My Tattoo

•October 14, 2011 • 4 Comments

As soon as my Son turned sixteen he started bugging me about getting a tattoo.  Every other day it was the same.  It seemed that it was a matter of life or death.

As soon as he turned eighteen,  I hired a tattoo artist named “Spider” to come to our house and give him his first tattoo.  This way I had control over the cleanliness as well as the subject matter of his ink.

As the time came closer I started thinking of my own tattoo.  I was forty-six years old and had really not done anything interesting for quite some time.  So I decided that I would get one as well.

Spider arrived and set up for the big event.  My Son decided that I should go first,  so I loosened my blouse to show my shoulder.  I had chosen a pink rose that was a very nice size.  Small.

Spider put it on my shoulder and asked me if that was good.  I told him to move it in a little.  He moved it and asked again.  I said to move it in just a little more.  He then complained that if he moved it in any further no one would see it. 

Exactly.  This tattoo was for me not the world.  So I got my tattoo and then he turned to my Son, who had chosen a design that was the Celtic symbol for virility.  My Son did very well considering he got it on his forearm. 

The moral of the story is that he has one tattoo.  The one that I got for him.  I also have one tattoo.  It was a great bonding experience.  It’s just that neither one of us wanted to do it again.

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Something To Remember

•October 4, 2011 • 6 Comments

It would wake us up on Christmas Eve.  I slept with my Sister and we would both wake up together.  Our eyes popped open and we just stared at each other and took deep breaths.

“I wonder if they are done?”  I would ask.

“They smell done.”  She would answer.

We would get out of bed and walk down the hallway.  We would get to my Brother’s door and he was sniffing wildly.

We got to the kitchen and my Dad was just pulling one apart.  They were very hot.

I still remember the taste of the sugar and cinnamon.

Introspection

•September 9, 2011 • Leave a Comment

On a recent trip with my Sister, I began to better understand my Mother.  It is funny how we come across things in our life that make sense when we are not actually looking for them.

My Mother was a very powerful woman in her family.  She was the true definition of the dominating female.  She ran over people who didn’t measure up in her eyes.

I never understood her nor wanted to emulate her.  It seems that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.  Every so often I hear my Mother’s words coming out of my mouth.  It is just recently that I also see her actions in my actions.  The older I get the more I understand why she acted the way she did.

My Sister and I went on a trip to see family back east.  We had a great time.  We rented a car and laughed the whole way there and back.  It was only while we were there that I started feeling my Mother channelling through me.  I became my Mother in every way.

I must say that I may have discovered that my Father had more in common with my Mother than I may have thought as well.

While at this family reunion, I started noticing that there were certain things that triggered in me the feelings that my Mother displayed under the same circumstances.  I became aggravated by certain people.   I also began to feel unusually aggressive with these same people.

These were the same people who my Mother would try to dominate.  Now I understand why. 

There are people in the world who for one reason or another seem to give off an air of weakness.  I discovered that when some one would appear weak to me, that is when my trigger would trip and I would become over bearing.  It is not an especially attractive trait to be sure.  However it is a very strong one.

I have had things in my life that have happened and it made me so angry that I changed them.  I have been weak and when that happened I became so angry with myself that I tried to commit suicide.  When that did not work then I became a cutter.  I was punishing myself for being weak.

There were several people at the reunion that were weak.  These people I either tried to dominate or I eviscerated them with my tongue and left them for dead.  Just like my Mother used to do.

I have always had a problem with my Brother.  I always thought that it was because he was my Father’s favorite or that things just seemed to come easily for him.  Now I realise that my problem with him is that he is weak.  Almost everything that he did when we were growing up was because he is a weak person.  I can’t be around him because he triggers the attack mechanism in my brain.

Now that I know what causes the dysfunction, what do I do about it?  That is an interesting question I think.  One that may take as much time to figure out as the previous question.  Which was ‘Why do some people trip my domination trigger.

I think that until I figure out a way to get these feelings on a leash, I will just try not to be around the people who I think are weak.  Perhaps easier said than done. 

So in closing, I am my Mother’s daughter.  I understand her now.  The question is:  Was she in the right or was she wrong?  Time will tell.

Road Trip

•August 31, 2011 • 1 Comment

“I am going to the wedding,  want to drive with me?”

“Sure, that’s great.  We can go on Friday and be back on Monday.”

“Great.  We can use my car.  It gets good gas mileage.”

“OK, let me figure it out and I will get back to you.”

“Fine.  Talk to you later.”

A simple conversation to start an experience with my Sister.  Road trips have been known far and wide as a great time to bond with someone and have an experience.  Some good, some bad.  They always are something that you talk about in your old age.

“Hello.”

“Husband says that he wants to rent us a car.  It will save wear and tear on our vehicles.”

“Great.”

“I rented us a larger one so we will be more comfortable.”

“Fine.  I’ll talk to you later to firm up our plans.”

“We should bring some books on tape and cds for the trip.  Do you have any?”

“I don’t have a lot of those.  I left most of them with the ex when I moved out.”

“It’s OK.  I have some.”

This is beginning to seem like the start of a very long trip.  The books on tape will be some kind of experience.  As for the music.  Who knows she might surprise me. 

“Hello.”

“What time should we leave do you think?  We are going to drive straight through, right?  It should be very early.”

“That is what I was thinking.  Also don’t forget that we lose an hour or so of daylight heading east.”

“Oh, I forgot about that.  Well, I think we need to leave no later than 4:00 a.m.  That way we will have plenty of time to get there and find the place.”

“Sounds good to me.  I will take the first shift of driving since I will have gotten about an hours more sleep than you.”

“We can talk about that when I get there.”

“OK.  I am buying sandwich stuff so we don’t have to stop so often.  Just for gas and the potty.”

“Sounds good.  Talk to you later.”

So now we have things pretty much firmed up for our Sister road trip.  I’m beginning to get excited.

“Hello.”

“Well Husband says that he doesn’t want me to drive across town at 3:00 a.m.  He got on-line and found us a hotel in Nebraska.  How does that sound?”

“OK.  So we will be leaving the previous day right?”

“That’s right.”

“You know that I have to work that day.”

“What time are you done working?”

“About 3:00.”

“That would be perfect.  I’ll come by and pick you up.”

“I don’t want my car sitting at work for 4 or 5 days.”

“You can leave it at my place.”

“No.  I will drive home and you can come and pick me up there.  It is right close to the highway and then when we get home on Monday I don’t have to drive past my house to come down and get my car to drive all the way back up to my house.”

“Oh.  OK then.  I will see you on Thursday.”

So my ever so common sense Sister is losing it.  I am beginning to think that this is going to be a circle jerk.  But I have been wrong before.

“Hello.  Hello.”

The phone rang and it was my Sister again.  She decided that she didn’t have anything to say apparently so we never made the connection.  I wonder what it is this time.  Does Husband not want us to drive straight through on our way back or maybe she is going to tell me that he wants to come along? 

Maybe because I have never had a man worry about my well-being for more that two months in a row is making me skeptical.

I am just the kind of person who loads things in the car and away we go.  I don’t usually over think things.  Of course, I am also the person who has been married twice and am now single. 

So here we are going on a road trip and it is changing minute by minute.  I wonder if my Sister would be angry if I decided not to go?

No.  I can’t do that.  After all I am going to a wedding and a cousin reunion.  So I tell myself that it will be just fine.  We will get there and have a great time and get back safely.  That is all that really matters any way.

There’s no place like home

•August 26, 2011 • 7 Comments

She felt like Dorothy in  The Wizard of Oz.  Look up in the sky what does it say?  “Surrender Dorothy” is written in the clouds.  My response?  Never!

I Just Have An Issue

•August 24, 2011 • 4 Comments

“You have a new wound on your arm.”  The Dr. started writing in his notebook.

She hated when he did that.  Her other hand went unconsciously to cover the wound on her arm. 

“Do you have any other new wounds?”  He rose from his chair.  He raised the sleeves on her shirt. 

“This one is healing fine.  I was concerned about it.”  He put her sleeve down and went and sat back in his chair.

He scribbled some more in his book and got up and went to the door.  “Miss Stewart, come in here please.”

A very nice looking older woman came into the room.  Her suit was very business-like but she had bedroom slippers on.

“Take off your clothes except for your bra and panties.”  He didn’t even look up at her.

“What?”  She didn’t think she would have to do this for a shrink.  This was the second Psychiatrist she had had in six months.  She hated getting a new shrink.  She had to start all over again.  Her childhood, her abuse from a family member, her police officer husband who was over bearing and indifferent.

“Take off your clothes.  I have to check for new wounds.”  At this point he looked at her.

She glanced at the woman and then back to the Dr.  It crossed her mind not to comply.

“We can do it here or at the hospital.  It’s up to you.”  He was so ugly when he had that pius expression on his face. 

He was younger than Miss Stewart but had a huge nose.  He kept his glasses on the end of his nose and looked over them at you like you were a germ. 

“Fine.”  She pulled her shirt up over her head and unzipped her jeans.

“Wait.”  He stood for an instant.

“What?”  She was losing it.  She was going over the edge, she could feel it.  They picked on everything. 

“These jeans are very loose.  How much weight have you lost?”  He made a motion to the older woman who went to get a scale.

She placed it on the floor and motioned for her to step on it.

“You have lost another twelve pounds.  I warned you about this.”  He started writing again.

She pulled the jeans down and stepped out of them. 

“There is a new mark on you thigh.  There is a nasty slice on your stomach.  Turn around.”

She turned and he examined the back of her.

“OK, put you clothes back on.”  He scribbled as she dressed.

“Would you like to tell me why you cut yourself?”

They waited for several minutes for her to reply.

“It’s the only time I feel anything.”  She didn’t even recognise her own voice.  That was the first time she had voiced the thing she was hiding.  She felt nothing.  She was actually shocked at how it sounded.  She had been thinking about this since she cut herself the last time.  Her girl friend had been very upset and she asked her the same question. 

She thought about that question for three days.  In fact she hadn’t even slept for three days for thinking about it.

“What have you eaten for the last two days?”  He looked up from his scribbling.  “Have you been feeding your Sons?’

“Of course I have.  I’m a good Mother.”  She was getting excited and that wasn’t going to help her at all.  She forced herself to calm down. 

This is the first time any one had brought up her Sons.  What if she lost them?  What would she do then?  It would kill her.

The Tomato

•August 11, 2011 • Leave a Comment

“You don’t eat enough vegetables.”  That was my comment when the upstairs people had corn dogs for dinner.  Corn dogs!  Really!  No one eats corn dogs for dinner.  They are a drive- in meal.  Perhaps a fair, or a ball game.  But for dinner?  Pulease!

I have been getting organic veggies delivered to my apartment for some time.  Some people don’t believe in them.  They think they are over priced.  I’m telling you that I feel better when I eat organic.  Anyway.  I decided to go ahead and pay for the upstairs people, who consist of my Son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren, to get organic veggies delivered to them as well.

When I told my son what I was doing, the conversation went something like this.

“I’m going to have veggies delivered to your family.”

“Mom, that is not going to pay the electric bill.”

“Well son.  You and the kids are sick all winter long.  If you don’t eat properly, then you get sick and you can’t get to work and then no one pays the electric bill.”

“Fine.”

So now we are waiting for the bins of veggies to come.  My son comes down stairs and asks me if he is going to have to eat grandma veggies.

“Excuse me?”

“You know.  the vegetables that you eat.”

“For instance.”

“You know, beets and kale and eggplant.”

“Come with me son.”

We went to the computer and I brought up the websight that I order from.  I showed him how I opened a sight just for him.  “Your password is ‘zombieguy’.” 

Well I think we hit a home run for that so he was excited.  I showed him that he was getting things like tomatoes and lettuce and radishes and corn.  There were some other things to cook with also but he seemed to be more at ease with my selections.

My granddaughter wanted more fruit, so we took away some things to add the fruit.  Finally every one seemed to be satisfied.  So we waited.  On Friday they delivered the bins and I took mine downstairs to put my things away.

Suddenly my son called from the top of the stairs, “Ma.” 

“Yes.”  I went to the bottom of the stairs and looked up.  My macho son was holding something in the palm of his hand.  It is probably the way some one would carry a turd if you made them hold it.

“What is this?”  He held out the offending produce.

“Oh, it’s a tomato.”

“Mom, this is purple.”

“Yes.  They call it an heirloom.” 

“Mom, tomatoes are orange.  They are not supposed to be purple.”

“It tastes just like a tomato only better.”

He looked and pointed at his palm with the offending produce in it.

“Did you get everything on the list?”  I was trying to change the subject.

“There was a piece of paper in the bin that said that they ran out of radishes and substituted a purple tomato.”  With that he pointed again at the pitiful produce.

“Fine, I will take the tomato and trade you my radishes.”

He seemed to be so relieved that I had to laugh.  I made a salad later with the offensive produce and it was the best salad I have had in quite a while.

When I talked to my daughter-in-law later, she said that my stoic son opened the bin and started to place the veggies out on the counter.  She heard him proclaim that it was like Christmas.  So grandma must have done something right.  I smell different smells coming from upstairs now.  It is the distinct smell of home cooked veggies.  In fact even my fifteen year old grandson ate some.

Alright, I feel better.  My work here is done.

 
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