Sunday, October 26, 2008

I'm Crazy About Myself~Sunday Scribblings

The prompt this week is to brag about yourself.

This is far beyond anything I can do comfortably. You can blog or journal to your heart's content...and lord knows I do...but, to sit and write about myself, about things I find worth bragging about, well... ain't gonna happen. I only hope I never have to write my own obituary. It would be: She was born a poor whi... wait, wrong story.

She was born. She lived. She had children. She died.

The upside is, it won't cost my kids that much to have it printed. It's all about them, sometimes.

If I had to point out one thing out there, as my, what? legacy? it would be my children.

I've written about the FMDKids more than once, I'm not going to bore anyone now with even more motherlike praises, and, I guess I'm like my MawMa, don't brag about anything, so that God won't notice and take it away.

It remains, however, that my kids are a delight to me. Each of them would lay down their life for a sibling. They step up with cash, muscle, housing, and advice (even when it's not wanted!) for each other. They walk... touching each other. They text and call each other. They are each other's best friend.

Spouses and significant other's are welcomed with open arms. They will love you and treat you with respect and make you part of their tight clique. Mess with your chosen partner, however, and it would be a good idea to move and change your name... maybe go into witness protection.

I grew up with one sibling who was held out to be perfection. Even now, when he's robbed family and friends to the tune of half a million dollars, walking away scott free, even when he's cursed and threatened my mother, myself... he remains the Golden Child, with excuses made.
I knew that was one thing I'd never do, never make one child more important than the other. Of course, when HRH came into our lives, early, ill, tiny... she became the princess of the group. They fought to hold her, cuddle her... she never slept alone. Even at 6 months, I'd get up and find Miss H had removed her from the crib, and put her against the wall, so they could sleep together.

They are moral, ethical, funny, loyal, monogamous, respectful, well mannered, amazingly intelligent, talented people.

I was part of their lives, so, I'll put that down as what I'm crazy about with myself... that I'm part of their lives, that they open up and let me in the group (mostly to pick on, if I'm honest).

Yeah, their little group is a good thing to be proud of, in my opinion.

(Miss H isn't in the photo...she was busy being pregnant at the time)

Jarhead, HRH, TheInvestment,Zenmaster

Saturday, October 25, 2008

Six Sentences


There is something up on good ole' six sentences that I penned.

Feel free to critique it there... words are always appreciated.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

At Least It's Not On YouTube

The i-Pod, it's wonderful, it's amazing, it makes you forget not everyone hears the music.

I've enjoyed my new i-Pod... especially since it was free. The Brother gave me his busted one, telling me I could keep it, and get it fixed if I wanted to do so... He didn't tell me it was dead when he first offered it, you see. I'd told him of my sad loss of my little red Nano the kids had given me before I left for New York, with "As long as we're living, our Mommy you'll be" on the back. I'd walk down the street, walking the dogs, rubbing my thumb over the engraving...

Since I touched it so much, it was struck with Quinitis... a nice way of saying I fried the insides, as I tend to do with electronic equipment. The AppleTech kept shaking his head over the poor thing. Now, I wanted another red one with engraving, so, I had to return the Nano rather than just take one from the store. Walking to the train the next day, there in my 'hood in the Bronx, the box marked APPLE on top of my laptop case, some guy ran past, grabbing the box and continuing on his morning jog.

I said, sotto voce, to him, "Hey, Jack, it's fried!".

So, I was out a Nano, he had a great box.

Therefore, The Brother offered to give me his extra one, gratis, here you go, Sis! Then, he broke the news it was dead.

Long story short, the nice folks at Apple gave me a brand new one, after we'd chatted a bit, told some jokes, exchanged email addresses.

When I did my first download off The Brother's desktop, I had 1066 songs on the little player.... so, I named it Hastings.

Think about it.

I have a gazillion songs... in every genre, just the way I like it. I use it more and more, enjoying the sounds coming from the great headset... just enjoying life, you know?

I also have a part time job, through Halloween, working for a friend's costume shop... she rents everything, and a large part of our inventory are period dresses. She hires me because I'm honest, I am good at putting costumes together, and I know the different periods, so, I won't give you Renaissance when you wanted Elizabethan.

Fast forward... and here is my day, in the method of that little commercial:

Rental for period costumes-$35
Hourly pay for friend-$10
Not telling your friend you are sending costumers over, so, they walk in while she's sorting dresses, iPod in place, dancing and singing along in full voice with ZZ Top's Black Betty.


No YouTube of, here's Lynyrd Skynyrd. Tell me you wouldn't be moving starting with that first guitar riff...

Three Word Wednesday~Ache, Suffer, Difference


It makes no difference what arrangements were made, how you viewed us compared to how I viewed us... I do not suffer any less for that. Two beings came into each others lives and settled there, seeking warmth, comfort...seeking the belonging all humans desire. I offered all that I was, opened handed, fearful, brave in the attempt. In the dark, sex-scented night, I told my secrets and cherished yours. You took, grew strong in the safety of my love, finding your feet, your confidence once more. Abruptly, there is another, whose presence opens my eyes, letting me discover you are so selfish, so absorbed in your needs and wants... I find I never had a name or a niche in your life.

I. Did not. Exist.

Knowledge that left me stunned, puzzled, struggling with my new label of 'non-entity'. I ache at night... body, mind, heart, soul...annihilated by the question no one ever answers satisfactorily in any situation:


Sunday, October 19, 2008

No To Proposition 8~Sunday Scribblings


It's the prompt on the Sunday Scribblings this you have it? What do you think of it? Comments, words, photos on style.

I have no style... I live my life in a eclectic style; from clothing to music to reading to the way I decorate. The way I dress is limited to one thing only--it has to be natural fabrics. I cannot abide pretend fabrics, it has to be wool or cotton or bamboo or lovely glorious silk... otherwise, forget it.

Aside from that, I'm pretty pathetic.

I'll read anything, try listening to anything, taste pretty much any food, and my decorating sense is sad. Where do I have style?

In the choice of friends. People who stand up for and believe in causes... who do something about it.

Currently, there is a huge debate going on about Proposition 8 in California. People want to ban the unions and marriages for gays. I'm always puzzled by this kind of thought... I can go with the oft said droll comment of "Why shouldn't they marry and be as miserable as straight couples?"
I can go with the, "Equal rights for all.", or the "Well, why not?"

For me, it's this: love is love. No matter if you are straight or gay, when you love someone, you desire them in your life. It is our genetic makeup, the harking back to early man and the need to form a family. So what if it's not male/female? Does that lessen the need, the desire, the wanting to have the person that makes your heart beat faster with you in all ways?

Sure, there is the fact many churches now do a commitment ceremony for gay couples... this does not give the same weight to the union. There is no reason not to allow it, really. You can sputter and spout it's not 'normal'. I'm not sure what normal is, are you?

Straight unions run a high divorce rate. People don't commit to anything anymore; friendships, partners, relationships... we throw away all of these things because we don't care to work on them, it's easier to move on. If anyone is willing to put forth the effort to be happy in a relationship, who has the right to say no?

I find it interesting that it's a 'civilised' issue with gays. My father was a long time observer of the early Native American tribes. Many, especially the Navajo, were not only accepting of gays, but, made them an important member of the tribe. I wish I could remember the name of the first book I read dealing with this... it's in storage, and my mind is drawing a blank.

It was a book written about a Native American male who lived his life as a woman... in the 1800's. He was accepted by both sides of the gender line, happy in his existence, and had a mate.

The mate wasn't female.

No one batted an eye, it was what was, the Great Spirit created all kinds of people, and that was that.

We gasp and draw away and shake our heads when someone says they are gay, that they live in a committed relationship with another of the same sex. We should be celebrating the love, the concern, the caring. We should allow the same legal rights to same sex couples.... it's so wrong, so very wrong, to deny these rights. It is not fair I can live with a man, never marry him, and know he's eligible for medical care and insurance and other basic rights, yet, if I were with a woman as my lover, she's on her own.

Proposition 8 wants to take back advances made in California. McCain doesn't believe in gay rights, gay adoption... we fear things we don't understand. I don't like that one bit. Of course, there are other things I don't like about McCain/Palin... that's for another time.

Do what you can to give support to stop Proposition 8. Check out the link, if you would, and just read what it's about.

You can also read Prince Gomolvilas's open letter about this entire thing. He is right, it's not about gay marriage, it's about basic rights to all who love. He's got class and style in that post... and an excellent POV.

Proposition 8 needs to be defeated. Let people have the right to marry the one they love, who love them. I'm not saying the world will be fixed by this, or made better... I do know it will not create evil.

Love. We all want it, desire it... Support the right for all to have the right to marriage and all that comes with it, emotionally and legally.

I believe in love.

Saturday, October 18, 2008

Fancy Feast II

In January, I told the story of Cat, Loo, and the great mouse hunt.

Thursday night, I could hear Kitty (The Investment's cat, who came to visit and didn't leave) scratching at a wall. Now, Kitty lives outside quite a bit, and she often didn't come home to eat, since she pretty much did Cat TakeAway food she caught on her own. I presumed she could hear a mouse in the wall, it's not as if I don't get them every year.

I live across from a partial field, and, well, every mouse around finds it's way into my house. I put out traps and DeCon in a variety of flavours, setting it out on little tables with tiny wine bottles holding itty bitty candles. They eat the DeCon and ignore the traps. The local mice put my house up on MouseList, so that other mice from other states come in, bringing their little fertile bodies with them.

I've DeConed so many mice, I'm pretty sure the insulation on two sides consistes of dried out, flat mouse bodies between the outside and inside walls.

So, Kitty is scratching the wall, driving me mad. I get out of bed, muttering and mumbling, to make her stop... and when I move the object she's scratching on, a mouse darts out running for it's life.

Kitty, being the brave soul she is, darts into the closet. The mouse is in the bathroom. Sophie looks like a kid on it's first trip to Disneyland... bouncing up and down with no idea what to do. Being one smart cookie, I put Kitty in the bathroom with our visitor, Sophie close behind, and go back to bed, offering up a prayer for the little rodent's soul.

I has cats, I will not has mice!

I was asleep in moments, my soul clear of guilt.

The next morning, at 5AM as usual, Sophie proceeded to clean my face, her subtle way of saying, "Hey, I'm doing you something, you come feed me." Thankfully I turned on the light in the walk in closet...because there, as a little gift for me, was the eviscerated mouse... the head, feet and tail were there... nothing else. They had cleaned it out, sharing the snack, I'm sure. Both looked at me, then to the flattened skin, then to me... waiting for praise. "Here," they were saying, "THIS is the food of champions And, it lets us give you a present without having to send off boxtops!"

I dutifully patted their heads, gave them treats, picked up the mouse skin, and for a moment, considered tacking it up on the garage wall to cure. There will be a lot of mice this winter, and, well, I've always wanted a fur coat of some kind.

Clearer thoughts prevailed, and I gave the mouse carcass a nice burial... it flushed like a charm.
I simply will not think of mouse guts and my face and the same tongue.

Really, it's best, don't you think?

Thursday, October 16, 2008

To Those They Leave Behind

"I'll miss him for 40 years." she said, echoing the words of a Vietnam War mother she had spoken to.

You see many there... one man, lying on the grave of his loved one, his hand on the headstone. Two mothers walk together, visiting separate said touching the engraving of her son's name makes him closer. A man sits, holding two beers, sipping his, pouring the other on the grave of his 22 year old brother in law. A soldier, who came home from a tour in Iraq...her husband left for that same place three months later, dying there. Mothers, fathers, spouses, children... they all know each other, talking, sharing stories... struggling to come to grips with the reason for the white headstone, one of many that stretch out for an acre or so in Section 60 of Arlington National Cemetery.

There are stones resting on headstones, set there to let families know someone has been to site, it represents permanence. Photos, cards and pictures drawn by children rest against the headstones, flowers abound. Tears were heavy, delicate... held back.

HBO has a special on this month, "Section 60: Arlington National Cemetery", and, it's something we should all watch. It speaks of those who have died in Iraq and Afghanistan in this foolish war we are embroiled in right now.

All of these young men and women.... their families drawn there, some saying they do not visit parent's graves, yet, they can't stop coming here. One woman moved herself and her children to the area in order to be close to the place where her husband now lies... It is December, and she walks with her daughter, both of them putting candy canes on headstones that each bear a wreath, saying a "Merry Christmas" to each. Her youngest child never met her father, and knows him only as memories and a headstone. Families leave flowers, gifts, and always, always the tears.

Those that have loved ones there are like a large, loosely joined family. A new grave with it's mourners will draw others over, to console, to hold...knowing the pain, understanding the grief. As a group speaks of their loved ones, you hear taps playing, 21 guns going off and they look over, watching in silence as another joins the those already there, in the ground.

The headstones are white, pure, kept clean by the staff on carefully mowed ground. They march in those perfect rows, giving a sense of odd beauty to this place of sorrow.. The ancient home of Jefferson Davis, turned in to a memorial for the dead to prevent him from returning after the War Between the States..comprised of rolling soft hills, deep green grass and all of those headstones. I remember visiting there, as a kid... being surprised when my father grabbed my shoulder, told me to be quiet... there, just below us, was a funeral in progress. It was the end of Vietnam, he was one of those last few soldiers who died there. The family in their chairs, the guns going off, the notes of 'Taps', so unique in it's sad story, were played. We stood, my father in a straight Marine stance, saluting... the rest of the family with our hands over our hearts, offering our respect. Yes, it's a beautiful, beautiful place, full of hills and grass and headstones and flowers and stones. Full of lost dreams, lost loved ones...

Full of sorrow.

I do not know how I would go on, losing my child. Would I pack it all inside, as I'm prone to do... would I be like the mother who spread her coat on the grave in December, because she knew her son hated the cold, wanting to give him warmth for just a little while. Another sang a lullaby, her voice soft and breaking. Both were doing what you do as a parent, soothing your child, comforting. I know, like them, I'd never be the same...the emptiness, the knowledge I'd be missing him for so, so long... facts that might break me. My child dying so far away from home, for a reason I cannot support.

Why? I never understand why. With a son in the Marines, I am torn... I do not support this war, I feel Bush is a war criminal. I do support fully the troops that are there. I an angry we are in those places, wasting money, materials...destroying lives, precious lives on both sides, American military, the innocent civilians who don't want us there. Destroying families left behind. Someone I read, and like, is Greg. He was a Marine, for over 10 years. His experiences are his to tell...know they squeezed my heart. In response to a letter I'd sent him about this whole thing, he put so beautifully how I, too, feel about this, about these filled graves:
Do I think they died in vain? No, I don't. They died doing their job. They died fulfilling their enlistment oath. When people like McCain insinuate that our kids WILL have died in vain if we leave Iraq that infuriates me. He is not only dishonoring their service by making their sacrifice conditional, but dishonoring the oath he himself took and his own sacrifices he made in the Hanoi Hilton.
No, I'm not sure how I could go on... I pray I will never, ever know. I pray that soon, no one will ever have to know that again. I only believe we shouldn't have to have any more go into that Section. Into any section, as a death caused by war. That special.. this post are dedicated to all of those who have died for their country....

....and to those they leave behind.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Three Word Wednesday~A Fancy Feast

It's Three Word Wednesday... and the prompts were: night, delicate and jaded. So, here's my contribution.


She walked the patio, slowly advancing towards the feast displayed on delicate china. Her eyes flicked over the carefully placed setting, taking in the perfectly broiled chicken, cooked to perfection and covered with a sauce that was created just for this recipe. I stood to the side, anxious over the presentation, confident she’d find this meal, God willing, to her satisfaction. She stretched, examining her nails, finally settling in front of the plate with her preferred night meal drink of water to one side. Leaning forward, her nostrils flared as she sniffed, then took her first bite. She stood abruptly, closing her green eyes, obvious in her body language the dish offended her. Her head turned towards me, disdain in every line. I sighed, picked up the offending dish, scraping the food into the trash. Damn her and her jaded palate! Reaching for the tin of chopped kidneys in gravy, made by her favourite brand, I again questioned my decision to ever let a cat own me.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Stormy Weather

The older you get, the more things sting.

I've had a difficult time recently, as the few whom I've shared this with, know. It was not so much the actual event, it was the embers it stirred up, the once buried pain that suddenly is forefront...not so much because of that event, but.... because it reminded me of a sad place from long ago, a place I once worried I'd never recover from.

When you are young, much of what happens to you is new... so, the pain is sharp. As you grow older, things will happen that remove a scar, a place you thought healed.... and that new flesh is so tender, so exposed.. it hurts more than the first time. Let this happen more than once, and you start to protect the scarred area.

I found myself in a lonely place.... being pushed again to remember where I rank at times. Wondering why, no matter with who, I've never been first. Ever. That the code I live by isn't the code of others. A simple code of honesty, loyalty, love...working to put those whom I care for as vitally important. Not finding that returned.

What do you do? You keep opening that Trojan horse called hope... One day, it'll be all I want inside... I have to believe that. Until then, I am blessed with people who care and keep me in prayers, and who answer my emails and call me at 3am. Who keep me remembering I am important to those who really do care, whom I care about. One day, the Trojan horse will be opened, and my way of being will be returned.

I can wait.

Saturday, October 11, 2008

My Anniversary

Hard to believe it's been two years.

Two years since I drove myself to the hospital. Two years since I was alone and scared, sitting and waiting for them to take me back beyond the swinging doors. Two years since I was transferred to the operating table, the staff chatting with me since they knew me from other operations. Two years since I was there then gone into that empty place you go when you have surgery... alone except for one soul I felt with me, keeping me from being scared.

Frightened is having an unknown, and someone there to hold your hand. Scared is doing it alone.

Two years since I felt that presence with me, until I came completely awake, so aware they were there, I asked the nurse when they had left, even though I knew the physical body was many, many miles away. Two years since I woke up, unable to talk, tubes and needles in my arms and hands, nurses adjusting levels and drips and giving me water. Two years since I felt the pad on my neck.

Two years since my doctor who was so wonderful said I had a malignant tumour. A big one. Two smaller ones. That he'd taken out my thyroid, along with it's evil twin.... that my lymph nodes were clean, that it hadn't entered my blood stream.

Two years. I went on to six weeks of waiting, one hour of treatment, a week of isolation and then my blessed meds. As I move on, more stuff shows up that is touched by the thyroid...high blood pressure, I can't retain calcium anymore (they took my parathyroid..oops!) an inability to control my body temperature, eventually heart issues... the thyroid is the little gland that can. But, you know, it's not cancer. It's not a relapse. I'm good with that.

It's Breast Cancer Awareness month... something we all need to check for, including men. I have one of the orphan cancers.. no ribbons, no races, no real funding. It strikes three times as many women as men, usually in their 20's. The older you are, the tougher it can be. Watch out for the symptoms... rapid weight loss or gain, hair loss, swollen ankles, trouble swallowing, a lump (my only symptom) being so tired.... Be proactive should you have any of these... it's a sneaky cancer, with TSH levels showing normal when you are actually ill. All of my blood results were clean the day of my operation, and I had Stage Two cancer.

I'd love to think cancer can be eradicated... Sometimes, I think they do have the cure, but, the drugs are so expensive, so many people have it, why cure something that generates so much money?

Buy cancer health insurance... I wish I had it. It's cheap, and you'll need it should you reach that dark place.

Cancer is second to love in the realm of scary words in any language. Be aware, be proactive. If you know someone with cancer, let them talk about it... listen. Bring food... bring yourself. It's not catching, it's just scary... and, when we are in recovery, when we are in treatment, when we are tired and struggling to simply get out of bed--food and company, even short term company, is appreciated. Show up! People tend to shy away... to convince themselves it's better to leave that friend or family member alone, let them rest.

Trust me, we'll tell you when you need to go. Cancer makes you very outspoken, no time for bullshit. Show up, help out... do a load of laundry, or change the bedding. Be there for us. When alone, the imagination runs wild... I used to swear I could hear the malignant cells trying to lure the good cells over to their side.. wearing cheap blue taffeta dresses and garish makeup... "Come on, big boy! Come to the dark side!"

Your body has betrayed you. It's turned on itself, eating itself. Why me? you think... what did I do to get this? (My cousins and I ran behind the DDT trucks... I've a feeling that's our source) There is anger and frustration at the waiting for treatment, irritation at paperwork and tests and the way you are suddenly weak, hair falling, so, sleepy. Breathing becomes a task.

Medicines and time in bed, and the fight to win the battle, the war. Do not be afraid, your love and friendship and concern are needed to shore up the sometimes overwhelmed loved one.

I know many with cancer right now... two of them had no signs, and suddenly, they are in serious shape. I have a friend whose mother is now in the battle. It's interesting that both women I worked with when I was employed by The Man also have cancer... The Godmother is back to work, and cancer free. The other found out she has 4th stage breast cancer... no signs, clear mammogram. My cousin, MV, has the same cancer I do, and her sister is being checked next week. It shows how prevalent cancer is these days.

Check, have tests done when you are at that age or if it runs in your family. Be conscious of your body, listen to it... then, be firm with the medical profession. You know your body, they don't.

Two years. It changed my life in a ton of ways, gave me new friends, let me weed out emotional vampires.

Remission is a happy, happy place... trust me.

Thursday, October 9, 2008

Six Sentences

Thom, who writes Surface Tension, and I have given birth.

Well, it was his idea, I was astute enough to recognise it as a clever one, and tickled he asked me to do this with him, this interesting new way of writing something we both enjoy writing--flash fiction.

Thom introduced me to Sunday Scribblings (which I've passed on to others) and Three Word Wednesday. He's got a great voice when he writes, and, as I said, an offer I couldn't refuse. "Let's write a six together" he said, and we did.

There was no discussion of plot at any time... you just read the sentence you were sent, and decided where to go from there. It's not chance the title is Internal Combustion, since our analogy on writing this was one of us backs the car out of a garage, another drives a few blocks, then, we switch drivers.... never discussing the destination. It's been a hoot, and, I've gained a new friend... always a blessing in life.

So, if you don' t mind, have a read over at Six Sentences, and put a few words on what you think... please, as always, be honest.

Thanks again, Thom....for your trust, your excellent idea and your friendship.

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

The Agenda~Three Word Wednesday

When my dad was alive, one of our 'big' events was shopping at Wal-Mart.

It was one of our routines... he would ask his usual, "What's on the agenda today?", and I'd say, "Wal-Mart!". He'd shout, "It's New Money Day!!", announcing the fact we'd received our checks from The Man, where we'd both worked at one time or another. We'd sit down, and thrash out menus, finish our coffee, I'd tidy the kitchen, we'd shower, dress and meet in the garage. It was a good time, picking up stuff we needed and didn't need, then going home and putting it away.

When he went to the assisted living facility, we still went to Wal-Mart, for him to pick up his snacks he ate while sitting in his recliner (I won't tell you how many bits and pieces we found of his snacks when we moved the chair after his death), he'd buy new flannel bottoms, an audio book or two, maybe a shirt. Afterwards, we'd go to lunch and then I'd put everything away. He was harder to deal with then, often vindictive, grumpy, depressed. Still, he'd call and say, "It's New Money Day!", and off we'd go.

It was a nice agenda.

Now, I go with The Investment. He's the driver now, and I sit and talk. He looks a great deal like my Dad... tall, dark curly hair, snapping black eyes, effortless in his lanky way of walking. He, too, has a payday on the 1st of each month. We drive to Wal-Mart, and he does his shopping, discussing items he's buying.... what will go the longest in his fridge, what's the best kind of cheese, why that pork loin such a good deal. I'll pick up food, too, at times... a book.. some really nice cotton long sleeved tshirts. We wander and talk and laugh. No one makes me laugh like my kids do, and he's at the top of the pack.

I thought to myself things were kinda going in full circle, giving me a new routine. I knew this was so when he called me last week, and caused me to do one of those things when you smile with teary eyes.

"Mom, what's on the agenda? It's New Money Day!"


Three Word Wednesday's words were thrash, vindictive, and effortless. I found it easy to put them into this little blog post...

Monday, October 6, 2008

Register and Vote

I sent this to the FMDKids....

I have voted since I was 18, without fail. It was a privilege, I felt, and I still do feel that way. I read up on the candidates, check on the voting records for Judges that will be on the ballot, find out what I can on issues that I'll be asked to cast my vote upon. I don't vote a straight ticket, although I was raised to be a 'yellow dog Democrat'.... that's when you would cast your vote for a yellow dog before you vote Republican.

When I was married, the Ex and I canceled out each other's votes; he was for Ronnie and George and I wasn't. I still tell him that's part of our divorce agreement, to still cancel out each others vote.

Today, two of the FMDKids registered. I am so proud, I could spit.. if I could spit. The Investment and I will go over everything, and vote at the same polling place, so, I'll be with him the first time he votes, and that is going to be great.

I hope people remember to vote this time... it's our privilege, our right.... our duty.

Vote. Please.

Friday, October 3, 2008

I Can't Text Communicate, Don't Ask Me

Text. Text. Text. It fascinates me and frustrates me and there are times I hate it.

This past week, I was again embroiled in an extended email conversation with The Oddship, struggling to put my views across, to understand theirs. We don't use the phone, we work only in text, and with my difficulties comprehending it at times, it can be so very tiring. Oddy has been wonderful in making sure what is sent to me is understood, including a follow up email if they are concerned I've had a problem with the message.

This week, though, egos were bruised, explanations questioned, and, although it worked out in the end, and our butterfly breath relationship is back in place.

Phone calls would help, the schedules don't allow them. Text flies back and forth, via email and phone text and we deal with things that way. We don't give up because somehow, we fill niches in the other's life. There is true affection and concern... respect is huge on both sides.

I just wish we didn't have to use the written word to work things out. You write in one voice, and the person reading hears it in their own. If they are upset to begin with, it can actually taint whatever is sent. Both of us are fortunate we do care enough to make sure we stick with it until it's resolved.

I simply hate the pain that occurs until that resolution occurs.