Monday Mimisms ~ The Cherokee Girl

*Reprised from 2010* 


I am slightly north of fifty.

Most days I like my place on the chronological globe. Some days I want to string it up from the highest rafter and kick the bucket of wrinkle remover off the highest cliff and call it a day.
Today was a bucket kicker of a day.

I took my 6-year-old grandson shopping through the neighborhood yard sale boutiques. He had a pocket full of money (mine) a skip jump and a heartbeat of joy (mine) and most everything else in his wiry little body that you can count on in this world that means a blessed thing. And he’s mine.
Wrapped around my sinew and bone like a web-spun intricate cobweb of blissful peace.
He is.
Blissful.
Peace.

My hands have a few wrinkles.
I know they weren’t there yesterday.
And my eyes look tired. Must be the heat, I tell myself.
No.
It’s because I’m past-midlife-never-mind.

And then I went home and got properly stuck on the age thing.
And why some days I look like hell
and some days I look like twelve
and how today I feel just like the Cherokee girl my grandmother was

I tried to wash my freckles away in the morning dew when I was 8 years old because she said they would disappear. Lo and behold, at 53, I am still trying to cover those blasted freckles and make my smile stop being crooked like hers and my nose wrinkling up oh.so.adolescent.like when I really really smile.

For years I fought it. I wanted it to shift into Hollywood styled sophisticated perfection. I wanted to pout like Garbo, sizzle like Marilyn, slink like Ginger. I did not want to effude giggles like a pigtailed Mary Ann. (Oh, I do alright in the catwalk department on a good ole’ day you see…..but it’s days like today …..when the sun is long and my freckles come callin’ that I see…I see…..(“I brought my grandson today, ma’am. His name is Baby Boy”) a wisp of her staring cold in the mirror and laughing cause she still sees the marks behind whatever makeup I put on (“Grandson? He’s not your son?”)……knowing full well I can‘t wash them off with the dew (“No, no,” I laugh, “my own baby is 30.”…) even though that’s what my greatly superstitioned grandmother told me (“That’s about what I thought you were.”) while she watched me wash my face with dewdrops one morning at 5am in the backyard trying to scrub them away….(“Oh DO go on, ma’am…I will buy everything you have in your garage today…“)

Whoever heard of a movie star with freckles?

I can't have both.
Can I?

So I came home flailing all my will into a long dramatic selfish pout, casting winks and coy glances hither and yon for the birds and the squirrels and trees, splashing on makeup and dropping pearls round the long strands of auburn that also belonged to the glorified goddess of an Indian-laced grandmother and took this shot and that and that shot and this trying to see what the yard sale lady said she saw in the shadow of my grandson‘s smile this morning…...oh I was bound and determined to have a dandy of a roll in the whine fields if I couldn't coax that number down and have a long satisfying look in the yard sale lady's mirror...... I desperately needed those years to wash away you see and since it was not morning, but a sun-washed afternoon in my fifty-third year I felt time turning pages in the solstice of a day that I knew I was meant all along to land in with my grandmother laughing all wrinkled and joyful behind that willow tree looking at me flirt shamelessly with wildlife and memories......wondering how did I get here so fast in a spot where spots are signs of age and not of youth with no stopwatch to slow them down... down.... down....
Until finally I saw something in the lens I’d never seen before.
Something steadfast.
Something strong.
Something …..
Cherokee

a streak of stubborn
A chiseled chin
A bold lined woman
Who never takes no for an answer
and knows exactly where she's been

One random streak of grey
And freckles
Not in the dew
But in the new

And then
I had an epiphany

About perfection
And the lack of it
In me
And imperfections
And strength
in the middle of
imperfect things
that I no longer want to wash away

My grandmother's gift of stubbornness and grit might have been borne on the backs of those unsophisticated marks, but she knew what she was doing when she passed them on to me.
She knew I would need them
there's some kind of magic in dew

*NOTE 2023: Baby Boy is now in college studying Computer Science. I am north of sixty. Still wearing dangling feathers and feeling ever so much more like a Cherokee girl inside and out. Grandmother had wisdom that has served me well. This morning I found a white feather on my walk at precisely 11:11. Thank you, Grandmother...I miss you too.


photos: Mimi LenoxFollow Me

Join us for Blog4Peace Nov 4

Like Our Facebook Page

Peace Store

Monday Mimisms ~ Do I Look Like Annie to You??

Three Five Things I Will Never EVER Say to Anyone AgainWho Is Going Through a Hard Time

1.  You are stronger than you know.
Please, for the love of all that is BloLy (that's blog + holy for all you non-blog speakers) Let's not tempt the Universe and test that theory.

maybe I need to look in the mirror

2. This too shall pass.
Sometimes it takes a loooooonnnnng time to "pass." In the meantime it's perfectly logical to schedule a nervous breakdown.
3. You've been through worse times than this! You can do it!
Bite me.
4. I'm sorry you're sick. Are you sure it wasn't caused by stress?
Now you have insinuated that I don't have the strength to soldier through and I'm somehow to blame for my own distress. A double-whammy to my pain.                                See #3
5. Tomorrow is a new day.

Thanks. Another day of this???!!
Instead.....Have a big ugly cry. Throw some things. I tried Velcro curlers but it was so unsatisfying. Shut the bathroom door and cuss in the mirror. If you're not used to cussing you'll start tripping over consonants making up new debauchery! Feels so good. Then you'll start laughing because you can't even cuss right.
Crawl under a blanket or a rock with a bag of Cheetos. Works for me.

Anger. Let's say it. It's there because you're hurting, exhausted, and you want the pain to stop. Call up your best friend. Tell her to bring wine, a Bible, a witch doctor, a Priest, some herb roots, Reiki people, anointing oil from the Nile, snake-handling gloves, a Santana album for dancing and a box of very sinful chocolate. Yep. We're covered.I have friends who already have bags packed for such occasions.
As for the above well-meaning offenses, I have been guilty of saying all of them.And I vow to do better.
P.S. I hope this made you laugh
Follow Me

Join us for Blog4Peace Nov 4

Like Our Facebook Page

Peace Store

Trouble With the Trouble ~ Monday Mimisms

     I don't know where the "cracked flag" idea came from (and claim no allegiance to whatever that may be) but the image does seem apropros in these times. I supposed we've lived through similar political turmoil before (ie: Watergate comes to mind) but none of it, to date, seemed as volatile or dire. Our country is more than just divided red and blue factions. I think we might be on the verge of breaking - hence, cracks are definitely showing.
My trouble with the whole trouble is that one side wants to dictate MY words MY beliefs MY choices MY philosophy MY religion. For example: If you are a Christian and want prayer in public schools, then be ready for Muslim, Buddhist, and Satanic prayers. You asked for it. I don't want to hear any complaints. I am a Christian. I can believe in prayer and the separation of church and state at the same time.  **stepping off soapbox...for now**
Here's the bottom line: Whatever beliefs you hold concerning abortion, women's reproductive rights, gun laws, funding wars, the price of oil, the banning of books, Black Lives Matter or even the federal legalization of marijuana - GET OUT AND VOTE your conscience. That's how we do it in America. Write your representatives. Peacefully protest. Run for office. Speak UP.But please....put down your guns in the streets. You're making it really hard for people who believe in the 2nd Amendment (and I do) to defend responsible gun ownership when you're being flagrantly irresponsible! **stepping off soapbox...again**
Good trouble. Said John Lewis. Let's get into some good trouble.

John Lewis 4th from left 1963 March on Washington

Good trouble...

Marching on. 
 

Join us for Blog4Peace Nov 4

Like Our Facebook Page

Peace Store

Pre-Pandemic Plot Twists

Before the pandemic I did some crazy mirror shopping (no, my legs are not shaped like that......much) and took a lot of pictures of myself taking pictures of myself. All true bloggers know this affliction. I wish I had paid more attention to what the outdoor crystal ball was trying to tell me. It was just before I landed in my own personal mini-pandemic-before-the-pandemic (vile, it was, so vile) and then the whole planet got sick. You've heard of mini strokes? I had a mini-pandemic-before-the-pandemic. Global virus? Pffffft! Please. I dealt with a whole slew of severely malfunctioning people before the first cough coughed. I called it The Plague of Severely Malfunctioning People. It's the underlying cause for all the rest of the plagues in the Holy Bible and on planet Earth as we speak.  People! 

Did I mention people? (not any of you, mind you) Just people. It gave me PPSS (Pre-Pandemic-Stress-Syndrome) and THEN I came down with PPSD (Post-Pandemic-Stress-Disorder) for which there is no cure!  Why? Because people. 

I'm so tired of people. Aren't you tired of people? 

 Still...... I could have used a warning: "Hey Lady! Your reality is about to be distorted!" 

And it was.

 In so many ways.  You can relate, yes?

But adversity makes for good plot-building and great midnight reading. My writing is beginning to gush out of me like a well in the middle of the Sahara AND in the middle of the night. A whole new chapter (maybe a whole new series!) has been practically writing itself in Bloggingham Tales. 

Coming to a bookstore near you...

If you need me, I'll just be here untwisting my legs (no, I haven't had the Covid vaccination yet....that's next week....my legs are fine!...sort of...stop looking, will ya?) If all goes well at the neurologist - who just wants to look at my pencil brain for a minute or two and ask me a few nosy nerdy questions like 'what day is it' and why are you up at 2am writing a blog post? and tap on my temple to see if anybody's home - we'll get that nasty little jab and be done with it. I know. I know... Some of you are hoping it will change my personality back to whatever-NORMAL-is. Pfffftttt!!! A wise man once said to me, "Who wants normal?"  I bought chicken soup and a new box of Tylenol today just for the lobotomy-inducing-vaccine occasion. You're all invited to the after party. Fun times, no? 

Call for a good whine

I'd better write all this turmoil down. Pre and post. 

She's going to want to know why my legs are twisted. 

It's a long story.

Follow Me

Join us for Blog4Peace Nov 4

Like Our Facebook Page

Peace Store

The Dirty Laundry Truth

I don't know why today has been particularly vexing. Well...maybe I do.
All God's children got problems. That's right. I said problems.

Big glaring ugly problems with a capital P.  Can we be real?  People don't want to talk about their real problems. Myself included. I'd rather you think I have it all together all the time, that my nails never break and my heart is always singing Disney songs I actually despise most Disney songs  and nobody, not nobody, leaves dirt on Bloggingham's floor. I don't want to tell you about the latest romantic disaster (he-who-abruptly-left-in-a-rude-asinine-manner) and the way I deleted my dating profile for the umpteenth time out of disgust for men in general, nor the frustrated way I war with myself over feeling guilty because I'm feeling guilty that I'm feeling guilty (did you get that?) because I might let a selfish thought waft right into the castle walls and into my heart because dammit I don't want to cuss on the blog

and be real

And then the day got worse. You can't go anywhere or read anything without people judging you or breaking off friendships based on the color of your politics or the length of your skirt. Enter sarcasm.  Enter snark.  Enter hate.  Enter division.

And just when I thought I had had enough, the universe callously reminded me I hadn't.
So I'm walking back and forth in my house today trying to answer multiple phone calls from dentists and doctors, nursing a toothache, making appointments and trying to find huge amounts of money to finance the dentist's yacht apparently and wondering all the while how people on fixed incomes survive in this economy when a couple of porcelain crowns cost more than a used car. I don't want to admit to anyone I'm struggling to deal with this. How embarrassing. Right?

A full grown woman shouldn't be worried about a few thousand dollars in the scheme of things. Should she? And why did I have to open the mailbox today and find my projected Social Security earnings for retirement summary? I don't need anymore bad financial news today!! Did you know, Bloggy People, that by the time some of us are ready to retire they might make us work 'til we're eighty??!!


Meanwhile the dentist can't see me for two weeks and my eldest and only son is having a meltdown on the phone needing his mama and mama ain't no good to nobody today.
Which brings me to the real crux of the dilemma for me:
I can't do anything about any of this. It just is.
I want to fix everyone's problem and make it better.  I'm like The.Closer.       The.One.People.Come.To.Talk.To         First.Born.Strong
I should be able to handle a little porcelain scandal, right? Knock over the cobwebs of bad dreams at fifty-something-or-other. NOT care whether or not anyone sees the dark circles. Right?
Nope. Not today.

Any one of us could name dozens of people and situations where life is really hard. I mean losing-your-children hard. Hunger hard. Jobless hard. Dying hard. Addiction hard.  Heart attack hard. Gunfire hard.
Staying alive gets in the way of life.
Have you noticed?

We live in a world where every neighbor you have on each side of the street usually IS the he-who-has-it-harder person in your life. And you just want to run from your car into the house and cover your head with a blanket and a pint of alcohol so you don't have to see one more day of bad news in the neighborhood. Or in the world.
But the truth is that some days I just can't get by with my standard other-people-have-it-worse-than-you-do-Mimi schtick to make myself feel better or more grateful. That theory took a turn for the gutter this afternoon. I wanted to roll around in it for awhile and see if it would work. But I just couldn't make it stick.


I popped this status up on social media, whining about Mercury Retrograde, and let the Universe send what gifts I knew my friends to possess. Thankful to receive them and blessed to have such friendships.  Then something happened on Facebook.

It was Janice. That cookery one.

and on and on they came to my rescue....




And I was just about to call it a day when Janice said,
"If you have any leftover good thoughts, can you share?"
and that comment pushed me right over the edge to the little window I'm typing inside the Bloggingham blog. Where I belong. See what I told you? That Janice is always talking about cooking. Leftovers. Indeed.
'Cause here's the deal.
We're all in the same leftover boat. Swimming in the greasy gravy. 
It wasn't her mission today to send me a lifeline or solve my problem. It was her mission to be real...by admitting that she needed some help too. While she was being real drowning in the greasy gravy, she also put a boot up my whiny skirt and challenged me to do the same.

Nobody likes a public drowning more than the Internet.

And I'm doing a fine job of that today.

There's not enough soap in New Zealand to clean my dirty laundry.

It really doesn't matter that I had a possessed cellphone disaster of epic proportions today because truly it wasn't epic at all. It was just piled on top of a bunch of other emotional things in the laundry basket. And I'm not going to hell because I had a huge gigantic small twinge of jealousy over the romantic trip my Canadian mon ami Dawn, is taking with her love right now to Niagara Falls.  And let's face it, nobody's going to fire me from peace globes just because I can't walk on water today.
And even though I wanted to cry a few times today over the frustrations of REAL LIFE - oh, wait - let's be real. I did cry. 
Like a baby.

And no it didn't make me feel better. It made me feel like a baby.

See? Nobody was here to hear it but Homer and he didn't want to hear it either. 

"Somebody else always has it worse than you do, Mimi. Buck up," whispered the voice of Jonathan Edwards. (look it up)

OH. SHUT. UP.

You see... the trouble with Pollyanna thinking is that Polly never gets a break. And Polly is human. She has laundry too.
Which led me right back to that cookery woman's question. Could I find a good 'ole leftover thought for her or anybody else today? And isn't that my real mission?

'Cause here's the dirty laundry truth:
We might not be able to always fix the steady diet of carpe life throws at us, but if we pay attention to what our neighbor needs instead of covering up and running in the house, we might be able to fix theirs. Isn't that what my brother's keeper means?
 I'm not going to wait around 'til I'm too old to swim in a little grease now and then. I'm gonna make a few gravy waves in the neighborhood and shake up some status quo. I'm gonna make some noise when noise needs making.  And even though I've cussed on my blog two three times today,  the point really is that the somebody-else-has-it-worse mantra only matters when it's followed by a plan to serve. Them. Not you. 

 Otherwise, I'm just greasing a squeaky wheel feeling sooo superior that I don't have their problems.  
No one should have to fend for themselves in a world this big. 
  Janice with her cookery ways and me with my words and you with your wholly personal gifts that only you can give. 
Now that's gravy. 

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4

Like Our Facebook Page

Peace Store

Monday Mimisms ~ I Need An Ocean and A Long Strong Kiss

I'm here. 

It's Monday and long past time for a Mimism.  I haven't posted since May, which is when the perpetual trouble started. Have you ever wanted to lay low because the thoughts in your head are not suitable for public consumption? 

It's been the summer of decisions and time thieves. My mother's health is failing. She wants to tie up all the loose ends and revisit ancient history at the same time. It's important to her but I'm exhausted!  Some days she's the mother and we are shopping for skirts and shoes. Then in an instant I'm reminded by the look in her eyes that the mother is really me and we're shopping for inhalers and nightgowns.  How does predictable role reversal sneak up on a person? After all, it's life and I should have been ready.
I'm not. 

P.S. I need an ocean and a long strong kiss

And just why am I furiously typing at midnight like some mad blogwoman with too much on her mind? The ever-present saga of revolving doors. I'm dizzy.  Men.  Dating. Relationships. Lovely outings when I feel all grown up and ready to fall into Mr. Beautiful's arms. Until I don't. 
Fall, that is. 

I usually just trip.

Dating is i.n.s.a.n.e! And in need of therapy. Not me. Not them. The whole crazy system needs a psychiatrist.  It's warped like a bad bad version of a cancelled game show. Imagine The Newlywed Game played by people in the Big Brother house who don't even know each other but pretend to because they only want to win the game. That pretty much describes the rules of engagement during midlife dating.  The playbook is outdated (pardon the pun) and I'm reeling trying to read minds when all I want to do is get on with it. 

When I find a way to harness the power of instant discernment I'll let you know. For now I'll continue to enjoy the endless array of men willing to "explore the possibilities" they didn't want in the first place. How did predictable Mars/Venus insanity infiltrate my everyday existence once again? After all, it's life and I should have been ready. 

I'm not. 

Am I too picky? No. I think the problem is that I'm too picky too slow! Does that make sense? I'd rather forgo six or seven dates of wasted oxygen and couch kissing (well, that was nice...) wondering if he's the one (until he isn't) just to save time for the next candidate. Did I just say that? Candidate??! Oh how pedestrian and political my life has become.   Rewind. Start all over.  Rinse. Repeat. More Friday night failed cooking disasters (his poor tummy) then the left boot of fellowship from Yours Truly or oh-he-who-promised-to-call-but-didn't strikes again.  
Ain't nobody got time for this.

 But I am having a good hair life this year (unlike a few real candidates) and I haven't lost any emails (that I know of) and the ONLY reason I know that my bloglegs are returning as we blogspeak is that I continue to use unnecessary and annoying parentheses and run-on sentences galore while adjusting my wrinkled couch skirt in public. 
Yes. Finally.

My pencil skirt has seen a few washes ya know...

See ya soon.  

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4

Like Our Facebook Page

Peace Store

Mimi In A Minute #32 ~ I Blame It On The Polar Vortex

These things keep me up at night. They give me a headache.

I just need sixty seconds of your time to unclog my pencil brain so that I can get some sleep. 
Do you mind?

I have a few things to say. This is Mimi unplugged.

Hide your children.

The cost of propane is rising, the temperature is dropping, California is scorching and no one on the face of the earth can stop the Arctic from Arctic-ing or that mysterious ghost ship of cannibal rats from drifting across the sea. I'm sick of the cold!!! And I'm scared of rodents. It's the end of the world. I want to hibernate.

We should simply switch coastlines and north and south poles for awhile.  Have you ever wondered what would happen if the world tipped over on its axis and we got the reverse effect of the Arctic blast? That's not a stretch for some people in the news this week. They're in so much hot water even the Arctic air can't fix it. Let's catch up on the news, shall we?

To Justin Bieber:

Stop! 

You have the right to remain sober.  I don't agree that you should be deported back to Canada. I think you should be escorted to Rehab. Yesterday.

Chris Christie: Here's your problem...
If your people had called Justin's people you could have coordinated a lane shutdown on the George Washington Bridge. Instead we have to watch both races come to a screeching halt on opposite sides of the country. The toll fee for his fancy car alone would have paid for the rest of your campaign. Think next time!

Dear Polar Vortex: I cannot afford toe socks right now, much less another tank of propane gas. Please go back wherever you came from. 

Mike Huckabee: who unbelievably said this week and I quote,"
(women) ..."they are helpless without Uncle Sugar coming in and providing for them a prescription each month for birth control because they cannot control their libido or their reproductive system without the help of government."

As I recall and if you wanna get Blechnical (that's blog + technical for all you non-blog readers)... God banished naked Adam from Paradise first for disobedience.  Eve and her naked self stood alongside Adam's naked self by the Tree of Good and Evil. He blamed the woman (she did it!) as soon as he got in trouble with God in the first place.
That yin yang still does not fall far from the tree.

Is there an app for that?

And please, Adam and Eve, for the love of all that is Republican and Holy,

put some clothes on

It's cold.

Whew! I feel better. Thanks for listening.
Sixty seconds flew by. I think my blogsomnia is cured.
Lights out.  

Brrrrrrrrr!!!


Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4

Like Our Facebook Page

Peace Store

   Pin It