Attachment

I get too attached to things. I don't mean things like cell phones or purses or other expensive stuff, although I like some of those things just like the next person. I get "emotionally attached" to things. So many people in my family have extreme dislike and even, possibly, a little loathing, for our 1994 GMC Safari. The only other person who, I think, has some caring for it is my oldest, A.J. God love him, he's more like his mom than he thinks! Drew has wanted to get rid of the van so many times and I just can't let it go. The reason....so many memories. I am bonded to it. I just can't help myself. Back in 1996, we had our third baby, Macy. I had just gotten home from the hospital with my sweet little bundle and we were driving a Geo Prizm at the time. Anyone remember those cars? Anyhow, being that the 3 babes were all, well....babies, we had three car seats. So, fitting the three seats in the back was really challenging. I think we even took a trip to Ohio with all three like that in that little car, if I remember correctly, AND our dog, Bingo. At any rate, we knew we couldn't continue that way so Drew trekked quite a distance (we lived in North Carolina at the time) and found this van. It was a beautiful metallic blue color and we just loved it for all the room it had!! From the moment he pulled it into the driveway, it became part of the family. Not long after Macy was born, Drew got assignment to Korea for a year and I decided not to stay in North Carolina with three little ones and no family while he was gone. So up to Ohio we drove and lived with mom and dad for the year, which is in itself another story! The kids and I went everywhere together. I didn't like asking mom and dad to watch them very often. There wasn't much to do in the small town of Girard, so we'd go driving a lot! We traveled to the Columbus area to visit my best friend, Laurie, and her family a every couple weekends. During one particular trip, we actually spun off an icy road and ended up in the median! It had just started to snow and we hit black ice. Two and a half spins round and we stayed on all four wheels. It kept us safe. When Drew came back after the year, we got orders to New Mexico and off we went in our blue van. We were driven off the road in it one year by a car who would have pulled right into us if we hadn't swerved. We had been out getting things for A.J.'s birthday party. It wasn't drivable for a while but we got it fixed and it was back home with us in no time. I can't even count all the trips to and from Ohio we've made in that van. In New Mexico, we took that van when I was in labor with Riley and then Zachery, to the hospital where they were born. We added more car seats so that at one time we had all five....a couple of them, booster seats. But the van is large and we had no problem fitting the entire family, including our dog and cat. We sang in the van, laughed, yelled, cried and fought in it. As I said, it is part of the family and like all families, it shared sadness with us as well as joy. When we moved to Virginia and had been here a while, our dog, Bingo (being 13) got sick and it was time to tell him goodbye. All the kids wanted to go to the vet so we loaded them up in the van. When we got the the vet's, they were expecting us. The assistants came out to the van and offered to help him be at peace right there, surrounded by family. We chose not to do that though and the three oldest and I went inside to hold him and stroke him and say goodbye. See, that van's been through it all with our family. And, now, the entire roof is rusted. We've started repairing the rusty spot on the front end so it is gray from the primer. The inside of the door has been stripped down because sometimes the door handles don't work. Drew has replaced them over and over again. So, to a lot of people, it's probably an eye sore. But, when I look at it, I see the last 16 years, full of memories and times that mean everything to me. It's a lot like a person....not in the same shape it was once in, falling apart here and there and needing lots of love and attention to get it back to looking new. But, I can't part with it. For me it's like looking at a very old man, balding, bent over and a bit gray. But, it's still one of the Friend Family and I can't wait to see it looking shiny and new again! Until then, we hold out hope that the roof doesn't rust through and that the frame stays together. The road trips are over for now....it deserves the rest. It's been loyal and steadfast and I am grateful for the years we've had.

What We Say Matters

"The tongue has the power of life and death..." Proverbs 18:21-
Words do mean everything. This was a verse from church today and it made me think....a lot :) Hateful, spiteful, nasty comments show people exactly the kind of heart you have. I am amazed that people can be so mean, especially when speaking about someone who had struggles in their life like drug addiction and alcoholism. Of course, right now I'm thinking about Whitney Houston because it's all over the news and I've read so many posts, not for love or sympathy for the family, but filled with vile nastiness. It doesn't matter what a person's role in life is, we all make mistakes and are imperfect. I always think that the hate rolling off peoples tongues should burn them like acid because when I hear or read it, it really hurts ME for the person they are talking about. Then I wonder, maybe the person who is spewing that is struggling with their own things and truly they don't understand (because of immaturity mostly?) what it is to feel empathy for others. If we can only carry empathy for someone out of our own experiences, then it simply isn't enough. We need to look at the situation and realize that maybe our struggle is with apples and another person struggles with oranges. It doesn't matter because in the grand scheme of things, it's all the same to God. If we think we are better because we RANK mistakes in order from bad to worse, we need to think again, because He doesn't.

Hippie Me

Hippie Me

I’ve noticed a black hair above my lip.  Not a hair that brushes off, mind you, it’s stuck fast to my upper lip.  It bothers me tremendously.  Not the hair part.  I’ve had hair above my lip for some time now, probably forever.  But I never noticed it before like I do now.  It’s aggravating.  I notice, too that when I put concealer on it, it just makes it look like a patch of fuzzy concealer.  Like I’m hiding a mustache.  It’s one of the many things about my face that has changed in recent years.  When I look in the mirror I see an older woman.  But I don’t identify with her at all.  I feel the same inside as I did at 16.  At least, I suppose that.  I can’t remember 16 very well.  Of what I do remember, it’s not pleasant.  Acne, peer pressure and being too skinny.  Yeah, that was a problem for me.  I’d almost love to have THAT problem again.  At any rate, the thing is, no one tells you as you get older you won’t FEEL older.

My whole life I’ve been a people pleaser.  I worry constantly about what others think.  I’ve carried it over into every part of my life.  I find myself asking my kids now if what I’m wearing is acceptable.  I used to find that hard to imagine. How many of us don't do things, don't dress a certain way, talk a certain way, exist a certain way, because of other people's scrutiny?

 

I don’t worry about being too skinny anymore.  I worry about being too fat.  I really hate that.  It eats up whole days for me sometimes.  Ha-ha EATS!  I would like to stop worrying about it.  I’d like to not care about what anyone thinks of how I look.  I’d like to be happy in my own skin.  As I get older, I keep waiting for the change to happen.  Sometimes, I felt like getting older all kinds of things would change, mostly in my personality.  Boy, that is far from the truth.  

I am overweight.  But I love wearing leggings.  Mind you, I cover my butt all the time, even though that’s not the part of me that’s big.  I read about people being overweight and wearing leggings and how ridiculous that is…how silly they look.  We are inundated with pictures making fun of folks wearing leggings and other clothing that shows their most unflattering side.  People like to judge other people who look worse than they themselves do.  We like to find fault in others but find it hard to admit it ourselves.  It prevents us from, God forbid, committing some similar atrocity.

On the cusp of 52 I’m deciding some things.  I’m deciding it’s okay to wear leggings and be overweight.  It’s also okay to wear them and be underweight.  I’ve had the lucky advantage of being both and find that either way you are equally made fun of, ridiculed or offered unasked for advice.  I don’t care anymore.  And neither should you.  I heard a report on the radio recently that said people over 30 shouldn’t wear denim.  Seriously??  I broke that rule a long time ago.  Who makes these inane rules anyhow?    Reminds me of when I was little and mom told me how important it is to not wear white shoes after Labor Day.  I didn’t understand it then and I don’t understand now.  Rules like that are just pointless.

I have long hair.  I went short for a long time when I just didn’t have time to take care of it.  I always heard that the older you get; long hair just makes you look older still.  I’m keeping my long hair.  I love it.  It feels good brushing across my back, except when a hot flash spins by me and the sweat causes it to stick to my skin.  That’s what ponytails are for.

My favorite boots are like the ones a character wears on The Walking Dead.  I’ve been told right out that they are ugly.  I suppose that on a woman past middle age, they might look ridiculous to other people too.  With all these rules, I can’t get any of it right.  

In fact, my whole life I’ve been someone who goes against the grain.  I was told once by a very good friend that when we were young their family thought I was a little “strange.”  I am.  I drive a yellow vehicle with giant lights on the top.  It’s probably a younger person’s ride.  But I love it.  It looks nothing like anything anyone else drives.  And since there were similar rides in the area, I changed mine by adding the giant lights.  I don’t want to fit in.

It’s taken a long time to realize it just isn’t who I am.  I want to be different.  I hope I’ve shown my children that it’s OK to not fit in.  I’m not always comfortable with my own decisions.  I rebel against myself at times but in my heart, I know I’m doing what feels right to me.

Stop looking around at other people.  Be who you want to be.  Fit into your own skin comfortably.  It is yours and isn’t meant to fit anyone else. We also aren’t meant to live in someone else’s skin.  Our own is exactly right for who we are.  Be individual.  Be yourself.

I’ve been called a hippie.  I hold onto that wonderful label now.  I cherish it.  I imagine when I have grandchildren someday I might even be called eccentric.  I will cherish that too.

Meanwhile, I’m going to change into some wildly colored leggings, slip on my totally rad boots and hop in my Baja for a spin!

Emotions

I've never been good with emotions and pushing them aside. I wear my heart on my sleeve and I can't hide anything. Even if I could though, why would I? When we go out into the world, are we being ourselves or are we hiding who we really are? For the most part, I honestly believe I'm me all the time. Even when I want to fake it 'til I make it, I am not good at it. I used to hate that about me. But as I'm getting older, I'm learning that all the things I thought were so flawed about my personality may never have been flaws at all. Quite probably they were parts of me that were truly intended. We are given gifts and they are inserted into our personalities. They drive the way we handle everything. So, if I seem weak in my emotional self, then it's only because what I lack in the department of masking my feelings, I seem to have an abundance of in showing it for other people. We are emotional beings. If not for the feelings we go through, we would not know how to empathize for other people. Years ago I talked to someone about the fact that I get very sad when people close to me are unhappy. Sometimes, instead of believing I exceed in lifting their spirits, I feel like I join right in with their pains. I didn't like that because it seemed counterproductive. I was told then by several close friends that I had the gift of "Mercy." I honestly didn't think it much of a gift, rather a curse. Why couldn't I have another gift? Why couldn't I be a more positive person and exude a positive attitude like others around me? I think I'm finally seeing there is a purpose for "feeling" what others feel and even for the sadness it sometimes brings. If I can step into your shoes, only for a moment, I can truly understand what you are dealing with. I can't LIVE it but I can EXPERIENCE it. So, I'm grateful for the gift of mercy. I'm thankful that I have exactly what God wanted me to have in my personality. I'm beginning to be happy I'm not just like everyone around me! -rsf