VILLAGE OF ELGIN WINERY - BEST WINERY IN SOUTHERN AZ...HANDS DOWN!

  As a self-proclaimed connoisseur of wines in the Southern Arizona region (over 14 years of first-hand experience and going strong), I have to say, hands down, that the best wines come from The Village of Elgin Winery in Elgin, Arizona (Click here to visit their website).  Today I made my tri-annual trek to the Sonoita wine belt to restock my cellar and this is always my first stop.  I know exactly what I want when I arrive  and if there are any new arrivals on the scene, I’m ready to sample. 

Three labels can be found in the charming tasting room:  The World Famous Tombstone Family of Wines®, The Four Monkey Wines®,

and The Village of Elgin Wines™.  

Of the “Monkey” variety, my favorite flavor is that of the Naughty Monkey, “A Moscato with great body and a honey and cream texture”.  See, even the name suits me (insert chuckle here).  Of the “Tombstone” variety, I quite prefer the Tombstone Madame which boasts, “…a blush wine with intense fruit and superb balance.”  Of the “Village” variety, I love most of them, my top favorites being

Karina, “…German-styled wine, Riesling and colombard. Full fruit and juicy texture,” Bisbee Copper, “…Great balance and super long finish. Great fruit flavors and pairs perfectly with spicy foods.” Alesecia, “A sweet Ros’e of Cabernet with candied cherry and pineapple flavours,” and last but definitely not least, Maria, “Floral and ripe fruit notes.  Finishes long.  Formally the G, ask if you dare.”  The Maria is a wonderful dessert wine and the tease in its description certainly lead me to “dare,” so I asked.  It seems this wine once was dubbed as “The G Spot” by some of the women who worked at the winery.  After sampling this fruity tease, I bought some on the “spot,” (pun intended).  

All of the wines are very reasonably priced, and this comes to you from a girl on a shoestring budget!

This day I had the pleasure of meeting Gary Reeves, one of the owners of this fine, family-owned wine palace.  He was friendly, accommodating and very knowledgeable, answering all of my 120 questions with ease and a smile.  

If you should find yourself in the area, or even if you don't, it is well worth the trip to this beautiful part of Arizona to add any and all of these five-star, award winning wines to your private reserve. 

 

AGE DISCRIMINATION

I’m not sure when it happened exactly, but lately whenever I put in applications for jobs of various types, I seem to lose out to the younger, less qualified age group.  This is bullshit.  I am lucid and able-bodied and I don’t understand why I always have to try harder and fight longer for a job that I can do in my sleep.

Okay I don’t want to get started on all of the things that are fucking screwed up in this country, but how crappy is it that you work hard all your life (I’ve been working since I was very young) and then you get kicked in the teeth and tossed aside because you are viewed as being a bit long in the tooth.  Puh-leeeez.  I’m even willing to settle for less pay if I have to just to get the job but I get passed over time and time again. 

I also don’t understand why it happens internally.  You would think that a reliable, responsible person who has been with the company for years and grown and learned all of the corporate ways and policies, would be first choice for hiring within and promoting forward and upward.  I have worked at companies where I was passed over for years and then, just when I get ready to find another job, I’m suddenly a viable candidate. 

It saddens me that we still have age discrimination, hell it saddens me that we are a very discriminatory country in general and in all aspects, but the fact that we barely take care of the people who worked so hard to make and keep this country alive while paying taxes and working their asses off, is really sad, not to mention bad Karma.  What if it is this bad Karma that has come around threefold and put the country into the place we are now?  Great going government.  Way to take care of your own.

A NEW BEGINNING

Beginnings come from many things in life, physical birth, new jobs, new families, new love, etc.  My favorite new beginning however, is that of a new attitude. 

My current, new beginning comes from letting go of a poisonous relationship and moving forward with knowing and really liking myself.  I have tackled so many issues lately and I am thankful for the new self-esteem I've built and a way to move deeper into faith by being Christian/Wiccan (Yes, it is possible).  I will never preach or talk to people about my religious beliefs, but for purposes of the topic of this blog I mention it as part of my new beginning.  I have my altar set up exactly how I want it and I'm so excited by how I feel now when I meditate and quit letting the OCD in my head talk in crazy circles 24/7. 

It it my wish for all of you that if and when you find yourself not enjoying your life as it is and feeling stagnant and/or sad and frustrated, that you will find a way to make yourself a new beginning by just adjusting your attitude and changing whatever you need to to bring yourself to that happy, exciting and/or contented place in which you wish to be, even if that means letting go of the reins for a spell.  Control is not really ours to manipulate and it can be very tiring believing that it is and worrying all the time about things turning out the way you wish they would.  The one thing we can control is the way we view things. 

GETTING TO KNOW ME OR NOT...

This video is intended for those who wish to understand me a little better (if you already thought you knew me) and to share some of my insane blatherings on how people perceive me and my OCD and BiPolar world (it's scary in my world, but hell, it's all mine).  If you are sensitive and you know me, don't get your feelings hurt, I'm just offering a look at who I really am.

MY BOOK IS PUBLISHED NOW IN THREE FORMATS

I finally did it.  I published the book I've been working on for like 7 years.  It is a Y.A. fiction novel entitled, "The Secret of Vesta," and most of it takes place in Point Arena, California in and around the CoastGuard House.

I probably could have done it in less time, however life got in the way (grin). My pen name is KimberLee Dawn in case you search by author, and it is currently available on LuLu.com in hardback, paperback, and e-book.  I really hope you will check it out.
Click this button for the paperback version: 
Click this button for the hardback version: 
Click this button for the e-book download: 

YOU CAN BE ANYBODY...

YOU CAN BE ANYBODY...

For years I've suffered from ADD, OCD and BiPolar disorder. Quite recently I found out that I now have to add diabetes to that list. Due to my outlook on these areas of my life I have always been a bit grumpy and unsettled. Not a person I've been comfortable living with and, let's face it, you are pretty much forced to live with yourself. Until recently I didn't think I could change my moods and my outlook, but I have to say that I've discovered the secret to happiness (at least one of them). Just be anyone you want to be. You CAN be rich and successful and powerful—you CAN be in the job or profession of your dreams—you CAN have the life you want if you want it bad enough and work toward that goal with total focus and drive.

Let's face it, one of the things (aside from the money and the obvious perks) that drives people to want to be actors and actresses is the excitement of being other people. They get to study them, research them and eventually become them for a period of time. When I thought about that I was like, "I can do that. I can be whoever I want to be." Now, knowing myself as I do, I want to be someone that I can be proud of who helps people whenever she can and in whatever way she can; someone who can inspire people and give them encouragement when they need it. I have slowly been morphing into such a person, but am now working on the physical aspects like where I want to live and what I want to do, not to mention my financial bracket. I've heard people say that if you are happy with barely getting by, then you will barely get by. If you are happy with mediocrity, you will always be mediocre. If you want abundance and financial security, you can make that happen. Your life CAN be what you want it to be and to believe otherwise is to deprive yourself of the happiness your deserve.

BUY A VERB, DAMMIT!

What is it with those of us who lead our lives in the following manner:  wake up, get dressed, go to work, come home, eat dinner, go to sleep and repeat?  Newsflash people, this is not LIVING.  I would term it only as “existence.”  I’m sure we were put here to do much more with our lives that just eke out a living and sleep.

It’s time we all woke up and bought a verb.  I mean life is about doing things, like hiking, shopping, socializing, traveling, vacationing, golfing, sporting, crafting, painting, and whatever other hobby or activities you may be into.  We have to get up and get at it now because, let’s face it, life is short.  Wouldn’t it be horrible to come to the end of your life and look back and all you had to show for it was waking up, getting dressed, going to work, coming home, eating dinner, going to sleep and repeating?  I know it would be for me.

You often hear tales from people who have died and were brought back to life, or from those who were on the brink of death and they say things like, “Wow, I am going to live every day from now on like was my last.”  Here’s a thought – why not live like that every day anyway.

One of my favorite movie lines is from the Disney movie, Tuck Everlasting, in which Tuck takes Winnie out on the pond in a rowboat and says something to the effect of, “Do not fear death--fear only the unlived life.”  I love that line and I love its meaning.

I’m guilty of all of the above, but I’ve grown sick and tired of feeling sick and tired and I’m ready for a huge, positive change.  I should think the health benefits alone, of such a life-altering attitude would be immense.  I’m ready to LIVE my life before I die…how about you?

BORN GAY vs CHOICE...

BORN GAY vs CHOICE...

  

The age-old question?  Is a person born homosexual or are they born heterosexual and choose to identify as homosexual?  This dispute lingers on and on throughout history but for me, it's finally clear.

From the time I was old enough to understand the difference between boys and girls, I always felt closer to girls. I remember a particular friend in the second grade. During recess they would prop the hall doors open for everyone to go outside and play on the equipment, but she and I would always squeeze in behind those doors and sit on the concrete behind them. They made for a great hiding spot. There, we talked about everything and played the "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," game and experimented with touching as well. Nothing pornographic, just curious kid stuff. I never did this with boys because they just didn't interest me.

As I grew I made my way through various friendships, but always girls. I remember becoming extremely jealous if my friend (at the time) started liking someone else as a "friend" because, as I realized much later in life, my definition of "friend" was different than theirs. It crushed me. I could not understand why another person was necessary since my friend and I had it all.

I experimented with boys as I became older, but not out of a sense of attraction. It was more because my parents were urging me to make friends with boys so I could start dating. They were so worried at one point that when I was a sophomore in high school a friend of theirs (who apparently I played with when I was a toddler) stopped by to visit us on his way to somewhere else. He was staying at a local campground in a tent on the beach and my parents, regardless of how many times at balked at the suggestion, made me go "out" with him for a "date." This guy had creep written all over him. I was painfully shy, but ultimately succumbed to my parents' insistence. I have always been intuitive about people and can sense someone's character right off the bat and this guy did not have "catching up" on his mind. He took me to Anchor Bay campground where we walked on the beach for a bit and then suggested we go sit in his tent and rest a while. I followed him inside, he zipped it up, and then wrestled me to the ground on top of his sleeping bag. This boy had 18 arms, I know he did. He grabbed at everything and tried kissing me time and time again. I was very thin, but strong. I kicked him in the nuts and told him to take me back home or I was walking and that either way I was letting my parents know. He got all dejected and finally drove me home.

Later, I decided I should at least try the man/woman dynamic because apparently that is how things are supposed to work, according to mom and dad and all my high school peers. I was raped before I could even get that started (which I blogged about in a prior post). I then met a man at work when I was living in the Bay Area, whose name was Bill. I developed quite a crush on him as he had a great personality, and we began to date. Of course, as is the natural flow of dating, we moved from one phase to the next, letting nature take its course. It isn't that I didn't enjoy being with men, but I was never satisfied by the sex. I continued this course with various men and eventually had a son by one of them.

Finally I decided it was time to come to terms with who I was. My acceptance, while fully aware of much of the public's view of gay people, was a long, hard road . It took me a long time to reach my comfort level. My son was the first person I told.  I think he was 14 at the time.  I wanted to make sure he understood that this would not change his comfort level at home, though I never really dated while raising him anyway. He was very understanding. I then came out to my mother and my brothers who, over time, finally came to accept me for who I am.

To sum it all up, in my case I was born homosexual. Is that the case with everyone who identifies as gay? I could not, nor would not ever presume to answer that question for anyone but myself, but for me...i was born to love differently.

WHO MAKES UP THIS STUFF?

WHO MAKES UP THIS STUFF?

Is a frog’s ass water tight?

Has somebody checked? Would it even be right?

Is a one-armed paper hanger really that slow?

Have you ever observed one? Then how would you know.

Is a pig really happy while sitting in shit?

Is there a test to find out? Does it come in a kit?

Has money ever really been grown on a tree?

If you happen to see one would you get one for me?

Does a bear really always shit in the woods?

Are there people out watching in camouflaged hoods?

Do some really think that hell could freeze over?

That one might actually be totally clever.

These sayings are crafted by people so wise,

But something informs me they’re nothing but lies.

WHEN PARENTS MALFUNCTION...

What happens when parents malfunction?  A total chain reaction equal to that of one atomic bomb set off by another, but at a much slower pace.  If you think about the dynamics here, along with the repercussions you can surmise that one is only as good or bad as those by which they were or were not raised.  There are rare instances of individuals who swear they will not be the kind of parent(s) that they were raised by and, occasionally that is the case.  You CAN be the one to break the mold, but more times than not this will entail you fighting your very soul to change yourself enough that you can accomplish this feat.  It didn't start with you, but it can end with you.

I was determined to raise my son in a healthy environment and I feel I was able to just that.  I did most things opposite of the way my parents did.  I didn't drink large amounts of alcohol every day and night.  I didn't come home at late hours and ask my son to fend for himself for meals.  I didn't smoke.  I didn't fight in front of my son.  I did praise him when he did well so that he could possess immense self-confidence.  I didn't silence him.  I told him it was great to cry when he wanted to so he could release stress.  I made myself available any time he wanted to talk.  I listened.  I displayed his drawings with pride.  I didn't ignore him.  I told him I loved him so many times a day that he could never have doubted the fact.  I taught him to be a leader, not a follower.  I hugged him so much that he never lacked human contact.  I didn't hide things from him--he asked a question, he received an honest and straight-forward answer.  Are there things from my upbringing that managed to slip through the cracks and onto my son?  Most definitely, much to my chagrin.  When stress was tough on me and he needed correcting, I tongue-lashed him, sometimes on and on for hours.  Did this crush his self-esteem?  I have to believe that it did to a point.  I spanked him (only on the butt) when he was really out of line (which wasn't often) and I slapped his face the few times he mouthed off to me in a very disrespectful way.

I have to say with regards to raising my son, I feel, especially as a single parent his entire life, that he turned out really well and has a unique point of view and the aged wisdom of an old soul.  I'm so proud of him.  However, there are times, more-so lately, that I am noticing a void in his emotional armory, something I neglected to pass onto him that is so vital in today's world--coping skills.   Wow, how did that happen?

Despite the hurdles I managed to limp over during my own childhood, it comes as no surprise that I brought no coping skills with me to adulthood.  Why?  The obvious answer is that I wasn't taught any.  If I cried my father would say, "Stop that," or "Go to your room until you can stop that shit.  I don't want to hear it."   If I had a problem and needed someone to talk to about it I was told by one or both parents, "Well, we'll talk about it later," and of course later never came.  When I was scared and unsure of myself my father used to say things like, "Suck it up," or "Just do it."  REALLY?  I have forgiven my father over the years, long after he died, because I knew he was raised by some messed up people, who were raised by messed up people, who were also raised by messed up people who were raised by messed up people.  I traced my family tree on both sides and my father's family tree was riddled with blight and root rot.  It's a wonder to me as to how this diseased tree didn't completely die off generations ago.

If you have children now or will be having children in the future and if you know you were raised in an unhealthy emotional and/or physical manner... I urge you to seek counseling if you can afford it.  If you cannot afford it there are help groups for whatever your problem may be, i.e. alcoholism, drug use, anger, physical abuse, sexual abuse, and the list goes on.  Remember, the fact that you were raised with parents who malfunctioned, will most certainly mean that you will raise your children in the same manner if you don't make a conscious effort every day to change that.  Don't be part of the atomic bomb.  You CAN break the cycle, raise healthy children and heal yourself in the process.

WORDS CAN KILL…

Words CAN kill...they can kill a friendship, a relationship, a love affair, a job, an court case, and can actually take a life depending on the situation.  I've known instances where school-age kids injure one of the other kids so badly with words that they take their own lives.  Words are just that powerful.

How sad that some people don't realize the importance of HOW something is said rather than putting the emphasis on WHAT is being said, hence the adjective “empathy.”  For instance a friend and I text quite frequently back and forth and with texting you can too easily assume a tone...it can be any tone and usually winds up being the tone coming from the mood you are in at the time.  I hate texting for that reason alone.  Then, due to spelling errors and hot tempers, things are misunderstood and taken the wrong way so a heated argument ensues in which neither party is really listening to the other and boom...a friendship is doomed forever.

For example, the person I was texting with today took everything in the wrong context, which I tried to straighten out, but couldn't.  Then, she ended up ASSUMING that I wanted to call her a bitch (which hadn't even crossed my mind) and then had the nerve to make the statement (and I'm quoting here), "Don't ever play me like a fiddle, because you won't win."  Just this lone, little statement, spoke volumes to me.  Those words stabbed through me like a knife through the heart.  I've NEVER in my life tried to "play" anyone, but the fact that she thought I could do that told me that she will never trust me and therefore never trust our friendship.  Other comments were made that further injured my view of relationships, but I don’t need to go further with those.

Why don't people listen to the words?  I went back over those texts a thousand times today and, for example, from the simple comment that I made, i.e. "I will probably be less sensitive in about 2 more days...," she took that to mean that I wanted to take two days to myself with no communication.  All I meant was that I would be back to my old self in a couple of days because I was going through a rough patch.  I said nothing about having no contact.  If anything I feel that we don't have enough contact, but that was what was assumed on her part.  From there it just went downhill.

More words misconstrued…at one point I mentioned that I thought we  had, "...lack of communication," (not A lack of communication, but lack of it in general) which she took to mean that we didn't communicate well, but what I meant was that we didn't communicate often enough, as in talking and texting.  I was trying to say that I wish we contacted each other more throughout a day, but again, words gone awry.  I’m sure some of the things she said were not taken correctly on my part either, but I know the meanings of those words were there.

Toward the end of this misconstrued word flarping (yes, I said flarping), I was accused of, "…giving up so easily," but the truth is, I will never be in another relationship again that I have to fight for, be it friend, lover or life mate.  In fact, the more fighting, the less I want any part of it.  I had the fighting relationships in the past and they were the very reason I have stayed single for this long.  I'm done fighting.  I don't have even the smallest desire to fight because I've had to fight in every area of my life for the last fifty fucking years.  I’m in therapy to heal the scars from all of these past battles and from now on I want a relationship where we just get along, which will require small compromises on both parts of both parties, but I'm just not willing to work my ass off to make it work.  If it requires that much effort to make it work in the first place, then let's face it, it must not be right.  I'm not saying relationships are easy, but they don't have to be hard either.  I take my hat off to all of you people out there who are able to have healthy relationships of any and all kinds, make them work when you have to and enjoy them when you don’t.  Here’s to people who need people.  They’re the luckiest people in the world.

Watch those words people, and do me a favor...if you want to kill someone with words, please do so with kindness.  I've always loved the phrase, "Kill them with kindness," because that wouldn't be a bad way to go if you think about it.

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

(c) 2010 Kimberly Photo Kreations

Who do you think you are? This is a question that I despise because it is a question that one generally has thrust upon them during a heated discussion or altercation of some sort.  Okay, sometimes it isn't--sometimes it is a valid question if, for instance, you are a person in the mental health field talking to a patient.  Generally, however, this is not the context in which this phrase bothers me.  

     Why do we ask each other this silly question?  Who do we think we are.  Obviously, in anger it implies that the other person thinks they are better than the person asking the question, as in royalty or God or someone of that nature.  But if you really sit down and think about this question as it is being thrust upon you, you could respond in this manner to the question-asker..."Well, I think I'm a deep person, someone who really cares about others and tries to help them.  I also think I'm a photographer, a writer, a mother, a sister, a daughter, a problem-solver, a friend and a lover.  I think I am a valid human being...," well you get the gist from here.  I overheard a woman in our store ask her "friend" this question when their discussion began to heat up.  Maybe they should go to lunch and each have a go at defining who they are.  Could make for an interesting conversation.

     Another one that gets to me is, "Hi.  How are you?"  Okay this is obviously just a greeting and about 85% of the time, no one really wants you to answer that question.  I'm sure there was a time you were sorry you asked.  People want the pat answer, "Fine, thank you.  How are you?"  If you actually answered people literally in this instance, I doubt seriously that most people would stop and take the time to listen to you babble on, i.e., "Oh, wow, I'm so tired.  Little Johnny kept me up most of the night with his diarrhea and when I finally went to bed Tom was horny and kept trying to poke me from behind all night until I told him to put that thing away.  Then I get up this morning and discover my hemmorhoids are flaring up again and I don't have any freakin' cream.  I think my period's coming because I'm really bloated and there was long, black a hair in my oatmeal.  I'm never eating at that diner again, I can tell you that." 

     There has to be a better greeting somewhere out there.  I'm trying to think of one that is pleasant, but doesn't require a response.  Some of the older one's were good like, "Good day," or "Top of the Morning," or "Hello."  What's wrong with just plain hello?  No need to go anywhere else with it, just hello and move on from there depending on where you are and who you are talking you.  

     My friend from New York used to say to me all the time, "You people on the west coast are so irritating.  You always ask how people are and don't care and then you top it all with 'Have a nice day.'  Really?  Do I actually now believe that that individual actually wants me to have a nice day?  NOT!  Puh-leeeeez."

     Think about it people, it's time to start finding other, more fertile phrases to use as greetings.  If you are a person who actually wants to know how another person is, then by all means, that is the greeting for you.  Otherwise, you may want to consider revising your greeting practices.

YOU SHOULD WRITE A BOOK!

How many times during a conversation with someone have they said to me, “Damn, you should write a book.”  A lot, as it turns out.  I ask myself this question every time someone offers this comment to me, “Why?”  I don’t see that my life was any more difficult than a lot of people’s lives and in contrast to some, probably quite an easy life.  Nonetheless, I hear this all the time.  I have finally decided that I am going to give it my best effort, however there are still so many patches of fog I need to overcome first.
I often wonder why, as Christmas approaches, I find myself feeling anxious and nervous each and every year since I can remember.  The answer, as it turns out, is because just about every bad thing that happened to our family would generally happen at Christmas time.  Let’s see, my dad’s 3 heart attacks and his coronary were at Christmas and my brothers and I were always shipped off to Palo Alto, California to spend the holidays with my Aunt Wanda (my favorite Aunt, thank God) while my father convalesced in the hospital.  Then there was the time one of my brothers fell off of a 127 foot cliff and nearly didn’t live.  My other brother and I, were again shipped to my Aunt Wanda’s for the holidays.  Also the time my mother walked through a plate of glass in a sliding glass door at a neighbors Christmas party (oddly enough the same neighbor’s house at which my brother went off the cliff).  It was so clear (and there may have been a bit of inebriation involved as well) that she kept her pace on the way in or out of the house and it shattered and came down around the veins in her neck.  This was before the new glass doors were invented so it was one thin pane of real glass.  She was rushed to the hospital and my brothers and I were sent to my grandmother’s house for the holidays.  Luckily my mother’s mother had moved to the same town lived in so it wasn’t far.  And the time I woke up with a helicopter in our front yard because one of my parents failed a suicide attempt.  My dad also drove off of the bluff several times (there is a lot of alcoholism in my family) and a couple of those were at Christmas time as well, but for those we were not shipped off for the holidays.  When I say we were shipped off for the holidays, I don’t mean that we didn’t have Christmas as a family, we always did that when everyone returned home.  One year the tree stayed up until April.  Actually some of the miscarriages I had were at Christmas time as well.  Wow I didn’t even connect those dots until just now.  So it comes as no surprise that I’m a bit apprehensive during the up and coming holidays each year.
I recently wrote about the rape and have had to wrestle with that one for some years.  It was because of that incident that I could not carry a child to term.  I have had 3 miscarriages, 2 abortions (due to the fact that those fetus’ couldn’t thrive) and 1 live birth.  The only way I was able to get my son out alive was to lay on my back and take medication the last 4 months of my pregnancy.  This was SO hard but made easier by my friends in the area who took excellent care of me.  My son’s father went back to his ex when he found out I was pregnant and my father kicked me out of the family and moved my mother to Arizona when he found out who the father was (which is a huge story all in itself and mostly his doing).  He also threatened my brothers that they were not allowed to talk to or acknowledge me or they would be receive the same treatment.  Finally, when Brice arrived (and I have my friend Cheryl Dupont to thank for getting me to the hospital in the middle of the night, which was two hours North) he was two weeks overdue and 8 lbs-11oz of “natural” child birth – oey!  As I raised my new baby my mother would defy my father and call me and make a special trip back to see me and her new grandson, and so did my brothers (they were actually really supportive behind my dad’s back).  Eventually my son’s father and I got back together and raised our son off and on for a few years, but sadly, his drug and alcohol usage had taken quite a toll on him by then.  He was suffering from methamphetamine psychosis when we lived on the river bank and we had a lot of problems.  One night he came home at 3 a.m. and woke me up out of a sound sleep.  He picked up his rifle and poked me with it and said, “Get up, bitch.”  I said, “What the hell?”  He had just come home and wasn’t in his right mind.  I got up as he instructed.  He then said, “Get out of my house.”  I asked why but he said he just wanted me out.  So I got my clothes and coat on and went in to get my son, who was almost 4 at the time, to which he then said, “Leave my son here.”  That pissed me off.  I didn’t care if he had a gun and was being that irrational, I just couldn’t believe the nerve.  I said, “Shoot me, asshole,” got my son out of bed and drove us to my friend Annie’s house who put us up for awhile. 
My father died in 1995 of an embolism to the brain, and being that this was right around the same time as I found myself with no place to live, my mother said I could go to Arizona and she would help us out.  So with the help of my friends I had a yard sale and raised enough money to travel there.  I hooked a 5x8 U-Haul trailer to my little Ford Ranger, put my son in his car seat and headed out for a two-day journey to a place filled with dirt and bushes.  I got used to it after awhile, but I still don’t consider it home.
A year after we moved here I found out that my son’s father had taken his own life.  I chose to break the news to him sooner than later. 
There are so many more things to write about and stories to expand on as those were only the difficult times.  I actually had some good childhood memories (not the one where my drunk father threw the dinner I had made from the dining room into the kitchen and shattered his plate and screwed up the kitchen, but the shoplifting incident does hold fond memories for me.  HAHAHA).  I overcame my long time drug and alcohol use and came to terms with my sexual orientation, and I have to say that now, I am the strongest I have ever been and believe it or not, all the better for having all of that experience.  As the saying goes, what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.
Yes I will definitely be writing an autobiography…I just hope someone will want to read about my drab and ordinary life.

WE SIT IN JUDGMENT

As I ponder this subject I know not if this persecuting need is so valid in other societies, and if so, to what degree, but I am sure that it is rampant in the U.S. of A.  What is this need we have in our society to judge everyone and everything.  Okay, to be perfectly fair, there are those rare individuals who are able to abstain from it, but let’s face it, we are all guilty of it.

It seems to me that we tend to point out in other individuals the things we don’t like about ourselves, like, “Wow, look how fat she is,” or “Those people are trailer trash,” and even, “He sure is short,” to name but just a few.  Some people don’t even do it from self-recognition but from a place of anger or jealousy.  Kids are really good at it.  People are always saying things like, “Out of the mouths of babes,” or “Kids sure are mean.”  I have news people, kids learn most of their judgment habits from listening to their parents and other people in their lives.  Hell, sit a child in front of the television for even five minutes these days and you can be sure they will learn how to judge others. 

For me, the worst judgment of all is self-judgment.  I can honestly say that no one is now or has ever been as hard on me as I am on myself.  I wasn’t born feeling like that, but I do recall a verbal list from my parents, my siblings, my relatives, my peers and anyone else I encountered through my life, of shortcomings as a human being.  I try hard every day to undo the judging in my head.  So what if I’m a little overweight—at least it isn’t affecting my health at this point.  So what if I don’t make enough money to buy all the fancy things the neighbors have--I have enough to get by and keep a roof over my head and food in my stomach.  So what if I talk to myself in public and generally answer back—sometimes I’m the only one I have to talk to. 

I don’t care if people judge me, but it has taken me a long time to get to this point.  My mother was born and raised a southern belle in a very small town in Virginia and, having lived in Virginia a few years, I can understand why she cared so much as to what others thought about her and her family.  It’s also small-town life as well.  People must get so bored with their own lives, and some really have no lives at all so they feel they have to butt into others’ lives or judge others in order to validate themselves and their own “lives.”  How sad.  It took me many years but I finally got my mom to the point where she didn’t care about being judged anymore.  I even got her excited about the phrase, “Fuck ‘em,” to where she was using it all the time.  She would call me up and tell me things about people who tried to pull something over on her and she would say to me on the phone, “I just said, ‘Fuck ‘em’,” and then she would move on. 

I hate the word, “Should.”  You should do this or that.  They should dress better.  I should be better educated.  We should get married.  I should not eat so much.  I should have a better tan.  Really?  Who says you/they/he/she should?  Judgment—over and over again, day in and day out.  What do we gain from it, really?  If you (and by you I mean the global “you”) need to judge to self-validate, then are you actually validated?  Why can you not validate yourself by other, healthier means?  Why must others be targeted so that you can feel good about yourself?  Better still, why must you judge yourself in order to gauge how you view your life and accomplishments.  Judgment is not a compare and contrast action but one of an accusatory nature.

If you can become conscious of it, as much of what we do when we are older is sub-conscious, try to hear yourself when you judge and catch yourself doing it.  You will be surprised how many times a day you will use a judgmental phrase, not only at others, but at yourself as well.  Our society would be a much better place to live without all of this judgment.

 

WHAT’S LOVE GOT TO DO WITH IT?

What’s love got to do with it?  Apparently…everything.  Look at the heart of pretty much every culture and species and you will find it.  Some cultures and species’ live for it.  Humans, for example, cannot seem to get by in life without it.  I’m sure there are the exceptions to the rule (or people who think they’re fooling everyone else), but just look around.  Songs are about it, poems are about it, religion is about it, books are about it, to name but a few.  Plus, there are so many types and degrees of love.  We love our kids, our parents, our grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, brothers and sisters, friends, lovers, possessions, ideas, hobbies, and the list goes on.  Coupling is a means to populate the earth and further the species on the planet, but love is the key to coupling (most often) within our species.

There are those of us who will find love in and throughout our lifetimes, and those of us who will never know it, not really.  What about me, you ask?  Well, I have experienced many plains of love throughout my life, but I have to say that the love I have found recently, and now that I’m old enough to understand, will probably be the best by far (thank you Erin for the matchmaking.  Haha).  This type of love isn’t about drama and games and jealousies.  It’s about deep friendship and connection, understanding and patience, giving and taking, respect and trust as well as the utmost freedom to be who you really are and have that person stick around.  I think it took getting this old and having the experiences I have had thus far for me to appreciate what love is all about…healthy love, not the kind I’ve always been used to, which was very dysfunctional. 

Wouldn’t it be great if we did it all backward?  Not literally because that would just be insane, but if we had some of the knowledge it takes us so many years to acquire at a much younger age, I believe the world would not be in the shape it’s in now. 

So, in summation and to answer the question, “What’s love got to do with it?”  Apparently Everything. 

TIME TO TALK ABOUT THE RAPE

For years I’ve wanted to blog about being raped, not only for therapeutic reasons but also for anyone else out there who has been through it.
The whole ugly story happened when I was 21, still a virgin (a fact I was proud of), living with a roommate twice my age, and had never been in love.  I moved from my safe-haven environment on the northern coast of California to Sunnyvale, California to attend school and go to work.  I was doing pretty well, actually, until this incident brought my world to a spiraling tailspin of drugs and alcohol.  I went to school at night and worked during the day in Cupertino, California, for a company called Tymshare, Inc. where I was employed as a printed circuit board designer.  Now, down the street from work was this little neighborhood bar, aptly named Paul and Eddies.  As it turns out, many months later, I would bartend at this local gem, but I’m getting ahead of myself here.
After work, mainly on the weekends, a few of us would meet at Paul and Eddie’s and drink until way into the early morning hours (or last call, whichever came first).  A man from work, Andy. who was not part of our weekly group, was also seen at this local pub on a regular basis.  Although we were not friends or even friendly, we were on polite speaking terms as his cubical was in close proximity to mine at the office.
One particular evening, as I drank myself to my usual limit (a trait I came by honestly from both sides of my family it turns out), and was offered the obligatory “ride home,” by my drunken friends as they left the bar (all of which I would refuse stating, and with slurred words I might add, “I’m perfectly fine to drive home.”  NOT),  I decided it was time to brave the road.  (Damn we were stupid in those days)  I’m sure my state-of-being was obvious as I made my way to the door and out into the parking lot. 
Then it happened.  I heard footsteps behind me.  They were quick, as though someone were trying to catch up to me.  Isn’t it amazing how quickly we sober up the very moment that “fight or flight” reflex kicks in?  I walked faster—they walked faster.  Finally I reached my little Toyota Corona and fumbled with my keys.  I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard a low, presumably male voice say, “Hey, Kim.  Need some help?”  I turned around and there stood Andy,  an Hispanic man with a long, black, braided ponytail dangling under his blue-jean cap, who stood about 5’-8” tall and donned pock marks on his face from an apparent former acne problem.  I was actually relieved when I turned around and realized it was someone I knew from work and not some parking lot-striking homicidal maniac.  “Are you all right?” he asked, seemingly concerned.  “I’ll be fine,” I replied, “I’m just gonna rest in my car a little until I sober up enough to drive.  “Well, why don’t you rest in my car so I can keep an eye on you.  It is late and this parking lot is not safe in this neighborhood,” he said, so convincingly.  I was a little scared and he was this person from work who seemed to be an upstanding family man.  Looking back now I can see what an easy mark I must have been from his point of view, especially as naïve as I was back then.  Needless to say he convinced me to sit in his car with the large bench seat in the front.  I got in, closed the door, and we started having a civil conversation about work and his wife and 6 kids.  I believe it was about fifteen minutes into the conversation that he reached over with his right hand and started to unbutton my jeans.  I grabbed his hand and said, “Um, Andy, what the hell are you doing?”  He started to put his hand on the zipper, a little more forcefully than before and said, “You need someone like me to show you what it is to be loved.  I have watched you from the day you started here and I know you are inexperienced.  I’m older and will be gentle with you.”  I started thinking, shit, is he for real?  Is this guy I’m not attracted to and don’t know very well, actually trying to talk me into having sex with him?  I grabbed his hand again and pushed it away.   “NO, Andy, I am NOT having sex with you,” I shouted.  This was not the answer he was looking for.  Suddenly this look came over his face.  His smile turned into a scowl and his eyes seemed darker and angrier.  He stopped talking.  He grabbed both of my arms and shoved them behind me in one motion while twisting my body around so I was laying on the seat.  He then forced my arms behind my back so I was laying on them and they were trapped under the pressure.  “STOP,” I yelled.  “If you try to…” right then my sentence was cut short by the feel of cold steel against my neck.  I suddenly realized that this fucker had stuck a knife up to my throat with one hand while the other hand was working my pants off.  I knew then if I wanted to live, I had to stop struggling and just let him do what he had to do.  I went numb inside.  I didn’t speak or scream or struggle.  The pain below my waist was seering and I could smell blood.  After only minutes, which seemed like hours, Andy released his grip on the knife and let me up.  “There now, you’re a woman.  Don’t you feel better?  I know I do.  I know you liked it,” he said with that ugly smile back on his lips.  He acted like he’d just done me a favor.  Really?  Was this just a bad dream?  I sat up, pulled my pants up and fastened them, glanced quickly at the seat where there was a lot of blood, and wiped the line of blood from my throat where the knife had been pressed.  I was shaking so much that I didn’t know if I could get myself out of there.  Nervously I replied, “Andy I have to go now.  I have to work in the morning.”  He got out of the car, walked around and opened the door for me to exit.  “Thank you, Kim.  I had a great time,” he said.
After managing to get myself home and scrub myself in the shower until I was almost raw, I sat in bed wondering what to do about this.  What could I do?  If I went to the police they would say it was my fault for being in the bar, for being drunk, for getting in his car, for just being a woman really.  I had seen rape movies and all they did was make you go through a lot of crap in court and more humiliation and persecution and generally they let the asshole go for lack of evidence.  I couldn’t think straight and I had no one to call and no support system at that time.  I didn’t want my roommate to know because she treated me like a daughter and I thought she would be pissed at me for “letting” this happen.
Here’s the icing on the cake.  The next day I got up and went to work as though nothing had happened because I didn’t know what else to do.  I walked in, walked past his cubical where he was already seated, and heard him say, “Good morning beautiful.  How are you this morning.”  Upon hearing this remark, as though it were any other morning, I saw red.  I shot him a look that said, “You WILL die, bastard.”  I went to a friend in the office, a man that I trusted, and asked him to please walk me to and from my car from now on.  I wouldn’t tell him why and he didn’t ask.  He was just kind enough to do it.
Three weeks later I was at home, peeing in the toilet and I felt this odd sensation.  I looked in the toilet and there was blood and a lot of weird floating stuff.  It freaked me out.  I got a jar and put the floating stuff in it and took it right down to the doctor’s office.  He told me it was tissue from the miscarriage I had just had.  Miscarriage?  I was pregnant???  Right then I thanked God for letting that fetus miscarry. 
As the weeks went by I let my friends talk me into going back to the bar (Andy never went back, at least I never saw him there) and they introduced me to cocaine and bennies (crosstops) which I took with lots of alcohol.  I liked it.  It made all the feelings go numb and I didn’t have to think all the time.  I used to think horrible, scary things after the rape and the drugs and alcohol would be my savior (or though it seemed at the time).  It took me years to undo all the damage he did to me and subsequently that I did to myself, but justice was served and I was finally able to function.  I told my parents about the incident about a year later, when I realized it wasn’t my fault, and awhile after that a friend told me that Andy had to quit because he had been attacked in a parking lot and his penis had been severed.  Dad told me he would take care of it, and though I didn’t realize at the time that he had connections like that, he made good on his word.
I don’t tell this story for anyone to feel sorry for me, or to remain a victim, for I am no longer a victim but a survivor.  I tell it for anyone who was ever raped and became really messed up from it.  You must always realize that no matter the situation is ISNT YOUR FAULT!  Don’t let yourself or anyone you know say different.  Most importantly, if this happened to you recently, get yourself to the hospital as soon as you can and get a rape kit done.  You have to put your offender behind bars or at least try if you are strong enough.  But, if you can’t, and I know how hard it is to even think about doing, please be kind to yourself and get the help you need from a therapist or other counselor, because if you don’t, I guarantee it will fuck up your head and therefore your life.

PROOF THAT SIGNS EXIST

I have always been quite "sensitive" and those of you who have known me for a long time know that from time to time I am privy to information regarding the future.  I acquired this gift from my mother who acquired it from her mother and back so many generations it's quite impossible to say just where it began.  I mention this fact only because recently I have been trying to come to terms with issues regarding my father and why I feel that he never loved me.  

I realize my feelings in this area are largely based on the fact that he banned me from his life three and a half years before he died for the stupidest of all stupid reasons (he was very big on the "my way or the highway" theory of life), but I know deep down, during childhood, that he must have loved me to some degree.  I just could not remember the man ever saying, "I love you," to me or my brothers.  Hugs from him were pretty much nonexistent, but the occasional light punch in the arm followed by a, "Hey kiddo," was what I interpreted to be the extent of his outwardly affectionate capabilities.  He was brought up in a strict German family and I remember his mother being "nice" but there was no physical attention from her either.  I don't believe my father was hugged or told that he was loved very often.

Don't get me wrong though, my dad was a great provider for our family, he showered us with material things to compensate, and aside from the alcohol he needed to consume daily, he was funny and sarcastic, which were qualities each of us kids adopted as social coping skills.  

Now that you have the back story I will move on.  The other day, purely because I was sidetracked, which comes easily to me, I came home from work still pondering over my father issues when I wandered into the spare room and decided to un-stick the drawer on the old trunk my father made when he was a boy and which was given to me in my teens to use as a hope chest.  I was drawn to this drawer.  A drawer I hadn't thought to even go near in over a year.  I gathered the necessary tools and busily went to work un-sticking that bottom drawer as though I were driven to do it.  When I finally succeeded, the drawer opened and lo and behold there were a plethora of things from my childhood that I had forgotten even existed.  One in particular was an Autograph book that was given to me on my 13th birthday and which I treasured and took everywhere with me over the years to have people write in.  I opened that book to this page.  I couldn't believe what I saw.  My eyes went straight to the, "Love always," part of this page.  For the life of me I could not remember this being in this book, but there it was, plain as day; proof that he loved me.

Isn't it wonderful how well it works if you listen and follow the signs you are led to in life.  Thank you universe for this fulfilling closure on this chapter of my life.  I am now honestly able to forgive my father (although he died in 1995), rid myself of years of negative muck in this area, and move forward toward a healthier me.

WIPE THE SLATE CLEAN

Ever notice how we, as human beings, tend to worry about things we have no control over.  In fact worry, by its very definition, means to fret about things that haven’t happened yet, which of course 99.9 percent of the time are things we have no control over.  Me?  Worry?  Guilty on all counts.  I don’t think everyone does it as often or as much as I seem to, and yet others surpass my worrying skills with leaps and bounds.  

The other day I caught myself worrying about some silly thing (usually money, or lack thereof) and boom, it hit me.  I realized that each day we are given this wonderful gift, the gift of a new day, right when we wake up, and if we choose to do so, we start it with a clean slate.  We don’t have to carry anything over from the previous day if we make that conscious decision.  So, with this in mind, I woke up the next morning (thank you, God,) and I made that conscious decision to carry nothing over from the day before and see how this would work for me.  

It was great!  I saw everything I had to deal with as a task to meet head on.  As I met each task and made the appropriate decision for that task, I told myself, “yes, another successful task under my belt and ready for the next one.”  At the end of the day there I was, someone who had met each task head on, put them under her belt, went home, went to sleep, and wiped the slate clean for the next day.  As I continued this pattern daily it became easier and easier to think of situations, not as problems, but as tasks to conquer and put behind me as I conquered them.

The result?  I am so much more positive these days (which for me is huge) and I find I have more faith readily available than I used to.  As these positive results continue to grow, my overall mental (and thereby physical) health has seen improvement.  Worrying is so bad for our health and is a huge part of what we term these days as “stress.”  Take the worry out of the situation and you take most, if not all, of the stress.  De-stress people.  Wipe the slate clean.  You will feel much better, I guarantee it!

THIS IS WHAT I KNOW…

THIS IS WHAT I KNOW…

Life is hard; teenagers don’t want to be friends with their mothers; people hurt the people they love without reason, animals love you unconditionally; the IRS is more like the mafia than people realize; finding work that you love that pays well is next to impossible; with faith you are never alone; you should never use the word, “should;” some people only want to use you; control is a four letter word; jealousy is ugly; you can’t make someone like or love you; people grow apart; art is in your soul; you can’t forgive anyone unless you forgive yourself first, domesticity is complacent; people need people whether they know it or not; children are meant to grow apart from their parents; it’s possible to know that you’re insane; poetry flows from within me; I wear my heart on my sleeve; I’m not considered to be a happy person; I love to decorate places and things; tears can set you free; sadness deepens with each lifetime; positivity is the best healer; being individual is a true gift; chamomile tea calms my unforgiving nerves; an easy breeze is a caress from nature; you are never as bad as you think you are; some people like to carry emotional baggage; sex is not love; love is not sex; passion is fleeting; friendship is love; Phoenix is fucking hot in the summer; I will travel to Europe; I will come home; a person will want to spend their life with me though they know I’m not like others; a mirror reflects much more than a physical image; beauty is overrated; I’m a bit superficial; I wish a lot; to keep moving is to stay young; you can’t escape your past but you can leave it there; too many cooks spoil the broth; selfish isn’t necessarily a bad thing or a good thing; children absorb so much of who we are; I love my cat; my son thinks I don’t know who he is when in reality I know him better than he knows himself; guilt is a maggot; we all want to leave behind a legacy; some people are pure of heart; men and women share few differences; eccentricity is a true gift; it is human nature to judge; we punish ourselves far better than anyone else can; the ocean is the most beautiful thing on the planet; your parents should be worthy of love; I have my mother’s voice; I love to sing; I hate confrontation; there is a little bit of evil in everyone; I have a restless soul; actors want to experience what it’s like to be everybody else; people cannot possess people – not really; I love my cat; the rift between my son and I may never be repaired; it’s okay to not understand; I need to learn to be calm; sometimes I can’t clean up my messes; I think too deeply; people don’t love people just because they’re supposed to as is the case with family; I love to write; I feel bloated; I wish I felt needed; to be understood is the deepest need of mankind.

WHY DON’T PEOPLE CARE ANYMORE?

I’ve just had the shittiest birthday of my entire life.  When my mother was alive I so looked forward to each and every birthday as I knew each year she would plan and shop and make sure that everyone in the family had a dinner out (or in as requested), presents and a family celebration.  Since her departure, birthdays now represent this dreary time where there once was joy and no one wants to celebrate anymore. 

This year, May 1st to be exact, was my 50th birthday.  Now I’m thinking, “Oh this will be great because my friends and family know it is a big deal turning 50 and I am sure someone will either plan a party or take me out for dinner and drinks.”  You know what I got?  Absolutely nothing.  My former boss promised me a night out on my actual birthday but then was sick that day and couldn’t take me out.  We rescheduled for this past Tuesday, but when it rolled around, no phone call or text from her at all.  Just blown off!  I had scheduled myself a great spa day for last Saturday and was going to treat myself to salvage something for my birthday and then, at the last minute, I got a phone call from the spa saying the girl that was going to do it was not able to come in that day and had to cancel.  Funny how they charge me a cancellation fee if I don’t show up, but it’s fine for them to cancel at the last minute.  I should bill them for taking away the ONE thing I looked forward to and thought was foolproof as a birthday present to myself.  (On a more positive note, my son baked me an angel food cake from scratch and had two presents for me the night my dinner was called off.)  Okay, I’ve digressed a bit here.  Oops.

Let’s talk about birthday cards, oh wait, let’s not – I did get three of those in the actual mail.  1 from my son, 1 from my Aunt and 1 from one of my brothers in California.  I used to get at least 8 or 9.  I guess it’s just too hard to mail things these days.  Everyone would rather text (I didn’t get any of those) or email (I didn’t get any of those either) or send a blast on Facebook (but I did some of those). 


What is up with people these days?  Don’t they know the U.S. Postal Service is still running?  It isn't that expensive to mail a card, especially since I ALWAYS mail cards to family and friends on their birthdays.  It is as though everyone would rather do things electronically as if that should suffice, and some people are “too busy” to send a card.  Really?  Too busy?  Who isn't too busy these days, but it isn’t hard to find the time to make a five minute phone call or stick a card in your mailbox.

We have turned into a self-absorbed, lazy, electronic-minded society with cell phones glued to our ears and I have to say, I just don’t see that these “advances in modern technology” have done any good for mankind.  In fact, they have only succeeded in creating a self-inflicted societal quarantine which has left behind an enormous amount of lonely individuals. 

EMPTY NEST UPDATE

As you know by now, I have been maladjusted to this "empty nesting" thing that was thrust upon me, even though it is within the scope of nature's plan.  Since my last post I have polled any and all mothers who have lived through this process and find that I am not alone in my conflicted feelings, i.e. "This is cool, there is food in the refrigerator when I get home," but "I really miss my 'little' boy," etc.

At first I was hurt because of the way it happened and, ultimately it was my decision, but the only one that could be made at the time.  My son had agreed to honor the deal we made about living at home until he finished the first two years of college, but was not at all happy when he was physically at home (the frequency of which quickly dwindled).  My dilemma?  Did I make him stay at home and be miserable?  Or let him out of the deal and basically boot him out the door and into the arms of the new family and life he had recently adopted.  There was no choice.  I couldn't stand to see him hating to come home and feel the anger that was welling up inside of him every time he walked in the front door. 

My heartfelt gratitude to those who helped me see that my son and I could still have a close relationship even though he left, albeit a very different kind of relationship, but happily a relationship all the same.  I also offer up kudos to those of you who have endured it all and came out on the other end.  Yes, there is life after motherhood, and as I am discovering, quite a nice one indeed.

When do you STOP being a mother?

My son is 18, graduated from high school, working during the day and going to school at night.  Now one would think, wow this all seems to be going great, but as many of you know, I have been a single parent for 18 years and he my only child. 

The question, "When do you STOP being a mother" is now the burning question in my son's mind.  I think 18 is a horrible age.  It is the age of yearning to be on your own as an adult and yet not quite ready to let go of the security and routine of home life. 

We made a bargain that he would live at home until he finished the first two years of college and obtained his Associate's degree.  Here we are barely through the first year, and he is chomping at the bit to get a place of his own.  Now I would say this was a timely reaction considering his age, however none of this was an issue until he met "Brooke," her boyfriend and their group of friends, of which he is now an intricate cog in their teen-recruitment workings.  They are filling his head with how young they were when they were out on their own and how they could all share expenses and blah, blah, blah.  Yeah, there goes college. 

How odd to me that instead of taking the often sage advice of our parents, who undoubtedly have many years of experience to draw from, teenagers generally feel that the advice of a friend or peer is the direction they should take because of course the 20-year-old is much smarter than their parents, who by some act of God have not only declined in calcium as they have aged, but in brain cells as well.  Most of us remembering feeling this way about our own parents.

Now that I am on the receiving end (and have been since the terrible teens ensued) of this barrage of attitude, and were my mother alive today, I would buy her a dozen roses and apologize profusely for ever having thought of her of anything less than the wise mentor she was.

Due to menopause and working far too much, I now find myself in a place in life where I have no one to talk to and no one to share with.  Now that my son is leaving, I feel that this will only deepen.  The good news is, there is always LIQUOR.   Anyone know where I can get a good deal on cats?

DON'T BE AFRAID TO GO INSIDE...

I'm sure you've heard the adage, "When one door closes, another door opens."  It seems this has been happening around me my entire life, but I just didn't have the insight to see them as doors.  I think I was so busy worrying about things like: how to keep money coming in for the mortgage and utilities (not to mention the 900 credit card bills), gas for the vehicles, food for my son and I, etc. 

Those of you who have followed my blog (my apologies for not keeping it up lately) know that my son and I lost our home recently and through all that trepedation still came through with so many positive things due to doors opening when others were slammed shut.  It was then that I realized that worrying does nothing but give you heartburn and indigestion, not to mention unsightly wrinkles on your face (and other places too odd to mention).  Therefore, the point in worrying became lost to me.  Why freak out about things we have no control over?  No reason I can think of.  We are all born control freaks, we can't help it.  But we can learn to let fate take the wheel and steer us where we are meant to be.  We have to stop the backseat driving (or fate will say, "Don't make me pull this car over," and we know what that means.) 

I am ever afraid of opening new doors, afraid of change and new circumstances.  It scares the hell out of me, and yet I will walk right into a "haunted" house just to see if it's haunted.   I now understand the doors and am not as leary to peek inside before I go through.  Those of you who worry about EVERYTHING in your life, give fate the steering wheel or the reins and let it lead you to your destiny.  You're going to get there anywhere but maybe the journey will be a lot more fun without trying to control everything in your path.

I wish you all a happy, sane and safe holiday season and new year.  I am really missing my mom this year, but I suspect that will be the case every year around this time.  I'm just so thankful for the way I was raised and for the people who took responsibility for the job.  God bless.