Pain Is Such a Pain!

I have a new nature scene as my desktop and looking at it gives me a wonderful tranquil feeling.  That helps so much to lift my mood and even push aside some of the physical pain I've been experiencing.

I've remarked a few times lately how I wish we humans living in 2009 had the medical capabilities of the Star Trek people.  On that show, if they sent you to Sick Bay, the doctor ran some kind of gadget over your body and voila!  Instant diagnosis.  It's your kidneys.  It's your stomach.  It's your gall bladder.  Nope, no such luck for us.  You visit a doctor, they push down on your stomach and ribs and---no clue as to what's causing your pain.  Lots of guesses, but nothing concrete.  So what happens next?  Tests!  Lots of tests.  Blood tests, x-rays, ultrasounds.

All I know is my ribs hurt and my back hurts.  Why?  I don't know.  Perhaps my husband is accidentally elbowing or kneeing me in the back at night.  Maybe I'm sleepwalking and go outside and fall down the steps over and over again.  Perhaps space aliens keep whisking me off to their spaceship at night to perform various probes on me, then deposit me back into my bed none the wiser.

Sigh.  In a few days I'll go have my tests and perhaps I'll have some answers.  Until then I'm gonna need some muscle rub, pain killers and maybe a shot of whiskey.

Missing Dad

The other day when I pulled open the top bureau drawer in my son' s room to put some clothes away, that certain fragrance hit me.  It was unmistakable.  My dad's cologne.  It lingers in that drawer like a ghostly memory or a shadow that clings to the body everywhere it goes.  My dad is gone but his bureau, now used by my son, stands against the wall, a constant reminder of the man I admired, trusted and loved.  And when I open that drawer, that scent is there--the cologne he always wore.  And immediately he comes to mind along with a flood of memories.

Invariably it hits me the same way. A tear begins to travel down my cheek, I see him in my mind, I hear his voice.  I look up at the ceiling as if I can see right through it to heaven above,wondering if he's looking down or if he can see me or if he's maybe right there in the room with me, an invisible guide shadowing me through my days, keeping me safe from harm.  I stand there lost in memories, missing him and hoping he knows how much I loved him, hoping he knew even when I didn't always say it or show it.

When I finally closed the drawer I knew I had closed a chapter and that even though memories may linger like spilled cologne, life must go on, always commands us forward.  I have chapters that are incomplete, awaiting the words to fill them.  If I can make him proud of me, if I can do something worthwhile, then maybe one day when I go to open up that drawer again...

I'll smile instead of cry.

Weighing in on Jessica

Poor Jessica Simpson.  The girl gains a little weight and boy is she getting beat up in the media.

She looks just fine to me.  I would not describe her new look as fat.  She's got big boobs, curvy hips, great legs, nice hair, nice skin, nice smile.  What's not to love?

Why is it that female celebrities have to maintain a certain look, a certain weight in order to measure up to Hollywood's idea of attractive?  Male celebrities seem to be able to pack on a few pounds without losing their desirability.  John Travolta is not the svelte guy he was in Saturday Night Fever and yet still has his fans.  Plenty of actors are not thin--Russell Crowe, Denzel Washington, and Tom Hanks, to name a few--and yet they're big stars who get many of the leads in movies.

I don't get it.  Why the pressure on women to be thin? What's wrong with curves?  Jessica's boyfriend seems to like her this way.  And from what I've heard, Jessica likes herself this way, too.  She likes going out to dinner with her boyfriend and ordering tasty foods from the menu. Who wouldn't?  Salads aren't exactly scrumptious and get really boring and monotonous after a while.  Why shouldn't women be able to eat the same yummy foods men eat?

But I do wonder if more women are mocking Jessica's weight gain than men.  Maybe that's what it is.  Maybe it's jealous females who are secretly happy that Jessica is heavier now because they believe this will diminish her popularity.

Who knows?  I sure wouldn't want to be in the public eye like that, constantly scrutinized and photographed.  We all have our bad days, bad outfit choices, and bad moods.

Jessica seems to be smiling through it all, so you've gotta give her credit for that.

Sex, sex, sex!

Now that I have your attention.

No, sex is not really the topic.  It's writing.  Trying to maintain interest in a project all the way through.  I have trouble with that.  At the beginning I get very excited about a novel or short story I'm working on.  The ideas fly fast and furious like bees buzzing around honey.  Can't get it down on paper fast enough.  Get all absorbed in the characters and plot.  But then...

Yes, then it comes screeching to a halt.  Can't figure out which direction to take, boredom sets in, real life pulls me away.  Or--another idea pops up for some other story and I find myself fantasizing about that brand new, never tried out story.

Come to think of it, writing is kinda like sex.

Winter

Her powder white gown stretches across the lawn,

dazzles in the winter sun.

Others will stand at attention

watching her majesty

knowing her reign is short-lived.

Soon the emerald green will rise up,

stretching its arms across the land

springing a different sun into motion,

melting the white gown,

melting, melting, melting.

But for now winter wears the crown

with a cold and icy smile

and stiff arms branching out

to tell the world

her reign is here to stay.

Words

There's a song I like called Love This Time with some lyrics that always stick in my mind.

"You can cut me down with just one word or say the sweetest things I've ever heard".

The power of words.  Do we really know how much power they wield?  A parent tells a child he's stupid.  If he hears that enough times, he comes to believe it.  A bunch of boys tell a girl she's ugly.  She not only believes it, she grows up with a negative self image she might never turn positive.  A husband takes a snipe at his wife for some minor infraction leading her to lose confidence in herself and her ability to make her own decisions.  And all because of words.

I've always believed that words do more damage than physical blows.  You can hit someone over and over again and still he'll get back on his feet.  He may have some bruises but they'll fade in time.  But words?  No, I think words can last a lifetime.  A person stores them away in a file in the brain and some event will trigger them, push them into our Inbox.  Oh that's right, I can't do anything right.  Oh that's right, I'm ugly, so no amount of makeup is going to make me look good.  Oh that's right, I'm stupid--I really can't get that job I wanted.

Mental health professionals strive to fix this negative thinking, to undo the damage caused by negative programming.  Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.  Words stick to the brain like crazy glue; it takes some serious chiseling to get them off.

What works best is prevention, not using words that hurt in the first place.  A friend of mine once said of someone I know, "It sounds like he is careless with words."  Careless.  Yes.

We should all strive to choose our words carefully.

My Mother's Room (revisited)

She knows me, but I don't know her.

This frail woman who gave me life

is a stranger now

in a pastel prison

with a pink curtain

dividing her room in half.

I bring her hot coffee in a throwaway cup

and she holds it to her lips,

savoring the taste and smell,

smiling,  remembering perhaps

coffee in her own kitchen long ago.

Then she takes me on a journey

into the past, 

recalling people and places,

her dog running to meet her

as she wove her way home from school.

Her bike rides, games,

and marbles--simple pleasures

from a time I've never seen.

It will never be that way again

and neither will she.

Time will strip her

of her muscles and memories.

She knows me, but some day soon

I will be the stranger

she is to me now.