The summer began to fade & with that, my fear of the bikini waned. Soon it would be all over. I had a plan to rid myself of the awful bikini of shame once and for all. My plan was simple....I planned....to out grow that hideous thing, never to be able to fit in it again! Next summer I would be 13. A real, live TEENAGER! I was sure, once that magical number hit, I would become a hard nosed, say what I want, defiant teenager. (That of course...never happened...but lets not tell my 12 year old self that quite yet!) I would finally be able to say to my mom "NO Women! I shall not wear what you pick out for me! I shall wear what I want, when I want it!"
That summer, I had only worn the bikini of tackiness once. I could see the end of the tunnel! I was almost freeeeee!
That was...until I got.... THE INVITE!
Freak'n A man! I was invited to a 4H pool party. Yes.... I was in 4H. When you moved to the country it's mandatory that every kid joins either the FFA or the 4H. If this didn't happen, red necks pull up in their rusted out Ford & hauled your butt back to the city..."where ya belonged ya country wanna bez!"! My folks worked in "the city" to begin with. We didn't have a lot of friends in Hicksville...so off to 4H I went. I did it to save the family name. Kids are always the sacrificial lamb!
So now I had to attend an end of summer party with my little troop & their chain smoking, gossipy mothers....in my bikini.
So my Classy Mom & I showed up at this house. I am wearing shorts & a Tee clutching my bag of shame. My mother wears her pleated pants & a sweater....with pearls.
We walk into the house & say our hellos. I was then told by my 4H Pool Mom to "Go get dressed & go swimming honey!" So I trudged up to a pink bedroom & changed. I wrapped my towel around me tight like a straight jacket, hoping if I squeezed hard enough..... I would pass out.... & die..... & then not have to go swimming.
I tried to hide in the house. Standing by my moms side, doing my best to work on my telepathy skills. "mom...if..you...love...me...you'll..take...me...home" She never heard me. My friends found me & dragged me outside. All the girls are in their bathing suits (ALL 1 piece thank you very much!) I start to feel embarrassed as the bikini knit is burning into my flesh. But I push down the anxiety & decide to roll with it. " Who cares" I tell myself. This will be the last run of the bikini. After to day I'm done. And life will go on.
Soon I got comfortable chasing my friends in & out of the house killing time while the hot dogs cooked. Then up the deck latter we go. We all hold hands & jump into the ice cold water. Underwater I feel the grip of the girls hands & for a moment I feel OK. "Hey, these girls will still hold my hand even though I'm wearing this tragic thing!" Up to the survive I rise. I gulp in air as I push back my hair & rub my eyes which now STING! Great Craw Fish! My eyes are burning! I rub & rub, momentary blinded. Soon....a sound...comes from the direction of the deck. A deep voice...must be a Dad.
Trying to focus as the chemical bath seers my eye balls. There on the deck..... A dad? Vision become cleared. But now there was no missing them as they rose up on to the deck slugging each other & flexing their tiny chests. Sweet river of mercy. Boys. Half naked. At my stupid, hick 4H pool party. Half naked, punching each other. Half naked on the deck. Half...naked.
No one bothered to tell me Miss Pool had 2 brothers who came with 2 friends. Great Crackinflabbin! What the funk was I to do now?! I was TRAPPED! I had to swim...with BOYS looking at my bikini!
I wanted...to ...dieeeeee.
The wind howled on the prairie that day. It was freezing cold. Cold as my soul....& butt! I scrambled out of the pool into my towel as fast as I could. I NEEDED to check on the hot dogs! NOW! I couldn't breath. I was embarrassed & freezing cold. Soon help was on the way....lunch was served. Ahhh no more swimming. I was safe in my towel tent. Everyone races out of the pool & we all jam in together at the picnic table. Warn hot dogs before us.
But now parents head inside to eat...because it's SO cold! We all chatter & vibrate. So.....cold....in our wet bathing suits. The girls get a bright idea to put on their shirts over their suits. But soon the wet from their suit soak the shirt & they are back to being hypothermic. I decide I will be the smart one! I run up to the pink bedroom to change clothes. But just as I begin to change, my mother walks in to the room to see if I am ok. I tell her I'm done swimming. But she tells me I have 2 more hours of swimming. Oh...yeah.... So I decide to then just strip off my wet top & put on my shirt. Then I just have to put on the wet, cold top instead of the whole kitten caboodle when I get back in to swim! Brilliant! So off goes my top & on goes my long black shirt. I wrap my towel around my waist & sulk down to the party.
We stuff ourselves with hot dogs, making fun of the wimpy parents sitting in the warm house drinking their coffee in front of the huge glass bay window. We laugh & laugh. The BOYS Laugh with us. Teasing & heckling us girls. We revel in the attention. Next thing I know all of us kids are running & jumping & throwing hot dog buns & screaming & falling all over ourselves with fun. I'm full & happy. The sun warms my black shirt just right. We realise we only have a half an hour left to swim. So we throw caution to the wind & decide to take one last swim in the freezing water.
Running across the yard the boys rip off their shirts, scamper up the the deck & try to break each others necks as they jump in the pool. One by one the girls march up the deck, strip off their shirts & jump in. Screaming as they hit the water. I...am the last one up. Running to the edge of the pool. I don't want to jump in, it's so cold. But the kids beg. If they did it, I had to do it. So I throw of my towel & peel off my long, black shirt. I swing the shirt over my head, just like they do in those strip shows (where I learned about strip shows I will never know) The shirt flies behind me & I stand there for a second dreading that cold water. As I contemplate if I realllyyy want to get my now comfortably warmed body wet, a cold hand shoots out of the water, and grips my my ankle. I feel myself being pulled into the water. I hear yelling behind me. Slow motion... I am dragged into the water. The realization hits me....in slow motion.
I never put back on my bikini top.
Underwater I stay. I can hear nothing above me. No muffled voices. No laughter. Nothing. They saw me I think. No really?! I did ...a ...STRIP...tease! In front of BOYS! In front of PARENTS! I can see what the parents see....my bare back, swinging my shirt over my head giving the boys the show of my one breast! Damn that city girl!
OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG!!!!
My lungs run out of air. I stay at the bottom of the pool with my eyes burning. I cry & cry & cry as fast & as hard as I can for the 21.5 seconds I am underwater. My poor mother! OH BIKINI OF SHAME how you mock me! My mom will be so mad at me. What am I going to do?
Well..........After I become faint from the lack of oxygen. I swallowed what dignity I had & stood up. Luckily one of the DAD'S (Sweet Jesuit PRIEST...could it get any worse?) threw my shirt toward me. I pulled it right on & hopped out of the water pushing past the dad. I see my poor, heart broken mother race towards me. Her face drawn tight. Her eyes rimed with red. Oh no! My mother will never survive this shame I brought on the family name. She wraps a dry towel around me & hustles me to the house. Where parents sneer at me...the slut.... as I get pushed up the stairs to the pink room. The door closes. My mom starts to cry.
Cry.
Cry because SHE IS LAUGHING SO HARD!
Are you serious?! She desperately covers her mouth with her hands trying to stay the gut busting guffaws. Tears streaming down her face. She can't breath she is laughing so hard. She tries to talk but what comes out are little crying, meowing sounds. Oh for the LOVE OF PETE!
I try not to laugh. I want to punch something. My mom is trying to be a saintly mother by dressing her humiliated naked daughter... as she laughed. Compassion mixed with bone cracking laughter. That...is my life.
My mom & I left the party in a hurry. She continued to laugh for hours. I ended up laughing too. Thankful she wasn't mad at me. Thankful that it was so funny that it turned out not to be a big deal. So I bared my one tiny breast for all to see....life happens....right? No big deal? The Good Lord didn't kill me like I had asked that day ....but he did bless us with moving to a new town shortly after that. Talk about a blessing! Can you imagine my fate if I would have stayed in Hickville....to attend Jr. High? Or High School?! I dare not even entertain that thought.
I did return to 4H for a few more months. No one said a word about "the incident." But they did feel it was necessary to take away my job.
I was the 4H entertainment councilor.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Bikini of shame
I was looking forward to our Florida vacation. I was 12. I was a kid. I was developing....1...breast...at a time. I was lanky & bony & clumsy & buck toothed & had a perm.
I was excited to flee the 1 stop light, backwater farm town for the warm sands of Florida.
I was excited....until my mother brought home.....THE BIKINI.
What possessed my mother to buy me THAT bikini? Have ya seen it? Brown, KNIT. What time period was brown knit bikinis in fashion? It certainly wasn't in the 1980's! Did she hate me? Did she get a kick out of it when I tried it on? Did she stifle a giggle as I desperately tried to maneuver the knit out of my bum cheeks without looking stupid? Did she not know me at ALL?
At first I thought it was a joke. A twisted, mean joke. But she was serious. "You'll look so cute & so grown up!" I wished it was a joke....because the feeling I got as I tried it on & as she beamed with pride..... was a feeling of piercing, bottomless, haunting, therapy inducing humiliation.
The BIKINI of SHAME was like I said many times before...a brown stripped, knitted monstrosity. The top had to be tied around the neck & back. The bottoms were held together by ties on the side. Ties that more then once came lose. They loosened to a point that when I came out of the water (in the sparkling pool you see in the background)....my bottom came off. My BOTTOM....CAME....OFF. Sweet Jiggly BEETLE! THE SHAME! But luckily for me the motel we were staying at in sunny Florida was a dump...that no one stayed at. So even though I came out of the water bare a$$ed, my mother was the only 1 to see it. "You are so cute!" (I think she wasn't right in the head...really)
I did survive Florida.
I survived...the Bikini.
Back at home in farm country I felt I was safe. There was no pools in Farm Town...only a private rock quarry that my Dad took me to once in awhile to go fishing & swimming. (really don't know how I survived swimming in...a rock quarry that, at its shallowest point was 20 ft. deep!) I could jump in the water with my clothes on. I didn't need no stink'n bikini!
But then...my luck ran out.
I was invited to a swim party for my 4H group.
My mother made me wear...The Bikini.
To a swim party....with BOYS.
The Lord never did kill me...no matter how hard I asked him to.
I need to go to my safe place now. Once I have my therapist on speed dial...I shall return with the rest of
THE BIKINI OF SHAME.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Stick a fork in me
I'm done!
I like to blame my bad days on the actual days. "Curse you Monday! You are rainy!" Grrr!! "Dang nab it Wednesday, you are so humpy!" Grrrrr!
I hate to place the blame on me or the kids or the dog or the husband...it always have to be the days.
Thursday...oh Thursday. Why you have to be....as the kids like to say...hate'n? I just feel like I'm banging my head against the wall....& the red spot is getting bigger. I have issues with my kids. That's the nice thing to say. The real story is at sometimes, some kids are WACK! And I...am done. I can't fix it. I can't fix them, I can't even fix breakfast anymore. Oh man I need a fix!
I have a kid I try to discipline & try to have their back at the same time. Yeah....that's a great combo! Well I had their back about something. We went over this nit picky crap their teacher was pulling. Got the whole story. Then proceeded to write a little note to her. I ended the note with a question. "Why do you have a 2x4 shoved in a place it shouldn't be?" No...I wish. I'm sassy...I ain't THAT sassy...only in my dreams! But I was stupid & ended the note with a question, so of course she calls me.
Uggg. I hate when teachers call. She explains her side of the story to me as I sit in silence. I didn't defend my child. Don't worry, it wasn't anything we needed to fix, it was just they were being "charged cash" for not turning in a form I had to sign....even though they still had 5 days before it HAD to be turned in. Yeah....little water torture techniques they hon in school.... is boring HOLES in my head!
So anyway, I didn't ask her questions. I just let her talk. Whatever, I just wanted to get back on FB. I had better things to do then listen to spin. After I got off the phone I was mad at myself. "Self....you didn't even ask her probing questions? Never defended the kid & say "give back their cash you meany mean head!" Oh no...I just said "ok, thanks for calling."
LOSER.
Oh but wait.
A few minutes later we discuss things w/ the Daddy & low & behold....my kid...LIED. Bold faced, straight up lied about what happened. (That was a slip on their part....opps, the cat I was beating in the bag, just stumbled out!") He never was charged $$. That happened to other kids. When we were discussing the stupid note to the teacher...the kid approved it & off it went.
Kid lied.
And I'm the fool. I can't do this. And to think...it only gets worse. Great...can't wait.
So I have decided my kids will be better off without me. Oh sure, they will cry for about 2.7 minutes, but life will go on & they will be fine. FINE! Because if I stay here any longer...they will NOT be fine. So moms, if you feel like you need to get away...come on over. The crazy train will be pulling out of the station & heading out to....hummmmm where can we go? Where do mom's go when they run away? Hawaii? Bourbon Street? Fuji? St. Louis? The bar down by the tracks? My van...locked...parked down the street where they can't find me?
Ah screw it...I can't even run away correctly! Who allowed me to be a mother anyway?
I like to blame my bad days on the actual days. "Curse you Monday! You are rainy!" Grrr!! "Dang nab it Wednesday, you are so humpy!" Grrrrr!
I hate to place the blame on me or the kids or the dog or the husband...it always have to be the days.
Thursday...oh Thursday. Why you have to be....as the kids like to say...hate'n? I just feel like I'm banging my head against the wall....& the red spot is getting bigger. I have issues with my kids. That's the nice thing to say. The real story is at sometimes, some kids are WACK! And I...am done. I can't fix it. I can't fix them, I can't even fix breakfast anymore. Oh man I need a fix!
I have a kid I try to discipline & try to have their back at the same time. Yeah....that's a great combo! Well I had their back about something. We went over this nit picky crap their teacher was pulling. Got the whole story. Then proceeded to write a little note to her. I ended the note with a question. "Why do you have a 2x4 shoved in a place it shouldn't be?" No...I wish. I'm sassy...I ain't THAT sassy...only in my dreams! But I was stupid & ended the note with a question, so of course she calls me.
Uggg. I hate when teachers call. She explains her side of the story to me as I sit in silence. I didn't defend my child. Don't worry, it wasn't anything we needed to fix, it was just they were being "charged cash" for not turning in a form I had to sign....even though they still had 5 days before it HAD to be turned in. Yeah....little water torture techniques they hon in school.... is boring HOLES in my head!
So anyway, I didn't ask her questions. I just let her talk. Whatever, I just wanted to get back on FB. I had better things to do then listen to spin. After I got off the phone I was mad at myself. "Self....you didn't even ask her probing questions? Never defended the kid & say "give back their cash you meany mean head!" Oh no...I just said "ok, thanks for calling."
LOSER.
Oh but wait.
A few minutes later we discuss things w/ the Daddy & low & behold....my kid...LIED. Bold faced, straight up lied about what happened. (That was a slip on their part....opps, the cat I was beating in the bag, just stumbled out!") He never was charged $$. That happened to other kids. When we were discussing the stupid note to the teacher...the kid approved it & off it went.
Kid lied.
And I'm the fool. I can't do this. And to think...it only gets worse. Great...can't wait.
So I have decided my kids will be better off without me. Oh sure, they will cry for about 2.7 minutes, but life will go on & they will be fine. FINE! Because if I stay here any longer...they will NOT be fine. So moms, if you feel like you need to get away...come on over. The crazy train will be pulling out of the station & heading out to....hummmmm where can we go? Where do mom's go when they run away? Hawaii? Bourbon Street? Fuji? St. Louis? The bar down by the tracks? My van...locked...parked down the street where they can't find me?
Ah screw it...I can't even run away correctly! Who allowed me to be a mother anyway?
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Mother issues
My mom was...how shall I put this....HOT. As a child I would break into her stash of pictures & stare in wonder at her black & white world. I loved the dress, the hair styles, the really high waisted pants her brother would wear. I became to despise the tacky day-glow ugly around me. I relished dressing in a manner that was more elegant & civilized. Uggg, the 80's...I was SO not into the fashion! Gag me with a spoon! In my mothers pictures I saw beauty & refinement.
Some would say I have Mother Issues....nooooo REALLY? And believe me...it's not because I had to pick out what dress my dead mother would have to wear in her pink casket....oh no. It had more to do with the image I had to life up to. Did I mention my mom was HOT?
How HOT was she?
She was so HOT she had no idea she was hot.
She was so HOT, even when she was 50 she got slapped on the bum walking down the street!
She was so HOT she was a model.
My Mother was a model....how could I compete?! ( her modeling career lasted one magazine article & one newspaper picture, but STILL!)
So excuse me if I have mother issues. After you see my proof, you will understand me better. And hopefully feel sorry enough for me to take me out for Sushi so I can wipe my tears with a napkin covered in Wasabi paste!
Mother, you are loved....even if you were HOT!
Here is my darling mom as the coveted "Yellow Pages Girl". Work that lawnmower! I remember my mom & I laughing so hard at this picture. I love the awkwardly bent finger. She said that finger pose was a doozy! I think she got paid 50 cents.
Here is a portfolio picture. She hated this picture. Why? Cuz she was "fat". I was shocked when I heard that. Look at her! Girl got some meat on her....& it's prime rib! My Dad & I thought she was perfect. Just goes to show you girls had issues with their body image that go wayyyy back.
AWWWWWW YEAHHHHH! Hey! Stop ogling my mother! Who can rock a plunging, orange jumpsuit? My mom, that's who! I swear she dressed that way just to piss off her mother....who can't even look at the camera. Awesome!
I love this photo! My 12 year old mom at the Boardwalk with her beloved father. She's so cute! Her red hair plopped on her little head! Her little bathing top! Her huge bathing bottoms that look like granny panties! Love, love it! Now if you would please direct your gaze to her "popped" knee. She how she pops it out across her other knee. That is her secret to a good pose. She learned early how to arrange her body. So next time you feel a little self conscience about your picture being taken....do the sassy "knee pop" you can't go wrong!
I....am not...knee popping. See the difference? 12 year old mom...knee pop=cute. Me...12 years old....sans knee pop=tragic. Don't let this happen to you. I know you all love the macrame bikini & you can't get enough of that eye sore. Well not to fear little campers....my next blog installment will be "The great & horrible & sad & scarring experience of the Bikini of death!!!!" Where I shall tell you all about my bikini shame. Stay tuned!
One word...stunning. This little hot tamale is my mom....at 17 years old. Yeah...I know. P.S...I still have those earrings w/ matching glass necklace. Be jealous.
Would you like to see me at 17?
Wait for it.
Waitttttt for it.
GOOD Heavens! Agggg! WHY? WHYYYYY? Do you SEE why I have issues? DO YOU?! 
Lets' cleanse our eyeball pallet & end on a good note....& not a note that will be burned into your nightmares. Shake it off...shake it off!
You need not worry. My mother's lessons have paid off. I "knee pop" when I am unsure about how I look right before that picture is snapped. I fake confidence because it forces my shoulders back. I push my boobs out when I walk, because she said it will make me walk taller. That...was hard "Mom! I feel lewd! This is obscene! I feel stupid!" (Note to self...when your boobs point down to your navel...don't push out your almost 40 year old boobs.....lest you end up sticking your tummy out. Just pretend they are up where they were when you where 17....so...soooo long ago) But sure enough...she was right. In fact....she was right about everything she told me. So thanks mom for all the good advice. You...were right.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
The Cherry Tree
The static in the air entered my finger tips & settled itself in my bowels. It wrapped it's buzzing tentacles around my lungs & slowly squeezed. "Whats wrong now?" I mumbled.
The static was a constant in my life. I don't remember the day it entered me, but I did recognise it began to swell bigger & take over my body around the time I was 8 years old. Maybe that was the age I became aware that I was different from the other kids. I was slow in school. I struggled under the weight of the demands. I became aware that OTHER people knew I was different. I had my first panic attack when I was 10...4th grade (remind me to tell you all of the hell I endured durning that time...it was awesome) I was also 10 when my mom was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer (aggressive as in "Dr. was a sh%$head & didn't recognise that the HUGE lump in my moms breast was cancer." Another story for another time...just as awesome)
But there was the static. That day....me being a few months shy of 12 years old, it hummed so loud I clapped my hands over my ears. I became detached from the ground & I couldn't feel my steps, even though they were heavy as I paced my room. I felt "off" all day. It had been a sunny, happy day. Why now? What's...wrong?
Mom picked me up from the sitters after work. I could feel her...drain me...as she looked at me & smiled "how was your day Honey?" Static begins to now build in my throat. "fine, mom." But all I can think is...let me go...I can't breath.
I run when I get home. Sometimes I can run from it...the static trailing behind me. I run to the creek. I run to the garden field, the house, the driveway, the sunken garden. My Dad is home...I breath. He smells like heavy equipment oil. I love that smell. But he even...drains me. The static returns w/ thud as I stop. We collide. Damn it...what's wrong?
Moms says "Sweetie, come to my room after your father changes clothes. I need to tell you something. Ok? Ok Baby"
Slam, slam, slam....my heart pounds against my chest. My arm pits shake. I taste acid. I'm in my room. I don't remember how I got there. I'm on my knees in front of my window. I focus on the cherry tree. Pink & soft. God is in my wild cherry tree.
Does God live? I did not know. As my Mom became sick...then sicker...& really super duper sick, I didn't pray. But then I felt, well maybe I should give this thing a shot. I offered up a thanks to whoever would listen. Thanks for the good days with my mom. Thanks for my dog & gerbil. I remember feeling stupid kneeling & praying.
Soon, I became more comfortable talking to God. It did bother me that I didn't know where God was. I had friends & family of different religions. Everyone told me what, where & who God was. At first I felt I was praying all wrong. Trying to conform to what other people believed. Finally out of frustration...... I turned to the cherry tree. That was where my God lived. Forever in a wild blooming cherry tree.
Comfortable with my idea of God, I look at the tree & begin to talk. To this day, I will never forget the time God talked to me. Never forget the day that we made a deal. The day he gave me mercy. And mercy for my mother.
"God, somethings wrong cuz it won't let go of me today. It's really bad. Can you help me?"
I stay on my knees, happy to be hypnotised by the swaying tree.
Hours, days, months go by. (I'm 11.5 years old....5 minutes is a life time!)
The static drains out my bare toes & melts into my light green carpet. For the first time today, I can breath.
"Ah, there you are God. You are there right? Am I talking to a tree? I don't care if I am. I feel better."
And then.
I feel it. As plain as day. I understand what is happening. I feel the future. And for some reason, I'm not shock. (again... 11.5 yrs old. faith of a child)
Silence broken by my mother "Jenny, can you come to my room now, we're ready!" Yeah Mom, give me a sec!
"Oh gosh, yeah, THAT'S what is wrong! Ok...I got to make this quick. Ummmmm, gosh. Let me think."
God lets me think
"GOT IT! Ok...I need your help. Ok God, I know what's happening. Did you tell me? If you did, thanks...if not....then I'm psychic...cool. Ok, a few weeks ago Mom went to the Dr. to find out if her cancer had gone to her bones. Do you remember? If it went to her bones she would die...like soon. I bet you anything she just heard back from them. Did they call? When did Mom find out? Anywho. i know what they told her. I feel it.
They told her it's bad. It's in the bone. She will be dying soon.
Here's where you come in ok? I know they told her it's in the bone. Let them say it's in the bone BUT let it not be true. Even though they will all believe she has bone cancer...let it not be true. Let it be a mistake. Ok?"
I'm still in front of the window, but I have been pacing. Scheming with God who's in my cherry tree excites me! As I happily pace. I feel...
"ok."
"Thanks God, your the best. But now can you help me to act sad, cuz I just might burst out & tell my mom & that might ruin everything!"
So off I go down the hall to my parents room. I open their door & find them solemn. Sitting side by side on the bed. My heart hurts for her. But I can't tell her my plan.
She tells me to sit by her. I feel like I'm in a after school special. It's all so cheesy. I just about laugh at loud at the absurdity of it all. I play into it. I relax. I try to will my warmth & strength into my mother as she readies to tell me a painful truth...which I know to be a mistake.
Without tears or even so much as a quivering lip she says words no mother should ever have to speak to her child.
"Jenny, it's in my bones, the cancer. They have given me 6 months at the most. I won't be here for Christmas."
We talked for a bit about how hateful bone cancer was. Then I hopped off her bed & walked to my room. I did my best to look crushed, but I had a big smile on my face. I got to my window & did a high five by myself. God & I did it! All would be well.
For about 1 year after that day on her bed, my Mother endured more cancer hell. WE endured cancer hell.
Then
She got slightly better. Tests were taken. Then the words.
"We are so sorry Gail. We don't know what happened. We must have read your x-rays wrong. All the coughing you did all those years cracked your ribs. (my mom coughed non stop for 5 years. I think it had something to do w/ the cancer/meds/illness/arthritis. ) We must have read those healed cracks as bone cancer. You don't have bone cancer. You'll live."
She lived 1 year without cancer.
When the year ended, her cancer returned.
Life went on. The months went by. 1, 2 years? It became a blur of living. Some days were heart breaking, others were filled with fun & happiness.
She died on a beautiful windy July day. And on that day, I physically felt the static rise from the bottom of my feet, wander up through my body, stopping at my shoulders. I felt it crouch down hard, then in an instant it sprang from me. The crushing weight I had carried all those years left me. I still suffer from anxiety, but not like the heart wrenching, bone crushing, vomit inducing static I had before. I am grateful I had it, because if I never would have felt it, I never would have appreciated it leaving me.
One day in spring, when the wild cherry tree was in full bloom, God granted a young girl her wish. "Make it be a mistake. Work with me on this one God. Please?" He granted her a glimpse into the future. He allowed her to have a bit of control of her careening, plummeting life. He even allowed her mom to have a breather from the cancer. That day was a gift for me and a tragedy for my mom. I hope now God has let her in on our little plan! I hope she can forgive me for not including her. I do regret that. It would have been nice to share it with her. I hope she won't spank me for being so...well...childish when I see her again.
God gave me that gift freely. I just simple asked. It was very sweet of Him. And the only thing I felt he asked for in return, was to etch this experience on my soul.
To my God in the cherry tree, I have etched it. Forgive me for allowing the dust of my life to settle into the deep cracks. I will remember.
The static was a constant in my life. I don't remember the day it entered me, but I did recognise it began to swell bigger & take over my body around the time I was 8 years old. Maybe that was the age I became aware that I was different from the other kids. I was slow in school. I struggled under the weight of the demands. I became aware that OTHER people knew I was different. I had my first panic attack when I was 10...4th grade (remind me to tell you all of the hell I endured durning that time...it was awesome) I was also 10 when my mom was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer (aggressive as in "Dr. was a sh%$head & didn't recognise that the HUGE lump in my moms breast was cancer." Another story for another time...just as awesome)
But there was the static. That day....me being a few months shy of 12 years old, it hummed so loud I clapped my hands over my ears. I became detached from the ground & I couldn't feel my steps, even though they were heavy as I paced my room. I felt "off" all day. It had been a sunny, happy day. Why now? What's...wrong?
Mom picked me up from the sitters after work. I could feel her...drain me...as she looked at me & smiled "how was your day Honey?" Static begins to now build in my throat. "fine, mom." But all I can think is...let me go...I can't breath.
I run when I get home. Sometimes I can run from it...the static trailing behind me. I run to the creek. I run to the garden field, the house, the driveway, the sunken garden. My Dad is home...I breath. He smells like heavy equipment oil. I love that smell. But he even...drains me. The static returns w/ thud as I stop. We collide. Damn it...what's wrong?
Moms says "Sweetie, come to my room after your father changes clothes. I need to tell you something. Ok? Ok Baby"
Slam, slam, slam....my heart pounds against my chest. My arm pits shake. I taste acid. I'm in my room. I don't remember how I got there. I'm on my knees in front of my window. I focus on the cherry tree. Pink & soft. God is in my wild cherry tree.
Does God live? I did not know. As my Mom became sick...then sicker...& really super duper sick, I didn't pray. But then I felt, well maybe I should give this thing a shot. I offered up a thanks to whoever would listen. Thanks for the good days with my mom. Thanks for my dog & gerbil. I remember feeling stupid kneeling & praying.
Soon, I became more comfortable talking to God. It did bother me that I didn't know where God was. I had friends & family of different religions. Everyone told me what, where & who God was. At first I felt I was praying all wrong. Trying to conform to what other people believed. Finally out of frustration...... I turned to the cherry tree. That was where my God lived. Forever in a wild blooming cherry tree.
Comfortable with my idea of God, I look at the tree & begin to talk. To this day, I will never forget the time God talked to me. Never forget the day that we made a deal. The day he gave me mercy. And mercy for my mother.
"God, somethings wrong cuz it won't let go of me today. It's really bad. Can you help me?"
I stay on my knees, happy to be hypnotised by the swaying tree.
Hours, days, months go by. (I'm 11.5 years old....5 minutes is a life time!)
The static drains out my bare toes & melts into my light green carpet. For the first time today, I can breath.
"Ah, there you are God. You are there right? Am I talking to a tree? I don't care if I am. I feel better."
And then.
I feel it. As plain as day. I understand what is happening. I feel the future. And for some reason, I'm not shock. (again... 11.5 yrs old. faith of a child)
Silence broken by my mother "Jenny, can you come to my room now, we're ready!" Yeah Mom, give me a sec!
"Oh gosh, yeah, THAT'S what is wrong! Ok...I got to make this quick. Ummmmm, gosh. Let me think."
God lets me think
"GOT IT! Ok...I need your help. Ok God, I know what's happening. Did you tell me? If you did, thanks...if not....then I'm psychic...cool. Ok, a few weeks ago Mom went to the Dr. to find out if her cancer had gone to her bones. Do you remember? If it went to her bones she would die...like soon. I bet you anything she just heard back from them. Did they call? When did Mom find out? Anywho. i know what they told her. I feel it.
They told her it's bad. It's in the bone. She will be dying soon.
Here's where you come in ok? I know they told her it's in the bone. Let them say it's in the bone BUT let it not be true. Even though they will all believe she has bone cancer...let it not be true. Let it be a mistake. Ok?"
I'm still in front of the window, but I have been pacing. Scheming with God who's in my cherry tree excites me! As I happily pace. I feel...
"ok."
"Thanks God, your the best. But now can you help me to act sad, cuz I just might burst out & tell my mom & that might ruin everything!"
So off I go down the hall to my parents room. I open their door & find them solemn. Sitting side by side on the bed. My heart hurts for her. But I can't tell her my plan.
She tells me to sit by her. I feel like I'm in a after school special. It's all so cheesy. I just about laugh at loud at the absurdity of it all. I play into it. I relax. I try to will my warmth & strength into my mother as she readies to tell me a painful truth...which I know to be a mistake.
Without tears or even so much as a quivering lip she says words no mother should ever have to speak to her child.
"Jenny, it's in my bones, the cancer. They have given me 6 months at the most. I won't be here for Christmas."
We talked for a bit about how hateful bone cancer was. Then I hopped off her bed & walked to my room. I did my best to look crushed, but I had a big smile on my face. I got to my window & did a high five by myself. God & I did it! All would be well.
For about 1 year after that day on her bed, my Mother endured more cancer hell. WE endured cancer hell.
Then
She got slightly better. Tests were taken. Then the words.
"We are so sorry Gail. We don't know what happened. We must have read your x-rays wrong. All the coughing you did all those years cracked your ribs. (my mom coughed non stop for 5 years. I think it had something to do w/ the cancer/meds/illness/arthritis. ) We must have read those healed cracks as bone cancer. You don't have bone cancer. You'll live."
She lived 1 year without cancer.
When the year ended, her cancer returned.
Life went on. The months went by. 1, 2 years? It became a blur of living. Some days were heart breaking, others were filled with fun & happiness.
She died on a beautiful windy July day. And on that day, I physically felt the static rise from the bottom of my feet, wander up through my body, stopping at my shoulders. I felt it crouch down hard, then in an instant it sprang from me. The crushing weight I had carried all those years left me. I still suffer from anxiety, but not like the heart wrenching, bone crushing, vomit inducing static I had before. I am grateful I had it, because if I never would have felt it, I never would have appreciated it leaving me.
One day in spring, when the wild cherry tree was in full bloom, God granted a young girl her wish. "Make it be a mistake. Work with me on this one God. Please?" He granted her a glimpse into the future. He allowed her to have a bit of control of her careening, plummeting life. He even allowed her mom to have a breather from the cancer. That day was a gift for me and a tragedy for my mom. I hope now God has let her in on our little plan! I hope she can forgive me for not including her. I do regret that. It would have been nice to share it with her. I hope she won't spank me for being so...well...childish when I see her again.
God gave me that gift freely. I just simple asked. It was very sweet of Him. And the only thing I felt he asked for in return, was to etch this experience on my soul.
To my God in the cherry tree, I have etched it. Forgive me for allowing the dust of my life to settle into the deep cracks. I will remember.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Drink the Kool-Aid
I did something that makes me uncomfortable. I defended The Religion. It made me uncomfortable because...at the end of the day I don't know everything. I ain't a scriptorian (I much rather eat my own eyeballs then read the scriptures) I have bad spelling. I ramble. I swear. I get a blank look in my eye when people ask me about The Religion. (trust me...blank look is better then seeing red. DO NOT ask me ANYTHING about ANYTHING when I am on a bender...I will strip your flesh off with my teeth & eat your soul...just warning you now)
I think everyone feels uncomfortable when they are asked to defend something they don't understand. But dang nab it...don't you dare talk smack about crap you know nothing about. I may not know much....but I know more then you, you little bigoted worm (judge much? I sure do!)
I use to read a forum about mothers & all the great crap mothers do...whatever. It did help me out for awhile. I helped me with questions like "Do I use fleece or wool to catch my babies flaming poo. Did I really kill my Daylilies because I ignored them & didn't talk to them all winter?" Ya know, crunchy stuff that I use to be into....then I had 4 kids & crunchy went straight to Hades along w/ my sanity. Anywayyyyyy, I hardly read the site anymore because it just ain't my thang. I grew up & moved on. But sometimes when I'm bored (idle hands make for the devils workshop) I'll read it. They have a religion forum which always cracked me up. They are the type of people who would believe in Fairies but would call a Christian a freak of nature & a murder...fun stuff.
Well My Religion peeps no longer post in this forum, because people HATE us. Yes, even crunchy, tree hugg'n, cloth diaper wear'n, baby sqirt'n out people...hate some religions. So, my peeps fled. But then I saw it....a post...a question about The Religion. I read it......It made my blood boil, my head pop & my teeth grind.
I will be very controlled when I say this...deep breath.......
You stupid mother falkers. Really? Reallyyyyyy. You know nothing about The Religion. If you are going to bash it...at least get your dang nab it fact straight you lint lickers! Why do people feel the need to speak about things they know NOTHING about? As I was reading this crap, I felt like the goofy girl in the corner that people were talking about....I can HEAR YOU!
I waited.
& waited.
& waited.
Not one of my "cult" followers spoke up. & I know they were there. Just shaking their heads saying "well, it's a lost cause. They never believe us. I can't defend The Religion as well as they can tear it apart."
So...I snapped. I posted. The weird girl that you have been speaking for & speaking about... that was stuck in the corner...came out...guns blazing.
I knew as I posted, I could possibly ridiculed. Or they would discover I was a fraud who has the IQ of a sloth. I knew I couldn't compete. But by golly, I will say what I believe, what I hope to be true. I will defend my friends, I will speak up the best, with the little information I got rattling around in my brain. I will lay it at your feet. Then I will walk away....knowing it will be trashed. But at least I spoke up....even though it hurt my brain.
I hate Mondays.
I think everyone feels uncomfortable when they are asked to defend something they don't understand. But dang nab it...don't you dare talk smack about crap you know nothing about. I may not know much....but I know more then you, you little bigoted worm (judge much? I sure do!)
I use to read a forum about mothers & all the great crap mothers do...whatever. It did help me out for awhile. I helped me with questions like "Do I use fleece or wool to catch my babies flaming poo. Did I really kill my Daylilies because I ignored them & didn't talk to them all winter?" Ya know, crunchy stuff that I use to be into....then I had 4 kids & crunchy went straight to Hades along w/ my sanity. Anywayyyyyy, I hardly read the site anymore because it just ain't my thang. I grew up & moved on. But sometimes when I'm bored (idle hands make for the devils workshop) I'll read it. They have a religion forum which always cracked me up. They are the type of people who would believe in Fairies but would call a Christian a freak of nature & a murder...fun stuff.
Well My Religion peeps no longer post in this forum, because people HATE us. Yes, even crunchy, tree hugg'n, cloth diaper wear'n, baby sqirt'n out people...hate some religions. So, my peeps fled. But then I saw it....a post...a question about The Religion. I read it......It made my blood boil, my head pop & my teeth grind.
I will be very controlled when I say this...deep breath.......
You stupid mother falkers. Really? Reallyyyyyy. You know nothing about The Religion. If you are going to bash it...at least get your dang nab it fact straight you lint lickers! Why do people feel the need to speak about things they know NOTHING about? As I was reading this crap, I felt like the goofy girl in the corner that people were talking about....I can HEAR YOU!
I waited.
& waited.
& waited.
Not one of my "cult" followers spoke up. & I know they were there. Just shaking their heads saying "well, it's a lost cause. They never believe us. I can't defend The Religion as well as they can tear it apart."
So...I snapped. I posted. The weird girl that you have been speaking for & speaking about... that was stuck in the corner...came out...guns blazing.
I knew as I posted, I could possibly ridiculed. Or they would discover I was a fraud who has the IQ of a sloth. I knew I couldn't compete. But by golly, I will say what I believe, what I hope to be true. I will defend my friends, I will speak up the best, with the little information I got rattling around in my brain. I will lay it at your feet. Then I will walk away....knowing it will be trashed. But at least I spoke up....even though it hurt my brain.
I hate Mondays.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Is it something in the water?
Do you ever look around at the young girls in your neighborhood/school/church & say to yourself "What the Hades?! These girls are cute...really cute! What happened between 1985 & 2010?"
These girls will look back 20 years at their school pictures & say "Hey, I was cute in my black H & M shirt & my shiny hair."
They won't be saying things like...
What the heck was my mom thinking?! WHY the boy hair cut? That really damaged me. Mother "It's a pixie cut." Me "Good Goober women...It's a BOY cut...have you no shame?"
These girls will look back 20 years at their school pictures & say "Hey, I was cute in my black H & M shirt & my shiny hair."
They won't be saying things like...
What the heck was my mom thinking?! WHY the boy hair cut? That really damaged me. Mother "It's a pixie cut." Me "Good Goober women...It's a BOY cut...have you no shame?"
What was I thinking?! This awesome sweater/tight/headband/really freakishly long bang (I have a long forehead...so shoot me...no really, shoot me) look was my first attempt to dress my 8th. grade self up for my first dance. I actually went back to my old school in the country, 30 minutes away to see everyone I left behind 2 years before. P.S. the dance sucked...but I did love those white rectangle earrings.
.
.
Did I really get upstaged by a dog? Note the curl/bowl like haircut. And to the right...is a little blue bow clip stuck into that hot mess. Oh & that purvey dog...belonged to my parents purvey friends. The dude was always trying to kiss me & show me crude,nude pictures. Good times! And yes, that is the dogs tongue permanently hanging out the side of his mouth...just like his owner. The look on my face...."Purvey friend wants to hug me...so I'll hold this dog which hates him allll night long." Note my eyes...I kid you not, I was trying to silently communicate with my Mom. "Your friend is grossssss!"
.
.
.
Sweet Jesuit preist....There...are
....no....words.
I'm.....sorry. I was...blinded...by pity for that poor, deeply embarrassed 12 year old. Let me explain. My mother bought me that monstrosity. She thought I looked great (really mom?) It is a hideous...brown....knit.....bicini.
Sweet mercy...I'm having flash backs...excuse me for a second.
This picture was taken on a terrible trip to Florida. Dear Florida, I am sorry my mother inflicted such pain on your sunny state. This is proof of what I thought the whole time.
My saint of a mother was butt drunk out of her MIND and she had no SHAME!
This bikini lasted only for 1 more outing. I'll have to tell you all about it in graphic detail one day. But until then....look upon me with pity. Look at my still developing awkward body. For the love of all that's holy....I have ONE boob! I have ONE! Not 2, ONE!
I....Just....I.........
So young girls of the 21 century. You are cute. You will never have to go through the pain your mothers had to endure growing up....& that makes you a weak generation. So WAAAAAAAAA, you had a bad hair day......LOOK AT ME you spoiled brats. Look & pray to the one that made you that your mothers sacrifice so you didn't have to!
Now I will go to the best web site ever....To purge my bikini from my mind & look upon others who had the misfortune of living in the 20th century. Seriously, if you want to pee your pants & feel better about your family photos...please visit http://awkwardfamilyphoto.com/
You will not be disappointed....unlike I was...with my one boob!
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