Invisible

As I continued makeover work on the master bedroom, a old feeling penetrated its way into my subconscious. Like buried thoughts and messy memories cluttering my mind, the room had also been neglected over time and other projects.

Instead of feeling the usual enthusiasm and inspiration, I felt...

Invisible.

Snubbed...ignored...minimized. Little words that can invoke powerful feelings.

Growing up a military brat, it was a feeling I was all too familiar with. It wasn't until high school that I felt like I belonged. I was 15 when I discovered I could move people with words.  I had been writing as long as I could remember but it was a high school creative writing teacher who read my words out loud. It seems funny to me, and almost a little bit precious, when I remember those first weeks of having my secret exposed. She was a tough educator and I was a broken child. Writing wasn't something to be embarrassed about, it was a gift to be cherished.

Finding my place in the writing world gave me the time to discover intelligence and wit. Two attributes I was going to need during some very tough years. Like those who can decorate without a second thought, I can paint a picture with words alone.

As I started the final coat of paint on the dresser, I thought about how much time I put into each and every posting. I wondered if those who beautify see an empty room the way I see a blank piece of paper. It occurred to me that a makeover of a piece of furniture and a makeover of a paragraph are more similar than they are different. Each of us strives to find perfection.

Varying items and varying topics, staying with the familiar, as well as the interesting.

Trying to stay original, I look for new and different things for my stories and my home.

The words can come as easily as the drapes that were given to me by a neighbor.  Yet other times, it winds up costing me more than I expected to pay...like having to add sheers from the dollar store to complete my window dressing.

Although decorating is fun to me, it does not come naturally. So I try to read other blogs faithfully everyday. I am always looking for ideas and opinions from those whose style I admire.  

Reviewing and learning, I had hoped to gain the easy camaraderie that flows between those with so much talent. It saddened and frustrated me when I realized this hurdle remains stubbornly in place.

Writers are mostly a solitary bunch, living inside their minds and a wall of unwelcome shyness. The simple act of asking for an idea or opinion always gives me hesitation. It is not done easily nor without moments of second guessing myself. How much of my darker side will appear and will they dismiss when they realize that light and breezy is a look I'm trying to achieve through eyes that view the world as a not-so-friendly place? A heart that never quite recovered and a restless soul that longs for safety.

Finishing the dresser and thoughtfully trying to add just the right pieces on the dresser, that old feeling begins  to recede. I look at the results and smile -- making over a room can make over your mood. 

Reminding myself that I write for me and I write for my friend, I pick up the phone to let her know the new posting is going up.  As I hang up the phone and nudge the dresser back into place, I smile at her enthusiasm and delight.  I think of the second sentence in the serenity prayer and nod at its undeniable wisdom.  I make a mental note to ignore things I cannot control and look over at a blank computer screen next to an unmade bed.  There's always a new thought to write and a bed that might need a makeover. Thanks goodness for decorators...and writers.   We are not so different after all. 

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Of Karma, Temper Tantrums, Southern Gentlewomen and Smileys

We have been hit by the karma fairy over the last couple of weeks and evidently, judging by the number of things that went wrong or broke, I am currently paying back wrongdoings over the past two or three lives.    

It started with the air conditioner shutting down on one of the hottest days of the year, continued with toilets that made your heart stop when flushed....

 

....kept going with a  faucet  that leaks water from the hot side handle ... and sending my irritation to new levels was my old Sonic toothbrush with a new mind of its own motor.

The breakdown train rolled on with never-seen-before error messages from the digital camera and I felt my stomach turn over after biting into a pear resulted in a tooth breaking  off.

It truly hit a high point when it was discovered during a weatherization check-up that my furnace is showing signs of a carbon monoxide leak . . .

I won't even go into the little things that happened in between the big things...

Like the lettuce and tomato planter mysteriously being toppled off my patio ledge, destroying most of the plants. . .

 

BY YESTERDAY MORNING, I'D HAD IT!

Now, I admit to having my moments throughout my life and I've never claimed to be an angel but the problems, breakdowns and possible hazard to my health was making me reconsider the pitchfork and horns approach.

(Of course I would look just like her - wink, wink)

Foul of mind and mood, I headed out to my car. At least the air conditioning isn't broken in the grocery store and I was out of milk.  Pulling into a parking spot, I was mulling over how much food I could buy without overdrawing my account  when I saw a small sedan clip the side of a grocery cart and send it sailing into the side of my car.  Grabbing my purse and my temper, I hopped out of my car, ready to do battle with the owner of the car.

The car's door opened and out came this teeny tiny woman of indiscriminate age with an obvious hunch and almost translucent skin---she reminded me of my grandmother in her failing years. She turned toward me and smiled. And like a cheerleader facing the losing home crowd, her bright and happy face took the anger wind right out of my sails.

Smiling back at her, I found myself following her into the store.  She had me the moment I heard that sweet southern accent ask me to help her with the electric cart. Her name was Rose, she was a widow living with her busybody son and still missed her truck driver husband -- passed on some years ago.

For the next hour and a half, I listened to stories of this couples' adventures on the highways and roads of this U.S.A. 

I became lost in her tales and adventures and enamored of her life. Forgotten were the battles of the last few days, replaced by visions of endless countryside, snow mountain peaks, out-of-the-way diners with fabulous pies, and homes filled with people who still didn't lock their doors at night. 

It was a country I had dreamed of discovering and a secret I kept mostly deep down inside.

Finishing up her shopping, we grabbed my milk and cereal and headed to the check-out stands. Standing silently beside her, I felt an overwhelming rush of thankfulness for a wayward grocery cart and a woman whose vision probably should have kept  her out of the driver's seat. 

I turned to tell her of my gratitude and humbleness but she grabbed my hand and squeezed. It  seems she saw the look on my face after the cart had careened into the side of my car and knew that I was a woman on my last nerve.  Experienced with a life that had thrown some lemons -- and some days, an entire orchard of 'em -- she had sidetracked my day and reminded me of the good things that are still out there, waiting to be rediscovered. I hugged her and we headed for our cars, knowing that life had put us together that day.

I watched as she disappeared inside her car and smiled just a little at the image of the driverless car heading out of the parking lot. Gosh, she sure was tiny.

Sighing to myself, I started the engine of my car, ready once again to take on the little battles waiting for me at home.

As I opened the front door to my condo, I felt strength and obstinacy return to my soul. Turning to face life once again, I held out my hands, turned my palms up and said to an empty room, "Bring it on Karma Fairy, bring it on."

Sometimes you just have to blast back at life with guns a-blazin....

Why are the clothes still damp in the dryer?

And sometimes, you just call your best friend and say, "Sandy, I'm feeling a need for a happy hour beverage and my friend. How fast can you get dressed?"

Hopefully, the camera will be fixed in a couple of days.

Aren't you glad this posting is over?

So we can go back to regular pictures and makeovers?