The Terrible 30's

The two year old was quietly sitting in her booster seat. It wasn’t until a red balloon came into her sights did she start to stir. She wailed and thrashed herself around.  Scratches on her mom’s arm was proof this sassy girl wasn’t giving up. The same scenario happened after the older girl said she was full. A delicious piece of chocolate cake was placed in front of her dad. She wanted that cake even though her tummy was making noises and cramping. When her dad took a call, she snuck a bite. When he returned he demanded to know who took a bite. The older girl took a deep breath and then blamed the two year old. 

Funny how people want what they didn’t know existed or what they didn’t know they needed. As children we learn to cry or throw a fit when something doesn’t go our way.  We learn how to fight for our fair share. Whether another kid’s toy or the candy sticking out in plain view. As we grow older we learn to stop the impulse to take whatever we want or pitch a tantrum at will. 

As teenagers we learn to manipulate and use things to our advantage. Any tidbit of information can be used in our favor.  This comes in handy in school when you catch a conversation about the boy you are crushing on. A whisper about a house party tickles the eardrum. Observation is a teenager’s secret weapon. 

Being an adult and wanting comes at a price. Adults want to the best house, the lucrative job, and the perfect marriage. When those things don’t happen, we stew. Resentment takes over and spirals into guilt and regret. Someone else is in possession of what we want. It would be easy to regress back to our two year old selves. Scream and grab at what we think should belong to us. Act like a rebellious teenager and scheme to get our way? As we see in reality shows and the news, people do use these tactics. Wanting may cost us. It could cost us our current jobs, current marriages, current state of being.  Some have an affair; few may pick up and move far away. My adult self would rather just accept the conditions then disturb them. 

I wish I could act like a two year old. No longer caring about other’s feelings or if they get hurt.  I wouldn’t sweat over leaving people and things behind in my wake. Unfortunately, I’m not a toddler.  I tend to care too much what people think and feel. Often times at the expense of my own feelings and wants.  Although the wanting is still there, I have to be an adult. It is time to put on my big girl pants and deal with life as it comes.

Lost Days of Innocence

Cotton candy taste

Milkshake dreams, candy dazed heads

Running around till street lights dim

Playing in dirt, making messes with paste

Torn band aid where skinned knees bled

Children’s laughter is the best medicine

Rose tinted faces, sticky hands now wet

Soggy mittens, knotty stringy hair

Crowded playground, whipping cars along with street

Little things mean a lot like loose change found

Moving higher and higher on the swing set

Egged on by friends, big kids start to stare

World looking miniature underneath small feet

With courage, jumping off and landing on the ground

I just want to hear the children play

No longer a fight over silly rules
Such as bedtimes at early twilight

Sense of security, cavity of society decays

Playgrounds once full of life become eerily silent
On that somber and tragic Friday.  -Karen Pilarski

The New By: Karen Pilarski

The countdown begins. Soon horns will blare and colorful confetti will stick on tongues.  The slushy sidewalks now disturbed by shoe imprints. Flash pictures and drunken texts are reminders of the intoxicated rush of excitement.  Last calls and missed opportunities won’t sour the sheer happiness of the New Year.
Newness is exhilarating.

The feeling something out in the world is untainted and untouched. No residue of past accidents or physical and emotional injury.  Lack of prior knowledge or scars left over from decades ago. No bumps hiding during the test drive to see if the ride will be smooth.  Like the new year, a promise of good things to come. Promises and resolutions made as people get caught up in the ‘new’.

There is the term used called a classic. Something out in the world that has withstood time.  An object or person from long ago that survived frosty fronts, scratches and jabs.

Unfortunately, if the will isn’t there, the old classic will be abandoned. The wear and tear will be too much to bear.  Once shiny and clean will become stale and rusted. No matter how many new years have come to pass, it won’t ever have that fresh scent.

If it was ever valued it could be repaired brand new. If beloved, it would have been kept in great shape. In fact it most likely was restored after hard work and determination.

If only that feeling could be bottled up and sprayed in the air. Maybe then the yearning for the ‘new’ would dissipate like colorful confetti littered on wet ground.

Mr..er Mrs. Destiny by Karen Pilarski

I remembered the move Mr. Destiny with James Belushi from the 80's. It was a guy who had it all but didn't know it at the time. He got a chance in the form of Micheal Caine as a bartender to revisit the crucial moment that could have changed everything. In a zap he was a baseball star and had Renee Russo as a wife. As far as I know I never had that one crucial moment. There have been opportunities or paths I didn't take. Never have I ever looked back and wished I could change the events from the past. Until now. The best times in life can be the most stressful. Think about getting married or having a baby. So much planning and preparing goes into it. I'm about to graduate with a Master's degree. Instead of being overjoyed, I'm terrified and sad. I was never scared when I graduated with my BA degree or when I turned 30. Nor was I petrified when I got married and became a step parent. Like the main character from that movie, I feel something is missing.

Often I daydream about traveling the world or living in New York as a writer. I'm sure there are people doing these things now that wish they had a simple and easy life. I know there others that are sick, struggling, dying. I know people who lost their jobs, dealing with cancer, losing something valuable.

I graduate next month. Then what? I know in my heart I can't stay in the same place. Although I'm very happy to have a job, I feel I could be doing more than being a secretary. I can't wait for the perfect circumstances to sprinkle from the sky. I doubt some angel in disguise will let me redo something or lead me to my ideal life. The meaning of Mr. Destiny was to appreciate what you have. I do. I should be over the moon happy. I can't let my own fears of not finding the perfect job or not making enough money bring me down.

What I want changes more time then the weather. I wanted a baby. That didn't happen and now I've given up. I wanted to be a famous writer, but that hasn't happened and I got discouraged. I wanted to marry Brad Pitt, but he has millions of kids. At times I don't like various aspects of my life. Who do I blame for my challenges? Everyone else. In reality the only person in charge of my own destiny is me. I need to take this crucial moment and make the change I want to see.

Web of Eyes by Karen Pilarski

A web of lies
Decorated, woven silky lines
Spun and stretched up high
Arched the eyebrow to deflect and defy
Used color lenses to add to the disguise
The spinner, coward hides truth inside
Although not as cleverly as she may find
The heart and eyes don't lie
Just I. 

The Luster

I walked into my apartment tonight. Same familiarity welcomed me as I opened the door. My husband's pillow folded over like he always does when he takes a nap while I'm at work. Turned on the tv for some white noise. ESPN blaring startled me from my calm state. After eating some pasta I opened the freezer. There was some ice cream that was recently purchased. I had a slight premonition. I bet Mr. Pilarski made tracks with a spoon in the carton. Slowly opened the lid. A brief minute of excitement came over me. Ta Da! Tracks!!!

Sometimes I wish it wasn't the same thing everyday. Work, dance, homework, shower, sleep. My mind sometimes wonders away from the confines of the cluttered apartment and life. No dirty dishes in the sink, tangled game controllers abandoned on the floor. No half eaten P&B sandwich now stale and sticking to a plate on the coffee table. On occasion my mind escapes to New York or a place where there aren't so many complications or issues. Maybe I wish for more excitement than seeing if there are grooves in an ice cream container. My gal pal and I secretly joke about mind cheating with other people (like a celebrity or some random person we think is cute). I don't think it is about a lackluster 'love' life. I'm content with the luster. I would never cheat on my husband in reality. Could it be I miss being impulsive? I yearn for a spark of unpredictability in my mundane day. To some, they crave some state of stability. Other women could be out there wishing their significant other would commit to them or maybe they are too scared to make a move on someone.

When I first met my husband I was a college student. I thought he looked handsome in his uniform. Tousled brown hair and a sweaty upper lip. When I would hear his keys on his duty belt down the hall, I swear my heart skipped a beat. I was involved in a messy, rocky and toxic thing that sort of resembled a relationship. I longed for a sense of stability and wanted someone that would be loyal. One day after work I made a move. I'm known to be slightly impatient and I was sick of just being a girl with a crush. I'm not really the assertive type but in that moment I was. Maybe I miss that feeling. That all or nothing, do or die feeling.

 Almost 5 years into this marriage, I still secretly think some of his quirks are cute. I mask it by complaining to him. I find it cute when he scratches his face with the other end of the fork. I think it is funny when he leaves a folded over pillow on the couch. I like to call this the 'trail.' I know exactly what he did most of the day.

I love when I find peppermint patties in the fridge because he knows I love them chilled. I love when he pulls me close to him in the middle of the night. I love all these things and would be heartbroken if they ever went away. I may have to turn in my wife card by admitting I may 'check out' by day dreaming about being somewhere else or with someone else every now and again. I know I never would be as happy as I am with my husband.

Tonight while watching my recorded shows I had a thought. What if suddenly there were no more spoon tracks in the ice cream or empty water bottles places around the apartment? What if there was no ESPN blaring to remind me my husband was home? I put the lid back on the ice cream and placed it back in the freezer. Then cuddled up with the folded pillow and wished it was Midnight and he would be off of work.

Space by Karen Pilarski

Space. What everyone needs and wants at times. It could be physical space. Perhaps tight quarters has led to heated arguments and hurt feelings. Living or working too close to someone has caused others to think they have no privacy or life of their own.  I know how my step kids feel. They are with us everyone other weekend and we live in a two bedroom apt. For awhile they were sharing a bunk bed. Granted, they are not with us 24/7. There was no space for them to add personality to their room. It looked like a couple of little kids lived in there. A broken green rocking chair, dusty toys with strings of cobwebs stretching across them. Disney globes, broken and dirty. The apartment became too crowded with stuff.  An ugly painting, sport equipment from 1990. No one felt they could even breathe.

Everyone needs emotional space. Maybe a relationship is exhausting or becoming dull. Problems left unsolved start showing signs of cobwebs and dust. Love's shine of lust and excitement may start to lose it's luster. Too much time spent together or apart has caused a type of rift that needs mending and some T.L.C. Less of "what will be" is replaced by "what could have been." The mind wonders to a place far away and sometimes in another lifetime. Thoughts  never thought were possible start seeping through the rift and into the lover's soul.

During these stormy and unpredictable waves of self-doubt the need for personal space is evident. The silence on the phone isn't a sign of trouble. The quiet dinner together doesn't mean something is amiss. Maybe the person just needs some solitude to think and remember the brilliant shine of love's luster. Time is needed to take out meaningless thoughts and objects that are no longer important and that take up too much space. Room to stretch out and catch one's breath.

Time heals all wounds both spiritually and physically. In a blink of an eye sick person either gets better or worse. While illness brings people together it can pull them apart. There needs to be space to rest up and gain energy. When moral support and warmth is needed, they will let you know. Heartache is the same way. The heart takes time to mend. Not just heartache from love but from life's ups and downs. All people need is just a little space.

Wired by: Karen Pilarski

Twisty, colorful wires uncrossed to help the head feel better
Sparks of electricity zaps the skull in an assault
A negative remark stabs, burns like a bee’s stinger
Pasted smile so the somber mood is not caught

Bashful and timid, not wanting to pester
Temporary solitude is no one’s fault
Lock of straight hair twisted tightly in a curl around a finger
Bleeding lower lip bitten in nervous thought
Foot taping in a repetitious movement

A desire to air emotions to avoid them from festering
Attempting to unlock the brain’s vault
Throat cleared loudly to clear the dryness that lingers
Staring off somewhere in space, a quick delicious jaunt
Quiet escape from the busy mind’s confinement
Makes me feel better.

Let Your Conscience Be Your Guide

Jimmy Cricket must have been busy perusing the job ads when you waltzed into the candy store. Mom was busy pushing the cart toward the checkout. The smell of the peppermint dancing in your lungs. Price of the peppermint was 20 cents. Jingle, jingle in her little coin purse. Only 5 cents. While mom was distracted, you put the peppermint in your fuzzy pocket and run out of the store.

As you leave the store mom notices you have the candy. Busted! Tear streaked faced as mom drags you kicking and screaming back into the store to apologize. Then the guilt is poured on like molasses.

Maybe it is bitterness or seasoned experience that causes me to doubt any story that is presented to me. My cynical side has witnessed it all.

I remember when I was younger my sister was running around in the living room in a pink jacket. My dad was trying to take a nap and was annoyed. Half groggy he seen a pink flash. My sister knowing of the impending spanking threw the pink coat on my little brother. Dad, full of anger took my brother and whooped him hard. It didn’t pay off for her as soon as dad realized what really happened she was punished.

This past week has been filled with dishonesty in all shapes and forms. From the call I received asking for the model number on the office fax machine to the man wondering around pretending he ‘ran out of gas’ and needed money. To family members that burn each other continuously. Sadly, even my husband has been caught in a string of whoppers. Maybe I’m too nice to confront the liars, terrified of some retaliation or afraid of the awful truth.

Who am I to complain? I go into the 10 items or less lane with 20 items. I tell my professor my homework was left at home, knowing full well it wasn’t done. When I worked as a cashier I called in sick but I really was hung over.

The lies or truth have a way of biting us in the butt. A few months ago I took my kids to Old Country Buffet. I told the cashier they kids were younger to get a discount. My kids decided to point out the lie and yell “That’s not my age!” I felt exposed and humiliated. Ashamed of myself that I would ask my kids to be dishonest.

The world would be a better place if everyone had Pinocchio syndrome. Or at least a green BFF in a top hat with the battle cry “let your conscience be your guide.”

If only the people around the world would feel guilty like that day in the candy store. Is that temporary sweet reward really worth the crime?

Collection of Poems I wrote

 Inside Out 

Bruised ego
from the hits inflicted
you still have the sore
The sounds of the names yelled
Hurts you just as much as before

I know a secret is not well hidden
The writings on your face
Don’t let people tell you
The feelings you have are forbidden
There is no time for that type of hate

Its got to take a lot of courage
To be the one to step out of hiding
I used to think your were only confused
But then I was just denying

You are an inspiration
This bravery astonishes me
There is no doubt

You are still human
Inside out.

To Be With Me
 Believe in me
When truth is too frosted to see
Measure goodness by soul
Not by appearances that deceive
Even if near drowning
Would you rage against the storm?
If only for a chance to touch my hand
Through tornados that form
Spits you out onto wet sand

When you put my needs before your own
Then my heart will come home
Then I could be yours
Possibly

I have drawn the shades up
Leaving mere resonant of past
Don’t dwell on you’re sadness
The blues won’t last

When you can say you love me unconditionally
And keep my name in your heart faithfully
Then I could be yours
Possibly

This heart
Banged up, bandaged
Still has blood coursing through it
Flowing like a lake

This heart longs to be
With someone who aches
To be with me.

Butterfly 
  From a womb
Like shelter of a cocoon
Supposedly you bloom
Though life you have tried to break free
Only to be imprisoned spiritually
Vibrant colors need to come alive
Instead of dark forces that keep you locked inside
Oh butterfly
With wings that have not yet formed
Rise above the cruelty
That makes you thoughts deform
Too chocked up to pin point the reason why
Only you know the way to fly

It’s a scary world out there
Instead of emerging
With wings swimming in air
Sticky substance keeps those wings from flying
Angry words always spoken
You have the courage to be all that you can
When wings are broken
Wait awhile and the pain will mend
Butterfly, then you will ascend.

Listen to the Heart
The heart
An exuberant vessel
Speaks in beating rhythmus
Slower then faster
Through time it molds
Into ever changing forms
Emotions once thought to be lost forever
Springs to life then surrenders
I should try to listen to my own heart sometime
Analyzing what it is trying to convey
But I can be stubborn as a mule at times
This heart is no ordinary organ anyway
Extraordinary, but I find myself taking it for granted again
It pounds so loudly to capture my attention
Only for a split second I pause to listen
Then the thought drifts away.

Over Zealous Ruler
On an over elaborate throne you reside
A wreath of leaves circles the jeweled crown
Why isn’t there a queen by your side?
Ambiguous ruler, you try to dictate the town
Yet you will never dictate me
Lavish estate filled with fearful servants to do your bidding
You’re cankerous ways makes townspeople flee
No one in line to kiss your ring, no women in line wanting you’re romancing
On a high horse you sit up right at the grand parade
I throw sharp rocks and sticks your way
Rose-colored glasses block your view of your real fame
Although you may be king in your own head,
Nobody made you judge, jury and executioner in this town of dread
I’d much prefer to marry a common man then to be stuck next to you
I await for your evil rein to be overturned.

Rainy Afternoon
A drop of rain cascades from the sky
As if a teardrop
Dripping sorrow from my eyes
Crack of thunder pops
Skipped my heart into irregular beats
The gray overcast
Fills the sky
With lingered pasts
That repeats itself sometimes
Storms violent, winds harsh
Thrash against my door
Fool I am for answering the knock
It was pity waiting at the door.

My Admirer
Wheels spin round in your mind
Then rusted, they stop at one thought
And make it a wondrous find
How appealing it must be
To hold on tight to love sought
Time after time
But your love is not returned
Images of her glow like starlight
Never mind her innocence is tarnished
In reality her elegance couldn’t light this night
Anymore than you could make it as bright.

 Love's Blush
Love’s Blush
On my cheek
Sensual touch on rosy lips
I crush
The melody of your name, the heart skips a beat
Oh, I’ve been floating over the skyline ever since
Anticipating the trumpets to sound
Upon hearing your name over and over again called
In your absence
I still feel love’s blush present
I crush.

Pieces of You
Alone, but it’s not the way I choose
Thinking of an excuse to call you
But I know that it wouldn’t be playing by the rules
Could you sneak away for a minute?
I know we would end up paying for it
And both of us would be lonely again

Every night I dream of kissing you
And that’s all I have wanted to do
But I know your heart belongs to another
Dividing your life between us two
You break each time for one or the other
All I end up with are pieces of you

If only your heart would beat only for me
If only one look in my eyes would sparkle a gleam
I need you in my world right now
Please don’t leave me
I’d rather see beautiful colors then live in blue
I want it all instead of pieces of you.

Spoon Fed
Silver spoon fed, sleeping in your golden bed
Life is so damn good to you

Don’t you know how it is to live in this pain?
You don’t care as long as nothing ruins your fame
Oh high roller, you are so spoiled inside your over sized head
Does it hurt when thoughts of goodness are now gone and dead?

Poor thing, money is no problem as long as you got your youth
It’s a damn pity all the crisis’s you go through
Just try to walk a mile in my shoes
Try to climb those mountains that kiss the extending sky
Ride those long roads, as another opportunity passes by

Live for a day
Cry for today
Let the joyous music play
Because when you’re gone
 Tomorrow doesn’t mean as much as today.


Katie
Funny how time flies by
Years pass in a blink of an eye
As they go by
I want you to be always by my side
My love is a circle that has no end
Sister, you’re my best friend

We are years apart
But not in my heart
Amazed at the young lady that you are
I see I’ve done my part
Everyday till the end
Sister, you’re my best friend

As we travel down the road
My respect for you continues to grow
I’ll be there for if you’re broken heart needs a mend
If you are lonely and need a friend
You are the best thing in life for me
A sister that’s a friend, you will always be
My best friend.

Mr. Fake Personality
Fake Personality
Not in the realm of reality
Fake Personality
You don’t know what you are headed for

Games you play in others’ heads
Leaves them down and sad
Just flash that deceptive smile
And they’ll have believed everything you said

Oh you are a slick one
Knock down anyone
To get what you desire

Playing with hearts and minds
This time you will find
You’re playing with fire

Fake Personality
Inhaling your last breath of sanity
Fake Personality
Never changed from what you were before

Just about everyone hates you down to your core
When someone calls you their grievances
Out come Oscar winning performances
And you get away with murder once more

One day it’ll all fall back on you
The lies told become unglued
And you’ll be exposed as a liar
Oh you’re a slick one
Knock down anyone
But now you’re playing with fire.

Click
Click, click, click
Eye brow sweating, veins twitching
Fingers rapidly shifting
Body glued to the seat
Snug in bed loved ones you should be missing
The gleam of the screen, smell of deceit
Must be intoxicating
Tick, Tick, Tick
Repetitive eye movements
Clock hands becoming invisible
Secrecy replaces intimate moments
Take in everything
Learning nothing
Click, click, click.

Procrastination

Let me think
Ponder here for a moment or two
Your presence here has frozen my tongue
Up to my knees in love’s quicksand, I sink
Is your heart racing to?
With one look in my eyes, I come undone
My words unintelligent
Face a shade of crimson
Clumsy but not for you enjoyment
Why can’t I be smooth like those other women?

Your voice
Soothing and lush
Like the sound of an angel’s call
Only I have the choice
To confess my crush
Or risk my inevitable fall
I go in circles unable to follow through
Contemplating telling you, at the brink
Let me think
Ponder here a moment or two.

My Life as a Soap Opera

Erica Kane has it easy. Of course she is a fictional soap character on “All My Children,” but her life of cliff hangers, love affairs and tragedy is more exciting than mine. Why it is that life and soap operas collide at times?

Me, I’m a plain Jane trying to get by. I don’t meddle in my friends’ lives. But between my own family and in laws, sometimes high drama becomes a sudsy entertainment for everyone to watch unfold.

I’m no Jennifer Aniston or Reese Witherspoon. Little do people know I’m actually a rather boring character. My character would likely get killed off by a microchip implanted in my brain or remarry my long lost love after much endurance.

By day I answer phones, and the most exciting thing that happens to me in my job as a receptionist, is when I get a prank call. On my desk are piles of papers. No champagne chilling; just a regular cup of java. Sometimes I spice it up by adding a half cappuccino. Wow, what a rebel. There are no fancy martini glasses or suave men in silk suits hanging on my every word.

When I go home, I kick off the heels, and put on my ugly sweats—the one you wear at an all you can eat buffet. Admit it, everyone does it.

My hair is almost always pulled in a messy ponytail. My bedspread is not made of fine silk ruffles or chenille. The bedspread is a tattered old comforter.

Where Erica Kane would have a full bar with exotic liquors, I bide my time guzzling back a diet coke. When I want to get down and funky I might drink a glass of boxed wine. Erica would be so proud.

I don’t attend glitzy balls or fancy parties. Some Fridays I might go to a local bar and hang with friends. Most often I’m watching my prized Sex and the City collection with my husband.

To listen to some folks, though, you’d think I was living in Pine Valley with my fourth millionaire husband. Obviously, they’re not paying attention.

Whatever the case may be, life is not a soap opera. I spend my days trying do the best job I can at everything I do—work, grad school, friendships. I have never performed brain surgery in a cave on a deserted island or rescued my father from a busty blond gold digger.

Unlike characters on a soap opera, we don’t come back from the dead when our contract is renewed, or come back as a long lost identical twin with amnesia. I have a twin brother, so unless he wears a wig, this won’t be happening.

We have one chance to make our lives worthwhile. Let’s spend it building each other up and making ourselves and others happy. Let’s not move to Pine Valley just yet. Erica has plenty of future bridesmaids at her fingertips.

New York

Jagged buildings crowd under Manhattan sky

Blurry splashes of moving colors whizzing by

Rushing movement of people scattered along the subway line

Pulsating sounds scramble the focused mind

Constant lights blinking, throbbing eyes

Sounds of the city, jolts the heart alive.

Have a Little Faith

Maybe I’m gullible. Perhaps while I’m often cynical and think the worst, I can also believe the best in others. I’ve seen a lot of bad things go down and truthfully have done things I’m not proud of.  I’ve portrayed the villain and damsel in distress so often I could have won an Oscar a million times.  There have been times I’ve been lied to and it felt like I was stabbed in the back. Quite honestly on more than one occasion I was the one holding the knife.

Older and wiser, I know I have matured. The grays in my hair are proof that I am not a mere child anymore. Having been the one with the ‘pants on fire’ I grasp the horrid feeling of being lied to. I teach my children honesty is the best policy. Could it be my difficult upbringing has made me believe in hard work? The little that I own, I worked for.  I can’t stand rationale some people have for doing wrong deeds. For example a person who steals food because they are hungry.  A person who robs a bank because he/she needs the money to pay a bill. What infuriates me the most are people who murder others for their clothing, cars, and lovers.  There is always another option.  There is always another way.  Having come from nothing, I would never take from others. I certainly don’t want my kids to be dishonest.

What is most hurtful is when you trust someone unconditionally and the trust is betrayed. It is one thing for a stranger to do dishonest things but when it comes from someone close it feels like that knife is twisting.
When I care for someone I will have their back no matter what. Unless proven otherwise. Foolishly or full heartedly I trust completely. Even if all the arrows seem to point in one direction, I think there has to be another way. There has to be some other reason for the situation. Maybe it is childish and stupid to assume someone I care for couldn’t possibly be guilty of some wrong doing.

My brothers and sisters had parents who would set traps to get the truth. My parents give just enough rope to hang ourselves. Strangely we would bust ourselves out. A trail of cookie crumbs leading to a bed or dirty hand prints on the broken vase. My husband and I use the same strategy on our kids. The way things are today there is less of a trail that can be left to identify the guilty one.

No one likes to have something (an object, money, food) taken from them.  When my husband and I were first married our laptop and palm pilot was stolen from our hotel room. Those things can be replaced.  It is really painful when it is special to them that cannot be replaced. Sometimes things are just misplaced. One time in high school I wore a necklace that was my late grandma’s.  For safe keeping I put it in my purse. I put the purse down to help with the special education class. In a blink of an eye the purse was gone! I was so upset and furious someone would steal my purse. Years later while working at the local Target store and man came up to me. I guess he worked at my high school as a janitor and remembered me. He said had my purse in lost and found this whole time!  He gave me the purse. I thought for sure it was stripped. The five dollar bill was still in there, a note from a friend and my grandma’s jewelry!

The best thing people can do is be honest and try to do the right thing. I know it is corny and ‘Barney’ like to sternly say that honesty is the best policy.  Everyone makes mistakes. That is part of life. It is how we learn from those mistakes that make us who we are.

The Secretary

The mousy secretary sits behind a desk. Smudged glasses slip down the nose. Paper and files accumulate on the desk. Brown strands of hair brushed in a messy bun.  Rows of cubicles, feels like an endless maze of walls. Gossipy colleagues behaving like high school students.  Warm brown eyes are strained by the constant gleam of the screen.  There has to be more than just a tiring sequence of typing and printing.

 The constant clicking of the keys, hypnotizes the mind into a zombie like state. The ring of the phone snaps the brain out of the boring and draining situation. The only thing to get through the dull eight hours is to allow a quick escape in a form of a daydream. Perhaps there could be a great job opportunity or a winning lottery ticket. The secretary is more than fuzzy sweaters and a soft voice. She is educated and creative. She is strong and vibrant underneath the meekness and timid nature.

There is so much color under the plain baggy clothes. All this energy trapped within the confines of the cube. One day those walls that hold her back will come crashing down. There will be no more constant clock watching and the sounds of keys clicking away. She will still be someone with smudgy glasses but at least not hidden behind a cluttered desk.

The End

When the end is near
What appears?
Is there a brilliant light
That takes over taste, sound and sight?
Unique souls to represent who we are
Is God up in the sky or is he really that far
So many questions that won’t be answered
Until the end is near
A felt presence, of loved ones who have passed before
Sickness and pain fade, life’s restrictions are no more
Nothing left to fear
When the end is here..

Labels Don't Stick

I once found a can of food buried in my pantry. It was dusty and expired a year earlier.  The label was completely torn off. I had no idea what was in that can of food. My only thought was that it was old and should be discarded. A bout of braveness took over and the can was opened. Needless to say it was a slimy and green version of what I want to say was peaches?

Yes, I’m going to compare people to expired cans of food. People don’t stay the same. The marks of life show in dings and dents, displayed on the surface.  I’m not the same person I was years ago.  I’d like to hope somewhere in the span of time my personality has evolved into something more positive. It is unfair to stamp someone a certain way because of how they were when growing up. I’m guilty of labeling people I’ve dealt with based on perceptions of the past.

 I remember this mean girl from high school choir. I made the mistake of being funny and making a goofy face in a picture. She called me out in front of the class and said I was ugly. I went home in tears.  I wrote her off as a cruel bitch. The end of the year before our graduation she came up to me and apologized and said I wasn’t ugly. I wonder what made her see the error of her way.  Maybe the choir teacher put her in her place. Possibly she realized she hurt my feelings? I’m sure she would have been hurt if she heard me say she looked like she hit a few ugly branches on the ugly tree.  Fast forward a decade and she is hopefully a responsible member of society. Perhaps she learned that words hurt people.  Labels hurt people.

I’m not including degenerates in this argument. Rehabilitation is a debacle for another time. How many times has it been said so and so was a brat or horrid as a child/teen? Does this indicate they will always and forever be that way? My husband, I’ve been told was a bit of a handful back in the day. From the stories told he had a quick temper and was a bit of a jerk. Today he is a loving father and husband. He treats me with respect and tells me he loves me every day. He works hard and is good at his job. He has never treated me as if I’m just a ‘step’ parent. To my husband and kids I’m “Mom #2.” To some from his past he is still that nasty 16 year old guy. I would assume after 4 years of marriage red flags would be waved if something was amiss. It is unfair to say people haven’t changed at all.

What really upsets me is to say a person is just like their parent or brother or sister.  As far as I can tell I’m not an exact carbon copy of my mother or father. My father is into learning different languages and cooking ethnic foods. None of my siblings are into these things. Don’t get me started on the grossness that is banana fritters. My mom is very artistic (drawing). Majority of my family excels in art. I can’t even make a stick person correctly. :( Do I have some personality traits as my parents? Of course I do! I’m timid like my mom and impatient like my dad.

I think my son and daughter are very smart and thoughtful. I don’t focus solely on negative aspects (my son can be a crabby or my daughter can be ultra moody). Some of that goes with the territory of being a teen.  I refuse to state kids are spitting images of their parents. Why on earth would you unload an expectation or death sentence on a child? If every human being was a total clone of their parents (when they were younger) the world would be in some trouble.

The funny thing about actual labels is that they come off with some work. There is generally some resistance because it wants to stay stuck like glue. Tugging and peeling it takes some time and effort to remove it.  After the sticky paper is bunched up on the ground there may be some resonates left on the item.  Perhaps you just put a label over the old one. That is how life works. There will always be a reminder of who we were, but there is room to display who we will become.

How to Be a Hidden Jerk

Amazing how the smallest slight/inconsiderate moment can regress the age back to decades ago.  I wouldn’t mind being younger when it was just as simple to hang up the phone.  Is it possible to remember a time when the offender could just be avoided at school? If it was siblings who did the slighting it was easy to nark on them to mom. Today’s culture would include deleting a friend on Facebook or snotty emails, texts and social network postings. What happened to the good ole days when a person could talk smack in the cafeteria or on the bus? When busted you could come clean and apologize or just say fake amnesia. Now the evidence is all over the internet and cell phones.
I know it would be far more mature to confront the guilty individual(s). The truth is everyone hides behind technology in some way. The current situation is that in order to jab back there has to be some creativity involved.

1. Keep them guessing. Post a statement that is gender neutral. “They make me so angry.” People will most likely respond with “who?!” Don’t mention names. Rookie mistake. Plus it can come back to haunt you.
2. A hidden meaning quote.  Here is an example “There is no pillow so soft as a clear conscience.”  ~French Proverb. The person who ticked you off will probably just ‘like’ it. I have yet to have a person ask who or what a quote was supposed to be about. Using a quote will allow venting and less damaging. What I see is often is song lyrics. Same diff.
3. Use code names/words/gestures. When I text I’ll usually refer to someone only by a nickname. Some nicknames I frequently use for certain people are beast, dust, scary, wench, and the boy.  I have nicer code names/words too. My daughter is Mega Mia or M&M. My son and I have a funny thing where I flip my pinky finger and he does a fist bump (from the show ‘Friends’). Using codes protects you if your texts are read or shown to other people. Mostly so you can freely have a conversation without getting in trouble.  I know you are wondering who has what nickname. See title for rule #1.

I wish technology wasn’t so advanced that there needs to be well thought out guises. This is the reality of the world we live. When I’m upset I write little stories or poems. Maybe one day retro phones and hand written notes will make a comeback. Until then I’ll just bide my time hiding behind my blog.