Tag Archives: Memoirs

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.

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Technology, meet my mom…

http://www.loc.gov/jukebox/

My mom emailed me this link this morning, which is monumental in itself…due to her technology disability. So the fact that she emailed me a link for a website, and one i will love, makes my heart smile.

So, Technology, meet my mom. Mom, this is technology. Its the one I’ve been telling you about. Isn’t he dreamy…

Oh, and tech, i love the way you’ve digitized historical recordings for our listening pleasure. You’re a genius. (fluttering my puppydog eyes all sloppy in love)

http://media.loc.gov/player/flowplayer/size/small/width=439/.commercial.swf?0.9866484776139259

http://media.loc.gov/player/flowplayer.commercial.swf?0.9866484776139259

<a href="http://media.loc.gov/player/flowplayer.commercial.swf?0.9866484776139259” target=”_blank”>http://media.loc.gov/player/flowplayer.commercial.swf?0.9866484776139259

SHATTER THE SILENCE



This Day…

This day will never happen again…


This is true for everyday. Maybe posting something about the good days will help me remember how blessed my family and myself truely are.
After all, its always easy to remember the crappy days. The key is… to help myself remember, and focus on more of the good days.

May 16, 2011
This day will never happen again…
Today was the first time I worked with my father. It was hard work, but not to hard. It was also very much of a relief that my dad got the contract to do the job. We have both been in need of work for quit some time. Granted, our individual circumstances for being in a “work drought” are vastly different, it matters little when work presents itself.
He’s pretty easy to work for. As a laid back and easy going guy, hard work just doesn’t seem as hard as it could be. More importantly, I had the great fortune to see my dad smile more than he has in a while. He thought he would get me back for all the times I’ve taken pictures of him. Often sneak snapshots of him doing silly stuff, like the day I was fortunate enough to have my camera ready, just in time to catch him doing a dorky dance while leaving the pool house and on the way around the pool to where we were all sitting. He was trying to make us laugh. We did. Then I was able to make him cringe with a sneak snapshot.
So, guess who was the pic taker today….



On the long drive back from pawleys island this is the picture message I got. Ugh, he got me! No, I wasn’t doing a dumb dance, I was doing “BOY” work. Ugh, double ugh. Oh the humility of femininity demished and caught on film. I’m gonna wear extra lipgloss today, lol, to recuperate.

750 Words

So, another sleepless night has found me tripping from site to site. I tripped over one that was awesome enough to share.

http://750words.com/

For anyone who loves or loathes writing, you must check out this site. The writing analysis is pretty awesome. I’m thinking I might cps (copy,paste,send) some of my previous blog posts just to see how its weighted.

Nobody said it was easy. But no one ever said it would be this hard.

I’m going back to the start

Parents Helping Parents

http://parentsupportforchildsexualabuse.com/default.aspx

Omg, if only I had known of this websites existence a year ago, six months ago, yesterday. My God. I don’t feel completely alone in my tortured feelings and emotions. One of the first threads I came across had a response that was written on the page as though it was my own personal dialogue downloaded directly from my brain and displayed in in black and white, my language, a font that my browser can understand. This is the post I read from someones brain that has heard my thought.

I find that CSA is the “gift that keeps on giving”. It ruins you emotionally, psychologically, physically, financially. We are approaching the 1 year mark since my daughter’s disclosure. It is “easier” than last year. It is “easier” than 6 months ago. I still feel the sadness, rage, disillusionment and every other feeling I’ve had, but it is not every day. There are good days, lots of them and often many in a row. Then there are the bad days. While I don’t believe it will ever go away, I do see that it gets better. Hang in there, you are in my thoughts.

Omg, I’m not alone!

Awesome Moments

I just love the 1000awesomethings blog. I think I’ll start my own list. My search for lifes awesome moments are sure to be little treasures as each are discovered. Likewise, I can only hope for some long term “positive outlook” benefits.

In the mean time, anyone interested in lifes “SCHWEEEEET” lil moments, you can check out 1000Awesomethings website at:

http://1000awesomethings.com/

Though I’ve read many of this sites awesome things, I figured I would share the one that inspired me to start my own list of LIFES AWESOME MOMENTS!

http://1000awesomethings.com/2011/04/28/256-when-the-bass-kicks-in/

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.

There’s no place like home

image

I’m pretty sure that this will be the image I’m gonna use when I create my bottle cap pixelated art picture.
The piece that inspired me is one I seen on the wall at the Medical University downtown. I saw it while there with my mom, dad and grandmother Viv. Viv was there for a procedure and while we waited, we went down to the cafe to eat. The picture, if I remember correctly, hangs on the wall outside the cafe where there are many other pieces of art on display.
I’ll have to research to make sure, but I think the image is in the likeness of a local man who is an artist himself. He’s the artistic eyes and hard working hands behind many of our cities beautifully crafted elegant iron gates. I will post a story about him as soon as I find one. Until then, this is the picture…

He is the image at the top in the center. I’ll try to find a more detailed picture. I took a picture of it myself while I was at MUSC that day. Unfortunately, my picture of the piece resides on a hard drive on a laptop that my husband took with him when he left.

Update:
NEED MORE BOTTLE CAPS, A LOT MORE, Lol. CALLING ALL WHO MAY BE BURDENED BY BOTTLE CAPS. PLEASE LEAVE YOUR BURDEN WITH ME. I WILL MAKE GOOD USE OF IT ; )

https://lilywhitewash.wordpress.com/2011/04/30/beer-bottle-caps-wanted/

http://artwork.musc.edu/artists/pages/right/01.html

https://lilywhitewash.wordpress.com/2011/04/29/musc/

Refugee

We got concert tickets as soon as we found out Tom Petty was coming to the coliseum. As the date for the concert grew closer so did my contractions. August 15, 2003, the night of the concert, I knew for certain that my size and irregular contractions wouldn’t allow for me to go to a concert I desperately wanted to go to. Danny took my place next to my husband and reported his enjoyment afterward. They had a blast.

My 3rd child was born less than a week later. Kieran Emily Sumpter came into the world on a very stormy August evening. The lightening was so intense that it knocked the power out, on the labor and delivery floor for as far as I could tell, just briefly until the backup generators kicked on. The only thing that was left unrestored in my delivery room was the machine that monitors heart rate and contractions. It wasn’t long before I was in more pain than I’ve ever been in in my life. My epidural drip had run dry. Next to me was a gentleman who was working tirelessly to restore the HR/contraction monitoring machine that would have validated my pain had it been functional. He never did get it back up and running before my daughter made her grand appearance. Much like the anesthesiologist who never made it back around to my room in time to refill my empy epidural drip. My 3rd child, 2nd daughter and 1st natural child birth all occured the same day, August 21st, 2003. Though I had given birth to two children previous to her, I had never experienced such pain in my life. It was foreign to me, and scary. I kept saying… I’ve already had two children and I didn’t feel like this. Somethings wrong. I’m ripping in half. Please help. I was wrong in that nothing was wrong at all, it was what women had felt while giving birth for all of humanity up till recent and the marvels of modern medicine had unveiled this wonderful little thing called anesthesia.

The song Refugee by Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers is a song me and my husband held close to our heart. It was a song we cranked up loud and sang the hell out of when it came on the radio. It was a favorite we played on our home stereo via cd. We sang it word for word, loud as possible and probably even more hideous than loud.

Its a song that I haven’t been able to listen to without crying, and I mean the ugly kind of crying to. The kind of crying that you should hide your face from any onlookers due to the painful contortions ugly crying cause your once pretty little face to be mangled into.

The words have recently sounded different to me. The lyrics mean something new. Not good new. Just new. It occurred to me that for the past year, my children and myself have been living very much the life of refugees and would like to be granted a much needed asylum. There’s no place like home, and for us, for now, homeless is where we are, and where we’ll be until we can find our way back. Back home.

Refugee

Writers: TOM PETTY, MIKE CAMPBELL By Tom Petty and Mike Campbell

We got somethin’, we both know it,
We don’t talk too much about it.
Yeah it ain’t no real big secret,
But somehow, we get around it.

It don’t really matter to me baby,
You believe what you want to believe,
You don’t have to live like a refugee.

Somewhere, somehow,
Somebody must have kicked you around some. Who knows why you wanna lay there and revel in your abandon.

It don’t make no difference to me, baby, Everybody’s had to fight to be free,
You see you don’t have to live like a refugee.

Baby, we ain’t the first.
I’m sure a lot of other lovers been burned.
Right now this seems real to you,
But it’s one of those things you gotta feel to be true.

Somewhere, somehow,
Somebody must have kicked you around some. Who knows? Maybe you were kidnapped,
Tied up, taken away, and held for ransom.

It don’t really matter to me, baby,
Everybody’s had to fight to be free,

“Refugee”

Aside

1. Sharing my bed. I loved laying next to my husband listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing. I loved cuddling close when I was chilly. And I loved the smell and feel of his soft clean skin. My … Continue reading

The living Dead

Reblog:

A couple years ago, my great grandmother died. I remember her sister, who was in her 90s as well, was very upset because she couldn’t see her well due to her failing vision, another one of my relatives told her that she looked beautiful & peaceful, that she didn’t have any makeup on & her dress was very nice. After they walked away, I approached the casket to see her. It was all wrong. It wasn’t the little old lady I used to see when I was a child. All the life had left her, her soul had left her body, and I could tell. While that is one of the most painful things to experience, I think the worst thing, similar to this is that happening before somebody has died. Looking at somebody, seeing the face you should recognize, but don’t. All you can see are eyes hollow of anything beautiful; empty. Something died inside them & you can see it. Whether it was love, their will to live, the person they used to be, or the person you thought they were. You can never see them the same ever again after that. All you see is the emptiness, that darkness. Even if you could see past that, it’s almost as if you don’t want to. You want to hate them for changing. And you do. Seeing old pictures, happy memories captured on film it nearly breaks you in two. Because that person is dead to you, or you at least wish they were. They’re dead but they’re still walking around, hollowed out versions of who the used to be. Posted at 2:46 AM 2 notes Permalink ∞

Again the insight of a 15yr old who is wise beyond her years never ceases to amaze me.

http://nolongeravictim.tumblr.com/post/4385760598/a-couple-years-ago-my-great-grandmother-died

WHAT SHOULD I DO TO CHANGE?

Laying in my bed, not doing anything except watching an episode of House and trying to figure out how to get outta work tonight. I hear this little nugget of wisdom:

Time changes everything. That’s what people say. It’s not true. Doing things changes things. Not doing things leaves them exactly as they were. -House

http://www.holliesquotes.com/life/page39.htm

Ok, I’ve been a subscriber to the time changes theory. Its been a year and nothing is changing in a hurry. So….what shall I DO?

I would love some feedback on this post. Anyone with a suggestion is much appreciated.

WHAT SHOULD I DO TO CHANGE?

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I Am – The Human Condition

I found this article interesting enough to shamelessly copy and paste it word for word. I will of course highlight some of my favorite quotes from Mr. Benzel’s article and will be searching for the documentary I AM by Mr. Shadyac. It looks like it’s worth watching. 

 ξ( ″• ∫ •)³

 

The Theme Beneath the Themes

Quin Benzel
For The Vancouver Voice

In Tom Shadyac’s new documentary, I AM, he begins every interview by asking eminent scholars like Noam Chomsky, Howard Zinn and Desmond Tutu if they have ever seen Ave Ventura: Pet Detective. They haven’t. “These are people who helped change me,” Shadyac said during a recent Portland visit. If you didn’t know the person but only his movies, it’d be easy to call bullshit. No way the man who made Evan Almighty could make something with actual meaning and intent. Could he? Has he all along?

Turns out Shadyac has more on his mind than an animal sleuth with social issues. “I’d been questioning things in my life for years,” Shadyac says. “As success came my way I started to notice a hypocrisy in my life.” At the film’s end, he gives his wealth to worthy causes, buys a bike and moves into a mobile home in Malibu. Now a teacher of screenwriting at Pepperdine University in California, Shadyac lives a much more deliberate life. But I Am is a tricky movie to describe, and most attempts to do so do not give it justice. It really is as simple as this: It’s about feeling and compassion and how we’re biologically engineered to cooperate and not compete with each other.

But it could also be a sense of closure for Shadyac, who made the movie after a bike accident brought life violently into perspective. “ I thought I was literally going to die. I had post concussion syndrome, and it’s quite torturous. I thought, ‘if I am going to die, is there anything I want to explore or say before I go,’ and that’s how I Am was born.”

However, just wanting to say something is easier than actually saying it. The movie could have easily turned into another hour-and-a-half exploration of why the world is so corrupt, but I Am has magnanimity on its mind. “I love documentaries, but I think for myself I’d moved beyond documentaries pointing out the problem. I wanted to know what we do. This film is very different because it’s very hopeful,” Shadyac says.

And through all the egalitarian themes and good vibrations the movie emits, Shadyac never once forgets who he is. “I’m the guy who directed Ace Ventura, and my sensibilities are in this film, so I think it makes it very accessible. There’s a humor and pace to it.” I Am doesn’t resort to such crude humor as having someone grab their ass cheeks and mimic talking through their butt, but it does display a sly comic tone—all while attempting to relate how we are meaningfully connected to the world around us.

It’s poetry blended with scientific fact. At one point we’re told that the chemical element argon is inert, and that when we breathe it, we’re taking a breath that could have once been inside the lungs of Joan of Arc. This may not be as important to understand as helping your fellow-man, but collectively it works as a means to help come to terms with the most essential parts of life. “Very few people will say ‘it’s [what’s most important in life] because my IRA matured.’ They all tell a very similar story. ‘I was apart of something creative, loving, a family, I grew,’”says Shadyac.

But the man credited for cramming more fart jokes into a dinner scene (The Nutty Professor) than anyone before him is by no means a distant memory. “I look back on all those movies with an incredible fondness. Making someone laugh is a way we connect with each other, and I would do it again,” Shadyac says. “The difference is I would do it differently. I would be much more efficient with the resources. I would do it with a simplified crew, and I wouldn’t be amassing all the wealth myself.”

And even upon a close look, I Am shares uniquely similar traits of the human condition that films like Liar Liar, The Nutty Professor or Patch Adams also did. I Am is the theme below those themes. It’s why we may lie to each other; it’s why we may put another person down. [It] looks at the root cause of the society we’ve built.” And even of his past projects, he says, “I think if somebody’s suffering in the hospital and they see Ave Ventura and it removes them from their pain, that’s a pretty important movie.”

Shadyac tells us that “nothing in nature takes more than it needs.”As humans, we’re the only species really capable of greed or unprovoked, malicious intent.But we’re also very susceptible to change. We can empathize, reason and understand. Shadyac says, “I Am presents a point of view; I’m welcome to other points of view. I just want to start the conversation.”

I Am is now playing at the Fox Tower in Portland