Category Archives: Six Word Memoirs

On missing, longing for, the little things

After reading the article below, it became shocking clear to me how much I miss and desperately long for the little things that make a marriage/intimate relationship so fullfilling.

In my marriage, my husband was the strong one who carried the weight of the families safety and security (as I perceived it incorrectly during the marriage, in theory more than reality due to the physical and emotional harm he actually had caused) on his shoulders. He was a very loving and nurturing partner and father and always an outstanding provider.

Whenever he would get sick, like a minor cold, or stepped on a rock that bruised his heel, or witnessed someone that was sick and sure he was coming down with something fatal like dengue fever, malaria, or west nile virus, lol, I happily and lovingly tended to my sick and on the verge of death spouse’s every need. And I did so happily and lovingly as it was one of the very few times I could be his source of comfort and his strength and backbone. I loved to care for him when he was struck with a “killer cold”. It gave me the chance to be his everything.

The other situation that I always came through for him was our Snake/Spider agreement. I handled any encounter with snakes for him as he was deathly afraid of them and he in return handled any spider encounters for me due to my insane arachnophobia. Btw, I think I may have saved him from more snake encounters as in our line of work we seemed to come across a lot. It made me feel incredible useful.

Being single now for almost two years has brought to the surface some emotions about the little things that I loved about being married. I miss that kind of closeness and long to feel and be that role for someone once again.

The bottom line is, I miss being in love. I miss have a partner to walk through life with and yes, I miss making soup for my guy who has a cold and kissing his forehead. I miss picking out the very best kleenex for him so his nose doesn’t become as red as rudolphs. I miss being tender and affectionate and have tenderness, affection, and love showed to me.

I miss the little things that create a bond between two people and sharing my life with someone. I miss love.

A Couple’s Worst Nightmare: The Common Cold – DivineCaroline

http://www.divinecaroline.com/22077/124497-couple-s-worst-nightmare-common-cold

Why Lily White

English: Lily in garden

Image via Wikipedia

The term Lily White has a long and ugly past as it applies to American history and its culture.

Specifically, the term Lily-White Movement, as defined by Wikipedia, was an anti-civil-rights movement within the Republican Party in the United States in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The movement was a response to the political and socioeconomic gains made by African-Americans following the Civil War and the Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution, which eliminated slavery.  Black leaders gained increasing influence in the party by organizing blacks as an important voting bloc. Conservative white groups attempted to eliminate this influence and recover white voters who had defected to the Democratic Party.

“The lily white movement is one of the darkest and underexamined eras of US Republicanism.”

This movement is largely credited with driving blacks out of the Republican party during the early 20th century, setting the stage for their eventual support of the Democrats.

In essence, the movements goal was to suppress the votes (or in my opinion, the VOICE and Validity) of Black Americans.

As I began to speak up and speak out about a problem that touches far to many lives I realized pretty quickly that most people didn’t want to hear about the reality of the problem. It almost seemed as though the words I spoke offended a falsely innocent view of american culture and the violence that is going on in american children’s lives at the hands of adults, usually the adults that are closest to them.

A few definitions from around the web:

Defined by Double-Tongued.org

1.) Lilywhite

n. a person without a police record; someone who does not trigger suspicions; a clean-skin.

This particular definition is the one that solidified my decision to use the term as the Pseudonym I would blog under. I started blogging specifically because the subject of Childhood Sexual Abuse, a subject that has recently and violently thrust itself into mine and my family’s life, was one that seemed to offend the public so much so that even as a victim/survivor, speaking about any aspect of the issue is highly frowned upon publicly. As I understood it, if I wanted to speak up, if I wanted to talk about this issue, it would have to be done privately and somewhat UNDER THE RADAR, so to speak.

The bottom line is, MY VOICE WON’T BE SILENCED. I WON’T CONFORM AND SHUT UP. But like many things, sometimes the best approach is one that is the least abrasive, for the moment at least.

I have quoted Dr. King many times before on this blog. Here are some that have resonated with me:

He who passively accepts evil is as much involved in it as he who helps to perpetrate it. He who accepts evil without protesting against it is really cooperating with it.
Martin Luther King, Jr.

In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.
Martin Luther King, Jr.

Nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity.
Martin Luther King, Jr.

Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.
Martin Luther King, Jr.
The hottest place in Hell is reserved for those who remain neutral in times of great moral conflict.
Martin Luther King, Jr.

TheFreeDictionary.com

2.) lil·y-white (ll-hwt, -wt)

adj.

1. White as a lily.
2. Beyond reproach; blameless.
3. Informal Excluding or seeking to exclude Black people.
lily-white

adj

1. (Fine Arts & Visual Arts / Colours) of a pure white lily-white skin
2. Informal pure; irreproachable
3. US informal

a.  discriminating against Blacks a lily-white club
b.  racially segregated

Adj. 1. lily-white – restricted to whites only; “under segregation there were even white restrooms and white drinking fountains”; “a lily-white movement which would expel Negroes from the organization”

white

segregated, unintegrated – separated or isolated from others or a main group; “a segregated school system”; “a segregated neighborhood”

2. lily-white – of a pure white color.

achromatic, neutral – having no hue; “neutral colors like black or white

 

Yourdictionary.com

3.) lily-white

adjective

white as a lily

innocent and pure; unsullied: often used sarcastically

practicing discrimination against, or segregation of, nonwhites, esp. blacks

 

White Washing or White Washed has a specific meaning as well and I found would be appropriate to be included into the Pseudonym.

To white wash something would be To conceal or gloss over (wrongdoing, for example).

The biggest problem with CSA is the refusal of adults to acknowledge that there is a problem at all.

This post is a work in progress and may be revised…

 

Watch “Billy Joel- She’s got a way” on YouTube

Secondary Survivors Support Group

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I’ve found out that there is a Secondary Survivors Support Group in my area. There are support groups for the Primary survivors as well but it seems like its for adult survivors. I’m gonna go to this meeting and hopefully they will know if or where I can find a group for teen survivors for my daughter to attend.
She participated in group therapy with about four girls her age at the end of her year long one on one councelling. She really loved the group therapy because she met and bonded with a few girls who knew exactly what it feels like to be a CSA survivor. Truth is, its great to have support of any kind but its different when you have the benefit of support from people who’ve suffered the same trauma as you. They have experienced the same roller coaster of complex emotions and have thought the same thoughts that are unique to your shared traumatic experiences.
This is what I’ve been searching for. Others out there like me who have lived through the same unfortunate kind of trauma that I can connect with and maybe even start to find some healing.
Hopefully the group that meets weekly in my area is the first step in the right direction towards finding some peace, the light at the end of the tunnel that I’ve been searching for so long for.

Lessons of Failed Relationships

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Plinky prompt:
Share a lesson you wish you had learned earlier in life.

Every failed relationship you have ever had is your fault.

I’m not saying that you were the reason your ex cheated, absolutely refused to work, or was abusive… but you chose that person to be your partner – potentially unaware of the ‘type’ of person he or she was, and remained in that relationship up to a certain point… that point was when you learned your lesson.

… think about your last relationship, and why it ended…. There was something there that you just would not accept… and because of that, your relationship came to an end. Something else happened, though… you became smarter.

750 words 1-2-12

Today my inspiration for writing will be taken from the closest book to me. A wrinkle in time. I opened it to a random page, 90, and chose a random sentence to write about…or not. I guess we will see were this goes.

The sentence:

This was far worse than the nothingness had been; while she was nothing there was no need to breathe, but now her lungs were squeezed together so that although she was dying for want of air there was no way for her lungs to expand and contract, to take in the air that she must have to stay alive.

Ok, I’m writing on my cell phone keypad so this might take a while but here we go.

While writing out the sentence from the book it brought to mind times when I was a child playing with a friend named jeffrey. His mother and my mother were best friends so we played together often. Jeff had a swimming pool and we spent many hot south carolina summer days in that pool. It was an above ground circular pool so one of our favorite game was to try to create a whirlpool. Everyone i n the pool would push the water with their bodies around and around traveling around the perimeter of the pool until all of the water was moving so fast that you could lift your legs and float on the current. The passage from the book reminded me specifically of another game we wpuld play. We would try to see who could hold their breathe the longest under water. I remember a time that I wanted to win so badly I stayed under the water so long that my body started taking over and trying to force itself to breathe. It was almost as if my body was convulsing in a way. What the hell was wrong with me. Had I lost so many times that I was that desperite to win a silly game. I remember when I finally came up and took my first breathe it was like it was insufficient. Only after many many very deep breain the of are and quite a bit of time breathing heavily did I feel like the oxygen was getting to the places it needed to be. I don’t recall whether I won that round or not but I damn sure remember how my body took over and tryed to force itself to inhale and exhale while I was under water.

We had a lot of fun in that pool. Makes me wanna buy one for my kiddos. That’s not even a possibility right now as I don’t know how much longer I’ll be aloud to live in my house. Foreclosure is a little slice of hell on earth. In a way, this foreclosure business is very similar to that day in the pool. I’m underwater holding my breath trying to hold on as long as possible just looking to win a little extra time in my home. I can feel myself suffocating, dying a little inside as time presses on and presses in on me, presses down on me and compresses my chest, the thoughts of being homeless knocks the wind out of me.

I bought the book, a wrinkle in time, for my teenage daughter. I remember being in elementary school and one of my teachers read it to our class. It was magical. When I seen it at the store I asked if she had ever read it. She said she hadn’t so I bought it in hopes that she to would love it like I had. Well, she hasn’t read it yet, she’s been reading some vampire series. Not the twilight one, something different. So while she indulges in vampires I decided to read the book again to see if it still held the same magic it once had. I just started reading it today and I gotta say, I’m having a hard time getting into it. Maybe the magic is reserved for young hearts. I don’t know but I guess after I read it I’ll know for sure.

I guess in a way the magic you experience in your youth will forever remain locked in your young heart, something to be relived through the magic and mystery of that bittersweet thing we call nostalgia. I’ve played the “who can stay under the water the longest” game with my kids in my mom and dads pool and it has lost its former appeal. Now the joy is letting my youngest win the game, who had previously been to scared to put her head under water and just discovered this past summer that she could safely and that she liked it. Or trying my best to talk my oldest, who refuses to play childrens games, into playing.

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This is the analysis after my writing. I love the 750 words website. Its so cool.

A whole new can of worms…

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Its 4am and I can’t get to sleep. I’ve already cleaned out my closet. Hung some curtains and relocated some of my moms clothes to another closet. The thing is, today is going to be a bittesweet day. It has huge potential for being a day that open up the proverbial can of worms. Im not a huge fan of worms, even the packaged sort. Ugh, im crossing my fingers and hoping for the best.

Insurance Salesmen: Fear the Reaper

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“There are worse things in life than death. Have you ever spent an evening with an insurance salesman?”

~Woody Allen~

Btw, my husband was an insurance salesman when we first started dating. Lol, where was this ingenious quote then. I sure could have used a bit of Woody Allen wisdom as well as some relationship redirection.

This brings me back to a previous post http://wp.me/p1hqVQ-uZ

The story behind the image:

One crazy and emotion filled night me and my bff were  going through some boxes of my husbands old junk that he never unpacked when we moved into our house. The goal was to sort the junk, trash unecessary crap, condense the keepables and rebox it up labeled.

We get into a pile of some of the stuff he’d kept from his days as an insurance salesman. There where pages and pages and piles of leads (really, why would he keep that crap for 12 years) and pay check stubs.

Then we seen it. Laying there like a treasure of hilarity waiting patiently for the day it would be found and appreciated to the asurdity it was.

WHO THE HELL NEEDS A MINITURE BRIEFCASE!?!?

We laughed for hours, making up and acting out scenarios in which one would use such a small briefcase. Mocking and laughing at the complete rediculousness of our find.

We still laugh about it when we think about it.

http://www.quotationspage.com/quote/489.html

Woody Allen – http://tinyurl.com/2ef474m

This Day Will Never Happen Again…

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This Day Will Never Happen Again. I admit it, I thoroughly enjoyed my day.

This day will never happen again…

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This day will never happen again, June 10th 2011.

I’m learning to appreciate the spectacular days in life. They don’t happen often but when they do, may I be blessed enough to recognize them.

Destination Unknown

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Its not as bad as one would think. I feel like I’ve shifted to my thoughts to a more positive perspective. Destination unknown is still scary but it opens doors to endless possibilities.

Life, filed away into boxes…

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The first stack of our belongings have made their way from their previous individual spots in the house, to reside in boxes stacked in the garage until they make their way to a storage facility waiting for the day they once again have a more permanent space called home.

This is the first stack. Many more will eventually tower over, around and above, hiding the first moments of our familys future of homeless uncertainty.

Documenting this process is painful.

TRASH NIGHT part 1

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THURSDAY=THRASH(ed) NIGHT

For twelve plus years, Thursdays in my home have been handled in a very specific way. Thursdays have been what our family called ” TRASH DAY for the family and/or TRASH NIGHT for the adults”. Not because the city collected the trash in my neighborhood on Thursdays, it didn’t, trash collection in my neighborhood has always occurred on Friday mornings…very, very, very early. So every week on Thursday night in my home the radio was on and turned up enough to dance if we wanted and sing if we dared while we collected all the trash from the bathroom and bedroom pails. This alone was no huge task, typically done to completion in a matter of minutes. The objective was to not only remove the trash from the bathroom and bedroom trash pails but more like miniature weekly sping cleanout sessions.

Trash night was a night that we cleaned the fridge of the leftovers no longer an edible option. Dumping expired milk, tossing eggs overdue, disposing any dish that had not been consumed in a timely fashion during the past week. And yes, any and all expired food that couldn’t be dumped down the drain or disposed by the sink disposal indeed remained safely in the fridge until trash night, so to not attract any bugs to an outside trash can. This would be like a neon light blinking a welcome message and smells of stale pizza and the like would be the latest greatest bug buffet in town.

Really, it was a solid and well thought out and multipurposed plan of pest control, odor obliterator, full property protection. God knows I can’t stand bugs and flies, wow, flies are a bothersome bug only trumped by the mosquitoe, spider and roach. (Yes, for me, in that exact order). These are in fact the most suicidal and ballsiest of all insects, who will take full advantage of a door left cracked open by kids who have no less than thirtyish trips in and out a front door on any given summer evening to make their rounds around the culdesac via bike or scooter, and preteen and teens who’s rounds where not on a bike but on a go-kart. should something slip through the cracks of trash night and make its way early to the can could be a pain in the ass. It means a fly, interestingly not weighed down by his brass balls, would be Mr Martyr. Always a dive bomber born to bother (Really, flies have some kinda nerve the way they make a point to fly directly at you, eye level, just to veer off before they hit you in the face).

More often than not the tv was turned off so it was also like a Sunday for spongebob who only got one night (Thursday) off a week, tirelessly working round the clock everyother night of the week for my children. Specifically my youngest who oddly had full control of the tv and the remote for several years, flying just below the radar of all the other family members. For a time, me and my husband would take time out to watch The Office on the bedroom tv while we folded laundry that was fresh out the dryer on our bed. The laundry during that time always seemed so warm and smelled so crisp and clean. Laundry hasn’t ever felt or smelled so wonderful as it did back then. Eventually we discovered this wonderous invention called DVR. (Side note: DVR is a whole story of happiness in and of itself. One to be shared on another day.)

To be cont…

This day will never happen again

This day will never happen again. I’m relieved and saddened but mostly just glad its over.

The comforts of routine

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The comforts of routine are most likely what all species living on this rock strive for. I don’t think brain size plays any role in this commonality that links the multitudes of species. From ants in the forest to uncles in the den, even older brothers who’ll punch till you “say when”.

I dream of the days when routine was bothersome. Nostalgia is often more bitter than sweet.