Wednesday, April 18, 2012

All I Really Need to Know . . .

I went searching for the text of "All I Really Need to Know, I Learned in Kindergarten." I wanted reassurance. I wanted simplicity and Truth. I found the text and, my apologies to Robert Fulghum, it is NOT all I really need to know. More on that later.~~GHC

Thursday, April 12, 2012

The Power of Clothing

Skirts can get you raped. Hoodies can get you shot. Hajibs or yarmulkes can get you beaten. A badge can get you off on murder charges.~~Seedy Johnson, New York, New York

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Blueberry Pop-Tarts, Tampons, and Longfellow

Pop-Tarts are the ultimate in comfort food to me. They remind me of the good parts of my childhood -- doughy, sweet, hard and cold and artificial remnants of the 1970s. My husband knows I consider Pop-Tarts a major treat despite how disgusting and unhealthy they are in actuality. He also knows the one flavor I hate is blueberry. I hate blueberry flavored anything and everything.

I always hated jelly beans. I'm coming around to jelly beans a little in my old age. Now that I have dentures, the super-sweet tacky sugary gum doesn't stick to my cavities and cause me pain, but still, they don't appeal to me much. Jelly beans are not a candy I will buy.

So he got a box of Pop-Tarts yesterday. Blueberry. And gave me an entire bag of jelly beans. Said it was all mine. I shake my head at his passivity, his helplessness, his death-by-a-thousand-cuts. How helpless must one human being feel in order to consistently execute these mini-insults? I don't feel insulted because he bought Blueberry Pop-Tarts, but I do feel insulted because he chooses to fight in such a backhanded manner.

He literally believes he is overflowing with generosity and thinks of me always. His perception is such that I am ungrateful, unappreciative of his lovingkindness. If I were a vengeful person, I would reciprocate and purchase a box of tampons for him next time I go to the store.

Last night, he posted on Facebook the following quote:

"I want to put this in the simplest terms I can...I want to be loved in the same capacity that I am able to give love to another. I want to be able to rest in this, and grow old in it as well, if I must."...Longfellow.

I posted (then deleted it because I didn't want to initiate Armagedon. After all, why would someone deign to bring a wordfight to a writer??):
I don't know about Longfellow, but you have been loved so much more deeply than that, I do not know why you would set your sights so low.

I have begged him since 1999 to read my blog. He told me he has zero interest in what I write, and Time has borne the truth of that statement. So it goes.

Saturday, April 07, 2012

Easter Eve

I used to love Easter. From the concept of eternal freedom and life to redemption and forgiveness of sins to endless Love, from minutely detailed painted eggs to dyed chicks and bunnies (like they used to do to baby animals when I was a girl), from chocolate and malted milk birds eggs to peeps and yes, even jelly beans which I never really liked because they made my teeth hurt -- I loved Easter. But in 1998, on this day, Easter Eve, I lost my last child David Oso at 21 weeks of pregnancy. I too nearly died, almost bled to death. I never got to see his face or hold him, to nurse him, to change him, to watch him play, hear him laugh, smell his hair.

The following year, chemotherapy and consequences from cancer treatments removed any possibility of my bearing another child.

And for those reasons and so many, many more, today I cry. Forgive me if I can't get into Easter celebrations. I am thankful He and he are risen. But the mother in me selfishly mourns and refuses to rejoice.~~GHC