Living the good life
A large home
A new car
A closet overflowing
Jewels and gold.
A demanding job
Working more to have more
A soulless life.
A deep yearning
To shed the shackles
To lift the spirit
To free the body
To be whole again.
Back in April I wrote about “The House that Nobody Loves”, an abandoned house that sits overgrown with weeds and tree saplings growing out of the gutters. Bushes are growing up the side of the house and working their way under the shingles. The house has fallen in disrepair waiting lonely for someone to love it again. Well today as I drove past it, I noticed something new in the front yard. A giant backhoe was parked waiting patiently for someone to come and start it up. Next to the backhoe sits an equally large dump bucket, according to Mitch, but I think it looks like a giant pair of grabbers. Grabbers with huge fingers ready to rip through the failing roof and rip it apart.
It looks like the end of the little abandoned house is eminent. I understand the need to tear down the little house because it now looks like a blight on the street overgrown with weeds and broken shingles, but a part of me is a little sad for the house and the memories it holds. I think about the ghosts that walk the floorboards from room to room, retracing the steps of children running through the house playing tag. Memories of a mother and a father hugging and loving the children, making them eat their vegetables and tucking them in bed at night. I can only imagine the love and tenderness that once flowed through the walls of the house.
Maybe I’m way off base, maybe there was no love in the house and that’s why it sits empty. Maybe, but I would rather like to think that the house was loved and that someone besides me will shed a tear when it is finally torn down.
A bit of poetry for your Tuesday.
On a hilltop overlooking a small village
Stands a sentinel ever watchful
Never moving always on guard
Protecting all below.
His gaze never wavering
Looking over the horizon
Stoically waiting for the need
To unleash his power over the realm.
Though he is made of plaster and wood
His mere presence gives comfort and courage
To the villagers below
Having faith in the belief that the Sentinel will stand for them.
There is a house in our little burg that is unloved and forgotten. No one lives there anymore. I imagine that at one time it was filled with laughter and people coming and going. Today it sits vacant with tree limbs lying on the roof and seedlings have sprouted in the gutters. The weeds growing on the roof are healthier than the ones in my yard. How weeds can grow on an asphalt shingle roof is beyond me, I have places in our yard that weeds won’t even grow. A giant tree has fallen over and lies across the ground. To call it rundown and shabby is an understatement. The roof is sagging in spots giving it a rippled look. Every day when I drive by the house, I am surprised that it still stands.
There is a padlock on the front door, I assume to keep people out, but surprisingly enough there is an open window on the side of the house that has been open for a year now, through the summer and winter last year. I can only imagine what creatures have made it their home seeking refuge from the cold and snow over the past winter. It’s probably pretty cozy for squirrels and raccoons dry and out of the wind. I don’t think I want to go in and find out who or what has taken up residence. I’m not that brave.
The house reminds me of a series on cable a few years ago about what the earth would look like if the entire human race was gone and how Mother Nature reclaims her world bit by bit. When it starts getting warm again and everything is greening up and growing, the house may become totally overgrown with vines. It is truly a very sad portrait of our society that we create something live in it then cast it aside without a care. I’ve never been in the house, but I think that had someone still loved the house and cared for it, then the house would not have gotten to this state.
There is a story that the owner found his true love and moved to a warmer climate, or perhaps the house is haunted and the ghosts of the long ago past haunted the house forcing the man to flee afraid to go back in the house. The fact that the house still stands after such a long time of vacancy helps to fuel the haunted thoughts of a creative mind. Besides I would rather believe the house is haunted than the boring truth that it is just unloved.
What do you think, is the house haunted or just unloved?
Three poems for Tuesday
The reddish glow of the setting sun
Gives way to the twilight skies
The rising moon orange and bright
Casts a warm glow on the earth below.
Glowing eyes searching for
Movement in the forest barely seen
Ears cocked listening for
The slightest sound almost unheard.
Swift legs and strong body leaping
From its vantage point
Giving chase to the fleeing prey
The creature draws near with deadly accuracy.
The dark night sky moonless
With only stars to light the way
The forest below cloaked in blackness
Masking all from view.
The hunter waits silent and still
Listening for the slightest sound
Searching for any noise
That might give him the advantage.
Eyes black in the darkness
Open wide scanning the forest floor below
Sitting on his perch high up in the branches
Ready to fly swift and sure.
Stepping carefully and slowly
Ever on guard
Eyes darting furtively back and forth
Scanning the forest for movement.
Ears cocked listening for sounds of danger
A crack of a branch or crunch of fallen leaves
In the distance
Cause the body to stiffen.
Nostrils flare sucking in the air
Catching the whiff of peril
The legs rear and the body bolts
Desperately trying to outrun death.
Question: Know anybody that wants a ninety eight pound drool machine? Answer: No one in their right mind. Don’t get me wrong, I have no intentions of getting rid of Orso or Charlie for that matter. I simply posed the question to examine on my own sanity or lack thereof. The main reason we have dogs is for pheasant hunting. The by-product of that is companionship, unconditional love (from both humans and dogs) and entertainment. So why is it that we own a ninety eight pound chocolate lab that doesn’t particularly like water that would prefer boat rides to swimming and doesn’t care at all for hunting? Oh sure he enjoys being out in the field with us, wandering around behind me so I can break down the brush ahead for him. But the idea of sticking his nose to the ground and searching for a bird is beneath him. That’s Charlie’s job. Orso will rush up and try to play tug of war with Charlie when he finds the downed bird. But the hunting part, that is not his style.
Orso’s main purpose in life is to eat anything and everything he can get in his mouth, sleep on our bed sprawled out to his full five and a half foot length and launch drool missiles on as many walls as possible. He is also the most vocal dog I have ever seen. He barks at me when I pick up my purse and put on my coat to leave because he wants to go too. He barks at me when I come home. He barks at me when I do take him with me, especially when he has to stay in the car. Orso has learned and memorized the routes to the store, the gas station and Mitch’s work and knows the difference in each. When I take Mitch to work in the morning he just sits patiently and barks once to tell Mitch goodbye. He knows when we go to the gas station and waits patiently while I fill the tank, watching all of the other people around. But when I go to the store he howls like a girl as soon as he figures out where we’re going. People turn and stare at the shrill high pitched wailing coming from this huge brown head hanging out of the car window. God forbid if I go someplace he is not familiar with or take a different route, he starts wailing before he even knows where we end up at. Sometimes he is the most annoying dog ever.
Orso is also totally devoted to me. He follows me everywhere. When I sit at the computer he jumps off the comfy bed to lay on the floor next me. Outside he follows me or lies down to watch me mow and when I’m done he runs down to meet me and walk back beside me while I push the mower to the shed. If I can’t go on the walk for some reason and Mitch has to take the dogs by himself, Orso turns his head back over his shoulder to watch for me. Mitch has said on numerous occasions that he spends the major part of the walk tugging on Orso’s leash to get the dog to walk with him
He’s a big a doofus, but he’s my big doofus.
Can you ever forgive yourself? Is it even possible to really forgive one of your transgressions and fully move on? Forgiving yourself is harder than forgiving someone else. We can look at another person’s faults and misgivings, come up with a hundred reasons why they did what they did and forgive them for it. It may take a while to move on, but eventually we accept the misdeed or error in judgment by someone else and get on with our lives and relationships. So why is it so hard for us to forgive our own missteps? Do we have higher expectations of our selves than others or is it that we look at a lapse in judgment as an insurmountable failure?
I am not proud of my youth. I have done some really stupid things growing up. I made a lot of bad decisions born out of low self-esteem and when something jogs a memory I still cringe inwardly. I look back into the past with loathing for my actions. Granted I was a stupid teenager then and am well into my fifties now, but something about that time in my life still haunts me. There are so many regrets and a desire for a do over, knowing the outcome would probably still be the same, but that doesn’t stop the wishing.
I didn’t kill anybody or maliciously try to hurt others; my transgressions were all directed at me. I wish I had pushed myself more in school, gone to college, had some direction, instead of going along with the aimless mindset of a self-absorbed teenager. I thought that if a boy paid attention to me it meant he loved me. It took me a few years to figure out what real love was.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my life, my husband, children and my friends, but I wish I could have been better. I wish I had made smarter decisions and wiser choices, not the bonehead mistakes that I can’t seem to put in the past forever. I know I’m not the person I was then; I don’t need validation from anyone else now. The validation has to come from me and grant me the forgiveness of my past sins.
When I look back over the years of my adulthood there have been many great accomplishments. My husband who I love with all of my heart, my two sons, who are all grown up and have families of their own, a daughter that I didn’t give birth to, but love as much and a few truly special friends that I would walk through fire for. These are all the best part of me, the today me.
So what is it about those short seven years of my life that haunt me more than the thirty plus years since? How do I absolve myself, move on and truly face the future with hope and resolve? I can’t answer that, but I am working on it.
Once again modern technology is making me insane. I thought computers and the internet are supposed to make our lives easier, but no, not so. Every day we use the internet to shop, do online banking and surf thousands of search engines for things like more shopping. Almost every place you go out there in cyberspace to do business has you set up a username and a password all in the name of security. And of course all of the IT gurus tell us to create a different unique password with capital and lower case letters with numbers and special characters at least a million characters long for each time we create a password. Some tell us to use a phrase such as, “Mary had a little lamb” but change some of the letters like this, “M2ryh#daLIT*&%-098b” to make it even more secure. Good luck remembering that one.
I don’t know about you but I have a bunch of passwords to remember. There is my work password to sign on to my computer, the password to sign on to my payroll, taxes and vacation, password to sign on to my health insurance benefits, retirement account, bank, and multiple shopping websites. Passwords, so many passwords to remember and of course you only get three tries before the web site locks you out. I bet hackers and identity thieves get more than three tries. So what’s a memory challenged internet user to do? Write down all of my different passwords, but then where do you store them, in a file on the computer? What if you get hacked, can the hacker find the password file and now have access to your whole life? Do you write it down on a piece of paper? If so where you hide it so only you know where it’s at and still have easy access? Or do you use one the password managers that come with your firewall protection software?
But I’m not so sure those are the best option either. I used one of those password managers and it forgot the password for the website I tried to use. Can you believe it, I logged on, my username and password populated perfectly, and evidently it was not the correct password. I even tried the “forgot password” button and it took me to a screen that wanted my phone number, are you kidding me, my phone number, what about my email address? I have no idea what phone number I put down, but I always know what email address I use. After trying every phone number I could think of I got the death message, “Too many tries, contact IT support to access your account”. It was nice enough to give the phone number of a live chat, but these people keep bankers hours, I can only call from 8:30 am to 5:00 pm and whatever you do don’t even think about calling from noon to two, everyone will be at lunch. I have things to do today and sitting around waiting until 8:30 to talk to someone about resetting my password is not on my list. Seriously, the internet is open for business twenty-four seven, why is it that we can’t get technical support the same way?
There goes my blood pressure, perfect the doctor will love that.
The treachery of your words
Sweet and soft
Belie your actions
Deception and duplicity.
The look in your eyes
Guileless and loving
Seek to hide the truth
With smoke and mirrors.
Your lies are now exposed
I will not fall victim again
I will become as deceitful
And use your tactics against you.
Blue Heron fishing
Blue Heron flying away after he spotted me
Photos taken with my Canon Rebel