Yesterday I stuck a foreign body in my eye and raked it across my cornea. Just like that. I knew the moment I did it that it could be trouble. It was one of those moments like watching a glass fall from your hands or running through a stop sign in full view of a police car. I couldn't take it back. I was in a hurry and applying eyeliner. I swooshed the pencil across the place where my lid should be except my lid wasn't closed - it was open.
Crap.
I blinked, blinked, and blinked some more. I pulled out a magnifying mirror and attempted to see what I knew I'd never see without stain and someone else's eyes. I went on with my day. I more or less forgot about it except for a little mild irritation and a couple sneezes in the afternoon. Then I got in my car to drive into Houston for an art opening. It was dark and I was facing oncoming headlights and I had a telltale halo effect.
Well, this wasn't good.
I stayed out a couple hours and headed home.
When my eyes aren't feeling good I experience fatigue. I arrived home around 9:30, feeling like I'd read about a hundred pages of a difficult book but still without any scleral signs: no redness or discharge. My goal was to get to bed as soon as possible. My phone rang and I reluctantly answered. I'd been expecting this phone call.
Could I see clear to ignore the last few days of noncommunication? A difficult situation had come up and he didn't really know how to handle it but it had nothing to do with me. Maybe we could just pick up where he had dropped us off?
Suddenly I saw the red (flags).
My fatigue became overwhelming enough to prompt me to end the phone call and the day. Wishing him a healthy, happy life I bade him goodnight and goodbye.
My pillow felt cool and welcoming as I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.
This morning I awoke to the relief of the realization that I'm still young enough to heal pretty darned fast. My eye is fine and my sight seems to be normal.
Here's looking at you.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Friday, September 16, 2011
If Only Life Were a Magic Show...Yeah, I know.
In light of the events of last week, the most recent Houdini is only a puff of smoke. Still, it never hurts to go back over life's lessons. Abracadabra! May you all have a wonderful weekend.
How to Handle a Houdini(originally published March, 2008)
"He pulled a Houdini."
It's a phrase that's batted about dating circles with disdain and disgust. Everyone seems to hate The Houdini. He's the man who shows fairly intense interest, perhaps takes a woman out on several dates and then, poof! He's gone leaving her behind in a cloud of bewilderment and confusion. There is no white dove, no rabbit, no Siberian tiger on a platform to wow his audience. He leaves behind an empty stage and a theater so silent you can almost hear the digits change on her cell phone LCD time display as she checks it once again from the third row back. The soft green glow lights her face as she hits "messages"...just in case. Nothing.
Harry Houdini (3/24/1874 - 10/31/1926) was a master illusionist. He was an escape artist. He didn't really disappear, although some wondered if he might have had the power to do so, given the sheer audacity and difficulty of his illusions and stunts. His profession required incredible physical and mental training, practice, and precise timing. The Dating Houdini doesn't really deserve the title, because disappearing from a dating situation isn't nearly as grand - when compared to what Houdini accomplished. Houdini had to work at what he did. He had to struggle, sweat, and at times risk his life. Most dating escape artists simply stop showing up. That's pretty easy in comparison.
The offender (the escape artist) can also be female. Nothing is to say that a Houdini has to be a male. There are two basic ways to handle being Houdini'd. I promise the first option is the most attractive to future suitors who might be paying attention to your behavior, but feel free to attempt option two. My guess is that if you're reading this and you have any inkling that option two has merit, my words will effect you in the same way a false cut would a shuffle.
Option One: Move on after taking a very brief personal inventory. How's your grooming, mood, manners, general presentation? I want this inventory to be ultra-brief. This is most likely, almost certainly, I can almost promise you, not about you! There, there, isn't that better? Forget about it. Take a walk, ride your bike, go to the movie, call a friend. Oh, and leave the booze and ice cream out of this. They have no part in it.
Option Two: Call him or her. Texting is good, too. Email? Why not? Perhaps write a poem, odes are nice. Do you know any of his friends? Perhaps know where she works? You getting my drift? You can investigate, make sure, make really, really, really sure that nothing happened to him. He COULD be in a ditch somewhere, bleeding a steady, marching stream of blood cells out of a gash in his groin. Oh my God! If only he could. just. reach. his. cell. phone!
Now that you've considered your options, I'd like to cover one more point, the followup. There may be a time when you encounter your Houdini out in public. I suggest you smile, nod and keep on walking. That's what you would do with any stranger, is it not? Resist the urge to take up with the escape artist again.
I'm going to let you in on a little bit of personal history here. I rarely give out my own dating dirt, because I think it can be tacky, but this little resurrection of my own personal Houdini happened on Halloween, the anniversary of the Great One's death, so I think it's fitting. I hadn't heard from Mr. Man since he disappeared seven months earlier. Suddenly he's standing next to me at a party. He's talking to me and he seems quite interested. This was all quite surreal. I nodded, smiled and told him it was nice to see him. I couldn't very well have not talked at that point. No...I didn't hook up with him. I truly believe all that was attracting him was my stockings, or corset, or maybe it was the handcuffs. Remember, it was Halloween, and he is an escape artist, after all.
©Michelle Scofield, September 16, 2011 All Rights Reserved
How to Handle a Houdini(originally published March, 2008)
"He pulled a Houdini."
It's a phrase that's batted about dating circles with disdain and disgust. Everyone seems to hate The Houdini. He's the man who shows fairly intense interest, perhaps takes a woman out on several dates and then, poof! He's gone leaving her behind in a cloud of bewilderment and confusion. There is no white dove, no rabbit, no Siberian tiger on a platform to wow his audience. He leaves behind an empty stage and a theater so silent you can almost hear the digits change on her cell phone LCD time display as she checks it once again from the third row back. The soft green glow lights her face as she hits "messages"...just in case. Nothing.
Harry Houdini (3/24/1874 - 10/31/1926) was a master illusionist. He was an escape artist. He didn't really disappear, although some wondered if he might have had the power to do so, given the sheer audacity and difficulty of his illusions and stunts. His profession required incredible physical and mental training, practice, and precise timing. The Dating Houdini doesn't really deserve the title, because disappearing from a dating situation isn't nearly as grand - when compared to what Houdini accomplished. Houdini had to work at what he did. He had to struggle, sweat, and at times risk his life. Most dating escape artists simply stop showing up. That's pretty easy in comparison.
The offender (the escape artist) can also be female. Nothing is to say that a Houdini has to be a male. There are two basic ways to handle being Houdini'd. I promise the first option is the most attractive to future suitors who might be paying attention to your behavior, but feel free to attempt option two. My guess is that if you're reading this and you have any inkling that option two has merit, my words will effect you in the same way a false cut would a shuffle.
Option One: Move on after taking a very brief personal inventory. How's your grooming, mood, manners, general presentation? I want this inventory to be ultra-brief. This is most likely, almost certainly, I can almost promise you, not about you! There, there, isn't that better? Forget about it. Take a walk, ride your bike, go to the movie, call a friend. Oh, and leave the booze and ice cream out of this. They have no part in it.
Option Two: Call him or her. Texting is good, too. Email? Why not? Perhaps write a poem, odes are nice. Do you know any of his friends? Perhaps know where she works? You getting my drift? You can investigate, make sure, make really, really, really sure that nothing happened to him. He COULD be in a ditch somewhere, bleeding a steady, marching stream of blood cells out of a gash in his groin. Oh my God! If only he could. just. reach. his. cell. phone!
Now that you've considered your options, I'd like to cover one more point, the followup. There may be a time when you encounter your Houdini out in public. I suggest you smile, nod and keep on walking. That's what you would do with any stranger, is it not? Resist the urge to take up with the escape artist again.
I'm going to let you in on a little bit of personal history here. I rarely give out my own dating dirt, because I think it can be tacky, but this little resurrection of my own personal Houdini happened on Halloween, the anniversary of the Great One's death, so I think it's fitting. I hadn't heard from Mr. Man since he disappeared seven months earlier. Suddenly he's standing next to me at a party. He's talking to me and he seems quite interested. This was all quite surreal. I nodded, smiled and told him it was nice to see him. I couldn't very well have not talked at that point. No...I didn't hook up with him. I truly believe all that was attracting him was my stockings, or corset, or maybe it was the handcuffs. Remember, it was Halloween, and he is an escape artist, after all.
©Michelle Scofield, September 16, 2011 All Rights Reserved
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
lost list
This list grows.
The photos,
the days,
the years,
the things
that made us
-us.
It wanders,
meanders,
mews and winds,
and
pushes against
the backs of my eyes
to trick me into
false comfort.
It sighs and flutters
gingham over denim.
I sew a patch on that
place where sunlight
would show through
if the sound of a snarl
wasn't already filling
that space you
OCCUPIED
when we were twelve
- before you learned to
drive your father's car
and we jumped the curb
into a summer night.
It scratches vinyl
and skips pages
that would make sense
of the storysong
we sang when we said it would
all
turn
out.
©Michelle Scofield, September 13, 2011 All Rights Reserved
The photos,
the days,
the years,
the things
that made us
-us.
It wanders,
meanders,
mews and winds,
and
pushes against
the backs of my eyes
to trick me into
false comfort.
It sighs and flutters
gingham over denim.
I sew a patch on that
place where sunlight
would show through
if the sound of a snarl
wasn't already filling
that space you
OCCUPIED
when we were twelve
- before you learned to
drive your father's car
and we jumped the curb
into a summer night.
It scratches vinyl
and skips pages
that would make sense
of the storysong
we sang when we said it would
all
turn
out.
©Michelle Scofield, September 13, 2011 All Rights Reserved
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Convocation
The new academic year is upon us. All across America parents are watching their children go off to preschool, and fourth grade, and high school, and college. Pictures are being taken on front sidewalks. Backpacks and vehicles are packed for trips across town and across the country. Reality quickly steps in to replace anticipation as homework starts to add up along with the cost of extra-curricular activities and textbooks.
I'm watching many of my friends experience "firsts" this year. First child in grade school. First child in college. First time with no kids in the house. I try to remind myself that it wasn't that long ago that I was in their shoes.
I remember the day my daughter started kindergarten like it was yesterday. I sat at the kitchen table for three hours, just waiting for her to be home. I didn't want to hear everything that happened. I wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to have her chattering and moving around the house. I knew that she had passed a milestone in her development and I couldn't move along that road with her. I wanted things to be like they were the day before...until they would change all over again the next day. Like I said, it seems like yesterday. It was only 24 years ago. I obviously couldn't stop time from turning.
When my son left for college, he packed his belongings in the back of his pickup and drove himself to school. He wanted it that way and I put on a brave face, respecting his wishes. I hugged him, kissed him, told him I loved him and watched him drive down the road. I walked into the house and into the laundry room and saw one lonely piece of his laundry on the floor, fell to my knees and cried for hours. It's what I needed to do at the time. I wasn't brave. I was distraught. Somehow I managed to stand and move on through my own time, even thriving. As did he.
So in honor of the new academic year, a list of things that have helped me. To you, from me:
The question not asked is the one that will drive me crazy. The question asked more than once is the one that will drive them crazy.
If your child expresses an interest in music, do what you can to put an instrument in his/her hand.
A part-time job is a wonderful thing. So are scholarships. So are used cars.
Just because we raised them doesn't mean we consider the same things to be important. (This applies to cleaning, pets, romantic interests, holidays, clothing, on to infinity.)
Once they turn 18 they really DO have the rights and responsibilities of an adult.
Asking your child for advice and letting him/her see you follow it instills a great sense of trust that runs both ways.
Turning my phone off to get some sleep results in a terrible night's sleep for me.
Watching "Jackass" with my kids and laughing at the vulgarity was a great investment.
I'll never know for sure, but I think that telling my kids they would have to deal with any arrests by spending the night in jail meant they didn't spend the night in jail.
Finally, remember. Remember how you felt to be stretching yourself and trying new things. Remember the fear and the excitement. Remember that you didn't want to tell your parents everything. Besides if we know it all now, what will be left to spill at holiday dinners in front of their kids?
©Michelle Scofield, Aug. 28, 2011 All Rights Reserved
I'm watching many of my friends experience "firsts" this year. First child in grade school. First child in college. First time with no kids in the house. I try to remind myself that it wasn't that long ago that I was in their shoes.
I remember the day my daughter started kindergarten like it was yesterday. I sat at the kitchen table for three hours, just waiting for her to be home. I didn't want to hear everything that happened. I wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to have her chattering and moving around the house. I knew that she had passed a milestone in her development and I couldn't move along that road with her. I wanted things to be like they were the day before...until they would change all over again the next day. Like I said, it seems like yesterday. It was only 24 years ago. I obviously couldn't stop time from turning.
When my son left for college, he packed his belongings in the back of his pickup and drove himself to school. He wanted it that way and I put on a brave face, respecting his wishes. I hugged him, kissed him, told him I loved him and watched him drive down the road. I walked into the house and into the laundry room and saw one lonely piece of his laundry on the floor, fell to my knees and cried for hours. It's what I needed to do at the time. I wasn't brave. I was distraught. Somehow I managed to stand and move on through my own time, even thriving. As did he.
So in honor of the new academic year, a list of things that have helped me. To you, from me:
The question not asked is the one that will drive me crazy. The question asked more than once is the one that will drive them crazy.
If your child expresses an interest in music, do what you can to put an instrument in his/her hand.
A part-time job is a wonderful thing. So are scholarships. So are used cars.
Just because we raised them doesn't mean we consider the same things to be important. (This applies to cleaning, pets, romantic interests, holidays, clothing, on to infinity.)
Once they turn 18 they really DO have the rights and responsibilities of an adult.
Asking your child for advice and letting him/her see you follow it instills a great sense of trust that runs both ways.
Turning my phone off to get some sleep results in a terrible night's sleep for me.
Watching "Jackass" with my kids and laughing at the vulgarity was a great investment.
I'll never know for sure, but I think that telling my kids they would have to deal with any arrests by spending the night in jail meant they didn't spend the night in jail.
Finally, remember. Remember how you felt to be stretching yourself and trying new things. Remember the fear and the excitement. Remember that you didn't want to tell your parents everything. Besides if we know it all now, what will be left to spill at holiday dinners in front of their kids?
©Michelle Scofield, Aug. 28, 2011 All Rights Reserved
Saturday, August 20, 2011
My Sister Cried
I ignored my ringing phone and let the hot water run over me. Maybe an extra long shower would loosen the tightness that had crept into my back muscles when I allowed myself an extra two hours sleep this morning. It was Saturday, who would call at 9 a.m.? Turning the faucet off and reaching for my towel, I hoped it wouldn't be one of the kids with an emergency.
I looked at the caller ID and was a little irritated to see her name. She has a habit of calling me after church on Sunday and wanting to get together last minute. I sighed and for a minute considered not returning the call. I wasn't really in the mood to chat or have tea or rush out to meet someone. We haven't seen each other for a few months. My job. Her job. I think she has a new male friend who is keeping her busy - I'm very happy for her in that regard. Her kids are out of state, like mine. We're just so...busy.
But we're still friends. We have been since Katrina blew her into Texas and our relationship was formed one morning in the parking lot of an apartment complex. It (the relationship) grew from a chance meeting into a trusting, caring, rare thing that has to be tended to. That's what friendship is. I dialed her number, got voicemail, and let her know that I missed her. I do.
I wrapped my towel around me and took my phone into my bedroom. In less than 5 minutes she called me back. She was crying. She only needed to hear my voice for a few minutes to let me tell her that I love her. Her mother died.
I do love her and I would give anything to sit beside her right now and just be.
We'll have that cup of tea when she returns to Houston, whenever that is. Today I sit in gratitude that she thought to call me early on a Saturday morning, when her heart is broken once again. She has endured loss and tragedy like very few I've ever known. I've watched her rise from the bitter wrecks of Katrina, pulling herself up with such admirable strength and today I felt her sorrow pour through the miles and over my phone to me. My heart is so very heavy for her. I can't make it any better. I can only love her, my New Orleans sister.
I looked at the caller ID and was a little irritated to see her name. She has a habit of calling me after church on Sunday and wanting to get together last minute. I sighed and for a minute considered not returning the call. I wasn't really in the mood to chat or have tea or rush out to meet someone. We haven't seen each other for a few months. My job. Her job. I think she has a new male friend who is keeping her busy - I'm very happy for her in that regard. Her kids are out of state, like mine. We're just so...busy.
But we're still friends. We have been since Katrina blew her into Texas and our relationship was formed one morning in the parking lot of an apartment complex. It (the relationship) grew from a chance meeting into a trusting, caring, rare thing that has to be tended to. That's what friendship is. I dialed her number, got voicemail, and let her know that I missed her. I do.
I wrapped my towel around me and took my phone into my bedroom. In less than 5 minutes she called me back. She was crying. She only needed to hear my voice for a few minutes to let me tell her that I love her. Her mother died.
I do love her and I would give anything to sit beside her right now and just be.
We'll have that cup of tea when she returns to Houston, whenever that is. Today I sit in gratitude that she thought to call me early on a Saturday morning, when her heart is broken once again. She has endured loss and tragedy like very few I've ever known. I've watched her rise from the bitter wrecks of Katrina, pulling herself up with such admirable strength and today I felt her sorrow pour through the miles and over my phone to me. My heart is so very heavy for her. I can't make it any better. I can only love her, my New Orleans sister.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Light Shines on the Steps
My week? Depends on how you look at it. I've been sailing along with an easy work schedule. I managed to dodge some bug. (Felt feverish and jumped right on it with lots of orange juice and a hearty bowl of Vietnamese chicken soup.) My social calendar has been just full enough to keep me busy without stressing me out. I've taken three yoga classes and I'm feeling pretty good about that.
Sounds great right?
Depends on how you look at it.
I've been listening as people I love have filled me in on the difficulties of their respective weeks. My heart has ached a little for each one because there isn't a whole lot I can do besides be present - several states away sometimes. All I can do is listen and offer up bits of advice if they're wanting that kind of help. I can't fix everything. Most likely I can't fix anything.
I'm walking those steps again this week. OK, I walk them every week but sometimes I'm even more aware of my journey down that path. This week I had many nudges that told me, "Just be there. That's all you can do."
On two separate occasions I witnessed women I don't know all that well, making themselves crazy attempting to control situations that are entirely out of their hands. They were micro-managing the macro. They were trying to tweeze tiny minutiae in haystacks while combines swept the fields around them. They were so wrapped up in their projects - the importance of their own agendas - that I wondered what they would see when they looked up and all was gone. My guess (my hunch) is that they would still be wrapped up in the details and mourning the loss of control, rather than the loss of the relationship. How do I make up stories in my head about people I don't know? Only because I led that life before. I only think/write/ponder about it occasionally to remind myself of where I don't want to be again.
So sometimes all I can do is listen.
If I haven't been stepping up enough, the ones I love do a pretty good job of saying, "Hey! I need help!" They know I've been working these steps to give up my controlling ways. It's been a lot of years.
Weeks like this, when it seems the world decides to put the smackdown on more than one of my loved ones at the same time, magnify stress. The steps seem a little steeper. I know I can manage, and so can all of those who make my life so very sweet.
Now we're back to that, "...depends on how you look at it." I have people in my life who are willing to talk to me about their problems and worries. What a sweet, loving, trusting gift that is.
My week was wonderful. I hope yours was too. If you need me, all you have to do is ask.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Saturday Night's Allright
I haven't had a Saturday with so many social choices in a very long time.
My friend, Todd, is playing at the Galleria Concert Pub. He's in a Tool tribute band called Spiral Out. They're very good and I'd also love to spend a little time with Todd's wife, Vali, who is probably the prettiest/funniest/sweetest/sexiest Southern Woman you'll ever lay eyes on in addition to being a close friend who always makes me feel as if I'm one of the most important people in the world when I walk into the room. You know the kind of person I'm talking about, right? There will be a big crowd of friends (we'll all get together real soon, I promise!) and it should be a lot of fun.
It's White Linen Night in the Heights. Traffic will be a nightmare but the art and food will certainly make up for any of that hassle. I received several invitations to parties ranging from parking lots to galleries. Aside from not owning a stitch of white linen, I just wasn't feeling up to mixing and mingling this year. Oh, and the fact that I blew my art budget yesterday framing one piece I bought a few weeks ago and four of my own photographs.
There IS the Prayapalooza being held at Reliant Stadium today. Rick (Strong Hair) Perry booked the 70,000+ seat arena and so far there are about 7,000 RSVPs. I hope the hors d'oeuvres hold up in the heat. I just hate it when I overestimate and overprepare for the crowd that actually shows for one of my parties. (I guess I get a little giddy. It's the party girl in me.) I never really planned to attend, so I didn't respond to any invitation for Governor Perry's soiree myself. I did, however, send him a little note via e-mail kindly asking him not to use state funds for his meetup.
Speaking of funds, here's what I've settled on for my Saturday entertainment. I won...wait for it...2 FREE tickets to the Houston Astros game tonight. Yes, I'm going to a baseball game. Now don't scoff. I'm fully aware that the home team is struggling. Some would say they're wheezing, gasping. I see it another way. They're past all that. The pressure is off. Now they can just go out and play ball. And I can spend Saturday evening watching a game I enjoy with a guy I'm enjoying spending time with.
Happy Weekend! Hope you enjoy yours.
©Michelle Scofield, Aug. 6, 2011 All Rights Reserved
My friend, Todd, is playing at the Galleria Concert Pub. He's in a Tool tribute band called Spiral Out. They're very good and I'd also love to spend a little time with Todd's wife, Vali, who is probably the prettiest/funniest/sweetest/sexiest Southern Woman you'll ever lay eyes on in addition to being a close friend who always makes me feel as if I'm one of the most important people in the world when I walk into the room. You know the kind of person I'm talking about, right? There will be a big crowd of friends (we'll all get together real soon, I promise!) and it should be a lot of fun.
It's White Linen Night in the Heights. Traffic will be a nightmare but the art and food will certainly make up for any of that hassle. I received several invitations to parties ranging from parking lots to galleries. Aside from not owning a stitch of white linen, I just wasn't feeling up to mixing and mingling this year. Oh, and the fact that I blew my art budget yesterday framing one piece I bought a few weeks ago and four of my own photographs.
There IS the Prayapalooza being held at Reliant Stadium today. Rick (Strong Hair) Perry booked the 70,000+ seat arena and so far there are about 7,000 RSVPs. I hope the hors d'oeuvres hold up in the heat. I just hate it when I overestimate and overprepare for the crowd that actually shows for one of my parties. (I guess I get a little giddy. It's the party girl in me.) I never really planned to attend, so I didn't respond to any invitation for Governor Perry's soiree myself. I did, however, send him a little note via e-mail kindly asking him not to use state funds for his meetup.
Speaking of funds, here's what I've settled on for my Saturday entertainment. I won...wait for it...2 FREE tickets to the Houston Astros game tonight. Yes, I'm going to a baseball game. Now don't scoff. I'm fully aware that the home team is struggling. Some would say they're wheezing, gasping. I see it another way. They're past all that. The pressure is off. Now they can just go out and play ball. And I can spend Saturday evening watching a game I enjoy with a guy I'm enjoying spending time with.
Happy Weekend! Hope you enjoy yours.
©Michelle Scofield, Aug. 6, 2011 All Rights Reserved
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