Military, Poetry, Uncategorized, world affairs, Writing

Do You See?

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He sees. 

The masses of humanity  who pass him by ( if you can even call them that.) For where IS their humanity ?

Webster’s , that great tome of definitions, tells us ; HUMANITY ~compassionbrotherly lovefraternityfellow feelingphilanthropy, humaneness, kindnessconsiderationunderstandingsympathy, tolerance …………

Perched on a milk crate , in mis-matched shoes, soles worn down to paper thin.

The little dog,  eyes shining bright , with the reflection that , he and the man are a tribe all their own.

The man’s grayed hair , and face lined  with a hundred, no maybe even a thousand memories .

Perhaps even memories he would wish to forget , of places far away, jungles hot and fetid.

The chopping sounds of helos flying over, and wondering if there is an end to this madness.

He sees.

That the people passing by have forgotten about those days, easier for them to pretend it never happened.

And so to pretend that he does not exist either.

But , he sees. 

And wrapped in an honor that only a few will know, that even fewer CAN know.

The creases in his face , would tell you the story, if  only YOU could see.

About Me~, humor, Uncategorized, Writing

When I Was Four~

*When I was four*

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Being four is not fair.Not fair at all.  I don’t belong in this dress.

Stupid lacy hat . Choking me with it’s girliness.
And a purse?
I can’t put my baseball and dead bugs in this.
I need my rolled-up Levi’s and Chucks.

Or better still bare-footed
I want so badly to pull away from this picture,
because it isn’t showing me.
I don’t want to look at it now, five years from now , or even ten years from now,
because all I see in this moment , and will see later, is a stranger standing there.
I see my best boy friends, John, Adam and Matt standing across the street.

My Three Amigos, or perhaps in this situation, the Three Stooges …….
They are  laughing at me, and doing their  best imitations of a ballerinas,
just to mock me.
They’ll see. 
This pink dress won’t keep me from blacking their eyes, and dealing out a bloody nose or two.
It’s not fair. I don’t belong in this dress.

About Me~, art, Uncategorized, Writing

Komorebi~

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Komorebi~木漏れ日

Early a.m, and the magic will start  , ever so slightly at first.

That certain gold that drips from God’s never-ending palette.

Down from the tops of the elms, and oaks,

it comes,  unaware of its own spectacular beauty.

Diamonds lit from within , dappled light transformed.

Glittering down , in a never-ending spectacular kaleidoscope ,

infinite in its choices of fractals.

I am struck by the feeling  that the golden drops have their own secrets,

and whisper them only to the leaves, who raise their veined bodies to hear it all.

Devotees’ to the words the sunlight speaks.

Never spoken to outsiders,

but passed from one to another ,

on the sacred parchment of their own greenery.

Komorebi , 木漏れ日,

 

 

 

 

 

 

About Me~, art, inspirational, Uncategorized, world affairs, Writing

How Bizarre~

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The beautiful is always bizarre.  ~ Baudelaire 19657041_1349803748431210_6828812241786549423_n

I’ve never BEEN normal.   It was a certainty in my bones , a knowing even. An intrinsic feeling , yet not a difference that I felt was a problem. I didn’t SEE it as being a difficulty. I knew I was not like other people. I don’t say that as a form of braggadocio or as a way to say I was better or somehow on another plane. I came into this world , a wild animal. For most of my early years I refused to wear clothes, driving my mother to insanity. I thought going about skyclad was the best thing in the world.  When she DID manage to keep me clothed, it had to be boy’s clothes of the most ragged variety imaginable. Jeans, cutup, cutoff, dirty, t-shirts the greasier the better. My Dad’s castoff welding hats and goggles. A pair of corduroy Levi knickerbockers. Cowboy boots with the soles worn completely through. A set of leather chaps that a friend of mine had outworn. I spent my days out of doors ;climbing every tree within 10 miles of my house. Skinnydipping in the Little Missouri river until I was sunburnt to the color of red ripe watermelons we gommed from Granny Jo’s garden in the evenings.  I don’t know how my mother kept from killing me in those years; I never shut up, when I WAS home, which was seldom, I despised school work; what was I going to need all THAT useless information for anyhow, I wanted to be any and everywhere besides chained to that drudgery . I brought home any and every creature I could find , that slithered , crawled or flew, and was sure that both my mother and sister would find homes for them, and be just as fascinated as I was. (  I was wrong on both counts many times. ) Come to think of it, I don’t know why my SISTER didn’t kill me in all those years. I’m sure she had just cause. She was all the things I wasn’t . She was clean. She was a whiz at school, quite dedicated to it actually. And she actually kept her clothes ON. She swore on many an occasion, that “For the love of GOD, Nette, you are adopted. I swear. You actually belong to some nudists somewhere!!”  Heh.

I guess , to me, life just all seemed so bright, amazing, full of things to see. It still seems that way. Everywhere I go now, I still wonder why people want to be “normal” . And the funny thing is they struggle so hard to do this thing they call “fitting in”. What IS that, anyway? I had an interesting conversation with my niece, just the other day.  I was asking her , about a certain person , “Why is he dressing that way?” ( Meaning goth, emo, shopping at HotTopic, you know the whole ‘look’) She said , “Well, he’s making a statement I guess. Trying to stand out. ” So I asked her, “But if EVERYONE is doing that now, dying their hair, getting tattoos, going “goth” , and shopping at HotTopic, are you really making a statement? It’s not. It’s the new ‘normal’, isn’t it. ”  She didn’t really know what to say to that.  See, I don’t have a single tattoo. I don’t dye my hair technicolor. I’m not some trendy gender. Been married to the same guy for almost 21 years. I don’t have a nose ring, or some other odd piercing.  I think people ought to be respectful to others , and pretty  much live and let live. Wow.  In this day and age, guess what? I’ve become the new bizarre. And to quote Baudelaire, “It’s beautiful. “

About Me~, chronic illness, inspirational, Uncategorized, Writing

Welcome the Waiting ~

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I had both a saddening and inspiring conversation yesterday on a FaceBook page I follow.   It posts funny and interesting quotes , with the kind of things that people usually can smile at , or find something to perk their day up.  Well, while I was scrolling I saw a quote that said “Everything that’s difficult , you should be able to laugh about. ”  Underneath , a young woman had written, “Well, what about terminal cancer? Chronic depression?  Unending pain?”  And I suddenly felt very sad.  I felt compelled to reply to her , so I wrote, “Well, I can’t speak for terminal cancer, as I haven’t had that particular wellie, but I have had depression , suffer from more chronic health issues than would fit in this paragraph, and pain that would drop a bull-moose, and YES, I have laughed AT and THROUGH all those things, as crazy as it sounds. Once you get to a certain point, it all becomes so ridiculously bizarrely fantastically insane that this should all happen to one person that all you CAN do is laugh.”   She replied that she no longer even had the energy TO laugh. She said, “I have lost my joy, and I don’t know what to do to get it back again. How do you find your joy with all you have going on in your life?”

I didn’t even have to think. I knew exactly what to tell her. I’ve learned so much in my more sick than healthy years.  I said this, “I understand. My way of dealing has been to cut out everything absolutely unnecessary in my life. Toxic people. Toxic situations . Read more of the things that bring me joy. Spend more time outside when I can. Be with the people I truly love. Unplug from all the garbage on television and internet. Eat the food I like, even if it’s not necessarily healthy, lol. Laugh at ridiculous things. Just take stupid good care of my self , even if it seems selfish. Like insanely long baths, if that’s what I feel I need. Stop when I’m tired. Which is often. Tell the doctors what I think. Even if it’s NOT what THEY want to hear. Make it about the things I TRULY NEED. Journal, and write, and go back to the things I loved when I was 10 and 15 and even 20. I blog, I run my lupus support page. I speak my mind about the things that I think are important. Like being kind. I color . I Zentangle. I listen to good meditative music. I listen to trashy 80s metal, lol I sing, and take photographs and write bad poetry  ”  This has been my way of finding myself.  You have to. There will not always BE happiness, or even laughter. But I do believe there IS always JOY.  Sometimes we must find the joy in the waiting, the joy is in the fact that we are making it one more minute in this craziness we are dealing with. 

Don’t get me wrong, I have days where sometimes I wonder where the joy will come from, but it pops up in the funniest , most surprising places , when I least expect it. I refuse to give up on it.  I hope to always, always be able to ……………..

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About Me~, chronic illness, humor, inspirational, Uncategorized, Writing

Unsaid~

 

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I was  in the doctor’s office again this morning . ( Big shocker there, right? Heh. ) No, with lupus and it’s many lovely cab-riding co-morbid leech-y partners sometimes weekly visits are a given . Sometimes even MORE than one visit per week is something you just say , “Meh.”, to, at this stage.  I’ve been feeling puny as my Daddy says since last week. Without going into gory details, ( Oh, who am I kidding……..tossing the lunch monkey, making “the noise, that noise that shall not be named” as my teenage sons say in dramatic tones,  general all  -over pain,  congestion of the size that back-hoes are needed to haul away, and just basically wishing I could curl under my floofy grey ginormo cover and dis- a-frickin- pear) . I finally gave in today and went, where my nurse Cynthia gave me the “look” , meaning ,”And you didn’t call me last week ‘WHY , YOUNG LADY?!?”  Sigh. I know. ‘Cause I’m a moron. General knowledge at this point.  Anywho, that tidbit of miscellany aside, she got me all vital-ed and everything , and I saw the doctor , who’s a peach.   If you can say that about a jolly 260 pound linebacker sized gent who looks like he crushes coconuts in his spare time, but is really the kind of dude who takes his little girl to get her nails done Disney Princess style. I might say it, but maybe not , like to his face. 🙂

 

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So turns out , I don’t ( By the grace of God , have the actual flu or strep , which IS going around, GAG me with a thousand troll toenails. ) I DO however have a severe sinus infection and probably like bronchial junk which goes with. ANYWHOOOO. So this next part requires kind of a backstory so that you can understand the following without me seeming like a total and complete loon.

See , I’ve been sick, for a very , very long time. Since childhood. And in the early 80s there was not a whole lot of knowledge about auto immune disorders, especially in children.  I mean , there is still not a slew of things known about it now, even in adults and back then in children , you might as well  have been an alien. So I was in the hospital.  A LOT.  Pretty scary experiences for a small child, you have to admit. But I was actually pretty lucky. I got to go to the hospital I was born in . And see the doctor who delivered me, and the nurses who worked there? I went to school with their kids, who were all my age. And our hospital was always a little bit old fashioned, and I remember it had the cast iron beds. The neat what people consider  the “vintage” kind now.  Our town was so small that the mayor was the X-Ray tech.  The hospital cleaning lady , was my church’s secretary and roll taker. One of the nurses was the police chief’s wife. I’m named after the delivery nurse who helped my Mom in labor.  I said all that to say this, one of the nurses there was always particularly close to me. She just seemed to always know when I needed something. I always tried to be brave, because I know being sick freaked my parents out. They didn’t know what was wrong with me , in those early days, and didn’t really have a way to pinpoint it. They just knew I was frail and in a lot of pain.  But Cynthia, she just knew how to set it right. With me, AND with them.  And she had this great laugh, when you heard her in the hall, you just somehow knew, no matter what things would be okay.

The funny thing is, that’s her that  works in my local doctor’s office now. THAT Cynthia.  While I was sitting in exam today , waiting to get my injections for my infection, I heard that laugh, and started to tear up. I couldn’t help it. She comes in with the shots all ready to go, and looks at me. I told her, ” I need a hug.  When I heard you in the hall laughing, it brought back so many memories of cast iron beds, and scary days, being afraid, and not knowing what was going to happen , or even if I was going to make it. But I’d hear your laugh in the hall, and suddenly I’d just know , ‘Cynthia’s coming. It will be okay now. ‘ ”  And then I couldn’t speak. I was just hugging her and bawling my eyes out. You just don’t know how much stuff like that means to someone.

She told me , that she had needed that today. So I was glad I said it.  Oh how blessed I have been to have had my care team from PCH and Mercy Medical. My hometown. And if you have people like that in your life, tell them! Tell  them now. Don’t wait. You don’t find them everywhere, trust me. I have trusted these people with my lives , countless times, and they have earned my gratitude, my heart, and yes, I tell them without shame, before it is gone, the time has passed, and they aren’t here anymore. I tell them, ” You mattered to me!! I love you!”

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art, inspirational, Uncategorized, world affairs, Writing

How Are You Today ? Just Four Words


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no estic bé
People are hungry. 
Níl mé ceart go leor
Children live on the street. 

Mir geht es nicht gut
The politicians play by their own rules. 
I au I Ka Moana
We've forgotten , "Do unto to others ."

אני לא בסדר
We turn a blind eye to those we could help

e kore au e ahau pai
The Golden Rule is not , "He who has the gold , makes the rules. "

Sina sawa
Love is not arrogant , or rude. 

P.S. The "four words" are , "I am not okay." in many different languages from around the world. 
 And he said unto them, Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature. Mark 16 :15
Just something that was on my heart today.