Daydreams

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I’ve been a daydreamer all of my life.  I used my imagination to get me through the through the day.  When I was a kid I would daydream about a happier life when our family bickered about this or that .  I would daydream during class, walking home or a car trip.   Growing up in the pre-internet era sometimes all you had was your imagination to keep you company. Getting lost in my own head was often preferable to reality.

I would daydream about most anything, books, travel or even the boy in math class.  Sometimes my daydreams were pure fiction, sometimes about something I hoped would happen….what I would get for my birthday or who might ask me to dance at the eighth grade dance.

As a kid, my daydreams were often about things happening to me, someone getting me the perfect birthday present or having a peaceful Thanksgiving.  As an adult, some of my daydreams are about me making things happen.  I spend a lot of daydreaming about my garden.  Some of my ideas I acted upon.  When it comes to a garden, Mother Nature usually has a say in how your dreams play out.

Once in a while I step out of my somewhat cautious personality and act on an idea to do something wacky, like paint the bathroom orange.

I still daydream from time to time. I daydream about sometime owning a house by the water.  I daydream about getting a cute red car.  I daydream about living a long life with my husband, long enough to see grandchildren.

Throwback Thursday…Big Hair and Bright Pink Lipstick

Waiting, in a daze.

She hears a song.

Wistful about times gone by.

a moody eyelinered man sings about love, and love lost on a mix tape now discarded.

Music beams her back.

Permed hair, lots of hairspray.

Bright pink lipstick.

A skirt that swirls just a bit, tanned legs

Dancing, feeling weightless, no pain.

Her eyes are closed, feeling happy and tranquil.

Lost in memories of friends and good times.

Then, “ma’am, MA’AM, its your turn”.

Nothing like being called ma’am

to jolt one back to harsh reality.

Not much to say about this one, except that I confess to having big hair at one time.  In summer the bright pink lipstick usually went with a tan, in the days when I didn’t worry about aging or skin cancer.

Throwback Tuesday…..Tears Never Cried

The words she never said

were like tears never cried

Tears invisible to the world

Still they remained with her

The world wanted her quiet

just to smile

Once she thought she was strong

to control the tears

she was wrong

the tears inside

the unspoken words

turned to stone inside her

a burden still to be carried.

Published one year ago.  Still true.  My issue, I suppose, because people expect me to be how I am most days, but aren’t sure what to do when I crack.

Pearls

pShe sits in a bar with a nautical theme and little white Christmas lights.

Her drink has become watery as she contemplates life’s latest complication.

Does she go forward with her parents’ plan to find someone to marry, and transform into a sedate society matron adorned with pearls?

Or does she detour from the plan for the man sitting next to her, the man with the Southern accent who spins words into a web in which she has already been captured?

Is it she who is the pearl, trapped inside a shell that has started to open just a little as she sits next to the silken tongued man. She lets him open the shell the rest of the way with his words to discover what she has hidden deep inside.

This is a repost from a couple years ago, along with some new commentary.  The bar mentioned is inspired by one in my hometown where the preppy, wealthy sorts would hang out.

The man with the Southern accent…..he is someone different, someone who is not in her parents’ plan.  She hopes to be understood by him.

The post also represents a more old fashioned way of thinking.  The woman only sees that she has two choices, but doesn’t see she has a third choice, to be independent.

Independence Day

This week the United States of America will celebrate Independence Day, on July 4.  242 years old.

I’ve been studying my roots.  I have new appreciation for the struggle my ancestors had to move to what they thought was the greatest country on earth.  I’m sure the rest of the world’s view changes day by day as Trump continues in his bizarre, irrational presidency.

All of my ancestors were Christians of one sort or another.  They were allowed to come to the US to pursue a better life.  Somehow though, the portion of American Christianity that helped elect Trump doesn’t think we need to extend this same kindness to our neighbors South of the Border.  How can these Christians reconcile the brutal behavior of the Trump administration with the teachings of Jesus?

We can do better.28085916085_11763ff751_c

The Circle of Life

14549882916_0032a05d95My son has his driver’s license now.  I wasn’t quite ready for this, but his dad and I certainly appreciate being released from some of the chauffeuring about town.  On the other hand I used to have some good conversations with the kid in the car.

As our kids become more independent, my husband and I are watching our parents become more frail.   I watch my mom struggle with with both cognitive and physical issues.  How long will my mom live in her frail state, a decade?  Mom’s struggle to stay independent means she’ll see suggestions to make her like easier as people trying to boss her around.  I’m a nurse.  Spending time on the other side though, as a family member, through ER visits, hospitalizations and doctor’s appointments is eye opening.  Many wonderful caregivers, some not so wonderful.  Some definite concerns during the ER visits, the most basic of nursing care needs to be addressed along with the more complex tasks.

My husband is watching his dad become more frail.  I sit on the sidelines and watch the difficult family dynamics.  Dynamics that are perhaps changed by the presence of my father in law’s second wife, who he married very late in life. His children have less of a voice as his wife claims to know what is best for him.

I frequently visit the website of my “hometown” newspaper.  This week I saw that a former classmate had died.  She was a woman.  As far as I can tell, it has been the guys I grew up with who died early.  I was surprised to see her name.  We weren’t close, but I still wondered what happened to her, what caused her to die relatively early.  I also a former coworker in the obituaries, see her name was another surprise.

The circle of life comes with much joy, but also sadness.  I’m not ready for the s.adness

Straight Arrow Hits Bottom

This post is spinoff of  Nostalgia.  I mention a straight arrow guy who now is in the marijuana business in Colorado, where pot is legal.

I called him Juan, not his real name.  When I first met him, I felt as if he was a male version of myself.  We were both a bit socially awkward and shy.  Of course back then in my college student days I would never labeled myself as socially awkward.  Our parents expected us to travel a narrow path.  No room for errors.  Juan had much to compete against.

Juan was the youngest of five.  There was maybe 15 years between Juan and his older siblings. They’d graduated college. One was a dentist, another a doctor.  So starting college, he knew he’d better aim high.  In addition to getting a degree, he was in ROTC while in college, and after graduating became an officer in the military.

People can hit bottom at any time in their lives.  Just like many of my friends, Juan successfully transitioned from college life to adult life.  While my friends seemed to be having the time of their lives I was spinning my wheels, struggling to stay afloat.  I’d dropped out of college, was officially diagnosed with depression.  My parents would disown me for this or that.  It seems surreal now to think about it.  I would crawl myself out of the black hole and rebuild my life.

As I saw my friends, Juan, and my sister successfully navigate their lives, it didn’t occur to me that they would have their own versions of hitting bottom later.  I knew I wasn’t the only person to hit a speedbump in their young adult lives.

Hitting bottom….people often think of alcoholism when they hear that term.  My sister and other people I knew would blow up their lives in that way in their thirties and forties.

I never would have expected Juan to hit bottom.  He would have been the last person on the list of one thousand to mess up his life. Juan and I went on a few dates.  There was a spark there but it was never there at the same time.  Plus we were socially awkward and new in the world of dating.  Except for the fact that he was Presbyterian and not Catholic, he was as close to the perfect boy to my parents as I could possibly get.

Juan married a beautiful, smart woman.  I didn’t think much about him until years later.  I’d heard that he blew up his life, gotten kicked out of the military and was divorced.  Later I heard he was in the marijuana industry and remarried.  I saw some pics of him with his wife online.  He looks happy and appears to have rebuilt his life again.  It is a different path from where he started, I’m sure.

He’d be the last person I’d expect to be involved with marijuana, who knew.  Marijuana is not for me, in that regard I am a nerdy straight arrow.  If it works for him though, great.

As I’ve written about before, my sister has battled alcoholism for a long time.  What makes some people struggle at the bottom, and others rebuild their lives .  I wish I knew the answer.pexels-photo-726478.jpeg

Bubble

I was ill recently.  I spent a lot of time sleeping when I wasn’t coughing.  Between being borderline hypoxic and dehydrated I felt as though my mind was playing tricks on me with the strangest of dreams.  When I finally felt better and emerged from the bubble of illness, reality was even stranger.  The orange man, Trump, was talking about shitholes.  People were encouraging Oprah to run for president. I thought America had decided TV stars with no political experience weren’t allowed to run for office.  Oh America, how fickle, strange and sometimes ugly you are.

Throwback Thursday…Big Hair and Bright Pink Lipstick

Waiting, in a daze.

She hears a song.

Wistful about times gone by.

a moody eyelinered man sings about love, and love lost on a mix tape now discarded.

Music beams her back.

Permed hair, lots of hairspray.

Bright pink lipstick.

A skirt that swirls just a bit, tanned legs

Dancing, feeling weightless, no pain.

Her eyes are closed, feeling happy and tranquil.

Lost in memories of friends and good times.

Then, “ma’am, MA’AM, its your turn”.

Nothing like being called ma’am

to jolt one back to harsh reality.

Not much to say about this one, except that I confess to having big hair at one time.  In summer the bright pink lipstick usually went with a tan, in the days when I didn’t worry about aging or skin cancer.