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.

Home

The Be Thankful Challenge

IMG_1086

Raphaela, has nominated me for the Be Thankful Challenge. Thank you for this honor.

Challenge Rules

Share this image in your blog post

  • Write about five people in your life you are thankful for
  • Write about five things in 2015 that you are thankful for
  • Spread the love and challenge five other blogs to take part

Five people in my life that I’m thankful for.

*My husband Steve, he gave me my son and also his ears. I have told him more than one dark secret. He listens like a hunter hunting a deer.  I am thankful he still here.

* My son, he has brought the joy to my life. I blurt out in song all the time when we’re home, tonight he is under the weather. I was giving him cough medicine while singing “a spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down the medicine go down the medicine go down” Mom, I’m tired of you singing all the time. I let out a wine and made a sad face. Mom, I still love you, I just don’t feel like hearing you sing right now…

*My mom Linda, she has taught me how to look inside myself and others. “It’s who we are there that counts” this may sound a bit off the bunny trail… I have this head full of hair, it is black, thick, kinky, course, and grows out instead of down. Years ago before developing vitiligo (which turns the skin milky white I’m one hundred percent covered now) people would refer to me as mixed with black and white. We lived in small towns during my childhood. I got the worst of one world. I won’t go into it because I have already. I’m just trying to help you understand Linda. I suppose living in the small town we do now people see my hair and may think I have something in me. My son the other day came home and told me “I was not his mom because he was white and I’m black” I told him that I was not black and changed the subject. This brought back triggers of being younger. I  didn’t want to make my thoughts his thoughts. I called my mom later and she said you just tell him “so what it does not matter what color I’m” I forget myself at times that it don’t matter if people think this. The only reason it hurt me is because of my past. I’m thankful that she reminds of the person I’m instead of labels people put on me.

* For readers on this platform who have encouraged me to continue writing and told me it’s okay to write whatever you want. You don’t have to have a plan. Write about what happened during your day, whats going on right now, or what Gabe says “readers love to hear about what kids say” These comments have taken the pressure off, given me fuel to write, and not feel as though I need to impress the world.

*For my dad, he is a believer and has pushed me all through life. He never lets me talk down to myself. When I did he would build me up. I took a class three years ago out at the community college. I had to gather lots of information from my past because I needed proof to get the help they offered for my organization skills. It brought me back to who I let people believe I was then. I made several calls to him during this class because of the nice comments the teachers would make about my writing. I was always shocked because I had never had anyone else comment on my work  or what I put into it, except for him. At the end of the class she pulled me aside and told me she had enjoyed reading my work. She wanted to publish  one of my papers into a college art book. I decided against it because it had to go through a board and they had the last decision. I did not want to take the chance of having my balloon popped. The gesture was enough. When I told my dad, I cried because of everything I went through how kids treated and talked about me. My dad said “they were kids then Shelley they are not the same people anymore you still think people think that way about you and they don’t” he also said I had a hidden talent and I should continue to write. Here I-am on my two-year anniversary!

Five Things I am grateful for

*Ears for those who listen

*Joy during grief

*Wisdom for the long haul

*Support when the going gets rough

*Love to light the way

I nominate the following to take part in the challenge

1. Raspberry Daydreams

2. TheLoneRose

3. My Weary Mind

4. Dear lily June

5. smiling Notes

Family · friendship

Interview Times Eight

Dear Christy,

How are things going with you? let me know in the comments or give me a ring. I have been thinking of my friend of thirty years lately.  So I thought I would write you an open letter and catch you up blog style. I had a job interview the other day. I may have informed you a bit ago about how Cheryl’s sister, Sondra’s husband has been trying to talk me into working where he works. He says they pay better and they have better insurance… They’re about three times the size of where I work now.

I wanted to tell you about the interview process

I signed in at the front desk at ten o’clock. The time my interview was set for. They informed me it was a group interview and to have a seat. There were five other girls sitting in the chairs in front of the desk. I put a big smile on my face and sat next to a girl who was still in high-school. She said hello and asked me my name and told me hers. She told me this was her “second interview here, but first group interview.” I could tell she was a bit nervous just like me and trying to stand out a bit by being friendly.(We discussed it might be a part of the interview to see how we interact with strangers.) A few moments after sitting down a woman named “Kathy Bates” asked us if we were ready? We all agreed, she said to follow her. We walked back further into the lobby where a Grand Piano sat, in front of it were five or six tables and chairs (wooden) If you look further there was a black tile floor for maybe dancing? (whatever you as the reader would like to imagine) we took a sharp left down a long hall, which was boring so I didn’t pay much attention to detail, around another corner we took there were residents eating in a “restaurant” type  area that actually had a counter, and a person behind it grilling, and a waitress on the floor taking orders from the five or six residents dining. We walked around another corner that led us to the door of this theatre type room with four rows of theatre type chairs, down by the screen was eight people men and woman dressed to the nines with clip boards and papers. We all got seated and “Kathy Bates” explained to us how they like doing interviews this way because it works for them. She didn’t go into detail. My mind did. I figured since they’re a good size  facility it goes quicker. They can interview everyone at one time instead of scheduling each individual interview and it taking weeks sometimes months. She said she was going to ask each of us a question, which she did. She had us start by each of us telling who we were and how long we had been nursing assistants? here are a few questions.

1.) Tell me a negative situation you were in that had a negative outcome?

2.) How would you handle a combative resident with dementia?

3) (My question) What do you do on your down time? Me: I have been at my job for fourteen years. I have moved into a friendship with most of my residents. I’m usually in their rooms spending time with them and helping them clean.

The panel of people by the screen was taking notes after each one of us answered our questions. When they got done writing our answers, “Kathy Bates” informed  us they were going to the back room to discuss who would proceed further into the interview process and not to be upset if you  were “sent home.” I thought to myself “what is this American Idol? We all sat there for about ten minuets and a guy named “Bluto” came to the front and says Shelley and “Betty Boop” come with me!

Return for the second half of Life In My Tin Can…….

 

 

Daily Post · friendship

Stanley

Day Two: A Room with a view. Today’s Prompt: If you could zoom through space in the speed of light, what place would you go to right now?

The man in his room on the edge of his bed

A glare on the floor from the light overhead

No pictures or paintings on his four corner walls

No radio or t.v from my view in the hall

One braille book on his pale white chair

The glare from the floor piercing my stare

He started to pray about all he had

He said thanks for the good and bad

The halls were quiet no soul in sight

The peace was different in those halls that night!