Tag Archives: family

Weed ‘Em and Reap

“Don’t water your weeds.”
– Proverb

Now, let me just start this blog out by letting you know that I know nothing – and I mean NOTHING – about gardening. Or even about keeping a plant alive. Case in point, the poor little plant you see here to the right.

*sigh*

This picture is the reason I’ve never had plants. THIS is what happens to them.

Now, in my defense, this poor little fella got left behind in a major move. My boyfriend Richard’s family did a little house swapping and then I followed close behind by moving into the home with Richard. In the midst of all the moves, this plant was left sitting on a shelf by a window. Neglected. Once we got moved in and settled, I finally noticed the poor little fella and went to work on trying to save it. I diligently remembered to keep it watered and turn it towards the sunlight, etc. etc. And what happened?

Um, well, nothing.

The plant looked exactly the way it looks in the picture for months. And yet – somehow the parts that were alive (or at least I assume they were – they were still green), just kept going amidst all the dead stuff. So, finally, it dawned on me that maybe I should treat the plant like you do gardens. Get rid of the weeds to make room for the stuff that is still alive to be able to grow.

Hmmmm.

Eh, I didn’t know if it would work, but I figured it would at least make things look a little better, right? So, I went to work. After a full morning of picking and prodding and trying my best to efficiently differentiate between green and brown, I was left with…well…a much smaller plant.

Bless its heart.

(And hey, I didn’t even though that little fern-looking thingy was even in there! How about that!?)

So, yeah, the little fella was looking a little pruned, so to speak, but I still had to admit he looked a heck of a lot better. Right?

And that’s when that writer’s brain of mine kicked in. Suddenly, all of those “weeding” quotes I’ve always heard began to make sense to me. Looking at this little plant in front of me made me realize something important.

This is what it takes to change your life.

If you’re like me, you’ve probably faced some moments in your life when you realized that something just wasn’t ‘right.’ You know what I mean? No matter how much you tried – no matter how many things you crammed into your life to try to fulfill some void that you were certain would top off that internal happiness meter – nothing seemed to work. You tried this, you tried that, you packed your life with so many places and people and things just trying and trying to find that “thing” that would make your life perfect…and still. Nothing.

And then, suddenly, when you realize that you can’t fit a single thing else in your life, it dawns on you. There’s just no more room. None. You’re spreading yourself thin by trying to take care of all the things on your plate (or “in your pot” so to speak) that there’s just no more energy (or “water”) left. And then, when you look even closer, you start to realize how useless some of these things are to begin with. You’re putting precious energy into things that aren’t even serving you anymore, and maybe never even were to begin with. And sometimes those ‘things’ are actually ‘people.’

In other words, you’ve been watering the weeds.

Kinda stupid, huh? Sound familiar? No? Hmmm.

Think maybe it needs to?

I don’t know – maybe the way I am is unique. Maybe I’m the only one who has crammed their life full of crap to no avail. But if the responses I’ve gotten from many of my blogs in the past tell me anything, I’m thinking I’m probably not unique at all. I think we are a whole lot more alike than we may realize. All of us. And I’m betting someone out there probably needed to hear this today. Was it you?

Get rid of the weeds, people. You might feel a little empty to start with. A little bare, maybe. But what’s left will be worth taking care of. And you’ll actually have the energy (“water”) to do it. And before you know it, you’re going to have nothing but a pot full of life.

Doesn’t that sound kinda awesome?

***

“We’re like a gardener with a hose and our attention is water – we can water flowers or we can water weeds.”
– Josh Radnor

Posted by Melissa Edmondson. Categories: Freestyle Writings/Musings. Tags: blogging, change, changed, death, family, friendship, gardening, inspiration, inspirational, love, motivation, motivational, problems, Quotes, weeds, writer, writing. 1 Comment

Apr. ’14

Purpose

“The important thing is that men should have a purpose in life. It should be something useful, something good.”
– Dalai Lama

I visited my grandmother in the nursing home over the weekend. She has Alzheimer’s Disease and is, unfortunately, in the later stages. Meaning, she has no idea who any of us are. And while this is still heartbreaking, most of us in the family have gotten used to it. We know what’s coming when we visit her. We’re ready for it, and we expect it. We’ve learned to live with it.

Unfortunately, however, she hasn’t.

One thing she kept repeating over and over again during our visit was this one same question, “What am I supposed to be doing?”

Each time she asked the question (not remembering she had just asked it seconds earlier), I would respond the same way, “You’re not supposed to be doing anything, MawMaw. Nothing at all.” And each time, she’d say, “I’m supposed to just sit here?” I’d tell her yes, and then the cycle would repeat itself.

And then, in addition to her question, I started noticing other things around the room that seemed connected to what she was getting at.

Now, we weren’t visiting in my MawMaw’s private room. When we arrived at the nursing home, she had been moved to the ‘day room’ for activities with the other residents (which she didn’t seem to want to participate in). So, while visiting her, we also saw a lot of the other patients. And while there were a variety of levels of illness (as well as a wide variety of personalities), one common theme seemed to stand out at me. The theme that my sweet grandmother was trying to convey with that one question she kept asking me.

The search for purpose.

Take one lady for instance. She kept pushing her little wheelchair around firmly explaining to people that they were not allowed to go certain places. In fact, she’d block their path if they tried. (Which in one case resulted in a kick to the leg of the other person in his wheelchair as he was simply trying to go through the doorway. Yikes!) While little Miss Bossy Pants was an annoyance to all concerned, I started to realize that she was just appointing herself with a purpose. A misconstrued purpose, maybe, but a purpose nonetheless. Her job was to tell people where to go and not to go.

And this same lady at one point (when everyone was apparently in their appointed places and she had allowed herself a break from guard duty), rolled herself over to a hamper near the door and, with curiosity, opened the lid and peered in. What she saw was a mound of dirty, used towels. So, what does she do? One by one (until the nurse caught and stopped her), she pulled them out, placed them neatly into her lap, and started folding them and putting them back into the hamper.

She had found a purpose. Folding laundry.

Another woman sat at her table and made bread. No, she didn’t have any flour or shortening or bowls or an oven or any of that. Not that you or I could see, anyway. But nevertheless, she sat at her table and mixed and kneaded the dough, placed it on the table, patted it out, etc. It took me a while to figure out what she was doing, but once I did, that same thing hit me again. She had found her purpose. She had to bake biscuits. And she was content in doing so.

In every person lay the same idea. One woman chose to sing, another chose to yell at her kids (who weren’t there)…the list goes on and on. What looks to those of us in our “right” minds as unnecessary chatter and activities, to them are anything but unnecessary. They are, in fact, very necessary. To their livelihood. To their well-being.

To their sense of purpose.

Which brings me back to my MawMaw. While sitting there, I was reminded of a quote I once heard. I couldn’t remember it exactly, but when I got home, I looked it up.

“I am here for a purpose and that purpose is to grow into a mountain, not to shrink to a grain of sand. Henceforth will I apply ALL my efforts to become the highest mountain of all and I will strain my potential until it cries for mercy.”
– Og Mandino

Those are some powerful words there. How much do we take our purpose for granted? How much do we complain when we have to go to work, or when we have to drive kids here and there, or when we have yet another activity to have to show up at or to have to devote time to? Do we ever just stop to bask in the beautiful, yet forgotten, meaning of it all?

We have a purpose.

I turned to my sweet grandmother, with all of this on my mind, and I finally had an answer for her. The next time she asked me, “What am I supposed to be doing?,” I had her answer.

“MawMaw. All you have to do is just let us love you.”

It’s time to rest.

I know that wasn’t enough for her. And I know she won’t remember my answer for any length of time. But regardless of whether it seeps into her aging mind on some level, it still remains true. No, there are no more children to take care of. No more laundry to fold. No more dinners to cook or beds to make or groceries to be shopped for. My MawMaw is right – there is nothing left that she is supposed to ‘do.’ It is time for her, whether she wants to or not, to simply rest. That’s all. Just rest. And to a woman who spent her life as a wife, mother of nine, step-mother to many others, and grandmother and great-grandmother to too many to count, I’m sure that’s a tough blow to take. But whether she realizes it or not, although there are no physical activities left for her to take care of, her purpose still remains strong and true.

She’s still here because she still has a lesson to teach us.

She may not realize that, but I do.

Thank you, MawMaw. Because you are serving your purpose, I’ll now go on to serve mine.

(And I’ll try to remember to appreciate every moment of it….)

***

“As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being.”
– Carl Jung

Posted by Melissa Edmondson. Categories: Freestyle Writings/Musings. Tags: Alzheimer's, blog, blogging, change, children, family, grandchildren, grandmother, grandparents, inspiration, inspirational, life lessons, loss, love, motivation, motivational, photos, purpose, Quotes, writer, writing. 4 Comments

Mar. ’14

Laughter

“The most wasted of all days is one without laughter.”
– e. e. cummings

A few weeks ago, I wrote a blog about our dog, Lucy, and a lesson I learned from her one day. Well, apparently, Lucy hasn’t hung up her teaching hat just yet – she had yet another tutorial for me this week.

If I didn’t describe Lucy well enough in my last blog, let me give you a few more details. Lucy is one seriously happy dog. I mean…seriously. That girl LOVES everything. She loves me, she loves my boyfriend Richard, she loves our kids, she loves squirrels, birds, the mailman, the UPS guy, the cats….(ok, that may be pushing it a little – she loves torturing them, does that count?)

But I noticed something else about her the other day that made me smile. Apparently, Lucy’s happiness isn’t just dependent upon someone or something else being around. I was walking through the house and just happened to glance out the window and there stood Lucy in the middle of the yard – not looking at anything in particular, not doing anything noteworthy, just standing there – and that tail of hers was just wagging to beat the band. No one else around, and Lucy was just as happy as she could be. Just because.

I told Richard about it later and said, “I want to be just like Lucy. I want to be so happy that I wag my tail even when nobody’s looking, don’t you?”

He laughed and agreed, the subject was dropped, and we went on about our business. Situation forgotten.

Until a few days later. I was driving along in my car listening to the audio books that I always listen to when I’m traveling anywhere, and I realized that I wasn’t retaining much of what I was hearing. I was just stressed and distracted and not in the mood to try to follow along with a book. So, I ejected the audio book CD and started looking for something else to pop in, when I came across a CD that my ex-husband bought me the other day. Yes, you read that right – my ex-husband bought me a CD. Ok, it was a $1 CD that he saw at Goodwill, but still. It was nice of him to think of me. What was the CD, you ask? New Kids on the Block’s greatest hits. Yup. He remembered that I used to be an NKOTB freak (their last known fan actually – I have a tendency to hold on a little too long), and he thought I’d like it. Up to this point, I hadn’t listened to it yet, but I just decided to go ahead and throw it in the player and see what they sounded like after all these years. And boy, was I glad I did. I was immediately transformed back to the late 80s/early 90s and I still remembered just about every word to every song. Before long, I was signing at the top of my lungs like nobody’s business – and with a goofy smile on my face to boot.

That’s when I noticed the car that had pulled up beside me at the red light.

And what did I do? *sigh* I turned the music down, wiped the smile off my face, and sat staring straight ahead until the light changed.

Now, what the heck did I do that for?

Isn’t that dumb? What’s wrong with wagging my tail when I thought no one was looking, you know? I was just so darn afraid of how I looked to someone else. Why are people like that? It’s just plain silly. I don’t even think I gave it much thought at the time – I think it was just instinct to pull it together and look like a decent, non-crazy, non-NKOTB fan girl and make myself ‘presentable’ once I knew I had an audience.

I so need to stop that.

I’m like that with pictures too. I am the queen of “Wait – don’t take the picture yet, I’m not ready.” Or, “Ew, that one looks like crap, let’s take another one.” My family just loooooves that too, let me tell ya. And my boyfriend Richard and I couldn’t be more different when it comes to that kind of thing. He is crazy about the candid photos – the ones that no one knew were coming or that we weren’t exactly ‘ready’ for. Me? I think I look like a doofus. Especially the pictures where I’m laughing.

See this picture? For some dumb reason, I never posted this picture on Facebook or had it framed. I wasn’t “ready” when the picture was taken. Instead, I posted the version where we were standing up straight, both looking at the camera, smiling, with just one arm around each other. I even have it framed and sitting on my bookshelf at home. But this one? This one was just sitting on my phone as one of the ‘mess ups.’ I ask myself now, “What the heck were you thinking, woman!?” I mean, look at that picture. My daughter is all snuggled up to me and I’m laughing. I think I had told her to stand closer just before the picture was snapped, so she bear hugged me being silly.

Good grief, Me. Get it together. *These* are the memories you want to hold on to.

Or, how about this one? We were trying to take a ‘selfie’ just before we had gotten all dressed up to go to the theatre together. It took about 30 shots before we finally got the ‘right’ one – you know, the one where we’re both smiling sweetly and looking straight the camera. This funny, goofy one where I was laughing so hard my eyes disappeared was never posted. This shows so much more of our personalities than the one that I did deem ‘post-able.’ Kelly being silly, me laughing like a dork – this is ‘us.’

But I was just so afraid of it not looking ‘right.’ Not looking good enough. Not being posed and ‘perfect.’

Silly, silly me.

So, today, I ask you this – are you like me? Do you make sure the picture looks ‘just right’ before you take it? Do you hold back on laughing so that you don’t like an open-mouthed hyena? Do you stifle your happiness so that you look decent and presentable to strangers that don’t even matter? Do you only publicly post the pictures where you’re smiling perfectly and everything is in order?

Or are you like Lucy? Do you express your joy, no matter the circumstances…laugh until you cry when you see the ones you love…stay so happy that you wag your tail even when you’re alone? And for Heaven’s sakes, not stop just because someone is looking?

Well, here’s my advice. Be like Lucy.

We only get one go-around, you know? Just one. Don’t waste it. Wag your tail, people. Just wag it.

Life sure is a heck of a lot better that way.

Thanks for yet another lesson learned, Lucy dear.

Posted by Melissa Edmondson. Categories: Freestyle Writings/Musings. Tags: appearance, blog, blogging, daughter, family, happiness, inspiration, inspirational, memories, mother, motivational, photos, pictures, Quotes, sharing, writer, writing. 2 Comments

Feb. ’14

What A Novel Idea

“I like the challenge of trying different things and wondering whether it’s going to work or whether I’m going to fall flat on my face.”
– Johnny Depp

So, have I mentioned that I’m writing a novel?

Finally. After all of these years of writing poetry and essays, I finally decided to bite the bullet and give a novel a try. I never thought I could do this. First of all, I have never been the greatest at that whole “follow through” thing. Oh you know how it is – you get these great big grandiose ideas in your mind, and maybe you even actually start on them, but to follow through? Ok, I’m out. That follow through thing takes too much work. On to the next great idea…

You feel me? Been there yourself? Oh yeah – when it comes to follow through, jumping ship has always been my superpower.

And another reason I’ve been hesitant to write a novel? Well, I’m not exactly a ‘fiction’ writer. Most everything I’ve written over the years has just been observations of the world around me, not something that I made up in my mind. Yes, yes, I know all books don’t have to be fiction. There are plenty of great non-fiction books out there in the world. But something I came across once in some “how to be a writer” article or another was this piece of advice that I’ve never forgotten. It said that there is something important that you need to remember when you are ready to take on the challenge of writing a novel.

“Write something that you would like to read.”

Although at first glance that seems pretty obvious, there’s actually much more wisdom to that than you might think. While I have always written poetry and essays, when I go to a bookstore, are the poetry and essay books the first ones I head to? Nope. I like novels. Fiction. I love them. I eat them up. I love the ones about family connections, the ones about mysteries, the ones with a strong, likeable heroine as the main character….all that stuff.

So, why am I not writing that?

Well, other than the reasons I’ve mentioned before, there’s also the big reason. The reason that we all have whenever we’re afraid to rise to any challenge in our lives. What’s that reason, you ask? Well, I think you know.

I’m afraid I’ll fail.

What if I spend all this time writing a fiction novel…and it blows? You know? I mean, it’s highly likely for that to be the case. I’m not a novelist. I’m a beginner. It may never get read by anyone except my boyfriend Richard. (You know he’ll be forced to read it. I’m sure he already thinks I’m a little crazy for talking about these characters as if they were real people as it is…) It may never get published and may just remain a pile of words sitting on a computer hard drive somewhere for the rest of my life.

Or.

Or…maybe someone will like it. Maybe it will get published. And read. And (as is the most important thing to me…), identified with. Wouldn’t that be awesome?

Eh. Either way. It’s time to try, right?

I compare it to when I first started running. I remember the absolute glee I felt the first time I ran one mile without stopping. (Quotes?) And then the first time I ran an actual 5K. (Poetry?) And then the pride and accomplishment I felt when I ran my first half marathon. (Essays?). Well, now it’s time to rise to the challenge and take it a step further. Just as I never thought I’d be able to get this far with my running, I also thought I’d never get this far with my writing. I have an essay published in Chicken Soup for the Soul, for Heaven’s sakes! That’s a big deal. And I’ve ran not one, but two half marathons. The lesson to be learned is that I can do things that I never thought possible.

Maybe it’s time to step up my game?

So here’s to the future. Here’s to a finished novel (good or bad) and to a full marathon one of these days. It doesn’t have to be the best – it just has to get done. It just has to.

Bucket list, make room. A few more things are about to join the ranks…

***

“I want to challenge you today to get out of your comfort zone. You have so much incredible potential on the inside. God has put gifts and talents in you that you probably don’t know anything about.”
– Joel Osteen

Posted by Melissa Edmondson. Categories: Freestyle Writings/Musings. Tags: author, blog, blogging, book, change, chicken soup for the soul, essays, family, fiction, heart, inspiration, inspirational, love, motivation, motivational, non-fiction, novel, novelist, passion, poetry, Quotes, writer, writing. 5 Comments

Jan. ’14

Brandy

“A sister can be seen as someone who is both ourselves and very much not ourselves – a special kind of double.”
– Toni Morrison

Have I ever mentioned that I have an 11-year-old sister?

Yep, it’s true. My teenage children have an 11-year-old Aunt Brandy. I know, crazy, right? (And you better believe she tries to use that fact when they’re arguing over something…”You HAVE to listen to me, I’m your aunt!”…)

Now, Brandy’s not my only sister, mind you. I’m actually the oldest of a clan of six. My mom and dad split when I was just a baby, so I’m the only biological child they had. But then my mom remarried and had my three sisters and one brother. My dad, on the other hand, didn’t get around to having any more children until much later in life when Brandy came along, so now he is the proud father of two daughters….24 years apart!

Well, recently I’ve started to notice something. I’m thinking this whole ‘writing’ thing may have come from my dad’s side of the family. Because that little 11-year-old has some seriously mad skills with the written word.

Here, let me show you something.

Sleepless

No dreams. No rest. No nothing. Night after night of restlessness. Night turns into day, and day into night. Over and over again. No sleep. Sleepless.

I lay awake on a cold, rainy night. Looking out the window and seeing all the lights off I think “Ah. So many people can get sleep. But, why can’t I?” The windows are as cold as ice. Touching the window made my fingers numb. But, I still feel that lifeless cold against my fingers as I look out into the darkness. No sleep. None.

Sleep well, my friends. Because there are those who are sleepless night after night…

Umm…hello!? Did I mention she’s ELEVEN YEARS OLD? Look out, missyspublicjunk, I think brandysbetteratthisthanmissy is on your tail!

Or, how about this one?

Hard To Love

Have you ever felt like you can’t be loved or you can’t love anyone? Truth is, everyone in some way is hard to love.

Maybe it’s that little anger issue you have. Or you cry so easily that your friends tease you over it. It could be that you won “Miss Drama Queen Of The Year.” You could like nerds and geeks. You could have likes and dislikes far bizarre than others’. You might put up a wall between you and other people. And there’s still over millions of other things that make people hard to love! But we all are human beings. We have our flaws. We are who we are. You should be proud of yourself for all that you’ve done!

So next time when you feel unloved, remember, you’re not the only one. EVERYONE is hard to love.

Again. ELEVEN.

How about this line from a poem she wrote entitled “I Am From”:

“I am from darkness, with pieces of heaven falling down…”

I am just absolutely blown away at the talent this little girl possesses. I wonder if she knows that? I’ve told her so, but I wonder if she really knows it, you know?

My dad told me that she has been reading my blog. He thinks that seeing what I have written has influenced and encouraged her to write. Wow. How proud I am to have influenced something so great.

See, I used to be eleven, too. I used to sit in my room writing feverishly in my little trapper keeper. Poems, stories, journal entries. You name it, I wrote it. And I didn’t show anyone. What if they didn’t like it? What if they made fun of me? But not this 11-year-old. This girl is putting her writing out there for the world to see. Thank goodness she has that kind of courage. It took me over 30 years to find it.

This girl is going to go places. And I hope she knows how proud of her I am.

Thanks for letting me take the time to brag on my little sis.

***

“A sister is a little bit of childhood that can never be lost.”
– Marion C. Garretty

Posted by Melissa Edmondson. Categories: Freestyle Writings/Musings. Tags: blog, blogging, change, family, heart, inspiration, inspirational, motivation, motivational, photos, poetry, pride, proud, Quotes, sharing, sisters, writer, writers, writing. 4 Comments

Jan. ’14

2014

“We will open the book. Its pages are blank. We are going to put words on them ourselves. The book is called Opportunity and its first chapter is New Year’s Day.”
– Edith Lovejoy Pierce

I sit here overwhelmed with the feeling of joy and happiness that this first day of the New Year has brought me.

I rang in the New Year with a group of friends that I am blessed and privileged to have come to know in the past few years. We have shared a stage together, and now, we share our homes and our lives. Our children have become friends, which warms my heart to no end. In fact, after ringing in the New Year, we brought a group of them home with us for a sleepover. As I type this, four teenagers are playing outside in the vast backyard of our new home (after promptly informing me, mind you, that my breakfast was awesome because they had to eat ‘healthy stuff’ at their homes. Heh. Oops.) I finally live in a community where I actually know people well enough for our kids to have sleepovers together. This may not sound like that big of a deal, but to a roaming nomad Army brat such as myself, finding a place that feels like ‘home’ is no small feat. I have found it.

I also woke up to this email this morning:

My heart is full as I realize that something I wrote touched a heart in Saudia Arabia. Saudia Arabia! This world just isn’t as small as we think it is, is it? Months ago, I sat with a cat curled on my lap and the man I love made a comment about it. And now, because I took the time to turn that into written word, it has touched a heart across the world.

Wow.

Really. That’s all I know to say about that. Just…wow.

Tomorrow, I will head in to a wonderful good-paying job that I worked hard to work my way up to. I will then leave work, and I will come home to a man who loves me with all of his heart, and I’ll know that just by looking at his adorable little dimpled face and seeing that smile that lights it up when I get home. I’ll also know it by watching him chop wood to bring in to build a fire in our wood stove. I’ll know it by watching him tinker with my car to make sure everything is in working condition. I’ll know it each time he picks up a guitar and asks me to sing with him, and making me feel like I’m good enough to do it. I’ll know it by accepting the glass of wine he hands me after a long, stressful day, or by sitting down to the wonderful meal that he has cooked for me. I’ll know it by feeling his hand reach out across the table and slip into mine and squeeze it before we begin to eat. I’ll know it by the kiss he plants on my forehead before we slip off to sleep in our big, warm bed. I’ll know it because…well. I’ll just know it. Because I pay attention. Because I look for it. Because I believe it.

I am a blessed, happy, healthy woman. And I intend to spend 2014 continuing to see and appreciate those blessings that surround me, and will try my best to not take a single moment of this precious life for granted.

Won’t you join me?

Happy New Year, my friends.

***

“Write on your heart that every day is the best day in the year.”
– Ralph Waldo Emerson

Posted by Melissa Edmondson. Categories: Freestyle Writings/Musings. Tags: appreciation, blog, blogging, chicken soup for the soul, children, daughter, family, friends, friendship, happiness, health, heart, home, inspiration, inspirational, motivation, motivational, New Year, photos, Quotes, Saudia Arabia, sleepovers, writer, writing. Leave a comment

Dec. ’13

Tattle Tail

“If animals could speak, the dog would be a blundering outspoken fellow; but the cat would have the rare grace of never saying a word too much.”
– Mark Twain

“Ok, what is it now, Patches?”

Patches, my fat little calico, was once again trying to tell me something – something of utmost importance, mind you. A usually quiet cat (other than her incessant “I’m so happy” purr), Patches would only get vocal when she needed something. The food bowl is empty? “Meow, meow, meow” would resonate through the home until I would finally obey Princess Patches’ commands and follow her to the kitchen to replenish. Time to go outside? Again, meows would echo off the walls until I made my way to the front door, where she would be sitting with her paw up on the door waiting for someone with thumbs to come along and release her.

Granted, I was aware – and appreciative – of my cat’s intelligence. When she wanted something, she would make it happen. (I’d like to think she got that from me.) But honestly, the needy meows would sometimes border on the annoying side. And this particular morning was no exception.

Patches and I had just made a move. The sweet man in my life and I had just decided to combine our homes and take the next step in our future together. And although he and I both knew we were ready, one little question remained hanging in the air.

How were our cats going to take the news?

He, too, had a ruler of the roost. A muscular, sleek, gray cat named Mittens. At first glance, you would think Mittens was not a very nice little fella. The first time I ever saw him, I almost laughed at the irony of such a sweet, cuddly name as Mittens paired with such a fierce looking tiger-like cat. But I soon learned not to judge a book by its cover. Under that fierce exterior, lied the sweetest, most cuddly furball I’d ever met. Falling in love with Mittens didn’t take long at all.

Would it be that easy for Patches? Well, we were about to find out.

The inevitable came. After moving everything else I could think of, it was finally time to pack up Patches and move her as well. She was none too thrilled with the 45-minute drive (no more little quiet kitty, that’s for sure), but, much to my surprise, once we arrived at the home and I put her down to wander through the house, she seemed to be immediately at ease. She sniffed around, circled the perimeter of every single room, and eventually made her way to the living room where she found her favorite resting spot on the radiator, and promptly went to sleep. Wow. That was easy.

Now, on to the hard part.

Patches, meet Mittens.

We let Mittens inside, and he immediately knew something was ‘off.’ He made his way through the home sniffing around until he finally found the culprit – a massive pile of sleeping multi-colored fluff resting on ‘his’ radiator. Patches woke up – and thus, the fighting began. The hisses, the growls, the shrieks.

Sigh. So much for love at first sight, huh?

Over the next few weeks, the cats seemed to slowly come to a truce. There was definitely no love lost between them, but at least they were learning to coexist – even managed to share from the same food bowl (just not at the same time, mind you!). As long as no blood was shed, we considered the status quo a success.

Which brings me to this particular morning. The incessant “meow, meow, meow” could be heard throughout the whole house. I was getting ready for work so I didn’t immediately go to find out what was going on. I figured whatever it was would pass. But the meows started getting closer, and soon there stood Patches in the doorway of the bathroom staring up at me with that “hello? Didn’t you hear me calling for you?” face. “What, Patches? What is so important?” I knew her food and water bowls were filled – those were the first things I had taken care of when I woke up that morning. I knew she didn’t want to go outside (Miss Lucy, the sweet, playful outside doggy took care of making sure Patches would now, and forevermore, be considered an ‘inside cat.’) So, what on Earth had my little fat cat in such a tizzy?

I let curiosity get the best of me (I guess I learned that one from her), and decided to stop what I was doing and follow her. We made our way down the hall, with her looking back every second to be sure I was coming, and ended up in the kitchen. Patches made it there first, and calmly and methodically sat down on the floor and looked up at the counter. And there, up on the counter, chomping down on last night’s leftovers that were mistakenly left out and not put up in the refrigerator, was Mittens.

Patches had just told on Mittens.

I immediately busted out in laughter. I mean, yes, Mittens was doing a bad thing and was definitely eventually shooed off of the counter and scolded – but seriously? He got told on? By a cat? Once my giggle fits finally subsided, I realized that there was a deeper meaning to be taken from this whole thing. Yes, our kitties were learning to coexist; yes, the fighting had stopped; and no, there was no cuddling or playing between the two, much to my dismay. But, finally, there was ‘this.’ This incident told me all I needed to know.

Mittens and Patches had now become brother and sister. Tattle “tails” and all.

Mission accomplished. Our happy little family was complete.

Posted by Melissa Edmondson. Categories: Freestyle Writings/Musings. Tags: adaptation, blog, blogging, cats, change, family, inspiration, inspirational, love, motivation, moving in, photos, Quotes, relationships, writing. 2 Comments

Dec. ’13

Seasons

“No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.”
– Hal Borland

Ahh. ‘Tis the season.

The holidays. The time for joy. The time for sharing. The time to look around and appreciate the ones you love – hold them close to you and thank your lucky stars that they are in your life. You know, all that warm fuzzy stuff. Awwww.

And boy, it sure would be nice if that were all the holidays were about. But unfortunately, it’s not. Because, you know what else this time is?

It’s the time of year that makes it painfully obvious when one of those “people that you love”…is missing. And you know what especially stings? When that person who is missing during this happy holiday season, is missing by choice.

I talk about my happy relationship a lot on this blog. And it is very much that…a happy relationship. Yes, we have our ‘down’ times just like any relationship does. But, even during those times, we both know how very lucky we are to have each other. We are in a loving, committed, and most importantly, an equal relationship that makes us both feel fulfilled and excited and hopeful for a long future together. And I wonder sometimes how other people see these things I say about our life together, especially those who are recently single or who are just generally ‘unattached’ for whatever the reason. I’m sure they look at what I say the same way I used to look at it when other people would say it. Which was, “Well yeah, that’s great that this happening for you, lady, but it’s not like that for all of us. You’re just one of the lucky ones. Every story doesn’t have a cute little ending, Miss Happy Pants.”

Well, guess what? I’m with ya, sista. (Or brotha, as the case may be.) I am – I completely hear what you’re saying. And you know why?

Because it certainly hasn’t always been this way.

I was just looking through some old pictures from Christmases in the not-so-distant past, and I came across this picture of my kids and me from the Christmas season of 2009, just four short years ago. We sure do look happy, don’t we? But I’m gonna tell you a secret. See that smile on my face?

It’s fake.

Yep. It sure is. It’s about as fake as a smile can get. Now, I’m not saying being there with my kids didn’t make me happy. It did. But as you can tell from the way I have my hands placed on them, I was holding on to them for dear life. They were my anchors in the storm that my life was going through. Behind that smile, there was so much hurt. So much pain. So much uncertainty and confusion. And most of all, so much sadness. I was going through a time that I sometimes thought I was not going to make it through.

What was happening, you ask? Well, it’s simple.

My heart was broken.

In one of my previous blogs, I referenced what I like to call my “breakup bible.” It’s the book, It’s Called A Breakup Because It’s Broken by Greg Behrendt and his wife Amiira. (If you’re hurting over the end of a relationship, go read it. Like, now. Trust me on this.) So, in this breakup bible of mine, there is the following quote:

“Being brokenhearted is like having broken ribs. On the outside, it looks like nothing is wrong, but every breath hurts.”

Holy crap, is there so much truth to that. It’s hard to function in any of your day-to-day activities when you can’t even take a breath without pain. And that’s how I felt. People can minimalize the pain of a breakup all day long, but I’ll be the first to call “BS” on that nonsense. Heartbreak friggin hurts. Bad. And that’s how I was feeling during the Christmas of 2009. I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this on this blog before, but I’ve been divorced twice. Yep, you read that right. Twice. My first marriage was to my children’s father, and that ended years ago, back when my babies were just little. We were both young and got swept up in the family life before we were ready. That kind of thing happens, ya know.

But my second marriage? Yeah, I can’t blame youth on that one. And I can’t blame getting married out of some sort of ‘necessity.’ No baby was on the way or anything along those lines. Nothing was ‘forcing’ us to get married. I also can’t blame it on poor planning. We dated for over three years before finally deciding to get married. To be honest, I can’t blame my choice to get married to him on anything other than the fact that I loved him. I did. I loved him, he loved me, and we thought we were going to build a life together, regardless of the statistical odds that we were facing.

Well. We were wrong.

After all that planning, after those years of dating, and after all of the conversations about how we weren’t going to be one of the statistics, we became just that. Another statistic. And it hurt.

No, that’s putting it too mildly. It didn’t just hurt. It was excruciating. This wasn’t just your run-of-the-mill relationship breakup. This was the breakup of a marriage. The breakup of a newly-formed family (we both had kids from our previous marriages). This was a decision that affected us all to the core of our beings. And that picture up there that I showed you? That picture was taken about a month after I had moved out of the home we shared and into my own little trailer. It was the only thing I could find that I could afford. I was starting from scratch. Again. I sure didn’t see that coming on the day I took those vows. (Do we ever?)

But now, let’s skip to Christmas 2013. Four years later.

Here we are. Richard and I and our kids. All together. All healed and happy and ready to face the future. Here I am doing exactly what I swore I’d never do. Not only was I not going to fall in love again, but I sure as heck wasn’t going to fall in love with a man with kids. You can read all the self-help books in the world about how it feels to lose a relationship or a marriage, but I can guarantee you that there isn’t much out there to help you through the pain of losing step-kids. Once my marriage ended, so did my ties to his children. And I was going to make certain I would never fall in love with a man’s kids again like I fell in love with them.

But I was wrong.

I think I fell in love with Richard’s kids before I fell in love with him, to tell you the truth. And I’m not so sure it didn’t happen the same way for Richard with my kids. And Richard had the same reservations I did. He was hurting from a previous loss as well. Even if he hadn’t told me, I could see it on his face. He was just like me…he had made all the same promises to himself that I had made. No more relationships. No more commitments. No more love. It’s just too darn painful.

Ha! Well, look how that turned out.

I don’t know you, and I don’t know your specific situation. My readers are as diverse as any set group of individuals always are. But if you’re one of the ones who is getting ready to face this holiday season alone after the end of a relationship, this blog is for you. All I want you to know is this.

Pain ends.

It really truly does. The future that you think you won’t have with anyone else? You’re wrong. It’s there. That relationship bliss that you think is reserved for big-mouth redheads with their own blog? You’re wrong there too. It’s waiting for YOU. Yes, you. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But one day down the line, it’s going to be your turn. If someone would have told me that back during the Christmas of 2009, I would have said the same thing to them that you’re thinking right now. That kind of thing is for other people, not for me. And I would have been just as wrong as you are.

Just as wrong.

I am writing this blog with one particular person in mind, but as I have seen from many of the other things that I have written, we are never ever alone in our struggles. For this one person’s pain, there are millions more who are feeling it too. We are all connected and that pain that you feel is reserved for only you, isn’t. The pain isn’t yours alone, and the happiness isn’t mine alone. These are just seasons. We all get a turn. The world keeps spinning, even when you feel like it shouldn’t.

So keep on keepin’ on, my friends. Your happy may be just around the corner.

Merry Christmas.

***

“Nothing lasts forever – not even your troubles.”
– Arnold H. Glasow

Posted by Melissa Edmondson. Categories: Freestyle Writings/Musings. Tags: blog, blogging, change, changed, dating, divorce, family, Greg Behrendt, heart, heartache, heartbreak, history, inspiration, inspirational, It's Called A Breakup Because It's Broken, loss, love, marriage, motivation, motivational, moving on, pain, photos, problems, Quotes, relationships, writing. 2 Comments

Nov. ’13

Family Tree

“I find the family the most mysterious and fascinating institution in the world.”
– Amos Oz

My family tree is a little lop-sided.

Okay, I guess I should explain what I mean by that.

I come from two completely opposite families. On one side – my mother’s side – you have the big, boisterous family. My mom is one of 9 biological brothers and sisters and then, later in life, added so many step-siblings to that total that I’ve lost count. And then she herself ended up having five children, of which I’m the oldest, so you can imagine that there weren’t many moments of quiet and solitude in my life while growing up. When I think of that side of the family – the siblings, the cousins, the aunts, the uncles, etc. – I think of laughter and loudness. Of drama and emotion. Of lots and lots of outspoken love and endless support. Variety. Open-mindedness. Freedom.

And then. Well, then there’s my father’s side.

My father is an only child. His mother, my grandmother, is also an only child. There are no aunts. No uncles. No cousins. It’s always been…well, just us. And when I think of that side of the family, the thoughts that pop into my mind couldn’t be more different than when I think of the other. No, with this side, I think of calm. Of quiet. Of dotting your i’s and crossing your t’s. Of keeping emotion and drama locked up tight and making sure you don’t stand out. Blending. Conforming. Behaving.

Now, I understand that I have just painted this side in a more negative light, but I really don’t mean to do that. There are pros and cons of both sides. For instance, on my mom’s side, it’s a little easy to get lost in the crowd. No one notices everything you do because they have their eyes on so many others. There will be weeks, months even, without phone calls. (But that’s okay, because we all know we’ll pick right back up where we left off whenever we do cross paths again.)

But on my dad’s side? No, there is no getting lost in the crowd. You are always thought of. Missed. Examined under a microscope. Expected to pick up the phone and make contact in regular intervals. You are definitely remembered, never forgotten about, and constantly noticed.

Well, as you can imagine, being someone that comes from such different ends of the spectrum has managed to play with my head a little. The other day, at the insistence of a bored friend, I took an unofficial online personality test. As I went through the test answering questions about such things as my preference of being alone or in a crowd, and where I stand when I walk into a crowded room (middle or edge?), I noticed that some of my answers were contradicting each other. And that seemed odd to me. Do I like crowds or don’t I? Do I like being the center of attention or don’t I? Taking this test made me think of another odd inconsistency I’ve noticed in my life. Any time I’m headed to a large get-together, I dread it and think I’d rather be doing anything else – and then, I get there, and I have a blast. What the heck is up with that?!

Now that I think about it, I can’t help but realize that these inconsistencies in my personality most likely stem from the two opposing influences I had growing up. Yeah, yeah, I know – everybody blames everything on their parents [cue the mental image of me lying on a couch in a psychiatrist’s office telling him all about my crazy childhood…]. But seriously, in this case, I think I’m probably on to something. We are influenced by our family, whether we like it or not.

Which brings me to the real reason I’m writing this blog.

Some of you may have seen the post I wrote about my Grandma a few blogs ago. Thinking that I had done a good thing by writing it, I sent her a copy. Now, think back to what I just told you about my two families. This Grandma? Well, this is the grandma from my father’s side of the family. The ‘keep what you think to yourself’ side. The ‘don’t go airing our business for all the world to see’ side. The ‘can’t you keep your mouth shut for once?’ side. And, well, as you can probably guess, Grandma was none too happy with what I wrote about her.

Now, I knew this was a possibility. I did. I haven’t been completely blind for the last 35 years. But I thought that since I was telling about this wonderful thing that she was doing, I hoped that maybe she could see that and realize that others reading her story might actually do some good in the world. And honestly, I thought that it showed how proud I am of her. Being that we’re the ‘shhhh…don’t talk about important stuff’ family, I thought this would be a way to show her that I think she’s pretty darn cool. But, alas. Nope. That’s not how she saw it apparently. She thinks I made her look “mean” and that I shouldn’t be talking about private things in such a public way.

*sigh*

Now, I could pretend that it didn’t bother me. And I did. For a while. But as soon as I hung up the phone, the pretending stopped. The part of me that is like the other side of the family started to peek through, and immediately the tears started falling. My boyfriend Richard had overheard the whole thing and immediately came and wrapped me in his big ‘everything’s gonna be okay’ arms and told me how proud he was of me for writing it. Of course, I was upset and told him that I felt like ‘never writing again,’ etc. etc. So he suggested an alternative. Rather than not writing, maybe I should just go write another blog, only this time write it just for myself. Go back to the private blog world for a bit and write the things that I really feel. Just vent, get it over with, and then delete it and move on. No missyspublicjunk this time. Just write some private junk all for myself and get all that crap out on paper. (Heh…little did he know, he suggested the very thing that I already do about him all the time! Shhhh.) So, thinking that was some pretty good advice, I headed to the computer to do just that.

And here I am.

I struggled in my brain with not posting this publicly, but suddenly it occurred to me that I was fighting those opposing forces in my head. Yes, I could write this privately and make that side of the family (i.e. that side of my personality) happy, or I could stay true to the real me and just go ahead and post it. And if there’s something I’m learning as I get older, it’s to do that “staying true to the real me” thing a heck of a lot more often than I used to. And, so far, it’s made for a much happier me in the process. So, I think I’m going to stick to it.

But, oddly, a funny thing happened as I started writing. The anger and bitterness that I thought I felt towards my Grandma suddenly started giving way to something else. Rather than concentrating on the fact that she was upset, I concentrated on the why part. She said that she thought I made her look ‘mean.’ Mean? Really? I went back and reread my blog and I didn’t see that at all. What I see is not ‘mean.’ What I see is ‘strength.’ At first I thought maybe my writing didn’t convey what I had intended. But as I read, and reread, I realized that it does. It doesn’t make her look mean, it makes her look strong.

And suddenly, a light bulb went off in my head. Maybe ‘strong,’ in her mind, equates to ‘mean’? My grandmother grew up in a very different time than I did. She grew up in a time where women were to play their appointed ‘roles’ and nothing more. She was a wife. A mother. A cook. A housekeeper. A caregiver. She played the role of her time perfectly. She was subservient to her husband. She never got a drivers license (even though she worked for years) because it was not a woman’s place to drive. She kept her opinions to herself if they didn’t match the man’s opinion, because it wasn’t her place to speak up. She was a woman.

Well, this woman is now a widow. She now has no man to take care of her and is forced to do things on her own. And now, more than ever, I see her spunk shining through. She is the woman who has to kill snakes when they get too close to the house (see previous blog). She is the woman who has to fix the plumbing problems when they pop up. She is the woman who has to be ready, no matter the circumstances, to fend for herself. She is alone. And in this loneliness, whether she likes it or not, a strength has developed. She is tougher. And that strength, that toughness, is what I was trying to convey in my blog. And, as evidenced by her discomfort with it, I think I must have succeeded.

So am I sorry I wrote it? No. Not one bit. I meant every word of it. And will I continue writing what’s on my mind? You bet I will. Of course there are some things that will still remain private (I’m not an idiot), but the things like this – this blog that has been stirring inside my mind for the past 24 hours begging to get out – these words will be posted. They just have to be. I’m a writer. I have no choice but to get it out.

I have no choice but to be true to me.

Why? Because I’m strong. Just like my grandmother.

(Oh, and P.S. – you can bet your patooty that I won’t be sending this one to her. Rebel? Maybe. But death wish? Nope.)

***

“If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance.”
– George Bernard Shaw

Posted by Melissa Edmondson. Categories: Freestyle Writings/Musings. Tags: blog, blogging, drama, family, grandma, grandmother, heart, love, mother, motivation, personality, Quotes, relationships, sharing, writing. 2 Comments

Nov. ’13

Grandma

“Feeling gratitude and not expressing it, is like wrapping a present and not giving it.”
– William Arthur Ward

Ok, I’m going to take a break from talking about running for a second. (Don’t get comfortable with that or anything. I just started my 21-week training plan for my first full marathon in April, so you can bet your sweet dimpled booty that I’ll be talking that thing to DEATH soon enough…) But, for now, I have something else I want to tell you about.

My grandma.

Now, in some of my previous blogs, I have told you about my sweet MawMaw, my mother’s mother, who is suffering from Alzheimer’s. But the one I want to tell you about now is my father’s mother. I have something to show you about her that I think you might like. (I know I do.)

Well. Here she is.

That’s my little grandma in a picture that was taken in July of this year on her 83rd birthday. Now, don’t forget that number: 83. Because that’s the part that is going to be important to the story I’m going to tell you. But first, let me tell me you a little bit about this woman.

If anyone were to ever ask me to describe my grandma using only one word, the first word that would come to mind is: “feisty.” Whew, let me tell ya. There is NO stopping her. She will tell you what she thinks and that’s just all there is to it. For instance, a conversation I had with her yesterday:

Her: Your hair doesn’t look good straight. It doesn’t suit you.
Me: You’re the only one who says that, Grandma. Everyone else says it looks better straight.
Her: People lie.
Me: Grandma….
Her: They were just trying to be nice to you. I’m not.

See?

(Incidentally, you’ll notice my hair is curly in the picture above, as it usually is when I go visit her because I know her thoughts on the subject. Yesterday, however, I was feeling unusually brave. Bad idea.)

Oh, and how about this for an example? My grandma has been having some snake issues around her house. Little does she know, I’m sure even the snakes have passed the word amongst themselves not to mess with her…but nevertheless, she holds tight to her steadfast fear of the slithery little boogers. So, while we were all gathered at her house after church yesterday, my dad found a live snake in her yard. He picked it up (he’s weird about stuff like that – not scared of them at all), and proceeded to somewhat terrorize us with it for a while. (Well, everyone except my daughter Kelly, who managed to fall in love with the stupid thing.) Well, Grandma hears tell of what’s going on and comes flying out of the house wielding her hoe that she keeps handy for just this very purpose. Yes, you read that right. All 110-pounds soaking wet of my granny came flying out of the house with her handy hoe held high over her head…ordering my dad to drop the snake immediately. He protested (though not for long – he’s known her even longer than I have and knows better than to try to argue) and finally, defeated, dropped his little buddy on the ground to meet his fate. Here’s a little math for ya. Grandma + Hoe = Bye Bye Snake. She hoed (is that a verb?) the little guy until his grandpa felt it. (And then had to make amends to little Kelly who just lost her new ‘pet’ at the hands of Granny. Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it amends, per se….”If you had to live here, you’d be taking a hoe to the nasty little thing too, young lady…” That’s an apology, right?)

Whew. And those were just examples from yesterday alone. Catch my drift?

But let me tell you about something else about yesterday. And about my grandma. Remember how I told you to remember that number – 83? Well, I’m going to tell you why.

Have you heard of Operation Christmas Child sponsored by Samaritan’s Purse? To put it simply, this organization encourages people to put together a shoebox filled with gifts for children. They then send these shoeboxes to children in over 130 other countries who might not receive anything at Christmas time. This is a Christian-based organization that provides not only the gifts, but also pamphlets about Christ. Now, I am fully aware that there are people of many different beliefs that read my blog, but regardless of where you stand on that kind of thing, you have to admit this is a pretty cool thing to do, right? Anything that benefits a kid is A-OK in my book. And as for my grandma? Well, it’s pretty ok in her book too. In fact, it’s so ok, that she participates every single year. And by participates, I mean, PARTICIPATES. This little spitfire of a woman decided years ago that each Christmas she was going to prepare a box per year of her age. So, this year? You guessed it. She prepared 83 boxes to ship off to Samaritan’s Purse.

Eighty-three. Wow. Just…wow.

She starts working on them at the beginning of the year and has them ready for pickup in mid-November. My dad and I helped her bag them up this year to haul out to the front porch to await the church member who would be dropping by later in the week to load them up. After much begging and coaxing from me, I finally convinced her to let me take a picture of her surrounded by her 10 full large black bags filled to the brim with toys for children that she will never even see open them. I told her that I wanted to tell the story about her on my blog – to show people what she does every year and give her some credit for it. She responded, “I don’t do it for credit. Don’t show my picture to people, it might look like I’m bragging, and that’s not what I do this for.”

Well, Grandma, I know that. (And, most importantly, those kids know that.) But no one said that I couldn’t brag on you, now did they?

Inside that feisty, tough exterior lies a heart of gold. I am so proud to say that this woman has shaped much of who I am and what I believe. Now, granted, we don’t always see eye to eye on things (and that is probably the understatement of the year…), but it sure is nice to know that someone with this kind of generous, strong-willed heart had a lot to do with making me who I am today. If I’m even half the woman she is, I’ll be very proud of the life I’ve lived. As I hope she is.

And, just for the record, I did finally get her permission to write this. (Well, sort of. I mean, she didn’t come after me with the hoe when I insisted that I was going to do it anyway, so I guess that’s “permission,” right?) Like I told her, it’s not bragging if: 1) someone else is doing it, and 2) it inspires others. And that #2 one is the kicker. Think about the warm feeling it gives you when you hear about other people doing something nice for each other. It gives you a little boost – makes you believe in the kindness of our fellow man again and, possibly even inspires you to do the same. If her intention was to help someone – then I think writing this blog about her will do just that…and then some. Watching what she has done has helped me, I know that. And maybe reading this might just help you, too. Hey, you just never know.

So, how about it? Does something come to mind that you can do to help someone? Even if it’s just a small little thing that you think won’t even matter? Well, guess what. It will matter. Go do it. And if you want to keep it a secret, that’s fine. Noble even. But if it happens that someone wants to show you off, let them. Only good will come of it. I promise. You may not have a loud-mouth granddaughter with a public blog, mind you. I get that. But I’m sure there’s someone out there that is going to be inspired by what you’ve done, and is going to want to show you off. And that, my friends, is a beautiful thing.

Let’s keep taking care of each other, ok?

***

“For it is in giving that we receive.”
– Francis of Assisi