Same corner, every day.
Almost violent in his pointing
and waving,
he pushes me toward a
Twenty-nine dollar
manicure
neither
needed
nor
wanted.
Who hired this angry man to
stand on this corner
and direct me to services
unsought?
I'll close this sunroof and
catch Deacon Blues before
they reach him.
This free brother
is tempting me to throw
him
a kiss in exchange
for his mad display.
Green light drives me
and my music away.
Point on, rhythm man.
©Michelle Scofield May 11, 2011 All Rights Reserved
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Future Written in the Past
I've started the process of "Look at it, Toss it or Keep it. Look at it again." I could wax nostalgic about a lifetime of collecting memories but I'm only halfway into this planned century of living so that seems a bit premature. My goal this morning is to begin the process of packing for a move down Highway 59. Doing so means tackling the mountain of mail and Very Important Papers on my desk. I pulled out a plastic filing crate from the closet and started throwing away Other Very Important Papers to make room for newer ones. It all makes sense to me.
As I finished the "Car" folder and moved to "Chris", I found two yellowing sheets of lined notebook paper. One was written by my son and one by my daughter. My son was not yet using longhand, except for his signature. My daughter wrote in precise cursive, nothing I would recognize as hers today. I took the time to sit down and read.
Apparently one day there had been some sort of altercation that had prompted a punishment by me that resulted in the pages I now held in my hands. They (the children) had been instructed to write a full page on why they should not hit each other. I won't go into the exact words they wrote but I will tell you that when my kids were in grade school I didn't have any idea they would grow into their current professions. Oh, I knew they would excel at anything they attempted. I knew they would be superstars - there was no doubt in my mind. (That's not just their Mom talking, they were undeniably brilliant.) What I didn't know as I was wrapped up in parenting, groceries, cooking, cleaning, considering my own schooling, attempting to keep a failing marriage together (and honestly, not attempting that hard), running a household, and fearing for the future of my brilliant children and myself...was that I had a lawyer and a doctor sitting right in front of me.
The papers written so many years ago speak of arbitration, fairness, diplomacy and consequences. They speak of relationships, self-esteem, the family unit. They speak of the importance of remaining healthy physically. I am blown away each and every day by the gift that I have been given in my children. I try so hard not to live in regret but how I wish I had been able to take more time when they were younger to appreciate the lessons they were teaching me. Paige and Chris, I love you more than I can ever, EVER express.
©Michelle Scofield May 7, 2011 All Rights Reserved
As I finished the "Car" folder and moved to "Chris", I found two yellowing sheets of lined notebook paper. One was written by my son and one by my daughter. My son was not yet using longhand, except for his signature. My daughter wrote in precise cursive, nothing I would recognize as hers today. I took the time to sit down and read.
Apparently one day there had been some sort of altercation that had prompted a punishment by me that resulted in the pages I now held in my hands. They (the children) had been instructed to write a full page on why they should not hit each other. I won't go into the exact words they wrote but I will tell you that when my kids were in grade school I didn't have any idea they would grow into their current professions. Oh, I knew they would excel at anything they attempted. I knew they would be superstars - there was no doubt in my mind. (That's not just their Mom talking, they were undeniably brilliant.) What I didn't know as I was wrapped up in parenting, groceries, cooking, cleaning, considering my own schooling, attempting to keep a failing marriage together (and honestly, not attempting that hard), running a household, and fearing for the future of my brilliant children and myself...was that I had a lawyer and a doctor sitting right in front of me.
The papers written so many years ago speak of arbitration, fairness, diplomacy and consequences. They speak of relationships, self-esteem, the family unit. They speak of the importance of remaining healthy physically. I am blown away each and every day by the gift that I have been given in my children. I try so hard not to live in regret but how I wish I had been able to take more time when they were younger to appreciate the lessons they were teaching me. Paige and Chris, I love you more than I can ever, EVER express.
©Michelle Scofield May 7, 2011 All Rights Reserved
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Top Ten List
Here are the top ten reasons why today is a good day:
10. I know I'm moving.
9. I don't know exactly to where I'm moving and that gives me a bit of a thrill. I recognize this vagabond trait in myself and I know it comes from living an unsettled childhood. I know it comes from making the best of not-so-good situations. I learned that there was a knew to be gained from every new and a know to grow from every now. I learned that I needed to pay attention to everything. Mom said I was like a little bird who perked up at the slightest change in the air in the room. My winds of change are stirring and I'm excited to see what they'll bring to me.
8. The weather is glorious. (That's typed in imaginary musical font, in case you didn't hear it in your head.)
7. I have another trip planned at the end of the month. My frequent flyer miles are racking up toward another freebie.
6. The photographs I shot in Chicago are incredibly strong. I'm proud and excited to put together something to show.
5. I'm connecting with my patients on a level I haven't felt for at least ten years. I think it's the bell-ringing. When someone completes therapy it's a HUGE accomplishment and I get to be there to see their celebrations. DING! DONG! DING!
4. Satellite Radio is the best. There's nothing like 70's music to get me in a good mood in the morning.
3. I found some old David Letterman on YouTube. Watching him in a Velcro suit - stuck to a wall - was hilarious. Last night I think I woke my neighbors. I was laughing so hard.
Tied for 1 and 2. My children. I watch the more-settled, growing-up versions of that younger me and I am amazed. And in this I sit in gratitude.
©Michelle Scofield May 4, 2011 All Rights Reserved
10. I know I'm moving.
9. I don't know exactly to where I'm moving and that gives me a bit of a thrill. I recognize this vagabond trait in myself and I know it comes from living an unsettled childhood. I know it comes from making the best of not-so-good situations. I learned that there was a knew to be gained from every new and a know to grow from every now. I learned that I needed to pay attention to everything. Mom said I was like a little bird who perked up at the slightest change in the air in the room. My winds of change are stirring and I'm excited to see what they'll bring to me.
8. The weather is glorious. (That's typed in imaginary musical font, in case you didn't hear it in your head.)
7. I have another trip planned at the end of the month. My frequent flyer miles are racking up toward another freebie.
6. The photographs I shot in Chicago are incredibly strong. I'm proud and excited to put together something to show.
5. I'm connecting with my patients on a level I haven't felt for at least ten years. I think it's the bell-ringing. When someone completes therapy it's a HUGE accomplishment and I get to be there to see their celebrations. DING! DONG! DING!
4. Satellite Radio is the best. There's nothing like 70's music to get me in a good mood in the morning.
3. I found some old David Letterman on YouTube. Watching him in a Velcro suit - stuck to a wall - was hilarious. Last night I think I woke my neighbors. I was laughing so hard.
Tied for 1 and 2. My children. I watch the more-settled, growing-up versions of that younger me and I am amazed. And in this I sit in gratitude.
©Michelle Scofield May 4, 2011 All Rights Reserved
Friday, April 22, 2011
To Be Splendid
About six months ago a series of clicks started moving through the system of tumblers that lock my brain. I couldn't hear them but I felt the tiniest shift and ease as pins lined up, tension built, and I experienced one slight release after another. I am letting go.
I've let go before. I've walked away, I've moved on. This feels different. When I compare my previous life transitions to now it seems as if those times were like walking through a doorway into another room (leaving the room behind)and this is more like opening the windows to see what is actually in the room (to find I may want to spend more time in it).
When I turned 50 it bothered me to state my age. Now I throw it out like a challenge. I'm 51 and my skin will always look 20 years younger. I started growing my hair longer before my birthday. I'd worn it extremely short for years. I've embraced a couple looks that I've always loved on other people and hadn't tried myself. Why? I have no idea. I find myself wearing colorful silk scarves more days than not. I wear a denim jacket with dresses and I have a closet full of shoes that make me happy.
I was asked if I have plans for Easter. Would I like to have dinner with a family because I'm all alone? I declined, saying I have theater tickets. The inviter was surprised and said she was sorry I had to go by myself. Reader, I hope you're not sorry for me. I have 3rd row seats. I think it will be wonderful.
Now to one of the clicks I was talking about. It may take a minute to get there. I went dancing with a female friend of mine last night. We were outside - on the patio - taking in the night breeze and catching up on our lives. A most attractive, friendly, single man struck up a conversation and bought us a drink. This most attractive, friendly, single man eventually asked me to dance and at one point told me I was "splendid". Isn't that a wonderful word? Given that his native language is French, I take that as a sincere compliment and I felt bad that because the band was so loud he had to say it 4 times before I heard it. (Kind of.)
Here's the click. He was good-looking, single, seemingly-sincere, interesting and...more than 10 years younger than me. I'm aware of how my room-leaving, door-slamming self works.
Easing open the windows shows me that it's fun to dance. It's wonderful to be told I'm splendid. One day I may meet a man in my general age-range. Maybe. In the meantime. Click. Click. Click. Yes, he has my number.
I've let go before. I've walked away, I've moved on. This feels different. When I compare my previous life transitions to now it seems as if those times were like walking through a doorway into another room (leaving the room behind)and this is more like opening the windows to see what is actually in the room (to find I may want to spend more time in it).
When I turned 50 it bothered me to state my age. Now I throw it out like a challenge. I'm 51 and my skin will always look 20 years younger. I started growing my hair longer before my birthday. I'd worn it extremely short for years. I've embraced a couple looks that I've always loved on other people and hadn't tried myself. Why? I have no idea. I find myself wearing colorful silk scarves more days than not. I wear a denim jacket with dresses and I have a closet full of shoes that make me happy.
I was asked if I have plans for Easter. Would I like to have dinner with a family because I'm all alone? I declined, saying I have theater tickets. The inviter was surprised and said she was sorry I had to go by myself. Reader, I hope you're not sorry for me. I have 3rd row seats. I think it will be wonderful.
Now to one of the clicks I was talking about. It may take a minute to get there. I went dancing with a female friend of mine last night. We were outside - on the patio - taking in the night breeze and catching up on our lives. A most attractive, friendly, single man struck up a conversation and bought us a drink. This most attractive, friendly, single man eventually asked me to dance and at one point told me I was "splendid". Isn't that a wonderful word? Given that his native language is French, I take that as a sincere compliment and I felt bad that because the band was so loud he had to say it 4 times before I heard it. (Kind of.)
Here's the click. He was good-looking, single, seemingly-sincere, interesting and...more than 10 years younger than me. I'm aware of how my room-leaving, door-slamming self works.
Easing open the windows shows me that it's fun to dance. It's wonderful to be told I'm splendid. One day I may meet a man in my general age-range. Maybe. In the meantime. Click. Click. Click. Yes, he has my number.
©Michelle Scofield, April 22, 2011 All Rights Reserved
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
A Man for Every Day of the Week
I’ve taken to running errands on my lunch hour. I run to the bank. I get my car washed. Today I ran to the grocery store and picked up some fresh veggies. It would be great to have a delivery service to bring my groceries to me.
Today I was involved in a discussion about the milkman, a bit of reminiscing. Some of you may remember him. When I was a girl we had a big tin box on the front porch. The milk man would come around twice a week and place a couple gallons of milk and maybe some half-and-half or cottage cheese or whatever extra order Mom had placed for him on the little yellow slip of paper that she clipped on the box with a clothespin. If she forgot to order the extra before she ran off to work in the morning it was always a loud “shit!” when she got home that night and started preparing dinner.
Seems there used to me more “men” around who did certain tasks for single women in the old days. Please know that I’m smiling as I type this. I’m fully aware that a woman could have done those jobs. Today’s talk about the milkman disintegrated exactly as you might expect. Today a group of women began to talk about just who we might want to come around once a week. There were laughs and sideways smiles, smirks and talk of servicing us.
Mechanics. Plumbers. Cabana Boys. Chefs.
Here’s how it ended up.
Mostly we wanted someone to:
Wash our cars. Go to the bank. Do our grocery shopping.
Ha! So I guess all the old jokes of having the milkman come around are just that - old. We tried to keep up the jokes and the innuendo. We just couldn’t do it.
There is no sideways way to say it.
Sometimes an oil change is just an oil change.
©Michelle Scofield, April 20, 2011 All Rights Reserved
Today I was involved in a discussion about the milkman, a bit of reminiscing. Some of you may remember him. When I was a girl we had a big tin box on the front porch. The milk man would come around twice a week and place a couple gallons of milk and maybe some half-and-half or cottage cheese or whatever extra order Mom had placed for him on the little yellow slip of paper that she clipped on the box with a clothespin. If she forgot to order the extra before she ran off to work in the morning it was always a loud “shit!” when she got home that night and started preparing dinner.
Seems there used to me more “men” around who did certain tasks for single women in the old days. Please know that I’m smiling as I type this. I’m fully aware that a woman could have done those jobs. Today’s talk about the milkman disintegrated exactly as you might expect. Today a group of women began to talk about just who we might want to come around once a week. There were laughs and sideways smiles, smirks and talk of servicing us.
Mechanics. Plumbers. Cabana Boys. Chefs.
Here’s how it ended up.
Mostly we wanted someone to:
Wash our cars. Go to the bank. Do our grocery shopping.
Ha! So I guess all the old jokes of having the milkman come around are just that - old. We tried to keep up the jokes and the innuendo. We just couldn’t do it.
There is no sideways way to say it.
Sometimes an oil change is just an oil change.
©Michelle Scofield, April 20, 2011 All Rights Reserved
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Hallelujah!
Could the moon be more full?
Please! I know I asked for help from my friends but...What. The. Hell?
Tonight (7:55pm), in my car, dressed in a cute new cocktail dress and my phone rings. My friend is backing out on plans for tonight. Fine. I get that his could-be date backed out. I get that he's not feeling it. Big ol' sigh and let's get on with it. I drive to the art show and, damn it! Where am I supposed to park for this thing? After 20 minutes of circling the bus station and the hobos (yes, I said it) I find a place next to the 24hour flower shop and traipse my new shoes over the train tracks to a complimentary shot of single-malt. That's better. The art is good but the crowd is on average 20 years younger than me and I don't know anyone but one of the artists. I'm out of there after praising her obvious talent. I leave the gallery and maneuver through the dark streets to my car hoping against hope that I make it in one piece.
I duck into one of my favorite restaurants. It's a favorite because it serves a fantastic steak and one of the bartenders is a real cutie that I've been flirting with for about 6 months. Would you believe that he's maybe leaving said establishment? Ack! Not to worry. He has my contact information and he wants to attend an art event with me. I'm feeling pretty good about the fact that I wore the right cute dress tonight and that he won't be "the help". I hate that phrase. I hate the "should I, or should we" debate. He's attractive. We're both single. Forget about it!
Now's where it gets interesting. A man sitting next to me starts up a conversation. I think, "harmless". Wrong.
By the end of my steak and partway into his conversation, I'm trying to think of an exit strategy where I don't get murdered by the Jesus freak to my left. What did I do to deserve this? Hail Mary full of grace, please don't let him see me when I exit to the parking lot after going to the ladies' room. (I'd paid my tab earlier and managed to confirm with Mr. Hottie Bartender that he would be calling me next week.) I excuse myself to the rest room before Ezekial enters the promised land of discussing his upbringing in Kentucky. What sends me running? Literal fists on the bar and finger pointing to heaven. For a little while I think Jim Baker or Joel Osteen is in house.
I slink into the parking lot, making furtive glances over my shoulder and heave a sigh of relief as I shut my car door. I am safe within the confines of my car for the second time this evening.
So I'm home. I suppose I could lift a prayer of Thanksgiving for a safe return in light of the hazards I faced tonight. Or I could just be grateful for another adventure in this wonderful city and call it good.
©Michelle Scofield, April 16, 2011 All Rights Reserved
Please! I know I asked for help from my friends but...What. The. Hell?
Tonight (7:55pm), in my car, dressed in a cute new cocktail dress and my phone rings. My friend is backing out on plans for tonight. Fine. I get that his could-be date backed out. I get that he's not feeling it. Big ol' sigh and let's get on with it. I drive to the art show and, damn it! Where am I supposed to park for this thing? After 20 minutes of circling the bus station and the hobos (yes, I said it) I find a place next to the 24hour flower shop and traipse my new shoes over the train tracks to a complimentary shot of single-malt. That's better. The art is good but the crowd is on average 20 years younger than me and I don't know anyone but one of the artists. I'm out of there after praising her obvious talent. I leave the gallery and maneuver through the dark streets to my car hoping against hope that I make it in one piece.
I duck into one of my favorite restaurants. It's a favorite because it serves a fantastic steak and one of the bartenders is a real cutie that I've been flirting with for about 6 months. Would you believe that he's maybe leaving said establishment? Ack! Not to worry. He has my contact information and he wants to attend an art event with me. I'm feeling pretty good about the fact that I wore the right cute dress tonight and that he won't be "the help". I hate that phrase. I hate the "should I, or should we" debate. He's attractive. We're both single. Forget about it!
Now's where it gets interesting. A man sitting next to me starts up a conversation. I think, "harmless". Wrong.
By the end of my steak and partway into his conversation, I'm trying to think of an exit strategy where I don't get murdered by the Jesus freak to my left. What did I do to deserve this? Hail Mary full of grace, please don't let him see me when I exit to the parking lot after going to the ladies' room. (I'd paid my tab earlier and managed to confirm with Mr. Hottie Bartender that he would be calling me next week.) I excuse myself to the rest room before Ezekial enters the promised land of discussing his upbringing in Kentucky. What sends me running? Literal fists on the bar and finger pointing to heaven. For a little while I think Jim Baker or Joel Osteen is in house.
I slink into the parking lot, making furtive glances over my shoulder and heave a sigh of relief as I shut my car door. I am safe within the confines of my car for the second time this evening.
So I'm home. I suppose I could lift a prayer of Thanksgiving for a safe return in light of the hazards I faced tonight. Or I could just be grateful for another adventure in this wonderful city and call it good.
©Michelle Scofield, April 16, 2011 All Rights Reserved
With a Little Help From My Friends
So divorced eight (8?!?) years. Haven't seriously dated anyone for over a year. What do I know about dating? That's the question of the century. Guess what. I'm not going to answer that today.
Here's what's going on. I've asked my friends to consider their friends. Do they know anyone in my general age range, who is employed, who might possibly be interested in meeting me. I know that I'd like to meet someone who isn't fresh out of a relationship. I figure I've done that (dated someone who is working through his issues). It's not something I want to do again. Ouch!
Today I was told that I wasn't someones "type". I wasn't a little tiny woman and I was too smart for one particular man about whom I'd inquired (an acquaintance of a friend). OK...honestly? After awhile a girl just wants to throw in the towel and go back to the Internet (which I dabbled in BARELY for a couple of years). BUT that is no man's land as far as I'm concerned. So it stung a bit to hear this truth but darlings the truth is just that.
I'm just going to keep on being me. It's off to the bookstore and then working on my travel plans. If my friends know someone, awesome. If not, I'm going to change the name of this damned blog. :)
©Michelle Scofield, April 16, 2011 All Rights Reserved
Here's what's going on. I've asked my friends to consider their friends. Do they know anyone in my general age range, who is employed, who might possibly be interested in meeting me. I know that I'd like to meet someone who isn't fresh out of a relationship. I figure I've done that (dated someone who is working through his issues). It's not something I want to do again. Ouch!
Today I was told that I wasn't someones "type". I wasn't a little tiny woman and I was too smart for one particular man about whom I'd inquired (an acquaintance of a friend). OK...honestly? After awhile a girl just wants to throw in the towel and go back to the Internet (which I dabbled in BARELY for a couple of years). BUT that is no man's land as far as I'm concerned. So it stung a bit to hear this truth but darlings the truth is just that.
I'm just going to keep on being me. It's off to the bookstore and then working on my travel plans. If my friends know someone, awesome. If not, I'm going to change the name of this damned blog. :)
©Michelle Scofield, April 16, 2011 All Rights Reserved
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