She proceeded to tell the other ladies how they were incompetent. She argued that no one could do what she does. She systematically went around the table tearing into each unsuspecting victim, her words leaving each person raw from the gnashing. I thought that I was safe, but before she finished, she turned and pounced, accusing me of cowardly behavior because I wouldn’t take sides. I had tried to stay out of the row, and told her that I really did not have enough knowledge of procedure to speak to the mistakes of others. She scrunched her mouth and mockingly said “She’s sitting over there scared to say anything.” I quickly let her know that it had not been my intent to come and fight; and that I resented that fact that she’d tried to pull me into the mêlée.
When I left that meeting I really felt bad; I hadn’t signed on for this. I was tense and annoyed. I felt as if I’d been ambushed. After the meeting I questioned her as to why she had treated me that way. Of course she had no good answer. What makes some adults believe that they can talk down to others? I understand that people often disagree with one another. I know that sometimes tempers flare. However,I only have one mother and it ain’t her. My own mother doesn’t talk to me that way.
I thought about the incident later, and I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps she was tired or sad or….No, the fact of the matter is that she is harsh, and she talks down to people. She doesn’t just talk down to people. Her every conversation turns into a scolding, an “I told you so” fest. I have seen her tear into the hides of other team members as if they were wilder beasts in the Serengeti. She’s just downright mean when things don’t go her way!
Her attacks have continued. At one meeting I found it necessary to confront her. I simply explained to her that we all want the same thing. All of us want success. We want all of our projects to go well. After that exchange I thought that things would be better. It seemed as if she had calmed down. NOT! The most recent meeting was last Tuesday. I was about ten minutes late, and they (the rest of the team) had just begun to get down to business. Things had gone well. All of the items on the agenda had been covered, and we were about to adjourn. I turned to the lady who’d been rude to me previously and asked her a question. She looked at me and barked “That was in the notes, didn’t you take notes. You’re the vice chair, you should have it written down!” I said sarcastically “excuse me for bothering you,” I then told he that there was no need to fuss. Needless to say I left angry. Once again I’d let this woman steal my joy.
You know, life is too short to stress over other people and their issues. Yet sometimes they still manage to pull you in. I’m stressing over what to do about this situation. Do I tell her how I really feel and prepare for battle? Or do I just steer clear of her, do my part in the organization, and call it a day? I’m afraid that I’ll end up giving her a piece of my mind, but it just isn’t worth it. Pray for me to do the right thing, whatever that is…
Well friends, I’ve taken enough of your time today. However, I knew that you’d appreciate my dilemma. Look at what I’ve told you as a public service announcement. I just want you to think about what you’ll do When Grown folks ATTACK!!!!! Have a good week and stay cool. Talk at ya again soon!
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Fifty and Holding: S- U- C -C –E- S -S…Tell me how YOU Spell Success!
Hey there, I hope that you’re having a good week. You know I was on facebook yesterday and I came across a friend that I hadn’t seen in years. He has done very well for himself and seems to be a success. I started to think to myself, “Am I a success?” When people talk about me will they smile and say “She did alright,” or will they shake their heads and say "Too bad!" So one might ask, what is success? In our society it seems that success is measured by wealth. Yet statistics prove that most of the nation's wealth is held by a very small percentage of the population. Well that surely is disconcerting. I guess that means that the rest of us can just forget it. So really, what is success?
I think that it all begins very early in life. I can remember seeing commercials with important looking men and women rushing to boardroom meetings. They (successful people) dressed a certain way, drove a certain kind of car and obviously had the money to buy all that they wanted. They worked in the city, lived in the best neighborhoods and hobnobbed with the coolest people. In this land of plenty, success is measured by possessions, by status achieved. One can’t help but feel inadequate when everything that you see points to wealth as the biggest measure of success. I know better, I know that material things don’t last. Yet I still look at what I have (or haven’t) obtained in life thus far, and wonder if I’ve missed the boat.
I remember as a child riding around with my family on Sunday evenings, looking at big expensive houses. Daddy wanted to have the best; and he spent a lot of time figuring out how to get it. We moved into our new house when I was six years old. It wasn't a mansion, but it was a decent house. Looking back, I guess that he filled us with that same desire to have nice things. I just took for granted that one day I’d have a good job, a nice house and a Volvo or a Mercedes. Somehow things haven’t turned out that way. It all started when I didn’t finish college. I made a bad choice; I got off track.
It took me quite a while to get back on track. I ended up pregnant and with no degree after almost 4 yrs. So my life had changed directions. I wasn’t the lawyer or the journalist that I thought I’d be. Over the years I was able to get fairly decent jobs despite the fact that I didn’t have a degree. It’s just that I never had the flexibility working in administrative jobs that allowed me to set my self apart. I guess you could say that I never really found my niche. Administrative jobs tend to be thankless and very routine, and more importantly, low paying. However, I actually was able to buy into a stock plan. We were able to sell some of the stocks and to use the money earned for a home. We finally had a house, our own house. Look out success!
I had finally gotten a house, part of the American Dream. I had decent a car; and oh BTW, I was married to the father of my son. Success, or the wealth that comes with success has always eluded me. Alas, I don’t have the monetary success that I’d thought I’d have at the age of 52. I’ve never really been able to purchase a big ticket item without a good deal of planning. I don’t have my dream home, or a six figure income. I don’t own a Mercedes; and if I want to buy new living room furniture, I might need to go to Craigslist. However, I’m ok.
When I look at all the people who’ve lost homes due to foreclosure, I’m glad that despite the fact that I’m unemployed, we are still able to afford our mortgage. I am unemployed, but I’m able to contribute to the household bills, go to a movie and treat myself to something special every now and then. Maybe I should forget about the traditional success model and embrace the real side of life and happiness. Like the old folks say, if you’ve got a roof over your head and food to eat, you’re doing alright.
Things aren’t so bad in my life. I completed college about five years ago at the ripe old age of forty seven. I was able to get out of the administrative field and to move into computer support. I am a very good mother and I have raised a son whom any mother would be proud of. I am also blessed because I'm relatively healthy. Success, maybe it’s been right here all along staring me in the face. I guess that life is punctuated by many small, notable successes. By George, I think I’ve got it! Success is getting whatever makes you happy!
Ah, but friends, don’t get it twisted! I still want a nicer home, and a good job, but if I don’t get all that I yearn for, it’s ok. I know that I am responsible for my own happiness, my own success. I can choose to be discouraged, or I can keep it moving. To quote Scarlet O’Hara in Gone with the Wind "After all ... tomorrow is another day." And friends, another day brings with it new opportunities and more chances for happiness and success. What makes you happy? How do you measure success? Tell me your thoughts on the matter. As always, it has been a pleasure. Let’s talk again soon. Ciao!
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Fifty and Holding: I Love Music...Some of it
My younger sister was in town recently, and we hung out a little bit. One day as we rode along, she was telling me about one of the satellite channels that she’d come across recently. She commented on how much profanity she’d heard on the station and how she changed the channel because she was offended. Our conversation got me to thinking, not just about the raunchy language that we hear over the airwaves daily, but about much of today’s music that contains some of that same filth.
“I love music any kind of music, long as it’s playin, all the joy that it’s bringing.” The OJAYs said it best; they understood the significance of music. Music comes from emotion, good, bad or indifferent. It soothes the savage beast. It is known as the universal language. I truly do love music, and I always have. When I was nine years old I got my first transistor radio. I kept it by my bedside, and at night I’d listen to stations that were miles away. I listened to WLS in Chicago and WKBW in New York. I listened to the DJ’s spin the hits and rock the house. They couldn’t see us; yet they knew that we were out there hanging on to their every word, and feeling the excitement. They lifted us up and sent us soaring with each and every song. It was hard to sleep because I wanted to dance; I wanted to sing. I closed my eyes and imagined what it must have been like to party, to be out at night. Nightlife held such intrigue for me; it represented the excitement of city life. Music soothed my soul and took me to my own little world where I was on tour; and fans came to see me in concert. Not really, but I imagined that it could be that way.
Music reflected the mood of the people, it defined cultures. I grew up during a period when folks talked about black power and black love. I listened to Marvin Gaye, the Temptations, and Diana Ross. I was into R&B and anything else I heard. My musical repertoire was vast. From Engelbert Humperdinck and the Bee Gees to Michael Jackson, and Gil Scott Heron, I loved it all. The funny thing is that back then my mom and I could listen to a lot of the same music. We both sang along to the Temptation’s songs. I could turn to an R&B radio station that the whole family could enjoy, with no shame. Things have changed, music has changed; we can’t all listen to the same channel anymore.
I remember thinking how cool the Sugar Hill Gang sounded when they came out with Rapper’s Delight. It was fun, it was different and I could hear the words. This was rap, a new genre of music that would soon define urban youth. It started out innocently enough with fun groups, fun songs. I listened to Dougy Fresh, the Fresh Prince and DJ Jazzy Jeff. Then there were groups like Grand Master Flash and the Furious Five who told the world about the pressures of ghetto life. “Don’t push me cuz I’m close to the edge, I’m tryin not to lose my head…..” The language was raw, but we understood.
Somewhere along the way we lost sight of good music and traded it in for the all mighty dollar bill. NWA hit the scene and that was music that I could no longer share with my mother. Luke and the Too Live Crew were raunchy and dirty just for the sake of being raunchy and dirty. I guess that there is a place for all music, but it seems to have taken off in the wrong direction. I like many different genres of music, but I find myself feeling embarrassed when I hear the expletives rhymed and shouted at me from the radio. Perhaps now I really am the old babe at the party, because it isn’t fun to listen to the young men on the other side of the CD cussing and defaming women to the beat.
The thing that really amazes me is that I see adults thirty and older who seem not to notice. I don’t want to know what the guy on the CD does with his private parts. I don’t care how big it is. And if his only claim to fame is the number of b’s that he can do, perhaps he needs to do something else. Why do I need to know about his sexual prowess, and adulterous behavior? We’ve become desensitized to filthy language, and a lack of moral character. I cringe when I hear some of the junk that jumps out of the CD players.
As a teen, I would’ve been embarrassed to be in the same room with my parents listening to somebody like Little Wayne. Different times you say? Perhaps, but is it something that we should accept? I’m not passing judgment, but I wonder if our acceptance of this outrageous language in the songs that we hear gives our children license to be disrespectful. I’ve heard youngsters talking in public, dropping F bombs with no regard to the adults in the vicinity. Just listen to any Hip Hop station on your radio and you’ll see what I mean. Oh there are radio edits, but even those are sprinkled with expletives and graphic references to sexual acts that would make most adults blush.
I actually do like some rap music; but I’d like Drake just as much if he didn’t drop so many F bombs. I think that Ludacris could be just as clever without all the filth. But hey, who am I to say. Don’t get me wrong, I am not a prude. I have been known to use a cuss word or two here and there. However, I’m concerned that some rap does in fact send the wrong message. We live in a country where an articulate, degreed, experienced, 52 year old woman can’t get a job, and rappers without college degrees who cleverly manipulate foul language to sampled beats can make millions. Go figure. Oh well, guess I’ll put on something soothing, like Luther, before I go to bed. Now that’s what I call goooooood music. Later….. Have a great evening and let's talk again soon!
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Fifty and Holding:“Yellow Lights”
Hi there. Well it’s getting on towards the weekend. I’ve felt a little sluggish today. Hmmmm, why is it that I feel as if I’m breaking some kind of rule when I’m tired? I need a nap, but I don’t like to take naps. It just seems like naps slow me down. Speaking of slowing down, the other day on the way home, I kept catching yellow lights. I simply hate yellow lights; I mean really, I simply hate them. Oh I know that they serve a good purpose, Yellow lights help us to safely transition to a stop. Imagine if there were no yellow lights, folks would be slamming on breaks, rear ending each other, and all kinds of chaos would ensue. I was talking to one of my sisters and she came up with, what she thought ,was a good explanation for my dislike of yellow lights. She believes that to me, yellow lights represent indecision.
She was on the right track, but I’ll take her theory to the next level. I have found that in my life when I’m challenged with something that messes up my flow, I end up unable to progress. Unlike the traffic lights, I don’t just slow down, I stop and can’t seem to get back to “go”. I don’t understand it. I’ll give you an example. Recently I had a piece of equipment to mail back to a previous satellite provider. I got it wrapped and ready to go, and all that I had to do was call Fed Ex for a scheduled pick up. It sat in my living room for a month. For some reason, it seemed that calling Fed Ex was an obstacle (I know, crazy right?) Obstacles don’t just slow me down, but cause me to come to a screeching halt! I start things with good intentions, but obstacles are my kryptonite. The thing is that there are always going to be obstacles in life, but those things shouldn't stop me. Why can’t I keep it going? You know it’s a strange thing. I’m not usually an indecisive person. I can make a good decision without hesitation. Yet sometimes I just can’t get past the yellow light.
Then I wonder if perhaps there are valid reasons for my annoying response to road blocks. Perhaps it has something to do with me being post menopausal (at least I’d like to think it does) Maybe one or more of my medical issues and the medicines that I take to control those issues contribute to this state of mind. And I’m hoping that this isn’t, that I’m not just…Heaven forbid… lazy! All that I can tell you is that this “yellow light fight” that I struggle with leaves me feeling like I’m just not able to catch up. Don’t get me wrong; I do get things done. But when my momentum is going good and something slows me down, I’m left in yellow light purgatory. (Sigh)
I’m getting better. Guess who called Fed Ex and scheduled a pick up? I left the packages on my porch as instructed, and they were gone by noon. It was an effortless task on my part, yet it had slowed me down. I normally get things done…but sometimes I’m mired in indecision. I dislike yellow lights when I’m driving because they cause me to take pause. They make me guess as to whether to stop or go. They slow me down. Yet, it’s alright to slow down, and then to stop for a moment. You see life is full of stopping and going and slowing down. The key however, is to continue to progress.
Well friends, the weekend is just around the corner, and I have lots of things to do around the house. I’ll try not to let the yellow lights slow me down. Is there a yellow light in your life? Is there something that keeps you from moving forward? Remember, it’s ok to slow down; it’s even ok to stop sometimes. Just don’t let the little things keep you down. Look ahead, and keep it moving. Be Safe; and I‘ll be talking to you again soon!
She was on the right track, but I’ll take her theory to the next level. I have found that in my life when I’m challenged with something that messes up my flow, I end up unable to progress. Unlike the traffic lights, I don’t just slow down, I stop and can’t seem to get back to “go”. I don’t understand it. I’ll give you an example. Recently I had a piece of equipment to mail back to a previous satellite provider. I got it wrapped and ready to go, and all that I had to do was call Fed Ex for a scheduled pick up. It sat in my living room for a month. For some reason, it seemed that calling Fed Ex was an obstacle (I know, crazy right?) Obstacles don’t just slow me down, but cause me to come to a screeching halt! I start things with good intentions, but obstacles are my kryptonite. The thing is that there are always going to be obstacles in life, but those things shouldn't stop me. Why can’t I keep it going? You know it’s a strange thing. I’m not usually an indecisive person. I can make a good decision without hesitation. Yet sometimes I just can’t get past the yellow light.
Then I wonder if perhaps there are valid reasons for my annoying response to road blocks. Perhaps it has something to do with me being post menopausal (at least I’d like to think it does) Maybe one or more of my medical issues and the medicines that I take to control those issues contribute to this state of mind. And I’m hoping that this isn’t, that I’m not just…Heaven forbid… lazy! All that I can tell you is that this “yellow light fight” that I struggle with leaves me feeling like I’m just not able to catch up. Don’t get me wrong; I do get things done. But when my momentum is going good and something slows me down, I’m left in yellow light purgatory. (Sigh)
I’m getting better. Guess who called Fed Ex and scheduled a pick up? I left the packages on my porch as instructed, and they were gone by noon. It was an effortless task on my part, yet it had slowed me down. I normally get things done…but sometimes I’m mired in indecision. I dislike yellow lights when I’m driving because they cause me to take pause. They make me guess as to whether to stop or go. They slow me down. Yet, it’s alright to slow down, and then to stop for a moment. You see life is full of stopping and going and slowing down. The key however, is to continue to progress.
Well friends, the weekend is just around the corner, and I have lots of things to do around the house. I’ll try not to let the yellow lights slow me down. Is there a yellow light in your life? Is there something that keeps you from moving forward? Remember, it’s ok to slow down; it’s even ok to stop sometimes. Just don’t let the little things keep you down. Look ahead, and keep it moving. Be Safe; and I‘ll be talking to you again soon!
Monday, July 12, 2010
Fifty and Holding: The Parent Pleaser
Hey y’all! I hope that everyone had a great weekend. I was actually quite the social butterfly; I attended two birthday parties. I just had to make sure that I didn’t slip up and mention my um, social engagements to my seventy three year old mom whom I call everyday. She thinks that I’m too old to go to parties. (Oh, BTW, have I mentioned that I am fifty two years old?) She makes me feel bad about doing things that I enjoy. It probably shouldn’t matter that my mom thinks that I should live life the way that she does. Unfortunately, it does matter. I remember as a child how important it was to have the approval of my parents. I recall hearing someone say “be a good little girl.” Think back. Do you remember that great, feeling of joy that made you puff out your chest and smile when your parents praised you? Have you ever disappointed your parents? How did it make you feel? Do you find yourself still seeking your parents’ approval? Well I certainly do!
I guess the problem is that I’m fifty two, and I still feel that pleasing my parents is important. It’s funny; I talked to my sisters and asked them if they feel the same way. It stands to reason that they would because we all grew up in the same family. Yet, they said that they respect our parents, but are not concerned about pleasing them. I’m the oldest child, so somehow this need to please is ingrained in my psyche. Perhaps my parents emphasized those things more with me. Be a good girl, be a good girl, be a good girl. I’ve always wanted so much to be a good girl!
Who doesn’t want to make their parents proud? One of my favorite silly movies is Zoolander. There is a scene in the movie where the main character, Derek Zoolander, a male model, wants to reconnect with his family. His father and brothers are coal miners, manly men. While drinking in a bar after a long day in the mine, they are watching tv when a commercial airs with Derek as a Merman. Others in the bar are laughing and pointing; his father and brothers are just plain embarrassed. He slinks away from the bar, head hanging. That’s me, no not slinking away from bars, but wading through life feeling less than.
There have only been a few times that I can recall feeling that I’ve made my parents proud. I was first runner up in my high school beauty pageant, and they were proud. I sang at a few events in college; they came to show support, and they were proud. However, that approval really didn’t come too often. I can remember as a child showing my father my report card with the good grades and he’d say “That’s what you’re supposed to do.” So I was supposed to get good grades, that good report card wasn’t an accomplishment in his book.
Over the years I’ve carried those feelings of inadequacy right along with me. You know, I live my life without any unusual drama. I’m kind hearted. I do my best to be a good daughter. My husband and I have raised a wonderful son who makes me proud everyday. It just isn’t good enough. I’ve never asked my parents for anything, or been a burden on them. Dad used to say ‘You make your bed hard, you lie in it.” I’ve lived by that credo. I’ve worked through my problems by myself, and accepted the consequences of my decisions, good or bad. Yet, it seems that my folks have never been pleased with me. My father is not the kind of dad who gives encouragement. He was emotionally absent from my life despite the fact that he was always there physically. Needless to say, I was never Daddy’s little girl. Some say that I’ve spent a good deal of my life trying to get the love he never gave me…perhaps. (That however, is another blog topic) I guess I've always thought it important to get approval from both parents. Sometimes though, because I tell my mother more, she feels most comfortable weighing in on my decisions.
My mom is a very strong and opinionated person, and for some reason, I always run important decisions by her. It isn’t that I want her to tell me what to do; I guess once again, that I’m just looking for approval. Believe it or not I’m actually very strong willed and I make pretty good decisions. It’s just that when my mom poo poos my actions, I take it to heart. She makes me second guess myself and my actions, and that always bothers me. I should respect her opinion and move on, but I don’t. I get angry at myself for allowing her opinion to matter so much. We know each other so well that I can tell just by the tone in her voice that she disapproves. The two of us are very different.
She is a homebody who enjoys gardening and taking care of her two dogs and three cats. Her social time revolves around her church. I am actually an extrovert who enjoys new experiences, and going out with friends from time to time. She shuns that. If I tell her that I’m going out to visit with a girlfriend. I hear the hesitation as she says Un huh….When does the child in me go away so that the fifty two year old woman will take over and not waste valuable emotional time feeling inadequate.
Am I alone here? I know that many adult children share my dilemma. I’m working on not letting my folks get to me. It’s my conscience, it nags at me when I‘m doing something that I think my mother wouldn’t approve of. I know it’s my insecurity. I guess that’s my problem huh? Tell me how you feel, comment at the bottom of this blog. Well, it’s three am and I think it’s time to hit the sack. Oh and don’t tell my mom that I was up late writing this blog. She thinks that this is a waste of time, because I’m not getting paid for it. Doesn’t matter though, that’s her opinion, I’m a grown woman and, and… yeah that’s right ! Cya soon.
I guess the problem is that I’m fifty two, and I still feel that pleasing my parents is important. It’s funny; I talked to my sisters and asked them if they feel the same way. It stands to reason that they would because we all grew up in the same family. Yet, they said that they respect our parents, but are not concerned about pleasing them. I’m the oldest child, so somehow this need to please is ingrained in my psyche. Perhaps my parents emphasized those things more with me. Be a good girl, be a good girl, be a good girl. I’ve always wanted so much to be a good girl!
Who doesn’t want to make their parents proud? One of my favorite silly movies is Zoolander. There is a scene in the movie where the main character, Derek Zoolander, a male model, wants to reconnect with his family. His father and brothers are coal miners, manly men. While drinking in a bar after a long day in the mine, they are watching tv when a commercial airs with Derek as a Merman. Others in the bar are laughing and pointing; his father and brothers are just plain embarrassed. He slinks away from the bar, head hanging. That’s me, no not slinking away from bars, but wading through life feeling less than.
There have only been a few times that I can recall feeling that I’ve made my parents proud. I was first runner up in my high school beauty pageant, and they were proud. I sang at a few events in college; they came to show support, and they were proud. However, that approval really didn’t come too often. I can remember as a child showing my father my report card with the good grades and he’d say “That’s what you’re supposed to do.” So I was supposed to get good grades, that good report card wasn’t an accomplishment in his book.
Over the years I’ve carried those feelings of inadequacy right along with me. You know, I live my life without any unusual drama. I’m kind hearted. I do my best to be a good daughter. My husband and I have raised a wonderful son who makes me proud everyday. It just isn’t good enough. I’ve never asked my parents for anything, or been a burden on them. Dad used to say ‘You make your bed hard, you lie in it.” I’ve lived by that credo. I’ve worked through my problems by myself, and accepted the consequences of my decisions, good or bad. Yet, it seems that my folks have never been pleased with me. My father is not the kind of dad who gives encouragement. He was emotionally absent from my life despite the fact that he was always there physically. Needless to say, I was never Daddy’s little girl. Some say that I’ve spent a good deal of my life trying to get the love he never gave me…perhaps. (That however, is another blog topic) I guess I've always thought it important to get approval from both parents. Sometimes though, because I tell my mother more, she feels most comfortable weighing in on my decisions.
My mom is a very strong and opinionated person, and for some reason, I always run important decisions by her. It isn’t that I want her to tell me what to do; I guess once again, that I’m just looking for approval. Believe it or not I’m actually very strong willed and I make pretty good decisions. It’s just that when my mom poo poos my actions, I take it to heart. She makes me second guess myself and my actions, and that always bothers me. I should respect her opinion and move on, but I don’t. I get angry at myself for allowing her opinion to matter so much. We know each other so well that I can tell just by the tone in her voice that she disapproves. The two of us are very different.
She is a homebody who enjoys gardening and taking care of her two dogs and three cats. Her social time revolves around her church. I am actually an extrovert who enjoys new experiences, and going out with friends from time to time. She shuns that. If I tell her that I’m going out to visit with a girlfriend. I hear the hesitation as she says Un huh….When does the child in me go away so that the fifty two year old woman will take over and not waste valuable emotional time feeling inadequate.
Am I alone here? I know that many adult children share my dilemma. I’m working on not letting my folks get to me. It’s my conscience, it nags at me when I‘m doing something that I think my mother wouldn’t approve of. I know it’s my insecurity. I guess that’s my problem huh? Tell me how you feel, comment at the bottom of this blog. Well, it’s three am and I think it’s time to hit the sack. Oh and don’t tell my mom that I was up late writing this blog. She thinks that this is a waste of time, because I’m not getting paid for it. Doesn’t matter though, that’s her opinion, I’m a grown woman and, and… yeah that’s right ! Cya soon.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Fifty and Holding: Friends
Hello, I hope that everybody was able to enjoy the holiday with family and friends. I love my family but I also have many friends that I’ve kept in touch with over the years. I should have said that I have many good friends, because it seems to me that people use the word friend a little too loosely. The question then becomes, What is a Friend?
The first definition of friend at merriam-webster.com is as follows: one attached to another by affection or esteem. Simple enough, but this definition is so broad. You see I treat friendship seriously; it is in fact a relationship that takes work. Friendship to me is loyalty, tolerance, perseverance, love, laughter, empathy, compromise, and concern. Friends talk, and care and back each other up. They cry the ugly cry together and share the Kleenex box. Friends know your dreams and passions, and they are happy when you realize them. Yet, friend means different things to different people.
Some think that a friend is someone who will leave you alone when you’re depressed or angry, or just plan mad. I feel that a friend is someone who is there even through those bad times. A friend is someone who tells you that you have collards in your teeth, or toilet paper on the bottom of your shoe. A friend will tell you that your boyfriend or husband is messin around even if you don’t want to believe it. A friend respects the person that you are. Don’t expect anyone to be perfect. Yet, don’t be used in the name of friendship. There are those folks who prey on the kindness of their friends. You know, the friend who only calls when he or she wants something. That person has another name in my book, Mooch. Kindness should never be exploited.
Too often the word friend is confused with acquaintance. An acquaintance is just someone whom you’ve known. I’ve confused acquaintances with friends, but I’ve found out soon enough. It’s upsetting when you think that you’ve made a connection with someone and then you’re treated like you don’t really matter. Friends shouldn’t be temporary, should they? I’m the kind of person who likes to make friends, and keep them in my life.
I can truly say that I have some very good friends, true friends, life long friends. Over thirty years ago I met a unique group of women in college; we were all young and inexperienced at life. Somehow we all came together at a crucial time in our lives. We matured together, we laughed and cried together, sometimes we got mad at each other but we always got past those times. Over the years we’ve all gone off on our own separate life paths, but we’ve remained friends. Miles separate us, but we share a sisterly love that allows us to share in each other’s victories and to comfort each other in times of pain. I am fortunate because I have other good friends that I’ve met over the years. I’ve managed to surround myself with caring loving people. They can count on me, and I can count on them. Friends, I couldn’t imagine life without mine.
Well, good people, it’s always nice to share with you. Do you have a friend that you’ve allowed to drift out of your life? Perhaps you’ve just been too busy to write or call. Maybe life just pushed you in a different direction. It isn’t too late, for a phone call, an email, a letter. Don’t wait until it’s too late, we’re all getting older. Who knows, you might just make someone’s day. Until next time, be breezy! (I’ve always wanted to say that to someone.)
The first definition of friend at merriam-webster.com is as follows: one attached to another by affection or esteem. Simple enough, but this definition is so broad. You see I treat friendship seriously; it is in fact a relationship that takes work. Friendship to me is loyalty, tolerance, perseverance, love, laughter, empathy, compromise, and concern. Friends talk, and care and back each other up. They cry the ugly cry together and share the Kleenex box. Friends know your dreams and passions, and they are happy when you realize them. Yet, friend means different things to different people.
Some think that a friend is someone who will leave you alone when you’re depressed or angry, or just plan mad. I feel that a friend is someone who is there even through those bad times. A friend is someone who tells you that you have collards in your teeth, or toilet paper on the bottom of your shoe. A friend will tell you that your boyfriend or husband is messin around even if you don’t want to believe it. A friend respects the person that you are. Don’t expect anyone to be perfect. Yet, don’t be used in the name of friendship. There are those folks who prey on the kindness of their friends. You know, the friend who only calls when he or she wants something. That person has another name in my book, Mooch. Kindness should never be exploited.
Too often the word friend is confused with acquaintance. An acquaintance is just someone whom you’ve known. I’ve confused acquaintances with friends, but I’ve found out soon enough. It’s upsetting when you think that you’ve made a connection with someone and then you’re treated like you don’t really matter. Friends shouldn’t be temporary, should they? I’m the kind of person who likes to make friends, and keep them in my life.
I can truly say that I have some very good friends, true friends, life long friends. Over thirty years ago I met a unique group of women in college; we were all young and inexperienced at life. Somehow we all came together at a crucial time in our lives. We matured together, we laughed and cried together, sometimes we got mad at each other but we always got past those times. Over the years we’ve all gone off on our own separate life paths, but we’ve remained friends. Miles separate us, but we share a sisterly love that allows us to share in each other’s victories and to comfort each other in times of pain. I am fortunate because I have other good friends that I’ve met over the years. I’ve managed to surround myself with caring loving people. They can count on me, and I can count on them. Friends, I couldn’t imagine life without mine.
Well, good people, it’s always nice to share with you. Do you have a friend that you’ve allowed to drift out of your life? Perhaps you’ve just been too busy to write or call. Maybe life just pushed you in a different direction. It isn’t too late, for a phone call, an email, a letter. Don’t wait until it’s too late, we’re all getting older. Who knows, you might just make someone’s day. Until next time, be breezy! (I’ve always wanted to say that to someone.)
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Fifty and Holding: My Mother's Day
Hello all, hope everyone has had a good week. My week has not been very exciting. However, yesterday was my son’s birthday, and it got me to thinking….
I know that Mother’s day is usually sometime in May, but my Mother’s Day is different. You see my Mother’s Day is June 30, the day that my son Jerome was born. His birthday was yesterday, and he turned 29. My husband and I went to visit with him and treat him to dinner. I always love getting a chance to see my only child. On the way home I thought about the joy that he brings me as a son. Twenty nine years ago he was born. I remember when he looked at me for the first time. One of his eyes was a little red, and I remember thinking that he looked at me like he knew me. I mean here was this new life that would for a while, depend on me for everything. In one moment we connected, mother to child with a love that would never go away. Some women may fear motherhood, but I embraced it. You see I realized that this was pure, unadulterated, unconditional, love. I knew that my goal was to love, protect, nourish, and to grow him up into a decent caring human being. I will not tell you that either of us is perfect, but we share that sacred mother and child bond.
I recall a time when he was about 8 years old. He had gotten sick and thrown up a little on his pants. The school nurse called and said that my son needed a change of clothes. I didn’t drive at the time, however I was lucky enough to work downtown where I could go buy him a pair of pants and also catch the city bus to his school. I scrambled around, bought the pants, hopped on the bus and proceeded to go “rescue” my son. I had also brought him a little something to eat because I knew he’d be hungry. He was in the nurses’ office waiting for me. When I got there he looked up at me tearfully and asked “what took you so long?” I explained that dad was out of town on a day trip, and that I’d taken the bus. I got him changed and handed him some lunch. He looked up at me with those little boy eyes and said “Thanks mom,” just simply “Thanks mom,” and gave me a hug. My heart was filled with the warmth of my child’s love. That’s what it feels like to be truly appreciated. My son ate his lunch and then dashed off to class. I’ll never forget that moment. I pray that if I’m ever stricken with Alzheimer’s, that God will grant me at least the remembrance of that one thought. I want to always remember how it felt to be appreciated, loved, and needed by my child.
Over the years my son has grown into a fine young man. And it still brings me joy when he’s happy. When he was a child sometimes I’d hear him whistling as he played in his room. It always made me smile, because I knew he was happy, content. He still whistles and I still smile when he does it because I know it means that he is content. The difference now however, is that I cannot “rescue” him as I did when he was a little boy. I can only pray that I’ve equipped him with the necessary tools to overcome life’s obstacles. Yet, I am satisfied that his love for me as his mother will never go away, and that one day he will get that same wonderful feeling of love when he has children of his own. Yes, June 30, every year, is Mother’s Day for me. It represents the joy of being a mother.
Well friends, with a holiday weekend just around the corner, most are probably looking forward to a little
R & R. Enjoy the holiday. You be safe, and let’s talk again really soon, nite!
I know that Mother’s day is usually sometime in May, but my Mother’s Day is different. You see my Mother’s Day is June 30, the day that my son Jerome was born. His birthday was yesterday, and he turned 29. My husband and I went to visit with him and treat him to dinner. I always love getting a chance to see my only child. On the way home I thought about the joy that he brings me as a son. Twenty nine years ago he was born. I remember when he looked at me for the first time. One of his eyes was a little red, and I remember thinking that he looked at me like he knew me. I mean here was this new life that would for a while, depend on me for everything. In one moment we connected, mother to child with a love that would never go away. Some women may fear motherhood, but I embraced it. You see I realized that this was pure, unadulterated, unconditional, love. I knew that my goal was to love, protect, nourish, and to grow him up into a decent caring human being. I will not tell you that either of us is perfect, but we share that sacred mother and child bond.
I recall a time when he was about 8 years old. He had gotten sick and thrown up a little on his pants. The school nurse called and said that my son needed a change of clothes. I didn’t drive at the time, however I was lucky enough to work downtown where I could go buy him a pair of pants and also catch the city bus to his school. I scrambled around, bought the pants, hopped on the bus and proceeded to go “rescue” my son. I had also brought him a little something to eat because I knew he’d be hungry. He was in the nurses’ office waiting for me. When I got there he looked up at me tearfully and asked “what took you so long?” I explained that dad was out of town on a day trip, and that I’d taken the bus. I got him changed and handed him some lunch. He looked up at me with those little boy eyes and said “Thanks mom,” just simply “Thanks mom,” and gave me a hug. My heart was filled with the warmth of my child’s love. That’s what it feels like to be truly appreciated. My son ate his lunch and then dashed off to class. I’ll never forget that moment. I pray that if I’m ever stricken with Alzheimer’s, that God will grant me at least the remembrance of that one thought. I want to always remember how it felt to be appreciated, loved, and needed by my child.
Over the years my son has grown into a fine young man. And it still brings me joy when he’s happy. When he was a child sometimes I’d hear him whistling as he played in his room. It always made me smile, because I knew he was happy, content. He still whistles and I still smile when he does it because I know it means that he is content. The difference now however, is that I cannot “rescue” him as I did when he was a little boy. I can only pray that I’ve equipped him with the necessary tools to overcome life’s obstacles. Yet, I am satisfied that his love for me as his mother will never go away, and that one day he will get that same wonderful feeling of love when he has children of his own. Yes, June 30, every year, is Mother’s Day for me. It represents the joy of being a mother.
Well friends, with a holiday weekend just around the corner, most are probably looking forward to a little
R & R. Enjoy the holiday. You be safe, and let’s talk again really soon, nite!
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Fifty and Holding: Lessons Learned
Hello friends, I hope that you at least had a restful weekend. I actually went to a birthday party with a friend and her daughters. It was a karaoke birthday party, and it was fun. It was just nice to get out for a change. While there, my friend and I were able to sit and chat a bit. We talked about our lives and just did a little catching up. As we talked, it dawned on me that I really have learned some things over the years. Here is a list of some of those things that came to me when I pondered over my lessons learned.
Good night friends, dream of all that makes you happy. Talk to you soon.
- The first is that everyone can't be your friend, and that's ok, everyone isn't good friend material.
- All is not fair, in love and war or at the shoe sale when you can't find the mate to the shoe that you want.
- Good guys don't always finish first, there's always some bad guy waiting around the corner to trip you up.
- The more people that you know, the more potential that there is for drama.
- Working hard will not always get you ahead, but it will get you a paycheck.
- After 50, each lb that you gain is really actually 5 pounds.
- That skin under your neck is there to stay. ( Gobble, Gobble baby!)
- It's not always hot outside when you're hot inside.
- Yes, that hair turns grey too!
- The heartthrobs of yesterday, are the grandfathers of today.(just ask Billy Dee)
Friday, June 25, 2010
Fifty and Holding: RIP King of Pop
When I heard of his death last year I wrote the following poem as a tribute to this man who was so much a musical part of the lives of many. I hope that it helps you to reflect a moment on the man and his music. Oh btw, I chose the above picture because it represents the Michael Jackson that had just become a man. This is the Michael that we all fell in love with.
Peace, and enjoy your weekend!
One of Many Tributes to Michael Jackson
By Trena Carpenter
I can’t say enough about you Michael,
You seemed like a brother to me.
I danced right along with you and your brothers
We sang to the song ABC.
We all know the Man in the Mirror
No matter if he’s Black or White.
And you know that we’ll always Rock with You
Whenever we go dancing all night.
I’ll Remember the Time when you moonwalked.
How you brandished that one white glove,
No one will ever forget you
Around the world you spread so much love.
Everything you did was a Thriller,
I guess now they’ll Leave You Alone
It’s hard to believe you’re out of my life now,
I just can’t believe that you’re gone.
It’s really a loss to the universe
Around the world there won’t be a dry eye
We won’t stop till we get enough Michael,
And we Never Can Say Goodbye!
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Fifty and Holding:On being 50
Hello friends, I hope that this Wednesday has been good for you. I volunteer at a local hospital for a few hours on Wednesdays; it’s nice to feel needed. You know that I call this blog Fifty and Holding, and I thought that I’d tell you why. If you’ve read my profile you know that I’m actually 52 years old, but 50 was an interesting birthday for me. I found myself beginning to feel an urgency to hold on, to my youth, my sanity, my dreams. So from fifty onward I’ll be holding onto those things that I fear are slowly slipping away, henceforth, Fifty and Holding.
Folks say that age ain’t nothing but a number, maybe it’s true. I don’t really feel that I’m over fifty. One might ask, “How does fifty feel?” I’ll tell you it feels like you have to do everything that you haven’t done thus far, because time is of the essence. OK we all know that life has a beginning and inevitably for everyone there is an end. Yet there is something about being fifty that challenges one’s sense of being. One starts to question the hows and whys of this existence. I personally find myself looking over my life at those things that I should have done differently. I'm wondering how I can make up for the mistakes, the bad decisions, and in some cases, the indecision that thrust me into the bad places that scarred my psyche. “It’s not too late,” “It’s not too late!” that’s what everyone says when I lament about those goals that I have not yet accomplished. Well, perhaps it isn’t too late, but things are different now. I’ll give you an example. I thought that by this time in my life I’d be successful, at something. I thought that I’d have a successful career. I’m jobless now, but when I do get a job that develops into a career, can I work my way to the top, make a name for myself at 62 or 70? It’s not impossible, but I tell you there is a big difference in being a successful 30 year old and a successful 70 year old. Don’t get me wrong, I embrace the good in my life every chance that I get, but I’m just sharing with you those thoughts that come to me in the wee hours of the morning when my neck hurts and I can’t sleep.
Fifty is also a time discovery. I’ve always liked to dance and from time to time I get with friends (my friends are usually younger) and go out. We walk into the club and I look around, everyone looks like Beyonce, and I feel more akin to Della Reese (at least she was Touched by an Angel.) I stand around with my friends trying to be aloof, to appear unconcerned because Lord knows that I don’t want to be pegged as the old woman at the club. You know there are always one or two wearing stilettos and strapless dresses that are too short and too tight. They smile seductively at young men who brush them off. That’s not me, I’m there to dance, hear some good music, and go home. So eventually I’m asked to dance, I oblige, and then it’s on. The music picks me up and I dance like there’s no tomorrow. Gotta slow it down, are songs longer nowadays or what? I dance up a sweat, songs over, we smile and part ways. OH Lord, I’m looking around to see if my friends notice how out of breath I am. All the while I’m praying “Please Lord don’t let me have a heart attack and die up here in the club!” While I was dancing I thought I was the bomb, hanging with the younger folks, doing the damn thing. Standing on the wall recuperating from my workout , I noticed another sister on the dance floor, she looked to be around my age. Girlfriend was tearing it up sweating and dancing; I’m sure she thought that she too was da bomb. Then I thought did I look like that? She was dancing alright, but it looked like she was moving in slow motion. Sometimes the body just doesn’t do what the mind tells it to. I had just discovered that I’m a little too old and outta shape to attempt to drop it like it’s hot. It's lukewarm at best, if not downright cold. I moved slowly away from the dance floor bought me a bottled water to go, and set out for home. No one would be expecting Beyonce there. Bed and my pillow would suffice for the night. Maybe I’ll try it again another time.
Well, friends I hope that I haven’t bored you with my musings. I’m just trying to tell you how it is for me. If you’ve not yet reached 50, don’t be scured (yes I said scured) you’ll still be you. It’s not bad, but things do change. Please feel free to comment or share, let me know that you’re feeling me, or not…Share the link to my blog with friends and family. Nite, Nite.
Folks say that age ain’t nothing but a number, maybe it’s true. I don’t really feel that I’m over fifty. One might ask, “How does fifty feel?” I’ll tell you it feels like you have to do everything that you haven’t done thus far, because time is of the essence. OK we all know that life has a beginning and inevitably for everyone there is an end. Yet there is something about being fifty that challenges one’s sense of being. One starts to question the hows and whys of this existence. I personally find myself looking over my life at those things that I should have done differently. I'm wondering how I can make up for the mistakes, the bad decisions, and in some cases, the indecision that thrust me into the bad places that scarred my psyche. “It’s not too late,” “It’s not too late!” that’s what everyone says when I lament about those goals that I have not yet accomplished. Well, perhaps it isn’t too late, but things are different now. I’ll give you an example. I thought that by this time in my life I’d be successful, at something. I thought that I’d have a successful career. I’m jobless now, but when I do get a job that develops into a career, can I work my way to the top, make a name for myself at 62 or 70? It’s not impossible, but I tell you there is a big difference in being a successful 30 year old and a successful 70 year old. Don’t get me wrong, I embrace the good in my life every chance that I get, but I’m just sharing with you those thoughts that come to me in the wee hours of the morning when my neck hurts and I can’t sleep.
Fifty is also a time discovery. I’ve always liked to dance and from time to time I get with friends (my friends are usually younger) and go out. We walk into the club and I look around, everyone looks like Beyonce, and I feel more akin to Della Reese (at least she was Touched by an Angel.) I stand around with my friends trying to be aloof, to appear unconcerned because Lord knows that I don’t want to be pegged as the old woman at the club. You know there are always one or two wearing stilettos and strapless dresses that are too short and too tight. They smile seductively at young men who brush them off. That’s not me, I’m there to dance, hear some good music, and go home. So eventually I’m asked to dance, I oblige, and then it’s on. The music picks me up and I dance like there’s no tomorrow. Gotta slow it down, are songs longer nowadays or what? I dance up a sweat, songs over, we smile and part ways. OH Lord, I’m looking around to see if my friends notice how out of breath I am. All the while I’m praying “Please Lord don’t let me have a heart attack and die up here in the club!” While I was dancing I thought I was the bomb, hanging with the younger folks, doing the damn thing. Standing on the wall recuperating from my workout , I noticed another sister on the dance floor, she looked to be around my age. Girlfriend was tearing it up sweating and dancing; I’m sure she thought that she too was da bomb. Then I thought did I look like that? She was dancing alright, but it looked like she was moving in slow motion. Sometimes the body just doesn’t do what the mind tells it to. I had just discovered that I’m a little too old and outta shape to attempt to drop it like it’s hot. It's lukewarm at best, if not downright cold. I moved slowly away from the dance floor bought me a bottled water to go, and set out for home. No one would be expecting Beyonce there. Bed and my pillow would suffice for the night. Maybe I’ll try it again another time.
Well, friends I hope that I haven’t bored you with my musings. I’m just trying to tell you how it is for me. If you’ve not yet reached 50, don’t be scured (yes I said scured) you’ll still be you. It’s not bad, but things do change. Please feel free to comment or share, let me know that you’re feeling me, or not…Share the link to my blog with friends and family. Nite, Nite.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Fifty and Holding:With No Job
Hellooo is anybody out there? It's me again. Today has been quite uneventful. I worked on getting the blog page up to par. It's coming along nicely, don't you think? Did I mention that I'm unemployed? Well I am, and have been for quite a while. I truly do believe that part of the problem is my age. I know that age discrimination is against the law, but it really does exist. It's a nasty little Human Resources secret that no one can prove. I'm over fifty, that's kinda hard to say out loud. Wow, and it does matter. Anyway back to having no job. You know I have done most of what the so called "experts" have suggested. I've networked, joined organizations, changed resumes, participated in groups for the unemployed, attended job fairs, volunteered. You name it and I've probably done it. I watch Good Morning America and good ole Tory Johnson, the job guru, has lots of advise that hasn't done me a bit of good. Perhaps I should start my own business. With bad credit and no job surely I can get a small business loan...Yeah right. Then there's that retraining suggestion. I completed my BS about three years ago so as to be more competitive in the job market. And now folks are talking about going back to school for retraining. I have years of experience , I have my degree, experience, reliability and I'm very computer savvy. Yet some of the rejection letters that I've received say that I have only met the minimum qualifications for an Admin Assistant., but there were those better qualified. Today I passed some men on the street taking a lunch break, they looked tired and hot and for a minute, I almost felt sorry for them. Then I remembered , they have jobs.
I do want to work, and I'm trying not to take a job just to have one. At this stage in my life it is very important to have a career that is meaningful. OK, I know that in 97 degree weather it is meaningful to keep the air conditioner running. But, I don't think I'm asking for much. The job market is bad, but I see that there are jobs out there. Folks are getting hired. Who do I need to know? In my quest to network I've spoken with people who could perhaps point me in the right direction, perhaps even get me an interview. They are always sympathetic, but never truly helpful. I'm not asking anyone to give me a job, I just want an interview. Everyday is the same, when I return from running errands or volunteering I check my phone for messages. I can tell you this for sure, bill collectors always leave messages 1,2,3,maybe even 5 or 6. For what it's worth, they are at least consistent. Bill collectors call everyday, even on Sunday... Perhaps my lack of employment will drive me to discover something worth millions, or to write a best seller. I know, I'll check my pockets for a little change. If I can find a dollar I can buy a lottery ticket...Anyhoo cya tomorrow. Maybe I'll get a call for an interview in between the bill collector calls.....I'm still hopeful.
I do want to work, and I'm trying not to take a job just to have one. At this stage in my life it is very important to have a career that is meaningful. OK, I know that in 97 degree weather it is meaningful to keep the air conditioner running. But, I don't think I'm asking for much. The job market is bad, but I see that there are jobs out there. Folks are getting hired. Who do I need to know? In my quest to network I've spoken with people who could perhaps point me in the right direction, perhaps even get me an interview. They are always sympathetic, but never truly helpful. I'm not asking anyone to give me a job, I just want an interview. Everyday is the same, when I return from running errands or volunteering I check my phone for messages. I can tell you this for sure, bill collectors always leave messages 1,2,3,maybe even 5 or 6. For what it's worth, they are at least consistent. Bill collectors call everyday, even on Sunday... Perhaps my lack of employment will drive me to discover something worth millions, or to write a best seller. I know, I'll check my pockets for a little change. If I can find a dollar I can buy a lottery ticket...Anyhoo cya tomorrow. Maybe I'll get a call for an interview in between the bill collector calls.....I'm still hopeful.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Welcome to Fifty and Holding
First a little bit about me. I'm a 52 year old married woman. I have one 28 year old son. I've been married for a very long time. I've never divorced. Both of my parents are still alive. I have two sisters,and some very good friends. I've decided to write this blog for those of you out there who are like me. Sometimes I really just have no idea what to do. Women our age have so much to deal with: menopause, mental pause, lack of energy, lack of desire, unemployment, illness, weight issues,loneliness...whew! I thought it would be nice to create a place where we can share. Sometimes you just want to know that you're not alone in your trials and tribulations. Here at Fifty and Holding it's all about sharing, and caring. Maybe we can help each other through tough times, or just share good ones. I hope you'll enjoy it here. Until next time..remember you're not the only one feelin the way you're feelin. Talk to ya soon!
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