Sliding Glass Window Oberservations From A Grenade

Yesterday I watched from my sliding glass window, five young men wearing the same color suit. Four of them wore ties folded in Windsor knots. One of them wore a slick bow tie. There was a sixth man. A photographer wearing khakis, took candid shots of them as they changed from gym to dress shoes, straightened each others ties and goofed off, like young men do. My guess was, they were the groom and attendants for a wedding. Or maybe they were an a cappella group. Who knows?

My apartment complex is set back in a wooded area, so the photographer took them behind the building to get more shots. They left their gym shoes and back packs resting on the hoods of their vehicles. Their doors were left wide open. When they returned, they grabbed all their crap and jammed themselves into their vehicles. They and the khaki panted photographer headed off to parts unknown. I was excited to observe them as they smile radiantly and wore the same color suits. Four of them with ties folded in Windsor knots. The other, maybe the groom, wearing a slick bow tie.

Often, my observational posts begin on my personal Facebook page. An idea hits me and I have to write it down. I’m sure it drives many of my friends crazy because my posts can get a little lengthy. Whatever, then take me out of your news feed! On second thought, please don’t, because I want you to read my observations. Looking at my window is about the only place I can draw inspiration right now.  I’ve kinda been stuck in my apartment for 70 days.

My focus waned and I didn’t write much more till I arrived home from My Trivia last night. At 1:00 a.m I began writing a lengthy email to a friend, when the following quote popped into my Sparkly little head:

 I wanted to know that he would be okay if I did. I wanted to not be a grenade, to not be a malevolent force in the lives of the people I loved.–John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

I wrote to my friend, I am a goddamn grenade.

I realized that in my married life and when I was raising my kids, I was a grenade. I was a malevolent force that ruined everything in my path. I was an F5 tornado or category 5 hurricane. And I was hell bent on self destructing. The self destruction included being a horrible drunk, a slow suicide with food and conversing with men that I had no business talking to.

I don’t want to be a grenade, anymore.

My ultimate goal is to try to find peace within my stormy, passionate and romantic heart. My ultimate goal is to not judge others and somehow rise above the transgressions of my past. I’ve sought forgiveness from God. I can’t go back and change anything. I’m not looking for sympathy. I’m not even looking for forgiveness from Roger Darling, Meggie or Adam Boy. All I can do is keep my mouth shut, my mind clear and try to be happy.

I wish for the three I’ve hurt the most to be happy, because I don’t want to be a goddamn grenade, anymore.

I talked to my mother today and I asked her when I should stop saying I’m sorry for all the havoc I wreaked? Her response was as soon as put down the bucket of guilt I continued to carry around. I may never be completely forgiven by my children or the man I shared 24 years of my life with, but I’m going to put down that bucket. I’m sure there will be times in my life that I will pick it up again. There will always be a part of me that knows that I fucked everything up.

I’m also acutely aware that I will probably be alone for the rest of my life because of what I’ve done. I have to be okay with that.  I have to realize that there is no such thing as unconditional love, except for the love we give our children. On this journey to myself, I’ve discovered I am a child of God. I am a sinner, but even sinners need to forgive themselves.

His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches over me…

He watches over Meggie and Adam.

And I know, He watches over Roger Darling.

 

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Friday Fictioneers-Silly Pickle Jar

Thanks to Rochelle for this prompt. An unusual but usual photo by Sean Fallon. It’s my second try at Friday Fictioneers. Let’s see what I can come up with.

Silly pickle jar. Filled with batteries. She soaked the label off when she washed it. Why? All it holds is used cylinders of power. He said he’d take care of it when full. Of course it’s still sitting there. He’s got a terrible habit of hoarding. Damn, she loves him, but he drives her nuts. It could be worse. He could be an asshole. She laughs out loud, and figures this little quirk is nothing. She sticks a post-it note to the jar.

Take the batteries to recycling Darling, or they go in the trash.

Signed, your loving wife

The sound of him in the morning

Roger darling always gets up before me. He’s an early riser and I’m a night owl. Since it’s Saturday morning I slept in a bit. He came into the bedroom, looked at me and asked, “are you feeling okay honey, are you sore?” I said, “I’m not as sore as I thought I would be.”

Last evening I was in a car accident. I drove left of center and hit a young kid that was driving his grandfather’s car. I’m okay and so is he. I felt so bad for him though. It was my fault! We called 911 and held hands until the cops and ambulance got there. I soothed his nerves as best I could while I cried. I digress.

Back to my Roger. After we chatted for a few minutes, I took a pain pill and headed back to bed. He then asked if he could go to the casino with my mom. I told him, “of course, I’m going back to bed.” He called my mom and they devised their plans for the day.

Then he got ready. There is something so comforting about the sound of his movements in the bathroom. Hearing the rush of water as he showers. Then after he shuts it off I know he’s standing there naked and drying himself off.

He came to stand in the doorway of our bedroom to chat, then headed back to the bathroom to shave. I couldn’t see him but I could hear the squirting sound of the shaving cream in his hand. I knew then that he was applying it to his face. He turned on the faucet to run the razor under the hot water. He repeated the movements until his face was smooth. Then he tapped the razor on the side of the sink to remove the excess water.

Next he brushed his teeth. I know because he stood in our doorway, brush in hand and squirted the toothpaste on his brush. There’s something so funny about having a conversation with him while he’s brushing his teeth. With that task done, he came to my side of the bed and kissed me sweetly. Asked one more time if it was okay if he went out to play. I told him yes, of course. I’ll be fine.

Now my eyelids are heavy from pain medicine and I’m snuggled in bed with the wonder schnauzers. I have to say I will never tire of listening to the sounds of Roger getting ready. I take such comfort in knowing he’s here.

Practical Magic or Practical Love, What Can We Do to Fill That Hole Inside of Us?

“Sometimes I feel like there’s a hole inside of me, an emptiness that at times seems to burn. I think if you lifted my heart to your ear, you could probably hear the ocean. The moon tonight, there’s a circle around it. Sign of trouble not far behind. I have this dream of being whole. Of not going to sleep each night, wanting. But still sometimes, when the wind is warm or the crickets sing… I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for. I just want someone to love me. I want to be seen. I don’t know. Maybe I had my happiness. I don’t want to believe it but, there is no man, Gilly. Only that moon.“-Practical Magic

It has been so long since I’ve seen this movie, but this quote moved me to tears this morning. I know I have love, but I still feel this void inside of me. Every day. Why? I have no idea. But I wish there was some way for me to fill it. Maybe that’s why I write. Who knows. Maybe that’s why I share with you the emptiness I feel in my soul. Today, I shared it with my friend, someone I haven’t seen in 30 years. But it felt normal to share it with her. I have no idea why.  I just did. As I talked to my friend, I’ll call her the Singing Siren. I was reminded that we all have this hole in us. We want to fill it. I asked her, why do we have this hole that needs to be filled?

I mean we love, we are loved, we have children, and we lead full lives. For some reason, we want more. We women, who have made it to this stage in our lives crave more. We are NOT our mothers. We are not content to sit back and grow old. I am sure  it’s why I write. I still burn. I may be almost at middle age but I still burn. I write because I am not dead yet. I will not die. And when I do, you will remember me. My words, my passion, my life written on these pages will make you remember me. It will also make you remember the stories that I’ve told and the people that I’ve made you meet. I told Rory today that I will not go silently into that good night. I will go out kicking and screaming. Fighting ever damn step of the way.

I told the Singing Siren’s friend, that we all have that hole. No matter how fulfilled we are, we all have it in us. It could be from a lost love, a great what if, or a life wasted. We all have that hole we are trying to fill. I told her to find a passion, and fill it up. But who am I? I’m just a girl with a big mouth that likes to talk a lot. What advice I give really has no bearing on anyone that I come in contact with.

My friend, the Raven Haired Angel, gave a sad status update today. It was: I used to be so positive about life and encouraged others. My life was awesome. I have a wonderful husband who puts up with the crazy and psycotic depending which day it is. I have great friends, wonderful children, great employers, and cuddle pups. So why is it I can still encourage others while I’m drowning in myself? I am so blessed and so thankful, and yet feel stupid and unworthy and incapable of anything! I awake crying for no reason, I hurt from head to toe, I stumble,I forget , I’m hot, I’m cold, and I can’t open a damn jar anymore! If this is midlife it sucks!!!!!

I told the Raven Haired Angel that a good friend gave me the subject to write about today. All from a simple quote from a sweet, sad movie called, Practical Magic. I told her she was beautiful, that she’s still viable. That she is loved and lovely. That the crazy and the psychotic we feel is normal. We’re normal. It’s okay to feel the way we feel. It makes us yearn to be more, and to do more. It means that we are not about to be complacent. I told her do NOT become so. I told her to find a passion and pursue it. I signed off telling her that I had much love to give her and if at anytime she needed to be told how normal and necessary she was, she could call me.

I’m still trying to find a way to fill that hole in me. I feel I do every day I write. Every post I make. It fills my hole and makes me whole. Makes me better. Makes my friends, readers, and followers better. It makes me realize we are not alone. We are not. And here, here we find a way to become better. To find that Practical Magic, and that Practical Love.