The Hard Way

You never forget your first. The same rings true for your first heartbreak. I was taken back to mine after stumbling upon Dying in the Sun, one woman's painful account of a relationship gone wrong. Empathy was all I could offer from my corner of the world. Because I have been there and done that. I lost my mind and made many mistakes, did things I said I would never do. I know now why you aren't supposed to date your co-workers.

I was working one of those dead end, hate-to-go-can't-wait-to-leave jobs. I didn't like the people and they didn't like me. Misery and I were best buds. Then a man nineteen years my senior from the department next door took an interest in me. He made me feel special, important, wanted. I looked forward to work for a change. Through our conversations, we learned we had a lot in common. I was stoked just to have someone to talk to. Then the atmosphere started to feel different. He was on my mind a lot. We started talking on the phone and hanging out. Now I had always guarded my heart. I let no one in. But I made the decision to take down the wall. Life was too short, a fact proven when my grandmother died. All my relatives had someone to console them. Not I. Not at first. Even though this man was out of town that week, he called me every night. What a guy.

Trouble was he had a girlfriend. He claimed they weren't exclusive. She was free to date whomever she wanted, he convinced me. Oh yeah. She lived about two states away. By then, I was invested in the "relationship" or whatever it was. Long story short: I fell for his tales (I knew better but played along anyway) and went further than I ever planned to go. Eight blissful months later, my supervisor found out and told the whole office. Then the girlfriend moved back to town. He never said a word about that. No heads up. No nothing. Now my reputation was shot, he would barely look at me and work was back to miserable. Did I mention that the girlfriend worked for the company too?

Three awkward months later, I left to return to school. But I still held out hope that . . . I don't know. A year later, I read their wedding announcement in the paper. That really broke my heart. I'm not a crier but I cried that day. It is true what they say: What goes around comes around. I got exactly what I deserved. But know what? I got a lot more than a broken heart. People come into our lives for a reason. They will either be a lesson or a blessing. This "process" was both. It taught me -- no, it reminded me that it takes two to tango. This man didn't do this alone and neither did I. (Truth be told, he really was a good man. Maybe he was just lonely like I was). It taught me not to get so lonesome that I settle for less/mess  and abandon my values and all common sense. It taught me my worth; I will never again be the back-up or the alternate. It taught me who I never again want to be. In retrospect, things could have been worse. The fact that they weren't was my blessing.

So when I let the wall down again -- and I will -- I will go into that relationship stronger and more whole. For I have lived and learned and I did it the hard way.

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Po' Folks

I didn't see it when I first met her. But I see it now. She is one of Them. She loves the Poor. The Poor are barely getting by. They struggle for their basics. Making ends meet is hard for them. Yeah, she loves the Poor. She needs the Poor because they remind her that she is doing okay. Better than okay, to hear her tell it. When I ran into her at the mall, she couldn't wait to tell me that she was shopping for a new Michael Kors bag because she had enough Coach. I just smiled, recalling all her stories of the fortune left her when her husband died. So much she had to spread it across three bank accounts.

But word on the street makes me wonder.

See, the way I heard it her brother is dying of cancer. Stage 4. I know him, a nice man. A hardworking man. A family man. He helped her when her husband lay dying of the same thief. He stopped what he doing to help her turn him over. He went over to help her load him in the car for his doctor appointments. Well, word on the street says her brother asked for $450 to have his car repaired at the dealer. He always kept up his cars (and that of every single woman's in the neighborhood. If he couldn't do the repairs, he would tell you who could). But with the cancer treatments, sure, money is scarce. So of course he would call on his rich sister. Who wouldn't?

Don't you know she asked him when he would pay her back?

I didn't see it when I first met her. But I see it now. She is one of Them. Obscurely insecure. Frightened even. She is one of the Po'. God bless her.

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Pick of Potions

Last night many people got their drink on. It made me wonder what would be my signature drink if I drank. I haven't been to a club in years and I don't think I had a drink then. The time before that, my classmates and I went to Applebee's thinking we were hip and cool. Or that Applebee's was a hip and cool spot for a group of fresh-out-of-high-school girls. When asked what we were drinking, Paulette explained that we wanted to look sophisticated but some of us weren't of drinking age (she wasn't). The host suggested virgin daiquiris. I thoroughly enjoyed mine. It was strawberry and looked like a smoothie. That was my first and last daiquiri but it was good stuff.

I tried beer. Sips of my mom's when I was little. Not good stuff. Taste like the aftertaste you get when you drink a Sprite -- only with none of the sweetness. Maybe it's the hops, which for the longest time I thought were bugs or bee parts. I gotta get out more. Anyway, nasty stuff.

Coolers were an option for a while. I felt, well, cool when people saw me with a long-necked bottle. They would ask if I of all people were really drinking wine. (I always took and still take pride in saying I don't drink.) And I told the truth. If wine were truly in those bottles, it was a minute amount. See, I just like to stay in control of my body and faculties. Can't really do that if you are inebriated, now can you?

I have been hearing a lot lately of White Russians. Don't begin to know what that is about. And I like the Dos Equis commercials. But no. My signature drink would be lemonade. Yellow. Pink. Strawberry. Raspberry. You name it. Country Time used to do it for me. Then in my infinite research for all things non-soy, I discovered it was a culprit. Who knew? Like why? Thank goodness for the Kool-Aid Man. Now I can safely get my lemonade on. I even make tea with it.

But wait. Maybe there's another. Hot chocolate and I have history. We almost burned down the house when I was, oh, five or six.

My cousin Lynn and I asked for some on a hot summer afternoon. The answer was no. My mother was working the night shift and it was time for her nap. To this day, my mother is all about naps. So we had to take one too. The three of us climbed into bed. It wasn't long before my mom was snoring. I'm going to go ahead and take credit for the idea of sneaking out of bed. But Lynn went along.

We tiptoed to the kitchen, pulled a chair to the stove and went to work. We grabbed the Nestle cocoa powder -- blame it on that rabbit on the container. We grabbed the milk. (Note: Hot chocolate made with anything other than milk is sludge. I'm just saying.) And for some reason we grabbed eggs. Maybe we confused cakes with hot chocolate. Now Lynn and I are two months apart in age. We had everything alike. Bikes. Easter dresses. And plastic mugs with Disney characters. She had the blue Daffy Duck. Mine was the pink Bugs Bunny. Daffy was the vessel we chose for our ingredients. We spun the temperature switch around and placed Daffy on the burner, oozing eggs and all. The burner quickly turned red and the kitchen turned foggy. Daffy started warping, drawing inside himself. Fear set in. Lynn urged me to move him. You do it, I said. We carried on that conversation a bit longer. Meanwhile Daffy was melting like the Wicked Witch of the West.

When my mom tells the story she says it was the grace of God that woke her up in time. The fire department came and assessed the situation. But no real harm was done. Just hurt feelings from Mama yelling at us and resentment from Lynn for still having a Bugs Bunny mug while Daffy Duck had given up the ghost.

So my signature drink is . . . lemonade. I can have it year round if I want. Hot chocolate . . . well, there's a time and a place for it.

This post was written in response to the Daily Post Pick Your Potion.

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Paddington, Anne and Liesel

Reading was a favorite pasttime when I was a child. Books made great friends and great gifts too. My mother started me with a boxed, three-book set of the Paddington Bear series. Just the other night I saw a promo for a Paddington movie. Do kids today even know about the marmalade-loving bear from the Darkest Peru left in the Paddington train station? Seems they are about to.

Then I got hooked on Anne of Green Gables. Anne was my girl. I adored her spirit, her spunk, her "scope of imagination." One Christmas, I played Santa for an anonymous, needy child. My child was eleven and asked for very little. That in itself impressed me. She didn't ask for electronic games or a bike. She asked for a book. My kind of girl. I turned immediately to Anne. My hope is that a dreamer, a reader and a writer were born.

If time permitted, I would reach forThe Book Thief. A former boss' husband recommended it. Best thing anyone ever suggested to me. Little Liesel learns to read from her foster father and she never looks back. Though war rages around her, she reads. When reading material runs out, she breaks and enters the mayor's home and steals books. Oh, the wife is hip to it. In fact, she leaves some recommendations of her own.

Much like Anne, Liesel's spirit and determination elate me. Seriously. I never realized how much I enjoyed literature narrated by young people. Looking at my bookshelf makes it sink in. But it also reminds me that life is a journey. Watching these characters (in my mind's eye) come of age makes me feel a proud mama.

I have two days off for the New Year's break. I doubt still the thief and I will be reacquainted. But it's okay. She, Anne, and Paddington live on in my heart always.

This post was inspired by The Daily Post Off the Shelf.

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A Few of My Favorite Things: Christmas Carols

The Christmas spirit doesn't usually hit me until the week before the big day. That's when I'm ready to decorate and shop. That's when I appreciate most the 24-hour Christmas music the local radio station has been playing since the day after Halloween. This year, for some reason, I have downloaded, sung, and tuned in to all things carols rather early. Some songs I couldn't wait to hear didn't appeal anymore and some I had forgotten or never liked tickled my fancy. As a constant list maker, I was inspired to draft some of my favorites.


1. This Christmas. Donny Hathaway's and Christina Aguilera's versions are the best.

2. River. Kenny Lattimore does an AMAZING job with this. Peter White on guitar doesn't hurt either. (Where is Kenny Lattimore?)

3. O Holy Night. Celine Dion kills this when she holds that note forever and 10 days -- twice.

4. War is Over. Ms. Dion rules again.

5. Do You Hear What I Hear? The late great Whitney Houston makes me shake my head with a smile. I get chills too.

6. My Grown-Up Christmas List. Every man has a friend when Amy Grant, Monica and Kelly Clarkson perform their renditions.

7. The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting). The first person I heard sing this was Nat King Cole. You never forget your first.

8. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. In my mind's eye, I always see Judy Garland and Margaret O'Brien in that window just before Tootie runs out and gives Frosty a beatdown.

9. Silver Bells. I thought I liked the version by A Few Good Men. I downloaded it and thought not so much. But then I listened again and thought oh yeah. So yeah.

10. (That's) What Christmas Means to Me. Stevie Wonder, CeeLo Green and Paul Young get me dancing.

11. Please Come for Home for Christmas. The Eagles, namely Don Henley, add some soulful flavor to the season.

12. Happy Holidays. I thought that was Burl Ives but it's Andy Williams. Who cares? It's fun.

13. The Most Wonderful Time of the Year. Staples had a field day with this one at back-to-school time.

14. The Little Drummer Boy. This childhood favorite stirs memories of the TV special.

15. Winter Wonderland. This song made me break out the dictionary when I was kid. I had to know what a parson is. And Annie Lennox scares me but her version mitigates the fear some.

16. Ave Maria. The gold standard of music, Celine Dion, strikes again.

17. Merry Christmas, Baby. I'm not big on Springsteen but he's called The Boss for a reason.

18. Where Are You, Christmas? Ok. Don't laugh. I thought this was Britney Spears. Sorry, Faith Hill. To my credit, I knew better as the song went on. There was a strength there that Spears couldn't pull off without some help from the switches and levers in a studio.

19. Jingle, Jingle, Jingle. Ok, that's Burl Ives.

20. Christmas Time is Here. You can't go wrong with the Peanuts.

21. Every Year, Every Christmas. Think Luther Vandross meets The Script's The Man Who Could Not Be Moved.

22. Don't Save It All. Profound lyrics sung by . . .you know who.

23. Linus and Lucy. This is a Christmas song, right? Brings to mind Pig Pen dancing and raising dust around Schroeder's piano.

24. Mary, Did You Know? CeeLo Green and Vanessa L. Williams . . . We knew she could sing but CeeLo can sang.

25. Do They Know It's Christmas? Music for a good cause with deep lyrics.


Honorable mentions: I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas, All I Want for Christmas (Is My Two Front Teeth), I'm Getting Nothing for Christmas, and What Do the Lonely Do?

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