How to Join Member's Area Private Library Search Today's Topics p Login
Main Forums Discussion Tech Talk Mature Content Archives
   Nav Win
 Discussion
 pipTalk Lounge
 serenity's interactive journal   [ Page: 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  14  15  16  17  18  19  20  21  22  23  24  25  26  27  28  29  30  31  32  33  34  35  36  37  38  39  40  41  42  43  44  ]
 500 501 502 503 504 505 506 507 508 509 510 511 512 513 514 515 516 517 518 519 520 521 522 523 524
Follow us on Facebook

 Moderated by: Ron   (Admins )

 
User Options
Format for Better Printing EMail to a Friend Not Available
Admin Print Send ECard
Passions in Poetry

serenity's interactive journal

  Post New Topic   Go to the Next Oldest/Previous Topic Return to Topic Page Go to the Next Newest Topic 
nakdthoughts
Member Laureate
since 10-29-2000
Posts 19275
Between the Lines


500 posted 04-15-2004 08:40 AM       View Profile for nakdthoughts   Email nakdthoughts   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for nakdthoughts

your stories are wonderful..

M
Enchantress
Member Empyrean
since 08-14-2001
Posts 37801
Somewhere in time~


501 posted 04-15-2004 09:20 AM       View Profile for Enchantress   Email Enchantress   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Enchantress

Karen...I thank you so much.
What a beautiful story.

Thank you all for understanding.
Once more you have given me..that
'I'm not alone' feeling..

Sharon..you're on for the lunch!

Gawd I love this 'safe place' you have created Karen.
Nightshade
Deputy Moderator 5 ToursDeputy Moderator 1 TourDeputy Moderator 1 TourDeputy Moderator 1 Tour
Member Laureate
since 08-31-2001
Posts 14673
just out of reach


502 posted 04-15-2004 10:24 AM       View Profile for Nightshade   Email Nightshade   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Nightshade's Home Page   View IP for Nightshade

Sunshine
Administrator
Member Caelestus
since 06-25-99
Posts 67715
Listening to every heart


503 posted 04-15-2004 10:31 AM       View Profile for Sunshine   Email Sunshine   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Sunshine's Home Page   View IP for Sunshine









  

I think
that says
it all!
Enchantress
Member Empyrean
since 08-14-2001
Posts 37801
Somewhere in time~


504 posted 04-15-2004 01:26 PM       View Profile for Enchantress   Email Enchantress   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Enchantress



Okay...okay...only one pic I promise!
serenity blaze
Member Empyrean
since 02-02-2000
Posts 28839


505 posted 04-15-2004 01:31 PM       View Profile for serenity blaze   Email serenity blaze   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for serenity blaze

Sweet!

*beaming at you*

This is so much more fun than a tupperware party!

Love ya nance!
Sunshine
Administrator
Member Caelestus
since 06-25-99
Posts 67715
Listening to every heart


506 posted 04-15-2004 01:38 PM       View Profile for Sunshine   Email Sunshine   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Sunshine's Home Page   View IP for Sunshine


at serenity...and we don't even
have to bring our pocketbooks!
Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 09-21-1999
Posts 28608
California


507 posted 04-15-2004 10:12 PM       View Profile for Martie   Email Martie   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Martie's Home Page   View IP for Martie

Nancy Lee....and all you other wonderful people...and yes, thank you, Karen for the way this place is...The story of your son and his adoption and then rebirth into your life made me see again the mistake I made with the abortion of my first child.  I have something that I wrote of that ...some of you may have already read, but others I'm sure, haven't.  I'd like to post it here because when I first posted it....I think that no one knew what to say in reply...so it dropped.  This is a place where I know it will be heard.  If I could do it over again, I would have had that baby.

The Small Death of 1963

In the 50’s, style was petticoats and orange lipstick, and beer was the drug of choice. Our family had dinner together and watched Father Knows Best. Going steady and
making out in the back seat of a car was what nice girls did. Bad girls went all the way, slept around, got pregnant sometimes and disappeared. The only birth control I knew about was a condom, and nice girls didn’t go to the drug store for anything but ice cream sodas, that left self
control as the only option, along with guilt. Sex wasn’t talked about, it was giggled about at slumber parties. I sailed through those years and into my senior prom obeying all the rules.

When I was 19 I fell in love. He was 29 and moving on with his life. He was leaving, without any regret, to make something of his life at a big, fancy university. I wanted him to say "I can’t live without you, come with me," or "I can’t live without you I’m going to stay." He said neither.
I followed him. He didn’t whistle, although I must have seemed like a dog waiting for him to say "heel." "In
pursuit of higher education," I lied to the questioning parents. In pursuit of love, I whispered to my heart.
I left my sheltered life for the grassy hills and idealism of a university. It was like plunging from a diving board into a swimming pool and finding out you were
in the middle of the ocean instead. When I arrived, he had already disappeared into the paperback books, madras skirts
and coffee houses of intellectual pleasure. Once in a while he would call. We would ride on his scooter out of the crowded corridors of knowledge, to the hills where the buildings and roads were manageable, and the song from the bell tower less formidable. He shot golf balls into the net’s waiting arms and I watched the fog creep across San Francisco bay. Sometimes he would take me home to his one room with the mattress on the floor.
"We’ll study," he said.
"Bring your books," he said.
He studied while I memorized the colors of the fabric on his shirt, considered the glaze of his skin against the twilight desk lamp and watched the dark curls against his neck, caress his skin.

He laid his books down on the bed and stroked the printed paper, then turned to me. I loved him with the purity of youthful madness, and he responded to the silken moment and melted into me with the carelessness of his
arching back, and forgot to leave, before leaving his seed scattered and searching.

Four months later I knew I was pregnant. "Lets get married and be a family," I said, thinking at last I would be with the man I loved, forever.
"I’m not ready to get married," he said. "There’s only one thing to do." He asked a girl he knew to be my companion. "She knows what to do," he said.
Callowness doesn’t know what direction to take. There are no sign posts to tell it which way to go. I let myself be led.

There was a certain gray quality to that morning. It pressed into my skin, held my steps back, prevented the perfect breath. I could feel it hitch there in my throat as I tried not to take it in fully, but, of course I had to breathe. I couldn’t just decide that today I didn’t like the quality of the air and choose not to.
The car whined, purred then choked, a living thing, a cohort, a companion in this agony of breathing. She was beside me, red hair corking out the window, disturbing the air with its exuberance, its fiery threads. She was supposed to be my protector, my teacher, she was the one who
knew the way into this dark place where I had never been. I didn’t know her, not really, her story was locked and my gaze didn’t shift the stillness of her voice into telling.
She must have done this too, I thought. How else would she know about the doubt and feel of the tangled ropes of death and forgiveness battling in my bowels? I could tell by the tilt of her eyes and the way she watched me that she knew first-hand.
We squeezed into another country, past border guards and brightly colored pedestrians and when I turned to question her face, Death was in her eyes. Then I understood finally and forever what I was going to do.
Into the streets of noisy faces and the congestion of smells, like ripe sewage leaking into the air, we drove. I heard the cry of a baby and held the small swelling of my
body to protect it from the blaring horns and the poverty of empty faces that insisted on being present.
Like a puppet, I followed her to the cracked corner, past the swollen silent buildings, passed the glass tomb store fronts and into the white room. I wanted her to take me back to where I left the person that I was; back before that long night of heavy breathing and naked brown eyes; back before I thought that being his was all I wanted to be;
before the legs tangled, before he melted like warm honey into the sanctuary of my girlhood.
I thought I would explode onto the ceiling of that room and paint the white, sterile walls with the blood of a that blissful union. I remember wishing I could push that careless creation into "pause." Just wait, I said, till I am a little older, till I can be who I want to be, till I can be your mother. You deserve a mother.
She held my hand in the fog that descended on that day into my memory, and when I could see again, the tiny agony of life, glued to the fabric and central core of me was gone.
She held my hand still. Her freckled, long fingers trapped the small beige flutter of mine, as she pulled me into the evening.
When I returned to him later, after the white sheet confusion of day had moved into the dark and moonless fact of evening, I saw him for the first time, my vision cleared by the truth of what had happened.
"Let’s have a beer to celebrate," he said.
***

Forgive me for reposting what happened...but it is the best of ways I can say it, I still think, and thanks for being the listeners that you are.
Nightshade
Deputy Moderator 5 ToursDeputy Moderator 1 TourDeputy Moderator 1 TourDeputy Moderator 1 Tour
Member Laureate
since 08-31-2001
Posts 14673
just out of reach


508 posted 04-15-2004 10:40 PM       View Profile for Nightshade   Email Nightshade   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Nightshade's Home Page   View IP for Nightshade

Dear, dear Martie.  My heart ached for you this evening as I read your story. This must have been a terrible burden to bear. How frightened and confused you must have been.
  You are a loving, caring, generous lady. If this little soul had been meant to be born, it would have. This is the way I think. I don't know what else to say....I am tearing up again. Bless you sweet one.
Enchantress
Member Empyrean
since 08-14-2001
Posts 37801
Somewhere in time~


509 posted 04-15-2004 11:19 PM       View Profile for Enchantress   Email Enchantress   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Enchantress

Oh my dear Martie...
Hugging you so tightly  now.

We had choices to make..each one in a different circumstance.
You and I are about the same age I imagine.
And, things were very different back then.

They used to say..only the good girls get caught..the bad ones know better.

That stuck in my mind and made me feel less 'dirty'..less bad somehow.

There are so many stories like ours..
with just as many different endings.

The way yours ended was in God's plan all along. We don't know the reason...yet.

But, does it ever really end?  The wondering..what if, and if only...

Wiping the tears here.

Thank you for coming here tonight to tell of a different ending, on an all so familiar happening, and oh how my heart aches for you tonight.

Sweet gentle Martie,..you are among friends.
I am proud of you for sharing your story, and thoughts.

Love you dear lady..
Sunshine
Administrator
Member Caelestus
since 06-25-99
Posts 67715
Listening to every heart


510 posted 04-16-2004 07:50 AM       View Profile for Sunshine   Email Sunshine   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Sunshine's Home Page   View IP for Sunshine


Ah sweetheart...NancyLee is right.  We have choices to make, although some will always carry the memory of the day with them, when they gave a dream away.  No child would want a callous father...So God took the child back in...

I do so very well understand.  
Nightshade
Deputy Moderator 5 ToursDeputy Moderator 1 TourDeputy Moderator 1 TourDeputy Moderator 1 Tour
Member Laureate
since 08-31-2001
Posts 14673
just out of reach


511 posted 04-16-2004 02:18 PM       View Profile for Nightshade   Email Nightshade   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Nightshade's Home Page   View IP for Nightshade

  ....and then there are those of us who fell in love (so we thought) too young. Gave ourselves to someone who should have been just a good friend.... not a potential husband. Became pregnant at 17, final year of highschool. The daughter who was going to succeed...do great things....never disappoint...never, never, never. Instead, I had to leave school, which I had enjoyed so much, plan a wedding, and prepare for motherhood. All in one big WHOOOOOSH !!
   I was terribly ill during the first four months of my pregnancy. Still a child, in bed, wanting so badly for my mother to speak to me, comfort me. It was not to be. My father finally expressed concern to my mother about my weakening condition. She came round abit, but warned me that she would not cry at my wedding.
   I carried a heavy burden of guilt and shame. I had always shone in my parents eyes. Not now. The worst thing of all, my mother was dying of cancer. Oh, she wasn't hospitalized yet....but soon. The sadness in her eyes when she would look at me - which wasn't often, was almost too much to bear. The only person who helped me smile back then was my sister, Nancy Lee. The two of us....two little black sheep in a family who wanted pure white lambs.
  So, I was married in March 1968 - a beautiful baby girl was born after 18 hours of labour in that October. We brought her home on a rainy, cold day. I looked at her and thought.... "now what?" I was still a kid myself. I know ! We'll grow up together you and I. That's the ticket. So we did.
   My mother passed away January 1969, three months after my daughters birth. She did get to hold her finally before entering hospital for the last time. I placed the precious bundle in her arms and Mom stared down at the pink, soft skin and bluer than blue eyes. "She is perfect." my mother whispered through tears.  I think......I pray, she had forgiven me.
   When my daughter was 11 years old, her father and I divorced. We gave it a good try though.
   I guess what I am getting at is, no matter what decisions we make in life, no matter the outcome of an action taken, we are only human. I don't believe any of us meant to hurt or embarrass or disappoint anyone. The world didn't stop turning, life continued on, and heaven still waits.
Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 09-21-1999
Posts 28608
California


512 posted 04-16-2004 02:41 PM       View Profile for Martie   Email Martie   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Martie's Home Page   View IP for Martie

   "I guess what I am getting at is, no matter what decisions we make in life, no matter the outcome of an action taken, we are only human. I don't believe any of us meant to hurt or embarrass or disappoint anyone. The world didn't stop turning, life continued on, and heaven still waits."

Chris...it is so true.  Growing is often a hard road...and the rocky part is where all the lessons are that show us how to go the rest of the way.  Thank you for sharing this piece of your life.  I have another similar story, but I'll save it for later.

  
serenity blaze
Member Empyrean
since 02-02-2000
Posts 28839


513 posted 04-16-2004 02:46 PM       View Profile for serenity blaze   Email serenity blaze   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for serenity blaze

Martie?

me too.

Not quite like that tho...

No.

It was a lot different in the eighties.

I wish I had the wisdom to write the words that could comfort you, but I only know what is right for me.

As I think on regrets for all the things that I've done in my life, it's difficult to imagine. I'm just getting to a point, where I like me a little bit, and I wouldn't be this person without the errors, without the tears. It's unlikely I would have had the children that I do have, without knowing that particular untimely soul who preceded them.

So I have come to terms with that particular aspect of my past. And as harsh as it seems, the experience of that time makes up a very essential part of me. I am sad that it took such an extreme for me to finally open my eyes, but I'll always consider that brief life that fluttered in me a sort of volunteer soul--a very wise little being that stepped in so I could understand the sanctity of life.

And if that's just a romantic rationalization, I also shrug and say, so what? Because the truth is, I did change after that, and when I did give birth to my children a few years later, I looked upon parenthood as a privilege of guardianship. I don't believe I ever took the lives of my kids for granted. (Hard to imagine, but there are people who do.)

I always remembered the first one.

They don't explain that, even in the modern clinical settings either.

Nobody ever mentioned that women mourn.

But oh, how we do just that...

*   *   *

Hugs and blessings Martie, and to you all...

and yes, I'll be back.
serenity blaze
Member Empyrean
since 02-02-2000
Posts 28839


514 posted 04-17-2004 02:52 AM       View Profile for serenity blaze   Email serenity blaze   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for serenity blaze

Now, if ya'll don't mind? I do believe I mentioned that I am an excellent party hostess.

and for some reason? TUPPERWARE is resounding tonight. Yep, good people, serenity actually hosted a tupperware party.

It did quite well on sales too.

I also boasted the most MEN in attendance than previously scored. (I don't know why that was an extra award for my sponsor, but it was.)

See? What men don't generally understand, is that once a party is given for you--(my baby shower) you are obligated to reciprocate.

So...OH. WAIT.

I have to tell about the pink party.

The first party was a Mary Kay group dynamic:

Before the tupperware party,? I was hit with an invitation to a cosmetics party. And yes, on my invitation, underneath the practical printeds, was hand-inked, "I came to yours--you come to mine.."

Yup. Obligation.

So I grabbed the hubby, and got a rare babysitter (I promise you that I can count on two fingers how often that occurred) so yes, I/he attended a Mary Kay Make Up Party.

My husband was actually looking forward to the facial. I was too.

(He needed it. )

So we went, off to a party, that, well, the rules of which were beyond our understanding.

(and yes, there was a pink cadillac parked in my friend's drive.)

So we entered by way of a weird sideporch that wrapped to the front door, and upon ringing her bell, I had the door open in mid-ping to reveal a woman, lips outlined in bozo-esque surrealism, handing me and my husband nametags.

OH.

oh.

(It's gonna be like this...)

*wince*

So we filled in the blanks and entered.

There we made the mandatory introductions (barely).

We were one minute till late.

*  *  *

Then this woman, dressed completely in pink, stood, and told her Mary Kay Success story (all the while praising the line of Mary Kay cosmetics that kept her looking young and fresh. She even bragged on her sex life.)

Sheesh.

(We wished she hadn't.)

I looked at her and thought that women over thirty should NOT wear frosts over the eyes.

(It just adds drama to the tiny lines and wrinkles, yanno?)

I really thought I was doing a good job though. I learned my lessons long ago and I "oooohed" and "ahhhhhhhhhed" accordingly, passing the cosmetics around, as she explained shadowing and drapery to those of us who hadn't yet painted backdrops for the art department.

I mean, it's not my cup of tea, but I REALLY thought I was behaving myself.

Then Kathe' motioned for me from the kitchen.

"Who?" MOI? I pointed at my chest.

"Yes--you--Ellen." She stared ice. "Help me in the kitchen please?"

oh.

Of course.

*  *  *

"So what's up Ellen?"

She asked me with a pointed eye.

I blushed and smiled, pointing silently to my name tag.

I had written, "Ellen James", where I should have put...shrug, did it matter?

*giggle*

.  .  .

Just a nod to John Irving, I had thought when I wrote the name. It didn't occur to me that no one would know...

sigh.

OH.

I was wrong.

*  *  *

"Why are you so bad?"

She had understood my joke immediately, but I guess it was out of place.

*  *  *

In fact?

I ordered a few products and signed for them all, as "Ellen James."



They had no problem with the billing.

But this just shows the attitude I had to wimmen-parties...

I never liked them much till now.
serenity blaze
Member Empyrean
since 02-02-2000
Posts 28839


515 posted 04-17-2004 03:38 AM       View Profile for serenity blaze   Email serenity blaze   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for serenity blaze

People's Parties

They are on my mind tonight.

I'm listening to "Rosetta" by Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys--remembering listening to this same song through the walls on those special nights when music lasted longer than bedtime, and how I would hop up, begging for a peek and a glass of water, to catch my Dad actually dancing with my mom...not understanding the husk in the voice, but fascinated that they actually touched.

"Go to Bed."

They both agreed.

There were nights I'd slide down the wall, and listen...in the hall, out of sight, not for them, but the music--Chet Atkins, Bob Wills, and of course, Hank Sr.

I learned to love a fiddle.

I was tapping toes before three.

I understood...

Loretta Lynn?

It was just that humanity in her voice, and Patsy?

ohhhhhhhhhhhhh...

Patsy Cline quivered resonance before I knew what that meant.

I just shuddered skinny shoulders, amazed that it could happen.

but sometimes? When my Dad was at work, I heard the blunt intro flats of Herb Alpert, and I wondered at the effect that it had...

*happy music*

In that coffin-styled stereo-cabinet, my mother's pride and joy, she stacked the discs, pressed to play, one, after the other.
She wore cotton shirt dresses, button-downed, dancing as she cooked, sometimes saying,

"come here boo"

and then she'd dance with me.

smile...

I'm listening to her music this morning, (Mexi-cali Rose now) wondering if she knew, that once upon a time, I watched her dance...

And blushing, wondering now, if my kids watch me...

Sunshine
Administrator
Member Caelestus
since 06-25-99
Posts 67715
Listening to every heart


516 posted 04-17-2004 08:15 AM       View Profile for Sunshine   Email Sunshine   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Sunshine's Home Page   View IP for Sunshine

When I saw the jump in numbers on this thread, I knew I should read.  But I grabbed the Kleenex box as I came in.  Good thing, too...

so many memories floating about now...
garysgirl
Deputy Moderator 10 ToursDeputy Moderator 5 ToursDeputy Moderator 1 Tour
Member Seraphic
since 09-29-2002
Posts 20064
Florida, USA


517 posted 04-17-2004 11:11 AM       View Profile for garysgirl   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit garysgirl's Home Page   View IP for garysgirl

Hi everybody,
forgive me for skipping over from the last page where Karen was telling about her friend Kay-TUH. Something she said about responsibility and the "rat-hole apartment" she lived in to have her babies reminded me of something........

When I finally decided to leave my daughter's real Daddy, after five years of wondering if I would survive the night and wake the next morning....my daughter and I moved into a VERY small trailer. It was a cute little thing not much bigger than a travel trailer. I have always loved to collect things....what-nots, dolls, salt and pepper shakers...all kinds of dust catchers. Well, I honestly didn't know where I was going to put all my stuff, plus have somewhere for me and my little girl to sleep and live...but I did. I remember that I felt so free and that I could breathe again. I didn't have someone that threatened to kill me, my daughter and himself every day. He said that if he couldn't have me, no-one else would. Anyway, all that is a story that continued until he died just a few years ago. He would not leave me alone....but right now, I want to tell ya'll about the cute little trailer....

It was so cute...and little....but I really fixed that little place up for me and Tonia. The land-lady told my Mom that I had it looking like a little doll house. I don't know how, because I didn't have a lot of money, and my ex never thought he should pay child support. He thought that would make me go back to him....that and trying to make me feel guilty.

I worked at a nylon factory...and I had a blast!!! (and I have so many stories about that factory where I worked shift work. ahahahaha)

I loved that little trailer that Tonia and I lived in...it was home to us for a little while......we could have stayed with my Mama and Daddy and had things a lot easier, but then I would have had to be a perfectly good little girl all the time....just like if I lived with them now???  
garysgirl
Deputy Moderator 10 ToursDeputy Moderator 5 ToursDeputy Moderator 1 Tour
Member Seraphic
since 09-29-2002
Posts 20064
Florida, USA


518 posted 04-17-2004 11:20 AM       View Profile for garysgirl   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit garysgirl's Home Page   View IP for garysgirl

AWWWW, Nancy, he is just as adorable as you are!!!
Ya'll are sooo cute!!
I LOVE happy endings...now I've got to go read some more.   (from joy and memories)
garysgirl
Deputy Moderator 10 ToursDeputy Moderator 5 ToursDeputy Moderator 1 Tour
Member Seraphic
since 09-29-2002
Posts 20064
Florida, USA


519 posted 04-17-2004 11:34 AM       View Profile for garysgirl   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit garysgirl's Home Page   View IP for garysgirl

Dear sweet Martie, I understand why you would think this was the thing to do.

I was also brought up at that time of life in the 50's. The only difference is that I got married when I was 17 because I thought that I could have my freedom and do what I wanted to do...that I would be out from underneath the strictness that I was raised under....oh my, what a mistake I made. But, "I made my bed and had to lay in it", I was told.....

Martie....

garysgirl
Deputy Moderator 10 ToursDeputy Moderator 5 ToursDeputy Moderator 1 Tour
Member Seraphic
since 09-29-2002
Posts 20064
Florida, USA


520 posted 04-17-2004 11:47 AM       View Profile for garysgirl   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit garysgirl's Home Page   View IP for garysgirl

Oh Chris, I wasn't pregnant when I got married...but only because I HONESTLY thought that my Daddy would beat me to death if I did get pregnant, so I just went ahead and got married. I should have just stayed friends, too. My Daddy was so against the marriage that he offered him money to stay away from me and not call for two weeks....Daddy told him that I would have someone else by then, and I probably would have had....because I didn't love him. Instead, I quit regular high school and finished my last year at the Adult High School....me, who had taken college preparatory classes since the 8th grade...the one of my Dad's two kids who didn't have to study to make A's and B's....the one who had a bright future....who had to work to provide a living for her daughter, who she got pregnant with not long after the ceremony.

I never seemed to have the money or the time to go back to school to get a college education, though I've wished so many times that I had.

The marriage didn't even last 5 years.....
Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 08-02-99
Posts 9130
Purgatorial Incarceration


521 posted 04-17-2004 01:32 PM       View Profile for Christopher   Email Christopher   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Christopher

something from above caught my eye:
quote:
Nobody ever mentioned that women mourn.
if one knows a woman, they also know the truth of this.
Sunshine
Administrator
Member Caelestus
since 06-25-99
Posts 67715
Listening to every heart


522 posted 04-18-2004 01:53 PM       View Profile for Sunshine   Email Sunshine   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Sunshine's Home Page   View IP for Sunshine

Mother’s Wallflower

She was almost always right.

I balked at the idea of a homemade winter dress for the eighth grade dance.  How childish!  How peasant!  How poor.  But she decided on a satiny cotton white on white, with small graceful white flowers almost appearing as if they were snowflakes, perhaps, if I knew snow, there in the valley of Santa Maria, California.  It was she who decided that a long, deep-red velvet bow should grace the almost 13 year old wasp-waist, and it was she who decided that the smallest of tinkling bells should hang from the inverted V ends.  But oh!  Disgraced, I was, in the black “ballet slippers”, which were, as she thought, like “Audrey Hepburn’s shoes” in Sabrina.  Not real ballet slippers, but soft “slip-ons” with NO height and NO heel.  

She wanted to keep me a child.  

I had no date.  I didn’t need to go.  But, it was my first winter dance.  Just to watch it, might be worth hugging the wall.  No one would notice me, anyway.  I wasn’t popular – not the way Mom dressed me.  I wanted to see how it was done, how people acted, I wanted it to be – special.  She, of course, was ruining the special of it.  But the material had been bought, and if white weren’t bad enough, she pulled out a pattern that was old!  It was a dress, full skirted, summer sleeved, jewel neckline, from the 50’s!  Oh, the shame!!!

The look from my father’s eyes told me a thankful voice was required.  Mother pulled more than her weight around, and to eyeball the material and put together a dress almost overnight with the help of the old Singer machine, well, where WERE my manners?

Dad could shame a rolly-polly pill bug into curling up, just with the look of a silent “What?” in order to shame his intended victim into instant remorse for even having raised an eyebrow.

So when I became quiet, very quiet, and helped her as I could, with the process of putting together this hated dress, she commented, “You are always thinking.  Your mind is always going somewhere, and someday, it will find a road on which it will be happy.”  I have always remembered those words.  Because indeed, even today, it seems I can’t turn off the thoughts.  Ever.

Notice how, when you are driving with someone, or walking with someone, and you ask, “what are you thinking?” they say “nothing”.  How can anyone be thinking of “nothing”?  How does that happen?  Isn’t there SOME thought going through their mind?  Even if it is that they don’t want to be with the person they’re with?  Is that it?  Is that person, “nothing”?

Sometimes.

My father claimed the dress “magnificent!” I can still feel the blush on my cheeks from his proud eyes.  Then he slipped that look of pride toward mother, who could make something out of “nothing” and I looked down at the black slippers on my feet, confused over the feelings and thoughts I had.  The mirror lied, showing a young girl with summer blonde hair swept back and held up with her going-out-to-dinner combs.  The white of the dress brought up the pink in my cheeks.  I was a color combination of sun and pink, sitting on winter white.  Just a simple wallflower.

Both mother and father had spent that week teaching me how to “dance” to their music, slow timed waltzes, the Foxtrot, the Two-Step, even [horrors!] the Charleston.  Really!  It was 1964!  Didn’t they know about the Beatles?  I mean, we had ALL watched the Ed Sullivan show!

I tried to hug the walls.  I really did.  I saw the boys looking at me, grins on their faces.  My dress was not the colors of the year, nor was it fashionable.  It was, heaven forbid, classic from the shoulders down.  I found a wall, and put my back up against it.  Cool, almost chilly, I stood there and watched the colors of the season gyrate around me to music that was louder than I had ever heard, but I could catch the words, and I listened to them, as people I knew floated around me, talking, laughing, enjoying life.  

The white dress begged me not to hold the red punch, or pick up any cookies or cake, for fear of my ever-clumsy self, dripping color onto the snow in flow.  Because, as I moved, the skirt took on a life of its own, and I was unaware of how it rippled beneath the still slender colt-like limbs.  I was also unaware of the shimmer of it, as the embroidered sheen caught the lights and glimmered easily.  

All I was aware of was the goofy grins from gangly boys and the tell-tale smell of an old gymnasium, which had once belonged to the Air Base military men. I thought of my father, who could never serve, 4F as he was due to his allergies.  I thought of my mother, who had stayed up late sewing a dress I thought I despised, but the small flowers that almost looked like snow was growing dear to me.  Ashamed, I kept my eyes down, my ears and heart listening to the music of the Righteous Brothers, the Beach Boys, and those upstarts, the Beatles, as the platter turned, and spun the night along.

Then, one of the younger, and very handsome teachers, approached me.  I was not in any of his classes, and he was spending a night away from his family, to act as a chaperone.  He bridged the time between my parents and myself, and quite possibly [as hindsight is] saw both stories to the equation of the little wallflower.

He asked if I would like to dance.  My heart stopped.  My breath stopped.  To dance would mean to walk away from the wall, which, at that particular moment, I would have sworn was holding me up.  But his hand was out, and I put mine, slowly, hesitatingly, into his.  Surely, surely, this was just me, thinking of what I wanted to happen.  Some tall stranger [my mother always said I was thinking!] would walk up to me and true to Cinderella, I would dance a step or two.  I would be the one all eyes were watching.  I would be the Belle of the Winter Dance.

I truly don’t remember what eyes were on me, if any.  It was enough to concentrate on the slow, moving music, and to be in the arms of a very handsome man, who would not kiss me, or walk me home, let alone drive me there, for my father would soon be along to chariot me home.  But the music didn’t seem to stop, one slow tune fell into another, and then he simply said, “thank you so much for the privilege.”  

I had danced, not with any of the gangly boys during the fast, heaving dances of the day, but some slow, graceful dances that only a gangly Fred Astaire could perform with his beautiful Ginger.  I do remember coming to my senses, and realizing that the teacher and I were one of the few on the dance floor.  That was when the burn came to the cheeks, for the wallflower had dared to step away from the wall, and people, peers, were watching.  That wasn’t right.  I was a thinker, and watcher.  I wasn’t to be thought of, while being watched.

I thought it providential that Dad showed up just then, poking his head through the gym doors, to see if I was ready to go home, a tad early before the closing down of the dance.  I didn’t mind.  Knowing that I had been watched, while slow dancing with a very handsome man, was shame enough.  I couldn’t even dance with a young man my own age.  An older, very handsome gentle man had felt sorry for me.  

At least, that’s how I looked at it then.

Perhaps time is its own teacher in ways we don’t think about, until we see or feel, or hear, or smell something that brings the moment back.  That’s when our total perception of the time kicks in to high gear, and we view it, almost as a soul out of body.  Everything comes back, except the embarrassment.  The blush, perhaps, shades our cheek again, for a moment, as the light of the evening casts the events as it truly happened, and the shadows step back, letting wallflowers emerge.

Mother was almost always right.  Someday, you will know of another time, and another instance, where she was almost right, again.
Enchantress
Member Empyrean
since 08-14-2001
Posts 37801
Somewhere in time~


523 posted 04-20-2004 09:38 PM       View Profile for Enchantress   Email Enchantress   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Enchantress

Such a tender, story Karilea.

How thoughtful of that teacher...I can't help but wonder if he knew exactly how you felt.  Somehow though I can't even picture you as a wallflower.  
Shy maybe..at first, but not a wallflower.

AND, I'll just bet you looked beautiful, and the dress was, yes, beautiful as well.

My grandmother used to sew..some of the most outlandish outfits for Chris and I..she had started to go blind in one eye..later in life, but continued on sewing..sorry, (that memory just came back.) Guess she didn't realize what things looked like she was attemping to make as she grew older and her eyes gave out

When I was young I can remember the pinafores she made me for kindergarden, with embroidered butterflies on the frilly skirt part.  

She also sewed all the glitzy show costumes for the family. LOL..as they wore out I got them to wear for Halloween.  I loved going as a dance hall queen or a cancan dancer.  

Thank you for this story..and the memory that was triggered.

Yanno?

It's so quiet in here tonight I feel as though I could just sit here and talk all night.

Not to worry...I'll just sit a spell, then go, quietly shutting the door behind me.

Nite and hugs all.
Sunshine
Administrator
Member Caelestus
since 06-25-99
Posts 67715
Listening to every heart


524 posted 04-20-2004 10:32 PM       View Profile for Sunshine   Email Sunshine   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Sunshine's Home Page   View IP for Sunshine

NancyLee?  You still around?  This is for you...

I Remember the Roof

We still lived in Culver City then.  In the 1950's, it was a good time for California. It was before there were dads taking kids to the job with them, before moms really worked outside the home, while raising a family.  I do not recall why I was with Dad that day, but I would imagine, knowing myself as I do now, that it was because I had asked; moreover, because my Dad had a soft heart.  I only know that we never talked about it in later days, and I probably know why.  Dad had done what he wanted.  He never questioned his actions.

I was born in Los Angeles proper, and exactly as proper, I was delivered in a hospital known as the City of Angels, which is a direct namesake of Los Angeles.  Chances are, you know that.  Our family resided in a side district, known as Culver City.  To this day, I remember the one conversation in which my dad was most remorseful: he did not have one thousand dollars to put into an acquisition of real estate, which would later become "prime land."  Dad now resided in California, but his roots were in South Dakota.  Mom's roots were in Oklahoma.  No wonder I never felt like I belonged in California.

Later on, my siblings and I learned that the "prime land" eventually yielded a multi-storied apartment building.  It was southerly of where the first home in which I resided.  Knowing what I know now, I would not live there today.  But way back then, when Dad spoke of this fact, which he did not do often, I felt regret for him.  I would have bestowed to him that one thousand dollars, if I had it then to offer, and if I knew it should or could have been given.  At the time, it was not mine to give.  I remember the tone of conversation, as if Dad had let us down, and it was something for which we should forgive him.  In hindsight, he was sorry.  In hindsight, I am not sorry.  He always gave of his heart, which strengthens me to this day.

I am off on a tangent.  What I wanted to tell you was the day I knew I was my father's girl.  I had learned from him, because of his qualities, that if subjected to a task, I would rise to it.  He did that for me.  Yes, I will have questions on something I do not know how to do, but that will not keep me from performing a task.  It also probably helped provide me with my bullheadedness.  All because my Dad put a hammer in my hand.

He had taken me to work with him one day.  In California, every day is mostly summer, so I do not remember the exact month…but it was sunny and warm, of course.  To my knowledge, my Mom was not ill, and there was most likely no school that day.  I just recall being up on the roof of a home that was in the process of being constructed, and I was going to be a part of that construction.  The feeling of deep pleasure, of confidence, is what I remember best.  I also recall that he said something akin to "a nail should only be hit three times."  One time for positioning of the nail, once for strength, and the last, for the final result.   Somehow I always equated this with Jesus.  Dad was so very exact on the number of times I felt there had to be a reason.  Jesus was a carpenter.  

My dad taught me this technique, and he taught it well.  Even to this day, I know a weak nail, when it does not position correctly the first time.  It will usually bend.  They don't make nails well any more.  They quit making houses correctly a long time ago.  That was when Dad got out of construction.  "I won't be part of something that won't outlast me," he had said.  Dad also helped me learn not to be afraid to tackle something head on, like a nail.  However, I also believe that because people have emotions, I may have not followed through as well as my Dad would have wanted.  Roofing nails, to my knowledge, do not have feelings.  People do.  Dad was aware of people's feelings.  I have always felt as if I inhabited a person's feelings.

That day on the roof, Dad and I bonded, but back then it wasn't known as bonding.  Dads were dads, and kids were kids.  I was not aware of the dynamics of the situation at that time.  I only knew at the time that dad wanted me there, and I could feel that! He told the fellows that worked with him on that house, "this is my daughter," and I beamed!  

If there was a lesson in climbing up upon a roof, then in listening to his instructions, I did not know it at that time.  If there was a lesson in looking down, and being careful, they were then lessons well learned.  There was also, most likely, a lesson in looking up.  He had me look up into the sky, mostly, I think, so I would have some perspective when looking down.  Up was much higher.  Down wasn't that far, after all.  I could get hurt falling down, but I most likely wouldn't die.  Falling up, well, that was a different direction, after all.

So that day, on the roof, I helped my Dad pound in some roofing nails.  I probably also pounded some resolve into my soul.  I believe on that day, it is exactly what my dad wanted me to learn.  He did that for me.  He allowed me to be lifted up, to know that there would always be something over me, and to not be afraid of what could hurt me.  I will always remember being there with him, up on the roof.

It was a good place to be.  We should all spend at least one day on a roof.
 
  Post New Topic   Go to the Next Oldest/Previous Topic Return to Topic Page Go to the Next Newest Topic 
All times are ET (US) Top
  User Options
>> Discussion >> pipTalk Lounge >> serenity's interactive journal   [ Page: 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  14  15  16  17  18  19  20  21  22  23  24  25  26  27  28  29  30  31  32  33  34  35  36  37  38  39  40  41  42  43  44  ] Format for Better Printing EMail to a Friend Not Available
Print Send ECard

 

pipTalk Home Page | Main Poetry Forums

How to Join | Member's Area / Help | Private Library | Search | Contact Us | Today's Topics | Login
Discussion | Tech Talk | Archives | Sanctuary



© Passions in Poetry and netpoets.com 1998-2013
All Poetry and Prose is copyrighted by the individual authors