Get A Grip

I’m feeling overly feisty today, so I’ll warn you right now…I might be biting, rude and downright evil in my blog post today. *** (see below) If you are sensitive, easily offended or just plain wimpish, I implore you.. stop reading.. Please.  Take your ball and go home because in this game, we are keeping score and charging outs.

First of all, before I launch into my rambling, I’d admit that I whine.  I do.  I am human, I want things, I can’t have them for whatever myriad reason exists, but I whine, I pout, I yearn… and then mostly, I either find a way to make it happen, or I GET OVER IT.  I move on.  I latch onto something else that I want, need, etc… 

I fully accept that I have made my bed and therefore it is mine to lie in. I did this. I didn’t wake up today, miraculously 40 (gasp) overnight, having gone to bed an awkward and knobby 12 year old.  NO, that didn’t happen.  I made decisions in my life, good and bad, that led me to the person I talk to in my mirror each morning.  Me.   I can bemoan that my decisions were enhanced by others, but until I have been gagged, bound and held at gunpoint with my finger on the button, I can blame no one else but myself for the actions in my own life.

See, it’s easy to say that… Try it.  It’s liberating.  It’s amazingly simple and not hard at all to make those words form in your mouth, then push the sound out and “paint the ceiling” with your voice.  (thanks Jim Harbor, KSC for that one)

Ok, where am I going with this?  I have a point and I will get to it.

Hypothetically, there are people in this world that live under this amazing (dis)illusion that things aren’t their fault.  Bad things happen, but they honestly hold no responsibility as to why “stuff just keeps happening to me”.   Such and such happened, but hey, not my fault… not my problem, not my issue.

YES, bonehead.  It IS your issue.  And sadly, sometimes it becomes MY problem.   My problem to clean up the mess, my problem to make the phone calls, email the people, scramble to handle it like I’m some less wealthy version of Olivia Pope (ooo, I love her).  

Pull yourself up by your bootstraps and fix it.  Quietly confide in a friend, a sister, a confidant if you must, but GET a GRIP.  Trust me, while people listen at first, eventually they will tune you out.  They will grow WEARY of you and your stuff.  You’ll find yourself talking to the walls and missing out on the fun stuff while you wallow in the pit of your own despair.  (quick, reference???!!??  Anyone???) 

I’ve extolled my love of facebook before.  Yes, I do love facebook.  I’ve found so many great friends, new and from “before”.  I’ve laughed at silly videos and cried when I’ve become witness to some of the sorrow and shame our society is capable of.  I’ve learned so very much, I’ve allowed myself to open up to others and share those I hold in my heart via pictures and anecdotes.   I’ve gotten frustrated in meaningful debates, but happily so as it makes me remember I am not only capable of my own opinion, but also feel strongly for something I believe in so much that I am willing to respectfully enter into witty and educated conversation with an adversary.  And I’ve reached out to my friends when I’ve just felt like poo and needed a quick pick me up.  But the one thing I try to remember is that my issues are NOT my friends issues to fix or solve.  My duty is not to discourage support in wallowing or self pity.  

I was told recently by someone, whose opinion I value incredibly, that I project myself to be “with it”.  I am shown publicly as a strong person.  I’ve been through a lot, but have my shit together.  And that is nice, it’s great that I am not a public whiner. Yay!!!  But, I don’t have it all together, I do fall apart.  But, it’s important to realize that I am good at keeping it in proper check. 

And I AM strong.. So much stronger than I was before.  If I were to measure the sheer amount of crap in my world, I’d like to think that, yes, I do have most of it together.. Yay me!  The parts that matter, truly matter, are under control.  My children are THRIVING.  They are happy, learning, succeeding.  I sleep soundly at night, I am tired but tired because I put in a long day at work and I EARNED my sleep.  I did that.  Yay me!  My cat is a freak of nature and afraid of his own shadow, but he is loving and sweet and will cuddle with me as long as he’s had enough food.. Yay me! (ok, that was to see if you were still reading)

I’m a work in progress.  And I need work.  I need to keep working.  I need to correct areas of my world, but guess what?  That is part of life and that is what I need to do.  I was given this human life to make the best out of it and I’ll do that.  You might hear me whine from time to time, but what you will never hear from me is, “it’s not my fault, I don’t know why this is happening to me”.  

So, get a grip.  Seriously.  Realize that the tiny, little piece of your world that seems to be so very horrible is NOTHING, absolutely nothing in comparison to how bad it truly and realistically could be.  Whine, but do it to the person in the mirror and then handle it.  Or at least try like the rest of us. 

***I did have a friend proof this for me, she said I am not evil.. Yay me!

Happy Feets

Driving home from work last night, I was playing my favorite driving game.  It’s called Scan.  I scan the dial, find a good song, camp there for a while until they no longer play music I like and then scan again.  I try not to play this game with a passenger next to me, they seem to get agitated and stare at me until I give up and settle on one station for the duration of the trip, good music or not.  The only rule of Scan is to sing, loudly and with purpose so that the music will know that you approve of it existing.

I love music.  I don’t play any instruments and my singing is really not something that should be heard outside of my shower or sanctity of my car, but I do love it.  I cannot think of a time, place, or event in my life that was not punctuated by music of some sort.  

Growing up I was given the fundamentals; Allman Brothers, Doobie Brothers, Crosby Stills Nash (and sometimes Young), Jethro Tull, Beatles, Moody Blues, Led Zepplin and The Who… My mom and dad agreed on some, not so much on others.   But it was always playing.  Later on in my childhood, maybe not as much, but those really early years (when my parents were probably all of 28 years old), music was a staple to how life was lived.  

I remember sitting looking the album covers, spread out on the floor (although I believe story is that I once danced on them, maybe shattering a few, I might have blocked that from acceptable memory).  They were so cool, opening up, lots of graphics, designs and color.  To this day, there are a few that stand out in memory—Songs from the Wood, Jethro Tull scared me to my core.  I do not know why looking at it now, but it freaked me out something fierce.  Eat a Peach, I loved it.  Question of Balance, I could stare at for hours.  

 

When I was in 7^th grade, we drove down to Florida in a motorcamper--  I don’t know if there were any other tapes or if my father only played Abbey Road because A: he really liked it or B: because my mother really did not like it, but when I think of this trip, I will always think of Abbey Road.  Over and over and over again.

A trip up to Long Lake in Maine years later, my father discovered Graceland by Paul Simon.  I can remember getting stuck on the high bridge in Portsmouth in traffic for what seemed to be hours.  We sat there in the back seat of my grandmother’s car (borrowed for the weekend because it had Air Conditioning!!), singing the “Uwhat uwat” parts of Diamonds on the Sole of Her Shoes-  for the first time on that trip, I think my brother, sister and I were in sync and not fighting over who touched whom. 

Billy Squier will always make me think of the dances at the Greenville Legion or Fire Station.  We were little kids then, but we thought we were so very cool.  Metallica, my entire 10^th grade  year of high school and my trip to France where I found French magazines with them plastered all over the covers (Lars Ulrich was my reason for being back then).  Rock Lobster; my summer at St. Paul’s School doing Shakespeare with the ASP.  Toad the Wet Sprocket, Phish, Grateful Dead, Tori Amos, Fleetwood Mac; my soundtrack to Keene State- 

Think of some of your favorite movies….what did you hear in your head?  For me, I heard the music that accompanied the movie.  In fact, I’d be hard pressed to find a movie where there isn’t some musical imprint that stays with me, popular or scored, it’s all there-  it builds that memory you have when you think of the movie. If you are like me, you go a bit further as to where you were when you first saw the movie, first heard the music.  I suppose this is why there are Oscars given out for Best Song/Musical Accompaniment, nail hit head, it’s valid, it matters.  

I love having music in my life, I can’t imagine how quiet and boring it would be without it.  I love passing my love onto my children, much like how my own parents did for me.  It warms my heart to hear my 3 year old belting out the words to Master of Puppets or listening to them fight over which song is “theirs”, much like how my brother, sister and I once did.   My friends and family all bring a wonderful and wildly eclectic musical arrangement to my world; I can see their faces when I listen to songs that are their songs.  In those images, I truly am happy in my soul all the way down to my feets..

 

Writer's Block

I’ve sat down a bunch of times to write -  I get a thought in my head, YES!  Whoo hooo something to talk about…and then mid way through the first or second paragraph…nothing.  I lose my writing mojo.   It isn’t enough to sustain an entire post--  delete delete delete..  and try again.

I write this little blog as a catharsis for myself.   I lack that other grown up person to babble to at night about the arcane (and maybe not quite so) things that went on during the day (or in my head).   I need an intellectual release and so, I write.  And delete…. And write….and delete

And sometimes it makes it to “publish” where those of you that actually follow my ramblings can be held captive (or frightened) by the mind that is me.  Majority of you have known me forever, thank you for that, and so read to support me in this random endeavor.  

I fall in love with many different projects all the time-  I have a cabinet full of baking supplies, I have a drawer full of ribbons and pretty accessories, I have boxes of fabric, Rubbermaid totes full of paper, glue, glitter, and the like.  I flit from one thing to another as the mood hits me.  My projects are always creative in nature.  I jump in, get covered in glue and flour.  I lean too close to the sewing machine and get smacked in the forehead with the little arm that drives the needle up and down.  I make a huge mess and then become disenchanted when I realize that the maid I thought I hired isn’t coming.

I can laugh in the wake of all of this because I know myself.  I know that I am more driven in my own mind than in practice and with proper channeling, I could amaze even my own self with my efforts.  But I don’t do it.  That’s just me, I accept it and grab onto my creative spurts and ride the wave while it lasts.  

I, like most of my peers, am on Facebook.  I’ve reconnected with numerous friends and made incredible new ones through this website.  I get lost in playing games and wandering through peoples pictures of their happiness and heartbreak.  Lacking the adult conversation sometimes in my own home, I love spending time chatting with others, laughing at what they send me, debating what we might disagree on, learning about things I didn’t know about.  From time to time, people do these lists of seemingly random facts about themselves:  Get to know me, what you didn’t know, hopes and fears, etc.  I read them eagerly to learn more about my friends, but I never actually do them myself. 

So here, on my space, with my writer’s block intact, I’ll give some random facts.  And remember, you came here voluntarily…

I was born in England-  As a child, I was tormented with the fact that I was a Tory.  I cringed whenever we studied the American Revolution because I knew someone would revel in the fact that I was “the bad guy”.

I wore glasses, big coke bottle glasses as a child until my grandmother got me fitted for contact lenses.  I once fought with a boy, I punched him, he punched me back and broke my glasses.  He got in trouble.  I started it.

I had a beautiful 10 speed bike when I was younger.  I went too fast down a hill and flipped over the handle bars, sliding down the hill on my back and elbow.  My back healed nicely after they picked the pebbles out.  My elbow still shows the scars.  I never rode that bike again, it rusted sitting outside.  I am ashamed about that.

I am horribly afraid of fire.  I can deal with it in a fire pit or fire place, but the idea of a house fire terrifies me to my core.  If I watch a movie where there is an uncontrolled fire, I hide until it’s over.  I cannot watch Backdraft to this day because it scares me to death.

I hate Braham’s Lullabye.  Mary Ingall’s baby died in a house fire (see the correlation?) and they were playing that tune during that part of the show.  I refused to play any music boxes with that song when my children were infants.

I love dragonflies.  This one isn’t that big of a mystery, pretty easy to guess if you even know me a tiny bit.   I find peace and happiness when a dragonfly chooses me to visit.  I know it’s crazy, but I greet them as my friends and talk to them whenever they come around.  I talk to most animals and believe they understand me.  

I won’t eat mushrooms or eggplant.  The textures creep me out.

I’m stubborn.  I might appear to be easy going and relenting, but I’ll dig my heels in like a mule if there is something I don’t feel like doing (right or wrong).  I am working on that.

I’m insanely loyal which is a good thing, but sometimes it clouds my ability to be objective.  

I think I am tougher than I am.  I forget sometimes that I lack height.  

In college, my parents let me borrow our old Nissan Sentra for the last week of classes.  My dad filled the tank before I left.  I was to drive it to KSC and park it.  I did not do that.  I drove all over the place all week and wound up breaking down on the way home from school, car loaded to the roof with my belongings.  I had to walk to the Yarn Barn to call my mother.  She came to rescue me.  I was caught because I told them that I had stopped to put gas in before I left to head home.  They were not happy.  The car never ran again.

I was taught by example.  One day I got a flat tire in Marlborough, NH.  I called my father to come help me as I did not know what to do (I was all of 18-19).  My father drove 45 minutes to come help.  He jacked up the car, took off the old tire, put on the spare and brought the car back down.  Then he put the car back up, took off the new tire, put back on the flat tire and lowered the car.  He handed me the jack and said, “now you do it”..  I have never forgotten that-  I have never been stranded with a tire on the side of the road again and more over, that gave me the where with all to figure things out in a time of need.

And lastly; I think that I am a great singer in my car.  I hold rock concerts and I am the star.  I always have my hairbrush poised for my incredible vocal stylings.