friendship

Reading And Writing And The Places They Have Taken Me

I have a small count, of the amount of books, I have read in my life. I wish someone like Bernie Freeman would’ve introduced me, to a love of books, in my childhood. I can’t help to raise my eyes into the rearview, touch the road behind me, wishing  for a portal, to change my “who has time for reading attitude”.

A lot of my high-school years were spent looking through windows of others trying to seal up their cracks, even if there was nothing to seal. I stood there creating a persona of support knowing support would create friendships.

School was not easy for me educationally, socially, or physically. The friends I did have, and still have today, I worked hard for. I wonder if I was able to go back, and change the person I was then. To whom I’m now, in this second. If I would end-up with the same results. I think I would, but I would have saved some energy for the reading, writing, and other educational subjects.

Five years ago, I took a basic English class. The teacher had us first free-writing: she told us to set the timer, and for fifteen minutes write whatever came to our minds. She said: “Don’t  worry about any grammar, just write”. We did this for a few weeks in and out of the classroom. She would also have us reading “Dead End in Norvelt” Which I instantly drew interest in the American author: Jack Gantos. She would have questions for us after every chapter and then ask us to describe in detail how we felt about the chapter. She also brought in a jean jacket, of hers. The jacket had been personalized. She wanted us to pick one material item, meaningful to us, and describe in detail what the material looked like on the outside, but also what the piece meant to us on the inside. She had us write our first draft in the beginning of the class, the second in the middle, then the third, fourth and fifth. Then at the end of our last class she showed us how far our writing had come from the beginning.

The final came around, and of course the topic the teacher had for the essay, took me all of the two hours. I poured my heart out writing about an old colleague of mine. After she told me “times up’.  She met me at the door, and took my paper. I was embarrassed, because I cry when I write. I was hoping to bow my head, put the essay on her desk, and get the hell out of dodge!

“Shelley I know you’re going to school for nursing, but I think you should continue an education in writing. A lot of people have a hard time tuning into the characters of  books they read, and you seem to do this well. I have enjoyed reading your work and hope to see you when time allows. Keep practicing”

I then found this platform and met others who encouraged me, as well.

A little over a year ago I started reading a blog about a mother, who writes to her daughter. She writes beautiful content, about life and the lessons she has learned. She led me to self discovery when she wrote about an old flame here. And how she ended the relationship without any explanation.

“I stopped talking to him altogether. And it was the cruelest and kindest thing I could think of”.

When commenting on her post about this particular line. I explained to her how she showed to me his side of the story instead of my own. Then she wrote a post on poetry where she removed another road block. One, I had put up myself. I used to think certain poetry was above me, and I wasn’t smart enough to read and understand certain poets and the poems they wrote.

“Poetry, though, is like a window on train: You see through it what you want to see, while simultaneously, the glass reflects you back. What I mean by “you own it,” is that your interpretation is equally valid to the poem’s meaning as that of the Poet’s. Too many people read poetry as if they’re trying to get to the right answer”.

I found myself diving into poetry on social media here. Author: Lang Leav writes brevity poems, powerful snippets about life and love. On her page, I then found Leo Christopher who wrote this:

“You assume I chose the most painful path, That my actions hurt you the most, but you’ll never know the sacrifices I made to spare you much grater heartache, sometimes that is the best love can do”.

Through these writers I was able find the peace from the past of my first love.

A while back Alyssa, you wrote a letter explaining where you’re with God. I try not to preach, although in person, you may tag me as such. I do not spit out verses because, I have never read the bible. I have gone to church and feel I have given my life to God. A while back I fell off the wagon of attending church.

I tried befriending a family from the church I was attending. They shot me down, snubbed me, and on my third attempt I could have sworn, I received an eye roll. I thought to myself.  This place is full of shit! However, I continue to pray and thank God for my family. I don’t have answers on why bad things happen or why he lets them happen. I do know, as you have shown me, in many post, like the examples I gave above. There is another side of the story.

When you wrote Leaning-into-the-lyre-on-the-occasion-that-you-need-hope, again with all your links you helped me understand depression, which my mother (step-mom) has suffered half my life.  On this particular blog post you posted another link  to a blogger who takes you “down the rabbit hole” of Sexual abuse. She compares her life to Virgina Woolf another writer I have heard of, but knew nothing about. When reading Woolf’s suicide letter.  I instantly heard my moms voice. She never committed suicide, but there were many times she wanted too. I was sorry for thinking one could come out of such hell so easily. I thank my mom, Lin from those depths, for loving my father all these years the way she has. I know you have made my father a happy man.

I’m no longer standing outside people’s windows to try to seal up cracks. I’m sitting here looking out my own window. Reading, writing, and getting educated. So, maybe one day, instead of trying to support the world. I can support myself and in turn. Be the person, I have always been.

Family · friendship

Laughing To The Grave Part 2

Writing on my blog has not been easy lately. I’m not going to lie. I look around at some of your post, and think my God, where can I get a blog like them… It’s not the size, I envy. It’s your writing style, your format, your flow, pictures, fonts, and the time that looks like you put into your blog. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t sit at the table with my elbow on it, leaning against my hand, for hours. It just makes me more aware of what and how I write. My cohort told me the other night.

“When it comes down to it, what matters is that people understand what you’re trying to say”

A few things have been keeping my family down in the dumps, my husband and I mainly. I won’t go into it too much, because you heard it all before. I would rather make us both laugh, how bout it?

A few weeks ago, Emmet was under the weather, and just not acting normal. My supervisor asked me to take her into the Emergency Room. They were getting her checked in, asking her questions about who, what, when, where, and why.

“Where is it, that you live?”

Emmet: The Jerry Kline Home For The Blind

“What Did you say”

Emmet: She then, slowly, broke-down all the words, and repeated herself

“Ok”

Emmet: busted out singing the nursery rhyme “Three Blind mice”

The same night, my husband and I were getting ready to go to bed. He had stepped out of our room for just a few minutes. I had a pill to take in my hand and of course dropped it. I was in-between the bed and the wall, on all fours, running my hand across the floor, trying to find that tiny thing.My husband walked backed in the room while I was on the hunt. He yells my name like he lost me in a crowd at a carnival. He scared the crap out of me. I pop up and say “What the hell, is going on”

Him: I did not see you, I thought the rapture had taken place and the lord took you instead of me…

My son and I got out-of-town, a few weeks ago. We went to a graduation. It was down by my home-town. On our way back home, we stopped in to see an old friend. Gabe asked them if we could use their bathroom. I went with him, because I had to go as well. He tripped over a toy and put his hand through a hole, which you could tell had been there already. He looks up at me, motions me to come in closer, when I get face to face with him, he looks around and back again at me.

Mom: I think their house is ripping apart!

I know you’re aware we follow Jesus, since my son was born I have let him know he can talk to him anytime. It does not matter where you’re, what you’re doing, it’s as simple as talking to me. The other day he found a spider in our house. He was squatted down, following it around. He motioned me to come look at it and I did. I grabbed a shoe and smashed it!

Gabe: JESUS, LOOK OUT!

Children

Private Room

Mouth Drop,
In exactly 100 words creatively describe one moment when your mouth dropped open, chin hit the ground, and tears rolled down your face (figuratively or not). If you prefer to develop this into a longer post, that’s fine too!

The sun shined through the window of my cold, quiet, private, hospital room that mid July day. The thin white blanket covered my bare legs stopping beneath my twenty-two week belly. I somberly glared at the wall with both hands gripping each side of my belly, feeling the lives inside me. The doctor came in and sat in the wooden chair next to my bed.

Gabe and willy 08/04/08
” I ache for the day I can kiss your foreheads and hold you in my arms again” Danielle Walker

Shelley, your water has broken and you will most likely go into labor in the next forty-eight hours. My mouth opens and my chin drops as tears still roll down my cheeks.

Daily Post · Family

Unto The Breach

 Grab a coffee and get comfy!
You may grab a java and get comfy!

Dear Friends,

Decisions, decisions How are you more likely to make an important decision-by reasoning through it, or by going with your gut?

If you would have asked me this question about four months back, I would have told you that I contemplated on all my decision. I would call my three life lines and run things by them asking what they thought?  After having confirmation from them, I would still teeter and stagnate. Sometime its easier to play it safe, Don’t you think? One of my procrastinations was moving, yes moving out of the Tin Can. It had nothing to do with the fact that it was a trailer. We had not been good at keeping the trailer up. The home needed some repairs. There were some dents in the floor, the carpet had been there since I moved in eight years ago, windows were cracking and leaking, the place just needed to be refurbished. If I knew then what I know now I would have made the changes it needed before moving in. If you want me to be real though. My finances at the time would not allow me to do the repairs, it needed then. It was perfect for me than because it was just myself and my foster baby. He was getting ready to leave and go live with his grandma. This was not a choice of mine. We prayed and prayed. The day they tested his D.n.a, because an older lady thought he’d  belonged to her son. If that was the case she wanted to step up. My family and I fought hard for the little, dark, chunk of burning love but we lost… He brought us seven months of joy and the decision was out of my hands.

We had to make a decision about the trailer. To put money the money we had into it or find something else. We wracked our brains and eyes, always driving around looking but nothing more than looking. I was getting board and confused about what my husband wanted to do. He wasn’t saying much. I was overwhelmed with all the things we accumulated and needed to get rid of because they were collecting dust. I made a phone call one day to my dad and told him basically what I wrote to all of you. He informed me that I was holding myself back and gave me clarity.

Dad: Shelley, Sometimes you have to hold your nose and jump in. I would be still living in the trailer you grew up in, if  I hadn’t jumped. You make your decision than you learn that sometimes there right and sometimes there wrong. The only way you’ll find out, is by taking a chance. You’re a good judge and whatever you choose to do I-am confident you will be okay.

We made the move and I feel so much better. We did not buy a house, yet. We our living in a five-room duplex its small, remodeled and clean. We got rid of all those things that were collecting dust, if we need any maintenance work we just call the landlord. This works for us right now because we work, have a child, and a marriage to maintain. We decided at this point we’re not big fix it people. So if we bought a house we might end up right back in the situation we started in. If there is one thing I try to live by that also came from my dad years ago. “Never Back Only Forward”

 

 

Daily Post · friendship

Flight 1995

Middle Seat

It turns out that your neighbor on the Plane (or the person sitting at the table next to you is a chatty tourist. Do you try to switch seats go for a non-committal brief small talk, or make this person your new best friend?

Shortly after my graduation, I flew to Florida to visit a friend. I boarded the plane and found my seat it was on the right hand side of the back of the plane. I was one seat away from sitting next to the isle. There was a space between me and a short, slender, Korean lady. She had her face and body pressed towards the window as far as she could go. She gave me a glance and then smashed herself back into the window. I sat down and got situated with my music gear preparing for take off. I noticed after I stopped shuffling around. My neighbor, was sniffling and quivering. Was she crying I thought to myself? All I could see was her long, shiny, healthy, black, hair. I figured I better put my headset on and mind my own business. (not typically my style).

After we got up in the air she peeled herself off the seat and told me she had to use the restroom. She had a few Kleenex in her hand waded up when she came back. I could see her watery eyes, her red nose, and another surprise growing in her tummy. I figured this was a sad situation, after about an hour of still hearing her sniffling, catching her breath and quivering. I decided to approach  her. I knew it was the right thing to do. If she turned me down I could live with it and have no regrets.

Me: Are you going to be okay

Her: No not for a while

Me: If you would like to talk about it, we can?

Her story

Her parents sent her off to college. I can’t recall which one, this has been years ago. I want to say somewhere in Washington D.C  They had deposited a check into an account for her to help get by while she was going to school. The amount was insane TO ME. I take they were well off. She then started crying, telling me most of the money was gone. She had met some friends at college and they decided to boycott school and take a few trips. She told me during this time she met someone who was married and basically dated him until she got pregnant then things started going down hill. He disappeared and quit answering her calls, he even changed his number and left the job he had. She was telling me all this and scratching herself all over her body. She said the pregnancy was stretching out her skin and making her itch, she wasn’t able to keep any food down, her clothes were getting to small and she wasn’t happy. She hadn’t told her parents about the money or the baby. She said the only people who knew was herself, the boyfriend and me. She told me she left town after people started asking her if she was pregnant. She sobbed and sobbed as she poured herself out to me. She was looking for someone somewhere to perform an abortion. She said only certain States perform them after a certain amount of months. She was five months, twenty weeks and torn about the decision. She said she could feel the baby moving around inside her and it was basically pulling at her heart-strings. The conversation went around in a circle for most of the flight. I never said much to her because I felt like I was there to listen. I stayed as monotone as I am in this post. When the plane landed she grabbed me and gave me a hug. I hugged her tighter and told her she would be in my thoughts, and she has been for almost twenty years.

Home

Benjamin

First Crush: Who was your first childhood crush, what if you saw him or her again

This  poem was written by me back in Nineteen-Ninety-Nine. My friend Christy said I should enter it in a contest, it may not be that good but she don’t give out compliments unless she means them.

You always have a first love in life who lingers within your cardiovascular. Sometimes later in life  The Holy Spirit might unfold why things did not work… My blessing out of the deal was that my feelings were preserved instead of the alternative.

In the words of my mom Linda “Keep Your Fantasy in A Fantasy” because they’re  not what you imagined. Here is a little piece of my preservation.

The night we met

My feelings hadn’t happened yet

New years eve

You stole my heart from me

All those calls we made

All those nights

We laid awake

Together

safe

Happy

You said You wanted me

I wanted You too

I wanted to be your friend

Share everything

With you

I wished at times

lying next to you

I could’ve melted

To be part of you

Wherever you went to

Today you’re a memory

You remain a fantasy

A deep tear within my heart

The silence

You bestowed upon me

Never trumped

My faith in you

For a great life

Of happiness

I Love you