Restoration

My body and soul have gotten tired and needed a rest. This is yet the hardest truth for me to admit....... I want to keep going, regardless. I am so used to being on a battlefield, my body has a hard time slowing down and smelling the roses. Watching sunrises and sunsets. I think, I have to re-do , rebuild a new me again. All of the work on the battle field was to get here, I have done the job I set out to do. The next phase is okay to come into play now. The nice warm toasty feelings for a job well done, for this leg of the journey. There is plenty more to come......

but could I not possibly enjoy a few moments of sunshine on my face.

Restoration..... acknowledgment to myself that I have crossed over the river and through

the woods. Do I have to play devils advocate, as my mothers voice rings so loud in my head.

What if I were to just pat myself on the back... say job well done. Exactly what I would say to anyone I loved. But the voices of...."who do you think you are ..... something special," play the loudest marching band tune. It may as well be a 50's musical with Shirley Jones belting out a fancy tune. Why? Because I simply want to congratulate myself for getting to this leg of a long race. I wish for restoration for my weariness.

It is time I give myself permission to lay my weary head down.... without guilt and my mothers words,"I'm just being lazy." That is when I would work harder, even if I had pneumonia.

If I hear that sound track, "just being lazy, whoa." Even when I am grocery shopping, have way more than I can handle. The bagger asks me if I would like help, I proudly....... no I am beaming, think.... look at me. What a big, strong, competent human being I am. I am my mothers daughter.

I don't need help. It's those lazy one's that do. That was instilled in us at such a young age.

Those pampered women..... they are the kind that need help. Not my mother..... and not me in return. My sisters would say the same story, not wanting to be perceived as weak from my mother. My name for it is a dude chick. That has been my biggest fear... being a dude chick.

Trust me...... no compliment. The thing is, why couldn't I ask for help I secretly wondered.

Those pampered women, the ones my mother would silently rage at...... I wanted to be like.

Why would it rock to have a dude chick for a mother? Guess an explanation for that is in order.

I am so used to saying it..... just rolls off the tongue. Those who know me..... know my lingo.

Dude chick...... like my mother, is one who denies she is female on any level. She did everything from making herself look like a man. {when her heart was broken by a fellow long ago}

Doing everything possible to have her three daughters become dude chicks. She would never let our hair grow out long....... butch hair, anything female was not happening. It wasn't just the punishing Catholic vibe......

Her pain apparently must have been so great. I never had an example of a female......

people asked if my mother was a Nun, or said excuse me sir, when they saw her from the back. Her sweet melodic voice........ it didn't help. One could detect a bit of anger and devoid of human emotion. She doesn't want to be that way, we don't....... so we can only laugh now to get through...... not out of cruelty, just plain old survival. We just say, this can't be real sometimes.

Talk about not wanting to be dude chicks. I think I am beginning to really understand why I

am talking about dude chicks. I am not a dude chick. I will not claim that title. I need to

rest this weary soul. This is my mothers deal. I chose a life very different from hers. I will no longer pay for my choices.... that were actually good, healthy. I married a man I love.

She does look at me like I am one of those pampered women. That is the first time I have said this, owned it. It scared me writing it...... I am so sick of feeling bad for marrying a man I love, who loves me in return. We built a life together that has had our ups and downs like anyone else. I am not a criminal for staying home and raising our kids. My chest is tight as I write this, as though I am like her sister, she would tell me. Slam..... Less educated. The staying home bit, while she worked. Isn't there enough to go around for all of us? Do either have to be bad?

What would I do if my husband left me...... she would harp in my ears. Not having finished college and all. That is not love. Every step of the way, laying a trap of sabotage. Anger for the bullshit life she chose. Tearing into us........ what she had to do. All her kids became a product of that mentality. Feeling guilty constantly. She married later in life.... after getting rejected from her fiance...... and everyone from my dad to us has paid dearly. . I will not pay for her debts anymore. I will now giddily ask for help at the grocery store.

Even and especially when I don't need it. I earned it for all those thunderstorms I

walked out into, with no help. I am tired of feeling afraid of really being feminine.

This is my life..... I am separating more and more as I speak. This mythology has been buried so deep

in my heart. I will no longer feel it is criminal activity for needing rest. I am better for it.

Those around me get the best me. Each time I write, speak truths that I did not even know existed ...... my spirit is restored. I understand my mothers wounds are not mine...... I am unwinding the two of us..... such tightly coiled springs.

Perhaps she can have some restoration for her soul as well. The more I can understand and forgive her, the more I can be present in the last stages of her life.That feels very healing to me.

I feel like I can let down..... let go a little more. I am tired. This is good. Time to restore.

The Dark Silence

Before it hit me I too was a nay sayer. The dark silence that isn't spoken of in mixed company....

any company but whispered hushes, downward glances to the poor sap who has actually made it through. Than there is the selfish son of a bitch who was so thoughtless to hurt those they loved. Checked out with not so much as a thought to anyone else's feelings, thoughts, consideration. What sparked this writing..... was me reading a blog today. People talking about those who blatantly do not value life... who try to commit suicide.... or succeed in the act. Never was pain or desperation or grief brought into this...... just the de-valuing of life, which ties it up neatly. We can all go home now.

I can only speak from this writers perspective, but this was not the case for me. Never for one second when contemplating suicide many years ago did I ever take it lightly. Never. The pain was

indescribable...... they shoot horses don't they? I could not find my way home, and believe me, not for one second for lack of trying. I am pounding these keys harder than you can imagine. All of the emotion that I have kept inside for so long...... so I could appear normal and balanced after so many years of darkness.

The shame I am supposed to carry. Why? Please tell me to the judge and jury who decides the type of person I am. A heart that now has light and joy..... bounce. The ability to communicate clearly with you now. Would you have liked me then? When I was dark and sad and hopeless. Consumed with never ending thoughts of death. Every morning as I awoke.... and evening as I lay my head to sleep. Would I have been part of the undesirables you would have looked the other way at... because my pain would have been to great to bear? You would have wished for me to go away and come back when I was fixed..... all better. Well. this is me. Thirteen years in the making of getting all better. I assure you, it is so easy to want to dismiss

those who are in such an unbearable amount of pain and darkness.

We have known our place. Our darkened rooms, where we grieve and try desperately to keep it away from everyone so as not to infect. We try not to have those dark nights of the soul that go on and on. We wonder what is wrong with us..... why can we just not be happy and fill our hearts with joy and all the gifts God has given us. We are not unaware. The river is wide....

We cannot figure out how to cross over. We pull away, with the disdain we see in some of your eyes. Our shame fills oceans. Yours for us, adds to our skies. We are blind in the dark. Forgive us for not finding our way. We want to fit in and be normal more than you will ever imagine. We want the pain lifted.

My pain lifted through love and forgiveness and yes, medication. Am I even less now?

I own my brains malfunction in this lifetime. I function now with thoughts of a future I never

knew existed. Too many ghosts from the past haunted me. I am a divine being made in God's

delight. I have a right to be here, to love, laugh, tell my truth. Feel my pain. Release it.

Lift any feelings of guilt or shame. Feeling bad about wanting to come so close to taking my own life. There was always something divine guiding and protecting me. I begged on my knees

for it...... in the worst of it. Even when I begged for death I always wanted life.

I merely wanted the pain to stop. If you were to ask those who were in pain, it is the pain they want to stop. Not always their lives....... the pain. Compassion and love are amazing qualities of

what are really needed. The greatest one......... being heard. Listening sometimes is a good place to start. It is after all, just a thought.

He

Whenever he is close, in that instance I feel him. The smile that creeps across my lips, at the mere thought of him. I've never understood the spell he casts on me. No one makes me laugh as he does. My face lights up when I am around him,  the warmth coming from such a deep place in my heart. He whispers something in my ear  holding me so tight..... I forget everything. Looking into my soul with those gentle blue eyes, it's over for me.  Outrunning them many a time I have tried, when he has gotten too close to my comfort zone. When fear has gripped me so tight,  strangling my senses, I push him so far away, frightened I will  never find my way back to him. As his voice calls to me with such strength, leading me back into the safety of all that is him.  He knows every wound from the girl/woman in me. My dark places I hide and run for cover as well as  my sunny days  that never end. He knows my rhythms and understands  it is all part of  what makes me... me.

As I relax my head and let it fall back into his chest, he runs his fingers through my hair. Stroking his artist fingers down my neck I begin to calm. He studies me with such trained eyes. I worry yet  again that I will not measure up to the dimensions of perfection that he paints. I know those eyes.....scanning every inch of me. I have to believe he sees  beauty, not the opposite through eyes of compassion and love. He assures me of his  contentment, what he sees he says he loves. This frightens me, as I close my eyes letting the tears flow. His healing words of passion, declaring a love he has never known in this lifetime. I repeat back to him the same words of love. I am filled with such humility to know he loves me... simply for me.

He calls to me, I cannot resist. I try. How can this be? Even when I am angry at him, saying unkind things he looks at me with those penetrating eyes and forgives me. He says the parts of my mother's unkindness are left over in me in warfare. My silence he begins to understand. It is not out of cruelty, the child in me  profoundly grieving, frightened. She has no way to speak. The shy girl still learning to become a woman needs prompting. He laughs about how proper I can be at times, in the next moment can't believe what a brazen daredevil I am. He understands having a mother  de- feminized her daughters kept me cautious....... he loves when I break loose with wild abandon.

He loves our children so passionately which makes me love him even more. How can I still love this man so much? I have known him since I was a girl of 20....... and want more of him. He fascinates me, enrages me, frustrates me, makes me laugh so hard with the wit and dry humor that disarms me. I am so obvious and easy. He makes me want to chase him like a school girl. He has walked through every part of life with me, I am stronger because of his love. 

We have known great joy and sorrow together. He is the one I chose.... as he chose me. My heart is opening more every day. Having him by my side I am a better me.I blossom with his artists eye each and every day. He is helping me see myself in a new light.He is the one I want to wake up with every morning. Lay my head down with at night. He has stolen my heart. He is my love, my best friend, he is my Raymond.

Embracing Friendship

I am embracing friendship. This year I am learning how to have friends that don't betray.......

and in return I don't betray. Foreign concept....... Heaven on Earth. My life is changing in

ways I would never believed possible, not for one second. Sitting here writing this.... excited.

Thinking about the fact that I am back in the land of the living. Fun conversations with females again. Deep, intellectual, silly and childlike all in one paragraph. Well.... we are in internet

age. I hated it- rejected it. I wouldn't do it. No way, held out. Didn't get it. Now I am hooked!

Face Book has even re-connected me to family members that I could never have been able to

in a comfortable way...... it eased me on down the road. I love putting my head phones on and blaring music..... of course James Taylor will usually take center stage. He just takes me there.

Opening my heart to the possibilities, that I absolutely ruled out from very bad choices of past days. I know now I needed a very long siesta from life to get my priorities straight.

Trust has been a very big deal in my female relationships. It all started with the Mother Ship.

The trust was not there as a child. It was not instilled in me, nor any of my siblings from either parent. I married a very gentle, patient man who has loved me through it all.

The female role never healed as well. I would repeat the same wounded relationships....

re-infecting the pain that needed to heal, but I didn't see my way out of. Over and over again I would put myself in the same situation expecting a different outcome. Welcome to the true head bangers ball. Ouch, when would I learn? I always thought I needed to do all the work,

beg for love. I was a very well trained dog from so many years of Catholic School.

I was obedient, didn't make waves..... I saw what happened to John Lloyd and the others after

they came back from the Principal's Office. I had the fear of God drilled in me. Trust wasn't even high on the list. Survival came in tops for me. That was all. Just to survive. I did not have

high hopes, dreams, aspirations. I just didn't want soap crammed down my throat again, for

whatever perceived sin I committed at home. So we had it coming and going. Survival.

That was all it was to me. Friendships were whoever was nice. Period. I was a follower.

Very afraid of my voice, power. What power? I felt so stripped and devoid of power.

I only achieved my power in sneaky ways. Like the typical good Catholic Girls I knew.

Girls Gone Wild. When you got us away from home, our parents, we were so restrained there,

we were already going to Hell..... scary, out of control..... all bets were off. May as well have a good time....... Girls Gone Wild is an understatement. My friendships seemed to

always have very controlling females at the helm. Hmmmmmmmm? How could that possibly be? A cold, indifferent, controlling mother. Hard to figure out. I wouldn't have noticed caring, kind people. I had to work hard to have you help me feel like shit.

So, my friendships were not always built on the greatest of foundations. Neither was I.

I used as much as was used. It was an equal collaboration, although it has taken me many moons to own this. To welcome love, goodness, equality....... sincerity. Whoa, that usually

sent me packing ......... pronto. I was the last to know this little tid bit. It was always the other guys trip. Uh huh! Well, here I am now- scathed, war wounds...... open heart of a child, as well.

I am ready for it all. I know I am ready to learn the kindergarden way that I never did. Too shy.

I want to play and laugh.... and be friends. Risk and ask for help and be scared and all the stuff that goes with it. The joy, the giving....... knowing I am now capable of being a good and consistent friend who not only can stick around.... being the commitment phobe. I want to.

I want to be a friend. Treasure all the roller coaster rides coming my way. I feel so much less fear, knowing it was merely conditioning from a scared girl who got the title of being my mom.

The more I forgive this scared , sad little girl, the more I get to play. I embrace it all.

Frances Daughters

I always thought this should be a name of a book..... or a heavy metal rock band.

As luck would have it, the title of Frances Daughter's belongs to a couple of gals I know.

Three sisters actually......... myself being the youngest member of this group.

This band we formed has bonded at times out of necessity and survival in the early days

of Frances Daughter's conception. The oldest sister took the unpopular role of mother

in this trio. Again not out of desire..... simple necessity. A budding young lady in her right,

the eldest knew to tow the line with this unruly crew.

The middle gal in Frances Daughters'..... oh she was quite the tiger. Full of life and energy,

this little lady was a little rascal. Being the middle daughter, observer, she had her own way

of dealing with pesky people and problems. This middle child had thoughts and feelings and opinions...... that typically did not resonate with the heads of the house hold. She definitely had her own stamp, mark...... this little gal wasn't taking anyones guff! Oh no...... she saw things as they were.

Frances Daughter's had one more little gal yet in the litter, the youngest..... hmmmmmm.

This little gal was very shy and influenced by her big sisters. She at times was like a puppy dog, lost and in need of direction. Following the lead of the older two girls.

Her heart was perhaps not as toughened as Frances two older daughters.

They already learned the ropes. They were pros by an early age. Being one of Frances Daughter's required much meat tenderizer to the heart..... the youngest hadn't gotten this memo yet, she was too busy riding her bike around the neighborhood I suspect.

Daydreaming their lives away in the tiny bedroom the three of us shared. Sometimes rolling around in the lime green shag carpeting for what seemed an eternity....... Oh this trio, quite playful.

The younger and middle one, the headaches they would give the oldest.

Never lacking new and exciting adventures, they thought

borrowing the family station wagon in the middle of the night was always a brilliant idea.

Even more brilliant because neither sister had drivers licenses. Add some friends to the mix,

I feel the joy taking over as I write. We loaded up that contraption with teenage giggling,

bubble gum chewing teen angels, rolled that baby out the drive way........ but this time fate wasn't so kind to two of Frances Daughter's. Off in the distance as we had that wagon perched

and ready for business, the sounds of many police sirens were headed our way.

As if matters were not bad enough, it seemed as though a dozen cats had gathered around us.

That is a 14 year olds mind, maybe there were five..... but it felt like twelve. We had the usual omens.... this was a bad idea. The key would not fit in the lock of the car door. We were not having it, our midnight pleasure ride awaited us, and that was that.

Several of Temple City's finest Sheriffs surrounded our wagon, and out we went.

My mom heard the knock..... how my dad didn't I will never know. A couple of sheriffs came in,

and my middle sister wasn't having it! I was scared out of my mind, but middle sis was in for it.

One officer asked my mom if she wanted them to haul her off to jail over night. She was a mouthy one, they said something to that affect. I am chuckling as I write this, thinking about that cop wanting to haul off my sister to teach her a lesson. My mom said no...... but my poor older sister was the jailer for both of us.

I had big plans of Magic Mountain Theme Park the next day. Well, don't tell Frances' youngest daughter to red light that one and not expect drama. Definitely was going to do myself in if I couldn't go. Like I said , just a little drama. The mother tells the eldest to keep vigil..... and off to bed she goes. That's pretty much how it went. She handled things, we got used to it.

Good times for her. The smarty mouth one I believe needed some talking to. Oldest one was having good times that night.

Frances Daughter's bonded over the strangest things throughout the years. Fought like

rabid animals, taunting each other........ laughing and having our own humor that no one else would or could understand, for being Frances Daughter's. Feeling the aloneness and fear,

yet not identifying it's name....... being one of her children. Wanting safety and warmth, love.

Our humor got us through many a tough time, and also belittled true heartache.

Tough exterior we wore .... we all learned through humor, distancing ourself from emotions.....

people. There was no place for real tenderness being one of Frances Daughter's.

We are still Frances Daughter's, always will be. Time has passed, our hearts have softened.

The pain of having a mother who never knew.... or knows how to love will always

be part of the scars we bear. Fortunately we see those are her wounds, as we age.

Frances Daughter's have learned to reunite ...... to forgive. To understand it was never

ours, the heavy sack we carried all this time. The pain in Frances heart is something we will never know. To not know how to hold your child, to sooth their fears...... wipe away your daughters tears. I am Frances youngest daughter. My heart bled for so long, wondering why was I so unworthy of her love. I gave and gave and gave to my mother until I almost disappeared.

It appeared I did not make a dent. I release her to those above who know greater than me.

I surrender. I am merely her daughter. I know I will now meet her again in another form.

No longer can I hold on to this pain. I will always be Frances Daughter.

What Makes Me Laugh

Trying not to laugh always makes me laugh, without a doubt. Playing the laughing game with my family..... making faces and sounds, where you can't make a peep. That's when I lose it and roar.

Why is that funny. Sitting in a very quiet place , thinking of things I am not supposed to be thinking of..... I am hysterical. When I was young sitting in church, I had this odd fascination with shoulders. There was nothing else to do, so I would just stare at all the different backs and shoulders sitting, standing in front of me. Suits, dresses, too tight blouses bursting with sausage like flesh erupting into those shoulders. I don't know why this fascinated me.

Millicent Friendly and Mr. Green sitting in front of me, oh so proper. I always wondered what happened when they got home out of their Sunday finery....... and Millicent got the lime green jello out, Mr. Green put on his retiring robe. It is so ridiculous, but I would be so bored in church I would play these little games with myself. It all centered around their shoulders.

Their entire lives, and the lives of their children. Broad shoulders, sloping shoulders....

you name it. I am laughing now thinking what little it takes to amuse me. I realize I have part simpleton gene, but I am kinda diggin it now. The never getting past 7th grade humor has served me well in times of true boredom.

I can laugh when I think of stories of old in my mind over and over again.... replayed.

Childhood hijinx..... those were the best that I really belly laugh over. Inappropriate

laughter to this day makes me laugh the most. I agree, very immature, but it still gets me.

Not the kind at someone else's expense, just where you cannot control your emotions,

you know you are going to burst....... like I said, in a very quiet serious room.

But it's not serious for any reason, it just is. That's what makes it funnier, you have no idea why you are whispering in reverence in some weird room that is used normally for xerox machines.

Bathrooms are absolutely hysterical. Now if I had it my way, I would have a full blown Orchestra in every Public Restroom. Trying to act cool, and not make a sound, that is what is the funniest thing to me. According to sources...... being male, those rules don't matter.

What happens in Public Restrooms .... just happens. Not the same rules for the female species. Oh no, we try to act cool. That lightning and thunder out of the 3rd stall did not happen.

If we are lucky enough to be with a friend who gets the joke....... we look at each other and it begins. First a snicker, and it is over. We beat feet out of that bathroom sooooo fast to the

sounds of "What the hell was that?"

These things that are only human nature..... which we desperately try to cover up and pretend

aren't happening. I think that's why they make me laugh so hard. Having been a waitress in my early years, that really gave me an eyeful of pretending things aren't real! Or.... what made me laugh what was all too real. One time I had just taken an order from a table, and had to use the restroom. As I was doing my business, I hear,"And my mama wants an orange juice with....blah, blah, blah, too." All the while this young girls head is staring at me upside down.... underneath the bathroom stall. That was funny, not at the time, but it was one of those things in life that is so incredulous..... how could that have just happened?

Hmmm.... I sense a bathroom humor theme here. Probably because we are not supposed to talk about such things. The word such things makes me laugh! I guess I love to pick a part

words, thoughts, things. Remember, I was amused beyond imagination by peoples shoulders.

I still am. Things that make me laugh....... My family, watching their crinkly smiles turn into full blown 4th of July rockets of joy when something delights them. My friends telling stories they know are gonna get me every time, and then some. Ironies of life......

Doing something just a little sneaky like an innocent child...... a little Dennis The Mennacy,

and watching peoples reactions! The way my hubby words things, the way I try to word things correctly and it comes out the opposite. Really dry humor..... and of course, always 7th grade humor. That gets me every time.