Sjs59's Blog

one tiny voice among many

I’m Still Here

Hi Everyone.  For anyone who might wonder, I am still here….still writing, just haven’t published in a while.

At the moment I have several posts started, I just haven’t had the time to finish any of them and, as many of you who write know, because we get new ideas all the time, it’s sometimes even harder to go back to the old ideas.

For me, writing isn’t like other chores that I do where I can just keep working on it until it’s finished and then move onto something else.   Thoughts for me come easy.  I never, ever stop thinking unless I’m sleeping.   I just need to have the time to think about how I want to tell everyone so that my thoughts will make sense.

Unfortunately for me too is the fact that I am a procrastinator……Big Time!

Even though I love to write, it’s work and requires that I discipline myself, which by the way, I am not really very good at.

Perfect example, I was on vacation this week and I did no writing at all.  I spent a lot of time watching a lot of tv and thinking about my writing but couldn’t seem to get my ass up off the couch and go write.

That got me to thinking about when I retire, which is not too far off from now, and what am I going to be like then?  If I can’t seem to get motivated while I’m on vacation, I may just sit and not do anything except waste away when I have no one to answer to at all anymore.

I think my boss is right when she says we need to have a plan.   I really don’t want to end up a fat old lady waiting to die after I retire.   I know that it very well could happen because one of the things I love to do also is eat.

See how my mind works?  Start off with one thought and end up somewhere else completely different.  

Anyway just wanted everyone to know that I haven’t stopped writing posts and I will publish something soon that will be more interesting to you, (I hope), then this one.

Thank you for reading.

Whoever Said Life Would be Fair Anyway?

I get down sometimes about feeling like I always have to ignore people’s bad behaviors when I feel like it affects me.  

I know really that I don’t have to ignore the bad behavior, that it is my choice as to how I react to others behaviors but in most cases after thinking every situation through, weighing the pros and cons of trying to stand up for myself and others who I think are being mistreated or speaking up, I feel most times it is in my best interest to simply put up and shut up.  But I hate it!

Unfortunately for me, that seems to be my lot in life because there are so many other people out there who just don’t give a crap about anybody but themselves and they go about their lives stepping, stomping and crushing anyone they can to get to what they want.

It’s a fine balance for me picking and choosing which battles I will take on.  For many years I have kept my mouth shut about some people because, inadvertently, it might hurt people I love more if I speak up about it.

When we were kids and other kids would pick on us, my mother used to tell us to “Just ignore them.”

Well I’ll bet that works great for people who don’t mind being pushed around or for those who are saintly and more Christ-like than me.

Even as I write, I can feel the anger welling up inside of me at the mere unjustness of it all.

Famous last words are, “life is not fair”!  No kidding!   Just once though, I would love to see someone who, I think, gets what, I think, is their payback for all the rotten, selfish crap they’ve done throughout their lives, but I’m told that’s not how it works.

People who take are always going to take.  I have no control over people, places and things and it is my job to learn how to live with it so that it does not affect me.

Dr. Wayne Dyer asked a simple question when he said something like, “how can we learn to deal with these difficulties, if we do not have the difficulty in our lives to learn from?”

I agree and I know it’s true that that is how we will learn but some days it really pisses me off that I allow what some people do to bother me so much.

There, vent is over.

Thank you for reading. 

How Many Men Does it Take to Get an Old Volkswagon Started?

….Or, Learning from embarrassing moments in your life.

Back in the late 80’s when my kids were still young, I purchased an old, off white, Volkswagon bug, maybe a ’68?, ’69?, that had been sitting for a very long time in my friend Phyllis’ yard.

I loved Phyllis.  She had been a great friend to me and every time she saw me, she’d say, “Shirleymaaaay, how you doing?”   She has been gone now for about four or five years and I miss seeing and talking to her every once in a while.

Anyway, because it had been sitting for so long, I once asked her if she’d be interested in selling it to me.  At first she didn’t want to.  You know how it is, the selling to the friend and all the negative crap that can happen because of it and besides, she wasn’t really sure if she wanted to part with it.  Finally, she allowed me to buy it from her for the grand price of $25.00.

There were quite a few things wrong with it.  The gas peddle was frozen, the front end was a little crushed and the hood wouldn’t close properly, the fenders needed replacing and a few other miner things here and there.

Before I bought it, I talked it over with Larry, my boyfriend at the time, who just happened to be a mechanic, and he told me that he could probably get it running so I bought it.

The first thing we, (Larry), had to do was get the gas peddle unstuck because Phyllis and Jay, (Phyllis’ husband), wanted it off their property, now that it was no longer theirs. 

Totally understandable, right?

So Larry set to task.  I will set the scene.  First of all, it was at night, after eight and therefore very dark.  So everything Larry was doing to get my bug driveable was being done under the light of one of those one bulbed, hanging lights that mechanics use when they’re working under the hood of a car.

God Bless him, he sprayed a ton of that degreaser stuff on the shaft? of the gas peddle so that he could get it to move up and down.

At first I wasn’t too sure whether it would work but it eventually did.  Once Larry got the gas peddle to function, they put a little gas in the bug to see if it would start.  I can’t even remember now whether they had to jump start it or whether the ignition switch worked or not but it did start with a little sputtering.  

All we wanted to do was get it running so that we could get it to my apartment and do what ever else it needed to be road worthy.

I was so happy and excited that the bug was running.  Now to get it to my apartment.  I do believe it was Phyllis’ cousin who drove the bug.  Larry drove his pickup with me and, I can’t remember if my kids were there that night or not, and Jay drove his truck over to my apartment.

Larry and Jay let the cousin drive the bug in between their vehicles so that he would be less likely to be spotted by and stopped by the police for driving an illegal vehicle on the road.

Oh my Gosh, the chances we took.  I really doubt that I would ever do anything like that again.

So now, here I have this broken down bug sitting in the parking lot at the apartment complex where I live, and, this is where Larry intends to do all of the work on it that needs to get done before I can register or insure it.   And, one more thing to add to the mix, working on automobiles in our parking lots, is not allowed.  

It’s in the lease if you are caught working on cars in the parking lots, you can be evicted.  Ugh, the stress of it all.

Before the bug could be put on the road, we ended up replacing brakes, (shoes, master and lines),  the ignition, two, blue, front fenders, (from the junk yard which is another whole story in itself), and we pulled up the hood enough so it wouldn’t scrape and bounce as I drove.

As many of you can deduct by now, this little car of mine was quite a piece of work.  And believe it or not, just getting it to be road worthy was not the end of the trials and tribulations with it.

For instance, there was the time that I picked up Adam and Katie from school and after hitting one of the bumps in the road, the hood slammed against the horn and it blew all the way back to our apartment, getting the attention of every person walking on the sidewalk, all the way home.  The kids were so embarrassed that they ducked down to the floor until we got home.

Then there was the time that I parked at the convenience store, left the kids in the car while I quickly was running in for something, the gearshift jumped out of park and it rolled into another car.  I heard a bump, turned around and saw it all happen and ran back to my car.  The kids were okay and a woman was walking toward me, saying in a nasilly tone, “hey lady, your car rolled”.

Also, the time that the kids and I were going home after bowling. It had snowed and the bottom of my feet were slippery.  When I went to start my car, my foot slipped over the top of the clutch peddle and the peddle fell backwards to the floor and the car jumped forward over the curb.

And still, one more time, we were coming across the Memorial Bridge from Springfield and hit a bump at the end.  All of a sudden the car seemed to get much louder.  I asked, “does it sound louder to you?”  It was louder, we had lost part of the tailpipe from the exhaust at the end of the bridge.

Ah, and the best yet, was the time that the three men mentioned above had pushed the car clear around the entire circle at the apartment complex where I live, trying to jump start it.  

The car would not start and they could not figure out why….that is until someone thought to look and see if the battery had been reconnected.  It had not been reconnected and better yet, the battery had never even been put back in the car.

Oh my goodness, the things I went through with that car.  My poor kids too, the things they had to put up with.   It was a different time and I was a different person.  When I think now all the things that could have happened to us in that little car….we were so lucky that nothing really bad ever happened to us.  

Maya Angelou used to say, “When you know better, you do better.”

Thank you for reading.

 

My Great Aunt Rose

I’m not sure why, but lately I’ve been thinking quite a bit about my Great Aunt Rose.

Aunt Rose was my grandfather’s sister.  Along with their mother Carrie, they crossed the Atlantic Ocean from England in a ship named the Germanic in 1889.  My grandfather, Edward was about 4 and Aunt Rose was 2.

I’ve looked through the records and I can’t seem to locate where my Great Grandfather Edward Sr. was at the time of his family’s crossing.   I’m assuming that he was already here working and they were coming over here to join him.

Like a lot of other families in America, mine was one that migrated here from other countries, on both my mother’s and father’s sides of the family.  I’ve found from searching through many records that my mother’s, father’s family spent a lot of their time crossing back and forth between here and England….probably because of economical reasons.

From the records I’ve found so far, it looks like the family stayed in the United States after Carrie, Edward Jr. and Rose arrived.

By the time I met my great Aunt Rose, she was into her 70’s and had lived a very long, interesting life.  At least I thought so anyway.

My sister Christine and I were about 10 and 11 years old, and we were little wanderers.  Actually it was more my sister who wanted to wander and she wanted me to tag along with her. This was way back in the late 1950’s and 60’s and we used to visit Aunt Rose quite a bit. 

I remember Aunt Rose looking like such a frail old woman.  She looked tall to me at the time because I was so short.  But I’d say that she was probably not much taller than I am now, which is just under 5 ft. with very thin appearing, olive toned skin that seemed to have the texture of an alligator, only very soft to the touch.

Aunt Rose kept her yellowish, white hair cropped very short to her head.  I always thought she had cut it to look that way but I found out recently it was because of the chemicals for perming and such that her hair had broken off.

I remember also, Aunt Rose had greenish, black stains on two or three of her fingers because she was a smoker and big, blackish/purplish looking spots on her hands and arms from where she said the rats, that her building was infested with, had bitten her.

When I had heard that the rats in the building had climbed right up on her and started feasting on her, I was thoroughly creeped out every single time we visited after that and I kept my eyes open for the sight of any rats, ready to make a be-line out of there if I saw any. (I’m shivering now at the thought…ugh!)

I guess I can say, I loved Aunt Rose.  I knew that my mother seemed to care a great deal about her and my grandfather too.  They both made efforts to stay connected to her even though there seemed to be underlying negative feelings about her from other people in their family.

I felt so sorry for Aunt Rose….she always seemed so sad to me but she seemed to like that we visited her.  

Aunt Rose told us many stories about her life….that she was the “black sheep” of her family.  At the time I couldn’t imagine why but now I understand that it was probably because of some of her life choices that she was branded “black sheep”.

However,  Aunt Rose had a lot of tragedy in her life.  I think it was in 1929 that both her boys died in the same motorcycle accident, on the same day.  Raymond was 20 and Albert was 17.

From the records with Aunt Rose in them, that I have found, it looks to me like after the death of her boys, she and her husband separated and she took up with another man without being divorced or remarried but she took his name.  That would probably be reason enough in the 1930’s,  plus the “woman smoking cigarettes” thing back then, to be labeled a “black sheep”. 

Also, Aunt Rose had another baby some time later from the other relationship and he died too, when he was a baby.  From my own experience, I know that the loss of your child will change you forever.

I don’t know why I’ve had these thoughts about my Great Aunt Rose lately but it was nice to go back there for a bit.  Perhaps because I think a great deal about how my life is with my own grandchildren and how seldom we speak.  It was a different time when I was a kid…..even when my kids were kids.

More children were taught then to respect and care about their elders and people in general.  Not like today when many parents, not all by any means, but many, think that everything their kid does is perfectly acceptable or that they will be taught everything they need to know to live in the world when they go to school…..after all, they are just a kid. What can you expect from them anyway?

For what it’s worth, kids are learning, whether you are speaking to them or not.  They watch what you do more than listen to what you say. 

Thank you for reading.

 

 

 

 

Little Girls and Their Knights in Shining Armor

When I was a little girl, I believed in fantasy.  I loved fairy tales and happy ending stories.

When I grew up, I learned that your life is what you make it.

Over the years I have learned that there is no such thing as happy endings.  Life is a continual, progressive thing that you never stop working on.  There are happy moments along the way and you make the most of it.

The different people and situations that showed up in my life at just the right time, helped me to learn the lessons that I needed to learn.  And usually, the ones that were the most difficult, were the ones that I learned the most from.

For a very long time, I wanted to blame people, places and things for everything happening or not happening in my life.   I thought that if everyone would just do things the way I thought they should do them, everything would be fine, but that is an unrealistic expectation.  Everyone is an individual and different and no one is responsible for how I feel.  And, one more important thing is that I, in turn, am not responsible for how anyone else feels either.

I believe that as human beings coming to live on this planet, if you’re not a part of a multiple birth, you showed up here alone and equipped to handle everything you needed to handle while on this planet.  In other words, everything you think you need from someone else, you already have it inside of you and all you have to do is look inside yourself to find it.

Being able to look inside myself for answers was not the easiest thing in the world to do.  For that, I had to admit first that the problem might be me and who wants to admit something like that?

For many years I thought that it was everyone else who changed. That they had stopped being the person that they were when I first met them but it turned out that they did not change, they were being the person that they had always been.  

The problem was with me.  When I looked to someone else to help me feel good about myself, it only worked for a little while.  

Actually when I thought about it more, I realized what a responsibility I put on someone else and what a lot of work it must have been for that person not being able to please me, especially when I didn’t even really know myself why I was so unhappy all the time.

I thought, what if they had done the same thing to me?  What would have happened if it was me who could not do anything to please them?  How frustrating would that have been for me.  I know when I get frustrated, I get angry and when I get angry, I say a lot of things that I really don’t mean.

Over the years I’ve learned that I have to allow other people the same freedoms that I allow myself and not expect them to be a remedy for what ails me. 

If it is me who is uncomfortable in groups of people I do not know, (because I really am very shy by nature with people I don’t know), then it is my responsibility to force myself to be more outgoing and sociable.  I figure I will never get any better at some things if I do not ever do them for myself.

I think too that the more I challenge myself, the more confidence I have and the better I feel about me.  And, I don’t know about anyone else but feeling good about myself is what it’s all about. Really, how can I expect anyone else to like me, if I don’t even like myself?

So, I’m not a little girl anymore and I no longer need my fairy tales and knights in shining armor to make me feel good about myself. 

I have me.

 

 

Christmas Joy

I really don’t know how it is or was for anyone else, but the year that I realized that the “Christmas Myth” really was a myth, was the first, worst Christmas of my life.

This myth is the one about that jolly individual who makes his one night, memorable ride to everywhere he needs to be.  You know…the little man dressed in red?

I think I was about 12 when I actually gave the myth a real questioning.  Before that, it really didn’t seem to matter.  I just went along with what I was told, as do most children.  

Back then, 12 year olds didn’t have everything and everyone telling them that they should be acting like shorter versions of teenagers or adults….they actually still thought like kids.  

I can’t remember exactly what happened to make me start questioning but once I had that one bit of doubt, I couldn’t be satisfied until I knew the truth.

I became almost obsessive opening doors, drawers, looking under piles of clothing thrown in laundry hampers, and anywhere that my mother might have thought was a good hiding spot.

I hunted high and low searching everything and anywhere in the house, hoping to find things that would prove that my suspicions were correct.

Along with all my inquisitiveness, I felt exhilarated by the thought of actually finding all the proof that I needed to know that my parents had created the myth.

Sure enough, when you look for something as hard as I did, you definitely find it.  I felt so proud of myself!

Of course my mother discovered that I was a snoop.  She was really aggravated with me at first but resigned herself to the fact that it was inevitable and shared everything about the “myth” with me.

I felt so privilaged to be included in something that had been reserved for adults or older children.  Because of my noseyness, in one clean swoop I had become a member of a higher group of individuals.  

Unfortunately, there’s only one problem about finding out the truth in these myth matters, and this is the important part here, with all your investigating and snooping and proof, the surprise is spoiled!

On Christmas morning when all my brothers and sisters were feeling excited and thrilled by all the packages that they saw under the tree, I was feeling rotten and disappointed that I knew what everything in every package was.

On the one hand, I grew a little more that Christmas but on the other, a little of the joy and innocence of the season disappeared forever for me.

Merry Christmas Everyone and thanks for reading. 

 

 

 

 

Family Values

 

 

 

 

 

As many of you have deducted so far by reading my blog, this is the space that I use to process the thoughts that stream through my head.  

My ex-husband used to tell me that I think too much.  At the times that he would say that to me, it used to sound like a bad thing, more or less.  It was like it was a put down and for anyone who knows him, I’m sure that’s how he meant it to sound so that I would feel bad about me and stop questioning him.

Although he was right about my thinking too much, I no longer feel bad that I do it.   It is my way of making my way through something that I feel the need to make sense of.  I used to talk over my thoughts with my daughter and she used to be able to sometimes help me see things from a different perspective but when you live alone there is only one perspective.

The most recent and constant thing that is troublesome to me is the relationship that I have with my granddaughters….I would love for us to feel closer to one another.

With one, I can not seem to say anything right when I see her and she feels guilty when she talks to me. 

With the other, because we have a good time when we spend time together, I think it is the beginning of a new relationship and then weeks and sometimes months go by and I don’t hear from her…like every time is the first time.

I have a fear that I will be dead by the time they can appreciate that I am their grandmother and could also be a very good friend to them.

I know that many folks want to believe that death comes a long, long time from now but I am realistic and I know that I am closer to my end than I am my beginning.

My parents died in their mid seventies.  I am 63 years old and it is only God who knows when it is someone’s time to be brought home for sure.  I’m also smart enough to know that 10, 12 or 15 years goes by very quickly.

This is Edward Wm. Windsor Brittain and Natalie Gertrude (Hull) Brittain…..they are my mother’s parents. 

grandma & grandpa

When I think about them, it’s more a remembrance of how their house looked and smelled to me.  As soon as we walked into the house all you could smell was freshly brewed coffee in combination with pipe tobacco and the scent of the natural materials that the house was made up of and very clean.  So clean that we didn’t dare move or do anything to mess it up when we were there.

I liked Grandpa more than I liked Grandma,,,,he seemed to pay a little more attention to us than she did.  I remember him taking us outside to see his garden and down into the cellar and showing us what he was working on in his workshop.

I also remember that Grandpa took very good care of Grandma. From an early age we knew that Grandma had what people called “spells”.  She had had an operation to have a tumor removed from her brain and afterwards had epileptic seizures as a result and Grandpa always made sure that he was around when she needed him to be.  I really liked that about him,,,,he seemed like a really good man. 

This is Alfred Joseph Couture and Marie Malvina (Milcent) Couture,,,,my father’s parents.
memere & pepere

I think I was about 3 years old when Pepere died and I don’t remember him at all.  Memere, on the other hand was very memorable.

On most every Sunday, we used to go with my father to pick her up after we went to church.  Dad used to take her to the cemetery to visit Pepere’s grave and then to our house afterwards.

From the time that she first got into the car, she complained….or at least to all of us kids, that’s what it sounded like, and it was said in french so we wouldn’t understand what she was saying.

My poor father, I remember him saying so many times to her, “Oh Ma, stop” and “speak English”.

From the English that Memere did speak, all our cousins were smarter, and more talented than any of us and she made sure that she bragged to us every chance that she got.  Some of us she liked and some she didn’t like so much and she really wasn’t shy about letting us know which were which.

All I can say is that it was much better seeing Memere go home than it was to see her arrive.

I swore that when I had grandchildren of my own that I would be a better grandmother to them than my grandparents had been to me and my brothers and sisters.

Except for the first few years after my daughter Katie died, I thought I had been a very good and pretty hands on kind of grandmother.

I was present for the birth of my first granddaughter and missed the delivery of my second granddaughter because I took a break from watching my former daughter in law in labor and went outside for a cigarette….nobody thought it was that close…..especially me!  

I made a home for my son and his first daughter when his wife wanted to play Army for a while.  Between Katie and I, we made sure that the baby was well taken care of while her father was at work….and even continued to do so after “the Mom” came back from the Army and liked sleeping until noon almost every day.   

I loved and accepted all the babies.  Never chose favorites and I babysat when I was needed and never minded having them all at the same time in my home.

I read them bedtime stories, got down on the floor on my hands and knees and played hide and seek, sat through tea parties and played dress up and rocked and held them when they were tired and fussy.  When I called, they all seemed to want to talk to me.

I remembered all their birthdays and sent them cards with a little something inside and sent packages filled with candy and cookies at the holidays.  I always thought it would let them know that I still thought about them and cared about them and when they called to thank me, we would get to talk but I always seemed to have to call them to see if the package had arrived.

When they moved to Florida, I thought I had found a creative way for us to stay in touch.  I wrote the beginning of a story and sent it to them.   I thought that they could add their own content to the story and send it back to me to add more to it and so on and so forth.

I thought their input would give me some insight into who they were as people and that we would stay connected.  I can’t remember for sure but I think I might have even sent them return, stamped, self addressed envelopes to make it easier for them to stay in touch but the story was never returned to me.

I used to feel confident that I would always be enough.

Enough for them to just love me and want to be around me because I was Memere even though they had people telling them things like, “I hate that word Memere” and spending tons of money on gifts and candy for them.

I thought that my grandkids would be taught that I had value because of who I was, their grandmother.  

It is what I had been taught by my parents.  That my grandparents had value because of who they were and it is what I taught my kids, that my parents, and also their father’s parents had value because of who they were.  Their grandparents and not just someone who had value because they could buy them something or babysit when needed.

It honestly never occurred to me that it would ever have to become such a challenge for me to try and win back the affection and love of my grandchildren.  

After my daughter died though, I got very, very sad and I didn’t act as happy and cheerful as I once had.  

I used to think that it was my own fault that my grandchildren didn’t seem as interested in knowing me or being around me.

I thought, if only I had called them as much as their mother’s grandmother or went broke trying to buy them more stuff that they didn’t really need.  Or maybe too if I had made more of an effort to overcome the anxiety that I felt when I was driving further than a mile or so away from my home.  Anxiety that I felt because of the trauma of finding my daughter dead.

However, I know now that it isn’t and wasn’t necessarily anything that I did or didn’t do.

My grandchildren learned a different value system than the value system that I was taught.  Along with my grandparents having value, my brothers and sisters and I were also taught that both my mother and my father had equal value and they parented together.  They didn’t compete for anything like some parents do these days.

It’s taken me a while to get my head around understanding this other value system but I think I get it now.   I can not make anyone do anything and I am grateful for what I am given.

God Bless and thank you for reading.

 

 

 

 

I Am Amazing

I know.  I can just hear all the snickers and laughter now from some who read this.  Ah well, que sa da, sa da.

The other day my friend texted me in the morning and wished me an amazing day and told me that she appreciated my friendship so much.

I texted her back and told her that I also appreciated her friendship and I hoped that she knew that.  She responded that she did know that and she felt incredibly blessed.

Blessed.  Imagine that.  Someone that feels blessed because they know that I am their friend and that I appreciate that they are my friend.

My next response to her was that I couldn’t believe that someone felt that way about me.  What I usually hear about myself is usually not very flattering.  Her last response to me was, ” Widen your circle.  You’re amazing!”

I was taken aback by this and it made me just stop and think for a second.

Up until then, I have never heard the word Amazing applied to me.

I have heard fatso, crybaby, boring, dummy, stuck-up, bitch, show-off, whore, whale out of water to name just a few.  

Oh yeah and the funniest name of all was given to me by my last boyfriend.  He said that I was an asshole.  

You see, I had the audacity to ask him what happened when he almost, mistakingly, of course, walked into my sleeping, then teen aged daughter’s bedroom thinking it was the bathroom.  I say almost because I heard him out in the hall and went out to see what he was doing.   This was not the first time that he was in my apartment.  He had been there numerous times.

All my life I’ve had my share of those who are very happy to have me see myself as less valuable.  Some have even actually contributed to having me always think that there is something wrong with me and see myself as unlikable and undesirable simply because of how I look or how I behave.

Don’t get me wrong, I know I have faults.  Everyone does.  

I get cranky in the morning if people bother me with a lot of chatter before I’ve had a chance to have my coffee and slowly wake up.  I gossip.  I can be judgemental and critical and sometimes I’m quick to react instead of just thinking about something and acting on it.  I have also had a temper tantrum or two in my lifetime as well and I can fully understand why people would not want to be around me at those times.

Truth be told, even I don’t like being around other people who behave like this any more than they like being around me when I’m behaving badly.  And believe me, growing up in our household, there was a lot of bad behavior.

I was not the only kid in my family who could pitch a fit when they didn’t get their own way or felt frustrated.  I can think of a few occasions in particular and the parties to whom I am referring shall remain nameless herein.  

The first instance was one of my sisters becoming very upset and slamming her fist on the kitchen table.  It just happened to have all the dirty dishes from dinner stacked on top of it.  Kabam!!!!  The whole table top flipped right off it’s stand and all the dirty dishes in a heap on the floor.

The next instance was when one of my sisters had a vice grip with her teeth on my chest just below my shoulder.  It broke the skin and left an imprint of her bite and she wouldn’t let go until my mother yanked her off me.  Maybe she remembers what I did because I don’t but I know that I probably did something to annoy the crap out of her and provoked the whole situation.

The last instance was when another of my sisters got mad about something and kicked a hole in the wooden kitchen door.

I think the only difference I can see between their bad behavior and mine, their bad behaviors were not the focus of who they were.

But just for the record, it’s been a very long time since I’ve had a tantrum and I really can’t remember the last time I punched a wall so be not afraid family and friends, I have a tendency these days to try and stay away from conflict and disagreements just in case you haven’t noticed.

These days I try to stay positive and find peaceful resolutions to problems.  I also do my best to try and encourage people to see their potential and believe in themselves but I never even thought about taking my own advice.

I tell people all the time, take care of you first because you can’t take care of anyone else if you don’t take care of yourself,  first

That there is no good that can come from always speaking negatively about yourself.  If anything, when you do it, it only reinforces the negative.

I think it’s about time I started taking my own advice.  

I am a good, loving person with a lot of love to give.  I try to accept people as they are.  I even continue to show love to those who are not capable of showing love for me.

From now on I intend to make a conscious effort to do what is best for myself first.

I will no longer bend over backwards trying to please people or beg for what I think that I deserve to be given freely.

I will make what I think of me more important than what others think of me.

I will stop saying negative things about myself every time I make a little mistake or forget something I was supposed to remember.

Life is short and I think almost 60 years is enough time spent trying to be what I think other people want me to be.

Thanks for reading.

 

 

Donald Trump….Mr. President????

I wonder if Donald Trump stood in front of the mirror saying that line over and over to see how it would sound to himself before he decided to throw himself into the Republican pool of candidates,  jockeying their position to be nominated by their party for the presidency.  I for one, would not be surprised in the least if he were to succeed.

Not because of all the great things he has proposed as solutions to what is wrong with America, but because it appears to have become the “norm” for our society to care more about celebrity,  fame, money and what everybody on social media is saying about it.

That’s one thing I’ve noticed about Mr. Trump, he seems to care very much about what everyone is saying about everything on social media.  I’ve heard him make reference to it a few times.  It’s as if everything being said must be all true to him if that’s what everyone’s saying.

But then again, if you’re Donald Trump, I guess you think you can say just about anything you want and many people will agree with it and make you popular in the polls because, and this is only my observation so far, nobody wants to be in the line of fire when it comes to Donald Trump.

In schools aren’t people who use intimidation, name calling and ridicule called bullies?  And also in schools, isn’t it easier to go along with the bully then try to fight against them for fear of retaliation?

Honestly, do we really need this kind of behavior in our White House?  

Mr. Trump said too that people are too politically correct nowadays.  He could be right about that.  Or maybe they just think it’s safer for them to say the politically correct thing when they are amongst other people.

I wonder, has anyone else paid much attention to other people around them when they are out and about in their daily routine of living their lives?  I do.  I can see so much from just watching people’s behaviors.  What I see is that so many are so disengaged from other human beings.  They are communing with their “device”.  

I can not be the only person who is able to see that, right?  Could this be one of the reasons why Donald Trump is growing in popularity?…..because it’s much easier to hate and blame when you’re hating and blaming with an electronic device and not at another human being?

At one time, before I had a cell phone or a computer, I used to think that having those devices would improve the relationships that I had with my friends and family members.  With some, communication is better and with others, something’s been lost.

Like a lot of other people, my friends and I have discussed the hopeful candidates for the Republican party and of course, much discussion about Donald Trump.  

What I hear from my friends is how ridiculous they think Mr. Trump sounds and then I listen to the news reports and he is growing in popularity.  I am confused by this.  Am I the only one?

Do people in America really think that Mexican illegal immigrants are the cause of all our hardships?  Do they really believe that “it” needs to be taken back?….whatever the “it” is….I have no idea.  Is Mr. Trump talking about, our country?, our government?  What is the “it”?   Isn’t the House of Representatives and the Senate made up mostly of Republicans now?  Wouldn’t that make them the ones with the power in Washington?  

I know that I am only one person and what I think is probably not that important to a lot of people, but I just felt that I had to say outright exactly what I think of the idea of Donald Trump becoming our next President…..SCARY!

Mr. Trump is very good and successful at creating jobs and making a lot of money but that is not all of what being the President of the United States is all about.  One would also have to be able to work well with others and I do not think he could do this.  He always wants to be the boss.  That is not a Democracy, that is a Dictatorship.

‘jus sayin’

 

The Importance of My Morning Coffee

It’s been so long since I’ve written anything.  Mostly because I just haven’t had the time.

Believe me, I always have plenty of ideas to write about.  It’s just having a good amount of time to finish the thought that I have at that particular moment.

I don’t know about other writers and how the process works for them but for me, I like to be able to finish what I start before I go onto the next thought.  I find that if I put off to finish something later when I have more time, my mind has already moved on to something else and my original idea gets forgotten about completely…..or at the very least, thought about again a few months later and by then it’s a totally different idea than it started out as.

I often think how great it would be if I could wake right up in the morning and immediately sit right down at my keyboard and begin my day.  However, that is not me.

Most mornings I am awakened at 6 A.M., no matter what time I go to bed, by the most irritatingly, awful sound of my beeping alarm clock.   

As quickly as I can manage, because everything on me is so stiff and hurts, I get myself out of bed so I don’t fall back to sleep.  I then get myself to the kitchen and plug in my coffee maker….first thing.

After the coffee is going, I have to take my medication for thyroid and since I can’t eat or drink anything after taking it for at least a half hour, it has to be taken even before I go to the toilet because I want to be ready as soon as I can to have my coffee.  

And that is it in a nutshell my friends……I can not do anything right away in the morning, least of all write, until I have my morning coffee…..really necessary in my life anyway.

 

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