Maturity

Yesterday Scottie turned 41.  Happy Birthday Sweetie!

That means I'll soon be 62 cause I was almost 21 when he was born.  When he was born I thought I was an adult and I guess according to our laws that govern us I was.  Young men of 18 were then and are now going to war so why wouldn't I be an adult at 20.  After all, I gave birth to a beautiful little boy. 

Children don't do that, or do they?  Yes, women have been forced to take on that monstrous responsibility while still innocent children playing with their dolls.

Perhaps the question should be how mature was I?  For that matter how mature am I today?

According to the dictionary maturity is a noun that means "full development; perfected condition".  Now we are really in big doo doo.  My body may be fully developed but my brain just never seemed to have attained that status and it certainly has never been perfected in any manner what so ever.

I have been capable of raising a family, holding respected positions on church counsels, holding down a much desired job in the financial world, and oh so many other things that would point to me as a responsible adult and yet I know deep in my heart that I am still terribly immature. 

Here I am in the prime of my life asking myself how does one reach that coveted status of adulthood known as mature?  I fear I will never know for I will always lack the sophistication that seems to be needed to attain that lofty position.

Perhaps I am better off living in this half adult half childlike manner.  I know I am suppose to rise from my bed each morning and begin the mundane duties society has dictated as soically acceptable.  I know how the responsible mature adult would live.  I simply choose not to.

My new mantra:  Life is short.  Live accordingly. 

What is Happening To Time?

OMIGOD!  What is happening to time? Or perhaps that should be restated as what is happening to my time here on the green earth?  2012 is one forth the way over and I have been on autopilot.

Have I spent my whole little existence on autopilot?  Year after year has passed and what do I have to show for myself?  When I am lowered into the six foot hole what will be said?  Will there be celebration or tears? 

Okay, where did that come from? 

Change the subject.
So let's talk about art, my art in fact.  My creativity has diminished until it is almost nonexistent.  The only way I know to spark that creativity into the flame it used to be is to do.  Do what?  Anything, just do it.   Lately I have been sitting on my rump enjoying the creativity of others.  Fun activity but doesn't inspire me so today I got out my art journal and started throwing some paint on it and this is what I came up with.

When I was little spending special time with my grandparents on the farm I spent much of that time swinging from the tree swing my grandpa had hung for his many grandchildren.  I loved swinging alone with my eyes closed imaging all the wonderful things that I knew would one day come to past for my life.  That was when I believed that I was capable of doing great things, that nothing was impossible.  That was before I had replaced fear of the unknown with curiosity and awe.


So today I'm trying to block all the negativity and fear to see the world with the eyes of a child once again.  Let's see how the day transpires.

And So I Begin....

Today on the first day of April , commonly referred to as April Fools Day I begin the difficult task once again of trying to make heads or tails of my crazy world, a world filled with so much uncertainty. 

April Fools Day, how apropos!

In the past when the shit hit the fan, as it inevitably will in all our lives, I've been able to mix a wild batch of laughter, tears, wine, sisters, friends and more laughter and empower myself to get up off my lazy ass grab life by the waist and take her for a long fun filled swing around the dance floor. 

But not yesterday.  I had a date with Darrell yesterday afternoon, a date that as it turned out, would never come about.  Why?  Because yesterday I felt like the shit had been beaten out of this old fat pathetic body and I couldn't get up.  Beaten up by of all people my beloved Wesley.

I had been blessed with the two eldest grandchildren, Abby and Wesley the night before.  They thought they had gently woken me early Saturday morning with giggles, snuggles and quietly telling me their plans for the morning.  The fact is I had been laying in bed listening to them in the other room enjoying the excited whispers and the soft pitter patter of their bare feet against my hardwood floors. 

Oh it should have been a glorious morning.  And it was and it wasn't!  My darling Wesley (who I admit is my favorite or at least today he is) is ADHD, a condition that can drive his parents, teachers, friends, cousins and his grandparents to distraction.  Wesley is a puzzlement; sweet, affectionate, fun loving, mischievous boy who in the blink of an eye turns into an mystery boy; a self centered insolent spoiled brat who showers his friends with short outbursts of rage and then sinks to the floor hating himself for showing his weaknesses.  But that is not my Wesley, that is his disguise to hide his insecurities.  The real Wesley is a super hero who hasn't figured out how to use his powers.  The sullen Wesley shows his ugly face when he finds he is unable to do as well as others then rather than show how truly vulnerable he is he goes into a self-pity sort of rage.

 I feel so vulnerable and helpless myself when he changes and I have no idea how I can reach him and give him the nurturing support he needs.  And this is where I confess I feel like a complete failure.  I love this child just as I loved his father and I don't know how to help him.

I had a date with Darrell yesterday afternoon; a date that never happened.  My grandchildren had put on a fashion show for me the day before (the show was truly a delight) and I couldn't find any of my clothes.  My house upstairs and down looked like a hurricane had come through.  I got so worked up trying to get ready for the date I completely fell apart, tears, tantrum and all that goes along with those extreme emotions.

Now let's get down to the rat killing.  What's this post all about? 

It's about me.  Who am I?

My grandchildren call me the "Fun Grandma" but am I really fun?  I feel like such a fake, a hoax.  I am not who I appear to be.  I thought I knew who I was several years ago, but that has changed now that I am this little ole woman living in a small broken down house in the poor part of a poor town.

And so I begin April 1st as the biggest fool of all.  A fool who has no idea who she is or where she is going.  Perhaps today I will find myself.  The search has begun.