The Christmas Snow

When I was a child, pictures like this were everywhere. Soft glowing homes casting shadows on the lawns; maybe there was snow and a snowman in the yard. A large picture window displayed a huge tree, obnoxious to today’s green crowd. No lights on the trim of the home, just happy healthy glowing windows that told of everyone’s presence.

I’d bundle up, run out to my favorite tree and climb it; catching snowflakes on my tongue until I got a big enough taste, to taste the snow. More, more snow, I wanted more snow than the ground could hold. My little red coat allowed me to be found even when I hid so well that time behind the old grape vine. One, two, three, you’re out and I climbed my tree and watched the shadows dance on the snow.

Family and friends gathered around and in every room of the house; when would they all leave? They would come to the windows to see the snow and their shadows would cast outward and ruin my image of the blue fairy next to the water pump house. Go home and I can go to sleep and when I wake I can open something wonderful. Go home now.

Rubbing my eyes, almost knocked back by the siblings, I search for my glasses to begin my trek to the living room. There stands the most marvelous tree in the world. I helped pick it out and the ribbon for the packages matched the green boughs that held shimmering balls. Paper was already being strewn around the room and watch up for whirling toys. One brother got a little metal car with foot pedals. One brother got a huge heavy metal airplane with black wheels. Where was my train? I looked but there was no box. In a small chair sat a doll. A large doll and I reached to touch her. I could feel the coldness coming off of her arm. Dear lord, she was dead. I was so repulsed I could not believe it. And where was my train I’d asked Santa for? And what do you mean, “Trains aren’t for little girls?”

I had lots to think of, went to my room and dressed quickly. “Trains were not for girls. Dolls were not for boys.” What did that mean? What was I? Was I a boy, wanting a train or a girl, wanting a train? What was the difference? Did it matter? It must have, because the very next Christmas one of my brothers got the train I wanted. (But I wouldn’t know about that until the next year, right?)

Feeling tearful and a bit let down I fled the whirling toys of the whirling boys and hid in my tree. I wore my old brown coat so no one could see me in the snow. I was just a shadow. I was just a shadow of too many things to come that would repeat this same scenario; “you’re a girl and girls don’t do that; girls don’t get that.” My Mom called all to a big brunch, stepping out onto the porch, called me from my tree.

My Dad said I couldn’t go back out to the tree the rest of the day. I needed to stay in and enjoy family. And did I like the doll that Grandmother had picked out for me? The look on my Mom’s face said it all. (Like: “Did you forget Santa signed the card?) I was elated! My joy returned in full measure as I realized that Santa didn’t bring me the doll after all. So what did he bring me?

Christmas snow! I sat there and thought, wow, he answered my wish. I’d told him on Christmas that I’d be happy if all I got for Christmas was snow! When I was a child pictures like this were everywhere!

a seasonal thank you

A seasonal thank you to the writers or blogs that contributed to my success this year.

The WordPress group of Dellis/Mohandas/Lighque: A Citizen’s Tools, Graymarq, Omegetymon, Ravenscawl, Saffron Sights, Thnq, VinYettes, YO’Pinion Therapgraphics Arts.

The Blogspot* and Zimbio groups

A Day in the Life: Dave’s Progress

A jewel shining through: Julie

A Moody Mind: Matt

Arch-ing, DCRELIEF, Fort Knox is Empty: dcrelief

Blue Duck Copy

Dispatches from the Jazz Unit; Not another headache: LoverofJazz

KLAHANIE, Mental Health Matters: Klahanie

Me & My DoDo, THREIO: Threio

Paige Mann

STEDWELL: Steve

Tone the Blueshawk: Tony

Wait Tila Commercial: Veronda

Zimbio

Thank you for you inspiration and help. I wish you all much success in 2009!

a season of greetings:

Here's a thought

The Americans today had a thought! Yes, those Americans that reside in middle America. You remember, from New York to California, that one! Yes, well they have decided to encase Christmas and the entire “spirit of the thing” in a spherical time capsule and have it orbit the moon. Astounding!

It was a bit late to get it on this year’s shuttle mission list, but come April 2009, there’s going to be a real “Santa” hanging on the moon. All total, there could be as many as 42 spheres sent into orbit. There’s a Santa’s workshop planned, a nativity with sixteen farm animals, and a small amusement park variety of rides.

At “Nasser,” the American space officials were all excited, except for Herb Johns. Mr. Johns is concerned that the camels will need more water than the moon provides. Second in charge, Josh Brown explained that “we could bring in water from Mars as soon as we thaw it out.” (What? Don’t mention Mars?) Oops.

So there you have it. In 2009 those who celebrate Christmas can purchase a spherical ride to the moon and have their holiday there.

(expedia.co-m says they will have tickets ready to purchase by July 2009)

post script: do not write me nasty comments or stuff; this is a joke!

A question I thought of

Why do I pick on me?

What is it that causes me to pick on myself, not allowing myself to experience great immeasurable joy? That’s it. That’s all I have to say right now.

Heal your regret

A small place,
a lone space
my prayers do I say.
Then seagulls come and join me
we rush to our play.

The sun comes up glowing
and gentle winds rise.
I stand on my own
yet learn from the wise.

Do not take too much
do not leave here cold.
Embers now glowing
will pepper your soul.

Return every time
your heart becomes wet.
And find all the lone space
that heals your regret.

The Marmot Man

I’m a marmot man
From a marmot land
And I’m headed down this path to find some food

I got a little gray coat
And a couple of smokes
To light up when I wanna’ see Japan

There’s a berry here
Other berries near
But I’ll pick the one that’s closest to my mood

Grab your own gray coat
Catch a riverboat
We’ll be sailing up the river as we planned

Blank

Sometimes I cannot think.
Someone wants an answer and I don’t have one.
I might be lost in a small world, caught up in an old pain.
There might be a fog about.
I might be blank.

There are times that the damage I have suffered causes others to suffer too. They’re concerned and they write or call.
I cannot seem to stop hurting them with my damage.
My heart fills with compassion for them and I begin to let them go.
My mind goes blank and tries to forget the once joy.

I can never seem to play the games right.
No one gave me the tools to rein in my emotions, damn them all.
They jump me with both feet and their greed.
Poor misguided slobs in the world who hate children.
Hate them enough to make them learn blank.

Lucky Lochy

The Lochness monster came this way
One bright and sunny morn in May
I stopped to stare, up stood me hair
The Lochy swam in daylight fair

The Lochness monster talked to me
He told me of the sights at sea
Upon his back I traveled with
The Lochy was a Lucky myth

A nice photo

I took this while I was visiting the east coast of the Carolinas. It was a cold day, but the boats looked interesting, still laid out for a trip later in the day? I didn’t know, didn’t care, and just took the shot; it’s pretty. The couple on the beach was exchanging words loudly. The gentlemen taking a walk was walking in a fast pace. There was nothing really outstanding about the end resulting photo, but when I saw it today, some two years later, it reminded me of the painful way I live today.

I’ve been foolishly trying to live my life online. Met people, lost people, wrote for some people, and tried hard not to get involved with anyone. How unfortunate to discover that no matter where I go I take me too. It’s not like I haven’t been told that I have problems; I’ve been told. I’m aware of the some of my issues. Lately I have to deal with them daily. I don’t think there’s a “go back” button and because I’m feeling responsible for my feelings, there is no going back. There’s death and then there’s healing; always more healing.

So let there be healing. I’ll ask for something when I want it or need it. For example: assistance in healing. I refuse to feel guilty when asking someone to help me. If they cannot help, then I move on and ask another person. Somewhere along the way there will be someone to assist. As healing begins to sink into my head I realize that I am responsible for my actions, especially abusive actions. I'm now doing what's been done to me and I hate my life. I hate the photo.

Ironically I am just as responsible for my inactions. Those things I tell myself I will do but don’t get done; like letting 156 photos hang in a computer file for two years? I’m tired of looking at nice photos and wondering why I can’t get closer? What inaction must I turn into action to be in the photo of my dreams?

Gulls, piers, and pretty things

In North Carolina from whence I hail, is a shoreline so remarkably beautiful, that a glimpse brings me tears. A place I first “found” at thirteen and have seen so many times more than my age. (100 trips and counting) (LOL)

The seagulls sail along and will gladly snatch a cheese stick from your hand as they pass. At times two of them will chase each other for rights to the snack. Always calling, always hungry, they circle my head wanting more.

Sand in pinks and beige-golden tones adorn my feet as the sun rises, with a change to mauve and blue as the sun leaves for the day. My feet look pretty, on the sand, kicking up little puffs as I walk toward no where.

Piers and partial piers left standing in ragged condition after great ravaging storms; I photograph them all. In 100 trips I have easily seen and walked them all. To find one gone is to say goodbye to a friend.

Sand fences built to keep the Outer Banks home and support the wonderful sea oats planted to hold back time and sea. Oh to have the power of the sand fences.

It’s been almost three years since I was there in that most treasured home I love so. No one wants to go because they are not “beach kind of people”, preferring the mountains. But I am making plans to go there. I am going there and there are people waiting to help me see my beloved sea; my beloved Outer Banks.

One morning will find me sitting on the sand, facing the ocean’s horizon, waiting on the sun to rise. Waiting for that red ball, as it usually is, come up to smile at me in greens and golds. In tears I shall welcome the gentle breeze, listen carefully for the far off sounding rumble of water, and toss the first cheese snack to the lonely gull who sits beside me; there’s always one.

Merry Cookies!

‘Eelloo to everyone, Alistair Cookie here!

Lot of joys, lots of toys and all that hi-hip-hooray ballyhoo this time of year. Ohh, but if your children only knew the real truth about the man in the red suit… I tell you: he’s a cookie monster! Yes, come closer to your screen and listen as I reveal the sordid narration. You know how much I enjoy a great narration. Sordid, well, I think that’s the word Mum uses to describe the dreadful diapers. So we’ll sort through the sordid tale together.

Mum and I had gone to the local strip mall; one of those places your car careens off the road onto, and you park and shop. ‘Grammie’ had mailed the most glorious navy blue and white, attired, baby stroller. I was feeling dapper and all full of my loving little narration type self. Mum was wheeling me everywhere around the mall and I was quite the tease with those “pink stroller babes’! (“Hello, I’ll let you have a ride in my navy and white for a cookie? What? How rude!”) Some stroller babes are ridiculous. They throw you a toy or cookie and then scream for their Mum to retrieve it.

But wait! There he sat in the big chair, with that red hat and a large box of candy canes. Yes, he lured us, one by one, into that chair with promises of candy; yummy red and white candy, which all of the Mums precisely took away as soon as it left his hand. (“Oh what fun, oh, what now? Ooh, sticky baby time, that’s what. No one’s Mum wanted a sticky baby.”) The line was very long and I was there, trapped like a rat, through an apple, bottle of juice, those fun teething crackers, and 16 repeats of “Santa Claus is coming to town” blaring over the mall speakers. Why hadn’t somebody realized he was already there? Stop the music!

While I waited there was one sordid tale after another of children giving this man their cookies; well, sort-a sordid, I suppose. But he was getting a lot of cookies and we found out he does this world-over, whatever that means! So there, the truth is in your hands now. Don’t give this man your cookies. Keep them or send them to me. You'll find my address on the profile page.

Merry Cookies!

Great Feelings

Great feelings begin with acceptance of others
Give to ones that need sun to shine for them
Find a moon to cast a shadow across the land
Prepare a pool to catch tears for the one who is lonely
Follow the Jasmine scent of the night breeze
Find the lover who waits
Receive warmth by the crackling, hissing fire
Longing with heart to share and weep wisely
Walk through cool morning dew where the feet are chilled
Sweet juices flowing over the face in sticky joy
Watch the sky fill with sunlight
A gentle ocean comes to greet the sky
Above the clouds are chasing clouds
A bird flies over where sweet song
Awakens the morning man
To great feelings
To great feelings!
Great feelings
Begin with
Acceptance of others

Closure - an inside job

At the age of six years old I watched as an ambulance left the driveway below my window, taking my Mom to the hospital. I wasn’t too worried because the last time she went there she came home with a little brother for me. He was barely two years old, but what do six year olds know; Mom could have been having another baby, but she wasn’t.

She spent thirteen weeks, equal to three months and one week, on the psychiatric ward having shock treatments and God knows what else. I stared in unbelief the day we brought her home as she kept repeating to my Dad, “Take me back to the hospital; I’m not ready to come home.” He drove on, smiled, and sometimes laughed, and I wondered how he could be that way. I remember begging him to please take her back… and began to cry when he laughed at me too.

I knew things would never be the same because she was never the same. The bouncing, bubbly Mom I once had was gone. Instead a “mean woman” came to live with us and I began to hide and isolate from everyone. Long hours out in the yard proved to be the best hiding place, as no one bothered to come find me. I wandered from house to house, meeting other children’s’ Moms, just so I could feel loved the way I used to. Pretty soon those Moms were talking to my Mom and begging her to just let me stay another hour at their houses. Seems everyone wanted a little girl except the people at my house. They were busy being angry and throwing things.

When my Mom died it’s as if all of these issues came back to haunt me. What had happened to her to so change her spirit? Why did she almost hound me to stay close by, yet pushed me away? The answers I finally figured out took 40 years to come forth and I can promise you that I’ve been able to forgive her every unkind word and act. What was left was closure for me from me: an inside job. It would take learning about my own mental health issues and how empathy from others would and could help me mend. Though I might not ever be 100 percent, I will try and not let anyone deter me from seeking my goal; welcoming the empathy that supports my inner healing… and eventual closure.

then this

“The idea is to admit and accept that you're experiencing mental distress and that something needs to change. It is better to try and focus on solutions rather than letting the problem(s) overwhelm us.”

Three weeks before Christmas

Three weeks before Christmas, I stood at the road,
Surveying the house lights and checking the load.

Most strands lit up brightly, one hung down too far.
I stepped in the road, was struck down by a car.

The driver was nice and he wore a red suit.
I glanced in his car and saw tons of loot.

He had everything, from mixers to trolleys,
And bags full of toys, including small dollies.

The stars that I saw, when he hit me, were fading.
I thought of the task of my house light upgrading.

He had me sit down while he went to work.
The strand hung too far, he fixed with a jerk.

From a bag he retrieved in the back of his car,
He presented the most brilliantly lit golden star.

On the top of the house he moved like an adder.
I looked all around, but where was his ladder?

He danced and he pranced as he sang out with laud.
Dumbfounded I sat there and could only applaud.

In the blink of an eye he stood on the ground.
The leaves were all dry, but he made not a sound.

It was then that I noticed the white beard and hair.
My eyes must have widened, he laughed at my stare.

This couldn't be 'him', he didn't exist,
But I just had to ask; I couldn't resist.

I turned to say something and found he was gone.
Had I merely passed out right here on the lawn?

Later that evening my family came out.
I flipped on the switch and heard a great shout!

The tiny lights twinkled with nothing to mar.
The biggest surprise was the golden lit star.

The years pass by quickly, and the star's always bright.
There's no cord connected, no batteries for light.

Yet every December the cheers always jar,
And I think of the “'dream” when hit by that car.

The words he exclaimed when he left with his load
"Merry Christmas to you, and stay out of the road"

Finally

I'm going home! Finally away from this cold spot. Finally away from the wrong type of vacation. Finally to begin thinking about where my life is headed. Finally I can get on with the things I want to do. Finally just me and the people that appreciate my life. Finally, love for me from me. Finally I'm going home!

Leaning

Like a football cheer from childhood: “lean left, lean right, stand up sit down, fight, fight, fight.” Just like the house in the photo: no matter where I stood to take the photo, it was always leaning; although the house was perfectly level. I fought, fought, fought to find a level area to take the shot, but no such luck. Once I got home I decided that I kind of liked the looks of the house leaning; so maybe my own leanings on the struggles I deal with are an illusion. Maybe they’re not crooked or leaning. Maybe they’re normal for what I go through. Maybe I have trained my perspective to see them as imperfect, or as less than perfect. Maybe I just haven’t found the level ground that says, “It’s okay to lean.” Does anyone understand what I’ve written? If so would you explain it to me?

~photo from Greencastle, Pa., by dcrelief

Heart of Time ~ a collaborative blog

Heart of Time: part one written by dcrelief

In this world where time is considered a commodity for chores, attending events, and working incessantly, I’m concerned that too few consider that the “inner being” needs our time first. The “heart of time” no longer runs our life for happiness, but makes as its goal ‘other world-centered agendas’. Yes, there are some very worthy causes to support, yet when did it become necessary to overlook our health to make sure the world gets its? Do we really want to run on, to and fro, not stopping to contemplate why we’re sad at the end of the day? Where is the block of time wherein the heart sings to us? After searching I came across a few who are taking care of themselves. In their healing and on-going recovery, from mental distress, their “heart of time” has let them know they possess gifts to pass on. In this collaborative blog, I share with you, my co-blog writer: “Klahanie, a man challenging his inner critic”; indeed his own heart of time. Enjoy.

Heart of time: part two written by Klahanie

Life is about priorities. We can get so wrapped up in material and day-to-day 'priorities', that we can forget the most important priority of all: Our emotional priority, our mental health wellbeing. So we put it off to one side. We choose to ignore the 'warning signs' that try to let us know, that something is wrong in our lives. No, instead we stress ourselves out; after all, we have to compete in the 'rat race'.
We can dismiss the warning signs that will unbalance our mental health stability. We can ignore our lingering concerns because our material, our day-to-day priorities take precedent. We do so at a cost that goes beyond any financial value. It is time for us to slow down, forget that driving force that tells you: 'I've gotta' keep up with the Jones's'. Your health, both physical and mental, is vastly more important than this bizarre competition that impels us to ignore the 'song in our hearts'.
Dcrelief knows the value of taking care of herself. She has witnessed others' who understand this same ideal. I do the best I can, the nagging ache of my mental health concerns will, never again, be 'filed under forgotten'. Now, I ask you to kindly think about yourself, take time out to cherish the wonders of the world you may have been too busy to notice. Now is your chance to be kind to yourself and pass that kindness on.

Note: Read more from Klahanie:
www.klahanie.blogspot.com

It's old; it's damaged, but still rocks

The story of my life lately is much like the title of my blog. I am old, I am damaged, but I truly believe I still rock! My vacation to the north country has proven to be most difficult. I am challenged daily on so many things it is like juggling balls. I am in contact with friends to help me keep positive and that helps greatly. (Thanks you guys!) And yes, this is the very red rocking chair that I sit in and watch snowflakes, children playing, glorious looking sunsets and clouds… oh and lots of rain recently. I will continue to challenge my own discomfort.
I hope you are watching things that give you enjoyment; maybe you’re rekindling an old hobby. Either way, take good care of you. Most warmly, dcrelief