Tag Archives: family

What If

I’ve been thinking a lot lately.  That’s the kind of thing that happens while you sit at your desk, knitting until your fingers and wrists go numb, watching millions of images load ever so slowly on your dino-dial-ups for Pintrest.  There’s been topics fluttering in my mind, words to mash out on this blank screen… but knitting doesn’t work well with typing.  You loose your count and your train of thought all at one time.  Trust me.

And it’s hard to work on this, when you need to work on that.  Priorities wrestle with wants.  Needs fling mud at desires.  Options and choices wrestle in the jello pit that once was a functional brain.  Everything fights you, time, budgets, noises, small people wanting things.

It’s like the first time I looked into selling handmade goods on Etsy, they say, “Choose one medium”.  Choose one.  Like that’s possible for me.  I can knit, crochet, draw, paint, sew, quill, carve, stamp, shape… not that I have valuable skills in every form, but choosing one is like asking me if I want to keep my right or my left leg… um, all please?

I want to do it all, because what if I choose the wrong one?  My hobby is hobbies.  But I want one to be mine.  Or at least three.  Maybe four.  My hard limit is at nine, honestly.

And somehow this all links back to writing.  What if.  I mean really, what if?  What if while I’m busy training dogs (or not so busy, thank you economy), and knitting my fingers off to pay the bills, supporting my writer friends, promoting them, blogging about nothing, chasing kids, trying to make a garden/homestead on a rock bed, pretending I know how to sing for the fake band… What if, deep in my computer’s files, laying in wait, is the next big thing.  And in my interview with Ellen (because Oprah erks me to no end) she asks how long it took me to write this book, that instantly sold out, and the movie rights were bought before it was even published… I have to say, twenty years.  And I have to admit that for 19 of those years it was sitting there in my computer’s memory, because I was too friggen scared/hard on myself to even try.  And she’s going to laugh and call me cute, while holding up one of my washcloths and make some cute joke about loving Jesus and drinking beer.

Okay so I doubt that’s how anything would unfold.  But what if?

But where’s the time?  And where the frick, is the confidence?  Because all I know is that them washcloths will not make themselves.  And sitting here, typing about what if’s does not pay the bills.

*pours more coffee*

~Confessions~

Hey there, look!  I do remember what a blog is!  Shocking right?

It’s been busy around here for sure.  Between family drama, sickness and injuries, the loss of favorite pets, starting a new business, and so on and so on… it’s hard to prioritize blogging.  And even harder to follow-up on my friends’ latest writings.

And then, then there is the confession.

I think, I gave up.

Or maybe it is that I am still giving up, or maybe I’m getting ready to give up, and that’s why I feel compelled to write about it.  Just one last time.  Not that I’m looking for someone to magically pull me back into that other realm, because the time still isn’t there…  but just to keep on with the honesty I prefer to keep in here.

So I don’t know what happened.  There was some slippery slope, or too many battle wounds… or something.  I was like the little train that could, puffing along, thinking I was on track, beating back the negativity… and then…  Then the track was cracked by a lack of progress.  I couldn’t meet my own goals to save my life. Then the repairable track met the tornado of a pretty bad critique.  Then the shambles that were left met another bad critique storm, and then another.

Oh I tried to stay strong and grab onto the sides and pull myself back up.  But it just all felt like there was nothing there to grab a hold of.  There was no concrete success to put a foot on, there were no met goals to reach for.  All that seemed to be there were countless hours wasted, eaten alive by my own self doubt.

When you’re left, trying to grab thin air, while real things need attention, things like finances, family, half-finished kitchen walls… grabbing into the air seems utterly silly.  Foolish.

What did 50+ followers mean to the stack of bills?  Nada.  What did one featured post mean to the family at dinner time?  Nothing.  What did hours of imagining factious plots do for the betterment of anything?  Not much.  And maybe that’s all my fault.  Maybe I just never had the dedication.  Maybe I didn’t work hard enough, or want it bad enough.  Either way I couldn’t/can’t produce enough evidence to continue down that path.

Yes, yes, I know, whoa, holy heaps of negativity.  Unusual for me to do here.

And my bitterness isn’t towards anyone.  I don’t want those who have potential to be turned off by what I’m sharing.  This is only in my case, all though I’m sure I’m not alone.

I asked once, what your final straw would be, where you would actually turn your back on a dream.  And I guess I had found my final line.  When your confidence breaks so far that you can no longer drag yourself down that path.  When you actually smirk, and twist a compliment, and you get upset.  When, for the most part, the words just stop flowing.  When you just can’t.

In closing, I thank all of you for all of your support.  I thank you for everything you have done for me, and with me.  I’ll still be floating around this interwebs world.  I’ll still be randomly posting here when the mood strikes.  I’ll try to one day get back to visiting your blogs.  This isn’t meant to be a big old begging for compliments, or anything of the like.  Like I said, I believe in being as honest as possible here, and this is real life folks, unedited, and with a pot of coffee, or two.

 

~Going Home~

When the prodigal son returns, he’s afraid.  Very afraid, as the bible tells us.  (keep reading, I’m not getting biblical on you)  He wasted his entire inheritance, abandoned his family, and screwed up royally.  Yet he goes home, faces the truth, and prepares to beg for forgiveness. 

Because at some point we all have to go home. 

But life doesn’t always follow the story.  Or maybe it always does, but it’s the path that becomes entirely different. 

We’re not prepared for the hill that lays in wait just before the doorstep.  The hill built out of fear, hate, spite, revenge, hurt, and denial.  The hill that our home has not built, but the one that the prodigal son has built himself.  And we can’t see our loved ones standing in circles around that hill with shovels, and spades, and even explosives, just waiting for the words to be spoken, just waiting to help tear down that hill.

Yet we choose to add to the hill.  Always heaping on more and more, making it seem impossible.

Until we despise the idea of going home all together.

But you see, going home is not an option you can choose to ignore.  Denying truths only eat at your soul.  One way or another you will climb that hill, eventually.

And just know you have a family, waiting to hold your hand…

Hope and Staying Grounded

There’s a funny little thing about hope.  Sometimes you can have too much.  And having too much hope is pretty much like having too much coffee in your cup.  It’s going to slosh all over and get you burned.

You know that time when you had everything planned out, thought everybody was on the same page, and you knew you were going to have the best day ever?  And everyone else followed their own script and not yours and you’re left with the bitter taste of disappointment in your mouth.  It’s like that.

Or if you read so deep into the little things and your hope swells up like a hot-air balloon and starts pulling you through the daydream clouds… Until you fly straight into the electric wires, and you realize your balloon was only the size of a nickel to start with.  It’s like that.

Hope can make you develop this whole other world in your head, one that may not ever come to be.

But you can’t ignore the hopes.

Fill your balloon, but keep your ground ties secure.

My stepdaughter was seen back near her home town 9 months ago, she ignored everyone she saw and quickly left again.  She or someone emailed my husband 6 months ago, with some thing against a pastor he likes… no response ever came back. 

Hope, it swelled, it blossomed, it stung.

Hope is what keeps telling me that they will be the case that defeats the odds and bends to my will.  So many have been lost to cult like lives… why would our case be special, turn out different?  Just because I say so?  Because I HOPEYes because I HOPE.

And then they’re back again, just this week, back in their hometown.  Just when I have my hope all balanced and checked, and tightly secured.  Back again, spotted by a close family member, at a garage sale.  There was a brief conversation… my balloon swells, it pulls tightly at the ground ties… it wants to soar.  My stubbornness, my pride, my heart, my soul… they shake and tremble, they want to cut the ground ties…

But my mind has seen this movie before, it’s not sure if there can be a different ending, isn’t this just everything playing on repeat?  It doesn’t want to get lost in the daydream clouds… it doesn’t want to feel, ANYTHING.  And my heart screams at my brain that this is not the same movie, this is not the same thing… that this time there is hope.  Real hope.  New hope

The ties in the lines are double checked, and pulled extra tight.  I need to stay here, we need to stay here, all grounded and safe… Safe on the ground, looking up into the clouds, because I’m not ready to leave them yet, even if it might hurt.

~Moments of Thanks~

Quite honestly I have been out of words since I wrapped up this year’s NaNoWriMo challenge.  So when my friend trapped me into reading her blog that ended with a question, I decided to hijack the whole thing and make it into today’s post.  You can check out what she said here.

She asked,  So now my question is, can you name a few things you’re grateful for?  Things/People/Thoughts you can bring up on a dark day of yours that will do you some cheering up?  Pipe in people? 

But she also yelled at us to STFU in her title… confuses me she does.  *snort*  But I’m going to give it a shot anyway…

I’m thankful, grateful for those moments.  You know the ones, the moments that make your eyes pop wide open, and make your heart melt into putty.  Those are the ones.  Moments that for no reason change everything in your world, until you get too busy and you let go of them.

Moments when you’re broken down, crying to the skies, when the sun breaks through the clouds and once again you can stand up, still sad, but better. 

The moments when you look at your children and they just give you that look back.  That look that says you’re doing things right, and that they will forever love you no matter what.

Those moments when the world stops, and you feel deeply loved.  Even when you know that person always loves you, but every once in a while they reconfirmed it, without doing a single thing.

I’m thankful for those quiet moments I get outside, alone, lost in my own thoughts.  Where my mind quiets and rests.

And there’s the times when a friend pops out of nowhere and calls, or writes, or sends a card, always when you needed it the most, always when you thought you were alone, always without knowing how much you needed it.

I’m grateful for those times when your heart is finally at peace and you realize that even if you lost every material possession that you owned and that things would still be okay.  It’s when you realize things are nothing more than that, things. 

I find thanks in those moments that make no sense.  Those times when you’re hurt, abandoned, lost.  In those moments is when you find your true faith, your true heart, your true self.  Those are the times that we learn, grow and change.  That is when we’re shaped and molded. 

 

So how about you?