Looking back and ahead.

June is over. I'm glad.

This weekend while people are going to the parade, bbq-ing, and watching the fireworks, I will be reminiscing. Last Fourth of July was my favorite one of all. It marks the first time I got to spend time with Tracy and openly flirt with him. I did very sexy things like standing in a pile of ants, floated on a noodle, and I cleverly sat in the sand near him during the fireworks. I was on fire. Thank God there was no fire too near, or that may have been literal. Anyway, my feminine wiles could not be matched. Somehow, I caught his interest. He was (and is) gorgeous. Honestly took my breath away, just like the song says. If I could have wormed my little way into a kayak ride (it almost happened), hmmmm. I am so happy. The future is bright.

So while most will be pledging their allegiance to the republic, as I do, I will hopefully be under the stars with Tracy Miller. All the other women can eat their hearts out. I don't blame them. But he is mine. I will look a little toward Canada this fourth.

Some pictures that make me smile...

The song is for we all know who.


Micah and I at Halloween
Snuggie for two
Colten catching air
Preparing to lose the tug o war

More

Chelsea's love birds
Evan at graduation
Me posing with the evil cougars of Senor' Frogs
My boys and I on the Mother's Day cruise
Kandi just the way I like her.

"Your problem is how you are going to spend this one and precious life you have been issued. Whether you're going to spend it trying to look good and creating the illusion that you have power over circumstances, or whether you are going to taste it, enjoy it and find out the truth about who you are.
— Anne Lamott

But I want to look good!

If I could just figure out the key to my vivid, relentless, dominating, and tortuous brain (I chose each adjective carefully), I could taste and enjoy. I think that when I am vulnerable (open heart and all) I am not comfortable. I am used to bad things happening to me. I am not being dramatic. People have been less than kind to my open heart. I am always looking for the stab. I expect it. I hate it. Coupled with my intuition, I see things clearly way too soon. Enough.

Andrew and Chelsea (and Chelsea's mom and brother) are getting tattoos today. A family one. Austin is getting one Thursday. With all this ink flying around, I am bound to get something. I have an idea, but I need to think about it. I think I need something on my heart, since it's the source of me. It's the best and worst of me. Where it all takes place. The place where the gold is hidden. I think there's gold.


Austin is getting a maple leaf on his heart. I love that. I've see twin bats on a girl's breasts. Not the look I am going for. I need to hurt a little. Weird, but true. I've gotten one for fun, one for love, and one that was defiant. We'll see. A pain one seems very alluring. What are the reasons for some of your tattoos?

Some stuff I think about....

When do people arrive?

I am 45 and sometimes feel as though I have made absolutely no emotional progress since I was nine. I think I will forever struggle with the same things. I wonder when those things are planted in us, and I wonder if I have planted things in my children or other people for that matter.

I know where some things come from. Insecurities and holes happen early, and over time they are sometimes reinforced. The light is shining on all my sad junk, and it is usually unbearable. It's as though the best thing in the world, love, is the only thing that can bring that stuff to the surface, and it has. It's just really ugly. Emotional adolescence, with all the acne, awkwardness, and attitude. Yuk. I guess I have shut down sections of me for a long time. Rooms and entire wings that have been boarded up. I did that to protect myself, but now it's just a mess. Nothing is up to code.

The good thing is (and I believe this) is that love heals all things that it reveals. It just has to hurt for a minute. Or two. I have been told (or it has been observed) that I am very impatient. Dear God, I am. I want things to be perfect NOW. Right now. I am not good at this. I can't keep still. I keep jumping off the table. I fear that the nurses will soon be brought in to hold me down. I think I may be stubborn. (I am actually surprised. No joke.) I have stubbornly thought that I am not stubborn for a long time. I wonder what else I am that I think I'm not. I'm sure I'll hear it coming out of my mouth any day now.

So that is today. I am not happy with myself, but I know I am just working some shit out. Tracy is the perfect person to not only endure this, but he understands me. He suffers my silliness often, but he is, in contrast, the most patient person I know. I am lucky. Let's all join hands and think happy thoughts his way.

Am I the only person that does this stuff? Even if I am, I still have to walk it out. Love to all and to me. I need it. Oh, and mercy.

Saturday

There are some things I can always count on. Unfortunately, the things I want to count on, I sometimes can't. I will learn this one day. I just don't want to learn it.

I can always have a wonderful time with my kids. They are perfect to me.

Roux will always need to eat and go outside. The laundry will always be building up on the couch. My family in Baton Rouge is always doing something fun or funny or just good. I need to look at the things that don't change, that are constant. I feel too much. I know this. That's a constant.

I am not sure how other people walk around all day. I admire them for it. Maybe they compartmentalize (love that word). Maybe I wish I could do that. So today will be fine. I am going to work soon. There will be somebody there that will need nice-ness. I can do that. It's one of my constants. Love to whoever wants it.

I got back this morning from a quick trip to Savannah. I had fun.

My summer is moving along. It is difficult sometimes, because I don't see my kids as much as normal. I've always been at the center of things, and it's a real struggle at moments. I'll get through it.

I am wondering if my life will ever be "normal". I have these ideas and hopes (damn hope), but I just don't know if things will ever come together. I still mourn the losses that my kids are experiencing. Nothing to be done about that. I hate holding patterns.

That is it.

I love words!

I was reading some of Billy Collins' poems yesterday while Tracy was packing. This one made me laugh. Their tiny darkness!

I Chop Some Parsley While Listening To Art Blakey's Version Of "Three Blind Mice"


And I start wondering how they came to be blind.
If it was congenital, they could be brothers and sister,
and I think of the poor mother
brooding over her sightless young triplets.

Or was it a common accident, all three caught
in a searing explosion, a firework perhaps?
If not,
if each came to his or her blindness separately,

how did they ever manage to find one another?
Would it not be difficult for a blind mouse
to locate even one fellow mouse with vision
let alone two other blind ones?

And how, in their tiny darkness,
could they possibly have run after a farmer's wife
or anyone else's wife for that matter?
Not to mention why.

Just so she could cut off their tails
with a carving knife, is the cynic's answer,
but the thought of them without eyes
and now without tails to trail through the moist grass

or slip around the corner of a baseboard
has the cynic who always lounges within me
up off his couch and at the window
trying to hide the rising softness that he feels.

By now I am on to dicing an onion
which might account for the wet stinging
in my own eyes, though Freddie Hubbard's
mournful trumpet on "Blue Moon,"

which happens to be the next cut,
cannot be said to be making matters any better.

Billy Collins

3 Studs

This is Tracy and his two beautiful sons, Austin and Rylee. Like father like sons.

Quietly hoping.

Some days are just unpleasant. Yesterday was like that. One of the low points was spilling 8(!) huge drinks on myself, in my shoes, and in the surrounding area in general. People were nice about it. It was a perfect metaphor for my day. Undone and all over the place and about to cry. And sticky.

Maybe today will be better. I'm trying not to expect that.

I hope to go swimming today with my girls. Evan has a home game, so I will get to see some friends and talk and pass the time. I will enjoy that.

I have made a very important decision. I do not have to keep bad pictures of myself because my kids are in them. Too bad. I do not need reminders of what I looked like after being up for 48 hours and 10 hours of labor. Gone. I can't escape the big hair stuff, but I'm drawing the line. I am also throwing out eerie journals where I can watch myself walk into tragedy. Gone, too. Life has been full of mistakes. Some have cost me so much more than I had to give. The graphic evidence is a little much. I don't even recognize myself in some of that stuff. I wonder what I'll think in the next 20 years? I'll write my memoir one day. An all in one. That will be enough.

Sunday

My Daddy died too soon. Father's Day is coming, and I can honestly say I won't want to post this on that day. So now is a good time. Kandi doesn't do graves, so I will warn her.

I ponder every day about so many things. I do not understand the reason we are here. I know the way we treat each other is the biggest deal, but I am at a loss a lot of the time.

My father was and still is the most influential person in my life. That is not necessarily a compliment. I fought him most of the time I was with him. Valiantly. Sometimes I knew it, sometimes not. He knew it and loved me for it. (He told me). I was and am so much like him.

Because of him I can be insecure and afraid and tell the world to kiss my ass at the same time. I have no need to fight anyone, because I have gone at it with the best. Seriously, bring it. I am funny, faithful, loyal, inappropriate, and I am positive my boobs are too small. I can feel your pain, and I will give until it hurts. I love history and art and graveyards. I am passionate. If you think you can out talk me, that's interesting. I am more drawn to out loving you. I am saying all these things because they are my Daddy's traits. His presence in me. I know how to forgive. I need forgiveness. I need God, and am banking on mercy. Like him.

So Happy Father's Day Vance III. You brought more out of me than anyone has so far. You earned my respect, love, hate at times, and undying honor. You are missed every day. All the time. When people treat me well, I hope you can see. When people treat me not so well, I am glad for them that you aren't within reach. Nobody could make a scene like you. I have felt most like you when I was defiant. Flipping off the world. It makes me laugh. People who know me and love me think it's funny when I finally lose it. Whether it's throwing rocks, using some sort of nudity, or just some fancy talk, I am your daughter. Thank you. I look forward to the day I see you again.

Feeling Narrow

I don't like when cliches are assumed to be truth. For example: There are two sides to every story. I guess that implies that one particular person just can't be right. Really? I've certainly been altogether wrong at times (rarely). I believe that regardless of how many sides there are, there is one truth. Somebody usually knows it. Why is that so hard? Are we all so mindless that we can never just know something?

Another one is that we hurt the ones we love the most. My correction is that we hurt the ones we love less than we love ourselves. I do not hurt the people I love. I regard them above all. Above me. Show me love with what you do. That one is oh so much bullshit.

And my favorite: It takes two to tango. While the tango is a dance designed for two, I have seen some people who were capable of dancing all alone. While I watched. Do not tell me that if I am mistreated or am enticed into an altercation that I am now part of the dance.

There are some sayings that are good. I'm sorry, I love you, and Can I top off your drink? Love you all.

9

Today I have been with Tracy for 9 months. I am a happy woman. It is hard to imagine a time without him. I will not get too mushy. He reads this. He is, however, the most beautiful man in the world. He is also a bad ass. Nothing better.

Yesterday I got to spend most of the day with my wonderful Jenn. She is honestly one of my favorite people. We went to Miller Beach, got some sun, and pulled weeds like we were migrant workers. So gratifying! There is nothing like making a tangible difference in the world.

Then we got to spend time with Honey watching her draw. She is incredible. I cannot believe the worlds she creates and can actually put on paper. Jenn wants to shrink and go inside her brain and just watch it all happen. My girl has got a gift. My kids are all so different. It blows me away.

I got my computer back yesterday, but I still can't figure out why my playlist won't play. Oh well.

Summer has begun. I am looking forward to new things. That's all for the moment. I will pontificate soon.

Tonight, baseball. Tomorrow, my Hot Fudge.

Jingles

Jingles was a toy cup poodle that my sister got for Christmas in 77. His color was “apricot” which is poodle for tan. We named him Jingles for the season, and reinforced the idea with a little collar with bells on it. He was so tiny he could fit in your, or my, hand. We loved him.
I have noticed that dysfunctional families sometimes lavish all the love that they are unable to show to each other on pets. At least we did. Jingles was probably the best treated person in the house. That’s not to say we didn’t love each other. It was just too hard to give all that unconditional stuff to the humans. Too risky. So Jingles became quite a little tyrant. He would growl and attack my mother in the mornings when she would wake us up for school. I guess he got the memo. My mom was definitely the target of choice. I’m surprised she didn’t just pick up his miniature ass and punt him. But she sort of knew her role, too.
I remember Jingles humping a lot of legs. No one was really safe. If you sat down on the couch and left a foot on the floor (which most adult men and women do), it was an apparent turn on. Pretty embarrassing. We would just gather up our little sibling, kindly unhook him from the victim’s ankle, and take him to the other room. Where he could hump stuffed animals.
Jingles became a little meaner when my older sister was trimming his coat and accidentally cut a nickel sized portion of his skin off. This ruined it for the professional groomers. He had to be sedated in order to be “clipped”. I can’t blame him for this one. Actually, I can’t blame him for any of it. We created that little monster. He got killed one night by rebelling and running out the front door. He used to do that to our dismay, but that night, he went out into the street and met a truck. We were so sad.
I think about Jingles and wonder if I still have the capacity to create monsters with my love. I’m not sure. I am certainly my mother’s child. Hmmm.

This has been a very difficult week for me. When things are like this, I tend to not write very much, because I don't have a lot of good or funny or inspiring things to say. So forgive the lack. I know it will get better. Love to whoever reads this. Have a good weekend.

I love the moment just before a thunderstorm when the wind is blowing, and the sky gets dark, and it's ominous. Don't know why. I tend to run outside and stand in it. Until the rain comes.

Then I go inside.

I guess I like to be on the edge of something exciting.

My Mom is coming to see us today. I am so happy when I get to see my family. Andrew is graduating, so it will be great. We plan on taking Mama to the dog track. She will love that. Somehow I didn't get the gambling gene, but I will love the whole thing.

There are ghosts from my past who've owned more of my soul
Than I thought I had given away
They linger in closets and under my bed
And in pictures less proudly displayed
A great fool in my life I have been
Have squandered till pallid and thin
Hung my head in shame and refused to take blame
For the darkness I know I've let win. (Martyrs and Thieves, Jennifer Knapp)

Get up, brush off my knees, keep going. Thank God for friends.