Saturday, September 25, 2021
From the Cobwebs: Jacks on a chalked sidewalk
Thursday, September 23, 2021
Words of Affirmation: Uncle Charles
Wednesday, September 22, 2021
From the Cobwebs: Freudian Writings
I found these two in my emails, actually. One was inspired by a dream I had and one was inspired from the one inspired by the dream. Ha! They were written in the Summer of 2006, if memory serves. Anyway, here they are:
2031 A.D.
I was in the kitchen trying to get to the stove , but he was purposefully getting in my way. "Gideon, honey, please... I need to stir the rice before it burns." He put his hands on my shoulders and stopped me with a teasing look. I looked up at him, trying diligently to disguise the laughter that was bubbling up inside of me with a feigned look of annoyance. It was a difficult task, however, because the laughter in his eyes was infectious.
I looked up at him with love, my eyes roving over his features which, although they were ever-changing, I had long ago memorized. I reached up to push the auburn hair out of his eyes. "You need a haircut," I started to say to him, but stopped and smiled instead. The carelessness of his shaggy locks made him look so young. I looked up into his brown eyes. They were still smiling at me, in the same endearing and youthful way they did the day I met him 22 years ago. The freckles which were brushed across his nose and cheeks gave him such a familiar look. Many members of my own family were blessed with those same angel kisses.
When I finished my perusal of him, I looked back into his eyes and felt such an intense ache of love for him. He smiled back at me and wrapped his long arms around me in a tight hug. His chin rested quite cozily on the top of my head. It always amazed me that he could do it. It seemed almost wrong (but not really) that he could be so tall. He placed his hands back on my shoulders and pulled away from me, smiling still. He placed a kiss on my forehead and said with affection, "I love you, Mom." Then he turned around to the stove and stirred the rice.
And for this one...I realized today that the year in which it is 'set' is THIS year. Interesting...Interesting.
2021 a.d.
The bunk beds were placed around the perimeter of the cabin and our two bunks had been placed perpendicular to each other in the front corner. I was lying on my stomach with my head near the open window at the foot of the bed. My cheek rested on a pillow which was summer cool and soft. I held her small hand in mine, and as I gazed at her sleep softened face, the wind teased the hair at her temple into a brief dance.
My eyes roamed over her face. She was just so beautiful. Her auburn hair was a family tradition, of sorts. My hair, as well as my mother's hair, had that exact same brownish-red hue to it, but on her, somehow, it looked more beautiful, by far, than ours. Her pale face was dotted with freckles of varying shapes and sizes. She reminded me so much of her brother, Gideon, who had turned 11 the previous September.
The two of them brought such joy into my life, just at the time when I was beginning to lose hope. Gideon made his debut just after my 40th birthday, and Emma-belle followed him almost four years later, in May, just before her PaPa's birthday. They were both so precious to me. At times, it absolutely amazed me that I had played any part at all in creating these two wonderful treasures.
Their father was my friend long before we decided that we loved each other. We were part of a group of young people who worshiped, played, laughed, and cried together. Some people thought we were an odd match, but the friendship and respect that we felt for each other just naturally grew into something "infinitely more dear" and we just could not ignore it any longer. We married two winters before Gideon arrived and four years later came our little Beauty to complete the family. The years have flown by so swiftly, and it is hard for me to believe that my baby is eight years old and that we are here at Camp Hensel, together, experiencing the wonder and fun of being a camper through her fresh and inexperienced eyes.
The wind blew in again through the window screen, awakening me from my wool-gathering. As it did, Emmabelle sighed in her sleep and turned over to face the wall, inadvertently removing her hand from mine. For a moment, I felt bereft without the warmth of her hand in mine. I decided that I was going to have to get used to this feeling. My son had grown older and taller and he seemed to need me less and less these days. I knew that I would have to endure the same loosening of the apron strings with my little Emmie, too.
As I pushed the errant tendrils of hair away from her face, I decided that I wouldn't dwell on it too much. I had a few more days...weeks...months...perhap
I turned over onto my back so that I could try to get a little nap myself before the rest period ended. I smiled to myself and drifted off to sleep as I heard her murmur "Mommy" in her sleep.
Monday, September 20, 2021
From the Cobwebs: Bittersweet Blossom and Hunter Gene
I found this while going through my emails. It is from 2008. Spoiler alert--it is a little sad. Also, please forgive any typos. I'll clean it up later.
Hello,
You don't know me from Adam, but I felt very compelled to write to y'all. I don't really know how to go about this kind of thing, so please bear with my inexperience. My name is Loralee Ford. I recently attended a family reunion in Lubbock and on the plane home, I met someone really kind of fantastic. At the bottom of this note, I'm going to include a poem and a blog which I wrote about this 8-year-old boy I met on the plane. I am writing to y'all for two reasons: 1) Hunter is a huge fan of Kevin Fowler. On the way home from Lubbock, he entertained me (quite well, I might add) by singing all the Kevin Fowler songs on his IPOD. This 8-year-old adores Kevin's music. MOre importantly, though, is the second reason. 2) Though Hunter doesn't know the severity of it, he has a tumor on his brain stem. His Daddy told me that he probably won't last a year. I know it is an odd request, but I am actually going to plead with you to consider asking Kevin to visit him (Hunter lives in New Braunfels) or at least leave a message on his website at Caring Bridge (http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/huntertownsend). Thanks for hearing me out.
sincerely,
someone who cares about that little boy,
Loralee
" Words are the Voice of the Heart"
15 Jun 08 Sunday
| He Picked A Bittersweet Blossom
For Hunter Gene, who unhesitatingly offered me his friendship and unknowingly changed my world The almond blossom had barely bloomed in my sight when it began to fade away. But please don't presume, as others might do that, in my heart, this flower won't stay. I saw it bloom for only three lovely hours on a bright sunny Father's Day, And the grief I felt as I walked away was so much more than mere words can say. You WILL NOT fade in vain, oh flower of youth! The world will grow from your seed. Let us loudly proclaim your tale of great hope and together we shall help those in need. Bloom, precious almond blossom; bloom with all of your might! Please Bloom while yet you still can. Let God's light of love shine out from you until He calls you to walk, hand in hand. fin As I walked onto the plane in Lubbock, I had no idea that my world would never be the same again. I looked around for a window seat, but I could tell in one quick glance around the cabin that I wouldn't get my wish. In hindsight, I must say that I'm glad I didn't get my wish cuz if I had, I would have walked right past the empty aisle seat next to Hunter and his Daddy. After my initial query, Dad said the seat was empty and I sat down, happy to have a place to sit on this rapidly filling flight which we learned later was filled to the brim. After I sat and took in a deep breath, I turned to my left to greet my seat mates. A huge, happy smile, blond "summer cut" hair and bright blue eyes greeted me unhesitatingly. I felt welcome immediately. It was wonderful!! Greg (Dad) stayed pretty quiet, but Hunter (my blond, blue-eyed, smiley-faced seat mate) and I talked about everything! Siblings, cruises, IPODS, wrestling, the travel schedule of kids from broken homes and so man other things. After the captain announced our descent into Dallas, Hunter turned to me. "Loralee" he asked, "are you going to go with us to Austin?" He was just so straightforward with his kid logic. We were enjoying ourselves. Of course we should plan to meet up again when it was time to board the plane. On some level, a part of me felt so gratified that this kid liked me enough that he would invite me to spend more time with him and his Daddy. My heart was just bursting with that kind of happiness you feel when you've made a special friend, know what I mean? I had to bite back a smile because I knew where he was going with this question. I decided to answer his question with as much seriousness as he has posed it. "Yes, Hunter, I'll be on the same plane as y'all will be." Only seconds has passed when he asked, straightforwardly, "Well, will you sit with us?" Y'all know my answer, yeah? "That would be lovely, Hunter. Thank you for inviting me." He smiled at me and said, "Yeah and I can teach you how to use your new IPOD on the next flight!" I'm sure it's patently obvious, but I'll state clearly here and now...Hunter charmed me. There really is no other word for it. With his invitation for me to go to his grandpa's home after the flight, and his "You're weird" said in a voice full of the affection which is hard for 8-year-old boy to express, and his continual offer of gum cubes so that my ears "aren't hurted.", and the way he just had to run to catch up with me as we disembarked from the plane, he charmed me and made me feel so special and so extra-super-sure that there is no way on God's green earth that there is any bad in this world. And then the bomb dropped. Quite casually, Hunter mentioned the tumor in his brain. I wasn't worried, though, cuz Hunter and Greg told me all about the medicines and the steroids and the chemotherapy and the radiation he had had. It looked like things might be on the upward path, perhaps. There seemed to be hope, although no one came right out and said it. I guess I should have known then that I had misread the situation, but I didn't seem to have a clue. While all this was happening, my brain was racing! Suddenly, I knew what Homer, the Hero Bird's next adventure would be. Somehow, it would involve Homer, somehow helping a kid (strangely enough, a kid named Hunter Gene who was battling cancer) to some special play land or hospital or something that would make his world better or heal him or something. I was so excited and I knew I would dedicate the book to Hunter and that someday he would read his children this book. Everything was going to be okay. I just knew it!! At the end of the last leg of our journey, Greg handed me a paper with Hunter's website information on it. I was honored, really. Greg trusted me, a virtual stranger, with personal information about his son. I was looking forward to keeping up with the happenings in Hunter's life. The three of us chatted about this and that as we prepared to de-board and then walked down toward the baggage claim. The excitement and scariness of the escalator put Hunter several feet in front of Greg and me. I never imagined that when Greg thanked me for entertaining Hunter that it would be the beginning of a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad conversation. Greg hesitated before starting again. "He's got brain stem glioma" he said seriously and then lowered his voice to a whisper. He dropped a bomb which hit me like an atom bomb. "He's not going to make it," he said with a shake of his head. "Oh no" I whispered as both my heart and eyes began to cry. Hunter was still ahead of us, hanging on a safety gate and being distracted by the sights, sounds and colors swirling about him. I tried to hide my devastation just in case he looked back at me and saw the feelings on my face. It was hard...very hard. Sadly, my ears kept hearing things that continued to take every ounce of wind of my sails: -"He has less than a year." -"He doesn't know, yet. How can I tell him?" I couldn't stop the tears from flowing down my face. I wonder what Greg thought of me...crying about Hunter's fate when I'd only known him for three hours. I briefly touched Greg's arm in a gesture of comfort, but really, I wonder if I didn't need the comfort just as much. I know I'm repeating myself, but I must say again: I was devastated. The only thing which brought me any peace during these moments was the understanding of God's plan. I know, without a doubt, that Hunter will go to Heaven if he dies at his young age. He is too young, too innocent to have been corrupted by this world and to have strayed from the path God has planned for us. That is what makes this so hard for me today. I know some horrible people. One in particular. While he is not a murderer, he is a thief and a liar and he continues to get away with it. He continually and purposefully commits sins...and comes out smelling like a rose to the people who are the most important to him. And he doesn't seem to be having to deal with ANY consequences, yet this precious, beautiful, warm, friendly, loving jewel of a child is dying. "UNFAIR!!!!!!!!" I want to scream as loudly as my mortal voice will allow me to do, but I don't guess it will do me any good. We were never promised a rose garden...at least not on this earth. What we are promised is the chance to prove ourselves...to live through this vale of soul-making and all it's hardships with our love for God still intact. Man, sometimes it's hard, yeah? But at this exact moment, I know one thing for sure: I want to make it through this life still faithful. There are many reasons for this desire of mine, but one of them is certainly the knowledge that I'll be able to hang out with Hunter again. I made a few other decisions today after meeting Hunter. The next Homer, the Hero Bird book? I'm not sure he is going to be cured, but there are reasons for that decision. Homer's job will be to explain to him what is going on and then get him up to Heaven with God. This book has to be a book whereby parents, like Greg, can explain to their children what is going on now and what they can look forward to experiencing when they go...a bit too early...the way of all men. I sure hope my talent for writing can stretch that far. This feels so important. If I can figure out the hows and the wheres, this book HAS to be published and HAS to be popular because surely a (hopefully) large percentage of it's profit will go to San Antonio's Santa Rosa Children's Hospital in Hunter's name. So, I have two requests of you, my dear faithful readers:
Thanks, y'all! And in case I don't tell you often enough, if you're reading this blog, you are probably someone important to me. Thanks for being a part of my life and making it a better place. I love y'all!
|
Sunday, September 19, 2021
Finally: a tome-length summary (ha!) of my trip to Boston
One of Vincent's pieces I saw at the museum
Do y'all remember me being super excited about going to see some friends in Boston in August, yeah? I just realized that I never really talked about that trip. It was to see Carmine and Paula. I met them 15 years ago on a cruise and we hit it off and have stayed in touch all these years. When I decided to change my life and head overseas to teach, Carmine and Paula invited me to come visit them before I go which I decided to do. It was a no-brainer. a--see old friends b--see Boston c--visit my 29th state d--Vincent Van Gogh had some paintings at the Boston fine arts museum. I was all for it. I was set. I was ready to go. I found tickets at the reasonable (I guess??) price of $275 and Carmine and Paula were going to pick me up at the airport.
My arrival was awesome and my first day there was beautiful. We got back to their home, ate a sandwich lunch, sat out on the back porch, in the beautiful low-eighties, drank tea, and caught up. I felt quite at home and was so happy to see my old friends. The only weird thing on Tuesday was when I put my feet on the coffee table so that i could perch my computer on my lap. I asked Paula if it was okay and she said it was fine. Then, a few hours later, Carmine told me not to do that. I was apologetic and told him that Paula had said it was okay. He said, "Paula woke up on the wrong side of the bed. She woke up on the wrong side of the bed." Well, of course, I was going to obey his request, but the way he talked about her was so weird. Later, while we were watching the news, I (not-thinking) perched the side of my left foot on the very edge of the coffee table and he said, in a loud, stern voice 'FOOT." It took me a minute because I didn't even REALIZE that I had put it on the table, but it clicked and I removed it.
Wednesday morning, we got up and went to the Boston Fine Arts museum downtown. Carmine stayed out with the car and Paula and I went in to enjoy the art. It was really awesome! I got to stand within 3 feet of FOUR different Vincent Van Gogh paintings. Just remembering it makes me cry. I also got to see several other 'Old Masters' and some current, modern artists and they had a whole section of Americana art and furniture and an African Kings exhibit and a 'used' paper exhibit where the artist used scraps of colored magazine papers and other kinds to make pictures. It was awesome. It was the best part of my visit, really--especially in hindsight. I'll try to make another blog with the photos from that trip.
On the way home from the museum, Carmine was a little stressed. He put the blame on the ugly traffic and I believed him. We got home and then had a weird afternoon. Carmine was obviously in a mood about something. He was skulking around in the kitchen. I could hear him cussing in Italian (and it seemed directed at me, for some reason.) At another point, he 'fixed' a chair that I had pushed back into the table and I apologized (sincerely, really...) for him having to bother with it. I had assumed I had done it properly (turns out he is a little anal about how things have to be in his home). After my apology, he called me a moron in Italian. Obviously, I was offended. That isn't the way decent people treat guests in their home, right? And--Honestly, Carminen--if we're going to be assessing intelligence quotions....well.....let's just leave it right there.
So--then, dinner. Yeah. Dinner. That was a torturous affair. Paula made a lovely dinner of pork chops, mashed potatoes and frozen spinach. I want to say in advance that I LOVE spinach...just not frozen spinach. To clarify, the food was not the reason that dinner was torturous. Carmine was still in a bad mood. On the plus side, he turned on this great radio station on siriusxm (maybe Willie's Roadhouse?) with awesome old country. At least the music was great!!!! We sat there eating and then not eating and not talking, just listening to music. He basically forced me to eat a second helping of the nasty frozen spinach. I really didn't like it, plus, my stomach is smaller since I lost weight and I cannot eat as much as I used to eat. If I eat more than I should, I am beyond miserable. But the thing is, I ate it. Why? I know I'm kind of a pleaser, but I never would have thought I was this much of a pleaser. I was starting to feel uneasy and it wasn't just because of Carmine disgustingly rude and disrespectful behavior. It was because I was ACCEPTING it without calling him out on it. I KNOW my momma taught me better than to let a man bully me. I kept thinking to myself, "Why am I doing this? Why am I letting him continue this treatment of me? Why am I kowtowing to a bully? Well, I only have blah, blah, blah days left. I am strong I can handle it. It's only two more days. But why am I allowing it." I was vascillating between allowing myself to submit to a bully and berating myself for doing it. It was such a weird situation in my mind.His cold, passive agressive behavior continued for the rest of the night. I stuck it out til nine (but WHY? Why did I 'stick it out?') then told them that my 'jet' was crashing so I was going to head to bed.
The next day, we had planned to go into the city and take the trolly tour around downtown and maybe go to an aquarium, but the remnants of that Texas storm "Fred" was making his presence known in Boston that Thursday. I went for a walk that morning, we had a piece of toast for breakfast (one piece of toast with butter!!!!!!) and his weird skulking around the kitchen while Paula and I were in the living room continued. I was changing clothes in my room (after the walk) when he knocked and then started to come in. I told him I wasn't dressed and quickly put back on my workout shirt and opened the door. He came in with a trash bag and said, "I just wanna pick up your candy wrappers." I told him they weren't candy wrappers. They were my night-time snacks that I kept by my bed just in case I got a low blood sugar at night. But I gave him my empty wrappers and, as he left, he said, "We like to keep a tidy home here. You can tell that, right? You can tell we keep a nice home, right?" I told him I could and then I shut the door and started changing again.
It was obvious from his behavior that the way I had set up my room was bothering him, so--after I changed--I picked up the pile of dirty clothes I had hidden behing my suitcase and I put them in it. I picked up the pile of hair ribbons I had stacked on the dresser, and the brush I had laid on the dresser, and the toothpaste/brush kit I had laid on the dresser, and the coin change I had put on my dresser, and the wallet I had laid on the bedside table, and the last night-time snack I had laid on the bedside table, and my extra shoes that I had placed on the floor and I put them all back in my suitcase. The only thing I had left that wasn't in my suitcase were the clean clothes that were in the dresser and my computer and my notebook for practicing my mandarin writing homework. The room was now basically spotless, except the computer, etc sitting neatly on my bed and the suitcase and backpack that I put as far into the corner near the closet as I possibly could. I wanted it be look like no one was there because it was beyond obvious that the fact that I had normal items sitting out on a dresser and a bedside table was bothering him. While I was in the process of doing this, Paula knocked on my door and I greeted her. She opened it and said, "Carmine wants the door open." Okay. Whatever, Carmine. Whatever.
Later, I was sitting at the desk in my bedroom doing something on my computer when he noticed me. He didn't say anything then, but after I was finished, I left the room and left the chair out (accidentally as if I was going to sit back in it) I didn't think it was necessary to push it back in flush with the desk. But Carmine did. He told me later to go push the chair in. Later, I was feeling a little sleepy, so I went to my room, turned the shades down and laid down. Carmine knocked and came in and asked what I was doing and then went over to turn the shades back up. I told him I was thinking of taking a nap and I had turned the shades down to stop the light from coming in and that I was planning to return them to normal afterwards. (See how quickly I'm learning to submit to his bullying and rules? My momma always said I was smart! LOL) He left them down and said a nap was fine, but then, as he left, said, "Keep the door open." Ummmmm.....Okay. I'm not allowed to close the door during a nap? I'm not allowed to have privacy as a full grown adult?
Lunch was sandwiches again. I had an actual WHOLE sandwich with two slices of bread and a dr. pepper. I was very hungry because of the toast breakfast. When Paula and went back to the living room after lunch, he continued skulking and i heard him say (quite clearly) "You F***ing Free-loader." Obviously, I can't verify it, but the man was talking to me. The whole time since we arrived home from the museum Wednesday afternoon had been a passive=aggressive anger fest on his part, complete with Italian cussing and name-calling, and a general toxic environment. I was hurt, appalled, and baffled. I had no clue what I could have possibly done to deserve this behavior from him. Finally, he left to go to the grocery store. I took the chance and asked Paula if she knew what I had done wrong...that it was obvious that he was angry with me, etc. She apologized and said he always acted this way (except she used more colorful language.) I asked her if he would get really angry or if it would cause her problems if I found a reason to change my plane tickets and go home early. She said that I should go. She really didn't understand what his deal was either.
I had finally had enough of the toxic environment that I needed to make the move to go. I went into my room and was figuring out how to change my ticket, when Carmine walked into the room and sat down on my bed and started basically yelling at me about the pigsty in which I had been keeping the room. Remember what I told you was on the bedside table and dresser==normal stuff people keep there) Honestly, the following is not an exaggeration, at all. This is the repeating theme that came out of his mouth for at least ten minutes, while I apologized and tried to de-escalate:
"How could you keep the room this way? We keep a nice home! Don't we keep a
nice home? This room was worse than the town dump! I took a picture of
it==it was so bad!(with a smirk on his face) How does that Rachel live with
you? Aren't you ashamed of yourself? This was worse than the town dump!"
Then he stood up to his full height, learning forward toward me with his
(natural, taller than me, male) tallness, almost like he was trying to intimidate me
YELLING NOW..."I don't even let my DAUGHTER keep her room as messy as
this town dump you had!"
Finally, I'd had enough of trying to placate and de-escalate. I had enough of his bullying. I had enough of his intimidation and passive aggressive anger.
Me: "Well, Carmine, You don't have to worry anymore. I'm changing my tickets now. I'll be going home tonight. I'll take an uber to the airport."
Carmine: "Oh. Okay. You don't need to take an uber though We'll take you. Would you like that? I was surprised, especially considering the 'yelling at me" he'd just been doing not even one minute earlier, but I fell for it, anyway.
Me: "Thank you. That would be lovely." I mean, it was likely going to cost $50 bucks or so. \
Carmine; "Yeah. You might as well get as much outta me as you can."
Me: You know what==I'll just take an Uber.
Then he left my room cussing and complaining. I finished buying my ticket, packed, stripped the bed, and was heading to the front door within 15 minutes, It was only 2:30 and my flight wasn't until 8:00 and I'd have to stay with a mask on until 11 p.m. once I entered the airport, but even that torture was better than another minute in (yes. he was) my torturer's home, I went to the fridge to get my insulin and was opening the freezer to get my frozen pack (in which I store my insulin during travel) when Carmine just it forcefully.
Carmine: Stay outta my freezer. What do you need in there?
Me: (as calmly as possible) The freezer pack I use to keep my insulin cold is in there.
Carmine: Oh. Okay.
Then I opened it up and had to move a few things around to find it cos they had bought a turnkey in the interim and my freezer bag was hiding under it. So, I lifted up the turkey, found my freezer bag and put the turkey back down and was removing the bag from the freezer when...
Carmine: quick throwing things around!!
Me: .................(nothing cos I knew there was no way he would be happy) Then...
Me: Well, thank you for letting me stay in your home, Paula. I appreciate it.
Carmine: Scoff, cuss, complain, as he is walking me out of his home.
As I was actually exiting his home:
Carmine: You really need a psychiatrist, lady. You're a nut job!
I walked down the street with my backpack on my back, pulling my wheeled carry-on bag behind me, trying to ignore him, as he continued to berate and cuss and complain.
Here is definitely one space in time where I did not act how God would want me to do, especially considering that I was leaving. I was out of his home. I was safe. His words didn't mean anything, but--in then end-- I let my hurt and anger take control and--as I kept walking, not looking back--I yelled back at him, "You know what, Carmine? Fangul, Buster!" I knew I was cussing at him in Italian and I did it anyway.
Eventually, after walking about ten blocks, i stopped at a cleaners and the very nice Korean man let me use his couch, comforted me the only way he knew how with a cold bottle of water, and I called LYFT for a ride to the airport. My African Lyft driver, Steven, and I had a very nice chat about his wife and son (still in Africa) his shared apartment with other African men who were also saving to bring their families to America. I was able to relax and was safe from the very toxic environment. I arrived at the airport, checked it, made through a surprisely short security line, had to do a 'personal' pat-down, and a second screening of my luggage, but by 4:30, I was in the airport, awaiting my 8:00 pm flight.
Then I noticed a message from a number I didn't know. I listened to the message, and--are you surprised?==it was from Carmine.
Carmine: Did you make it back to Austin all right? Man, Lady--you are a NIGHTMARE! Okay, well, I hope you're safe!"
I'm not kidding. Not even a little.
Later, a different number came up and I answered it. It was Carmine
Carmine: Are you in Austin yet?
Me: Nope. My flight leaves at 8:00.
Carmine: Well, it's too bad you left. I was going to take you out for dinner.
Me: Well, thank you for the thought, Carmine, but I didn't feel safe or comfortable in your home, anymore.
Carmine: Why not?
Me:.....thinking..
Carmine: Well, go ahead, why didn't you feel safe?
Me...I'm trying to formulate my words.
Carmine: Oh, well, go ahead, formulate. (he lets two seconds pass) Yeah, Please formulate.
Me:... Well, You were rude, passive aggressive, you cussed at me. You called me an "F***ing Free-loader. You did not behave well toward me, as your guest and I felt...
Carmine:....Well, none of that matters cos you had that room looking like a pig sty!!!
Me: Carmine, I wish you a happy life, but I'm not having this conversation with you right now.
As, I was hanging up. I got a text from Paula: "Don't talk to him. Just hang up." I responded with, "Well, he started out nice. I thought maybe he was going to apologize."
Paula: No. He won't. Believe me. He is NOT sorry.
Me: Okay. I'll block him.
SIGH.
And the thing that is worse to me than that Carmine treated me in such an inhuman, heinous, disrespectful, Mom-n-grandma-shaming way is that I ACTUALLY TOOK it for a whole day. I was sure that my Momma taught me better than that. I really was sure that I had understood that lesson. I have believed in my ability to be strong and take care of myself all these 34 years of being an adult on my own. One time before I had been physically abused by my boyfriend at Luke Air Force Base and I let it stand, kept dating him, and didn't address it, but I was 21 at the time, so inexperienced with men (they really didn't look at me very much as a teenager. I didn't know WHAT I was doing with the whole dating thing) I KNOW I shouldn't have, but I also understand how I could really not have known...at such a young age...how to respond. I thought...and have even said numerous times since then....that I would leave if someone treated me in an abusive way. Carmine wasn't physically abusive, but his verbal and mental abuse was just as bad. And I put up with it for 24 hours before I "screwed my courage to the sticking-place" and hied up on outta there.
I hope I never do something like this again.
I know I am my own worst enemy sometimes, but I really deserve better than to be treated this way and I am--weirdly, I know--sad, hurt, and disappointed in myself for allowing this to happen.
And secondly and also weirdly: I have a weird kind of PTSD from it. Whenever I hear an older man with a northeastern accent, I cringe. Even if it is on t.v. or the radio. My back tightens up and I feel, momentarily, unsafe. I doubt it is REALLY PTSD, but it is a weird occurrence. I'm angry at Carmine for treating me this way, but also for (i hope, temporarily) ruining my comfort with that northeastern, Boston-born-and-bred accent.
Anyway, I feel like there is a lot of introspection that needs to go on with this situation/memory/occurrence/whatever. It has scarred me a little and I really hate that he gave me another deep, internal scar.
He seriously is a rude, hateful, jackwagon and I can't believe he fooled me for 15 years.
That is the true-life story of my trip to Boston. I'm sure the town and people are great, but I definitely wouldn't venture north to Billerica, if I were you.
Tuesday, September 14, 2021
Emerson
One of his I love the most:
To laugh often, to win the affection of children, to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends, to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others, to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch...to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded
~~Emerson
Monday, September 13, 2021
From the Cobwebs: Dandelion
Ya know, I keep re-posting this whenever it comes up on my timeline cos I feel like it very aptly and poetically explains how I feel about life, MY life, how I get back up after a fall, how I can brush off the ugliness of other people's opinion of me, and really how I can survive and hopefully THRIVE through all the hills and valleys and pitfalls of life. Ya see, I'm a dandelion--a beautiful wildflower weed that you CANNOT and WILL NOT dig up. I'm here to stay and I'm going to keep blooming. Just saying.
