I hope everyone had a nice enjoyable 4th of July. My guys and I spent the afternoon with family catching up and grilling burgers. It was a nice pleasant break from the everyday hustle and bustle. So…that was the start of last week for me. So…how does anxiety, insanity, and humor come into play in your day to day life? They are qualities of my everyday life as a wife, mother, daughter, career woman, and friend. Also, throw in a healthy dose of passion and survival skills. Passion for life, and a passion for surviving the chaos. You never know what your day will hold. Some days come and go with your biggest dilemma being what’s for supper. Other days, hmmmm. They kick you in the teeth, but somehow you take that licking, and keep right on going. Let’s talk about the anxiety, insanity, and humor that often rule the day. No one remembers those inconsequential days, but oh…those crazy days live on in infamy.
Before lunch on Tuesday, the day after the 4th of July, I had thrown a hissy fit and given my youngest son and then my husband an earful. I normally don’t buckle under the everyday pressures that are placed on my shoulders, but Tuesday came at me pretty hard. I was traveling in a rental car that morning for reasons I won’t go into at the moment. My intention was to gas up in a town that is halfway between my home and my destination. Of course, like any good woman, the gas tank was close to empty. To my dismay, the fuel tank access lever would not work. I could not open the fuel door to gas up the car. I thought..”Ok. You can figure this out. You have got to be doing something wrong. Google some videos.” No help there. I made the executive decision to just go for it. I knew the delay was going to make me late for my appointment. The meltdown ensued. I called my husband on the phone, and his best advice was to calm down. It would be ok. He advised. Word to the wise fellas….don’t tell an irritated woman to calm down. Horns will come out. My youngest son was with me in the car. He nonchalantly says…”Mama…it’s like we’re on the Seinfield episode where Kramer, and the car salesman see how far they can drive before the car runs out of gas.” Any of you loyal Seinfeld fans know exactly which episode he was referring to. That statement definitely did not soothe my irritation. We did reach our destination which included a stop at the car rental chain I will not name. That location had no cars available for a swap, but managed to pry open the fuel door, gas me up, and had me on my way. I have utmost respect for people that are problem solvers. It’s like meeting a kindred soul.
I have recently come to a conclusion. You might call it a self-diagnosis. Of course, watching Instagram reels has helped me confirm my suspicions. I have high functioning anxiety. There I said it! I have embraced it. Just like my crazy Tuesday morning last week. I might have a meltdown or hissy fit, but I snap out of it, and handle the business at hand. No time to crawl in the corner, and hope that someone else will handle whatever stressful event is going on at the moment. We are the problem solvers and the doers of the world. Are you the go-to person in your family or circle or even at your job? I don’t think it’s anything someone aspires to be, but it just somehow happens. Maybe high functioning anxiety is a super power?? We’re the people that get things done.
If you are living and breathing, you will experience the chaos that life can bring from time to time, and often in spurts of days and weeks. Sometimes, darkness comes, and I look outside, and see that big ol’ fat full moon shining down on me. I think to myself. “That explains a lot.” You have days that are go go go. Work is crazy. Home is busy. Kids need this or that, and of course, there is always that last minute school project. Someone comes down sick. Non-stop life. The pace is hectic time your feet hit the floor in the morning. You are constantly putting out fires, and tending others that have the capability of morphing into fires. On the way to work you find the drive thru is lined up around the building. That much needed coffee will have to wait. Issues hit you square in the face as soon as you arrive at work. Like most good Southern women with grit, you learn to bob and weave. Dodge those curve balls or even knock a few out of the park.
So…here’s to all of you sassy women out there with high functioning anxiety that take on each day with pluck and tenacity. I hope each of you have a wonderful week. Know that whatever comes your way…..you’re up for the challenge.
Love to all,
Stella Elaine
P.S. Can you believe we are halfway through 2022?!!
I remember seeing my Grandfather read the local paper on a daily basis when I was growing up. He would often send me down his long driveway to retrieve the newspaper that had just been delivered. He was known to put the newspaper in the oven to dry out if it happened to be a rainy day, and his newspaper had gotten wet. Back then, people read the local newspaper on a daily basis to read about what was happening in their community, who had died, who was getting married, and birth announcements. Until about ten years ago, I would also read the newspaper on a daily basis or at a minimum at least read the Sunday paper. The world wide web went public in 1993. I don’t think any of us could envision what a game changer that would be. Now in 2022, we are supposedly more informed and connected than ever before. Our local newspaper now offers a digital version in addition to the less popular print version. Also, it is no longer a daily paper. So, in the here and now, what does it mean to have access to so much information? I find myself having to make a concerted effort to focus on what is really important and deserves my attention, and what doesn’t.
The other day I was checking the daily news on MSN.com. I scrolled mindlessly. I think we are all well aware of the current mess of our economy and country regardless of what side of the isle you are on. Gas and groceries are both at an all time high. Then, I see something about Prince Harry and Megan Markle. Click, and before I know it I am reading about whether they did or did not get the permission of Queen Elizabeth to name their baby Lillibet. A childhood pet name of the Queen of England. I was about half way through the article, and I thought to myself. “Who cares?!!” Why is that even news? I clicked back to the original news page without even finishing reading that nonsense article. How much of our day is spent reading nonsensical pieces like that? Back in the day, people would purchase their weekly National Enquirer. They would catch up on all the latest Hollywood gossip and other half truth stories, and then go on about their daily lives. We are now bombarded on a daily basis with news of an overpaid star athlete or some actor that has come out of the closet. Reading or watching tv shows about people’s lives that hold no bearing in our lives is a complete waste of time. Don’t even get me started on the Kardashians!
So what is important? What should we be focusing on? At the age of 51, I would say focus on your physical, mental and spiritual wellbeing, your family, and your circle of friends. We all seem to have convinced ourselves that we are so busy. I would dare say, our grandparent’s generation worked a lot harder with a lot less than we do these days. Yet, they knew what was important. They weren’t sucked into the world wide web abyss and trash tv. They got together to play cards, went on Sunday drives to get an ice cream or visit their extended family. They probably knew more of what was going on in the lives of their family and friends than we do today. Back then, they were truly connected.
So here we are. Halfway through 2022. What can we do this month to change our mind set of what is important and what is not?
Here is my checklist of things I am going to do this month to shift my way of thinking:
Pick one book, and read from start to finish. I used to be an
avid reader, but in the past few years my passion for reading has
waned. It is something I have always enjoyed, but haven’t made
time for lately.
Call an old friend, and make time for a lunch date.
Make a concerted effort to disconnect from Social Media for a
day, a week, or maybe even a month.
Take time to sit on the porch, and actually talk to your spouse.
Not just the day in and day out conversation. Really talk to
them. This person is your life partner. You are a team.
Talk about anything that is bothering you. Plan a date night
or a breakfast date.
Mail a card or two. My grandmother always did this. It is so
easy to send a quick text or message on Facebook, but
sending a card in the mail takes it to the next level. It can be a
cute card with a little note letting them know you are thinking
of them.
So…have any of you noticed a theme? I think we all could use a nice healthy dose of going old school. I have mentioned before that I am from Generation X. A generation that remembers life before the fast paced world we live in now. A time when we were not connected by the world wide web, but where we were connected in all the ways that mattered in how we cared about each other. I think it’s time we all stop, and take a long hard look at what is really important. Once you are done with your inner reflection, make changes accordingly. Don’t get so immersed in the nonsense of Hollywood, TikTok, and Facebook that you neglect the relationships that truly matter. Family and Friends.
As I am writing this post, a dear friend of mine that I wrote about in my last post is in the final stages of her terminal illness. A year and a half ago, I lost my sister, and now that dear friend is on the final leg of her journey here on earth. These are inevitable life events that we will all eventually be affected by, if not already. My focus changed when my sister died. We none know the length of our stay here on earth. Live a purposeful life. Make changes as needed to shift your focus where it needs to be. Love hard. Laugh harder. Sometimes it will be through the tears, but give this life everything you’ve got. Let the nonsense fall by the wayside.
Love to all,
Stella Elaine
P.S. Wishing you all a safe and wonderful Independence Day!
P.S.S. My checklist seems to be formatting kind of wonky. Hope you can overlook that, and decipher through what I am trying to say.
My husband and I were riding down the dirt road to our small farm recently. He looked over at me and said “You know before long it will be just me and you again.” I sat there. Digesting what he had just said. How long had it been since it was just the two of us? Our oldest will be 29 in the next few months. So…almost knocking on three decades since it had been just the two of us. I can barely recall LBK. Short for Life Before Kids. Our youngest has recently started driving and working his first job. Lately, on Saturday mornings, we have found ourselves at Waffle House or the local donut shop grabbing some breakfast and coffee. No kids to worry about. Just me and my main man. As we have entered our fourth decade of marriage, it has me pondering and thinking, what efforts, grace, forbearance, forgiveness, and love have gone into creating our love for a lifetime? Let’s dive in and talk about it.
My husband and I were high school sweethearts. We started dating our senior year of high school. We were from the same town, but went to different schools. He was very quiet. I was more talkative, but still very naive. (Girls…watch out for those quiet ones.) We came from homes where our parents had divorced. Mine when I was fairly young, and his when he was a teenager. We started dating. At that age, you are not really concerned with what you have in common. Likes, dislikes, etc. We were dating, and I was wearing his big honking class ring on my index finger. I don’t even think that is a thing anymore. I had gone big time. He was my first serious relationship. Fast forward. We married during my second year of college. No fancy wedding for us. We were married at our local Courthouse. We don’t have the first picture of that monumental day. So much unlike today where prom pictures are better than any wedding pictures taken back in the day. So… we hit the road running with married life, and began the life of love we have created together.
I am sure many of you are thinking…what in the world?! Who would marry their first boyfriend at such a young age? Would I advise for it or against it? I do know that when people set their mind to something, it is very hard to convince them otherwise. That’s life, and experience is the best teacher. I will tell you, as I have told my sons, especially my youngest, to date different people. Figure out what you like, don’t like, and what you can and cannot tolerate. Find common ground with the person you intend to spend your life with. That does not mean you will have all the same interests. I love to read and write. My husband loves gardening, flowers, animals, and the great outside. We both love a good movie or television series. We look forward to Estate sales (another story for another time). Riding dirt roads and sipping on a big guzzler of sweet tea makes my heart go pitter patter. The two of us riding along, discussing our week at work, our dreams, our worries, or just cruising down the road quietly enjoying each other’s company. We respect each other’s space and individuality, but together, we’re a super power. We know each other’s weaknesses and strengths. We compliment each other.
Smooth sailing. That might describe other couples’ marriages. Not ours. We’re more of a white water rafting type couple. Smooth waters at times, then watch out. Rapids around the bend. There have been bumps in the road, moments of discontent, times of frustration, sleep deprivation, money struggles, and stressful jobs, but always there has been love. Have we gone to bed angry? You can bet your bottom dollar. We’re human. Have there been days when we didn’t like each other much? That’s a 10-4. Through it all, just like everything else in our life, we have given each day all we have. Some days more than others, but we consistently have gotten up each day, and tried our best. I know for a fact there were days that I was not easy to love, and days where I was at my wits end with my husband. We just rocked along, and at some point it kicked in. We were in it for the long haul. The saying the grass is greener where you water it….that’s true. Put your time and energy in your family. You will never regret it. Our love, appreciation, and respect for each other and the life we created together have grown exponentially over the years. We are drawing the dividends on the time and effort we have put into our love of a lifetime.
I have visited with a friend of mine a few times over the past couple of weeks. She recently lost her husband of 60 years. Sixty years?! With one man. You do not hear those numbers much these days. During one of my visits, she described her husband’s final moments. It brought me to tears. Made it real for me because I know one day there is a strong possibility that either I will be by my husband’s side as he takes his last breath or he will be by my side as I take my final breath. That is hard for me to even wrap my head around. We always assume the people we love will always be present in our lives. She has told me before about when she and her husband were first starting out. No fancy wedding for them. They were married in the living room of the local preacher’s home with her mother and brother present, then went to the beach for a one night honeymoon. It was then time to set up housekeeping, and get to work. Living and building that love of a lifetime. Eventually, I plan to ask her. Did those 60 years go by fast? In the back of my mind, I keep thinking. I am going to blink, and my husband and I will have 60 years under our belt. Reminds me of a constant life lesson that we all need to take heed of …cherish every moment. Those small seemingly insignificant moments will mean the world to you one day.
My youth pastor from years ago posted this (see below) a while back on Facebook. I remember reading, and thinking “well, that’s all good in theory,” and even commented something along the lines that married life is about continuing to grow and adjusting to one another as a couple. He replied to my comment “Unfortunately, most don’t try long enough to achieve the blessings of a long marriage.” That is very true. You do need to discuss important topics, points of view, expectations, family, etc., but your discussion will only be as good as who you are at the moment. As you age, grow as a person, get some life experience under your belt, your views, maturity, perception, and outlook on life will change. The goal is to find someone who is willing to charter those unknown waters with you. Hopefully, somewhere along the way, you will realize….the two of you are building a solid foundation of love. As I have said before, anything worthwhile takes a lot of hard work. Marriage demands lots of love, but don’t forget to throw in plenty of patience, forbearance, tolerance, tenacity, endurance, faith in a higher power, and last, but not least….a healthy sense of humor. Some days, you just have to laugh through the tears. My best advice is to find that special someone, dig your heels in, and give it everything you’ve got. I promise you. It will all be worth it.
Love to all,
Stella Elaine
P.S. That young fella I met years ago that hardly said a word….well…. he can now talk a blue streak. My how times have changed, and like any good wife, I just smile and listen.
I have three men I think about when Father’s Day comes around each year. My husband, my father, and my maternal grandfather. Each hold a special place in my heart, and for different reasons. These days, I feel that fathers are losing their foothold in family dynamics. So many children are being raised without a father or father figure in their life, and that is sad. According to the census bureau, 1 in 4 children live in a household without a biological, step, or adoptive father in the home. I consider myself fortunate for men I have had in my life. Let’s talk about the lasting effect each one has had on my life.
Let me start with my Dad. It’s only been in the last few years that I have felt comfortable referring to him as such. Yes, it’s complicated, but you know what? Life has a tendency to be complicated, but love always wins. My relationship with my father was interrupted when I was almost six years old. My mother, for whatever reason, decided to leave my father. I don’t know that I will ever know the full and true story, and I have learned to accept that. For years, I would cringe at the saying Daddy’s girl. I think deep down I knew I must have been one in my early childhood. And then one day….poof. I no longer was one. It is a loss that I feel to this day. My mother told me recently, in a moment of frustration with our ongoing disagreement as to the true nature of her divorce from my Dad that she knew I would always hold it against her because I had been so close to my Dad prior to their breakup. To hear about the annual Father/Daughter Dance around Valentine’s Day has always put a damper on my mood. To see the pictures of fathers and daughters dancing, and fathers showing their daughters how a man should love and respect a woman reminds me of what might have been. About the only memories I have of my Dad before my parents divorced are riding in the car with him. I also remember stopping at a car lot with him looking at cars, and I can still remember the car we looked at. An AMC Pacer. I thought it was the neatest looking car I had ever seen. From the age of six until age 11, I saw my Dad occasionally. I would visit with him, my paternal grandparents, aunt and uncle, and cousins. I reached age 11, and my mother cut off all contact with my Dad and his family. These were people that I loved, and just like that, they were out of my life. Life moved on, but it was always in the back of my mind that I would one day reconnect with my Dad and his family. I reached the age of 21, and I did just that. Unfortunately, my Granny and Granddaddy had passed away. My relationship with my Dad was awkward, and had been forever altered. Little did I know that I would only have another ten years with my Dad. He passed away from lung cancer just shy of 52. That is one of my life’s biggest regrets. We never really re-established our father/daughter bond. So Dad……I am sorry you weren’t given a fair shake. Just know that I now proudly display what few pictures I have of us together. I will see you again.
My maternal grandfather filled the gap when my mother put my father in the backseat, then eventually out of the car all together. So to speak. This is the man who I am sure wanted grandsons so badly, but was blessed with four granddaughters. He took it in stride, and didn’t miss a beat. This is a man that loved cars, fishing, bird hunting, traveling, reading, and trying out an out of town restaurant he had heard about. I hit the jackpot when it came to my Granddaddy. As us grangirls called him. He taught me how to fish, mow grass, check oil in a lawnmower and vehicle, hammer a nail, shoot a gun, write a check, buy a car, drive a car and a truck, and most of all, how to work. He passed away the day after my 23rd birthday. He lived long enough to see his first great-grandson, my oldest son. I have tried to carry on the legacy he left behind. This man from the Greatest Generation made a significant impact on my life, and I am grateful for the time and love he vested in me and my well-being.
Now last, but not least, the father of my two sons. I can proudly say that against all odds we are still together, and have raised our boys with a mother and a father under the same roof. I know there are circumstances that prevent that from happening, but I am a firm believer that it does have a positive impact on a child’s life. At a minimum, a child needs a mother and father actively involved in their life. To shelter, guide, and prepare them for the sometimes cold hard world. A son needs the tenderness of a mother, and the guiding hand of a father. Children need to see their parents in a loving relationship. A relationship that has respect, compromise, and commitment. I have always told my boys that their Dad and I have had our disagreements, and they have witnessed quite a few, but they have also watched and listened to us work through them. You might say, we have an effective Dispute Resolution process in our home. The father of my sons worked 30 years in a job that most people could not tolerate for one week. He also worked a second job for many years, and cut grass on the side. My husband and I knew from the get go that it would take love, hard work, and dedication to keep our family afloat.
Fathers that get up each day, and go to work to take care of their families deserve our utmost respect. No matter if they’re the highest paid CEO, a laborer or a garbage man. They are often overshadowed by the wonderful mothers out there, but their place in their children’s lives is just as important. Mothers, I am going to say this as directly as I can. If your relationship does not work out with the father of your children, please do not discourage or hinder their relationship with their father. Do not let it be your own personal issues that keep your children from spending quality time with their father. It will leave a wound that will never go away. A void that cannot be filled.
As I have said before, life is complicated, but I can say with all honesty that I am better for having these three men in my life. I hope each of you have or had a father or father figure in your life that made a positive impact. Make time this Sunday on Father’s Day to give the fathers in your life some extra love. Let them know how much you appreciate them. To all the present and hard working Fathers out there…know that you matter and make a difference. To all the MIA fathers out there…..time to step up your game, and be an active part of your child’s life. A good father can make all the difference in a child’s life. As Mother Teresa once said…”If you want to change the world, go home and love your family.”
I have been I guess what some people would say “out of pocket” with my writing for the last few months. I have actually written quite a bit, but just could not pull it together to post. And as always, I’ve had a lot I wanted to say. However, most of the conversations have been internal. I could not seem to bring myself to put my thoughts to paper. Some days, I had all intentions, but like anyone else, I can find a number of excuses not to make or find the time. With that said…….I’m Back.
Have you ever gone through a phase where you just feel out of sorts? I guess the fancy word for it would be discombobulated. You just can’t get your bearings. For me, I can’t put my finger on one single event, but more so numerous events or experiences that have had me feeling this way. I would dare say we have all experienced this unsettled frame of mind from time to time. It’s nothing to fear or be troubled about, but I believe we grow as a person during these times. Google photos, on a regular basis, will send photo highlights from my past. Recently, a photo memory showed up of me from four years ago. I took a moment, and really looked at that picture. I thought to myself…”that girl had no idea what lay ahead.” There is birth, life, and death. Death had knocked on the door of my loved one since that photo was taken. Hell…death had knocked the door off the hinges. Birth and death are two of the major events in anyone’s life, but at almost 51 years of age, I have learned……..it’s the In-Between where the meat of anyone’s life journey happens. Moments that will make you. Moments that you feel certain will break you. Moments that will bring you to your knees, and times that will bring you the greatest joy. The past few years in my life have consisted of ups, downs, heartbreak, frustration, and disappointment. Basically, just living life and experiencing all that life entails. So….. 51 years on this earth, what has me unsettled? What has me reflecting within myself? What has me centered and focused? Let’s talk about where we are in our “in-between.”
My sister passed away about a year and a half ago. If you have read any of my previous posts, you might have somewhat of an understanding of what she meant to me, and how close we were. To say I was devastated by her loss would be an understatement. I have finally reached a point in my grief journey that I can talk about her, and not break down in tears. That is not to say there are not moments when her absence does overwhelm me. Moments when I want to talk to her so badly. Especially when I want to tell her about the latest antics of our mother or how proud I am of her youngest son who recently graduated high school. His graduation was extremely hard for me. One of those bittersweet moments in life. So proud of the fine young man my nephew has grown into, and brokenhearted that his mother was not there to cheer her baby on. I have finally accepted that I was blessed beyond measure to have had her in my life for 44 years.
I am on the cusp of transitioning to the next phase of motherhood. My oldest is out of the house and making his way in the world. My youngest is halfway through high school, and stretching his wings. No one will be more ecstatic than when he graduates. I have threatened to moon walk across the stage when he received his diploma! No more teacher conferences, emails, voicemails, staying on him to keep those grades up, and on and on. The youngest has been wanting to be grown since he was three years old. I remember when he was three years old, my husband and I noticed he had a cut on his chin. At first he wouldn’t tell us how he cut his chin. Eventually, he fessed up to using his big brother’s razor (his brother is 10 plus years older). Nowadays, he talks about how he can’t wait until he can grow a full beard. He recently started his first job, and is also now driving. That driving is a big pill to swallow. Not that I worry about his driving, but those crazy drivers I see on the road every day. The ones that cut you off, make you cringe, and keep you in prayer that you make it home safe and sound. I find myself thinking my babies were not babies long, but I still remember those long days and nights when it seemed I would never get a moment for myself. I remember mornings when I didn’t think I would get us all ready and out the door to school and work. Evenings when the piles of laundry were screaming to be washed or folded. The saying the days are long, but the years are short have never been more true.
I took Friday off a couple of weeks ago. I had planned to get my hair colored (y’all know I am from the South so I often write how I speak). I had been bluntly informed days before by a long time coworker that it was time to cover up my gray. I responded that I did not wear wigs like her so she would just have to tolerate it a few more days. Don’t you just love those co-workers that treat you like family. No holding back. Anyway, my hair appointment had to be rescheduled so I had the oil changed in my car (and you can bet that was overdue too). It had been in the back of my mind to visit with one of the ladies in my church who had recently been diagnosed with cancer. Friday ended up being a good day to visit. She was feeling up to company. I went through Wendy’s drive-thru to order some Frostys. Ms. V’s daughter had told me she would enjoy that as her appetite had thankfully returned. I picked up another lady from my church on my way, and off we went to pay a visit. Eating our Frostys on our way. I go to a small country church where the majority of the members are at least 70 years of age or older. There are a few of us in the early 50’s range. We are all at a point in our life where the rat race is no longer part of our journey. We enjoy each other’s company, and truly care about one another. So…back to Ms. V as I will refer to her. I met her several years ago at church. She was always friendly and welcoming. When she found out my sister had been diagnosed with cancer, she would faithfully send encouraging cards to her. My sister would often tell me she had received the sweetest card from Ms. V. Ms. V, just like my sister, was the picture of health at the time of her diagnosis. Cancer is one of life’s biggest sucker punches. It can pop up like a thief in the night. So on that Friday we found Ms. V. having a good day, and in good spirits. I was so afraid it would be doom and gloom, and I would break down in tears. As I have gotten older, and been through some emotionally hard times, I have become extremely tender hearted. I know the heartache cancer and life in general can bring. However, our visit was spent talking about our lives, and she said she had had a good one. She was in a funk for about the first month after she got her bad news. She didn’t care about anything, but eventually the dark cloud of her diagnosis lifted. She said she now just takes one day at a time. And you know what? That is all any of us can do. At my age, I’ve realized that something is going to get each and every one of us. We can run marathons, eat healthy, do what the doctor says, etc., but don’t get so focused on NOT dying that you forget to LIVE. I am beyond grateful for the people, often unexpected, that have come into my life along the way. It’s often in these casual interactions and conversations that you truly learn about life.
The in-between……seems like such a minimizing description of our life span. So much happens between our birth and death. The best advice I can give anyone is to let go of how you think your life will be. I promise you. Your life, most likely, will not go as you plan. Go with the flow. Love hard with everything you’ve got. Embrace the quiet moments. The moments of solitude. Look for joyful interactions with people. I have had some of the most pleasant conversations with people in the grocery store. Smile. Say hello. Brace yourself for the roller coaster that you will sometimes find yourself on. Push through the chaos that life can bring. I can attest that I have survived every tough day life has thrown my way, and there have been some hard ones. Learn to be comfortable with yourself. Be open to change. Don’t get stuck on the hamster wheel just going through the daily grind. You never know when your life will change for the better or worse. Just know that it will all be ok. Every day will not be sunshine and roses, but the next one might. Accept that you will have years of dirty dishes, piled up laundry, grocery lists, school projects, and days where you have no idea how you will get it all done. LIFE IS ONE BIG BEAUTIFUL MESS. We make such a big deal about birth and death, but to me it’s the thriving in the in-between where it’s at.
With all this said, I am going to close with this one final thought……
“Sugar and Spice and everything nice. That’s what little girls are made of.” Do you remember that rhyme from your childhood? Do children even learn these rhymes anymore? My reading indicated that sugar and spice is characterizing girls as being sweet and friendly. I would like to provide an alternate line of thinking on the spice reference. That spice description might be a nod to us sassy girls. Maybe spicey girls grow up to be sassy women. Sassy women bring a bit more oomph to the table. You never know what they might say or how they might react, but I can assure you there’s a brain behind that mouth, and if you’re really lucky, a great sense of humor. They have a tendency to verbalize what others are thinking, but won’t say out loud. Let’s talk about the making and substance of a sassy woman.
I can attribute my earliest memory of hearing the word sassy to my Grandmama. She came from the generation where you did not question or talk back to adults. I believe she was the first person to ever tell me I had a sassy mouth. My response at the time was “I am not sassy. I just know what I am talking about.” I did not consider myself being disrespectful, but the need to ask questions and express my thoughts were like breathing to me. I definitely do not have a passive personality. I heard someone describe themself as a skeptic the other day. Looking back, I think I was a skeptic with a side of sass way back. I didn’t just take what people told me at face value. I had questions, and I had my own thoughts on the world around me. So….characteristic number one…..a sassy woman is a thinking woman.
Sass is not the same for every woman or little girl. It can manifest in different ways. Sassy women tend to dress with a little more flair at times. They might go along with the trends or they might go their own way, and create their own style. For me, it’s cowgirl boots. As I’ve written before, I love westerns. My red cowgirl boots are one of my prized possessions, and when paired with the right outfit, you know my sassy persona is on the scene. And…you better watch out for those girls wearing animal print. Of course, on the weekend, I love to wear my jeans, a short sleeve wrangler shirt, and my hat. It might be a straw hat for when I go out to the farm or an oilskin hat that I ordered from Outback Trading Post. That hat is currently my favorite. For other sassy women, it might be high heels and an on point hair do. It varies from woman to woman, but sass is the common denominator. For those of you from Generation X on back, you might remember Flo from the tv show Mel’s Dinner. Now she was the epitome of sass. You mostly only saw her in her diner uniform on the show, but that head of big styled red hair gave you a warning. She would tell you “kiss my grits” in a heartbeat. So…characteristic number two…..sass presents in different ways.
Do men want a woman that goes along with everything they say, and a woman that doesn’t voice her opinion? My husband might say yes. I am sure he has thought his life would be calmer had he chosen a more docile woman. Good fortune shone down on him though. He got a woman that can be fiery and passionate. I am not talking about the lust kind of passionate, but a woman that is passionate about life and her family. She will have your back, but will also let you know when you are not towing the line. A man with a sassy woman, if he’s truly tuned in, will always know where he stands with her. Brad Paisley best summed up this kind of woman in his song “She’s Everything.” “She’s a fighter when she’s mad And she’s a lover when she’s loving.” The character, Blanche Devereaux, on the 80’s tv sitcom The Golden Girls was just that. A lover and a fighter when the situation called for it. So….characteristic number three….a sassy woman can be a great wife for the right man.
I started out as a sweet little girl with budding signs of sass. Life has thrown curve balls at me over the years, and the sass faltered at times. Experience, life events, and the passing of time will hone that sass like nothing else. Know that with a sassy woman you will at some point know what she’s thinking. If she’s quiet, give her time. She might be getting ready to unleash the beast on you, and more than likely, give you an earful. Conversations with these types of people are the best. The cadence and banter of sassy and fun loving people will brighten your day. Just so you know…men can be sassy and cheeky as well. I believe we all start out as sweet. At least, most of us do. Some people though, at times, I question if they even have a pulse. Sass might be considered an undesirable attribute in a little girl, but don’t completely subdue it. Don’t kill that spark. That sass will serve that girl well as she grows into a woman. She will think for herself. Stand up for herself and others. That sass will see her through the good and bad times. This post is dedicated to all the sassy women out there. May we continue to take life head on and push forward with, as the French say, a joie de vivre.
One more thing….for added emphasis when speaking, make sure you put that hand on your hip.
Heartbreak was not my intended topic this week, but sometimes you wake up with something completely different weighing on your mind. I woke up Monday morning, and like I do most weekday mornings, I tuned into a local morning talk show. It’s my way of easing into the day. This morning show was different. I knew right away something was off. The host was somewhat baring his soul. Some form of heartbreak was taking place in his life. He stated that he and his family needed prayer, and he would be taking a break from the show. I have no idea what the cause of heartbreak is that had him expressing real and raw emotion. There are so many layers to heartbreak and grief. It’s different for all of us, but any of us who have experience with it, know it when we see and hear it. Heartbreak comes to us all at some point in our lives, and more than likely will rear its ugly head when we least expect it. It will leave you battle scarred, but it also makes us more sympathetic and caring human beings.
My first experiences with heartbreak came at an early age. I was almost six years of age when my parents divorced. My relationship with my father was from then on fractured at best. Heartbreak and grief do not always stem from a death. They can be brought on by situations that are beyond our control. Then I lost my paternal grandfather when I was 12. By that age my mother had pretty much cut off all contact with my Dad and his family. I was not allowed to even attend his funeral. Poof…. people I loved were taken out of my life. I tucked the hurt in the deepest crevices of my heart. My maternal grandfather died when I was 23 years old. That was my first up close and personal experience with cancer, and it’s devastating effects. I could be brought to tears just thinking about it years after he passed. Later on, the deaths of my Dad and sister affected me differently. My Dad’s death left me with unanswered questions and unresolved feelings that I ultimately came to terms with.. My sister’s terminal illness and death left me with immense grief and an understanding of loss that I had never experienced before. It has also left me feeling as if I had lost my bearings. I am still trying to work my way through that path of grief.
There are countless sources of heartbreak. It can be death of a loved one or friend, loss of a dream and the process of letting go, betrayal by a loved one, the end of a relationship or friendship, terminal illness, a loved ones bad choices, disappointment, losing your home to a natural disaster, and the list can go on and on. Heartbreak can be walking around right in front of us. A drug addicted or mentally ill family member can break your heart a million times. It can often be the equivalent of watching someone dying in slow motion. Then, you see so many children being neglected by their drug addicted, mentally ill, and neglectful parents. You think to yourself. Where does it end? None of us are exempt. Heartbreak is an equal opportunist. We are better for our struggles or we should be. When I say I understand, it may not entail an understanding of your particular situation, however, heartbreak is heartbreak. If it is enough to make you cry, make you feel like you’ve been sucker punched, want to curl up in bed and pull the covers over your head, and that the rug has been pulled out from underneath you, I understand. Right now I have scars from previous heartbreaks, and I have a large scab from a recent heartbreak. Just like any scab, you think it’s healing, and you might pick at it. It still bleeds. More time needed for the healing. One day those scabs will turn into scars. Some are visible and others are naked to the eye, but there all the same.
As I have discussed in previous posts, my most recent heartbreak occurred towards the end of last year. It didn’t happen suddenly. It was in the making for over two years as I watched my sister battle cancer like the fiercest warrior. The past few months I have taken each day as it comes. There have been good days, and there have been days when I really have to dig deep. I am not the same person I used to be nor will I ever be again. I am a walking example of heartbreak, and the metamorphosis that follows. Someone told me the other day that I did not seem happy. My response was “for the most part, I’m not.” I am in transition. Trying to find my bearings again. Recalibrating. Doing a lot of inner reflection. Deciding for me what truly matters. I am growing and evolving. Continually trying to process one of the greatest heartbreaks of my life. I am letting go of how I thought the next chapter of my life would be. Who would be by my side. At some point, the hurt will ease and not be as strong as it once was. One day, I will tuck that hurt in another crevice of my heart along with the others from so many years ago. I will find happiness again and my sense of humor that has always served me well.
Throughout this transformation, I will become stronger and more resilient. I will continue to love my family and friends with the same intensity I always have, if not more. Heartbreak makes you acutely aware of what can be lost. Cling to each other, love one another, take deep breaths, indulge in moments of reprieve from this frenetic world. Live a purposeful life and be a better person because of the heartaches you have not only endured, but survived. Heartbreak in this life is inevitable, but so are moments of joy. As the saying goes, “you have to take the good with the bad.” Take one day at a time. Know that there will be good and bad days as you process and wrap your head around what has happened or is presently going on in your life. Be empathetic and compassionate when you can. Exude love. This world could use a lot more of it. Most of all, take time to love yourself.
I took this week off from my regular job. No exotic vacation on tap or even a trip to the beach. Just time off. I had felt the need for a break coming on for a while now. I was in need of time to refocus and recalibrate. Take some time for me. I dropped my youngest son off at school my first free morning, and headed to one of my favorite places for morning coffee. Instead of rushing through the drive thru, I parked my car, ordered my coffee and a croissant, and found a nice cozy booth. I took a few sips of my coffee. I then pulled my notebook out of my purse. What better way to spend a peaceful morning? Sipping coffee and writing. What would I write about? For the most part, I am never at a loss for something to write about. There is so much going on in the world, but my preference is to write about daily life. The Good Stuff. What came to mind on that morning was a trip I took this time of year about two years ago. I was planning a trip that I probably never would have taken if circumstances had been different. I was getting ready for a trip to Baltimore, Maryland.
Baltimore, Maryland? The little bit I knew about Baltimore was not good. I had watched the news reports about the high crime rate, derelict and abandoned buildings, and homelessness that plagued this city. None of that mattered to me. My sister had completed months of chemotherapy in April 2019. We had been so hopeful. I thought the battle with her colon cancer was over. Fast forward a couple of months to June. She had a PET scan, and our hopes were crushed. Her colon cancer had morphed into something I had never heard of. Peritoneal Carcinomatosis. That’s a mouthful, and it was even worse to wrap my head around. Her colon cancer had invaded the walls of her abdomen. My sister’s oncologist recommended that she consult with a specialist in Baltimore, MD. His specialty was a procedure called Hyperthermic (or heated) Intraoperative Peritoneal Chemotherapy. HIPEC for short. My sister and her husband went for a consultation in early August. Her surgery and treatment were scheduled for September. There was never any doubt in my mind that I would be there for my sister. The planning began.
At that time, I was 48 years old, and had never flown anywhere my entire life. I’m sure most people are thinking…what rock has she been living under? I never really had the opportunity to fly until my Baltimore trip or the desire. I, also, was somewhat afraid to fly. I can sometimes get caught up in analyzing all the things that could go wrong. So there I was. Scared to fly and scared to go to the big bad city. Scared even worse of losing my sister. Love can conquer any fear. This trip would be different. I would do what needed to be done for my sister. My oldest son offered to go with me. I knew that I would fly to Baltimore with my sister and her husband, but depending on how things went, I might have to fly home by myself. My oldest son had never flown anywhere either so this would be a new experience and adventure for both of us.
The day of departure arrived. We would be flying to Baltimore in a private plane thanks to a businessman that was a friend of my sister’s pastor. He had been successful in his business endeavors, and paid it forward by flying people who were in need of treatment for their illnesses. I am forever grateful. I could not have asked for a better first flight. We lifted into the morning sky. The sun was just beginning to peek at us. To see the day come alive in the sky is a truly phenomenal experience. Off we went. Full of hopes and dreams. There are many times in life that you are given no other option, except to face your fears head on. A funny side note. I called my doctor’s office a couple of days before leaving on my trip. I explained the circumstances of my trip to the nurse. I had never flown before. My sister was going for what would hopefully be a lifesaving procedure. I was very nervous about this trip. Would it be possible for the doctor to prescribe something to calm my nerves should the need arise? Trust me. I did not make this request lightly. I had grown up with a family member that had been overprescribed anxiety medicine, and I was not going to fall into that hole. The nurse asked the name of my pharmacy, and advised that she would speak to the doctor. The day before leaving, I swung by my pharmacy to pick up the prescription that had been called in. The cashier told me the amount due, and it was a very small amount. Less than a dollar. I said something about the cost. She responded, “Well, it’s only one pill.” One pill?! I thought. Ok, I might need one on the way back home. I guess my doctor thought I was stronger than I felt. Right then and there I made up my mind that I would never take that pill. I would carry that bottle with one little pill in my purse as a reminder. My strength would not come from a pill.
We made it to Baltimore. I rode in an Uber for the first time. We were on our way to the AirBnb that I had reserved for my son and I. It was clean and cheap. Our on site hostess was wonderful. Available, if needed, but not intrusive. We stayed on a street with a long line of row houses on each side. I had only seen houses like this on television. I had nothing to compare it to being from the South with our wide open spaces. We met our host, dropped our luggage off, and were off to get my sister and her husband settled into their hotel room near the hospital. One thing I can say about Baltimore is that there are plenty of excellent places to eat. My first meal was some type of nachos with chorizo. I had heard of chorizo on Food Network, but had never eaten any. It was delicious. My AirBnb hostess told me there was a wonderful Farmer’s Market within walking distance of her home. It’s called the 32nd Street Farmers Market. I woke up early one morning with plans to check it out before heading to the hospital to sit with my sister. Let me just say. The farmer’s market where I am from can’t hold a candle on the one I visited in Baltimore. The vegetables, fruit, baked goods, music, crafts, and the list goes on. On the last night that my son and I were in Baltimore, my brother in law took us out to eat at a nice seafood restaurant. By that time, my sister was still recovering from her surgery in the hospital, and she and my brother in law would be staying a few more days. I was told by friends before I left on my trip that I could not go to Baltimore without trying the crab cakes. First off, the only seafood I eat as a rule is shrimp. At that point, I was so far out of my comfort zone. I decided. Why not? You only live once, and I was going to order crab cakes. They were delicious. Not something I would ever order on purpose, but I can say I did try them.
I often look back on experiences I have had in my life. Many times, they were surreal at the time, and I could not attain clarity or understand the full magnitude until some time had passed. The day of my sister’s surgery we were all filled with hope that this procedure which had been so highly recommended would be the silver bullet needed to deal with my sister’s cancer. We were told the surgery could take several hours, and to expect a long day. My brother in law, my son, and I hunkered down for the duration. I had my phone, my kindle, notepad, etc. I remember a nurse coming out stating that the doctor was ready to speak to us. I instantly knew something was wrong. She had not been in surgery nowhere near the amount of time we had been told. We were escorted into a small conference room where the doctor came in to speak to us. He was not a native English speaker, but was well spoken. He took a red marker to illustrate on the smart board what he had found in my sister’s abdomen, and what he had done to give her some relief and quality of life. It all looked like scribbles to me. I sat there in a stupor. Trying to take it all in. My mind felt as squiggly, jumbled, and confused as the doctor’s illustration. I must have looked like I was going to snap because the next thing I knew a female African priest was in the room talking to us. Sitting next to me. I asked her where she was from. I can’t remember if it was the eastern or western coast of Africa. I did learn while in Baltimore that west Africans do not want to be confused for east Africans and vice versa. A lot of the Uber cars I had ridden in were driven by Africans. Anyway, I sat there listening to this African priestess (I guess that is the proper title?), and how I ended up talking to her about my farm and the goats my husband and I have I will never know. I look back now and have to laugh. Maybe I was momentarily insane or just trying to deal with the blow we had been dealt as a family.
I had so many new experiences in Baltimore. I met new people. I tried new foods. I saw my son in a new light. He is a grown man now. He was there for me to lean on. I am proud of the person he has become. There are so many layers to my story. It did not have the ending that I had hoped for. The doctor was unable to perform the procedure on my sister. The cancer had taken a firm foothold in her abdominal cavity. I will never forget the look of disappointment on her face when she woke from surgery, and we had to tell her the doctor had not been successful. However, that was not the end of her story. She would go on to live another year by way of pure tenacity and determination. I left Baltimore feeling defeated. Probably in shock. The trip had not gone like we had planned, but it had been life altering for me. That is how life is. You can make all the plans in the world, but most likely they are made in vain. I grew as a person, and still continue to grow. I faced fears and the realization that we are all mortal. I will continue to get up everyday, lace my boots up, and take one step at a time. I know there are many bad days behind me. I also know that there will be more ahead, but there will be good ones. My trip to Baltimore will go down as a chapter in my book that resulted in personal growth and awareness, and is also part of the cancer journey I walked with my sister. Baltimore…I will never forget you. I am forever grateful.
Three takeaways from my trip to Baltimore….
*I am stronger than I ever thought.
*Travel and experience new places, try different foods, and meet new people. We
are more alike than we are different.
*Learn to go with the flow. Life most often does not go as we hope or plan.
Otherwise, you will get bogged down by your expectations.
*I highly doubt I will ever be a fan of big city life. Been there. Done that. Might visit again, but not to live.
The Good Stuff with Stella Elaine 