Turkey, RUN!!!

"There are lots of people who mistake their imagination for their memory." 

- Josh Billings

This however is not one of those cases.  This is pure memory and I love it so.

Growing up in a small town, I walked to my middle school, but rode the bus to elementary and high school.  Every day for three long years, I had my choice of which streets I wanted to walk to school on.  The route almost always varied depending on how early or late I was getting out the door. 

One particular route that almost came as a challenge for me.  Not because it had a difficult hill or anything like that, but because just far enough back from the street was a little farmette.  The owners a near elderly couple (the Swansons) of the property had taken pride in raising calves, chickens, ducklings, geese, and turkeys. 

I had always been curious about the farm growing up how could I not be.  They lived so close to town, within eyesight of the main road, yet were like they were in their own little paradise. I couldn't bring myself to walk up their lane as I've heard stories of kids being shooed away by Mr. Swanson with a 20 gauge.  As my interest peaked about the farm, I studied the daily routine from afar in the summer months.  I finally figured out just how I could approach Mrs. Swanson.  I soon noticed the mail came like clockwork every day around 1 pm.  So I watched and waited, as soon as I saw the postman delivering at the first mailbox, I would ride my bike down the road where I knew Mrs. Swanson would be waiting. 

Each day for almost three weeks I would ride by and say "Hi" to Mrs. Swanson, make the normal small talk about the weather and be on my way.  Finally after some time of doing this, I finally had the nerve to ask if I could come see her farm.  She said sure, that she didn't have many visitors and would be happy to show me around. So up the lane I pushed my bike as we walked my anticipation grew.  I expected it to be of a magical place really, probably because of the mystery I had built up in my own mind. 

Once there, she showed me around, the calves in the pasture, the chickens in the hen house, the ducklings and geese by the creek bed and then we came to the turkeys.  I had never seen such a huge turkey in my life.  I thought it was the tom because well, males tend to generally be the larger of the two, but these were hens.  I couldn't believe my eyes.  Normally the turkeys were held in a fenced in area of the yard so I stood on the opposite side of the gate and stared in awe.  That ended my day at the farm along with a "Don't be scared to stop by whenever you like." from Mrs. Swanson.  So on occasion on my way home from school throughout the 5th grade I'd stop by and see Mrs. Swanson just to say hello and to see if she needed help with anything. 

Then come 6th grade, I started walking past her home on my way to school.  About half way through the school year after Mr. Swanson's passing part of the fence had been broke that kept the turkeys confined and they were now roaming free in her front yard.  Mean little suckers they were and boy could they run.  Who knew?  I sure didn't.  So one day I stopped by to see how Mrs. Swanson was doing and the damn turkeys chased me all the way down the lane.  After that day, on my way to school, I would always be a little more cautious and aware of where the turkeys were.  If you saw them out in the pasture you knew you had time to get past them, but if you could see them in her lane or her front yard, you turned down the and took the alley way near by. 

On more than one occasion the little buggers would sneak up on you.  They would make their way just below the bridge that crossed over the creek and with the hillside so steep you couldn't see them until it was too late.  I'll never forget walking with another neighborhood girl to school the time one hen popped her head out and saw us.  The next thing I remember is me yelling "Turkey, RUN!!"  If they got close enough they would peck/bite you and it HURT.  That day the hen chased us the entire quarter mile to the school. 

Now you may ask why am I even bothering to tell this blurb of a memory, but there is reason behind my thought process.  Every day on my way to work, or if I visit my mother, I still drive by Mrs. Swanson's property, but today was the first time in a long time, I've actually taken a moment to remember it fondly. 

Sadly now, I'm not even sure if Mrs. Swanson is still the owner of the property or if she's even alive anymore.  The farmette is a little beaten and worn.  The occasion cow or horse in the pasture, but no chickens seen near the barn doors, no ducklings or geese in the creek bed, and no turkeys to chase you away from the lane.  It looks very sad to me.  Perhaps it's because I have such fond memories, or maybe its just the feeling it gives off now in the dead of winter. 

So I suppose the reason behind this post is just a little reminder to remember those things that made you smile as a child, that can now warm your heart as an adult.  You  forget all too quickly how much something you deem insignificant can change your whole day around.

Guilty Conscience, Coincidence or Something Else?

"Conscience is the inner voice that warns us somebody may be looking."

- Henry Louis Mencken

So have you ever had something happen and think to yourself "phew that was close." only to then reflect on why it was such a close call?  It happens to me all of the time and I've been debating, is it sheer coincidence, guilty conscience, or is it something of the "psychic abilities" that we are all supposedly equipped with.

Here's just a simple example of something that happens on a regular basis for me.  If lets say I'm intentionally speeding, yes I know it's wrong, don't give me any flack usually it's because I'm late, still not excuse worthy, but lets say that's the example.  I can be speeding through my drive and suddenly I'll get a gut urge to slow down.  Like something is telling me, there will be a police car up ahead.  So slow down I will and 9 out of the 10 times that this occurs there has been a police car coming in my direction, parked along the roadside, etc. 

Now is this simply coincidence that I have these gut feelings and see a police car? Is it my guilty conscience that makes me slow down and see a police car as a reminder this is why you don't speed? Or is it something of the "psychic" nature?  I'm not sure, but it's fun to consider the last option.  It's very difficult to explain, it just happens.  It's not like I can see the future, it's not that I can pull lottery numbers out of thin air, it's just these strange little insignificant urges that pop up from time to time and usually they are right. 

I know this is a really random entry, but chances are, most of my posts fall into that realm.  I tend to be a bit all over the place.  Sorry if it's a bit confusing, just try to put yourself in my shoes, then see how truly confusing it can be!

Reading Is A Trigger

"We read to know we are not alone."

- C. S. Lewis

It's been a long time coming since I've actually sat down and read a page turner of a book.  I love to read.  Have been a lover of reading since I was 3 and learned to read Dear Abby with my Great Grandma.  Recently I came across by Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult on a blog I've been following.  A fantastic read.  Finished in less than 72 hours. 

I always ask myself, what to me makes for a good book?  I like all different kinds of novels, fiction, romance, mystery, true crime.  So it's got to be something that stimulates the mind.  But I must admit there is one thing I'm always looking for in the world of books, especially in the fiction section.  I want relatable characters.  As C. S. Lewis said "We read to know we are not alone."  It's true. 

When I become entranced in a book, it's often because I can find similarities between the characters and myself.  I tend to become completely tangled in my imagination.  I can see everything as clearly as if I were there to witness everything unfold.  Reading lets me escape, but sometimes it can act as a trigger to remembering the past.  It's nothing I would ever hold against a good book.  In fact, it only makes it that much better.  From the frustrations of a teenager, to the out pour of loving a man, to making some of the hardest decisions in your life, a good book is all it takes to know, we are not alone.  After all, even though they may just be stories, somewhere along the lines you've got to know that someone has experienced these same feelings, or the book wouldn't have made it to the publishers desk, let alone the shelves. 

Expectations

"I don't have high expectations anymore.  Maybe they've just been beaten out of me."

- Lisa Shue

What happens when the world of expectations you've held in mind and heart for so long, come crashing down with the deep and brutal realization that everything you've ever expected of yourself, will never be?  It's a damn awful feeling.  To feel as if you don't live up to your own expectations of yourself. 

Sure it's one thing to fall short of someone else's expectations, but how do you fall short on your own?  How does life have a way of running in the opposite direction screaming "get me out of here!"  What happens when you yourself, cannot come to terms with who you are?  I've been sitting here as if some miracle is supposed to happen.  Like someday, I will help those that cannot help themselves, when I can't even help myself. 

I just don't understand how I could have let myself get here.  Of all the things out of life I've wanted most, this one thing, the thing I crave, the thing I need most, seems so far away.  Almost as if, I've missed my chance.  I'm not talking about becoming the next Mother Teresa or anything like that, I just want when I die to know that for the short time I spent here, I made a difference.  I made the world just a little better. 

I almost want to run screaming, "It's not fair!!!" Some people who are fortunate enough to be able to spend that kind of money, who receive scholarships they don't need, who spend their college years partying, I just want to shake them.  Make them realize how truly lucky they are.  I would kill to be busting a sweat over an exam.  Unfortunately, I'm not one of those lucky people. 

And now, with two kids, and their education to worry about, along with paying to keep a roof over their heads, clothes on their backs, every single extra cent I come by, goes straight in the bank for their education.  I guess, I don't ever want them to feel like they missed their chance.  I don't want them to feel like they don't live up to their own expectations, I don't ever want them to feel like me. 



Can You See Me?

"And now here is my secret, a very simple secret; it is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye."

- Antoine de Saint-Exupery

When I'm out and about stumbling through the blog world.  Every once in a while, I'll come across a blog of which reminds me of my own.  The invisible blogger.  There are never any pictures of this person, or of their family.  It begs my imagination to create a writer.  It's always interesting to me.  To create an image of what I think the person looks like based upon their writings. 

You can never tell.  I've been fortunate in some instances to see the identities revealed after I've created the person.  Sometimes, my imagination seems to be on point, other times, I'm flabbergasted.  It's a wonderful thing really.  I wonder what I must seem to appear like to others.  Those that don't know a lick about me other than my words.  I wonder if they see me as I am or if they see me in another light.

That's the great thing about the imagination, it never lets you down.  You can completely get lost in all that your mind creates.  There's one blogger I have been following for a while now.  I imagine him to be tall, a moderate build, not extremely fit, but not out of shape.  For whatever reason, I see him with an Italian heritage somewhere in his blood lines.   I picture a deeply furrowed brow, dark eyes, and a cleanly unshaven look.  I imagine tired bags beneath his eyes, he seems to write in the early morning hours of day.  

I guess you could say I like to depict the lives of other anonymous bloggers like myself in a way to connect them to something, even if I may be wrong in my assumptions, it's always nice to put a face to the words I read.  Now, that said, I've often thought of putting a picture of myself on here, to show you who I am, I believe pictures can say a lot about you, but at the same time, I don't think it's necessary if you're equipped with an imagination.  

So tell me, can you see me?    

Sudden Ambush

"Your past has a way of sneaking up on you. You'll hear broken echoes of it everywhere, like a bad replay. You'll get mad at everyone for reminding you about it, even if it's all in your head."

- Max Payne, Max Payne 2: The Fall of Max Payne

I hate sneak attacks.  I never know when they're going to happen.  I'm talking true full blown ambushes.  Sometimes, you know the days when your susceptible to being brought down if you think about something in specific, but then there are days where you've got no idea it's coming. 

Those days are the worst and most damaging for me.   I can be in a perfectly good mood and suddenly I'll hear "White Room" by Cream on the radio, or I'll drive past a Harley or Corvette, or someone will say something that resembles the way he spoke, and I lose it.  What makes it worse, is you can try to fight it all you want, but even if the tears don't fall you've already lost your state of mind for the remainder of the day.  

I get quiet.  When there's something going on inside.  I think it's because the bombs are going off so loudly in my head I can no longer form a coherent thought.  It's funny how my mind works.  There are days when I have absolutely no problem talking about my dad's passing, and other days, you just can't get me to say anything on it.  It becomes so overwhelmingly painful that the only thing I want is to go to sleep and never wake again.  

Just a little over 8 years now, and it's still effecting me to the deepest core.  I always thought that it would get easier over time, and in many ways it has, but in most ways, it's still got my mind set in a perpetual argument.  It's awful.  How can someone say that there is now a sense of relief now that someone is gone, almost a joyous thing and yet want so badly to have nothing more than another moment with them? It makes me feel like an awful daughter. 

There's must be a disconnect somewhere.  Then again, I certain I'm full of them.  For the first three years, I thought of him every single day.  And then March 23, 2006 I woke that morning realizing, the day before I hadn't thought of him once.  I was guilt ridden.  How could I not think of him?  Some say remembering a person hurts, I feel forgetting them, even if for a moment, hurts worse by far. 

Funny thing is, the sudden ambushes are usually those jolting reminders that I haven't thought of him that day.  It kills me a little. 

Rest Peacefully Dad.  December 8, 1963 - December 22, 2002

Lies

"How desperately difficult it is to be honest with oneself.  It is much easier to be honest with other people."

- Edward Frederic Benson

Over and over again, I find myself enveloped in this warped world of lies I tell myself.  It's easier to believe all of the somedays, when the money comes, when the time is right, when there's more time, more room, more experience, things will fall into place. 

Truth is, I'm not sure they ever will.  Promises are quick to be made, but even faster shattered.  Stuck in a rut.  Truth is, major change is terrifying, not exhilarating, not an adventure.  I'm prudent.  I'm simple.  I'm cautious.  I make excuses.  I'm scared. 

I feel as if I've been constantly deceiving myself into believing that I am worth so much more that I actually am.  My mind, my heart, my being as a whole.  I'm a monotonous drone on society.  There's no impact.  Sure take in consideration my immediate surroundings, I may leave a scratch on the surface of things, but remove me from the equation, and nothing much changes.  The world still goes on. 

Fact is, I'm useless.