First

When I had my first attempt at blogging, I had another title and url here on Blogger. Then, I lost my umph. When trying to access this blog yesterday, I accidentally found my old one that I beleived to be lost to the world. It was interesting to me to read some things that I wrote 2 years ago. Unfortuneately, I am not web-blog-techie-literate, and so I can not move the old posts here. I can't even figure out how to copy & paste them. All I can do is post a link. Any advice would be appreciated for future reference. Until then, please click on the link below for past entries.

WARNING!!

This first one is very boring and basic, so I will post the second entry right below it!

http://risingofashes.blogspot.com/2006/08/i-am-here.html

http://risingofashes.blogspot.com/2006/09/is-robbing-bank-such-bad-thing.html

Dear Jeremy,

You were my first kiss. My first sexual experience. I did not lose my virginity to you, mainly out of fear. I was 13. You were 17. I did not want to get pregnant. I think I may have loved you in a young girl's adoring way. You were fun and a great kisser. You made me feel things. Things that I never knew could feel so good.
I remember that summer. Finding any excuse I could to go to Little Caesar's Pizza to see if you were working. What a flirt you were! But you did make me feel special, if for no other reason than to get into a 13 year-old's pants. But that didn't happen, at least in the coital sense.
One of those afternoons, you called me. Of course I was home alone, you knew that. Mom was at work and big brother was staying at college for the summer. I met you at the high school. I am not really sure how long it took, but at some point you kissed me. I was wearing a hideous pink outfit. Tee shirt trimmed with pink lace and matching pink spandex shorts trimmed with the same lace. Ugh, I shudder to think about that outfit now, 17 years later. We were behind the cafeteria, across from the entrance to the music rooms. Remembering this, it seemed like we stood there kissing for hours. But it was probably more like 20 minutes. I am not clear on how we ended up back at my house. Did you convince me that it was a good idea? Did I insist because I was so scared of someone seeing us? It doesn't matter now; we went there.
I would not let you into my bedroom, no matter how much you tried. I would not even lay on the couch with you. We stood. Me against the wall with you pressed against me, letting me know indiscreetly what you wanted to give me. Then you against the wall and me vulnerable and needing air. I let you touch me. There was no force, other than convincing flirtations of a cute 17 year old. Oh that touch....
I remember wanting more and more. At least once in my life I was smart enough to say no. I take that back. I have said no many times, just not nearly enough. I always told you no. Maybe because I always knew that you would never be with me. Why should you have been? I was 13. Looking back, it was kind of creepy. But I don't hold that against you.
I have seen you from time to time. The last time was probably 5 years ago at 3am at White Castle. It was weird for me. I mentioned that I named my son Jeremy. You kind of smirked. I did not name after you. It was one of the only names my ex-husband and I could agree on. I hope you are doing well.
I just wanted to say thank you for never putting too much pressure on me and for my first kiss. It was nice and definitely memorable.

Best Week Ever Part 2

Thursday September 27, 2007



Today was my mom's 60th birthday. I will get to that in the next post. It was also my highschool's homecoming parade.



I just transfered my son to the district where I grew up in due to his former school's decline in education, accreditation, and funding. I wasn't happy in my neighborhood anymore either. I have moved back in with mom temporarily, not for financial need per se, but for convenience. I am trying to sell my house and while I am still paying those bills, I can not afford a place to rent or consider buying at the time.



I put my son in Boy Scouts for the first time. So far, he loves it. His first event was the Homecoming Parade. I can't begin to tell you about his excitement. He was so serious! The parade route goes right past our house. In order for me to get home and park, I had to go directly from work there. My mom, who had dinner plans with friends that evening took my son to the start point of the parade at a local church. He was a bit upset Grandma wouldn't see the whole parade, but he got over it quick. That's my boy- resilient!



Thunder and I made dinner while waiting for the parade to come by. It was exciting! Every year I watch it, I get very nostalgic and wish to be back in highschool. It is always a quick thought! Towards the end of the parade the "Boy Scout Pack ###" trucks came by. There was my boy: saluting! I couldn't have been prouder! He has finally found a "group". At that moment another reason why I love my son came to mind.

He is proud to be an American and a dutiful one at that!

Best Week Ever Part 1

Week of September 23-30 and then some....



Sunday September 23, 2007

My son overcame his fear of just about everything with his first motorcycle ride. About 5 years ago, an ex-boyfriend and I decided to take my son on a ride at a local church festival. It probably wasn't the best idea we ever had. The ride as we know it is called the zipper. You might know under another name. It is typically red with 4 cages with one at each end of 2 arms. The arms swing opposite each other like a windmill at high velocity, which makes the swinging cages flip upside down and what feels like every which way around.

As a child, I LOVED thrill rides and I still do. I would get very upset if I was told I was too little to ride. My ex-husband, my "baby daddy" (REALLY JUST KIDDING about the ghetto slang) was and still is the same way. I would only expect my son to fall in love with the addicting drug of adrenaline like his parents.

This didn't happen. At least not at the tender age of 5. As he was riding, or holding on for dear life, with Josh, I could hear his blood-curling screams from down below over the noise of all the rides combined and the crowd. I was torn between crying and laughing. I know that makes me sound like an awfull mother, but that's what I do in a paralizingly awkward moment. I laugh. I did it all through my wedding. That should say something in itself. Anyway... my poor child up there screaming for help and I couldn't help him.

Ever since then, he would only ride the rides that do not go up or down. He would go on the bumper cars and basically the baby rides that go round and round and not up and down. If they did have a control for the children to make it go up and down, he wouldn't. He would just stay to the ground.

In the last year he has gotten better, but not much. He would beg me to take him to King's Island or Coney Island. I refused to pay the admission prices just to walk around, not get to ride rides myself, and fight with him about the money he would ask for to play games. he has been on field trips, but not just for the sake of going.

On Sunday, the 23rd, it changed.

We went to my boyfriend's motorcycle club's annual field meet. First of all, this is not the type of motorcycle club you are thinking. No Hell's Angels or Iron Horseman. This group consists mainly of retirees and thier wives. During Poker Runs, they stop and get ice cream, not go to a bar. Very mild group who love to ride. The field meet is mainly a group picnic and we play motorcycle games. Games like darts and jousting and toss the ball over & catch after you have gone under the bar. Fun non-threatening games.

Of course there is the singles round, then the couples round and last but not least, the kids' round. My son has always been scared to get on the back of Thunder's bike. When we were on our way to the field meet and I explained about the kids' games, the tide began to turn.

He could not wait to just jump on that bike and ride! He hopped on as if he had been riding on is since he could walk! I have one picture only because my memory card was full! I hate when that happens! Now he wants to ride all the time and is talking about trying to be a bit more adventurous! He wants to try more rides!

I knew it would only be a matter of time!

Monkey

Sticking her head through the lathed oak posts that seperated the living room from the stairs, she pretended to be an invisible monkey. This was her favorite game. Quietly she would sneak up the faux sheetrock steps and spy on the intimate conversations of her parents.

In this small town, everyone knew everyone. This was especially the case considering her mother was a teacher and her father was the town photographer. For years to come, everywhere she went with either of her parents, one of them was bound to know someone at a distance.


"I taught him in Junior English."

"Her's was one of the best Senior Portraits I have ever taken!"


Most of the time, while living as the invisible monkey, she came up short on information. What bills needed to be paid; who was seen around town with someone other than thier spouse; just plain bickering. Anytime the monkey heard her name she was bound to the edges of her cage intently listening. Mostly these conversations pertained to the daily ongoings of her jungle, sometimes more finely tuned towards her behavior or eating habits that day. Sometimes the talk was more stressful. She couldn't quite figure out why, but when the voices became louder and higher, it made her hair stand on end.

The young monkey was in the lower jungle one afternoon playing around. She heard the elder monkeys screeching very loudly. It was her cue to quietly climb the steps that led her to her perch. The mama was quite upset. Sitting on the floor with her legs tucked under her to her right and her back arched. The papa monkey was attempting possible coersion of maybe even pleading. The child monkey couldn't tell. She just knew it wasn't good.

Strangely enough, she felt no emotion. From within her still young mind, she kind of knew it was the end. She just went back downstairs to her playground.

Later that evening, while bouncing habitually on the overstuffed fuzzy black couch, her parents came down and told her they needed to talk to her. Being four years old, this declaration didn't effect her like it should. Standing on the couch looking at both her mother and father, they told her they were getting a divorce. Somehow, she already knew what this meant. The first and only thought that came to mind was "Do I get to pick who I live with?". She said this with such innocence and seriousness that her parents were at a loss for words. It took what felt like ten minutes for her mother to respond.

"No."

That was the answer. She knew deep down that she wanted to stay with her dad. There was no doubt in her mind. Apparently that was not an option.

Not to long after that conversation, her mother had packed up the little monkey and her older brother's belongings and moved out. All the monkey wanted to do was be with her father.

For years to come the monkey still wished her father would have at least fought for her to stay. It never happened. As she grew into a girl, then a young lady, she often thought about asking her father to have her move in. She never could muster up the courage for fear of rejection. She never asked. He never asked for her to stay, what would give her the idea that he wanted her to.

Now as a 29 year old woman, looking back on all of this, I realize that it was better that I never went to live with my dad. Don't get me wrong, there were many of awful times between my mother and I, but as an adult, I couldn't imagine what my life would be like growing up in another city and without the friends I have met along the way. I have a great relationship with both my parents now. I never had a bad one with my father, but he got to be the good guy my whole life. In fact, my mother and father are the best of friends.

Before my stepfather passed away, he and my mother and my father and stepmother would hang out often. I couldn't ask for a better example of people acting like adults and stepping up to the plate for the sake of the kids. They both, my mom & dad, made a concious decision to get along for my brother and I. It has paid off well. Before my ex-husband and I got married, we made the decision that if our marriage ever failed, we would follow my parents' example. We have for the most part. Yes, we argue over stupid little things, but we get along and I get along with his girlfriend and the same goes for my boyfriend. Do we all hang out? No, and I don't think we ever will; as a group at least. But, I could go and have a beer with him.

This post started off as a writing exercise, but has since turned into proving a point, or maybe even a couple.

I would venture to say that the point would be that it is true: Time does heal all wounds. If you let it. Second, would be that it is possible to get over your hate and hurt and anger. At least enough for your children to know that they are loved by both of you and you will continue to parent as a team!

Perfect

She's making her way to the checkout line. Isle 15: 12 items or less. Looking into her basket, with those eyes colored sky, she becomes distraught; realizing there are 14 items. Her body just deflates and the tears start pouring.

Her perfectly tailored madras with the pink cardigan to match; the perfectly coiffed ponytail and the delicately manicured nails finished with Tea Rose Pink make her the envy of all housewives. Her Chanel sunglasses were sitting atop her honeyed hair. She slowly slid them down to shade the swelling of her eyes. No one needed to see perfection flawed.

Amidst her temporary breakdown; while trying to decide what two items to return; she turned around and nearly knocked him down. Staggering, he balanced himself on the hand-carved cane his great-grandfather gave him as a child. Confused as to what just happened, he caught a glimpse of the sad lady. He knew he wasn't supposed to, but he saw just a hint of a tear under the Chanels highlighted by the shadow of running mascara.

It was obvious to the gentleman that no one was to know she was upset. He wondered what could make someone who seemingly had everything so upset. Making his way to the checkout line, he kept looking back at her.

She couldn't bring herself to apologize. Just stared at him as if she were a doe looking into the headlights of an oncoming semi. Trying to hide her now tattered face, abruptly she turned and walked away.

Did anyone notice? Do they know? More tears start to flow. Autopilot kicks in and she just sets down her basket and walks out.

The gentleman notices her exit empty-handed. Remembering events that led him here today, he nonchalantly picked up the lady's basket and combined it with his own. He hoped he had enough time. He made his way through the line and out of the store. Like a dolphin using it's sonar, he scanned the lot in hopes of finding her. He was right in concentrating on the hoard of SUVs that took more than half of all the spaces.

There she was. Leaning against the door of her Midnight Blue Excursion. Hands just tapping at the door so rhythmically she could have been a metronome for the Boston Pops. She couldn't collect herself enough to open the door.

He walked to his own car; never letting her out of his sight. He patiently waited until she was ready. Close to a half hour had passed. She was still tapping. He was still waiting. He often took to sharpening his knife when he was watching. Sometimes this would last for hours. Slide on the whetstone. Lift the blade. Turn to the other side; slide again. Over and over and over again. The swish-scrape was soothing to him. It allowed him to concentrate on the task at hand.

Ten minutes later, she regained composure and unlocked the truck. Completely unaware of being watched, she started home. Left onto Bradbury. Seven blocks; then right on to Oak Knoll. She always had liked this route, for the shade of the elderly oaks and birch created a vast canopy. Secure and safe. She would miss this drive.

When she reached her house; she would never call this home again; she started to throw up. She knew she had to go in, but dreaded the thought. The memories, the demons, the stench of hate kept her from wanting to go into what should have been the safest place in the world. Taking a deep breath; she parked the truck and walked to the front door. Letting herself in, she took a moment to look back at the street; taking it all in. With an almost nonexistant sigh, she entered and closed the door. She never noticed the car on the street or the man from the supermarket sitting inside of it just watching her.

He never understood her kind of people. They had everything, but never seemed to appreciate it. They never seemed happy. It was almost as if they couldn't enjoy thier blessings. The deal made with the devil only allowed them to have the great life; just not enjoy it. He knew it was his calling; his responsibility to give them what they deserved. He called himself "The Helper". As far as he knew, no one had ever found out who he was. Certainly, he would not be able to continue his life's work if anyone had. He preferred to stay below the radar.

She had no idea what events were to come after bumping into the man. She knew what the afternoon was to hold before the incident. After seeing the cripple seemingly thankful for just being alive, she thought twice. It was him that made her leave the basket. The candles, the bubble bath, the cd of Bethoven, the prescriptions and the the razor blades. The reality of leaving was still tangible. But now, she realized there was more than one way to do so.

Pulling the suitcases out of the storage room, her mind started filling with the nightmares of this particular closet. How he would tie her up in here when she "misbehaved". The lashes in the drywall were still fresh with her flesh imbedded. The muzzle still smelled of sweat and tears. She quickly grabbed the suitcases before finding the broomstick.

Packing as quickly as possible; taking only the nessecary items, she heard the doorbell. Who would be calling in the middle of the afternoon? After stuffing the suitcases under the bed to hide any evidence of her departure, she went downstairs to answer.

Certainly not expecting what she found; she was in shock. There on her front stoop sat a bag. Inside the bag were the items she left at the store and a note. The note read:

You do not know me

I am "The Helper"

You seem distressed today

Please allow me to help

It seems that you needed these items

I took the liberty of fufilling your order

Please enjoy

Goodbye

She took the bag and went inside.

Stuck In A Moment

I never thought you were a fool

But darling, look at you. Ooh.

You gotta stand up straight, carry your own weight

'Cause tears are going nowhere baby



You've got to get yourself together

You've got stuck in a moment

And now you can't get out of it

Don't say that later will be better

Now you're stuck in a moment

And you can't get out of it



U2- Stuck In A Moment

I am trying to figure it out. When and where I met Bono. It must have been one hell of a conversation for him to be so affected by me and my life to write a song! This song was written for me and about me. Bono just may not know it yet.

I feel like I have been riding the same roller coaster (one word? two?) for the last year. Up and down; thrown from side to side. Sometimes nauseating; sometimes giving off that sweet tickle. You know the one I mean. But for the most part, it leaves you with a staggering headache from all the extremes. I have that headache now.

I am stuck in a moment that I can't get out of. Six months ago, I was ready to pick up and leave everything behind. My son and I were going to start over. A rebirthing. Rising from the ashes. I ended up staying. For now at least. For many small reasons and one large one. Boyfriend.

I stayed to give us another chance. And things were going great again. Now, I am back in a rut. I'm not sure he's to blame, either. Mostly, it's my insecurities, paranoia, distrust or just plain craziness. It could be the current situation too. He is somewhere that I don't want him to be. And alone. It's more the fact that he is there alone; and so is she. I am ready to throw caution to the wind; call him out and walk away.

The walking away part never seems to go smoothly for me. I tend to fold and give in when I should be strong. When I should tell him to go fuck himself, I instead let him tell me that nothing happened except for a conversation. Even though it could have, he likes to remind me. I let him tell me to trust him. It's very hard to build that up again after it has been destroyed.

Maybe the trust has been earned and I am too blind or jaded to see it. Can you ever know? I guess I have been relying on blind faith. That is why I run into walls.

So now I am stuck. Do I plan on the migration and just walk? Do I try to learn to trust again? Give him the benefit of the doubt? These are the thoughts that swarm through my already cloudy mind daily. None of them has been answered. Maybe I will have to rely on that blind faith, but this time for only myself, and get myself together and get out of this moment.