Merry Freekin' Christmas

My plan was that during the hustle and bustle that is very much the Christmas way, I would spend the morning of December 24th at the airport caught up with all the other travelers. This was my cure for an ailing and wounded heart. I was determined not to sit around in a familiar environment without the familiar, without Kenny and mom. So that's what I did. The day before Christmas Eve I braved the snow and made my way to Tony's in Renton, to celebrate Christmas early with my oldest son and his girlfriend, Ashley. It was nice, very peaceful. Early the next morning, Tony drove through a virtual blizzard to drop me off at the door of the airport, where I checked in and then sat on a plane with other passengers, who probably shared my doubts that the plane would even be able to take off in the storm; rumor had it all the afternoon flights to Hawaii had been cancelled. It's weird, but although missing mom is painful, it's an ache I'm learning to live with. But my bro was younger than me, and losing him - it'll be one year this Sunday - is just not acceptable to me. I guess time is just going to take a bit longer to do it's thing. So anyway, the plane was delayed almost two hours while the de-icer did it's job of de-icing the entire plane. As the plane was bathed in a green poisonous chemical - the same stuff that ended up sending passengers on Alaska Airlines to the hospital in ambulances -we sat gazing out the window, our vision blurred as stuff streamed down like puke-colored tear drops. As the green stuff melted the snow, I sat there wishing it could melt back all those really precious moments with mom and Kenny that now represent our past; a past I'm struggling to leave behind me.

So here I am on Christmas day in freekin'' paradise, Hawaii, with my son, his wife and my beautiful granddaughter Diamond. The weather is incredible, warm with a nice pleasant breeze; kind of like Seattle in early spring. I'll be living large in Hawaii for 2 1/2 weeks, and I'm grateful to be here because my granddaughter is a little dynamo and she makes me feel important again. I guess the point I'm trying to make and the reason I'm even writing in this blog right now is that I'm so damn exhausted from trying so hard to act like Kenny's passing is okay with me because I feel like I'm supposed to. It's not okay. Xavier, the man I've been trying to have a relationship with for almost 8 long years, says I'm choosing to be sad right now because otherwise I'd focus on the good memories and all the good in my life. It sounded really good advice, no great advice, and I know there are many who would belt out a hearty Amen! in agreement, unfortunately understanding what he means and even being able to admit that there's some truth to his opinion, on a planet where understanding has even the slightest chance of becoming more, I still feel the way I do (although incredibly grateful for my life and the special people in it). And I have to add this, more than anything on this entire planet, I hate when people feel compelled, yes compelled 'cause I can't think of any better word to describe this thing that motivates people to speak instead of just shutting up and listening, to remind me at a point in my life when I'm feeling low and vulnerable enough to actually confide in someone, of all that I need to be grateful for. It's almost like because I have so much in my life, I have no right or reason to feel the way I feel. Even knowing how fortunate I am to have two really great sons, sons anybody would be proud of, and my granddaughter who I spent the day with putting together Barbie Cruise Ship she got for Christmas and slipping beads on string to make necklaces and bracelets, the siblings I have left, my dad, my nieces and nephews and all the really good people I call friends...I am grateful! I don't need a reminder. I'm still sad because when I lose any one of these precious people in my life, a piece of me is lost as well. I know I have to move past this and I'm working on it. Just obviously not at a speed that meets everybody's approval. But I've always taken things in harder, processed it longer, felt it deeper.ust got to learn to deal better. And that's all there is to it.

All that said, this is only my second day here and I'm definitely in need of an attitude adjustment. Things will get better after the holidays, I'm sure of it because the holidays bring out all the emotional crap we carry around. I'm so aware of it. I came to Hawaii to escape my feelings as if I could leave them behind in Washington with the snow and the rain and everything that is painful to me. That was really stupid. As much as I might want to sometimes, I can't leave my grief behind, not right now anyway.

Okay, so I'm trying to come up with a good ending for this post but I got nothing. So I'll just end it by saying, I got a really great camera from Tony before I left Washington and I'm going to take so many pictures of my Diamond to share with my family and friends. I'm in Hawaii for Pete's sake, and I get to spend a lot of quality time with my granddaughter so how blessed am I right now? Pretty blessed!

The Real 70's Show

I seem to be consumed with the past these days, can't help myself. Maybe this is just a sign of getting older, I'm not sure, but it's got a hold of me. Time just moves forward with a twisted arrogance and determination toward an unknown future, not bothering to hesitate or pause. On October 20, 1977, thirty-one years ago, I gave birth to my first son, Anthony Lynn. As cliche as it may sound, it seems like just yesterday. At nineteen I was young, seriously naive, and a mom with absolutely no idea whatsoever of what I was getting myself into, which I guess is the blissful ignorance people speak of, and thinking back, I thank God for it.

It all started so simply. It was the summer of '76 and as head cheerleader it was my job to make sure we were prepared for cheer camp, which is what I was attempting to do the first day of practice, but the cheer squad was more interested in the buzz among our peers about the new senior, a black guy from Detroit city named Anthony. According to Michelle C., a classic beauty, perfect petite figure, perfect hair, fabulously perfect--you pick up the visual, he was a stone-cold fox. "No seriously, I saw him practicing with the football team and he like, couldn't keep his eyes off of me." The other cheerleaders gathered around her in awe as she flipped her brown curls and lapped up the attention. "Would you, like, date him?" Denise S. asked, a brunette with average looks whose voice held just a touch of disgust, combined with a tinge of excitement for what she probably considered a dance on the wild side. (Those were the times folks - Gerald Ford was ending his term, Jimmy Carter, a democrat, was stepping in to fix things and people named Obama weren't even considered as candidates). The whole conversation made me uncomfortable. One, the few black guys at school only dated white girls so no chance in hell he would be interested in me anyway, and two, at that time talking about race with an all white cast of players always made me feel uncomfortable.

Considering there were only 5 black family's in the area (the White's--I know, don't laugh, the Mose's, the Young's, the Bank's and my own family, the Beck's), we practically grew up together, like family, so having someone new come into our mix was definitely big news. In the 70's it was less socially acceptable for black girls to date white boys, so they decided that now I would have someone to date too. There were two exceptions to this unspoken rule. The first was Phyllis B. who was mulatto, and therefore close enough to white that she could play both sides of the fence. Phyllis was also known to jump to the other side quick enough during brief moments of social consciousness from time to time to spout "black power" with her "sisters". The other exception was my very best friend Mary, a rebel of our times, who dated who she wanted, when she wanted and dared anyone to say otherwise.

I have to admit to being a bit curious, but it just so happened that year, unbeknownst to us, there were two black guys starting at F.P. Who would of thought? The first Anthony (aka Lloyd Anthony Charles), a transplant from California, was cute, if you go for the mama's-boy-type good looks, tall, Twiggy thin and lived at the Boys Ranch; a ranch for wayward and homeless boys. If I had a type--and I had know clear idea what that type was because my one and only date was with Van D., a junior from Lakes H.S., who'd accepted my invitation the year before to the Sadie's Hopkins Dance, this Anthony wouldn't be it. Michelle's definition of "stone-cold fox" was obviously different from my own, which wasn't a surprise, although by any body's standards, this guy was too skinny to play any significant role on the football team other than water boy.

I caught a glimpse of Anthony No. 2 the first day of my senior year. I was wearing my cheerleader outfit, a red and gold sweater, with the school mascot, a big white Cardinal sewn over my chest, red pleated skirt, ankle socks with red and white saddle shoes, which I hated. He was sitting in the office looking like he'd stepped off the cover of GQ - one arm lay casually across the arm of the chair beside him with his other hand resting on his knee, perfectly pleated pant leg crossed over the other, pointed wing-tip shoes and a hat he wore at a wicked slant. He looked like he was sitting in a club waiting for the waiter to deliver his drink, not a senior at a high school in the middle of Poe-dunk Tacoma (his adjective for my neighborhood, not mine). Our eyes met. He smiled. I saw heaven. He later told me he'd seen me walking toward the office way before I saw him and had thought, "That's the girl I'm going to marry."

Well, I wish I could call myself Cinderella and him my Prince Charming, but life is not a fairy tale. But I can tell you that on October 20, 1977, I had a son that I named after a young man from Detroit who stole my heart. And on that day 31 years ago, when I looked into my son's eyes for the very first time, I saw heaven.

An eighteen-year old boy from Detroit city came into my life and he literally turned it upside down, but when we parted only a few years later, he left me with the best of all he had to give. I now have two sons, and when I look at them I'm feel so lucky to have had such an important role in their lives. And if I had it to do over again, I wouldn't change a single thing.

All Our Yesterdays

I'm a sucker for a roadtrip, even if the road I'm travelling on is the barren wasteland of the Arizona desert. Sorry but my ideas about the desert originate from every cowboy movie I've ever seen: lone cowboy stumbling across the dusty desert, lips blistered, skin burned from the rays of a harsh and unrelenting Arizona sun; throat parched from thirst as he calls out in a raspy whisper, "Water. Water." When Kenny asked me if I wanted to drive with him to Mexico to pick up his car, I said "Oh sure" 'cause I didn't want him to go by himself. But inside I was thinking "Oh dear Lord we're driving through the unforgiving desert, over the border into foreign territory."

Anyway, so there we were driving along Arizona's Highway 19 on our way to Mexico to pick up his precious PT Cruiser; he loved that car because it was spacious but most importantly, it had a butt warmer in the seat. Pretty cool. It had been stolen while he was at a doctor's appointment in Green Valley about two weeks before. The car thieves had driven it over the border to Sonora. Well, the bad guys were caught, the vehicle was recovered and my bro was determined to cross the border and bring it home. The highway stretched along the desert and allowed me to rest my feet, which were usually pushing through the floor. Kenny was a chronic tailgater - he was aware of it because as his older sister it was my job to nag him about it, which he ignored. Typical. So usually one hand clutched the door handle, with my feet using the floor like a break in an attempt to slow him down. I was grateful this time for the stretch of freeway because we didn't come across too many cars so there wasn't anyone around for him to tailgate, and I was able to relax and enjoy the scenery. But still, his driving unnerved me and he knew it, which was why he'd kept asking, "Problem?"

It was a long drive and I was feeling really nervous about crossing the border. He'd never admit it but I could tell he was hurting, and that day wasn't one of his better ones. What if after we crossed the border he were to pass out or something; who would I get to help us? I pushed the fear away and focused on the scenery instead. The desert could on occasion be quite picturesque. I'd visited Arizona before in August when it just looked like long stretches of brown, dirt and dried up cactus. This time there was a bit of color, like somebody had stuffed a knapsack with brown, red, green and yellow crayolas and then blew it up; the result was a bit of color here, with a touch of something over there, mile after mile of some dirt of course(we were in the desert after all), with an exotic looking plant scattered throughout. I could focus on the scenery because as long as I did I wouldn't have to notice how much thinner Kenny was from my last visit, or the way he held one hand pressed up against the lower part of his stomach. He was always in pain, but never complained.

We drove in silence for a stretch with only the hum of the engine as music. Kenny had turned off the radio because I kept breaking his rule about no singing in the car. Humph. And then he asked me, "Will you remember me by lighting a candle on my birthday?" I think my throat literally closed up; those damn tears that were always close by threatened. I hated any topic that had to do with him not being around. How could I possibly exist in a world without my brother? Holding back the tears when I was around him had become more difficult, but I knew crying would have made him uncomfortable, and I didn't want to do anything to contribute to that. I answered, "Of course Kenny. I promise." He didn't say anything after that. Just silence. I looked out the window and wept inside. We knew then something terrible was closing in on us and there was nothing we could do about it.

When we got to Nogales still on Arizona's side of the border, we stopped at a McDonald's so Kenny could call the insurance adjuster. I ordered us some fries and burgers that I knew I wouldn't have the stomach to eat. Pretending everything was normal had become the norm over the 4+ years since Kenny was diagnosed with cancer. When he finished his call he said, "Well the adjuster said for us to just go back home." He stuffed a fry into his mouth and I was glad to see him eat because his oldest daughter Cynthia, had told me he hadn't been eating well. Apparently the adjuster was aware of Kenny's illness and assured him that they would retrieve his car and that he was not to worry about it. Another thank you prayer.

So here I sit today Kenny, in a world without you. This new place is sometimes dusty, dry and barren like the Arizona desert during deep summer, but color and splendor come into my life when I think of you and smile. Like the time when you and Jimmy were boys playing cops and robbers in the back field and Jimmy handcuffed you to an electric fence. Thank God it wasn't turned on. Somebody called the police and immediately they contacted the owner of the property so he wouldn't turn on the juice. Then someone called mom at work to tell her that her ten-year old son was handcuffed to an electric fence, and no one could find the key. "He what!?" Mom was so upset when she got home, she didn't know whether to hug you or spank you. I think she opted for both?

I remember standing outside Mr. Corrigan's history class with my face smooched against the window, making silly distorted faces. Man, when your class mate tapped you on the shoulder and said, "Isn't that your sister?" You should have seen your face. Priceless. Major embarrassment for you dude, but isn't that what big sister's do? I can only imagine what you would say to that. "Uh, no."

This flashback fits into an R-rating but it happened. I remember when our dog Samantha was smitten with Kartoo, the neighbor's doverman, and they'd gotten carried away with it one day and ended up compromised so to speak. With all the hoopla we made over the situation, we scared the dogs and Kartoo flipped his leg over which then had them connected rump to rump. Terrified, they tried to run off, which was somewhat complicated by their joining. They were kind of alien-like to our young and really, really naive eyes. Of course at the time we didn't know what that was all about. But what we did know was that we had a situation, and it needed fixin'. So we decided to boil a big pot of water on the stove and with the joint efforts of me, Kenny - Lisa was upstairs - and Jimmy (my niece Debbie, 5-years old at the time, had been sent upstairs by mom as punishment for talking naughty. She'd run into the house screaming that Kartoo had his foot stuck in Samantha's boodie. Some 35 years later she now knows it wasn't actually his foot), we carried the pot outside with hot water sloshing all over the floor - mom heard the ruckus and yelled from the living room - "What're you kids up to?" We yelled back as we huffed and puffed while making our way out the back door to the deck, "Samantha's stuck to Kartoo and we gotta get 'em apart!" A pause. "WHAT?! Noooo!" Mom caught up to us just as we were about to fling the pot at the two oversexed pooches. Boy mom could move fast when she set her mind to it. Whose brainy idea was that anyway? Probably mine.

Family and friends share such an integral part of each other's lives; all the moments good and bad, all the memories, the laughter, all pieces of that fabric in time that we often take for granted, like it'll be ours forever. Learning the reality of that lesson is sometimes excruciating and a day will come when those memories become priceless simply because there won't be any new ones, and we'll do everything, bordering desperation, to keep the ones we have from fading. I'm at such a time and place in my life right now, and writing down memories and thoughts of Kenny and Mom is my way of holding on just that much longer.

I lit a candle for you on your birthday Kenny, just like I promised. And I'll light a candle on every birthday until I run out of days.

I will always remember you. Love, Big sis.

The Colour of Fall

The fall and winter seasons have always been my favorite. I don't know how best to explain it, but there's a certain something in the air around this time of the year that just makes you feel really good. All the leaves decorating the earth in brown, gold and yellow tones and that crispness that seems to permeate the air - a gentle reminder that winter is just around the corner. My son Tony, was born during the month of October, a wet, chilly and windy night. My water broke at around 6:00 p.m. and I was admitted at Madigan General Hospital. In between the labor pains and my desire to rip off the head of the man responsible for my delicate disposition, I can still hear the wind and rain whipping up against the window of my hospital room. Whenever I thought the pain was so bad I could just kill something, I'd look over and see my mom, who stayed close by throughout my intensive labor (lasted 24 hours). She'd rub my back, or my leg or dab the perspiration from my face and talk to me. "It's gonna be okay," she'd say. "It's almost over." Her calm washed over me and worked quite nicely with the drugs (which she'd insisted on) to sooth away the pain. I believe the only time she left my side was when the doctor told her the baby was on the way out. Before he'd even finished his statement she was exiting the room, "I'll be in the waiting room." She had her limits and watching her child writhing in agony while yelling obscenities at the top of her lungs, was stretching it a bit (Just kidding about the obscentities; I'd never cuss in front of my mom - regardless of the circumstances). She sat in the hall chain smoking until she got the word that she had a new grand baby, which meant a second time around for her as grandma; she was known as Nana after that.

Mom was standing at the window of the nursery gazing at her grandson (the only black child in the nursery), when a woman standing beside her asked, "Which one is yours?" My mom didn't tolerate the ridiculous very well. But she claimed she didn't respond by using any of the four-letter words she was famous for. She proudly pointed him out and said, "That's my pumpkin." And that was her name for him while he was growing up. Tony was always her pumpkin. When I was in labor with Michael I had only to look through the pain and there she was, and I'd know - as I always did - everything would be okay. She wouldn't have it any other way.

As a parent, I have a better understanding of how incredibly difficult it must have been for my mother to see me or any of her babies endure pain of any kind. What we felt, she felt; she just learned to hold her feelings close inside herself, a lot better than we ever could.

My mom was a complicated woman. At least, that's what I thought when I was younger. It wasn't until she was lost to us forever that I fully felt a bit of understanding for the woman she was, well, as much as I ever will I think. She wasn't just a mom, she was a person; a very private person who kept her deepest feelings to herself for the most part. She was incredibly stubborn, loyal, protective, fierce in her beliefs, had an extremely brilliant mind with a strength of will that made even her adult kids behave when she gave "the look." Anything she did she did well, and what's more, she thought I could do anything and everything I set my mind to. She tried very hard to get me to feel that way about myself. She passed away during this season of translucent color and winter chaos; my most favorite seasons.

There are days when I feel as if I've experienced some kind of paradigm shift from what was to what is and nothing seems quite right anymore. It's such a painful place to be. The color of fall is here, and if I close my eyes I can see mom in the yard raking leaves with that dorky straw hat on her head. I can smell the crispness of winter as it strokes the air - everything is in it's place like always - except the familiarity of a smile, the sound of a chuckle, and a face so precious that this world without her feels incomplete somehow. I don't know if these feelings I have are normal, but for now they belong to me so I'll own up to them and deal with them in my own way as they continue to wash over me.

My Bro

During my visits to Arizona to see Kenny and his family, he and I used to go to the Casino; it was one of our guilty obsessions. Correction, my obsession, his way of passing the time. I'm a mean gambler when I lose my cash. I mean, I don't snap at people per se (there are those who will disagree); it's more like an unidentifiable thing that comes over me. I get ornery, kind of like a quiet drunk. For those that don't know me, the subtle changes in my demeanor are practicably unnoticeable, teeny tiny horns protruding from the sides of my head, feral noises in place of normal communication. Debbie and I were driving home from the Emerald Queen one night and all I could focus on was how empty my wallet was and the gum my then thirty-something niece was smacking on (loud). "So," she was saying in between smacks, "that was fun." I remember thinking, if she didn't stop smacking on that gum I was going to pull her lips over her face. I kid you not, it was just a thought, I never verbalized my desire to harm her. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw her roll down the window and toss the gum out. Later she confided she'd felt my negative vibes and it was scary. She doesn't like to go to the Casino with me. I think she feels my aura's a bit cloudy.

Kenny was one of the few people who wasn't afraid to go with me. Hey, he'd taken karate for years, and before going back into the navy he'd worked in a prison with hardcore criminals. Guess he felt like he was properly trained to take his big sis down if things got ugly. So on this particular trip to the casino, he'd bravely taken on the job of monitoring my comings and goings to the ATM, bless his heart. "So" he says, "the plan is that once the money in our hands is gone, we leave. Right?" Again, bless his heart. Of course I nodded my head in agreement. Money gone, we go. Got it. He didn't need to know about the cash I'd stuck in the secret compartment of my wallet. Okay fast forward about 40 minutes into our visit with me sitting at a Cleopatra nickel slot machine, that's devoured all of my money, weaping like an infant. Time for a visit to an old friend. I needed to get to an ATM without him seeing me. Not that I was afraid of him mind you.

So like a secret agent and because I have a real flare for the melodramatic, I checked up and down the isles, meandered at a Texas Tea nickel machine pretending to play until I saw the coast was clear. I turned the corner and saw the nearest ATM within range and cut a path directly toward my objective. My plan was to get the money I needed and when Kenny came back to check on me I'd casually...well, lie and tell him I'd been playing with the same $60 (win some, lose some) since he left me. So I started out stealthily making my way across the crowded, smoke filled room, looking to the right, then left, no sign of him. Coast is clear, destination straight ahead. The light on the ATM worked like a beacon for me, completely whipped it's calling to me like a lover I can't quit. Unfortunately, I didn't notice the guy sitting with his back to the ATM, my brother. Dang, so very close. But wait, he was so involved in his own machine that he wasn't paying any attention to Lil' ole me. I was able to walk right past him, access my 4-digit code (short prayer of thanks that money actually came out this time), grab the cash and make a b-line back to my machine. He showed up about 10 minutes later, just as my machine was getting ready to rock 'n roll'; I got the 3 coins, then free spins and bam...JACKPOT!

Oh by the way, we'd actually stopped at the casino on the way to the airport. I almost missed my flight that night because after sharing some of my winnings with Kenny (he did the same with his winnings in the past) of course he had to go back to the machine he was on where he promptly lost every bit of it.

I ended up running through the airport like OJ running from the cops and just barely made my flight. But oh man was I on a role. My layover was in Los Vegas. Best layover ever! Upon disembarking the plane I immediately found my favorite machine, sat down and won $250. Cha ching! Of course I had to call Kenny and brag about it. He kept calling me back after that to say in a monotoned voice, "Move away from the machine."

The next time I visit Arizona I won't be going to that casino or any other casino, because I know I will find myself pathetically looking over the crowd for Kenny, who always stood head 'n shoulders over everybody, literally. He won't be there, not ever. Wrapping my mind around the reality of never seeing him again is incredibly difficult. I can't quite get hold of it just yet. He wasn't just my brother, he was my friend too. When I last saw him in the hospital, he'd been given the news that his time was very short. His younger daughter, standing outside his room with Joan to comfort her, was heartbroken and inconsolable. Her sobbing just about broke me; she was too young for this kind of suffering. The sound of her weeping echoed down the halls of the facility, so I tried to close the doors to keep him from hearing. He told me to keep the door opened, "You can't protect me from my child's pain." And then he asked me if I was alright. Do you hear me? He asked me if I was alright? All I could do was nod my head and say, "You know I love you right?" There were so many things I wanted to say to him but at that moment, the words were lost to me. I wish I'd been able to bring him some comfort. I felt so incredibly, stupidly useless as a big sister. Still do. Maybe that's part of my problem. I can't seem to move past this. If I could just talk to him one more time, but I know that's not possible. I'm not by any means suffering depression. I function the way I'm expected to. I'm completely aware of what I'm feeling and why. This unbelievably special man, was not just anybody's brother, he was our brother and that was pretty darn special in our now shattered world.

I know I don't have a monopoly on this thing called grief. I don't want to. But everybody processes differently. I'm still processing my way, the way I process everything my way. The normal I once new is no longer available. I need to find a new normal. I now exist in a world where my mom and my brother know longer do. For God's sake, I still find myself looking through a crowd of faces for the two most familiar and precious to me, knowing I'll never find what I'm looking for. How insane is that? And sometimes I feel somewhat guilty for how I feel, like a child that's not developing at the same rate as the other children. My mom died over 4 years ago and my heart is still heavy; my brother died almost 10 months ago and still emotionally each day is a struggle. I want to pick up the damn phone, call him and hear his voice on the other end. As long as I still remember the number, he should be there to pick it up!

My eyes are so blurred I can't even see the letters on the keyboard to type any more words. This was incredibly difficult. I'll stop now.

On My Mind

Mom, Kenny - you were on my mind today. Kenny, you sent these roses to me in a group email. I would have thanked you at the time but I didn't want to embarrass you. I can hear your sarcastic response clearly in my head saying, "What's different this time?" and it makes me smile. I miss you both so much. I know it would make you sad to know I'm still grieving the loss of you from my life; we all are. But that's just the way it is, and to be honest, I know I will always feel this void. An open wound that just won't stop bleeding. With absolutely zip training, I don't do loss well. And I have to add that if life and death were a mandatory class where I could expect to receive a grade, I'd flunk the course. Hardcore. I do promise to work harder at feeling better. Loving you always. Just me.

A Little Whimsy

I did a lot of thinking yesterday on my bus ride to work. A lot weighs heavy on my mind these days, and often in order to cope, I get whimsical. Of late, life's become a tad difficult. I know the reasons why. I just wish I could better understand the reasons why. So today I'm sitting here thinking about life and basically trying to figure it all out and bringing my thoughts to the surface. I'm working on understanding what has to be, in my own unique way of course.

Life was an insane idea, no, no...strike that, wrong word. I've seen the creation of it before and insane isn't a word I'd use to describe something that incredible. So, I guess it's not the creation of life that has me completely perplexed, it's more the reasons behind its existence and our immersion within it. I mean don't get me wrong, for the record I do appreciate mine. I just think sometimes it's more agonizing than it needs to be. I get the life and death thing. No really I do. In order for there to be life, death is an absolute. It's the timing I have issues with. Of course, life dragging on into infinity would be...well, ridiculous. Seriously, I wouldn't want to live with the cellulite on my thighs for all eternity. That's just wrong. But passing on should be reserved for perhaps age 100 and over or something. And why is it mandatory that we suffer? That part really sucks. I know the answer probably goes back to the beginning, the Alpha, the Omega and all that, but I just can't help but wonder if there could have been a more fitting punishment for Adam and Eve's crime without involving all of us to come. I mean, literally, generation after generation left to pay for their disobedience seems a bit extreme. No disrespect, but they ate one apple for Pete's sake, it's not like they baked pies out of them and sold them on the black market for profit. And now because of that infamous pair, the world is in a complete state of chaos, and we are left to deal with the residual effects which have manifested as grief, pain, violence, greed, obesity, self-hatred, self-loathing, flatulence (yes, gas is evil), insecurity, politicians, lawyers dot dot dot. You get what I'm saying.

I personally blame Adam for everything. No, hear me out, I'm not hatin'. Adam was the King of his very own paradise a.k.a. Eden. In paradise, he got to hang out, literally, doing his thing, you know, laying around buck naked all day, feet kicked up on a rock, drinking something comparable to a brewsky, burping out of both ends and scratching himself. Living every man's dream doing what he wanted, when he wanted. So anyway, he starts to get a little bored right? So he seeks counsel with the big guy and complains, whines and whimpers that he needs a little companionship. So the guy upstairs asks him what he has in mind. Adam scratches his head in thought. He feels a bit put out because he's not used to doing his own thinking and after a while says, "I need someone who'll listen to me when I speak, and validate everything I say by agreeing with me." Again some head scratching. "Someone who'll put me before everything and all others." He smiles, "I think I have just the thing." Lightening & thunder strike as he lifts robed arms to the sky, "IT IS DONE! However," He says, "Walk with me. We need to discuss a few ground rules."

So the next morning while Adam's sitting around as usual, eating, drinking and scratching, in walks someone made in his likeness (two arms, two legs), long wavy hair a man could lose his way in, that hangs down her back, and a few interesting physical adjustments which Adam finds very pleasing, he smiles. "Hi, I'm Eve," the Goddess speaks. Well Adam, feeling really pleased with the Gift, stands up and wipes his now sweaty palms on his...um thigh and shakes her hand. "Welcome Eve," Adam says flexing his muscles like he's all that, before waiving his arms out to encompass the world around them, "This is Eden." There's something else he intends to discuss with her but can't think straight with her smiling at him like that. Oh well, how important can it be right?

Okay, so Adam and Eve get along really well. On one particular day Adam is getting a bit of sun and relaxation, pretty much doing nothing like he did before Eve, and Eve is spending time in the gardens. The thought that he's forgetting something very important continues to plague him. Oh, he thinks with joy, when Eve gets back he wants to invite her to his special place for a bit of frolicking. He's basking in the rays, when he hears her soft footsteps on the ground. He opens his eyes, and the ready smile on his lips quickly turns to a frown. He whimpers. "Oh Damn."

His Goddess stands before him with both arms filled with shiny red just-off-the-forbidden-limb apples from the forbidden garden. Her perfect lips are curved into the most enchanting smile as she extends an offering of fruit. What's a man to do? After all, he never actually explained to her that Eden had rules, one being the picking of fruit off a certain tree. Before he can stop himself he grabs the apple from her lovely hands and unable to tear his eyes away from those mesmerizing liquid green ones of hers, takes just one bite and tastes a sweet nectar.

Okay so He is peeved at Adam and Eve's disobedience by breaking the one major rule on Eden. The next morning, a serious storm cloud looms over Eden bringing with it a torrential downpour, with thunder and lightening that rips across the sky with long bony fingers. Eve, upset over the drastic change from their previous sunny days to this frightening storm, turns to Adam for comfort. Hindsight's 20/20 but he figures this is a good time to tell her the rule about not eating the fruit on the only tree in Eden. She is of course furious that he failed to relay this important message before she picked the apples, and begins to rant and rave at him. While she stands in front of him with as much fury as the storm raging around them, all of a sudden he sees her as if for the very first time. Man, he thinks, with all those apples she's been munching on along with everything else, she's getting a bit thick around the middle. He decides perhaps this is a good time to bring it to her attention so she can do something about it. Mortified over his displeasure, Eve runs away weeping. When she returns, what seems like hours later, she's covered her nakedness with some palm leaves she finds in the garden and suggests with a whole lot of attitude she didn't have before, that he do the same because she explains, she's sick and tired of looking at his enormous belly, compliments of his pals gluttony and sloth. She's still pissed over his comment about her weight. She'd considered herself to be a very confident and forward-thinking woman and now finds herself struggling with self doubt and insecurity. Their relationship only goes downhill from there. The story goes that Adam and Eve had a bunch of kids together with Eve piling on about 50 plus pounds, and they ultimately end up staying together for the sake of the kid's, however hated every single minute spent in each other's company.

Oh and for the record, most of what I've said here is pure speculation on my part in case you haven't figured it out. Well, actually, to be honest all of it is speculation combined with alot of whimsy.

But you do agree right? It's Adam's fault. If he hadn't needed somebody around 24/7 to stroke his pitiful ego, or if he'd just remembered to tell Eve about Eden's rules, we wouldn't be going through all this hell right now. Seriously though, I'm not hatin' on Adam, just dealing with some serious cramps and a bad attitude.

I warned you though. I can be whimsical.

Sleepless

I'm having another difficult night getting to sleep. So here I sit in front of my computer, bloggin'. I know I should be snugged up in my bed, beneath the comforter trying just a little bit harder to get into the zone, but I need to write this down. I'm not kidding, since starting this blog, literally, a reservoir of emotions have imploded deep inside of me and this blog helps with the overflow of all the feelings. It's weird. Over the past few months I've tried hard not to think about Kenny. It hurts too much. Things like how he loved to tease...Kenny had a really dry sense of humor and if you didn't know him you wouldn't know he was even jokin', or that you were the butt of his jokin'. His heart was monstrously huge. There's nothing he wouldn't do for anybody, especially his kids and everybody else's kids. He loved coconut cream pie and German chocolate cake, my personal favorites. Matter-of-fact, I recall several occasions calling him on his birthday to tell him how much I was enjoying the celebration of such a monumental occasion by attempting to eat, in his honor, a whole cake by myself. Yum. He'd say, "You know you've got issues right?" On this past August 4th, the first birthday without him, I made a German chocolate cake, lit one candle (he once asked me if I would remember him on his birthday by lighting a candle), and single-handedly I consumed the entire cake. I remember his smile, fleeting, but a smile so sincere it made his eyes twinkle, and although I wish this particular memory would fade, I remember all the pain behind those sad eyes that last time I saw him. It's incredible to me that I'll never see him again, my little bro. And when I close my eyes and try to sleep, I can see him so clearly sometimes, and I really struggle with that. I can still hear his voice. Ya know? It's always right there on the edge of my memories, and oh it hurts my heart. God, I miss him. So now I'm writing, and I'm crying, and trying to stop crying, because for some reason since I got the incision on my neck (had part of my thyroid removed), my throat gets really sore and uncomfortable when I cry. Okay, enough. I'll count some sheep now.

Just One of Those Days

Today was friggin' hard. For starters, I maintained that "just barely there" sleep throughout the night which left me unable to function during the daylight hours. It's that sleep where you think you're under until you open your eyes and realize you're not. This went on all night long. My thoughts were undisciplined and all over the place. Is that lotto ticket I got any good? Will the new episode of 90210 be as popular as the first one? Am I gonna be broke the rest of my life? I wonder if Dillon's coming back to the zip code? Oh...so much work to do tomorrow. Will I be able to take some days off? Am I sleep? I couldn't stop thinking about pit bulls and lipstick. That had to come from watching news right before turning in. Something about Sarah Palin...socker moms...and lipstick wearing pit bulls. I'm trying to get a better grasp on politics so I've been tunin' in and getting caught up in the political muck. Gives me headaches. Anyway, so today I suffered the residual effects from no sleep. And to top it off a customer told me I disgusted him. He had his reasons...but I don't know...disgusted?...a tad bit harsh.

BLOGGIN' IT!

Look at me, I'm bloggin', yea, yea, yea, I'm bloggin'! I feel seriously empowered right now. I have a voice. I'm here to write whatever I want, whenever I write. My mind is an open book and believe me there are some out there who will not want to turn the next page, but that's okay. It'll be like opening a door and stepping into my head, my thoughts, and I'll be honest, sometimes it's scary in here, even for me. But here's the thing, this is my forum, my party so to speak, and nobody is allowed in without my permission. How cool is that? My thoughts will flow onto the screen as I blog 'em and I'll make no excuses to anyone, anyhow, anyway for bloggin' because if someone takes offense at the way I blog', they need only to look for the "Exit" sign and do just that...exit. Nobody has to be here. This is the place where I can grieve and what sane person would even want to be a party to that if it's not mandatory? But I have to be here. I do. It's my way of finding a way around this heart ache that won't give me peace. In this place I've created I can express how losing my brother, Kenny, in December is as painful today as the day it happened, and not worry that my statement will be interpreted as permission for a (I'll admit it) well meaning somebody to begin a long, drawn out sermon on grieving, like people sometimes feel compelled to do to "help". Here, I can express that sometimes I cry all day (still) when I can't pick up the phone and call mom. I cry (still) that I will never hear her voice. And I cry (still) when I think of that day when we could do nothing but sit around her hospital bed and watch her fade away. I just didn't hold on long enough. And here I can admit without guilt or worry that I'll be committed, that I'm blubbering right this minute like a new born baby, because as my thoughts materialize in front of me, it's so easy to relive the bad moments. But I can do that here. It's okay and hopefully one day only the good moments will surface. The other day I saw a preview for "24". Kenny used to get so excited over the new season. He'd tell me not to call while it was on but because Arizona changed time zones (or perhaps it's us that changed), I'd forget sometimes and call him at the exact time his show was coming on. Oh heck I was just trying to bug him. I'm his sister, it's what I'm supposed to do. He'd pick up the phone, say one thing "24" then hang up. So I'd call him back and make him talk or threaten to tell him what happened since it came on here first. Just evil. I hate those previews now, and can't wait for that show to get off the air. How dare they continue it without him.

Just A Reflection

I'm an optimist at least 85.5% of the time. But these days, gloom conspires against me. I don't even recognize the person I see in the mirror any more. On days where I dare to look, I see a woman whose brown eyes no longer shine like they once did. My eyes. Everything about me has faded, and I'm not just referring to a lost youth, because it's possible for time to take hold of you without leaving you completely haggard, ancient and annihilated. I'm not one of the lucky ones. Of late, I feel like the mortally wounded. And I'm not just talking about the emotional and the physical, although my physical is definitely a symptom of the problem and pretty much comparable to the aftermath of a train wreck. I'm referring to the metaphysical, all that stuff in between that once filled me with possibilities. Yesterday, just yesterday it seems, I was a dreamer who believed anything and everything was possible. I was a romantic who believed in a love that could last a lifetime. I believed in a magic that swirled around me like a fine mist. I could feel it on the peripheral of my soul. I was invincible. These days, not so much. I've lost my mom, my brother and my self; I'm desolate, like a planet that's used up all of its natural resources. Washed up. I've become an illusion of my former self, and my fear is that one day that reflection in the mirror will no longer be recognizable even to me. A frightening thought. So what do I do? Well, I should be paying a psychologist to lie on a couch in a spanky office, talking about my childhood, my dysfunctional relationships and my grief, all the while hiccuping spastically into a bunch of tissues, but I can't afford it. So, I'll just blog myself to a reinvention and see how that works.