Fighting the Jade (with all my heart)

"Since God is love, all is well. If all is not well, it is not the end."

One would think, by watching my life, that I have never met a liar that I did not offer my heart to in earnest. I apparently think these people are the cat's ass. Again, one would think. I'm not sure why I do this. Perhaps I'm still fixing little Karen, but I really would like to just accept her as is. 

When faced with truth after a shit load of lies with a partner, friend, parent, or whoever, you don't get to just chalk it up. You must go back to the beginning of the relationship with the said liar, and insert this new truth into every moment. It all becomes redefined in light of this reality. Nothing was real without considering the truth that was hidden. It fuckin sucks. It also takes a while to grieve what never really was. 

This may seem to be going in a crappy direction. But to the contrary, not so. As much as these moments hurt, I will always celebrate the truth. I can deal with the truth. And I am dealing.

Truth is....

I have the best kids I could ever imagine . I get to help raise my Leon, and I am grandma to my sweet Arliss. I live on a lake with a beautiful view. I work for a man that is in a 3 way tie with my favorite people in the world. I found a farm nearby where I get raw goat's milk. I have great friends that love me. I am honest. I do not hurt people with lies. I have all the sports channels. Light overcomes the darkness. I still believe in God. I have no idea what He is thinking. But I believe I will know one day. I still have love. And I think I can save the world. 

So, that is today. Peace to all. 

Veritas. 

Angel

Being Me

Being Me. Based on a True Story

Introduction

I don't know how you or I got here. I don’t see how any of us can be certain really. I know we are here. We are born as a part of some assigned team. Some of the teams seem stacked like a Catholic school football team. And some of us are on shitty teams with drunk coaches like the Bad News Bears. (The first one with Walter Mattheau.) It’s all by chance or Someone is doing this to us. I’m not sure how I feel about it. A few teams have great uniforms and really nice equipment. Kind of like the villain teams of every Disney sports movie. And then there are the commoners. The team that stands no chance. No athletic ability, no support, maybe one kid on the squad that can throw or kick a ball. Except in real life, they don’t pull out the miracle win. At least not from what I’ve seen. But they keep playing . Because they love the game or just because they have to. 

I have a friend that is a spiritual healer. I call her my magic eight ball. She communicates with what she calls Spirit and gains insight into people’s lives that help attain their greater good. She’s awesome. She lives far away, and we only talk through text or email occasionally. I would talk more. I would abuse her gift. I’m sure I already do. But seriously, why can’t Spirit tell me if I should grow out my hair? What’s the big deal? Anyway, I asked her once (many times) what is the meaning of life. Like, for real. What the fuck? She said, and still maintains, that the meaning and purpose of this life is to experience love. To give it, receive it, perhaps lose it, and work for it. To overcome fear and embody love.

 Ok. 

So here we all are. Walking around, living. Some say we existed prior to this and that we got together with our team of eternal traveling companions and chose what we would learn in this life. Which really pisses me off. What was I thinking? I can just see Cosmic Karen at the big table. I’m thinking about dealing with these abandonment issues once and for all. Let’s hit the daddy issues hard. And I want to feel it all. Hell, I even want to feel other people’s stuff. Yeah. That’ll be perfect. 

And so, April 13, 1965, I came down the tunnel in the universe. I landed in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Daughter of Vance and Kay Louque, sister of Kay Lynn, Little Vance, and future Kandi. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked, and an umpire yelled, “Play ball!” And I did. We all did. 

And this is that story. The account of my journey. Not in chronological order, because I’m too lazy. I’d rather just stream this out as it surfaces. Childhood memories, yesterday, my children, all of it. Happy times, drunk abusive men, rock concerts, sunsets, laughter, nursing my children, marriage, divorce, marriage again, you get it. It’s all mine. And yours. I’ll try to only cast myself in bad lighting. I have no interest in making anyone feel bad. But some things are just ugly. And some are beautiful. Whatever they are, the experiences are truth. They are the sum, so far, of my evolution. My becoming Love. 

I Don't Want the Title to be Titties

I have no idea what's it's like to be you. I try in small moments during the day to be empathetic. Mainly it's to counter my judgements about the people I interact with at work. But mostly, all day, everyday, every moment, ALL DAY, I am me. I have things swirling around in my head, and if you are one of my five blogger fans (you know who you are), you know that I write to organize this shit. And so, this morning I have my boobs and gray hair, the meaning of life (aka Are You serious, God?), my liver, and a thousand other things that keep popping up. So I will try to get some of these in order.

I was always thought of as "skinny" growing up. It wasn't a compliment. Oh sure, girls would always say they were jealous of my ability to eat so much with no apparent consequence, but guys didn't give a crap about the fact that I could eat quarter pounders with cheese. They liked boobs.

Titties, folks.

And my daddy, who I miss every day of my life, didn't help. From an early age I only remember his pointing out beautiful women on TV or in public by their breasts. The bigger the better. Or prettier in my young mind. So I, being me, fantasied about having the biggest and the best. I was very entertaining. I used to walk in to a room at 9 years old, or the softball dugout, or anywhere, with soft balls in my shirt. Socks, tennis balls, you name it.  I drew beautiful women with cleavage. I could not wait to have them. And then puberty came. And everybody started getting them. Everyone but me. I wore a training bra (wtf) just to have the cool strap showing through my shirt. But the boobies did not come. I adjusted, of course, but I always wanted them. And there was no way in hell I would have gotten implants. That would have been surrendering. Screw that. So I carried on with small boobs and found out you could have a good butt and get by. And I nursed my children for a cumulative decade, so eat me, society.

And then I turned 50. And kids, my breasts are growing. Not leaps and bounds, but slightly. I can make that cool little line of cleavage if I try. And I will. I have gone my whole life without the pleasure of being objectified for my chest. And I have no idea how much time I have. I feel like it's a miracle, and I'm not wasting a second. So brace yourselves. I am working these girls. And I won't even pretend to be offended. I won't say, "Hey, I'm up here." It's ok. You can look.

Which brings me to my head. Or my hair. I am finally going gray. For real. (Where are you, Hatton?) I am happier every day that I become my real hair self. Like implants would have been, I have always felt like I was giving in by dying my hair. Like I was conforming to a standard of beauty that wasn't mine. So I am free.  Sticking it to the man. And in my mind, pretty. I will say more about this journey on another day with a picture or something. Maybe a cool nonchalant shot of my hair and and some incidental cleavage...

I was going to touch on the meaning of life, but that's pretty big. Bigger than my boobs.  I'm not sure what to say. I have more questions than answers, and I am kind of tired of the search. So today, I will look inside for meaning. I will love me and try to shine that light to the ones that I am with. I want to portray some hope to my grandchildren that life is not futile. That we are here to experience love and joy. That we can experience love and joy. That the crying is for a greater reason. That life is more than boobs and hair. But boobs and hair are fun. And fun is good. I work a double today at JBBQ. My life is good. I will write again soon. About my liver. I miss this.

Sonnet XVIII

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
   So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
   So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

It's a beautiful morning. Really.

The sun just came up, or more accurately, my little part of the world just rolled around enough to see it. It's such a matter of perspective, isn't it? It's just like us to think that the sun is moving for us, when in fact, we are the ones. I would imagine it's that way for so many things. I guess it would be cool if the sun moved for me. But what would I do with that kind of power and importance? Honestly, I don't want the responsibility.

And so, as the world turns, as my world turns, I am happy. I have an inspiring view of a lake and the sun. The water sparkles with what must be a million or more shimmers. Two hawks visit everyday and sit on a branch so close to my porch. I read that they mate for life, and it's mating season. So they are dong their thing. Without dysfunction or abuse. No cheating or lying. They aren't passive aggressive or flying around checking out the other birds.They are both committed to life and nest. Both doing their part to make it happen.

Like the hawks, I am doing my thing as well. Choosing each day, all day, in so many moments, to be ok. To be happy and content. To love and accept.

Queen is playing in my head.
Find me...Somebody...Tooooo....Love.

That resonates with my heart. I'm learning that I'm right here. I've been here the whole time. That long search ends with me. The world winds up right in the same place from where it began. With me every single day.

2015 and now

Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight
Lead me out on the moonlit floor
Lift your open hand
Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance
Silver moon's sparkling
So kiss me

 

2015.

 

 I am dedicating this to my sweet Hatton. The above is a quote from the last song I got from her. One of many. I put it on often after work, drive the long way home, and cry. I think we both do. Mainly because it's so sappy and beautiful.

 

The last year has been one of transformation. Of getting on with living and accepting, with joy, my lot. I learned in the smallest way the power of my words. I am trying to speak well to myself. I am also learning to be thankful for what is to come. Before it happens. I can honestly say, I am different. Better. Not Bionic Karen. But Super Karen, using my power for good.

 

So many miracles have happened! Chelsea conceived a sweet baby boy, and we will welcome our little Arliss in the spring. I moved in Robin's lake house and am living and supporting myself like a big girl. I am working at JBBQ and helping raise my angel, Leon. My kids are still perfect. They are my light. I turned 50. That feels cool. I got food poisoning in Vegas and was wheeled out on a  gurney through a resort casino by what had to be men from the paramedic calendar of hotness. That sucked. LSU beat Florida. And I cried less than previous years. I'm still a smart ass, and I work with people who are in to that sort of thing. Earth is a good place to be.

 

I haven't written much this year. I haven't had that kind of energy to spare. I've needed to hoard it like canned food in the zombie apocalypse. But I am feeling...well, I am feeling. My heart is full of love.

 

I don't really want to reduce the last year to events and circumstances. There have been many. But they come and go, and yesterday's big deal is today's triumph. It all comes and goes. There is one thing that remains. Three things actually. Faith, hope, and love. My life is proof of that. And so the next year will continue in that stream.

 

The coming year is upon me. I intend to eat cleaner, practice more yoga, laugh just as much, and enjoy what is to come. Oh, and write more! I used to dread what was next and for good reason. But now I will anticipate the future with hope and interest as to how God will work it all out. I am in a good place. We all are. We just don't always see it.

 

So Happy belated New Year. It's the year of goodness. Of peace. Love you all.