Easter Sunday by Jenn

no caption needed

Heaven

And I'm sure the view from heaven
Beats the hell out of mine here
And if we all believe in heaven,
Maybe we'll make it through one more year
Down here


A pastor once said that Heaven is like a church service that never ends. If so, please don't make me go.

The whole white robe thing. Gold streets. I like grass. And why wouldn't I? I find it hard to believe that God made the earth and then he totally scraps that idea for no trees...just me.

The idea of eternity scares me. I like it, but it's too big for my little mind. So I just don't think about it. And how old will we be? This concerns me. I will say that I long for the day when there is no sadness. I am tired, really tired, of that aspect.

I hope heaven is wholeness. Me and you being complete, knowing truth and not just speculating. It's blue skies and good food. I hope there's sex there. I hope that everybody is shocked by the people that are there. I hope that I have no holes in my heart.

No matter how bad my day can get, there are some things that always make it better. Sitting with Andrew, Zak, and Josh while watching my favorite boys play baseball is a good thing. Waking up and talking with Ethan is awesome. I don't get that much, but it's very nice.

I used to have conviction, but I think that is gone. Or dormant. I just try now to please the people around me. I guess that takes some kind of conviction. But I'm not very good at it, so.. yeah.

There's a mist over the lake this morning. Like me. I hope the day is good and not like yesterday. Geaux Keystone and beat Bradford.

"Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see." Hebrews 11

 I am happy to say that I don't have to understand everything. My questions are as small as I am. Honestly, what opinion can change any truth. It is what it is, and we will all know soon enough. Live well, love people, and know that you are not the center. We are all just looking at the Mountain from different vantage points, but the Mountain is the same. Some of us hike to the top, some of us are happy with the view from the valley. God is too vast to take in, and that comforts me.

Happy Easter today. I don't have plans at all.

I am very happy to be back at my JBBQ. The people are great, and I get to move all day. It's what I need. I actually have gone a whole week (since Monday) and haven't cried once. That's pretty good for me.

Tracy and I watched Food Matters yesterday. That definitely inspired me to get healthy. It's always good to encourage yourself. So here's to raw foods and some tofu.

Bye for now.

Cow Trouble

I can remember when I was a kid having to walk through cow pastures to get to my cousins' house. I was afraid of cows, so it blew. I had seen that kid get gored on Song of the South. But even if I didn't get attacked by a mother cow, the ground was still a mine field of poop. Everywhere. I had to really be careful not to step in anything fresh. But sometimes I did.

That's how it is with people. I can try to avoid it, but sometimes while I'm busy looking for horned bulls and whatnot, I step in shit. It happened yesterday. And I know I should be a bigger person and not let it get to me. But it gets all over your shoes, or worse, if you're barefoot, between your toes. It lingers. I probably shouldn't be walking around in pastures, but I wanted to see someone I love, and that was the way there. It's just sometimes unavoidable. And then if you do ruin your shoes, it's never good for people to tell you that maybe you attract the cow shit. My God, what if I like cow shit?

A memoir (from the French: mémoire from the Latin memoria, meaning "memory", or a reminiscence), is a literary genre, forming a subclass of autobiography – although the terms 'memoir' and 'autobiography' are almost interchangeable.

I remember choreographing dance routines and going door to door performing in our little neighborhood to raise money to buy Sea Monkeys. My God, that little family of creatures lounging around in a fish bowl in your bedroom! They watched little TV's and were simply fabulous. It would be worth the hard work of getting all our moves just right and in sync.

...picking blackberries along what seemed to be endless fence lines and watching, always, for snakes.

...playing softball all summer. It was a summer thing then. There were snowballs (sno cones) and dirt piles and it was awesome. The Bad News Bears was so real.

...playing Barbies and concocting elaborate plots that usually found Barbie kidnapped and discovered naked by a handsome, devil may care Ken doll.

...collecting bottles in the ditch so we could cash them in at 7-11 and get gum or taffy. We would also wait for cars to pass and pretend to be in fist fights to see if the passers by would stop to intervene. Rolling around on the ground, choking each other. Some slowed down, but that's it.

...seeing huge black and blue welts on my cousin's legs where her daddy whipped her with the belt. He had used the buckle side. She told me if I told anyone she would never speak to me again. We were 8 and 9. I hope this doesn't count.

...riding with my grandma to pick up my grandpa from a bar in mid-Baton Rouge. He sang Three Blind Mice all the way home for us. Mama Louque was pissed, but we thought it was hilarious because he kept singing that the Farmer's wife cut off their noses, not their tails, with the carving knife.

...faking stomach aches in the 3rd grade so I could miss Catechism on Wednesday nights. It led to a 3 day stint in the hospital  running tests that involved enemas, catheters, and little probes all over my healthy body. I did have remote control, which was cool, and Mama got to read the Exorcist in peace. That was in itself worth it. As you might imagine, the doctors were baffled with my condition.

...being a "goody two shoes" until 9th grade when all hell broke loose. I blame Sheri Landry. :)

...drinking a little bit of Cold Duck on Christmas Eve number 11, and then shaving my legs with my new Daisy razor I got in my stocking. I still see the scars on both shins.

...knowing there was nothing more fun than when the adults would play poker and all the cousins and friends could run wild. As long as we didn't bother the grown ups. We made elaborate haunted houses, had huge bottle rocket wars, played chase in the dark. Laughed and ran. We did anything except show our faces in the poker room, because then you would have to get drinks for the card players. Screw that.

...living in an imaginary world where I was beautiful, loved, had big boobs, and overall was the shit. Don't think for one second that I did not want Jeannie powers. Most of these fantasies occurred during bus rides and at Mass. Father Stump never could compete with my mind. Walter Mitty knows what it's all about.

Have a nice day.

Sunset and Jenn!

That is me. Jenn has her camera at all times. Thank goodness!

Had a great time last night watching my boy launch one out high over left center! Eat it, haters! All while discussing poets and writing with Josh Ergle. We touched upon the meaning of life, but the metal bleachers were hurting so badly, we were clearly distracted. (What sadist suggested the ridges in the metal bleachers?)

The meaning of my life can't be about becoming a vagabond and protesting materialism. I don't have that luxury. Hell, I think I'm close on the no material thing, but not by choice. I think I'll protest non-materialism by leading a profligate life. Here's to dreaming of excess! And to excessive dreaming. Clink. I want some expensive perfume, athletic shoes with no holes in them, an appointment at a salon. I want a professional massage and a trip to the gynecologist. I am out of control....The meaning of my life is suppressing guilt and fighting for time with Tracy Miller. Both are difficult.

I wonder if our loved ones see us. If my dad sees me. If he is happy, sorry, interactive in any way.

I was talking to my great friend Missi the other night. She and I are like so many others. I have yet to shed a single tear about ending my "marriage" ( and I won't), but the guilt of breaking apart my kids' family will never go away. Literal buckets of tears on that front. I think that is why I still talk about it. I have been asked why I bring up that part of my life. It's because I broke something in my children. It will always be broken. I spent every thought, all my energy, and my whole heart trying to protect them. It was their lives, what they thought was true. Even if I was lying, they believed it. So their legs got knocked out. Via me. I know it's over and done. Thank God. But I walk around with it, and it's a death. We can't be innocent forever, right?

So I make private vows. I don't talk about them. I won't. But I will do this, and I will not do that. I have resolve even though I seem flighty. Squaring up. Love to everybody.

Perception is not reality

So true. Thanks Mooney.

Reality is what actually happens. Not what is said. Not what is wished and hoped for. Not what I pretend to keep me sane. It's just what a person does or what is in front of me or how I am actually treated. (knocking on head)

It's the smiles, hugs, and kisses that happen. Or not. It's concern in the form of money. Sorry. But it's true. I can tell my kids how to live or just let them watch me. I can say I love them or make sure their needs are met. It's not just kids though.

There is nothing more wonderful than to be cared for. And there is nothing so sad than the opposite. I hope you have the real thing. Maybe I'll be the one to give it to you.

Happy Birthday to 18 year old me...

I guess I should write a letter to Newborn Karen Louque, but that could take a while. So I'll fast forward to 18, like Carole said..

Step out the front door like a ghost into the fog where no one notices the contrast of white on white
And in between the moon and you, angels get a better view
Of the crumbling difference between wrong and right
Well, I walk in the air between the rain
Through myself and back again
Where? I don't know
Maria says she's dying
Through the door, I hear her crying
Why? I don't know

Dear 18 year old Karen,

Happy Birthday. It's a rainy Louisiana spring day, so don't even think about straight hair for the bars tonight. You're pretty. You're dark, and you get a lot of attention for your ass. Booty of Life. Tuck that one away. You dress how ever you feel like. Cut offs, your little moccasin boots, not a huge fan of the bra. You practically never wear make up. I like the fact that you decided a few years ago that the whole reputation thing was just too much work. You've made a few mistakes, but over all, you've had a good time. You now know that penicillin is a great discovery, and you have a way with words. You're failing English, but Mrs. Day is not going to let you. She sees something.  You've laughed a lot, and had some adventures. You love hanging out with guys because they're just funnier. Unfortunately, you're about to find out some stuff about Danny that is going to knock you out, and in 5 months when you think it's all over, he dies. I am still so sorry. This is where I wish I could step in. But I can't.

You're just starting to realize that maybe the guys you choose are just you trying to fix Daddy. You will do that some more. It won't work. Actually, I don't know if you will ever stop trying to fix Daddy. You will never get over the boobs that got handed to you, but you're too proud to ever get fake ones. I actually still laugh at you when I remember you showing them to that group at the fair when you were 16. One of my favorite kiss my ass moments....it was on your birthday actually.

I wish I could say that you will be ok. That things will go well. But they don't always. You are very strong for your age, and you have the right amount of rebellion and crazy (Louque) to keep you going. There are people that will love you. That saves you. Some will cry over you. But I am afraid you will cry more. It's ok.  Just remember there is no pit so deep that God is not deeper still. Surrender.

My advice to you is just hind sight. I can't change your path. Your journey into religious fanaticism, your choices about college, marriage, everything. I will just tell you to know that there are lights at points in your tunnel. Your wonderful children, good friends... and sister: a big Canadian that has all the things that you like...and then some. I only wish that you could meet him now. But you have some things to do. Senior trip is coming, you have to work at the Superstore tomorrow night, and you have no clue. Have fun. I like you. You will find your way to me with your faith in tact. Nobody has stripped that, and they won't. You get to have 5 kids just like you always said. You become a good mom. Your kids love you and know who to go to when they need to get things done. They know what it means to be loved. Like you. Your heart will be full.

So Happy Birthday. I'm here waiting.

I had such a good day yesterday. In case you're interested. People are still indecisive in the drive thru. My legs still hurt when I stand for 9 hours. Dave still has a lot to say about a lot of things. A sage. It was all good, and  I didn't even get to see the King of Catering. But I will...

Nobody is going to take care of you but you. So get happy.

Tomorrow is my birthday. I don't have some birth story to write. I need to ask my mom.

Just in case

Some may read my posts and think I am unhappy. Not the case. My kids are great, and that includes my stepchildren. I am madly in love with my Tracy Miller. Just look at him! I believe that we were made for each other, and I only regret not getting to spend my whole past life with him. There could never be enough days to love him. But being in love also opened up the whole can o' worms. I shut down for a long time. So I have so many things that I think about. Thoughts surface all the time. It's like all the debris from the tsunami that will reach the coast in a few years. It will affect people long after the fact. And so it goes with my brain. I talk about stuff on here, because it is my little way of understanding myself. I like to talk. Or type. It's therapy.

So I will try not to only tell all the painful things, although that is good TV. Conflict makes a story a story. I have so much good. I think I am just cleaning out closets in my soul these days. Thank you for not shooting yourself while reading some of my "insights". Love and happy thoughts to everybody. Especially me!

Folksy night

Last night I got to work at JBBQ. I was so afraid that my early onset of dementia would kick in, but I actually remembered all the numbers, tabs, etc. I walked in the back door and was greeted with the best reception! Thank you to all the guys in the back, and all my sweet girls in the front. You have know idea! Everybody needs a place to go that they are just loved. It's mutual. Thank you, Mason.

I've been thinking lately about being hurt. Being a victim. There's a line that you can cross where that position gives you power. It's the "You owe me" thing. I'm not saying that people don't do bad things, but I am strangely and sadly very familiar with that position. I guess I'd rather be a victim than the other. I don't like it, but I know what to do with it. I like nice. A lot. So much that I don't know how to act when I get it. I just open up and give everything like a very dumb, innocent puppy.

 But give me an Asshole. I suppress it, but I know what to do with one of those. I've ran into a few here and there. Not naming names... I can remember all my life the amusement of my friends when I would finally have enough. I hate confrontation. It makes me feel like an animal. Primal. Everybody can "go there", but it changes me. Like John Coffey from the Green Mile. It takes away from me  I am like my very good mom in that way. When she gets angry it's so sad. It means someone has really gone so far that she was in a corner. She's all defense. :) I may expound one day.

Have a beautiful day. I will be looking for goodness in the obvious and subtle places. I know it's there. Oh, and thanks to Evan for the additions to my playlist. People will think I am so hip and down with the young lingo. Word and fresh.

Oh, written in the stars
A million miles away
A message to the main
Seasons come and go
But I will never change
And I'm on my way


Love that song. It makes me wonder what is in the stars for me. And you. Was all that has happened seen before, or does it just play out. I like the idea that God let's us just do this. I say it's an idea because I honestly believe that no one in this life knows completely the mind of God. How could you? I understand why people have to box Him in so they can walk around and feel safe. I just know we see dimly, but one day face to face...

I like to go to baseball practice. The players are hitting, shaggin balls, doing work. Coaches are making them better. The best part about it is, I think, the fence. It separates that world with the one I live in. I think the baseball field always makes sense. (as does the football field) There are rules. Hard work pays off, and you either hit or go home. You can't blame anyone else if the ball comes to you and don't make the play. You have to suck it up and hopefully get the next one. I like it. There is no hypocrisy. It's a game. When it's over, it's over.

I was thinking today about what I have to say. It's the question any writer, whatever caliber, asks. What do I have to add to the conversation? Seriously. Nothing. But, I love to put my life into words. It makes things real. If I don't talk about it, I'm usually pretending it's not what it is. If I start talking, it's over. Wrapped up and figured out. I tend to not want to talk about the bad things. I do this on purpose. I don't like giving legs to the shitty stuff. I will keep that in a long time. Until there is no denying it. I was married 13 years before I started talking about the marriage I was in. Carole knows this.

So here's to the perfect escape of a game and words that define life and sometimes demand action. I am ok.

I remember when my dear friend Robin was going through her divorce. I call it her divorce because it was that. Something that was hers. I get this. When she was in the midst of the anger part of her grief, I made  a cd for her called "Not Quite Acceptance." It was a rousing compilation of songs that celebrated tearing someone's head off. Andrew helped me with the songs , because no one is as pissed off as a teen age guy. I felt like it would either soothe her or at least validate her strong desire to curb stomp her ex.

As far as the grieving process is concerned, I am pretty sure I am in Anger.(warning: if you don't like sadness, or negative feelings, or lamentations, please notice the "X" at the top right of your screen. click on it.)

I know the stages of grief. Sadness, of course, is the initial, overwhelming one. It can be so encompassing. Like drowning all day. Like walking around with a hole in your chest. Like crying at the McDonald's drive thru when the girl says have a nice day. She didn't even make eye contact.

Then comes Bargaining with God. I've been doing this one for a while. You know, doing all the right things and maybe God would change people, take away my sadness, general goodness toward me since I am trying to be the Karen Version of friggin Mother Thereas. Funny thing about bargaining. It appears that God does not accept my offers. It's not that He doesn't like my good will...I guess He does. I don't
speak for God. But It's not working.

So here I am. Mad. Really angry. I have been lied to, stolen from, manipulated, and diminished. I am so pissed off. And I show it all the time. Not just at the object of the offenses. But at the world. At me. I scream in my pillow. I throw things. I lose it. I hope to get through this one in tact. In the meantime, I might say some things that are not wise. But they are my truth.

Acceptance, anytime you are ready....

I am happy to say that next week I am going to work a night at JBBQ. It is like getting to have girls night out and get paid for it. I miss being around people so much. And I need the money. Win/win.

Hopefully I will finish reading Love Wins so I can review it for Carole.

I'm on the brink of figuring out the meaning of life. You won't want to miss that.

Here are some thoughtful quotes from a peaceful man:
The man Martin Luther King Jr. called "an apostle of peace and nonviolence" has been a teacher, writer and vocal opponent of war. Here, Thich Nhat Hanh shares a few words of wisdom.


~ "Freedom is not given to us by anyone; we have to cultivate it ourselves. It is a daily practice... No one can prevent you from being aware of each step you take or each breath in and breath out." ~


~ "People have a hard time letting go of their suffering. Out of a fear of the unknown, they prefer suffering that is familiar." ~

~ "When you love someone, the best thing you can offer is your presence. How can you love if you are not there?" ~


~ "To be loved means to be recognized as existing." ~

~ "Every thought you produce, anything you say, any action you do, it bears your signature." ~

Thich Nhat Hanh