Can I Borrow Everyone Else’s Binoculars?

It All Just Looks So Simple From Here

So, I just need a closer look.  I need to figure out how easily they made their pieces fit.  I seem to have this massive puzzle like the one I did with Kelly at Christmas where the pieces are so damn tiny and muddled with smidgens of tree leaves or shades of brick and mortar.  I kept referring to the picture on the box while trying to morph my random collection of pieces into something that resembled at least a corner of the massive castle.

I spoke with my friend Allison on the phone this past weekend.  She has recently turned 31 and like many of us who have entered into time’s continuous pull…she began to dissect her life.  She is a dear friend of mine and I can easily hear her frustration not because it’s so blatant but because partly, I understand it as my own.  ”I’m done going out with just the girls!  I’ve been doing the same thing since I was 23 with the same results!”  Me too me too, Allison…does this mean we are insane?  And then I have a good friend here in Nashville named Whitney.  (okay, that’s a total lie…but it has been a request to change all Nashville names…except for a few).  Anyways, Whitney made me laugh while we listened to a live band at Mercy Lounge on Saturday night, “I have plenty of idiots I could be exclusively dating but I’m bored with them so I guess I need a new idiot”.  Even though Whitney and I have scribbled and marked through six more years of a dance card than Allison, we are all humming the same out of tune lyrics.  When will this waltz end?  Wait, I’m in Nashville now…when will this two step commence?

Even though I have shelved my desires for a mate for these next five months…it is so very hard not to compare myself to those around me.  Especially now, when I’m back in the south where marriage and babies are a common centerpiece.  This past sunday was Mother’s Day and for the first time it began to hurt.  I felt a tug of fear.  I knew the day was coming and so I decided to put the doubtful energy into the celebration of all the mother’s around me.  I sent out cards and personal texts supporting my dear mammas that I get to have in my life.  The ones with little ones that I have been able to watch grow through pictures and now my own little niece.

So, I’m still trying to build this castle on a hill.  However, I’m not trying to recreate the Neuschwanstein in Bavaria, Germany…I truly just want a family unit.  The knight in shining armor is a hoax but the happily ever after is not.  Or is it too make believe?

It definitely isn’t predictable.  I’ve been a bridesmaid more than nine times and five of those have ended in divorce.  A friend I went to high school with is now married again to a total tool.  Truly, he is the worst of the worst and while I was back in Jackson doing the Warrior Dash she revealed what true muck looks like and how he makes her feel.  I know friends who are married but cannot conceive.  What added pressure this must be on their partnership.  There are the couples who have children but have such a rocky foundation.  They walked down the isle out of pressure due to the same religious backgrounds and decided that that was enough (um, totally not enough.  I bet she wishes she had included affection and give and take communication on the final list).  There are the ones who questions if they are even attracted to the man they only married three years ago.  The one who got married only because she became pregnant.  The one who prefers him to be somewhat intoxicated so she can deal with his moods.

And knowing all of this (and much more)…I still feel envious that somewhere in the map of confusing turns and jagged pathways…they all seemed to still meet up with someone to start working towards a family unit.  I know…from the above fluff-less list…it seems I may have dodged a tornado…but it’s just so hard not to want what you don’t have…and the above…well, at least it seems they have a pool of options at their whims.

But maybe mine is that simple and fanciful too.  (and your’s Allison).  We still do have options and just because we can’t see them doesn’t mean they are not floating all around.  I do believe they surface when we begin to make strong choices.  Allison, I’ll never forget walking down Hollywood Blvd with you before going into our Second City class and in a flat tone you said, “I just found out that I lost my job, my room mate and my agent all in the same week.”  There was so much void in your life but you scoffed at it and traveled all over the world for a year, came back and booked a national commercial and then dated two men.  One you decided on your own accord wasn’t a good fit (he did have a dog’s name from the 70′s) and one that has recently broken your heart…

Hooray!!!  Yes!!  Hooray for that broken heart!!  You are still able to jump in.  And yes, yes, yes, yes, yes…I know…if only that one could have stuck.  I know, I get it…I too have fallen for the idea of someone vs what that someone actually is.

May we look through our desires with clear eyes and become at peace with where we are right now.  We are not maidens in waiting.  But we may just be an incomplete puzzle. This does not mean broken.  This does not mean forgotten.  Amongst all the missing pieces we must find our internal peace.

Kelly finished our Christmas castle after I left.  There was one snippet missing until she found them half eaten and under the couch, compliments of Coraline.  Sometimes we just need to walk away and trust that it will all come together.  It may not be perfect or in perfect timing based on personal opinion but someone else just might have their hand in it.

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by on May 15, 2012  •  Permalink
Posted in Nashville
Posted by admin on May 15, 2012

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Sometimes Dabbling Does It

a little here and a little there

They say you should never just go through the motions.  What do they know?  Stop talking to those people.

Since around six months ago, I’ve been counseled by a man named Danny.  He’s a gentle soul. I’ve never met him personally, we’ve only spoke on the phone.  My sister introduced us.  And yet, I never talk to her about it. I often talk to Kerry about our coast to coast conversations and have never uttered a sentence of his insights to Elizabeth…that would entail us communicating on a personal level or the ability to see gnomes living in trees.

Danny is a trained Kripalu instructor.  He has often stated: You must get out of the darkness by using your body to move.  One can’t be depressed if they are being active.  This is very true.  Sobbing combined with Ujjayi breathing and Vinyasa flow doesn’t work.  Wiping your nose on the yoga matt is a useless but more so…the pain lessens when it moves to your entire inflexible self.

“Suit up and show up” is what he has been instructing me to do as of late.  I told him that I have been doing this…somewhat…kinda…a little here and a little there.  My yoga instructor, Tom, recently said to me  ”Where have you been?”.  Before that moment I hadn’t realized he had noticed my presence.  I had just admitted to Danny the day before that I had stopped showing up for myself…and it was so very refreshing to have a somewhat stranger call me out on it.  To hear it out loud.  Yeah, where had I been?

Suit up and show up.  Sometimes you do have to just phone it in even though my acting teachers would completely disagree.  They would say you need to feel it and be in the present.  Legitimate to a point but again…what do they know?  Stop talking to those acting teacher people.  What has recently occurred to me is that going through the motions is perfect.  Because at least you are moving.  At least you are in-motion.  And once you are in a balanced mind frame then you can be an activate participant.  BUT.  it’s that dabbling that matters.  It’s your stepping stones.  It’s your sand foundation.  Hell, it may blow away in the first gust of life’s tumultuous stabs of reality checks…but at least it’s somewhat there vs nothing at all.

So, Danny, I will show up twice a week to a yoga class where I struggle in so many aspects.  I wish I could be more fluid with my movements.  I wish my hips would release their cobwebs encasing my father’s death.  I wish a simple forward lunge from a downward dog would slide with ease to the front of the matt.  I wish. I wish. I wish.

But instead I’ll show up for myself.  For I have dabbled enough.  It’s time to gather the heres and theres and create a consistent where.  Where have I been?  I’m here at a yoga class coming to peace with myself.

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by on May 10, 2012  •  Permalink
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One Man Left Behind

But We Tried to Stay Together

No.  That’s a total lie.  I left him right after the tires and the first mud pit.  Like many times before, Carlton and I tempted fate.  This time it was via the Warrior Dash held in the woodland wasteland of Jackson, Mississippi.  Unsure what trumped the worst from the terrible.  Maybe it was the frigid forty degree weather.  Maybe it was the over cramped school bus that shuttled out the masses to the location of obstacles.  Maybe it was the fact that big piles of mud really does smell like poo.  Carlton would say that the terrible was due to his soles of his shoes being completely sucked off within the first ten minutes of his run…so he pretty much ran in slippery ballet slippers for the next three miles.  Oh…if I would have to choose…it may have been when Carlton told me to follow him into the changing tent.  I was exhausted and even more freezing from being sprayed down with cold ass water from a man holding a huge hose while standing on top of trailer and completely unaware to the wicked smile across Carlton’s face.  The changing tent was only for men.  It was a slew of muddy balls and Carlton laughing hysterically.

But Karma works quickly.  So very quickly.  Walking over to purchase a turkey leg, Carlton slipped on a half torn gum wrapper while it laid peacefully on the mucky ground.  Of all places to step, he stepped right on it.  While it quickly joggled his footing, it also jarred his ankle.  He survived 14 bizarro obstacles with sole-less shoes but left the Dash with a twisted ankle just the same.

Carlton and I have often tried to remain close to each other.  Not many people know this…but we actually went to Ole Miss together for two weeks.  Well, he left five days before me.  I was transferring there from Delta State University as a second semester senior and he was entering as a 28 yr old freshman.  His guidance counselor had promised him that his nursing credits would transfer but come to find out they did not.  We had endured the insane auditions into their theater department.  Carlton was granted an impeccable scholarship.  We found a third room mate and moved into a lovely apartment on the second floor of a four-plex.  I had nothing to offer to the place but a Picasso poster framed in black plastic but Carlton had things like a cherry wood four poster bed and a fancy Queen Anne chair.  (I had once told him that I thought his chair was ugly and he told me to suck it).  I arrived at Ole Miss from the heals of leaving Los Angeles.  I had been out there for 3 months attending an Acting summer school…unbeknownst to anyone, I auditioned for the actual school.

I don’t think Carlton ever went to one class.  He got so depressed about being a freshman that leaving and going back to Greenwood seemed to be his only choice.  Around that time, I had found out that I got in the Acting School in LA and finishing a degree felt like a waste of time.  However our room mate who’s name was on the lease didn’t share in our desires for change.  She was so angry at us for moving out that she changed the locks before we had the chance to move anything out.  Cartlon, who may be a delta boy at heart did not have the skill set for driving the massive mini semi U-haul truck that he quickly rented.  Even though I had nothing to gather but that damn poster he made me go with him.  I remember being scared because the room mate was one of those angry heavy set girls that surely played softball in high school.  We hadn’t realized the locks had been changed until we pulled up.  It was noon on a Wednesday and in my short student stint, I had learned that she had a lab at that time but would be home in an hour.  By the complete grace of Buddha…there just happened to be a ladder leaning against the side of the house.  We ended up crawling through one of the windows.  Okay, yes, we broke in.

Carlton is a tall thin man.  One time while playing Gestures with my family years ago (which was a tradition around the holidays)…my mom and I are were on a team.  My sister and Carlton on the other.  My dad and my then sister’s husband would prefer to always just watch and laugh hysterically.  I think the word was “Man”…and so I was pointing to Carlton.  My mom would get extremely excitable while playing.  She started jumping up and down. “Oh, Oh, Oh, I know, SKINNY!” “THIN!” “SKELETAL!”  I’ll never forget looking over at Carlton.  He,  much like every time I saw him,  was wearing two t-shirts to attempt to bulk up his appearance.  Carlton snatched the card away from me.  ”REally Brenda!  Why don’t you just say ETHIOPIAN!!”

So, we had emaciated Carlton and me.  Now, I was a tad bit more chunkier then but still only a little over five feet tall.  And not one ounce of that chunky was muscle.  We had an hour to move a mattress, box spring, four poster bed, a cherry wood dresser, five lamps, a tall fake plant, a chiff0robe, pottery for days, baskets that held magazines and candles and towels and soaps, boxes of hard cover books that were mostly John Grisham mysteries or biographies of famous actresses, and one Queen Anne chair.

To this day we have no idea how we got the strength to move all that stuff down two flight of stairs, down a driveway, and then up a truck ramp before miss butchy butcherson came back to her empty unlawful entry apartment.

Maybe we trained for the Warrior Dash seventeen years ago.

And as Carlton and I laughed hysterically at the pictures of us jumping over the fire (will be ordering and posting once arrived)…I’m reminded that we go together like ham and a hock, like sweet and a lo, and like time in a bottle.

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by on April 27, 2012  •  Permalink
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Great Scott!!

Blessings Come in Many Forms

I received a text the other day from Kate.  Yes, another girlfriend starting with the letter “K”.  A fun little coincidence about Kate is that she lives here in Nasvhille but is from Wilton, CT: my tiny New England town that I considered as a launching pad.  She may have considered that as well.

The text read, “Is Scott at all cute/single/not gay?”

It took me a moment to figure out this random question.  Then it occurred to me.  Kate was referring to my Scott or blog Scott.  I hadn’t realized he was written in here as much as he was but more importantly at that moment I realized how much more he actually needs to be.

While spending my Thanksgiving weekend with my sister in Pennsylvania a few months back and on the heels of the break up with J, I remember sitting on the twin bed in my sister’s new stepdaughter’s bedroom.  I was looking out of the little window.  Even though I was visiting family, I felt completely alone.  My phone chimed and looking down, I saw a text from Scott.  ”Happy Anniversary my friend.  We have known each other for exactly a year.”

We couldn’t believe it had only been a year.  We were so connected but yet only a tiny year had passed.  It was a year ago that weekend where we spoke on the phone for the first time.  However, that past phone call lingered with flirtation as we were setting up for a date.  Now, our phone calls are occupied  with random songs, uncanny stories and sometimes tears followed by mutual unsparing support.

It’s somewhat difficult describing someone only because these chosen words will not describe him brilliantly enough.  And with a delicate hand as I attempt to type it out, it’s imperative that I remain honest for honesty’s sake but also protect his privacy.

Scott is a brilliant human being.  A graduate from Brown University.  He can create computer applications with ease and formats website interfaces by easily translating code.  However, it’s his second life where I look at him in wonder.  He can compose such amazing pieces of digital music.  I will often listen to his sought after produced CD in my car and smile knowing that he moved those notes around to generate such an energetic piece.  The music is so him it’s as if he’s sitting right beside me.

I will get voice mails from him and they contain nothing of importance.  Unless, you consider him singing “M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I” over and over again in a tune that no one else has heard.  I take that back…it is of importance: it makes me smile now and it made me smile then.

Kaylyn asked me recently why not Scott.  Without hesitation I knew the answer.  We were meant to be friends.  We were meant to be our sounding boards for each other.  I like to believe that FATE was sitting in her office way back when playing numerous chess games and with ease she moved each of our chess pieces onto the same board with utter simplicity.

I see me in him.  Like all of us and more so than others, we have those dark corners where light lacks any luster.  He fights back with balanced vengeance.  He has the ability to beautifully communicate whereas many of other males lack the ability.

“Ok, great” his text replies, “I come off as gay in your blog.”

This past weekend, I spoke to him on the phone while I walked the dogs through the park near 12 south.  He was driving into the city for his dance class consisting of 100 or more participants. It was not an ordinary class where the moves are choreographed but each student has the freedom to create what he or she is feeling in the moment.  Scott described it as therapeutic.  This is what makes him so wonderful.  He steps into his dark corners and even though it’s unfamiliar territory, he exposes his unraveling for all 100 or so to see.  Not many can say that they would do this.

Yes, Kate, he is very cute.  Hence what caused me to reach out to him via OK Cupid which feels like a decade ago.  And no, he is not gay.  I have heard locker room upon locker room tales on why he has always preferred women.  Sadly though for you Kate, he is not single.  A good one like him does get snatched up.

Scott, I have often taken you for granted…it’s those easy relationships where we most often fall into this mistake.  You came into my life when we both didn’t know how quickly it would all change.  Thank you for your calm words when I have been a very scared version of myself.  But more so for being the person who reflects my silly.  Hopefully we will never have to meet the people we humorously create in our zany back and forth banter.

I am blessed to know you.

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by on April 17, 2012  •  Permalink
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A 37 Yr Old Woman with Balls

And I grew them myself

I would have never pulled this off ten years ago.  Nope, I don’t think at twenty seven years of age would I have been so determined to stand up for myself. There’s the poem, “When I’m old, I shall wear purple” and while I do sport the Barney hue with flair, I highly doubt my elderly years will include my involvement with other senior citizen females flaunting their flamboyant matching t-shirts paired with boas and gaudy sun hats.

But when one does age, thankfully one does become…more.  These additions are an accumulation of experiences that are unique to each individual.  But most importantly is how one responds to the lump they’re handed.

Two weeks ago, I didn’t like a particular scoop of my lump.  And ten years ago, I know I would have just stared at the scoop: waiting for it to answer all my questions.

Now, at 37, I decided to treat it differently.

Two weeks ago, I had a date scheduled.  (I know, I know, I know…no dating…but I have to say…because I had made that deal with myself made it that much more easier to grow some balls.  The outcome of my actions didn’t matter.  Only that I took an action instead of doing nothing.)

The date scheduled stood me up.  Well, it was not that extreme…I wasn’t sitting in a restraunt waiting for the chair across from me to be filled as I nursed a single glass of white wine pretending to be carefree.

He said that we would go out on a friday but saturday came and I never heard from him.  And so on Sunday,  I picked up the phone and called and left a voice message.

My tone did not carry any harshness.  It was pleasant and calm but direct.

“Chad, Hello.  I hope this finds you well.  Sooooo….there are a lot of great girls in Nashville.  A handful of them are my friends.  I don’t want you to miss out on another great one because you lack common decency.  If your plans had changed than you just could have called.  No hard feelings, really…but I like everyone deserves respect.”

He calls back within the hour and for a split second, I almost didn’t pick up.  However, I knew my message wasn’t erratic and I hadn’t done anything wrong.  I picked up on the last ring.

Chad was nervous.  You could tell in his simple statement of my name.

I quickly put him at ease by humorously asking how his day was going.

I had met Chad a month and  ahalf ago at a Centersource networking mixer which is a local business here in Nashville.  The moment I saw him, I knew he was an east coaster.  His Boston accent concluded it.  He had a tough exterior until I had shared with him how I came to find myself in this city.  I say it so often now: “My father died and my mom is in Memphis.  I needed a buffer city so I focused on Nashville or Atlanta.  Got a job in Franklin and so Tn won”.  He looked down for a moment and then slowly said, “I lost my mom three months ago.”  He too was a new transplant.  We seemed to have a lot in common.

Before our scheduled dinner date we had gone hiking the weekend prior.  Delilah met him and greeted him with trusting glee.  She is a phenomenal indicator.  Coraline on the other hand treats every human with admiration which is puzzling being that it was the human race that didn’t protect her in her initial year.  However, I will say, that anyone wearing sunglasses will cause her to bark and back away.  I agree, I need to see their souls too.

Chad admitted that he didn’t forget.  Lovely.  Exactly what I didn’t want to hear.  He said that it’s neither here nor there but he cannot stand his job and something had happened on Friday and he and co-workers went and grabbed a drink to discuss the matter.  He also added…the only thing he has control over right now is being selfish.  His mother’s death is consuming him and along with his job, he is barely keeping his head above water.

I appreciated this blatant honesty and I too could so easily empathize.

He even thanked me for calling him out on his actions.  He needed it.  Flattered however but not swayed.

He said he didn’t want to lose my number.

“You don’t have to lose it.  But I don’t want to date you.  I will only be your friend.”

There was silence.  He responded, “Um. Okay”.

And I will be his friend.  Because that’s all I really can be …it’s obvious that the universe is supporting me in my endeavors and giving me constant roadblocks towards anything packaged in romance.

The best was telling this story to my girlfriends.  Parvati exclaimed, “95% of women would have NEVER done that”.  Kaylyn and Kerry were delighted in the news.

It’s never too late to be the biggest advocate for yourself.  And this was just a small step towards many more.  They say good things come in three.  I say they come in a pair.

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by on April 14, 2012  •  Permalink
Posted in Nashville
Posted by admin on April 14, 2012

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Taking the Fingers Out of My Ears

Alright, I’ll Listen

There are those numerous posts that you just don’t want to write because no matter how you squeeze it, it’s still bland.  The humor is lacking and the rawness of reality trumps the clever.  However these are the ones you just have to put to words.  And maybe with time, I’ll look back and laugh.

A dear friend of mine, Rose from Mississippi has expressed to me that she has wanted to start a blog.  She though sits on her thoughts because she fears those who know her from our small Delta town may judge her inner exposure.  I’ve heard countless of times: what fears you is what you should always write.  Rose…you have always been a support of my own self discovery…may you grab that shovel and dig deep and who cares where your dirt lands.  We all have muck that mounds around us.

So, when you see piles, you may just need to put on your shit kickers and disperse it.  Stomp it all out.  And while your at it…plant some seeds.

Tonight was going to be my date with a man I had my eye on for quite awhile.  Yesterday he cancelled and…ugh…didn’t reschedule.  Okay, now, I’m somewhat laughing…but surely it’s the nervous laugh.  The laugh one makes at funerals at people you don’t really know or during speeches about oil rigs.  True story…happened during my speech class at DSU.

And I was so disappointed to be quite honest.  I felt perplexed.  and ruffled.  but then I simply knew it was for the best.  Within ten minutes, I heard that damn voice inside of me say “if only you were this excited about your life’s personal path”.  Again, so easily…I was thrown off course.  I did exactly what I had talked about a week ago: I put most of my lively energy into the possibilities of a crush.

bleh.

And laughing again.  Who knew personal angst can be so funny?

Word are powerful tools.  Combined they make our agreements with ourselves.  We have to not only make these agreements but we need to repeat them over and over so that we may hear them.

Here’s to dating myself.  So on that note…even if they are gluten free cookies…doesn’t mean it’s okay that I just at 11 of them while writing this.  Gluten free doesn’t mean butter free.  I need to look good in my “date” jeans when I network.

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by on February 28, 2012  •  Permalink
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Take Thee to a Nunnery!

Noooooooo! (but with scrunched up face, “Ohhh, kay”)

I have had supporters of this new aspiration of mine but also those that sigh on the other end of the receiver wavering between hope and total confusion.  And I’m reluctantly dollygagging…(a mixture between dilly-dally and lollygag…only to emphasis how much I haven’t fully committed…can’t even commit to word usage!)…behind those defenders even though this was my big idea.

Upper left hand corner…barely visible…underneath the title…it reads “Broken hearted but let’s see what I can learn”.  So, for the past few years of writing this beast of truth, it has occurred to me that the above blurry line has been my through line from one event to the next.  Yes, I have learned so much about who I am and there is nothing I would want more…but this self awareness has always been on the heels of a relationship’s end.

What if this next beginning is started solely by me because of me.

So lovely in theory.

Where the philosophy fumbles is that my core is fighting it.  I want the loving relationship.  I adore giving affection.  And most of all, I want to be a mamma that tucks little beings in at night and then stirs and serves a big morning vat of oatmeal with Agave syrup and strawberries before everyone rushes out the door to catch buses and business meetings.  And then I go teach yoga and write my book.

But outside of the big picture, I adore crushes!  Oh, those infectious crushes.

However…something has to change for I’m in a constant pattern.  Well, before diving into the problem, I’d like to point out a positive.  The pattern has been altered and my first step towards new has already begun.  I never took the next step with Bob physically or emotionally because it wasn’t worth it to me and most importantly it allowed me to remain intact and detached.  I didn’t get lost in the haze of what if’s and the clarity was astounding.  And so with grace, I chose a direction for one.

I’m in a window right now that I’m able to see clearly through.  This is the time for me to feel it out.  What if I just put all that focus that I usually dole out into Joe Schmostein (I have had the tendency to date many jewish men) and reflect it back to me?  Why in the world is this so difficult?  There is a very simple answer: I want focus to be pulled from me.  I have the answers when it comes to loving someone else.  However, these personal questions are open ended when they glare their way towards me.  Bob was not a rebound from the break up with J but a rebound from losing my job.  I relished in the flirtatious excitement  because it gave some hefty distance between confusion and clarity.  I floated in the gray as long as I could.

Six months has been my decision of time to conquer this new “habit”.  I will wear it as a shield.  This armor may blind me with it’s harsh glare in the initial weeks.  For example: handsome guy at Whole Foods last night flirted with me down the grain isle.  And I knew the moment it started to happen, I knew it was because I had made this decision.  So, when I ran into him again in the non dairy frozen section…sigh…I just kept walking all the while repeating in head: “Focused Fillies Finish First”.  Actually I said it once in my head and quickly stopped because it annoyed me to no end.

Jess who is one of my closest friends here,  has the knack of parlaying men who are interested into friendships.  She said it was an invaluable skill during medical school when her schedule was so intense.  Okay.  Not a Harvard graduate but I so can do that too…I just need to stick to this awesome plan of mine.

Um, confession: I kinda have a semi date next Tuesday.  I know…parlay, parlay…but I’ve had a secret small crush on him since July.  Dammit! Personal-need-to-avoid buzzword used.  Fine.  I’ll parlay.

(ugh. scrunched up face has now returned.  And for the next six months, it may just freeze that way)

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by on February 24, 2012  •  Permalink
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A Handful of Fleeing Angels

And a Memory That Defines Me

Recently my aunt sent me a link to a show she watches, “This Old House” and asked me if I knew this home which is trying to be saved in Greenwood, Mississippi.  The link informed me that it was on Riverside Drive.  I’m sure my aunt was expecting only a simple yes or no answer…but there was no small response to describe what happened that night when I was sixteen years old…just a week before Christmas.

Carlton was my old sidekick in this small southern town.  Being that we often were seen on the postcard size stage of the local Theater playing numerous characters, nothing compared to the actual residences that were authentically molded due to their personal experiences.  One in particular was a man named John Gillette.  John was clinically slow and disconnected from his own reality.  There were many rumors surrounding this guy who dressed up in a fake police uniform and “helped” direct traffic after Sunday morning church services.  He would carry a walkie-talkie and was often seen talking into it…informing his own personal headquarters about the happenings of Grand Blvd’s pedestrian whereabouts.  If one looked closely, the back battery door was missing and so were the double AA’s.

There was the rumor that he had his own radio show down in his basement.  It was created with plastic milk crates stacked upon each other supporting an old wired antennae radio with a large turning dial.  He believed he was was enriching the air waves of Jackson, Mississippi with his insight commentary.

There was also the rumor that he was a descendant of the wealthy Gillette razor family and he and his brother were placed in the above Riverside home so not to disgrace the family.  His brother was rumored to frequent liquor stores who were warned by actual police officers to not even sale him a jigger of any sort of grain.  I recall also pocketing the hearsay that both brother’s teeth were fully pulled and hair closely shaved due to sanitary upkeep.

Carlton was always in the spirit of anything festive.  As to why I constantly agreed to his plotting ideas is beyond me…for I was always getting stuck in situations where I had pulled the short end of the stubbly stick.  Carlton decided that Christmas caroling would be a fitting way to entertain a sleepy town and create an activity for seven bored teens.  He “borrowed” the white zip up choir robes from the back of his church.  They were all the same size…so, I swam in the XL that surrounded my petite frame.  It wasn’t until we were all in them did I gasp in horrific realization that we looked more like the Klu Klux Klan.  Carlton equipped us with candles that melted with fierce speed and during our three song boring repertoire, one of us were often heard cussing in pain under our-out-of-tune-breaths.  Our parents gave us courteous claps and after our attempt to spice things up with a tri round of jingle bells, we were loosing our morale.    I shake my fist in the air at him now being that it was Carlton’s idea to target the Gillet’s home on Riverside.

In order to get there, we had to walk across the covered bridge that hovered over the Yazoo River.  This is where our candles of torture were easily discarded.  The moonlight guided the way of the seven white angels.  I picked up the sides of my gown in thick handfuls in order to keep up with the group.  Thankfully my long johns under my jeans helped to keep me warm when I allowed the chilly breeze to rush in.  We arrive at the house and of course I was the one who had the nerve to knock on the door while the rest hid behind the bushes.  No one answered.  Letting go of one side of the wrinkled fabric, I tried again.  No answer.  We heard a television blaring from the inside.  Carlton suggested I climb on his shoulders and peer through the side window.  Everyone else agreed.  Once situated, we rose to the view.  Sitting in a green lazy boy wearing a navy blue sweatshirt and close enough to the bunny eared TV to touch it with a knee, I saw a white haired shaved head man resting his hands on his robust stomach.  I remember whispering loudly, “I don’t know which one it is but there is…”

And then in a sweeping jagged move, I had been dropped to the ground with Carlton yelling “RUN!!!”

I was so disoriented.  I heard the sheer panic in his voice so all I knew to do was run like an insane person however I had no idea what we were all scattering from in seven different directions…I chose to sprint straight ahead!!  With only three steps into my flee, I tripped over that damn gown and flew into a tree.  Needless to say, it threw me back in the opposite direction with my annoying gown covering my head.  I was knocked out for a few minutes until I heard a strange voice moving towards my direction.  With the same amount of panic, this voice continued to yell “MAN DOWN! MAN DOWN! MAN DOWN!”

And as I laid on the cold slightly frozen lawn…for a moment, I thought I was in my own bed tucked under a sheet…I began to wonder, “What man was down?  What does that even mean?  Is he…sad?”

Before I could come to my own conclusion, I was swooped up with two strong arms and a bulky rectangular object was dropped on my stomach while being cradled.  The choir robe still over my head.  I then realized somebody was running with me and very fast at that.  I freed an arm and snatched the robe from my face and wish I hadn’t.  I was being kidnapped by John Gillette.  His walkie talkie jostled on my waist.  I wrenched my neck backwards and see my angel colleagues trailing behind, pleading with him to let me go.  I had never talked to John at this point in my life nor even come close to touching him.  Now, I was his little orphan Annie whom he thought he needed to save.  And when I thought it couldn’t get anymore bizarre, I am now able to prove at least one of the rumors.  John began attempting to kiss me.  Um…more like gum me.  Yep, not one tooth in that mouth.

He finally stopped halfway across the bridge.  For a fearful moment, I thought that I was going to join the ranks of the candles but thankfully by that time, Carlton had caught up to us.  John gently put me down.  Looked at me for a moment.  Voiced “Over and Out” into is walkie talkie and walked away back to the location of his house.

This memory permeates me.  It encapsulates many of my memories growing up for a short period of my life in the deep delta of Mississippi.  I was as much of a misfit as the Gillette brothers.  I was different from many around me.  I was considered a Yankee for my first two years there and playing the trombone in our 14 member marching band in high school didn’t help matters much.  But the truth is…all of us have found ourselves trying to keep up with a group or is the odd-man-out.  No one is left unscathed from being humiliated.

And thankfully so.  Bring on the humiliation.  Bring on the humility.  And with that adds the confidence to write what I know.

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by on February 3, 2012  •  Permalink
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2011, My Father Died

nearly a year later and not fully desensitized

On one of my last days in Florida, I drove over to Destin to their large outlet mall.  Massive selection of stores.  I practically went into everyone looking for nautical attire.  I figured if I was near the ocean then a perfect place to find a red and blue striped cotton mini dress.  While putting a puzzle together with Kelly, I got a text from Bob stating that I was to attend the Yacht Rock Revue with him.  Having no idea what that was, I turned my attention to Google.  Kelly chimed in that anything that has the word Yacht in it must be amazing.  You’d think.  As I pull up a site with a group of men wearing retro hawaiian shirts and sporting handle bar mustaches, I quickly learn that crystal filled Dom Perignon was not in my near future.  I did though learn that it was a 70′s cover band.  I knew who Steely Dan and Holland Oats was but did young Bob?  And why in the world would he want to listen to soft rock on purpose?

So, after the ninth store, I began to realize it was me.  Upon every entrance into another world of discounted clothing items, alarms would start raging.  Attendants would stop what they were doing and look at me.  Other shoppers would turn around and stare as well.  I hardly ever carry a purse, only a wristlet so they all quickly saw that I wasn’t confiscating anything.  I began to blatantly announce upon my arrival with a loud and assertive voice,  ”I have no idea what’s happening, so sorry”  while nonchalantly browsing their inventory.

Thankfully the manager at a dress boutique suggested I run my body over their scanner to figure out what was on me and then I could become desensitized.  Shoes? Nope, that wasn’t it.  Upper body?  Nope, beeping not heard.  Hips and Waist?  Yep.  It turned out that my VW keys were causing all the ruckus.  And in one quick swipe, the alarms no longer detected any problems.  I was desensitized.

But that simply is not the truth.

I still have Rosie’s email in my inbox of his itinerary to Germany.  He left last year from January 07 to the 21st.  One day later he died.  I can’t move the emails from him into desktop folders.  He had fwd me an email from Fred Carl about maps.  Two days ago, I finally stored away some of his belongings into large bins.  I was on the phone with Scott as I folded his little jeans with iron on patches on the knee.  Scott and I were engaged in an in depth conversation about life when I had to interrupt him, “there’s still a belt in these jeans.  A belt he put there.  Scott, I miss my daddy.  This is not get any easier.  When will it, Scott?”

It may not ever get easier.  As my cousin Beth said, “the hole never goes away, you just figure out how to move around it”.  She lost her dad, my uncle, dad’s brother to a heart attack as well when she was 14 years of age.

It’s hard to move around the hole when I feel like I’m sitting right in the middle of it.  The day he died and after I had driven to Pennsylvania from CT…I laid in bed with my sister.  I did not want to go to sleep.  I wanted to hold onto that day because within those 24 hrs, I knew my father had inhaled breaths.  I wanted to never leave that day even if he was no longer using his lungs.  So, I looked at my phone and would not allow myself to sleep until it was midnight.  It was the only way I knew how to just….hold onto him.

He existed in 2011.  And as much as I could not wait for this hellacious horrendous  year to get over…I just wanted to hold onto it.

The alarm is still raging inside of me.

 

 

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by on January 4, 2012  •  Permalink
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A Big Rolling Snowball in Alabama

And the heat illuminating from my face couldn’t even melt it

I blame all of this on my addiction to Circus Peanuts.  A few years back I had written a play and the first three pages were a conversation about this high fructose candy.  I only treat myself to them if I am on a road trip…possibly because this delicacy can  usually be purchased only from gas stations for around two dollars a bag.

I left on the 23rd to drive to Florida..and after half of the trip behind me…everyone including the car needed a break.  Delilah’s head had been Coraline’s sitting cushion for far too long and Coraline had begged with her subtle dinosaur-screeching like yawns for over an hour that her stiff body needed to be reminded that it was an agile puppy.

We are in Alabama and I stop at a Chevron to get gas.  While the car is getting refilled, I take out the dogs to stretch their legs and go to the bathroom.  It was quite chilly and was happy to return to my overstuffed car.  Forgetting to bring a bowl, I poured water into a Frisbee and they lapped it up along with their beef treats.  I put a call into Scott.  He did not pick up so I left a message.  I return a text back to my landlord about a fed ex package.  I felt extremely tired and knew I needed a pick me up…circus peanuts were purchased inside.  A very skinny woman missing a few side teeth and showing off her holiday cheer, wore a santa hat on her head.  She gave me back my change for the two bags I purchased.  I got back into the car…took a picture of them (which I tend to do every time…last time Scott got this picture…Kerry the time before…this time Bob was introduced into my sweet orange world).  All things done and it was time to go.  I start up the car and drive off.

And the moment I did…I just knew something was terribly wrong.  Something was eerily amiss.  I couldn’t put my finger on it.  I drove past a BP station and should have stopped there…but drove up the hill a tad bit more and into the circular driveway of a run down nursery.  I had barely put the car in park when a scraggily man in an old flannel coat walked out the door and letting the screen door slam behind him.  It was one of the only moments in that next 9 minutes that was in slow motion.  He raised his arm and pointed at me and his mouth twisted in a somewhat smile.  ”You done did it now”.  Still not completely putting the pieces together, I walk to where he’s standing and pointing.  Yep, I done did it.  I drove off with the pump and hose still attached to my car.  He told me to drive back with it to the Chevron.  I asked him if I could take it off.  He said, “Best not do that or you might blow up.”  What??? And then I hear a distant yelling coming from the BP station.  A woman in a letterman jacket who possibly graduated from high school 30 years ago is waving her arms in the air as if pleading to air search and rescue “Bring it Baaaaack!  Bring that hose back!”.  I look to Robert, “Oh my god, has this ever happened to anyone…are they going to yell at me?”  His somewhat twisted smile returned. “I know them.  You tell them that Robert said not to touch you.” Not to touch me???  I was only worried about being the focus of yelling.  Then a beyond bright yellow pick-up truck flies into the driveway.  The driver puts both of his folded elbows out his driver side rolled down window…as if we were about to have a casual chat.  ”We all saw it happen.  I ran in and told Mr. Lewis to turn off the gas so no one would blow up.  You gonna bring back that hose?”  I opened up my trunk and put handle and hose into it.  If I was going to done blow up then Robert and Yellow truck man were going down with me.

I drove past BP…past the woman in the letterman jacket who stared at me with crossed accusing arms.  If there was a helicopter and she had been trapped on a cliff in a thick wooded forest…I would be very tempted to only throw her down a rope and some granola.

I pull up to the Chevron Station.  There’s a sheriff car parked near me.  They called the Sheriff?  Lovely.  I go inside.  There are four people behind the cash register.  Scary Santa spots me first.  ”There she is.  There she is”.  She then elbows a very bedazzled woman in a pink swirly shirt.  ”Are you her?  Do you have the hose?”  Then the three people who were standing in line all turned around and stared at me.  She continued…”Mr. Lewis she’s here.”  Mr. Lewis and I meet near the pork rinds.  ”Mr. Lewis, my name is Sarah and I am so very sorry”.  ”You got the hose?”  I started to feel like I was transporting something exotic…not a black rubbery hose that had been dragged behind me on a county road but something that was confiscated from a dark alley in Belize where I had traded a dancing monkey who could tango in order to deliver this magnificent object to the glorious Mr. Lewis.  We walk out the door and very large massive man holding a hot dog is behind me.  He leans down to me and laughs “Don’t sweat it, I’ve done it too but I had done it late at night where no one saw me.  We all saw you and it was the highlight of my day.”

Mr. Lewis didn’t charge me for anything.  He was just so happy that I had returned the hose.  I guess maybe those don’t usually get returned.

And you know what…there was a part of me that didn’t want to return it…that option was completely dismissed after the village came after me but yes, the temptation truly lurked within my gut.  Why is that though…Why is it hard to step into our human shadows where the sticky lies and just feel your way through it.  What can I learn from this…well, I’m in a sticky shadowy place now…trying to find a direction to a new career….I may not have the characters of Alabama pointing me in the right direction but I do have hope.  And it’s not dragging behind me nor am I trying to run away from it.  It’s in the core of me.  It’s keeping me balanced.  And oddly is one letter away from hose.  The object that all wanted returned because without it, things just don’t work properly.

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by on December 27, 2011  •  Permalink
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