Does Time Matter?
Posted on October 22, 2008 - Filed Under Deep thoughts, adventure, life metaphor, possibilities
Through the ages mankind has always had an issue with time. I know I have and I’m part of mankind so there is at least some truth in the above statement. Much of our lives are built around time too, time clocks, alarms clocks, pocket watches, Times Square, lunch time, break time, quitting time. Aarrrgggh time, time, time controls us and we don’t ever have enough of it for the things we want.
It pervades our language - the clock is ticking, time waits for no man, the time has come, all in due time,
in the nick of time, marking time, time is running out, just in time and many more examples exist. Face it kids, we’re stuck in time - oops there’s another one.
It makes me wonder if this universe is rigged with this time thing, you know? I mean maybe the great god of creation or whatever Supreme Being you happen to believe in set it up so we could just get things done. An arbitrary measure or adversary against which we could race, bet, think, do? It’s possible. Because really what is the point of time? What does it really mean in the longrun? That you can only have so many days to do something, to get something to create something. That once that arbitrary measure runs out so does your opportunities? It’s true that bodies age and with that so does our sense of time, possibly our inspiration to do things, achieve things or maybe we just get tired? On the other hand there are those out there who seem to defy time, look and act years younger than they are.
So maybe time has some aspect of agreement involved in it? You know like, you agree that time passes and things age as time passes and things change as time passes and stuff like that. But do they really? Is that really true or just a little game we’ve made up as part of the bigger game of life? I can think of dozens of examples of when I bent time so to speak.
Like I was running late and I had to, had to, had to be at a place at a certain time. Magically all the lights were green, the traffic disappeared, a parking spot appears right in front of the building. Or mom is coming over in fifteen minutes and somehow I’ve managed to clean the house before she gets there, or the man of your dreams finally calls and you’re showered, shaved and wriggled into that sexy little black dress in ten minutes flat. The fireman that manages to get the baby out of a burning building despite the impossiblity of it? And a million other examples that I’m sure you could think of in your own life.
More and more I’ve started to think that time is the enemy but not in the classical sense - not that it is going to beat me but my belief in its importance is going to beat me or us. It’s more a matter of the thinking, that it’s too late for a goal to be realized, for love, for happiness, for change, for a clean start, for anything really. I don’t believe that anymore and I’m glad. I think that time is starting to become my pet instead of the other way around. I will treat it nicely if it behaves and if it doesn’t then no desert for it.
How about you?
Whose Life Is It, Anyway?
Posted on September 10, 2008 - Filed Under Life, adventure, ghosts, life metaphor
Did you ever wonder if you were really living your own life? I don’t mean that in a shallow sense like the kids, the job, blah blah never leaves you enough time for yourself - I actually mean it in a more literal way. Like someone you love suddenly dies or has a terrible accident - and you become so distressed that you practically will yourself into becoming them. That you so don’t want that person to leave your life you begin to lead their life for them, rather than your own?
I know, WC, where the hell do you come up with this stuff? Hard to say but it has nevertheless been on my mind lately. As most of you know there has been lots of crazy action around me the last few months and it seemed to start when my friend Kelly had an accident that should have killed her but which she was too stubborn to die from. When I learned the news I actually felt myself do a funny little thing - not one of those out of body experiences but it was as though I was driving east and suddenly I picked up the car and turned it west and drove that way. And it stopped feeling like my car too.
Obviously in extreme situations, we will react with stress and our stress manifests in different ways. In my case it seemed almost a personality transplant had taken place. I often found myself thinking I didn’t recognize myself and was confused by my own actions, my own thoughts, my viewpoints. Though I suppose some part of me remained or I wouldn’t have questioned anything, I still felt obsessed, possessed and not truly under my own will.
Suddenly things just happened to me, rather than my making things happen. Odd, that. Not like me. I would get irrationally upset about things that never bothered me before. Saw danger where there really was none yet it all seemed very real. In fact, for a while, I couldn’t drive without the image of someone slamming into me. I thought incessantly about Kelly’s children and family - natural you might think because of the situation - but it wasn’t the thought so much as the viewpoint of the thought - as if I were thinking for Kelly.
And suddenly many other things seemed to go to shit in my life as well. Inexplicably. As though it were now my turn to ride first class on the shit tour. Blow ups with friends, room mates, my dog acting weird, clients not paying me - yeah it was shoveling faster than I could shovel it out. With me, just shaking my head and asking WTF?
Though there came a point that we realized Kelly was going to make it and we could let out a collective breath, it didn’t return me to myself, so to speak. I still felt weird, odd, strange. Not me. So instead of ignoring it which I’d been doing and hadn’t changed a thing I made myself think about it, examine it, turned it into a science project if you will and I realized something very interesting. That I’d done this before - the first time when grandfather died, then my brother, then my father (that was a real tough one) and now Kelly. It gave me pause to see a pattern like that. I was tempted to just say, ‘well, that’s natural, that’s normal, we all go through loss and stress and so on.’ But I really couldn’t buy that for me. I am a strong person with a very strong personality and strong will - I couldn’t believe that there wasn’t some decision on my part involved in it. I don’t necessarily rational decision but decision nonetheless. And when I really looked at it I could spot the decisions - see them, almost hear myself think them. And it goes something like this, “I’m not going to fucking let them die, no matter what.” Spooky, huh? I thought so.
And so the pattern began and has lived on - some dumb part of me believing that through sheer will I can somehow continue another person’s life by being them or acting like them, carrying on for them. With no mind to my own life and all the many things that I need, want, have. Well, I’m here to tell you folks, it can’t be done. It really can’t. I can only truly live my own life, as can anyone else and that’s how it should be.
It’s a relief in a way to realize it - so much guilt I now don’t have to own, so much worry, so much grief. I can empathize, I can understand and I can grieve but it’s not my job to continue for them. And so I can just tend to the job of being myself and living my own life. Which is hard enough, eh?
So, any of you ever feel that way or is this one of those posts that you wonder if I’m smoking crack or something?
Sixteen - Theme Fridays
Posted on September 5, 2008 - Filed Under Life, life metaphor, love, theme fridays
“There’s sixteen things you have to know about men, if you’re ever gonna be happy with one, ” Grandma said to me that night on the porch. Summer. Hot and sticky. And we swung on the porch swing, in tandem with the moon.
“Are you listening to me?” Grandma asked.
“Uh huh,” I murmured but I was watching the stars in the sky and only hearing her a little bit. What did I need to know about men? What could she possibly tell me? Why didn’t my little brother come and interupt this conversation like he did all the important ones? I hoped this wasn’t going to be like the ‘talk’ I had with Mom a few weeks before.
“I’m only going to tell you this, once, Stella. So listen,” Grandma said and her voice would not release my ears.
I nodded and the porch swing creaked for emphasis. The stars winked out as I lay my head back and closed my eyes. “Yes, okay,” I said surrendering to her intent.
“They won’t never put down the toilet seat. Live with it.”
I cocked an eye at her - was she serious? This was advice?
“Never say a word against his mama. No matter what she’s done to you, to him or anybody else. She brought him into the world, and for that you gotta be grateful.”
“Whose mother? Who is he?” I asked sending a lazy eye out toward the night to find an intruder.
“If he remembers your birthday, he’s a keeper. If he remembers your birthday and your anniversary, other women will be jealous of what you got.”
“But I’m not a woman,” I protested. “What women will be jealous? Why do I want that?”
“Sssh and listen. You will be a woman and you will remember this, if you pay attention,” Grandma chided.
I closed my eyes again and went along.
“They’re as bad as babies when they’re sick. Make them soup and they’ll be happy. If he’s after you all the time, it means he is not after other women. That’s a good thing.”
“After me?” I came out of my slouch and spied again into the night. “Who’s after me?”
“Child, just listen,” Grandma put her hand on mine and squeezed. “Just listen.”
“But why are you telling me this? I’m not a woman. I don’t even like boys,” I pointed out. “And I’m pretty sure they’ll never like me, either.” I ran my tongue across metal braces and could not imagine lips landing there.
“Because you will be a woman, you will like boys and I won’t be there then to tell you.”
And we shared a look, one I’ll never forget - there was a secret in her eyes that told me I should shut up and listen. I sat back and let her talk.
“They have hair in places you can’t imagine - but you’ll get used to it. They never understand what they did wrong no matter how many times you explain it. If he says he is sorry, forgive him and forget about it. They do their best which is usually not good enough but you can’t get blood from a turnip. If he makes you laugh it’s worth more than gold. If he holds you when you cry you’re in his heart.
And tears formed in my closed eyes but I didn’t know why.
“He’ll tell you he loves you by opening pickle jars and fixing clocks. You have to hear the words in what he does, not what he says.” Grandma stopped and I opened my eyes to meet her stare. “Are you listening, Stella? Are you really listening?”
I nodded and I really was, even though none of it made much sense to me, I had a feeling it would - sometime later. I had a feeling that when it did mean something to me that I’d remember this talk on the porch on a hot, sticky night and smile to myself. “What are the other two,” I asked.
Grandma squinted at me for a minute then smiled. “So, you were listening and counting too?” she was pleased.
I moved in closer, now anxious to hear the final two important things I needed to know sometime in some future life with a man I would someday love. “Are you going to tell me?” I asked.
Grandma nodded and her blue eyes twinkled in that devilish way of hers. “Tell him he’s the only one for you and always was. But keep a love letter around from an old flame just to keep him off balance.” And then she laughed loud and deep from her belly and I laughed too. For a long time we laughed.
And when I went off to bed that night, I wrote down the 16 things in my diary, so I wouldn’t forget.
Discover Christines world of 16
Leave ‘em Laughing
Posted on August 14, 2008 - Filed Under Blogging, brain farts, clueless, life metaphor, really stupid shit
An old adage from show business, which I suspect started in the Vaudeville days. The logic being that if you could keep the crowd laughing and happy, no harm in the form of a giant hook would come after you. Yep, that would be me. I am that girl. I have been since I can remember. There is just something in me that has always been able to coax a laugh out of anyone. Even people who despise me.
And when you learn something early on in life, it gets used a lot and also, it becomes part of your arsenal of survival. I wouldn’t say I grew up in an unhappy home - but there was a lot of fighting and noise and my mother bless her heart is one high strung woman. Apparently, it was for her, that God gave me this gift. It seemed no matter how upset she would become I could always manage to crack her up. As long as I could stay detached it worked out pretty well.
So, I grew up with this weapon of humor. There were points in my life that I had a repertoire of 200-300 jokes and I could literally tell jokes for 2 hours straight, barely taking a breath in between. Which was good because I was kind of scrawny and geeky when I was a kid and it was probably the only thing that kept the popular kids (read bullies) from humiliating me along with the other geeks and stuffing me in trash cans and lockers. Needless to say, I developed this talent to a veritable art form expanding from mere humor and jokes into witty repartee, sarcasm and ascerbic adventures and continued to hone it through the years.
So much so that it became just who I was. And I have to say that for most of my life I have always thought of myself as the funny chick. You know, not the pretty one, not the popular one, not the smart one, not the talented one, the funny one. That was my personna. Don’t believe me, ask anyone who knows me to describe me, the first word out of their mouth will be funny…. and, so on.
So, when I got the blogging bug, as so many of us have, what would make more sense than to do funny stuff. Write funny pieces, stories, anecdotes, satire, political rants seasoned just right with a blend of sarcasm and potty jokes. Yup - that was Writer Chick. Nobody ever came to my blog without leaving with a smile on their face. I can promise you that was the case. Because you see, it was the goal. Though secretly I longed to write other things, well actually I did, but I longed to post them here. And actually I did a couple of times and as Michael likes to say, ‘they went over like a fart in church’. So, I knew that wasn’t going to fly - yet I still had the need to write the ‘other’ stuff. So, I started another blog so that I could do that - and no this is not an invitation for people to ask about the other blog and get a link and visit, because if that blog was something you wanted to read it would already be on your radar - in other words don’t worry about that.
But the point I guess, if there is a point, which I’m seriously beginning to wonder about - is this, I got myself into this mindset that the only reason anybody came here was so they could get laugh and then move about their business. And in essence sort of created my own monster, no one made me feel that way it was wholly created by me. Nonetheless, the blog began to feel a little bit like a prison that held me in a certain cell and would not let me out in the exercise yard. And I started to really think that my only worth in the blog world was the laughtrack. Again, this was me making me think this, no one else. But it made me restless and made me want to pull the plug on the blog, made me want to do something else - yet somehow I just couldn’t quite get there, let it all go. 500 plus posts, all the hours, all the time, all the energy - I couldn’t quite throw it in the trash.
So then the new solution became self hosting. It was going to somehow make me feel that I wasn’t trapped in the good humor truck and that I could offer other flavors of ice cream and it would be new and exciting. Well, not so much. With the new blog now, not only did I have a litany of crap I had to learn and clearly didn’t understand on the technical end, I lost my page rank, my stats tanked and I wasn’t sure if anyone was reading at all, funny or not. Crap! Now what?
Well, slowly but surely I believe I have evolved if one can do such a thing in the blog world. I like the humor, truly I do and lately I’m missing it - and I want to round it up again - but also have other things to say. Things that aren’t funny, that may even be quite serious or a bummer, but I’m okay with it now. Because the truth is I am the funny chick and I will always be, but now I know I don’t always have to be funny. That’s actually pretty cool and somewhat of a relief, you know what I mean. And crap, I hope this post made some sense.
Is Virtual Reality – Reality?
Posted on August 7, 2008 - Filed Under Deep thoughts, Family, adventure, friends, life metaphor
I know this is somewhat of a cliché question – we all write about it. The differences between ‘real’ life and virtual life. How people can pretend to be anything or anyone that they want on the Internet essentially with impunity and get away with the most outrageous things sometimes. And of course I am not talking about spamming people’s email boxes with viagra ads. I’m talking about some pretty serious and nasty stuff. Child porn, abductions, identity theft and so on and so forth ad nauseum. But I want to take a little further spin around this block beyond the usual path that is traveled with this line of thinking.
I want to talk about love. LOL – gee that sounds like the beginning of disco song or something. Now before you start getting glazed eyes at the prospect of my doing a post about EHarmony or something hear me out for minute.
Long before there were computers, the internet, television, radio, telephones and any immediate type of communication medium, there were letters. As was the custom many moons ago, people wrote letters to one another, long letters, meaningful letters, letters that told of their secrets, their dreams, their hearts and sometimes the farming news and the condition of Aunt Marion’s bunions. It was also often the case that men and women fell in love through the medium of letters – Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Robert Browning are a well known and famous example of such a love affair. During their 20 month courtship they exchanged nearly 600 letters. And if you have ever had the pleasure and joy of reading any of these letters you will discover that in fact it is possible to first find your way to love through words. And if you have not read any of these letters, do yourself a favor and read some of them. It will restore your belief in the human heart and in love.
So, tracking up the 21st century – or whatever century we’re in because last I heard there was some debate about it and I can’t be too bothered with it – the letter, has been replaced with the email (essentially). Though often emails are more like grocery lists and jotted scribbles across kitchen pads and are used as a quick efficient modern shorthand to get some basic ideas across, they too are letters. I don’t know about you but I have been known to write some very long emails and had some very long emails returned to me. I have had what I can only describe as a ‘saga’ between myself and some others where the exchange of emails numbered up to 100 over the course of a week. So strong and intense was the need to deliver and receive the ideas and concepts being discussed. For me, communication is communication. The fact that someone cannot see me nor hear my voice does not mean nor make my communication false or insincere. Or that of anyone else.
Bloggers may in particular understand this because eventually you become a part of a sort neighborhood, where you find like minded individuals who share interests, worries, troubles and joys in common through the mutual reading of the blogs. This often begins friendships and emails, chats and sometimes even phone calls ensue. In my case I can say that I have found two lifelong friends all because of the internet and email and online activities. But they are actually more than friends, I truly think of them as family. How this began and how it continued and why it even came about I guess is irrelevent but these two people are no less unbelievably and undeniably loved friends than they would be if we had grown up next door to each other. Phone calls, gifts, birthday cards, care packages, emails all have been exchanged and frequently and regularly and they are part of the paradigm of my life. I honestly cannot imagine my life without them in it. And one of them lives on the other side of the world, literally.
So the question then is how does this happen? How can you come to love someone you have never met as though they were your family? As though you grew up in the same house with them or worked at the desk next to them for the last twenty years. I’m not sure I know the answer but I will give a guess. I think that as human beings regardless of the environment we find ourselves in we give off clues of who we are, what we think, what we like, dislike, are afraid of, hope for and that can actually be perceived by another human if the connection is strong enough and the desire exists.
I have to laugh when I hear people say (write) that they are nothing like they seem on their blogs or on the internet, etc. etc. because of course they must be because they created whatever presence they are in that medium, whether they write about diaper bargains or heartfelt memoirs. A piece of them is there for anyone who has an eye to see it. Not all of them of course, but certainly some part, I don’t see how it could possibly be otherwise.
And it is also human nature to be drawn to anything kindred, in whatever form a person finds it. That they find it online, thanks to some whacky exchange of energy and wavelengths seems to me, irrelevent. Things do happen for a reason. People do cross paths for a reason – the how and where I think is secondary to the reason. So, while there are one million and one reasons to be cautious about meeting people online, becoming friends or even perhaps more – and rightfully so – there are also reasons to remember that the written word has been the medium for companionship, friendship and even love for longer than any of us have been on this earth and so to stay open to the possibility of that I think is worth the risk of being tricked, disappointed or just flat out wrong. You never know, you could end up with two lifelong friends and maybe more.
10 Reasons Why it’s Good to Take a Week Off Blogging
Posted on August 5, 2008 - Filed Under Blogging, Life, joy of creating, life metaphor, my opinions
Hey everybody, I’m back and thanks to all the fabulous guest posters who gave me the time off I needed last week. You’re all wonderful bloggers and good friends and I appreciate it more than you know.
So, the week was good for me and I’ve realized that every now and again it’s good to take some time off from the routine and here are a few reasons why:
1. Eventually you run out of recipes and need some time to find some new ones.
2. Your hands are not really intended to take on the shape of crawling crabs and it is much easier to smoke when you can extend your fingers.
3. You occasionally need a day when the thoughts, “I am so blogging this,” “what the hell am I’m going to post today?”, “Why doesn’t YouTube have decent vids anymore?”, and similar thoughts aren’t dancing around your brain.
4. The sun is shining, the flowers are blooming and your eyes can indeed adjust to natural light again if you just give it a a day or so.
5. Reading an actual book doesn’t make your eyes hurt and can easily be taken to a park, a chair, the backyard or the beach without missing a thing.
6. A day without email can be filled with adventure and new discoveries instead of viagra ads and old jokes and get rich quick schemes.
7. Life has a beautiful rhythym of its own and everything does not have to go at lightning speed and sometimes it’s better when it doesn’t.
8. Barbecues in the backyard, stars in the sky, nightblooming jasmine, hummingbirds at the feeders.
9. New ideas come unexpectedly and allow your mind to grow.
10. Sleeping is a good thing.
Granted, not one of my usual funny lists - though that was my original thought. But the mind goes where it wants to sometimes.
Six Words
Posted on June 25, 2008 - Filed Under Deep thoughts, hope, life metaphor, my opinions
Michael over at Smoke and Mirrors tagged me for this meme, which originated with Bookbabie. It’s taken hold of the blogosphere and it’s possible, thousands of bloggers are embracing it, apparently, they’ve lost count - and how cool is that?
The rules are:
1. Post a six word memoir
2. Link to the person who tagged you.
3. Link to the originator of the meme, in this case Bookbabie
4. Tag 5 other bloggers
I went through endless possibilities for the memoir, I mean for Heaven’s sake, it’s only six words - a little restrictive if you ask me. I like words so much that I didn’t want all the other words to feel left out…still, you must choose at some point, yes? So…
I lie awake, looking for truth
Now, as to the tagging, I’m not big on that and the chances are good that most everyone has done this but I’ll throw some names out there anyway. I tag….
So, take it away, ladies.
Burgers Don’t Make You Cry
Posted on June 8, 2008 - Filed Under Life, assclowns, life metaphor
I almost cried
when they forgot my burger
The girl was mean
and snippy
Which didn’t help
but that isn’t why
I almost cried
It was the one man
who kindly asked
“How are you doing?”
It made me think
of how I was doing-
Not good
would have been
the correct answer
Instead, I forced an
‘appreciate your asking’ smile
and turned away
Let them think
I almost cried over
a stupid-ass burger
Better that than
share my pain
Strangers don’t like that
Makes them uncomfortable
Don’t want to peek into the windows
of your life
Lest they see something
that makes them reach
out and connect
Lest they turn their attention
to an intersection not
named ME
I ate my burger
moved to a
different table
letting them all think
burgers can make
people cry
Leaving them with a
story they could take home
with them
when they needed some small talk.
