Jello and a nail...

This is gonna have to be a quickie as my life has been turned upside down this lovely Friday morning by my not so lovely teenage son. Grrrrrr.
I know somewhere in Boston, my Mother is smiling, thinking that I am finally getting mine - payback's a bitch daughter - Ha this is for all the hell you caused me.
Yeah Yeah Ma....
At any rate - raising teenagers sucks.
No doubt.
I was no picnic for sure - I will never deny that I gave my Mother a hard ass time.
I was more of a turbulent teenager than a troublesome one though, in my defense.
My Mother and I had a very rocky relationship and that began early on, way before I was introduced to Bartles and James or to Mary Jane - our issues started when I was a wee little lass and continue to this day... Go figure.
I blame a lot of what went on in my head and heart on not having a Dad, having a positive male role model in a child's life is imperative.
Although my step Dad entered the picture when I was ten, it was far too late for him to salvage the wreckage that my Mother and I had become.
He was a great influence on me for sure, a positive example from the word go, but he was more like a band-aid on my teenage wounds and I was capable of ripping that wound protector clean off in times of great self destruction.
Like I have said many times previous in this blog - I wouldn't change a thing about any of it for surely I wouldn't be who I know am - but man my teenage years were nothing less than a train wreck.
Maybe I am getting payback? Maybe it is just the cyclical way of life - I chose men very much like my Mother to marry and hence problematic male role models for my older sons.
I have a magnet at work that says 'raising teenagers is like trying to nail jello to a tree' - I couldn't have said it better myself.
So what do you do when you have a party animal on your hands that listens to Mac Miller who raps that youth is all about having a good time?
Do you lock the doors behind them? Do you put their shit in trash bags on the front lawn? Yell and scream?
I don't have the answer....
Mostly what I do is pray in my head that he doesn't pay a fatal price for his good times.
Don't get in the car with someone who is drinking.....Don't take that little pill that everyone says will be the best trip ever. Don't do too much of any good thing, cause that always turns bad at some point...
Please God keep him safe and get him beyond this moronic, self centered stage of his life....
Please get him to a place where he realizes that character is of the utmost...Please let him figure out that is he thinks summer in Fluvanna is fun, he should really try a semester away in a different state at COLLEGE...
ugh.
Whatever happens with my kids, I pray that we get through it fairly unscathed.
I am not stupid enough to ever imagine that this would be easy - and sons, oh my sons, they think they are invincible.
At least when I was a kid I was aware my demise was around every corner and I behaved somewhat accordingly - I made it after all - here all these years later.
But barely, had a lot of near misses and a lot of close calls and my upbringing was in the heart of one of the countries biggest and most active cities.
What's worse, a drunk ride on the T at 2AM with a bunch of friends or a dark, not lit, winding country road? I think he'd be better off in the city unfortunately, at least public transportation is always available and the streets are well lit...
Sometimes I think the "rural" lifestyle is more dangerous for kids - not as much to "do" but sit around and drink - and if they are stupid enough to try to go out and about, they are bound to do it in a vehicle....
I wish that teenagers had the first clue that it can happen to them - they are not exempt. And I wish that the trees out here weren't littered with floral wreaths marking the many accidents that have already claimed too many Fluvanna kids...
Makes for an acid stomach, even without the dairy and gluten.
I wish that teenagers knew how they stress their parents - what the worry and fear feels like as you watch the clock and the door doesn't open...Or you open the door to their bedroom in the morning and their bed is empty.
I wish they got it, but they probably won't until they are sitting on their deck one day blogging about jello and trees and acid gut themselves.
It takes time to grow and a lot of mistakes to learn. I get that, really I do.
Especially for kids who have had it not so easy - that would be my kids unfortunately...
I will say that they have always had me - and although right now where my seventeen year old is concerned that appears to have made little positive difference, my twenty year old assures me that is has....He tells me all the time he doesn't know where he'd be without me.
Thanks Bri.
I know, no matter what, I will continue to be here come whatever may.
I will not abandon the nest. Will not ever not forgive and attempt to forget.
Will never not pick them back up, clean them off and try to right their stance.
I am a Mother and my kids are my number one, even when I want to kill them with my own bare hands - like I do now...
Not really, but kinda.
If you have a teenager, you probably know what I mean.
He is supposed to be here today to watch his little brother and sister while I go to work and make money to buy endless groceries that keep them well nourished.
He is absent, not present, not accounted for and so hmmmm - Thank God for Laura who will take my kiddos today and save my life....
Kevin's life is another story however.
Raising him in the last few months has been unpredictable and requires fast thinking on my feet.
I far prefer the terrible two's to say the least...
And when did it become illegal to duct tape your kids to a wall, cause right about now, that and some shackles sound like a really good idea to me????
Yes Mother I get it - PAYBACK IS A BITCH called A TEENAGER.
I hope you all have a wonderful day and is you have little ones in your house, I would start stock piling the Valium now.
Peace out - have a blessed day, and Kevin if you are reading this I am one worried Mother :(

We are the champions my friends....

I just woke up. I have trails of gold and black eye make-up streaked down my face in a tear stream pattern - I have no voice to speak of...
THE BRUINS WON THE CUP.
I have no words...
Of course I do or I wouldn't be here right? DUH.
Yesterday as I prepared for the kids swim meet, I had the phone glued to my shoulder as I spoke to Mary hurriedly and full of stress - "Can I say it aloud, is it okay to say it?" PAUSE... Hesitantly, cautiously Mary replied "I don't know"
Pause...
"I think they are gonna do it, I think they are gonna get the cup"
sigh on her end, "Me too"
From the meet I checked my cell phone constantly which btw lost battery life twice and so in the midst of trying to get my kids to clerk with goggles and caps for a total of 9 (stellar I might add) races, I was also intermittently running like a chicken with my head cut off to plug in my cell phone in the pool house office.
Last night was nothing short of a completely stress filled endeavor, if I had not had my fierce black and gold manicure going, I would have surely bit my nails down to stubs and I am most certainly not a nail biter, even under the most dire conditions.
The meet was complete chaos from my standpoint - there were so many people and my kids were hopped up on sugar and adrenaline and although I tattoo my daughter with her name down her arm in huge colorful bubble letters, I still had a hard time picking her out of the hoards of goggles and bathing capped beauties - And then there is Matt, who is hard to contain under the best of circumstances, forget amongst hundreds and hundreds of screaming, playing and racing kiddos. I was a train wreck from the minute we arrived and that state of being did little to subside as the night wore on.
What are the chances that the Stanley Cup Finals, Game 7 would be the night not only of my childrens first swim meet, but even more importantly Matthews first meet ever....
OMG.
They both showed really well in their first events, the relay - both my little munchkins showed up on the block looking ready, although a second before the race began, Matt who was the third leg, began to panic and I could see his tension building as he spoke to one of the coaches. I watched from behind the zoom lens, zeroing in on his mouth trying to access the freak out - he was doing butterfly and was desperately trying to tell the coach he was no good at it.
Dan and Brian and Gabe and Emma were all standing around me and I said out of the side of my face from behind the camera "He's panicking, someone go, he's panicking!!!"
His Father went over just as Matt got ready to climb the block, apparently nerves were not gonna keep him down, Atta Boy Matteo, fight the negative thoughts, slay the negative self esteem demon, kill it but good....
And Man did he butterfly that water like he was butterflying a filet with a sharp ass knife - smooth as silk and slicing...Arms up and around in smooth, fluid, strong strokes, torso and legs like a lifelong dolphin. NICE MATTEO, yessss son.
Nerves and self doubt be damned.
Then came individual races and this was where I was really feeling the nerves as a Mom at the pool side - I so wanted Matt to hit the wall first so that he could get one win under his belt and finally believe YES I CAN....
Emma was up first and I did what I do "EMMA CLAIRE" find me daughter, here I am honey, locate the position of my voice and BIG SMILE. BIG SMILE returned, little Emma wave and she's up and over that block, knuckles white as snow as she arches her back into the anticipated release - BUZZ, splash, screaming parents and Me "GO EMMA GO, PUSH BABY PUSH"
And she did, man did she, she amazes me - she glides through that water like she is on a slip and slide and covered in vegetable oil, she just gets to the end so fast she leaves a blaze of mingled colors behind in her wake.
FIRST, yesss, way to go Mimzy, her heat winner ribbon in hand, heat winning lollipop in mouth.
Now on to the really important race, Matt's individual...Oh Geez, did my stomach hurt.
Please let him get a first please let him get a first, please just let him get this one race as a first so he believes that he can do it.....PLEASE...
Look at the clock, half hour til faceoff time. OMG....Please let them get the cup, please just let them get it please.
I had so many please Mantra's on loop in my frontal lope that I felt like the front of my head was going to blow off and splatter right there all over the pool deck - my head throbbed and my mouth moved in silent prayers to the confidence God - please let them win....
When he got up on block, he looked really good. My oldest son Brian and I yelled his name so loudly, you probably heard us yourselves. Matt located our faces, we game him the "YEAH MATT, GET IT BUD" battle cry and he was off at the sound of the buzz.
I began to take pictures, but quickly tossed the camera when I realized, this race I must see with my own eyes, no more 3 by 5's for this race...
And I watched, mouth open "GO MATTTTTTT GOOOOOO" as he pushed through that water with so much power and force - I could feel his determination in my own bones, I could feel each pull through the water as if I were in the pool myself...
And he did it!!!! That little shitsky hit the wall first and FINALLY knew he was not the little engine that could - he is a speeding train that did....
Thank you Jesus, Allah, Buddha and Neptune.
Thank you thank you thank you thank you.
And I teared up a little to see him win it - And here is my Deb disclaimer - it's not the win on all races - it was imperative for him, he win this ONE race and he did - from this point on what he does will never eclipse this confidence building, glowing moment. That's it bud, feel that shine - feel the glow - YOU ARE CAPABLE.
And then call Mary right away and text Toto and Ash....Mary answered and was so happy for Matt, she said, "If the Bruins don't win, it's okay, Matt Poulin just got his first, first"
My reply, "If the Bruins do win, we will always remember these events together, the cup and a first ever first place for Matt" :) smile smile smile.
The night wore on and I wore my tongue out running it along my gum line from nerves and my jaw hurt from chewing my gum like a horse chews cud...The races were spaced out and I was in it for the long haul.
When the Bruins began to score and I started receiving text messages from the masses, I really got ramped up emotionally, really began to feel like I was tearing in two - the meet or the game, the meet or the game?
First meet with many more to come vs. a possible Stanley Cup Victory in my lifetime that I could actually witness if only I were home and not at the pool with a pounding head full of racing conflicted thoughts and a heart divided and sitting on a teetering scale....dipping slightly this way, oh no wait SCORE, a little more that way...
I had a really nice talk with my old friend Dropkick Josh and that served a nice distraction, what a great guy - always the teaser and always the inquirer, really cares to ask about how my life is going - God I miss our WNRN challenges Joshua, he and I had good times coming up with songs and winning dinners we never went on...Miss you Josh :)
But then despite the respite, my tension mounted and it was clear the time had come - Mary called and said it was 3-0 at the end of the second and I needed to leave NOW.
I went to Emma as she sat with all the pool mom's and begged her to understand - I must go lovey, I have waited my whole life to see this moment....
A chorus of "GO'S" came from all my pool ladies and so I did - I raced home like a freakshow, my heart beating furiously in my chest and the nagging Boston responsibility complex rearing it's ugly head - what if I watch the third period and the Canucks start scoring???
I will have ruined it all, tempted fate with the nails, the gold and black eyes, the LUCIC jersey and by watching.....
Oh please Jesus - don't let me be the bad luck hex.
But then, I called Mary and we put on speakerphones and Horton from the Boston bench poured Boston Garden water from a water bottle on to the Vancouver ice and I knew the cup was coming home with us.
I cried, I literally cried at the sight of - Horton dumping dirty water on their home ice.
Take that you bitches - hit me will ya? Ha, it was the most beautiful moment of the entire series and it rivaled watching Ray Bourque tear up at finally getting his cup even though at the time he did not wear the black and gold...It's okay, enduring love knows no teams...
When the Canucks pulled Luongo from the net with three minutes left in the third, I called out for an open net goal - I love me some open nets, the puck just goes in with no resistance, the puck says "why thank you for the invite, I think I will take you up on it" SCORE and there it was, the fourth goal...
Now please let Thomas have a shut out, please let him leave this last game in a perfect place...
And sixty seconds of regulation boomed and the asshole Canuck fans began to boo and I began to jump and yell and cry and laugh - the good ole Deb ugly laugh/cry.
OMGGGGG, they did it :)
In my lifetime, I have now seen all the New England teams bring home the ultimate championships in their respective sport - One more MUST SEE under my belt.
And no superbowl, no world series will ever mean to me, what the STANLEY CUP means for the BOSTON BRUINS...I loved hockey before I loved shoes, before I loved my kids, before I loved myself.
It is a moment I have waited for since I was a little girl hugging my best friend Bruin bear in my footie pajamas, up way too late with hurting ear drums.
I am beyond a happy girl today - I am so grateful that I have lived to see this.
The cup is coming home and so am I :)
And.... My Matt got first place the night the B's dumped Garden water on Vancouver ice....I will never forget this night - this is one for the memory bank -
And so you readers can all breathe a sigh of relief, we are soon to be through with this chapter of my life - we have just the parade left which I will neither go to or get to see in person - I hope one of my Boston peeps yells really loud for me, I will most certainly be there is spirit, no doubt. I am always in Boston is Spirit, I love that dirty water - Boston you're my home....Tear.
What a sap I am.
Being a New Englander is not something you can understand unless you are one. It comes with a pride of our immigrant heritage, our Union beliefs, our progressive spirits our risk taking confidence - our ability to get back up again and again...
I am a Bostonian at my core and although I love me some Virginia, Boston will always be where my roots are entwined, buried deep in the black soil on the bank of the Charles....
Today is a really good day....Thanks Boys for playing your ever lovin asses off - that series will go down in history as the biggest dog fight ever - and yeah, we Bostonian's really do know how to scrap.
Can't wait to come home now....

And you can tell everybody this is your song...

Well here I am again - 7:13 AM ready to seize another beautiful day....Last night at 10:00 pm on the nose, I brushed my fangs and hit the hay - a frontline special was on PBS and I was really into it, but crashed none the less...If I fall asleep while watching frontline, it's pretty safe to say I have myself on a winning sleep schedule - love me some PBS.
I seem to be waking up at least once in the middle of the night to pee, this could be old age or the 8,000 gallons of water I am drinking daily - at any rate, when I awake for my bathroom visit, I always check my phone to see what time it is (no alarm clock) and I crack myself up, when I sigh with disappointment that it is not yet time to get up and begin the day anew. What the hell is happening to me? I want to get up...I anticipate the morning with a fervent eagerness.
Mr.Woodpecker in the tree behind me is making use of his morning too, he is really beating the hell out of the wood - he must be putting out his mating call...
Funny,I woke up with lids that lingered on visions of past mates myself - I had Journey's 'faithfully' on loop in the brain and was remembering my old boyfriend Matt at the piano, singing to me as I sat in the window sill...What is that lyric? "And lovin a music man ain't always what's it's supposed to be, oh girl you stand my me - I'm forever yours faithfully?'
Yeah I think that's it.
Matt never sang Journey to me - he was more of a Beatles guy - our song was Golden Slumbers...I loved to watch him sing.
My English professor was discussing loving a music man just the other night in class - we were referencing a novel that we are reading, Zora Neal Hurstons "Their Eyes Were Watching God" - one of the main characters 'Tea Cake' sells his guitar so that he can buy his love Janie a present he otherwise could not afford.
My professor laughed and said "I don't know if any of you ladies have ever loved a musician, but if he sells his guitar for you...."
I thought - I have loved a few in fact - some of my best relationships were with music men - some of my most enduring friendships have been with those boys long after adult life pulled our love in different directions.
I know of one who would have sold his guitar for me, but I never would have let him, his music was the only gift I ever wanted....Ahhhh young love.
How lucky am I to have loved the music men?
Pretty freaking lucky - and really, maybe that is where I went wrong in my marital choices - I didn't marry any musicians damn it, what the hell was I thinking?
In my humanities project last year, I delivered a 'read and lead' to the class on the work of Emily Dickinson, one of my questions after reading a gazillion of her poems was - "Do you have to be a little nuts to be an artist?"
The consensus was "DUH" - yeah of course you do...
Without angst and conflict there is nothing of any interest to write about, paint about, sing about....Create about.
Yeah all of us artistic, creative whack jobs are a little tapped for sure - and I probably missed the mark by not marrying a little closer to my personality type.
Both husbands have been on the exact opposite spectrum of the emotion and communication wheel as me - They both have insinuated that I "over think" - Um yeah well I disagree, I think neither one of them think enough.
But they're inability to get me was not where I was going so....
Creative forces when joined usually have a lot to talk about, a lot to argue about even and that usually leads to a pretty active relationship - I had my fair share of those condensed into a particularly short span of time in my teenage years. I pretty much went from one to another - a guitar player to a base player to a singer and piano player...They all made me very happy.
What is super cool about this technologically advanced era, is that I have found a ton of people on Facebook who are from the days of old music and love....I am friends with both the guitar player and the singer to this very day - I love them as much as I did then, even though we are all married and have a slew of kids between us.
My base player, well I am friends with him too - he just comes to me in the form of prancing butterflies and orange sunsets, and even though I cannot look him up on Facebook, he is with me just the same, he and I are joined for eternity in a place more powerful than my computer screen...
My piano man will forever represent the music of the Beatles, Elton John, Meatloaf, Fleetwood Mac and Bread to me - "I would give everything I own just to have you back again" - we had such an awesome relationship - we really were best friends. Love that I can "like" his status updates and still hear his beautiful voice in my head after all these years :)
My guitar player is the music of U2 and the Police - although now, he is a doctor (who knew) and I gather rarely has time to pick up his instrument cause he is busy saving lives...
Crazy where time takes us.
My music men - really glad to have had them and have them still...
I love memories - I love that my memory is so expanse and full of such detail. I remember everything - I forget only that which I don't care to remember....A feminine trait I believe - I would agree with Ms. Hurston's assessment of the female memory bank.
One of my biggest fears is Alzheimer's - I would hate to lose this piece of my mind - the hippocampus (sp?) I would hate to forget and be really pissed off to lose the ability to form new memories - especially because as of late my life is about seizing and enjoying every freaking moment.
I hope I get spared the mind stealing diseases...that would for me, be a fate worse than death. Sigh, if only we had the power to decide or even to know our own fate...
But, since I am well aware that I do not, I will just revel in the here and now and then then and then - and all my remember when's...
Life has been good to me. I have had a lot of great music in my life - a lot of fantastic people...
And sorry Journey, but lovin' a music man has always been a great gig for me.
And with that - I call on another Journey song for my beloved BOSTON BRUINS - "DON'T STOP BELIEVING" and I say no more for fear of hexing us all....
I just ask all you New England fans who are my Facebook friends to give my little seven profile pic a rub for good luck...And with that I have said too much...
Peace out and grandest of days to you all xo

For Catherine.

Holy Cow it is actually a little chilly out here on my deck this early Tuesday Morn - break - let me grab a throw....
Ahh that is better. Steaming coffee and a soft blanket and the birds singing and you....What could be any better first thing in the morning? NOT SLEEP, because I can report that yet again, I have had a full eight hours and fell right asleep mind you, despite the thrill of Victory that lingered in my overstimulated body after last night's INSANE GAME 6 WIN!!!!! If I can sleep after that, than gluten be damned I don't need you.
Wow, can I hear an AMEN my New England peeps? WOW talk about stress....And so off we go back to Vancouver for GAME 7 and the cup....I have no idea what to say, or if I should say anything - I am afraid to say the wrong thing and therefore secure our demise....We Bostonians have a way of holding ourselves personally responsible for losses. It's the wrong underwear or that we watched, we ate the wrong food, we cheered too loudly at a Canucks unfortunate check off the boards - whatever the case we find a way to take the responsibility - and so I sit here, contemplating - do I remain silent, do I boast, do I exude hope?
No, I say no more.
Everyone knows that I want the BRUINS to get the cup in my lifetime...
I will say, however hesitantly, that game 7 is Wednesday and this is also the evening of my kiddos first official swim meet of the season....
I have to be there...Maybe Boston will do better without me watching? And if it looks as though they will win - I may have to leave, because oh my, I would hate myself for all eternity if I missed the victory lap cup overhead.
Oh God, I have said too much now. DONE.....
Ahhh sigh, I am in such a great mood....Yesterday proved to be one of those beautiful unexpected days that reminds me how full circle life really is...
I am a very kind person. I am very loving too and more than anything, extremely PERCEPTIVE - especially when it comes to other peoples emotions and needs. I FEEL you, long before you tell me anything. I have always been this way - I count this as one of my God given gifts. Thing is, having waded through the mucky shit of my life, having had so much pain and so much grief, having so little love of my own - has made that perception SENSE of mine even stronger. Because I have been a cast off alone in the shit, it is my instinct to wade in with others and if nothing else, if not pull them straight out of the muck, at least hang out with them there and let them know they are not alone....
If you asked me when I was eight if one day I would feel grateful for my loneliness, I would have poked you in the eye and said "what are you stupid?" - But now here today, I say my lonely has served me really well. And that yes, life does come full circle.
Had I not been who I was, Fatherless and so distinctly different from my Mother, if Omar had not died, if my first husband had not caused me and my kids so much pain - I may not have the keen ability I now possess to recognize pain in others. I wouldn't trade my past for a pretty one if it meant losing or never developing this bi-product.
Yesterday was a powerful day for me - it was one of those days that fills me up with self love and gratitude, the kind of day that makes me appreciate the red saturation of the roses a little more.
I was in my store - doing what I do...Listening to a woman brow beat herself for all her physical faults and failures. I got pissed and said "okay listen, I have been hearing this same self abusive mantra from women for two weeks straight now, I don't know if it's bathing suit season that has you all self deprecating or what - but this has got to stop before I freak out - you ARE BEAUTIFUL so stop with the self damnation!" from the front of the store I heard a quiet and meek "AMEN sister" and I searched over the rack tops to find the source of camaraderie. There she was this pint sized, middle aged blonde with the kindest eyes I have ever seen...Not only kind, ALONE AND SCARED too....Hmmmmmm? What is that about? When I finished up with my reformed self hater, Catherine (the pint sizer) told me that she was going to come back - she had an appointment but wanted to return and allow me to "have my way" with her - she said and I quote "I think you are just the girl to make me feel better" Alrighty then Cutie pie you go and I will see you in a bit....I wondered, why the pain in the eyes - why the need to feel better, why could I feel her in my own gut and why was I thinking SOS someone throw me a life line?
She returned several hours later and said "Do what you will to me, dress me, just make it fun like your outfit, make me feel how you look"....
And so I began to pull things that she would never imagine herself in and told her to get down to underwear - let's do this thing.
When she came out of the dressing room and stood in the three way and looked at herself, I immediately regarded disapproval - she was unsatisfied with her mid- section, felt unbelievably less than or wait, more than....I said "I'm going to touch you now" and ran my hands along the long lines explaining to her how the cut elongated her short frame, how the pattern drew the eye down and not directly at the mid line like she was thinking. I made her look at me and said "I don't lie to women about their looks, I don't work on commission, there is no perk in this for me, I do what I do because I want women to feel good - I won't lie to you, we have to have ground rules here, we have to have trust as our foundation"
She smiled at me, said a resigned "okay" and followed it up with a tear filled "Thank You" - then it happened...
She said, "I am extremely private, I don't share, I don't know why I am telling you this....(pause) I was just diagnosed with cancer and I'm scared"
sigh, well up, hug and I mean hug - rubbed her back and pulled her in so close we could have passed for the same person....She explained the treatments were making her gain weight and she felt all wrong in this new and sick body....God love her and oh yeah cancer FUCK YOU!!!!!
Deep breath and I said "well let's get you at least feeling good about you then since I know we can if nothing else achieve that together"
And we did - for two hours I ran back and forth pulling clothes, throwing clothes, piling shit everywhere and when my boss came to give me lunch and wondered why at 3pm I refused to acknowledge I should pass her the baton, I jotted on a piece of private paper.
SHE WAS DIAGNOSED WITH CANCER - I CAN'T LEAVE HER.
My boss sent the new girl on an errand to retrieve a salad for me and sat back and watched as I got in the shit of cancer with Catherine and tried to make her feel, if nothing else less afraid and less alone....
Catherine had a call while in the dressing room, someone inquiring how her appointment at UVA had gone, she choked up and couldn't speak - we hugged again, even tighter this time - everything is going to be okay.
She really loved the color turquoise, said it made her feel alive and I had NOTHING that fit her in that beautiful healing color - nothing except for the perfect piece hanging in my own closet at home. The perfect piece, exactly what she needed actually and so I offered it up to her, we made a date for a return visit on Friday - I bring her my turquoise wrap and she gets a piece of me to have to cloak herself in when she feels like she is drowning in the shit all by herself.
She said (like I was giving her my kidney or something) "You would do that for me?" I said "Are you kidding me with that shit - what wouldn't I do for a soul sister in trouble?"
Because that is who I am at my bare bones.
And yup toot toot (my own horn) - I am happy to be me.
I have these experiences often enough, that I rarely don't feel blessed to be a spirit healer - when I begin to feel empty of the full circle effect, a Catherine walks in my door and reminds me that had my life not sucked, I wouldn't give half a a shit as much as I do about other peoples pain.
I thank my Mother for every moment she didn't hug me - it gave me the goods to hug perfect strangers and extend myself to most everyone.
Thanks Ma.
And so today I wear a smile like my badge of honor.
I told Catherine that next time she makes the trip to UVA she should hit me up and we could have a lunch date - her eyes filled up - she said she would like that very much.
And then to make her feel whole and not a sympathy case - I injected my sick humor and said "Oh don't get all ego inflated or anything, you aren't the first customer I have befriended" and she smiled bigger and mouthed the words 'thank you' because she is no dummy and knew exactly what I was up to.
I don't like you for your cancer Catherine, I like you because you told me....
I like connecting. I LOVE connecting....It is why I live and why after fourteen years I still work in fucking retail.
And when all was said and done, my boss who almost never offers praise was overheard saying to the new girl "Just watch Deb and emulate, she is the best, brilliant at what she does - how she moves, how she connects, how she teases and jokes, she is a master".....OMG did she say that???
Whatevs, what I do is love, that's all I really do. Screw the paper work, the sales, the time clock - I am in it all for the love.
SMILE SMILE SMILE.
If I made you vomit far all my sappy self back patting - sorry.
But I worked really hard, suffered to get these goods and I openly embrace it, even when it makes people want to barf for all my silly gushing.
There is a point to suffering if you get up over that summit - then it's easy money on the down hill coast with a big swollen heart to serve as your counterweight.
sssshhhhh GO BRUINS GO!!!!
love and hugs :)

Monday Mornin you sure look fine.

Ooopps I did it again - bed at ten o'clock - well more like ten thirty but who is counting minutes? YAY for sleep.
Although, Emma Claire was up at two am declaring hunger pains that were waking her, so up I got to make her a bagel with strawberry cream cheese and pour my growing girl a glass of milk. After that, I will admit sleep did not return to me easily - there was a whole lot of pillow adjusting, tossing and turning and frustrated sighing.
When I did return to slumber (finally) I dreamed of work and selling linen dresses to the masses, but Ray Lamontagne was there too and he was sad because his Father had passed away and he never really had a chance to form a real relationship with him??? IDK how to explain it - good music in my dream though as he sang to me and all the linen clad ladies in the shop. Like a mini concert in my dream - not so bad.
And so....here I am awake at six am and cranking out a blog before I begin my marathon day of work and then my night class - and....I have my first exam tonight and as usual feel completely unprepared. Obviously if you read my blog last night you know that the slave narrative's are killing me emotionally - my unpreparedness is not for lack of knowing the material - just for me, knowing the material is about knowing the gnawing emotions, not necessarily that dates and times. I have been slacking in my literature classes big time in the "studying" department - I could put my nose to the grindstone a little more and completely relieve myself of any self doubt and ill preparedness - BUT IT'S SUMMER !!! I don't know what I was thinking to be taking a four hour night class on Mondays - yes I do - and you already know the answer too - I love education....Time out of a classroom is time wasted in my mind - Gotta get the knowledge, gotta see yourself in relation to history to know your own power.
And by history I don't just mean actual factual history - I mean all encompassing history - Plato and Socrates, all the great Greek philosophers - the early religions of the world - aboriginal religions - art and music - cartography - geography - wars - etc etc.... I just don't know how anyone can fully comprehend the beauty of their own life without seeing it in context to all that have come before?
And when I say that, I am certainly not implying that those who have not pursued higher education are not living full and meaningful lives or that anyone lacking a college degree is lacking....I just really believe that there is a fine tuned perception and appreciation that exists in the present moments of my life that was certainly nonexistent before I went to school. My scope is broader and I see myself in relation to everything in that wide scope, and that just makes me feel all the more powerful and important.
I would never ever dig anyone or judge them for not going to college, hello life is life and it took me twenty years to muster up the courage - BUT I am a huge advocate and would, will, try to talk anyone and everyone into going to or going back to school.... I am annoyingly reformed. Like worse than any reformed smoker I have ever met.
I have fantasies of being a motivational high school speaker - I see myself telling my stories to the youth and compelling them to GO just GO and don't look back - wait to have babies, wait to join the work force - wait to start a life of adulthood that once begins, never stops - Get your school on first - get your scope good and wide and perpetuate a cycle of the broad view.
Be able to answer your kids homework questions self assuredly - know what an acronym is and know who our twentieth president is - know why we went into world war one and know yourself with confidence. Sigh....If only someone would offer me a job talking candidly to kids preparing to exit high school....If only.
Funny thing about me is that I could go the social work and psychology route very easily, I could switch my major - or I could double major when I transfer to UVA, I could major in English and minor in psych and then be a school counselor - I could, just don't know if I should? Part of me wants to teach myself....Land my ass in a community college just like PVCC where I can be a mentor not only to kids entering college, but to scaredy cat adult students, just like myself. And then a very real part of me, the champion of the hopeless, wants to teach to prisoners - the people who will be sent back out into society after sitting their asses in jail cells getting more pent up and less prepared to reintegrate into society in any meaningful and hope filled sense.
I have fantasies of reading aloud to uneducated prisoners, helping them to hear their own voices in literature, taking my time word for word and ingniting a fire of relatabilty in those who have previously felt cast off from society and alone. Crime comes from desperation and desperation is cured with knowledge - this I know for sure.
Hmmmmm what to do, what to ? You blog readers feel free to make suggestions - it is crazy to not know what other people think of you isn't it?
I think about this a lot. I have very real impressions of people in my life and know what they mean to me, how they have affected me, where their power in my life resides - but how often do we tell each other that really?
I mean I know I do it more than others - but how often do we really know what we mean to other people? Probably not nearly enough...
So hey, don't hesitate to say "Hey Deb, I think you should do this ------ because you make me think this ------"
AT this point in my life I am open to suggestion as my life is already half over...(if I am lucky)
A little guidance and feedback is always a good thing.
And with that invitation I shall end my blog for the day and go get my ass in gear. I think I will go call my wife real quick amd then on to responsibilities, linen and African American History.
And I say this with great hesitency because I am freaking the fuck out - GO BRUINS GO - this is GAME 6 and it's a do or die situation. Please please let them win at home tonight and please please let them get the cup. I will be in class so do not hesitate to text me updates - man my stomach hurts already just at the mention.
have a great day and thanks for reading :)

Thank a man like this we are free at last....

Hi. So I am having a particularly difficult time with the narrative of Frederick Douglass - I believe it to be one of the most brilliant pieces I have ever read. I thought I would share a bit of my school work here with you - an informal response.
If you know not who he is, or who he was and this peaks your interest enough to read about him and his narrative, I have done my work well as a disciple.
If you are American it is your duty to know this - in my opinion. If you are unchanged by it, well than you got a wall up around your heart.





Deborah Poulin

English 253


Response to Frederick Douglass


I am often moved by words. So much so, that I commonly experience physical responses which range from tearing up to feeling literally sick to my stomach. As I uncomfortably made my way through this narrative, I realized that any emotion I previously experienced through fictitious literature or factual had ever evoked such gnawing and raw emotions as this one. I read a good part of it poolside with my earphones on, an attempt to drown out all the playing and laughing children – it worked somewhat although I found myself constantly wiping the sweat from my brow and fighting a gut wrenching cramp that came on simultaneous to the reading. It was hot out yes, brutally so in the sun and forced me to imagine in the moments which I paused and looked up from the small words on the bible like paper, what must it have been like to endure the sun in the plantation fields?
I had to stop reading at one point and get in the pool to submerge myself in the cool water and attempt to loosen my gut muscles which wrenched tight in a fierce and unending spasm. I felt as though I was stuck in a labor contraction that would not deescalate and grant any kind of breathy reprieve. I dove under the water and held myself at the bottom of the pool listening to the underwater sounds that mimic a womb and imagined the earth there – all of us in a continuum of humanity that has suffered set back after set back, so many wars, so much bondage, so much confusion…. I wished that somehow it would stop and know assuredly that it will not and found myself feeling helpless and wanting to cry right there in front of all the playing children. I knew that if I could not control my emotion, these kids less my own, would deem me a crazy lady for they know not the ugliness of the world in their blissful ignorant youth. Why would I ever ruin that, as I know better than anyone the clock arms swim furiously in that direction for each and every child who lives. Innocence is lost too suddenly as it is, and far too often in hatred and ignorance, some bullying of some sort, some question of their own worthiness and where they sit in the chain of command of righteousness. Not today and not in the pool by my example. Instead I let my tears gently stream down my face, imitating trickles of sweat and allowed them to join the salt water and become one with the womb of innocent humanity. I floated in the water on my back and imagined it was a pool of holy water and that I was not one of the Christians that would have hidden behind the biblical verse as a means for justification of beating, lashing, rape and murder. I wondered is there enough holy water in all the churches where the real good do good work in prayer, enough to wash the American white race clean and absolve us of our blood red colored crimes. I determined that in my Christian mind – there is not. I am saddened that the bible was used to beat slaves by verse and hand, whip, chain and now we have coined the term in the south to describe those who are devout to their practice “the bible beaters” even more sick, “the bible belt” ???? – I wonder if that very specific correlation has been made, I am doubtful to be the first to have come across that metaphor and feel the acrid taste of my own stomach contents rise in my throat and mingle unjustly in my mouth. I did not beat anyone and so why do I feel the foul aftertaste? Because I am human and cannot imagine that even under the worst circumstances would I ever have partaken in the dehumanizing enslavement of an entire people who had hearts that beat in their chests as surely as my own does? Then I think on Frederick Douglass and his mistress who he speaks of with such affection and hope, until she too succumbs to the typical fury of a slave owner. How would I have been any different than she? What do I have that she does not and how dare I assume that my skin is thicker than hers or my ego less valuable to me and therefore any less manipulate able? I think I am kidding myself from my comfortable place on the historical American linear time line. I want to believe with fierce conviction that My Northern roots would have dictated an abolitionist spirit, but I say that here in 2011, having been not even a witness to school segregation to Jim Crow. I know nothing of what I would have been for I know only of what I am. You gotta go there to know there and this narrative is as close as I ever want to come to such horror. I thought only about this unique and distinct narrative as my daughter swam up to me and kissed my face that was twisted in discomfort, even the kiss of my freckle puss did little to lighten the burden of the sickened mood that had me in its grip. I turned myself over to a float and looked up into the sky that was darkening with clouds and I imagined it is the same sky that Frederick Douglass would have looked at, recognizing as surely as I was, a brewing storm was approaching. I felt close to him, closer to his words imagining him back a hundred plus years under a similar June sky. I imagined that he could hear my thoughts amidst the rumbling thunder clouds and that he felt my discomfort in knowing his suffering words had reached straight into my own stomach and seized it. My soul hurt for him and through his story knew the raw desperation that had once tumbled unrelentingly through his, even though I plainly acknowledge I know nothing that comes even slightly close by comparison. I felt guilty that my day was plagued by this, felt that more days of my life should be plagued by thoughts such as these, before I would ever dare cry foul at my life or the fates that befall me ever again.
I know of pain, I know of a very distinct female pain that comes with being born a woman. I know nothing, not one single shred of what it feels like to be a slave woman and be shredded literally by a hide lashed on my back for nothing more or less than because the will, will be done….Be done and dismantled.
I hear the words in slave narratives in my ears long after my eyes have left the page – I hear cries and screaming, begging and prayers to a God that did not answer nearly enough pleas. I imagine that if it were me, I would have like Douglass, stood my ground to not be beaten or have died in the fight to prove my humanity. I fear I am misleading myself to ever assume courage such as his. In all honesty I would have quickly lost hope and killed my children and myself rather than face a life of such indignity.
I thank God in this moment that Frederick Douglass was not hopeless enough to ever leave his mission unattended.
I keep pausing as I type to put my face in my hands and breathe, the exhales are labored in shame and disgust and a nagging desire to return to the pool where I can float in my tears and be under a Frederick Douglass sky for just a little while more.
I know I completely said fuck it to any format here – this is a free verse off the coat tails of a dignified free man –

Carpe Diet

Good Morning Blog readers!
The most amazing and I mean amazing thing has happened to me - get ready to think I am really old....
The last three nights, at ten o'clock on the dot I am suddenly very tired and ready - right then and there - to go to sleep.
Last night Emma was up too late herself and reading Walter the Farting Dog to me, I literally felt I had to rush her through it for fear I could not keep my eyes open. THIS IS SO COOL. You are thinking WOW Granny, really?
I know you are, don't lie....
Here is the thing, I have been a night owl my entire life. And when I say entire, I mean entire. I love the late night peace and quiet - long after everyone of my noise makers are fast asleep in bed, my brain comes alive and creativity courses through my veins - I get super charged in the witching hour. Sucky thing about keeping Witches hours is that the spawn of Satan must rise at six AM and get their tushies on the bus for seven, oh and wait yeah, I have early morning college classes too don't I ? This annoying stuff that forces to me lead a regular life is almost impossible to get through with like four hours of sleep - and plus, my wrinkles need more rest than that - surely they do.
So, my life as a Mother for the last twenty one years has been exhasuting to say the least due to intense and constant sleep deprivation....You know what has changed???
I think it is this diet...I think it is the no gluten and dairy that has me operating as a normal functioning human being - I wake up energized, Carpe Diem, ready to delve right into life - no yawning, no aches, no grogginess - I eat small meals all day and then at ten o'clock my brain says enough is enough and sleep now.
I AM A REAL HUMAN!!! Why do I feel like Pinocchio after typing that?
For those of you who do not suffer from night owl syndrome or sleep dep will have no idea why I am so excited to have fallen asleep at ten o'clock three days in a row - for those of you who live like me....Come over from the dark side - it's pretty over here, the early morning light has so much to offer....
This is only one of the many great side effects of this diet, which by the way I am on day 13 of - I said I would try it for thirty, but I have a strong suspicion this is gonna stick - why would I ever give up feeling so good? (oh boy that is a loaded question?)
But really though, I feel that good...
I love cheese and going into Christians Pizza to constantly fill my water cup is a little painful - it smells so damn good in there - BUT - I feel so much lighter (not weight-wise) in my body, my movements, my joints - everything feels more fluid and easy and I have boundless energy that pizza be damned I don't want you. And for all my bitching about work yesterday, I had a blast and resembled the Tazmanian Devil, swirling about, dressing woman after woman making my boss some serious mula. It felt effortless - imagine what my classes will be like in the fall if I continue...oh my so much easier.
The great thing about being truly conscientious about my food choices is that water is now my constant companion - I must drink three gallons a day - my cells are super hydrated and this is so great. I haven't had anything to drink other than water and my morning coffee in thirteen days...NO DIET PEPSI and I don't even miss it :)
Last night after work I made a quick trip to Marshalls, you who are my facebook friends and read my status last night already know how that went....Oh my - I was hovering above the toilet to pee and lost my balance and fell directly on to the heinous toilet seat...I was horrified beyond words and considered straddling the sink to wash my parts until I saw that it was as questionable as the toilet - I have obsessed about the diseases I have contracted all night and fully expect a positive pregnancy test as a result of my mishap. I know you are thinking really, in the ladies room? I swear to you unspeakable sexual acts have occurred in that room I just know it - and I just puked in my mouth a little at the thought.
Okay well enough about my herpes - I went to Marshalls to get a bathing suit because really I have about 800 so why do I need one more? - well...I need an athletic suit because I have taken to doing laps with my babies. The joint pain that I am suffering and the inflammatory crap associated with my thyroid problems are so much easier to bear in water - I miss the gym, but I am afraid of the pain and so I have taken to swimming, like real swimming, not the pretty kind where you look all mermaid like and silky smooth with a golden hair trail behind you. Nope this is the swim cap type - the strapped in athletic suit, the goggles and all, and me, silly old me, trying not to look like an idiot. I am so sure that I do and laugh if you must - I would laugh at me too. I SUCK at real swimming so bad. I am stupidly afraid of the whole stroke and side breath thing - I cannot explain to you why either, I just am....But I am determined to use this boundless energy from my no gluten no dairy diet/lifestyle to do as many constructive things as I can fit in. I had a great time doing laps with my kiddos three days last week - good family time and loads of fun. By the end of the summer I fully expect to rival Michael Phelps and I am sure the Olympic scouts are going to want to recruit me - When I win the gold I will thank my boss Joan who has wanted me to do this diet/lifestyle for years. Okay... that is never going to happen, but I WILL swim on my days off and ease my joints and move this body to keep it somewhat fit.
I have accepted that I will never be thin. I don't want to be thin - I want to be me. Me is not thin - me with my 36Dcup and my 36inch hips - I am not meant to be a skinny girl - I really just want to be a healthy version of my voluptuous, curvy self - this diet and this sleep pattern are all working in my favor for my current health goals. I feel good in my own skin right now despite it's sagging, dimpling and wrinkling - I feel really, really good :)
When I finally get to my appointment for the endocrinologist at the end of this month, I may even refuse meds...The last time I took synthroid I blacked out on the floor of my bathroom while giving Brian a bath - granted that was eighteen years ago, but still - I blacked out and hit my head on the sink as I fell and my baby was in the damn bath tub - Thank God my neighbor found me.
I am all set with drugs unless they are baked into brownies :) Relax people....
Maybe all I really need is a better diet and more sleep and a lot more waking hours put to good use....I think maybe that is my ticket - What we Americans put in our mouths is toxic f'ing waste - like seriously it is. Now that I have stripped myself clean of these toxins, I am even more sure than I was before, that American food is what is causing so many American illnesses and perpetuating a super sized cycle of convenient obesity. And like I have said before, I do not judge weight if it is healthy - but I question how Americans who eat what we do, can possibly be healthy weight? We think wheat thins are healthy - they are not.
I went to whole foods last night following the immaculate toilet conception and I wandered around that new store like I was visiting the land of OZ - I was amazed at the beauty of the produce - organic is so pretty....And now I will have a really hard time buying my produce at FOOD LION. Whole Foods also has these amazing little signs marking every item that is gluten free - made my life so easy..... I wish we had one out here at the lake :(
Ugh but we don't - just overpriced FOOD LION and breaking the back of American Made, WALLY WORLD.
ugh sighhhhh.
Well peeps my tummy is growling signifying my switch to water and breakfast - what shall I have this AM? Chex and Almond milk or a hard boiled egg and chicken apple breakfast sausage - mmmmmmm so good either way I go. Today is homework poolside for me and naturally some laps :)
I hope you all have a blessed Sunday - much love xo