The other night I told Mr. ASIJ that I wasn’t living the life I wanted to live. “And who’s fault is that?” I asked…as I pointed to myself. I am almost fifty-two years old. If I ever intend to actually LIVE that life, then I best get my rear in gear.
I read something yesterday on the internet involving a book a lady had written. The title REALLY caught my eye. Sleeping Naked After Forty by Rosie Battista. Also known as the “The Kale Queen”, she is brilliant and I can’t wait to order and read her book. (When I figure how to link to things in this blog, I’ll put a link to her book here). This is what she says about herself now AFTER she has fallen in love with herself and started living the life she was meant to live: “I am 48 years old. I wear a bikini. I don’t diet. I just eat healthy. I love my food. I love my body. I love my life. I sleep naked.” Here’s how I would relate that: “I am 51 years old. I wouldn’t be caught dead in a bikini. I have dieted off and on for 30 years. I don’t eat healthy. I DO love my food (a little too much maybe). I’m mostly ashamed of my body (although it has served me well I guess). I love parts of my life. I only sleep naked when I’ve had too much to drink.”
There’s much work to do here.
There are just some moments when the only way to take it all in is to realize “It just don’t get any better than this”. Like pajamas – antique anything – books – overstuffed chairs – butterflies – pastachio almond ice cream – Little Miss ASIJ’s smiles – Mr. ASIJ’s touch – you get my drift, altogether or one at a time. Life is so good. This has nothing to do with what I wanted to write about today – it was just on my mind this morning. The good stuff. Well…I guess actually it DOES have something to do with my blog today, cause that’s the direction I want to take. The good stuff…the high road…the yellow brick road.
As far as my mission here, to get all my memories recorded before they totally fade away, well I’m thinking it just ain’t gonna happen. I’ve come too far to listen, focus, dwell on anything that doesn’t make me feel better. I refuse to dredge up painful memories for whatever reason anyone ever dredges up painful memories. I mean…for days after my first post I felt weighed down, almost sickened by just the memory of my little body being beat as a child. Then that brought up the memories of Middle Brother’s beatings and what went on after I married and left home. Missing years where time stood still. You know – when you lay down to take a nap and wake up and its five, ten, twenty years later? Good grief.
Why do people do that anyway? Dredge up painful memories? Is it to heal? Digging in a sore will not aid in healing it. At least that’s what I’ve been led to believe by everyone except the ones who would profit from me digging in those sores. It will just get infected and spread. I’m done with that. Over and out. Goodnight Irene. I am as healed as I’m ever going to be.
But the good stuff…some things are just so good…like “Feet and Feet”. Let me explain. Night before last Little Miss ASIJ asked “do you remember Feet and Feet?” With a very big smile across my face the memory washed over me. “Yes baby, I well remember Feet and Feet.” Feet and Feet are Mr. ASIJ’s two feet, side by side, twins, they talked to Little Miss ASIJ when she was a toddler. At times she held on to them. They wiggled and she giggled. And she named them “Feet and Feet”. She told them secrets and they danced around. Too funny.
Since Little Miss ASIJ has been born, I have met so many interesting new characters that only a child can make come alive. I’m sure along the way I’ll introduce some them to you too.
And so…to have some kind of clarity about why I am even writing this post – it is to CHANGE GEARS. More about that later. LOTS more about that later.
I thought I’d better go ahead and get this started. I’m now 51 years old and the memories are fading fast. Almost every day for years now I’ve been meaning to start recording my days, starting a journal, so I’d have something to pass down to my children and something to read in my old age. I’ve never started – and now I have to rely on memories of my memories.
I was lying in bed the other night trying to remember the first memory of my childhood. After thinking and thinking I finally decided my very first memory must have been lying in bed and singing myself to sleep. I was probably around 4 or 5 years old. I made up songs to sing and I still remember the title of one of them. “Stay On The Porch When It Rains”.
I was brilliant.
I slept in a little toddler bed in the room with my Mom and Dad. I kept asking for a little brother and I remember my Dad told me when I decided to sleep in my own room then maybe I would get a little brother. I guess I must have eventually started sleeping in my own room because my first brother was born June 28, 1963. I had just turned 6 years old.
I remember my imaginary friend John. He was the same age as me and had brown eyes and jet black hair. And my other imaginary friends were the 3 little pigs. Ok go ahead and laugh but I thought they were so cute. John and the pigs all talked with to me and we would hold very serious conversations about life and love. I wish they were with me now. I could use some good advice sometimes.
I know I had a happy childhood. Except, of course, for my Dad beating the hell out of me every time I was BAD. Later in life, when I asked my Dad about the beatings, he answered “You never got a whippin’ you didn’t deserve”. Wrong answer Dad. I DID NOT deserve to be beat with a belt buckle until my little legs were bloody just because I used one of my Mom’s envelopes. I DID NOT deserve to be beat with a belt (thank God the envelope incident was the only beating I got with the buckle) because I didn’t hear my Mom call me in for supper. He would wait behind the door with the belt and God forbid she would ever have to call me twice. I DID NOT deserve to be beat because I ran around the church one too many times with my little friends after church. I DID NOT deserve ANY of the beatings I got. What in the world can a child do to deserve being beat by a man who weighs over 200 pounds? Can a child even be that BAD? I was good – I can’t even imagine what he would have done to me if I’d really been bad. I’m just glad those days are over.
I’m not bitter. Do I sound bitter? I just didn’t deserve it…that’s all. I forgave my Dad a long time ago. That’s how he was raised – that’s all he knew. But I didn’t forget.
Ok…so all my memories aren’t all that happy and some are just downright painful. But my life has always been better than some. I can’t complain. And even if I did, no one would listen and it wouldn’t change a thing.
But life is good…and always has been.