Housewives, Hurricanes, and "Hey, Mom."

Desperate Housewives reruns are booming from my daytime tv. And I think it's such a clever show because all the women are intriguing and have these exaggerated personalities that draw us to them like magnets. I adore each of these characters. They are representative of parts of a whole. Most of us have sides. The Susan side, the Gabrielle side, the Bree side and although we may hide it more, the Edie comes out every now and then. I began watching this show way after the rest of American girls. I am so slow when it comes to using sunscreen and watching shows. Nevertheless, I am watching now and making up for lost time.

Today, I am Bree. Why? Because I have cleaned my already clean Arte Italica serving pieces, done four loads of laundry, cleaned appliances, wiped all glass and mirror in house, done the dishes, made the bed, watched a movie and sent it back, gathered all necessary items needed to withstand possible long periods of no power from hurricane Earl, and gotten my friend’s keys that is headed to Chicago in case her house needs care after the storm. I’ve walked the dogs, twice. I’ve gotten the mail, cleaned Selma’s ears and brushed both dogs’ teeth, made dinner for two nights in case we can’t heat food from storm damage, and have even filled the bathtub in case there is no water for days and we need bath water (friend’s suggestion). I am about to vacuum and work out. Before I can brag about my Bree-ness, I must declare, I have had coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. Oh yeh, I couldn’t have been Bree without having a great lunch, and it just so happens I had a fresh bowl of organic greens and spinach with toasted pecans, blue cheese, blueberries, and toasted Quorn patties cut into strips with a wonderful balsamic vinaigrette. As much as I would like to be cute and clumsy Susan, there is no time for that with a hurricane nearing. And of all of them, Gabby is the most fun to watch I think. No sexy hotness here either, just ponytails and storm candles. Anywaaaay… none of that matters. I am simply letting the coffee take its course and using the keyboard to hurry the process.

Yesterday, I stated that I would share an email conversation between my mom and me. It’s below, but I will tell you that I can’t make my mom stop being over complimentary. She just can’t help it. She is m-o-m. All mom. And, it may be nauseating to you, but keep in mind, she loves my guts. I switched the order so it reads like it was sent instead of backward. Here t’is…

ME:Hey mom,

I wrote these things.

~For a dream journal I got for a friend as a thanks-for-having-us-gift:

"Dreams and feeling free are intertwined in the mind. They show us that it is self, not circumstance, that determines our truth, hope, and ultimately, our freedom."

~Before bed one night... don't know when exactly... like a week and a half ago? Wrote this:

The seven winds of change came and danced across my wrists.

In the caress they told me a secret that shall never escape my lips.

If you meet the seven winds, you'll be more than pleased.

It's of the glories and of the stories the winds gather from the seas.

~Just a few secs ago, wrote this (Haven't read it back to myself yet.):

Can we wonder while we sleep?

Do we pray a little with every weep?

When mind creeps

I'll let mine leap

Across that gray divide.

Faster please, oh keeper of time.

I want to know and no longer hide

From the truth that spans so far and wide.

Release my captured, colorless soul.

Within, it can stay contained no more.

To roam the lands that have lived in lore,

I must pivot- plunge into myself, explore.

What do I find here in whimsy and what nots?

Can't tell or judge my day's tic tock.

I may be free or I may be lost

Or I may be inside my dream of a spot

That seemed so fancy and dandy.

It seemed to be where one could fly free.

Like Luna moths or spray from the sea

This dream of a space may elude me.

Will I leap back and dare to wake up?

Or am I content in this Neverland rut?

I may muster the courage but my spirit is stuck.

In the new found knowledge of matter and muck.

Mind, give me a hand please, won't you?

I see that your showing me lessons of value.

Inside of my self is where I'll continue.

And in self is where light shines on real truth.

Whether that divide holds me from sheer pleasure

Is up to me, it's my space to measure.

And whether it was a dream or it was life pure

I ought to make both experiences to treasure.

Waking, I wiggle, feel foggy and fuzzy.

And all that made sense just before fades quickly.

I must remember that spark of a journey.

Or was it, I ponder, a glimpse of another me?

(I was writing this and what I wrote initially stopped at explore and I just kept writing after I copied and will send the rest to myself too to keep.)

Tell me what you think.

MOM: These are very beautiful and once again amazing. You really need to do something with these. Share them. This last one is likened to your book I think. I think the one about the winds is beautiful and my favorite. You should write a book of poems if nothing else but fill a journal book with them ALL - even out of order, but written down. You will enjoy them in later years and amaze yourself all over again.

ME: It may be applicable to my book, but not written for it. I was thinking about dreams and we all have the same fading experience when waking from them. Not many things revolving around our inner personal experience have such common thread through all of man. So, I was thinking about what that might mean, and then was thinking ultimately, that death might be like waking from a dream. Dreams are always slow when in them, but amazingly short relative to where we are when we wake. Life may be similar compared to the Everafter. And what seems so important and crucial in a dream is suddenly and by large contrast, inconsequential to our awakened point of view. It may be worth addressing or worth pondering, and even worth working out if it wasn't a great one, but never does it really matter that much... just an experience. Life may be viewed similarly... and this is what really interests me. When we wake in the Everafter, painlessly and with relief, we may notice how exaggerated our emotions were about what amounts to no big deal. Life may be a facet of ourselves, just as dreams are. Just part of the big picture... one after the other, until maybe we decide we can take a break from "night". Also, in dreams, they are, like in our world, always from an extreme point of view from Self. This means, although others are in our dream, it is because we place them there and choose more than we realize. Life is also an experience that is lived through only Self's vision and intentions. Never can we escape being selfish because it is our only domain from which we can truly think. If we redefined or even gave a new reputation to the word 'selfish' I think it would impact our world in an extremely positive way. We wouldn't shy away from our wants and needs, and in turn... we would be encouraging of others doing the same and every single soul would focus entirely on what makes them happy... because that is the main desire of most. Happy people are fulfilled and fulfilled people allow others to fulfill themselves and before you know it, the world is enlightened. Dreams are an enormous sign that our soul is giving us. As a whole, the concept of dreams, shows us it is all about what we think and in turn feel that determines our entire reality.

And, one 'day', we may wake up from this life, and think of it as a foggy, fast-paced glimpse of ourselves that we care so much about, but is not in essence who we are, rather a vivid creation of our minds, only part of our enormous soul.

So, that's what I was thinking about before writing that poem. Just the details of dreams, relating dream to life, and death to waking.

Does it strike you the same way?

MOM: OMG I had to read it three times. Did this just come off the top of your head? Did you copy this out of a book? Beth I think I speak for most of us that we don't ponder thoughts like this on a daily basis or maybe ever. Is this the magnitude of thoughts that float around in your head everyday? No wonder you can tune conversation out - you are in constant debate in your mind. You need to be doing something with all this thought and pondering. You are wasting it by not using it or sharing it. It needs to be out there somewhere. Once again - I am speechless. Can you send this to someone that would know where it needs to be?

So, that's what we swapped and it is interesting, don't you think? Do you think about stuff like that too? All sorts of stuff goes down during the night. We dream, we have experiences that we swear are more real than dreams, and we, during all this, rest. Pretty nifty.

Now that I've kept my promise to post, I'm taking off. Mega flashlight needed. Earl is approaching.

Accepting Furrowed Brow Syndrome

WARNING: long, rambling blog post below. Proceed with tolerant attitude.

Well…

It didn’t TOTALLY suck (that’s the most flattering phrase that I could type with sincerity). It has left me today with much to consider, analyze and conclude upon. Feels great to be back! I haven’t formed many solid opinions yet, this is my plotted time to direct and sort the leftovers of my attempt to think simple, amusing thoughts and leave it at that.

First off, I realized that I needed a method in order to control this process that would surely be a bit of a shock to my brain waves. I was abruptly stopping what flowed and darted and took on a life force of its own. Now, I was leashing, rather, reigning my wild horses. I was dork of all dorks and wrote down my thoughts. Whatever they were (and believe me they left me bewildered) I wrote them and then left them, not elaborating and not coasting on until I reached a new slightly relevant, more appealing topic. Not so simple.

I have them here now, but am hesitant to expose them, as they are so ridiculous I would be full of embarrassment. I will share a peek though, a really itty-bitty glimpse of what went down on my Not-Serious-Me-Notation Sheet.

They range from:

“Living life in la dee dah fashion… super hard so far.” to “I just walked Selma Lu Mela. Found myself saying things like “Nice job Selma. Good poop. You just did a very good poop.” I said this aloud.

Then, I became wobbly:

“I’m attempting to stare blankly with no desire to analyze even the simplest things. While I look at a white wooden house with black shutters amidst a clear brilliant blue sky, I am intending to be simple in thought, yet I find myself thinking of the contrast between absorbing information just as it is and absorbing information to twist until I find a solid conclusion of belief about it, free of holes of hypocrisy. I realize I am failing as I compare and contrast my new way of thinking to my typical way of thinking. Note: need to lock my slammed door to my mind.”

I forge ahead:

“All of a sudden weird segments of music enter my head like “One, two, three, four, get your woman on the floor. Gotta Gotta get up to get down.” and “Eye of the tiger”. Where were those bits of randomness stored, I wonder? I move on. Hastily, I might add.”

“I have gone through a 10-cup pot of coffee before 4:15 pm.”

“I just completely lost track of 1 hour and 20 minutes. No comprehension of time suddenly.”

“Someone read blog… jitters in tummy.”

“New In Town” with Renee Z. Netflix movie just came in the mail! Nick’s definitely gonna be pissed.”

“It is splendid. I have just been invited to attend a bunko party that openly never even attempts to play bunko, yet still is named a bunko party.”

“My little wasp is not buzzing his wings. Might I have thoroughly exhausted him? I think I made contact with my broom twice when directing him to the window. Maybe my broom shuffle was more like a mid-air squash to him.”

My mind is getting anxious at the strange absence of Beth Banter and I begin producing even more sporadic mental remarks:

“George Foreman really killed it with that lean mean grilling machine.”

“Why am I writing these down? Because, I am reminding myself to stop my thoughts. Nip in bud.”

“Why is Billy Bob Thorton on my tv screen? I can’t figure out whether I like watching him or not. He’s good, but… does he make me squirm? Think so.”

“There is something entirely satisfactory in the moment of scratching a mosquito bite. It goes beyond skin deep, it is a whole body experience. Then, there is no going back. Once scratched, mosquito bites haunt and antagonize until they die in battle.”

“Billy Bob gave way to credits rolling. Sigh.”

“Hard water stains are my rival.”

“I never have the appropriate ratio of stuff to space.”

“I have ushered many baby frogs from thresholds and scarabs from pavement to earth today. I was particularly fascinated with watching the scarab and thinking of how Egyptians used to view this action of scarab pushing sand as symbolic of the god of the sun pushing the ball of fire across sky.”

“Late night jog with Selma Lu Mela… she was frightened of everything in the dark and needed encouragement. Otherwise, pretty brainless”

“Shaq vs. Justin Beeber or Beiber is on the tele screen and I am now near brain dead. This makes this conquest remarkably easy. Is it all about sitting in front of the television and watching these odd, only slightly entertaining (and mostly in a mocking way) shows? Fastest way to no thought is reality tv. No offense to anyone in charge of or amused by RTV. Only personal jotation here. This, I invented… jotation. Similar to notation, but without the thought required to make note, just jots. This is a much needed term now that I am blank in the think tank.”

Yes. So. Moving on.

Today:

I walked home from the gym this morning. It was quiet, as usual, in Edenton, and the only interruptions Jack Johnson and Jamiroquai faced was the crescendo and decrescendo of the locusts. It amused me. I would hear one, then two, then what sounded like masses of locusts screeching, and then they tapered off again. Sorta like a circular water sprinkler rounding your way and then back. I began focusing on this rather than Virtual Insanity (this is a song… to clarify) and relishing in the fact that this noise placed me in the South no matter when and where I heard it. It is an earthy tune, relaxing and a bit mystical. It is always accompanied by heavy air, like a misty white veil, draped over the trees and just hanging all around you. You can feel it. Thick, dewy air. And it holds something inside it, like a secret. It’s lethargic and spooky. Voodoo and folklore are secrets whispered in the rustling leaves and the legends are as mysterious and widely accepted by Southerners as the Egyptians belief in a scarab pushing the sun across the sky. I don’t find the South free of faults, I’m sure no one does, much like any other place on Earth, but this noise brings me home. Not to birthplace, but to home. The comfortable, easy place I can find my way around in the dark.

I am now half way down the sidewalk and notice just one strand of a spider’s web. Just one, spanning from tree limb to somewhere I can’t see and it is so delicate. It looks like a strand of crystal, the way the light bounces off of it, and right now…. I realize my mind is relaxed. It pleases me. The frenzy is here, for sure, because I am rattling many tunes at once, but it is just me being, not trying.

Thinking carefree thoughts is not peaceful or without effort, in fact it was like the most defiant and self destructive process I’ve purposefully entertained in… who knows… can’t remember. But, I reach the door to the Cotton Mill (where I live), triumphant. I think hard about even the most meaningless things and it doesn’t have to matter, it’s just me. The happy me. The me that I believe I will look back on, when I’m the bigger, broader soul of me, and smile at the fact that I tried. I imagine myself saying, “ You didn’t know all the answers, and you didn’t get it all right, but you tried hard and you thought hard, and you looked inside more than outside to find the truth of all that is… and that is good. That is living, your version of it anyway.” I think this makes God happy with me. I do not trust and accept blindly information coming from ‘the mouths of man’ professing to know answers on the ways of the eternal soul, I will listen to thoughts and debate, and take it inside and let it marinate, while I make some sort of conclusion of what I believe. I leave myself complete liberty to change my mind. I do this whether thinking about God, or thinking about mundane nothingness. I can go with that flow now and know that stopping my thoughts is fighting a natural law.

Conclusion: If I need relaxation, I shall stick to playing in my closet, getting a pedicure or yoga. Otherwise, deliberate away, because interfering with the electrical showdown in my brain leaves for a very dull day.

So what if I start a sentence, and mid way through insert another sentence, to then pick up where I left off in the first and continue that initial stream of thought. Nick is okay with it. Family is okay with it. Friends are okay with it. Dogs adore it and just tilt head from this side to that side to this side… Nick doesn’t even opt to have a “man cave”, a term I’ve grown to despise since every lame dude on HGTV uses it repetitively. He hangs with his gals and even when he plays the golf course, he does not choose to keep his distance from my jumbled self… he asks me to come with! And if I did stop pondering so much, I not only would have nothing to think about, but nothing to write about, and ultimately nothing to believe in.

Tomorrow I think I’m going to post this email back and forth between my mother and me. It was good, juicy thought and now that I am publicly embracing “my head”, I feel compelled to show example. I do think 30 brings loveliness, I don’t know myself more… that’s not it. I realize that there is so much more me to get to know than I ever knew before. No more shutting the door.

Me versus My head

I’m trying to shove my head out of the seriousness it nestles in and devote my day to carefree, purely amusing thoughts. Should this be hard? As I write this, I am focusing on relaxing my furrowed brow that suggests I’ve been under intense concentration or am perplexed, but I am not particularly ---- right now. It occurs to me that I have this furrowed brow constantly. In fact, trying to flatten my brow muscles and let my jaw fall slack is requiring more coordination that I thought it would. Vicious cycle. To free myself of an intense expression, I must concentrate intensely…

I turned thirty this year and have realized 30 brings with it the ability to stop excusing yourself for the little ways that make you… you! (When I say ‘you’, I guess I really just mean me, because I don’t know if this is shared sentiment.) Fitting into the world is less important and finding what fits nicely into my own world is my new outlook. Quite refreshing. So, I no longer try to be funny, or get frustrated at my poor… really poor joke telling skills. I no longer feel offended when I meet someone along side my sister and they ask, “What happened to you?” as they take in the obvious difference in height. And I accept that I am serious, in general, remaining somewhat aloof, consumed with the frantic thoughts that are buzzing around my head as I try and navigate my way from one to the other, snatching them down to study, and in the mean time not hearing anything the people around me have just said. A friend I adore said to me once when we were having lunch, “I really love watching you do that, by the way.” When I asked her what she was referring to, she said, “You know, completely zone out. I just watch you go away to wherever it is you go, and then you’ll pop back.” This friend gets me and we feel sure we were friends in another life. This trait of mine is not necessarily a positive one, as it most likely irritates the shit out of my mother and my husband, the ones who have to deal with my chatter and aloofness, and who have the task of trying to understand me as I verbalize all of the whizzing thought flashes.

Perhaps, I reveal too much here. I have no mental disorder; I am just stuck in my head. My diving coach used to tell me the same thing. “Beth, you think too much. Just do it and stop thinking.” I sported the furrowed brow even then.

My sister is not like this. She’s happy-go-lucky most of the time. My parents are not like this. It’s just me. But, that’s okay. I prefer it this way. There is no other way to be for me; it’s my nature.

Luckily, my husband is serious too. Although, he thinks in a completely different pattern than I do. It’s point A to point B. Cut out the fat. Straight and direct. He probably only zones out when I’m analyzing our entire lives. He has this look he gives me when I’m going overboard with loop de loop thoughts. He turns to me really slowly with his mouth slightly open, his eyes slightly crossed, as if his face has lost all control and he has no effort left to process my words. It’s a funny face. Makes me laugh and makes me either sum it up or shut up. I get it done when he gives me this look.

This carefree day is going to be difficult I can tell. I usually sit here and write… about life, death, love, loss, and human nature, that kind of stuff. Or I read about politics and how we “are so dumb, really dumb” as Antoine Dodson would put it. I have fits at all the liars in ties coming across my television. I cry at all the abused animals and children. I have bouts where I feel I need way more education on the ways of the world and interrogate my husband for all he’s worth. Or, I do what I did this morning and exhaust myself running around my home with a broom in the air chasing a wasp. I opened the window, had my glass and piece of paper on stand-by for trap and release purposes, and tried my hardest to direct the (increasingly weak) wasp out the window. I finally gave up when he situated himself in between the molding and blinds that are a good 20 feet in the air. And, yes, I saw myself. I was very aware of how ridiculous I looked. But, these things fret me. I attach feelings to even wasps. Little sucker’s going to die up there if he doesn’t cooperate.

I think the only possible way for me to achieve my goal of laid-back-Beth is to immerse myself in my pups. Selma Lu, for one, is the silliest, quirkiest creature I know and if I follow her lead she’ll take me to the land of carefree. Although, she has the mother-of-all furrowed brows. China is fearless, we all could use a bit of that. I’ll let you know how it goes. That’s assuming anyone even reads this… and they make it through the entire entry… and they care about my head and what’s in it. I have a feeling I’m not going to like this at all, but we’ll see. Open minds are learning minds. And to get out of mine, opening and then, slamming a sound proof door is strategy number one.