Ah a winter wonderland! I open the front door and the snow is falling silently, softly. Nature's beauty at its finest. And a 2-hour delay offers me time to write (finally!). I've been thinking about a few things to share. Not sure if it's too raw and real though.
Confessions of a Serial Dater
I have been considering writing a series about the men I dated and the trauma that came from it-- also, shining a light on how some men abuse their status and power, hang-ups, porn, online dating woes and a relationship that eventually led to my decison to stop dating altogether-- a 5 year hyatus. Yeah, some messed up shit. Sound interesting?
Another topic that I'd like to write about is my mom. I might start there today since she drunk called me last night.
Parents always say they don't have favorites, but I think most of them do. Lucky for me I only had one--and when you do it right the first time (or get divorced when she is 2) you don't need to have another. Well, I am the favorite. I may not be the one who files her taxes or takes her to the doctor, but I am the one she tells her secrets to. I am the fun daughter.
Yes, there is resentment from the other two. To be fair, I didn't choose to be the favorite-- it was circumstance that caused it. Plus, I look just like mom and we have the same quiet disposition. Plus, we both endured a lot of crap from our spouses. Only difference is I chose to leave.
And she stayed.
While I know her religion dictated that she couldn't leave a bad marriage, she was also of a generation that didn't know how to do those hard things. Dad threatened to take everything and leave us broke and destitute. I doubt that he would have--but it was enough to keep up the charade for many unhealthy and unhappy years.
Mom is down to 104 pounds now. When she called she was making home-made spaghetti sauce. Ok, so I know I didn't get the cooking gene and I like to say it skips generations (although my sisters are both amazing cooks), why on earth at 84 years old do you need to make home-made spaghetti sauce when you can just open a jar and heat it up? Just saying.
Anyway, I worry from afar and know that I will miss those calls, where she is beaming with pride telling all her friends what I am doing and what I have done. She loves to brag about me.
I will miss her when I have a question about gardening and I know that she would have the answer. Speaking of gardens--my girl texted me yesterday and said she wants to plant a garden. (Now I get to be the excited one). When Lilly was growing up, I taught her all of the things my mom did about herbs and growing veggies and flowers. We had a garden plot at our church where in the summer months I would take her up and teach her about how to maintain the plants--the labor of love that comes from weeding and watering. I would quiz her on the herbs and even would teach her about how to identify tree leaves--specifically sassafras-- and we would make tea with them. I told mom about it--and she was so happy to hear of Lilly's interest that she cried. Glad that I make her so happy.
This post is all over the place. I wanted to talk about the song I posted (you should really take a listen to these songs!). I found Marc Broussard in my DJ days, and he was on my mind this morning. I googled him and he is on tour--and nearby! When I first heard him I was stunned by his soulful voice--I almost thought he was Black. But he has such range-- blues to jazz-- You should check out more of his stuff! I hope to get tickets to the Lexington concert.
Here's hoping that you are practicing some self-care. I doubt that you are--so sending big love your way.
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