May 2017 Writing Challenge, Day 1: Tiny

Tiny is a word that would never ever describe me.

I was a few ounces short of 10 pounds at birth. And while I was a kid that was smaller in stature than others in my class, I definitely was not one who could ever be mistaken for little, petite, teensy, or any other adjective that was synonymous with small. But I think there was purpose behind all that: I was never meant to be someone small.

Even as a smaller child, I was a presence -- and that isn't meant as some sort of braggadocio. I really was just one of those people who wasn't going to blend in at all.

Sure I got larger and larger (too large) in size for years on end. Then I lost a ton of weight. I've put some of it back on. And where I am right now -- I could stand to drop 40-50 pounds, but I'll never be back to my smallest (about 8 years ago) -- BUT I AM OKAY WITH THAT.

There. I said it. 

At my tiniest, I felt tiny, and not in the good way. I was (and am) still a presence, but I felt lost in the woodwork. I felt invisible. As much as I joke that I'd like to just blend in, that I'd like to simply be unnoticed, it's not going to happen.

I was not born to blend in. I was not born to be small. My heart, my soul, my passions, my personality are all large. No matter the size of the shell, I am large and in charge.

I am just not tiny in any way. And I'm great with that!

Writing Challenge -- Screeching Halt

Maddox's illness and death has put a damper on my December, to say the least. As much as I love to write, my heart isn't in it at the moment. So I'm calling a halt to this challenge.......

I'll do another one in the spring, when I'll be perhaps a little more in the mood. Thanks for your understanding!

30 Day Writing Challenge 4 - Day 6: Sweat

Day 6: What makes you sweat?

I'm one of those odd dichotomies in that I don't seem to be rattled by much. Public speaking or a performance? Psssh. No problem. Serious illness? Nah, been there and made it through. I've planned two funerals this year. I've made it through ticket sales for impossible-to-get shows. I even made it through a special moment with TSA at Charlotte airport (but I did sweat, thanks to a lot of people and a thick sweater).

But small talk can send me spiraling.  Networking makes me want to hurl. Stores at the holiday can induce a panic attack while on the surface I still look put together perfectly. Being in a circle of strangers and hearing, "so what do you do?" (HORK!) Feeling judged from the moment I open my mouth.

These seemingly simple interactions can give me a horrid case of flop-sweat.

30 Day Writing Challenge 4 - Day 5: Dinero

Day 5: How much money is in your wallet?

Easy, it's zero. I rarely carry cash and rarely get cash out of the machine. If I have anything at all, it's pennies.

A few weeks ago, I had somewhere around $15, all in change. I had gone to a show and put a $20 in the auto-pay machine at the parking garage. It spat back out my change in $1 coins and a few quarters. Those came in very handy with the vending machine at the office!

But as a general rule, I just don't carry cash ...... There isn't much need to anymore.

30 Day Writing Challenge 4 - Day 4: Memory

Day 4: what memory do you want to keep from today?

Sundays are usually for me an early church service, then heading home for a quiet day ... especially during the fall/winter seasons. And so it was today.

Today, we in the choir sang a couple of favorite songs from years past, one of which was "A Voice Cries Out" (words from Isaiah and foreshadowing John the Baptist). It is probably one of the songs I look forward to singing and on years where we don't do it, it feels strange....... like it really isn't Advent without it.

So getting to sing it made for a pleasant memory for today, a song I'll probably end up humming through the week.

30 Day Writing Challenge 4 - Day 3: First Look

Day 3: Who is the first person you saw today?

Like most days, the first person I saw this morning was my dad.

For many years, my dad has been (and remains) my hero. He is one of seven raised in what amounted to a single parent household. He didn't graduate high school but has a college degree (Associate's in Textile Management). He is someone from whom I inherited my eye color, my sparkling personality, my wicked sense of humor, and my work ethic.

Most mornings he is up before I am -- still. He's retired now but still gets up in the dark because he doesn't know what else to do. He is also a lighter sleeper than he once was, so he figures he might as well get going. Retirement just means he can nap when he wants to..... lucky him!

It has been a hard couple of years for my dad. He retired from a post-retirement job primarily to schlepp my mom to doctor's appointments, which seemed to be an almost weekly occurrence for a while. He ended up having to care for me after my foot surgery, my brother for his emergency appendectomy, and still manage my mom's healthcare. It was frustrating for him, to say the least. I think he expected his retirement years to involve travel with my mom to places of mutual interest. Instead, his wife got weaker and sicker and eventually became more or less housebound. It was far from what he had hoped. Even when he got frustrated and expressed his bewilderment, he stayed the course.

The night my mom's lifeforce seemed to really and truly dwindle, he still was hoping and wishing and trying to will her to do for herself. I realized that she needed more than we could possibly deliver and I'm the one who said, "Dad.... I'm calling the ambulance. We can't do this." I watched him surrender.

That was hard to see. My steady rock for 46 years throwing his hands up and in effect saying, "I'm done. I can't do any more." And so it went over those next few days: watching him asking us our thoughts on options we never imagined; seeing him sign paperwork that moved his bride, our mom, into hospice care. Then hearing him take the phone call that was so surreal, knowing the answer before a word was spoken. And then watching him shed tears at her funeral, saluting my mom one last time.

In some ways, it's only fitting that my dad is who I saw first today. As much as I love(d) my mom, it was always my dad and I who saw more eye-to-eye on things. And he was the one I called when I was in deep yogurt or needed solid advice. And I still do.

30 Day Writing Challenge 4 - Day 2: Wishing

Day 2: I Really Wish ____________

Jesus, the things I could list.

I could wish for fortune -- knowing I'd somehow manage to mess that up with truly frivolous things, when in my grand plan I'm far too magnanimous and charitable. In my plan, I start foundations and scholarships and donate here and there. In real life, I'd do that and then go into some swank shop and drop serious bucks on junk I don't really need. Much like I do now sometimes.

I used to wish for fame -- no. Not anymore. I'm comfortable in my anonymity.

I used to wish to be a single-digit size. I got somewhat close and then life intervened and said, "Nah, I need you to be here because I have some lessons in humility to teach your arrogant little hide." Mission accomplished, life. Mission accomplished. In the same lesson, you taught me how to love the real me, so I cannot complain at all.

I want to wish for my mom to be here again. But not the way she was. I would not wish her back here, with the constant pain and suffering she endured. Pain doesn't have to be excruciating to get you down -- it just has to be persistent. I would not want her to go through all that again. She really is in a better place. I wish THAT for her more than I wish to be with her here and now.

So what I really wish for is love. Not so much a singular, spectacular, 11:11 kind of love -- though that's sweet stuff too. I wish for ALL of us to have love overflowing. I want this stupid pettiness to stop. I want people to stop looking at that which divides us and look for ways to multiply our strengths for the greater good. 

I wish that we could evolve into a more enlightened species. That we would become all we are capable of being. That we would find the higher truth and serve it. I sometimes despair of the human race -- after all, how many eons have we been wishing for this? 

Yet I believe, still. While I breathe, I hope (to use my state motto). And I'll never stop wishing that we choose love.