Monthly Archives: November 2013

This is a Thanksgiving message – really.   Please, keep reading.  Oh, and in case I don’t say it enough, I am thankful for you.

My brother fried the turkey for Thanksgiving this year.  When he dropped it into the peanut oil that bird made an awful stench.  But over the next hour the stinkiness dissipated to be replaced by a more pleasing odor, something that a reasonable person would actually want to eat.

My year has kind of been like that deep-fried turkey.  January plunged me into a world of hurt – admittedly some of which I kind of chose for myself – depends on your perspective, I guess.  February through April didn’t bring much reprieve, but then came May, and bits of the searing pain simmered down.  By October I felt like there may be a chance that someday I could breathe again.  It’s the end of November now, and the fry basket in which I have been living might just be lifting out of that oil sludge.  Maybe – hopefully. Continue reading →

I am the girl on the plane bundled into the sweater and blue fuzzy blanket barricaded behind the big book and the even bigger “DO NOT TALK TO ME” sign flashing overhead because I really, really, (I cannot say this enough.) really do not like talking to the complete stranger who is shoe-horned into the itty-bitty, ever-shrinking seat between the aisle-hugger and me, the blonde huddled against the window.  This time though, as I sat turning the pages of my novel, something felt a little bit different, the slightest bit strange as if Tinkerbell had dusted the smiling guy next to me with her fairy dust as he walked down the jetway.  And no, he didn’t smell like, uhm, “fairy dust” from a pre-flight sprinkle (sip) or two. Continue reading →

I love the scent of Gain laundry detergent.  Give me a sock fresh out of the dryer, and I’ll practically clothes-pin it to my nose.  I can’t identify it, but whatever it is I can’t get enough.  I’d surgically implant it into my nasal passages if I could, but, there are some people who actually prefer other detergents.  What is wrong with these misguided folks?  Do they not have senses (or sense)?  I cringe for these nasally challenged individuals.  But really, it’s a matter of perspective; sometimes what floats my boat scuttles yours.

Perspective: it determines how we brush our teeth, comb our hair, pay our bills.  Our perspective is a product of our culture, and what we view as the norm changes as our experiences changes.

When I first moved back to Arizona as an adult, I took a job as an  inner-city high school nurse.  Now, I, too, went to a large Arizona high school, but it was in a much different neighborhood in Tempe.  It was 35 minutes and a world away from the job I had signed on for.  I was tough, though; I had been an Air Force nurse; nothing was going to come at me that I couldn’t handle.  Uh, yep, sure.  Keep thinking that. Continue reading →

Years ago there was a fantasy film, The Never Ending Story, that my sister loved.  She’d watch it over and over and over again until she practically knew the entire script by heart – it was astoundingly annoying.  The plot of the film follows a  boy reading a book in which a world is destroyed bit by bit until the boy becomes part of the world.  Confused?  That’s ok, because that isn’t the important part.  This is:  when all that is left is a single grain of sand the beautiful, young princess says to the boy: “Say my name.” He whispers a name, and the world is instantly restored.  Behold – the power of a name.

And, you of course, know the whole Romeo and Juliet “A rose by any other name…blah, blah,blah.”  (Can you “blah,blah,blah” Shakespeare?)

When I was in school, every year the first week or two began with at least one teacher calling me “Heather.”  Now, I don’t think I look like a Heather, but, apparently, many, many middle-aged women think I should have been named “Heather.” My paternal grandmother, who was a little, uhm. . . dotty, would often call me by my sister’s name, but as she also didn’t remember my sister’s name, I just answered to “Layla” which, of course, was not my sister’s name.  For several years I also   retained my second husband’s last name, which he was chomping at the bit for me to change back, but it was my name;  I could do whatever I wanted with it. (I realize this makes me sound a bit petulant, but darn it, it was my name, and more importantly, my maiden name is realllly…uhm, harsh sounding.  You probably wouldn’t have changeed it back until you were ready either.) Continue reading →

Where have you been?

More than a decade ago, I almost adopted a little boy.  He was six at the time, and his mother was dying.  I’ll call him “Evan,” though that’s not his real name.  I had never met Evan, nor had I met his mother, but she had no one, and her end was imminently near. Evan’s mother lived in my parents’ community 2800 miles from mine, but when she reached out to the pastor at my parents’ church, one thing led to another, and somehow she called me.  At the time I chose to see it as Providence.  Over the course of several weeks we decided that I would adopt Evan, become the new mother to her soon-to-be orphaned little boy.

While my heart broke for this dying mother and her son, I was excited for myself.  You see, I cannot have children, and in the tiny crevices of my heart, where I have tucked away this truth so that it’s ever-present being cannot consume my consciousness,  I had never ceased praying for a child of my own.  Evan, I was positive, was the answer to this prayer, and I breathed a sigh of grateful relief as I let go the string of that balloon. Continue reading →

I hate Halloween.  Yes, I realize that I’m a week late for this horrid holiday, but, you see, I was hiding under the bed and forgot to take my laptop.  So, please excuse my tardiness.  Halloween scares me – make that “terrifies.”  Halloween terrifies me. (No pun intended.)

This is not a new problem.  I have never liked Halloween, even as a small child.  I think it might have something to do with all the news stories about children dying from poisoned candy.  What, you don’t remember those?  Ok, so maybe there weren’t that many, and maybe I never lived anywhere remotely near the areas in question, but that’s why we have news, right, to allow for panic to spread to previously unaffected areas?

If I’m honest, it has nothing to do with the tainted candy and everything to do with the awful masks and costumes and what they represent.  Have you seen some of these things?  This year I saw where some of them had even been animated.  What – because the monsters weren’t bad enough without being able to move?  Great, a reason for me to crawl further under the bed! Continue reading →

Abuse may come crashing in through the front door loudly commanding your attention, making its presence known unequivocally. Or, it may slip in surreptitiously through the backdoor, the one normally reserved for those most familiar, sit quietly in the corner of your kitchen biding its time, occasionally stirring to insidiously slip out to the far reaches of your home – your life, leaving a dark trail marking its path until every aspect of your soul has been violated by its desecrating tendrils.

When abuse shows up as the polite dinner guest, the one you didn’t invite or expect, but your spouse brought home, you make room for it at the table, maybe even make up the guest bedroom. Then it stays longer, becomes the unwanted houseguest who just never leaves that you grudgingly make space for in your life. Slowly, you adapt to the little changes that are necessary to keep the peace while giving away more and more of yourself. Years go by and the houseguest has taken over part of the place, maybe even moved into your bedroom, pushing you emotionally out into the cold. You don’t even really notice the changes throughout your home, the pieces of you shoved into corners, silenced into submission. Then one day when you look into the mirror you fail to recognize the stranger staring back. Continue reading →