I work in downtown Charleston, West Virginia. My office is located in the center of the city, next to our county library. Since I began working here I have encountered many beggars in the area. I have heard every sob story in the book. Usually they regale tales of homelessness and being hungry. At first I would hand them a couple of bucks because I am gullible like that. After several weeks of believing the sad stories I thought that this was probably not helping them at all. I began to wonder the true purpose of the money I had so freely given. Yet I was unable to deny them altogether. I decided at this point to offer them something to eat instead. When they told me that they were so hungry that their blood sugar was dropping and they risked passing out, I informed them that I would take them to a local take-out joint for a meal. Some took me up on the offer and some did not. I simply could not turn away another human being in need of food.
I have since noticed a few true homeless men who wander the downtown streets, carrying all of their worldly possessions in makeshift luggage. One man sits in a doorway of a long ago abandoned storefront watching businessmen and women rushing from one appointment to the next. I always look at him, smile and offer a greeting. Another homeless man hangs out on the steps of the public library. He is usually listening to music through his earphones and seems to be enjoying his own world. He also makes his rounds; digging through every trash can along each street. The third man walks along the sidewalks in wholly shoes searching for cigarette butts to stockpile and smoke later. I have never witnessed any of these men begging for money or food. I suspect that they have too much pride to ask for help. Maybe they prefer to be looked at in disdain than to beg for assistance. I respect these men. They are after all still human beings; not people to be pitied or loathed. Just before this past Christmas I tried to give one of these men fifty dollars as a gift. He refused, saying that he had money. After he walked away I feared that I had embarrassed him. I pray that he realizes the respect I honestly have for him. It simply broke my heart to watch him dig through trash cans for half eaten morsels of food.
CHARLESTON, W.Va. -- The number of homeless people increased in West Virginia between January 2005 and January 2007 more quickly than almost anywhere in the nation, according to a study released Monday by a Washington, D.C.-based group.
Homelessness in the Mountain State rose by 58 percent, according to the new report from the National Alliance to End Homelessness. Only Kentucky had a higher rate, with a 63 percent increase.
The state had 2,409 homeless people in January 2007, according to the report. West Virginia was one of 18 states where the number of homeless increased. (excerpt from The Gazette Newspaper)
Pride In The Midst of Despair
Psychic or Psychotic - You Decide
I have always loved the idea of marriage, or maybe romanticized the concept. I’m not exactly sure. I do know that I wanted to be happily married with 2.5 children, living in the house with the white picket fence and a dog. At the ripe old age of eighteen I married my high school sweetheart. I think I chose to marry this young man because his parents had been happily married for twenty years – and they are still happily married today. I was, and remain, in awe of their relationship. I had hoped that their son had taken lessons from his parents, but alas he did not. I should have known from the wedding that our union was destined to fail. One month before our nuptials I had a dream that the florists forgot our flowers and postponed our wedding. I actually even expressed my concerns about this haunting foreshadowing two weeks before the wedding. We all had a chuckle about it since it was perceived as bridal jitters. The morning of our big day we patiently waited for our flowers to arrive. Guess what? They did in fact forget them. I honestly believe that I should have been forewarned of the inevitable destruction of my first marriage.
I waited a full seven years before I finally decided to marry again. Yet again I should have known on my wedding day that this union was also destined to fail. We decided to be wed on his parents’ property, and let me inject here that his parents have been married over fifty years. When I arrived to take our vows I found my groom’s hand wrapped in a large wad of gauze. The night before, he had cut every finger of his right hand on a large butcher knife. I came this-close to running far away during our vows. Again I chalked this feeling up to jitters. Again my second marriage turned sour and we divorced ten years later.
The lesson I have learned is that, if I ever decide to take the plunge again, I will run screaming from my groom if everything is not perfect. My current boyfriend and I have discussed getting married but I am still reluctant. Third time could be a charm, but it could also be three strikes and you’re out for life. I might add that his parents have also been happily married for over fifty years. Maybe I should just steal the fathers away from their wives and finally have my “happily, ever-after!”
My Not So Secret Love Affair
I learned the other day that my high school reunion is being planned for this summer. Although I didn’t realize until later in life, I was a pretty hot young lady. Of course that was twenty-five years ago. Three pregnancies and seven surgeries later, life has taken its toll and everything has gone south. Not helping matters is the fact that I have had a love affair for forty-some years. I am absolutely in love with food, especially junk food. I was raised in a house that had every form of junk food you could imagine, refrigerator full of sugary soda, chips, ice cream, and candy. Four years ago, however, I was diagnosed with Diabetes, a disease I had never encountered.
Since then I have lost approximately sixty pounds by making better life choices. While I am glad that I only have about twenty-five pounds more to lose, the task seems daunting, at best. I know exactly what to do and eat to lose these extra pounds but my love for food is still so strong that I fear it may be impossible. I also despise expending much energy to burn more calories than I consume. I always want that easy way out; to eat my cake and have it too. Ah, to actually be able to cake now!!
Yesterday I took my first step to my new weight loss goal. My boyfriend has been lifting weights to gain weight, a task that is difficult for him (The Bastard!). I decided to work out with him. Even now, after only two days of lifting (very little weight, I might add), it is difficult to lift my arms and type this post. When your upper arms feel like Jello-O, it isn’t easy to convince them to move! But, I am nothing if not determined to have a body that comes close to resembling the one I had during school. I am not sure exactly why this is so important to me. It just is!!
Tick, Tock, Tick, Stop
Those hideous colors, that I am sure were all the rage in the 60’s and 70’s, consumed the walls, floors, and windows of that kitchen. The bright orange signified the joy in that room. The dark brown reflected the cruelties of that room. Two colors that are diametrically opposed had been perfectly chosen. How could one room provide so much happiness and so much sorrow in just a few ticks of the clock? On the other side of that clock my Nanny had painted a picture on the wall; almost hidden from the world. It was a brightly colored lemon tree. Her energy, light and sparkle lay just beyond that clock. The clock that kept ticking by the hours, measuring the stolen times of laughter and joy. If only that clock could stand still in time, stopping at 4:49pm. If only we weren’t conditioned to crane our necks to constantly check the time. Maybe then the whole kitchen could be painted in bright lemon trees.
Looking at the picture of five generations of surviving women, posed in the kitchen, has me feeling orange and brown. We had all escaped that house as survivors, save for the two women flanking the photograph. Don’t misunderstand me, these two women were still survivors. They simply chose to survive in his cruel world. They deemed it necessary to stay in that kitchen, hoping that the clock would simply stop ticking. Until then we would sneak longing gazes beyond the clock; enjoying our life, laughter and love in the world of brightly colored lemon trees.
(Great-Great Grandma May sitting just in front of the lemon tree)
“All art is a kind of confession, more or less oblique. All artists, if they are to survive, are forced, at last, to tell the whole story; to vomit the anguish up.” -James Baldwin
To All The Men I Loved Before
I love men. I mean I absolutely LOVE them. They may be their own unique creatures that I will never fully understand, but that is why I love them so. And if you have read my blog you will know that I was destined to feel this way. I have also known quite a few men in my life; as in the biblical sense. These men have come from all different walks of life and culture. That is the reason they excite me so. I love change and new adventures. Today I am going to give my opinion about the different men I have known.
Chinese Men: Can completely satisfy you in bed, leaving you spent. After about an hour, however, that feeling will fade and you will need to do it again.
Redneck, Hillbilly Men: Love to do it in the mountains. Just make sure you duck when you have finished so he can spit his tobacco out the car window.
Tall, Skinny Men: Usually have the biggest wangers. Unfortunately I despise weighing more than my partner.
Small Wanger Men: Not able to do a whole lot with the equipment but they are willing to do anything to make up for the size.
Italian Men: Hot in bed and can cook a great meal afterwards. Make sure you eat their food after sex. The garlic breath will kill the mood.
Young Men: Not as experienced but you can certainly train ‘em well.
Old Men: Cannot always perform. If unable to rise to the occasion, they usually have deep pockets that can buy you some great gifts.
Irish Men: Really know how to kiss that Blarney Stone!
Ex-Husbands: My favorite because you can keep screwing ‘em by collecting the alimony and not have to put up with their shit!
Will Work For Love
I have been wondering lately about love; the love between a woman and a man. Do people really stay together, happily together? How much work does it take to stay with that one special person for the rest of your life? Should you really have to work for it? Shouldn’t it just be natural and easy? Shouldn’t two people be able to coast through their lives together, all the while sharing those stolen passionate moments?
In my life I have not been witness to long lasting love between a husband and wife. I have yearned for this is my life. I want it so badly, that at times it physically hurts. Unfortunately, it just seems to be so much hard work. And I like to take the easy route to everything. I have spoken to couples that have that long lasting commitment and they acknowledge that it does indeed require effort. Perhaps there is no such thing as uncomplicated, easy love. I suppose that if I want to have the love I have searched for, I will have to mend my ways, buckle down and work for it. They say anything worth having is worth working for.
St. Valentine's Day Massacre
I may be a forty-something grandma but I am still quite the romantic. I enjoy romance, flowers, late night sex romps and small, meaningful gifts. Maybe that is why Valentine’s Day is so important to me. I love what this holiday represents. I don’t expect fancy, expensive presents, just something that lets me know that my man knows me. That is why it really pissed me off that my boyfriend did not give me anything for this special day.
I bought him something small but something I knew he would enjoy; a gift that was meaningful and thoughtful. I would have been happy with a card. Of course I would have expected him to search through all of the cards the store had to offer just to find that one that said something from his heart. Alas my special gift for Valentine’s Day was an excuse. An excuse of why he was unable to give me anything. As usual, I let him off the hook. He is, after all, a man. Most men just do not get it. I decided instead to educate him and he decided to be defensive. Hence, there was no late night sex romp for either of us.
Maybe I expect too much for him. After all, he is a man. And really, maybe I expect him to read my mind. I am, after all, a woman. Hopefully, one day he will “get me.” That is really my greatest desire: to teach him to “get me.” Is that asking too much? Perhaps. Perhaps, I should wake up from this fantasy existence and realize that men and women are just two entirely different creatures. Perhaps I should just be happy with the strange monkey love that he is so good at!
My Resurrection
I wonder if my children resent me in the same manner that I resented my own mother. They definitely have every right to harbor ill feelings towards me. I abandoned them, hurt them and I fear that I have not given them many gifts throughout their lives. I would like to think that, as my mother did for me, I gave them the most amazing relationships. I have been incapable of providing them the relationship that they yearned to have; the relationship between mother and child.
My mother has said for years that when I buried my first daughter, she also buried me. I was never the same person I had been. My joy, that was once so prevalent, had seeped out of my soul. My death was quiet. I moved through my life; functioning like a robot. I lost all of my senses, forced to shut down in order to survive. Not even an adult, I had endured the greatest loss a person should never be forced to endure. And yet I was totally obsessed with having children, certain that their love would cure me.
I gave birth to two beautiful children, only eighteen months apart. I loved my little girl and little boy more than I loved my husband and certainly more than I loved myself. Because of my lack of emotional and physical intimacy, my marriage fell apart. I fled from my husband and took my precious babies with me. One day he picked them up for his weekend visit and refused to bring them back. Since we had no court order there was nothing I could immediately do to get them back; another loss that was too overwhelming to overcome. I truly believed, at the time, that it would be better for my babies to stay with him. I refused to allow my children to be pawns in the destruction of our marriage. I would not play tug-of-war with my babies. It was the worst decision I had ever made.
It was the first bad decision followed by a long procession of mistakes. I sank further into depression. Where I was previously numb I was now devoid of any emotion except for self-pity and self-loathing. I distanced myself from all of my family. My second death was also quiet but much more painful. I had too much despair to live but not enough courage to end my physical existence. Slowly, I ended my relationship with my children; two victims of my twisted wreckage. I was incapable, or perhaps too selfish, to accept the pain I caused.
As my children grew up, I made the decision to straighten out my pathetic life. A long time passed until I was finally ready to change my circumstances. I still struggle with my emotions and correcting my mistakes but I am closer each day to becoming healthy. I have been re-establishing my relationship with my children. They are adults now and more able to understand and accept me. My greatest hope is that one day I will be capable of giving them the greatest gifts. Gifts of sharing our life, our laughter and our love!
The Long Journey From Resentment To Appreciation
When I was in therapy my counselor looked at me one day and bluntly told me that I had a lot of resentment. My first thought was, “How dare you tell me that? I have been wronged throughout my life and you should be taking pity on me instead of judging me!” my second thought was, “How dare that woman? She didn’t live the life I lived!” my third, fourth, fifth and hundredth thought were all along the same vein. It took me quite a few sessions for the concept of resentment to sink into my head. I was so wrapped up in my own self-pity I could not, or would not, realize the truth. Probably the most difficult thing I ever had to do in my life was look past all of the injustices I had to endure throughout my life.
The object of my biggest resentment was my mother. I blamed her for everything that happened to me during my childhood and all the mistakes I made in my adulthood. It was always her fault that my life had turned out so miserably. If she had not abandoned me with my grandparents I would not have witnessed the cruelty that happened in that house. If I did not have to care for my little sister so many nights I could have had the youth my peers lived. If only she had loved me I wouldn’t feel so worthless. My life was filled with “if only’s.” Until one day I came to realize the truth about my mother.
My mother, like the rest of us, is not perfect. I think every child wants that one perfect parent that exists only in the land of make believe, or better known as television. Once I stepped back from my self-pity I saw the many wonderful gifts she had given to me. If she had not left me in the care of my grandparents I would not have had the unbreakable bond between me and my Nanny. I had felt that my mother was selfish when she went away. Now I realize the totally selfless act her heart wrenching decision must have been. She also rescued me from my Papa’s cruelty; he never abused small children, so my mother came back for me when I was seven. If I had not spent so much time with my sister, nine and half years younger than I was, I would not have had the close, loving relationship that I share with her to this day. I am certain that I would never had the love of these women in my life.
I have learned that all the mistakes I have made were my choice. I chose to be miserable and negative. Today I choose to view life from a different angle. An angle that looks at the blessings in my life instead of the misfortunes. Now that I have come to these realizations, I appreciate her, flaws and all. She is my best friend, biggest supporter and loving caregiver. My mother has given me the greatest gifts in my life. She gave me life, laughter and love.
STOP!! In The Name Of The Law!
About an hour and a half later, on my way back from lunch, I notice the owner of the car walk up to it and grab the note of the windshield that we had left. I tell her the story, she calls the police, and we wait for an officer to arrive. Fortunately, it must have been a slow crime day since we didn't have to wait very long. I seriously doubt that the officer will move mountains to find the hit and run driver, but I feel as though I have done my civic duty for the day. Just remember one thing when you feel the urge to break the law in my town: "There is a new sheriff in town and she is not taking any prisoners!"
Shoulda Just Said NO!
I was outside smoking today with a couple of coworkers. Ironic that we all work for the company that provides products and support for the state funded tobacco quit line. The three of us were reminiscing about our young and stupid days, mine being two decades ago while theirs were more like two years ago. I wondered if they would have ever imagined that, at one time, I did, in fact, have a wild side. Nights filled with drinking tequila, dancing on bars and picking up men. Days consumed with hangovers, shaky hands and serious regrets. I did, however, remain somewhat responsible; never missing a day of work.
I also dabbled, just a bit, in trying drugs. When I was married to my first husband, I smoked pot. My husband absolutely loved his weed. I, on the other hand, was not very fond of it. I mean, seriously, how could you enjoy something that makes you so miserable? I was already morbidly obese, so wanting to eat everything morsel of junk food available did not seem advantageous to me. Looking out of the living room blinds, knowing that the police would be knocking on my door to arrest me for smoking a joint, did not seem like much fun. Going out in public, imagining that everyone knew what I had been doing was just too nerve wracking. Smoking pot turned me into a paranoid, fatter mess.
When I was with my second husband, he used cocaine on a recreational basis, maybe once or twice a year. I knew very little about this drug, never had even seen it before. I did know, however, that it didn’t make you want to eat everything under the sun. Since I had been told that it would help me lose weight, and I was still obese, I figured that it may be a good thing for me to try. I accompanied him to the home of his connection. My husband handed me a tray with white powder on it and showed me how to consume it. I was very hesitant to try this drug. I snorted a very small amount, probably about three or four granules. Very soon after I consumed the cocaine my heart began to race and the room started to spin. Did I mention that I suffered from panic disorder? I asked my husband to get me out of the house. Once outside, I was so freaked out that I began running around in circles in the side yard. I must have been quite a sight, running around the drug dealer’s yard, in broad daylight like a crazed maniac begging my husband to take me to the hospital. Needless to say, that was the last time I ever tried any type of drug.
I would have made the perfect poster-child for educating our youth against drugs. Just say NO or you will end like me. A chicken dancing, window peeping, maniacal, nut job!!
Give the Lady Anything She Wants...
I am the ultimate consumer. I love to buy, but am not really all that crazy about shopping or spending much money. I adore finding a bargain. I rarely ever purchase anything at full price and proudly announce the cost of any new find. I believe that I inherited this from my late Grandpa Pat. He also loved to find a good bargain and letting everyone know how much he paid for it. My family and coworkers usually have a good little chuckle over my finds. I think they enjoy hearing my tales of the “art of the deal.”
Whenever I receive excellent service or find a worthy product I am the first one to heap praise on the product or service. If I am not pleased with either I am, however, the first to voice my opinion. I will express my desire to receive some type of compensation for the defective product, rude service or ineptitude of an employee. I have received many free items for my opinions, ranging from a free laptop to replace the one I dropped and broke, free meals at local restaurants, to discounts at hotels, repair shops and stores. It is amazing the gifts a harried manager will bestow upon me just to get me to shut up and leave them alone. If I am not satisfied with the first offer I simply find an upper management member willing to provide me with a better offer. The trick is to find that one person too busy with more important matters than an irate women that refuses to take no for an answer. I never yell, curse or threaten anyone with bodily harm. The whole trick is persistence. Or should I say nagging, a trait I inherited from my mother.
As I walk on stage to accept my award for “Cheapest Bitch Alive,” I wish to thank my mom and grandpa for the lessons they have taught me. I must cut my speech short. The award statue is a bit tarnished so I need to call the manufacturer! I guarantee I will get a better statue!
Military Man
My brother-in-law turned 45 today. John has been married to my sister, Kendra, for about nine years now. He is retired Army, where he was a recruiter. My sister is pampered and spoiled by him, the way she deserves. He absolutely worships her, the way she deserves.
I honestly believed for the longest time that he didn't really care for me much. A sentiment that I totally understood. He and Kendra have been very close to my two children at a time when I was too selfish to be the mother they needed. They provided the stability and nurturing environment that I lacked. Last week he proved my theory wrong. When I was in Ohio visiting my granddaughter in the hospital, John presented me with a gift from the two of them and my mother. He was shopping at the jewelers, for yet another diamond for my sister. He came across a bracelet with "Live, Love, Laugh" inscribed on three charms. The gift was completely his idea and just knowing that he took that part of his day to purchase the bracelet for me means more to me than he will ever know. It was the symbolic gesture I needed to reassure me that I am accepted by this amazing man.
John is caring, comical, compassionate. My one wish for he and my sister is to be blessed with the child they deserve. Since they are unable to have a child of their own they have decided to become foster parents. Any child (or children) will be fortunate to share his wonderful life, infectious laugh and abundant love. I know that I am lucky to have him in my life!!
Adopting Amanda
Amanda has seen too much sorrow for such a young age. Her mother died tragically when Amanda was still a young child. Sadly, they never had the chance to know each other. The passing of her mother did afford her the wondrous opportunity to be raised by her father's parents. Amanda's own father was not capable of caring for such a young girl. She called her grandmother Mom. Her "mom" could not have loved her any more than if she had given birth to her. 
During school Amanda met my sister, Kendra, and they became fast friends (pictured from left to right: Wendy, Amanda and Kendra). Amanda fit into our family as if she were born into it. She spent many hours and days amongst her "second" family. She is effervescent, expressive, exciting. As soon as you meet her, you just know that you will love her forever.
Be Careful of The Eggshells
I am sitting at my little, green and yellow table in one of the tiny green chairs. Papa must have dressed me that morning because I am wearing an orange and brown striped turtleneck with yellow and brown checkered, polyester pants. The outfit never bothered me until years later when I look at myself in slightly faded photographs; memories such as these, once suppressed, but now flooding my consciousness.
The kids are home from school and the house is abuzz in a flurry of activity. Grandma Millie cleans the dishes while Nanny prepares the evening’s meal. Aunt Kerry sets the table, six place settings placed perfectly around the table. I would like to help but I am too young and may not be able to make the dinner table as perfect as he likes. I am, however, just as content to be a part of the animated conversations happening in the brown and orange kitchen. The family is laughing while my aunt and uncle recall their day at school. I love to hear my Nanny laugh, so light and contagious.
Suddenly the atmosphere changes. The house takes on an eerie silence as one by one we turn to see the time on the clock above the doorway. He will be home in ten minutes. The food has a final taste test, the place settings are carefully examined and smiles are replaced with furrowed brows. Avoiding an unpleasant situation is our main objective.
At precisely 5:05 pm the green station wagon rolls up the driveway. He is home, dinner is placed on the table and he strolls into the house. He appears weary from work but not unhappy. This is a good omen. Dinner begins uneventful but the moment is fraught with tension as he discovered a miniscule spot on his spoon. We collectively hold our breaths. He retrieves his napkin, removes the residue and continues with his meal. Another catastrophe has been averted.
After dinner he walks back and forth to the garage with a specific purpose. He is convinced that the family is unaware of his little facade. We all know. We simply choose not to discuss it. The uneven gait that intensifies with each trip to the garage belies the charade. After a dozen or so trips he passes out in his favorite chair. The family begins to relax. He awakens after an hour, stumbles up the hall, and falls into bed. We can finally breathe easy. Tonight was uneventful. What will tomorrow bring?
The Scrapbook - Part I
I went home to Ohio this weekend to be with my daughter, Miss Megan, and granddaughter, Little Layla Marie. Little Layla was taken to the hospital, suffering from a seizure. Thankfully it appears as if it was a one time event. I witnessed my own miracle, the kind you hope for, pray for, beg for. As I have said before, I certainly do not want these two girls to suffer the heartache that the rest of my female relatives have.
Kathy, my mom, at 21 years old
