Clandestine

So there I was, sitting in my car in the far corner of the Kmart parking lot, where I'd be fairly easy to spot.
I was waiting on a lady I knew only by first, middle, and last name and a Facebook photo, who would arrive in a black Dodge Charger with white stripes.
I hoped I'd recognize her.
The car pulled alongside mine. A man was driving. The woman, looking like she hadn't left the house all day, emerged from the car and came to my window.
"$25, right?" she said as she placed a couple of wadded bills into my hand.
I nodded and handed her the bag.
"Thank you,"
She ducked back into her car and they drove away.
She never even opened the bag.
This has happened before, once, when a woman driving a Tahoe met me in the parking lot of Academy Sports to sell me a turtleneck sweater.
As I drove away from Kmart, I hoped no cops were watching. In this particular neighborhood, the only defense I have is that a Bi-Lo bag of decorative plates in no way resembles a dime bag of an illegal leafy substance.
It's happening all over town. Middle aged women in Camrys meeting in parking lots to exchange cash for "the goods": baby clothes, Raggedy Ann dolls, boots and DVDs.
The Online Yard Sale: It's almost clandestine...except it's not.

One of my best writings

I was having coffee with one of my artist friends the other day, and we got to talking about poetry. Y'all, I am not a poet. It's just that every now and again, well, that particular bug bites.

I was telling her about this one....whatever you call it. I wrote it many years ago, during a dark period in my life when I was afraid to write, because I was afraid whatever I said would be either misconstrued or used against me. I hadn't thought about it in a long time until the other day, and I shared it with her.

And that made me think, hey! I should share it with you! So here. I hope you like it. :)



I shiver. I cannot see. I wait for my eyes to adjust to the unrelenting blackness, but they do not. They cannot. My hands shake. I reach out my hand, wanting to touch something, yet afraid I might. My hand reaches on. Grasping. For what, I do not know. Something...anything. I hug myself. Think...think. I am strong. I know I am strong. Why can't I think? A dream. "Wake," I whisper. Nothing. I begin screaming, "Wake! Wake!" Still nothing. Softly, softly a voice whispers, "It doesn't have to be this way." All is still. A little louder, "You have the power." Slowly, ever so slowly, thoughts, blessed thoughts, beginning to form in my head. "I have the power," I whisper, unbelieving. "I have the power!" I repeat. Something is different. Ever so softly, the blackness eases. Slowly, shadows appear. Shadows! Light! Hope! Only...it is still too dark to see. The world is misty. I rub my eyes, desperately wanting to see clearly. Knowing there is something to see, something I need to see. Searching, I will my eyes to focus...focus. But the world remains elusive. "I have the power!" I scream again, but it is not enough. More is needed. More what? "Think!" I command myself. Thoughts form. Thoughts! I can think! My eyes finally focus. I can see my surroundings. Something is beside me, whimpering. It is Confidence. I had not heard her before, but she is weeping now. She is broken...bloody....beaten. I wash her wounds with my tears. I fuse her bones with my will. I heal her bruises with my strength. I brush her hair and dress her in my finest gown. Sunshine envelops her, and she is beautiful. She heals my heart with her smile. Warms my soul with her laughter. She fades, and I am frightened. I turn to the mirror. The grey mist is gone, and I can finally see clearly. She is me.

And now....a poem entitled Hands

Don't ask me why, but I felt like writing a poem. Now I really must get back to work. ;)

HANDS

I look at my hands

They are always in front of me

I see them clutching the steering wheel

on the way to the grocery store

or to school

or work

I see them when I type

or write

or fold jeans

sometimes they look youthful

smooth

sometimes the nails are long and red

or pink

most times the nails are short, ragged

clear

Sometimes they look old

the ligaments beginning to create ridges in the skin

the skin, beginning to show signs of wear

More and more lined

Sometimes I look at my daughter’s hands

so youthful and smooth

holding her iPod

or a pencil

or her lunch bag

her long nails painted black

or green

or blue

And I wish my hands looked like hers

that my nails weren’t bitten

and I was brave enough to wear those colors

but then I look at my hands

and I think

of the work these hands have done

the laundry

the dishes

the writing

the driving

the grasping

the hand-holding

the soothing

the tear-wiping

the poking       

the tickling

the braiding

and I think

Thank you, Lord, for hands

There's a reason I decorate with words

I don't usually decorate for Halloween, but I really wanted to get into the spirit this year.

I got my inspiration from a candelabra I bought at a Civil War re-enactment. It's wooden and wrought iron (I think), and it looks pretty cool with white candles. I usually keep it on the top of my microwave, because I don't really know where else to put it. Sometimes I'll use it as a table centerpiece. I thought, it looks spooky enough.

I put a fall-themed tablecloth over a stack of round totes and put the candelabra in the center. Then I commandeered "Joey," the skeleton from my son's anatomy project, and a couple of cheap plastic jack o'lanerns.

So here's how it turned out.

Looks awful homespun, don't it. It looked so much better in my head. :(

Ah well.

I'll redeem myself at Christmas! :)

Groceries and stuff

I'm supposed to be getting ready to go to the grocery store. Instead I am blogging, 'cause its more fun.

I told you I have been trying to do the couponing thing, right? Well, I just took the last three Sunday papers out of their plastic wrapping. What I've been doing is cutting them out and putting them in baseball card protectors and putting them in a binder. They're supposed to be easier to find. However, this requires time and effort. I devote maybe an hour a week to clipping them but they're like bunnies! They mulitiply faster than I can clip them. So now I have a stack of coupons I refuse to look through and a binder full of clipped coupons that are probably close to expiring. If a coupon I want isn't in there, I don't use them. Extreme Coupon people make this look so easy!!

My freezer is officially bare. Normally I see what I have and go from there, but I'm kind of starting from scratch. So now I get to figure out what I want to make for the next month or so. Then I have to figure out what I need in order to do it. Then I have to go through these coupons to see if I can save 35 cents. (I may just go ahead and pay the 35 cents and save that step!)

Have you ever noticed how grocery shopping eats up an entire day?? Well, it's not the grocery shopping part so much as it is the planning to grocery shop. I end up getting 3/4 of my meals planned and saying "the other 1/4 will come from somewhere." Which, believe it or not, they always do.

I'm off today, which is good. I spent Sunday at church, shopping for compression shorts for Catie and catching up on some office work. Yesterday I spent cutting bushes and cleaning my car, and I did go have coffee with some friends.

That leaves today to grocery shop, clean the house and do laundry. Relax what?? And I had considered going to the lake with my Kindle today. Bahahahaha what was I thinking??

I have determined that maybe next year, I need to just use up all of my vacation time by making every week a three-day weekend. Maybe I actually catch up. Which I'm not doing now, so back to it!

Y'all have a great day!

Growing up

My  son is 17. Which means he's a senior. Which means he's thinking about things. Life things. Big things. Like college. Career. And moving out.

A few years ago, I'm thinking about life without the kids and I'm thinking "Wooo hooo!! I'm gonna have money and I'm gonna travel and I'm gonna do all kinds of cool stuff."

(I don't know where I think all that money will come from, but that's another blog post.)

Now that we're almost on the threshold I'm thinking....wait a minute. How did this happen?

This is weird. I remember being 17 and thinking I needed to be making $500 a week to move out. I don't think I realized you could live on a lot less than that until I saw my sister do it. I, on the other hand, got married before I tried to make it on my own and, well....I guess I did learn pretty quickly you could live on less than that. And raise a family on less, too, but that, too, is another blog post.

Last week we had a college recruiter at our dining room table. We have now formally applied for college. In Tennessee. It's what he wants. I'm hopeful for him. But it's Tennessee. I'm thinking "Lord, if he goes, I hope he remembers to wash his clothes once in a while," and "You know, I don't think I like this not letting me know where he is when he leaves the house business." We need to back up a minute!

*Sigh* He's growing up.

Today on the way home from school, his girlfriend was talking about an apartment she wants to get after she graduates.

Christopher asked me what I thought of him moving out.
I wanted to say "I don't!"

Just yesterday I was remembering him toddling across the living room, propping his elbows against my knees, looking up at me with that sweet little face and clapping his chubby little hands because he made it and didn't fall.

I said, "Well, I guess I think you need to stay home and go to school here where it's cheaper. Then when you have a good job, you need to move out. I don't want you living at home when you're 40. But no, I'm not exactly ready for you to go, either."

No, I really don't think I'm ready. But I am very fortunate. He is a good boy and I know he will do me proud.