Category: All Over The Place

She lent me her wings

Thank you MM…I love this so much.

MichelleMarie's avatarTell Me About It

Over here please follow
You see the tree of hush
Is where the fairy wings grow
Please try them you simply must

Oh no, I said to her
I simply cannot fly
I know you won’t believe me
So let’s not even try

She wasn’t having any
Of my words to stop her there
She plucked from the hush tree
This beautiful blue pair

I can’t fly I said, I just can’t
I’ve tried so very long
I began to realize, and I think
I don’t belong

With a little twinkle of her eyes
I arose up in the air
Now you’re flying she laughed gleefully
Remember don’t look down
When you see the hush tree
Do not make a sound because

Fairy wings grow there

For my sweet Pink friend Jeanne Marie.

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When Angels Whisper…

What is she running from?

Everything. Chaos, drama, hate, confusion, connections, clutter, obligations, memories, betrayals, lost love, bad love, good love, wasted dreams, pain, wrinkles and old age.

Is that all?

Probably not. She’s a writer. I’m sure she could add to my list.

I heard her tell her four-year-old granddaughter that she moves so much because she is a gypsy.

Well, that sounds better than she’s a runner. And she just might be a gypsy,
but I think she’s confused and looking for home.

Doesn’t she know home is where you make it?

No, she keeps making a home and leaving. This time she left 95% of her belongings behind.
Stuff she’s held onto for fifteen moves.

Why?

She swore she’d never buy another house or let another person manipulate her life.
She wants to have the choice to drive away at a moment’s notice.
I heard her tell her daughter that’s why she bought the tiny house on wheels.

Well, who owns fifteen houses in six states in thirty-eight years anyway?
An extremely tired gypsy?

No, a hurt little girl, looking for her happy ending.

Well, she’s alone now. Is that her happy ending?

Yes and no. She’s happy to be able to think for herself, to make her own choices,
to be free, but she wanted to be happy with him.

Well, he made that impossible.

Yes, he did.

Well then, I’m proud of her for fighting to break free.

Me too.

Do you think she’ll be okay? Is she lonely? She looks so sad.

This has been a huge change for her, and I expected her to feel some sad,
but she’d rather be alone than allow anyone to hurt her again.
She realizes that her happy ending is in her own hands now, so yes. She’ll be okay.

I think you’re right. She’s recovering from emptying a ten-room house and watching
another chance she gave him go wrong. She’s resting, healing, physically and emotionally.

Yes, she got rid of everything, including her books. She let go of so many material things.
A little grief after such a purge is normal, but we’ll stay close to her
while she prays and figures out her next step.

Does she know we’re here with her?

Yes, I believe she does.

Love Blooms Here…

women who think too much's avatarWomen Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

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Already Rich…

Everything changes…

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Although I would really like to win the lottery to help my family and friends, have money to fund shelters for the homeless, find ways to help women just released from prison and to be able to donate to dog rescue organizations, I am already rich.
I have flowers, fruit trees, a pink and yellow porch, the love of a damn good man who is sometimes cranky but accepts my crazy, three beautiful kids who at this minute are all speaking to me, fourteen grandchildren who think I’m Santa Claus, three great-grandchildren who will learn that I’m not Santa Claus, two funny angel Chihuahuas, a heated pool, an awesome house, my angel daughter-in-law Jessica, two incredible sisters, one whacked-out funny brother, a blue tooth speaker, a karaoke machine, butterflies who come when I call them….and I live in Florida.
I have thinkingpinkx2 to keep me on the Pink road and my wonderful friend who is the best…

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Jeanne Marie tagged a photo of you. Today 6:00 am (written by my son, Last Ditch Effort)

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These are the words that get me through lately.
I look for them over coffee and a cigarette, before the sun breaks.
A smart ass remark comes to my head every time I see them.
It says “Yeah right, Jeanne Marie isn’t fast enough to tag me!”
But that one remark in my mind is immediately greeted by a tailspin of thoughts.
“Yes, she is,” I laugh, trying to pull my mind out of this tailspin, because I know it’s going to keep charging towards the ground until it reaches that cold December day in 1978 when we first met face to face and then slowly gain altitude through a mist of memories until it’s over and it meets me here, where I started.
“She is fast enough, she moves differently than you! She is calculating and precise, while I move zigzag and fast, all over the place, wasting energy…

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Kissed by the rain…

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Love Me As I Am

You put an image around me and
you tell me to stay inside the frame.
You say that this is who I have to be
do not color outside the lines!
You expect me to be who
you think I should be.
Angry, when I do not conform
I’m sorry to disappoint you
but I am going to be me.
Love me as I am, my son
Before our time is gone.

Legos and Laughter

I am completely content and happy in this moment, playing Legos with my grandson, Jonas, and my granddaughter, Mile Mae, on the playroom floor.
I’m feeling proud of Jonas for sharing half of his Legos with me and Mile, we just aren’t allowed to have weapons or figures, only blocks. (We all have our quirks.)
Later, I am watching them play in their little pool on my porch and squirting each other with squirt guns and blowing rainbow bubbles. Their laughter is so soothing, and the sounds stop time and erase my anxiety.
We go in, and I have to rescue Mile from the pink toy bucket she gets stuck in and I’m laughing so hard, I can barely pull her up.
As the sun goes down, I am watching her hanging upside down on the lawn chair, her long brown curls flowing to the floor. She is so pleased with herself and she makes me laugh inside and out. I would give anything to live in moments like these, every minute of everyday, but they are just that, moments.
At least I know how to absorb and treasure these moments now.
The only sad part for me is packing up her toys that she is taking home and she doesn’t know it’s sad, so that’s OK.
Mile is only four, and right now, she’s simply happy all her toys are going to her house
She really doesn’t understand about Grammy selling her house and moving to a house on wheels and going to live on the road.
Rolling is what they call it. I have a new language to learn.
And she won’t understand, not until she says, “Daddy, I wanna go to Grammy’s house,” and he says, “Grammy doesn’t live in her house anymore.”
It was already a hard choice, deciding whether to stay or to move on, getting rid of furniture and stuff, so much stuff, way too much stuff. Books, clothes, boots, sheets and bedspreads. Towels, dolls and pictures. CD’s, DVD’s, TV’s and furniture.
With all these awesome grandkids, it’s a triple hard choice. And Jodie Lynne…my sunshine, my daughter, my friend, I’ll miss you most of all.
After fifteen houses and six states, I just have a strong urge to leave the clutter behind, wander on my own and to see what I see each day, and to do whatever I want to do in the moment. Stop, go, eat, write, don’t stop, inhale sunshine, go to the beach, whatever.
I also never want to pack up another house and I can’t even promise myself that I’ll stay still, so a house on wheels is my solution.
I want days without people telling me I better do this, or I should do that…weeks where I only interact with my dog, Maggie Mae and God. And rest stops and sweet nights when I can indulge my creative streak.
Maybe I’ll last a month, maybe I’ll last ten years out there on my own.
I just don’t know, but I’ll never know if I don’t try.
If I’m supposed to hold still Lord, you need to show me that because I really have the urge to move on, but I’m not always right, that’s for sure.
Lord, I know I’m stubborn and hardheaded, but show me gently please, I’m already broken.
Amen.

Spirit Whispers 7 (Pieces)

 

Dear Jesus,
I have all the pieces; I know I do.
I’m trying to assemble this puzzle and I’m looking to you for guidance because I have never pieced together anything quite like this one before and I am definitely going to need your help.
I feel like a blind woman just feeling my way around the pieces that have been spread out on my table.
I am using my intuition and your promises to build this puzzle, praying and believing that our most amazing masterpiece of all will come together.
Amen.

I Am My Father’s Daughter

women who think too much's avatarWomen Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

I am my father’s daughter.
He taught me about reality, insanity and how to find crumbs of love beneath the rubble.
I listened to him for so many years, ranting and raving against society, the government and his bosses.
He was a mason.
He wouldn’t build fireplaces if the contractors didn’t build the houses to his standards and he always fought with his bosses until they would fire him or he would quit.
The excitement we all felt as he found each job and the despair we felt when he lost them was a roller coaster ride of emotions. Do we eat hamburgers versus do we eat saltines and peanut butter.
What he said when he was screaming and yelling was not always crazy. He was equally intelligent and creative, such a hard combination to juggle mentally. Very confusing.
When I first went to AA he was there during one…

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Spirit Whispers 6

Dear Jesus,
I lift this ball of pain up to you. Please hold it for me. I am weary and you are strong. I know it is mine and I must deal with it, but please just hold it for a little while and let my soul rest.
I was praying this prayer last night because the pain all seemed more than I could bear, and I know I can’t bury it anymore.
I envisioned my hands lifting the orange, fiery ball of my pain up to him and him taking it from my hands.
Felt the rage and the pain in the ball like it was just happening, huge amounts at first, tried to squeeze it back down, but couldn’t.
Chest pounding. adrenaline racing, anger sizzling.
Shocked at the depth of the feelings.
They were as strong as the night I tried to kill myself, thirty years ago, and then as he reached down to take the ball of pain, I felt what I can only describe as a wash of relief and happiness over my entire body. The kind of joy you only feel a few times in your life, like when your first baby is placed in your arms, but it was even stronger.
And I knew it was the Holy Spirit and I started to giggle out loud and smile.
He is holding my pain for me for right now, and I feel that he will give it back to me in pieces that I can handle.
I know I will heal now, and it is the first glimmer I have had of healing.

So, it has been a couple weeks since I prayed that prayer and lifted my pain up to Jesus. Last night, I realized that I was holding on to the ball of pain again, so I envisioned lifting the ball up to him, but this time I let it go much easier and instantly, my entire body relaxed and I felt relief and peace.
I have decided to let him keep it because I can’t let go if I’m still holding on.

My Son

JMG, 2009

Broken Shoulder, Crippled Girl…No More

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Broken shoulder, crippled girl. Always in pain, always aware of every muscle and every bone, every bump in the road, every slight movement which jars her shoulder.
I know her. She is safe, familiar and predictable. She is not who I was, but she is who I have become over the past ten years. It started so innocently, shoulder pain I couldn’t manage. Then, two botched shoulder surgeries, rotator cuff torn twice, arthritis, the shoulder of an old woman. A fall off a porch which completely tears the rotator cuff off the bone. The doctor’s assistant says, “Your arm is f—–and she does nothing. Orders no tests, has no solution. She says, “Why bother, we know it’s destroyed.”
Broken shoulder, crippled girl spends thousands as she visits three more doctors in three different states and they politely tell her that they can’t help her. Two more doctors in Florida. (Four states total.)

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Birds On A Wire

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“What do you think she is doing up so early?”
“I don’t know, but I heard her say that it’s Cole’s first day of school.”
“Who is Cole?”
“Her grandson, you dimwit. You hear her talk about him all the time.”
“You don’t gotta be rude! I forgot. It’s not like she has one grandkid. She has thirteen of them!”
“Why did she get up early for this day? Cole lives is in Oklahoma, right? It’s not like she can drive over to his house and take him to school.”
“Well, people are strange. I think she is going to travel to Oklahoma in spirit.”
“What is spirit travel?”
“From what I’ve heard her say, I think it’s when her body is in one place, but her heart and mind are in another place.”
“Wow! Is it like flying?”
“Sort of, but only her spirit of love flies, the body…

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Happy Father’s Day Dad, Where Ever You Are

women who think too much's avatarWomen Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

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FATHERS AND DAUGHTERS
PIECES OF THE PUZZLE

What type of man was your father when you were growing up? According to therapeutic folklore, every choice we make as women, every man we choose to love, stems from our relationship with our father. Whoa boy, if that’s true, then I’m in trouble! How about you? To all the daughters who had caring, nurturing and supportive fathers—congratulations!
To the other 95.9 % of my readers, keep reading.
Don’t get me wrong–I love my dad. I’m not quite sure why, but I think it’s probably quite simple–he’s my dad and I have been able to wring some sweetness from the most bitter of childhood memories even though Dad was a self-centered, angry, paranoid, schizophrenic, insane alcoholic.
He began going to A.A. when I was eleven but he continued to drink.
I was twenty-six and had been recovering from my own alcoholism for about…

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Spirit Whispers 5


Dear Jesus,
I’m like a dandelion in the wind. I’m blowing every which way.
I don’t know what I want or where I’m going or where I belong.
Whew.
That’s where you come in, Lord.
Please direct me, show me, give me a sign.
Do I hold still, do I move on,
do I keep floating like a wish in the wind?
Do I continue to let the gusts propel me?
Do I let serendipity decide what to do with me,
do I let luck choose where I will land?
I don’t want that anymore.
Lord, I want you to guide me. Guide me, direct me, show me.
Please, give me a sign I can’t ignore.
You may have noticed sweet Jesus, I don’t have a plan.
What is your plan for me, Lord?

The Hand That Rocks The Cradle…My college essay on motherhood, 1994

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Are you crazy? Not yet? Well, you can always try motherhood! It worked for me. Okay, so most women love babies. Women are attracted to babies due to a very basic, maternal instinct. Reason and logic are only slightly involved in this picture. The longing to have a baby is so strong in most women that those who can’t conceive are devastated. Babies are so precious, all soft and cuddly, and they’re even more adorable when they start to smile and coo.

Additionally, there’s no sweeter fragrance than the aroma a baby sends forth, fresh from his bath, swaddled in a Downy soft blanket. Combine that with the essence of Johnson’s baby powder and rare would be the woman whose hormones could resist the “maternal urge.” You visit your friend and her new baby one afternoon. When your husband comes through the door that evening you say, “Oh honey, I…

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The Ants and The Housewife

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The ants were watching the housewife. Zoe, their Queen was dead. Boric acid and sugar. They had delivered it to their Queen in all innocence. Princess Zia was leading them, because without a leader they were helpless, but she was so young. She was trying to take her mother’s place but she hadn’t even begun training for her own nest when her mother died from the tainted sugar.

The ants waited, silent, deadly, hungry, watching the housewife, hoping she would release the grains of white sugar from the container that they couldn’t breach, the big white plastic gallon with the ant proof, tight blue cover. Then they could eat and regain their strength before the battle.

Oh yes, there would be a battle today.

They watched as she drank her coffee and started to pull down items from the food closet. They hated her. She had killed so many of…

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Beach Sunrise

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Catching Sunsets While The Moon Watches

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My Son

rickftball

 

My New…Old House. June, 2018


June, 2018
Mold, black mold; not Texas Tea Black Gold, but in my closet black mold, growing behind four layers of wallpaper, scraped off one at a time, layers of black mold in between each layer, black mold, all the way down to a cement wall that had black mold. We did pay a home inspector, but this was a hidden mess.
When I first saw the closet walls, gunky stuff was on the outermost layer of wallpaper. I decided to scrub down that wallpaper because I was thinking, maybe somebody sprayed a can of Pepsi all over the walls. That took a few hours that I will never get back because as the wallpaper got moist from the warm dishcloth and fell down, I found my first identifiable layer of black mold. Thick and thriving, unaware its life was about to end.
Spraying each layer with bleach, returning when it was dry, scraping each layer off with a knife/chisel, vacuuming, spraying bleach again, not just because black mold is toxic, but because I am blessed with OCD and then me, showering. Often.
I bought a ventilated mask when I began this week long, no end in sight project and I dutifully put it on for every adventure into the closet from hell.
I couldn’t breathe for the rest of my adventures without inhaling hot steam that I’d exhaled just a second ago, but it made me feel safer somehow.
I say somehow because I hadn’t thought about getting safety glasses or a hat and the black mold showered down upon my head and in my eyes pretty consistently.
So after each adventure in the closet, I stepped into the shower with everything I was wearing and it all got washed.
I decided after the first day that I needed more safety equipment and my husband was delighted that we needed a trip to Harbor Freight. I bought safety glasses, some better scrapers, a worker’s jumpsuit and a huge straw hat.
We also stopped for a gallon of Salted Caramel ice cream.
A week later and one gallon of Kilz and that closet was the cleanest space in this century-old house.
There was only one fatality. The vacuüm cleaner choked to death.

Dandelion Wishes


Along our travels, we made a pit stop for food and I walked outside to get some fresh air. I found a field of dandelions gone to fluff and I picked a bouquet.
I spun around and around in my butterfly covered sun dress and let the fluff cover me as I made wishes.
I could feel the magic surround me.
The magic didn’t come from the dandelion fluff, it came from believing in dandelion wishes.
I’ll never forget that moment.
I tucked it in my heart to save for a rainy day…

The Pond

THE POND,
By Jodie Lynne

Soft baby ringlets sweeping across her face
Glancing but once to make certain
he’s still in his place.
Her shining dark eyes smile from afar,
So confident, this angel who hasn’t her own fear,
For fear there’s no reason, her goal is quite clear.
Till the slip of a sneaker sucks her foot in the mud
And his arms reach around her,
As he sweeps her up in his hug.
He lets out a sigh, saved her from this fall.
She wiggles out of his tender embrace
Now more than ever she runs with such might,
Determined to catch the quacker
Who’s just taken flight.

Tortured Shades of Gray

TORTURED SHADES OF GRAY
By Jodie Lynne

Shades of gray blend as one
colors soon to fade
evening caresses his face
sadness closes in.
A tortured soul captured again.
Lost…wounds of yesterday
still seeping bitter blood
gurgling pits of fullness.
Suffocating pain held
against its will
never to escape
and deeper became
scars
the shades of gray.