I sometimes have these random thoughts that don’t quite manifest into full posts simply because by the time I’m able to post, the thought suddenly seems trivial or other stuff has just gotten in the way of my writing anything of coherent length that I think someone might actually be interested in reading. My random thoughts sometimes come out as dribble, but even dribble has some degree of value so with the New Year I’ve decided not to waste anything of any value. And so I’ll DRIBBLE…
I typically enjoy the holidays with family and this holiday in particular there was lots of that. Cousins I haven’t seen in years came to town and we had a great time. There’s something just liberating about a room full of women who can laugh at them selves and each other as they reminisce over old times. And we did a lot of laughing. My son proclaimed himself scarred for life by some of the comments that came out of our mouths. What is also typical is that inevitably the conversation will wind around to one of my books and someone will always insist that they know who I was writing about or that I was writing about them. I have one family member who is insistent that every conversation my characters have ever had came from some interaction she and I have shared. I stopped denying it after book two. I figure it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that if we rarely speak and could probably count on one hand the number of conversations she and I have shared that I’m not writing about her. Too bad my relative thinks she’s a rocket scientist.
If you have an opportunity there is an incredible book that I highly recommend all women read. I discovered it yesterday in my local library. The book is called, THE OTHER SIDE OF WAR - Women’s Stories of Survival and Hope by Zainab Salbi. This book speaks succinctly on how women suffer when men wage war against each other. It’s a heart-wrenching collection of photos and stories that simply boggle the mind. And it was a gut-thumping reminder that not everyone is able to lead a privileged life and we should surely be grateful for ours. The author is the founder of Women for Women International and her humanitarian efforts have known no bounds.
An acquaintance of my son’s came to my door and asked to use the telephone. It seems her boyfriend of three years had abandoned her along the side of the road. Ours was the first house she recognized and felt comfortable enough to ring the bell at. I offered to give her a ride home, but she refused it, just wanting her mother to come and get her. I knew there was nothing I could say to make her feel better and I was thankful that she had a mother she felt comfortable calling. All I could do was give her a tissue and a seat to sit on. When Mom knocked on the door, that child could no longer hold back her tears, sobbing into her mother’s arms as they headed for home. I hurt for her because I remember that kind of angst having experienced it once or twice when I was her age. Mom and I shared a look that said what neither of us really could. Knowing that our telling her that the hurt will eventually stop, that she deserves better, that no man should ever treat her so cruelly, wasn’t going to make her pain go away any time soon.
I have a friend who’s in love with a man who’s just a pound shy of being morbidly obese. Although he clearly has a hold on every inch of her heart she refuses to take their relationship to the next level and has, in my opinion, purposely tried to sabotage their friendship. It’s amazing that they have endured. I met her older sibling recently and it became crystal clear to me why she continues to hold herself at arms length. Her brother is also obese with extremely severe health issues. He is bedridden and totally dependent on their aging mother to care for his every need. When we left the family home, she was crying and I asked her what was wrong. She answered, “I can’t do that for the rest of my life. And I will not pass that burden on to any child of mine.” I didn’t bother to ask her what she meant because I knew. She’s afraid of the future that she and her man might have together as his weight deteriorates his health and so she’s denying herself an opportunity for happiness. I think she should be honest and tell him. I know she won’t.
I typically enjoy the holidays with family and this holiday in particular there was lots of that. Cousins I haven’t seen in years came to town and we had a great time. There’s something just liberating about a room full of women who can laugh at them selves and each other as they reminisce over old times. And we did a lot of laughing. My son proclaimed himself scarred for life by some of the comments that came out of our mouths. What is also typical is that inevitably the conversation will wind around to one of my books and someone will always insist that they know who I was writing about or that I was writing about them. I have one family member who is insistent that every conversation my characters have ever had came from some interaction she and I have shared. I stopped denying it after book two. I figure it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that if we rarely speak and could probably count on one hand the number of conversations she and I have shared that I’m not writing about her. Too bad my relative thinks she’s a rocket scientist.
If you have an opportunity there is an incredible book that I highly recommend all women read. I discovered it yesterday in my local library. The book is called, THE OTHER SIDE OF WAR - Women’s Stories of Survival and Hope by Zainab Salbi. This book speaks succinctly on how women suffer when men wage war against each other. It’s a heart-wrenching collection of photos and stories that simply boggle the mind. And it was a gut-thumping reminder that not everyone is able to lead a privileged life and we should surely be grateful for ours. The author is the founder of Women for Women International and her humanitarian efforts have known no bounds.
An acquaintance of my son’s came to my door and asked to use the telephone. It seems her boyfriend of three years had abandoned her along the side of the road. Ours was the first house she recognized and felt comfortable enough to ring the bell at. I offered to give her a ride home, but she refused it, just wanting her mother to come and get her. I knew there was nothing I could say to make her feel better and I was thankful that she had a mother she felt comfortable calling. All I could do was give her a tissue and a seat to sit on. When Mom knocked on the door, that child could no longer hold back her tears, sobbing into her mother’s arms as they headed for home. I hurt for her because I remember that kind of angst having experienced it once or twice when I was her age. Mom and I shared a look that said what neither of us really could. Knowing that our telling her that the hurt will eventually stop, that she deserves better, that no man should ever treat her so cruelly, wasn’t going to make her pain go away any time soon.
I have a friend who’s in love with a man who’s just a pound shy of being morbidly obese. Although he clearly has a hold on every inch of her heart she refuses to take their relationship to the next level and has, in my opinion, purposely tried to sabotage their friendship. It’s amazing that they have endured. I met her older sibling recently and it became crystal clear to me why she continues to hold herself at arms length. Her brother is also obese with extremely severe health issues. He is bedridden and totally dependent on their aging mother to care for his every need. When we left the family home, she was crying and I asked her what was wrong. She answered, “I can’t do that for the rest of my life. And I will not pass that burden on to any child of mine.” I didn’t bother to ask her what she meant because I knew. She’s afraid of the future that she and her man might have together as his weight deteriorates his health and so she’s denying herself an opportunity for happiness. I think she should be honest and tell him. I know she won’t.
In the past three weeks I've checked out 23 books from my local library. My to-be read stack is a mile high and I'm not reading as fast as I need to. The first five or six had to be renewed today and I did, preferring that over returning them because I haven't read them all yet. I really have to work on my obsessive, compulsive behavior.
Until the next time, have a safe and blessed day...
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