Tag: random

2022: A year in review

~ Linda ~ Leave a comment

I honestly can’t say that I have ever done a ‘year in review’ as a blog post.  To be honest, I often forget I even have this blog until the annual payment for its domain hits my account.  I used to thrive in blogging, I loved the anonymity of it and all that it stood for. I joined different blogging groups; it was new and shiny and everything the new technology world promised it would be.  Now, some 15+ years later, it’s lost its lustre and seems more of a time passer than anything groundbreaking; but I digress.

A year in review.  I see so many around the web and wonder if I have ever reflected the way others seem to do over the year.  Sure, I look at the close of one year and curiously peek at the prospects of the next year encroaching, but I’ve never made a list of objectives I wanted to accomplish and checked them off or (what would undoubtedly be my case) moved them to a new, clean list for the next year because that task didn’t get accomplished. 

I think the annual list I would have would simply say “survive” at the top and that’d be that.  Is this a generation thing?  I didn’t think to look at some of these posts to see if they were swayed towards the millennials or generation Z.  Either way, I have never made a list for a year.  I make daily, weekly, and even monthly lists, but that’s as broad as I go unless we’re talking about 5-year plans.  Then, I suppose we’d be reading a lot of 5-year-plan in review and those don’t seem to exist. 

This year has been a compilation of every possible rollercoaster ride at Six Flags combined into one enormous, gut-wrenching, thrill-seeking, vomit-inducing ride.  I wish I could say this was an exaggeration or a comical approach for a dramatic flair, but sadly, it is not.

This year started with a random, unexpected email from my husband of 23 years asking for a separation.  Yep….an email.  He ended up taking a travelling Paramedic job across the country for a couple of months and never really mentioned it again.  I guess that was the separation he needed.  That email was followed by the passing of my beloved grandmother.  Boy, she was an incredible woman with a history so rich and full, that I admire her immensely and will forever be grateful I had her in my life for as long as I did (maybe I’ll post something in a couple of months for the anniversary of her passing and share her incredible story). 

All seemed pretty stable after February as we waited for our youngest child and second son to ship off to Navy Bootcamp.  That day came and went and while I thought it would be easier since he was the 2nd to leave the nest to serve our country, I was so empty when he left.  I missed his booming laugh and the enormous light he spread with his dynamic, larger-than-life personality.  Luckily, those weeks passed quickly and we were soon on our way to Chicago in June to watch him and his beaming face, full of pride go through boot camp graduation.  We spent a couple days with him and then a couple more just exploring the city we didn’t get the chance to explore the first time we went up for a Navy graduation.  It was peaceful, it was fun, and luckily it was not cold. 

Just before we left for Chicago my brother-in-law was released from prison.  He was sentenced to 30 years to serve 13 but as our prison system works, he served about a third of that and was out in a little over 4 years.  Because my husband is so close with his only sibling and for a myriad of other reasons, he persuaded me to allow our home to be the place where he acclimated back into society.  Someone: remind me never to sign up for that again…and if you’re looking for advice on the subject – don’t fucking do it. Ever. 

After Chicago, we noticed a cough my husband couldn’t shake and so in June he went for a visit to the doctor which led to his diagnosis of High-Grade B-Cell Non-Hodgins Lymphoma after a month stay in the hospital due to a botched biopsy that very truly nearly killed him at the ripe age of 45 (read the previous post for the details).   

He was finally released from hospital in August and he began monthly chemo treatments. They were tough, not as bad as many I have heard about, but bad enough that it was hard on all of us.  But I researched the foods and drinks and supplements to help counteract all the chemo poison so that he was able to cope with the recovery.  During these months I still worked, cleaned, cooked, dealt with the family nonsense (for example the loud, obnoxious, brainless, alcoholic, convict brother-in-law that can’t seem to get his shit together at nearly 50 years old), and trying to keep everything afloat. 

His last chemo treatment was the last Monday in November and we were very happy to close that chapter.  Because of the rarity of where his cancer started, he has another month of radiation treatment, but we hear that’s not nearly as bad with regard to the side effects as chemo was.  He won’t start that until after the New Year which kept our December nice and normal-ish. 

December proved to be a much calmer time of the year when we simply tried to live, shop for Christmas and prepare for the holidays.  My youngest son was due in on Christmas Eve and I was excited that he’d make it home for Christmas.  To my overwhelmingly ecstatic surprise, he showed up about a week early and we are able to have him here until after the New Year.  If only my brother-in-law could have found a new home before then, all would have been right with the holiday.  To be honest, if that’s my only complaint after a year like this, I think I should just be grateful and stop complaining.

So, to wrap it all up in a nice little bow – my 2022 was a fucking mess, but I survived.  My husband survived.  My children survived.  My marriage survived.  Had I started my ‘list of things to accomplish in 2022’ and had I put on there to simply survive, this would read as a very successful year.  In truth, I have to say it was a successful year, not one that was easy, not one I’d wish on anyone, sure as shit not one I want to repeat, but one that taught me a great deal.  Many people had a much better year than I did.  Many more people had a much worse year than I did.  I’m learning that it’s all perspective in this life.  Learn from it and live it.  Be happy within your soul and remove obstacles that try to fuck that up.  Some people have it better, some people have it worse, but everyone…EVERY SINGLE PERSON has a path they are on and we’re all just trying to survive.

Wishing everyone all the best in 2023, Cheers!

Enough

~ Linda ~ 2 Comments

When is enough, enough?  Is there ever a time, as a wife and a mother, that I can throw my hands up in the air and (not wave them like I just don’t care…) say – to hell with this, I’ve had enough!  Theoretically, I did just that the other day.  I went on “strike” *insert hysterical laughter here*.  What was I thinking?  That all of a sudden the kids and husband would hear the archangels singing and try to fix everything that I’ve been bitching about?  Pfft.  Yeah, right.

I have teens.  I don’t have really young kids.  In less than 6 months I will have an 18-year-old, a 14-year-old and a 13-year-old.  Oh, and a 38-year-old…*ahem*.  Yet, at some point these four individuals must have fallen and smacked their precious heads on some sort of hard surface and have completely and utterly forgotten how to use their senses.  Particularly the sense that tells them there are chores to be done – your bathroom looks like it’s growing something in the sink, the dogs have no water, you might have worn that a time or two since the last wash cycle, there’s a smell coming from your bathroom that is going to disturb the neighbors, and OMG you must be sleeping with a zombie because that’s what your room smells like!

So, I lost my shit.  Again.  I explained how absolutely tired I was of being the maid.  Because that’s how I feel…blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda (like Charlie Brown’s teacher only more life-like).  Most days it’s not worth the fight and I just handle it all myself – working, cooking, cleaning the bathrooms, sweeping and mopping, doing the leftover dishes that must have been wearing an invisibility cloak the night before, cleaning the house, and doing every stitch of laundry Mr. EMT and I own because otherwise he will attempt to ‘do’ laundry and we’ll forever be throwing shit in the dryer on wrinkle-free.

The strike lasted a day and a half.  The day I lost my shit, Mr. EMT was home from work and school, a rarity these days.  Thus, I sent him a message and explained what I saw that morning and that I was on strike until I saw the rest of the family learn to pick up after themselves and do their chores.  He had them clean, and clean well – for exactly one day.  It lasted for one day.  Because the dishes wore an invisibility cloak yet again last night, I refused to cook.  Make yourself something to eat, I said.  Heat up leftovers, I said.  AND DO THE MOTHERFUCKING DISHES, I said.  Well, not so drastically, but that’s how I wanted to say it.

I woke up in a little better mood today and I decided I would rather be pissed off and bitchy than to live in a crappily maintained home.  I was going to buck up and do all the stuff I didn’t do since Tuesday when I got home today.  However, insert a call from The Little’s school and I’m right back to wanting to scream ‘Enough is Enough’!  He got into trouble….again….albeit the first time in 3 weeks.  He’s a work in progress, but that’s for another post in the future about dealing with middle school kids with two parents who don’t often agree on parenting style.

With all that being said, I realize I cannot actually give up.  I have to remain married to Mr. EMT even though I wanted to punch him in the throat this week; I have to remain a mother to three unappreciative adolescents and try to remember that one day they will thank me for this shit; and I have to remember to buy another bottle of wine before I get home….because enough may very well be enough, but that does not count for wine.

Oh Alice, how I love thee

~ Linda ~ Leave a comment

March 12

Bedtime stories

What was your favorite book as a child or adolescent? Did it influence the person you are now?

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll has long been one of my most favorite and influential books to date.  Though in truth there are so many that helped shape who I have become.  Each time I read Alice I take something new from the book.  It’s the only book that I can say has grown with me when reading it during childhood, adolescence, and adulthood.  In my opinion, it makes this particular story timeless.

The loss of childhood innocence, learning quickly that the world will think you too small or too tall, never really being the right fit for what is needed.  As an adolescent, this struck me to my core.  In fact, I held on to it for far too long.  During puberty and into early adulthood I had the horrible feeling of not being enough.  It took me a long time to grow out of that – to figure out that I’m good with me and I don’t need approval to be me.  Through this story, I, like Alice, learned that I am the right size, after all.  I learned not to let the opinions of others dictate who I was to become.

The Cheshire Cat, with his broad grin and fearless behavior, can be thought of in so many translations. As a child, I thought him to be the secret, imaginary friend that tried to get you in trouble by leading you down a path you didn’t know and then disappearing.  As an adolescent, I thought him to be cunning and too knowledgeable.  The best line, for me, was when she asked which way to go and after she answered she didn’t know where when he asked, he simply said it doesn’t matter she will end up somewhere.  How true is that?  We never really know which path to take, but no matter which one it is, it leads us somewhere.  There is hardly a right or wrong.

The Caterpillar is another example of changing each time I read this story.  A simple three-word question and with it says everything.  “Who are you?” She has such a difficult time answering him, you can only assume she doesn’t know who she is anymore.  She’s changed.  Don’t we all?  She insults the cantankerous caterpillar by explaining it is dreadful being only 3 inches tall after all the caterpillar is only 3 inches tall.  Alice who struggles with her own image judges harshly the caterpillar’s size though it’s the same as hers at the time.  We often run into cantankerous, confusing people, but it doesn’t do well to insult them.

This story mostly taught me about adversities in life.  How the world constantly changes and confuses.  It taught me to expect the unexpected and learn that sometimes there is no logical answer to it and that’s ok, we’ll get through that maze one way or the other.  In this way, the story taught me to be more open-minded, not to follow simply to follow and to go with my gut in all journeys through life.  Life is a mess of puzzles, problems, oddities, and no two people are the same or think the same; we have to learn to accept it and move on.

 

Other people’s opinion of you does not have to become your reality
Les Brown

 

March 6

~ Linda ~ Leave a comment

March 6

Ode to a playground

A place from your past or childhood, one that you’re fond of, is destroyed. Write it a memorial.

 

You were a breath of fresh air on a hard day.  At the first sight of you and my spirits lifted with ease, anxious for you to envelop me with all the familiar scents and sounds that calmed me.  It was you I would run to when I was afraid, when I was tired, when I was hurt, and when I just needed a break.  You loved my friends like your own and they, in turn, loved you.  Holidays and birthdays were such big events with you, we made sure to include you in almost every single one.

I can still feel your embrace at night, how safe you made me feel.  It’s as if no time has passed at all.  There were many times I took you for granted, to be sure, but I hope you know that looking back I could never love another quite as much as I have loved you.

As an adult, I’ve grown more appreciative of the times I had during my youth.  I look back with such fondness of you.  You will always have a place in my hear and the memories of you will live inside me for many, many years to come.

I bid you farewell, my lovely childhood home, I will surely miss you.

1996

~ Linda ~ Leave a comment

March 5

Buffalo nickel

Dig through your couch cushions, your purse, or the floor of your car and look at the year printed on the first coin you find. What were you doing that year?

1996

I rummaged through the crap mess in the console of my truck and not only realized I desperately need to clean it but found a dime and on it was stamped 1996.

It was 1996, the year I graduated high school.  It should have been a time in my life of festivities and prepping for senior prom and senior skip day with my best friends while making memories of a lifetime; instead, I saw it as utterly painful.  I didn’t realize then that I was still making memories of a lifetime and that I would make a new friend to carry with me the rest of my life.  I lived in Ohio at the time because my father was transferred there during my senior year.  I met one of my very best friends there.  Both of us were dealt the horrible fate of spending our senior year away from our original high school and all our friends.  I moved from Atlanta and she from New Jersey (though originally from Alabama).  We formed an instant friendship.

We both had to leave high school boyfriends behind, obviously and neither of us was too pleased and we bonded over that quickly.  We became a quick cliché of Misery Likes Company and we kept to ourselves for the most part.  To make sure everyone knew just how miserable we were, we dressed in head to toe black on Valentine’s Day because, well, why not.  It was still the grunge era so we had a lot of black hanging around.

I graduated in May and by that time my father had been transferred again, this time to Florida though I was convinced I would be stopping and staying in Georgia.  I was eager to get back to Mr. EMT and could see no reason why I couldn’t stay on with a family member and attend college there.  1996, coincidentally was also the year the Olympics were in Atlanta so my parents rationalized that it wouldn’t be a good time for me to move back, and I should just wait a little while longer.  I didn’t realize at first that it was a ploy to try to keep me in Florida where they knew my future would probably be brighter since I would be in college.  They were smart, my parents, they knew me far better than I knew myself.

Fast forward to the end of 1996, after a few new friendships and entirely too much partying, I decided it was time to go back to Georgia.  I secretly bought a bus ticket, gave my 2-week notice at my job, and was prepared to leave my parents in almost a haste.  I knew they wouldn’t approve.  I knew they would be desperately disappointed, but I missed Mr. EMT so much that I felt I would lose him completely if I didn’t return.

My mother, being the brilliantly smart woman she is, somehow found out that I was leaving and she drove me there.  In almost complete silence.  It was one of the most heartbreaking moments of my life.  I could feel her anxiety, I could feel her fear, and I could feel her love.  She was going to let me go, but it was going to break her heart.  She knew the struggles I would face, but I was 18 and I wouldn’t hear anything about it.

1996 was a monumental year for me, almost as much as 1997 when Mr. EMT and I welcomed The Eldest long before we were prepared to be parents and started going through the struggles my mom knew were coming.

To be or not to be…transitioning

~ Linda ~ 2 Comments

My friends over at Merriam-Webster define transition as such:

     a:  passage from one state, stage, subject, or place to another :  change

     b:  a movement, development, or evolution from one form, stage, or style to another

I suppose I am speaking about definition ‘b’.  You see, in 8 months The Eldest will be 18 years old; he will be an adult – legal age.  He will also be a senior in high school and, in my humble opinion, this makes him still a kid…cause he’s still in school…duh.  All this brings me to a conversation he and I had on the way to school this morning which I will share shortly.  (No, he doesn’t drive yet which is another kid thing)

He’s been moody this week.  Not disrespectful, but not his normal, chatty self.  He’s also been grounded from phone and Xbox use due to a failing grade.  Granted he’s struggling in the subject, but he failed to bring this to his dad’s or my attention before we found out about the grade.  We don’t punish if a kid is genuinely struggling as long as we know and they are seeking additional aid in the subject.  Neither has happened, thus he is grounded until the grade is passing.  Simple, no?  Well, not for him – evidently.  Mr. Grumpy Gills (to quote one of his favorite kid movies…) let it be known today that he disagrees which got me thinking about this whole transition from kid to adult thing we are going through.

Me: What’s with you this week?  You’re unusually grumpy.

The Eldest: I’m still upset.

Me: Ok, I’ll bite.  Why are you upset?  Let alone still…

The Eldest:  I’m grounded.  You realize I’ll be able to vote this year, right?  And I’m grounded like a kid.

Me:  There’s not an election this year so you can’t vote.  You’re 17, in high school, and I’m driving you to school – you’re kinda still a kid.

The Eldest: I’m probably joining the military this time next year, I drink coffee, and I could vote if there was an election this year…and you’ve taken my phone from me, I’m almost not a kid.

Me: ….

The Eldest: ….

Me: Ok….but since you’re almost not a kid and you’re absolutely failing a class and you’re definitely not paying for said phone because you don’t even have a job…you’re still grounded until the grade comes up.

The Eldest:  *sigh* *facepalm* You never understand me!

Me: Haha…there it is, the adult conversation I was looking for.  Nice try, kid…go to class.

So, the normally articulate one wasn’t able to pull off a good enough reason to not be grounded.  Maybe it is because it was first thing in the morning, maybe it was because he didn’t take but 2 sips of coffee because he didn’t add enough caramel creamer to give a diabetic a coma, or maybe…just maybe he realized his mom is right.  HA!  Fat chance.  I think it’s because even though we are transitioning from kid to adult, he is still very clearly a kid.  I don’t remember this transition when I was his age, but I’ll bet my parents do.  This next year should be entertaining at the very least.  Wish me luck.

Slowing down

~ Linda ~ 6 Comments

Image courtesy of freeimageslive.com
Image courtesy of freeimageslive.com

 

I confess that when I first saw this picture prompt, I was elated.  I was rushed with feelings from childhood birthday parties.  I was fully prepared to spit out witty reminiscences of happy days of youth spent drawing with sidewalk chalk, balloon tosses, eating strawberry shortcake cupcakes, and visiting Disney World, but I digress.  You see, my 36th birthday is next week.

I’ve heard often during the passing of another year, ‘it beats the alternative’, and indeed it does.  However, this year is one year closer to leaving my mid-thirties.  I’m not ready to leave them just yet, I’m not sure I’ve appreciated them well enough and I know I didn’t get to know them like I had hoped to.  I thought we’d be better friends before we parted.  I feel like we hardly know each other at all.

Oh, how I remember my 20s.  We became close friends, there weren’t these broken years I’ve come to know in my 30s.  My 20s were just my 20s, no early, mid, or late, just them and all their youthful glorious fun.  Hell, it wasn’t until last year that I learned my 30s came with sections.  I felt so ill prepared.  I would have tried to hang onto the early ones a little longer and certainly would have mentally prepared for the mids.

All that’s left are the lates.  At least I know now not to screw that up, too.  Oh, I’ll be bitter for a minute, I’m a woman and that’s what we do – or that’s what I do any way.  After the bitterness I’m going to get to know them, take them out on the town more often, compliment them and tell them they’re pretty.  I might even try to give them some healthier options, slim them up a bit, maybe go on more walks.  The lates and I are going to be besties.  Plenty of movies, laughs, and slow dances, it’s what the lates are made for, I think.  Though, I’m not really sure since I’ve yet to introduce myself, but I will and I hope they will be as grand as their predecessors.

All I know is I hope to slow down a bit and savor them like an old bottle of wine.

 

lightandshade logo

 

Hey, Soul Sista!

~ Linda ~ 7 Comments

As I mentioned in a post yesterday, we’ve moved.  It’s been a pretty eventful transition.  The very first day as we are unpacking the 26’ U-Haul that is packed to the rim of our accumulated crap (seriously we need to declutter), a neighbor approaches with a winning smile and even fancier gold tooth.  I wonder what he’s going to say as he approaches, you see, we’ve never experienced the type of hospitality we are experiencing in this new town.  They say southerners are nicer as a rule, but having lived in the Atlanta area all of my life with the exception of 2 years, I say it’s really a case by case basis.  The town from which we came, while only 20 miles away, was not filled with the southern hospitality love.

Mr. W with his million watt smile and his shining tooth comes to shake our hand.  He’s actually pretty awesome, we later find out, but he seemed perfectly nice when we first met him nonetheless.  He welcomes us to the neighborhood and gets our names, then jumps straight into the warnings of possible loud music that may or may not radiate from his home on special occasions.  You see, Mr. W has a professional karaoke machine, he explains.  He loves to shake it.  He loves people to come and have a good time.  He gives us details of every family within our little cul-de-sac that we live in, the goings on, the years they’ve been there, etc.  He’s chatty, and we like chatty.

He leaves and we get back to the task at hand.  A week passes, exactly, and I see car loads of people pulling up to Mr. W’s house.  A party, no doubt.  I see ladies in red hot pants, black leather pants, silky blouses, some in animal print dresses and gentlemen in purple, green, black, or gold slacks and some with tall hats and fancy walking canes.  It really looks like quite the event.  I watch the kids play with new friends and sip on my lovely little drink while rocking on my porch.  It’s a good day, I feel it.

The husband worked that day, but miraculously they ended his shift early so he gets to leave the station with enough time to hang out with us.  We’re standing outside, enjoying the sounds of kids laughing, when Mrs. W approaches us for an invitation.  ‘I know you’re coming over to sing’, she says.  HA! Me?  Sing?  I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.  She laughs, sweet as rain she is, and explains no one in the whole damn house can sing.  Then she closes the deal by mentioning the ample amount of flavored Jell-O shots and well, who can resist now?

We go and we are greeted like family.  I’ve only met Mr. and Mrs. W and their 15 yr-old grandson, but the extended hands, smiles, and even hugs from their family is awe-inspiring.  We fit right in.  We stand off to the side a bit as we have a lovely rendition of Whitney Houston going on.  Speakers the size of our youngest (The Little), 2 microphone stands, and more than 10,000 songs from which to choose.  It really is a professional system.  We’re consistently asked to make a request and get up there and sing, but I eye the tray of multi-colored Jell-O shots and decide to wait my turn.  Mmmmm, strawberry.  Who knew these would be so good?  The hubs sings Bob Seger and well, after a few yummy strawberry shots, I request some good ol’ CCR.

We go on for hours, all of their family and ours requesting and singing songs.  Booties are shaking and grooving, and trying to see how low one can go as the song requests of us.  It’s hilarious and fun and before I know it, it’s 2am.  After discovering I should not, indeed, try to find out how low I can go, I decide it’s time to find my shoes and walk back to the house.  I make it back and consider the tub after looking in the mirror and seeing my flushed face and strawberry stained lips.  I decide I’ll leave this look as reminder in the morning of the fun we had.

– A submission to the Studio30Plus prompt

When the Fat get going, America Fails

~ Linda ~ 5 Comments

I wrote this one earlier in the year for Sudio Thirty Plus – I found today after shopping for sensible foods, it still applies.  Enjoy:

The husband and I have been together for nearly 20 years, since we were thirteen years old.  We’ve had ups and downs, and three kids.  Over the years our weight has also had ups and downs.  Unfortunately, we have lately had more ups than downs.  We tried the devil incarnate program called P90X.  We started with workout day one and decided to go the full day.  It didn’t end well for me.  A trip to the ER because of a workout is frowned on, in my book.  We quickly realized that this particular workout regime was for people who regularly worked out.

After weeks of healing, we tried a 30-day trial period at a local gym. With machines I still don’t know the names of and the sweaty, chiseled blondes that sprinted past me with arms puffed up like a puffer fish while their ponytail swayed tauntingly.  I could hear it mocking me as its owner passed.  ‘Like, OMG Becky, did you see that whale of a girl sweating profusely while walking 1.2 miles per hour.  Pffft.  As if.’ *eye roll* (yes, her ponytail had eyes, obviously)

Feeling much like a fish out of water or a whale on a sandy beach, I decided I should reevaluate our food intake as well as trying to figure out the large machinery in the gym.  We thought it would be best to cut out richer foods, switch to leaner meats, chicken and turkey rather than beef, raw veggies, and more whole, organic foods.  All the doctors of the world seem to condone this type of diet.  We head out in search of these foods, excited that we’re making such a positive change in our already budgeted grocery run.  Evidently, if one wants to eat healthy, lean, and whole you have to be a freaking millionaire or at least be able to budget $300 a week for groceries.  It was then, at the ridiculous prices of the food that’s great for you that I realized America’s problem.  We’re the fattest country because good for you food cost not only your arm and leg but your first born as well.  Or, you have to take turns eating.  “Sorry kids, there’s no dinner tonight, Dad made a sandwich.”

Can anyone explain to me why fresh food costs five times more than a bag of processed Cheetos?  I mean, it’s a plant.  It grows in the dirt. You go outside and pick it.  You put it in a basket and take it to a market and voila!  It’s a squash, people.  And if the posted sign is correct and all of it is community grown, it didn’t have to be shipped or trucked – you just had to drive it down the road.  That’s it.

Now my mind wonders to the crazy side of the spectrum and I begin to think that this whole ‘fattest country ever’ thing is a conspiracy to fuel the pockets of the doctors, gyms, diet plans, and insurance companies of the world.  ‘They’ don’t want us to lose weight and get fit; ‘they’ want us to stay sloth-like and eat cheaper junk food and visit the doctor every month for our failing health due to our excessively gargantuan backsides. Fat Fucking Fail America.