Falling in the General Direction of Up

I'm an angry lil girl at the moment.  I'm gettin' over it but still...there's some remnants. The anger was justifiable and initially helped protect my heart from the hurt.  Then I set aside the anger and had me some good old fashioned tears.  A release. An expression of the loss. An acknowledgement of the disappointment.  Facing the fact that the trust and hope I had placed in a relationship was...well...let's just say it wasn't accurate.  (In case you are all trying to figure out who I'm angry at it's actually a couple people. When it rains, it pours). However, when the anger dissipated and the hurt was expressed, I realized a couple of things:   First, I have come to a point in my life where I have stopped relinquishing my dignity and self-respect in order to keep a relationship. The cost of that is way too high. I used to sacrifice myself on the alter of relational martyrdom all in order to save a familial bond. Preserve a friendship. Pav

I have a friend who is colour blind.  He sees shades of gray and that's about it. I am fascinated by this.  As I sit with him in my living room, which is replete with pops of turquoise, orange, yellow, teal, green, violet and blue - all placed there for my esthetic pleasure - I try to imagine how he experiences that room. And I feel deep sadness in my heart. Even more curious, when he sees a rainbow, he sees shades of grey with an inability to see some colours at all.  His monotone rainbow is actually missing spectrums altogether.  They are there, he just can't see them.    He is robbed of such a simple joy. A joy I take for granted. I speak of this because it's a reminder of how difficult it is to see another persons perspective let alone imagine another persons reality. If we are curious we can engage our imaginations and get a fleeting glimpse of it, but we can never fully understand or appreciate their day to day experience.  We all wear

I seem to have made a career lately of being the answer person.  For everything.  I'm not entirely sure how that has come about but it seems that when people can’t find the answers on their own, they end up calling me.     There are days I’m so inundated I hang up the phone and think…I’m not answering one more phone call and turn off the ringer.    They just leave voice mails.    One such voicemail tipped me over the edge one day…and it wasn’t even noon.    A harried, distraught and mad employee could not find a parking spot so chose to park in the 15 minutes emergency parking - but, she said, “I can’t go out there every 15 minutes to move my car.    What am I supposed to do?!?    Call me back with a solution!!!”    I’m unsure why she thought I could or should solve her parking problem.    It’s simple math.    There are a finite number of parking spots and more cars than the lot can hold.    Park somewhere else.    Walk a few blocks further.    Perhaps she wanted me to hop in her

Years ago I remember reading the book  Mommie Dearest  - the memoir of Christina Crawford, daughter of Joan Crawford, iconic actress in the 1940's. Christina and her brother suffered disgusting abuse at the hands of her famous mother.   And it reminds me:   not all Mother's Days are met with celebration .      I'm not the first to tell you this day is rife with sorrow, pain, loss, and broken relationships for many people. F or those of us who know only too well this special grief, it is our day to duck away, treat ourselves with the utmost kindness and compassion and attempt to insulate our hearts and minds from the ill-fitting hoopla.  We are women that deserve such grace and without apology there are many of us that will spend the day a little differently than millions of others.       I've had a bumpy relationship with the mother thing.   My mother turned 17 the day after I was born.  I assume she was one of my primary caretakers for my first 18 months u

I know what you're thinking.   This chick is smoking something.   Untrue.   Never have never will.  It's actually a reference to a couple of affable internet guys who have a really successful You Tube Channel show called Good Mythical Morning .  One of their recurring segments is Will It...? (Will it Taco, Will it Pie, Will it Ice Cream...)  They put increasingly bizarre ingredients within the said food medium to find out if it will. As in...will it be edible.  At the ready, they each have their own personalized barf bucket so... as you can imagine... some things don't taco.  For those that find it funny when grown men wretch and vomit (me), it's hilarious.   And what - pray tell does that bit of sophomoric tom-foolery have to do with prayer.  Stick with me for a bit. I've been a Christian virtually all of my life.  Grew up in the church and spent more than a few years at a bible college, even receiving a masters degree.  But you see, the truth

Writing a blog is easy.  Publishing one is like stepping into the abyss.  Terrifying! And yet...here I am.   Jumping in to the abyss.   I feel as though the first post in a blog should somehow be epic.  Captivate the reader.  It's the make or break post.  I've drafted or written blog posts in anticipation of launching this endeavour but...yikes!  My first words.  What should they be?   There's lots of advice on how to create a successful blog yet somehow I'm not interested in them.  Likely because my life is one that has not followed convention. I've always found my own path.  Usually out of necessity.  I have a feeling this project will follow that theme.  So...hmmm...what do you need to know about me?  Coles notes?  Raised by my maternal grandparents, occasional appearances from my biological mother, never knew my biological father until just a few years ago, a "lonely only" (for those - like me - who are into birth order), married right o