Mama

Mother’s Day has always been one of the hardest days of the year for me. I can’t help but think of what could have been instead of the actual reality of what was my childhood growing up with my adoptive mother. She wasn’t a nice person. Those of you that know me, have already heard the story told a few different times, but, suffice it to say that in my heart, the woman that adopted me was never my mother. In any sense. In fact, I can remember feeling grateful that I didn’t share any of her DNA, that’s how toxic she could be. So, today has always been somewhat difficult.

My son, through the years, has always managed to raise my spirits and we celebrate my motherhood with silliness and love. This year is the first year that I know my own biological mother and it doesn’t matter that she’s no longer here on earth, I can celebrate her in my heart and in my own way.

I know you are watching over your kids down here and for the first time, we are truly siblings. Thank you for gifting me the two most awesome souls that walk this earth. Thank you, Mama, for having such a huge heart that you were able to pass down the capacity to experience love. You fought your demons, and in the end, you might have thought they had won, but what you didn’t know was that no matter what, no one or nothing could take away your heart and your love for your children.

I have a vision of you and Ricky sitting side by side, looking down at homes in Michigan and one in California. While we couldn’t be together physically, the three of us are bonded in a manner that supersedes the time-space continuum. We are finally together in spirit and that can never be taken away, by demons or by angels. I know if you are looking down today, you are seeing an abundance of love and laughter in this family you created. I’m sorry I never got to look into your eyes or feel your loving arms wrapped tightly around me, but if I close my eyes, I can feel you. I can feel your love. That’s all that ever really matters.

And, for that, I’m grateful. So very grateful.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mama!

Sierra

According to the dictionary, intuition is a thing that one knows or considers likely from instinctive feeling rather than conscious reasoning. Most of us accept that we all have some level of intuition, and those that listen to that intuitive voice without hesitation start to become aware of how much more there is of the universe and more specifically, how little we know.

Then there are moments when intuition is literally screaming in a booming, screeching, imploring way that makes it impossible to ignore. In a cartoon script, these types of moments are characterized by fireworks or light bulbs that suddenly turn on to illuminate the powerful moment. In real life, it feels like an invisible gut punch. Adrenaline courses quickly through your veins, your breathing becomes more rapid, and in fact, your pupils even become more dilated. Within a millisecond, your reasoning mind/self identifies the extraordinary moment as either good, bad, or harmless.

I had a moment like that on August 15, 2022, when I received a notification from Ancestry that stated “You have a message from Sierra Simons.” That gut punch happened immediately, the adrenaline flooded my veins, and my intuition belted out in the loudest, clearest voice ever, that this was it. This was that moment. The moment I had waited all my life for, even without knowing I was waiting for anything. I knew I had found my Mama’s family. I felt it. The only explanation is out of my comprehension, something metaphysical, mystical, spiritual, and profound. Every fiber of my being, every bit of my soul knew I had found my people. I could feel the completion of an invisible circle, and I felt peace. Then, I felt excitement. Jump to your feet kind of excitement. This was it. This was when I finally had both sides of the puzzle that had at times felt too daunting to contemplate.

I never remember being told I was adopted. It just seemed like I always knew. When I started asking questions about who my biological parents were, my adoptive mom told me several things about the circumstances of my birth. Some of the things that she said just didn’t make sense, like, my birth mother got pregnant at a New Year’s Eve party, but, I wasn’t born until the first week of November. Since there were so many obvious misstatements in what she told me, I really didn’t think any of it was true, just another made-up part of my adoptive mother’s delusions. One thing that she said was that my mother’s last name was Simons. That was one of the few things she told me that was actually true, but I had no idea of the validity of that fact until my niece, Sierra reached out to me through Ancestry. I knew when I saw the name that at least one of the things I had been told while growing up was true.

Sierra and I exchanged emails. We were not completely sure how we were related, but, it didn’t take us long to figure it out. I sent her a picture of me taken when I was a young woman. She sent me pictures too. The excitement was so overwhelming that it took me a little bit to understand who was who and how we were related. Then came the message from Sierra after looking at a picture I sent, “You look just like my Grandma Carolyn”. I have waited 60 years to read those words. I knew who gave birth to me, and I look a lot like her. I don’t have the words to describe what that feels like. I still cry when I realize that I now know who she was after all those years of wondering and yearning. I keep pictures of her on my phone and look at them every day.

To be expected, I was flabbergasted to the point of misfiring neurons in my brain while my heart was exploding with the love I could feel from Sierra through messaging. It wasn’t just her words, it was her unpretentious, unapologetic love for me. Instantly. That’s what kind of family I finally had. Family I would have picked, because they are the ones that are so connected as to be more than family. They are forever family. And, I was feeling this before I ever met them, because of my amazing niece. And, this was just the start of something that feels like I’m walking on sunshine and don’t it feel good?

More pictures were sent back and forth and while Sierra was emailing me, she was furiously messaging her dad, Rusty. She sent me pictures of my sister, Ronda, and her family. With each new picture or piece of information, I could almost feel my soul resting in a way I never knew was possible. I had found my soulmates at last. I know that sounds like a weird way to describe the discovery of my birth mother’s family, but, this is different than most situations. When I finally got to speak to my sister, Ronda, for the first time, she told me that unconsciously, she always knew I was out in the universe. And, somehow, I always knew she was out there as well. There’s an invisible thread of energy that connects the two of us forever. Forever.

You know, once the first conversations were had, and after a barrage of emails and messaging, there was nothing left to be done but to go meet my loved ones for the first time. For the first time in my life, I would have family surrounding me, and believe me, it was a magical balm to every tear I had ever cried or hurt my heart had ever felt. Sierra and I planned the trip and tried to make it a secret; something just between us. As it turned out, the only one I was able to halfway surprise was my sister, Ronda. Only halfway because she knew in her soul that our long-awaited introduction was imminent. She said she could feel it. So strongly, that she brought stuff with her to give to me, just in case, I happened to be there. Haha. That makes me laugh, but, also makes me know how strongly this kinetic bond seems to be between all of us.

I flew into Detroit and was nervous about our first time meeting. Where would we meet? Would they recognize me? Would they think I was weird? Self-doubt is always in my mind, but, walking the concourse of the airport, all the what-ifs were foremost in my thoughts. My nieces, Sierra and Sheila were meeting me by baggage claim and I took a deep breath as I rounded the last corner. What I instantly heard clearly was: “Welcome to the family, Aunt Summer!” As most of you know I’m a short girl, so it took me another few seconds to see my two beautiful nieces standing with a sign that read the same thing they had just shouted. And then it was just like we had known one another forever. It felt like I could almost remember when they were born, and what they were like growing up. In that very first hug, those two young women forever became, “my girls”. In my heart, they are the daughters I never had. And, the strangest thing, is that all of those emotions flashed through my head, heart, and soul in the instant I received my first hugs from them. How is that even possible?

The two-hour drive to my brother’s house was filled with non-stop talking, laughter, and love. I was as comfortable as I’d been with anyone, and again, I knew in my gut, they were my clan. The drive was over in what seemed like minutes and then we were at Rusty and Debbie’s house waiting for them to bring my sister, Ronda, and her husband Ed, back from dinner in town. I’ll never forget standing in their living room, waiting to surprise Ronda for her birthday. When the actual moment came, it was as if time froze for just a second or two. When we hugged for the first time, it was like a homecoming for my soul. In that instant, my sister and I were finally given the gift of each other. We have needed each other, yearned for each other, and imagined each other, but to be in the arms of my little sister was a feeling that is only rivaled by the birth of my son.

But, there was more. I turned to see my brother, Rusty for the first time in our lives, and a lightning bolt connection tells me that I’m looking at myself in a masculine form. Not just in looks, but, in our matching auras, our identically colored eyes.

I’m going to be honest here: I don’t remember a lot about that first night of meeting my family. When I look back, all I can really remember is feeling like I was in a tunnel of bright, beautiful clouds and they enveloped me. They literally healed the wounds of that unwanted little girl. In one night. Hell, it was probably in the first second. I will never feel alone again. I’m whole. Truly whole. I have a family and they are a family I would have chosen. I have a beautiful, gracious, and intuitive sister-in-law, Debbie who is the matriarch and nurturer of all of us. (I’m including myself now, ’cause, I’m one of them! LOL)

My nieces, Sierra and Sheila are intelligent, strong women who are loving wives, and outstanding mothers. I have a gaggle of great nieces and nephews, and two husbands for my girls, who now call me Aunt Summer. And, I belong to them! I’m blessed so much more than I deserve!

I was only able to spend a few days getting to know this great big, beautiful family of mine, but since then, the relationships have simply deepened as we learn who we all are. Rusty and Debbie visited me a couple of months ago and it was precious, deep, and meaningful, but also a hell of a lot of fun and laughter. Being with my brother feels like the most natural thing in the world and it’s sometimes impossible to even remember life without my Rusty. I am 13 months older than him, but, in so many ways I feel like we are twins separated at birth. We think alike, and we believe in so many of the same things, it’s uncanny, but marvelous, if that makes sense. It’s almost watching a magic show, or something beyond extraordinary.

On April 9th of this year, Ronda’s, daughter, Amy gave birth to our beautiful Waylon Edward. I only had the chance to meet Amy briefly, but, she has sent me pictures and postcards that give me perspective into how much she reminds me of me at her age. She’s a rebel, but, a good soul. I know that about her. She is also mother to Rylee, who is my sister’s only granddaughter. That little girl is the apple of my sister’s eye and I enjoy getting to be a “surrogate” grammy to that sweet, little girl.

Throughout this wonderful journey to meet my family, I have made sure to resist the urge to feel cheated for all the years that we lost. We all realize that we probably don’t have another 60 years to get to know one another, but we feel so blessed to finally be together now.

Sierra told me that there was always a missing piece in the family, even though no one knew I existed, and that missing piece was me. I’m no longer missing.

I’m loved. I’m wanted.

I’m grateful beyond words.

How wonderful is love? It is everything.

Moments

There are moments in life that forever change who you are as a person. The birth of a child, the death of a loved one, the day you get married. Maybe the day you get divorced? We all have had those moments that are forever frozen in time. That one tiny second when life blows up around you and coalesces in a brand new way.

I’ve had four of those big moments in my life.

Giving birth to my son.

Witnessing the death of my adopted mother.

Finding my birth father’s side of my biological family.

Getting a notification that reads, “Sierra Simons has sent you a message.”

The first two on my list are stories unto themselves, and most of you already know quite a bit about them. The third moment on my list took place on March 12, 2021. The previous Christmas I bought Ancestry DNA kits for myself, my son, and my husband. Looking back, I think I thought of the kits as a novelty gift, something fun. I wanted to find out where my ancestors originated. Being adopted, I have a fascination with history and genealogies, something, I never really had. I wanted to know if my great-grandparents were from Germany or perhaps they originated in Italy. Growing up, I often wondered if I could be from another planet. I used to like to think I was Venusian or at the very least, Martian.

About two months after we all sent our saliva to the DNA lab to get tested, I was notified via email that my results were available for review. At the time, I was cooking dinner and thought the question of my ethnicity could wait until the next day. Shortly after dinner was eaten and the dishes were put away, I received another notification from Ancestry stating that “Susan B has sent you a message.” That piqued my curiosity enough that I opened my laptop and logged into my account. I had to reread the message several times before it registered that a blood relative had just contacted me. I was amazed. I was also a little scared about finding out things that had been kept from me for my entire life. It felt a little like I was about to open a Pandora’s box, and that once I did, my life would never be the same again. With only a slight hesitation, I took the leap and it was the first step in a long process of finally finding out exactly where I come from and what clan I belong to. It was the first information to be gleaned that would help me feel whole at last.

For those of you that have always had a “real” family, you have no idea what it feels like to be incomplete as a person. I have advocated for years that abortion should be legal and closed adoptions should be criminal instead of the other way around. There is nothing more cruel than having to grow up without knowing where you came from. Not knowing the woman that gave birth to me formed a gigantic empty space deep inside my soul that could never be filled. Not knowing if I had brothers or sisters, aunts and uncles, left a void in my soul that was deeper than the deepest canyon. I longed for connections that I felt should be there, but, simply, were not. Carrying around the feeling of being unwanted for my entire life because I had been given away without a second thought. There are so many deep emotions that a soul feels when put in a situation that is not natural and not healthy. Did my parents love me? And, if they did, why did they just give me away like unwanted garage sale merchandise?

As an adopted person, you don’t dwell on those questions. For the lucky ones that get adopted into decent, loving families, those questions aren’t nearly as important, but they’re still there, I’m sure. For those of us that were given the opposite of love, the questions bubbled right below the surface, felt, but unaddressed.

Until March 12, 2021. Until my cousin, Susan reached out to me. Until she told me I probably had a sister and two brothers. Until I realized that I did indeed have a “real” family. They had literally found me. The excitement I felt can’t be described. It was like every good emotion I had ever felt rolled into a cozy blanket of knowledge. I finally knew that I had a real human father and his name was David. That’s where I came from. That’s who contributed half in the creation that is me. That cavernous hole in my heart filled in on the sides and oozed comfort into the cracked wounds that came from being alone my entire life. Not only do I have a father with a name and a face and a life to find out about, but, I have a sister and two brothers. Me! The only child before that day.

Within hours, my sister, Angie, and I were communicating and realized we had a lot of pieces to put together. Unfortunately, our father passed years ago, so I will never get to know him as a person. My sister was so gracious in sharing information that you normally don’t share with a stranger, but, in the end, we are not strangers, but half-sisters. How amazing is that? I’m pretty sure Angie was shocked by the discovery of an older sibling, but, she accepted me with love and honesty about her life with “dad”. She opened her heart to me and shared what it was like growing up, including the demons that our father had carried on his shoulders for all the years the kids were little. She could have sugar-coated the stories and created a reality that I wouldn’t have ever known was false, but with humility and grace, she shared the good, bad, and ugly with a sister she didn’t even know she had before now. What kind of human does that? A human that inherited a gigantic capacity for love, grace, and forgiveness. No matter his demons, Angie told me that our father had a heart as big as anything and would have given the shirt off his back for a total stranger. Sometimes I wonder if the bigger the heart, the scarier the demons? That’s just a side thought, but one to circle back to.

Over the next several months, we would exchange emails and chat now and again. Life is busy. Angie told me that she would tell her brothers about me, but, that like so much else, their relationships were complicated. I never wanted to push in any direction that was uncomfortable for her, so I let things be, let things just settle. Not, just settle without, but to settle within. And, it was extremely good for my soul. Just to know. To know I had a dad, to know I have a sister and two brothers, to know my ancestry. Thanks to my cousin, Susan, we can trace our genealogy back to England and the sixteenth century. For someone who longed to know from whence she came, being able to trace back through that many generations seemed like something that could only happen in a book! It was incredible to see the family tree on my father’s side. It was like a mighty old oak, with branches reaching skyward and outward in an abundance of overgrowth. The little girl with no one, now can comprehend she was never truly alone. Her ancestors knew who she was and now that girl knows who she is as well.

That unwanted little girl is no more. She is wanted. She is loved. She is a sister, aunt, and cousin. What more could I have ever asked for? I had no idea that about a year and a half after finding my father’s side of the family, I would get a another message out of the blue-“Sierra Simons has sent you a message.” That’s the fourth great moment on my list and that story deserves to be told standing alone. Shining. Brilliant. Beautiful.

Thank you to those that stuck with me on this long, but meaningful (at least for me) post. The next one will be even longer, just to give you patient, dear folks a clear warning ahead of time.

Judgment

I have always viewed myself as a very nonjudgmental person. I like to think that I am unbiased and fair, as that is exactly how I like to be treated. However, I’ve recently discovered that once I looked deeply inward and examined my actions further, I am like so many other humans, I have my prejudices and I can indeed be very judgmental towards my fellow humans. There are so many things in life that are out of our hands, but, there are also limitless experiences that we can control. Ourselves is the most obvious choice. I’ve never studied Buddhism, but I believe one of the basic tenants is to become a master of one’s self.

What is the purpose of life, if not to grow as a human being and to attempt to be a better person? Is the whole purpose like a weird, sci-fi board game, where the person with the most power and or money is declared the winner? Is life really just about ourselves? If someone like me strives to do better, longs to be better, and understands that love and empathy have got to be our currency, then why can’t people who wield the ability to change the world, do so? Why can’t the leaders of the world, be true leaders, bonded by the common human experience and motivated by an overwhelming edict to help all of the people? Everyone!

Why is there a need to control, plunder, and capture what isn’t yours? How can greed and ego be the only things required of our leaders? More than anything, why do these leaders who supposedly represent the people, care nothing for the people themselves? I’m not talking specifically about American politics and leadership, but, general leadership overall. Putin, Xi, and Kim Jong Un are just the top evil guys who find no shame in murder and genocide. It amazes me that people in some of the highest positions on the planet, revel in bloodshed and terrorism when it suits their needs. And, those are just the really evil big shots. The ladders beneath these guys and opposing these guys, or worshipping these guys hold the weight of wannabe dictators and despots.

Why?

Why can’t there be good guys? Truly good guys. Why can’t there be leaders who have only the best interests of the world at the top of their agendas? Why can’t there be a group of people who can govern without wars and provide without conditions? Why can’t there be people at the top who care about our planet and ALL of the people who inhabit it?

Why can’t we choose love over hate?

I do, and I’m just a run-of-the-mill human. We need to replace war with peace, prejudice with tolerance, and condemnation with understanding. Seems daunting, doesn’t it? Maybe we can hope that more people begin to make better choices. Maybe each of us can work on ourselves and strive to become better humans. Maybe that’s all this adventure is about. Maybe.

So, now that I understand that I’m guilty of judging others when that is not my place, I also understand that I can and will change my thinking and my behavior. “Until you’ve walked a mile in another man’s shoes” is appropriate in almost every situation and yet few of us even desire to know how those other shoes must have felt. I want to know. I want others to want to know. In other words, I want love to win. Truly win.

While I hold onto hope that the world can change, hope that it can give up its massacres and wars in favor of brotherhood, tolerance, and community. However, unless we as a society decide that good is better than evil, I feel like we may have already lost our chance to continue our occupation of the planet.

I’m Gonna Try Again

Years ago, I used to wake up, go right to my computer and write what I called “My Good Morning Post” and what some of you called, “The Happy Crappy Post”. I loved writing with images of all of you in my head. It made me feel connected and it made me feel less alone. There were some that vehemently disapproved of the content in my posts. I was told to “stop airing your dirty laundry” and in later years, lost friends over the debate between good and evil. Somewhere along the way, I stopped airing any laundry, dirty or not. I also stopped connecting with the world in any kind of meaningful way. I had lost my words, and for me, that is pretty much equal to losing my mind. So, if it’s easier to comprehend, I’ve been mentally tucked away for the past several years. I’m still not sure whether the dry spell is over or not, but, recently, I’ve been feeling the words once again, push at the edge of my consciousness, subtly reminding me that the words have never disappeared, they’ve just been dormant in the savaged recesses of my tired mind. Yet, here I am, and yes, I’m gonna try again.

I recently watched the Roald Dahl musical, Matilda. I hated it. And, I loved it. I cried through a good portion of the show and once it was over, I escaped to the privacy of the bathroom and ugly cried. Snot, hiccups, and eyes that swelled so much, you would have thought I had gone a couple of rounds with someone. I hadn’t cried that hard or felt that much, for what seemed like forever. It was cathartic, it was cleansing and it started a conversation the next day about writing, or more exactly, my lack of writing. If you have seen Matilda, then you understand why it struck me in such a way that I could at once despise the premise and at the same time, relate in a way that is rare for me anymore.

In the musical, a young girl escapes the reality of her abusive parents and solitary life by getting lost in marvelous stories that can only be found in books. Reading was one of the few pleasures that Matilda had and she progressed from not just reading about outlandish adventures and far-away journeys, but she realized she could also create her own imaginary worlds as well. It is amazing what children will do in an attempt to adapt to abuse.

When I was five, I started writing my own stories of good and evil. Fairies and dragons dominated my earliest attempts to escape to a place where people were nice to little girls and you never had to worry about not being good enough. By the time I was in junior high, I was writing about real-world issues while disguising them enough to pass for fiction. It’s pretty easy, even for a 12-year-old. Change all the names, occasionally trade genders or locations, and most importantly, change the actual subject matter just enough to get away with the pseudo-reality that quickly became the plot for the majority of my stories.

So, we’re past the made-up stories, we’re done with the cliff-hanging dramas, we’re stripping away the fluff, the icing, the pretty words, and we’re just going to let the words flow. Good words, bad words, ugly words, but, all, true words. Maybe that’s the key to unlocking that magical place inside my soul. That place where little girls are always loved and always wanted. That place that for years brought a feeling of peace like no other. That place, that is so beguiling and calls to me like a siren from the mist. I’m gonna try again, and I hope fervently that a few of you will come along with me.

Let’s go for a walk, shall we?

Massacre in Las Vegas

For those of you that personally know me, you know that I’ve had a terrible case of “writer’s block”. Not being able to write has been one of the most painful things I’ve ever experienced and I’ve been hoping for the day that the words would once again flow.

I’ve been feeling that old familiar “itch” in the past month or two and I’ve even opened my blog on more than one occasion, but no matter how hard I tried, the words just wouldn’t flow. Hell, I would have settled for a trickle rather than a flow, but I got not a drop. Nothing. So, though I’ve longed to sit down at the keyboard, and though I had a hint about what I should be writing about, it has not been possible. Until today. Or more accurately, until the world once again turned upset down at around 10pm Pacific time last night in the city I call home for now.

Around 22,000 people were attending an outdoor concert and festival on the southern end of the Las Vegas Strip when madness stepped in and rearranged the reality of life for those thousands of country music fans. At the finale of the three-day festival, as Jason Aldean belted out one of his hits, chaos ruled the night as a madman opened fire on the people as they watched the end of the concert. Many had no immediate idea that they were in danger as many have stated that when the shooting started, they assumed it was fireworks to mark the end of the Harvest festival. Others reported that they didn’t know they were being shot at until someone near them suddenly collapsed from a gunshot wound.

In the videos shown on the news and across social media, the realization that someone was actually firing an automatic weapon into the huge crowd came slowly, but when it did, there was mass panic as the shots continued to reign down upon the innocent people. You could see people indecisive about whether they should make a run for it, or whether they should just crouch down in place. I can’t imagine the terror that each one of those 22,000 had to endure. The shooting continued for almost 15 minutes.

I’m having a hard time today just coming to grips with what happened in my town last night. No, I wasn’t born in Vegas, in fact, I’ve only lived here for a short time, but in that time, I’ve been to the famous “strip” several times and have attended many concerts and shows at various venues around town including several that were near where the massacre took place last night. I have co-workers that were 15 feet from the stage when the shooting started. How can this be true? How can this be the world I grew up in? What has happened to our society?

The police and FBI say the shooter killed himself and that he, alone, is responsible for the death of so many people. But, there are still so many questions, some of which may never be answered. They are also calling this the worst mass shooting in American history. It happened just down the road from me. Just a few miles from my normal, mundane, boring life. Today, all I can feel is thankful for that life. There are many today, that had the privilege violently taken away.

The gunman was a wealthy, retired accountant that lived about 80 miles North of Las Vegas. He had no history of violence or mental illness. He lived in a secluded retirement community and was called, “friendly” by his neighbors. By all accounts, he was the least likely of people to commit this type of atrocity. At this point, just 16 hours after the devastation, there are more questions than answers.

If there is any good to something like this happening, it’s to be seen today across the Las Vegas valley. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of people lining up to give blood, there are even more people volunteering and bringing in supplies. People want to help in any way they can and it’s good to know that when it matters, most people are good. That’s a thought to hang onto today in a world that feels like it has tilted off its axis. I’m gonna hold onto that thought. There is still good in the world.

Is It Just Me, Or Has The World Gone Crazy?

The last two years have been a time of tremendous change for me. Leading up to these two years of turbulence and growth, I gained some revelations about my life. I realized that there was a warrior princess inside this middle aged body of mine and I envisioned wings that would transport me effortlessly into a new life of my choosing.

I found that I did indeed have wings and I realized that I even had the courage to use them. But, not in the ways I imagined. For a time, I felt defeated and saw my beautiful wings of freedom laying discarded, unused and broken. I still see them that way, but I’ve come to understand that there are certain things in life that aren’t easy to escape. The life I wanted only exists in my imagination and considering how many cooked up ideas, stories and fantasies that I’ve conjured in this old brain of mine, that life I so wanted, is now just another fragment stored and forgotten somewhere in my gray matter.

Getting my wings stripped has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever gone through and I have to say, that I’ve not gotten through it easily or gracefully. But, I have gotten through. I’m finally on the other side of disappointment and grief and am starting to feel my soul come alive once again. But, it’s different this time, whether from recent experiences or life long impressions, I can’t say for sure. A culmination of all that was, is and is yet to be. How odd, and yet, how cohesive in a world that is ruled by chaos.

Before, I continue further, I am going to give my readers fair warning that much of what I’m about to write and what I plan on pursuing for a subject matter in the future is going to upset some of you. I’ve posted snippets here and there on social media and the fall out was immediate and larger than I expected. Because of that, I’m putting in this disclaimer, that you are welcome to disagree with me, you are welcome to debate me, but I won’t allow disrespectful behavior or rude comments.

The other thing I want to say is that I am not a political person in any shape or form. Up until about 9 years ago, I had no idea what any of it was really about. I couldn’t have told you the differences between a Democrat and Republican,  and though I know a little more than I did, I still don’t really know much. So, these blogs are not political in the slightest. What they are, is my concern for humanity and this world we live in. I plan on writing about what I’m observing in the world. It’s simply my opinion.

I’m not thinking about running for office or organizing protests or rallies, but I refuse to be silent any longer about the condition that our world is in and how quickly we are losing our footing. So, I’ll be telling it like I see it, and that will be difficult for some of you. This is my truth and the first question I’m trying to answer is: Has the world gone crazy? Or has it always been this way and we just choose to see what we want to see?

Our lives are filled with everyday, small and mundane things that all add up to a lifetime. But, a lifetime of what? Worrying from cradle to grave. Working and then working some more just to pay the mortgage and buy that car that you spend copious amounts of time in, waiting in traffic to go to your boring, endless job just to make a paycheck? Life is so much more than what we see in our small, little circles and I, for one, am tired of only seeing what’s in my immediate vicinity.

What do you know of the world? What do you know about the people that are in the highest offices, making the most critical decisions for all of mankind? Well, to start off, they are simply human. Just like us. Or are they? And, if they are just simply humans, what are their lives like and what are they seeing? Do they see the same things as you and I? Let’s sit down and have a cup of tea or coffee and discuss what’s going on around us. In your life, your country, your corner of the world.

Just Living Life

It’s been so long since I’ve written in my personal blog, that I’m almost at a loss as to where I should start. Many of you have followed this blog and the crazy life that is recorded within its many pages. I think that just about a year ago, I lost all ability to write and to share my feelings. Well, it’s time to catch you all up and to get back on track.

For those of you that did follow my blog, you know that for years I tried to find those golden wings that would set me free and let me follow my heart. I was unhappy with my marriage and thought that the only solution was to get out of it. And, I tried.

I moved to Las Vegas last October with every intention of leaving behind my marriage of 28 years. I felt it was time to find my wings, leave the dead weight behind and find my little piece of happiness. Guess what? I fell on my face and my heart ached every night. It took about 2 weeks to miss my husband and our marriage. It took another 2 months to admit that the unhappiness I had been feeling had more to do with me than it had to do with my husband or my marriage.

I had been very unfair to my better half, blaming him for every moment that I wasn’t happy and feeling like he had held me back and hampered my ambitions. You know what I found out once I was without him? That I was the one holding myself back and it was so convenient and easy to lay all the blame at his feet. The poor man never really knew what hit him when I first started this crap back in 2012. It started with an argument and ended with the realization that I almost lost something so precious and special. It makes me cry, just to think how close I had come to losing everything.

Boy, sometimes, I’m pretty stupid and what’s worse, I’m stupid and stubborn. For close to 4 years I did everything I could to end my marriage including walking away from it. There came a time a couple of years ago that I even confessed to my husband that I was having an affair with a guy named, Allen. It was all made-up, a lie that I thought would push him away. How pathetic is that? The day I told my husband about Allen, I saw how much I hurt him. I could see it in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough for me. I had to go on for years with the insults, cold shoulders, and frankly, just plain being a bitch. I did everything I could to make him leave me, make him divorce me, make him stop loving me.

Yes, I was angry, but it was more than just anger. It was the accumulation of years of not being able to find my voice. Years of not standing up for myself. Years of hearing my mother’s voice telling me things that made me hurt. And, I took more than forty years of unhappiness and laid it squarely at my husband’s feet. It was his fault. But, I’ve finally realized that it wasn’t. It was mine.

We’ve been back together since February and at first, I was happy to be back on the right track. But, it didn’t take long before I fell back into the same old routine of blaming him for everything. Things hadn’t changed and once again, it was all his fault. He should listen more, he should pay attention more, he should engage more. He should love me more. He should move mountains to make me happy. I felt like nothing had changed and the weight of the world and our marriage was placed solely on my shoulders.

The first glimmer of hope came when my husband was hospitalized with a kidney stone too large to pass without surgery. So, we began a two-month adventure of hospitals, surgical procedures and things like kidney stints and urine bags. That first night, sitting in the emergency room and holding his hand, things began to change. The frost and ice on my heart started to thaw and for the first time in four years, I realized how important this man was to me. I finally remembered how much I loved him.

So, we’ve been working on things. We started with just trying to be kinder and nicer to each other and I feel like I found a long-lost friend. We’ve been concentrating on each other and rebuilding our lives together. Last night, we watched hours of old home movies and my heart was filled to overflowing with gratefulness for our life together. Almost three decades together and it hurts to know how close I came to throwing it all away like it didn’t matter, or it was simply worthless.

My best friend has also been helpful by pulling away and not wanting to spend time with me like we used to. I’ve been hurt by his distance, but I think I understand that all he was doing was pushing me in the direction where I belonged. With my husband. I wouldn’t trade this summer for anything in the world. It’s been the summer that we finally found our way back to each other and my heart is full. Is it perfect? No, far from it, but that’s what makes it real. Real life isn’t perfect, it’s just outrageously sweet with all the imperfections that make life interesting.

I’ve really been struggling the past few months with being comfortable with my life and all it entails. Once again, it must be the stubborn streak in me that seems to make things harder than they have to be. My husband and I have found our way again and that kind of love deserves more than a casual mention. I’m so thankful that John has stood by me throughout all of our many years and his love for me has been a true constant. I’m blessed and oh so grateful that I didn’t lose the meaning of my life with my stupidity and repressed anger issues.

So, together, we’re moving forward. We’re going to find our piece of happiness while holding hands and leaning on each other. Never give up on true love and the power it holds. For years, I denied it existed and I allowed my anger and disappointment to diminish our love like clouds that cover the rays of the sun. But, no more. My eyes and my heart are wide open and I’m looking forward to spending the rest of my life with the man I truly love.

 

Steve Wynn’s ShowStoppers

Good Times and Laughter

A big thanks to my best friend for procuring center-stage seats for one of the best shows in Las Vegas. This is the same man that took me to my first Broadway production more than two years ago and because of that introduction, I have fallen in love with this genre of art. Broadway shows tell a story through music and you get the best of both worlds. You get to see a marvelously acted story and you get to hear a grand musical concert.

Steve Wynn and the creators of ShowStoppers brings its audience to the absolute pinnacle of musical performance with a cast of sixty-six singers, dancers and musicians. The orchestra is led by Conductor Dave Loeb who does a legendary job in directing the music for each of the numbers. The curtain rises after a short audio introduction by Steve Wynn explaining what we’re about to see…

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Overcast Again

I write an almost daily post on Facebook and my first paragraph always starts out with the weather. It’s become something of a tradition to say, Good morning and then tell my readers whether it’s sunny, raining, or oppressively muggy. Some of my friends laugh at my weather reporting and that’s okay too. I just find the weather to be a thing of nature and god and I like the jumping off point that that first segment always gives me.

When searching for a title today for this blog, I couldn’t help but glance out the window and see the overcast skies, once again. So, the dark and stormy skies are my jumping off my point today and it’s totally appropriate for the subject I’m writing about. Since moving to Branson, I have garnered many new friends and I know there’s a chance that some of those friends might see this blog. All they have ever been privy to is my entertainment blog where I write reviews of shows and fun things that I get to do. They’ve never seen the deeper side of Summer, the side that isn’t always so positive and upbeat. My new friends that have met me, see an outgoing, happy person. I smile a lot. I talk a lot. I genuinely engage with people because, well, because it’s simply who I am.

I lead my life with my heart as my compass and while it’s nice when things are going great, it can really be detrimental when things are not so rosy. When things are going well in my life, it’s easy to have enthusiasm and a bright outlook because those feelings which include joy and laughter are the most important things to me. I don’t care about money, I don’t care about social status or needing to be something I’m not. The most valuable assets in my life are the people that love me and the moments we share as friends and fellow humans. I refuse to become jaded to the world just because there’s bad things out there. I refuse to stop believing in love just because it sometimes hurts. There is nothing more important in this old world of ours than the ability to give and receive that most precious of commodities; love.

So, I had the chance to take a really long vacation. It was the first time in more than 21 years that I took that kind of time just for me. Went where I wanted to go, saw the things I wanted to see, lived my life with a type of freedom that I am generally not allowed to have. And, I found a different me. I found the me I want to be. I discovered within myself a person that has literally not existed except for an hour or two at a time, for the past 28 years. You know what? I really like that girl. You wanna know something else? I already miss her so much! She tried to hang in for the first couple of days, but in this house, there’s not a place where that girl is really welcomed. That girl laughs too much, feels things too deeply, wears her heart out on her sleeve.

The girl that lives in this house, has lots of responsibilities and not a lot of joy. The girl that lives here, only dreams of a life without the chains and knows in her heart that she can’t really escape. The girl that lives here has a sense of obligation and a very narrow sense of right and wrong and knows that what will slowly kill her is her misplaced loyalty. The girl that lives here is a realist, not a dreamer and she often fights with that other female, you know, the one that I was for the past three weeks.

They fight about silly little things like writing time vs. cleaning the house time. They fight because one wants to search out a job to pay for the large car repair bill and groceries, but the other one wants to publish a book that will change the world. One girl looks selfishly to her own wants and needs and the other puts on her golden halo and talks about promises and vows. They bicker back and forth in a constant screaming litany about this thing or that thing and what should be done. The responsible girl hates the free girl and the free girl only feels the cold steel from the bars that enclose her. These girls are more than sisters, more than friends, and yet, they don’t seem to be able to find a space to co-exist.

These girls are me.

They’ve been with me all my life, though the realist never allowed me to fully see the dreamer girl. Yes, there were glimpses of the free spirited me, but until three years ago, that part of me was never given a voice and never acted upon. Then came that day in July when things forever changed. The blinders came off and that fun loving, self-serving girl was given free reign for an afternoon. After that day, I knew she existed and it was impossible to go back to my survival mode of thinking. In the beginning, she schemed behind my back and whispered to me in the form of friends who were placed in my life at the best possible moment. That hippie-like girl encouraged me to try things I had never tried before and at my first grown-up play, she laughed and cried and opened my heart like never before. That silly girl had the power to heal the hurts of an abusive childhood. That little nymph had the ability to make me feel things so much deeper than before. She was a magical girl and the sound of her laughter in my ears was like listening to a river of water as it cascades over the rainbow.

That girl encouraged me to start writing again and she could barely contain her enthusiasm when I started my first blog. That sweet, sweet girl helped me to fall in love with life again and it was her bubbly personality that got to eat world-famous Memphis ribs and listen to jazz while sitting on the banks of the Mississippi. That lovely girl was enchanted by Broadway, not so much by sushi. That girl once had a comical meltdown in a Red Robin restaurant because of the art adorning the walls. That same girl then walked outside and shared the beauty of a double rainbow with her closest friend. That insane, funny girl is the same one that cries buckets at sad movies, and loves eating Mickey waffles on lazy Sunday afternoons. One day last year, that crazy girl decided to participate in a workshop that ended six weeks later with a novel of more than 100,000 words being written. Yeah, that was ALL her fault!

The girl that lives here is a practical sort. She makes her bed everyday and makes sure the bathtub gets cleaned. She opens stacks of mail and pays the bills, even when there’s not much left in the savings account. The no-nonsense girl decides what’s for dinner and strives to remain pleasant when the same damn question gets asked twenty times. I’ve noticed that girl taking huge, sighing breaths and I’ve observed the numbers on the blood pressure monitor slowly climbing back into the high category. There’s days that the obligated girl can’t seem to stop the leaking from her eyes and wonders what it’s all about. The serious girl doesn’t see the need for freedom, laughter or happiness. My life is enough for this girl.

So, it’s overcast again today in the Ozarks. Probably going to have torrential rain later this afternoon. The two girls sit in front of my laptop and look out on the day. One sees an endless season of clouds and storms while the other one remembers hot desert nights and the way the air felt on her free skin. One girl accepts that life has it’s ups and downs and accepts that it’s up to her to hold it together, but the other girl? She refuses to settle for what is and starts her scheming once again to find that place where she’s free to be everything she was meant to be.

I know that there will eventually come a point where one has to kill off the other. It always happens in the best of books, and honestly, I don’t think that the two girls will ever be able to be present at the same time. Do we root for hippie girl? Even though she’s very impractical and much too wild for most? Or, do we vote for the steadfast, loyal, heavily bound girl to win the race? There’s days, including today, that it just seems way too much. I’m overwhelmed at their attitudes, as it seems neither one of them is happy with me. But, the day goes on. The conflict goes on. The battle continues. Just once, I would love the battle to be won by either one or the other. Either happiness and a mantle of guilt and regret, or, the knowledge that I did the right thing, even if it was at the expense of my soul.

You’ve seen that meme about how you should be nice to everyone because you never know the battle they are fighting. It’s absolutely true. We all disguise our inner selves and put on a face each day that the world expects to see. I’m no different. Have a thousand or so extra Summer masks in my closet, probably one for every occasion. The good days, the bad days, the days without hope, and the days of bright sunshine. The two girls discuss it between themselves and so the day begins. Overcast, again.