Trek through a Thought

28 May 2016 5 Comments

Through times of unbalance
We stand on weighty scales
Pondering each side
Which wins, which fails
The sun goes down each day
Like an anchor in the sea’s floor
We graciously abide with less, while needing more
Smiles of momentary bliss flow
Though not many deeply know
One reality from another
In the life of a strange mother

Aside by Charlene Woodley

Continual Resort – Part 3 – ‘Cohabitation’

15 Aug 2013 7 Comments

The next morning came as usual with Linda not realizing that she had fallen asleep on top of the covers. With a groggy head, she headed for the shower to wash away the dizzying high that had apparently lasted during her deep slumber. It was Saturday which was always her day to go and get her daughter from her mother who lived only about half an hour away. It was a neighborhood that was slightly better than the one she grew up in. Sheralyn now lived in a house which was improvement number one. Where Linda had grown up was a horse of a different color in that their front  yard consisted of the dirty confined space in front of their trailer. Sheralyn had an actual lawn now. The environment was not plagued with chemically dependent individuals who had time bombs for tempers, and the area was clean. Everyone pretty much minded their own business with the exception of that one nosy neighbor that most neighborhoods have the pleasure of knowing, even if not by choice.

While brushing her hair back and binding it with a scrunchy into the usual ponytail that she wore daily unless she was going out for a night of fun, Linda thought back to the small dorm sized refrigerator that housed eggs, milk, ice cream, and not much else.  Although they also kept an ample supply of potato chips,  boxed cakes, and canned meats in their little cabinet, the idea of home cooked meals was a mere fantasy because back then, they never knew when they would have to pack their garbage bags and boxes, head out, and leave for another trailer.

Linda truly felt that her mom wanted to do better in those days because she eventually did, but at that time, it was easier said than done.  Her father – Stanley Wright, had been working for a local mechanic shop that helped him to provide somewhat, but he did not feel that what they had in their small abode was enough, and when he decided to hook up with some fellows in the park to run a lab in one of the vacant trailers, things were good need-wise, but this ride was short-lived. Linda was sure that her sister just as she would never forget the day that the NARCS  burst through their door and made everyone inside lay face down – guns in position while other officers tore their home apart creating much more clutter than what already existed, and later handcuffing her dad (who had nowhere to hide) and taking him away. With no money for his wife to bail him out, it was the last day that Linda remembered seeing her father. With a charge of five years, there was no way that Sheralyn could help him, and over that five year span, Sheralyn and her children assumed that Stan had gone on with his life somewhere else, with someone else…with a new life…somehow.

Despite Stan’s angry outbursts of frustration that often became violent – however, brief incidents involving Sheralyn, Linda had vowed to herself the day that she turned fourteen that no man would ever treat her that way. “One hell of a birthday gift.” Linda thought aloud. Her torn feelings about her parents’ actions and her love for her otherwise happy-go-lucky but seriously  paranoid father crept up through the back stairwell of her memories like a medieval king shouting death penalizing orders from his throne to armored knights who would drag a fort encamped kingdom invader to the guillotine to suffer his inevitable demise.  “His severed head on a platter is my wish.”, the king would say as Linda imagined her dad’s loud yells at herself, sister, and mother to just sit down and shut the fuck up for a friggin’ minute so that he could friggin’ hear himself think. If there had only been shouts and yells, Linda felt that they all could have dealt with these outbursts a little easier had it not been for the whiskey bottles, ammonia containers, shoes, and anything else that he could get his hands on to throw before ultimately knocking her mother off of her feet just before profusely apologizing to the two young girls who were forced to watch in horror.

During these incidents, Sheralyn would usually get herself up as quickly as possible to show her girls that she wasn’t actually hurt, but the truth rang loudly when on this particular occasion, she did not rise immediately and Linda’s older sister ran to a neighbor to get help. All in all, Sheralyn never made a trip to the hospital in hopes that she would prevent her children from being taken away.  Linda remembered her mother sitting while holding an ice pack on her face as she and her sister sang “Happy Birthday”. Stan had stormed out in frustration and did not return until the next morning.

Her mother was determined that a better life, environment, and day would come to them if she could only make it ‘this time.’ Sheralyn would explain to the girls on those nights that though things looked bad, she still loved them and that their lives would get better.

Though they were young, Linda and Sheryl knew full well that their mother had gotten herself into a situation that was practically impossible to get out of, but with their mother’s constant and seemingly empty explanations, they still had hope that what she was telling them would one day come to pass.

With a splash of cold water from the bathroom tap and a shake of her head, Linda washed away the negatives that always greeted her in the mirror each morning. Showered, dressed, and without a second thought, Linda made her way to the kitchen for a glass of juice before taking off for her mom’s house. “Shit…should’a known better…I’ll just stop and get some on the way back.” Grabbing her purse and heading for the front door, Linda knew that Donny had left the empty jug of orange juice lying dormant in the refrigerator. It didn’t matter…she’d had her good time too, but by it being the weekend, she would need another jug for them both. The apartment complex was enough for their lifestyle accompanied by occasional parties, gatherings, and important company, but she still hoped for something better just like her mom, and she would have it someday…by any means necessary.

She did not deserve to wait endlessly whether Donny worked his ass off or not, she needed more – she and her baby would get it – as soon as she could manage, and in the meantime, she would make sure that while Brianne  was in her custody she would eat as well there as she did while at her mom’s house. “M’kay, gotta stop at the store too, no biggie.” All plans in order, Linda had made her way down the stairs and to her car with her thoughts clear and ready for the day ahead.

Donny’s Night…

His confusion and unease had finally simmered once he’d had enough drinks. The orange juice was gone and there was just enough vodka for one more drink, but at that time, he did not feel like travelling the five-minute walk to the store for more. He knew that Linda had to go get Brianne from her grandmother’s house and upon noticing, would also stop for more juice. By the same token, he realized that Linda knew that he would be bringing in a fresh bottle of vodka along with other treats. Although he had enjoyed the buzz from the night before, he did not end up falling asleep, but rather up with pen and pad which sat on his end table to hurriedly jot his thoughts until he could get to his father’s house to file his entries and save them. He could not wait for the day to come when he had his own laptop where he could continue building his collection of rhymes, and hopeful lyrics that he dreamed would someday become a reality once published and accepted by any famous producer or at least anyone – famous or not – who was willing to hire him as a songwriter.

His father did not support him or his dreams except for allowing him to save his weekly entries  as long as he promised not to post anything publicly. “I know I raised you better than this boy! Why can’t you just face facts and get into the business like I’ve worn my head grey trying to convince you for the past seven years? It’s just no damn sense talking to you, so go on and write your little words, so you can get the hell outta here! How can I call you my son when I have to watch you screw up your life day after day? Well…know this…you  will either shit or get your ass off of  the damn pot, cause I’ll be damned if I’ll give you another stinkin’ penny when you’re hell-bent on layin’ up with that tramp thinkin’ I’m gonna keep helping you. Write your shit and be gone!”

He listened to the same lecture each weekend, but Donny dealt with it along with swiping up the rubber bands from newspaper subscriptions that his father so graciously elected to save for him which would be lying on his kitchen table. As weird as it seemed to him, Donny accepted his father’s rejection, anger, and collection of rubber bands knowing that he had committed an unforgivable sin in not following his footsteps in the family business, but his words as Donald Sr. called them had led him to instead follow his heart and mind. It was a fact of life that could not be helped.

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Aside by Charlene Woodley

May 3, 2013 – Blog Dare Prompt – My Neighborhood…

07 May 2013 2 Comments

by Charlene Woodley in Home, Make Your Life Work, Poetry - Healing Words Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

My neighborhood is nothing like the one that I moved out of

Twelve years ago

Back then, there was never a dull moment

It’s not that way now – good? I guess so

I was so much younger then, newly married

Oh, what a time it was – didn’t get much sleep

No kids, partying, staying out late

The only young married couple on our street

He went to work, I stayed home

Cooking and cleaning our little love nest

I tried working for awhile

But we decided that my staying home would be best

There were a bunch of little kids always hanging  around

They were so much fun to watch out for

While playing right in front of my apartment

Occasionally knocking on my door

I would read stories to them and sometimes break up their little spars

They always came to me for band-aids

To cover their scrapes, cuts, and scars

When they wanted candy, they knew that they could come to me

I always kept a stash for when they showed up

It wasn’t that they couldn’t buy their own

I guess they just needed some time with a grown-up

I would check their homework and help them with their math

Telling them to always do better than a C

They hung on to my every word

Even called me Auntie

I wonder where those kids are now

What did they do with their lives

Why would someone have all those kids

But not help them to thrive

Where I live now is quite different

I now have my own children to raise

They will never need a play auntie

To show them love in their young days

I will watch them grow, learn and play

In my own back yard

I am their teacher

When their homework is hard

They have their mama to rely on

At any given time

My neighborhood is nothing like the old one

The kids I love now are mine

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

May 2, 2013 Blog Dare Prompt – I Will Never Lose…

07 May 2013 Leave a comment

my faith in God. There have been so many instances and incidents where I could have easily given  up and said screw it all, but why would I do that?  If my mind and heart has been staid all of these years up until now, I figure that there is no reason for me to change unless something so drastic happens that I have no choice. I am here to tell you now that the beginning of my very life was so drastic once I learned about it as well as one other situation during my childhood that I am convinced and that there is not much left that can  change what I believe now…it just wouldn’t make much sense to say that what has occurred over my lifetime was merely a compiled set of incidents that can only be attributed to coincidence.

Let’s begin at my entrance into this world. I know that I was there, but the fact that I was being born at the time should make clear the point that I actually had no idea what was actually going on in a realistically conscious sense. However, spiritually I must say that I very well may have known what was happening at the time, because all things work together for the good – right?

Okay. Long story short, I was not even supposed to be born because as my mother (R.I.P. Momma!) stated years ago that despite being under somewhat heavy sedation due to pre-natal distress, she could hear the doctor saying what a shame it was to have to ‘let the baby go’ in order to save the mother who had four other children to raise and that it was the best decision that he could make given the situation. He had decided that it would make more sense to save the mother of this unborn child who just happened to far exceed the birth weight that mother was able to accommodate (as never having had a baby over five pounds due to some other issue) instead of saving the baby and leaving the father with four children to raise by himself while having to work to take care of them at the same time.

This was not a common deal back in November of 1970, so the doctor stated that the child would have to be aborted immediately as a result of being too large to even attempt the journey through my mother’s severely and insufficiently capacious birth canal. For some reason, there was no time for an emergency C-section which has become the savior of today’s distressed births. I am not sure if there were no epidurals back then or what – I just remember Momma saying that time had run out and there was no other choice but to inevitably abort.

Keeping in mind that I was a rather sneaky kid who did not always follow the golden rule of actually leaving the room when ‘grown folks’ were talking, I could overhear the discussion one night as Momma and whoever company was (probably her sisters who were all in agreement that this was one of the most frightening times of their own lives) reminisced over the situation some odd years later. I will never forget how badly I regretted being a master eavesdropper that night which in turn caused me to obey that golden rule from then on…mostly anyway.

She then began to describe what she was thinking (while under) about how her precious baby would die and how devastated she would be afterwards. The next statements really threw me for a loop as she spoke about how she heard a ‘voice’ telling her to push regardless of the fact that she had already heard her OBGYN say that she would die upon giving birth.  The story went on to describe how my mom felt herself tearing as I came out while the doctor and his crew frantically rushed to prepare themselves for this shocking change in plans while also readying themselves to inform my dad of the deaths that were definitely in store. She said that she knew that I was here when she realized that she had totally ‘come apart’ while the staff took care of a perfectly healthy baby just before performing  a very intricate re-constructive surgery in order to try to get her back to somewhat normal. As a result, the next baby that was born into our family, Mom ended up having a scheduled C-section five years later because a regular birth was completely out of the question.

Anyway, Momma went on to describe an incident where she mentioned ‘hemorrhaging’ which could not have been good due to the fact that she said that she collapsed and was rushed back to the hospital for however long – me at the age of a few days, she had to depend on sisters to take care of the baby and the other kids while Dad worked. Apparently someone stayed at the house with us while Mom was in the hospital – I don’t remember who, but I did have some siblings who were old enough to help out.

Somehow, Momma came back home, healed, and went back to her normal mothering, cooking, taking care of home, and being the best mother that anyone could ever ask for. She attributes us making it through that ordeal strictly to God because of that voice along with the rest of the miraculous events such as her very survival. She told everyone that I was her ‘miracle child’. Though I had no idea of how to live up to that name, I tried my best although I’m sure that I didn’t do so well along the way years after, but that is my first reason for my undying faith.

The next comes from a regular doctor’s visit to my pediatrician at around the age of seven. They found a problem with my heart. Irregular beat, murmur, and after several abnormal EKGs and ultrasounds, I would need open heart surgery to correct the problem. Now, the final decision was made around the age of eleven because I was still going to my original pediatrician for some years before the problem was officially diagnosed. I cannot remember the actual name of the problem, but it was there – found by the new doctor and the specialist that he referred us to. Something about a blocked valve is all that I can really remember.

I find it strange how I can remember some things just a little bit while others as if it were yesterday, but I do remember my mom on the phone with church members and relatives speaking about them all planning to pray at certain times of the day. One day in particular, she was on the phone while ironing everyone’s clothes for the week. We were in hers and Dad’s bedroom, when I suddenly stopped paying attention to what was on TV. I saw a  little lady (that is how I remember it) appear right in front of me, bathed in white and light. Mom was talking about how they were keeping up with their prayers and how she would NOT lose me after all that it took to bring me into this world when the little lady smiled at me. We did not speak, but I knew what she was saying as she and I- apparently (as I know now), communicating telepathically. My mom had no idea of what was going on with me while this was happening and I didn’t mention it until much later.

I can distinctly remember having no fear of dying which I knew would surely happen if I had the surgery. The little lady told me that there was nothing to fear and I told her that I didn’t want to die because it would hurt my whole family and they would be crying. First of all, I could never stand the thought of either of my parents crying, but after all – I was the ‘miracle child’.  All of this was happening with no one talking except my mom and whoever she was on the phone with. The lady bathed in white and light said that great was my faith and love, so all that I needed to do was to pray for my friend. I would live and not die (she shook her head – no), but I would have some sadness in my life although I would get through that also. Little sparks of light went from her and landed on me as I accepted what she said, somehow knowing the ‘friend’ that she implied. It is still funny now how I felt that day, seeing the peace, joy, and unconditional love that I would experience, but choosing to stay put because I pretty much had it already.  The little lady thanked me and disappeared. I felt a calm as my mom hung up the phone.

She had been talking to the Avon lady who had a daughter that had become quite close to me over time. She had been scheduled to go in for the exact same surgery  that I was, but my mom and our church were praying for her too!

I said my prayer for my friend. A couple of years later in our pre-teens Taska (my friend) had gone through the same surgery that I was supposed to have had, but didn’t after the doctors could NOT find the problem that they had seen before, (believe me, they looked for it) but miraculously, it was no longer there. I could now join the marching band with no worries, and the day that Taska and her mother came to visit, I was ecstatic! She showed me her zipper just before we discovered that she also had become a flute player in her high school’s band. (There was no middle school back then) – We watched our mothers cry in relief while praising that same God that had seen fit to bring me into this world, I guess for the very purpose of being living proof that faith in Him does pay off.

I have seen many other miracles happen to others in my life…things that you would probably say are a coincidence or maybe you would even say that it didn’t even happen, but I would not be writing this if it hadn’t. I don’t knock what anyone believes and I don’t accept being knocked either, so what  happened – happened, and I am proud to say that it did. Life was different then, and today as a real-life non-church going yet full-fledged believing Christian, (I have changed my views on some things over time and I do not attribute my outcome to ‘church’ but faith), I can honestly say that… with all of this being said and much more to come…

I will never lose my faith in God.

By the way, my birth weight was 8’11!

Thanks for reading!

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Aside by Charlene Woodley

May 1, 2013 Blog Dare Prompt – Each Time That I am About to Accomplish Something…

07 May 2013 Leave a comment

education

education (Photo credit: Sean MacEntee)

I seem to get sidetracked by something else – totally!  I mean, seriously…I can be dead set on starting one type of project or another when something happens to stop me. Usually it is something  at home that needs to be dealt with immediately, and there goes my little project. It is not that I don’t plan well or that I simply do not possess the quality characteristic of being consistent, (though there is much room for improvement), things just happen this way for me. As a matter of fact, it doesn’t even have to be a an actual ‘project’ such as writing a new poem or post for my blog, nor does it have to be an actual home emergency – just regular stuff…whatever that is –  although this is the case a lot of the time. To put it plainly, it could be something as simple as planning dinner for the day, so I will use this common task as my ‘for instance’ in order to ultimately reach the main point of the actual gist of this post. For example, let’s just say that my plan for the day is to have dinner done before three o’clock so it will be ready by the time my husband gets home and I can be doing something else (like being here on the blog), get the laundry done, and maybe use my ‘break time’ between these chores to at least begin a new blog post. While separating the colors from the whites, my youngest will begin his daily campaign for snacks. All of this usually takes place after he has finished his mom-given daily educational online exercises followed by a nice session of Roblox gaming, and it is time for him to turn the desktop over to his big brother (6-yrs old). Herein lies the catch to feigned hunger.

This is a logo for Roblox.

This is a logo for Roblox. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I always give them breakfast first thing in the morning  and I make sure to give them a small snack a couple of hours later, so this young man is asking for snacks over what he has already been given. I can’t help but wonder if he is going through a growth spurt or something, because his appetite has been quite ravenous lately. It is as if I haven’t given him anything to eat since the day began, and when he gets this way, it can be just a tad annoying. I apparently am not able to sufficiently feed my rambunctious little lad of four years , because he is always sneaking into the fridge and upon being caught, he will continue to act as if I have given him the thumbs up as he pulls out turkey slices and cheese to make wraps or either a sandwich for himself. To give credit where it is due, he does have the common courtesy to also offer to whip up a snack for his siblings. He waits patiently for me to either give in or go off the deep end before attempting to continue on with his adorably manipulative ploy.

Now, I have always taught my children to speak their minds and to be clear on the points that they are trying to make…I guess maybe he took in this teaching a little too well. Persistent is an understatement when it comes to this kid with his constant questions of why it is not time for the snack, when he can have the snack and of course what time will it be when I make the snack. This array of questions will undoubtedly go on until I am finally able to make it stop. I consider it a plus that he usually knows when he has hit that last nerve and will sometimes cease the onslaught all on his own, but depending on the time, I will either leave the laundry and make snacks for all three of the kids, or give the youngest some age appropriate  educational tasks until snack/lunch time finally comes.

Needless to say, I have now been put back on the laundry, so as I am frantically trying to get that done, the day has practically gone by and guess what – I haven’t even thawed out the meat for dinner! I have completely forgotten that I was even supposed to me making dinner…at least until I hear the low growl coming from my own empty belly. Sooo, I end up moving backwards to get everything done while pecking away periodically at the keyboard for a quick post, much like I am doing now.

With clothes in the washer and a family pack of wings or thighs in the microwave on compu-defrost, I manage to get a paragraph or two in before it is time to transfer the clothes from the washer to the dryer before starting another load. (I am very seldom granted enough mercy to have only one load a day)…The chicken is still not thawed, so I take care of that while simultaneously fussing about the kids cleaning up various messes that have been made while I was trapped in the washroom with the clothes. Soon after, the cycle of snack propositions, a variety of ‘no’ answers, more 4-year-old geared educational occupying tactics, and keyboard pecking takes place before I am finally able to put dinner on well after three.

An attractive dinner setting

An attractive dinner setting (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My husband walks through the front door to receive his daily greeting of jumps, hugs and kisses (I call it a physical attack) from the kids who are extremely happy to see him as if he has been gone for weeks before he asks what smells so good and when will it be ready. Just for the record, he is asking about the chicken baking in the oven and not me. My reply as usual, “When it’s done dude.” We both smile as he walks out the back door to feed the dogs and scoop poop while I try to remember to make sure that the house doesn’t burn down in the unfortunate case that I forget that I am cooking.

The day always (for the most part) ends with us all having a nicely non-burnt dinner, last clean-up and baths before bedtime, and even more typing before sleep overtakes us all. It was a good day. We have leftovers for the next day which will give me a little time to work on my post, yay! I made it once again despite being sidetracked into that abysmal pool of distracting forgetfulness due to well – you know.

My goal is to one day have myself as well as the kids on a ‘schedule’, but in the meantime what I have just described is an actual typical day in my household. I purposefully left out cleaning the house, making sure that the kids are getting their schoolwork done, answering a phone that never stops ringing, along with repeatedly changing my clothes to accommodate my daily dose of hot and cold flash turbulence…basically in order to explain my situation using a single set of scenarios. I had to do it this way because otherwise I would surely have found myself once again – sidetracked!

Despite all of the above, I have been used to things working this way for me for so long that while I am aware that this is not what most would call ‘normal’, it happens to be the norm for me until one day by some miracle, things change. If not, well…I am pretty much conditioned to having my last nerved jumped on, dealing with several worrisome situations at one time, and pretty much forgetting the rest until I finally remember it –  which on occasion is the next day or so. This no longer bothers me to a point where I want to pull my hair out, however it is still a bit annoying especially when I have veered so far off from my initial plan of whatever it was that I intended to do in the first place. Though I really could benefit from ‘having it another way’, I must accept it for what it is, embrace it, and move on because it is what it is and we are what we are. Just in case ‘we are’ as crazy as I think, I embrace that also – it is ‘our crazy’, and despite the unending annoyances, I love it!

housekeeping

housekeeping (Photo credit: pucci.it)

The one thing that I would never trade in or change is my group of three overly energetic yet exceptionally bright children. Oh yeah, I wouldn’t change the hub either, hahahahaha!! They all are my reason for living and my inspiration for wanting to do things that I have never done or thought that I would be able to do.

Just think of how this story would have turned out if I had actually added details concerning my six and twelve-year-old! I will have to save them for future posts, because I would never finish this one otherwise.

In a nutshell, each time that I am about to accomplish something… life happens.

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Aside by Charlene Woodley

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