Who Controls The Narrative?

    I enjoy sitting down at the typewriter, or as we may call it, our personal computer!
    Especially when I have so much to say, and truly very little.
      In the morning hours, I was scanning my notes, random and reckless, to piece together a blog. ( I love this choppy sentence!! It amuses me!!)
    I firmly believe in jotting down thoughts.
    My family would tell you first hand, if paper and pen are not near me, there could be a problem.
    Who controls the narrative? In my story, Me!
    More importantly what I choose to share, is in my limited control. The universe has hold of the reins, and God, if you believe. ( She and I are still in talks, after you lose a child, your questions are bigger) ( Yes I believe that God has to be female, a man could never multi task that well)
 
     So today, I found this saying, Who Controls The Narrative, and I think Pat Conroy said it in one of his books. It was written right next to, Cage Fighting vs Global Warming and the vets phone number, and of course Pat Conroy's name is in the corner of that page. Also in big letters, Love, Loves, Loving, Loved, wonder what that is about???

   So many things, we as a people, need to write down and think about. I have lists on top of lists, of books to download, Movies to watch, tickets to order, doctors and dentists appointments, that should be transferred onto the calendar! My notebooks are a treasure trove of my narrative.

   This week, our Patti Duke died, our Valley of the Dolls girl, minus her headband. Memories flood the gates, when our past is truly passed.
    I had a visit for a physical, to have cataracts removed, and the Doctor said I need to see a cardiologist!
   " Well, of course I do, seeing all these doctors has caused my EKG to look wonky!" I huffed.
   Nothing to worry about, yet, so lets leave that part out!! My narrative.
One of our cats, Diana has diabetes, and corralling her to the vet, ( another reason for EKG abnormal report) is life altering!! This week has been all about her, two shots into her, and I will need to sell a kidney to pay for this animal, AND that would be another doctor!!!

   I just realized its only Wednesday, my life is large, hectic and full of laughter.
   I sit here, with a mask on in my house, because the pollen count is so high and I love having the doors and windows open!! The weather is beautiful, I want to feel it, even with a coat of yellow! ( God bless my cleaning people, who have been with me for almost twenty years!) It takes a village!

  There were two other things that recently spoke to me, maybe three.
           1. My parents still make me laugh, its nice
           2. Patti Duke died from the same thing my father had in October, Sepsis from a rip in your intestines. He survived, and he thinks it is pretty neat to now be associated with a Hollywood person! via a medical problem. ( my family! makes me laugh)
           3. I received an invitation to a rehearsal dinner and it was addressed with our names in lower case letters!! I was so happy, it looked beautiful and we don't always have to use upper case letters!!
( I cut our names out and put it on the fridge, seriously beautiful!)
           OK maybe four things......
          4. Humans of New York had wonderful Easter Parade pictures last week. One made me loudly laugh, about "Just Go With Howard" go online and look it up. I think I saw it on Facebook. I am going to steal that line and use it in my life. It is just perfect, " Just Go With Howard!" has so many meanings.

      And to think, I did not even think I had enough to write about.
      You control your narrative, its liberating! Make it special!!
       Thank you for trying to follow this hodge podge of delight.
 **The above picture is from the story of Just Go With Howard, the story did not print. So look it up! Humans of New York Easter Parade Stories, I found it!! It takes some time, but then you get to see so much more!!

For Goodness Sake

   The above title of this blog, is a saying I heard in my youth. It has nothing to do with the blog to come! I just like it. I was fortunate enough to hear Justin Bieber say these precious words in a song this week. ( Yes I like his music, and I am really a 16 year old girl inside this bod) Give his new CD a twirl, its awesome, for goodness sake!

       Now, that I have explained so little, I will continue.

    I graduated from PT school this week, after five weeks, twice a week, hours of agony.
    My little girl therapist, said, " Bonnie, can you come back and visit us, we are like family!" To which I smiled and said, " We are not like family, we are still in like with each other and I will return shortly due to my bird bones, love you, good-bye." She was very sweet and a beast, sort of like Namaste and I may cut you!!
   Now onto my cataract surgery, in April and May. I feel like I may be on the hamster wheel of body repairs in my 63rd year on this planet. My motto, is to keep moving forward, and practice the art of finding happiness in all situations, try is the key word here. Pain and doctors appointments have a tendency to make me cranky, lucky for me, I am always a work in progress.

  I found this poem, this week, and it spoke to me. I think it will touch you also, and if it doesn't that's OK too. I can not find your happiness also!!
       Lord, my burdens are huge, it takes work, you are on your own. I just think this may jump your joy meter.
                      Dazzle of Day
                      by Pablo Neruda

                      Enough now of the wet eyes of winter.
                      Not one single tear.
                      Hour by hour, green is beginning,
                      the essential season, leaf by leaf,
                      until, by spring's name, we are summoned
                      to take part in its joy.

                      How wonderful, its eternal openness,
                      clean air, the promise of flower,
                      the full moon leaving
                      its calling card in the foliage,
                      men and women trailing from the beach
                      with a wet basket of shifting silver.

                      Like love, like a medal,
                      I welcome it,
                      I take it all in,
                      from south, from north, from violins,
                      from dogs,
                      lemons, clay,
                      from newly liberated air,
                      machines smelling of mystery,
                      storm-colored shopping,
                      everything I need:
                      orange blossoms, string,
                      grapes like topazes,
                      the whiff of waves.
                      I gather it up
                      endlessly,
                      effortlessly,
                      I breathe.

                      I dry my shirt in the wind,
                      and my opened heart.
                      The sky falls
                      and falls.
                      From my glass,
                      I drink
                      pure joy.

    Saturday, the bug man may have just sprayed my feet, finds me semi-well and happy.
    For goodness sake.


                      
                     

  

The Beads Are Tight

   

   Today finds me a little unstrung.
       My beads(Mala) are wrapped tight around my wrist, and will be used repeatedly through this day.
       Much like Rosary Beads used for prayer, these are used by Buddhists, and anyone who wants to use them. They help me pray all day. There is no Jesus hanging from them, or rote prayer, just many beads for all prayer requests! My list is huge!!
       This weekend, I have been weepy, and that is not my usual self.
       Beautiful weather makes me so thankful, and I wish my Ward could see it, then I think he does.
       Pat Conroy died, and my heart just sank, so grateful and yet a tad angry he had to leave.
       Saw the play, Sound of Music, and it was so touching, all the familiar songs and fantastic stage design.( Yes I may have mouthed the words to every song, and yes I missed Christopher Plummer!) My eyes were full, and my heart on my sleeve.
      Bill and I drove home, the same route we always take, going by Ward's college SCAD, and we remembered all the dorm moving, and art projects and love. We wished that he had more time with us, to figure out things and discover his his worth. He was so creative, and loved college. Bill reminded me that Ward never missed a day of classes in college, I smiled. The tears gently fell.
   
     I blame the South!! We are a very different breed. You can love us or hate us, but you pine to be near us. We love with a fault, and carry hate around like it is your best friend. We sit our crazy on the front porch, with a glass of tea, and show it off! We have a story to tell, and hopefully you get a chance to hear it.
 
    Southern writers, sip from the fountain of humidity, and fill my soul.
   Pat Conroy's death, reminded me of how much I love the south, and loathe it, at the same time.
   AND my weepy weekend began with missing him, and turning pages.
        For me, the South was carry on baggage I could not shed no matter how many borders you crossed-PC
         The South's got a lot wrong with it, but its permanent press and it doesn't wash out-PC
         The camellias were always in bloom, it was the South that existed without sting or thorns, or heartache-PC
          Every conversation with him had the possibility of turning wrong in an instant-PC
         " English Leather," I said. " The smell of pain." -PC ( my grandfather wore English Leather, no more needs to be said-BB)
          Columns are often the metaphorical bars of the Southern prison from which there is no parole or escape-PC

These are snippets from ,Beach Music. My favorite book of Pat's is Prince of Tides. I think I will download to my kindle all of his books, and have a love fest.
       To be from the deep South is exhausting, overstimulating and maddening. It is also fills up a room, the entire room, with the best.
       I want to fix the south, and not destroy it, I think it can be done. I will not be flying a Confederate flag, but it can certainly hang in a museum to remind us of how not to be. We cannot forget the past, but we can change the future. Oh how the moss hangs, and reminds us of the sorrow and pain, that which has built our character of hope and kindness.
       Read some Southern writers, they will tell you of our faults and our promises. They will let you weep for awhile and cause you to pick yourself up, and continue to cherish our roots.

       ( Did I tell you that it was the end of Downton Abbey also, I was a hot mess by nightfall!)
  I will clutch my beads, and end this little epistle, and carry my southern self out into this great big world.
      Its a beautiful day, even when you weep.

Head, Heart and Uterus

        I have so much to write about and its all scattered in my brain. I guess you can say, there will be no connect the dots, because there is a hurricane brewing in my head, heart and uterus.
        First on this last day of February, I will be voting tomorrow for Hillary Clinton. PERIOD! I need not defend my choice, and say horrible things about yours. To me she is over ready for this position, with decades of experience, and I trust her, as much as I trust any politician. The republican party is in a toxic heap of circus acts, and I feel very sorry for this party. I don't support the Republican Party, but that does mean that I want it to fail. End of my story, because I cannot fathom any human that could be leaning towards Trump or Cruz. However that is why we have the choice to vote, and I hope that you all vote, using your head, heart and if you have a uterus, that too!!

      The month of February has seen me in pain, and at the Physical Therapist for the entire month. She is still slowly killing me. I have been blessed with Homer's sense of humor and bad hips. The young, petite PA, has tried to put my right leg in positions that I have never done, ever! I tired to explain to her, that most people cannot put their legs over their heads, nor do squats holding a ball, walking backwards!!! She smiles and says, " I will do them with you!" I smile and say, " What else can we do angel?" She has poked and kneaded my muscles until I had to call Jesus! Spasms running up and down, with ice packs to help. I offered her some little advice, that people in my generation take meds first then we let you poke!! She is a Florida girl, so I have been sweet tea kind to her, but......its an ongoing battle.....I go tomorrow......say a pray

    Enjoyed seeing my forever friend, Susan Houser. She stays with us sometimes, when she hops through Atlanta. We talk and laugh like 16 year old girls.We share a history, our history, and we revisit every nook and crannie. When we are talked out, we pause, and start over.

    I read a couple of good books in February, while plopped on a heating pad.
    1. Between The World And Me by Ta-Nehist Coates, a must must read for all people.
    2. My Name is Lucy Barton by Elizabeth Strout, enjoyed it
    3. Living In The Aftermath of Tragedy by Sue Kleibold difficult, but I think people should read it.
    4. Reading now, The Japanese Lover by Isabel Allende, so far its beautiful
These are a few, that you may want to pick up. Reading, what a wonderful addiction to have.

   My favorite quote I heard or read somewhere, was Parade Worthy!!!! May your March be Parade Worthy, that is just the best saying ever!!! So let me close, the sun is out, and its calling my name.
    Remember you cannot fix crazy, but you can sure dress up for the Parade!!
    Use your Head, Heart and whatever else you need to use, to make good choices. Love yourself, pay attention and show up!!! ready
      Parade Worthy Month, that is our March plan D, because A,B, and C are iffy!!!
     

No One Gets Tired Of Loving

         The month of love is among us, and today I reflect on how easy and hard, it is to love.
To be passionately devoted or overly attached, infatuated or sick with yearning. Love is complicated, and should not cause fatigue?! But it does, love can drain the very cells out of your body, and at the same time evoke such tenderness. It really is a remarkable emotion, for the physical heart.
       I count myself to be in the category of lucky in love.
       I love so much and it comes easy, ( not spread your legs easy!) more like easy on a Sunday morning.
To adore, dote on, be fascinated by, treasure, be fond of, nuts about, delight in so many things, puts the juice in JOY!
     After the profound loss of a child, loving becomes much harder, yet somewhat simpler.
     Standing at the side of a grave of a lifelong friend, you feel the love to the core of your center.
     I do know death does not stop, when people die.
Music thrills by being, and reading is my constant companion. Husband love is such an intimate experience, to grow old with someone, with all our flaws on the table, is cherished daily. Children love, there are no words, trust me, I have looked. I am a stepmother, a birth mother and an adoptive mother, three very different kinds of love, tied together with my heart strings. I would save you from any pain, if I could, but don't test me!!! I love being a parent. I also prize being an 'Uma', with two grandsons. Now that is another kind of love, ( there are so many) it is constant, yet there is distance. Very neat to be a grandparent. My parents are here on earth with me, and remind me that getting older can be difficult, and we have to love each other through all ages of crazy!! What a powerful thing, this love of friends is, adore, admire, appreciate, the three 'As'.
    Self love is the most important, honor yourself, your special, beautiful self, and love shines.
    We are often so critical of our every move and thought! Yuck, put yourself on the Love Train, and dance!
 People occasionally ask, " Who would you take to a deserted island?" Well, that is easy, ME! who knows you better, and I hope you love yourself first, and would want to be on an island with all of yourself. Of course I would want good farm to table food, precious art, Pandora, and all my loves with me, but first on the island is me!
      Be warm, affectionate, loyal, thoughtful to you first, then you can share the wealth of your being with this wonderful world. We touch people, by loving who we are. Broken and flawed, filled with love, grateful for being so loved, and on my knees sending it your way.
   
     

I Have Lost My Mittens, and I Do Not Care

     February is sitting here with me, all gray and dreary.
     Maybe a flake of snow will surprise us, and I have lost my mittens.( could be a metaphor for my mind, but we will go with mittens??!!)
     I believe my two pair of gloves are in the pocket of one down jacket. Last week, I was a snowbird, watching my babies enjoy? skis and slopes. ( Uma watched from afar, but I had to go outside to see this feat of Olympic hopefuls) I think I had to wear gloves, how do people put up with all these layers of clothes, and you are still cold? It baffles me.
     Now I sit in February, at home, and the weather people predict the high tomorrow is 32 degrees ! WHAT!! THE FOCK ( people in Ireland and Scotland say the F curse like this, I Love it!!) FOCK, FOCK, FOCK.!
    I will not put on that coat again, or hunt for my gloves, Its February, and the groundhog is my friend, Bloody Hell ( British peeps!)
    So I continue on my reading list from January. I think I would encourage you to read them all, but one has my heart.
Trails of Broken Wings by Sejal Badani

The Sound of Gravel by Ruth Wariner

The Things We Keep by Sally Hepworth

The Art of Hearing Heartbeats ( I cant read the authors name on my kindle, you can find it!)

And the one that has my heart is When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanith

Also read ;

Boys in the Trees by Carly Simon ( I loved, but you would have to love James Taylor and their story to desire to read this) ( It sort of broke my heart, and reminded me of living in that time of such change)

Cutting For Stone by Abraham Verghese ( I loved most of this, enough to offer it to you as, good)

Now for a few reasons I will read again When Breath Becomes Air.
         Highlights
miscommunication between people can so profoundly impact their lives

gathered experience is worn down by the details of living

We are never so wise as when we live in the moment

Surely intelligence wasn't enough; moral clarity was needed as well

"I don't know. What I do know-and I know you know these things, too-is that your life is about to change." ( on hearing that this person has cancer) ( me just trying to explain, why??I don't know??)
               (you are smart!! I know my people)

Humans are organisms, subject to physical laws

How much neurological suffering would you let your child endure before saying that death is preferable?

When there is no place for the scalpel, words are the surgeon's only tool

I had met her in a space where she was a person, instead of a problem to be solved

in taking up another's cross, one must sometimes get crushed by the weight

What kind of life exists without language

I work my whole life to get to this point, and then you give me cancer

joy, a joy unknown to me in all my prior years, a joy that does not hunger for more and more but rests, satisfied

This is a beautiful story of a young doctor and his journey through cancer. It does not have a happy ending, yet teaches us so much about living. It is very much a book for all people. His wife actually finished the book for him, for he lost his battle. To find joy in the middle of pain, and loss, is just so beautiful. I wish for no one to be tested so harshly, by any disease or loss. I am forever grateful, that those that are tested, write and leave behind their story, to aid all of us on our life journey.
       So on this day, may you find time to read, reflect  and rest satisfied. 
       I may never find my mittens, and that is OK

Hang Onto Your Hanky

     Its storming outside my window, so I come to write.
     January continues to dim my light, so I write and write some more!
     Or..look for my iron?

     This week, a box of horrible smokey handkerchiefs, lifted my spirits and my imagination
     My sweet Mary Heyward ( mom) gave me a box of hankies from a dear friend of hers, who had recently died. Not everyone, would have accepted these so cheerfully, but I knew there must be a story, who has a box of over two hundred hankies? Mom has, over the years, placed into my hands some jewels.( my brothers never want anything!) So often, I say yes, and don't truly know until I get home and explore the contents my treasure. Not all do I keep, but mom knows, that once it comes to me, I will either give it away, or find a special place in my home and heart for the stuff of stories.

   OK, back to my iron...I did not even know I had one, and when I found it, was excited to find it was new and never used ( that part was not a surprise) The hankies stunk to high heaven, and I washed them like a newborn baby. I was sure they would dissolve, these things were old. You see, Mrs. Pickering,my mothers friend, died at 99. She had no children, and at some time, I think, thought my mom was her child. I remember going to her house, near the paper mill, for my mom to take her things. Cakes, Pies, Cookies, just stick her head in to say "Hello" and we Blackman children usually were in tow. None of us wanted to go there, except maybe me, I liked to see there living quarters! I could not imagine a house with no children, and it always fascinated me, that there were people that their houses were quiet. Noreina was her first name, and her husband were friends of my mom for a LONG time. Mrs. Pickering worked at the Middle School, Oceanway, for forever!!! she was the guidance counselor, I thought she was the Assistant Principal, mom corrected me this morning. I use to like to see Mrs. Pickering's clothes, beautiful suits and high heels, daily. Her hair was tight and coiffed, never moved, she was a pint size force. I was a little scared of her. She was not gentle or soft spoken, and that would cause me to shrink a little, and take notes also. She was strong and vulnerable, and as my dad would say, " She is a pistol"

   I know, I left the iron on! Well, when the hankies were washed in four, very small loads, and dried on baby gentle, I began to iron them in groups, and with each one, I  threw on the table, ( You don' t think I put up an ironing board??) I had to look and examine and take photos to send to my mama, and think, " How did you get all of these handkerchiefs, Mrs. P?" ( I think I may have spelled some hankerchiefs !!that is how it sounds coming out of my mouth, and I may or may not correct it!!)
  When mom told me about the kerchiefs, she asked me if I knew that Mrs. Pickering was a Prima Ballerina?
 I did not, she was extremely tiny, but I could see it. Worked at being a good ballerina for a long time, and had an opportunity to be in a company but her mother said, "No."
  The mother wanted her to become a teacher, have something to fall back on, being a ballerina was a hobby, not an occupation, to people living in the depression. They were probably proud, that she was smart, and somehow they could scrap up the money to send her to college. So Mrs. P's dream, life long dream, was shattered.  I saw pictures of her, in her home, looking like an angel. I think ballerinas are the most beautiful creatures in art. Oh what these handkerchiefs could tell us? All I know for sure is that she had a zillion of them, and kept them for 99 years!even in a nursing home, pretty amazing. I wish I had a picture of her doing "Swan Lake", maybe I will find it at some antique store one day. She really was pretty amazing, and my mom's friend, that I sort of shared all of these years.
    I still have all the white ones to iron, maybe today? Thank you Mrs. Pickering? For still being a part of my life, and who knows where these handkerchiefs may go? I just promise you they will find good homes, and know your story.
  This story is from my memory, with mom helping me. I left out some parts about her husband because, well that was her story to tell. I can say that she is a survivor in so many ways, and leave it at that.
  Strong women, I salute you.