What is love?

Love has many meanings. It can the pride a mother has for a child. It the strong physical and emotional bond between baby and mother. It is the beauty in a flower, sunset, mountain tops or dress. Love can also be the euphoria of tingle when a puppy nestles up under your neck.

Love is the desire to want to know more about someone. To stay up and talk all night. To read the books they love, listen to the music they enjoy. Watch the movies they like. It is looking forward to celebrating their birthday with them. It can be wanting that person to succeed so much that you are willing to sacrifice all for them.

Love can be the tenderness of the familiar. The sight of home. The comfort in your favorite chair after a long day. It can be the excitement after receiving a long desired gift.

Love can be touch. It is the bond of a child nursing on a mother. Love can be a hug from a teacher, pastor, friend, father, mother, sibling, or spouse. Love is the tenderness of ones lips touching your own. Love is physical. It is soft. Love is gentle never aggressive.

Love is respect, care, kindness, sadness, curiosity, happiness, tears of loneliness, tears of happiness, touch and desire to want to know all about the one you love.

When you no longer care to understand the other person. You no longer want to touch, kiss, or hug love is missing. Love that hurts is love that is gone. Love can only be taken away by betrayal.

There are many types of betrayal. The most popular sexual cheating, emotional cheating, drugs, alcohol abuse, lying, physical abuse, gambling, shopaholics, sabotage, and deceit. Betrayal can come from your lover, mother, father, uncle, aunt, grandmother, grandfather, teacher, doctor, friend, pastor, enemy, or more.

What if your lover is smart, has a great job, goes to church, comes home every night, and takes care of you, but constantly betrays you? Maybe your love for that person is so strong that you stay with that person no matter how often they betray you, even if they do it every single day.

Betrayal is the only thing that can poison your love for another. When one betrays you so much that your own self-worth is destroyed it is time to find a new love, a love for yourself.

Love for yourself is the greatest love of all. Be kind and gentle to yourself. Learn about yourself. Care for yourself. Celebrate yourself. Most of all, no matter how many people betray you, never betray yourself. You are one of a kind. Your love should be one of kind too.

The dog that bit the shit out of me

It took time to get to where we were.

Molly, our 17 year old senior dog, was depressed. She laid in bed all day, she would wet in bed. She refused to eat and would bite us if we wanted to give her attention. Life was bad for Molly. The breaking point for Molly was one night I step in the kitchen where she stood with pee all around her. I bent over to tell her no with my finger pointing and shaking it at her muzzle.

Molly could take no more. Whatever reason it was, Molly saw that finger as an opportunity. She watched it like it was prime rib flapping before her chops. That was the moment in a instance that senior dog jumped up and latched on to my finger like a tick on fat warm skin. I yelp, “Help!” I wiggled. I shook my arm up and down and that dog went up and down with my finger holding on for dear life. “Fuck’n shit! Help me!” I cried. The first one down the stairs was my Spanish speaking mother-in-law in her see through pajamas without a bra.

“Javi! Fucking help me!” My mother-in-law stood there with her hands over her mouth. I was still standing in dog piss as my dog hung from my finger. My husband finally came running down stairs to see me crying. My face red. The dog and I both wet from the piss splashing every time I lowered my arm to shake her off.

Javi ran to Molly and picked up her body to where it was level with my finger and she released the grip she had. My finger was torn just a little. The problem was part of her tooth broke off into the skin.

“I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“What the fuck did you do to that dog?”

“Molly? Now you care more about Molly than me?”

“You had to do something.”

“Yeah, I did. I told her no. She peed on the floor and I’m tired of it. I said bad dog and shook my finger at her.”

“Well, don’t. Let her do what she wants. She’s a dog. She’s old. Leave her alone.”

“No. I’m sick and tired of everyone in this house doing what they want. For once I want her to pee outside.”

The blood from my finger was all over my arm. Tears down my face. “You don’t give a shit about me. Look at this blood. There is something in my fucking finger and you’re yelling at me.”

To be continued……

Welcome 2012! Goodbye 2011!

Dear 2012

I want to say welcome. I am not scared of you. I am scared of what you have in store for me. I am not an optimist, but I am tired of living in fear; fear of being alone, fear of death, fear of failure, fear of success and more. Living in fear is a horrible thing that can paralyze one from moving ahead. I refuse to be that person.

I want to say goodbye to 2011, thank you for what you have taught me. I learned that grief of death of someone close can come back to bite hard in your soul. To lose a parent can be hard, but it gets harder when the grief comes back. I learned a lot about my deceased mother. My sister convinced me that she did love me when my entire life she told me otherwise. I grew up as strong smart woman, because my teachers, friends, pastor and the entire small town I grew up in believed in me.

To the readers, I thank you for giving me the support, friendship and motivation to strive for my dream. I have been scribbling on paper for my entire life and for once, I have opened my craft to this blog. The empowerment I felt after my first posting was awesome.  For the first time I beat fear in the face.  I am not a whole person. I do still fear posting often. I just thank you for giving me the strength to come back and try a new story line. My wishes for 2012 are for me to continue to look fear in the face and fight, good health, a continued strong loving relationship with my own family, kindness for others and prosperity for all.

Fay makes a puffy coat

Fay was sitting in the middle of the living room.  She was surrounded by pillows, trash bags, tape and scissors.  Max walked into the room.  He questionably looked at her.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Nothing”

“What’s up with all this stuff?”

Fay looked at the bags, pillows, polyester fiberfill, tape and scissors. “I’m making something.”

“Can I help?”

“I guess, but you can’t tell anyone about this. Ok?”

“Yeah sure,  whatcha making?”

“My dad’s Christmas present.”

“With this stuff?”

“Yep”

“This is bad.”

“No, it’s good.  It’s going to be a puffy coat.”  Fay started cutting open the pillows. “Pull the fluffy stuff out and hand it to me, so I can tape it inside.”

“Inside what?”

“The trash bags, duh…”

“Puffy coats are not made from trash bags and pillows.  This isn’t going to work.  This is bad.”

“I thought you were helping?  Just do what I say.”  Fay was busy cutting the trash bags and taping them together with tape. “Max, start handing me the puffy stuff.  I’m in a hurry here.”

Max started pulling out the filling and handing it to Fay. “Aren’t we going to get in trouble for this?”

“No! It’s a Christmas gift.”

“I mean for ruining all these pillows.”

“Of course I won’t.  They’re from your house.”

“Fay! Watcha go and do that for?”

“My mother would get mad.  Max, stop talking. Keep passing the white stuff.”  Fay finished tucking the last bit of polyester fiberfill into the coat’s sleeve.  “Come on Max.”

“Where?”

“Outside, I need to make sure it works.  Put it on.”

“It’s itchy.  Ouch!  I think I’ve gotten tape in my hair.”

“Stop complaining! Stand right here.”  Fay said while she pointed to the porch.  Then she threw a pitcher of ice water at Max.  Max ducked and turned his back, but the water still got on his hair and face.

“Fay! Watcha go and do that for?!”

Fay realized Max was upset.  “I’m sorry.  Here let me help you take this off.” Fay sat the wet trash bag coat on the porch and led Max inside.  Then she handed him a towel. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t think I was going to get you in the face. Did anything else get wet?”

“I don’t think so.”

“See, I told you the coat was good.  It kept you from getting wet. My dad is going to love it.” 

“Sure, if you dad likes the scratchy feeling of tape and plastic bags across his skin pulling on his body hairs.”

“Don’t be so negative all the time.” 

The two friends sat in the kitchen while Max dried off.  Then there was a loud noise. Fay went back on the front porch.  She looked around, but the coat was missing.  She screamed.

Max came to the porch. “Watcha screaming for?”

“The trash man took the coat I made for my dad.  All that work was for nothing.”

“That’s ok.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because, it’s the thought that counts”

“How can you say that, Max?”

“You told me to stop being negative.  Imagine if your dad had been wearing it when the trash people came.  They might have taken him with the coat.”

Daddy is nominated as a runner up Santa

Vern got home from a long day at work. Her father was standing in the living room. He was busy doing squats and bending exercises as he played his video game.

“You’re exercising?”

“Sure am”

“That’s nice to see you working out and heeding the advice of your doctors.”

“I have too”

“That’s the spirit, daddy.” Vern went upstairs to change into sweatpants and t-shirt. After changing, she went into the bathroom to wash the makeup off her face. She noticed darks spots on the floor, the bath rug and towel. She gathered up the items to wash them. She went back downstairs to the laundry room. “Daddy, what happened in the bathroom? Did you cut yourself shaving?”

“No” He said panting while trying to do abdominal crunches.

Vern decided that it was not worth fussing over. She began to cook pasta with chicken. The entire time she cooked her father did not stop exercising. He was breathing heavily. Vern caught a glimpse of him running in place.  “Daddy, should you really be working out like this?”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Ok, dinner is going to be ready in just a few minutes.” Vern fixed the plates of dinner. She put her father’s plate on his TV table in the living room. Then she made a place for herself at the end of the dining table.

“What is this?”

“It’s pasta with baked chicken.”

“I can’t have all these carbs.”

“Daddy you eat carbs all day. Tonight you’re going to complain about eating pasta?”

Vern’s father sat down in his reclining chair. He wiped his face off with the napkin. Then he took off his hat.

“Daddy, what happened to your hair?”

“I colored it.”

“I can see that.”

“Does it look good?”

“No, no you look Goth. Why did you dye your salt and pepper curls black?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Daddy, are exercising and coloring your hair for a girl?”

“Noooo, my looks are hot already for that. It’s something else.”

“What is it? Are you missing mom?”

“No Vern. I mean yes, I do still miss your mom, but this is all about Christmas.  I was nominated as runner-up for Santa Clause at the VFW.”

Vern chuckled. “Daddy, that’s a good thing. Think of all the children you will make happy.”

“No, think of me! I don’t want to be Santa Clause. I’m a war veteran. I can’t do it.”

“So, you thought exercising and dyeing your hair black would take you off the nomination.”

“Yeah, Pete is always Santa. It’s his thing, but if something was to happen to him, I would have to do it.”

“What should we do?”

“I still have a week to lose more weight, shave my head, get violently ill, or leave town.”

“I think you are going too far.”

“But I don’t want to be Santa!”

“Why? The children at the hospital love it when the VFW comes.”

“Yes, I like doing that. It’s just that I’ve always been a helper.  I want to be a helper, not Santa.”

“Daddy you are a warrior. You’re going to have to put that red uniform on, lace up them black boots and spread cheer. Santa is a warrior. Every day of the year, Santa is preparing for his battlefield to bring gifts to the children. Being Santa is an honor.”

“I guess you’re right. I’ve never thought of it that way.” Vern and her father finished eating dinner.  Vern put up the plates then she brought her father a scoop of frozen yogurt.

“Vern, I can’t eat this.”

“It’s good and good for you.”

“No, if I’m going to be a runner up for Santa, I need to eat like Santa. Bring me some cookies with milk!”

Dear Child

 

Dear Child,

One day when you are a parent, adult, lover, employee, or boss you will discover how much disrespect hurts. With the power of love comes the power of respect through empathy. Empathy is the ability to understand and be sensitive to the feelings and thoughts of others.

When you are a parent sometimes, you are the child.

When you are a teacher sometimes, you are the student.

When you are a doctor or nurse sometimes, you are the patient.

When you are the business owner sometimes, you are the customer.

When you are the writer sometimes, you are the reader.

When you are the politician sometimes, you are the taxpayer.

When you are the General of the Army sometimes, you are the Enlisted Soldier.

When you are the actor sometimes, you are the audience.

What does all this mean to you? Simply, it means that through love empathy is born. Empathy is the key to your success. Throughout life, you may be one, many or none of the above titles; whatever you do, do it with love. Have empathy for others. Never forget that you and everyone else are special. You are one of a kind, through passion and creation you were born to this world. You are a collection of your experiences, if they are bad or good they make you whole. Never judge others for who they have or have not become. Give love and have empathy for others. Do not treat people with disrespect for their lack of wisdom or title in life. Pass on your many talents, joys, and wisdom with people around you, but always be true to you.

Love Always,

Mom

Daddy is a seismographer

It was black Friday, Vern and her father drove to the King of Prussia mall in Prussia, Pennsylvania. After making the way around the first floor of the mall, the two had lunch. Vern’s father was tired of shopping. “Vern, can we go home now?”

“Daddy, this is the best shopping day of the year.  I’m not finished.”

“What’s all this stuff you’re buying?”

“Things”

“What kind of things?”

“Just some things.”

“Sweetheart, who are you buying that stuff for?”

“Fine daddy, all this stuff is for me. I’m going around buying things for me. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Well, yeah, I kind of do. My feet feel like I’ve been in a twelve-mile road march with a ruck sack. I want to go home, take off my pants, drink a beer and watch television.”

“Daddy, I always take care of you. After everything happened, I stopped taking care of me. I am ready to start treating myself. This day is mine, so you can sit over here on this bench. It has a great view of the first floor and second floor.  I only need to go in one more store.”

“Ok, ok, I get it.” Vern’s father sat on the cross walk on the wooden bench. “Hurry up, I’ll wait right here.”

“Fine, don’t get adventurous, just stay there.”

“With feet like mine, I’m not going anywhere.”

Vern walked off in the direction of the nearest department store. Daddy sat on the bench playing a shooting game on his cell phone. He started getting agitated, because whenever someone walked in front of him the floor would shake. The shaking was strong enough to lose aim and cause him to lose the game. He kept attempting to play the game over and over again, but the vibrations were getting worse with the growing crowds. Frustrated he stopped playing the game.  Searching on his phone, he found an application called seismograph. He wondered for a moment if he could actually measure the vibrations of the floor of the people walking by.  He downloaded the application and began to use it.

Vern,toting two large shopping bags, walked towards her father. She could see her father was up to no good.  He was sitting on the same bench, but when large groups of people would walk by, he would start chuckling while looking at his phone.

“Daddy, what in good nations are you doing?”

“Nothing”

“Let me rephrase that; what are you doing with your phone?”

“I’m using my seismograph when people walking by. Watch, it’s funny.”

“Daddy, that’s so rude! Put that thing away. People are going to think you’re making fun of them.”

“I kind of am.”

“Daddy, you cannot go around measuring the vibrations created by people.”

“Who said?”

“I do. Seismographs are to measure seismic waves of earthquakes. You’re being rude.”

“But it’s not fair to me when people stomping, running and giggling by are messing up my video game. I lost a lot of points here.”

“Fine, old man let’s go home.”

“I’ll go home, but I’m not an old man. I’m a warrior.”

“Really, I think today you are more a seismographer than a warrior.”

The movie going experience

The movies are a great place for enjoyment. At the beginning of most movies are instructional advertisements like: no talking, cell phones off, no texting, and pick up your trash. The instructional advertisements give helpful tips so the entire view audience can enjoy the movie going experience. Well, I think they have forgotten a very important tip indeed, no pissing in your seat.

Last night, the movie theater was packed for the sell out showing of The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn – Part 1.   Arm to arm the audience sat in the dark swept up into the drama of Bella, Edward and Jacob. The movie is a little over halfway through the plot when a spoiler in the theater happens. Someone in the theater wets his or her pants, not only can you smell it but for a slight moment you can hear the urine pour down the floor. The heat from the body temperature of a sardine packed movie theater, combined with someone’s mishap really put a dent in the movie going experience. Life is not perfect, so movie going experiences sometimes will not be either. The victim here was not only the viewing audience, but could have been a child. Perhaps it was a child with a tiny little bladder that could not hold it any longer. The majority of the audience was not crazed teenagers; instead, they were children under the age of nine. I felt really bad for these small children that were being hushed, pulled and dragged into the theater by their mothers. The movie is great but my perception is that it is not really intended for small children.

The fact of the matter is if the pissing occurred from an adult with incontinence, fan crazed teenager or a potty training child I am certainly sure it was purely accidental. The smell of the urine kind of ruined the movie going experience for some. In the future, it would be nice to perhaps add that note to any new instructional advertisements at the beginning movies asking people to leave the theater to use the bathroom maybe it could save the embarrassment of a child or anyone else for that matter.

Allergic to Peanus

“Whatcha doing?”

Fay  shakes her head no, but says nothing.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I cun’d ulk”

“Why?”

“Peanus, I’m allergi du peanus.”  A small amount of drool slides down the corner of her mouth.

“Wooo, TMI!” Then he points to the drool that has escaped her mouth.

“Nooo, I cun’d pronunciae cuz my tun has bisers. You’re sooo ruuue! It maes me drool.”  Fay uses her sleeve to wipe the drool off.

“Huh?”

She opens her mouth to show the blisters on her tongue to Max.

“Oooh, I get it. You’re not acting stupid.  You just can’t talk because you have blisters. Ok. Why did you get the blisters?”

“Peanus!”

Max looks at her with a very confused face. “Stop saying that word.  That’s bad!”

“Nooo, peanus nu penis!”

Frustrated, she gets up and walks to the freezer.  She pulls out the Jamoca Fudge ice cream Max had brought over.  Scooping out a spoon full she looks closely. “Heeereee” She shows the small morsels left.

“Peanuts?”

“Yeees, I’m allergi du peanus.”

“Then why’d you eat the ice cream?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “Cuz I liked id a waat.”

Daddy’s athletic pants

Vern and her father were at the mall shopping.  Vern felt her father was in serious need for athletic pants.  Her father was comfortable in his normal attire of jeans with button-down shirts.  He did not like the fact that Vern was attempting to change his style. “Vern, I don’t need stretchy pants.  Those are for young, old and sport fanatics. I’m none of those people.”

“You’re right, you’re not, but yes you’re getting athletic pants.”

“I look good in my jeans.  I’ve been wearing jeans every single day since I retired from the Army.  There’s nothing manly about a man wearing parachute pants. You can hear them walking; you know? The pants whistle like swish, swish, swish…”

“Daddy, they are not stretchy pants, parachute pants or anything your crazy head comes up with.  You need some athletic pants to wear around the house.”

“You’ve forgot.  I don’t wear pants in the house.”

“No, I didn’t forget.  I know you don’t, but after today you will have some athletic pants to wear around the house.”

“But I won’t.  The only reason any man wants to be home is so he can take off his pants, eat, drink, play video games or watch television in his skivvies.”

“Well, I’m tired of coming home finding you in your underwear.”

“Then don’t come home.”

“Daddy, stop fighting me.  You’re getting athletic pants.”

He sighed.  Vern was looking through the rack of pants in the sports store.  Her father approached her. “I’ve found it.”  He held up a pair of itsy bitsy spandex shorts.  They were so small they made men’s bikini swimsuits look modest.  “Ahh…daddy, that’s underwear!”

“Noooo, they’re shorts.  See here.  Read the tag.”

“My underwear is bigger than that!  You’re underwear comes to your knees.  Those shorts won’t cover your cheeks or anything else for that matter.”

“Vern, you said you wanted me to wear athletic pants.  These are made for volleyball.  They are stretchy.  They are bright and cheerful.  I bet they’re comfortable.   I like the colors and they have little smiley faces.  My belly can hang over the waistband. That way I don’t get heartburn anymore.”

“Nooo, you are not wearing those pervy pants!  Men are endowed with special elements that should not be disclosed.”

“Yes, I know that.  I bet the shorts fit nice.”

“You’re losing it old man.  We came here to get you athletic pants, so you are leaving with athletic pants not some patch for your private parts.”

“Vern, I’m a war veteran. I’m not an old man.  I don’t want pants.  I want theeessee! I refuse to wear pants in the house and you don’t want me in my skivvies.”

“It’s winter.  You’ll freeze in that.  You could get arrested for wearing those in public.”

“Why?   They’re shorts.  Read the tag.  You told me you wanted me to wear pants in the house.  You never said anything about wearing stretchy pants outside the house.  If I want to go outside I’ll put on my damn jeans.”

“Daddy, most people your age are wearing sports pants.”

“There is nothing sporty about wearing plastic, cotton, puffy, elastic waist athletic pants around town.  Those people are just hiding the fact they’re wearing diapers.  I’m a war veteran, Vern.  I’m not old.  I’ll put my jeans on everyday with same gusto I’ve used for the past fifty plus years.  This is insulting.  I’m insulted.”

“I’m sorry daddy.  I didn’t know you were so passionate about your clothing.”

“Hell yeah!  I’ve earned the right to wear jeans.  The blood, sweat and toil of my life spent in combat and garrison for twenty-five years as a soldier gives me the right to wear my American made jeans.”

“I said I was sorry.  That’s enough.  Let’s go.”

“Well, what about these shorts?”

“What about them?”

“You said you were going to buy me some pants.  I want these.”

“No you don’t.  You’re just joshing me.”

“Vern, feel them.  They are soft and stretchy.  I want them.  Buy these shorts for me, pplleeaassee.”

“No.  You’re not wearing those around the house or anywhere else when you already have perfectly good long brief underwear to lounge in.”

“But I want them.  You said yourself that you’re tired of seeing me in my underwear on the sofa.  You took me all the way here.  You threatened me into wearing some diaper covering pants.  Now, it’s your turn to be humiliated.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m putting on the pants.”  Vern’s father went into the dressing room.  He put one leg into the shorts followed by the other.  He pulled and tugged on the spandex shorts.  The neon colored shorts were getting so stretched that the smile faces were no longer smiling; instead, they looked more like the faces of Frankenstein.  He pulled them all the way up to crevice under his belly. They snapped like a rubber band in place.  Vern was waiting for him outside the dressing room.  She was expecting him to come to his senses and come out fully dressed.  She knew that he was just playing around.  He would never wear something that small.  Then a few minutes later Vern’s father stepped out of the dressing room. 

“Oh my gosh! Daddy, what are you doing?!”  She put her hands over her eyes.

“You didn’t believe me, so I wanted to show you the shorts fit.”  Vern’s father stood there in store wearing his black dress socks to his knees, topless, with the volleyball shorts on.  It was apparent that her father was no longer wearing his underwear. The hair on his belly and legs made him look like a Neanderthal.  His body hair camouflaged the volleball shorts to near invisibility.

A sales associate made her way over towards Vern and her father.  She looked at him with shock. “We have a code yellow at the men’s dressing room.”  She spoke into a walkie-talkie.

“Sir, I need you step back into the dressing room.  This is a family store.”

“What?  What’s wrong?”  Vern’s father asked with his hands on his hips.

“Sir, step back into the dressing room or we’ll have to take you by force.”

“These are shorts.  Look!  You’re store sells them.”

“Sure, we’ve heard it all before.”  The sales girl replied.  “Code orange at the men’s dressing room.”  She announced into the walkie-talkie.

“Daddy, just get in the dressing room and put your pants back on.  I told you, you were going to get arrested in those pants.”

He stepped backwards into the dressing room.  Vern talked to the sales girl and manager.  She apologized.  She told them her father was just having a diabetic hallucination.  She paid for the mini volleyball shorts.  Dressed in his jeans and shirt Vern’s father was escorted out of the store by security.  Inside the car Vern’s father looked at his new shorts admiringly while picking off what seemed to be body hair.  “See, I still got it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Vern!  Didn’t see how excited that girl was when she saw me in these hot pants? I looked good…”

“Daddy, that girl thought you weren’t wearing pants.  I had to explain to her that under your belly and hidden in that bush of hair on your legs and belly was a very small pair of volleyball shorts.  She almost didn’t believe me.”

“Not true, Vern! Not true!  You’re just jealous that you’re father can make sirens go off.”

“Yes, police sirens”

“Well, I guess you’ll think twice before taking me shopping again.”

“Yes daddy, I think I will.”