i can't do that

I'm not sure if there is anything I can't do.  That is such a strong statement and one I don't think I want to utter.  Something I've heard repeatedly throughout the years is that if you say you can't do something, then you won't be able, and so I try to avoid that line of thinking.

There are things I find hard to do:

• keep my cool when I'm hungry
• leave the kitchen messy
• drive the speed limit (aka slow!)
• lower my expectations
• relax and just live in the moment

There are things I won't do:

• jump out of an airplane (have you seen the statistics on that?!)
• settle for less then I'm worth
• take unnecessary financial risks
• stop worrying about my kids

"Can't" makes it seem like the subject is out of your control, as if you are a victim.  I'm struggling now to think of something, anything that is truly out of my control.  There are plenty of things that I choose NOT to control and may even convince myself that I have no control.  But if I am honest to myself, deep down I know that these things are in my control.  It is a function of my action or inaction whether or not I can or cannot do something.  Right now, I will choose to believe that there is nothing I can't do.

Arms Crossed

This piece of memoir comes via The Red Dress Club’s challenge this week to begin a narrative with the idea of “crossed arms.”

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I walk in and drop onto the brown leather sofa, arms crossed, knees touching and my feet turned in. 

"Hi Cathy.  How are you?" she asks as she always does.  Her opening line superficial compared with the looking, studying me for the non-verbal answers.

"Oh I'm fine.  And how are you?" I pleasantly reply.  I've got a smile on my face but I know she doesn't believe me, and this session isn't about her.

"I'm good," she replies with a quick, all-knowing chuckle.  It's the beginning of the dance.  Her eyes are probing and I drop my gaze.  With the pleasantries behind us, the standard inquiry is presented. 

"So, really, how are you?  What's going on with you?" she asks.  Such a loaded question this week.

I sit quietly, arms still crossed, head bent down looking at the crisscross pattern, an elongated letter X my arms make being folded into one another.   And still I remain quiet.  Moments pass without a word but there's no pressure to speak.   She will wait for me.  It's too difficult to speak and she knows.

The tears fall silently and finally I must unfold my arms to reach for the tissues.    I grab a few and dry my eyes.  I stall by continuing to dab at them repeatedly.

"It's been a really hard week." I manage to say, my voice hard to hold steady so it comes out barely more than a whisper.

And still she sits in silence waiting for more.  She knows it will come and it does.   I sink in to the sofa and begin to relax and release a flood of emotionally full words.

Five for Five: Listening

Did you listen to me?

Did you listen to what I had to say?

Or did you go about your life

In your own selfish sort of way?

How could I be just some background noise

So easily dismissed, easily ignored?

Was listening to what I have to say

Only going to make you bored?

Was it really so hard

To care what I'd say?

Why, oh why

Did you treat me this way?

I was so lonely here and

That's not how it was meant to be.

Hearing just isn't the same as

You listening to me.

I gave so much of myself,

As much as I could.

All in support of us,

I thought I was doing good.

Together we were supposed to stand

The ultimate test of time.

But you wouldn't take the time to listen

And therein lies the crime.

You want to sail away on a boat

Play some poker, put a ball on a tee.

So we've met with the lawyers,

And divided our property.

To hell with the marriage.

To hell with the kids.

But breaking our boys' hearts,

That I cannot forgive.

Today we are divided

Only to fade away.

If only you had listened,

There might have been another way.

But you couldn't listen.

I don't think you know how.

I am alone with my blog

At least some people are listening now.

Five for Five: Age

I am cheating a bit today.  I am reposting something from November 2010 - something about age, something about feeling older.

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I constantly profess how young I feel compared to my chronological age.  For years I was twenty-six.  It didn't matter what the calendar said, I was still twenty-six.  Within the past year or so, I've bumped my age up to twenty-eight.  Not quite sure why, but it feels right. 

Before today, I could not speak to the reasons that made me feel older or younger.  Today, however, today I did one thing which has caused me to feel older.

My Uncle passed away at a very awkward moment - it was literally less than 48 hours before I was to get on a plane with my three kids and head to Disney World for an extended Thanksgiving vacation.  My husband had separate travel arrangements and was meeting us there having been out of town all week on business.  My sister and brother-in-law and their three kids also were flying in for the holiday.  Being a practical person, I had no idea what his death would mean to the immediate plans.

My Uncle's wife, Karen, knew of our planned combined vacation.  She knew that sisters living 3,000 miles apart having the opportunity to spend a holiday together, with our families, cousins playing with cousins, was something that didn't happen often.  Karen, the beautiful, giving woman that she is, recognized the importance.  She knew that with the death of our Uncle, we'd need each other more than ever.   Being cremated and with no particular religious requirements, there was no rush for services.  Karen, as usual, gave of herself and gave my sister and me the precious gift of time.  Time for sisters to be together, to share in our grief.  Time for our families to enjoy what we could of our long-planned vacation.  And so we carried on with our plan.  We went on vacation.  

Now vacation is over and it's time to do what must be done.  Being the so-called "writer" in the family, I offered to Karen, no, I suggested, that I help write my Uncle's obituary.  There was a basic one put in the local paper back East, but I wanted more.  I wanted more of Uncle Mike in it because he was so much more to me.  I have never thought about having to write an obituary.  I don't recall my mother's obituary at all.  But today I wrote an obituary.  Today I feel older.

Five for Five: Pictures

Picture me, picture  me, 

picture me this.

Skies of blue and

grasses green,

California poppies

in full orange bloom.

The warmth of the afternoon sun

Politely interrupted by foggy breeze.

Picture me, picture me,

picture me this.

Blonde and fuzzy,

soft and curly.

Eyes with long lashes,

Open wide and brightly blue.

Delicious chubby cheeks

both pale and pink.

Picture me, picture me,

picture me this.

No need for photos, 

Forever etched in my mind.

The beauty of things

In this so-called life.

The wonder and feel of

true treasures.

Five for Five: Words

Softly spoken in my ear,

The sweetest thing I'll ever hear.

The power to move me, to make me whole.

The sweetest gift I'll ever know.

What are these words you ask?

What is it that they say?

It depends on who.

It depends on the day.

So many opportunities to look at things anew.

You need be present to know what's true.

All you have to do is open up and feel.

And listen to the words that are so real.

Five for Five: Change

Brother, can you spare a dime?

I am weak to drink.

Voices keep shouting in my head.

A cup of coffee, a loaf of bread.

Whatever you can spare.

Can you help me out?

No? God bless you.

We're just trying to get by. 

Thank you brother.  Thank you.

Sister, can you spare a nickel?

Been beaten and beaten down.

And I need to protect my baby.

The street is hard and the nights are cold.

Anything really.  Anything for a room.

I need to buy me and my kid some food.

No? No worries.  God bless you.

We're just trying to get by.  

Thank you sister.  Thank you.

People can you spare some change?

I used to play with the best but been down on my luck.

Lost my gig and got bills to pay.

Life's been hard but I will play you a tune.

What do you fancy? 

A sweet song, a blue melody.

Brother, sister, can you spare some change?

No? God bless you.

Maybe next time. 

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This post is inspired by Momalom's Five for Five.  Todays' topic:  Change.  Come link up!