Letters

Seeing my Dad reclining on the couch fighting sleep makes me smile. There is work that needs to be done, so I sneak off into the front room. I can feel the blood pump through my veins. I become startled at how slow it is. I blink & I am face down into the blue carpet...drooling.





How long have I been laying here?





I find I can't get up to my feet. I'm on my hands & knees panting. I realize my time is running out. I am not frightened at all. I am very excited. My head is about to explode with joy, but my body doesn't respond.





I hear my Dad ask me when will my family return home from shopping. I try to respond in a way that won't frighten my Dad. In the strongest voice I can muster, I crock out "Soon, Dad..soon." He is pleased with my response & goes back to his couch induced sleep.





I am calm & happy as my body starts to break down. My letters to my family have been written. The clothes I will wear have been set out. The only thing I worry about is their pain. I did my best to explain in my letters how excited I was & how happy I will be with my new adventure. The letters would help them cope. I have done all that I can do to prepare them for my death.





I blink once more...& again I am face down in the dark blue carpet. I feel the wave of death getting deeper. My belly is excited. It jumps with wild abandon...just like it did the time I went down those crazy water slides at the park. I can't contain my happiness. My eyes close as I start to descend down that eternal water slid.





"CAW-CAW!"





What the heck?!





"CAW-CAW!!"





Opening one eye I see a jet black crow by the side of my face. I ask her what she wants...I'm kind of busy dying here.





"What about the notes to your friends?"





CRAP! My friends! Oh no! They need notes too. I roll to my back as the crow moves to stand on my toes....her feet a fleshy and cold. The words I have in my head refuse to move to my mouth. I need help...but my lips are starting to numb. The great bird cocks her head, understanding my plea. Her beady black eye moves slightly off to the left, I follow her gaze & find my child's crayon laying on the floor. It takes every once of strength I have to grab at it. With the crayon held in my weak grip, I frantically start to write my love notes to my friends.





My pulse slows & my breathing comes in short bursts. I start to panic as the names of my friends leak out of my brain. So many names. Men & women I love. Stupid lack of oxygen is giving me death brain farts. I see each friend as clear as day...but their names have escape me.





Scribbling on bits of paper I find scattered on the floor, the crows start to gather. One by one, they swoop gracefully down to the floor. They hop & chatter. excited. joyful. I tell them to wait. Waitttt. The crows start to caw at me, begging me to play with them.





"Give it a rest! I'm trying to write here!"





A crow hops on my chest & ask me why I panic.





"If you haven't noticed I'm dying here & I have to write these notes to my friends. They need to know how much I love them. They have to know how unique they are. They have to know how much I admire them. So stop the Caw-Caw pow wow & let me write!"





The crows scatter & watch...still cawing to themselves...I am now unnerved...those dang crows...never can take direction.





By now the names of the friends escape me...I am left to address them by nick names. The Hugger, The Crafter, The Nurturer, The Fiesty, The Saint, The Mother, The Bishop, The Giggler, The Beadmaker, The Musicman, The Dreamer, The Godfather, The Writer, The Classic...name after name. Paper flies. My crayon turns to dust. A crow drops another crayon onto my belly. My writing become weak squiggles as my life drains into the carpet.





Soon the paper runs out. I try to write on my clothes but it won't hold the words.





"But my friends...they have to know."



My crow scoots a black marker towards me. It bumps my pinkie. I look at her. "But I'm dead."





Not yet...your not done...we'll wait.





The panic leaves me. With all the strength I can muster, I remove my clothes. I continue to write my love notes to my friends on my flesh. Words of encouragement, love, humor soon begin to blacken out my skin.





I finish my quest. The crows gather all my paper notes & begin to cover my body. I sweep them up w/ my arms & I am amazed by all the notes I have. The paper is warm & soft. I close my eyes.





"I'm ready to play now."





My crow friends dance and hop. Their caws lift me up & away.





"Caw-Caw_Caw-Caw"


Beep-Beep-Caw-Peep-Caw-Beep







I awake to the weird chorus of the alarm clock & a pack of cackling black crows perched on the tree outside of my window. By the hazy light coming through the crack in my window blind I know it will be another gloomy January day.



Pushing up from my pillow I notice that I had been drooling...so...gross.



This...... is my morning.

What...the...Heck. Seriously?

These dreams are nutty!



My friend "The Nurturer" will have a hay day dissecting my weird a$$ dream. She thinks dreams holds the key to our lives. The can unlock our pain, joys,sorrows & fears. We just need to learn how to interpret them.



I, "The Skeptic" thinks it's a bunch of flaky crap...although...fun flaky crap.



I sit on the edge of my bed listening to the sounds of the wise crows. I think about how I have been seeing them a lot lately, sitting in trees.... picking at the neighbors garbage bags. Most people don't like crows. But I do. Black crows are one of the smartest birds out there in bird land. The best part of the crow....their personality. They are jokers. They will dive bomb other birds...even birds LARGER then them....just so they will be chased. They play tag...TAG! Who doesn't love tag?!



I get 2 distinct massages out of my dream. (The Nurture would be proud I'm putting so much effort into this dream crap) The first message;



Tell my friends & family how much I love them. Be more open with my admiration & love for them.



Second message...and the most important one;





















Stop drinking chocolate milk before bed.

Sexy fine mental issues

I have issues.

Raised by older parents, partying with older people...it messed me up as a girl. I spent most of my youth shopping at women's' stores. I couldn't stand stores like the hip Fashion Bug or the "teen" isles at JC Penny's. Oh no! I shopped at The Silhouette, a swanky little store for OLD LADIES! (Think Clearwater Creek...but a bit fancier)

I didn't realise I had a problem until my Aunt came out to visit me (which...she never did before...it totally freaked me out!) after my mom died. My Dad & my Aunt drag me out to the mall to go shopping for new school clothes since mom was no longer shopping with the living. I go into my favorite store & go hog wild! I come out with soft, green dress pants, a cream turtle neck & a matching green sweater w/ cream colored leaves on it. It was beautiful....for a 50 year old!





Here's a little detour. Ya'll know by now...I love pictures! Enjoy this small picture gallery dedicated to my love of turtlenecks pared w/ sweaters. I wore them all the time....yes, I even wore sweaters in the summer.




Rocking my blue knit sweater at my 15th. birthday.













I'm 15. I'm cranky. I hated how I looked. Notice my bangs. My mom was horrified that I sat for our Christmas picture with "greasy spikes for bangs.". And I....didn't care.

Sexy Freshman sweater combo

Still 15...not as cranky. Here's Dad & I on spring break after Mom died. Notice...the sweater. We went to the Virgin Islands...& I wore a sweater. I even wore it over my bathing suit....did I mention we went to the very hot Virgin Islands? Those were the days I didn't sweat.

18....wearing my fathers turtleneck & sweater. Cuz nothing says awesome then a retro mans sweater......and sausage roll bangs.

This has concluded my pictorial stroll through my sweater years...carry on.

I was confident as I strolled out of the dressing room! My Aunt gasped. She thought I was joking. She argued & argued with me that the clothing I wore was...get this...not appropriate for a 15 year old girl. I looked like a 35 year old soccer mom. Of course that was the look I was going for, but she still refused to buy it for me. So we were at a stand still...either I buy the funky teen crap or nothing. I voted nothing & walked out of the store.


My Aunt & Dad argue about me...the problem child. How dare you wear a sweater young lady! Slut it up for Heavens sake! Be a un respectable teenager for once in your life!


My Dad finally stood up for me & said if I feel comfortable in a sweater set then so be it. He went back & bought the outfit for me...as my Aunt wrung her hands.



So this old lady grew up. I now can wear what I want. And I do...oh yes, I do! First & foremost...it has to be comfortable. I have SIDs....... Sensory Integration Dysfunction so comfort is a must, not a want. SID basically means if it feels weird...I'm off all day & can't function.


Some times I can't sleep cuz my tum tum hurts.... because I'm having a bloated day & my waistband is killing me. So I strip off the offending tight undies. OHHH YEAHHHH my husband says...then he cries silently as I put back on my baggy sleep pants sans the tighter then heck undies.


I can't move...honestly move.... if my waist band is too tight, my butt is squeezed, my thighs are squeezed (let's stop here & give thanks for stretchy jeans! Oh my heck what a Godsend! remember when you would have to warm up your thick jeans? Auuggg, I shutter at the thought!) my bra is off center a millimeter, my socks have bumps in it, my neck is squeezed or my armpits restrained. Oh my goodness I'm a child!


So I now walk around town in this......

O' my plum, velveteen sweat suit! How I love thee! You are like butter! & your waistband doesn't make me fart!


While I'm at home I need my house shoes. I have 2 pair...1 for summer & these...






for winter. (Note my winter thermals. RAWWWRRRRR) My shoes help me get through the day. When I can't find them I cry "MY SHOES! WHERE'S MY SHOES!!! I...CAN'T......FUNCTION!" "Shoes? SHOooOOooES?" (like...my shoes will answer me...I need meds!) Then I flap my hands as if I'm shaking off the dish washing water. I frantically pace, I moan & kvetch all the while flapping my hands until I find them.


My husband screaming "KIDS! Find your mothers shoes! FIND THEM!"
The house is in a panic. "For all the love that is holy...Find your mothers Dang SHOES!"


I find my comfortable, loved shoes & sigh.


My husband then cries a little.




I hope I never get too fug-tagualr with my wardrobe. I rely on friends that say "Seriously Jen? That won't do." I have a husband who is not afarid...no...he is afraid...but he does tell me when something might look...."off."

I hope as I get older I can continue to merge fashion with comfort. Lets face it....life is too short to have your butt get flossed everyday. I don't want to be the women who smells like mothballs as I wear my velveteen track suits. BUT...I do want the be the women who wears velveteen track suits....good luck peeling those babies out of my cold, clammy hands!



But I have confidence in my future. Really, I'm already out in public with plum sweat pants....I can't regress anymore....... can I?