I ran errands like a meth head today. Every single thing on my list got accomplished.

I wore my weight vest and worked on my flower beds and garden for about three hours. I just had not taken the time to buy my ferns, or get the rest of the garden finished out with more veggies and fertilizer and soil. I planted some seeds, four o’clocks, catnip, black eyed susans (which I never can grow, but maybe…fingers crossed)

It feels good to have things spruced up.

It felt damned good to take that weight vest off.

I know that I MUST have burned a billion gojillion calories. And after the two hours of trying on clothes trying to find something to wear to the wedding this weekend…I needed it.

I’m flopping for the rest of the night. I’ve got research and reading to do.

I hope I can move tomorrow.

I slept last night.

REAL SLEEP!!! The whole night long. I woke up clear minded, no aching body parts, my legs and hips aren’t cramped up. The ambien that I got from the doc yesterday was either stronger or fresher than what I’d had from mom. It’s a glorious thing. Nothing scary, no crazy phone ramblings, no night eating/walking/rearranging furniture. I just slept.

I cannot wait to do it again tonight.

Today is full of stuff.

I need to hit the hardware store and get some stuff for my garden. My tomatos are looking peak-ed. They should be really pretty by now. My peppers are the same. I think the cats are getting in there and kicking the dirt away from the plants. I need more dirt/fertalizer.

Must pick up a few groceries. Not much. But we’re coming up on a holiday weekend and I should be stocked up on coffee at least.

I need to shop for a wedding dress. A dress to wear to a wedding. Audra is getting married this weekend! SQUEEE! I’ve also got a wedding at the end of June, two in September, one in October. I don’t plan on wearing the same one to all the parties, but it’s clear that I’m going to have to break down and spend some money and shop. LYNN!!!!!! HELP!!!! You know how I hate to do it. 🙂 Good thing I’ve got a personal shopping genius in my life.

I’m heading up to the library on campus for awhile. I’ve got to get some books and do some research for my paper. It’s due by midnight on June 3, but I want it finished way before that. Still collecting information though.

Better get in gear. Giddyup!

Friday night I drove down to Norman to celebrate the birthday of a friend of mine. I only knew a few people there, so that meant meeting new ones. I do that pretty well. It being a college town, Academics are like a fart in a car. They’re everywhere. No escaping them. That too, is fine. I’m interested and as I am participating in this world, I love asking questions, picking brains, getting opinions.

Well.

I got them.

The most disenchanted of the disenchanted. I should have known when he said he didn’t listen to Mumford & Sons, and just gave a condescending shake of his head, like they’re too cool for him to listen to…I should have known right then to trust my judgement.

Asshattery approaches. Walk away.

I did not, however, walk away. Blame it on the homebrew, but I kept at it. Propelling the conversation, asking questions about the Ph.D experience, all innocently enough. At some point, it turned. Turned into a bitter bitter diatribe on the process, how I’ll never get into any of the programs I’m looking into, (OU, Vanderbilt-or as they called it, Vandy–because apparently only stupid people call it Vanderbilt, or UT Austin. I’ll never get in there. They only take so bla bla bla bla bla” They actually said, you will NEVER get into those programs. And the tone? The TONE…

It was just gross.

And Gross + Tipsy = Gripsy.

I woke up with a case of the grips. Tense. Icky. Unshakeable feelings of what the hell?

I went through my checklist: I know it’s a difficult process. I know that it’s not a golden ticket right into a tenured position at a university. I know that the variables are large and that guarantees are nonexistent. Am I stupid and naive in thinking I can do this? Am I doing it wrong?

When he asked me “why do you want this, what are you going to do with it, what do you want to be” I think I mumbled something about teaching literature, and writing professionally. The roll of his eyes must have sprained them beings as it was the umpteenth time he did it.

What I would have said to him in the light of day, was…”the difference here buddy, is I am me. I live my life differently. I work towards things and things work toward me. If my answer isn’t clear, it’s because that is the only part that has been revealed to me at this point and I’m ok going on like this until the rest IS revealed.  I can do whatever I set out to do. And I choose. I choose to do it. I choose to be open to it and I choose not to be bitter.”

I sent off some emails to my thesis professor and to my other favorite professor. Interestingly enough, we (UCO) have former students in the doctorate programs of Vanderbilt (vandyschmandy) AND UT Austin.

They both gave me insight and advice and Dr Hayes promised to help me this year with presenting at conferences, getting published, and prepping my CV. We’ve emailed about my thesis topic and quite frankly I’m giddy about it.

That guy? I’m sad for him. He’s a thirtysomething All But Dissertation Ph.d, in 18th and 19th Century Literature and he’s just an asshat.  That’s a waste of time.

It won’t be the last time I question myself and this journey, I’m sure. It won’t be the last time I rub elbows with Academic Asshats. Bedridden with the pissoffs.

I’m ok with that. I get it. But what they don’t get…is I’m me.

I’m me.

And that’s so much better than being them.

You simply….ask.

It’s that easy. It really is. You simply ask the question you need to ask, or you ask for help, or for guidenance to find that help.

Ask.

I’ve been worrying about my thesis. I’ve been worrying about a lot of things, paying for school, finishing the reading for intersession, paying for trips, what to do with my house if and when I have to move for my Ph.D program…but more urgently in the time line, I’ve been worrying about my thesis.

After a consult with my go-to sounding board J.C., I sent off some quick emails to the two professors who have impacted and improved my student life this past two semesters. I just laid it all on the table. My questions. My concerns. My feelings of WTF and my needing help to navigate all of that.

Then I went away and celebrated my best good friend, Delbert on her birthday AND her engagement. We had cold beverages and hot mexican food and cakegloriouscake.

All was well in the world.

Fast forward to another night tossing and turning and waking up about 4am, then trying to find more sleep about 6am, bla bla bla uncomfortable bla bla bla yawn, and I have a response!!!

I have not only a response, but an acceptance of my request to work with me on my thesis as well as suggestions for my topic! LORD the relief!

Why is it so difficult to simply ask?

Do we think we’re above it? Or that it makes us weak and stupid looking?

Why do we forget that we are here, on this journey, connected to each other, with the sole purpose of loving and helping?

I am never happier than when I can help someone. It’s one of the reasons I love doing what I do for a living.

I wonder then, why that doesn’t automatically translate to others who are offering to help me?

I don’t know.

I do know that the sense of relief and excitement for the potential work ahead, and the certainty that I have put myself in the hands of someone who is credible and interested and who has MY best interests at heart…well that relief is something I wish I’d had weeks ago.

Simply ask.

go figure.

 

and if it’s not alright

it’s not the end.

Isn’t that just lovely? It’s a line from a movie I got to preview tonight with a free pass scored by my friend Julie.The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. It opens soon, and has assembled for it’s cast quite possibly every perfect amazing actor from across the pond.

It’s a bit of a slow burn, and I think demographically it’s really going to speak to anyone past the age of 35, give or take a few exceptional 34 year olds. Themes of renewal and forgiveness and starting over tie in and connect stories that just make you smile. Our audience was particularly vocal and clapped and cheered and I love that. Love it.

I cried. I could have really gotten into it. This is a movie Chris would have loved. He of all people would have grasped onto the idea of no limits on do overs, of embracing the life that is still left. Now I could cry all over again. 

There’s a lot of change happening in the Tribe. Ringo is embarking on something fresh and glorious and scary and new. I’ve got a project in the works with my new friend that is really marinating heavily in my creative brain. Friends are preparing to move away. Lotta change. . . and change can be scary…beyond.

But we must never give up hope that a really fabulous day, with amazing and breathtaking experiences is ahead.

 

Reading about a book a day is rough.

I get the A.D.D. and don’t actually give a shit if a character is still On The Road, or if he’s found himself.

Sometimes that Billy Crystal/When Harry Met Sally trick is a good way to read a book.

I love spray cheese on celery sticks.

Yoga was easier the second week, but I still got a raging headache within the first five minutes of class.

Looking into Ph.D programs gives me a headache.

I seem to have managed three, possibly four trips this year. This year. The broke year. Whatever. If the Mayan’s are right, then I’m not going out w/o facetime with the people I love.

I love watching my cats on catnip.

The beat writers were searching for the same things we’re all searching for. I admire that about them. Of course they searched with lots of pot and sex. So there’s that difference.

Trying to give a cat a pill can prove deadly, if not impossible.

I have a sleep disorder. Undiagnosed yet proven in that…I don’t ever sleep.

I miss sleeping.

When I take the time to boil eggs for my tuna salad it makes it so much better.

I don’t quite know if I like the HBO series Girls yet.

I hate it when I can see, so clearly, that someone is sleepwalking through life and accepting that fate, and can do nothing about it.

 And NO. I’m not talking about you. About one person that any of the readers here would know. But if you automatically think I AM talking about you…well. I’d say you’ve answered your own question and are on the road to waking up. 🙂

I need a massage.

 

I’ve already written about my Listen To Your Mother experience and posted those pictures. In hindsight it would have been awesome to wait, and post those all today for the first time. But as any mother knows, navigating life and plans sometimes just means that a winning day is one where you wake up and put on clean panties.

It bears repeating, though, how this experience was a heart changing one. Listening to the stories of these women, all brought together by a common theme, and knowing the same thing was happening in cities all over our nation, well it’s certainly a thing. One that I hope to successfully bring to Oklahoma City in the Spring. I think I can write a thesis, finish coursework, bang some hair, bartend some weddings and produce a successful Listen To Your Mother show…because I won’t be doing it alone. I’ve already received so many offers to help, it’s amazing. The possibilities are endless. So, we’ll see. We’ll see. Patience, isn’t that something that mothers strive to teach and to learn? Yip. And I’m not worried or fazed in the slightest, because I know that I’ve got support. It’s this tribe around me, that I live in.

A force of sheer powerful, loving, strength. It cannot be denied.

A huge part of that tribe is my best good friend Trish. She, right at this moment, is giving the Mother’s Day sermon at her childhood church in our hometown. The announcements have probably been read, the hymns have been sung, and in probably another five or ten minutes, she’s going to be up and speaking some beautifully written words. I’m going to link to her blog, rather than copy and paste, but please, PLEASE do yourself a favor.

Go. Read. Meditate. It’s titled, ” Mother, Son and Holy Spirit” 

Of all the time you waste today, these precious minutes won’t be part of them.

My tribe is also responsible for filling my heart with joy. I mention several of them in this piece, and am going to post the edited version that I used on stage. It would not have been possible without my beautiful Kizz.  I didn’t even know about this until she mentioned it. We are both Mothering-non-mothers. Loving these kids that are in our life with our whole hearts. Also, my best example of what a teacher can do in a life, Bill Guy. . . Guyser, who unflinchingly leapt at the cry for help, co-editing the original blog piece and sending support by the bucketfull. To the parents of the kids I mention, My Sisser, an example of how to juggle a life, to raise two boys, and never break a sweat.

Becks, Gert, Maegen, Darci, Trish, TammyC, Janet, and Delbert, each and every one of you have blessed me not only by being in my life, but by giving me your children to love. No amount of thanks can possibly convey how I feel about you and your families.

I hope you are all having a blessed day. I hope you’re giving love, and being loved in return.

I myself have thrown away two dead bird bodies and cleaned up the remains of the third.

Love Is All Around!

 

 

 I Am Not A Mother.

When I was a little girl, I would come home from church on Sunday, and after peeling off  layer after layer of my itchy, scratchy dress I would reach my slip. My silky, soft white slip.

Sometimes I would pull it all the way up under my skinny arms into my armpits and pretend that I was wearing a very glamorous strapless gown. I might even add a piece of jewelry, or stick a flower behind my ear, or grab a clipboard and pretend I was Julie McCoy, Cruise director of the Love Boat.

More often than not, I pulled that long white slip up over my head so the elastic fit just around my face at the hairline, pretending to be Mother Theresa. (That’s not even remotely true. But it sounds better than pretending to be a bride.)

You see, I played bride more than anything else. I used to get my mom’s old frothy nighties and flounce around the house carrying some hard bouquet of plastic flowers that was crusted in dust, smelling like old people. I loved it.

I always thought it would be an easy path to take. It seemed so natural then, so easy to believe that the girl with the freckles and the big ears and the continuous string of unfortunate perms would grow up to find love and become a “momma.”

The first man who proposed to me . . . well, let’s just say the words were still hanging in the air by the time we’d picked out the colors and settled on our wedding party attendants.

Looking back, this clearly wasn’t a relationship based in any kind of reality. I mean (my hand to God on this one), at one time, this guy wanted to grow up and BE Batman. He would jump from house top to house top to “Practice” and while Batman is my favorite dude in tights and a cape. . . there was only so much of that I could take before I started eating my own hair.

I did marry the second man who proposed. he made me laugh. We started to think seriously about a baby. I used to pray that God would give me a child, but I wanted that child to come with a father. One who wouldn’t leave. I didn’t want to do it alone. I’d been a firsthand witness to how difficult that is, and I never thought myself strong enough to handle the task solo and I had doubts about this marriage. Yet, I yearned. The want in my heart and in my body was so real, that I used to talk to it. It kept me company. It filled me with hope.

Someday . . . someday.

After my fantasy marriage ended and I watched my “sweet prince” ride off to the nearest strip club, I began to pray that God would just give me peace.  That He would replace that maternal want with a new purpose and the energy to forge toward it. Seek new adventures and quit thinking about how I will never have anyone to pass down “MeMe’s” Desert Rose china to.

I often think about the women in my life, in addition to my mother, who helped form and shape me into the woman I am today.

 

My mother taught me that I could be anything and do anything I wanted, and mostly, I have.

“MeMe” taught me that strength need not always show up with fanfare, that the most courageous thing I could do sometimes is just try.

Mary has taught me so much about faith, what it means in this life and how it can sustain us.

Auntie Carla taught me about ABBA. Lacy J Dalton. Blue cheese dressing and All My Children.

Nonna introduced me to Robert Redford in The Way We Were. She took me to see When Harry Met Sally. She spoke of grace and dignity . . .

“Ma” taught me that opening my mind also means opening my heart. That it won’t always feel pleasant and nice, but in such moments, we might find something even better. She taught me not to just follow my bliss, but to chase after it.

It was an amazing day when I realized that my prayers had been answered. Not in the removal of wanting my own child . . . but in the addition of sweet beautiful faces, born not from my body, but alive in my heart nonetheless.

I’ve been given Hayden and Holden.

Jack Ryder and Huddy.

Ally and Asher and Baby Anniston.

Peyton Ruth and Jantzen.

Aubrey and Karlie.

Gabe and Riley and Tanner.

Kory and Alli.

Jake and Jamie.

Isabelle.

 

My heart splits wide open each time I see their faces, or hear their laughter, or listen to a joke or watch a magic trick or pull a finger and make fake fart noises.

I laugh till I cry at their serious dance moves, and worry and fret at what could face them with each new day. I’ve bought my weight in cookie dough, been there for births, seen the prom pictures, sat through dance recitals, graduations and weddings, rejoiced at birthdays, applauded performances . . . and slept at hospitals.

I’m physically related to only two of them, but they are all part of my family. Part of my ever-sustaining tribe.  And I don’t have to be blood related to give love and be loved in return, I don’t have to share the same last name to play an important role in their lives.

I really don’t mourn that path not taken . . . not very often. I’m happy with where I am, sharing love with so many.

So today, as we celebrate Mothers everywhere . . . I wish you well. I wish you love and light. Be you a parent, or be you someone like me.

I am not a mother.

But I d0 dress up like one on occasion.

 

 

My emotions were fraught yesterday.

I saw the most horrific case of anti-gay bullying on FB towards one of my college friends, my neighborhood was swarmed by Mitt Romney and his fancy pants fundraising party  a street over.

The President came out and spoke of his personal feelings about gay marriage, and folks, we needed to hear some nice things after that horrifying North Carolina bullshit.

I just…I just don’t understand how people can profess to love in one breath, then spew and support hate in another. I can’t wrap my head around it.

This whole thing, being done in the name of God, makes me sick.

I’m betting it’s making God sick too.

I’m ready for some peace. I’m going to yoga tonight. Hopefully my boarder will be heading back to Arkansas. I need an empty house. I have one bartending shift this weekend, and then will spend the rest of the time reading and doing homework. Hopefully, I’ll get some sleep. . .

I’ve been up for two hours.

I miss sleeping.

Kikimama is home. Her growth/tumor was huge. The doc said it came out easy enough. They’ve sent it to for tests. He did mention that it had characteristics of malignancy. That’s all they said. Her stitches come out in ten days and I have to give her antibiotics in pill form, twice a day till they run out. She was groggy and in,I assume, pain last night. Still much of the surgery drugs  in her system.  She finally found a spot on my sweater in my big chair and that’s where she is now. She seems more clear eyed.

So, I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s cancer. If it is, is it gone? Was it just some alien thing? No answers just as yet.

In other news:

I got awarded a tuition fee-waiver for next year. It’s a little bit. $1100.00, but it helps. I’m happy for it!

My online class started Monday. I’ve been furiously reading, something that I will be doing daily until the end of this thing. I posted my homework answers and responded to some previous posts of other students. I went back about an hour or so later and IT WAS GONE…yeah. I posted in the wrong group. I was tired. My brain and neck and body was tense and stressed. Lord. I’m glad I found it. Now I’ve got discussion going in two groups that I’m keeping track of!

Grades came out yesterday. Still maintaining a 4.0 grade point average. I’m proud of myself.

Last semester started off with death and another helping of death with a side of drunk escapism and emotional eating. So. The fact that I pulled that off is nothing short of a miracle. I’ll take as many miracles as I possibly can.

My best good friend Trish is moving. This summer. Her husband has been transferred to Panama City, Florida for two years and they’re all heading out to the beach this late July/early August.

I understand the mercurial ways of life. I do. It’s two years. Pffft. A drop in the bucket. And who knows what’s going to happen with my life after graduation…a Ph.D? That means there’s a 99%chance I’ll be moving, too.

However, it still kind of sucks.

I’m trying to figure out how to pay for as much travel as this year is allowing me to have. There are two plane tickets already paid for. There’s a road trip in July that’s forming and the cost will be really really minimal. There’s a reunion in the Fall that I cannot miss out on. I have no idea if my school and work will allow it, since I’ll already be missing some classes for the wedding in September. I really hope so. Really really. Last time I lucked into the best plane ticket pricing ever. I hope that mojo returns. I wish I could just get paid in frequent flier miles.

I’ve got to finish reading GO. This Beat Movement class is making me want a pot brownie. (s).

What else is going on out there? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Just got home from taking Kikimama to the vet for surgery. She’s had a growth that has grown, to practically triple the size, since I found it at the beginning of the year. The vet has seen her once, and said that since it’s outer, and he can get his hands around it, that it probably just needs removing. It’s better than an internal growth. So. She’s at the vet getting prepped for surgery. They said they would call me when she’s out, around noon.

I slept nary a wink, it seems, until about 6am. What is wrong with my sleep patterns? Lord, I need some good good sleep. Spirit World sleep. I’m so tired but now that I’m up I made some coffee, and I’ve got about 100 pages to read in GO, by John Clellon Holmes, for class today. It’s dense. So it’ll take a while.

Also today is Noodle’s 14th birthday. Fourteen Years. Capitol Letters.

dude.

I remember when Rach called me (not on cell phones) at the house where I was renting a room in Goshen, Indiana. I was in the teensiest tiniest space possible and surrounded by my stuff, getting the car packed and loaded for my trek back to Oklahoma.

“we have a baby girl!!!” she said. “She’s beautiful. It was amazing.”

And I just cried and cried.

The night before was the Seinfield series finale, as well as the death of Frank Sinatra. At first I thought Frank died because that episode was so bad (it really wasn’t, and the internet wasn’t a huge deal then so there was no instantaneous uproar online) but in fact, he had to head up, high five this awesome eye’d child that was on her way down.

I drove for two days, had two flat tires, and a sunburn on the entire left side of my body because my a/c was out, but I got home.

And she was, in fact, beautiful.

And she is still, in fact, amazing.

It’s a hard thing, navigating this new fangled, always connected, hyper technical world. It’s harder still as a teenager.

I thank God daily that there was no internet or social media when I was growing up. Bobby and Deanne almost sent me to right to the hospital, and lacking that, a “poetry” intervention. Can you imagine what I’d have been like if I could see their every move on Facebook???

I’m only mostly kidding.

But Noodle is going strong, growing into such an amazing young woman. I’m proud to know her, and honored to love her.

Happy Birthday, kiddo.

We’ll gather tonight over chicken and birthday cake. We will be grateful for our tribe. May it ever sustain us.

So, Healing thoughts to Kikimama, and Happy Birthday thoughts to Noodle, mmkay?

I’m getting coffee and reading for a few hours.

Happy Tuesday, ya’ll.