During therapy yesterday Dr. R mentioned the movie The Three Faces of Eve. Since The MeanOne has come out fighting this week, I feel like I need to understand what is going on with me.
Watching the movie helped me understand somethings that I have been trying to understand, the way they communicate, among themselves, and with me. Having these awful headaches more frequently also, a similarity.
I hate being like this. I have always been the person to take care of everything. I handled our bills, dealing with any and all business for us. Now if the slightest ripple in the plans or transactions happen, that rock my boat, that cause me any negative emotion The Mean One thinks of it as an open invitation to take over.
In therapy we discussed acknowledging her and her anger. Last night when she came out at something so minor and stupid, I did just that. I tried to acknowledge her anger. I begged her to tell me why she was so angry. That seemed to make her more angry. Little Shanna then pushed her way forward, and was so scared. She asked for Mother. I am proud of her for doing that. Tracy called Mother for her and Mother was able to calm her enough for me to push back forward.
Funny how the mind picks things to ponder on. This morning will waiting for Roscoe and Enos to finish their “business” outside, my mind drifted to how we judge people, we being me.
I try really hard to walk the path my Savior, Jesus Christ, asks. He commands us to be merciful. Yes we obey he laws of the land and execute righteous judgement in prosecution of criminals doing so, but within ourselves and while dealing with offenders our charge command is to be merciful.
Why is that? Does it matter? Not really. I think though in addition to the fact that in order to being able to receive the gift of mercy ourselves we must be merciful, there is another piece to it. We cannot see inside of an individual like out Savior can. We have not watched their daily struggles or successes, and seen what brought them to this point
Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables comes to mind. Jean ValJean, imprisoned for stealing a loaf of bread.. He was not a mean or a cruel thief, he stole because his nephew was starving. We received a huge prison sentence for this. When released he could not find work because of his past. Eventually going to a parish, he steals the silver. This time however, the priest shows him mercy, and explains to the constables that the silver was a gift, and even goes so far as to give him a candlestick that he missed. Because of this kindness, not only ValJean’s life was changed, but many others.
I am not saying if someone breaks in to our homes to say, “oh you forgot this.” I am saying that we can be more freely forgiving, more free to offer the hand of fellowship, free to serve those that are least serve-able
I could be completely wrong in this hypothesis, but I feel if people exhibited more charity and mercy, there would not be a need for so much “justice”. Some of those, especially the youth, that are acting out, and fall into the jaws of justice would feel compelled to change because they would see their worth as human beings and as sons and daughters of God.
Such would be my hope.
Thanks for reading. Have a wonderful Saturday. ~Hope
The first and the last words of The Outsiders, a movie that quickly became one of my favorite a pre-teen. I do know not know what drew me into the story. It could have been the adorable and quite handsome young Patrick Swayze, C. Thomas Howell, Ralph Macchio, Rob Lowe, Matt Dillon, Emilio Estevez, and Tom Cruise. It was more than bubbling hormones though. I not only loved the movie, I loved the book.
In the eighth grade when required to do a report on the book of our choice, I chose The Outsiders. Honestly, I think I related to them somehow. Ponyboy and Johnny the tightest of friendships, even to laying to Johnny laying down his life. Each of the boys in the story carried trait I could relate to.
Not understood. Angry. Funny. Desire to be loved. Together with friends, but still outsiders.
When I presented my oral report, I began by quoting Alfred R. Ferguson’s poem that Johnny loved so well.
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leafs a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
It is ironic to me now that I quoted the poem. Not really understanding what the words meant, though Johnny explained them to Pony in a letter.
The irony lies in the loss of my innocent childhood. It was gold to me. Beautiful, fun, exciting, perfect, innocent, but one event remembered has marred the golden beauty of my innocence. I do not know if my words capture the feeling and the meaning I am trying to convey and the relationship I feel to the poem. I just thought it interesting how it unknowingly personified my life.
I need to apologize for my lack of posts the last couple of days. I will sit down and start a post and something will distract me, and it is almost like “SQUIRREL” and I am mentally and/or physically gone! I am so easily distracted and completely lose the train and the track the train of thought was on. I hope to do better, but I cannot make promises. I know my brain, and it does not like to cooperate these days.
With that said, I am extremely sleepy. I think I might take a nap. I hope you have a wonderful Wednesday. Thank you for reading my blog!
P.S. This is a picture of a male red cardinal on a red bud tree outside my parents home yesterday. Isn’t he gorgeous?
We all have heroes. Some heroes earn that esteemed title from the quiet acts of service performed daily, others stumble into hero-ship by merits of their profession.
Webster defines a hero as:
A person who is admired for great or brave acts or fine qualities; a person who is greatly admired.
I am going to try really hard to put into words my garbled feelings about hero-worship, and how the protective walls I held around one of my heroes came crushing around his memory today.
To understand how much I adored this person, let me give you some history. I was only three years and nine months old on August 16, 1977. I am pretty sure even then, I loved the gorgeous and talented man who died that day with all the love my little girl heart could muster. My Mother had plans on going to his next concert in our area. Yes, we wereare a family of screaming-crying Elvis fans.
As I grew, TBS always honored Elvis in January for his birthday week, playing his movies each day, and again in August, to celebrate his memory. I would watch them ritualistically and make sure I had my VHS set to record. Often with the other children went out to play, if Elvis was on, I was glued to the TV. We even had an 8 track player in the bathroom, anytime I went in there, I would put in Aloha from Hawaii. I loved Elvis.
He did not just sing his country and rock and roll, the man could sing gospel music like he was singing with heaven’s choir. WOW. So touching. Just beautiful.
You know the first chapter book I check out from the public library to read? Elvis and Me, by Priscilla.
As I grew up, I often joked, it is probably a good thing that I was only a child when he passed, because if I had been an adult when he was alive, I am pretty sure I would have been a groupie and be one of the many women saying I had his love child. Of course I was joking, but dang, that man had it going on. Want to know a secret, my husband has lips that look like Elvis’. Shhhh…yes, that scored him points!
So anyway, hero-worship. I did not worship Elvis, but he was on a pretty high pedestal. Even knowing that he used drugs and that chances are his heart attack was caused by the drugs, I still held him up there. His looks and his voice, and the things I had heard the had done for charity. No one was going to knock him off his pedestal, well, no one but…Elvis.
I watched footage of a concert today that knocked the King right off, and broke my heart. He was obviously drunk or high during this concert, and the language he used was completely inappropriate. He was talking out of his mind, and then he said something thing after using a string of explicatives about cutting someone’s tongue out more explicatives. Sadly, he proved the point of the anonymous person he was threatening.
It made me very sad. Sad that he was so out of control, and I knew how his earthly story would end. Sad that after all of these years, I do not look at him the same way. Childhood innocence gone.
But maybe there is a lesson to be learned. Am I someone’s hero? Though it would be a heavy weight to carry, I know people are always watching.
After writing that, I paused and reminded myself. You never know who is watching your example as their guide. I began asking myself questions…
Are you showing your mistakes, but correcting them? Are you performing acts of service? Do you exhibit courage and moral integrity when faced with adversity? Are you loyal and devoted to the causes you pledge yourself to? Do you persevere when every fiber of your being wants to throw the towel in? Do you use your talents and skills to better the world around you?
We can all be heroes. I think we need to start with being our own hero, developing the qualities that make a true hero, not the status quo we are used to in choosing entertainment, politicians, and athletes such as Elvis, Justin Beiber, Obama, and other so-called “heroes”. They eventually make huge mistakes broadcast publicly, often lie about it, disappoint us again and again,shake foundation, causing us to question ourselves and our place in the world.
I really hate days like today. My anxiety is through the roof. I have been working on my to list, each item giving me a greater measure of anxiety as I move to it. You would think that completing items would give me a sense of accomplishment, not so much right now. I am putting the completed items on my calendar, because I am pretty sure I will not remember accomplishing them.
Several items include dealing with other people over the phone. I have been okay with that, today I try to practice breathing and now listening to music to calm myself. So frustrating.
Yesterday I was looking at my Ipad and saw messages from a friend of mine. He sent me pictures of the beach that he lives near with snow on it. That was interesting. Even more perplexing, January 8th, I sent him a message, that I do not remember sending. It is a simple message, “LOL! It was 17 here with a wind chill in single digits. Crazy weather. Oh HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!‘ He then sent me a message back apparently and asked, “How are you guys doing?” I did not respond. I always respond to him. I do not know what was going on the 8th. Was I dissociated? Maybe I had a migraine and just do not remember. The 8th was his birthday, but I am pretty sure if the date had registered with me on the 8th, then I would have also remembered Grandmother’s death. That is the anniversary of her passing.
Today as I work on my lists, I want to do nothing more than climb in bed, and pull the covers up to my nose and tell the world, “You can’t see me.” I want to sleep. Sleep it all away, disappear under the covers, and hope to wake in a magical world. But lately my dreams aren’t magical, they bring nearly as much stress as being awake does. Nemesis from this world finding me in my dreams and preying on my innermost thoughts and struggles.
At the moment I am waiting for a callback from one item on my list. My attorney for my disability case. I suppose that I am anxious about that conversation, because I know that the last few times that I have talked in-depth about disability, an angry Little Shanna, and the other personality comes out. I am so tired that I do not know that I want to face that today, but any day will be the same.
Many many years ago in a small town not too far away lived three best friends. No not Larry, Moe, and Curly, but Tweedle-Dee, Tweedle-Dumb, and Tweedle-Stupid. The three loudest and craziest NKOTB, also known as New Kids on the Block, fans that you could ever hope to find.
We most literally joined ourselves at the hips most weekends. Walking arms linked, crossing leg over leg over leg, singing, “Hey, Hey we’re the Monkeys.” Or bouncing and bebopping around singing NKOTB songs. Wandering stores walking up to strangers asking, “Where’s Bubba? Have you seen Bubba?” Trying to keep a straight face as we talked in the silly voices and gave a description of our missing imaginary “Bubba”.
We shared the off-key dream of becoming the next girl band, of course to tour with our successful and dreamy husbands, Donnie, Danny, and Jordan, or which three we chose that week. Sometimes going a month or two without changing our favorite, then we knew it was true undying love.
Our group name The Heartbreak Sweethearts. We spent hours practicing into microphones AKA hair brushes in my room or the room of one of my “band mates.” We still have the VHS and cassette recordings to prove it. I would say it is blackmail, but I think we all three love the memories and the laughter incited by it, that I could never be blackmail.
It was such a fun time.
Once we even attempted a rap song. Calling ourselves, get this…DaMob.. So the rap went. (I’ll try to type it out how we sang it beat wise.)
Yo we DaMob
We got somethin’
How to par~ty
In a brand new way
You think alcohol and drugs
Are the way to go
Well life is much easier
JUST — SAY — NO!!!!
It was so funny, but it was also something we lived by. We had good clean and crazy fun. We were cool like that.
So the Daily Post Challenge is to take you to where I spent my sixteenth birthday? To come along you must wear stone washed jeans, yeah the kind that when you bought them you found the tiny sand and stones in the pockets. Now do not forget to roll-cuff your jeans tightly at the ankles. Also do not forget your white Keds and white socks. Just incase you are confused you can refer to the picture album cover above. This was taken the night of our party. Our faces have been blurred to protect us from the embarrassment of such fashion taboos.
Don’t worry it’s not requisite to wear NKOTB attire. We did and man were we proud. My sister made these shirts for us. I still have mine somewhere. She put our NKOTB nickname on the pocket. Mine was Cheese. (Which happened to be Donnie’s also. I always seemed to make my way back to Donnie. The bad boy.)
The music for the evening. You guessed it. We played so much New Kids, but we did share the night we a couple of other friends, male friends, so other music was mixed in to give some variety.
My Daddy brought and requested a specific song to dance with me, I am so bummed that none of us can remember the name of it. I called and asked my parents. I remember dancing and laughing with Daddy. He thought he was embarrassing me, but I thought it was great. I thought I would never forget the name of the song. I hope one day I will hear and remember it.
I hope that I have it in one of my journals. I do not think I wrote in my journal that night or the day after because I went to stay with Bec. Yeah, that joined at the hip thing. We often teased each other, “Okay, who’s turn is it to have the brain?”
Many memorable and amazing things happened that night or can be linked there. Sharing a dance with my Daddy at my 16th birthday, having both of my parents there, so very special.
Though dreams of singing stardom are long gone, the Heartbreak Sweethearts are still best friends after all these years, even adding a fourth to our group. Man is now married to the fella Bec was dating at our 16th, and they have two amazing and brilliant children. Bec is engaged to one of the guys that we shared our night with, one of our male best friends.
Wonderful things do happen on your sixteenth. Sometimes it might take years to see the fruits, but when it does it is magical.
Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh..Hangin’ Tough! Thanks for coming with on my trip down memory lane. ~Hope
Give yourself up to this moment. Dare to see it. Now look down at your feet; slip out of those invisible tethers. Then ask: Where would you take yourself right this moment if you walked toward your most heartfelt dream? What would your life look like? What would your body look and feel like? What level of energy would you have? What might be your favorite activity? What would your daily life include? Imagine happiness — the sweet glow of inner contentment, the way it tastes and smells and feels. ~Chris Downie
Happiness danced in my thoughts today. My oldest step-daughter married her sweetheart yesterday in a somewhat secret ceremony, I believe just a few of his family attended. They posted the video on Facebook to share the exciting news.
I sent her a text today to ask her if I could put it on my wall that “my daughter married her sweetheart. I specifically asked about dropping the step that has stared me in the face since I became part of the family nine years ago. I hate that word. When she said I could. I cannot express the joy that brings to my heart.
Though she is an adult and has a “step” of her own now, part of her is still that young girl I met when I married her Dad. I fell in love with her and her sister. I made it clear my intentions were to never ever take the place of their mom who is still living, but that does not diminish the depth of the love that I feel for them. Through the years I developed a mother’s love for them. I ached when they hurt. I worried when they were sick. Frustrated when I saw them making choices that I knew would lead them into pain. I felt hurt when they were away and we did not get to spend the time we could with them. Distance and circumstances sometimes coming between our developing relationships. Each time though, my mother heart, would ache to know how my daughters were and we would find our way back to each other.
So having my daughter allow me to call her what my heart has called her all along is happiness to me. Knowing that she has found the man who will walk the road beside her being her constant and her strength makes this mom very happy.
Family means the world to me. I do not know where I would be without my family. I am so very grateful for the gift that my daughter gave me today to let me call her mine, and yesterday for increasing our family by two.
The last several days I have been compiling MP3s to help redirect my thoughts when I get really bad or start going there. I know that I have requested y’all to send me songs too. That request is still open. I asked my friends and family on Facebook also and received a great outpouring of response. I love being introduced to new artists and finding new gems in music. The music I have loaded so far seriously touches every genre imaginable. I even put some songs on there for Little Shanna. It was almost fun selecting songs with her.
Some of the music brings back wonderful peaceful memories of old country gospel. Listening to it with my parents in their room on 8 tracks. I have some monster ballads, rap, 80s and 90s pop, classical and contemporary piano and cello, and some indie. I love music.
As I added songs I thought about what I was trying to accomplish. There are times I want to just escape into the music and sing the familiar songs. Other times I will need to be reminded of my worth and that the struggles are worth every minute, and that this is not my final destination. Sometimes I need to be reminded of my beauty inside and out. Then there are the times that I need a good laugh. Little Shanna wanted children’s songs, so I guess she wants to remind me not to forget her and the child in me.
I have felt stronger today. Want to associate it with the music and learning how to communicate with Little Shanna, and I have decided to keep calling her by her name. One reason is because it is so important to her, another is because even though “Little” is the child in the case, “Little Hope” has a negative connotation to it, as in not much hope. I chose Hope as my blogging name as a positive name to emphasize the HOPE I have that I will reclaim my Narnia, and my life. Beginning to recognize now if that means integrating or accepting Little Shanna, I will be okay, she is anything but little hope.
Part of my good day, I found part of my voice. My good friend, my Mother’s best friend has dealt with her computer since 2010. Replacing six motherboards and a video card unacceptable. I called the company for her today and talked to a very nice gentleman, of which I am most grateful for. I explained the situation and we conferenced in the store and my friend. As a result when she arrived at the store and talked to the manager they agreed to make it right and she left with a new computer. I am so grateful for a kind corporate gentleman well versed in his job, extremely personable, and focused on customer satisfaction. All of which are so hard to find in the corporate world today with people overworked and underpaid. I am so grateful that it was a pleasant experience because it is usually when I get overly stressed, or as Mother says, “Lose Control” that is when Little Shanna takes control.
Since this post is about music I must share a humorous song that I put on my MP3. I preface this with my husband loves zombie movies, me not so much. I did watch Warm Bodies with him because it was a zombie chick flick, but generally, not my thing. I found this song and sent it to him cause well, I just love him. 😉
One of the reasons I stopped blogging a few months ago was because I was so caught up in numbers. Worrying about my stats daily. Am I being boring? What are my readers thinking? Between that and Little Hope angry that I called her Hope, it just became too much.
Today I have thought about what drives me to write. Mainly to get the thoughts out to calm me. Others is to connect with others. I hope my words do reach others, and somehow help them. Even it is helps them, helps YOU not feel so alone.
Originally I had hoped to make money blogging, but I know my blog is not going to ever make money. It is not about a money-making topic that brings people in droves. Maybe down the road when I am farther along in my journey, I will visit that idea again. Right now I want to focus on quality posts about my life.
This is the life I am living. This blog is much more than a blog to me, it is my online journal. I am going to treat it as such. I hope as I do you do not get bored reading. Gratefully, some days are boring. I long for those days. Days that I can say, “Today I cleaned house and cooked dinner.” Of course I will go into more details, and talk more about what I am feeling.
I do have a QUESTION. Before my hiatus when I blogged at the bottom in visual mode it offered suggestions on blogs that I could pingback to, blogs that had similar subject matter. I do not see this anymore. Is there something that I need to activate to get that back or what? I do not remember what it is called. I would love to have that option again. I think it was a great way to network in our blogging community. If you know what it is or how I can get it back PLEASE let me know. Thanks!
Meet Gidget. I was just a tiny girl, and she a tiny pup when I she became part of our family. Hitting it off immediately, this little gal became my shadow.
Gidget was my best pal. To be such a small dog she was the absolute best a watch dog and protector. Often going nose to nose with large neighborhood bulldogs and shepherds that would come into our yard. She would send them running as she nipped on their heels with them running tails tucked as they left. I am sure they were getting an earful with her barking in the chase. Once a Doberman jumped over the neighbors fence and came running after us. Granny told us to run to the climbing tree. Granny and Gidget stood ground, giving us time to climb the tree. I do not remember the dog going home or what. I just know we did not get eaten, neither did Granny or Gidget.
As fierce as she was protecting her us, she was that much more gentle towards us. I was fascinated with her swollen boobies after she had puppies. So one day I rolled her over and squeezed one of her boobies and looked in awe as milk came out. She just laid there. She would let me do anything to her. Poor girl.
Gidget was so funny. I think she thought she was a human. She loved our birthday parties. Whatever we did, she found herself in the middle of it. If we were chewing gum, Gidget was chewing gum. She however, loved to pull and stretch the gum with her paws and make a mess. One party favor that she really enjoyed was the parachute men. They were in cylinder tubes. You blow the tubes and the parachute man comes out and floats down. She had a tube in her mouth and tried to throw her head back, mimicking us. She was never able to get her parachute to fly. 🙂 But it was not from lack of trying.
I remember well the dark feeling that fell over my heart the day Gidget went missing. She had a litter of puppies under the house that needed feeding. She never stayed away from her babies long, so we knew something was bad wrong for her to stay away.
We looked everywhere, and eventually found her at my neighbors. The night before their someone had broken into their home. Gidget, we suppose, tried to protect our friends home, and was ran over. My heart was broken.