The Heart of the House

 

            This blog  is a copy of the descriptive essay assignment  for my English 101 class. The assignment was to write a story from your life about your favorite place, season or vacation.  It seemed cheesy, and sentimental, but my story was about my bed.  I expected a good grade, but  I was wholly unprepared for the 100A++.  I was even more unprepared by  the note she had written underneath my grade. " This is the best descriptive essay I have read in my 11 years of teaching."  I am humbled. Not only by the note, but by the response of my friends and family that wanted to read my essay after  I posted a picture of the note on FaceBook.   Thank you. I love you.

  

                                    

                                        The Heart Of The House

 

     Most of our weekend mornings start the same way. Sunshine streams into a window, bathing the room in yellow light. I am rousing from the cocoon of blankets. The sound of snoring greets my ears. But it is not the snoring that wakes me, it is a giggle. These morning sounds, this light and this warmth, and even the smells of fabric and flesh create another living breathing entity. This Island of family is the very heart of our house.

 

    First, a small boy would play with my toes. Then he would launch himself onto the bed to sing his salutations. My eyes would blearily open, trying to to focus on the green eyes and pink lips that wanted to give me slobbery little boy kisses. I would then grab him around the waist and snuggle him into the warm blankets to hold him tight. Tickling and roughhousing would ensue, leaving us breathless.

 

   This was my routine for several years. The little boy grew. HIs early morning greeting now came after being woken by the gales of laughter from the curly haired blond toddler girl, seven years his junior. This was the little girl that would sneak up  on him and give him a raspberry on his belly. I could hear her chortling at the "pwbbbht" sound. Soon the four of us would be laughing on the cozy square of the king sized bed.

 

    Now a young man, the sandy haired boy occasionally follows his preteen sister as tehy are woken by the sounds of thumping tails and excited barks. They are greeted by the wagging tails and wet, slobbery kisses of te furry chow mix and the smooth coated , energetic pit bull. They fall into the huge bed that suddenly seems so small.The six of us play, tickle, hug, raspberry and wet Willie our way into the day.

 

   To them, it's just the weekend. My son and daughter do not realize I am measuring thier ever lengthening bodies. They do not know that  as we hug, I am inhaling the youthful scent of thier flushed skin. They are not aware that I know know these times spent in the smothness of red sheets will come to an end.These days of hiding in the fluffy grey comfortor are going to be but a memory of childhood past.

 

  I see the time passing by, faster every day. I want to grasp the slipping sand from the hourglass. I beg time to slow down. I'm not ready for thier childhood to be over. I'm not ready for this time to end. I will never be ready for the eventual emptiness. Our bed has always been the heart of the house. I don't want it's beating to stop.

   

 

   

 

 

 

A letter to myself at 16.

    What do I say to myself at 16 that would preserve, yet enhance the woman I am now? Because I can't go back, and I think most of the choices I made were good ones. There is not much I would change about my life today. I didn't know I was pretty, so I was busy  forming opinions and reading books. I was doing everything I could to survive my sophomore year. I  had a  really fantastic, committed boyfriend.  The only thing odd was his being a Pentecostal. I remember going to church with him a few times.  I still wore jewelry and make up there.  I was respectful, yet I was still true to myself.  God saw me everyday. I was not going to change the way I looked to please someone else.  I'm still the same way.  I had been that way since I could remember.

    




    School was not that bad. Going home was the worst part. Jeffery made that better. He took me home from school first. Then drop off my friends. Then he would come back to my house.  Most often not leave until after dinner. This was every day for 10 months.  We were 16. We were both virgins. He never pushed  to go any further than I was willing. He truly respected women, and in turn respected me. I was lucky to have him in my corner. I regret breaking his heart. 

                                                                        Easter, 1992. 16 years old


   OK, I take it back, there  are a few things I  would change.  I would tell myself to study harder. I would still be me if I would have made better grades. If I could have been a little less headstrong about Algebra.   I would tell that girl that she was really going to need to master all the math she could. I would tell her to go to sleep at night instead of reading.  No I take that back.  I would tell her to stop sleeping in class and skipping school to go shopping. I would thank her for the funny essays written in World History. I would thank  Coach Zachary for finding them funny. Instead , I was  being embarrassed when he read a few out loud, hoping other's would find them just as funny.  I would have paid more attention to Julius Caesar in English. I would have learned and recited Marc Anthony's Oration. 


  I would also have told that girl to stand up with her fists every time some mean girl made fun of her in P.E.. I would have whispered in her ear that one day she was going to love being a  D cup and thank her for wearing  great bras.I would applaud her  audacity to run and jump.  I would never let her sit in the bleachers wasting time. I would have practiced at being an athlete. I would have told her to love her body for the amazing machine it was. I would have told her to be careful of her food choices. I would have remained active .I would have gone to a few dances. I would have learned how to fix my eyebrows. I would have lost my virginity as planned on New Years. Sorry Jeffery. 

                                  defying grunge with big hair and lame'


 I would tell my 16 year old self to stand up  at home . I'm sorry I let my mother get away for trampling my self esteem. I wish I would have been strong enough to tell her I was none of the things  she said .  I was not lazy, selfish, a slut or a whore.  I would have recognized her for what she was: jealous of a pretty daughter.  She was  in her late 40's  and youth was fading for her as I was budding.  I would tell my 16 year old self I had done nothing wrong. 


  I would tell her that yes, it's OK to really love your friends. Staying in the area means that you will always have those same friends.  Hell, they are going to keep you grounded and remind you  of how much they love you even now. 

                             Kellie, Misty and Me. Friends since junior high, friends today.




I would let a couple of cats out of the bag.  I would tell her that I was going to have amazing children.  I would tell her that she would lose touch and then reconnect with  her old friends from childhood.  I would tell her that they admired the courage she had back then.  I would tell her that yes, they thought I looked great in my crazy ensembles.  I would let her know that they admired my creativity. I would also tell her she was going to survive, to become an incredible woman.  Wait, she already knew that.  She already was. 

Greed: a group blogging experience re post.

 I am an attention whore of the highest extreme.  I don't know how or why people put up with me.  I  prance around like a drag queen.  I  take  numerous pictures of myself bcause I  feel the need (as a former ugly duckling) to record every "Good Face Day".  I think I am the authority on all things fashion, food and taste.  Manners too.  I am  sulky if I am not complimented ten times a day. I must be everyone's favorite.  I  dominate  many  conversations.  I can't help it.  My opinion is the only opinion I care about!   I have my humble moments.  I don't mind pointing out my  mistakes.




    I want to  have  my funeral in the largest church in my home town. It has arena seating. It holds aproximately half the population of Minden Louisiana.  I  want it filled to bursting with people and flowers.  I need every flower in the tri state area.  Only thier sweetness  and beauty in masse can adequately  compare to mine while living .If  I don't have enough friends to fill every pew, hire me some.  I  want everyone who has ever come in contact with  to say a few words.   Make that deliver  whole orations to my  goodness, my beauty, my intelligence.   Someone find my second grade teacher.  She can wax poetic about my coloring skills and ability to tell right from left.  She knows I should have gotten that solo in our Cabbage Patch Kids program.  It doesn't matter that none of the other kids had one either.  Find the check out girl at Wal-Mart.  Our 30 second conversation about dog food changed her life! I know this! Pipe the program over a loudspeaker so those who could not fit in the  church  and sweltering outside can hear  these sweet words too!  Hire some Arabic women to wail and  rend their hair and gnash thier teeth.  Find some old Irish women to cry Oshon Oshon!  I want a few crazy black women to faint every time  my name is mentioned.  Let them come too on thier own. They may faint, but not draw attention to themselves!

   Pall Bearers: Find all my  far flung ex boy friends.   20 is not too many , is it?  Besides, they will be so  grief stricken it will take that many.  I suggest going  all the way back to Junior High.  It's not my fault they lost the love of thier lives when I left them! I could love only so many.  Bring thier wives too.  They will look lovely in  strait jackets and ball gags.  Make sure they are  facing  full length  portraits of me in my prime.  I need not one picture by my casket, but  a dozen to show my progression into  beauty.  Let these be life sized.  


    Music: I will need the Mormon Tabernacle Choir there too.  In place of  the name father, son, Holy Ghost in hymn, replace them with my name.  I am  sure JC and the Boys will understand. Dave Grohl can play at the graveside.  I need an acoustic version of "Everlong" played reverently.  I hope he can play through the  ocean of tears that turn the  whole thing into a great muddy mess.


  Ectetera: I want  the banks to close. They close for every other useless holiday like President's Day and Columbus Day.  I  won't be needing money that day. Why  should they be open? Also, I apologize in advance for the traffic problems from the procession  from the church to the gravesite.  I  expect it to be clear in about  two hours. To insure the proper level of congestion, I recommend everyone come in separate vehicles.  Teach your  14 year old to  drive if  neccesary. 




 These are my  final wishes.  Not too much to ask, is it?  In the end, we all want to know we were loved.   

The light at the end of the Tunnel... I hope it's not another train!

    The holidays are over.  I am so relieved.  Hell, 2011 is over.  There is not much about the last 4 months of it I will miss.  Jobs were lost and found and  the resulting chaos made for the leanest Christmas I have ever given my children.  My consolation? They really enjoyed the gifts they were given. 


The best part? The new year looks like it can only get better. The residents of my house have been paired down to 5 adults and 2 children. There is a division of labor and bill paying that works for all of us.  We have let go of the  members of our house that were causing  us friction.  We even cleaned off the dining room table .  Even better?  That's where we eat dinner!  Speaking of dinner, we are  all on a health kick with my chef husband, G, aboard! 


The jobs? G is back home and teaching at job corps.  I have much hope for him as he reaches out to those kids that  are looking for one last chance to make it good. Me? I have a new job in a new office.  I  am soliciting and collecting  small loans.  I actually get to get up from my desk and talk to people in the room!  I interact with the public, face to face!  I had not realized how much I had missed that!


There is a lot of new this new year.  I'm ready for the change.

Lighter side! Things in your apartment that send single girls running OUT the door!

  Being an Internet/Information junkie I love it when I stumble upon  a new site. Especially when it’s a relationship site.  Not only would I love  to write for one, but I find them to be great inspiration.  Kind of like Sex in the City in web page form.  I recently found  one such site http://www.howaboutwe.com . This may be my new guilty pleasure; especially when I come upon lists . You could call it “10 things about  cat burglars” ( found recently on www.mentalfloss.com )  I want to know those 10 things.  This particular list : “10 things that should never be in a  Ladies bedroom” along with  “10 things in  a dude’s room” http://www.howaboutwe.com/date-report/1119-10-things-ladies-shouldn-t-have-in-their-bedrooms   It  made me remember my  single days. These were on my list of “ewwwws”.

• Old Big Gulp cups, Pt 1. I once dated a guy who would fill one up and drink it for 2 days. I still shudder .
• Old Big Gulp cups, Pt 2. I hate it  if I ask for a drink of water and I am served in a take out /convenience store cup. Real grown ups have real glass ware.
• The pile of laundry in the corner.  It’s the weekend. you were hoping to get lucky. Me too. That’s why I cleaned my place. You never know.
• Empty alcohol bottles /Beer Pyramid on display.   I drink.  I have rarely turned down a party, even on a work night.  I don’t want to think this is all you do . Don’t make me judge you on your empty bottle of Everclear or Makers Mark
• Condom wrappers. Please let me hold the belief  that I am special. I don’t want to wonder  how long that wrapper has been on your night stand.  All I ask for is an empty spot to  put my earrings!
• Leopard Print Anything!  I once slept with a guy that had a leopard print comforter.  I teased him mercilessly.  To this day, anything  tacky and leopard print gets called by  his nickname. My husband  still gets a a sick  thrill out of this.
• Dead Plants.  Nothing looks more pathetic.
• Anything your  former  flames  have left behind.  Do I have to explain this one?
• General Filth.  Don’t make  me run out the door before you have gotten me to the bedroom.

It’s the weekend.  Who knows what will happen.  But treat your place like you do yourself.  Clean, buff and polish.  I did.

What an Atheist Believes .

 Here is a big shocker: I don’t believe in God.  I don’t believe in religion.  I also do not believe in censorship.  While the disbelief in censorship is no surprise, my disbelief in god surprises people.   The next question I get after “coming out” as an Atheist is  “What DO you believe?”




There is no short answer. There are many things I believe and hold sacred, sort of like voodoo. Each Atheist  searches their self and comes up with their own answers.  Often it is this search  that leads to their rejection  of the religion  of their  early years. This  also leads them to  the classification of their sacred symbols and holy places. Because each  one of is  us is different ,  mine may be different  than another Atheist.
I believe in the genuine  goodness of  people.  I have faith that given the chance, they will do the right thing.  I believe that we should all take care of each other. The good that  we put out comes back. I believe  together , we have the power within ourselves to do extraordinary things. I believe  in our right  to make our own choices from and decide our own paths.  I believe our power comes from within and  not from a higher power.  Because of this I believe also that we  are responsible for all  of our actions. 


 I believe  we should follow the universal  "Golden Rule : Do unto others" . Or as my friends and I like to say " Don't be an asshole".  This also lets me look at a person's behavior and decide  if I want to  forgive that person. My family are the only ones I love unconditionally.  I have no problem cutting someone out of my life.  Cross me, and you are dead to me. I give up on lost causes.



 I believe many things are sacred. My most sacred objects?  My family. My children,  G.   My home. These are my sacred cows and would sacrifice anything  for them.  Work.  I believe there is power in  working.  It does not matter the job.  It only matters that you work.  If you dig ditches, dig the best ditches possible.  There is a sacredness to serving your fellow man.

  I believe  heaven and hell are  places  of your own creation.  Your choices determine where you are at any given point. You are directly responsible for  your situation.  You are your own salvation
I believe each day  I have the opportunity to make the world a better place. I have only this day and no other.  When I am  dead,  it’s the end.  If I live on, it’s in the memories of my family and friends. Hopefully they will be able to say  I followed my own commandments and made the world a better place while I was here.

BFF 100 Celebrate like an Atheist!

In my last blog I got a little heavy explaining how and why I became and Atheist. Giving up a deity to worship and ask for assistance is a difficult change.  It can be a little lonely when you realize you are on your own.  But all is not doom and gloom. One of the best parts of Atheism is the holidays.  Yes, I celebrated the holidays.  They mean something a little different to me.  Let’s start with the big ones.

 Christmas:  The Christian Christmas marks the birth of the Christian messiah.  The month of December also marks Winter Solstice for my Wiccan friends and Hanukah for my Jewish friends.  December for this Atheist means Christmas in the secular sense.  

 Christmas decorations for us include Santa, but no holy family in their crèche. Tree decorations that started as a theme a decade ago have devolved into a mish mash of snowmen, snowflakes and cartoon characters.  These reflect our sacred tradition of getting one new ornament per year, per family member.   Friends and family are welcome to add their own.  The tree stands sacred as a living family history. It’s not uncommon to hear us reminisce about past Christmas’ as we decorate.  The presents, I hold these sacred as they represent our ability to fill our children with delight and restock their toy supply.  The opening of them is a sacred time for me, or at least it counts as sacred after I go back to bed!   The feast; this is the equivalent of my church ceremony.  The meal is our gift to our friends and family.  There is sacredness to sharing this meal, because we chose to spend this time together.  As for Christmas carols,  I am the one that listens to them with the children as we  drive to look at Christmas lights.  I will admit to being a huge fan of the more serious Christian Christmas songs for their drama.  I have always loved singing Christmas music.

  Easter of course is the other big one. While my friends talk about the passion play, Passover, spring solstice, I am gearing up for Easter bunnies, baskets and dresses.  I get to skip over the questions about why we get a basket of chocolate if the lord died but was resurrected.  I get to buy my kids more toys and new clothes, which is stressful enough with out having to explain the religious overtones of the holiday.  Easter dinner is the same.  It’s a huge dinner with friends and family that allows us to celebrate our love for them.

 Birthdays share the same concept.  We shower the birthday person with gifts and love.   It’s the same concept for anniversaries.  Our favorite holiday:  The first day that G is home from work.   These days mean shopping, presents, food, and parties. We prepare for them as laboriously as any other holiday. We accept these preparations as a show of love and celebration of our family. We know that other families, regardless of religion feel the same.  For an Atheist, any day can be a “holiday”.  The sacredness of celebrating our family does not need a specific day.  Every day with my whole family is a holy day.