I
grew up in a family that was pretty much the norm –
dysfunctionally-dysfunctional. Wait. Is that dysfunctionally-dysfunctional or
dysfunctionally- functional? Well,
either way. I was third in the birth
order out of three children and the only girl.
Wow. We all were raised to use
good manners, please and thank you and such.
We prayed before our supper, finished our plates, cleared the table,
washed, dried and put away the dishes as our tribute to our parents who
prepared the meal. No. I take that back. We did the after-dinner chore out of
obligation or by the threat of punishment if we didn’t. There.
That’s more honest.
As
I came into my years, so to speak, I was a very trusting person. I saw no stranger. There wasn’t a person I didn’t trust. I flew by the seat of my pants, happy-go-lucky
and skipping-to-my-lou all the way through.
Days turned into months and months turned into years at some point I
found myself as an adult. Nothing
changed for me really. Well, except for the obvious (body changes). I was still
skipping-to-my-own-lou. I still held fast to that “I trust everyone” nature and
I still knew not a stranger.
Really? Pretty scary thought
(given today’s world), eh? Well, it all
worked for me most of the time.
Sometimes not. But, I’m a
believer.
Now,
the age of ripeness has found me at 57 years old. I am rather fond of 57. I’m kind of crazy now. (Regression?) I’m silly.
I do odd things on purpose. I yell at the roosters in the back yards and
in the front yards of our house (home/castle) to be less vocal in the
mornings. Admittedly so, I actually use
the “shut up” version of scolding those fowls. I laugh a lot and I laugh loud. It’s the belly-gut, side-splitting kind of
uncontrollable laugh. I laugh at myself, I laugh with others. No matter. I sing in the sunshine. I sing in the shower. While I am told that I do it rather poorly –
no – I think it was reported that I do it very “badly,” I do it anyway because
it makes me happy. (Camelot soundtrack is a favorite of mine, by the way.) When
I sing and forget the words, I break out into a strong melodious hum. It’s okay.
God doesn’t care how I sing or how I hum – On key or off, He loves me in
spite of myself and unconditionally.
Wrap your arms around that one.
I’m
human, I cry, too. And when I cry it is
not a whimper. Oh, no, no, no. I do the whole bawl fest thing. I don’t hold
back. What’s the point in that? I mostly
cry when I leave our children or grandchildren after a visit or they leave my
husband and I to return to their respective homes that have quite a bit of
distance between the residences. I cry for various reasons. A good cry releases endorphins in your body
and am told that that is a good thing.
Well, it must be because I always feel better after a cry. And, I pout,
too. Again, I’m human. Pouting is a right of entitlement as far as I
am concerned. It just seems wrong to cry
and then not pout about it. That’s like
the peanut butter without the jelly or the fish without the water or the car
without the gas. Well, you get the
picture. It’s elementary.
Where
am I going with all of this? I really
don’t know. I started out with one
thought process and then I somehow ended up here. Point A to Point B and now I am in search of
the C. Oh, there it is. “C” was playing hide-and-seek. Silly “C.”
In
sum, I have been taught many lessons in this life journey of mine. I have learned much from my own personal
experiences. I have seen a great deal
through the eyes of others. A few of
those lessons: Be true to yourself. Stand up for what you believe in. Stand firm but not rigid. Live richly in love and laughter. Share your smile. Say I love you often. Be kind.
Eat your vegetables. Be rigid about that. Hee! Know that it is okay to cry. It is okay to pout. It’s okay to have a rough
day. It’s okay to be out of the norm. Just
remember, at the end of the day after you’ve laid your head to pray and before
falling into your slumber land that, no matter what, it really is all okay and
tomorrow is still another day. Another
day to rain and shine. No, that would be
rise and shine. Either way.
Thank
you to whoever reads this for your indulgence.
It’s been “real.”
