WHO MAKES UP THIS STUFF?

WHO MAKES UP THIS STUFF?

Is a frog’s ass water tight?

Has somebody checked? Would it even be right?

Is a one-armed paper hanger really that slow?

Have you ever observed one? Then how would you know.

Is a pig really happy while sitting in shit?

Is there a test to find out? Does it come in a kit?

Has money ever really been grown on a tree?

If you happen to see one would you get one for me?

Does a bear really always shit in the woods?

Are there people out watching in camouflaged hoods?

Do some really think that hell could freeze over?

That one might actually be totally clever.

These sayings are crafted by people so wise,

But something informs me they’re nothing but lies.

WHEN PARENTS MALFUNCTION...

What happens when parents malfunction?  A total chain reaction equal to that of one atomic bomb set off by another, but at a much slower pace.  If you think about the dynamics here, along with the repercussions you can surmise that one is only as good or bad as those by which they were or were not raised.  There are rare instances of individuals who swear they will not be the kind of parent(s) that they were raised by and, occasionally that is the case.  You CAN be the one to break the mold, but more times than not this will entail you fighting your very soul to change yourself enough that you can accomplish this feat.  It didn't start with you, but it can end with you.

I was determined to raise my son in a healthy environment and I feel I was able to just that.  I did most things opposite of the way my parents did.  I didn't drink large amounts of alcohol every day and night.  I didn't come home at late hours and ask my son to fend for himself for meals.  I didn't smoke.  I didn't fight in front of my son.  I did praise him when he did well so that he could possess immense self-confidence.  I didn't silence him.  I told him it was great to cry when he wanted to so he could release stress.  I made myself available any time he wanted to talk.  I listened.  I displayed his drawings with pride.  I didn't ignore him.  I told him I loved him so many times a day that he could never have doubted the fact.  I taught him to be a leader, not a follower.  I hugged him so much that he never lacked human contact.  I didn't hide things from him--he asked a question, he received an honest and straight-forward answer.  Are there things from my upbringing that managed to slip through the cracks and onto my son?  Most definitely, much to my chagrin.  When stress was tough on me and he needed correcting, I tongue-lashed him, sometimes on and on for hours.  Did this crush his self-esteem?  I have to believe that it did to a point.  I spanked him (only on the butt) when he was really out of line (which wasn't often) and I slapped his face the few times he mouthed off to me in a very disrespectful way.

I have to say with regards to raising my son, I feel, especially as a single parent his entire life, that he turned out really well and has a unique point of view and the aged wisdom of an old soul.  I'm so proud of him.  However, there are times, more-so lately, that I am noticing a void in his emotional armory, something I neglected to pass onto him that is so vital in today's world--coping skills.   Wow, how did that happen?

Despite the hurdles I managed to limp over during my own childhood, it comes as no surprise that I brought no coping skills with me to adulthood.  Why?  The obvious answer is that I wasn't taught any.  If I cried my father would say, "Stop that," or "Go to your room until you can stop that shit.  I don't want to hear it."   If I had a problem and needed someone to talk to about it I was told by one or both parents, "Well, we'll talk about it later," and of course later never came.  When I was scared and unsure of myself my father used to say things like, "Suck it up," or "Just do it."  REALLY?  I have forgiven my father over the years, long after he died, because I knew he was raised by some messed up people, who were raised by messed up people, who were also raised by messed up people who were raised by messed up people.  I traced my family tree on both sides and my father's family tree was riddled with blight and root rot.  It's a wonder to me as to how this diseased tree didn't completely die off generations ago.

If you have children now or will be having children in the future and if you know you were raised in an unhealthy emotional and/or physical manner... I urge you to seek counseling if you can afford it.  If you cannot afford it there are help groups for whatever your problem may be, i.e. alcoholism, drug use, anger, physical abuse, sexual abuse, and the list goes on.  Remember, the fact that you were raised with parents who malfunctioned, will most certainly mean that you will raise your children in the same manner if you don't make a conscious effort every day to change that.  Don't be part of the atomic bomb.  You CAN break the cycle, raise healthy children and heal yourself in the process.

WORDS CAN KILL…

Words CAN kill...they can kill a friendship, a relationship, a love affair, a job, an court case, and can actually take a life depending on the situation.  I've known instances where school-age kids injure one of the other kids so badly with words that they take their own lives.  Words are just that powerful.

How sad that some people don't realize the importance of HOW something is said rather than putting the emphasis on WHAT is being said, hence the adjective “empathy.”  For instance a friend and I text quite frequently back and forth and with texting you can too easily assume a tone...it can be any tone and usually winds up being the tone coming from the mood you are in at the time.  I hate texting for that reason alone.  Then, due to spelling errors and hot tempers, things are misunderstood and taken the wrong way so a heated argument ensues in which neither party is really listening to the other and boom...a friendship is doomed forever.

For example, the person I was texting with today took everything in the wrong context, which I tried to straighten out, but couldn't.  Then, she ended up ASSUMING that I wanted to call her a bitch (which hadn't even crossed my mind) and then had the nerve to make the statement (and I'm quoting here), "Don't ever play me like a fiddle, because you won't win."  Just this lone, little statement, spoke volumes to me.  Those words stabbed through me like a knife through the heart.  I've NEVER in my life tried to "play" anyone, but the fact that she thought I could do that told me that she will never trust me and therefore never trust our friendship.  Other comments were made that further injured my view of relationships, but I don’t need to go further with those.

Why don't people listen to the words?  I went back over those texts a thousand times today and, for example, from the simple comment that I made, i.e. "I will probably be less sensitive in about 2 more days...," she took that to mean that I wanted to take two days to myself with no communication.  All I meant was that I would be back to my old self in a couple of days because I was going through a rough patch.  I said nothing about having no contact.  If anything I feel that we don't have enough contact, but that was what was assumed on her part.  From there it just went downhill.

More words misconstrued…at one point I mentioned that I thought we  had, "...lack of communication," (not A lack of communication, but lack of it in general) which she took to mean that we didn't communicate well, but what I meant was that we didn't communicate often enough, as in talking and texting.  I was trying to say that I wish we contacted each other more throughout a day, but again, words gone awry.  I’m sure some of the things she said were not taken correctly on my part either, but I know the meanings of those words were there.

Toward the end of this misconstrued word flarping (yes, I said flarping), I was accused of, "…giving up so easily," but the truth is, I will never be in another relationship again that I have to fight for, be it friend, lover or life mate.  In fact, the more fighting, the less I want any part of it.  I had the fighting relationships in the past and they were the very reason I have stayed single for this long.  I'm done fighting.  I don't have even the smallest desire to fight because I've had to fight in every area of my life for the last fifty fucking years.  I’m in therapy to heal the scars from all of these past battles and from now on I want a relationship where we just get along, which will require small compromises on both parts of both parties, but I'm just not willing to work my ass off to make it work.  If it requires that much effort to make it work in the first place, then let's face it, it must not be right.  I'm not saying relationships are easy, but they don't have to be hard either.  I take my hat off to all of you people out there who are able to have healthy relationships of any and all kinds, make them work when you have to and enjoy them when you don’t.  Here’s to people who need people.  They’re the luckiest people in the world.

Watch those words people, and do me a favor...if you want to kill someone with words, please do so with kindness.  I've always loved the phrase, "Kill them with kindness," because that wouldn't be a bad way to go if you think about it.

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

(c) 2010 Kimberly Photo Kreations

Who do you think you are? This is a question that I despise because it is a question that one generally has thrust upon them during a heated discussion or altercation of some sort.  Okay, sometimes it isn't--sometimes it is a valid question if, for instance, you are a person in the mental health field talking to a patient.  Generally, however, this is not the context in which this phrase bothers me.  

     Why do we ask each other this silly question?  Who do we think we are.  Obviously, in anger it implies that the other person thinks they are better than the person asking the question, as in royalty or God or someone of that nature.  But if you really sit down and think about this question as it is being thrust upon you, you could respond in this manner to the question-asker..."Well, I think I'm a deep person, someone who really cares about others and tries to help them.  I also think I'm a photographer, a writer, a mother, a sister, a daughter, a problem-solver, a friend and a lover.  I think I am a valid human being...," well you get the gist from here.  I overheard a woman in our store ask her "friend" this question when their discussion began to heat up.  Maybe they should go to lunch and each have a go at defining who they are.  Could make for an interesting conversation.

     Another one that gets to me is, "Hi.  How are you?"  Okay this is obviously just a greeting and about 85% of the time, no one really wants you to answer that question.  I'm sure there was a time you were sorry you asked.  People want the pat answer, "Fine, thank you.  How are you?"  If you actually answered people literally in this instance, I doubt seriously that most people would stop and take the time to listen to you babble on, i.e., "Oh, wow, I'm so tired.  Little Johnny kept me up most of the night with his diarrhea and when I finally went to bed Tom was horny and kept trying to poke me from behind all night until I told him to put that thing away.  Then I get up this morning and discover my hemmorhoids are flaring up again and I don't have any freakin' cream.  I think my period's coming because I'm really bloated and there was long, black a hair in my oatmeal.  I'm never eating at that diner again, I can tell you that." 

     There has to be a better greeting somewhere out there.  I'm trying to think of one that is pleasant, but doesn't require a response.  Some of the older one's were good like, "Good day," or "Top of the Morning," or "Hello."  What's wrong with just plain hello?  No need to go anywhere else with it, just hello and move on from there depending on where you are and who you are talking you.  

     My friend from New York used to say to me all the time, "You people on the west coast are so irritating.  You always ask how people are and don't care and then you top it all with 'Have a nice day.'  Really?  Do I actually now believe that that individual actually wants me to have a nice day?  NOT!  Puh-leeeeez."

     Think about it people, it's time to start finding other, more fertile phrases to use as greetings.  If you are a person who actually wants to know how another person is, then by all means, that is the greeting for you.  Otherwise, you may want to consider revising your greeting practices.

YOU SHOULD WRITE A BOOK!

How many times during a conversation with someone have they said to me, “Damn, you should write a book.”  A lot, as it turns out.  I ask myself this question every time someone offers this comment to me, “Why?”  I don’t see that my life was any more difficult than a lot of people’s lives and in contrast to some, probably quite an easy life.  Nonetheless, I hear this all the time.  I have finally decided that I am going to give it my best effort, however there are still so many patches of fog I need to overcome first.
I often wonder why, as Christmas approaches, I find myself feeling anxious and nervous each and every year since I can remember.  The answer, as it turns out, is because just about every bad thing that happened to our family would generally happen at Christmas time.  Let’s see, my dad’s 3 heart attacks and his coronary were at Christmas and my brothers and I were always shipped off to Palo Alto, California to spend the holidays with my Aunt Wanda (my favorite Aunt, thank God) while my father convalesced in the hospital.  Then there was the time one of my brothers fell off of a 127 foot cliff and nearly didn’t live.  My other brother and I, were again shipped to my Aunt Wanda’s for the holidays.  Also the time my mother walked through a plate of glass in a sliding glass door at a neighbors Christmas party (oddly enough the same neighbor’s house at which my brother went off the cliff).  It was so clear (and there may have been a bit of inebriation involved as well) that she kept her pace on the way in or out of the house and it shattered and came down around the veins in her neck.  This was before the new glass doors were invented so it was one thin pane of real glass.  She was rushed to the hospital and my brothers and I were sent to my grandmother’s house for the holidays.  Luckily my mother’s mother had moved to the same town lived in so it wasn’t far.  And the time I woke up with a helicopter in our front yard because one of my parents failed a suicide attempt.  My dad also drove off of the bluff several times (there is a lot of alcoholism in my family) and a couple of those were at Christmas time as well, but for those we were not shipped off for the holidays.  When I say we were shipped off for the holidays, I don’t mean that we didn’t have Christmas as a family, we always did that when everyone returned home.  One year the tree stayed up until April.  Actually some of the miscarriages I had were at Christmas time as well.  Wow I didn’t even connect those dots until just now.  So it comes as no surprise that I’m a bit apprehensive during the up and coming holidays each year.
I recently wrote about the rape and have had to wrestle with that one for some years.  It was because of that incident that I could not carry a child to term.  I have had 3 miscarriages, 2 abortions (due to the fact that those fetus’ couldn’t thrive) and 1 live birth.  The only way I was able to get my son out alive was to lay on my back and take medication the last 4 months of my pregnancy.  This was SO hard but made easier by my friends in the area who took excellent care of me.  My son’s father went back to his ex when he found out I was pregnant and my father kicked me out of the family and moved my mother to Arizona when he found out who the father was (which is a huge story all in itself and mostly his doing).  He also threatened my brothers that they were not allowed to talk to or acknowledge me or they would be receive the same treatment.  Finally, when Brice arrived (and I have my friend Cheryl Dupont to thank for getting me to the hospital in the middle of the night, which was two hours North) he was two weeks overdue and 8 lbs-11oz of “natural” child birth – oey!  As I raised my new baby my mother would defy my father and call me and make a special trip back to see me and her new grandson, and so did my brothers (they were actually really supportive behind my dad’s back).  Eventually my son’s father and I got back together and raised our son off and on for a few years, but sadly, his drug and alcohol usage had taken quite a toll on him by then.  He was suffering from methamphetamine psychosis when we lived on the river bank and we had a lot of problems.  One night he came home at 3 a.m. and woke me up out of a sound sleep.  He picked up his rifle and poked me with it and said, “Get up, bitch.”  I said, “What the hell?”  He had just come home and wasn’t in his right mind.  I got up as he instructed.  He then said, “Get out of my house.”  I asked why but he said he just wanted me out.  So I got my clothes and coat on and went in to get my son, who was almost 4 at the time, to which he then said, “Leave my son here.”  That pissed me off.  I didn’t care if he had a gun and was being that irrational, I just couldn’t believe the nerve.  I said, “Shoot me, asshole,” got my son out of bed and drove us to my friend Annie’s house who put us up for awhile. 
My father died in 1995 of an embolism to the brain, and being that this was right around the same time as I found myself with no place to live, my mother said I could go to Arizona and she would help us out.  So with the help of my friends I had a yard sale and raised enough money to travel there.  I hooked a 5x8 U-Haul trailer to my little Ford Ranger, put my son in his car seat and headed out for a two-day journey to a place filled with dirt and bushes.  I got used to it after awhile, but I still don’t consider it home.
A year after we moved here I found out that my son’s father had taken his own life.  I chose to break the news to him sooner than later. 
There are so many more things to write about and stories to expand on as those were only the difficult times.  I actually had some good childhood memories (not the one where my drunk father threw the dinner I had made from the dining room into the kitchen and shattered his plate and screwed up the kitchen, but the shoplifting incident does hold fond memories for me.  HAHAHA).  I overcame my long time drug and alcohol use and came to terms with my sexual orientation, and I have to say that now, I am the strongest I have ever been and believe it or not, all the better for having all of that experience.  As the saying goes, what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.
Yes I will definitely be writing an autobiography…I just hope someone will want to read about my drab and ordinary life.