Here comes CHRISTmas!

Five days until Christmas...wow! It comes faster every year and I hear myself saying "Grinch-like stuff" like "I hate Christmas" Why? Because it is too stressful and expensive and fattening! Yes! that is the worst...5 lbs for each holiday season adds up to 200 lbs in the last 40 years! WHAT? I WONDER...WHERE is Christmas? like the song the Whoville kids sang.What really makes it special ? and I realize that it is in the wonder of a child...that is where Christmas is...in the eyes of a child who still believes...the magic is there. I think everyone has a favorite Christmas as a 'child who believes' and mine is the year that I found out that there was no Santa...I was in second or third grade and I remember my grandparents coming over so late on Christmas eve and they said that Santa had to drop some stuff off at their house because he was so busy...hmm, I could swear I heard sleigh bells on the roof that night! Suspicious as I was, I chose to believe...it's like believing in Jesus...you have nothing to lose if you believe in Him and everything to gain if He is who he says He is...Santa was , to my childlike eyes, just like that, besides, at that point, Jesus was just a little baby that was born on Christmas! and He was so special that the whole world got to celebrate. Back to that night...I think I stared at the ceiling all night long and could not wait to get up! And maybe it was just a coincidence that my dad had a few good hauls in his job as a trucker, and that my mom was working as a waitress at a bowling alley and that we were living in a brand NEW house, BUT, it was awesome! I got a Barbie, a real one, with red hair and a "bubble" hair cut and a black and white striped bathing suit. And my grandpa made a "wardrobe" and it was full of Barbie clothes that my mom had sewn. There was even a real fur stole! Jackpot! I was happier than Ralphie in A Christmas Story! I was Ralphie! the female version! My sister ,of course, got the same, a Barbie too and we had to share the clothes but I didn't even care! now my memory becomes blurry here, but I think this is the very same Christmas that my brother got a brand new shiny red bike, much better than a BB gun any day! No danger there...he couldn't" shoot any body's eye out" And, my siblings will correct me if I am wrong, but I believe my sister got a life size Pollyanna doll with long blond hair! She looked just like Hayley Mills, my favorite actress! And she walked too! If you guided her and held both hands,of course! Now I was not forgotten, I too, had a life-size doll...she wasn't Pollyanna,though...she didn't even have a name and she had brown,fuzzy,short hair...Now "bubble" cuts were awesome on Barbie, but downright weird and gross and disgusting on a huge, clunky doll who's leg kept falling off! I got not only the best present of all, but the worst present of all. And I have "carried the scar of this for the rest of my life" as Candice Bergen would say! Whoa! And the best Christmas became the worst for my brother because his bike got stolen soon after, and he too, 'carries that scar' My sister, although, had a Barbie and a Pollyanna! BUT looking back, she deserved the best Christmas because she had earned it. She was a little fourth grader who took care of all of us! We did not have babysitters in the 50's and 60's. We became little adults and I was the "baby" so I got to be a kid for a couple more years anyway. Meanwhile my sister was making lunches and my brother was watching out and protecting us. Where were my parents??? Working, I guess... Christmas day ended with dinner at Me ma and Papa's. They added a "card table" next to the dining room table for the kids and we all ate dinner together...All I could think about was my Barbie...and the fuzzy haired clunker? she was in a corner near the Christmas tree, unappreciated and forgotten already...I never even gave her a name.

All seem to say throw cares away

Margaret! Margaret!

When my grandma was in a nursing home losing her dignity in the last years of her life,she used to call out for "Margaret!" None of us knew who Margaret was...She was 92 and she lost a lot of weight and a lot of herself within a few short years.. She did not have Alzheimer's, she was too old. She had something we used to call organic brain syndrome and we now call dementia...they are both ugly reminders of what getting old is going to do to us, most of us anyway-we cannot all have the grace and good fortune of Betty White. Grandma was not Marie anymore,she was a shell of someone we once knew and loved,even if she was a scary, old German woman, who just happened to be our Me-Ma.

Why did we let them "bully" us into the things we did when it came to her? There are things I will do different when I am old. I will NOT let my grandchildren decide because my own children don't know what to do or care enough to talk to me about it before I lose myself. My children deserve to feel the guilt of making the wrong choices, if they do, not my grandchildren. I want to be dropped off to any halfway decent old folks home, when I lose "me" and they can tell them that my name is "Margaret Jones" and then they should run, not walk away, run and never come back...I won't know who they are anyway, will I? I won't know "Jack or Jill" will I? so I won't know the difference. If I am in my right mind, then they can still drop me off somewhere and I will not piss and moan and whine about how awful my life is...I will appreciate" three hots and a cot" and be happy that I am not working and that I am actually retired.

 I will be happy and proud for my children and grandchildren and not guilt them into visiting me. If they don't come willingly, then I don't deserve them to come at all. In other words, I don't want to be a "beast of burden" Death must be better than being old and miserable and I would choose death. I will have a stash of sleepers and a box of wine stored away somewhere for the occasion of my passing if need be. I have specific things I want done to celebrate my life, not mourn my death...I have a book of instructions and I want it to be respected, but only if I have respected those who will want to celebrate me. I am not afraid of death. I am afraid of losing me, like my grandma, and becoming a ghost of who I really am.

Let me go when I am done and not one moment sooner, Dear God, I pray...but let me go before I turn into Margaret Jones, for my children's sake...The mind is a terrible thing to lose, but I am willing to give up my mind, but not my memory... I have so much more to say and I don't care if I am ever published or paid much attention to by anyone else...I do care that I was loved by someone and meant something to someone...

you can look back and say, "you did okay" you were loved...

Okie,McSmokie Skiddly do!

I cannot believe I have not written in over a month! Where have I been? in a fog? in a slump? asleep? in a crisis? in Georgia? ALL of the above! And no wonder! I have NOT "been to therapy" and MY therapy is blogging! Now I have seen movies about "blogging" and that is where I got this idea in the first place,so why can I not be consistent??? I dunno...in the movies,it's all so different...and in the movies they get a "payoff" for blogging! What is MY payoff? Hmmm...a payoff...wow...I "only wish" I could blog for dollars! Wow, I really DO need therapy!

Would that I could have a job that challenged my mind and my creativity and my very soul! AND that did not have a high cost when mistakes were made...How could mere words cause such stress? How can you make mistakes when you write from the heart? How could I EVER be wrong? And that is WHY my dream will never come true...there is no perfect blog job! It would eventually become something to dread and then I would get "writer's block" and have no topic to write about unless! Unless I had the perfect readers and they would give me topics to write about! THAT would be awesome! It would of course, be "my" take on the topic and AGAIN, HOW could I be wrong??? Oh how I wish upon a star for my thoughts, like pen to paper and "Words to Windows" be something that people would actually read! Heck, I go to bed late and wake up early with my mind racing anyway,why not put this "race" to a finish and DO something with this crazy energy? Well until the day that I "win the lottery" for creative writing, I will just blog a little here, blog a little there, get down tonight! Signing off for this post, "only the shadow knows" when I shall blog again...hopefully the "blog gods" will be with me and guide me through until reality sets in and I realize that perhaps I am NOT a writer at all or that perhaps...I AM! Oh, and my title? Somebody got "paid" to write THAT...It's from a Geico commercial! WOW!

When you wish upon a star, all your dreams will come true

To be or not to be?

When I was two I had an NDE...near death experience, yep, I sure did. Complete with me "watching"my little 2 yr old body being "worked on" in the ER... I drank mineral spirits in a "coca cola" bottle and tried to "meet my maker" early, too early. I was then put in a crib in a hallway of all places, with what I swear was "chicken wire" on top to keep me from climbing out!

I guess you could say I had an angel on my shoulder from the beginning. I always felt "different" always...that is a common thread among NDE's. I wasn't looking for the light that I remember because I didn't know I should be...Somebody up there must have liked me.

When I was 13, I made a friend in Jesus...it seemed quite natural. Me and Dee were 'baptized' on the same Sunday at the local Baptist church. And so began a religious journey that would be trimmed with a hefty side of "guilt" that I brought on myself-Baptists were very subtle about that, and besides,we could NEVER match the guilt of Jews and Catholics. I knew that I knew that Jesus was "it" He bought my ticket to heaven. The Doobie Brothers said it :"Jesus is just all right with me" and I am sure that I am "going off to the spirit in the sky" someday in the far, far future.

So, me and Dee (Yes she IS the Dee in the title of my blog) started going to church every Sunday.That is what you DID in the sixties! Of course, we didn't "mind" if we sat with a cute boy or two, while we were there, either! ( Enter Bobby, the "other" friend in my title) Bobby was the "son of the preacher man" really! A surfer, too and he had some mighty cute friends too...I am sure that Dee and I "dated" each and every one of them, if even it was just one date. Except I did NOT date Bobby...he was too special, he was my first "boy" friend! Sounds funny,huh? But true...

Back in that day, girls and boys were not platonic friends. Oh no! And When Harry Met Sally was even written yet! Dee was and still is my first BFF, except of course, my sister. I got her when I was born...she was waiting for me, just a year and one week older than me. We were and still are inseparable. We dated brothers and even married brothers and have lived next door to each other our WHOLE lives! Whew! That's a whole other episode! Incidentally, she is the one who crawled way up on the shelf and said "I'll get it!" and gave me the poison coca cola! Hmm, maybe she was my built in best friend, but was I hers? We will never know...she admits no guilt! (we're Baptists, remember?)

Back to Dee! She and Bobby dated, dated! I think he was her first true love...and they were my role models. I wanted that! I dreamed about it and I tried so hard to have a first true love, but I think I just imagined that I did! Well, Bobby and Dee were my best friends and they fixed me up with a 'kid' who 'liked' me..."Why don't you "like" him? He "likes" you!" Well, that was his first mistake, liking me first and admitting it. But, even though he was shorter than me (they were ALL shorter than me!) he was kinda cute and sweet and a surfer,too, so I tried to like him, but it didn't work...he overwhelmed me...maybe he could 'sense' how different and special I really was- remember, I had an NDE! or I could 'sense' how special I was but it was like wearing two different shoes. They look alike, they are both flats ( I could never wear heels!)and no one would really notice, but one shoe was black and the other one was navy-they just didn't go together! And besides, his mother rode a broom! And "that's ALL I have to say about that!" to quote Forrest Gump!

So, there were two, ok three, other cute, short surfer boys that I had "crushes" on. The first two were absolutely adorable and sweet, but alas, neither one "liked me like that" They liked me like a friend -Crap!( the third one was actually taller than me, but of course, he already had a girlfriend and he moved away to Ohio or someplace romantic like that) I remember kissing him 'goodbye' on my porch, very innocent and wonderful and sweet because he was taller than me! Wow, that's what I wanted, a tall, cute, surfer guy! A few short years later, I married my very own, tall, cute, surfer guy...sigh...just like in the movies, huh? Heck no, but what can I tell you? I had a poster of Romeo and Juliet on my bedroom wall and I took Shakespeare in high school! I was smitten with the very idea of romance and true love!

I even 'tried out' the football player as a boyfriend and yes, he was even shorter than me! He was generous to a fault ( I found out later that he didn't exactly 'pay' for the things he brought to me...a TV, a vacuum cleaner, stuff like that) and he had a wandering eye, as did I! So we BOTH dated other people! In truth, I don't think we ever DID officially break up! If I ever see him again, I guess I will have to clarify this...Also, during this time, I was totally in love with the devil himself! He was off-limits, no way would I ever get to date this handsome, tall, dangerous,older man! Why? because he was my brother's friend, that's why! Taboo! I kinda remember, there was some flirting and he was drinking (he was always drinking!) and my brother, slightly sloshed himself, sorta pushed him into the wall, and it wasn't drywall, it was cement and maybe it's my special magical memory, but for years to come, there was a slight indent or impression of 'his' buttocks in the wall...hmm...unrequited Romeo and Juliet crap again!

And so, during my "Shakespearean" years, as I like to call them, my BFF's, Bobby and Dee were there through all or most of it...Who knew, that Bobby was on the road to a life with Shakespeare himself or that I would marry my own, sweet William? or that Dee would find another Romeo, in another land? She moved away to small town USA and I was crushed with grief and had only my friend Bobby or that's how I felt, anyway!

Alas and alack (is that even a word?) I found my prince and climbed down from the tree and lived "happily ever after"

THE END.

P.S. The identities have been changed to protect the "guilty"

I love you more today than yesterday, but not as much as tomorrow.

Special Delivery

Is it wrong to be proud? Cause I am! not so much of me and what I have done (maybe a few things) How can I help but feel pride when I see the talents of my children and grandchildren? Because of me, "they" are here on this planet...a fact that sometimes scares the hell out of me...I put them here just by carrying them and then "delivering" them here...

Because of You by Reba is a a very poignant song...I am afraid. This was how I grew up. I did not raise my children this way "because" I did not want them to be afraid and I am the proudest of that. They take risks and make changes because that is what is best for them. They have their own minds and they make up their own minds to do whatever it is they do.



My oldest is an amazing woman today. She is beautiful, inside and out and has a gift to make anyone she meets her friend. She has the most incredible voice I have ever heard. When she was little-10 or 12, I guess, she used to sing "I know I'll never love this way again, so I keep holding on until the good is gone, I know..." Dionne Warwick, one of the best, and my kid belted it out just like her. I can say that I "introduced" her to Dionne and many, many more, but I had no part in that singing ability! I only "dreamed" I could be a singer and then I just wanted to be a "background" singer, not the star. She is a star and we don't need American Idol or America's got Talent to prove it. No matter where she sings, people love her, because she is so natural up there. And I "delivered" her to all of you.

My youngest is awesome. She is a wondrous creature who is loved by all who know her. She will keep you at a distance, she is no fool, but if you are lucky enough to have her let you in then you are special indeed. Now this girl can dance! She has always been a "mover" and I love to watch her. She likes to move it, move it...I again had no part in this talent, except again, the "dream" to be a go-go dancer on Hullabaloo in the sixties.



I got up on some kind of platform once at a high school dance in my mini dress and wonder to this day "what was I thinking?" I didn't even do drugs then...What gave me that courage? I say courage because to dance when every body's watching does take guts...What if they laugh? or make faces? Well, my kid says "who cares? just move and have fun" To have that abandon must be so freeing! And I "delivered" her to all of you...

The Arts...to have any ounce of artistry in you at all is a gift. Are we born with it? Do we inherit it? Do we "learn" it? Can we just "conjure it up" on demand? I dunno, am I an "artist" because I am a writer? I hope so!

I can't wait to see what appears in my grandchildren! They are both amazingly photogenic and the camera loves them. And I only "dreamed" of being a model when I was young. They may never become professional singers and dancers and models, but they ARE singers and dancers and models! Did my dreams come true in them? Absolutely! Am I proud? You bet! And I delivered each of them to you, special delivery! You are welcome, World!

All I have to do is dream,dream,dream...

911

Can I be a serious journalist? I dunno...It being September 11 and all, it's a good day to try it out... I would never be a smart ass or wise guy on a day like this. It is somber,indeed.

Where were you that day? I remember I was working , as a nurse, taking care of moms and babies in a busy hospital. I glanced at a TV and saw what looked like a movie scene-a plane plowing right through the Twin Towers. "What the heck?" The patient's husband told me what was happening and I tried to 'blow it off' and distract them and me with their precious newborn. It worked for a minute.

I left the room and saw my co-worker in a panic. Her cousin works in the Twin Towers and she can't get through there to talk to anybody, anywhere in NYC. "What happened?" I asked and then the worst happened when someone came running out and said they just hit the other tower with another plane! Dear God...

I felt weird, numb and scared and ran for the kitchen to get some ice. And I lost it...I prayed and cried...Is this it? Is this the beginning of the end? I cried because I thought my children and grandchildren and these newborn babies right here had NO future on this earth...I was so frightened and alone and nervous there that day. Is that what they wanted? I made some coffee because it gave me something to "do" and then wiped my face with a paper towel and went back to work.

I kinda turned off the TV in a room where a new mom and her baby were all alone...Why spoil her moments and she was oblivious to all at that moment anyway...I went back to the first room and they were all glued to the TV set and upset. I tried to think of some encouraging and hopeful words, but I had none, so I checked mom and baby and they were OK...I did my job.

By this time, there was a TV on wheels in the nurses station and I sat down for the first time. I felt like lead, wondering if I would even be able to get up when I had to. Is this for real? It looks surreal and they keep replaying over and over. Are those really people jumping out of the building? What kind of EVIL could have done this? And WHY?

It was truly the most awful day and I didn't even call my family to see if they saw or heard...I just stayed there, on the job and finished the day and watched the replay each time I went to the nurses station and then after 12 long hours, I finally went home.

Home didn't feel so safe anymore. We were also glued to the TV set just trying to wrap our brains around what really happened...And we all felt helpless. The newscasters were so calm, just doing their jobs, I guess. To this day, 9-11-2010, nine years later, I can't get my brain around any of it. I can only empathize with those who were directly affected by it. It changed the USA that day.

I can only spend this day remembering and respecting those people. My heart breaks for them all, heroes all, they gave their lives all, for us all...Never forget, I know I never will. God bless us all and Let Freedom Ring!

And I won't forget the men who died and gave that right to me...

Are you talkin to me?

OK! I am gonna tell the WHOLE world for the first and LAST time!!! My name is NOT Mary and NOT Maria! I have a sister named Maria and we don't even call HER Maria, we call her Ria...My name is Marie...Normally I answer to just about anything including "Joy" or Cheryl (my other sister's name) or "Nurse" or Mrs. so and so... Heck, You can even call me Weezy or Ree or Weezyree (only,of course if we are friends).

I am usually pretty cool, calm and collected, but this is a warning, because I fear I have turned into one of my most beloved movie characters in Steel Magnolias: not sweet M-lynn, although, there was a time I was called "Sweet Marie" And I am not even close to my precious Truvy, who I have 'modeled' my alter ego, "Henna Bouffant" after. No, I am "Weezer" the crabby ole broad, that says "I'm sweet, I've just been in a very bad mood for many years"She is a bitch on wheels walking a dog and I have been trying hard to keep her under wraps, but she is 'out of the closet' now!

Maybe it was the card a co-worker gave me last night...The front said "Jesus loves You" and when I opened it up, it said "Everyone else thinks you are an ass____!"

Well, then...it wasn't really directed at me, it was just being 'shown' to me and I DID say something 'ugly' about handing it back out to someone who knocks at your door at dinnertime...and then I decided to just throw it in the trash, because it WAS ugly... I just hope and pray that some sweet little ole lady or man in environmental services who really loves Jesus does NOT open it up!

Anyway, enter Weezer; she is the worst of me and she usually 'gets crazy' on the telephone! Don't call my house and act dumb and rude! If you have 'business' with me ,THEN I think you should say my name correctly and don't get friendly unless I say you can get friendly! I happen to work at a job that requires multiple phone calls. Sometimes I make the calls and sometimes I receive them. I am required to be polite at all times, and I actually am very good at being polite at all times. I may 'mumble' some comment after I hang up..."idiot" and even "jackass" come to mind, BUT, I am always polite on the phone!

What happened to manners? Do you know you can "hear" a smile over the phone? Oh yes, yes you can! I hear it every single time I talk to Tom or Bill or Sandra or Kim or...the list goes on and on. I can also "hear" RUDE or someone rolling their eyes...Don't get rude or crazy! Bon Qui Qui (another one of my favorite characters from Mad TV) is a "made up" person and she IS all of those rude and crazy people who 'annoy' HER wrapped up into one! ("Securidy!")

So again, if you call me...Make sure it is at a decent hour! I will NOT be responsible for what I say to anyone who wakes me up or interrupts dinner! Ask for me by my correct name and then state your business in a polite tone, and it wouldn't hurt to 'smile' now would it? OK, now we can talk...Don't make me call out Weezer!

Call me, don't be afraid, you can call me.