Testing,,1,2,3

This is a time of tests. Life tests, not scantron bubbles. My patience is tested. With my job, I must learn to pick out the seeds of okayness in a swarm of disrespect. Knocked through the halls like a pinball, it's hard to like your neighbor. Living check to check. No fun at all. Your mind spends all it's extra time, the time you used to enjoy just thinking, on worry. Worry about bills, worry about the now. One thing about worry is I don't seem to transfer it to the future. I harbor it here in the now. My brain is too taxed to fast forward. I will simply hope for betterment in all things. With most tests, I find a way to cope. I smile or I cry in my car. I sneak off to the lake, sit in my car, and eat Taco Bell. All while listening to talk radio. It's comforting in my steel cocoon. No one dare rattle my psyche when I'm in the zone. I need time to feel detached from doing, if just for a few minutes, then I miss my chaos and I return refreshed. Test me Lord, it keeps me on my toes. It makes me cherish what I have and disregard what I don't. Life is simpler now. The money tree has gone underground and all I can see are the leaves above.

tell it like it is

This has been the year of brutal honesty. Coming face to face with some real life problems and learning to live with those who pull no punches. Problem is, I think I like it. I've grown up with so much avoidance and pussyfooting around that I rather enjoyed the smack in the face of reality. It woke me up. This past year I've met two people who are exceedingly frank about their feelings about life and others. As I've grown older, I've come to realize that I appreciate the lack of game playing. They know what they know and they aren't going to sweeten it up on my behalf. So far from the person I am. I would poke a hot stick in my eye before I'd offend someone. But that isn't always the best solution to a situation. I admire the stick pokers. While I may cringe at their frankness, I find solace in their honesty.

take a chill pill

I'd like a little more patience with myself. Not sure how to get it, but I'd like it all the same. I've been on this planet nearly fifty years now, and I still think the same thoughts I did when I was a young thing. In fact, it's as if I stuck myself under a very large magnifying glass so I could choose each blemish in my character and amplify it. I much enjoy the days when I am so incredibly busy that I don't have time to mull over my flaws. I like being so overwhelmed that life is blurred like a tornado, with bits of problems scattering around me, but I have absolutely no way of catching anything. That's okay. It's a way of rationalizing the list. The list of woes that goes spinning in my head. I much prefer to focus on the good. The people who do nice things. My kids and their joys. A new project that wraps me up and takes hold. When things are utter chaos, chaos comforts me. In stillness shines the error of my ways.

let it snow

Sitting at the old wooden table on Christmas Eve on the edge of weeping. Scanning around the table to see all of my kids. All of my kids. From the oldest to the youngest, a rare treat for me. I felt like I was sitting behind a two way mirror, watching them interact. I was in it, but away from it all the same. They were sparring as siblings do, in a good natured way, but knowing which buttons to push. My youngest was having a meal that consisted mostly of mashed potatoes, not one to indulge in variety. My husband and oldest enjoying everything on the table. My youngest daughter, giddy as usual with sibling love. My oldest daughter, cautiously letting herself relax and enjoy the moment. The light above the table shown down on all of them. Illuminated all the best qualities they have, the things that make me love them down to my core. It was, perhaps, my most cherished Christmas. It made me melancholy, blissfully happy, and serene all the same. Family is fabulous.

happy birthday

My son turned nineteen today. Proud of him. An incredible young man. Smart, sarcastic, and sweet. A terrific blend of teen and adult. He is my firstborn. I remember holding him in my arms in that sterile hospital room all by ourselves. Looking into his little face and gently talking to him. He looked at me like I was his world. Little did he know, he was in fact my world. My life revolved around every coo, every movement of his sweet baby face. I had never felt so absorbed into someone else's being. A little spirit, new to life, smelling like spun sugar and glowing from within. Babies are incredible. Watching them grow into young adults is magical. I could not ask for more than what he is. Stunningly brilliant, tenderly compassionate, genuinely funny. Lucky me.

ouch

I've been thinking a lot about chronic pain. It's been a real trip dealing with it the past 2+ years. I rally between being a whiner and a stoic. I prefer shutting up about it, but whether I like it or not, it's insidious. I'd like to say it's taught me patience, but in reality, it has increased my impatience with myself. I make my body do what it complains about, but I pay. I pay with pain. I pay with frustration. Frustration that I can't do more. I think the best lesson that came out of my accident was increased understanding. You can see when someone's in pain. Not always from a limp or a cane. It's in their eyes. Pain comes in all sorts of threads...physical and emotional. It's exhausting and on some days, overwhelming. In the best of times, chronic pain is tolerable because it's routine. I'm used to it, for better or worse. It's not going anywhere. It's like the stages of grief, you come to accept it. You are grieving for the old you. I don't think that's necessarily a good thing, but we all cope in our own ways, and for me that makes life more normal.

comfort

Aromas are memories. Something drew me to the orange spice tea at the market yesterday. I could smell familiarity. Just brewed my first cup and was absolutely overwhelmed by the journey it took me on. I was instantly thrown back to my 20s. That's the smell of youth. I didn't realize it until just a few minutes ago when I breathed in that first warm sip. It's the tea of my girlhood. When I was young and liberal and fresh with hopes, I drank that tea. I wrote poetry late into the night and pondered my immediate future while savoring that brew. I read Kurt Vonnegut and worked on macrame. It was my drink of choice, long forgotten. I couldn't remember it until this very moment when it flooded into my nose and fogged up my brain. A simple smell was a lovely gift. Certain aromas conjure up specific memories for all of us. One of my favorites is the smell of a swampy pond. When I was in college, I worked at Baskin-Robbins (no surprise). Late at night, I'd pack a quart on my moped and mosey along home, about a 20 minute ride on rural roads. Every night I'd pass a swampy place. It smelled of wet grass, stagnant pond water, and fresh night air. It was heavenly. Made me feel peaceful. To this day it is my favorite smell. It's fragrant and genuine. It's quiet and earthy. It's cinnamon, puppies, and baby powder. It's the stuff that makes memories that last for a lifetime.