Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Remember some of the 'games' we use to play?
As a kid, I always thought that I really liked this game...you know...the one where YOU always cried "Uncle!"
However, as an adult, I believe I have changed my mind...
The game involved pretending that something didn't hurt when in reality it really, really did.
And over the years I became really, really good at that game.
I was really good at the "Uncle" game.
Deny pain. Show no fear. Hold back the tears. Stand firm. Do not wince (not even a little). And NEVER let the word "uncle" escape from your lips!
I was also really good at the game because I could pack a solid & effective whallop in return. (of all things to be proud of...)
I have learned the hard way that surrender (admitting, submitting, committing) is a necessary part of my (sane) life. The journey to this realization was long & hard (and filled with stupidity)
Rosebud, you were far better and quicker than I at crying out, "uncle" and I believe you are a far better person because of it.
The exact origin of "say uncle" or "cry uncle," an American invention first appearing in written English around 1918, is unclear, but there are, as usual, some interesting theories. One theory posits that "uncle" is actually a mangled form of the Irish word "anacol," meaning "protection" or "safety," making a demand from an aggressor to "cry uncle" is really a "cry for help" a signal of surrender. An admission of helplessness and a plea for mercy.
So here goes peeps...
I'm gonna say it...
Are you listening?
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
I am so sorry for that day spent at Hawk Creek.
There were Four kids~
One kid--just wanting to fit in.
The Rosebud. The Clodhopper*. The Stevie B*. The Mikey G*.
*Denotes a NAUGHTY kid
Sorry for tossing those stinky eggs at you. (Okay, it was more like "whipping" them at you) & smirking when they exploded at your feet (and in your hair and on your clothes...)
I am sorry for what I did to you in effort to impress a couple of jerk Jr. High guys.
(One of which later broke up with me on prom night!...what a pecker!)
Anyway, I am glad they have moved on and it is you that remain.
Please consider this a public and most sincerest of apologies.
I am sorry.Penitently,
I humbly ask for your forgiveness.
I promise to NEVER, EVER toss rotten eggs at you again.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
On that evening the car sat in the driveway under the yard light. The weather was coolish and it was dark outside.
The family (the Dad, the Mom, the Rosebud & myself) was on its way to a destination (I'm not sure where) that required the use of the auto...
Let me share just a smidge of history before I go any further with my story. The Rosebud, approximately age four, consistently demonstrated mischevious behavior. She was giggly, fun, chatty & fast... A bright eyed and determined lass, alway the first to SCOOT to the car, DIVE into the drivers door, SHIMMY across the bench seat and SLAM her little fist onto the door lock. Effectively locking the Mom out of the car. Oh, she would laugh...(the Rosebud NOT the Mom). It was such great, great fun! And she did this over, over, over & over again...
Back to the story... The final episode of Rosbud's last 'Dive, Shimmy, Slam'...
So here is how it went down. The Rosebud DOVE into the driver's side door, SHIMMIED across the seat and was about to SLAM her little fist...when the passenger side door flew open. The momentum of her "diveshimmy" carried her out & through...landing at the Mom's feet. Her eye's wide ~ crying tears. Her mouth wide ~ spitting gravel.
As she cried & spit she acquired a new nickname:
"Speedy the Gravel Eater".
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
There once was a young girl named Clodhopper who lived under the great Cottonwood tree with her little sister. Her name? It was Rosebud.
They were a fine set of siblings. The one large, soft and shy--the other small, giggly with mischief in the eye.
They slept in the same bed--one now displays a distinct divot on the tip of her chinny-chin-chin.
A battle wound. Sheet wrestling. I know I WOULD definitely still win.
They dined at the same table. Partook of what fed.
They were sneaky. The promise of sweetness, always lie straight ahead!
They stole from the kitchen.
Crept slowly. Then ran.
Climbed high and then higher.
Found the dessert (de-zert) heaven.
In a green leafy green tree sky.
There they feasted on lemon.
Slicked small sticky fingers & smacked sugar sweet lips.
It was there in that heaven--they fought, laughed, talked, screamed and fought just a bit more.
In that tree sky, one sister squatted.
Bared her youth bottom.
The other? She just nodded...
"Look-out below! Heads-up it's raining!"
And we smiled. Knowing it was wrong.
And we smiled. Knowing it was naughty.
And we smiled. Knowing we will always and forever...
Love green trees & sunshine and the flavor of lemon.
This is story #1 of a series called, The Adventures of Clodhopper & Rosebud
Caryn, you may want to reconsider your request...
Sunday, September 5, 2010
I have never seen a greater monster
Have you ever had a life experience that is just too painful to talk about? An event that you throw into the back of the mustiest and dustiest of closets and you gently, yet firmly close that door...forever
Oh, don't get me wrong, I think about the closet and its contents on a daily bases. I often reach out toward the knob as if to open it and then I quickly withdraw my hand and I think, "No, not today...today is not a good day...I don't have the energy...it is still so shameful...and besides, I still can't find the words for what happened that horrible day..."
The contents of this closet have only been discussed in the presence of:
- The Hubby
- The Therapist
- The Pastor
- The BFF
Well, today is my 46 Birthday...and I recieved the best(est) Birthday gift EVER!
I recieved WORDS...
Oh, granted these WORDS made me cry...
However, these WORDS slipped inside the sacred closet... subdued shame...and sent peace...
I have been slowly learning that healing for me begins as the WORDS begin to form--because the secrets will keep you sick...
"Thank-you Abba for this experience called life"
"Thank-you BFF for obediently using your gift"
Thursday, September 2, 2010
I am a nurse.
Sometimes I hate being a nurse.
Sometimes I even hate nurses.
I am feeling ambivilent about my chosen profession.
Even a little quesy.
In 21 years as a Registered Nurse I have only ONE distinct memory of regretting my career choice because a nurse-patient interaction. (a patient was verbally critical & sarcastic)
In 21 years as a Registered Nurse I have COUNTLESS recollections of regretting my career choice because of nurse-nurse interactions.
This phenomena is called 'lateral violence'.
If you still don't believe me here is another really good article.
I am tired.
I am in need of perspective.
I am in need of serenity.
I am in need of wisdom.
I am in need of ....
A NEW JOB!!!!
Dedicated to KF... you make me smile...