tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74592237633484020802024-03-05T15:28:16.516-08:00 The Heart's Inner WorkingsAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.comBlogger144125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-3806009021804310412015-12-05T15:46:00.005-08:002015-12-05T19:54:05.256-08:00Messy <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/qUjqSzxSCyQ/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/qUjqSzxSCyQ?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe> </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-90956145559488508942015-07-18T18:57:00.001-07:002015-07-18T18:57:29.967-07:00Wedding My toast to my brother and his new husband: https://youtu.be/j5FfRoS8jagAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-51132809903228372942015-05-08T19:27:00.001-07:002015-05-08T19:27:27.610-07:00Lost in thoughtIf I would follow my own heart it would be as if chasing a balloon in
flight. Clinging to a thin string with clutched fists while being
smacked on the head by a inflated rubber ball. I see big things in store
for me, but I can't find the air to take me there.<br />
<br />
Off in the
distance is a skyline so beautiful and right now, a fairy tale only in
my head. I'm in my thirties and still chasing fairy tales and soap opera
plots, I should write for daytime television since my imagination is so
vivid and Emmy worthy.<br />
<br />
Who in their right mind is married for seven
years and still hopes for some romantic diversion to take place? Who
else thinks divorce is the answer?<br />
<br data-mce-bogus="1" />
It is
tough to be a sensitive writer with all these emotions inhaled and
exhaled. I know the shakiness that I stand on, not sure how to calm the
anger of the ground wanting to take me down. <br />
<br data-mce-bogus="1" />
Even
if a dalliance occurred or I moved to a big city, it wouldn't stop the
balloon from shaking violently and longing for the skies. The balloon is
me as of late. Shuffling and bopping within the wind's movements. It is
erratic and longing to be free.<br />
<br />
Yet the funny thing, when the
passionate breeze dies down, It descends back to earth, where my brain
meets it. I'm just not that impetuous even though I fantasize about
different outcomes. I miss excitement and fireworks.<br />
<br />
The crazy
thing is a horoscope once said I love the thrill of the chase. It is so
true! I have been brain washed by soap operas and love ballads. I long for
fancy affairs and glitzy social events. I love the romance of New York
City. The one pined for magically shows up and kisses you on light
colored lips. The softness of wet mouths touching and falling deep into
the moment. <br />
<br data-mce-bogus="1" />
This is reality, complication
and uncertainty everyday. I despise those who are happy all the time
because I don't think I ever experience that. Once, I want unrestricted
happiness. It seems so silly, like a kid chasing after loose balloon on a windy day, Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-7449917444550240922015-04-18T11:36:00.002-07:002015-04-18T11:36:32.921-07:00My dog, myself<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg50GTC367fsgMLBb3gfyZl3ITQozBKhZDRlt5YT_81T6ORy9Jn8EuNpxm0uWFPjoaEV-YncVKYgBoxsoYYFdK2mbtrGZ3Yyk7uwL_Mh72VkS5V6O1-_uwHvm8Jh6sgmJtcCLbMVkiS5XD/s1600/hot+dog+in+the+city.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg50GTC367fsgMLBb3gfyZl3ITQozBKhZDRlt5YT_81T6ORy9Jn8EuNpxm0uWFPjoaEV-YncVKYgBoxsoYYFdK2mbtrGZ3Yyk7uwL_Mh72VkS5V6O1-_uwHvm8Jh6sgmJtcCLbMVkiS5XD/s1600/hot+dog+in+the+city.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
My husband thinks I’m silly for celebrating our dog Sundae’s 1st
birthday. He says mockingly, “Like she knows it’s her birthday.” I
contemplated making a bone shaped cake with cheesy bacon frosting.<br />
<br />
On
breaks at work I would Google pet parties. The thought of a colorful
cone hat on Sundae disappeared in an instant. She would probably chew it
up and I would find residue of it in her poop.<br />
In my over thirty years, I never was an animal lover. Until I set my eyes on her in the pet store on a sticky July Sunday.<br />
<br />
It
is hard to put into words what Sundae has meant to us. She has brought
such joy and love into our world. Before the house was always quiet and
often. My husband works a different shift from me. My stepchildren are
only around every other weekend. As they have aged, the amount we see
them has diminished. We have somehow arrived at premature empty nest
syndrome.<br />
<br />
The house now has dog toys spread around the floor and
kibble pellets scattered. Instead of stepping on a kid’s Lego piece, I’m
walking on a squeak toy or rawhide bone.<br />
<br />
No longer do I hear two
children playing or watching television. When Sundae notices a person
walking a dog out the window, she whimpers. She is energetic and always
wants to play. She wants all our attention to the point if I’m writing
she will put her head on my hand. My stepdaughter used to snuggle and
put her head on my shoulder.<br />
<br />
Now in their teens, my two
stepchildren are on their phones or playing sports. Sundae doesn’t
replace them; she fills the loneliness in the wake of their absence.<br />
<br />
In
the past year I have learned about unconditional love. When I fell in
love with husband it was a long and twisty road. Our marriage and
relationship with the kids have been about resentment and adjustment.
Animals just love and don’t think about the past or future. They are
very present and about the ‘right now.’ Dogs want love, food, and
exercise.<br />
<br />
Humans can be moody. When we arrive home we complain
about our day or discuss trivial things. Sundae is ecstatic to see us.
She jumps around as if to say, “Where have you been?!”<br />
I have heard tales of pets that start to resemble their owners. She certainly is a mixture of me and my husband.<br />
<br />
She
is impatient like me, she wants something and it has to be now. If I’m
putting on shoes to take her for a walk, she paces between the kitchen
and living room. She adores the smell of books. My husband and I are
avid readers and the scent of inked pages sends her running. She sniffs
the pages and turns them with her nose.<br />
<br />
Sundae is misunderstood
like us. People think she is very hyper but that was when she was a
puppy. Her short past seems to haunt her. No one will let go of the
notion that she is not the same dog. Similar to others who think my
husband is the same man he was a decade ago.<br />
She is sweet as ice cream, which is funny considering her white snowy fur with splotches of black on her mane.<br />
<br />
She
has the ability to soften our rigid edges. She has taught us act like a
team. We are more affectionate toward each other and calmer. We love
teaching her knew tricks and training her. She smiles when we are both
home at the same time.<br />
<br />
As someone who suffers from infertility, it
is an emotional roller coaster. Oddly enough she has become our child.
Obviously she doesn’t resolve the depression and frustration. She makes
things seem worthwhile. We argue over how to ‘raise her’ or if she has
been fed or bathed. He thinks I spoil her and I think he should play
with her more.<br />
<br />
She has given us purpose and promise of happy years to come.<br />
<br />
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5HhYNSxsN1MAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-83134033599724543062015-04-04T18:53:00.001-07:002015-04-05T12:43:20.679-07:00Easter in Milwaukee<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5j3PRWDLGKelb68BHDyxW-wbPW_3TWyKcpdl9tbXtU9b1r6Ugzz2_d_qbJRwbfanSJX-Onyy9Lsi3arBVNlpM3VajTmAcFkGC6a9MY7VmAKpXvMw4SWXbWS_IBGibCGGgMzaz8FY85ymo/s1600/8943554381372c39a98853556e8eb878.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5j3PRWDLGKelb68BHDyxW-wbPW_3TWyKcpdl9tbXtU9b1r6Ugzz2_d_qbJRwbfanSJX-Onyy9Lsi3arBVNlpM3VajTmAcFkGC6a9MY7VmAKpXvMw4SWXbWS_IBGibCGGgMzaz8FY85ymo/s1600/8943554381372c39a98853556e8eb878.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The closest thing I could find online to what we made</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My family was not overly religious or very sane. We were all baptized Lutheran but dad enjoyed trying out different cultures and denominations.<br />
<br />
For awhile we were made to attend Catholic mass. Being a kid and sitting through a long service on a Sunday was boring.<br />
<br />
On top of that we had to go to Sunday school and classes to be confirmed. That became dull and we were pulled out of classes right before I got to wear my immaculate white dress and veil.<br />
<br />
He made us kids go to a mosque when he was trying out being muslin. I was washing my feet at a <span class="nDesc">mosque while dad and his friend Newman were praying on oriental rugs. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="nDesc">Other years he was into being Turkish, Dutch, Spanish and Chinese. There was a throwback period when he introduced the family into his Jewish heritage. He bought Halva which was fun at first. It looked like ice cream and was extremely sweet. We were pretty poor and sometimes chocolate Halva was lunch and dinner. I can't even think about the honey and nut confection without making my stomach heave to this day. </span><span class="nDesc"></span><br />
<span class="nDesc"><br /></span>
<span class="nDesc">As you can imagine Easter was a confusing holiday for me. Mom still wanted us to color eggs and make Easter baskets out of milk containers. A few weeks before we would see a pile of empty milk containers with the tops cut off. Mom was very crafty and would get construction paper and cut out ears, noses, eyes and whiskers. Then a cotton ball glued to the back. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="nDesc">While she was cutting out the shapes we used those flimsy egg coloring kits. We didn't have those cool and effortless ones they have now. We didn't even have cool egg stickers. Our family had the wobbly wire that dips eggs into assorted bowls of food dye. </span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtqtSa4qck4Mx5urYj3uNp3Ch9zVSzymFHYuhd78LebKm1D30rFOvbEqYP1Vw5WhRxAs4H9qWNlWkOAc9xOA9FoxxHWTPv8mHTZQa_spS6UjECEmCD3c7WP5JhQ2g-mShXfGwzzvk9bM9I/s1600/20150404_203039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtqtSa4qck4Mx5urYj3uNp3Ch9zVSzymFHYuhd78LebKm1D30rFOvbEqYP1Vw5WhRxAs4H9qWNlWkOAc9xOA9FoxxHWTPv8mHTZQa_spS6UjECEmCD3c7WP5JhQ2g-mShXfGwzzvk9bM9I/s1600/20150404_203039.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Me and my two sisters and nephew</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="nDesc">My brothers were mischievous and would bump my hand. Splash! The egg would plop into the blue dye as water spilled over the table. One year we had those crayons that would write on an egg and you wouldn't be able to read it until it was dyed. My favorite was snickering and writing something then handing the egg over to my brother. "Hey there is something written on the egg!" He looks down and up with a red face. "Danny smells like farts...Hey?!" After awhile we would just use our hands to dunk the eggs in different bowls. For a day we would run around the house with blue and red dyed hands. </span><br />
<span class="nDesc"><br /></span>
<span class="nDesc">Mom would help us put together the bunny face on the baskets and fill it with the fake plastic grass. As we slept she filled each one with eggs, candy and Peeps. I loathed Peeps. It always was sticking to the plastic grass and smashed under a heavy boiled egg. </span><br />
<span class="nDesc"><br /></span>
<span class="nDesc">Some Easters we didn't get a basket. Times were tough and money was tight. Over the years we would sometimes get a box of food from the Catholic church across the street. That was when I was introduced to powdered milk. It is as gross as it sounds. Dad also made us get water from the well in Bay View. It was a toss up as to what was worse, the well water or the watered down fake milk.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="nDesc">During Easter there was lamb shaped butter mold included in the box. To this day it is still the creamiest and tastiest butter I have ever had. </span><br />
<span class="nDesc"><br /></span>
<span class="nDesc">As my brothers and sisters grew older the whole Easter basket experience became juvenile and silly. I was thirteen when I got my last basket. I woke up to fresh fallen snow in April. Only in Wisconsin. </span><br />
<span class="nDesc"><br /></span>
<span class="nDesc">There was no milk container but an actual pastel weaved basket. A huge chocolate bunny, Cadbury eggs, and of course a pink mushy Peep. Next to the baskets each girl in the family was given a stuffed bunny in a different colored dress. My bunny had a light shiny purple dress. My brothers got toy cars. </span><br />
<span class="nDesc"> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDvmwRL2K1hbIjLXCgVLvx55HjNAdTmSuCJLaClzclR3K-lNyS4BXlC37sjzUZKx2YtQOGt7uYK4dkuZ8KULI8MPXgQu6PunnUUW7UsU34osUuXhZQR-hsNjLZf5gyAB4JtMUX0GqJZ0jH/s1600/20150404_203055.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDvmwRL2K1hbIjLXCgVLvx55HjNAdTmSuCJLaClzclR3K-lNyS4BXlC37sjzUZKx2YtQOGt7uYK4dkuZ8KULI8MPXgQu6PunnUUW7UsU34osUuXhZQR-hsNjLZf5gyAB4JtMUX0GqJZ0jH/s1600/20150404_203055.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Those are bunny ears and yes, a lawn chair</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
<span class="nDesc">Us kids took colored eggs and chucked them in the plowed street. Pieces of blue and red shells were everywhere. Boiled yolk was smeared under rolling tires. We were having a blast shoving chocolate in our mouths and giggling at each other. </span><br />
<span class="nDesc"><br /></span>
<span class="nDesc">We heard them yelling. Whatever was going on wasn't pretty. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="nDesc">Mom and dad were arguing over money. Mom was screaming and tossing plates at the floor. They shattered and splintered off on the snow tracked floor. Dad was chugging a beer. My youngest sister started to cry. The boys went into their room and played games. Just another typical Zolo family holiday.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="nDesc">My sisters and I grabbed our stuffed bunny and walked up to the Avalon Movie Theater. In good times and bad that was our place. Admission was pretty cheap and we sneaked in our own snacks. The beautiful star painted sky on the ceiling and fancy decor was divine. For two hours I was able to forget about heartbreak, sorrow and anger. We were always going to see a movie there, why was Easter any different?</span><br />
<br />
<span class="nDesc"> It didn't even faze us that me and my older sister were teenagers walking around with dolls. The high school was down the street from us. We just marched in the snow in our jackets and candy lined pockets. The Avalon was dead that day. "Mrs. Doubtfire" starring Robin Williams was playing on the big screen.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="nDesc">It was ironic the movie was playing after all it dealt with divorce. Although it would be a few years before mom and dad made the permanent split. It felt comforting that the Avalon was always there during the ever changing denominations and dynamics within our home. It may not be religiously correct but it was our place of worship. </span><br />
<span class="nDesc"><br /></span>
<span class="nDesc"><br /></span>
<span class="nDesc"><br /></span>
<span class="nDesc"><br /></span>
<span class="nDesc"><br /></span>
<span class="nDesc"><br /></span>
<span class="nDesc"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-29971360082357077172015-03-18T21:05:00.000-07:002015-03-18T21:05:11.130-07:00If I can make it anywhere<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://scontent.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xaf1/v/t1.0-9/25515_514154529378_4376398_n.jpg?oh=21c5e3a1da74de38970fb47aaecd4401&oe=55B31B08" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" class="spotlight" height="266" src="https://scontent.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xaf1/v/t1.0-9/25515_514154529378_4376398_n.jpg?oh=21c5e3a1da74de38970fb47aaecd4401&oe=55B31B08" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Me in New York City</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Liza Minnelli's rendition of "New York, New York" is my favorite. The line of "if I can make it there, I can make it anywhere" resonates with me along with Minnelli's powerful voice.<br />
<br />
I'm head over heels in love with New York but more importantly the notion of 'making it.' My brain is cinematic in that my ambitions are fueled by glitzy movies where a plain Jane makes a name for herself. <br />
<br />
On social media a well known actress/writer and comedian was irked by a writer using outdated pictures of her. I commented I would have been offended by the writer's commentary that her career was 'budding.'<br />
<br />
She responded she was upset her work was labeled that way. She in fact has a awesome body of work including being a New York Times best selling author. Not everyone can achieve such a success. <br />
<br />
Her reaction made me think about how we as writers determine if we reached a professional milestone. If you published over twenty articles in a free local magazine are you still an aspiring writer? What if you wrote a book but it was self published?<br />
<br />
Does the 'where' negate the accomplishments?<br />
<br />
I have yet to pen a book or write Liza Minnelli's biopic film. I'm not a newbie writer since I've been a writer for almost a decade.<br />
<br />
A dream of mine is to write for the New York Times. I'm sure a few seasoned writers and editors think I'm a cute kid aiming high. In fact I'm woman in my thirties who is convincing herself not give up hope.<br />
<br />
I'm told the writing profession is brutal and competitive. Us creative types are often brutal and competitive to ourselves. Often older writers feel overshadowed by younger and edgier writers hungry for a juicy headline. <br />
<br />
At this point in my own career I don't have to reside in the city that never sleeps. If I can make it anywhere there is a possibility I can make it there. Trust me, my Puma running shoes are yearning to stray.<br />
<br /><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-46382201919877291862015-03-01T20:01:00.000-08:002015-03-01T20:01:22.974-08:00Do I suck? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_EcVlCkN3fT1IY0RPfG160oNE7VwcEPHuK3NNMstciddiyDlHkv_OIlRFj8s2MiTTvtrM-gHnl48DDgGbGob21mVZMGVZhekrP4BQpDEjCMN3aV6Gf9YR9Pq2K-NQc3LznfaMXqpqxGRa/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_EcVlCkN3fT1IY0RPfG160oNE7VwcEPHuK3NNMstciddiyDlHkv_OIlRFj8s2MiTTvtrM-gHnl48DDgGbGob21mVZMGVZhekrP4BQpDEjCMN3aV6Gf9YR9Pq2K-NQc3LznfaMXqpqxGRa/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div>
Do I suck? I ask myself this when things go to shit.<br />
<br />
When I'm morose, the pain is hard and sticky like a lollipop. It is a magnet for lint, loose hair strands and anything that is icky.<br />
<br />
I take in all the blame inward, but outward it is 24 hours of bitch. At least to my inner circle. My husband<i> thinks</i> he get the brunt of it, does he know how horrible it is inside my head? <br />
<br />
It is as if I'm entering into a second adolescence. Random acts of supreme annoyance and depression. I feel like a total failure as a wife, stepmother, pet momma, and writer sometimes.<br />
<br />
"The kids are just being typical teenagers," says the love of my life. He also says, "The dog is still a pup." That is when I'm red faced over Sundae ripping apart books and papers in the basement. <br />
<br />
No matter how many stories I publish or networking I do, it never feels enough..for me. Everyone else is telling me how impressed they are by what I have accomplished.<br />
<br />
I have two degrees and old college chums that left me in the dust years ago. Then I think that they suck. "Sweetie, you shouldn't compare yourself to other people," he says. <br />
<br />
In typical form, I want more or want it right now. "Honey, you need to learn patience," my husband says when I bemoan my career. "You have come a long way in two years," he says with love in his heart. <br />
<br />
<br />
Remember back in the day when a sucker was an awesome treat after a
visit to a doctor or bank? Now that isn't enough, there are stickers and
mini toys and free apps for your patronage. <br />
<br />
<br />
In this day and age, it is hard to be successful. With grumpy cats, color confusing dresses and viral videos hogging the spotlight.<br />
<br />
<br />
I'm an old fashion Dum Dum (that is the correct term). I try have a different flavor, outwardly appeal. The theatrics and light shows don't interest me. While staying traditional and a dash of class, I come off looking well.. vanilla. That hard shell I use to protect myself, it starts to crack. <br />
<br />
I start picking apart my looks, talents, goals. I don't like my teeth, mousy hair or extra weight. "You are so beautiful and sexy," he coos. No matter what candy covered words he speaks, I fight the urge to consume them. <br />
<br />
Fingers full damp lollipop splinters, grasping that thin white stick of determination. I fumble. In slow motion, it leaps through the air then finds a hard impact on the ground.<br />
<br />
<br />
I know rejections are a part of life and failures eventually turn into victories. I know my writer friends understand these feelings. It still sucks.<br />
<br />
"I love you with all my heart, you make me a better person," he says as he looks deep into my brown eyes. Then it hits me.<br />
<br />
If he still believes in me after all the rough patches, maybe I don't suck after all. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-3478082039644272002014-12-27T06:09:00.000-08:002014-12-27T06:09:13.469-08:00The Shame Game By: Karen PilarskiI knew going in there might be met with snarls and growls. She was breathing hard and panting. The vet wanted to take her in <i>back</i> instead of giving her the shots on the cold metal table. That should have been the first red flag.<br />
<br />
The last visit my Border Collie named Sundae took her shots like a champ. Sundae was led in the back and already whining.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwmc0J79xdfkmuG9mIKdfD9SIg0s8J5ScROT65BrseTYYS4IPkcptUPRob7AJ8QBMTRVdQ4g8NJP3V9X07bcl_aGCLPnosB8ugkdClfSnBqWjoBWXLZLYhPPvuHzHp6AQ68MjEXLDc9fcQ/s1600/10676240_684632969218_6642959180598184115_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwmc0J79xdfkmuG9mIKdfD9SIg0s8J5ScROT65BrseTYYS4IPkcptUPRob7AJ8QBMTRVdQ4g8NJP3V9X07bcl_aGCLPnosB8ugkdClfSnBqWjoBWXLZLYhPPvuHzHp6AQ68MjEXLDc9fcQ/s1600/10676240_684632969218_6642959180598184115_n.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The metal exam table at the vet.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My husband and I sad in the exam room making barfing motions at the seaside decor. Knotted nets and sea shells were glued to the wall. "Whoooo lives in a pineapple under the sea." I sang in a mocking manner. In the background loud barking from other dogs could be heard.<br />
<br />
The vet came back and said our pup was not happy and trying to bite. I asked about sedation. The vet said she didn't need that just yet. Soon Sundae appeared in a bright orange robe lease.<br />
<br />
Her vet looked agitated and was holding Sundae's purple collar and pink lease. "Your dog is freakish about her paws and seems to be very timid and scared." Then the vet proceeded to give us pamphlets on dog training. I mentioned that she needed to have her shots updated so we could take her to training. Hence the eventful vet appointment.<br />
<br />
The vet then said she should have been trained and again seems fearful. She insisted we try this for another day. I looked over at my husband with disdain. "Where we just dog shamed?"<br />
<br />
Poor Sundae was scrunching up her nose and snapping her teeth. She only managed to get one of her shots and once again narrowly avoided her nails being trimmed.<br />
<br />
I was thinking about how people get shamed for almost everything. Why do you think there is an anxious dreading feeling when going to a doctor or fitting room?<br />
<br />
The dental visits is what I dislike. I don't mind going and dealing with the dentists. It is some dental hygienists where I go that make the patient feel ashamed.<br />
<br />
Dental Hygienist: "Do you floss?"<br />
Me: "Yes I do"<br />
Dental Hygienist: "You need to floss."<br />
Me: "Uh, I said I do floss."<br />
Dental Hygienist: "You are not doing it right." <br />
<br />
Then other off hand comments on the condition of the teeth and gums are given. Not only did they violate my mouth, but made me feel badly. <br />
<br />
I understand some professions are thankless and there are many people who don't take care of their dogs, children, furniture, health the way they should. Is shaming the answer? <br />
<br />
There is talk about body shaming and bullying. It is not just children and teens who receive the brunt of it. Adults are often subjected to ridicule and criticism. <br />
<br />
Give me one adult who hasn't had to hear it from someone about being single, or who they married, how old they were when they had kids. If they had kids. The torment is so continuous that you have wonder "what am I doing right?" <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh72CVXq2X2IU63RpbMqRIzZjL61RNmXYktlVEuIczou3bKX3HCqajxEONRwl0TtDSabGK7YJFO089PUUTESbQzaf-pVB-_Iy03DiXZXykNy1LZCjF3Dxf4y8RpTt9wX2rMG4gUhhgUp4KO/s1600/10891720_684632984188_7105124135871297224_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh72CVXq2X2IU63RpbMqRIzZjL61RNmXYktlVEuIczou3bKX3HCqajxEONRwl0TtDSabGK7YJFO089PUUTESbQzaf-pVB-_Iy03DiXZXykNy1LZCjF3Dxf4y8RpTt9wX2rMG4gUhhgUp4KO/s1600/10891720_684632984188_7105124135871297224_n.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Sundae leaving the vet's office.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I make choices that others with more experience disagree with. People who zero experience find the gumption to chime in. <br />
<br />
I don't like that fragile, walking on thin cracked egg shells state of mind. Deep down I know there is a feeling of wanting to help. However, maybe some sensitivity and tone change would make all the difference.<br />
<br />
Maybe I need to get over myself and just accept people are trying to do their jobs. Perhaps friends and spouses are reacting this way, because that is just how they are in life.<br />
<br />
If conditions are that unbearable, then finding new health providers, friends, relationships are in order.<br />
<br />
For Sundae that might be necessary. I have a pissy dog with Freddy Krueger nails needing to get her last shot. <br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-62182925350793139132014-12-19T21:36:00.002-08:002014-12-19T21:36:41.890-08:00Protesting for Children By: Karen Pilarski<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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I keep thinking of the quote from the movie
"Network." Where the anchor says "I want you to get up right
now, sit up, go to your windows, open them and stick your head out and yell -
'I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore!" I guess what
it comes down to, is that people just want to be heard. The bad part is the
message is often clouded by rash actions and judgments. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The world certainly is full of fear as of late. For every
Ferguson there is a similar scenario unfolding in a different city. Burning buildings,
stopping traffic and marches are almost the norm now. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The justice system’s decisions can be hard to comprehend. I
remember being perturbed on the acquittal of Casey Anthony who was tried for
the murder of her toddler Caylee Anthony.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I felt sorrow at no one being held responsible for the horrific death of
an innocent child. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That is what is at the heart of those marching in the cold
of winter while throats become parched from the chants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I despise any act of gun violence no matter who pulled the
trigger. In my hometown of Milwaukee it is sickening how many lives are lost
due to bullets. Children can’t play on a jungle gym and a small girl can’t sit
on her grandmother’s lap. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Granted recent protests involve cases of adult men with
various circumstances. What really affected me was the death of Tamir Rice, a twelve
year old boy holding a toy gun. He was shot over being a typical twelve year
old. Pre-teens are rebellious and want independence. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Show me any kid regardless of race who is obedient
all the time. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have family members in law enforcement. I understand
training and protocols.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None of those
explanations make a loss of life any easier to deal with. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even I find myself asking why a person had to
be shot and why weren’t they stunned with a Taser? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While I don’t condone violent protesting, I can put myself
in the shoes of others. If something happened to a family member or friend I
would be devastated. I wonder why more people don’t organize peaceful protests
over light sentencing of sex offenders and drunk drivers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is not much I can say to lessen the anger of others. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not convinced a guilty verdict would bring
closure. It is evident something needs to change. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What we do now is up to us individually, as a community and
a nation. Either we can come together and unite against all violence or we can
just continue this cycle of blame, anger and destruction. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I want all children to enjoy their cities without fearing
bullets spraying in the distance. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kids need to be kept safe from sex offenders,
drunk drivers and people high on power with a weapon in hand. Badge or no
badge, our children deserve better than this. They at times, deserve better
than us. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-31384539027347040122014-10-31T19:48:00.003-07:002014-10-31T20:01:08.116-07:00Depression in Poetry <h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name">
</h3>
<div class="post-header">
</div>
Daunting shadows press their bodies against the wall<br />
In this mind the shadows take up space and time<br />
Memories linger and spirits fall<br />
<a 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imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>In this room what was once before binds<br />
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" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Dimly lit windows decorates the dark house<br />
<a href="data:image/png;base64,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" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Like changing moods that have sunk through time<br />
Washed my hands of the sticky situation, quiet as a mouse<br />
Time is all but mine<br />
<br />
The air stale and musty fills the aura of my heart<br />
Gasping for brand new feelings that have not yet formed<br />
In this room the shadows dance and laugh at the one who fell apart<br />
The damage is done the heart has grown deformed<br />
Furniture traps my body in place<br />
There is no room for love to be replaced<br />
Wasted energy like static<br />
Clings to my soul, deadly and tragic<br />
<br />
I know deep down it is time <br />
To let those bad feelings die<br />
Let love like flowers bloom<br />
But not while I wait desperate in this room. <b> <i>In This Room</i></b>- Karen Pilarski<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Sandstorm </b><br />
By: Karen Pilarski<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Warm, yellow particles </i><br />
<i>Whipping in air</i><br />
<i>Swirling through brown hair</i><br />
<i>Slaps my face like reality</i><br />
<i>Stings my eyes</i><br />
<i>Rubbed them red</i><br />
<i>But the sand like my bad decision remained instead</i><br />
<i>It blows around </i><br />
<i>In the middle of its current </i><br />
<i>I dance </i><br />
<i>Ocean like conscious cuts in</i><br />
<i>Water and sand coincide</i><br />
<i>I linger for a moment</i><br />
<i>Then drop off under the sun rise</i><br />
<i>Wind whirling and whistling</i><br />
<i>Where do I stand?</i><br />
<i>When the sandstorm subsides?</i><br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-67175138877202352972014-10-23T10:29:00.001-07:002014-10-31T13:40:21.270-07:00Punching Bag By: Karen PilarskiI am my own punching bag. Anxiety, pity, regret, frustration sticks and clumps over time. Each time I throw a punch to push the bag of emotions away from my face. My fragile state is no match when the bag comes flying back toward me, knocking me down in the process.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQ02Cgf_ZCF_CRDaqss-3YNJjnDOp8ldxro3ywgRE4ShNLmitl4Ew" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" class="rg_i" data-src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQ02Cgf_ZCF_CRDaqss-3YNJjnDOp8ldxro3ywgRE4ShNLmitl4Ew" data-sz="f" name="ECxzI2JyG54b4M:" src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQ02Cgf_ZCF_CRDaqss-3YNJjnDOp8ldxro3ywgRE4ShNLmitl4Ew" style="height: 197px; margin-top: 0px; width: 201px;" /></a>A downfall on my part is that I am a sensitive soul. There is no hardness in my movements or in my spirit. However, I am overly hard on myself. By all means, there is not 100% perfection in my accomplishments. <br />
<br />
There are only penitent feelings when I let someone down or make a mistake. Stewing and boiling over with embarrassment is nothing new. I can swallow the constructive criticism and when an error is brought to attention. I dislike feelings of being viewed as incompetent, unintelligent or unreliable. Those are my crosses to bear, my self inflicted words haunting me.<br />
<br />
For a time, I attempted to keep it at bay by producing weak sucker punches. I still managed to get smacked while throwing my fists, bare knuckled with no boxing gloves for protection. <br />
<br />
Often anger is often internalized but not today. My patience and
understanding of everyone's stress and predicaments wore thin like beat up
leather.<br />
<br />
Today it was a perfect storm of anxiety, pity, regret and frustration. Combined with a week of rejection, dejection and objections from others and myself. The fallout was mortifying and loud like a crack of thunder piercing the dark lit skies.<br />
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQkigRiWJkkfgQN3OrPJKEAjOpdY49FynufSOi1V5M4mZPXNl1X" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" class="rg_i" data-src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQkigRiWJkkfgQN3OrPJKEAjOpdY49FynufSOi1V5M4mZPXNl1X" data-sz="f" height="141" name="P2duKdW1a1XurM:" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQkigRiWJkkfgQN3OrPJKEAjOpdY49FynufSOi1V5M4mZPXNl1X" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="200" /></a><br />
It wasn't my intention to cause a rumble or downpour trouble to an already escalating moment. The worn leather bag felt too many marks from clenched fists. It tore open and once suspended in air now slumped to the ground. The splintered material now spilled and revealed for all to witness. <br />
<br />
It is evident there is a lack of satisfaction from within. Growing tiresome of the constant rejections and career setbacks. Unsettled on the homestead and confused by its unsteady and shaky foundation. <br />
<br />
The only outlet is writing to help break apart the confusion. Even that is used against me sometimes. Everyone needs a scapegoat, for awhile I was fine being the one to sacrifice myself as the punching bag. That hasn't led me to where I need to be. I need to hang up the red gloves and just deal with life as it comes. I need to abandon the punching bag and walk on.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/5hMg0mJqOus?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe><b> U2 "Walk On." </b></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-58010175177954959692014-10-03T17:42:00.002-07:002014-10-31T13:39:40.944-07:00Nevada, Never Ending. By: Karen Pilarski<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm4KHWt-eN-36RD2ySzWyTVp0g25zuxrVrLmhkXvmk0fML6rf2f08ot9Z04nNalQrzhvRjRLRqSbpKjMK3UDEvDGalEc7F8hWhu0V4S2dMEBi08I5oNWcS38cbi2prLU7j4ZjVhxgygfxZ/s1600/2014-10-03+17.38.05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm4KHWt-eN-36RD2ySzWyTVp0g25zuxrVrLmhkXvmk0fML6rf2f08ot9Z04nNalQrzhvRjRLRqSbpKjMK3UDEvDGalEc7F8hWhu0V4S2dMEBi08I5oNWcS38cbi2prLU7j4ZjVhxgygfxZ/s1600/2014-10-03+17.38.05.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
It has been years since I took a vacation. Through earning
reward points our airfare was paid for. We decided on Vegas since we have been
there before.<br />
<br />
My mood was sulky before the trip. I hated to leave our dog
Sundae for a week and had writing projects to complete. My husband hurt himself
a few months ago. There was a monorail and a tram that could give us some
walking relief during the week. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He injured his foot while riding on a golf cart at work. For
weeks I had to play nurse, not naughty nurse mind you. I had to cook all our
meals, clean, take care of the dog and help him bathe. I was thrilled when his
doctor says his foot was improving. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the airport he demanded a wheelchair. An attendant had to
wheel him around. I had to deal with our baggage while he was loving the star
treatment. Needless to say I was seething when he wanted the gate person to
help him onto the aircraft. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We rented a wheelchair at the Flamingo Hotel in Vegas. I
pushed him up and down the crowded streets. I was crabby and tired. I also
pulled a muscle so I was very close to pushing him off the wheelchair for my
own sanity. My arms were tender from all the pushing and pulling. He began to
get blisters on his hands from spinning the wheels to move. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He insisted on
using a scooter which was more expensive. It did save our arms some trauma. It pissed me off seeing him bang into
walls and almost knocked over pedestrians. I walked behind him because I felt
embarrassed. All we needed was a fanny pack and visor to match the blue haired
grannies scooting by. My feet blistered and sore were aching to catch a cab. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The desert weather was certainly humid in comparison to
Milwaukee. The second day we decided to go to the pool for much needed R&R.
I knew I was being a bitch. Here I was in Vegas, drinking a frozen alcoholic treat.
90’s music from my middle school hay days blared. Fair skin was burning under
the western sun. 20 something pool goers living it up with drunk dance moves
and lean bodies. It must be freeing to not have to answer to anyone. Women
bared legs and other body parts as if it was nothing. I cover up. Even in my 20’s,
I was too modest to reveal skin. Perhaps that was a reason for my icky mood.
The scooter made me feel old. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My skin was slick with sweat and I was itching to dangle my
feet in the cold water. He felt it was too difficult to hop over to the pool
without the scooter. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is amazing how booze is a youth enhancing potion
disguised in a fruit concoction. During the pool party, we witnessed a wrinkly
lady pushing 60 flashing men young enough to be her grandsons. Merrily she
danced as security escorted her off the premises. Her mortified husband walked
behind her, head hung low. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We got our hands on some free show tickets. That evening we
went to see a Vegas insult comic named Vinnie. There wasn’t much of a routine.
Vinnie ripped through the audience zoning in on imperfections and stereotypes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then
when the front row began to get tiresome, his eyes wondered over to the side
where we sat. Shit. “So man, how did you hurt yourself?” My husband laughed and
said “I hurt myself at work.” The comic asked what he did for a living. He said
law enforcement. Vinnie thought he was a cop and so rambled off jokes about
injuring himself as a criminal gave chase.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The rest of the week we walked up and down the strip. Well I
walked. I worked a bit on writing freelance work. I’m sure that didn’t make my
husband happy but hey, the scooter didn’t make my day either. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The last night he agreed to go to a female impersonation
show with me. It was really good! There was an older man with his wife and her
80 year old mom. “You know, this is the first time I have been to Vegas with
two women” he said with a cocky tone. We rolled our eyes and sighed at having
to share a table with this guy. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The man pestered the waitress to bring him a bucket
of beer but to add tons of ice. There was Mr. Wannabe Hip desperately
attempting to look cool in front of the little old lady kicking back a virgin Shirley
Temple. Then he did something that made us laugh. He fist bumped the 80 year
old. She looked confused, she was not the only one. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There were funny and poignant performances such as Whitney Houston,
Joan Rivers, Celion Dion and Cher. Liza Minnelli’s “New York, New York” was my
favorite. Then the female impersonator did “Wind Beneath my Wings” as Bette
Midler. My husband took one look at me and reached for my hand. It hit me. He
knows my soul. He gets my emotional response to songs and award show montages.
He loves and accepts my sappiness and edgy personality. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The last day in Vegas we spent some time playing the slots.
I looked at him as we burned our last buck of the gambling budget. “We aren’t
lucky” then he looked at me and whispered “Sure we are, we have each other.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">At the airport we waited for the plane to take
us back to normalcy. Out there waited our dog, our comfortable bed and our life
together. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-34734108399023516362014-08-28T19:35:00.000-07:002014-08-28T19:36:50.409-07:00Threads By: Karen PilarskiIn middle school I took a home economics class. The classroom was 1950's style for a late 80's course. A kitchenette with lime green tiles on the wall and frilly aprons. The teacher had to be a hundred years old. The sewing class was worst. It was near impossible to thread a needle to make the cheesy wall hanging. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTpq6NRZu4o_g_cv9CbWDpQyD5ld7vpUsVhqcsk7lNw6Jhgc1co" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" class="rg_i" data-src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTpq6NRZu4o_g_cv9CbWDpQyD5ld7vpUsVhqcsk7lNw6Jhgc1co" data-sz="f" name="VqjeC6EJQbRpHM:" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTpq6NRZu4o_g_cv9CbWDpQyD5ld7vpUsVhqcsk7lNw6Jhgc1co" style="height: 174px; margin-top: 0px; width: 289px;" /></a>Every time I grabbed a string of thread it slipped through my fingers. Using scissors, I would cut off the end of the tread. I even wet the ends to help keep the string straight.<br />
<br />
I poked my sensitive thumb several times with the needle. Evidence of my ineptness was shown with a slight drip of blood running down my hand. I ripped out threads after each mistake. By the end of the semester I didn't have a well done wall hanging, I had a ripped apart piece of fabric with patches on it. <br />
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My girlfriend *Yvonne made me think of thread today. She was discussing a dating disaster that she narrowly averted. What I admire most about my friend is that she can read people easily. It is also an ability she doesn't get enough credit for.<br />
<br />
A man she was seeing at first seemed flawless. Attractive, smart, athletic and hard working. He made a few sexist comments and she ended the relationship. Although I didn't know the whole story right off the bat.<br />
<br />
I thought maybe she was over reacting. However when she filled me in, it was apparent the guy was a d-bag. She hit the nail on the head. Bang!<br />
<br />
She was able to do something many women take years to do. She trusted her gut and heart and discovered what was this man's true agenda.<br />
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She was able to rip through the threads of lies and cover ups to find <i>the ugly</i>.<br />
<br />
I kept the concept of thread in my mind throughout the day. Relationships (romantic, platonic, professional) are similar to thread, very fragile. Thread brings together soft material in a strategic way. The unity it once produced can be ripped to shreds in a matter of seconds.<br />
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Strange how thread can work for and against people. <br />
<br />
I give people the benefit of the doubt. I strive to be supportive, protective and loyal. Often the red flags are there but I fail to acknowledge them. I have heard ignorance is bliss, it isn't. Not when you know you are being duped.<br />
<br />
Besides domestic duties, I loathe lying and making excuses for poor behavior. A person acts like a bitch or an asshole and supporters quickly jump to the defense. Yet, to keep the relationship pieced together, it is patched over with excuses. "He/she is stressed out" or "He/she is going through a hard time." In
one way or another, we all have shit going on.<br />
<br />
What makes their frustrations more
important than ours? Why is their struggles put above our own? I'm guilty of it myself. When I am fond of someone I will not let someone smear their reputation. Only when the true ugliness shows, I realize how wrong I was to stand in front of the firing squad. I wonder why I was willing to hang on by a thread to salvage the relationship. <br />
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I realize everyone has Yvonne's gift of seeing a person's true self. The decision has to be made if we are willing to put up promise of alterations or give up threading that needle once and for all. <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-25753776107774377702014-07-11T21:43:00.003-07:002014-07-13T08:40:11.439-07:00Sundae By: Karen PilarskiI have never been an animal lover. Cats weird me out and dogs sniff and urinate everywhere. My husband and I discussed how it would be nice to have a dog. My stepdaughter and I had our hearts set on a cat. However, my husband had other plans.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-e-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xfp1/t1.0-9/10429228_651036022768_4759572477520233179_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" class="spotlight" height="400" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-e-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xfp1/t1.0-9/10429228_651036022768_4759572477520233179_n.jpg" width="223" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Sundae, our puppy.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The past two weeks we have been looking at the local humane society website. We even took a few trips there. We couldn't find the right dog for us. My husband's ex mother-in-law had a good friend who owned a local licensed pet store. On a whim last Sunday, we decided to go.<br />
<br />
My stepdaughter loved the puppies. The store keeper showed us some puppies and put a border collie in a pen. She was eight weeks and clever. White snowy fur with splotches of black on her mane. She was able to climb out of the pen.<br />
<br />
She wasn't yapping like the other dogs. She was quiet, focused and cunning. My husband fell in love right away. <br />
<br />
Since it was Sunday and her fur reminded me of the sweet ice cream treat, I christened her "Sundae."<br />
<br />
We decided to get her. She was content sitting on my stepdaughter's lap in the car. She kept jumping up in her arms in Petco. Sundae hardly barked or whimpered.<br />
<br />
Sundae adored the pink stingray squeak toy I picked out for her. I call it her 'baby.' She loves playing keep away with me.<br />
<br />
She is sweet and rolls on her back for her brown spotted belly to be rubbed.<br />
<br />
She has been like having a new baby. My husband and I worry about what she is doing and making sure she is eating, going to the bathroom and feeling happy. Sundae has had me outside for hours playing with her after work.<br />
<br />
I'm not a patient person. It is a huge downfall I own. Put me with a sassy and hyper puppy and my patience is tested. She is like a toddler. Full of curiosity about her new world and eager to take in all the scents, noises and sensations. Her delicate soft paws feeling the matted down grass and hard sidewalk for the first time.<br />
<br />
I love this pup but she is still a baby. She has occasional accidents in the house and in the van. She chews and jumps on furniture. <br />
<br />
Sundae does some goofy things. She has managed to figure out how to escape through the small gap between the fences. She drags her dish around almost like someone banging a tin can on a jail cell. <br />
<br />
When tuckered out in her kennel, she lets out a tiny snore. I'm so happy I'm not the only gal in the house who is sawing wood during a deep slumber.<br />
<br />
My husband and I seem to focus our conversations around Sundae. It takes me back to when I first became a stepmother. He used to call me and ask how the kids were behaving. Suddenly I'm overcome with wishing the kids were small again. Sundae is our 'baby.'<br />
<br />
Boy she can be strange. She eats ants and on occasion her own fecal matter. Sundae has a Napoleon complex. She is a gruff and tough for a pipsqueak. She has a soft growl when approaching big dogs around the neighborhood. I laugh as she lets out a faint barking sound,"Arrrf," <br />
<br />
I say she is a writer's goldmine because she does the funniest things. I joke she should have been called Marley from "Marley and Me."<br />
<br />
So we have made it out alive after a week. I can't wait to blog more about our new found addition to the family. <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-37177955933465144402014-06-08T19:08:00.001-07:002014-06-08T21:03:52.153-07:00Too Late To Apologize By: Karen Pilarski<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFnJvHdMUX1BAOcVda0ntTn6jWGaVhTXipXvjG1GUthYZSWtJLXVfe3gRBKGzBUEM8egeYrtFWFtkZALUcADGOdKaDba-m3QOeRW7wpCjKmsmD5N4M522C5C_lF2_k-9QqP96bMewM-p4M/s1600/mo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" src="data:image/png;base64,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" /></a>Has your throat ever throbbed from the scorching words said? The mere glance at the person turns the stomach. The single last tear drips down the flushed cheek.<br />
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Using salty language, you swear never to speak to the other person<i> ever</i> again.<br />
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There are many times when anger tightens within puffed out chests, That is when thorny things are said. More often than not we don't really mean those words.<br />
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The heat of the moment soon calms and both parties apologize. Someone is the bigger person eventually.<br />
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However, there are people who continue to hurt and create havoc.<br />
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My mother has been in and out of my life since my parents divorced. She left my father for another man. Don't feel too sorry for dear old pop. He was emotionally abusive and neglectful. Mom found a man who was worse than my dad. The man was both physically and emotionally abusive.<br />
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At the time I was a senior in high school and had several younger siblings. The youngest was my five year old sister *Holly. Our mother wanted the younger ones to be put in foster homes. My dad couldn't take care of them.<br />
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Since Holly was a baby, I took care of her. I made sure she was fed and bathed. I even brought her to my cheerleading practices. The thought of losing her was unbearable. I knew how Milwaukee foster care system worked. It didn't work.<br />
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I spent 18 years with all these siblings and didn't want us to be split up.<br />
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My older sister *Leah and I ended up taking care of the younger ones. I put college on hold and lost a few relationships over it.<br />
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Eventually I decided to go to college. <br />
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My oldest sister has serious mental issues. Knowing Holly was under her care was difficult.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" class="spotlight" height="211" src="https://scontent-a-sea.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xaf1/t1.0-9/206808_503154278968_694_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>*Holly and my stepdaughter Mia on her back.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
What hurt so much was Leah used Holly as a pawn. She refused to let anyone see her. She stole from me, she betrayed another sister. Never once did our mother or father attempt to intervene. <br />
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As the younger ones grew up the older siblings took turns caring for them.<br />
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Eventually my twin brother took custody of Holly until she was an adult. <br />
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My twin was getting married and because my mom wasn't the first to know, she refused to go. She never really got to know any of her grandchildren.<br />
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Mom has drifted in and out of all our lives. Her boyfriend always alienates her from everyone and stirs the pot. Without warning she falls off the face of the earth for awhile. My dad's mental and physical health has declined in the years that have passed. <br />
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She managed to be in my life when I got married. That was around the time my beloved aunt passed away. When my aunt died, she suddenly wanted her children around. She wanted to be a grandma.<br />
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It didn't last long.<br />
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When my mom is present in my world, I feel happy. She has maternal guidance and support to give. Many of my other siblings can't bypass all the hurt and drama that comes with her. They keep a safe distance. <br />
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Over this past Mother's Day weekend I couldn't make it to dinner with her and my younger sister. I tried calling her but she didn't respond. <br />
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For a whole month.<br />
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She called the other day when I was out and about. Something seemed odd. She didn't apologize for not calling me back. She asked if I heard anything new. I told her I had to go.<br />
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Yesterday I found out she had been trying to reach my other siblings. The 'wanting her children around' feeling had come back. She felt she was getting older and wanted to have a good relationship with all her kids before she died.<br />
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Only they wanted no part of it.<br />
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I feel that way about Leah. She is so toxic and disastrous. I just can't deal with her and her jealous and petty ways anymore. I dealt with it enough growing up and my early adulthood.<br />
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It is funny how the ones who want to make amends say "Life is too short." Yes it is. Perhaps that is why the wounded hearts want to go away and heal. <br />
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Life is too short to deal with the inconsistency and traumatic episodes. <br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-37632960708600559612014-06-04T18:39:00.003-07:002014-06-04T18:39:48.750-07:00Silly Putty By: Karen PilarskiMy mind has been in the clouds lately. All these thoughts, aspirations and wants changing at the speed of a kid's attention span.<br />
<br />
I think about the ramifications and swayed by others. I'm like putty in their hands.<br />
<br />
At a somber moment I had a flashback of silly putty. You know, the cheap toy moms everywhere used to buy a wailing kid in the supermarket.<br />
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Silly putty is similar to the crazy ideas I toss out in the ether. They are as limitless as a child's imagination as they play around with the pink tinted concoction.<br />
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In my heart I'm a writer. Ideas often bounce off of a fragmented thought and mold into something completely different.<br />
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Silly putty can stretch out in strings and bounce like a ball. However, if a sharp impact occurs it breaks. That is how fragile a writer's observations are.<br />
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That is how fragile we are at times. <br />
<br />
Immature ideas are trite and outlandish yet not as permanent like hardened clay.<br />
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I wonder if I'm just frustrated over my career or relationships in my life. I want to run around the globe writing about travels. My feet want to feel sore and blistered from the travel, my shoes want to be worn out.<br />
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Have you ever become lost in thought about taking a job out of state? Daydreamed about a hot kiss with someone? Yearned for the days when life was carefree?<br />
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It would be tragic to indulge. Too many hurt feelings, loss of reputation and stability. As humans we are paranoid and think risk, RISK, RISK.<br />
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Perhaps we need to learn a new word. Chance. CHANCE, CHANCE. <br />
<br />
I question if the fear of the unknown keeps us from what we want? The odd thing is putty stains if caked on clothes.<br />
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Trust me, I have washed putty on jeans. It just sticks. Could that be what happens to happiness if we don't follow it? The concept diminishes but fragments appear imprinted on our denim souls forever. <br />
<br />
For some reason, I've been partial to Playdough. There are so many products out there to distort and manipulate it. It is bright and comes in different colors. Playdough molds easier and has a good texture to it.<br />
<br />
I love flashy and transforming ideas. With all the bells and whistles it seems more appealing to cave to those type of wants.<br />
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Either way when we don't do what we want, our heart's desires dry out and become brittle. The slightest criticism spoken and all is shattered. <br />
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Often my skin is flushed or pale, However, malleable is not a word to describe me. I am not putty in someone's hands.<br />
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I am not silly. <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-48343636514035666962014-05-25T20:12:00.003-07:002014-05-25T20:12:52.366-07:00Together We Can Bring on The Change By: Karen Pilarski The devastating events in Isla Vista, CA has left people reeling with horror. Unfortunately this type of mental illness is prevalent in these tragic times.<br />
<br />
With each breaking news story, are we becoming desensitized to violence?<br />
<br />
I studied news writing in college. I understand the 'if it bleeds, it leads' mentality. The mass shooting are plastered all over the cable news and more attention is often given to the murderer than his/her victims.<br />
<br />
I know people want answers, we need a resolution. The focus on the killer may help give a picture into his/her psyche.<br />
<br />
Without warning, finger pointing and blaming begins and anger boils over. Are guns to blame or is it society's reactions to mental illnesses? <br />
<br />
Every shooting has unique circumstances.<br />
<br />
In my hometown of Milwaukee, Sierra Guyton was shot last week while playing on a playground. She was caught in the cross fire during a fight. She is ten years old. She is now brain dead and is clinging to life. <br />
<br />
There was no mental illness. Only stupidity and carelessness of everything around the people who shot her.<br />
<br />
In Isla Vista, a 22 year old named Elliott Rodgers, who was mentally disturbed created and unveiled his attack with knives and bullets. Before the attack there was YouTube videos that contained insane rants. He blamed everyone for his problems and failures.<br />
<br />
<br />
The people on the streets had no ill will, they like Guyton were living their lives. In an instant lives changed and lives ended. <br />
<br />
Each time blood is shed, we weep and exclaim "This has to stop!" Yet, no one knows how to make the madness and senseless actions diminish.<br />
<br />
There are people calling for the right to carry or a ban on guns. Protests about better mental health screenings and treatment. <br />
<br />
It is a battle ground out in our world today. One minute people in a crowded movie theater are watching a movie or kids learning in school. The next minute bullets spray in the air.<br />
<br />
My heart is heavy thinking of those who died and the ones struggling to live.<br />
<br />
In my creative writing class we discussed Mariah Carey's songs. We analyzed "There's Got To Be A Way." <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br />
"There's got to be a way<br />
To connect this world today<br />
Come together to relieve the pain<br />
There's got to be a way<br />
To unite this human race<br />
And together we'll bring on a change."</blockquote>
Her strong words still have an effect on me in my 30's. Separately we are all spinning our wheels and not accomplishing our shared goal. Together, united we can make the change we seek.<br />
<br />
Violence sometimes can't be prevented just as car crashes happen unexpectedly. In the meantime, hold your children close and thank the heavens above for each day with them. <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
</blockquote>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-5213545176678050382014-05-20T18:32:00.000-07:002014-05-20T19:16:34.344-07:00The Story Of Your Life By: Karen Pilarski<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a 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" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Barbara Walters</b> (picture from abcnews.com)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There is something calming about reading the rich history of a life lived. I'm always curious as to where a person is coming from. Memoirs and biographies are the mind map of the subject.<br />
<br />
The intricate experiences of childhood and life's ups and downs spilling onto pages of a book.<br />
The reader is a mere observer of a bumpy story told. <br />
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</div>
Oprah and Barbara Walters are amazing interviewers and journalists who I admire.<br />
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Both women inspire and ask hard hitting questions to get at the core of a person's soul.<br />
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As a writer I find solace in learning about how others have lifted themselves up.<br />
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Life can get bubble gum sticky. Without forethought or caution, the heel of the worn down shoe get stuck in the pink goo. It stretches into thin glue like stings. Yet, it still remains on the shoe.<br />
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The beauty of memoirs I find, is that the gum doesn't need to be removed either. The journey of accomplishment despite the dirtied spot of gum is what uplifts me.<br />
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I also love titles of books and figuring out why people called their books that. I'm sure many people try to make a connection to what they are known for or a play on words with their names.<br />
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Blogging for me is a way of scribing my history. I love reading fellow writer's take on this crazy world. <br />
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I wonder if I wrote my own memoir what I would title it.<br />
<br />
What would you name the story of your life?<br />
<br />
A fellow blogger/writer and friend Rochelle Dukes Fritsch has a blog called "The Late Arrival." <b>http://thelatearrival.blogspot.com/</b>. I adore the title and her poignant and thought provoking pieces. She is a fellow Milwaukee writer and a wonderful person. <br />
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I would totally borrow her title for my memoir. At the very least a similar theme. <br />
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<span data-reactid=".1x.1:3:1:$comment10203168400667431_10203168473469251:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:2"> I was born premature yet I've been late to do just about everything. I was developmental delayed due to being a premie. I was four pounds when my mom gave birth to me. I didn't walk or talk right away, I was a late bloomer. </span><br />
<br />
<span data-reactid=".1x.1:3:1:$comment10203168400667431_10203168473469251:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:2">Then I look at other aspects. I didn't go to college right away. I didn't marry till I was 29 years old. I'm sure I was have a biological child when I hit 50. That is a post for another time. </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".1x.1:3:1:$comment10203168400667431_10203168473469251:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".1x.1:3:1:$comment10203168400667431_10203168473469251:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".1x.1:3:1:$comment10203168400667431_10203168473469251:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0"></span></span></span><br />
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Here is a list of my favorite memoirs I have read. My list is in no special order. <br />
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1. <b><i>Audition</i> </b>(2008), Barbara Walters- She is iconic and a legend in journalism. Her book conveys the struggle many women deal with. How to make it in a man's world.<br />
<br />
2. <b><i>Bossy Pants</i></b> (2011) Tina Fey-Fey is bad ass. She provides a history of a lady with big dreams who made them a reality. My favorite chapter was peeing in jars with boys. There is no big controversies or feuds she unleashes. I have read this a million times. Funny and a road map for us creative types who aspire for more. <br />
<br />
3. <b><i>Peter Jennings: A Reporter's Life</i></b> (2008)- A seasoned journalist that has covered and reported on the world's biggest stories. Sadly, he passed away from cancer. This is a fitting tribute to his life and career and family told by family and friends.<br />
<br />
4. <b><i>Stories I Only Tell My Friends </i></b>(2011) Rob Lowe- This is a smart and well written description of growing up in the Midwest. Lowe recounts his raise to stardom and the ups and downs that come with it. Although it is interesting to hear him regale the reader with tales of celebrities, I enjoyed his family stories the most. There is a realness in his tone that I found captivating. He discussed his rough relationship with his father and mother. <br />
<br />
5.<i> <b>I Shouldn't Be Telling You This</b> </i>(2012) Kate White- Former editor in chief of <i id="yui_3_8_1_1_1400633480411_1415">Cosmopolitan </i>writes advice to help women to become successful. She discusses how each experience in her career was a learning process. Although a great book for writers and editors, a terrific resource for any working woman. <br />
<br />
I'm currently reading Billy Crystal's<i> <b>Still Fool Em' and Where are My Keys </b></i>(2013). If you have suggestions for a terrific memoirs/biographical story please comment below.<br />
<br />
I'm always on the look out for new books and blogs to read. What are your favorites readers?<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-79132422438297251862014-05-14T21:07:00.000-07:002014-05-14T21:27:29.382-07:00Candy Induced Childhood in Milwaukee. By: Karen Pilarski<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXvWrIBVC8Ff_VPHb5F_foQilAJraxgnfmSUxCtiR756QLvhxGp4gLzpDuidug0209jO6CtJyTeyqHuARq6xxOdVMa4xJ1G22DHhl65ZU1YpkBZJQ9Gl2tk3FCBhhJx9RhsBiE0l1eHWQz/s1600/cheer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXvWrIBVC8Ff_VPHb5F_foQilAJraxgnfmSUxCtiR756QLvhxGp4gLzpDuidug0209jO6CtJyTeyqHuARq6xxOdVMa4xJ1G22DHhl65ZU1YpkBZJQ9Gl2tk3FCBhhJx9RhsBiE0l1eHWQz/s1600/cheer.jpg" height="320" width="173" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Me as a Cheerleader</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">A fellow
writer was on social media discussing my hometown of
Bay View. When I started thinking about it, I realized it had a small town feel
in the big city of Milwaukee. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I moved to Bay View in third grade. I don't
remember starting at Dover Elementary, but remember Mrs. Ritter gussying up
after recess. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Each day she would run the brush through her red coursed hair and
apply mint scented lip gloss. My school chums lived near me and we could
walk to and from houses. My childhood friend Tracey's mom would take us to
school. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Every morning "Video Killed The Radio Star" by the Buggles was
played. We begged if she had any other song that could be played but she
insisted on that song. From the year we were born, 1979. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">My family often bought food from Bay View Quick Mart (which is still there). I remember Tony who was always funny. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">When
people think of their parents as youths it is often thought as malt shops,
candy stores and flipped hair. Strangely enough I was exposed to similar
experiences. Down the street was Gull Pharmacy.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Gull was a poor man's version of
Walgreen's. Penny candies and fun cheap toys that would break after one
use. The neighborhood kids would find any loose change and buy a bag full
of of Cry Babies, Atomic Fireballs, Candy Cigarettes and Laffy Taffies. I adored tart lollypops and Fun Dip packs. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The Cry Babies were most fun
as we tried to trick people into eating one of those sour candies. Faces would scrunch up, eyes would water and lips would pucker. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">In the
summer my mom would haul out the bucket of ice cream and scoop out melted
mounds of it. One of my siblings would run out on the porch and say "Ice
cream, ice cream read all about it." This would cause the porch to shake
as us kids would stampede to get at it. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">That silly chant was not just
designated to ice cream. It was for any treat that would cause a commotion. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">From early morning until the street lights flashed on, kids were outside
playing. No distractions other than Atari or Nintendo if it rained. Bay View
had a rec center named Beulah Britton. We would play on the
swings or buy Swedish Fish from the candy cart inside. If that was boring, a
walk around the back alleys and railroad tracks would occur. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The
Avalon Theater was a classic place to see a cheap movie. When I was a kid it
was a buck to see a movie. The sky was painted with clouds and sparkled with stars. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I still giggle thinking about seeing "The Crying
Game" with my friend Jenny in that historic theatre. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">There was all these older folks thinking it
was a good war movie. During the part when..the lady is… cough..exposed as a
male, the older folks gasped. They all marched out in a hurry as Jenny and I
howled with laughter. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The Avalon had special effects props from older movies in
a case. I wish the theater was still open. I fondly remember pelting my older
sister's date with Nerds candy from behind them. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">During
June there was a church festival across the street from my house. Music shook
the duplex until 11pm. It was amusing watching the drunks stumble and fall as
they made their way home. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The festival at the Tilt-A-Whirl which after a cherry
snow cone became Tilt-A-Hurl. When the festival was over, the lot was
used for kickball and a game of horse. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">My
friend April (my brother's now ex-wife) lived across the street from us. My
sister Rachel, April and I would make up dance routines and perform them for
her mother. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Bless her heart, she would patiently watch our geeky moves to Cyndi
Lauper and Weird Al. Rachel and April would do splits and cartwheels. I never
could do a cartwheel. I just 'supervised.' Ironically in high school I was captain of my cheerleading squad! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">We
disliked Anna, the show off in the blue house. She would go in front of her
house and twirl her little baton. She certainly craved the attention. She had a backyard where should could have twirled until she got dizzy. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Often we would wish her to drop the stupid
thing or fall on her butt as she twisted herself around. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">What do little kids do
when green with envy? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Compete and show off in the front yard as well. It was
quite silly having a dance off. Ah, amused the elderly neighbors and the little
ankle biters. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Speaking
of elderly neighbors, we lived between the infamous Cupertino brothers. We nicknamed
them "Porch Men." </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">They hissed when a kid lightly pressed a foot on their
sacred lawn. They had pigeons and would teach them tricks. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Amazingly enough the
birds never pooped on our heads. We would hear clapping and see one of the
Cupertino's toss around some robe type thing. The birds would circle around and
go back into the bird cages. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The bad thing about living by guys who spent much
time on their porches was they would nark on us kids. I remember my dad
becoming furious with me asking why I was making out with my boyfriend on the
back porch. Gulp! In retaliation my friend and I jumped around on his lawn. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Speaking of kisses.. My first kiss was with Rick at the bus stop next to the church. I always point it out when I'm in the area. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">There
were regular people who would ride their bikes or walk on our street. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Oh and we
had nicknames for them too. Cigarette lady notoriously bugged us for smokes.
Yup, a preteen and this desperate woman was asking if I had a smoke. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Then
there was Gabby Hayes as my mom called her. She would just start yammering
away. My mom became quite skilled at avoiding her by darting back in the house. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I'm sure my childhood friends remember Mental Mike. It some scrubby guy on a
bike that would cackle for no reason. We would scream at him "MENTAL
MIKE!!!" He would do his evil laugh and pedal off. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Sometimes the graffiti
car would whiz by us. It was covered in papers and literature about God and
abortion. There was a speaker on top of the car. It was a mission to see if we
could spot the elusive driver. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">It is weird to think about the makeover Bay View has undergone since the mighty 90's. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">My middle school Fritsche is no longer a school. Bay View High School (class of 97) is now a middle and high school. My elementary school is now vacant. Word on the street was it might be turned into a home for teachers. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The drug store is not there nor is the tea shop I lived across the street from. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The landscape of the small town feel has become modernized.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I dig it, don't get me wrong. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I love all the artsy coffee shops and restaurants. It is odd to see Sven's in the same location my brothers used to load up Milwaukee Journal Sentinel newspapers from. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The
wonderful part of Bay View was all those rituals that gave me a normal childhood.
I didn't have the best upbringing but because of that community I felt a part
of something warm and inviting. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Home. </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-63465578027693270952014-05-11T21:17:00.002-07:002014-05-11T21:21:13.782-07:00Vacation By: Karen Pilarski<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZpb5n8kxvcGJ5IdysC7mbxmVCABEGrFAhnBjmLHJasKrOnptqkFAmHo-0A0p622amYvKBkfydW1sLjNqPTK64nrbAGi9X0sJcYQEGbhcGic9TFUHGr0v29kqpzq572QkjktnjZitcepEx/s1600/jam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZpb5n8kxvcGJ5IdysC7mbxmVCABEGrFAhnBjmLHJasKrOnptqkFAmHo-0A0p622amYvKBkfydW1sLjNqPTK64nrbAGi9X0sJcYQEGbhcGic9TFUHGr0v29kqpzq572QkjktnjZitcepEx/s1600/jam.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Me in Jamaica </b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span id="goog_390951198"></span><span id="goog_390951199"></span>I was born and raised in Milwaukee, WI. While most parents took their brood on cramped road trips in the summer, my large family stayed home.<br />
<br />
There was never any money to go on vacations and we did not always have a working vehicle.<br />
<br />
Imagine two perky parents and two grumpy kids in the backseat. Now picture seven more kids in that backseat.<br />
<br />
Fighting over who would get to sit on the hump while one of the little ones puked on a cooler.<br />
<br />
My dad with no patience and steam coming out of his ears. My exasperated mother appearing to ponder jumping out of the moving car at any second. Wails of one kid accusing another one of 'looking at them.' <br />
<br />
Most summers the kids played in the yard or around the neighborhood. Milwaukee always had small church festivals and State Fair, Summerfest, Bay View Water Frolics. <br />
<br />
I still enjoyed summers going to the candy store as kid or leafing through Teen Beat magazines as a teenager. <br />
<br />
I didn't feel as if I was missing out. Honestly unless a kid was going to Disney World, they were stuck going on some lame trip their parents picked out. <br />
<br />
My husband gives me a hard time about the fact that I don't like to camp or take road trips. He has titled me "vacation snob." <br />
<br />
I went on a road trip with my husband's family before we were engaged. We drove to South Dakota. The kids were Kung Fu fighting me as they slept.<br />
<br />
His brother 'bogarted' the trip and the children got into screaming matches. I was forced to go on boring excursions. <br />
<br />
People complained (mostly me) and my husband refused to pay money for a hotel room on the way back. We ended up spending the night in the car at a deserted rest stop.<br />
<br />
The only good aspect of the trip was I was semi proposed to on a golf course overlooking a parking lot below. My husband to be looked at me and said "Uh, should we get married?" <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-d-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-prn1/t1.0-9/37377_516003219588_3391694_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" class="spotlight" height="235" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-d-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-prn1/t1.0-9/37377_516003219588_3391694_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>2010 DC Trip with Kids</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After I was married I finally had my first airplane trip to New York. I was scared beyond belief but I did it.<br />
<br />
I have my father's impatience so getting somewhere quickly by plane was fine. I enjoyed our vacations together.<br />
<br />
We even took the kids on some trips (by plane).<br />
<br />
<br />
I love the giddy feeling before a journey. I make lists of what to pack, what we want to see when there and looking up reviews on Trip Advisor.<br />
<br />
Since I'm a huge nerd, I stalk the Accuweather for the ten day forecasts. <br />
<br />
When life gets too hard and a need of scenery is evident, a trip far away is just what the doctor ordered. Butterflies flutter in my stomach right before taking off. The rush of adrenaline as the aircraft rumbles. <br />
<br />
The calming sky with puffy clouds and drinking a ginger ale while in the air is comforting. I love the small package of five pretzels.<br />
<br />
We loved flying AirTran, American Airlines and United. We would research on the web looking for a excellent package deal. <br />
<br />
<br />
Due to finances, we haven't been able to do those type of trips. My husband insists on doing a trip to the Wisconsin Dells.<br />
<br />
For our honeymoon we stayed there. We had a great time. As a kid I went to the Dells for day trips with friends or a few of my siblings. It just gets stale and redundant to always go to the Dells or Door County. <br />
<br />
Personally for me, anywhere in Wisconsin is not far enough. I need to have a space cushion of at least two states in order to feel 'away.'<br />
<br />
I'm so desperate to travel, I go on the Travel Channel website and enter in vacation sweepstakes. If someone wants to take pity on me and gift me plane tickets I would be over the moon.<br />
<br />
Actually if airline prices would decrease that would help my cause immensely. <br />
<br />
Although running from problems doesn't solve anything, seeing them become tiny like ants from above helps.<br />
<br />
What I love most is the the chance to take a vacation from being myself. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/-9HNKbjxstk?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<b>Vacation </b>by: The Go-Go'sAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-66130308156328280982014-05-02T20:36:00.001-07:002014-05-02T20:36:18.300-07:00Masking It By: Karen PilarskiI was working on an article about cleaning restrooms. One of the wonderful consultants I spoke with mentioned sometimes when there is nasty odors a less ideal fix up is to use a scented spray.<br />
<br />
The air smells fruity but it doesn't smell clean. The same can be said for dousing a body with perfume after an intense workout. It smells like flowers drenched in perspiration. <br />
<br />
That got me thinking about how when faced with something unpleasant there is a tendency to try to mask the problem.<br />
<br />
The foul denial hides away the truth for awhile. Our lives put on the facade that all is neat and tidy. However, the huge stain on the floor is covered with area rugs and furniture.<br />
<br />
In my rec room/basement is a hideous patched up chair that is a million years old. It belongs to my husband. It now has a maroon colored blanket thrown over it. That is how ugly the chair appears. In full disclosure, the blanket also is my husband's and not in great condition. Two for two. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://mail.google.com/mail/u/0/?ui=2&ik=1e35f02fd4&view=fimg&th=145c0263fb3997b9&attid=0.1&disp=inline&realattid=1467050054581747712-local0&safe=1&attbid=ANGjdJ8hU-v0HTqQ8TVXCms0aWXUig-rwvsSDxJTCPee9YRccBYRUgQgl875GeXw_e8zTE3i185lg6oIGhNgC3sIXmT2VgpU_Fsgm3qVKZkVxCiooDpnJboU97a0rz0&ats=1399088107187&rm=145c0263fb3997b9&zw&sz=w1563-h765" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Displaying 20140502_223202.jpg" border="0" class="aLF-aPX-J1-J3" height="320" src="https://mail.google.com/mail/u/0/?ui=2&ik=1e35f02fd4&view=fimg&th=145c0263fb3997b9&attid=0.1&disp=inline&realattid=1467050054581747712-local0&safe=1&attbid=ANGjdJ8hU-v0HTqQ8TVXCms0aWXUig-rwvsSDxJTCPee9YRccBYRUgQgl875GeXw_e8zTE3i185lg6oIGhNgC3sIXmT2VgpU_Fsgm3qVKZkVxCiooDpnJboU97a0rz0&ats=1399088107187&rm=145c0263fb3997b9&zw&sz=w1563-h765" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The chair</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I bet the chair could tell many stories of his family's history. In some regards I think it is a blessing the blanket conceals it. <br />
<br />
Messes and damages are ever present but often ego stands in the way of admitting that everything isn't perfect.<br />
<br />
As a writer I enjoy adding a sprinkle and dash of my own life experiences in what I create. However, I do self censor about off limit topics.<br />
<br />
I'm afraid of hurting feelings and embarrassing myself. Writers have an ability to take disasters and heartache and change names and facts. We are not being dishonest, we are protecting privacy and relationships. In other cases reputation and careers. <br />
<br />
Remember <i>Pee-Wee's Big Adventure</i>? <br />
<br />
<b>Pee-wee Herman</b>:<i>"</i>There's a lotta things about me you don't know anything about, Dottie.
Things you wouldn't understand. Things you couldn't understand. Things
you <i>shouldn't</i> understand."<br />
<b>Pee-wee Herman</b>: "You don't wanna get mixed up with a guy like me. I'm a loner, Dottie. A rebel."<br />
<br />
A bit over dramatic but appropriate.<br />
<br />
Am I reserved and shy, yes. Although I do enjoy being sociable. A rebel? I'm not gun slinging or smoking cigarettes in the rain.<br />
<br />
No one understands situations and relationships unless directly involved in the thick of it. We put up walls and shades so that innocent people don't get mixed in with our chaos.<br />
<br />
Each person has darkness and turmoil that cleverly is shaded from the judgemental light of day. Similar to the character and rationale of Pee-Wee, there are aspects about things I or a loved one have experienced. The reality of what lurks under the blankets and rugs is too scary and so it is put out of sight.<br />
<br />
Out of sight and out of mind is a saying used. Although, I don't agree with the phrase. It lingers out in the corners of the mind but pops out like a villain in a scary movie.<br />
<br />
When you least expect it.<br />
<br />
Until I can come to terms and make peace with those people, events, situations, than I shouldn't be discussing it. Although I do talk with other writers with similar strife. <br />
<br />
<br />
Scars and blemishes on faces are smudged with creamy
concealer. Yet the sores and lines are still felt. Deep down we know
what is under the disguises. <br />
<br />
I've been vocal about struggles with infertility, stepchildren, marriage, careers and contemplating infidelity. A creative mind crafts messages in an open and soul searching way.<br />
<br />
If the afflictions and adversaries of my history uplifts someone than it is worth uncovering it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-15023432952504083472014-04-29T18:38:00.001-07:002014-04-29T18:44:18.200-07:00If it Makes You Happy By: Karen Pilarski <a href="http://cdn.kveller.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/Waynes-World-2-01-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>"I have <i>Wayne's World </i>hair" I observed today. The 1990's cult classic was about two local cable station sensations. It was based off the popular Saturday Night Live skit starring Dana Carvey and Mike Myers.<br />
<br />
Was my hair was in the wrong decade?<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a 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" 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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Wayne's World, 1992</b></td></tr>
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My husband insisted he adored the long hair look. My tresses were either limp or frizzy. Never a healthy medium but instead the extreme opposite of the spectrum.<br />
<br />
All I needed was flannel and screeching out "SHWINGGGGGGG!" <br />
<br />
When I looked in the mirror at work today I wish I could cut it all off. My hair always battled me till the death which meant a messy ponytail. I want to dye it some crazy color and outrageous style.<br />
<br />
No, my husband prefers the librarian or <i>Daria</i> (MTV) look. Maybe he has some weird obsession with <i>Wayne's World</i>. Excellent..Sigh.<br />
<br />
Truth be told, I don't feel attractive with long mousy brown (frizzy) hair. <br />
<br />
I pondered how others made people in their lives happy. Could it be you stopped doing a hobby you were passionate about? Wore things you swore up and down you would never wear?<br />
<br />
What is the point if it isn't reciprocated? <br />
<br />
I have had former lovers that put on pressure to cave to their wants. Stupidly I obliged.<br />
<br />
Lets face it, women want to get laid almost as much as the dudes.<br />
<br />
The weird hair episode peaked my interest. What do we do to make others happy?<br />
<br />
We go to events that are gender oppressed, wear frilly thongs, wax things that shouldn't be waxed, conform to some weird definition of what a women should be.<br />
<br />
Realistically we demand the same from men. We force them to go to ballets, eat healthy food and buy tampons. How masculine is it to our betrothed? <br />
<br />
Somehow in a relationship we gift wrap it as a give and take. Give the orders and face the embarrassment from the world.<br />
<br />
What do we do to make ourselves happy? I once heard life is a crap sandwich and everyone has to take a bite. <br />
<br />
<br />
It is only fair.<br />
<br />
<br />
I surveyed people on social media. Majority of people buy ice cream or frozen yogurt to make themselves feel better. Men and women. Another myth of a dumped lady crying in a tub of ice cream busted!<br />
<br />
My answer was a trip to New York City or the fall back of red wine an chocolate.<br />
<br />
I guess men and women are not that different. We eat to feel
comfort and want to buy a house or car to feel good (if we can afford
it). <br />
<br />
When it comes down to it, it is ego for the most part. We want to be seen as an amazing significant other.<br />
<br />
Does my husband really think I enjoy long hair in the summer and dry hair in the winter? Do I really enjoy listening to the babbling about how smart he is at whatever he is talking about?<br />
<br />
No!<br />
<br />
I do it because I want him to think I'm a lovely wife and make sure he knows where he sleeps at night.<br />
<br />
I'm sure other than the thrill and semi pornographic naked ladies, he could care less about<i> Sex and the City. </i>He could give a rat's ass if Carrie ended up with Big or Aidan. As long as the sex scenes and nudity kept showing he was as sound as a pound (<i>Austin Powers</i> reference). <br />
<br />
He made fun of my blue nail polish the other day. You know what? Too bad. We both do things we don't want to do. We should at least have something that makes us happy.<br />
<br />
For me I love drinking red wine and watching Nick at Nite. He loves making spoon tracks in the carton of ice cream and Vanilla Ice's reality show.<br />
<br />
I get lost in memoirs and become intrigued about other people's life history. He loves naps and eating a bag of chips and leaving three chips in a bag before calling it quits.<br />
<br />
It is the dumb shit that makes us happy. If you can find someone who lets you do your own thing after the humiliating demands, it isn't surrendering.<br />
<br />
That is love, babe. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-68571416107358391442014-04-23T20:33:00.000-07:002014-04-24T19:43:36.174-07:00Happiness Lies. By: Karen Pilarski<!--[if !mso]>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">John Stamos @JohnStamos
tweeted the following quote, "<i>Be careful of what you want because you
might get it. You may get that & find that's not where the happiness
lies" </i>-Gene Wilder.<br />
<br />
For the life of me I couldn't find where it originated from. I usually do
a great job researching and digging up information. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">At any rate,
it struck a chord with me. Is the question pondered to make ourselves feel
better? </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The road not taken or the change left to slide through fingers, leaving
regret in its wake.<br />
<br />
When at a young age there are so many aspirations. The dreams flicker to get our
attention quickly as a light switch going on to off. First there is a dream of
being a firefighter or doctor. A second later it is discovered a beauty queen
is the true calling.<br />
<br />
As we age the brilliant wishes may have the electricity shutdown by a negative
person or our own thinking. In an instant the spark, the fire that burned in
our hearts flickers out. <br />
<br />
Often the energy consumed is used to drive us toward our chosen path.<br />
<br />
We want to have a large family, to be rich, and have a great body. Perhaps we
just want to be single and have a beach house in Malibu. <br />
<br />
We want it all. <br />
<br />
In "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" Willy asks Charlie
"But Charlie, don't forget what happened to the man who suddenly got
everything he always wanted. He lived happily ever after."<br />
<br />
There is an apparent difference in the belief of happiness in terms of Gene
Wilder and his portrayal of Willy Wonka.<br />
<br />
I prefer Wilder's point of view. The adage of be careful what you wish for is
powerful and accurate. Look how many people search for happiness in other
people, jobs and situations.<br />
<br />
It is only natural to question life's path and tired eyes to wonder off course.
<br />
When the shine of newness dulls and the polish fades, it is just truth
exposed.<br />
<br />
Can we take away the glimmer and still remain intrigued by its surface? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
Is it possible to deal with the dark, the ugly and dimly lit spirits?<br />
<br />
After the center of the heart weakens like a shorted out circuit, there is
still a charge.<br />
<br />
That is where happiness lies. Locked deep inside.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
You decide. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a class="account-group js-account-group js-action-profile js-user-profile-link js-nav" data-user-id="168295477" href="https://twitter.com/DLeonhardt"><span class="username js-action-profile-name"></span></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-82892896589896738622014-04-20T19:26:00.000-07:002014-04-20T19:26:10.323-07:00Guest Post: There’s Always Tomorrow...Until There Isn’t By: Liza Walter-Larregui<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: yellow;"><i> A writer friend was kind enough to do a guest post for me. Her message is very strong. Don't think time is on your side to make amends. Friendships are important and so is time. </i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: yellow;"><i>Please follow her at<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="screen-name"><s> @</s>BookishLiLa </span></span></span></i></span><br /><h2 class="username">
<span class="screen-name"></span></h2>
</div>
<div>
<b></b></div>
<div>
My sister’s best friend growing up had a younger sister closer to
my age but still too much older to be friends with. I remember one
evening she babysat me while my parents attended my grandmother’s
funeral. Denise laid on my fathers bed, clicking through the cable
channels at speeds I only ever dreamed of doing myself. I hopped off the
bed and told her I had to go to the bathroom. I was six then. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Do you need to make cocky?” she asked.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Umm...”
I wasn’t allowed to use that word. I hesitated but then realized there
were no adults around. “YES!” I said happily. “ I NEED TO MAKE COCKY!”
Thrilled, I skipped on into the bathroom to do my business. It was then I
knew I liked this chick. Anyone who let me say cocky was OK in my
book. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
***</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
Time
eats away at us, bite by bite, until one day you wake up and you’re a
different person in a different world in a different time. There I was,
married and pregnant and scouring Facebook on a <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1529383341" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ">Friday</span></span>
night when who popped up on my screen but Denise. We connected
immediately and became instant good friends, as if no time had passed. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We talked nearly every day and I had the pleasure of
meeting her three beautiful daughters, one more gorgeous than the next.
I was so thankful to find this person who took care of me as a child
just as I was about to bring my own into the world. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When I finally (40 weeks and 2 days but who’s
counting) delivered my son, he was taken directly to NICU. I wasn’t
allowed to see him for 24 hours due to us both having severely high
fevers. I was beyond devastated. They placed me in a room near the
regular baby nursery so all night all I heard were newborns crying,
mothers gleefully cooing with their babies and the constant beeping
sound of the IV drip attached to my arm.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Denise text messaged me the next morning asking so
many questions I wasn’t prepared to answer. It wasn’t her fault. She
just wanted to know what was going on. I was so emotionally drained and
overwhelmed, all I could do was ask her to not ask any questions. We
exchanged some words and decided it was better that we not be friends
anymore. It was a petty fight during a very traumatic time and I regret
every second of it. That was almost three years ago.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Every few months, I would take a peek at her
Facebook page and debate on whether to message her to apologize and
explain how upset I was but I never did. I’m not sure why but something
always stopped me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This past weekend, I did the same. I looked through
her page and was just about to write her a message when I didn’t. I said
to myself, “I’ll do it <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1529383342" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ">tomorrow</span></span>.”</div>
<div>
The
following day I received a message from my sister. Denise had passed
away the day before. Her health had been declining and her body just
gave up.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I can’t say that I never had the chance to mend ways
with Denise because I did, several times. Everyday, in fact, for the
last three years. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I always snicker at the saying “Don’t put off until <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1529383343" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ">tomorrow</span></span> what you can do today.” but I won’t ever again. There may not be a <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1529383344" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ">tomorrow</span></span>.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459223763348402080.post-88381088212281927302014-04-18T22:21:00.001-07:002014-04-18T22:50:54.405-07:00"OOTT" By: Karen PilarskiClank, clink, swoosh! My hands were busy washing dirty dishes when I heard a faint sigh off to the right.<br />
<br />
She put her back to the wall and slid down to sit on the floor. As she sat her knees cracked. I caught a quick glimpse of her curly brown hair and gangly legs. <br />
<br />
Another sigh, but now louder.<br />
<br />
The thirteen year old princess of glum had made an entrance. Her sixteen year old brother was in his own video game centered world. Which meant he was hogging the television in the living room.<br />
<br />
"What's up, how was school?" I asked. No words, just shrugged shoulders. When she was younger a bright smile was pasted on all the time. Sunshine and rainbows as she skipped around.<br />
<br />
Ah, those were the days. <br />
<br />
Now she barely grinned and the only colorful thing was the different bracelets she wore on both wrists. A natural athlete, she was always on the move.Yet in the confines of home life, both of my step kids sat like bumps on a log, texting. <br />
<br />
<br />
She had been having all sorts of weird health aliments the past few months. Her left hand would occasionally swell. She has a peanut allergy but we were careful around her.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQ4jRWzmvBW0ozwsjQZdIkaCxKv-HM9iL8tgyfIq_Wv5ZDQjIXhIA" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" class="rg_i" data-src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQ4jRWzmvBW0ozwsjQZdIkaCxKv-HM9iL8tgyfIq_Wv5ZDQjIXhIA" data-sz="f" name="rJv3EIsvYvqzXM:" src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQ4jRWzmvBW0ozwsjQZdIkaCxKv-HM9iL8tgyfIq_Wv5ZDQjIXhIA" style="height: 184px; margin-top: 0px; width: 184px;" /></a></div>
<br />
Constantly she would complain about painful heartburn or sore muscles. There was a mole that had been increasing in size. Her father was concerned. <br />
<br />
Her mom took her to the doctor. The doctor didn't think the mole was anything to worry about. He thought her hand swelled due to carpal tunnel. It was odd since she is so young.<br />
<br />
<br />
My mom had it when she was in her forties. She worked at a factory and that is how it developed.<br />
<br />
That day in the kitchen I asked her about the appointment. "It was a total waste of time" she lamented. The doctor had killed her afternoon. "Well, so you don't have a new allergy that is making your hand swell?" I was trying to comprehend the doctor's voice of reason.<br />
<br />
"Ugh, he said it was OOTT." She said in an annoyed tone. Huh? I wondered if it was an acronym for a weird disease that effects moody teens. "He said <i>one of those thing</i>s, that is what OOTT stands for" she explained. <br />
<br />
<br />
I was lucky, my mom was creative. I would whine as a kid that my legs hurt and she would say "Oh, it is just growing pains." If I would sob about a bully she would just tell me "consider the source." Strangely I bought the excuses. <br />
<br />
Princess of glum thought it was irresponsible for the physician to throw his hands up
and say that. His words offered no comfort.<br />
<br />
I hated to break it to her
but people say dumb stuff like that all the time. <br />
<br />
A researcher in my heart, I conducted another social media poll. I asked " What is something a person said to be comforting but really wasn't? Here are some of the responses. <br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>"I'll pray for you."</li>
<li>"It wasn't meant to be." </li>
<li><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".68.1:3:1:$comment638552864118_1517055:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body" dir="ltr"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".68.1:3:1:$comment638552864118_1517055:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".68.1:3:1:$comment638552864118_1517055:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0">"Everything
happens for a reason." That one drives me crazy. Try saying that to
someone with an ill child, or losing a parent, or a home, or a
relationship, or losing a job. There is no reason for painful loss and
misfortune to happen."</span></span></span></li>
<li><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".68.1:3:1:$comment638552864118_1517055:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body" dir="ltr"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".68.1:3:1:$comment638552864118_1517055:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".68.1:3:1:$comment638552864118_1517055:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0"></span></span></span>A relative said “just think positive, and you’ll be fine” like ohhhhh ok. Thanks. Didn’t realize THAT was the key."</li>
<li>"It could be a lot worse."</li>
<li>"You just need to calm down." </li>
<li>"So and so is in a better place." </li>
</ul>
People generally mean well. I'm sure there are people who strongly feel justified in saying the above phrases. However, is it an instant response like an automated message?<br />
<br />
Consider birthday cards or sympathy cards. The same antiquated note. <br />
<br />
There are acquaintances and friends who I know would kneel down and pray.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQ7mrVr2bElmhBHdWobvHGGwM0tgc3F80ufLowmIUwDMj0c8-4gsQ" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" class="rg_i" data-src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQ7mrVr2bElmhBHdWobvHGGwM0tgc3F80ufLowmIUwDMj0c8-4gsQ" data-sz="f" name="h2sSixNGg4sELM:" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQ7mrVr2bElmhBHdWobvHGGwM0tgc3F80ufLowmIUwDMj0c8-4gsQ" style="height: 175px; margin-top: 0px; width: 175px;" /></a>Then there are others who say they will pray. These are the ones who you just know have never set foot in a church. My go to saying is "I will send good thoughts." <br />
<br />
It is the thought that counts, but what is comforting is something more personal. Not some over used cliche.<br />
<br />
To my horror I used one on my teenaged nephew. I had lunch today with my niece, nephew, husband and ex sister-in-law.<br />
<br />
We were in a restaurant when my former SIL mentioned she was thinking about moving in with her boyfriend. My nephew has had a hard time dealing with his parents divorce. Rather loudly, he was complaining he didn't agree with the decision.<br />
<br />
Without thinking of his feelings I blurted out "You are not an adult, you are just a kid." Certainly this was not helpful. Every teen on earth hates hearing that sentence. It is like sunlight to a vampire. The words singe. <br />
<br />
My niece then talked about her problems in her class. She had some classmates in grade school who were being bullies and mean spirited. I said "You just ignore those girls." She is eight..<br />
<br />
My husband said it was silly to say since grade school kids fight and within in a minute are best friends again.<br />
<br />
Someone resorts to calling a friend a 'poo poo head' and suddenly they feel isolated. During recess the same name caller asks to play on the swings with the dejected pal. <br />
<br />
I should have played on the safe said and just repeated "consider the source" or "it is just growing pains." <br />
<br />
Maybe I should have simply taken a cue from the apathetic yet honest doctor and said "It is one of those things." <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279222000478921740noreply@blogger.com0