I realized at work the other day that my generation is now the one that marketers are looking at and trying to woo. The cutting edge folks are looking at 20smothings with plenty of disposable income, but the mainstream stores are all about us 40something-with kids folks. And how do I know this? Because the store where I work has it’s own soundtrack, and they play the music of my teens. All day, every day. Of course, I sing along, and then I have to come home and download some songs. And soon, I’ll be having to shop Mp3 players because my old one is totally full.

Do you think I could call a new 8GB player a business expense? No? It made sense in my mind, people.

Dear Customer, when I am assisting your wife in the store, don’t yell at her. It embarrasses us both and really makes me wonder if you are the cause of that split lip she has.

Dear Friend, when you use my computer and see I have tabs open for “PTSD from Domestic Abuse”, “Depression” and “Finding Help”, don’t raise your eyebrow and say “Really?!?” in that incredulous way. I match 90 percent of the listed symptoms, and we both know my behavior is not exactly normal. You can put on a tuxedo and I can put on The Clone’s old prom dress and we can dance and pretend to laugh, or you can be the rock for me you’ve always been. I’m choosing to give you the benefit of the doubt, because I think you were most likely blind-sided.

Dear Co-Worker, when you call me over to you and we have a little conversation, and then I walk away and your eyes are glued to my butt, I totally know you are staring.

Dear Different Friend, thanks for not thinking I am batchit crazy, even though we both know I am.

Dear Washing Machine, why don’t you run yourself once in a while? You’ve lived here two years now, you know where I keep your soap!

Dear Self, why don’t you stop being so busy and take the time to listen to your own head? Might do you a little bit of good.

Dear God, please help my other friend, the one I haven’t mentioned here so far.

Dear Grandmother, I got side-tracked driving yesterday and headed to your house. I still miss you.

Dear Blank-on-purpose, I’m glad you’ve started looking at me again.

Dear Grandma, thanks for teaching me to make a lemon pie from lemons and not a box. I don’t remember how to do it, but I had such a good time in your kitchen that day.

Dear Daddy, I would give anything if I had just kept you on the phone a little longer the day before you died. I am so very glad you called.

Dear Other Friend, please let me meet you where you are. I’ve got a flashlight and a map, and I am willing to help you out of that place you are in.

This is an interesting picture of me, huh? All my lighting fixtures were off and I was just sitting in the glow of my laptop screen. I’m taking a mental health day today. I have some posts I need to write, and I have some jobs I need to do, and a schedule I need to make and I just woke up feeling like I wanted to stay in bed. Bleh. As son as I started writing, though, I felt better. Note to self: if you are a writer, you must write. Maybe even sometimes when you think you don’t feel like it.

Tina posted an article this week that really struck home with me. Like her, I have some big issues going on right now, and while I tend to be pretty open and honest on this blog, somethings I am just not ready to put out there. I probably will be able to later, once the lessons are learned and I have some sort of closure, but right now, I am still in that phase I described a few weeks ago, where the images are flashing through my mind and no words can get out. At least not words fit for public consumption.

I’ve actually been thinking about doing some journaling during this blogging dry season. It just seems weird to go back to pen and ink when the internet has been my medium for so long now. But I know that I definitely don’t like the places I go when I keep the stories in, so something has to give. Anyone know how to get digital images into a paper journal? Hahaha, I slay me!

Mobile post sent by Cass using Utterli.  Replies. ]]> http://www.midlifemusings.com/2009/06/21/self-portrait-sunday-14/feed/ 1 http://www.midlifemusings.com/2009/06/20/book-review-the-noticer-by-andy-andrews/ http://www.midlifemusings.com/2009/06/20/book-review-the-noticer-by-andy-andrews/#comments Sat, 20 Jun 2009 23:37:46 +0000 cass http://www.midlifemusings.com/?p=1871 I’ve had this little book in my possesion for some time now, but I’ve let life get in the way of reading it. That happens sometimes, yk? I picked it up last Sunday afternoon, and finished it last night. Considering how little time I am able to devote to reading, that was pretty quick. I’m estimating ten to twelve hours of actual read time, max, and that was going slowly, and rereading the especially applicable parts.

See, The Noticer is not just a quick piece of fiction fluff, which is what I expected when I opened it. Instead, this little book is a series of life lessons. Not all of them apply to every one every time, but most of them apply to everyone at one time or another. 176 pages of learning wrapped up in a good story; my kind of book.

The Noticer begins with Jones meeting Andy. Now, I might be tempted to call Jones the main character, except he really isn’t. The main character in this book, at least to me, is the life changing perspective that Jones gives to those around him. Stuff like: you have a purpose, you can choose what you become, the best is yet to come. Simple, powerful things. I heartily recommend this book to anyone who is struggling with life, even just a little bit, and even to those who aren’t, because as Jones so wisely noticed we are all either in a crisis, coming out of a crisis or headed into a crisis.

I knew before I was 3/4 done that I would be passing this book on. As soon as I finished it (at 1 AM), I packed it up to ship to That One. I’ve already told him it’s a loaner, and when I get it back, it’s going to my cousin, who loves a good story as much as I do. Then I’ll be assigning it to a few of my kids, and then, I plan to read it again myself. It’s just that powerful.

I probably have not told you that my Grandmother had a son named William. He was quite a looker (honest he was, I’ll show you his picture sometime). He was 20 years old when he was killed in service. I’m not sure where. Grandmother was born in 1911, and he was her oldest son. Mama was the baby, born in 1947, so… she said she was a baby when he died, so maybe WWII, but Granddad was also in that war, so, I’m just not sure? Could have been Korea, I suppose. Anyway, anytime that name was mentioned, I didn’t press, because I didn’t want to remind Grandmother or make her dwell on him unnecessarily. Now, that’s the background, and we can move on to the story part of the story.

Grandmother had a bush by her clothesline back in the day, and that bush smelled so good. It smelled like angel’s perfume. I cannot describe it to you beyond that. I’ve never again smelled anything to compare it to. It wasn’t much to look at, kinda scraggly with small red buds that never really opened, but the scent….I can still smell it in my mind. The bush was called a “sweet shrub“. I want one of those one day. Anyway, Grandmother also had 48 bazillion kinds of flowers, sometimes the same from year to year and sometimes different. But one time I asked her what some flower was and she told me it was a “Sweet William”. I was still little and somehow that got jumbled up in my mind, and I thought the bush was the Sweet William, and I thought that for many years until I talked to Mama several years ago about getting a cutting off that “Sweet William bush at Grandmother’s house” and she looked at me as if I had three heads. That was when I finally got it straight in my mind the name of the bush. And then I didn’t wonder about the Sweet William anymore, because I didn’t have many flowers at the time. I never did get a cutting off that bush.

You may recall that I started working in the garden shop in addition to the pharmacy recently and so as I was tidying up one day and looking over the wares, I happened to see seeds for Sweet William. I almost bought some that first time I saw them, and talked myself out of it. I talked myself out of it several more times. Sweet William, if you don’t know, and you probably do, is a biennial. The first year, you get only foliage and the next year, you get blooms of various colors. So, this past week, I finally bought some seeds. Then I found dwarf ones that will bloom this year as well as next and I planted those dwarf seeds in one of those starter greenhouses. After they are ready to go out, I will buy some more peat pellets and plant the tall ones.

So, when you see that flower in the yard, it is for now, but it also for future then and for back then, too. And that is the story of Sweet William.

P.S. Those little greenhouse things are the bombdiggety. Like a little Sahara hotel for your plants that need pampering.

Mobile post sent by Cass using Utterli.  Replies.

As you can see from the smile, I might almost be back. Well, back as a relative term; I know I have a long way to go before I am anywhere near normal. As an aside, That One said to me today, “You are in a depression, I don’t know if you realize that or not.” Umm, yeah, sweetie, I do. And clearly the man does not read the blog, now does he?

Anyway, back to that smile. Sometimes the weight of having to make a decision is heavier than the decision itself. And make a decision is exactly what I have done today. It was like giving Phenphedrine to th large mental suitcase of troubling issues that I carry around. I’ve asked my most trusted advisers, the folks I refer to collectively as the triumvirate and they all agree with me, so…decision made, smile back in place. They always agree, so in truth, I could get away with asking just one of them any given thing, but I like to hear their individual reasonings. Nope, not announcing the decision. Sorry. I will be evident soon enough.

So, what did I do today? Worked more on the whole house purge. Moved mountains of laundry. And pulled grass and weeds from one of my flowerbeds. Watched rain coming down sideways. Yep, sideways.

Apparently, someone gave diet pills to my ego while I wasn’t looking because now I:
let myself be intimidated
wait
scream silently for someone to rescue me

Things I plan to do starting immediately:
all of the first list above and
plant more flowers
stand up for myself
hit publish/quit self censoring

That ought to be a good start, don’t you think?

And if anybody ever tells you depression won’t kill you, they lie. Sorta. It really only eats your soul out of you and leaves a husk.

The sound of my own silence deafens me and all I hear is the roar of the vacuum my voice used to fill.