Life in General

The Crazy Side

Just finished watching the latest episode of Army Wives, one of the few TV shows I watch regularly.  In this episode, one of the "wives," a nurse at the post hospital, receives an unexpected gift from a patient-his beloved motorcycle.  As a double amputee, he figures he won't be riding anytime soon, and Denise has shared joyful memories of her youthful riding experiences with him. Denise's character is quite conventional - her husband is a bit of a brute, and her decision to return to work as a nurse caused huge upheaval in their relationship.  She's reluctant to ride the motorcycle, and leaves it sitting in the hospital parking garage where she stops to admire it daily.  One day, a handsome young doctor rides in on his own bike, and they strike up a conversation.  She admits the bike is "hers," even though she hasn't ridden it yet.

"I don't even have a license!" she says.

"License!" he scoffs. "Who needs a license?  You've got a crazy bone somewhere in you, don't you?"

"Oh no," she demurs, "I don't think I do."

"Sure you do," he says with a wicked grin. "Everybody does."

Hmm, I caught myself thinking. 

Where the hell has my crazy bone gone to?

Truly, I haven't done a crazy thing in God only knows when.  The last remotely crazy thing I did...see, I can't remember one.  I haven't even gone out speeding driving in my car with the windows down and the radio blasting since way last summer.  I've been limiting myself to one glass of wine a day, going to bed at 11:30 every night - what could be less crazy than the life I've been living?

There's been a restless yearning in my heart lately, a "need for speed" - not just physical speed, but a desire to feel a heart racing excitement, an adrenaline rush, a fist-pumping acclamation.  The emotional equivalent of that wind in your face feeling you might get doing 80 mph on a Harley.

Don't you think we should indulge our crazy bones once in a while?  Cut loose from that oh-so-responsible person who always does the right thing, shows up for work on time, follows all the rules, tries to be nice and helpful and good?

Today, I met with my aunt and uncle, both in their 80's.  He's suffering from Alzheimer's, she's a cancer survivor who's battling crippling arthritis.  They continue to live independently, in the home they purchased  back in 1954.  A few weeks ago, a man followed them home from the bank and robbed her as she was unlocking the back door to the home that has been their sanctuary for the past 54 years.  Now, she's afraid to leave the house.  He has no recollection of what happened, no matter how many times she relives the story. 

Talk about living on the crazy side.

Of course, it's not that kind of crazy I'm looking for. 

What I am looking for is an opportunity to enjoy life, to indulge my "crazy bone" in case fate intervenes and casts a shadow of true insanity upon my existence.

Anybody know where I can get a good deal on a Harley?

 

Sunday Scribblings-Vision

"I can see clearly now, the rain has gone,

I can see all obstacles in my way

Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind

Gonna be a bright, sunshiny day."

 

Funny how sometimes a tune will pop into your mind, and, once there, refuse to leave.  When I read this week's Sunday Scribblings prompt, these lyrics immediately came to mind, and now I wish I had an escape key for the microprocessor in my brain.

Nevertheless, they're appropriate for the topic.  After all, "I can see clearly now..."seems the perfect seque to a reflection on the word "vision." 

Unfortunately, it's the second line of the song that seems to dominate my thoughts. 

"I can see all obstacles in my way."  I wish I were more of a visionary, but after 50 plus years on the planet, I seem stuck in my overly pragmatic (bordering on pessimistic) outlook.  Everywhere I look these days, in the wide world and in my own little backyard , I see obstacles - monetary, political, environmental, medical. Many of my own dreams are on hold because of the faltering economy and shaky socio political status.  Health concerns loom in my family right now, from the oldest members on down to the youngest.   All of life's obstacles are clearly visible, and they've gathered overhead in the shape of some pretty formidable clouds.

At first it seems that phrase is a little out of place in the general "sunshininess" of that song, doesn't it?  I mean, if you can see all the obstacles in your way, how the heck can it be a bright sunshiny day?

Our minister's sermon this morning was quite appropriate to my thoughts today.  Entitled "Weeds in the Garden" he talked about the pervasive nature of "weeds" in our lives - those obstacles that spring up totally unbidden, flourish despite our efforts, and threaten to destroy the vision we have for our lives.  How do you fight these invaders? he wonders. 

Three things...a vision, a plan, and committment.  Have a clear picture in your mind of what you want your garden to be, make a plan to achieve it, and committ yourself to whatever it takes to keep the weeds out.  Of course, if you have a spiritual life, then God (or your higher power) becomes the guiding principle in your life's plan, as well as in the means of bringing it to fruition.

Having a vision seems to be the key.  If you can dream it, you can do it, as the saying goes.  I struggle with that  - not the dream part, because I have those in abundance.  But in finding a means to make them come true.  And a big part of that is not allowing those inevitable obstacles to blind you to the brightness of your vision, and in allowing the universe to do its part in making the dreams come true.

So, I continue to work toward "openess to possibility," toward looking for silver linings of opportunity peeking out from beneath those obstacles of clouds.  In the midst of economoic turmoil, I'm grateful everyone in my family has good jobs; amidst concerns about health, I'm reassured that hopeful solutions exist; despite a loss of focus among our current leaders, I have faith that new leaders will emerge to provide inspiration for change.

And so, maybe it will be a "bright, sunshiny day."

  

 

Top Ten Reasons Why I Love...

Writing from home! Michele tagged me for this meme the other day, and I've been so busy "writing at home" I haven't had time to complete it. 

Now that Write On Wednesday is up and running (or launched as they say in the web design business), I can sit back (in my favorite comfy chair), put my (bare!) feet on the ottoman, drink my tea (Adagio Rooibos Tropics...delish!),  enjoy the new music I just dowloaded on my I-Pod (Mozart Piano Trio in B-flat major), and think about some of the reasons I love writing from home.

Hmmm...I believe I just told you quite a few of them.

Being comfortable is a big one. 

Having my doggies nearby is another.

Being able to multi-task on the homefront is huge.

Most of all, being flexible...if the muse is being stubborn, I can prod her along with a walk, or by sitting down at the piano for a bit, or picking up a favorite inspirational book on writing.

One thing I try never to do when I'm supposed to be writing at home...turn on the television!  For me, it's sudden death to any creative urge or ambition!

I've been fortunate in that I can also do a good deal of my office job at home -it's writing too, but of an entirely different kind.  And all the same reasons apply. <smiles>

How about you? Can you work at home? Would you want to? Or do you like to keep work and home life separate?

 

 

Sunday Scribblings - Happy Endings

"You were foolish to expect this to work out," Angela told me, carefully folding my navy blue satin pajamas before placing them into the suitcase atop the pile of sweaters and skirts she had already pulled from the closet.   "There's never a happy ending in these situations...you should know that by now." I sat huddled at the foot of the bed, watching her work with her usual businesslike efficiency.  Angela and I had been friends since fourth grade, and even as children she would come to my house and organize my room while I sat moaning about my life - the teachers who didn't like me, the parents who overprotected me, the boys who used me.

"You have this fairy tale view of life, Tricia," she continued, turning her stern gaze toward my pathetic form.  "You expect that every man pays you the least attention or treats you remotely decently is going to be your Prince Charming."  Her expression softened into a smile, the kind you give a recalcitrant puppy who pees on the rug even though you've just taken her outside.  "Even married ones," she sighed.

It's true, I don't have great judgment when it comes to relationships.  I've fallen in love with the wrong men ever since I can remember, starting with Billy Tucker, that nasty little five year old who lived behind us, and who came to my house every day just so he could play my brother's computer games.  I was certain he loved me, and was crushed when I invited him to my birthday party and he just laughed in my face.  

And now I was packing up the remnants of my latest failure in love - or rather, my best friend was packing them for me - a year long relationship with a really super guy who conveniently neglected to tell me he was still married.

"I just want a life," I said, realizing that the words "like yours" were the implicit ending to the phrase.  Angela had a great husband who adored her, and seven year old twins who excelled at everything from soccer to chess.  Talk about happy endings.

She sat beside me and wrapped her arm affectionately around my shoulders.  "I understand," she said. "But you have to be realistic.  And your life doesn't have to be like mine," she continued. "Your happy ending could be something completely different."

I knew what was coming next.  Her familiar "you have so much talent and you're not using it" speech.  Angela was certain I was then next Pulitzer prize winning novelist, if only I would work at it a little harder. 

Who knows, I thought, maybe she's right.  She's been telling me as much ever since I read her my first short story, "The Black Room," a gothic potboiler penned at the tender age of 11. 

"Come on," she said, pulling me to my feet.  "Let's get you out of this apartment before Mr. Wonderful comes back.  You're coming to stay with me for a while.  I've got a room ready for you, and I'm going to lock you in every morning and not let you out until you've written 2000 words on that novel."

"I don't have a novel," I whined. 

"Then it's about time you started one," she told me, closing the door firmly behind us.  "Just make sure it has a happy ending."

 

for more happy endings, go here