What a Girl Wants, or "My Christmas Wish List"

I haven’t posted for a few days and I feel a little embarrassed. Although I have been writing other things, I haven’t kept up with my commitment to blog every day. It seems I’ve been playing the role of “mom” and “housewife” too much lately, doing lots of cooking and cleaning and laundry, and it’s definitely wearing on me. I’ll be the first to admit, I’m not good at it, just like my mom wasn’t. Just like I’m not good at saying what I want or need from dear hubby, or the teenager who's become our “son,” whom we ADORE, and who is staying with us full time right now.

Our "son!"

But with Christmas just around the corner I decided I needed to start asking for what I want, so I started writing a “ Wish List” the other night. Not because anyone asked what I wished for, but more as an outlet for all that I've been holding in. And, finally the words just came pouring out that evening. It quickly morphed into something more than just a Christmas wish list, and I know it's a little long, but please hang in there with me til the end, because I need to get this off my chest.

So, what DO I want? Well, I want someone to throw away, refill, or replenish anything they’ve emptied, or write it on the shopping list if it’s completely gone. I want someone besides me to take the trash out BEFORE it overflows onto the cupboard floor. I want someone besides me to notice the breadcrumbs around the toaster, the juice spills in front of the fridge, or the jelly smeared on the counter, and wipe it up themselves. And the dried toothpaste in the sink. Just once.

And once in a while I want someone to say, “Can I help you make dinner tonight?” I want someone (besides me) to push their chair back in when leaving the dinner table, after saying, “Thank you for working SO hard on that delicious meal.” Even if it wasn’t delicious. Every so often, I want someone to offer, “Let me do the dishes tonight, you go relax.” Even if it was a bad day and you don’t feel like it. I have bad days too, I just never tell you. I know everyone works hard, and I appreciate it. And I probably won't take you up on the offer anyway. But honestly, I despise being “JUST the housewife" and cooking and cleaning and whatnot, and I rarely ever truly FEEL like doing any of it. Truthfully, I was NEVER cut out for this, but I do it to care for you, and for US. And I always appreciate the offer to help, even if it's refused.

I also want to be told your clothes need washed the DAY before, NOT the hour before, they are needed. I’m not asking anyone to do the laundry-GOD FORBID, please DON’T touch my clothes! Just give me a little advance notice, and I’d be happy to do it for you. But I am not a servant or an employee waiting to jump at your every request. I do have other things I am working on, even if it appears I’m just “looking at my computer.” Whether you don't understand, or don't want to believe it, I AM aspiring to become more than just the maid, cook, meal server, and laundry facilitator. And I intend to succeed.

I want someone to go downstairs in the dark with me every single night to take the puppies out to potty without fail. I want someone to say, “I am aware you have an irregular, childish fear of the dark, and even though I don’t understand it, I know it is very real to you, and I will not belittle you. I’m here to protect you, night and day, no matter what.” I want someone who will not make fun of my fears in front of others or write them off as irrational. I don’t ask for much, but I’m asking for this.

I'm Listening!

I want someone to say, “Tell me about your day,” and actually listen while I explain my day. No multi-tasking, writing of invoices, taking phone calls, checking email or texts, channel surfing, or scanning the internet at the same time. No wandering away while I speak, saying, “Go on, I can hear you from outside.” Just someone to be present, and actually listen. With eye contact. Even if only for ten minutes.

I want someone to say, “You look really beautiful today” and mean it--even if I’m a filthy, sweaty mess and haven’t showered all day. I’d love someone to say, “That dress/jewelry/hat, etc., would look great on you!” and then go buy it for me. And have it actually look good on me. Or suggest, “Get out your fanciest dress out and highest heels, fix your hair, and be ready by 7!” And not tell me where we’re going. It could be just a date at home, or a simple picnic dinner on a blanket under the stars, a drive to a romantic hideaway, or a unique destination. I want someone to wake me up with breakfast in bed. AFTER the dogs have been fed and let out to potty. French toast with lots of butter and syrup. Not everyday, once is enough. Ok, maybe twice. Surprise me, and I just might surprise you.

And finally, I want two back-to-back days off from ALL household duties, including cooking, each week. Yes, TWO whole days, a weekend, free from cooking, cleaning, laundry, and caring for the entire family! Everybody else gets days off, I want a weekend too. I’ll even compromise and accept just one day, as long as it’s completely free from caring for anyone other than myself. No household chores, laundry, cooking, or cleaning. I'll even up the ante by caring for "the kids" since they can't care for themselves. Because we all know, weekends are meant for enjoying time with your family and friends, appreciating the beauty and excitement life has to offer, and relaxing and recharging your batteries. And I'd like to have one day a week to do just that.

I’m only asking for one day each week. Maybe we could spend it together and do something fun. Because when you look back on these days from the future, I guarantee you it won't be the memories of the days you worked so hard and your house was clean and your yard was perfect that you'll cherish.

So what do I really want? I want what most people want, someone to care FOR me, not just receive my caretaking. Someone to share my life with me, not just share my chores with. I want someone to occasionally say my name lovingly, like a song or a soft, sweet caress, as they would say the name of their beloved. I don't want to hear my name as just the demanding, identifying sound called out only when something is wanted or can’t be found. I want what I'm sure every mom wants, because even though I am not truly a mom, I sure do feel like one lately.

I'm not saying dear hubby, or our "son" do not do these things. They do. I also know I am just as guilty of forgetting to do the little things that mean so much, which is what prompted this diatribe and served as a reminder to me as well. But the best part of this list? It doesn’t even have to be Christmas to give or receive any of these gifts. Very few of them need gift wrap, or even a bow. And I think I'd better go get started working on some of these things myself right now.

Two Tiny Killers, One Big Creepy Crawler

I think I’ve mentioned before that I am learning to co-exist with the creepy crawlers that are everywhere in our lovely little village. But last week there was one (usually harmless) critter who tormented my dogs and me, and it became a battle of epic and humorous proportions.

It began when I heard our two tiny doxies, Kitti and Bunni, singing the canine "song of their people," calling their humans--and the entire animal kingdom--to action with a mixture of baying, howling, and high-pitched screeching. Those lyrics are reserved for the times they’ve found something particularly tantalizing. It’s a terrifying sound because it usually means they’re in danger. Hearing it sent me flying down the stairs three at a time.

When I arrived at the fence, which they were brutally attacking, there was nothing there. No angry tarantula, no pissed-off possum, no dinosaur iguana, no killer snake. None of the usual suspects. Not even a harmless (but tasty!) gecko. Yet they continued their frantic cries, pawing and chewing at the gate, splintering the wood with their tiny little teeth.

Having rescued my girls many times before, I’d at least had the forethought to grab a broom on my way downstairs. Irritated at the false alarm, I jabbed it at the gate to show my frenzied little monsters that there was nothing for them to worry about. However, as I pulled my broom away, one huge claw snapped out, and my two tiny killers nearly lost their minds.

It was a massive land crab! He was hiding by hanging upside down on the big rolling gate. Harmless enough, but as the pups continued to harrass him, his angry, powerful claw nipped closer and closer to their tiny, ferocious noses. By now, the neighbor had appeared, nervously checking to see if the depths of hell had opened up at my gate. The noise was unrelenting as my diminutive dogs voiced their rage at the crab's intrusion! Hurriedly, I scooped them up and tossed them inside. In response, they cranked up the volume, echoing their frustration for all the village to hear. I headed back downstairs, intending to shoo the crab away with my trusty broom.

And that’s where things got ugly. The more I pushed that damn crab around in an attempt to get him to leave, the more he came at me. I just wanted him to go away, but he wasn’t leaving without a fight.  He angrily snapped at the broom. Over and over, he grabbed the bristles just long enough for me to prepare to toss him, then dropped to the ground and scuttled back under the gate. I wielded that broom like a ninja warrior. He feinted and bobbed like Mike Tyson, and snapped at my bare toes with fury. His claws grabbed for purchase with every swish of the broom. And I started sweating. And cussing. And beating at that damn fence with a vengeance.

At long last, nearly crying, I managed to sweep that angry bastard from under the gate and into the middle of the lane. With one last heave ho, I hurled him into the tall grass next to the water. Severely mangled, one eyestalk broken and dangling drunkenly on his back, he clumsily plopped into the the canal. Exhausted, I returned to the yard where I saw the neighbor watching me. I waved and called out to him that everything was all right. He grimaced awkwardly and turned away. About this time, I saw the passengers on the water taxi, which cruises by our place many times a day, glaring at me with a mixture of shock and disgust.

“No worries!” I reassured them, “Just defeating a killer land crab. I’ve got it under control!” And there you have it, just another day in paradise.  And for the rest of the day, at least after the dogs finally calmed down, it most certainly was.

Finding Jesus? My Re-Birth Day

Last week, I posted on Facebook that the hubby and I were going out, as we do every year on the Monday after Thanksgiving, to celebrate my “Re-Birth Day.” Later, we saw friend in the village who asked if we were celebrating the day I “found Jesus” and was “reborn” the religious way. Um….. No!…. Hell NO! But I found it pretty funny considering my extreme aversion to religion, and after I stopped laughing I explained the story. So I thought today I’d share with you what my “Re-Birth Day” is all about.

In 2009, on the Monday after Thanksgiving, I suffered a massive hemorrhage of a blood vessel in my brain. The medical term is a “ruptured aneurysm.” It causes physical and mental impairments similar to a stroke, and often death, because the blood in the cranium kills brain cells. The bleeding was so extensive the doctors didn’t know if I would live through the night. Luckily they stabilized me, and the neurosurgeons were able to repair the blown-out vessel using small titanium coils and a stent. Amazingly, when they pulled me out of the drug-induced coma five days later, I was functioning! And I wanted my Blackberry so I could get back on Facebook- STAT!

Fortunately for me, I recovered fully within a few months and that is part of why we celebrate the event as my “Re-Birth Day” every year. Some of our friends say they wouldn’t want to be reminded of such a painful life-threatening event. But the other part of why we celebrate is because it was the beginning of some wonderful changes in our life. Surviving it was the catalyst to our seeking out a way to live a different life, a life we’d only dreamed about previously.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying being left with a permanent hole the size of a pinky finger in my head, which dear hubby calls my whale hole, was wonderful. It wasn’t. The pain was unbearable, like having a sharp axe buried in my head for months. And four years later I still feel out of balance on stairs. And at least a quarter of my memory seems to be wiped out. And I have scars that make my hair grow funny. And even a normal headache scares me to death. My party-girl life is over because enduring a hangover is unthinkable. But we still choose to celebrate because I DID get to live again, and we realize we could have had a very different ending to our story. We celebrate because we have decided to make it a priority to do whatever WE WANT with whatever time we have left. We're still alive to celebrate, not everyone is so fortunate.

So for us, celebrating my Re-Birth Day is a symbol of more than just surviving, it’s a celebration of the start of living our life the way we dreamed. It’s the day we say thank you, precious ruptured aneurysm, for giving us the opportunity to celebrate living instead of mourning dying, and start realizing our dreams. Without the valuable lesson that tiny but deadly hemorrhaged blood vessel taught us, we wouldn’t be living the life we always wished for, but never thought we could have. We wouldn’t be here in Placencia. And right now, here is exactly where we want to be. So Happy Re-Birth Day to me - I wish the same for you. Minus the aneurysm, of course!

Beware of the Bitch, She's Giving Birth

Wow, I’m sure after yesterday’s post, you’re thinking that I am quite the overconfident, conceited, arrogant bitch, aren’t you?  After all, didn’t I just completely shred a fellow writer’s hard work? Didn’t I just “slice‘em & dice‘em” just because they composed an article and then (*GASP*) actually had the balls to get it published? Even worse, then I proceeded to say that I believed I could have done better? Pretty goddamn superior and full of myself, aren’t I?

Perhaps I should have been more clear about my thoughts, and that any perceived flaws were ONLY in MY OPINION. The connection I was trying to make was that obviously the editor didn’t see any faults, but yet I still saw things I would have changed. Maybe a better choice of phrase would have been to say I would have written it DIFFERENTLY, not “better.” At any rate, the point is, there is no doubt I am a severe, exacting, and harsh critic, whether of my own work or someone else’s. But ESPECIALLY of my own work.

Which is why, until now, I’ve avoided submitting a single thing to any publication. No matter how much effort I’ve put into guiding my message to perfection, I always think it could use just a little more revision. And because I work so hard at creating, nurturing, and revising what I write, my literary creations become almost child-like to me. And I’m afraid to give birth to them. I am terrified of sending that fragile, tiny, innocent bundle of thoughts and feelings out into the world, kicking and screaming, naked for all humankind to examine.

And like any mother, I want my baby to be perfect beyond compare. I want to protect it from the terrible things that could happen once it arrives in the world and takes on a life of its own. Horrifying things-- like having a fellow writer or a cold-hearted and ruthless critic shred it to pieces. And that’s the biggest obstacle that's been holding me back. Plain and simple FEAR. The fear that fruit of my labors isn’t good enough, or might be viewed as inadequate, possibly criticized, rejected, scorned, or disapproved of.

Writing this blog has been an amazing process in helping me overcome that anxiety. I haven’t completely conquered my fears. But with each post I write, I'm building courage and gaining confidence, even as I share my thoughts and feelings with the world  for anybody to dissect or destroy.  Yes, I’ve received a little negativity. And I've had a few people who don’t “get” me (dear hubby is probably number one on that list!). But it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as I was afraid it might, and I survived.  OMG, I’m Gloria Gaynor, and I WILL SURVIVE!

But more importantly, I have received an amazing and overwhelming amount of encouragement, advice, and positivity, and I am incredibly grateful for that. You, my friends and readers, are helping me move towards my goals by leaps and bounds! I admit there are still days that I have to swallow my panic and force myself to hit the “publish” button on my blog page. And when I do, my inner voice is still screaming “OH MY GOD, NOOOOO! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”  But those days are getting fewer and farther between.  And someday soon, I hope I will be sharing a link with you to MY first published article.  And my writer friend will get the first shot at publicly and mercilessly shredding it. I promise you that.

I want to leave you today with a quote that has been all over the news feeds after Nelson Mandela’s death last night.  It couldn’t have been more appropriate for me at this point. He said, “I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.” RIP, Madiba

Trapped Behind the Velvet Ropes

The Mayan Mountains

What a gorgeous morning in Placencia! It’s warm, but not too hot yet. The sun is glinting off the water, lighting up the tips of the mountains behind us. It’s breathtaking. We’re having one of our frequent power outages, but my “Mactop” is charged up so I can sit on the deck and catch a breeze while I write, and just soak in the beauty!

So I wanted share with you another jolt I received while I was wallowing in self-absorption and questioning my writing abilities. Someone I know got published. Let me emphasize that: SOMEONE that I KNOW got PUBLISHED! That may not seem like a big deal to some of you. But for a “wanna be” writer like me, it’s one of those milestone moments we all strive for. And while I’m genuinely pleased for my fellow writer, even though I don't know them that well, it also causes my heart to constrict ever so slightly with envy. Because I want that to happen for myself someday too.

Rock Stars!

For me, it’s like being a musician and seeing your band-mate become a huge rock star in a popular band -- the band YOU always wanted to play in and know all their songs by heart. It’s like being an actress and seeing your cast-mate land a pivotal role that was perfect for YOU, and go on to become wildly famous. Of course, you knew that script like the back of your hand. But of course, you’re THRILLED for your friend, they worked hard for it, and they finally made it! Their success is a beautiful thing! But you’re left standing on the sidelines, trapped behind the velvet ropes of their red carpet moment, happy for them but wanting what they’ve achieved for yourself. Childish, selfish, and petty, I know. I'm a bit ashamed.

Big deal, right? So what’s really got my panties in a bunch? Well, the article was written about two people that we know well, who became our first close friends in the village. And it was in a publication that I’ve been following closely for at least five years and secretly hoped to write for myself someday. For a long time, I’ve read and studied this company’s style and its submission requirements closely, and I’ve often hoped to see my work in their pages. I have written at least a hundred articles for them over the years. BUT ONLY IN MY HEAD. Although I’ve wanted to, I have never submitted a single word to this publication. I didn't think I was ready! But my acquaintance felt they were, and did. And although their work may not have been quite perfect (in my critical writer's eyes), it still got published.

I know I can hear you all yelling at me, “So just be happy for your friend, and start submitting your own work, you jackass!” I am, and I will. The biggest "take-away" for me is that even though the work wasn't without a few minor flaws--again, in my humble opinion--the editor still considered their work good enough to publish. This realization has been a turning point for me, nudging me to take some serious action toward submitting my own work. Even if I don't feel it's completely perfect yet.

And that’s what Oprah would call having an “aha moment!” I’ve spent some time reconsidering the height of the bar I have set for myself. I’ve been reassessing the level of “flawlessness” I thought I had to achieve before I was ready to submit my work. And I’ve also been seriously thinking about what’s REALLY been holding me back from accomplishing my goal of "being a writer." Because the truth is, no matter how arrogant, repulsive, appalling, or self-righteous it sounds to say, I believe that I COULD have--and SHOULD have--done a better job writing that article about our friends. And tomorrow, I’ll talk more about all of those things! Hope to see you then!

Examining My Intentions

I’m back, and happy to be writing again! I appreciate all of you who noticed, enquired about my absence, and offered me kind words and encouragement. And an especially big thank you to those who urged me to continue to write whatever I wish, and to be true to myself regardless of outside influences. You are ALL quite right of course! And I intend to! However, I feel I owe my readers, whom I don’t always see in person, an explanation for my break in writing this past week.

A few off-the-cuff remarks after my last blog post made me think I needed to reevaluate how I was presenting my thoughts. Although cloaked in “jest,” the comments implied that I was seeking “freebies” for writing about or promoting businesses belonging to my friends or acquaintances. Being a pro at hiding my emotions, I politely smiled along with the “jokes.” But to hear people say (out loud!) they think I am writing a blog just to get freebies hurt my feelings. A lot.

Truth be told? It was more like a knife in my delicate, struggling writer’s heart. It stopped me cold in my tracks, because the thought of freebies never even crossed my mind. So I wondered, did people even GET me, or what I was trying to express? Had they read ANY of what I wrote?? Or were they just projecting their own desires for freebies onto me?  Of course, I knew dear hubby didn’t have a clue, he still thinks this blog is about cheesecake and cupcakes! But was everybody else confused as well?

I hadn’t realized how much it mattered to me to have my views be received, but to also be HEARD and UNDERSTOOD. Obsessed that I was being MIS-understood, I spent four days consumed with self-doubt. Was I--even if unintentionally--promoting a business or a friend? Did it really appear I had an ulterior motive buried in my writing? Even worse, was THAT the ONLY thing my readers were taking away from what I was laboring so hard to write about?  If so, OUCH!

 

So I took a step back for a few days, and re-read what I had written in my first sixteen posts, and examined them closely. I WAS being authentic in expressing my thoughts about my quest to accomplish “finding my thing.” After re-reading all sixteen posts several times, I am reassured that I’ve been pretty clear about the purpose of this blog. And anyone who interpreted my posts as seeking freebies, or ANYTHING other than expressing my respect and admiration for people who have found their “thing,” well……  those people just DON’T GET IT. And I'm ok with that now.

I love this guy, and this t-shirt!!

I’m sure it won’t the last time I feel misunderstood, or have my confidence shaken. And I am oddly appreciative of the reminder that it doesn’t hurt to re-examine my “work” from time to time. Ironically, during those four days, I got another jolt to my self-esteem that I’ll be telling you more about tomorrow. But one thing I’ve made my mantra over the years is: “I only write TRUTH.” If you take the time to really absorb that statement, you may understand why it’s often hard for me to write. It’s not easy to write “the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth”-- to throw your honest and heartfelt thoughts out there for everyone to dissect, analyze, reject, or even misunderstand.

But I know what MY truth is: I truly do admire the people I’ve written about so far, for finding, creating, and living their passions. And I will continue write about others that I discover, AND ANYTHING ELSE I damn well please, as I try to find the path to my OWN passions. The people who just don’t "get it" can do as the t-shirt in the picture suggests. Or just go straight to hell. And they can pickup their freebies on the way.