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..

 

Write Right Now!!!

The other day I was going through some old boxes from college/high school looking for a picture and I found this story that my friend Susanne had written for me.  It was double sided, handwritten and apparently missing a page because I only held the 2^nd half in my hands.  Looking at that paper a few things dawned on me… 1- where is the other half?  2-dear god, how I miss Susanne and 3- she handwrote me a story that had to be about 4 pages long.

Reading that story, I started to smile because she wrote it to me to cheer me up.  Something way back in 1992 had made me sad and this wonderful friend of mine handwrote me a story about Santa Claus and the Grinch.  Beyond the point that she wrote me a silly story, I got to thinking how this would have never happened in today’s world.   That story would have been about 3 sentences long in an email.  It might have been a text message in code.  A silly picture posted to Facebook.  The sentiment would have been the same, but the delivery would have been entirely different and honestly, I think while I would have appreciated any method of comfort to cheer me up, a handwritten story trumps all. 

So with this tucked away in the back of my mind, I arrive at yesterday-  I decide to send my friend Britten a copy of a cd (personal usage only FCC!!).  While I am copying the music, I decide to do a little cover art for her-  I get out my pitiful art supplies that I have in my desk and set to work.  As I am doing this, I realize how much I miss sending and receiving letters.  I go to my mailbox each day and beyond the bills, catalogs, circulars and junk mail, it is rarely anything personal.  I miss that.  

In this world, we wish each other Happy Birthday via email, text and Facebook.  Don’t get me wrong, I love love love seeing all of the Happy Birthday messages on my wall, it is like a gift that gives all day each time I get a notification, but when is the last time you actually got a birthday card mailed to you?  (I’m not talking about the one your mom and dad gives you over cake).  Christmastime…  some people still send out cards, I try to each year, but honestly, I just ran out of time this year.  But even the cards are a shadow of what they used to be.  I’m guilty of it to, but how many of us opt to create a card via the internet on Tiny Prints or Snapfish and type in our happy message, love us, etc and then that’s it?  No personal message on the back, no I love you, hope to see you…  A few years ago I made my own cards using a picture I took of Gabe.  I wrote a personal note to each one, granted it might have been a line or two, but I used a real pen and wrote with my hand.  It was time consuming, it took forever, it actually cost me more than it would have cost me had I just used an internet card making service.  The next year I went the easy route again, but looking back at those cards, I realize now how awesome there were and so worth the time it took me to do them.

At work, I rarely have to write anything.  I “write” all day long, but I do it using my fingers camped out on the home row of my keyboard (Thanks Mr. Sheehan)-  I can type like nobody’s business.  I am fast and I make few mistakes.  The only time I honestly take pen to paper is when I am interviewing someone or talking on the phone and I am jotting down little notes as to what is going on with my call.  Drips and Drabs.. Not writing.  

Remember in school when you had to write an essay or answer questions using the dreaded BLUE BOOK?  Actually WRITE?  I can remember my hand cramping, shifting in my seat, sighing, etc, but we did it.  We filled those damn books full of our cramped handwriting.  I honestly do not know if I could survive one of those 20 page horrible books now, I would need a support team to rub my hand halfway through, someone squirting water into my mouth, a blanket around my wrist to keep it limber..  And that is a problem.  I should be able to write still..  

And so, I have decided to start a movement.  The Write Right Now Movement.  Hmmm, not sure about the name, I might need to work on that..  But the premise is that I am going to start writing.  I am going to start surprising my friends with notes, cards, messages, etc all created from my own hands.  Cards will be handmade, no more copping out with the internet making them (or if I am pressed for time and do make internet cards, they will come with a handwritten personal sentiment to the recipient).  I am going to try this for a year and hope it catches on with my circle of people.  I charge all of you to pick up a pen, crayon, marker and a glue stick and create something from your own hand.  I would love to look back 20 years from now and like I did with my story from Susanne, smile fondly at the work someone put into creating for me, just because.