Walk Away - Ben Harper
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6FSkL9hMhpE
D-Day July 9th 2006
July 9th, 2006 I ended my 30 year stent with a man who said he loved me, but actions speak so much louder than words. This is the story of the end of us and the beginning of me.
Oh no- here comes that sun again.
I went to bed last night with this feeling that something was amiss. Nothing specific, I just this feeling that you were up to your old tricks again. I asked you to sleep on the couch. I was thinking it is coming. I can't pin point it but I know you are about to pull the rug out from under my feet AGAIN. I am fairly sure you have already strayed from me, but I have no proof. I have been telling you for the last 5 years, I will not do this again. If I ever find out for sure I am done. I wonder if you have been listening. I wonder if I have been listening. I drift off thinking how the fuck did I get here. How did I come to think this is how I want to live my life.
And (that) means another day without you my friend.
This line I think was where I began to spin my tale, actually it was where I began to chase my tail. I chased my tail in circles for years trying to make sense of it all. I thought I could not leave you. You were my best friend. We met when my boyfriend, your best friend committed suicide. It is hard at 15 to bear that kind of loss. We clung to each other to survive and somewhere in there you became my best friend. I could tell you how I missed him. How I felt responsible and how some mornings I wish I wouldn't wake up. You didn't flinch. You were the person I could tell it all to.
And it hurts me to look into the mirror at myself.
I heaped every ounce of disappointment on myself. Blamed, myself. I couldn't stand the me who let him die. I hurt to my core. You helped me get through and life went on. We married; and moved away. Had children, earned degrees and spent the next 30 years together.
And it hurts even more to have to be with somebody else.
I couldn't even think about starting over with someone else. No one else knows what we have been through. NO one will know that for a year we kept each other alive when we were ready to throw in the towel. No one will remember listening to ELO Telephone and seeing the lights in the sky collide. No one that would come into my life if I give up on you would know my Mom and Dad who passed years ago when I was still young. How can anybody new know me without knowing those things? I think this was the thing I could not get past. If I leave you, I think I won't really be me!
And it's so hard to do and so easy to say.
But sometimes - sometimes,
you just have to walk away - walk away.
So, I just kept telling you I WON'T do this again. I was hoping you were listening. But the fault wasn't yours. It was mine. Why should you believe me? I have let you pull the rug out over and over. I have shown you that I don't expect you to handle me with care. But the thing that was different was that I was listening. We had just returned back from a week of wonderful fun at the beach. You had flown back and I drove with the kids like I always did. When I got home, I just knew something wasn't right. I asked you questions and you told me I was craizy, always making up problems. I don't need to make up problems...you manage to keep me supplied. So I fussed and asked you to sleep on the couch and you did. So I got up early the next morning after having driven 1200 miles back from the beach and I walked out to your truck and looked for something...I don't know what. I had never gone looking in your truck before...but I guess I had beginners luck. In less than 3 minutes I found a hotel receipt. You stayed in a hotel close to home, while I was gone to Seattle. I knew I found the proof. The proof that would lay 5 years of "I won't do this again" on the table. I woke you up. I told you we were done and that day I asked you to leave. More importantly...I NEVER asked you to return. I faced that I would cut my losses at 30 years. I would have to get past someone not knowing me like you did. I accepted that maybe I didn't really need or want someone knowing me the way you did. You know me as someone who can be walked on, mistreated, lied too. I knew right then, I never wanted anyone to know me like that ever again!
With so many people to love in my life, why do I worry about one?
EXACTLY...why worry about one!
But you put the happy in my ness, you put the good times into my fun.
And it's so hard to do and so easy to say.
But sometimes - sometimes,
you just have to walk away - walk away and head for the door.
I headed for my door and never looked back. I didn't look back when I was in Africa all by myself. I didn't look back when I said hello to a fireman. AND I NEVER LOOKED BACK WHEN I SAID HELLO TO A SUPERMAN. I found out that if I left you, I could really be me. The me that is whole. The me that knows I deserve better. The me that is happy, just being me.
And it's so hard to do and so easy to say.
But sometimes, sometimes you just have to walk away, walk away and head for the door.
You just walk away - walk away - walk away.
You just walk away, walk on, turn and head for the door.
SLAM... And ....I DIDN'T LET IT HIT ME ON MY WAY OUT!
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Sunday, March 20, 2011
One of These Days - Neil Young
"One Of These Days"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yEANf4u7bzA
One of these days,
I'm gonna sit down
and write a long letter
To all the good friends I've known
And I'm gonna try
And thank them all
for the good times together.
Though so apart we've grown.
A couple of years after this song came out, my mom died. When I first heard it I thought; I need to send some letters to some friends of mine. We were scattered by miles, life phases, family status, significant others we didn't like, kids, no kids, jobs and time. I knew I needed to set down at some point and write those letters. It has been 19 years since that song came out and I have yet to write those letters. But I did end up writing some letters to old friends... and this is the story of how I had a chance to make everything right.
It would be fair to say I was a challenging child, I have always known what I wanted. Add to that spunk and resourcefulness and you have me. Doing something wrong was not usually an accident for me. I knew what the punishment would be and I would just ask myself...worth it? If whatever was in front of me was worth a week with no TV, well then so be it. I think I saw punishments as the cost, my parents saw it as a deterrent. I guess their plan ran counter-intuitive to mine. I didn't get that until later.
Through my previous posts, it is easy to see that I am a Daddy's girl more so than my mother's girl, but I incorrectly misjudged my mother. My mother was a plain cook. She kept a neat home, not a cozy one. She was sparse with nick knacks and tighter with hugs. I used to think my mother just didn't love me. She wasn't a hugger, nor a I love you'er. I never noticed that she was that way with everyone, all I saw was she was not that way with me. I thought since she didn't do those things she did not love me and I spent most of my life with never seeing or understanding that she said I love you in different ways.
My mother would always drive the truck for Girl Scout paper drives. That was a 6 hr job, riding slow down the street as we hit house after house asking for newspapers to recycle. Belknap in Louisville Kentucky paid us $30 a ton I think. My Mom, made me a beautiful dress for a school function. She would surprise us sometimes with a small trinket for Valentine's Day or clothes lying out on our bed if she had gone shopping that day. My Mom loved us, but I just couldn't really see that.
When I was in my early 30's my mom started complaining of her right hip hurting. That was in September. In late October she was admitted to the hospital and they found spots on her lung. She went through about 6 weeks of craiziness (yes miss-spelled, explained in a previous post). I spent a lot of time with her. I was a nurse by then. My kids were young, 10 and 5. I only worked a day or two a week. So I spent a lot of time at the hospital. The Tuesday before Thanksgiving I spent the day with her. I gave her a bath and changed her sheets. Mom said something about having not been outside in weeks. I told her nurse I needed a wheelchair and I took her out. I pushed her to the corner complete with IV and catherter and it was still a beautiful day. I pulled her cigarette holder out of my pocket and I watched her smoke her last two cigarettes. She enjoyed them and I enjoyed seeing her smile in the sun, content. She had had a very rough day experiencing odd sensations in her arms and legs. I thought she was just tired of being in the bed. We didn't know for sure what was wrong with her. We were told either cancer, infection or blood clots. Every time they scheduled her for a biopsy, something went wrong, so we just didn't know. I took my mom back inside and went home to spend the evening with my own family.
Later that night I got a call from the hospital, my mom was paralyzed. I rushed to the hospital, my sister was there too. We stayed all night. The next day I stayed with my mother. My sister went to work. My mom made me promise that day that I would not let them put her on a ventilator. They said whatever those spots were; my mom had one on her C3- C2 spine. If it got bigger, she would not be able to breathe. She also said she needed to talk to my dad. They needed to talk about where things were and what needed to be done. My Mother had said she knew this was the end. My dad made a feeble attempt, but could not have those discussionswith my Mom, or so she said when I came back on Friday. She had forbid us to come to the hospital on Thanksgivings. So on Friday my mother had me sit down. I made a list of what needed to be done at home. I made a list of what she wanted to be laid out in. What color hair color to buy to dye her hair on Monday. She told me she wanted her diamond engagement ring to be given to my brother so that he would ask his girlfriend to marry him (and yes they did get married later on). My mom made me promise to keep my dad busy and to look after him when she was gone. And then she asked me to do one of the hardest things I have ever done. My mom asked me to get some paper and to write letters to those she loved. I wrote to my brother and sister. I wrote to her friends. The hardest one was to her youngest sister, Beb. I will never forget the sound of her voice, Beb, Ohhhhhhhhhh Beb that letter began. I still have to this day the paper that I wrote on so quickly to keep up with my mom. Later I would transcribe those letters on to cards, which I gave to the individuals at her funeral.
Growing up, I was never the go to kid of the three of us. I was never the one, who was enough. I was the one that challenged life on a daily basis. But in that time of need, my mother pulled me in and said that she needed me to do these things and she knew that I could and would do them. She also asked me to stay by her side and make sure she got only medication for pain relief and made me promise that when the end came, she would not know she couldn't breathe. I did all those things. I stood up and took it. I stood up and defended her. I stood up and held my father up. I stood up and did those things that only a hard-headed willful child could do. I stood up and would not be moved an inch from what my mother wanted.
So I have never sent my letters, but I did send my mothers. My only regret is I did not get that she loved me in her own way until after she was gone. I don't know now if she asked me because she knew I could do as I was asked, or if she created the one scenario that could let me know she needed me, loved me, wanted me. For whatever her reasons, I sat down and wrote some long letters, long letters to the ones she had known.
Some are weak, some are strong.
I miss her always. Even though most of my stories are of my dad, it was my mother that taught me loyalty, resourcefulness, and hard work. If I had not learned those things from my mother, I would not be able to do the fun things I learned from my Dad. I wish I could tell my mother Thank you. I want her to know that her needing me then, made all the things I hadn't done right, right. My mother made sure I knew I was enough when all was said and done. I only wish I could have told her that I finally got it...and she was enough too.
One of these days,
I'm gonna sit down
and write a long letter
To all the good friends I've known
One of these days,
one of these days,
one of these days,
And it won't be long, it won't be long.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yEANf4u7bzA
One of these days,
I'm gonna sit down
and write a long letter
To all the good friends I've known
And I'm gonna try
And thank them all
for the good times together.
Though so apart we've grown.
A couple of years after this song came out, my mom died. When I first heard it I thought; I need to send some letters to some friends of mine. We were scattered by miles, life phases, family status, significant others we didn't like, kids, no kids, jobs and time. I knew I needed to set down at some point and write those letters. It has been 19 years since that song came out and I have yet to write those letters. But I did end up writing some letters to old friends... and this is the story of how I had a chance to make everything right.
It would be fair to say I was a challenging child, I have always known what I wanted. Add to that spunk and resourcefulness and you have me. Doing something wrong was not usually an accident for me. I knew what the punishment would be and I would just ask myself...worth it? If whatever was in front of me was worth a week with no TV, well then so be it. I think I saw punishments as the cost, my parents saw it as a deterrent. I guess their plan ran counter-intuitive to mine. I didn't get that until later.
Through my previous posts, it is easy to see that I am a Daddy's girl more so than my mother's girl, but I incorrectly misjudged my mother. My mother was a plain cook. She kept a neat home, not a cozy one. She was sparse with nick knacks and tighter with hugs. I used to think my mother just didn't love me. She wasn't a hugger, nor a I love you'er. I never noticed that she was that way with everyone, all I saw was she was not that way with me. I thought since she didn't do those things she did not love me and I spent most of my life with never seeing or understanding that she said I love you in different ways.
My mother would always drive the truck for Girl Scout paper drives. That was a 6 hr job, riding slow down the street as we hit house after house asking for newspapers to recycle. Belknap in Louisville Kentucky paid us $30 a ton I think. My Mom, made me a beautiful dress for a school function. She would surprise us sometimes with a small trinket for Valentine's Day or clothes lying out on our bed if she had gone shopping that day. My Mom loved us, but I just couldn't really see that.
When I was in my early 30's my mom started complaining of her right hip hurting. That was in September. In late October she was admitted to the hospital and they found spots on her lung. She went through about 6 weeks of craiziness (yes miss-spelled, explained in a previous post). I spent a lot of time with her. I was a nurse by then. My kids were young, 10 and 5. I only worked a day or two a week. So I spent a lot of time at the hospital. The Tuesday before Thanksgiving I spent the day with her. I gave her a bath and changed her sheets. Mom said something about having not been outside in weeks. I told her nurse I needed a wheelchair and I took her out. I pushed her to the corner complete with IV and catherter and it was still a beautiful day. I pulled her cigarette holder out of my pocket and I watched her smoke her last two cigarettes. She enjoyed them and I enjoyed seeing her smile in the sun, content. She had had a very rough day experiencing odd sensations in her arms and legs. I thought she was just tired of being in the bed. We didn't know for sure what was wrong with her. We were told either cancer, infection or blood clots. Every time they scheduled her for a biopsy, something went wrong, so we just didn't know. I took my mom back inside and went home to spend the evening with my own family.
Later that night I got a call from the hospital, my mom was paralyzed. I rushed to the hospital, my sister was there too. We stayed all night. The next day I stayed with my mother. My sister went to work. My mom made me promise that day that I would not let them put her on a ventilator. They said whatever those spots were; my mom had one on her C3- C2 spine. If it got bigger, she would not be able to breathe. She also said she needed to talk to my dad. They needed to talk about where things were and what needed to be done. My Mother had said she knew this was the end. My dad made a feeble attempt, but could not have those discussionswith my Mom, or so she said when I came back on Friday. She had forbid us to come to the hospital on Thanksgivings. So on Friday my mother had me sit down. I made a list of what needed to be done at home. I made a list of what she wanted to be laid out in. What color hair color to buy to dye her hair on Monday. She told me she wanted her diamond engagement ring to be given to my brother so that he would ask his girlfriend to marry him (and yes they did get married later on). My mom made me promise to keep my dad busy and to look after him when she was gone. And then she asked me to do one of the hardest things I have ever done. My mom asked me to get some paper and to write letters to those she loved. I wrote to my brother and sister. I wrote to her friends. The hardest one was to her youngest sister, Beb. I will never forget the sound of her voice, Beb, Ohhhhhhhhhh Beb that letter began. I still have to this day the paper that I wrote on so quickly to keep up with my mom. Later I would transcribe those letters on to cards, which I gave to the individuals at her funeral.
Growing up, I was never the go to kid of the three of us. I was never the one, who was enough. I was the one that challenged life on a daily basis. But in that time of need, my mother pulled me in and said that she needed me to do these things and she knew that I could and would do them. She also asked me to stay by her side and make sure she got only medication for pain relief and made me promise that when the end came, she would not know she couldn't breathe. I did all those things. I stood up and took it. I stood up and defended her. I stood up and held my father up. I stood up and did those things that only a hard-headed willful child could do. I stood up and would not be moved an inch from what my mother wanted.
So I have never sent my letters, but I did send my mothers. My only regret is I did not get that she loved me in her own way until after she was gone. I don't know now if she asked me because she knew I could do as I was asked, or if she created the one scenario that could let me know she needed me, loved me, wanted me. For whatever her reasons, I sat down and wrote some long letters, long letters to the ones she had known.
Some are weak, some are strong.
I miss her always. Even though most of my stories are of my dad, it was my mother that taught me loyalty, resourcefulness, and hard work. If I had not learned those things from my mother, I would not be able to do the fun things I learned from my Dad. I wish I could tell my mother Thank you. I want her to know that her needing me then, made all the things I hadn't done right, right. My mother made sure I knew I was enough when all was said and done. I only wish I could have told her that I finally got it...and she was enough too.
One of these days,
I'm gonna sit down
and write a long letter
To all the good friends I've known
One of these days,
one of these days,
one of these days,
And it won't be long, it won't be long.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Whip My Hair - Katie Gavin
Whip My Hair
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sp-wFsrM-Ng
All my Ladies if you feel me
You know blogs are a way to lay out what you are thinking about at that moment, but they aren't who you are. Wait...that isn't right either. Okay, this is the story. I am divorced, but I am not defeated. Some of my blogs might seem to imply that. They couldn't be further from the truth. So here is my whip my hair story.
I am a daughter of a man who could fix anything. I am a daughter of a man who would have shown a daughter how to fix the lawn mower if she had shown any interest as well as he would have shown a son. But I didn't show any interest. I was a girl and girls didn't fix things. I did take a semester of auto body. First girl in the Jefferson County school system to do so I believe. Well, when the principal explained to my dad why I couldn't take it, they said no girl ever had. And none did, until me. Painting cars isn't really mechanical though. I always felt I had No, none, nada skills of the mechanical kind.
When married, my husband fixed anything that needed to be fixed. I wished I had told him more that I appreciated it. I was just happy there was at least one thing that wasn't my job and I let that be his world. I called all mechanical things, Blue stuff. Blue as in done by a boy, not mine, no way no how. I never asked questions, I never thought that maybe someday I might need to know how to do simple things. I took for granted; he would fix all my broken things forever. He didn't.
So the day after my divorce, I bought a house. A little fixer-upper. My brother came down and spent a week getting things sorted and repaired. He left me with tools and a good luck hug. He worked his ass off, but I think he thought he would be fixing things for me for the rest of my life. My ex lives just down the road and I know he would come if ever I called. My Superman would help me too, but I will confess he is not the fix it man my ex was. That is good. I have grown to like my ex again. We don't talk too much but whatever we need to say or want to say seems to go well, with kindness. I like to say, I didn't divorce him, I divorced loving him. I like him. That is better. I also divorced the bad things. I don't have to wonder if he is telling a lie, or about to turn my world upside down. Those things are gone between us and I like the healthy place we have landed. Yet, I still don't want him to save me either. I want to whip my fucking hair.
So I got this house. I have a garage. I had some tools I had been collecting for inside the house things. I had screw drivers, a hammer and a drill. When my dad died I got the tool box out of his car and I kept those tools. Wrenches, sockets, pliers, and some things I wasn't sure what they were. My brother left me some tools when he went back home. I had power tools, a nail gun, levels, a sawzall. I had amassed some serious shit. So I asked my kids to put a tool box on my Christmas list. I was thinking about the red, $129 one at Lowes. Instead I got a three piece black Craftsman tool box, complete with drawer liners. My baby boy bought it. It was some serious cash. Did I mention he was a college student? Anyway, my daddy had a craftsman tool box, red, not black. We used to sit in front of it on a bar stool while he pulled out our teeth with the same pliers he fixed the lawn mower with. We begged him to pull them. We wanted the quarter. Hey, life was less abundant back then. Anyway, I have this big ass tool box and I put all my tools in there. I got more than most men. Well, if they could ever have them all in one place, who knows. But they are all in there, sorted, aligned, and mine.
So again I got this house and I got this big ass tool box and well karma kicked a little dirt in my face. I jerked the hand sprayer on the sink cause it kept hanging on something. So I jerked it and it came free, and then the door under the sink blew open and sprayed gallons of water a minute on my thighs. I keep my head up I know I will be fine. Keep fighting until I get there. When I am down and I feel like giving up I think again... I whip my hair back and forth.
And in that moment I had no choice but to do it. I turned the water off and after a couple of phone calls and a quick read up on how to join PVC pipe, I went to the store and bought what I needed. I waited for super man to stop by and see if I had figured it out right he said it sounded like I had it. Secret, with the internet you can fix almost anything, Anyway I sent superman home and I fixed what I had broke. He offered to help, but I wanted to do it myself. I learned a few tricks. Since then, I have re-plumbed a tub, rebuilt old faucets, fixed several leaks, replaced two outdoor faucets, installed new lighting fixtures, fixed my push mower, figured out that my r-11 resister was blown on my Maytag Neptune and that I would spend more fixing it than a new one cost.
I never thought I could be this person. I am so not broken. I am so not down trodden. I love this life. I love every new thing I learn. I am thinking that I can learn enough to live some day in a third world country and take care of things enough to help myself. It doesn't matter if it's long or short, short or long. Do it do it, whip your hair"
I am in a whip my hair... kinda life...and I like it.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sp-wFsrM-Ng
All my Ladies if you feel me
You know blogs are a way to lay out what you are thinking about at that moment, but they aren't who you are. Wait...that isn't right either. Okay, this is the story. I am divorced, but I am not defeated. Some of my blogs might seem to imply that. They couldn't be further from the truth. So here is my whip my hair story.
I am a daughter of a man who could fix anything. I am a daughter of a man who would have shown a daughter how to fix the lawn mower if she had shown any interest as well as he would have shown a son. But I didn't show any interest. I was a girl and girls didn't fix things. I did take a semester of auto body. First girl in the Jefferson County school system to do so I believe. Well, when the principal explained to my dad why I couldn't take it, they said no girl ever had. And none did, until me. Painting cars isn't really mechanical though. I always felt I had No, none, nada skills of the mechanical kind.
When married, my husband fixed anything that needed to be fixed. I wished I had told him more that I appreciated it. I was just happy there was at least one thing that wasn't my job and I let that be his world. I called all mechanical things, Blue stuff. Blue as in done by a boy, not mine, no way no how. I never asked questions, I never thought that maybe someday I might need to know how to do simple things. I took for granted; he would fix all my broken things forever. He didn't.
So the day after my divorce, I bought a house. A little fixer-upper. My brother came down and spent a week getting things sorted and repaired. He left me with tools and a good luck hug. He worked his ass off, but I think he thought he would be fixing things for me for the rest of my life. My ex lives just down the road and I know he would come if ever I called. My Superman would help me too, but I will confess he is not the fix it man my ex was. That is good. I have grown to like my ex again. We don't talk too much but whatever we need to say or want to say seems to go well, with kindness. I like to say, I didn't divorce him, I divorced loving him. I like him. That is better. I also divorced the bad things. I don't have to wonder if he is telling a lie, or about to turn my world upside down. Those things are gone between us and I like the healthy place we have landed. Yet, I still don't want him to save me either. I want to whip my fucking hair.
So I got this house. I have a garage. I had some tools I had been collecting for inside the house things. I had screw drivers, a hammer and a drill. When my dad died I got the tool box out of his car and I kept those tools. Wrenches, sockets, pliers, and some things I wasn't sure what they were. My brother left me some tools when he went back home. I had power tools, a nail gun, levels, a sawzall. I had amassed some serious shit. So I asked my kids to put a tool box on my Christmas list. I was thinking about the red, $129 one at Lowes. Instead I got a three piece black Craftsman tool box, complete with drawer liners. My baby boy bought it. It was some serious cash. Did I mention he was a college student? Anyway, my daddy had a craftsman tool box, red, not black. We used to sit in front of it on a bar stool while he pulled out our teeth with the same pliers he fixed the lawn mower with. We begged him to pull them. We wanted the quarter. Hey, life was less abundant back then. Anyway, I have this big ass tool box and I put all my tools in there. I got more than most men. Well, if they could ever have them all in one place, who knows. But they are all in there, sorted, aligned, and mine.
So again I got this house and I got this big ass tool box and well karma kicked a little dirt in my face. I jerked the hand sprayer on the sink cause it kept hanging on something. So I jerked it and it came free, and then the door under the sink blew open and sprayed gallons of water a minute on my thighs. I keep my head up I know I will be fine. Keep fighting until I get there. When I am down and I feel like giving up I think again... I whip my hair back and forth.
And in that moment I had no choice but to do it. I turned the water off and after a couple of phone calls and a quick read up on how to join PVC pipe, I went to the store and bought what I needed. I waited for super man to stop by and see if I had figured it out right he said it sounded like I had it. Secret, with the internet you can fix almost anything, Anyway I sent superman home and I fixed what I had broke. He offered to help, but I wanted to do it myself. I learned a few tricks. Since then, I have re-plumbed a tub, rebuilt old faucets, fixed several leaks, replaced two outdoor faucets, installed new lighting fixtures, fixed my push mower, figured out that my r-11 resister was blown on my Maytag Neptune and that I would spend more fixing it than a new one cost.
I never thought I could be this person. I am so not broken. I am so not down trodden. I love this life. I love every new thing I learn. I am thinking that I can learn enough to live some day in a third world country and take care of things enough to help myself. It doesn't matter if it's long or short, short or long. Do it do it, whip your hair"
I am in a whip my hair... kinda life...and I like it.
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