Weird

Life is weird.

So many really weird situations surrounding me. None of them are situations that I caused but my day to day life will be impacted by the outcome of each one. Friends, family, people I love or have loved in the past are walking a proverbial tight rope. In my head I know I can’t do anything about any of it – I have no dog in the fight as my Grandpa would say. “It’s their journey” is what my Al Anon sponsor tells me, “Let them go and give them to God sweetie”. In my heart I just want things to be calm and good like it is inside the happy bubble I try to live in.

Therein lies the struggle of my life. If I care about you that’s it. I’m all in and good or bad chances are if you have a problem I will try to fix it. I used to be a “fixer” 100% of the time, whether you wanted my help or not. Turns out people don't like uninvited help. Who knew?  After many years in recovery, therapy and more than a few hard lessons I realized that my help is only good if someone asks for it and that your problems aren’t in fact, mine too. I have learned slowly over 15 years that I need to fix myself since I’m the only I can control anyway.

That doesn't mean that I am cured from my people pleasing or my need for approval. Sometimes I still trust the wrong people. This is an unfortunate side effect of wearing your heart on your sleeve. Sometimes I still seek validation from people who could give a shit about anything other than their own opinion. I try to remember that I'm not everyone's cup of tea. That's tough because I pretty much like everyone until they give me a reason not to. 

All that being said I’m human and sometimes I still think I know how YOU should act, or how YOU should handle your problem. The truth is I never do. I watch these situations swirling around my happy bubble like a pack of colorful tornadoes. Each color I see represents the person at the center of the storm. I get bumped by the green one, knocked flat on my ass by the red one, tipped on my side by the blue one but mostly it’s just duck and cover. How can I keep your mess from landing on me? Hell if I know. I admire the people who can completely remove themselves from another person and just not give a shit. At all. No fucks given. I’m working on that but that’s a different kind of tightrope.

I wonder if I’m the only person connected to all these situations that sees them like this. I do know when you’re in the tornado you can’t see a damn thing. Hindsight is 20/20 and all those other cliches. When the dust settles and all these situations are resolved I’ll comb through the wreckage and see what’s left standing and what’s not. I’m not bitter or sad. I believe there’s a valuable lesson for me in each of these situations the trick is not missing it.

And this is my life. Weird, colorful and occasionally painful.

Cast Iron Love

What would you grab in the mad dash of an emergency? Earthquake, fire ...whatever. Pictures of course. the kids, the pets. The usual right? I would include cast iron skillets. Yep. You read that right. Both weapon and culinary necessity no kitchen should be without. Think about it - in an emergency you could totally protect your family AND cook dinner with one of those bad boys. I'm lucky enough to own several, each one belonging to a family member. One from my Mimi and one from my Papa Frank. My mom uses a cast iron skillet every time she cooks and nothing tastes as good as bacon fried in cast iron but I am in NO hurry to have one of her skillets.
Today, Fat Tuesday I'll make a batch of gumbo in Papa's skillet. My hands will go where his once were. It'll almost be like holding his hand again. I'll try to make it taste half as good as his and probably fail miserably but I know he's with me cheering me on. "Go 'head now yungin', add some of this, some of that...don't let it stick sugar, you have to mind the bottom'. He never gave a proper lesson or wrote down a recipe for me but if I was lucky he'd let me sit in the kitchen and watch. He'd yak about the ingredients, how to choose the most ripe this or most tender piece of that. He'd walk back and forth between the stove top and the camel cigarette smoldering on the table chattering away, inevitably yelling at my Mama Jo if the cornbread didn't rise and anyone in earshot would scold him for it. Cooking was the most consistent way my Papa showed his love. Any excuse to throw a shindig and gather all his people together around the table. A true Southern gentleman, being invited to his table was a privilege and never a disappointment. This skillet probably made cousin Andy's favorite pineapple upside down cake. I'm sure it was used in the gravy cook off between Pops and Aunt Deana. Big "after a party" breakfasts of fried (hangover) potatoes that I loved and eggs I wouldn't eat cooked early while George Jones played on the radio. I see and smell the whole room in my mind. That's the beauty of common household items. They're links to our past. Tangible, functional pieces of our personal history.
Mimi's collection of cast iron was a source of pride and she had a piece for every purpose. The corn shaped pan that went along with my sweet Grandpas famous fish fry, the flat griddle with the shiny spot in the center for the pancakes she'd make whenever we slept over. I never wanted to learn to cook. I wasn't even going to have a kitchen in my future house, just a microwave and a mini fridge. What I DID want to do was to always be in Mimi's presence. Sneaky genius that she was, she kept me in the kitchen and slid little lessons about cooking into the conversation. She'd ask about my day or school and slide in the best way to convert measurements into a chat about how I hated my math teacher. "Now Missy fractions are easy, see the way half a cup of buttermilk becomes one cup when I pour in double"? I thought I was just visiting with my Mimi but I was actually learning how to make biscuits. I know how to cook things I never read a recipe for thanks to her constant chatter and patience. Food and the common items used to cook it were a thing of value. Maybe it was something from my grandparents generation - the Depression babies. Food was more than just what you put in your body to survive. It was literally love on a plate. If only those skillets could speak. It wasn't always easy for my grandparents to put food on the table while they were raising their kids but by the time the grand kids came along money was less tight and they got to cook for pleasure more often. They had more patience for us than they had for my parents in the mad dash to just to get dinner on the table. I relate...I am always hurrying to complete the task. The skillet and the memories tell me to slow down, ask the kids to help, slide in between the conversation of "Who's next album is dropping this week and who's eyebrows were on fleek today" the recipe. Tell the story through the food like my Grandparents did. Today I look at this simple piece of metal on my stove top and I know that whether it was stretching a meal out of necessity or making a treasured family "secret" recipe my grandparents did it with love and a cast iron skillet.

August is a reflective month for me. Not January...August. It's my birth month and I tend to look at my life and plan, worry, and wonder about what the next year will look like. In the past I've thought that the plans I made would happen and most of the worries wouldn't. This year I think it'll be 50/50. So much of what we think we have control over is an illusion. I've learned all I can do is to handle the the details to the best of my ability and leave the results to God. I know there are things on my plate that I CAN do sown thing about and things I can't. I can clean my garage and make more space both physically and spiritually. I can't do much about the ovrerabudnace of flies. I can clean up my credit and take steps to compete my degree. I can't do anything about my singlehood. Not sure I want to. It does no good to worry about how long the car will last. Just keep it 

Our house..in the middle of the Street

The title of this post is a line from one of my favorite Madness songs. My train of thought is also stopping at the CSNY station today...."Our house is a very,very,very fine house". The middle of the street is a more accurate description of my current house. At this moment it's not particularly fine but it's safe and my kiddos are there. I moved into this house almost 3 years ago with a lot of help from my parents and friends. It wasn't my ideal structure or location and a significant downgrade in my eyes from the house I lived in as married person. I felt like I was settling. I unpacked what was necessary and stacked the rest of the boxes in the garage to deal with "some other time". Truthfully, I never really moved into this house, not with my heart. Bottom line - I needed a place to live. Period. That's all I saw this place as until recently.
Sitting on the patio having coffee with a dear friend she said to me "Good God Selsor,,,,when are you going to stop treating this place as temporary"? "This IS your effing house. You LIVE here, start acting like it and I suggest you start with these damn weeds". She had a point. The majority of my one acre lot is overgrown with plants ie., weeds, that I have never even watered but they grow like wildfire. Tree stumps and old bike parts. A funky old shed that serves as a black widow farm and practice canvas for my sons graffiti art. Tumbleweeds breed freely here. I have a patio slab but no cover. My wood trim needs to be repainted and I need some electrical work done - and that's just the outside!
Another dear friend who helped me pack my old life into many of those boxes still sitting untouched in my garage suggested that THIS was my reality house. She was right but until recently all I saw was the harsh reality of all the things that weren't right about it. I'm not talking about just simple aesthetics. I do have some serious functional and safety issue that need to be addressed. Basically anything the seller did when flipping this house was half-assed at best. I can't DIY all the problems and to my dismay there is no money tree growing among the weeds.
In my mind this was just a halfway house. I never really intended to STAY. Last night the weight of it all sunk in. Maybe I'm feeling reflective since it's almost New Years. Maybe it's the fact that I had to drive by my old house 4 times yesterday that got me thinking. THAT house was perfect in structure and location but it was not a very, very, very fine house. THAT house holds all the bad memories of my marriage. The lies and broken promises. Hurt feelings and words like knives that we both threw at each other. THAT house remembers all the pain.
THIS house has mostly happy memories. The overjoyed faces of my kids when they realized we could fit our beloved couch in the living room. Movie nights and sleepovers. Lots of "firsts" that are only ours. THIS is the house where my kids will get their driver's licenses - one already has. THIS house sees me entertain friends with a light and happy heart. THIS house is the reality house where we all get to choose what we keep and what we let go of.  THIS house is the one I can afford and lets me still provide them with the extras. THIS is the house that I'm truly so grateful for because at night, all my babies lay their heads down under one roof with me. That'll change sooner than I'd like as they become independent and find their paths in life but THIS is MY house. It has kept us safe and together. It deserves more respect than it's been given. It's time to unpack the boxes, let go of the past and finally move in.

Turkey day

So Facebook does these "Memory posts" where they'll randomly select an old picture and ask if you'd like to share the memory. Today was a picture from 5 years ago. The picture was of the last meal I cooked in what used to be our families motorhome. I was still married to my kids dad. He had flown in from Florida where he was filming a movie to spend the holiday with us. We made trash can turkey and the rode our dirtbikes and had a great time. The next day my son broke his wrist and by the time the next turkey day rolled around the kids dad and I were separated. My point in sharing this is that I didn't know. I didn't know that the very next day my firstborn would literally be broken, that he'd have surgery and a long recovery. People came to our assistance. My parents, our friends, our church family, my family family. Nothing about those days indicated to me that soon our marriage would end but it did. My then husband was having an affair with one of his coworkers in Florida. I didn't know. The same people came to our rescue. My parents, our friends and our church family, my family family. Since then some of them have become just his friends or just mine. Some I don't speak to at all, even some of his family. My parents are always here for my kids and I. My church family and all of my friends, the ones I knew back then and the new ones and of course my family family.I didn't know that would be my last thanksgiving as a married woman, ours as a nuclear family. We don't know how tomorrow will be different from today. I'm so thankful for the times that have passed, good and bad. The good ones I cherish and the bad ones have helped me grow. I am thankful for the good people that God has always surrounded me with and I am thankful for God - the constant power in my life that has never let me down, lied, cheated or broken my heart. 

What a weird picture Facebook chose. It was yams and green bean casserole, rolls and cranberry sauce and a lot of emotion as it turns out. Thankful I am not the same person I was on that day. Thankful for the beautiful humans that man helped me create. They are my joy and my purpose. Thankful for all the many, many, too many good things and people in my life today and the ability to feel gratitude. 

Love like .....

"In the blink of an eye, just a whisper of smoke, you could lose everything the truth is you never know. So I'll kiss you longer any chance that I get, I'll make the most of the minutes and love with no regret" - these are Meghan Trainors words not mine but brilliant just the same. This song speaks volumes to me. I don't have romantic love in my life right now and that's ok. It's not my time. However I DO have a tremendous number of people I love, related and otherwise. I am sharply aware of the fact that in a split second the ones you love can be removed from you. That last conversation, that last "I love you" is almost never a moment you mark ahead of time. Let that sink in. 

We truly never know when it's coming. 

Maybe I'm mushy because it's one of my favorite couples anniversary today. Maybe it's because the chill in the air and the first day of fall make me think of my favorite romantic movie "Serendipity" or maybe it's just cuz I'm getting soft in my old age. Whatever the reason, if I've ever said I love you through words or actions know that I'm going to "love you like I'm going to lose you, I'm gonna hold you like I'm saying goodbye". Now... Put your phones down and go tell the people that you love most exactly that!!! Happy Tuesday my fellow softies. I love you! 

"Girl"

For 3 weeks the envelope sat there. Sealed within was another envelope that held the sex of my second baby written on a sticky note. I stared at the fireplace mantle every day for 3 weeks until my then husband agreed to finally opening it. "Girl". 4 letters. One word that changed my life forever. I had no idea what to expect. I was only a boy mom up until then. I've learned something new about the world and myself every day since then thanks to my magical middle child. I remember the day she was born and just staring into her big blue eyes feeling certain she knew the secret to everything. When we brought her home from the hospital her big brother would sing the only song he knew "twinkle twinkle little star" if she cried. She'd lay in her crib and silently study her nursery as if she was trying to decide if she'd stay. The infant with the perfect, pouty, rosebud lips and the flippy curls became the toddler who climbed trees with her brother wearing a princess dress and plastic heels who grew into the preteen who never had much of an awkward stage and always knew just what to do with her makeup and now she's a stunning young woman (although I'm sure she'd disagree). She's strong physically and emotionally. Her ego is in check. Her soul is balanced. She's steady, coordinated in every way, sassy as hell and already so much smarter than I was at her age. More self confident and self aware. I made a point to tell her everyday that she was smart AND beautiful because I never wanted her to wonder about either. As a female who lacked confidence I was petrified to even try to raise a daughter. I've since learned that God never gives us more than we can handle and sometimes children teach the grown ups lessons along the way. She routinely makes me laugh so hard I cry. She amazes me with her grace and serious appreciation for sarcasm and good music. She loves shoes her family and her friends with a depth that rivals the Grand Canyon. She's creative and intense. "Girl". 4 letters. One word that made my world a better place forever after. Happy Birthday sweet baby girl. My heart is yours.