About Me
- WTF (waytofreedom)
- I believe it's important to share what goes on in our minds. Otherwise our heads may implode.
Sunday, June 15, 2014
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Funeral for a Teenager
Today I went to a funeral home to visit the grand-daughter of some old family friends. This young woman of 18 was a passenger in a jeep driven by her boyfriend and last week during an early winter's morning on an icy road he lost control of his car and hit another head on. He was injured, the young woman was killed. The driver of the other car was basically alright. This is the second grandchild that our family friends have lost this year. The other was an 18 year old grandson (whose parent is the sister of the father of this young woman) who died tragically after drinking too much and choked to death on his own vomit.
I met up with my mom outside of the funeral home. It was freezing cold (literally) although the sun was out doing its best to provide some warmth, albeit minimal, to the blistering winds and the icy roads. My mom and I embraced as we said hello and walked in together. As far as funeral homes go, this one was rather pleasant (if there is such a thing). There was a coziness about it, "good energy" in the set up, soothing colors, a seating area with a fireplace, soft lighting. As we approached the viewing room I took a deep breath and prepared myself mentally for the experience ahead knowing that there were going to be tears, hugs, sadness, and all the emotions that coincide with walking into such a place. My mom spotted the mother of the young woman, walked over to her and embraced her. She introduced me and I embraced her as well telling her how sorry I was. She and my mom conversed a bit as I studied her and thought about what she must be experiencing. She look so drawn, yet she seemed so comforted by all the quiet activity that surrounded her. Her eyes showed that darkness of shock but she somehow seemed to be grounded at the same time. I looked around and noticed all the older teens clustered together in small groups consoling each other and feeling so awkward in this situation that was most likely the very first time in their life they had ever been to a funeral for a friend. There was music playing but it wasn't the typical mundane stuff played traditionally in a funeral home. This was pop, stuff that my nieces and nephews listen to. Some of it I recognized and I thought about how wonderful it was that someone had taken the time and effort to put together this potpourri of specific music for this young woman. Not like "the old days," I thought to myself. Thank goodness.
As my mom and I continued to make our way through the crowd, I was re-introduced to many people that I hadn't seen in 25+ years. A big smile came across my mom's friend when she saw me and I mirrored that smile. We hugged, we spoke, and after several minutes, it was finally time for that dreaded, inevitable moment. The viewing. Although I had seen the casket from a distance when I first walked in (as everyone does but we all try to avoid looking at it), I wasn't really ready to approach it. But, out of respect, I knew what I had to do. As we were escorted by my mom's friend, I again took a deep breath to prepare myself. It was a short walk that took a long time and when I saw her I was both stricken with immense sadness and curiosity. She was a beautiful young woman, dressed in age appropriate clothing, her blond hair done up in a very trendy manner, and her makeup was done as realistically as it possibly could be. Indeed she looked as though she were sleeping. I couldn't help but wonder how exactly she had died and where were her injuries and what did they have to do to make this viewing possible (something else I think most people think but don't talk about). My mom's reaction to seeing her was a quiet sob with tears and this made my heart sink in a way that only happens with her. I supposed it's what a parent might feel when their child is in pain and they can't help them. I stood there silently while my mom and her friend quietly spoke to each other in between their tears while holding each other's hand. A lifetime of memories, heartache, pain, trust, love, and everything else that goes with more than 55 years of friendship, between them.
After a few minutes I moved about the room, looking at the pictures of the young woman and thinking the same thing everyone does. So young to be taken away. After speaking to several people, I felt it was time to excuse myself so I asked someone where I could get a drink of water. I was directed to a hospitality room. Inside there was a small kitchen with a woman, about my age, who was busy preparing plates of pastries and snacks for the mourners. I poured myself some water as I struck up a conversation with her and asked if she would share with me what it was like to work in such a place. She seemed slightly surprised at such a direct question but she appeared open to it as well and replied that it was "a blessing." I wanted to know how. She basically stated that if she could offer some comfort to these people during a time that was filled with such sorrow, then she considered it to be a blessing. I continued to ask her questions about her work and she continued to answer until I felt I had hit that line of socially appropriate curiosity that was lingering on weirdness at which point I thanked her for her time and then excused myself.
My mom walked in with her friend at that point and I offered to get coffee for us. As they walked over to a table, I prepared my mom's coffee (cream, no sugar) and brought it to her. She told me she had just seen my uncle and shared how they exchanged uninterested "hello's" with each other. She invited me to go see him. I said I had no desire to, although secretly there was a part of me that would have like to have seen him...solely out of curiosity. He is my dad's brother whom I have not had contact with for many years and for various reasons but there was still a part of me that wanted to look at him, but within moments, I let it go. I then shared with my mom how I was chatting with the "hospitality woman" and she half jokingly said I should see if they were hiring. Funny, but I thought about and after we spent a few minutes sipping our coffees, I approached the hospitality woman and asked her just that. This time she didn't hide her surprise as she told me that she really wasn't sure but would be happy to pass on my information to the right people. I gave her my name and number, thanking her again for her time.
As my mom and I said our goobyes to everyone, I was both sad and relieved to go. Relieved for obvious reasons but sad because I wanted to stay and converse with these people whom I have not seen in so many years. I remembered them all from my childhood and we would spend time at their house and they would ocassionally visit ours but they are a part of my past and we all yearn to reconnect with that perceived magical charm from that time so long ago. It's an illusion really but we all want it even if it's just for a moment. As I stood there looking around at all the people, all there for one purpose, I wished we could all be together somewhere else under different circumstances, a summer picnic perhaps where everyone would be laughing and sharing memories and stories of "I can't believe we actually did that" scenarious from something that happened way back in the day. I wished the young woman could be sitting there next to us, joining us in our laughter about the crazy things her grandmother and my mom did as youngsters. I wished I could have heard how that young woman laughed and seen how her eyes must have lit up with love while she sat with her family at a picnic table, creating moments that would later become more memories. I wish I could have met her...when she was alive.
I met up with my mom outside of the funeral home. It was freezing cold (literally) although the sun was out doing its best to provide some warmth, albeit minimal, to the blistering winds and the icy roads. My mom and I embraced as we said hello and walked in together. As far as funeral homes go, this one was rather pleasant (if there is such a thing). There was a coziness about it, "good energy" in the set up, soothing colors, a seating area with a fireplace, soft lighting. As we approached the viewing room I took a deep breath and prepared myself mentally for the experience ahead knowing that there were going to be tears, hugs, sadness, and all the emotions that coincide with walking into such a place. My mom spotted the mother of the young woman, walked over to her and embraced her. She introduced me and I embraced her as well telling her how sorry I was. She and my mom conversed a bit as I studied her and thought about what she must be experiencing. She look so drawn, yet she seemed so comforted by all the quiet activity that surrounded her. Her eyes showed that darkness of shock but she somehow seemed to be grounded at the same time. I looked around and noticed all the older teens clustered together in small groups consoling each other and feeling so awkward in this situation that was most likely the very first time in their life they had ever been to a funeral for a friend. There was music playing but it wasn't the typical mundane stuff played traditionally in a funeral home. This was pop, stuff that my nieces and nephews listen to. Some of it I recognized and I thought about how wonderful it was that someone had taken the time and effort to put together this potpourri of specific music for this young woman. Not like "the old days," I thought to myself. Thank goodness.
As my mom and I continued to make our way through the crowd, I was re-introduced to many people that I hadn't seen in 25+ years. A big smile came across my mom's friend when she saw me and I mirrored that smile. We hugged, we spoke, and after several minutes, it was finally time for that dreaded, inevitable moment. The viewing. Although I had seen the casket from a distance when I first walked in (as everyone does but we all try to avoid looking at it), I wasn't really ready to approach it. But, out of respect, I knew what I had to do. As we were escorted by my mom's friend, I again took a deep breath to prepare myself. It was a short walk that took a long time and when I saw her I was both stricken with immense sadness and curiosity. She was a beautiful young woman, dressed in age appropriate clothing, her blond hair done up in a very trendy manner, and her makeup was done as realistically as it possibly could be. Indeed she looked as though she were sleeping. I couldn't help but wonder how exactly she had died and where were her injuries and what did they have to do to make this viewing possible (something else I think most people think but don't talk about). My mom's reaction to seeing her was a quiet sob with tears and this made my heart sink in a way that only happens with her. I supposed it's what a parent might feel when their child is in pain and they can't help them. I stood there silently while my mom and her friend quietly spoke to each other in between their tears while holding each other's hand. A lifetime of memories, heartache, pain, trust, love, and everything else that goes with more than 55 years of friendship, between them.
After a few minutes I moved about the room, looking at the pictures of the young woman and thinking the same thing everyone does. So young to be taken away. After speaking to several people, I felt it was time to excuse myself so I asked someone where I could get a drink of water. I was directed to a hospitality room. Inside there was a small kitchen with a woman, about my age, who was busy preparing plates of pastries and snacks for the mourners. I poured myself some water as I struck up a conversation with her and asked if she would share with me what it was like to work in such a place. She seemed slightly surprised at such a direct question but she appeared open to it as well and replied that it was "a blessing." I wanted to know how. She basically stated that if she could offer some comfort to these people during a time that was filled with such sorrow, then she considered it to be a blessing. I continued to ask her questions about her work and she continued to answer until I felt I had hit that line of socially appropriate curiosity that was lingering on weirdness at which point I thanked her for her time and then excused myself.
My mom walked in with her friend at that point and I offered to get coffee for us. As they walked over to a table, I prepared my mom's coffee (cream, no sugar) and brought it to her. She told me she had just seen my uncle and shared how they exchanged uninterested "hello's" with each other. She invited me to go see him. I said I had no desire to, although secretly there was a part of me that would have like to have seen him...solely out of curiosity. He is my dad's brother whom I have not had contact with for many years and for various reasons but there was still a part of me that wanted to look at him, but within moments, I let it go. I then shared with my mom how I was chatting with the "hospitality woman" and she half jokingly said I should see if they were hiring. Funny, but I thought about and after we spent a few minutes sipping our coffees, I approached the hospitality woman and asked her just that. This time she didn't hide her surprise as she told me that she really wasn't sure but would be happy to pass on my information to the right people. I gave her my name and number, thanking her again for her time.
As my mom and I said our goobyes to everyone, I was both sad and relieved to go. Relieved for obvious reasons but sad because I wanted to stay and converse with these people whom I have not seen in so many years. I remembered them all from my childhood and we would spend time at their house and they would ocassionally visit ours but they are a part of my past and we all yearn to reconnect with that perceived magical charm from that time so long ago. It's an illusion really but we all want it even if it's just for a moment. As I stood there looking around at all the people, all there for one purpose, I wished we could all be together somewhere else under different circumstances, a summer picnic perhaps where everyone would be laughing and sharing memories and stories of "I can't believe we actually did that" scenarious from something that happened way back in the day. I wished the young woman could be sitting there next to us, joining us in our laughter about the crazy things her grandmother and my mom did as youngsters. I wished I could have heard how that young woman laughed and seen how her eyes must have lit up with love while she sat with her family at a picnic table, creating moments that would later become more memories. I wish I could have met her...when she was alive.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Christmas Lights and my Brother
On Saturday I went over to my brother's house to help him put up Christmas lights. He has a beautiful home, has worked very hard to acquire all he has and so has his wife. I pull into their driveway in my 99 Suzuki, and the contrast between my vehicle and their aesthetically pleasing burb is obvious but there is no judgement from my brother. He is outside, already involved in the task at hand and focused on what needs to be done. He greets me warmly, as always, with a hug and a "how ya doin." I offer up the cider and doughnuts I brought and after a few minutes of exchanging pleasantries I ask him for direction and begin assisting him in the day long job of hanging lights from various trees in his moderately sized lot. The air is filled with autumn smells and it's humid and somewhat foggy...I absolutely love it. It's the temperature of double layer clothing - t-shirt and sweatshirt. I have a cup of Sbux and it's about 11:00am. As I proceed to place layers of lights around a Blue Spruce about 20 feet tall, I have thoughts of my grandfather, who would be outside every year, no matter what the weather was like, strategically placing large bulky strands of lights with bulbs the size of large strawberries upon the perfectly trimmed bushes in the front of his modest home. He would be out there for hours and would remain until the job was done. My brother is this way as well and I'm certain he acquired that trait from my grandfather. My grandfather had arthritis and was not able to stand straight. My brother will be having a knee replacement in a few weeks and most likely surgery on his shoulder as well but he endured the physical task of this annual routine. It's what needs to be done.
I spend the day with my brother, just the two of us, talking, laughing, working. He shows no sign of frustration even though he had to leave at one point to purchase additional lights (the trees have grown exponentially since the previous year) and hit up 4 stores before finding what he was looking for. After several hours, with an occasional break, we finish our job. We are both pleased with the results and he is satisfied with having completed something that needed to be done before his surgery. His wife arrives home after spending the day with her sisters out shopping and inspects our work. She offers a little constructive criticism but follows up with a compliment to balance it out. I thank her for the "quality control" inspection and we laugh as we head into the house. We spend a polite amount of time chatting about the days events before I hug she and my brother as we say our goodbyes.
As I drive home, I reflect on the day. I feel grateful and fulfilled with a sense of family and love. My brother is not one for conversations about feelings and such, but like my grandfather he shows his love and strength for his family in the way that he lives. Like my grandfather, he is quiet about such things but there is a silent knowing of his commitment and support. And like my grandfather, he is quite simply, a good man.
I spend the day with my brother, just the two of us, talking, laughing, working. He shows no sign of frustration even though he had to leave at one point to purchase additional lights (the trees have grown exponentially since the previous year) and hit up 4 stores before finding what he was looking for. After several hours, with an occasional break, we finish our job. We are both pleased with the results and he is satisfied with having completed something that needed to be done before his surgery. His wife arrives home after spending the day with her sisters out shopping and inspects our work. She offers a little constructive criticism but follows up with a compliment to balance it out. I thank her for the "quality control" inspection and we laugh as we head into the house. We spend a polite amount of time chatting about the days events before I hug she and my brother as we say our goodbyes.
As I drive home, I reflect on the day. I feel grateful and fulfilled with a sense of family and love. My brother is not one for conversations about feelings and such, but like my grandfather he shows his love and strength for his family in the way that he lives. Like my grandfather, he is quiet about such things but there is a silent knowing of his commitment and support. And like my grandfather, he is quite simply, a good man.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Landed
I have made my trek across the country and after 1200 miles to WA, a trip to my storage unit, a yard sale (in the rain) for 3 days, a donation of at least half of what I owned some local drug rehab houses and the Goodwill, another trek of 2500 miles (trailer in tow), I have landed in MI. I am very grateful that I made the trip safely and without incident. Thank you Universe. I am staying with a friend that I have known since I was about 16 years old and although there is a great deal of familiarity with being here in MI once again, there is a strange sense of...hmmmm...not really belonging. I guess it's just because I have been away for so many years and my relationships with people here are different obviously then what they once were. I've only been here just over a week but I have seen several members of my family and had dinner with a friend last night. It's been good. I went out for ice cream with my bro one night and I got to spend some time with my mom last week going to the produce store and then out for a little shopping at TJ Maxx. We had a great time and I enjoyed every moment of it. It is the small errands and get-togethers that are of great significance to me and the sole reason for my move back here. I look forward to more of these experiences, especially with my family. :)
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Coffee Tip
This is quite a simple tip actually but I have found that many people are not aware of this. When purchasing coffee, choose beans over ground coffee because they have a longer shelf life. Technically, once a bag of beans have been opened, it should be used within no more than a week. Once the coffee is ground however, it should be used within 1 to 2 days. If you purchase ground coffee, you will miss out on so much of that wonderful coffee taste that is extracted when the beans are freshly ground and really so much of the actual coffee experience overall. Happy sipping!
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Coffee Memories
Coffee was always very significant in my life in one way or another. My grandparents always had a pot on and in the early days they used the percolator. I remember as a child waking up to the aroma of coffee along with those other fabulous and comforting smells of my grandfather's aftershave, along with the eggs, bacon, and pumpernickel toast being made by my grandmother. I spent many nights over there especially in the summer and it was my safe haven. As my grandfather readied himself for work by his usual routine of shaving and such, clad in his "muscle shirt" and work pants, I would sit at the kitchen table and wait for him. Then the 3 of us would sit down and enjoy our wonderful meal. My grandmother usually ate just toast and I ate whatever she cooked for me which was usually the same as what my grandfather would eat. The two of them would sip there fresh hot (always black) coffee while enjoying their breakfast as we chatted about the upcoming events of the day...usually simple things like was what needed from the store, and perhaps any outdoor chores that needed to be done. I felt as though I was the only grandkid on the planet and having 6 other siblings, it was indeed special to have alone time with my grandparents.
I would spend the day with my grandmother, usually running a couple of errands to the store, or watching some choice tv shows from one of perhaps five stations, and I would listen to her usual phone conversations she would have with my aunt, my mom, and perhaps some neighbors as she chatted on the black rotary style phone mounted on the wall in the kitchen (of course). We would sometimes chat about this or that and she always made me feel so loved with her interest in what I had to say as if she had never heard anything like it before. In the later afternoon when it was close to the time my grandfather would be arriving home from his long and tiring day at the Tool and Die shop, I would walk down to the end of the street and there on the corner was a huge rock that I would sit on and wait for him. That rock was like a monument. It was always there for me and it represented a piece of my happiness and childhood innocence. My grandfather always showed up on time so I never had to wait very long and when he arrived I always got this little butterfly in my belly as he stopped to pick me up. I would climb into the car and lean over and give him a big smooch on the cheek and feel the scratchiness of his days growth. He always greeted me with a smile and a big hello. We would then drive about 10 houses down to the quaint brick house with the blue & white awnings and the freshly cut lawn where dinner was being made and of course...a fresh pot of coffee was waiting.
I would spend the day with my grandmother, usually running a couple of errands to the store, or watching some choice tv shows from one of perhaps five stations, and I would listen to her usual phone conversations she would have with my aunt, my mom, and perhaps some neighbors as she chatted on the black rotary style phone mounted on the wall in the kitchen (of course). We would sometimes chat about this or that and she always made me feel so loved with her interest in what I had to say as if she had never heard anything like it before. In the later afternoon when it was close to the time my grandfather would be arriving home from his long and tiring day at the Tool and Die shop, I would walk down to the end of the street and there on the corner was a huge rock that I would sit on and wait for him. That rock was like a monument. It was always there for me and it represented a piece of my happiness and childhood innocence. My grandfather always showed up on time so I never had to wait very long and when he arrived I always got this little butterfly in my belly as he stopped to pick me up. I would climb into the car and lean over and give him a big smooch on the cheek and feel the scratchiness of his days growth. He always greeted me with a smile and a big hello. We would then drive about 10 houses down to the quaint brick house with the blue & white awnings and the freshly cut lawn where dinner was being made and of course...a fresh pot of coffee was waiting.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Changes
Today the nephew is moving out and into his own apt with a couple of friends. I'm very excited for him but simultaneously a wee sad. I've shared a bathroom with him over the months and although his daily living skills vary from mine (since he's still basically a very young guy and hasn't evolved as we all due with age), I will miss him. He's quite an interesting lad I must say and I have enjoyed cohabiting with him.
As my nephew moves on, I know that the time is getting closer for me as well to do the same. I'm excited about my upcoming changes and also a little bit...mm...concerned(?). It's challenging to start all over at this age and to take this leap of faith (yet again) is both liberating and scary. There is much to do but things seem to work out. I am a big believer in Divine Order. I'm heading to Seattle soon and then across the country to my home state of Michigan where I spent the first 35 years of my life. I look forward to seeing new land in my travels and cannot wait for all the wonderful experiences with my family that await me!
Off to the airport I go shortly to pick up my cousin and his family. They're coming back from a trip with their immediate family and now I have the privilege of spending some time (albeit brief) with them. The energy of 3 little kids and their parents is something I am really looking forward to. :)
As my nephew moves on, I know that the time is getting closer for me as well to do the same. I'm excited about my upcoming changes and also a little bit...mm...concerned(?). It's challenging to start all over at this age and to take this leap of faith (yet again) is both liberating and scary. There is much to do but things seem to work out. I am a big believer in Divine Order. I'm heading to Seattle soon and then across the country to my home state of Michigan where I spent the first 35 years of my life. I look forward to seeing new land in my travels and cannot wait for all the wonderful experiences with my family that await me!
Off to the airport I go shortly to pick up my cousin and his family. They're coming back from a trip with their immediate family and now I have the privilege of spending some time (albeit brief) with them. The energy of 3 little kids and their parents is something I am really looking forward to. :)
Friday, August 13, 2010
Coffee Tip
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Coffee Tip of the Day
I have decided to add random coffee tips/info to share my passion about coffee and all its beauty!
Scary Dyke Face Transplant
Last night I dreamed about having an exchange of my face with some rather unattractive dyke. I was very unhappy with the results and could not even look at myself in the mirror (mostly because my eyes were crooked) and wanted my old face back. I kept apologizing to everyone I saw - or rather who saw me - for my appearance. Hmmm...no symbolism in this dream at all! But who was the dyke?? I also dreamed about Sbux and about working there again. Sigh...what's a girl to do?
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
"The Kids Are All Right" is soft porn for straight people - PERIOD
So here is my chance to rant about what a piece of Hollywood dung this movie was (with the excepetion of Annette Bening who was outstanding and quite believable in her characted) and not at ALL a true depiction of a lesbian couple. I was so angry that Julianne Moore's character went off (spoiler alert) and had an affair with a MAN and they showed her having sex with him several times as if this is something lesbians go and do! PLEASE! I can believe in the infidelity part but with a guy? And it was just like no big deal? I kept thinking that if it were the opposite, in other words a straight couple, would they show the husband just JUMPING INTO BED WITH ANOTHER MAN? And what's with the GUY ON GUY PORN VIDEO? Do any of you lesbians out there watch that stuff? I know I don't! I think they used all the sex as filler like polyester in a cheap pillow. What a waste of opportunity. It's basically a movie catered towards straight people and male sexual fantasies. This movie really pissed me off and actually offended me as a lesbian. Yeah, I said it, MOVIE!
My first time...
I'm sure that got your attention huh? This is my very first attempt at having a blog so please be gentle with me but feel free to offer suggestions and/or feedback or just about anything really. I'm doing this because I am limited (albeit self-imposed) by FB since there are some relatives on there of a younger mind so this will provide me with the opportunity to express myself a wee more.
I feel blessed that you are taking time from your busy day to read my thoughts and such, so thank you for that.
Peace.
I feel blessed that you are taking time from your busy day to read my thoughts and such, so thank you for that.
Peace.
Higher Power channeling plus tortilla chips
This thought popped into my head today:
"All things are subject to personal interpretation, thus creating an individualized truth which is neither right nor wrong but rather our own reality."
I also had an additional thought shorty thereafter: Yellow corn tortilla chips often smell like day old socks.
"All things are subject to personal interpretation, thus creating an individualized truth which is neither right nor wrong but rather our own reality."
I also had an additional thought shorty thereafter: Yellow corn tortilla chips often smell like day old socks.
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