Friday, November 20, 2009
~♥ My Minds Eye ♥~ And So It Seems...
Underneath the rubble
Of the life I know so well
There is a hole
Within my soul
With so much left to tell
A silent voice that longs to speak
To shout my fears from rafters
Please hear me now
Please show me how
To hide my tears with laughter
That cynical and callous soul
Disappointed yet again
Will come a day
Be shown the way
By lover or by friend
And so it goes contentment
Forever on my mind
Too much to ask
A daunting task
Seems ever hard to find
1 Comments:
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By
*Steph*, at November 20, 2009 9:55 AM
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Thursday, November 19, 2009
~♥ My Minds Eye ♥~ Taking Back Turkey
Whatever marketing pseudo genius that decided to start springing Christmas on us on Halloween should be shackled and pummeled by rotten pumpkins at dawn.
I love Christmas, don't get me wrong, but in a timely fashion. I don't need to be reminded far too early that I am struggling to catch up with bills and I have to start NOW, RIGHT NOW, shopping to get the deal of the century in order to make my child love me forever and ever and save the day by getting the ungettable get of the Holiday season.
I cherish the way things were once upon a time, when you would eat yourself into a candy coma after Halloween for a week. Where you would start to prepare yourself for Thanksgiving a few weeks later. Gently start to dream of that one day of over-eating (ok who are we kidding, one day...) and tryptophan side effects.
Traditions are being whittled away by mass marketing and sale papers, and having been in retail hell for 15 years I get it. The holiday's are no longer being ruled by the family dynamic, they are ruled by the dollar sign and you are all falling for it. All succumbed to the trickery of the Big Boxes and Retail Giants. Their subtle nuances who's snappy or annoying jingles may plague you as you sleep, and lure your children into frenzies over what they subliminally tell them is the coolest toy on the planet.
It also makes me miss my father more. Sure he picked fights with someone (mostly me) every holiday, but we were together. We were one of those families who sat together for dinner every night. Didn't matter if it started at 8pm, we all sat down together. Holidays were no exception. Everyone huddled around the table, arguing over who got the breast and who got the skin (because though clearly unhealthy, it’s oh-so-good). We may have put the fun in dysfunctional, but holidays were our thing.
They used to be lavish. Cousins, aunts and uncles. Kids running amuck. Using my grandmother's china and waiting for my mom to gingerly take that massive turkey out of the oven, my dad ready to carve it with the grace of a professional butcher. And slowly, things changed. Cousins grew up and got married, their in-laws families became their new traditions and our table thinned out.
And then we lost the house. And then my father died. My sister heads to her boyfriend's family home out of state. And now it’s us. Just my mom, my brother, myself and my son. Four lonely souls lost in memories of what used to be tradition. No longer do we have that table full of witty family banter. No longer so we have those arguments I long for. Ok, well my brother and I still rival any sibling arguments going back in time, but other than that it’s a solemn occasion.
The oven has been replaced by a turkey fryer. My grandma's china with every day plates and Tupperware. But I want it back.
I want to tell retail to go to hell and take back tradition. I want to take that fried turkey (ok it IS delicious) and bring my family to my house. I want to set a fancy table. I want egg-nog and cider. I want to Macy's Thanksgiving Parade on TV, and football and Miracle on 34th Street. I want stories for Dylan to tell when he gets older. I want memories to be made for my son. I don't just want another blip on the calendar. A kickoff to shopping or a countdown to Christmas.
That's right folks, I'm taking back Turkey. Who's coming with me?
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Monday, November 16, 2009
~♥ My Minds Eye ♥~ The Golden Westfalia
My father had a soft spot for old cars.
Ok, what he really had was a lack of ability to let himself buy a new car. Moreover a functional car. One that wasn't seemingly held together with duct tape and solder and that didn't cause him to continuously curse and get louder and louder in that way that only a stoutly little Italian man could.
They weren't really old like those precious antiques people collected. They were cast offs. The unwanted really. More like those cars that were invented and then when the makers realized they were crap and they were on the brink of death, close to driving their last fuel-guzzled road, my father somehow found them.
In dark alley's in random places. In people's side yards, unwanted and lonely, he found them. Like the Pied Piper of the Vehicularly Deceased, he found them. The old and the rusted. The dented and odd colored. He would use them, abuse them and then I would inherit them.
It was a strange thing really. The evil vortex in my driveway that killed these cars. It was likely a mercy killing in a way. Those poor unfortunately souls, put out of their misery by simply coming into contact with me.
Which of course became instantly my fault. Naturally.
It wasn't the fact that these beauties were left abandoned far before my father found them. Or that they likely required hundreds if not thousands of dollars in work before that, no of course that couldn't be it. It couldn't be that my father usually cavorted around in them as work vehicles, traipsing from jobsite to jobsite, parking in the unpaved and nail-covered places a contractor generally frequented.
It couldn't have been the sawdust covered pieces of wood and tools, or the extra few 100 pounds or so they wrought. No.
It was naturally all my fault. I had the Golden Touch you see. But alas, it wasn't me, it was that Evil Vortex.
And yet, of all the 13 cars (yes I am on Lucky 13 folks) I have gone through, the one I did not inherit was his last. That convertible van. That Volkswagen machine that wasn't just a car, oh no. THIS, this was also a camper. Dirty and scarred. It came fully equipped with curtains and pull out bed. With stove and mini-fridge. A pop-up top for comfort. A contractors dream.
And for the past week, this car, this multi-faceted driving machine has haunted me. As I commuted to work I have seen not one of these Bad Larry's no, but 3. This boxy mind-boggler etched with Westfalia has been following me. This gold machine, a time machine straight out of 1985 has been bringing me memories of my father for the past week.
Memories of him attempting to put Dylan's infant car seat in the back bench, what seemed like miles from the driver's seat in the back to take him places. Images in my head of my child flying through mid-air in the back of a camper, and cajoling my father for ever buying such an impractical car.
So now, as I sit every morning in my bumper to bumper commuter traffic, as I stop and go with oncoming cars merging from on-ramps and painstakingly make my way to work in the morning, I now find myself on the lookout. I look for that one vehicle that rises up a little higher than the others, that looks a little boxier than those newer and sleeker streamlined hybrid cars. I look for that memory on wheels, and maybe, just maybe I hope to catch a glimpse of short little Italian man with glasses and a mustache, with a stain on his belly from his morning coffee (milk,no sugar) dripping down between his fashionable combination of T-shirt, belt and suspenders.
So thank you aimless strangers, thank you for giving me my dad, if only for a moment, and if only in memory, in traffic on my morning commute. You may have bad taste in cars, but you've given me something I've needed for a long, long time. A piece of my dad, and of course;
The Golden Westfalia.
1 Comments:
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Haha my dad collects old cars...but he generally likes the ones that would be classics...the problem is that they're all PROJECT cars...2 mustangs to piece together to make one, a bronco, an old "street rod", an old farm truck, and an old corvette...not to mention we each have our own daily drivers that aren't new by any means...
Good ole cars! :)By
Kendra, at November 18, 2009 4:01 PM
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Thursday, November 12, 2009
~♥ My Minds Eye ♥~ Lost: MoJo...Possible Reward
Has anyone seen my Mojo?
I seem to clearly have lost it somewhere and in a failed attempt to remember what it was once like when I had it, I decided that going out on a "school" night was a good idea.
Harmless in theory really, a 30-something consenting adult without child for the evening. Working the next day sure, but a couple of hours to celebrate my heydays would surely not be punishable. Two or so cocktails do not equal hangover, I should be good.
Transport yourself in time to the Beachcomber, a South Shore staple bar for the past 50 years. Dark and wood-planked inside and notably themed by the musician’s of Yore and the Irish drunkards who have kept it afloat the past 1/2 century. This seedy place, of linoleum and bad lighting, filled with the smells of smilled beverages and pizza has been my Cheers for close to a decade.
It’s truly a place where everyone knows your name, and your refill is ready for you before you take the last sip of your previous drink. Where local bands get their starts and former greats have once graced the stage. I mean Jay Leno even did his stand up act here back in the day. (He is a hometown boy afterall.) Where bar fights, marriages and divorces have all started. Ahh, it's home.
So alas, as goes by this golden anniversary for a beachfront landmark, so is marked another anniversary. Good friends remembering 18 years of karaoke debauchery hosted by our very own dear friend. Usually such an event would bring out the masses, old and young alike to revel in this charismatic man who has been perverting the stage for close to 20 years.
And comes the 9 o'clock hour, the start of it all, guns ready to go off in ample celebratory nature, and.....crickets. Silence. The few, the far between, and I. Yes folks, a dead start to the night. I had convinced myself I was going to stay an hour. Show my adoration for my beloved comrade and bid him adieu. I mean, as a responsible working adult and mother I had to get home and in bed and ready for the new day tomorrow right??
Yeah not so much.
As the drinks flowed freely, (although after a while for me I did convert to water, since obviously common sense in age has reminded me that drinking and driving is definitely not a wise option) I started to remember how I rocked this place. How I seemingly owned this bar when I walked in. At least in my egotistical mind at the time I did.
I mean sure I still know mostly everyone, but that cool confidence I once had is gone. That crazy girl who would get up and dance, even if no one else was because I liked the song...or simply wanted to be an ass...is gone. A distant memory. No more mid-drif bearing tops and skin tight jeans. The cleavage however, will be ever-present until the day gravity decides to hate me and protests. (It is a diversionary technique in keeping all eyes away from the "Mama" region I commonly refer to as the Fanny Pack)
No more making the guys drool over me and having to figure out who the lucky guy would be that would get to try to take me home. Most of them not winning, but hey they got an A for effort. Not even a "Hey can I buy you a drink..." from a creepy bar guy anymore. I've clearly lost my touch.
I mean nothing. I sang my songs, I rocked it out sure. I saw friends I hadn't seen in ages and it was great, but then, I stood idly on the sides of the stage. Reminiscing of the old days. Talking about jobs, and kids. Talking about politics and Veteran's Day. I lost my MoJo.
I watched a group of youngun's, probably barely 21. Not a care in the world. They cared not what people thought of them. Not what they looked like, or how well they sang. They got up and danced whenever they felt like it. To the beats of their own drummers. And sure, some people scoffed, and yet I envied them. I was them once, carefree and confident. I had me some MoJo. I had me a lot.
And thus, though my antics were not crazy, and my alcohol consumption was limited, as I walked in my door at almost 2am, woke at 6:30 cursing my alarm as though it were out to get me and in a zombie state readied for work and battled traffic, I feel as though I were hit by a train and I haven’t slept in a month. Yes my friends, that MoJo, it’s gone.
If you've seen it, I'd like it back please.
1 Comments:
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That was awsome!
lisa gardinerBy
, at November 12, 2009 11:20 AM
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Monday, November 9, 2009
~♥ My Minds Eye ♥~ Idealistically...
Your breath becomes quickened suddenly, your heartbeats faster almost instantly creating a flutter in your stomach that is a combination of elation and almost a naive nervousness. You breath deeper, you see clearer, your eyes brighter. You smile with out even knowing why you're smiling, your lips curling to the pull of a force greater than anything you have ever known. You stand taller. Dazed and lost by the wonder of it all, yet never before more keen. Brought to this by even a glimpse of a picture, a faint resemblance of a passerby, a song whose lyrics touch a certain poignancy of how these emotions could ever be penned or vocalized, even the memory of an occurrence at a particular place, or time. Its that feeling.
You long for it. You wake up and need to be surrounded by it. Emblazoned by its warmth and its vigor. To be touched by the mere thought of being touched. The hairs on the back of your neck stand at end remembering the last time your skin brushed ever so gently against theirs. Even casually. It sets every sense in a tailspin.
Another with the same cologne could cause an uproar in your mind, causing you to gently close your eyes and imagine yourself whisked away to another place where time and appropriateness may allude you. Where nothing but the thought of their lips on your lips, their hands in your hands play over and over in your mind like you are reliving a favorite part of an old familiar movie.
A song, a sound, a movie that played when you first met, talked, saw each other brings you back to that innocence. That awkwardness, so real yet so knowing. Like a secret waiting to be told. Waiting for the right moment, as if in the beginning you weren't ready for it yet. Aging in a sense. Together in an uncertain certainty.
Firsts together, not necessarily firsts in life, feel like new things all together. Like everything before them had been a complete let down. Like a complete sham to the real thing. All things before them not irrelevant, but unimportant to where you both are now, together, and moreover where you are going. Together.
Idealistic and dreamlike. Wanted and sought after. It's not impossible. I know it's out there, and in short brief moments, I have felt pieces. Close, nearing what it could have been. Then afraid, slowly or not slowly backed away. Some of it was me, some of it was them. Fault was shared. Blame and shame blanketed throughout the past. It makes you know what not to look for, what paths no longer to take, and what feelings are wrong.
Idealistically....
I'm still waiting.
3 Comments:
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BEAUTIFUL!! I love it!
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I love this post its written so beautifully. I hope you feel better little lady about feeling in "limbo." I've felt that way sometimes as well. Its a crappy feeling. And as for your dad, I am sorry he is no longer with you. My dad is still alive but has been a bit reclusive lately and I miss him more than anything in the world right now. Glad I stopped by your bloggy : )
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I tried posting on your november 4th post but for some reason it put it on this one but it was meant for the 4th just so you don't think I am challenged at leaving comments!
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Friday, November 6, 2009
~♥ My Minds Eye ♥~ I Don't Want to Be Chuck
Ever discover something, could be the most random of things really, could be anything from hearing an old song or seeing a place you once went, or hearing a name called out, smelling a certain cologne perhaps from a passerby that rang familiar and realize you may not be as over something as you had been telling yourself, and telling everyone else you know, you had been?
And now that you are aware of it again, its festering. You try to quash it. To put it out like the last smoldering ashes of a once blazing fire, all that is left seem to be charred embers, smoking and seemingly lifeless, but one quick swift change in wind direction and what little wood is left can catch fire yet again. It may only burn briefly, but it will be hot, and smoke-filled enough to cloud your thoughts, your judgments.
Your thirst for knowledge of things consumes you. You rerun past conversations, past arguments, or even the lack thereof. Where did it all go wrong, how did it get here, classic questions, cliches. You question your own sense of self, of sanity over and over again, like you have a dozen times as if it only happened days ago. Like a wound that had semi healed had been re-opened, half hardened by scar yet soft and privy to the infections of the outside elements from this now ripped open seam.
Your own self worth is called into question. You, your own judge and jury. You feel perfectly imperfect. Flawlessly flawed. The things about you that you once adored you loathe. What strength do you even have left really? Its all too much. You fear the pain again. This feeling from another. Months later, years later. This heavy heart from these memories. These moments of weakness.
All from a word. A scent. A name. A piece of possibly misled information. It sets you reeling. Spinning inside your head scenario after scenario. Could be truth, could be fiction. You don't even want to speak it to anyone for repercussions of your sanity. Its likely nothing, yet to you at this moment, this very moment it is monumental. Its all you think about.
You wait to find out the truth. Is it nothing? Am I paranoid? Delusional? Why do I care anyway? How can something bother me so when I have no idea what it is, and when I am supposedly over this situation? Maybe I am. Maybe its not the person. Maybe its me. My luck. My lot in life.
My inane ability to send people into their fates. Maybe that's why. Maybe I need to meet my own counterpart. Someone with my own luck to either cancel it out, or send me into my fate when all is said and done. Let me finally be over it all. Let me no longer be consumed by what has been, what I cannot change.
Let me go on. Go forward, and no longer be Chuck.
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Wednesday, November 4, 2009
~♥ My Minds Eye ♥~ I'm On the Outside, I'm Looking In..
Have you ever felt like you were standing at the edge of your life and not actually living it? Like you are a bystander in a rush, watching in a reflection as the world goes on around you. Your own life goes on around you, and yet you feel stunted. Stopped, breathless. Unable to move forward, yet unable to go back. In limbo.
I am suddenly there and I have no idea how I got here. As if some mystical turning point occurred and a switch was flicked inside me and I ceased to be able to function as anything but a shell of myself in my own life. I look the same. I act the same. But I feel different.
I don't know if the sudden blunt change in season that Daylight Savings has brought has made this realization more clear, or if it has been there all along and I am just suddenly aware. Was this a gradual occurrence? Like a dimmer switch in a restaurant when they try to change the mood. Who's to say.
I don't necessarily hate my life right now, but I certainly don't love it. I'm indifferent to it all. I could take it or leave it as it were. I love my job, but the sudden change in office has everyone on edge and walking on eggshells on a daily basis as we break into our new routines, our new environments. So drastically different from before.
My friends are all busy with their own lives. They don't not care, their lives are just hectic with kids and work and spouses or boyfriends. Impending divorces or pregnancies. In-laws and upcoming holidays. I clearly have none of these troubles, so how could I relate?
And naturally the holidays looming makes me long for several things. Partnership being one of the obvious. But I always miss my father most this time of year. Sure he found ways to conjure up some form of argument whenever a holiday approached, but that was his way. I would take the World War 3 of arguments with him just to hear him bellow again, just to have him here to watch Dylan open gifts at Christmas and finally be old enough to be able to appreciate it.
Then of course you remember the Ghosts of Holidays pasts. The good, the bad. The memories of ex's flooding my mind, recent and not recent. The horrid and regretted and then the few, the very few who were looked upon fondly in hindsight. Making me wonder now how I am 30 and alone awaiting yet another holiday season.
But what do I know anyway, I'm on the outside...I'm looking in.
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I am!!