Frustration

Google seems to con-trol more of me than I am comfortable with.

Tonight I wanted to simply login to my downhomedixy account to write something, anything, just write.....
to touch something bigger than myself.
But a WALL hit my nose, then pressed into me.
I used my fingers to try and separate the bricks, so I could dis-assemble the barrier.
I have DNA under my fingernails.....If you look very closely under the microscope,
the strands spin, multicolored, and carry only a few letters of the alphabet.
ELGOOG...El Goog. El Goop. El Poop. Le Poop.
Plus 13 security codes, First sent to my phone, then the email I'm trying to recover, and then the back-up email. but I don't remember the password to the former email, so I'll have to get another security code sent to my gmail account. And it' just a big google circle.

I didn't give up. 25 minutes later, I arrive.

Yay.

To my space.

Of nothingness.

That I can fill with whatever is on my mind.

And tonight.....I just did.

rambling on about storms

When you are living through a storm
It's better, or easier, if you focus on others who
have lived through worse.

I used to believe that when you are in a mess, you don't really know it until its over.
And maybe that was true then.
At some point, that changed, and I feel the pain when it happens.

Now, when I see a  storm approaching, I try to build a solid wall, to protect myself,
and those I love, from the crashing consequences.
Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.
I had a thought last night,
That maybe the storm crashing, is supposed to happen.
Like the floods, to bring up fertile soil.
Not for me, but for someone else.

We learn how to be strong from exercising our muscles, our faith.
And I'm trying to console myself, to ease my own pain.
Because when I am standing with a warm blanket, ready to wrap it around
a shivering soul,
and the wind blows so hard, the soul ends up in Texas,
and my arms don't reach that far.
I'm left holding the blanket.

And I have to watch the soul tumble and spin and get smaller and smaller
and smaller.

I know the soul will be back someday.
And I will still be holding the blanket.
Because that's what mother's do.

To Tim 2015

July 7, 2015

To Tim

From Kathy

God got me ready for you.

He let me choose a stormy sea.

So I would relax in the calming shelter of your arms.

He let me choose a rough and rugged ground.

So I would prop my blistered soles and tired toes on your knees.

He let me choose a broken shack,

So I would feel secure beneath the roof of your love.

He let me choose a bitter drink

So I would enjoy the sweet nectar of your tree-ripened fruit.

He let me walk through the dense, dark forest

So I would bathe in the radiant light of your smile.

He let me climb mountain after mountain,

So my legs would hold your head in my lap.

He let my fingers scrub never-ending grime from my life

So I could trace the soft, feather hairs of your head and appreciate the softness on my finger-tips.

He let me choose bondage, and bitterness

So I would understand freedom and forgiveness.

Memories with Martha

I drove through the acres of pinetree forests, to the well-manicured blueberry farm.
Martha, my dear aunt, ready with an embrace.
She holds the key to so much of my family history, the door is locked tightly.
But she freely opens it to share.
My great grandfather, genius, but emotionally unstable.
Took apart a car, with his daughter Blanche, they left it on the front porch while he took a trip
to the State hospital for treatment.
Came home and put it back together.
What kind of treatment? Medication? Electric shock therapy?
Was electricity even brought to that area at that time?

Information about my grandfather, one I never knew.
He could be mean. A mean drunk.
And beat his boys.
That didn't surprise me.
But what I did learn was that my grandmother basically died inside, the day he died.
She pretty much ceased to function.
Got addicted to pain killers.
She loved that man, through his alcoholism, his meanness, he was her love.
Funny how people will continue to see what 'was' instead of what 'is'...
and love the memory, as if that will bring the 'was' back to life.

Martha said she learned more family history the day of her husband's funeral than she'd known her whole married life.
Aunt Melba told about how she took a knife from her daddy, he was chasing her mamma with it in his hand.
That's why Aunt Melba married and never looked back.

Aunt Faye. She married a mean one too. Had two boys with him. Then divorced him and moved to California with his sisters. Just piled in a car with two young boys, her ex-husbands sisters, and drove west.
They say the best way to get over a trauma is to leave the site.
She left alright. Miles and miles between her and the mean ex-husband.
Brave woman she was.

Sorting

Dumping the contents
of a large, black, plastic leaf bag
onto the bed.

"This is everyting I have."
Alrighty, so let's make two piles.
Keep and give away.
"No, lets make it Keep and Trash."
Here are your winter things, lets just put those away for the summer.
"Sounds good."
Do you still wear this T-shirt?
"Yea, keep it."
Here are some pants, do they fit?
He holds them up.
"Yea, they do."
Here are your shorts. I can see you've worked in these. So they should remain your work shorts.
Don't work in your new shorts. Keep them separate.
"Okay. I will."
Here's your jacket.
"Now this coat here, it screams one word."
Long pause
" Poor."
Uh huh, I see what you mean.
"Look at it."
I look at it closely. No identifying marks like Nike or Adidas. Some stains on the gray fleece.
Yea, I see what you mean.
"Trash."
Yea, trash.

The new clothes lay in nice neat stacks on the bed.
I look up at my son, now taller than me,
with a deep voice, who shaves, and eats everything I put in front of him,
and says a genuine, "Thanks for cooking" even when its just a piece of toast,
and I want to cry.
Tears of joy, but some grief too.
Where did the little boy with round cheeks go?
His square jaw, set firm, and strong, like I imagined.
But I'm just not ready for this.
Not ready to say good-bye to the little boy

The First Mop

I used to hate to mop.
It seemed such a waste of time.
I wanted to spend my free time either sleeping, or making memories with my children.
'Hey, Let's go to John Tanner tonight. I'll make some sandwiches."
They never argued, "Oh mom,no. Let's stay home and mop instead."

My interior was chaotic, but sitting next to the water calmed my soul.
When we got home, tired, sleepy, relaxed, after dark, you couldn't see the dirty floors.

Today, I picked up a brand new mop. Filled a bucket with warm water and Pine-Sol.
I peacefully pulled the mop across the floor, starting at the edges and wiping away smudges. Both doors open, the wind rushed through to keep me cool. My interior has peace, and the water in the bucket seems to cleanse not only my floor, but washes away the dark parts of my week.

Tanya Tucker and Hank Williams sing to me, from my favorite station, 'Classic Country.' I think of my mother, and her mopping days, and see the circle of life through the cotton mop.

Atlanta Blacklight Run Atlanta Motor Speedway Oct 24, 2015

From Couch to 5 K

Yep. I joined the club. Six weeks ago I picked an event that looked fun, exciting. Something that would distract me from the word exercise. It worked. My first week I stepped off the porch, set my little timer, and trudged around the yard for 15 minutes. I came inside, drank a glass of water, and put a little check mark beside Monday's goal. Two days later, I repeated this event. I walked around the perimeter of my yard, stopping for one or two seconds to study the bark on my trees. My neigbhor, on his riding lawn mower, waved and smiled.
Fast forward six weeks.
I didn't walk on every designated day. But almost. The week before the race, I walked for 40 minutes straight. The friend who walked with me that day, had her fit bit on. She sent it to me later that evening. 3.4 miles! What? That couldn't be right. It seemed impossible. Because I didn't hurt, I didn't wheeze. I was just thirsty. "So, now I'm definitely ready for Saturday. It's only 3.1 miles."

Last night was the event I'd waited for. Wear a white T-shirt. Get doused with glowing powder. Listen to upbeat dance music. Before and after.
"Just walk for 40 minutes." I told myself at the beginning of the race.

When I stepped up the start line. The announcer said, "Walkers to the left. Ya'll are group 3. Have fun! Go!"

I hugged the left. I walked at a steady pace. When I checked my timer it said, 10 minutes.
"One quarter there! Yes, I can do this!"
I listened to folks conversations.
"I hear the move War Room is great. You think it's still playing in the Carrollton Theatre?"

How ironic. I used to live in Carroll County. As I trailed behind the thin Carrollton women, I wondered if I knew them.

I checked my stop watch, 20 minutes. "Half way there!"
A 64 year old women to my left said, "It's my 64th birthday and I'm doing my first 5K!"
"Me too. I'm 52 and I have arthritis."
"I have lupus." She added, not sure if she was bragging or just stating a fact.
"Hey, we're half way there!" I tried to encourage her.

Oh, how wrong I was. When I crossed the finish line my stop watch read one hour and 8 minutes. I'm convinced I walked a 10 k.

I've been researching all morning on google. I can't find ONE review of this race.
So I decided to post my own.

It was fun. It was colorful. But it was NOT a 5K. Does anyone know how far it actually was? If so, please post the answer for me.

Thanks.