Mom is Just a Nickname

I believe that words have power.  Words have the power to touch those around me, to let them know that I care, that I am angry, that I am in love.  Words have the power to shape arguments, to mold dreams, to share fears.  Words have a power greater than we give them credit for, even as we mash and mangle them into all sorts of new expressions with text messaging and online dialects.

I cannot doubt the power of the words I type.  Words evoke emotions, and stir passions.  Be the words typed or spoken, their ability to express my thoughts to others is unsurpassed by any other form of communication.  Words clarify that deep sigh, they crystallize that snort of laughter, and they bring meaning to the *shrugs* I type.

I choose my words carefully.  The words ‘hate’ and ‘love’ carry particular strength and I use each with caution.  Words carry unconscious meanings, subconscious layers of baggage hang on their every vowel and consonant.

Words have power. Words are power, when used correctly.

I love jeans that have been worn in, that are soft and comfortable, that mold to my hips but are boot cut so that my calves and ankles are unhindered by the fabric.  I love the faded blue denim that only comes from washing it a hundred times.

Because of that, I have a really hard time buying brand new jeans from a retail store.  The jeans, no matter how well they seem to fit in the dressing room, are always stiff. The colors, no matter how distressed or washed they are supposed to be, are always too bold and brash.

Instead of buying them from retail stores, when I have the time and energy (and need, of course) I go browse at a thrift store or Goodwill.  My size isn’t real common to find there so it takes some time to sort through everything to find my size -I suspect everyone my size does what I do: wear the things that fit until they are too worn to be worth giving away!   When I do find something, though, it’s like finding a buried treasure!

I recently wandered into a Goodwill store to find some jeans for my son.  I did find a pair for him, which he loves.  While I was there, though, I couldn’t resist browsing for myself.  I was pleased to find several pairs of jeans to try on.  I found the same brand and style in two sizes, but the sizes were one above and one below my normal size.  The bigger ones were way too big. The smaller were a mite snug.  I hadn’t had any luck finding a pair that were my perfect size.  Still, I opted to get the smaller size jeans since they weren’t too tight and the price was right.

In retrospect, I got the perfect size. I’ve had them on all day and they fit just right. They aren’t too tight, they aren’t sliding off my hips. They fit where they are supposed to and I feel good wearing them.  How great is it that they cost less than a quarter of what I would pay for them retail, and they were a size smaller than I’m used to buying!?

I’m an optimist, but it’s not just because I was born this way.  I work at it.  When the horrible things are piling up on the plate of my life, I do my best to look to the dessert plate to remind myself of what’s still sweet and good.  It is a constant and conscious balancing act, but without the effort, I’d be drowning in the mashed potatoes and gravy.   I’m creating a full dessert menu  to help remember the sweet things in life, even when the main dish doesn’t look very appetizing.

During the worst times in my life, focusing in on each moment seems to help me appreciate more.  The day of Sullivan’s funeral, I looked up into the sky and saw a rainbow hanging on the horizon above the trees.  I took it as a sign that he was in a better place and soon I would be too, although hopefully still on the mortal plane of existence.  Now, as I sit here with my back thrown out and hurting, I have taken the time to notice the cat curled up sweetly beside me, to hear the comforting sound of Toph typing away in his office, to know that my children are snuggled safe in their beds  –even though they weren’t all that happy to go to bed in the first place!

I’m always happy when they go to bed, though, because it gives me time to journal.  I often find surprising revelations in my written words.  Although I only journal sporadically, I have several old diaries stashed away.  It’s fun to go back and read what I was writing about through different periods of my life.  I see the times when my thoughts were most turbulent, I was often searching for the rich taste of a “chocolate cake” kind of happiness amidst the split pea soup fog in my head.  Every time the sun has melted the fog away, though, I realize that my table has been spread with dessert plates all the while…I just didn’t look in the right places.

Of course, sometimes, the main course of life is like a big pan of paella: spicy, rich and nourishing for the body and spirit!  Then it’s easy to dismiss the dessert table altogether!

Paella!