Now As I Wear Purple

After finding The Chicken or the Egg? I discovered more wierd tidbits evading the trash can.

The earth sings, but we’ve forgotten how to listen to the music…….

Seen from afar, things that seemed tragic at one time now appear silly. As if acted out on a badly painted backdrop by puppet-like characters with a bad director.

The plane flying through the air has “made in China” stamped on its underside.

Now you’re old. The sweet mystery of life, explored zealously along forgotten paths, ends in a cornfield in Iowa. What now? Prepare to die! Haha (Cackle)

The Chicken or the Egg?

As far as I know the question of which came first has never been decided, but I’ll vote for the chicken who laid the first egg. Imagine her shock when, exhausted, she rested upon the mysterious result of her labor. Perhaps she waited, curious as to what would happen next.

Warmth, a mysterious movement. The thing beneath her cracked! The chicken rose to see a tiny being emerge. Cheep Cheep! And she was never the same after that. She paraded around the barnyard, the tiny thing wobbling after her. They passed the rooster, who crowed. The chicken ignored the arrogant fellow. And then briefly wondered why he was passing out cigars.

The End

Sorry, but I couldn’t resist posting this. I ran across it in some of my old writings and it made me laugh so I thought maybe it would make you laugh too.

A Ghost Story

Have you noticed all those ghosts walking around? They used to be mothers, full of life, full of warm, nurturing love. Babies snuggled up in the curve of their necks, their soft sweet skin smelling of Johnson’s baby powder. The babies grew and grew and learned to walk and talk and make their mommas proud when they said her name. As they began to explore, they outgrew their infant needs, becoming self-propelled. They began to learn grownup things. Like who to love and who to hate and some even learnt who to blame when things go wrong. Be it their teachers, the government or their mothers.

They used to be ordinary people like you and me before the miracle of motherhood changed them into bright shooting stars that lit the heavens with happiness for an all-too-brief moment that continues to warm their memory as they grow old.

Have you noticed all those ghosts walking around? The ones with their failing eyesight and tender smiles who fade into the background, soft-spoken and undemanding? They had their moment in the Sun and are content to watch the seasons change and the years fly by.

I hate to say it but they are not me.

Oh, how I loved my time of shooting stars, yet I refuse to be a ghost.

The Truth That Sets me Free

I have no dog in this fight. After two marriages I’ve learned marriage is not for me. I’m much happier being single. Not that I didn’t give each marriage a good go, fifteen years for the first, seventeen for the second. And I truly loved each of my husbands. Until I didn’t love them anymore. We do not need to go into the reasons why, but there you have it.

But I still love my children– from the first marriage– and always will. I thank God for blessing me with them. I’m on the outs with two of my three daughters. But that’s another story. They are old enough (one just turned 52, the other is almost 49) to know if they still want me in their lives or not. Apparently not. And that’s okay because I believe everyone should have free choice, especially about how they live their life, and who they live it with, or without.

Which brings me back to the reason for this post. I believe in love, freely given, never coerced or denied, between consenting adults. And if they want to bind themselves together with marriage, so be it, and if they want to break the bonds of marriage they have that right too. There are too many laws about things the government has no business in and I believe those laws should be abolished.

We’ve come a long way in the past fifty-two years since my first child was born. I was a young 21-year-old who moved to a strange city, got involved with a married man and was pregnant. At that time unwed mothers were looked down on by society (my, how things have changed!) so I had to choose between disgracing myself and my family or accepting marriage with a stranger (who offered) or having an abortion. I did the “right thing” and accepted marriage to a friend of my child’s father rather than have the abortion. I had three more wonderful children and have never, ever regretted my decision

However, my eldest child became an unmangeable 14-year-old, provoking my husband to tell her the truth about her birth (he had always refused to allow me to tell her). He told her in the worst way. He and I were divorced, the daughter became pregnant at fifteen and had an abortion. Later she married and had five children. She also joined the Catholic Church and became a right-to-lifer, ready to do battle with the pro-choice people, citing 50 million murders to our credit. Yes, I believe in freedom of choice, and support Roe Vs. Wade.

Her interpretation of my pro-choice stand was that I “wished I’d aborted her” which was completely untrue. I told her often how much I loved her and how glad I was that I’d had her. But now she has a story to tell and I’m sure she’s spreading it far. “I was almost aborted!” “I’m a survivor”. She’s a heroine and I am the evil person who “wanted” to kill her. I pray for her daily.

Make Room for Joy

A positive attitude can improve the quality of our life, often leading us to heights of joy. However, in finding our way as human beings, we are also vulnerable to emotional pain; even on the road to joy we become derailed by times of sorrow. One day when I asked my elderly mother a question about the past, she said, “I don’t want to remember the past, honey. It hurts too much.”

Now that I’ve reached my own twilight years and more fully understand my mother’s pain, I’ve also discovered something else. The things that hurt the most to remember now are the pains I numbed myself to when they were fresh. Even though I had this terrible ache inside, I refused to grieve. I told myself that, like Scarlett, I would deal with it tomorrow.

Some hurts I even denied, burying them so deep I’m shocked when they release fresh arrows of pain from the past into my heart. Others I rationalized by telling myself how lucky I was, that the hurt could’ve been far worse. That I had no right to feel pain because other people had it so much worse than I did. Counting my blessings.

I do believe in counting my blessings. Not by denying or ignoring my pain but doing so while also acknowledging that I have a right to grieve for my loss even while I feel grateful for my blessings.

“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” Psalms 30:5
So, when your heart is heavy it is better to allow yourself to experience and express the grief until it has wrung itself out. The tears of grief are cleansing your soul, making it ready to once again receive joy.

Take Our Guns? No Way!

Politicians think they can get away with anything nowadays. A simple thing like “Excuse me while I fart” could set some congressmen to passing a new law forbidding farts in public places while another lawmaker spends hours on a bill that allow farts but only in factories during the evening shift.

I do not compare farts to guns (although they often sound alike) but this gun control thing is making me crazy. It is just one more example of our country becoming a laughingstock. First there was a snicker, then more snickers turning into a guffaw, then a howl and a gasp for more air. That constant shriek you hear in the air is the last gasp of the gaspers drawing in oxygen to emit yet another hysterical exhale of laughter.

Serious things, guns. Nothing to laugh about. But, because they’re so utterly serious, atrocious and deadly, we have people turning cartwheels trying to get them banned. That’s sorta like banning farts, if you see what I mean. You’re only going to shut down the farters who do not wish to offend and are already aware of, and care about, the rights of others. Meanwhile, the heavy farters are shouting hurray as they stuff themselves with more beans.

Now I’m not making a joke of this, I’m serious. The laughter that is threatening to explode due to this travesty is triggered by the public awareness of the stupidity of a government who thinks the people are going to let themselves be disarmed. No way!

Forget the Bullshit on the Way to the Podium

It occurred to me recently that the biggest asset an aspiring politician has is the ability to act human. This is harder than it seems. On the way to the podium s/he has become a fatuous user of buzzwords and sound bites in attempts to appear to have those qualities that will help to get elected.

The artifice in the attempt to “appear to have” inspires suspicion and distrust in those who have learned to see beneath the surface. This is why we are so uncertain about our leaders, why we have become a jaded audience.

We are watching bad actors on a world stage who dare to insult our intelligence and discernment. They appear to be trying to act as if they are humans, but failed in acting class.

It’s possible that the person actually has some of the qualities expressed in the buzzwords, and the sound bites were taken from a worthy source. The problem is in the acting for effect instead of through sincerity. Have you seen someone faking sincerity? It’s a horrible thing to watch.

If I am actually sincere, why then do I have to act sincere, as though I have practiced what I think sincerity looks like in front of a mirror, my eyes a little too wide, my arms flung wide to expose my vulnerable self to your scrutiny.

Where does the ability to act human come from? It comes from the fiber of our being. If an aspiring leader can say to him/herself “I am who I say I am. Every word I speak is truly spoken and is not said for effect, or to gain votes, but expresses my honest beliefs, intentions and desire to be of service to my fellow citizens, and to serve my country with integrity.”

If an aspiring politician can say that and it passes the bullshit test, then I may believe in his/her ability to serve this great country. To act human.