tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62382458024104395002024-02-21T06:42:37.371-08:00Writer Of The StormThe storms of life that we all weather are what define us. Looking at the gloriously deep colors, feeling thunderstruck with epiphany, seeing a brilliant bolt of lightning - these are the feelings I want to share. Nothing is black or white. Everything has shades of gray.Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.comBlogger63125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-62507116901695089132022-09-01T18:30:00.003-07:002022-09-08T00:05:13.495-07:00Life's Illusions<div><span style="font-family: times;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/VZC143PK58A" width="320" youtube-src-id="VZC143PK58A"></iframe></div><br /><i><br /></i></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><i><div><span style="font-family: times;"><i><br /></i></span></div>But now it’s just another show, you leave them laughing when you go and if you care, don’t let them know. Don’t give yourself away…</i> </span><div><br /></div><div> Sometimes I wonder how I will die. </div><div><br /></div><div>It isn’t a fantasy so much as a prophecy I’m driven to fulfill. Drifting away with old age has never felt right. The universe has tagged me to be the last one standing as I’ve watched so many others fall. Hard as it is on me, I see my dad, the oldest of 11, methodically losing his siblings, and his son just months ago, his wife some weeks later, and friends upon friends upon friends. He appears to take I in stride but he’s a quiet type mostly, not one to carry on about losing any fight. Keep on keepin’ on is his philosophy. It wasn’t until this past year that his cracks have shown. </div><div><br /></div><div>It’s been said that our birthdays aren’t measured by the years, but by the events that fall between them. My life is a different one than a year ago. Sure, we change all the time before we realize it, and we wonder how that extra candle got there on the cake in just one day, but it wasn’t a day; it was an entire trip around a giant blazing ball. </div><div> </div><div>Time is a conundrum, isn’t it? </div><div><br /></div><div>It was only last December that I had to tell him that his son, the best of his friends, was gone. It was as if I’d punched him right in the pit of his belly. Just eight months but so long ago. I took that responsibility from the officers because they didn’t know him, or any of us. My brother was dead, a bullet from his own gun on that drizzled morning. I couldn’t let strangers have that moment, it belonged to us.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sonny took control of his end. I don’t have it in me, though there’ve been days I’ve pleaded with the universe to take me out of the game, but those stars have other plans and no amount of begging brings a bargain. They like to toss me over a cliff but with some sort of cosmic bungee cord that pulls me back with a heavy snap. </div><div><br /></div><div>I once asked the question, “What is it like to live inside of a birthday cake? Does glitter tumble to the floor like a million little rainbows? Would horns blare at me each time I walked in?” Now I am compelled to ask what happens when the party’s over? Is there a heaven, and is it billows and clouds, or glitter and confetti? Are there ice cream castles and feather canyons everywhere? Does gravity not exist in such places? Because in my world, confetti falls to the ground just like our memories and hopes and expectations do. Glitter is nothing in the darkness. When we go, it’s ashes or it’s a box, and if we are fortunate, we leave behind some sort of proof that we lived. </div><div><br /></div><div>By all indications of my life, I’m inclined to believe I’ll meet my end in a fiery fashion, perhaps rumbling down the road, faster than I should be, and Death will blindside me. These are the themes of my story; lots of drama to make headlines. Mostly, I wonder what song will be my last. Sometimes I set aside songs in my head, like I’m creating a playlist. The ultimate and final mix tape. </div><div><br /></div><div>Such thoughts are lonely ones. I don’t know what was in my brother’s head when he pulled that trigger. I’d give anything to know because one last thought could give so many answers, It’s why I’m always writing mine down, so nobody will ever have to wonder. He is an event that happened between my birthdays, one I can’t let go of despite our differences and distances. He lingers like a lone candle in all of our lives. Dad turned 82 last week, my turn to age arrives in just 9 minutes. I’ll be a year older by the time I’ve written the last word of this and a day older than that when I read it to you. Like a festive cake with one slice missing, there is a palpable dissonance in the air. </div><div><br /></div><div>I could say that Sonny’s death was the most important thing, but it isn’t. Despite all of the madness with the obliteration of my family, I’ve at last found freedom, and I’ve learned that being free always comes at the cost of others. I’ve wished fervently to die before my husband, and even befpre my dad. Selfish, yes, but the thought of such loss haunts me. My brother took my wish to his grave, because now I have to hold on. I will not reach for that freedom at the cost of my father’s heart. </div><div><br /></div><div>Lessons never cut deep enough until we’ve seen both sides of them. </div><div><br /></div><div>The thing about confetti and clouds is that in the drifting time, they carry the best of us; our memories and our hopes. It’s the expectations that fall, and that’s okay because without expectation, it’s harder to fail. We need to cling to the mist and move forward until our moment comes to rest. </div><div><br /></div><div>My life is a different one than just a year ago.
</div>Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-71388327694025768072018-02-22T01:36:00.001-08:002018-02-22T07:31:30.687-08:00The Timeless Flight<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; margin: 0px;">I think it’s going to be a long,
long time til touchdown brings me ‘round again to find I’m not the girl they
think I am at home… </span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Time is not a luxury.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>It is the most expendable asset there is for humankind.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We spend our minutes quickly and without
regard.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I have made peace with leaving some things unlived.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I have no need to chase a silly old bucket of
adventures because focusing on the big things makes it easier to miss the
little bits along the way.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The smaller
pieces are the essence of us.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">My little bits have been harder to find as of late.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Is it because I’m dwindling in the eyes of
the world or am I too afraid to let the world see me anymore?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>What’s left of me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>My life has become so viewable that there’s
nothing left for myself.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I feel like an
empty well – pennies landing at the bottom of my soul with a dull thump.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’ve become so used to having these
conversations with myself, I’ve forgotten to need other voices. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">We tend to talk to ourselves when there’s nobody around
to listen.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">What I forget – besides everything – is that most
people are often afraid to be heard.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Silence
is easier.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>When my voice becomes an
echo, it carries my fears as it comes back around.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I become afraid that others no longer want to
hear what I have to say.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Perhaps this is
a consequence of the times; everyone has a platform, it’s common to feel
obsolete. Their silence, however, left me quite alone in a time I needed least to be. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Something has been gnawing inside of me like a gutter rat
trying to escape daylight.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It scuttles
in futility until it dies, leaving the foul odor of a neglected death.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The cause of death:<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>loneliness.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I have this great fear that the events of this past year – my two near
physical deaths eclipsing my metaphorical one - have burrowed into my marriage
and left us staring at each other across the grave.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Inherently, I think we’re going to be okay –
that we just need some space to process it all – but it’s still frightening.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Love never really dies, but it can change,
and we all know I don’t do well with change.<span style="margin: 0px;"> He has taken on the roles vacated by others, because they failed to show up. This has changed our dynamics a bit.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Yesterday, I had this amazing conversation with
someone.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It was 32 years ago that I
first heard Bob talking to me from the television.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I was 16 years old; angry, imprisoned, mired
in eating disorders and wanting to hide in the darkest places of the universe.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I was sometimes able to lose myself in funny
things, and stand-up comedy became a haven for me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They were the bravest people I ever saw,
standing there all alone talking to us about very real things.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Bob was different.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He wanted us to think.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Every word he slung was a challenge.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>His sarcasm was an art form, his disdain of
humanity had an odd allure, and it penetrated at a time I was unreachable.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>When I look back at how I came to harness my
inner power – my darkness, my questioning (even questionable) nature, my dry
wit and penetrating pause – I can trace it back to someone who never knew his
role.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
So, <span style="font-family: "calibri";">I got to sit down and have a conversation with
Bob.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Being awkwardly me, I didn’t know
at first what to do with that.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’ve
become this person who has no filter whatsoever, so there’s a fear in what I’m
capable of saying.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As we talked about
anything and all, there was a sense of being understood for the first time in a
very long while.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I didn’t have to defend
my oddities.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I could simply and unabashedly
be me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s not a secret me, but it was
a me who’d been cut out and amputated too.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>So there I was talking to this stranger, only he’d been in my life
forever.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>At one point I expressed my
fear of seeming like some crazed groupie, but Bob seemed okay with it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It wasn’t that I was star-struck.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It was connecting with someone from my
past.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Someone who never knew that he
knew me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Then I found my bravery.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>“You helped shape who I am today.”<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>That’s a thought I have occasionally expressed in my writing to very few,
but have never said out loud to anyone.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Life is meant to be lived out loud.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Someone penetrated at a time that I’ve been unreachable.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I have allowed my loneliness to become a
wall.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I miss me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And I miss who I was when I trusted
others.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I came away feeling unafraid to
sit down and have this conversation with myself.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It isn’t a magic that dropped out of the
sky.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s going to take time and some
work to trust again.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Bob may forget our
conversation as something insignificant though I hope it was a pleasant way to
spend an hour.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I will likely forget
everything said because it’s what I’m prone to do.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In writing this letter to myself, I’m adding
to my collection of little bits that are gathered in notes and essays and books
and sometimes in the memory of others.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I am afraid that my trust in others was a delusion; that I
wanted so badly to not die a neglected death that I believed something that
never was.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I have learned to share the deepest,
dirtiest parts of me to anyone from a distance, but now can’t trust anyone
within a stone’s throw.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">My minutes are being tossed into that empty well and landing
with a dull thump.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I don’t know how to
come back from where I am.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’ve done it
before but I was another me then.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>My
unwanted survivalist instinct is shadowing me.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>It’s telling me that this isn’t how I want to go.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">And my biggest fear is not being ready to go.</span></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; margin: 0px;">I miss the earth so much, I miss
my life.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s lonely out in space on
such a timeless flight…</span></i><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/rYSCHKmvcIY/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/rYSCHKmvcIY?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Lyrics:<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rocket
Man </i>/ Elton John</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<br /></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span>Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-8968333890818812542018-02-03T00:57:00.000-08:002018-02-03T00:57:53.796-08:00A Hundred Tears Away<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; margin: 0px;">Go ahead and cry now, just give
in to the madness.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The only way to feel
your joy is first to feel the sadness…</span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s that time of year again.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The first page on the calendar that prompts
us to climb our unresolved mountains before we come sliding back down at our
self-imposed December deadline.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’ve
never been into resolutions, yet never work well without a finite date to loom
over me.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Having stumbled past the ultimate deadline that I thought
Destiny had placed on me, I’m in a bit of a free fall at the moment.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">We’ve all been posed the philosophical
question “How would you spend your time if you knew when you were going to
die?”</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Been there, spent the time as
wisely as I thought best.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I lived every
emotion; joy, sadness, laughter and melancholy.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’ve cried a hundred tears, a hundred thousand times.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It turned out to be some sort of twisted
cosmic joke when I didn’t die as prophesized.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Either I had misread the roadmap or Destiny moved the finish line on me.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Am I to find the answer at the top of my mountain?</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Because here at ground level, the question
remained – where do I go from here?</span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I felt that death would be a gift; an ending to a life that
had gone on too long.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I was tired.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I still feel twinges of it some days.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">People ask me how I’m doing and when I
respond with “okay,” they almost always return with “just okay?”</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">They don’t understand – “okay” means I’m not
having that twinge.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s funny how we can
see negatives and positives so differently from one another.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">There are things in our lives that we have different names
for but they all amount to the same; gifts, blessings, good luck or
fortunes.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">What many consider to be a
blessing would be a sunny day.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">For me,
that would be a curse because of severe and rare health risks. To everyone
else, Kryptonite is just a pretty green glowing crystal.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s all about perception.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’ve always known I was different from most.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I have been the outsider to my own life,
feeling the need to justify or defend my existence and its variables.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It was a linear way to the top of my
mountain.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">What I have learned to be my footholds
are things intangible.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Love as it means
to me, the meaning of life and my purpose in its evolution.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I say that I’m in a freefall, but it only
feels that way because my deadline is no longer as obvious as the summit above
me.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Where challenges and chaos have defined
my path, I now feel there is reason.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It
no longer has to be justified to anyone.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It only needs to make sense to me.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Living each day as a lifetime is often a fleeting thing that
falls away with the drudgery of an obligated existence.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Not for me; it is in me all of the time.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s a lot to carry, but and because the
weight is not mine alone.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">There have
always been lessons, but over time the consequences weigh more.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">While my life has always felt like I was
climbing to nowhere, suddenly I understood that I’ll never get anywhere if I
continue to carry so much dead weight.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The hard part has been figuring what or who am I going to need later and
what is best to cut loose now?</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">My friends have always been the most significant
treasures.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">They made up for the family I
wanted little part of.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">They’ve all had
their place and time, though it’s taken me a long time to realize that.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Not everything is meant to last, and that
includes relationships.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">We think loyalty
is defined by forever and feel betrayed when everlasting comes to an end, but
we aren’t replacing the people in our journey, we are replenishing our
souls.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">In the past calendar run, I have been called many things
from bitter and spiteful to kindhearted and a superhero.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’ve been advised way more than I am
comfortable with.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’m quite surprised I
still have a tongue left after having bitten it so often.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">In conversation with someone last month, I
alluded to a 25-year friendship that I’d severed last summer and he asked
quietly, “do you have </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">any </span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri";">friends you
haven’t had a falling out with?”</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I was
hurt by that because it proved he wasn’t understanding things I’d been saying,
which had become the common theme with most of my friends, hence the falling
outs.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It has become important to me to
stop giving more to everyone than I was getting in return.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">And it isn’t a </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">quid pro quo </span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri";">thing.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s a
harsh learning that I am not a superhero, and that I am vulnerable.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s still a long way to the top, and Kryptonite hides in
the darkest of places.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Someone asked me today “why is every story so negative?”</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Stuart was laughing as he asked, but there
was a nugget of truth.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I was starting to
tell him a story and finished with “See?</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s not negative, it’s </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">interesting.</span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
And if I were on a stage telling it, it would be comedy gold.”</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">In the same conversation, he commiserated
about my physical disabilities and conveyed a brief sadness when he asked “Have
you ever looked death in the face?” and I said that I had.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">“You’ve had a lot of challenge in your life.”</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">That’s okay, I said.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s given me a different point of view.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Life is all about perception.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s not so much about having survived my life.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s the view that it’s given me.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Have you ever stood at the top of the world
and looked up at a clear night sky?</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Not
all peaks are found at the top of a mountain.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Sometimes they are on a sandy beach, an isolated field of dry grass, in
a clearing or at the top of a city hill.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I may be falling free, but that landing is just a hundred
tears away.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; margin: 0px;">Sometimes we want to give up but
fools like us, we keep trying.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You’re a
long way from someplace you feel safe but peace of mind, it comes from just one
place…</span></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-52140531426161037002017-12-18T22:49:00.001-08:002017-12-18T22:51:01.481-08:00Circle Bound Trains<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; margin: 0px;">I can’t tell you where I’m goin’,
not sure of where I’ve been.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I know I
must keep travelin’ til my road comes to an end…</span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">There is a price to be paid in living a life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Last week I went for a train ride.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Alan asked me why.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">“You don’t do trains.”</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">He is correct, I don’t do trains.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Personal challenge.” was my reply.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It was something I’d been slowly building to,
an experience I wanted to share with my friend Laurent.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">He and I share a fondness for trains – mine so
long as I’m not on one – and now every time I hear the lonely whistle as they
pass by each day, I think of him.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">As
opposite happens often in my life, we each hear that sound through different
emotions.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The trains excite him and
bring joy, whereas they leave me melancholy.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Laurent and I have spent time together walking in parks or
downtowns, taking in the crisp fall air that soon gave way to bright tinsel and
ornamented trees.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">We have these long remarkable
talks about love, food, philosophy and the state of the world.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">He has filled a void in me at a time that I
find myself losing friends again to death or to life or wherever it is that
lost friends go.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I can’t help but wonder; just what is my addiction that I
find myself in a constant state of recovery?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s been an isolated holiday season this year.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I haven’t had the heart to give to things I
ordinarily do.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Charity and kindness has
been a struggle – not because I feel callous but because I feel I’ve not much
left to give.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">A year ago, I nearly
died.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Being allergic to the sun had
caught up to me at last.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">A seemingly
benign blister beneath my breast contracted a deadly infection and it had to be
carved out with a scalpel.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">My life going
forward will be a vulnerable one as I am apparently susceptible now to such
things.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It was months to recover and I’m not all the way there
yet.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">In times of weakness, I tend to
overcompensate.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">To make up for missed
work, I am now buried in a perpetually unfinished to do list.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">My emotions swing one extreme to another as I
strive to find balance.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I place myself
at the foot of personal challenges because an uneasy step in a different
direction is still less frightening than standing still.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">As we boarded the train for an hour’s ride across the bay, I
tried not to give in to my innocuous thoughts of train derailment.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I take a lot of chiding in regard to my
dislike of planes and trains.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I am
quoted statistics and levied with common sense while my control issues go
unheard.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It isn’t about logic at
all.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It is about the whirlwind that can
at any moment become a tornado.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Trains
derail, you know.”</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I said.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Laurent smiled at me, as if he had the
superpower to keep it from happening.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It was on the way home that things went awry – my
disabilities often have me feeling like an elephant in a cage.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Everyone else bounded up the narrow steps to
the seats above while I stared in dismay and cursed my leg for failing me. One
thing falls into another and my embarrassment triggered my anxiety of being in
such close quarters with too many strangers with no means of escape.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I survived the return but now Laurent had
seen a side of me that I wasn’t ready to show.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">But it was an experience that I wanted to share with him.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It seems that’s how this friendship has gone
from the beginning.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I can’t undo it, so
best to embrace it and move on.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’ve been noticing a slow increase in my sun blisters.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Remnants of the adventures and talks and
struggling to walk because sitting is for sissies.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Sometimes I have the strong need to just be </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">normal.</span></i><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I watch the scars multiply and hold at bay the paranoia that any one of
them could become deadly in any moment, which is silly because their visibility
shows everyone just how abnormal I really am.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Last night I couldn’t sleep as I felt in the dark at the
beginnings of a blister beneath my breast.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I called my husband in to look, the graveness in his eyes reflected my
own words.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">“I’m scared.”</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">This morning I woke up to the headline that a passenger
train with 75 passengers had derailed on to a busy freeway.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">“But I could show you the statistics…”
Laurent replied in a text when I linked him the story.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">"Not so much the point.” I sighed.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“I’m confused.”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Yes, I know.”</span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">There is a price to be paid in living a life, with
metaphorical coins to pay our fare.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Do I
sit alone and not venture into the world?</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Or live each day without the fear of what could kill me?</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">We think of all the ways we might go but it’s
often the unexpected that claims us in the end.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Life has its toll, and sometimes it derails.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">We need to climb on board anyway because it’s
the only way to get anywhere.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; margin: 0px;">Like a poor wayfaring stranger
that they speak about in song I’m just a weary pilgrim trying to find what
feels like home.</span></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-40184933474518774982017-09-14T21:02:00.000-07:002017-09-14T21:05:12.876-07:00How I Turned 46<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Celebrating an anniversary of my life was a daunting prospect when a month prior my doctor had put me at death’s door. Many handed me the gift-wrapped rhetoric of “you’ve survived!” and “this year will be better!” I have learned to smile politely and say the things that people are looking to hear. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There are some things I have learned since blowing out the candles of my last birthday cake. I’ve learned how to die with both fear and grace. I have found my old sense of humor that had seemingly gone astray. I have realized the best thing I can do at times is to not say anything at all.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And I have at last found my worth.<o:p></o:p></div>
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People always ask “why do you write?” and I never have a fully formed answer. I’ve often felt inferior in the face of other writers who have glorious imaginations or intense passions for the written word. For me, it’s always been about having a conversation with myself. More recently, I’ve been working on a series of short fiction stories that tie in with my music obsession. But you see, I’m a writer of little imagination. Too often I am grounded in reality and despite the dark clouds that hover over me, I rather like it that way. Telling the very real tales that are universal yet uniquely different – it leaves me feeling that I have a place in what is a very large world. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Of course, it’s easy to delude myself into thinking that what I’m doing, I’m doing very well. I believe people when they tell me as much, but I almost wish that just once someone would tell me I’m terrible at what I do and that I should drop my pen before I truly poison someone with it. Perhaps then I’d feel as though I’ve arrived. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It came about that this year on my 46<sup>th</sup> birthday, I would be spending it in the company of two women, one whom I admired very much and the other who was more well known in the literary world than I’ll ever be. I was to be presenting them at a lecture later in the evening. Being an extremely shy person by nature, I spent weeks wondering what would I talk to these two authors about. Being a bestseller? Writing award-winning work? Having my words acted out before thousands? That’s all about them, not about me. I wanted to ask advice, to walk away with more knowledge and instead, I walked away with an experience that held a magic I hadn’t expected.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve met many celebrities in my time. Some pretty impressive names. This evening, however, on the 9<sup>th</sup>day of August, I did not have dinner with two well known authors. I shared a meal with two best friends who welcomed me into their world for an evening. They laughed and displayed a familiarity with each other that I envied. I’ve lost many friends as of late and being on the fringes of such a relationship made me miss having that in my own life. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Victoria and Anne have only known each other for just a few years but sometimes instant connections quickly make up for a lifetime. They mothered over me as I picked at my macaroni and cheese, but I was more interested in the conversation swirling around me. They talked of how they’d met, chuckled over shopping excursions, told of how they collaborated and didn’t hold back on each other’s bad habits. There was no pretense, no politeness, only an authentic affection for each other and even for me too. Victoria has enchanted me from the time we first met with her talent and energy. As I spoke to them both, I related my own stories of edits and creations and inspiration. Then we talked of personal issues such as family and childhoods the state of the nation today. I was privy to not only what made these two women successful, but what made them human. While our experiences were different from each other’s, there was a universal bond and I thought, <i>I belong here.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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And I felt my worth. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It was at the end when the birthday brownie arrived at the table, complete with a candle to make a wish on, that I truly sensed a kinship. They could have simply said “Happy birthday” upon learning of the day, but Anne and Victoria took the extra step to make it special. Such a simple act left this old girl still believing that good does exist in this war-torn world. <o:p></o:p></div>
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These are the gifts that need no pretty paper or bright bows. These are the gifts that cannot be bought because time can’t be found in any store. It’s not what others can do for me, it’s learning what I have to offer of myself. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-86205673954871869902016-10-04T22:41:00.003-07:002016-10-04T22:45:52.303-07:00The Traveling Soldier<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">He’s a little shy so she gave him
a smile. He said “Would you mind sittin’
down for a while and talking to me, I’m feeling a little low…”</span></i></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">All of the songs in the world are jumbled in my head right
now. In trying to reign just one out of
the clouds, it only makes me feel more lost among them. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I read a beautiful essay today titled </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><a href="http://10000clowns.com/2015/09/13/even-hitler-had-a-wife/" target="_blank">Even Hitler Had a Wife</a> </span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri";">by <a href="http://10000clowns.com/" target="_blank">James DeKoven</a>. I’d never known of this writer before today
but as everything does, his words came along at just a pivotal time. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><i>I’ve always been drawn to complex women. Intelligent, opinionated, philosophical, not-so-perfect childhoods, maybe a little crazy. They say it’s foolish, even dangerous to date that kind of a woman, but when is it not risky to expose your heart?</i></span></blockquote>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">These opening lines haunted me, as they
strongly resembled my former self. Age
has tamed me in this last third of my life, but at my core I still feel driven
to be wanted as </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">that </span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri";">girl. The wild, complex, free-reign one who reveled
in being so misunderstood. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Today I’m chatting with three lovely bartenders about their
day as I try to examine my life over a mountain of shellfish and butter
drenched biscuits. Times have changed.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">My priorities have shifted.
I need to feel desired by men for my soul rather than crazy sex fantasies
in the minds of wayward boys. I want
women to relate to me as a companion and not be seen as competition. The meaning of life comes to me in the
smallest and most gigantic of ways. I am
a fool to walk blindly through the songs and not listen to the words. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">This past week has been tremendously emotional. On Thursday, I was breaking down, unable to
sleep for days in a row and quite worried about my state of mind. My husband listened with a measured ear to my
tearful confessions that I was teetering on an edge. Then Friday brought me a day long
conversation with a handsome man that went long into the evening. It was the most meaningful dialogue I’d had
in some time and filled a cavern in me that had been growing wider in the
lonely nights. Saturday, I had to put on
my in-charge mask as I encouraged leadership in others by playing strong and
relating my own experiences. As I tried
to come down from that, I allowed myself a short time away from the world in
hopes of short-term repair. By the time
Sunday came to deliver some heavy news, I was done. My head was preoccupied with just
everything. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">This wonderful new friend I had the hope of knowing and
spending time with had received news that he was being transferred way to the
other side of the country. He is a
military man, and our talks had been engaging on so many levels. We both shared a love of comedy, of theatre,
and long, frank conversations. Roger is
my best companion, but we all need to have our independence and outer
influences. Having lost so many of my
closest friends, I’d been craving someone to come along with whom I could just </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">be.</span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
It is rare to find someone who demands nothing, wants everything, and
will never ask for anything I’m not ready to give. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">In telling me that he had to leave, and understanding its
impact on someone like myself, he’s shown patience and kept me smiling through
the sadness. He spoke of his self-obligation
to do what he needed to do, but the effect it’s kept on his personal life and
the love he’s had to leave behind. “This
is the life I lead. It is what it is.” I heard in his voice the same notes of
loneliness that I often read in my own words.
It’s given me much to think about and has opened up a lot that’s been
suppressed for some time. This
connection has taken me to a place I need to return to, but it is a painful
place. It is a stark reminder, however,
that it’s okay to be afraid of life sometimes, but we must march forward and
feel anything that we need to feel in every moment that we have. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Pete kept telling me that if he’d known he would be
receiving these orders, he would not have initiated this friendship, based upon
what of me he knows. In that, I would have
missed out on this profoundly lyrical life moment, and the rarity of being understood. I don’t know how adept I’ve become at any
kind of loss, because I freewheel between detachment and stabbings of hurt, but
I’m going to feel this one. I'm slowly learning, though, the difference between death and distance. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Songs are meant to be sung; sometimes in our heads when we
can’t find the voice to sing out loud.
They surround us like clouds in a sky.
Every once in a blue moon, I have the fortune of reigning one in. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">He said “I bet you got a
boyfriend but I don’t care, I got no one to send a letter to. Would you mind if I sent one back here to you…?”</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></i></div>
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Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-42992111463732180602016-05-21T20:43:00.003-07:002016-08-27T22:58:21.902-07:00Sincerity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/j4Bf6eQ_vbc/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/j4Bf6eQ_vbc?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></i>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">I’m a walking cliché even when I’m
soaked in sincerity… the truth about the truth is it isn’t going anywhere</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I always mark the greatness of a road trip by the degree of voice
I have left by the time I arrive home. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It used to be I never hit the streets without risk of losing
my voice. Car concerts have been a
staple of mine beginning with my mom, continuing with my girlfriends and then
it became a private show between me my pretty Firebird. Mom’s been gone for thirty years now, my
girlfriends are distant and the buzz of my little red sportster isn’t
quite the same as the low rumble that once covered up my way off-key performances. Change has never been easy for me because it’s
a cover song for letting go. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’ve been carrying a lot for an awful long time, and the
road was always a good place to let it all drop when I needed to. I could release just enough to keep holding
on. It all began to pile on until the
hills became mountains, and I was speeding downward so fast it was like my
brake line had been cut. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Then I slammed into a wall.
Sometimes we walk away from that, and sometimes we wish we didn’t. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Tomorrow I’ll be saying goodbye to yet another friend. The older I become, the lonelier life
gets. The last three years have been
blurred by tragedy, abandonment, solitude and more reflection than a wishing
pond. When the darkness became real, I
had to drag myself through every single day.
It was of no help that many of those days included moving on and
refusing to let go. I resented the endless
“celebrations of life” because their lives are over but mine isn’t. Everyone now wants to pretty up a funeral but
it doesn’t take the sadness away, does it?
</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Everyone has heard “if you love someone, set them free…” but
setting them free was giving up and I haven’t ever been very good at that. Funny for a girl who lacks follow
through. However, if there’s one thing I
have needed to take away from the misery, it is that letting go is how we free
ourselves to move forward. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The real fear comes in others giving up on me. Sometimes they don’t die; sometimes they just
walk away. “When you see yourself
thinking of me, of us, years from now … say you see me on the street somewhere,
or remember the moments we’ve shared, will you think of us and smile?” I was
asked this one blazing summer day. There
were no clouds to protect me, no rain to mask my tears, and nobody to save my broken
heart. I couldn’t answer because people
who can’t remember the past lose their ability to see the future. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’ve been trying these past few weeks to regain my
compassion, my familiar place because, you see, I’d been letting go. It’s the </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">be
careful what you ask for </span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri";">syndrome; when we ask for peace, it can come in
ways we may not want. I needed to heal,
so I tried to shut out all of the noise.
In essence, I needed to lose the person I had become. In that, I have lost time, and thoughts or
stories that should have been written only now I can’t remember them. They’ve disappeared to that place that doesn’t
have a name but lives inside of us all.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I recently asked that love if sad smiles counted in my
memory of us. “Well, no.” came his
more-logical-than-me reply. “Sad smiles
are still sad.” </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">In the search for my not so distant self, I felt like I was
driving fast but not getting too far. I’ve
replaced the sadness with a numbing static.
Buckle up, get down to business, and rely only on myself. Limits, labels and roadmaps have never really
been my thing so trying to put myself on an advised course hasn’t taken me as
far as anyone thought it should. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I found that when I stopped talking about the things that
nobody wanted to hear, I didn’t like myself so much. I suddenly had become boring, ordinary, as
though I’ve given in to the demands of others to be who I am never going to
be. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">We can wish for peace, but we need to risk sacrifice in
return. We can’t ever have anything
without losing something. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Last week, I went for a drive. For the first time since I can’t remember
when, I gave every song everything I had in me.
When I arrived home late that night, my voice was exhausted. A song will always have the power to soothe
or stab me, just as any friend does. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Hope is what feeds the peace inside. It doesn’t need to be grandiose, over the top
or floating on a rainbow. In letting go,
sometimes the road brings us back together but to a new place. Sometimes we can revisit the places we left
behind but see it in a new way, begin a new journey from the same starting
point. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">In every goodbye, there comes a hello; sometimes in a familiar
voice. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Yesterday, I watched this movie play out on a big screen,
and at the end the redheaded woman stood at the ocean in the setting sun,
embracing the rugged older man and as they gazed upon each other, I felt the
tug of a memory, and I smiled. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Sometimes you get what you
steal. Sometimes you see things for real
and sometimes sincerity feels like you’re lying… </span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">© May 21, 2016</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Lyrics: </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Sincerity </span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri";">/ <a href="http://www.miggsmusic.com/" target="_blank">Miggs</a></span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-11073563156147196582015-09-02T18:17:00.000-07:002015-09-10T18:07:57.439-07:00Footprints On a Ledge<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Take
your memories when you go, but leave no footprint behind.<o:p></o:p></i></blockquote>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">
</i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Take a walk with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m not a hiker, actually.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Nor am I a biker, a wanderer, or an adventurist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You won’t find me out in the woods, unless it’s
hugging fast to a curve along the paved road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I stumble enough through life, despite my destined path, to go taking a
header into a cold river in the middle of nowhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will live vicariously through the minds of
Cheryl Strayed and Bill Bryson, hikers of two famous trails on opposite ends of
our America.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Even when I was young, the only need I ever had to go far
from here was because home was a place I was afraid to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 44 years, I have stayed because like any
other dysfunction, home is what I know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fear
and sadness and anger are familiar rooms to lock myself away in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sun is a cloud that darkens my every
step, causing me to return until I can feel safe again in the moon’s light.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Safety, like happiness, is a fleeting fall of rain; I know
that it exists, enough to keep moving forward in search of it, but the canyons
in between are hard to navigate without the proper gear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Things like strength, courage, and motivation
are in short supply.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve been using
them instinctively, not keeping track of my inventory, and the problem I’m
finding is having no idea where I am on my map.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>These resources haven’t only been a part of my own survival, but I’ve
been foolish enough to share them along the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Perhaps I’ve given away too much.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Somehow I have fallen down onto a ledge, and I don’t know
how to climb back from it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is
further to fall, which isn’t abating my fear of heights any.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What’s happened is that I let myself be
pushed here. I have let people push me further and further until my confidence
gave way like sliding rocks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I’m
stranded and either too blind to see the hands reaching out to me or delusional
enough to believe they exist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We’re wandering now, and I’m not supposed to do that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m supposed to stay focused, eye on the mountain
peak, and all that crap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They say to
name my emotions, like bread crumbs to leave behind as proof that I made a
journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">How can I leave no footprint behind me when I need proof
that I have lived?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The better question is who am I proving myself to?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i><br />
<div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
nearest star is 4.5 light years away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That’s 26 trillion miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are
more galaxies in the universe than there are grains of sand on the earth.<o:p></o:p></i></blockquote>
</div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">
</i><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
That’s pretty big.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i><br />
<div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">And
we are very small.<o:p></o:p></i></blockquote>
</div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">
</i><br />
<div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I feel as though I’ve traveled 26 trillion miles, and have
collected many stars along the way like stones in my pocket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some have lit the path ahead, many have
burned to the touch but I held them tightly anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Silly me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The thing is, with all of those stars inside of me, I am not so
small.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My soul strives to be bigger than
that which contains it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This isn’t what I set about writing today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to exorcise my anger, to let the
wind take it from me, but when I began to scribble one word after another, it
wasn’t the footprint I wanted to leave behind today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I do want to prove to myself that I have
lived, because this day will become forgotten like all of the others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will remain, however, a lost letter unless
I figure out how to rescue myself from this ledge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What I think is so intimidating about climbing mountains is
that we’re only supposed to find satisfaction when we reach the top, when we
stand with arms outstretched to a blue sky and proclaim victory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t know why I have to take on every day as if it were a
mountain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This cliff, too, is like home to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s what I know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today I am tired, but tomorrow perhaps I will
take hold of my fear and sadness and anger and I will tie them together with
knots of strength, courage and motivation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If I let it be known that I was here, then maybe the next
person who tumbles onto the same ledge will know they weren’t the only one who
fell along the way.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We
didn’t even get to Mount Katahdin.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Another mountain, Bill?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How many
do you need to see?<o:p></o:p></blockquote>
</blockquote>
</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">© September 2, 2015</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Quotes:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Walk In the Woods / Bill Bryce<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-81507145479181193262015-07-15T19:15:00.002-07:002015-07-15T19:15:40.710-07:00Lost Stars
<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b> </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">… but are we all lost stars
trying to light up the dark?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s like I’m in denial that I’m never going to see him
again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then it’s a thunderous boom; <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m never going to see him again.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anthony was a candle in the window to much of
my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What others avoided seeing, he
never ran from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, he came with
his hand reaching outward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Always.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today I have lost one of the greater loves of my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anthony was a light that guided me through
the darkness I’ve become so familiar with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He knows things that no other soul ever has.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In all of that knowledge, there wasn’t an
ounce of judgment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We met over two decades ago, when I was dating a rabid
football fan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I despise football, but
had a bet going just to poke fun at this guy’s amped up rant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I called in repeatedly to the local radio
station asking for the score.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally
came “I have to know… why don’t you just check the tv?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t have one at the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the end came, and the DJ asked why I was
so interested for someone who hated the sport, I explained that a dinner was at
stake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His reply; “Girl, if this were a
couple of points difference, I’d say you win a Big Mac.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it were even a ten point spread, he should
buy you a dinner at Denny’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But with
this score, brother oughta be flying you to Milan for dinner with breakfast in
Paris!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was a year later that we actually met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I won a contest to be a DJ for a day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anthony was the hosting jock, and I carried
my nerves on my sleeve when I walked into the studio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t realize it was the same guy until
months later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He gave me a quick
tutorial of the mechanics, and then switched on the microphone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew it was my voice, but I never figured
out how I managed to speak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I
did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A couple of hours in, me still
shaking in my heels, someone called in requesting a song from a daughter to her
father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I began to rattle off all the
fitting titles I knew and he stared at me, eyes wide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Twenty years after that night, he said it
only confirmed what he saw when I spoke my first words; “You were a
natural.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I watched it, and everybody
heard it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anthony encouraged me to follow that dream, and I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like a butterfly who at last believed she had
wings, I fell in love with the power of reaching people through music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of stirring the same feelings I found in the
notes of a song.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a quietly
turbulent time in my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was the
wallpaper that nobody noticed in a full room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Many midnights I walked from the pizza place I worked at to the station,
spent hours at his side or in a production room somewhere writing bad poetry
about the lovesickness I was beginning to feel toward this tall, vivacious man
as he bounced off of the walls, sometimes literally, making up silly words to
songs he played – and he just happened to be married.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would give me rides home across town in
his beat up van but never let on if he knew of my schoolgirl feelings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He instead gave me wings, and as I flew he
migrated away when the station was sold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was sixteen years later that we reconnected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anthony was no longer married, but I
was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had gone into ministry, and I
saw the natural fit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We met, and we
reminisced about the industry and then I asked a question that had burning
inside of me for half of my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Christians
claim there is a peace at the end, that you go into God’s kingdom rejoicing in
this Heaven that was promised.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where was
that peace when my mother died?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anthony
didn’t try to sell me the Bible, he simply looked at me with his kind brown
eyes, and took my pale hand in his dark ones, and said “There is no proof.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s why it’s called faith.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He was the only person I’ve ever allowed to talk to me about
God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He accepted that we didn’t share
beliefs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over egg rolls or pancakes or
as he snuck a shrimp from my plate, I often said “You know the Bible is just a
work of fiction created by man, right?” just to see the fire in his eyes as he
launched into a sermon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wasn’t
correcting me, he was simply being Anthony.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was a believer in Anthony.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And he was a believer in me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was just beginning to find myself as a writer, and again he reached
out his hand as I took each step.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
didn’t pull me along, rather he gave me balance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I trusted him when he said my courage was
contagious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then one day Anthony had cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Everything changed, and I was afraid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he began his descent, I began to slip
away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Self defense; by now I should be a
martial arts master.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even in the distance
between our visits, I sent random texts of “I love you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be strong, but you don’t need to be with
me.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I
will play that card one day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love you
too.”</i></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was one night at 3am, when I often sought him out to calm
my fears as Roger and the whole rest of the world was asleep, thoughts gone
unspoken for so many years fell out between us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Now’s a good time for confession.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A girl shouldn’t be left to wonder all of her life.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“We
were good not to kiss and tell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you
remember correctly, my wife was already thinking I was having an affair with
you.”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You never wanted me…” I
remembered the girlish verses I’d scribbled on heart-decorated notepads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“That you
noticed.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>One month later, he is gone.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We’d never once kissed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It occurs to me today in his dementia that he’d imagined we had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find comfort in that, even if
fleeting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An unrequited love, not so
unseen after all but instead a butterfly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Our friendship had wings.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t know now who I’m going to reach out to in the middle
of the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s the biggest
loss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the hugs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The world seems lonelier after just one day
without Anthony in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went about my
day as any other Wednesday, there’s just one less person to tell about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One very important person.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There is no moral to this fable, no lesson to teach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No feeling thankful that he is out of pain
because I’m selfish, and I want him back here on this Earth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is just me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Incredibly, irreparably sad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">God, tell us the reason youth is
wasted on the young.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s hunting
season, and the lambs are on the run…</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span></i> </div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></i> </div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">© Kymberlie Ingalls, July 16<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> 2014<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>*<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Lyrics:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lost Stars / </i>Adam Levine</span></div>
Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-59436415900991479852015-04-29T20:05:00.001-07:002015-04-29T20:05:34.594-07:00Read All About It<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">You’ve got the words to change a nation, but you’re biting your tongue. If no one ever hears it, how we gonna learn your song?</i></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I wonder if people gave Socrates such shit for his philosophies. </span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Someone recently said to me he didn’t understand why anyone would want to blend, to be like everyone else. ‘Sheeple’ was the term Loren used. I smiled as I pointed out the irony in someone beating his chest as ‘different.’ He sure was blending into the antiestablishment crowd with the trendy term. Then I tried to explain that for those of us who stand outside of the crowd, it’s not always easy. Not everyone wants to be the circus freak. </span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Not all of us have the choice.</span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It’s like any other disfigurement; we either hide away from the world or we deal with it, but it’s a lonely life. He chided me for my “pessimism,” as if it were a soap he could use to scrub his hands clean as he walked away. He’d wanted instant intimacy – not the kind found between the sheets but the real kind that draws two minds together, because he found me “interesting.” He couldn’t understand that I need to reach out to others because I’m so tired of the masturbation of my own mind. </span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Examination of a life is what makes it worth living. Otherwise, we walk blindly through with no regard for the days we have lived. I refuse to leave that legacy behind me. I love fiercely and trust slowly. After only a brief effort at a friendship, Loren declared that “it shouldn’t be a challenge, not right from the beginning. We just have different philosophies of life. When I like someone, I unguard myself immediately.” Him, Optimist. Me, Socrates. If I’d turned away every challenge I’d ever seen in a person, I would have missed out on some of the most obscenely wondrous experiences. </span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I saw this movie today, <i>True Story.</i> A man is accused of killing his family, and when asked by a reporter if he did it he replied “Sometimes you have to accept the way you look to others to protect what’s more important. Sometimes the truth isn’t believable. That doesn’t mean it’s not true.” People see me as this stubborn walnut that they need to crack, thinking they’ll find something magical inside. Walnuts are the most complex nut there is. Look inside one sometime, see how entwined everything is. </span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">That’s me, the nutty philosopher. </span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">If Loren needs to see me as uncrackable so that he can move on, I get that. It doesn’t change who I am at my core, but trying to find the heart of that can wear a girl out. It’s like the reporter said in return; “I got so wrapped up in trying to tell a great story that I lost sight of my bigger obligation – the truth.”</span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">As I sit in this restaurant with my passion-flavored iced tea, trying to write this meaning of life and eavesdropping on three elderly ladies with their happy hour martinis at the next table over, Irene stopped by to take my plate.</span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“How’re things?” I asked.</span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“Things are good! I feel like I’m ready to take on the world” Her smile is always bright and fruity, like sweet strawberries against her long, youthful dark hair. It’s the brown eyes that show her irrepressible spirit. </span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“How do you plan to do that?” </span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“First, I’ll stop crying.”</span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“What is making you cry?” </span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“My boyfriend and I went through a break up, and I felt like I was being so oppressed, and now I just feel liberated! I don’t know if that’s the right way to feel or not.”</span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“It’s right if it’s how you feel. And I totally get it. I’m tackling that myself today, actually.”</span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“Then let’s topple the world together.”</span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I have thought a lot today about the friendships in my life. Loren had said “I guess I prefer to keep my world small and simple. A small crowd of people.” I never really thought about how big my own universe was until I’d lost so many people in it, but as I look around and see the large crowd still standing, I see my examined life and its rewards. </span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">As Irene halted at my table again, she eyed my very large, frosty strawberry milkshake that had just arrived. “That looks like the perfect way to tackle the world. Are you going to take on that whole thing?” she said with a gleam in her smile. </span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“I’m going to try.” </span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“Do it! Start with that whipped cream. And you might want to get to that cherry before it goes rolling off.”</span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I don’t wake up every morning with the hope for a day full of roses and bluebirds. I prefer to wait until the sun is settling into its hills to see what the day has brought. Sometimes it begins with a goodbye, and sometimes it ends with a sweet cherry. Whatever the in betweens are, they are mine to write down before I forget the flavor of them. </span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">That is my truth. <i>My</i> story. </span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">You’ve got a heart as loud as lions, so why let your voice be tamed? Put it in all of the papers, they can read all about it, read all about it…<o:p></o:p></i></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><i><o:p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </o:p></i></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><i><o:p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </o:p></i></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">© April 29, 2015</span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Lyrics: <i>Read All About It / </i>Emile Sande</span></div></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-60865950828306685162014-12-12T02:30:00.001-08:002014-12-12T02:30:42.431-08:00Finding Santa<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span class="uficommentbody"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #141823; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;"></span></i></span> </div>
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<span class="uficommentbody"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #141823; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;">You don’t wanna be bamboozled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You don’t wanna be led down the primrose path.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You don’t wanna be conned or duped, have the wool pulled over your eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hoodwinked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You don’t wanna be taken for a ride, railroaded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seeing is believing.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cxCkIlBvF-s" target="_blank">Am I right</a>? <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have absolutely no sense of direction, and it doesn’t help that Lola, my GPS, has a wicked case of dementia setting in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Left turns where there are none, straight ahead when there isn’t a road to cross.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like us all, age has set in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lola isn’t immune just because she’s a machine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think that Santa is having a fling with Lola, because he’s lost his way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Or maybe it’s that I have lost mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems to be more difficult to uncover the spirit of Christmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find myself digging in furry red stockings, sifting through the embers in the hearth, reaching beyond the tinsel and glittering lights to see if there’s something hidden in the branches of my tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something that will bring me healing for the year that leads up to the most magical night; Christmas Eve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I’ve been finding is Santa’s other boot – the one that falls out of the sleigh to kick me in the head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Every December, I spend countless hours using my reflections to seek understanding of where my life has brought me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A year ago, I was preparing for <a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2013/12/do-they-know-its-christmas.html" target="_blank">an ending</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To my life?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still don’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To a <a href="http://www.lulu.com/kymberlieingalls" target="_blank">chapter</a>?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t know that either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like the countdown on New Year’s Eve that dictates we take stock of our lives, that’s just what I’ve been doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trying to make each day one that if it were my last, I’d be okay with it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve done well with the bigger picture, but the small setbacks often get in the way of feeling accomplished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve struggled in trying to find ways to deal with my losses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There have been many falling out of my life at an alarming pace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I now get how a bowling pin feels, set up just to be knocked right over again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then last week I listened to one of my oldest friends cry over the loss of her sister.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through her, I could feel grief – so why can’t I feel it on my own?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So many expectations are put upon us from others, it becomes problematic to justify our own timelines, our own depths.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Losing a sister is worse than losing a friend or an arm’s-length relative, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Except that family is where we make it.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZUGm5NuZtjvbgLV5oCLozxhcIwGXUbKKISZDBDxK019ae0TCt-z4mMt7-mBfwhxygCINa9eiC0byB2sLDB8LX59k027xkIYUWFGSDUoo4oDjFT_m147OzizLOCdm00BXxUSxPcxOfDI/s1600/Polar+Express+-+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZUGm5NuZtjvbgLV5oCLozxhcIwGXUbKKISZDBDxK019ae0TCt-z4mMt7-mBfwhxygCINa9eiC0byB2sLDB8LX59k027xkIYUWFGSDUoo4oDjFT_m147OzizLOCdm00BXxUSxPcxOfDI/s1600/Polar+Express+-+1.jpg" height="140" width="320" /></a><span class="uficommentbody"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">At one time most of my friends could hear the bell, but as years passed it fell silent for all of them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They could no longer hear its sweet sound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though I've grown old the bell still rings for me, as it does for all who truly believe. </span></i></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We’re all aging, and as we do, Santa becomes more distant in our hearts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We no longer carry the hope that goodwill comes wrapped in a ribbon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We watch the people in our lives wither and die, and it’s harder to refill them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If Dasher fell out into the sky one night, could he be so easily replaced?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sadness settles in like the winter snow, and the ringing of the spirit goes unheard more than before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We lose faith more easily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Life becomes a journey on a train, destination unknown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every year now, I’m wondering if it will be my last ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The gifts that arrive carry more weight, because the lessons included are heavier with each passing season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Live life to the fullest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Look for the rainbows in the rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Always appreciate our loved ones, we don’t know when they’ll be gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Just remember, the true spirit of Christmas lies in your heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>All of the platitudes that lose their luster in the January quiet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I like to look inward on the traditions of others in my loneliest moments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="http://www.thebradwheelis.com/" target="_blank">Brad</a>, a friend I “met” this year on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/kymberlie89" target="_blank">Facebook</a>, posts photos of his brilliantly colored ornaments, and I messaged him the other day that I was living vicariously through him because with our two rambunctious felines, we no longer get to hang such things on our tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He told me about his holiday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I was not a happy kid growing up, but I loved the holidays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everybody was a little nicer, and it was a time I could dream about what awesome gifts I might get or what my future would be like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d leave my tree up all year round if it wouldn’t make me the eccentric goofball in the neighborhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It symbolizes peace for me in an otherwise chaotic world.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Charity-D-J-Thomason-ebook/dp/B00GT0FKSC/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1418378221&sr=8-1&keywords=dj+thomason" target="_blank">Danny</a> just told me about a new ritual he is considering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My wife and I want to try to start a new Christmas tradition:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Forgiveness Friday. It will be the week after Black Friday every year. It is a day to forgive anyone you are angry with, so you can start the Christmas season with an open heart.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes, Danny, there is a Santa Claus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">He <a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/opinion/yes-virginia-article-1.1556978" target="_blank">exists</a> as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Whenever Lola throws a wrong turn at me, I can look to the star at the top of my tree to guide me home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In it, I see how others shine, and it fills the dark spaces behind the lights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One cliché remains true; home is in our hearts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And our hearts are filled with the love we open them to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The thing about trains is.. it doesn’t matter where they’re going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What matters is deciding to get on.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">© Kymberlie Ingalls, December 3, 2014</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Quotes:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Polar Express<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-46694632181486244292013-12-24T01:49:00.001-08:002013-12-24T01:54:45.108-08:00Do They Know It's Christmas?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">There's a world
outside your window, and it's filled with dread and fear where the only water
flowing is the bitter sting of tears... <o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Used to be I would anticipate the
holidays despite the family heartaches because I could always find something to
take root and make <a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2011/12/bells-of-christmas.html" target="_blank">Christmas</a> shine just a little bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Traditions were essential; the first song was
chosen carefully - the theme to sum up the year - and played the morning after
the turkey carving, the tree was pulled out for weeks of dream gazing, lights
were strung outside to glow into a winter's night, and overflowing baskets of
warm cookies were to be given away.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To quote the good witch, it's fun to be popular.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, the music becomes tired long
before the season has begun, the tree is a hassle, my husband grows more tired
each year of climbing on the roof to string up cheap lights that rarely work,
and the cookie list became too long to keep up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHErzkw4thRF_-t3cVZ8ltsXqh6uOWo9A053OWAT3LGEvUcyLjeBv8STR7ljxj5ZX3aCRu-p5-RTv3bn6LdMAb8xeQrzL-SCdINLxmhdCdYksR-ZvxnFimPtXyH_DevlHveyeugI9QNFw/s1600/Christmas.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHErzkw4thRF_-t3cVZ8ltsXqh6uOWo9A053OWAT3LGEvUcyLjeBv8STR7ljxj5ZX3aCRu-p5-RTv3bn6LdMAb8xeQrzL-SCdINLxmhdCdYksR-ZvxnFimPtXyH_DevlHveyeugI9QNFw/s320/Christmas.JPG" width="203" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Some things remain. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SwOTQIli4-I" target="_blank">Theme songs</a>,
a dream has a <a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2010/12/when-my-heart-finds-christmas.html" target="_blank">possibility</a>, occasional treats from the oven, an anonymous glass
of wine at crowded bar for someone who seems blue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The gathering of toys for <a href="http://toysfortots.org/" target="_blank">kids in need</a> of a
Christmas is what grounds me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone
asked why, when I'm so not a kid person, this was such an important cause to
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I began to reflect on <a href="http://www.songsiveheard.com/2012/04/hey-its-mr-dick-clark.html" target="_blank">my mom</a>, and
how she worked to put her special touch on holidays she knew were more
difficult for us than every other day of the year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps it's in her memory I want others to
have their moments as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I'm not a religious person, so is
it hypocritical that I am accepting of gifts and indulge in the name of
Christmas when I don't believe in the cause?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As the year comes to a close, I focus on <a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2013/03/bandita.html" target="_blank">endings</a>, beginnings, the people
who have <a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2013/02/100-years.html" target="_blank">passed through</a> and those who've chosen to stay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's about taking inventory of my world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Through my work, I communicate
with <a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2011/10/kites.html" target="_blank">strangers</a> on the internet every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I talk with them, hear their stories, and learn about lives other than
my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are snowflakes - they may
look the same on the surface, but each is different from the next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Reaching out is what keeps me connected in my
solitude.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Writing can be a lonely
journey; many of our friends are imaginary, our worlds are painted inside of
our own minds, and our words are carefully constructed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I write about my life to prove its
authenticity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These strangers contradict
my own views and show me our universal truths as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without them, I would be one snowflake
falling.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One tiny invisible snowflake.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Someone said to me in a letter
today, "<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> I suppose if Christmas
was a football, I'd be <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MmFfTJlIvhQ" target="_blank">Charlie Brown</a> feeling perennial hope snatched away at
the last moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I seem to be near
another nadir, looking for hope. I have a small window but haven't found
the door."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was ensconced in a
long letter describing the meaning of his Christmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Once in awhile something stands
out demanding my attention, be it a song, a whisper, or a word and suddenly
things will make sense for just that moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Another letter read, "<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> If
you are looking for someone worse off than you to brighten up your holidays
then I can show you what Christmas is all about."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is without a home, working two jobs and
trying to bring his family to live under one roof again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>" So this year for Christmas I'm all
alone living in my car trying to figure out where to park and sleep each
night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a full-time job during the
day and part-time job 5 nights a week with working an average of 75 hours
weekly. I'm one of the lucky homeless." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There's a world outside my window.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Snowflakes adrift all around me, too many of us lost in the storm but in
the midst of my own blizzard are people showing me their faithful
longings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How could<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I not see the divinity in that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Another letter came to me in the mail today, written in hand by an old
friend who's become new again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span class="usercontent">Jim wrote: "You're living out Gandhi's vision when he
challenged us to 'be the change you wish to see in the world.'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thanks for bringing the real meaning of
Christmas to so many and for allowing others to share in the
endeavor."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span class="usercontent"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">With many friends around me to join hands, I am not invisible. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is in the quiet winter evenings that I read these letters, with
colorful lights like a sky full of stars dotting the tree in the corner casting
their light on my husband's face as he sleeps with our two furry <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>girls snuggled in tight against him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Angels may be out there <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FcMgt3JQDxw" target="_blank">getting their wings</a>,
kids might be praying for that <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YleZvTSDC6s" target="_blank">one toy</a> they can't live without, and malls are
filled with a false joy reflected from the grand silver and gold ornaments
hanging above the weary shoppers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Across
the globe, people are <a href="http://www.actionagainsthunger.org/impact/nutrition?gclid=CLjfkL7JyLsCFaE9Qgodwx4Arw" target="_blank">starving</a>, and not just for food to nourish them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They don't know a Christmas like we do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We <a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2010/12/we-shall-be-free.html" target="_blank">give from afar</a> to brighten our holidays, thinking it will absolve our
sins in the year behind us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We drop our
needs into stockings hung above a fire where they beg for warmth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our expectations for new beginnings are
wrapped up in glittery ribbons and searched for at the bottom of a sparkling
glass of liquid hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where will you find
your Christmas moment?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Look around, feel the snow fall on your skin, let the iciness melt as it
touches you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And feed the world.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">In our world of
plenty, we can spread a smile of joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Throw your arms around the world at Christmastime... </span></i></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></i> </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">(c)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kymberlie Ingalls<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>-<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>December 3rd, 2013<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Lyrics:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Do They Know It's Christmas?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>/<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Band Aid</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-40449757938459177062013-11-28T04:22:00.000-08:002013-11-28T05:33:27.167-08:00For Just A Moment<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Time goes on, people touch and
they're gone.... <o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGSHSPpBonmmkPgkp-i1c0IR4FIxHYQIoMdefhKUEnfMokQNvgPlBd_6jhIZyjw_hxEUljpe7zcrNfD7WwhhTDmeJG6PKIwDHsegZcLFIq9mX0RIf6S30XyANqWkt1NpdteeXNm88aP0Q/s1600/Hole+In+The+Sky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGSHSPpBonmmkPgkp-i1c0IR4FIxHYQIoMdefhKUEnfMokQNvgPlBd_6jhIZyjw_hxEUljpe7zcrNfD7WwhhTDmeJG6PKIwDHsegZcLFIq9mX0RIf6S30XyANqWkt1NpdteeXNm88aP0Q/s320/Hole+In+The+Sky.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There was a hole in the sky tonight, as though a portal into
another time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was golden rimmed in the
hazy grey, much as we see the past in the midst of what lies in front of
us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fall tones seem to have faded
already as the blues settle in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was a winter day at the end of last year when a friend
said to me "Let's see what the new year brings" after we'd shared a
glorious morning that promised a horizon of good things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a moment, a smile, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that flashed, as an icicle does in the rising
sun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Icicles that fall and pierce the skin, leaving a thin, cold
trail of blood.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What followed was a year of loss, confusion, and searching
for answers that had no questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Friends have been lost, some <a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2013/02/100-years.html" target="_blank">buried</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have <a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2013/03/bandita.html" target="_blank">crashed</a>, and been burned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
scales have tipped and I've now forgotten more than I remember, but I remember
that day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was something to hold on
to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What memories have survived now decorate a year gone by,
like colorful ornaments; blue eyes here, brown there, green peering from around
the corner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why is it the eyes I
remember?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I work so hard to forget my
own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The summer came and went, a season of soaring highs and devastating
lows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My year continued to be one of
rediscovery, recovery, and introspect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
find it terribly disconcerting that so many chase my hidden smiles, then like a
child who soon loses interest in a coveted Christmas toy, they leave me behind
and take that supposedly disarming smile with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My husband tells me I always take on too much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Too many tasks, too many people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In doing so, I am bound for failure too
often.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As people continually walk away,
it is apparent that I am the common denominator.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I keep reaching out until it seems I find
someone who will want to stay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I've been accused of being ungrateful, insecure, psychologically
unsound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am held up in comparison to
the lives of others by people who don't understand that I'm not living anyone
else's life; I'm trying to survive my own until it's time for me to lay down
and rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In doing so, I don't rely on
holidays to be thankful for people who touch my life, even if briefly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could be angry at those who go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where is the good in that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An icy memory may stab the heart on a lonely
night, but when it melts, it becomes water that nourishes.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There is one who brings more smile than hurt, more safety
than fear, and has not left me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don't
want to believe it's because I've crippled him, thereby keeping him at my side
by default.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead I will fall asleep
choosing to think he wants to be lying next to me, his hand resting on my back
because it comforts him as much as it does me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Because of this love, I am able to give to others the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am also constantly needing to test its strength.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Let the holidays come and do their worst as I tremble in
anxiety and wander the stores trying to look like I hadn't been crying for an
hour at the thought of sitting at a cold family table wondering why I can't
have the happy Thanksgiving so many wished for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What pulls me back to face another day is the
realization that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">so many </i>shared their
warmth with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None tied by blood, but
who hold me in higher regard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am <a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2011/11/talking-turkey.html" target="_blank">thankful</a> for this; the kindness of doctors who keep me
in medication that can't be afforded despite my disinterest in their <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>life-prolonging effects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The efforts of those who seek my smiles even
when they abscond with them soon after.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The company of those who wish to give it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> That my work is now being recognized by many. </span>The knowledge that what I put forth into the
world is what will be returned to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
a goodbye doesn't mean forever.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And the ability to see the rainbow that glimmers inside of
an icicle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Someday when we reminisce we'll
say there wasn't too much we missed, and through the tears we'll smile when we
recall we had it all, for just a moment....<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></i></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></i></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">(c) Kymberlie Ingalls, November 28th, 2013</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lyrics:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">For Just A Moment /<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>David Foster</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-9910156980394055342013-03-22T01:20:00.001-07:002013-03-22T01:20:20.425-07:00Bandita
<span style="font-family: Soutane;">Today started off pretty okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the end of a decent week that had seen
beach time and two road trips with my husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Got to sleep in this morning, just enough to better my mood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided to go haunt one of my usual places
for a bite to eat and keep my friend Josh company while he slaved away serving
tables.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The weekend ahead wasn’t looking
too bad other than a family dinner that always has the potential to go
awry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Soutane;">And there was rain on the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gray clouds rolling in, the scent of fresh
rainwater misting the air.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Soutane;">I was driving downtown, headed for the
freeway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moving over to my right, there
was an older SUV several lengths behind me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He apparently took offense at my lane change, moved around to the right
of me and tried to race around to slide back in front of my car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This, of course, did not sit well with me, so
I kept my car at an even pace and refused to let him in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Soutane;">As Judge Judy would say, “That was your mistake,
your stupidity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A sane person would have
let it go.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that’s exactly where she
hits the nail on the head with that little gavel of hers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re all living in this powder keg,
together, and all is not harmonious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Insanity is a much bigger reality today than fifty years ago when “road
rage” was a three year old having a tantrum in the back seat of the Buick.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Soutane;">Sanity is never a claim I’d take to the bank.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Soutane;">A good fight isn’t something I ever go looking for,
but generally won’t back down when it kicks me in the shins either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, when I saw the beefy tattooed arm shaking
at me through the window with an obnoxious flair, my instincts shoved my sanity
out the window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wrong move, because the
chase that ensued put not only my life in danger, but those of the drivers
around us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The blood-boiled haze that
blocked out anyone else on the road blinded me, as I let Bandita perform at her
angriest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Darting and weaving through
the thick traffic, dangerous memories spurred me on until, at 95 mph,
realization that <i>I </i>would likely be at fault for pursuit forced me to let
the driver speed off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Soutane;">Uncaught.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Soutane;">My shimmering emerald Firebird is my shadow, my
machinistic soulmate. Roger, my husband, has felt many regrets at his
matchmaking when he presented her to me upon my thirtieth birthday We’ve grown
up together in the last ten years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s
been rebuilt on three of her four sides, and we’ve nursed each other back to
health after the accidents, each worse than the last.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Soutane;">Bandita was patient as she waited for my fear to
subside and I could slip once more behind her wheel with minimal waves of
panic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seemed she understood why I
needed to abandon her for the safety of our big, intimidating truck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s protective of me to a fault, with
instincts just like my own that won’t let anyone else on the road rev her up
without good reason.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Soutane;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">If you’ve
got a fiery woman, never do her wrong – especially when she’s holding a
matchbook…<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Soutane;">Unresolved anger is a very dangerous thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It can eat away at the soul of a person like
a rust corrodes the strongest of metals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It lies dormant, lingering until someone itches your <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>trigger finger and with no warning, there lie
the jagged pieces in a volcanic mess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Soutane;">It gets so exhausting trying to maneuver around,
like a soldier – always in stealth mode, waiting for the next land mine to trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seems a soldier is always fighting a war that
isn’t theirs, but they pick up their guns and begin a new day anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Soutane;">Five years ago, I nearly lost my husband in a hit
and run accident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A truck came rushing
through the night and plowed right through us, never stopping, never looking
back, never to be seen again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A two
second difference and he would have been torn in bits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I nearly lost my life that evening, and… I
nearly lost my life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Soutane;">I drive through that intersection every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The perfect circle on the faded road haunt me
with its almost artistic dark, rubber stain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Soutane;">Unresolved anger –in Roger’s eyes every time he
sees a champaign colored Toyota truck, his eyes skimming the front end for
damage, quietly because he thinks I don’t see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In my own mind every time someone around me runs through a red
light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Soutane;">And now someone has taken Bandita away from
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My empowering moment of sing-along
at the top of my lungs to songs like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Superwoman
</i>was cut short by the carelessness of another, and the damage is significant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don't think she'll make it this time, and
it's a loss that frightens me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My best
friend, my companion in my strongest moments, who had protected me through five
accidents in as many years, all at the careless hands of others, is on life
support.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Soutane;">She's repairable, but at what cost?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Euthanasia is sometimes more humane.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe she's tired of fighting the war
too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe her anger has subsided where
mine has only grown.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Soutane;">My gas pedal is my trigger, the white lines of the
road and the faint edge of sanity is what keeps my foot from taking aim.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Soutane;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Soutane;">© Kymberlie Ingalls, February 22, 2012<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Updated:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>March 19, 2013<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Soutane;">Lyrics:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Mama’s Broken Heart / Miranda Lambert<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-10440491224734809662013-02-20T16:46:00.000-08:002013-02-27T01:39:32.605-08:00100 Years<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Time goes by,
suddenly you’re wise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another blink of
an eye, the sun is getting high…</span> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">In the five years that I’ve known Byron, he lost almost everything in
a house fire, and for over three years he and his daughter had to shuffle
around from home to home while they rebuilt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He had broken his hip twice, but persisted through rehab and still
managed to show up to class anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rain,
sleet, walker or wheelchair couldn’t keep him away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not bad for a man upwards of 90 years
old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Byron and I were classmates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
my head he was a friend of mine, but I hesitate to say that aloud because the
truth is, I wasn’t a very good friend in return.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outside of writing class and our group lunches
after, I didn’t give much of my time to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In my second year, I got a little braver with my writing, and decided
to begin work on my memoir project.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With
trepidation I wrote about a brief fling I’d had with a 41 year old man when I
was just 19.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This class consisted mainly
of seniors whom I was becoming quite attached to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slowly they’d taken me in as a sort of
surrogate daughter, a feeling I’d been missing for a long time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wrote about this infatuation during my
Denny’s era when I worked the night shift.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I described the staff, and how the cook in the kitchen used to play
Robin Hood and feed us poor workers all sorts of yummy things once the
management went home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I’d begun to
read the story aloud, however, I realized I’d forgotten to edit it and take out
the sex scene.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t graphic, but
considering the audience and my extreme shyness, it just didn’t seem
appropriate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I forged ahead, blushing be
damned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I finished, there was
silence, and I thought <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ooops.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Byron leaned his tall, lanky body forward and looked at me with big
hands clasped together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I braced myself,
as he spoke in his gravelly voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I
used to own a Denny’s in Southern California.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I always wondered where the food was disappearing to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I know!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The ice was broken.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And it thawed completely last year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As class commenced for the new quarter, I knew better than to offer
critiques because I was having a shit day and would end up taking it out on
everyone’s work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keeping quiet in my
little corner, I felt sad because I could see Byron’s mind deteriorating on the
paper before me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Scattered sentences,
repeated paragraphs, his weakened voice lost track of the words, and all around
the room the silence was heavy because nobody wanted to speak the truth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Afterwards, as I wandered slowly to the parking lot, a young man
approached me and motioned to the car where he had just settled Byron into his
seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Mr. Citron would like to speak to
you.” The aide said politely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked
over, trying to muster a smile.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Hi Byron!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked me square
in the eye.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Why didn’t you comment on my story?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Um,” I stammered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m… tired
today, I guess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t say anything
about anyone’s!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“But you didn’t say anything about mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope you wrote some things down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need your help!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was almost a reprimand, but the thing
about Byron was that his scowls and growls were often hiding a smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Next time, Byron, I promise.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
sensed he knew the story was a mess, and was calling me out for not saying so.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A month later, several of us were having lunch after class, and I
asked Byron how he was doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a
blustery November day, he was bundled up in his chair at the Chinese
restaurant, his grumpy demeanor topping my usual dourness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“How ya doing, Byron?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
thought for several seconds before answering, his square jaw moving slowly back
and forth as he rolled his words around in his head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“They said I have bone cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Shooting me up with all kinds of drugs, different treatments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know what for.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a sudden shift, he began to talk about
the weather, and how he could never figure out his damn email.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just sipped my water in silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Last week I learned the end was near for Byron.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Expected, yes, but sadness engulfed me all
the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told my friend Josh who had
waited on us at our last holiday luncheon in December.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Was he the feisty old guy in the
wheelchair?” He laughed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He was cranky,
but he was alright at the end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was
awesome!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yes, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">feisty</i> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>is a word for Byron; at 95 years old he’d
survived his share of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wanted to write a letter to him, but the task before me was
daunting; how to say farewell without saying goodbye?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a smart cookie, and would know if he
was being written off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I pondered,
and in my dilemma I buried my denial.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
I didn’t write the letter, Byron wouldn’t die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He’s a feisty old guy, he’ll hang on, demanding his sugary Cokes and fatty
butter from his caretakers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wasn’t strong enough to visit, and truthfully I wanted to remember
him at a more festive time, with his friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ve sat by one deathbed too many in my lifetime already.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My mind kept floating back to that day at the car, Byron chastising
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember being surprised at his
having noticed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For most of my life, it
was always my outspoken ways that went noticed, and rarely with
admiration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is my silence that goes
unheard, and ignored.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Byron had heard my
silence.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Everyone comes along in a lifetime for a reason.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I needed to be heard when I had nothing to
say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Byron passed away in his sleep this morning, I hope with peace in his
heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another stone laid to rest in my
path.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">There’s still
time for you, time to buy and time to choose. There’s never a wish better than
this when you’ve only got 100 years to live… <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></i></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">© Kymberlie Ingalls, February 12<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>th</sup>, 2013<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Lyrics:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">100 Years<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>/<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Five For Fighting<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span>Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-9880197751395545352012-12-12T02:31:00.001-08:002012-12-12T02:31:24.899-08:00Reading - When My Heart Finds Christmas<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Author Kymberlie Ingalls gives a reading of her essay</span> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><em><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">When My Heart Finds Christmas</span></em></span></div>
<em><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div>
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</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Read original post here:</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: Verdana;"></span> </div>
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<a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2010/12/when-my-heart-finds-christmas.html">http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2010/12/when-my-heart-finds-christmas.html</a></div>
Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-82845817958969877042012-10-02T01:22:00.000-07:002014-12-15T00:08:44.023-08:00Not Pretty Enough<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Am I not pretty enough, is my heart too broken?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do I cry too much, am I too outspoken?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t I make you laugh?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Should I try it harder?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why do you see right through me…?<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">I know I’m not pretty, but am okay with that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a whole lot of things, that just ain’t one of ‘em.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Strangely enough, I get ‘cute’ a lot – but cute in my mind is reserved for puppy dogs and cheerleaders, not dark souls like myself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">It’s said that when a woman reaches a certain age, her beauty flourishes because she has become more confident in herself, something that only comes with miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve definitely done the drive, but all that stares back at me in the rearview mirror are darker eyes and a tired soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">More Wicked Witch than ‘pretty’ little Dorothy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Last week I told my husband my eyes baffled me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re not my mom’s, not my dad’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone said a man could fall into them and never find his way out. Truth be told, I get that a lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a good way to tell when someone is lying to me, because I don't do eye contact – so how would they know?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If our eyes are the windows to what’s inside, I’d rather keep the curtains closed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">Used to be I had great legs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Long, and lean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re still lengthy, but like my waist have grown in size.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My last mini-skirt went out with my 20s and men no longer fantasize about climbing to the golden </span><st1:place><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">Himalayas</span></st1:place><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Ironically, in my big weight loss a few years ago, my chest was first to shrink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No good deed goes unpunished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUZcmc4ItlGtpoHGH8kWnque0IrxL0Ue7O5EfBo6b7CEM363AwkhOxXB-NohqLJQ8Rnx2y_Ure_tJxHsBOrMOk9XJgdl1MP2CdUNd0zYItCIBI43PR3P-HovUHIEjr1ItwMTgiyVnzGcc/s1600/Me+-+7.23.12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUZcmc4ItlGtpoHGH8kWnque0IrxL0Ue7O5EfBo6b7CEM363AwkhOxXB-NohqLJQ8Rnx2y_Ure_tJxHsBOrMOk9XJgdl1MP2CdUNd0zYItCIBI43PR3P-HovUHIEjr1ItwMTgiyVnzGcc/s200/Me+-+7.23.12.jpg" height="200" kea="true" width="150" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Over the years, I’ve asked men what about me attracts them?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The answers have been varied – “sexy,” “sultry,” “there’s a craziness in you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even “vulnerability” has been tossed about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then they throw in the eyes, or the legs or the neurotic mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay, but those are all just pieces.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even a pit bull still has the heart of a dog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Lately I seem to be obsessed with the changing of my Facebook profile photo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s as if I up the odds with quantity, eventually quality’s going to follow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll pose and click and post, putting my needful vanity on display, yet the same face glares back at me; <i>if you can’t be pretty on the inside, you’re wasting your time.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">There it is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can prop up the old girls for an impressive display of cleavage, show off my pretty little painted toenails, try everything to turn my lumps and bumps into curves and contours, but at the end of the day it’s all about the innards, isn’t it?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Finally, I went to the ultimate judge:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Honey, when we first met, I was <i>not </i>like the other women you were dating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why did you want to see me again?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What was it you saw that first night?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">The pause only served to show his sincerity:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You were real.”</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">© Kymberlie Ingalls, </span><st1:date day="2" month="5" year="2012"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">May 2, 2012</span></st1:date><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Lyrics: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Not <span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Pretty Enough / </span></i>Kasey Chambers<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-75663299967543827942012-08-10T19:58:00.000-07:002012-08-11T00:35:34.423-07:00A Fame To Be Reckoned With<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">You ain’t seen the best of me yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Give me time, I’ll make you forget the rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can grab your heart til it breaks…</span></span></span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">August appears to be a month of greatness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Legends have been born and have died in this month that sees the waning of summer descending upon us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Four of our nation’s leaders came along including current President <a href="http://www.barackobama.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Barack Obama</span></a>, while baseball great <a href="http://mickeymantle.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Mickey Mantle</span></a> went to the field of dreams.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">There have been years that I take an annual retreat in August – just an overnighter so that I can be reminded how much I love coming back home to my husband and my two purring baby girls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The economy has made it more difficult to indulge in this luxury, but the waves are calling me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes indulgence is the necessity.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">It’s a time to reflect on my impact in the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Looking around, trying to size up my footprint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So easily are our tracks in the sand washed away in the tides to be forgotten, until we take the next step, leaving another print. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Each word I write is a sandy step.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s my way to plant my foot firmly into the wet grains, but as soon as the waves crash, there’s another clean slate to inscribe.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I’m not a worldly person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not cultural, my little world is very important to only me and it’s a full time job to stay aware of what’s around me, I quite often forget to look up at the stars and remember there are millions of people around the globe staring at those same wish-catchers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Tonight, my dinner was interrupted by my husband’s excitement at a <a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/news/world/earhtlings-nasa-curiosity-captures-photos-mars-surface-article-1.1134010" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">roving</span></a> robot like something or other landing on Mars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t have a clue what was happening, nor do I understand the concept of why it’s such a big deal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, we’ve traveled into space plenty, what makes this one different?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t tell me; like the intricacy that is Star Wars, I’ll never get it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Roger was being silly when I asked him to explain it as he watched a live feed of a cheering NASA – <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s a moment the whole world is excited about, except for Kymberlie.” But… I felt left out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Then, an hour later, I stumbled across a post on the effect of AIDS on our current culture, and I expressed my sadness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Educating others on sexual diseases and encouraging safe sex is something I believe in strongly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VW5-IErNxuM" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Ignorance</span></a> is what’s killing us; of our options, and of the actions of others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I replied with my support of this post, and was surprised to receive this message back, almost as if it came in a bottle from the sea:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You are such an ally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I get that you are aware of a whole lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I see how you stand out in your support.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You inspire me.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Evidence of a footprint.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Legacies find their home in this eighth month, so named for the Roman Emporer <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Augustus" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Augustus</span></a>, because several fortunate events of his life occurred in this time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s been 50 years today, August 5<sup>th</sup>, that <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marilyn_Monroe" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Marilyn Monroe</span></a> was found dead, the same day <a href="http://www.lucy-desi.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Lucille Ball</span></a> was born 101 years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My grandmother and pop legend <a href="http://madonna.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Madonna</span></a> entered the world on August 16<sup>th</sup>, <a href="http://www.elvis.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Elvis Presley</span></a> left it on the same day, some years later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The great voice that was <a href="http://www.songsiveheard.com/2012/02/withering-of-whitney.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Whitney Houston</span></a> graced us on August 9<sup>th</sup>, long before <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OY5pHkTqLHw&feature=fvst" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Jerry Garcia</span></a> went ridin’ that train outward bound, the same day as my own birthday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Yeah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Remember <a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/kymberlie89" target="_blank">my name</a>.</span><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">See, I had a vision, was left in the cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a story that had to be told.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve lived and I’ve gone, it’s not a game, I’ma make sure you remember my name…</span></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">© Kymberlie Ingalls, </span><st1:date day="6" month="8" year="2012"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">August 6, 2012</span></st1:date><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Lyrics:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fame / </i>Irene Cara (1980)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fame / </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span class="small1"><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana;">Naturi Naughton feat. Collins Pennie (2009)</span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-71537079367471973582012-07-28T03:29:00.002-07:002012-07-28T03:49:04.149-07:00I Miss Me<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-size: large;"></span></span></i></div><span style="font-size: large;"></span><i></i><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"></span><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;">It was late, but driving at night always appealed to her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was a night owl, working grave shifts; even on her days off rarely surfaced before the sun was on its downhill slide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She tossed her duffle carelessly in the backseat of her old Nissan wagon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It landed on the heap of soda bottles, paper bags full of clothing and other miscellaneous things a young woman kept handy when she was always trying to escape home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;">This was going to be a different kind of trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a difficult household – just the two of them, and sometimes the older woman’s depression and needs took their toll.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was twenty-five years old, but Grandma treated her like she was still a toddler, despite the dependence on her granddaughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;">The depression ran much deeper than that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Taking it on for both had taken its toll on her, and it was just the icy tip of her mountain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Twenty-five years of falling down that mountain, rolling and tumbling, bruised by every hit she took.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grandma hadn’t been able to save her from that, though it felt as if nobody had ever tried quite hard enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The result being that everyone now bore the brunt of her solid edge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nobody had taken away the abuse, the hate she’d suffered at her stepmother’s hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then came the affair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the last few years she’d been embroiled in a hot-blooded, emotional entanglement with someone she couldn’t be with, couldn’t be without.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d never promised to leave his wife for her – she knew the rules before rolling the dice across her heart. The snake eyes that came up were none but her own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;">The inferno was dying, there was no strength left in her to bring it back to life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She could stand the hurt if he would only love her, but alone, empty of him, her mind melted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Others took her body, one without her permission, but nobody could rescue her heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-size: large;">This was going to be a different kind of trip.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;">Fumes?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pills, or chemicals?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She didn’t have a gun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There wasn’t a determined plan, more just a knowing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She didn’t want to come back, and she had nowhere left to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the car rolled forward, there was no looking back at the house she’d known her entire life, before nobody wanted her and it became her prison.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;">The car seemed to drive its way across town with a mind of its own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She looked at the unlit homes, the neon signs over the darkened buildings for what would be the last time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This town owned her, had cast its curse mercilessly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She felt no pride at this place of her birth, her life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;">Without warning, a tow truck barreled up alongside her, moving into her lane and with no one else to witness it, shoved her car into the curb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wheel snapped violently against her hands as the truck’s red lights cruised away from her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a sharp pain as she let go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The car lifted itself onto the sidewalk before coming back to the gutter with a hard fall and her head landed against the cold window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-size: large;">Everything was quiet.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>It was </i><time hour="3" minute="0"><i>3 a.m.</i></time><i>, and the street was vacant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a moment, she pushed on the door and it creaked open slowly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Falling out of the car, she stumbled to the sidewalk, noting the black tire marks that squiggled across the moonlit gray.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One busted tire rested on the curb with its rim dented heavily, and another was shredded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>She sank to the ground, and she cried</i><i>.</i></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;">“I may have already said this…” It’s a reflexive statement that begins most of my conversations, or is dropped in at some point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the last fifteen years, it’s become a way of a life with memory loss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;">The other day I was having a conversation with someone who was commenting on my hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh, that is such a great story…” and started to tell one of my favorite tales of how I became a redhead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;">“You already told me.” He interrupted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>I did? </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The thought iced across me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But... so I had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He even gave me the details.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had absolutely no recollection of this conversation, and I’ve only known him for a month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;">Many of my friends in their seventies and eighties have sharper minds than I do, and I’m only half that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They laugh and tell me I’m not old enough to have those problems yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Surely I’m exaggerating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-size: large;">I forget things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Big things, little things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lots of things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband loves it, I suspect, because he can use it to his advantage in an argument, and does so often.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But you said…!”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-size: large;">There’s a name for such things – PTSD, DID, MPD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But… I don’t care for labels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s all hints and allegations.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;">Most of my childhood is gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something can be jarred and will fall out of the attic, but for the most part it’s all been boxed up and sealed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A good part of my twenties has been taken away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll read the scant journals that have thankfully survived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it weren’t my name attached to them, I’d wonder who that person was, because it’s not anyone I know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I read archives of conversations I had online or in email, and feel sad for her before realizing.. <i>that’s me.</i></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;">My obsession of begging my family for photos that I try to preserve grows more every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything my husband and I do, I take hundreds of pictures, not wanting to forget our life, but even the images don’t always help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They can tell me what I was wearing, that he still had streaks of color in his hair, but they don’t tell me how I felt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That he tells me every day “I love you” shows me the life we have built, when the rest fades away all too quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;">That tow truck was an eraser, swiping away much of what was scribbled in my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It didn’t just take away the bad things, it stole away the good as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My instincts have had to sharpen themselves on the stone of what is forgotten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;">I’ve also become fixated on writing down as much as I can now, because I’ve trained myself. My words have to paint as much detail as possible. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are what preserve the emotion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;">Entertaining myself has become easier – I can watch an old movie or reread a book because I won’t recall the ending.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am thankful for the social media of today that allows me to express myself, and save it for later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The technology to rebuild my memory for a later time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-size: large;">There’s no recollection or proof that I hit my head that night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Amnesia isn’t always brought on by physical injury.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something broke inside, something was happening that apparently I couldn’t handle anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is what therapy has taught me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The weight of it all simply collapsed upon itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The weight of being me.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;">I’m constantly looking in the windows of my own life, trying to find the door to get in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;">Like a child, I need steady reminders to accomplish the simplest of tasks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I break promises without meaning to – a constant source of disappointment in myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many think I’m not interested enough in their lives to remember a conversation, an event or a favor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It becomes tiresome to repeat themselves, and I get that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But try it from <i>my </i>end sometime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t even get to enjoy being the narcissist I appear to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;">It’s been years now of trying to unlock secrets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know what frightens me more – the burden of what’s stayed with me, or the horror of what was left behind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT";"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-size: large;">“I’ve been all up and down the roads that lead to my old memories but I can’t find the one with all my hopes and dreams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I’ve been looking in my eyes for something I still recognize.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some stranger’s stare is all I see – I miss me, I’m not the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just someone else usin’ my name…”</span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/8wX4HEtnHPM?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">© Kymberlie Ingalls, </span><date day="11" month="3" year="2012"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">March 11, 2012</span></date><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-size: large;">Quote:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Last Unicorn / Peter S. Beagle</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-size: large;">Lyrics: I Miss Me / Brad Cotter</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-size: large;"></span>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><blockquote class="tr_bq"><span style="font-size: large;"></span><i></i><span style="font-size: large;"></span>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-size: large;">“Drown out my dreams!</span></blockquote><blockquote class="tr_bq" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-size: large;">Keep me from remembering whatever wants me to remember it!”</span></div></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-size: large;">* * * * *</span></div>Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-84837449048324987662012-06-19T03:09:00.001-07:002012-07-28T03:04:52.824-07:00Welcome, Stranger... Cheers To You!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/7KtAgAMzaeg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Making your way in the world today takes everything you’ve got.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wouldn’t you like to get away..?</span></span></span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">I want to <a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2011/05/for-sarah.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">run</span></a> away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Well, drive away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want the pavement to whisper in my ear, want to feel the curves of the road hug my shivering soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s a magic that finds me when my hands rest upon the cauldron-like wheel, soaking into my skin like a healing tonic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">What is it I’m running from?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe from the helplessness in my husband’s eyes as he watches me move about aimlessly, <a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2011/03/me-name-i-call-myself.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">a forlorn mouse</span></a> in a maze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of this cheese dangling, any way I turn, and yet the appeal just isn’t there to take a nibble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Probably because I’ll end up with my head caught in the steel trap.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Life inside the maze can be a chaos of its own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Blind corners, hard cold walls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay, maybe I’m trying to outrun the misperceptions that plague the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How am I to know the poison from the provolone?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To counteract the dismal society that I bury myself in every day, I often take my little computer and hide away somewhere. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">There’s an old saying; “Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was eleven years old when I fell hard for Sam Malone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hair, the laughing brown eyes, and oh so tall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did I mention the hair?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the day he first appeared behind the bar of a little tavern by the name of <em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cheers" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Cheers</span></a></em><span style="color: blue;">,</span> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve been claiming that some day I’ll have my own quiet seaside dive or a rowdy little neighborhood pub to call home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">I heard a story that <a href="http://www.jkrowling.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">JK Rowling</span></a> gave birth to <a href="http://www.harrypotterwizardscollection.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Harry Potter</span></a> while haunting cafes as a young mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder if she were encouraged at all by the kindness of strangers who may have become friends along the way?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Listening to random table conversations is a great source of inspiration, but becoming part of the establishment is an honor that doesn’t come around too often.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A random smile can be the sparkle in a day, a ‘hello’ is worth its weight in gold, but kind words to go with it are rare gems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">That’s why, when I’m welcomed time and again to a watering hole or lunchtime favorite, I make a point to keep coming back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It takes a special talent to put on a face for the public, fill their every request, and lure them back for more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know, I’ve had to do it; these men and women who pull it off get my respect by the plateful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">For all of those who quietly brighten the days for the familiar faces they see, I thank you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For <a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2011/08/amongst-clouds_25.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Josh</span></a>, who has taken on the role of BFF, and<span style="color: blue;"> </span><a href="http://www.thecheesecakefactory.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Paul</span></a>, who remembers my name, Miguel who stops by to say hello and chat about working his way through school, Gabriela and her angelic smile, Jasmine with her wicked sense of humor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s Wayne, who is a saint with my difficult requests, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and Sabrina, who never loses her grace, and Adam who strides around the bar like he actually wants to be there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">And <a href="http://tahoejoes.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">John</span></a>; who, three years ago when I asked “Why is ‘no onions, no peppers, and all sauces on the side so difficult to understand?” never blinked an eye but answered sincerely, “I don’t know, because that seems simple enough to me.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he made everything right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>John makes a point to not just glide through with a half-hearted “How’s everything?” but makes us believe he really wants to hear the answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">So, when there’s no time to grab the <a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2011/01/paradise-on-road-ahead.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">old girl</span></a> and head for the highway, I settle for these mini-vacations of long, lingering sandwich sessions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I could gather up these favorites and give them a new home, we’d all be serving smiles and spirits and singing around the piano tomorrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">You want to be where you can see our troubles are all the same, you want to be where everybody knows your name… </span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/HVTEKASxK5Q?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/AmjA2lp7r4Y?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://2.gvt0.com/vi/BX5Z40N_bHo/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/BX5Z40N_bHo&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/BX5Z40N_bHo&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://0.gvt0.com/vi/ELf_d2ZjCWA/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ELf_d2ZjCWA&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ELf_d2ZjCWA&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">© Kymberlie Ingalls, </span><date day="19" month="6" year="2012"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">June 19, 2012</span></date><span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Lyrics: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Where Everybody Knows Your Name / </i>Gary Portnoy</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"></span>Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-34285259974815161232012-06-10T05:13:00.000-07:002012-06-10T05:17:08.151-07:00Walls<div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-size: large;">All around your island there’s a barricade, it keeps out the danger but holds in the pain…</span></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">The number one rule of writing is “show, don’t tell.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s like that with relationships too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t need to be heaped with compliments all the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, it makes me extremely uncomfortable and has been the source of discontent lately with a very dear friend of mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He doesn’t understand why it causes me such duress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">I appreciate that he thinks I’m this wonderful person with amazing talent and superhuman powers and stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He claims that he recognizes my faults as well, but I’m not convinced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems every sin I’ve ever committed only seems to add to my allure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I have tried, unsuccessfully, to explain is piling on the compliments may be fine and dandy with anyone else, but I’m a horse of a different color.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A whole rainbow’s worth of different, in fact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">It’s taken me forty years to come to terms with the pressures I put upon myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve been</span><span style="color: #0b5394;"> </span><a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2011/08/inner-dialogue.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #0b5394;">abused</span></a><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">,</span> assaulted, anorexic and bulimic, neurotic, drunk, depressed and catatonic too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have an amnesia of sorts brought on and triggered by traumatic stress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Just one big flaming ball of fun, I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lock me in the barrel with the other monkeys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Because I was trained so young to feel unworthy of being alive, subsequently I did all sorts of things to </span><a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2011/03/me-name-i-call-myself.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #0b5394;">self-destruct</span></a><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the end, it’s all about control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t control the pressures being put upon me, so the challenge became to override all of that with my own set of expectations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">In all of this there was never a motivation to excel in anything specific.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never went for promotions or educational achievements.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anything that I might have to answer to while playing by the rules was out of the question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">So, now, when I’m praised or handed an unconditional or unbiased compliment, I don’t know what to do with it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly there is a pressure to be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>And when someone barrages me with such admiration, I revert to a fat dirty pile of how-the-hell-do-I-live-up-to-that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It doesn’t matter that maybe I already did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not in me to see it that way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">There are still urges deep within me to take leaps from a cliff to see how far I can fall and still come out alive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s like any other recovery – it never goes away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unwanted survival instinct.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To feel any sort of idolization is a daunting terror.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My friend will say to me “I don’t </span><a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2012/05/once-upon-lie.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #0b5394;">idolize</span></a><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"> you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I recognize that you have faults, just as I do, and that makes you more… you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I genuinely care for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The real you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">But the bar has been set, and like a gymnast who must leap and vault higher than the time before, I feel like someone trying to achieve a perfection that doesn’t exist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He may see me as amazing, I see myself as a fraud who now <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">has </i>to be amazing.<br /><br />I love that he appreciates what he sees as the good in me, but the truth is I can’t handle the enormity of being told so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That he gives to me his friendship, that’s his showing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t need to be told why.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">But you’ve got a heart so big it could crush this town – I can’t hold out forever, even walls fall down… </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">© Kymberlie Ingalls, </span><date day="10" month="6" year="2012"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">June 10, 2012</span></date><span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: Verdana;">Lyrics:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Walls (Circus)</i> / Tom Petty</span></div>
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</div>Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-12987641309097402332012-05-14T09:39:00.000-07:002012-05-14T09:49:23.069-07:00Once Upon A Lie<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">The further from perfect I fall, the more at home I feel in my bones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I contradict myself, because lately I can’t even live up to my own imperfections.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">You are not a statue, and I am not a pedestal.</span></span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">- </span><a href="http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/16747" target="_blank"><span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Mark Yakich</span></a></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Why am I expected to be now?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ring of irony I wear has made me golden in their eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Too many eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not the real me before them; I have been plated in fool’s gold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A pirate of pyrite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is my words that dance, hazy images that lie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pieces of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pieced out, when I desperately need to be whole.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">I am not a pedestal, nor do I wish to be placed on one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My fear of heights is not without history.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Placed high to be saved, when it is they who need to be safe from their jagged hearts and twisted transitions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Desired for <a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2011/05/fractured-fables.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #674ea7;">my faults</span></a><span style="color: #674ea7;">,</span> inferior in the face of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find myself staring heavily into thin air, not an answer to be found.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somewhere lurks the question, but would I recognize it if I saw it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Rain is in the air; the rolling clouds watch over me yet there is no solace. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite the chill that sweeps across my skin, a heat is building from within, threatening to stoke embers best left untouched, much like myself – dangerous if played with unsupervised.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">There is a phantom who lives in my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He casts his demands about like confetti at the Mardi Gras, beckoning to see how I will dance to his strings. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The spell cast so long ago lives in my shadow, visible only in the <a href="http://www.kymberlieingalls.com/2012/01/summoners-ghost-tom.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #674ea7;">moon’s beam</span></a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A spell that gives permission to the wicked that I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Wicked does not belong on a pedestal, any more so than I belong to any one heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Mirror, mirror, truth be said;</span></span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">the pedestal was fallen by my sin.</span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">© Kymberlie Ingalls, </span><date day="24" month="4" year="2012"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">April 24, 2012</span></date></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><date day="24" month="4" year="2012"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">Original artwork by Kevin P Goss <span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">© 2012</span></span></date></span></div>
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</div>Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-62026853364158352562012-05-12T02:02:00.000-07:002012-05-12T02:06:12.315-07:00Days Of Mothers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Twenty-five years and my life is still trying to get up that great big hill of hope…</span> </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">“You’ve talked about how the day goes, every year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How it affects those around you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, how do <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you </i>feel about Mother’s Day?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">I’m often not able to accurately answer questions posed before me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll stare at wall, or at the ground, the sky, the bird outside the window, as I ponder my response.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So many words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s difficult for me to make sense of the jumble in my head where they bounce and skyrocket like popcorn kernels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">How do I feel about Mother’s Day?</span></i><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">It’s another day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A day to remember the epic battles between my mother and my evil step…mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Funny, I’d rather she be a step I could walk on and away from than the poor substitute for a mom that she turned out to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll hand her a polite gift of miniature roses, but when the sun rises it is my Mom I’ll be missing, and not just because it’s some particular Sunday that Hallmark tells us to honor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Every Sunday, Monday, Tuesday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every single day of the week, I miss my mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mother’s Day is just a hollow reminder that turns my brother into a raging bitch from that day until June 17<sup>th</sup> – Mom’s birthday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">Maybe someday he’ll get over it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Holding my breath and waiting only gets me a nice skin shade of blue.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Another question asked of me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“These issues with your stepmother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can they not be resolved?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Isn’t there </span><a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2011/08/inner-dialogue.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">some kind of closure</span></a><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"> to be found?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Some answers are nothing more than predictions, and I tossed out my crystal ball a long time ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Today was emotional, for various reasons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Up, down and all around like a carnival ride, only I ended up dizzy and stumbling around a house of mirrors, not sure where to take my next step.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Echoes of questions pushed and pulled at me, while waves of giddiness were mocked by the teary-eyed mess staring from inside the reflective walls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">I learned today that my cousin and her girlfriend lost their child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was five months along, and the baby simply couldn’t be saved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They buried their child together, and asked for prayers of love and support.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Sometimes I wish I knew how to pray.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Just open your mind and speak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Speak to what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A God who </span><a href="http://www.neuroticy.com/2011/12/adam-steve-walked-in-to-bar.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">doesn’t bless</span></a><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"> their union?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s what the Christians were saying on Facebook today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">A prayer doesn’t have to be to </span><a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2011/03/gods-anthony.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">God, Jesus, The Virgin Mary</span></a><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"> or the tree in my front yard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A prayer in my mind is a wish for peace, however it may show itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My prayer is that they will someday celebrate Mother’s Day with more joy than sadness as they cradle their family in their arms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The love they share will get them through this horrendous time; that’s where I choose to put my faith, and find my inspiration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Every single day of the week these mothers will miss their son.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every day for the rest of their lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If only they’d been spared that agony.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life is brimming with if onlys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sooner or later we have to make peace with them and appreciate what is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">They will need to lay their child to rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My brother needs to lay our mother to rest.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Sooner or later, there’s a way out of the house of mirrors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The secret is to find our way through the looking glass and move forward, not to keep staring at what’s reflected behind us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">And I cry sometimes as I lie in bed, just to get it all out, what’s in my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wake in the morning and I step outside and I take a deep breath and I scream from the top of my lungs ‘What’s going on..?’</span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">© Kymberlie Ingalls, </span><date day="12" month="5" year="2012"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">May 12, 2012</span></date><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Lyrics:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What’s Going On?</i> / 4 Non-Blondes<u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><br /></span></div>Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-17723016662158568672012-03-26T03:43:00.001-07:002012-03-26T03:55:27.738-07:00Rainy Days And Mondays<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/SaHAvEEbQOE?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Tell me why I don’t like Mondays, I want to shoot the whole world down…</span> </span></i><span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4gi7dmPHI77iRwV0VIxEbPMu3SIWGr-ml2MXfVCIJj4TvkxBRqTH0Dagzex8wHJBPr2iC5buPDk7GEE_9G8B4eZ4YaId1r7uVcQuy2TuX73ChQ1uFAkNh5nDGGLmOvDKyo_7thkvdiHw/s1600/Brenda+Ann+Spencer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4gi7dmPHI77iRwV0VIxEbPMu3SIWGr-ml2MXfVCIJj4TvkxBRqTH0Dagzex8wHJBPr2iC5buPDk7GEE_9G8B4eZ4YaId1r7uVcQuy2TuX73ChQ1uFAkNh5nDGGLmOvDKyo_7thkvdiHw/s200/Brenda+Ann+Spencer.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">On </span><date day="29" month="1" year="1979"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">January 29<sup>th</sup>, 1979</span></date><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brenda_Ann_Spencer" target="_blank">Brenda Ann Spencer</a> took a gun in her 16 year old hands and went for a spree at the </span><place><placename><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Grover</span></placename><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> </span><placename><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Cleveland</span></placename><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> </span><placetype><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Elementary School</span></placetype></place><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> in </span><place><city><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">San Diego</span></city><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">, </span><state><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">California</span></state></place><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two adults were killed, eight children and one police officer were injured.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When asked why she would do such an unspeakable thing, her answer was simple:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t like Mondays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This livens up the day.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Never being the kind to work a typical schedule, Mondays have had little meaning to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a day like any other, and days are rarely kind to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seems everything interesting ever happens after the sun has been put to rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">For the last ten years, Mondays have been a day to sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Weekends were </span><a href="http://www.neuroticy.com/2011/10/white-knuckle-dreams.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">consumed by a racetrack</span></a><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"> where my family gets their dirt on by driving circles in the mud, and I was documenting all of it for the world to see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sunday was clean up day – Monday often came and went without even being noticed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Ever since I hit</span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"> the top of the hill <a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2011/08/amongst-clouds_25.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">last summer</span></a>, my priorities are changing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Forty years have come and gone, one year blurring in to the next like a never-ending snow storm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Lately I’ve had reason to like Mondays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They seem to bring good things; smiles, flights of fancy, and healing rains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the same time, I feel like Brenda Ann Spencer – like something drastic is needed to liven things up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone said recently that weekends are good, a time to step back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a foreign concept to me – me being the bull in my own china mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stepping back isn’t a talent I possess; move forward, all the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">A funny thought for a girl who loathes change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Mondays have become a day of intrigue, an invitation to see what the rest of the week will bring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My orbits have been turned topsy-turvy – suddenly mornings are night, thoughts are more real than I think, and nightmares have become the dream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon the sun will start crying rain and I’ll really be confused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">As the week winds down I find myself faced with doubts, and decisions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Irrational insecurities sweep through, invading my body until I fall wearily to bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Days become weeks, years – the faster they come around, the more the need to fill them with activity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Places to go, people to see, on a regular schedule.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s harder to face a future that holds such uncertainty as ours does – no stable work, living month to month, waiting for the next dramatic chapter to unfold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every Tuesday and Friday finds me toting my netbook and my thoughts to the restaurant where my friend Josh works.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each Wednesday night </span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1320544062"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">I </span><span style="color: blue;">trek to </span></a></span><city><place><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2011/04/its-all-wrong-but-its-all-write.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Berkeley</span></a></span></place></city><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"> to lay my words on a table to be judged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thursdays are a day for introspect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Habitual therapy is what carries me.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">The moon that once encouraged my thoughts now leaves me afraid of their power.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly the Monday sun isn’t so dastardly, bringing around warm words and a calm harbor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Can I embrace these days, revel in their allure?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or should I be seeking the conventionality that society dictates?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The world does not like Mondays in general, and isn’t accepting of those who see it as anything other than the beginning of a dull existence that loops in five-day cycles.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">My inclination is to liven things up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shake the tree and see how the Monday topples out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know what to expect as I go about my weekly rituals, but Monday is a free-fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">What reasons do I need?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None other than to grasp at opportunity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">Life is too short not to live.</span></i><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Saturday may be the longest day, Sunday may be the first day, but life begins on a Monday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">He always said she was good as gold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He can see no reasons, and there are no reasons – what reason do you need to die…?</span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">© Kymberlie Ingalls, </span><date day="26" month="3" year="2012"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">March 26, 2012</span></date><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Lyrics: I Don’t Like Mondays / The Boomtown Rats</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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</div><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"></span>Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6238245802410439500.post-66226518682461401252012-02-28T01:35:00.001-08:002012-02-28T01:36:57.701-08:00Graveyards<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT";"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">What is the appropriate feeling to have when one of your nightmares drops dead?</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT";"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Another one down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another ghost from my past is gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not inhuman enough to feel joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am, however, hurt enough from times past to now feel … relief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was a child wishing that they all would die, I never stopped to imagine the day they actually would.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT";"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Now I think about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lot.</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT";"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">I think about my biggest demon and what I will feel like when Carol is gone, and wonder if the last laugh will be that </span><a href="http://www.writerofthestorm.com/2011/08/inner-dialogue.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">my stepmother</span></a><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"> outlives me, but I just might be okay with that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s a child buried deep inside who petulantly pouts under the covers of her bed at night, thinking “maybe they’d miss me then.”</span></span></span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/7NJqUN9TClM?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT";"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">A penny for my thoughts – oh no, I’ll sell ‘em for a dollar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re worth so much more after I’m a goner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe then you’ll hear the words I’ve been singin’, funny when you’re dead how people start listening…</span></span></span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT";"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Slowly Carol has lost her family, and has tried to latch on to those of us she’s spurned for so long, but she doesn’t know how to work around her shortcomings, and I don’t care enough to make it easy for her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And now her niece, Christie, has died – Carol’s cohort in the crime of torturing me all those years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hearing the news that another toxic fruit has rotted off of the family tree wasn’t something I considered a loss.</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT";"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Someone asked me once, as I’ve written of my ghosts, what is my purpose?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to think long and hard about that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Revenge?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Personal satisfaction?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some kind of zen enlightenment?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT";"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">I don’t always have the need to name names.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When writing of a sin that has been committed against me, that has haunted me, I don’t have to put a face on the criminal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I harbor the hope that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my</i> telling will put a face to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">their </i>crime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT";"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">I suppose they had their scars to bear as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were stories that might have explained their inhumane behavior, but a child doesn’t much understand such things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I only wondered what evil cloud I’d been born upon to be treated so unfairly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a hazing I had to endure to be a part of a family I never wanted to claim.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The blood between us was shed, not shared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT";"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Over the years, having distanced myself from those who are now sober-by-a-thread and asking my forgiveness,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve played the game, smiling sympathetically from my pulpit made of irony and self-righteousness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT";"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">One by one, the demons are fading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Falling into their graves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I tiptoe toward my own tombstone, hiding behind creaking, barren trees, the shadows dance wickedly beneath a knowing moon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This isn’t a tale of forgiveness, hatred or redemption.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s just a story of a girl trying to outrun her ghosts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT";"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-size: large;">“So I walk up high and step to the ledge to see my world below, and I laugh at myself while the tears roll down, ‘cause it’s the world I know.”</span></span></span></i><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/boJ2BT50kFs?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT";">© Kymberlie Ingalls, </span><date day="17" month="1" year="2012"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT";">January 17, 2012</span></date><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT";"></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Souvenir Lt BT";"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Lyrics:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I Die Young / The Band Perry,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The World I Know / Collective Soul</span></span></span></div><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span>Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331379225481378114noreply@blogger.com0