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.