Everything you always wanted to know about nothing

I was trying to daydream, but my mind kept wandering.

~Steven Wright~

I've been trying to come up with a topic for a blog for a few days but my mind seems to be a total blank.  Well, okay, maybe not a TOTAL blank but you get my point.  There seems to be a lot of 'what if' and 'why' questions in my head but no filler, so to speak, to go with them.

I think that one of my problems is that I've got two projects going and my mind wanders from one to the other.  I want to get them both done - NOW - and it's just not happening.  Have I ever mentioned that I'm totally into instant gratification and that I hate that about myself?

One of my projects involves writing poetry and it's turned out to be more of a challenge than I expected.  Putting sentences together with words that rhyme at the end isn't so tough.  but what I'm trying to do is personalize poems about people I don't know and that's not all that easy.  Still, it's quite satisfying when I do get one finished.

The other project I'm working on is a surprise for my family so I won't talk about that one except to say that it's easier (for me, anyway) than the poetry.

And then there's my genealogy research.  I'm banging my head against brick wall after brick wall and just don't understand why all of my ancestors didn't know that I'd be looking for them and leave me some kind of paper trail to use in finding them.  They are all SO going to get a piece of my mind when I get to the other side.

So, there ya go.  Guess I'll see if I can get more focused and... Wow! I just wrote a blog about why I haven't been able to write a blog.  Man, I'm good :^)

Being this fat sucks

I'm not overweight. I'm just nine inches too short.
~Shelley Winters~

So I'm getting dressed this morning and did okay until it came time to pick out a top.  Nothing fit me like I thought it should.  Everything, it seemed, not only accentuated but actually showed off my loaf of bread (we passed 'muffin top' a LONG time ago!).   I'd put on a top, check it in my full length mirror and take it off.  Finally, I sighed and said to myself "being this fat sucks".  Talk about an 'aha' moment!  How ironic that the biggest wish I have is in my own power to grant yet I just keep wishing instead of making it happen.

If only I were one of those people who could go on one of those diets where you get full on less food and stay full longer.  Unfortunately, for me, eating has nothing to do with being hungry.  I eat when I'm bored or hurt or sad or happy or have something to celebrate.  Simply put, I like food.  Period.  Plain and simple - and I have a hard time denying myself that which I like.

So, now that I've admitted it to myself and said it out loud, what's next?  Am I going to spend the rest of my life wanting and wishing or am I going to actually take action to do something about it?  The thing is, I like healthy food that's low in calories and fat as much as I do the not-so-healthy stuff.  The problem is, the healthy foods aren't filling to me so I eat them WITH the unhealthy foods.  Kinda defeats the purpose, doesn't it?

Despite what the medical professional's charts say, I'm not what I would call obese - no, that's for people who are sloppy fat and weigh 300 lbs - I haven't even hit 200 - yet, anyway.  Today I said out loud that I'm fat and probably really heard it for the first time.  I don't ever want to look at myself in the mirror and say 'being this obese sucks'.

Even more than that, being fat (do I HAVE to keep using that word???) is affecting my health.  I take high blood pressure and cholesterol medication and my doc keeps telling me I'm pre-diabetic.  I do NOT want to be a diabetic.  I have arthritis all over my body but it hurts most in my knees and hips - of course - you'd hurt too if you were carrying a baby elephant around all day!

So, if it's true what they say about today being the first day of the rest of your life, I guess I need to make a decision to grant my own wish and then do whatever I need to do to make it come true.  Cause, ya know, being this fat sucks.

It's for the rest of your life

Tattoos are permanent and a lifelong commitment, the same as marriage.
~Chester Bennington~

I was out shopping this morning and ran into a young lady who looked to be in her early 20's.  I really didn't pay her much mind at first but my brother who was with me did.  "Did that hurt?" I heard him ask her and turned to see what he was talking about.  She had a tattoo on the back of her hand that traveled up her wrist and part way up her lower arm.   The young lady replied that it didn't really hurt but she sure regretted having gotten it - and several others she had.

First, let me say that I don't like tattoos at all.  I don't care how pretty the artwork is or how skilled the artist is at making them look real.  I don't like them, have never liked them and will never like them.  Having said that, I don't judge anyone who has tattoos - in fact, both of my sons have tattoos and I love them dearly - the sons, not the tattoos.  I also know that they are good, decent and honorable men so I never assume that anyone with tattoos is less than that because of their tats.

Getting back to the young lady - when she made her comment about regrets, I simply said "it's nice to hear someone admit that".  She then touched her head that was recently shaved and said she also regretted coloring her hair because it was falling out from the chemicals.  I have to admit, she looked good with her hair shaved and told her that.  Then she pointed to her baby daughter sitting in a stroller and said "I hope she learns from my mistakes".

I've thought about her almost constantly since we parted.  I had a strong feeling that I wanted to help this girl but didn't know how.  I still don't but I can't seem to get her off my mind.  I wish we'd have exchanged names or something but it really didn't seem appropriate.  I'm a strong believer in Divine Intervention and am positive that if God gave me those feelings, then He will bring us together again and guide me to helping her.

Of course, maybe it's just that I had a maternal instinct since she was young enough to be my daughter.  Her mannerisms and quiet acceptance of her past actions impressed me, I think.  She didn't make excuses or blame someone or some thing else.  She owned her past actions and seemingly is prepared to offer herself up as an example to her daughter.

I don't know what anyone else might think, but I'm thinking that little girl has a pretty good mom.

I approve this message

“Bad politicians are sent to Washington by good people who don't vote.”
~William E. Simon~

At this point, I'd say it's a pretty safe bet that Barack Obama and Mitt Romney will be facing each other in the November presidential election.  That said, can't they wait until they're actually officially nominated before the campaign ads start???  I'm speaking strictly about TV commercials here.  I know - that's not realistic but even so, it's a thought.  We all know it's going to be a choice between the two men mentioned above and, honestly, I DO understand why they get started early but can't they put the TV ads off just a little?  I'm already sick to death of hearing "My name is [fill in the blank] and I approve this message" - and it's only June!

I guess campaigning is a necessary evil but it seems that it could be done with class, decorum and respect rather than the constant barrage of negativity we get on a daily (dare I say 'hourly'?) basis.  That word "constant" begs another question - do we really need to see the same campaign commercials over and over and over and over in the same day just to wake up the next day and start them over again?  Do they really think those ads are going to sway voters?  Yeah, they probably do and actually, some voters ARE probably swayed by them.

Maybe if the candidates stuck mainly to issues and what they would do for our country, I wouldn't mind so much.  Instead, they will begin telling us not why we should vote for them but why we shouldn't vote for the other candidate.  Seriously?  They're offering themselves up as the lesser of two evils?  And we wonder why that's what elections become about - choosing the lesser of two evils.  The candidates themselves have dictated it!

One of the things that gets my goat the most is why Candidate A insists on calling Candidate B a liar because he now supports an issue that he voted against in Congress ten years ago.  Really?  It's not possible that circumstances may have changed since then or he just changed his opinion on an issue?

I know that many - probably most - Americans don't know what their elected officials do or how they vote on issues when they're in office but I resent that an opponent of any given candidate thinks it's his responsibility to inform me of downfalls of the other candidate.  Not only that, but they expect me to believe them without question.  Seriously?  You know what I think is kind of ironic in this whole negative campaigning thing?  I always think less of the candidate slinging mud than I do of the one being muddied - does that make sense?

No matter what the campaigns would have me believe or how negative they might get, I will go to the polls in November and cast my one lowly vote with a clean conscience.  Wouldn't it be nice if the candidates ran for the office the same way?

Daddies, daughters and experiencing life

Life is a series of experiences, each one of which makes us bigger, even though it is hard to realize this. For the world was built to develop character, and we must learn that the setbacks and griefs which we endure help us in our marching onward.

~Henry Ford~

 

Sometimes I think about my life and wonder why certain things did or didn't happen to me.  I spent a lot of time during my childhood comparing my life to that of my friends.  I wondered why I didn't have parents like theirs or why they were popular in school and I wasn't.  Why did I have to be the child of divorce who never knew her dad?  Why did I have a step-dad who didn't know how to be a dad? Why were we poor sometimes and not so poor others?  Why did we have to move all the time?  What would my life have been like if things had been different?

During my youth - most especially my teen years - I wanted to be different.  I wanted to experience the same things that those who I considered "normal" experienced.  I wanted to live in one place forever and take really cool vacations in the summer.  I wanted to be involved in all kinds of extra-curricular activities in school as well as making the honor roll every grading period.  I wanted to have the same best friend from first grade through college.  We'd be each other's maids of honor at our weddings.  We'd live next door to each other and our children (and husbands) would be best friends.  Even our grandchildren would get to know each other.  Obviously, that didn't happen.

But the biggest thing I wanted different in my life was to know my dad - my "real" dad as I would always call him.  He left a void in my heart that I didn't think would ever be filled.  This one thing - my dream - would eventually happen and it did help close that void.

When I was 33, he found me.  HE found ME.  That very statement in and of itself made a huge impact.  It served to let me know that he had never forgotten me.  We met a couple weeks after our first phone conversation and it was like I was in another world.  THIS is the kind of stuff that happens to other people - not to someone like me.  My "real" dad was a part of my life after that until he died.

My brothers never showed much of an interest in meeting our dad but they eventually formed a relationship with him as well.  He would come visit us about one weekend a month and would take us, our spouses and children out for a big meal.  He said he owed us so much that one meal a month wouldn't make a dent in that debt.

When my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer, he called me and told me himself.  He made it sound like it was a minor issue and asked me to let my brothers know.  That was the last time I ever talked to him.

Since that first meeting, I wondered (again!) what my life would have been like had he stayed around and raised me and my brothers.  I've since decided that it probably would have been worse in some ways and better in others.

My childhood wasn't all that great but it wasn't the worse I could have had either.  I think I used to blame my childhood for a lot of things but after spending time with my dad I learned two things - first, there comes a time in your life when you have to quit blaming your childhood and take responsibility for your adulthood.  What happened in your past happened.  It can't be erased or changed nor can it every really be forgotten but you CAN put it behind you and not let it control your life anymore.

The second thing I learned was that what happens in our lives happens the way it's supposed to happen.  We are the sum of all of our experinces and those experiences - good and bad - eventually mold us into the person we eventually become.  The trick - and I consider this one a biggie for me - is to accept who you are and learn to love yourself.

I've decided that I'm ok just the way I am and I like the person I've become.  Without my life experiences I'd probably be someone else and I can't imagine I'd like her very much so I'm pretty happy with the way things have turned out.

This lesson is one that I'm constantly learning and have come to realize most of it in the last few years.  I guess I'm fortunate.  So many people never learn this lesson.  Thank you, God.

Digging up dead people

"If you don't recount your family history, it will be lost. Honor your own stories and tell them too. The tales may not seem very important, but they are what binds families and makes each of us who we are."

~Madeleine L'Engle~

I've mentioned one of my passions a few blogs ago - remembering and honoring police officers who were killed in the line of duty.  My other passion is tracing my ancestral roots or, as I jokingly call it, 'digging up dead people'.  I saw a saying on a website once that kind of nailed it for me.  I don't remember the exact wording but it was something like "those who don't remember their ancestors don't deserve to be remembered by their descendants".  Maybe ancestry is my way of achieving immortality.  Who knows?

Anyway, I've had an interest in my ancestry for as long as I can remember.  A couple of years ago, I was going through an old address book of mine and found a forty-year old note that I had put away for future reference.  I remembered asking my grandparents about their grandparents and wrote down what they had told me.  I had long since forgotten the note and had discovered the information on my own but it served to remind me how long I've been interested.  I put the note away to find another day.

In the beginning, all I wanted to know was names, dates of birth, marriage and death and who their parents were.  I didn't care about the dreary details of their lives or how many siblings they may have had.  I didn't care if they were rich or poor, if they fought in any wars or if they were leaders or scoundrels.  Oh how simple it was way back then!

I have traced all of my lines to the Civil War and several I have traced to the 1600's.  When I first learned that my ancestors were here that early, I discovered a new 'need to know' - I needed to know where they came from.  In the process, I also learned that there really IS something about sharing DNA - I feel a connection, a kinship, to my ancestors that surprised me.  I've received photos of some of my ancestors from others (distant cousins?) who are researching the same lines and have been more than a little surprised at how many of my close living relatives I can see in the faces of those who came before.

One of the things I learned was that no piece of information was too small to be important or overlooked.  I began learning about the lives of my ancestors.  In the earliest of my lines, I found plantation owners who grew tobacco and used indentured servants to work the land.  I found farmers, fishermen and oystermen.

I have a third great-grandfather who I lovingly refer to as a horny old geezer.  He and my third great-grandmother had seven children before she died.  Four short months after her death, he married again - this time his wife was the same age as his second daughter and, in fact, was the sister of that daughter's husband.  Grampa and wife number two had eleven children - at least two of them born when Grampa was in his eighties.

Another ancestor - a collateral ancestor, really (an uncle or cousin of a direct ancestor) was tried for treason during the Revolutionary War.  Apparently, he supported the British and helped them by blowing up his neighbor's ships that were docked in the harbor.

With the help of my oldest son, I (well, HE) found the location of the unmarked grave of another third great-grandfather who died during the Civil War.  This grandfather was wounded at Manassas and it was that wound that eventually led to his death.  After discovering the grave, I was able to have a tombstone placed on his grave and, with the help of the Sons of Confederate Veterans, organized a ceremony to honor this grandfather. I even wrote and gave an eulogy for my ancestor.

I was told by an uncle about an ancestor who was kicked out of Germany "under scandal" - why he was in Germany is a mystery to me because that family was in America long before he was kicked out of Germany.  I'm also curious about that 'scandal'.  It seems that the more I learn, the less I know.

Tracing my roots isn't just about dead people.  I've met several cousins - some removed, some not - who have become near and dear to me.  That in and of itself has made the entire journey worth it.

And Grandma too!

"When I'd do something bad, my conscience would say, 'What would Grandma think?' ... She taught me the good side, to act right, be polite."

~Victor Thompson~

Yesterday my fingers had Grandpa on my mind, today they naturally transitioned to Grandma.  Imagine that!  Those who had the misfortune of not knowing my grandmother have my eternal sympathy.

Grandma was special to me in a way that was totally different than Grandpa.  I grew up without a father until I was nine.  My grandpa filled that "daddy-void" and for the entire rest of his life he was my father figure - actually he still is.  I had a step-father but that "father-daughter" bond was already sealed with Grandpa by the time step-dad came around.

But Grandma, oh Grandma!  She taught me so much about all kinds of things.  She and my mother's two sisters were the biggest female influences in my life.  I loved my mother and mean her no disrespect but my grandmother and aunts were my mother figures.  Don't get me wrong - my mother taught me a lot of things too but they were different things and really had little to do with how I felt and what I wanted to do with my life.

I remember the preacher saying at Grandma's funeral that he'd never met a more humble person.  I've thought about that over the years and have come to the realization that he was spot on.  Grandma WAS humble.  She was a simple woman who believed in always doing the right thing.  Two of her favorite sayings were "Right's right and right don't wrong anybody" and "Tell the truth and shame the devil".

Grandma was one of those rare people who was satisfied with what she had.  I'm not saying she never wished for more, but if she did, she apparently kept it to herself - at least she never told me.  She thanked God everyday that she had everything she needed and would willingly share everything with those she loved.

I spent a lot of time with my grandparents off and on through the years and learned some of life's most important lessons from them.  Grandma made sure I knew it was important to keep God in my life and to honor Him always.  Of everything she taught me - and she taught me much - I consider this most important.

Grandma was also a strict disciplinarian.  When she told you to behave, you best behave.  She was quick with a good whipping if the situation called for it - and it often did.  She only told you once to behave - there was none of this "I'm going to count to 3" nonsense with her.  You got one chance and then you suffered the consequences.  Sometimes grandchildren got a second chance but no one got a third chance.

I miss Grandma all the time but I think I miss her most during holidays and family events.  Nobody in the family can cook exactly like she did (though some of us try really hard).  A common question when we're all together is "how did grandma/mama make such-and-such?"

It's been 15 years since we lost Grandma and she's still influencing us - well, me anyway.  What an awesome legacy to leave!  Thank you, Grandma.  I love you and I miss you.

Remembering Grandpa

Grieve not, nor speak of me with tears, but laugh and talk of me as if I were beside you there.

~Isla Paschal Richardson~

My Grandparents with their five children on their 50th wedding anniversary just two weeks before my grandfather passed away.

When I was very young - probably too young to understand - I had a couple of great-uncles die.  I have vague memories of their funerals and, frankly, little more than that of them.  I have scant memories of one set of my great-grandparents but don't remember anything about their passing.  When I was 16, I lost a good friend who had had a seizure in the middle of the night and died.  But then IT happened - on the 18th of May 1980, the person I loved most in the entire world died. Even though I was grown and married with children, I felt like a little girl again. My beloved grandfather was gone.  I consider it to be my first real experience with death.

It was a weird experience at first - surreal.  Everyone around me was grieving and crying and whispering.  I went to my uncle's house because my grandmother was there.  The people from the funeral home came and talked to her, my mother and my uncle about my grandfather's services.  There were several people there - all relatives I'm sure - but I only remember my grandmother, mother and uncle.

My moods went from sadness to excitement over seeing so many relatives until the reality hit me.  I remember walking into the funeral home to see my grandfather for the first time.  I was smiling and talking gleefully about something as I walked in.  Then I turned my head and saw the casket.  I don't know what kind of look I had on my face, but I felt frozen.  I reached for my husband's hand and grasped it firmly.  He walked with me to the casket and as soon as I laid eyes on my grandpa, I lost whatever control I thought I had.  He was really dead.

My moods flip-flopped back and forth many times over the next few days.  As long as I could go see Grandpa resting peacefully, I was okay.  Then, the day of the funeral.  I knew this would be the last time I would be able to look at my grandpa again.

The family ushered by the casket, each saying our personal and private good-byes to this wonderful man.  I sat in the family section next to my dad with my two sons.  My husband was a pall bearer and was sitting with them.

Someone came and closed the blinds so the family could no longer see the casket.  I asked my dad why they did that - I couldn't see the casket from where I was sitting but I wanted to watch the funeral!  I don't think he heard me because he didn't answer.  After a few minutes, the blinds were opened and I figured the funeral home staff had gotten the message.

When the funeral was over, another wave of reality hit me.  I started crying and begging my dad to not let them close the casket.  It was months later when I learned that that's exactly what they did when they closed the blinds.

Thirty-two years later and I still remember it like it was yesterday.  I've lost other family members who I loved deeply since then but I've never had another experience like that. Maybe I became an experienced 'funeral-attendee' after my grandfather passed away.  The last person I lost was my mother two years ago and her passing is the closest I've experienced that was like Grandpa's.  For reasons I'll keep private for now, I think that was one of the biggest surprises of my life.

This wasn't where I wanted to go with this blog but I started typing and it's where my fingers took me.  Perhaps tomorrow I'll draw a new map for my fingers - one that takes them where I want to go.

Don't worry - Be happy!

The only disability in life is a bad attitude.

~Scott Hamilton~

Have you ever noticed how some people seem to go through life in a permanent bad mood? You hear (or maybe even make) comments like “who put a burr up his butt?” but do you ever wonder WHY they always seem so unhappy? I do. I always wonder what happened in their lives that caused them to lose the joy of life. Or maybe some people find joy in being angry.

 

I’m not talking about a chance encounter with a stranger - maybe they’re just having a bad day - but those people we see on a regular basis – a neighbor, co-worker or parent of one of our children’s friends – who are seemingly always ticked off must have a reason for their dour moods – mustn’t they? Is it possible that some people are born with a bad mood?

 

Maybe it’s their personality and not their mood. I have known a lot of negative people in my lifetime and, frankly, I don’t like being around them. Negativity is like a cancer that eats away at everything that’s good in your life. The only way to cure it is to remove it. It’s like they make a concerted effort to find all the bad in this world and then hold it up like a trophy as if to say “see? I was right!” It reminds me of the hypochondriac's tombstone that reads “I told you I was sick!” Now, I’m not saying that all people with negative personalities are always in a bad mood but it seems to me that they’re in bad moods more often than not.

 

Personally, I don’t see the attraction. I’m happy about 99% of the time. I look for the good in any situation and on those rare occasions when I can’t find it, I don’t let it get me down. I mean, really, Guys – who goes through life without some bad things happening? No one – just as no one goes through life without some good things happening.  I’ve heard that some studies have shown that happy people live longer than those who constantly dwell on the negative. Well, that’s a no-brainer – or should be.

 

Many years ago when I was still a young married with little ones underfoot and life was financially hard, my husband and I took advantage of an offer to visit a buying club. Our ticket was guaranteed to win anywhere from $5 to $500. Of course, we won the $5 – as, I’m sure, did most people. I remember my husband saying “figgers! We never win anything”. I replied that we’d just won five dollars and that even though we never won the big bucks, we always seemed to have the good fortune to get the “little” bucks when we needed a loaf of bread or carton of milk. He had to agree that I was right.

 

So, be like the music - don't worry, be happy and open up your heart and let the sunshine in.  Life is good even when it's hard.

Thunder only happens when it's raining

“What need I fear of thee? But yet I'll make assurance double sure, and take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live; That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, And sleep in spite of thunder”
~William Shakespeare~

A hundred years ago when I was a child, last night would have been unbearable. I can remember lying in my bed at night, rain pounding, lightning flashing and thunder roaring. I would pull the covers up over my head, shut my eyes as tight as I could and beg God to please let it be over. Now that I’m older and wiser, I have found a certain calm in that which used to terrify me. It was sort of like the beginning of a cheesy mystery story that always seems to start out with “it was a dark and stormy night” – and yes, last night it was.

It’s funny how we change as we grow up and continue to change as we get older. Lying in bed last night, rain falling as if it had weights attached and the thunder making its presence known every few minutes was more like listening to a sweet lullaby. I almost didn’t want to go to sleep but I lost that battle. Soundly.

I don’t know when – or why – I stopped being terrified during thunderstorms. Maybe it’s when I quit believing in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, who knows? I do know that I’m glad when there’s a thunderstorm during the night. As much as I’ve complained lately about how “this gettin’ old stuff sucks” maybe I’ve found something good that comes with aging – or maybe it’s not aging as much as it is maturing. Now wouldn’t that be a kick in the head if I’ve finally matured after all these years!

A new passion?

Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.

~Thomas Gray~

I’ve applied for my first copyright. I’m not really sure what I expect from that except that I recently wrote a poem and I was – am – really proud of that poem. It’s not the first thing I’ve ever written but this time, it felt different. I don’t want someone else sharing my poem with people they know who then share it with people they know who then... well, you get the picture.

I don’t mind sharing – in fact, I’ve shared the poem with several people who are close to me. They all tell me it’s really good. I WANT to share the poem with everyone but this time, I want it known that I wrote it. I don’t want someone else taking credit for something that came from my heart. This feeling of wanting credit is new to me. I have always believed that it doesn’t really matter who knows what good we do as long as we know and God knows. Anything more than that is gravy.

Now what? Should I write more poetry and then publish a book of poetry - assuming, of course that some publisher would be willing to take that on? More than that, do I really have it in me to write more poems that will give me the same sense of pride and accomplishment as that one? I’ve written a couple of short stories too – do I continue with that? Have I found another passion or have I finally decided what I want to be when I grow up? Well, it’s about time! It only took 60 years!

I’m not sure why I blogged about this but, to me, it’s exciting. It’s one of those things that “other” people do. In my mind, it gives me more substance, makes me multi-faceted - dimensional. Does that sound uppity? I don’t know. I still feel like me just a more interesting me. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.