Friday, January 15, 2016

The ones we lost in 2015

I know I'm a couple weeks late. I also know this isn't usually how I do this post.... It's hard for me to do since Tim died even though I am still just as obsessed with celebrity deaths as I was when Tim was alive. By the way, this isn't my video. I found it on YouTube. Any way, here we go...

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Wednesday, December 16, 2015

Just an old lady's thoughts

Before I start this (one sided) conversation that we (me just talking to myself but doing it here so that you are forced to participate) are about to have, I'd like to state that the things I am going to say do not pertain to the youth of today in general (at least I hope they don't) but are, in fact, based on people I actually know.

I've noticed that there is a lot of unprotected sex going on these days. That's scary. Did we as adults not learn anything from our youth and the sometimes deadly diseases that are out there or did we just not think it was important to pass that information on to the younger generations? We should be teaching our children to value themselves and their bodies.

And what's with the attitudes? They act like they are so much better than everyone else. And God forbid you should ask them to do something a certain way. That is just unacceptable in their eyes. Do it and get ready to suffer the wrath. They can destroy the world in one look. Since when did it become acceptable to act so hateful in public? I'm not saying I'm perfect. Far from it. But 99% of the time I try to keep my attitude in check and only have my fits at home. Well....maybe 98% of time...I do have my moments.

Now let's talk about rules. Adults (most of them that I know) generally follow rules pretty well. Teens and twenty-somethings are a different story. It's like they don't believe the rules pertain to them. Have I just reached an age that I have resigned myself to being a rule follower and don't understand (or remember) being young and breaking the rules? No, I don't think that's it. I think that most of the people I know just truly don't care. They care about what they want. What makes them happy. Nothing else.

Which brings me to my next complaint: They have no consideration of other people. Did what you say hurt someone's feelings? Oh well, no big deal because I was just stating my opinion. If you don't like it then too bad. Did you inconvenience somebody by doing something? Oh well, no big deal because I did what I wanted and that made me happy. You should have been selfish too and done what you wanted instead of worrying about other people. 

*sighs* I could just go on and on but what's the point? We created these people. We are to blame. At least I know that my children aren't always guilty of these things. Not that they're perfect either. They've made their mistakes. They've had their moments too. But I'm proud to say that they learn from their mistakes. That they show respect to people and try not to be selfish. Most the time. 
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Monday, November 30, 2015

My Thanksgiving story

I have been neglecting you faithful friends and I'm sorry for that. I truly have no excuses as to why I've hidden from my writer. I've known she was awake for a while now but I've just closed the curtains, pulled up the covers, and slept.

I have been quite ill (still not a valid reason for ignoring you) and have drifted through the days which have turned into months and then into years. Recently though, I awoke at the grocery store and that is the story that I wish to tell you.

I was doing my Thanksgiving dinner shopping along with every other member of Pittsburg County and the three surrounding counties. The aisles were packed full of people and shopping carts. Arms reaching up and over and past each other, trying to get the last can of French Fried Onions before someone else could. I shook my head several times in disbelief but continued to make my way through the sea of people, quietly gathering the items on my list.

I turned onto the baking aisle, noting that it was clearly the busiest aisle in the store. There was a lady in a wheelchair who appeared quite lost and tired. I heard her ask a lady about my age if she knew where the baking powder was. The lady replied without looking at the questioner, "Yeah, about halfway up this aisle." She then turned her glance on the woman and with wide eyes that could only express hatefulness said "on the top shelf" and turned back away.

With some effort, the lady in the wheelchair attempted to get herself turned around but wasn't having much luck because of the number of people standing there. I touched her on the shoulder and asked her if there was a particular brand. She quietly said "the one with the little girl on it but please don't trouble yourself." "Nonsense," I replied. "You wait right here." I made my way down the aisle, retrieved the baking powder that she wanted and was heading back when I saw the lady that had been so rude earlier. I smiled my biggest smile at her and kept walking.

When I finally managed to make my way through the crowd and give the lady her baking powder, she was so visibly grateful for my help that it made my heart swell. That night when I prayed, I thanked God for still allowing me the use of my legs. I also prayed that the lady I helped had a wonderful Thanksgiving with her family and, in a moment of humbleness and understanding, I prayed that the lady who could not be bothered to help a fellow human being had the same as well.

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Some comic relief

I know I've been all serious and stuff over the past few days. Here's a little something to lighten the mood. I know it made me smile...

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Tuesday, March 10, 2015

What is a writer?

What is a writer?

I'll start off by saying that I very much meant to phrase that question the way I did. I find it more fitting to ask what a writer is instead of who a writer is. I believe a writer is made up of many facets. There are many things I draw from when I am writing.

Past experiences, future hopes, people, places, smells...they all add to whatever message it is that I am trying to convey when I sit down to my laptop. I have been blessed (and cursed) with a memory that rarely fails me. Because of that my posts generally start out in one place and end somewhere totally different. Not always, but in general. I tend to wander a lot.

I find it very insulting when people treat my writings as homework. As a way to learn things about me or because they think it will get them a foot in the door with me. Well, that's a little bit of a misstatement. I want people to learn things about me. To know what I like and don't like. But I don't like people to just scan my work so that they can act like they read it when they really didn't. They miss the whole message by doing that.

And I feel like I have a lot of messages to share. That my trials and tribulations and the way I handled them and rose above them could actually help somebody else get to where I am now. That perhaps my negative could help provide their positive. That's my hope any way. That I will make a difference to somebody, somewhere.

In my minds eye, I keep that hope wrapped gently in tissue paper and nestled into a small, golden box that is put away in my heart. There it will stay forever, safe and secure, only being brought out during times of sadness or loss. That's when we need what is kept in our hearts the most and so that is when I allow it to come out and hold me up.

So back to my original question: What is a writer? A writer is a storyteller. A dreamer. A creator. A simple person with a complex mind that wants to help people in any way they can, even if it's just to distract them from their every day existence. In the simplest of terms, a writer is hope.

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