If you’ve read my ‘About Me’ section, you might remember that once upon a time, during a particularly dark time in my life, I decided to get a ‘breathe’ tattoo to force me to do just that. I am nothing if not logical, with a slight tendency toward drama. Then, with the intention to not at all resemble the two child stars with imploding lives who have ‘breathe’ tattooed on their bodies, I went with ‘inhalexhale’ tattooed in my handwriting on my wrist so that I can see it daily and remember to do just that. Proudly, and somewhat defiantly, I showed it to Mom who promptly asked me, “Why did you get Whaleshark tattooed on your wrist?"
Yeah, not the result I was aiming for. But it did give me a great website name, so there’s that. And, to this day, when I’m freaking out about something, Husband will just say, “Whaleshark, baby. Whaleshark!” and it usually pulls me out of my head so really, the tattoo works. Right? Anyway, for years now, I’ve been talking about getting a second tattoo. “What do you think if I got another over here?” I’d ask Husband as I hold up my other hand. And Husband would always calmly reply, ‘See other wrist?’” And I’d childishly respond with a flip of a finger - you know which one - and put off getting another tattoo. But last year, my friend and I decided to get tattoos as a reward for our work in the art show last fall. I decided to augment ‘inhalexhale’ with a watercolor tattoo. A splash of color surrounding the words, to remind me to breathe and to force me to see the beauty in the world. Yeah, I know it sounds like dreck. Whatever. My body, my dreck! Now, my friend is a like a mother duck. Having raised three children, she is an expert at nudging along; pushing me gently in the direction she thinks I should go, leading me down a path that would best for me to follow. Most of the time, I find it amusing. I am without direction so being nudged has led me to places I never thought I’d be. It’s because of her nudging that I ended up at the fair last year, selling my trees. It’s because of her that I ended up in Washington DC in the first week of this year in 16 degree weather wandering around with a smile frozen on my face under the bundle of scarf. And it’s because of her that I found myself in a tattoo parlor in Pennsylvania getting a tattoo that looks nothing like I wanted tattooed forever on my wrist. Now, to be clear, I don’t regret getting my tattoo. I am unhappy with the circumstances. And I’m not mad at Mother Duck. I am PISSED at myself. Pissed for not speaking up and saying, “I need a moment before you come at me with your permanent needles of pain.” For not saying, “Dude! Show me exactly what you’re planning to put on my body forever.” For trusting in the beauty I saw in Mother Duck’s tattoo and it thinking – assuming – he could do, would do for me what I he’d done for her despite the differences in style. He did not. But that is not on him! I’ve been talking since the seventies and I’m apparently still unable to speak my feelings. THAT IS ON ME! And my tattoo is not horrible. It’s just not what I envisioned. The details are not as precise as the image I showed him, the color not as varied. But, if I’m being fair, neither is the original tattoo, ‘inhalexhale’. That one is in my own handwriting and is somewhat muddy and inconsistent - and apparently looks like ‘whaleshark’. And that first experience was similar with my tongue-tied feelings and overwhelmed emotions - and I ended up loving the result. My point? I do not regret my tattoo. It is not the perfect tattoo I imagined but I do have a reminder of all my doubt, my second-guessing, and my failure to speak my soul. Which, ironically, was the F-ing point of the tat in the first place. I do not regret it. In this, my year of positivity, I am choosing to see it as my beautiful mistake. A bright image of my insecurities and doubt, a forever reminder on etched upon my skin. I was going to post a picture of the tattoo – of what I wanted vs. what I got but it’s not the point of this post. The point is to remind myself – to remind you – that every little thing you do is etched on your skin, on your self. We are all covered in scars. Some little, some big, some more visible than others. And regardless of the result, take these lessons, these beautiful mistakes and learn from them. Embrace them and grow forward, not back. Or, as my loving Husband so succinctly said: “Stop looking at it, ej. It’s going to be there when you die."
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Because I know you’re fascinated how I spent my time away from you, here is a quick rundown on my Thelma and Louise week away. Snarky comments included.
SUNDAY - Drove ELEVEN hours with Thelma to DC to see a friend I’ve known since she was eleven and I was twelve. Met her kids who were all a lot smaller last time I saw them. Freaked out over the fact that she has kids, let alone that they are all little versions of her and her husband, walking and talking and forming opinions and politely looking at pictures of Husband’s studio and pretending to be interested. Then the two of us ditched the family and had a lovely dinner out in DC where we gossiped about everyone we knew growing up, what they are doing wrong and how we would fix their lives if they’d let us. MONDAY – Took the littlest to preschool and then had a coffee and discussed our lives and what we are doing wrong and what we could do to fix our lives but won’t. Then we picked up the two older kids, grabbed the littlest from school, had lunch and went to the zoo. A zoo with a four year old, a nine year old and a twelve year old (who is trying to be fourteen) is pure joy. Even with artic winds threatening to blow us off our feet and the bigger animals hiding inside. Watching the four year old playing chase with a fox, the nine year old staring fascinated at the pile of elephant poo, the twelve year old thinking no one was watching playing chase with the same fox - all absolutely priceless. Watching my friend - who once played Snow White to my Wicked Queen – watching her mother these sweeties, just precious. TUESDAY – I was to meet my first boyfriend (!!!) in DC for a personal tour of the Capitol building but his wife was home suffering from pneumonia and he made the right choice to stay home and nurse her. That meant I got to spend the day wandering DC in the frigid 16-degree temperature taking frozen selfies and amusing myself. It was absolutely lovely. Home to Snow White’s house for a final meal with the family and then my friend took me to meet Thelma in Maryland for part two of the trip. WEDNESDAY – We set out for Philadelphia after an exquisite (sarcasm intended) breakfast of fats and salts and sugar at Cracker Barrel. Got a tattoo – more on that later this week – and then drove down into Allentown to meet Thelma’s family and friends for night of debauchery – well, minor debauchery. Well, two drinks and back to the hotel by 11pm but, when you get up at 5am, that is debauchery. Alcohol, exhaustion and tattoo blood loss is really like having had six drinks and some crack. Not that I’ve ever had crack. If you read this regularly, you know I’ve had six drinks and how that tends to go… ANYWAY - THURSDAY – After a delicious diner breakfast of more fats and salts and sugar, Thelma spent time with her mother while I sat in the waiting room and watched two of the staff dismantle their artificial Christmas tree. Total comedy; watching as they tried to put the tree into the box without taking it apart, them wondering why it wouldn’t fit, flipping it about and trying to put it in from the other direction, as if that would change things - all the while whispering gossip about their fellow staffers in a singsong tale of disgust. Very Lucy and Ethel and very amusing! Thelma and I then had lunch with her father. He and I commiserated over our back pain, each trying to out-do the other with tales of woe. He’s 87. He won. After lunch, Thelma and I took off to Philly to meet my half sibs for dinner. My father was prolific – there are seven of us from three mothers. My father’s father was even more productive – he had twenty children! Part of dinner was trying to figure out which uncle fell in what birth order, what in the heck piece of land was given to which first son and who is protesting the will and why – all the while enjoying the noise of sibling teasing and life updates. My little sister was nine the last time I saw her. Now she's a Model, one brother is a Cop and the other a Sergeant in the Army! Dinner done, and me even more confused by my family tree, Thelma and I drove back to Maryland and into a house where a lone louse had just been discovered on pretty blonde head of the five year old. Our phantom itching began. I had lice when I was in 6th grade when I had a massive floppy Afro. I had to sit naked in a tub for three hours while my mother combed the suckers out one by one. I have sworn ever since than if I were to get lice again, I would shave my head. It was a tense few hours but we thought we were likely clean and clear as we all suspected the infestation had occurred while we were in Philly. But those lice are tricky buggers because… FRIDAY – the five year old was sent home after the school nurse found more lurking on her head. Our scratching began in earnest. It’s not a party till we’ve all sat on the couch and had the others comb through our hair looking for intruders. And it’s really not a party until one or more of us are slathered in RID. It was one festive Friday night in Maryland! As it was, Thelma and I seemed to have escaped the infestation. It would have been a long scratchy trip back to Nashville had we not. Husband did not quarantine me when I got home and he would have had he thought I was bringing home friends. SATURDAY – We drove and drove and drove and drove back to Nashville. Eleven hours is a loooong drive, people. Lots of time for contemplation and self-analysis and random hypotheticals like “If Husband died, would I sell the studio and move to an exotic island?” Or, “If I won the Powerball, what would I buy first?” And eleven hours is a lot of time to ponder the major lesson learned during the week and see how I can apply it to my day to day life, how I can do all I can to embrace it. Because I just feel my life will be better because of it. And what is that lesson, you ask? Don’t share hats, people. Just don’t. Okay, not really. I've never been fishing or fishin' before and I'm not starting now. Especially not when it's 27degrees outside and the thought of sitting outside in the cold and waiting for something slimy to jump onto a hook and die and that I then have to slice open and pull out its guts - yeah, not in the least bit appealing. No, I'm on a driving trip up to DC and Philly with a friend to see various friends and family. The only fish involved should be deep fried on a plate. Now this should be a short trip but, who knows. We might decide to Thelma and Louise it and keep going till we fall off the earth. Or my friend, who's driving, might start to hate me and every stupid breath I take. She might kick me out of the car in the middle of nowhere, leaving me to hitchhike back. And then, while trying to get back to the big city, I might get into the wrong car with a guy who has a very nice smile and a very big knife under his seat and end up being worn as clothing... Then again, we might have a lovely time, lots of laughs and come back rested and rejuvenated and ready to kick 2016's ass! I'll write when I get back - but only the good parts that don't show me in a bitchy "I wanna go home!" light. Oh, who am I kidding? I'll write about the bad parts too. Those are the most entertaining! Well, ya'll, it’s a New Year and I’ve already been quite productive. It’s only 8:30am and I’ve already done one load of laundry, paid a few bills, emptied the dishwasher and messed with one of my trees.
Oh, yeah, and I’ve run Husband’s fancy key fob through the wash. So, there’s that. Since it's the first day of the New Year, I feel I should share with you my list of resolutions. Mostly so you can hold me accountable when things go tits up and I forget. And because, despite all the good things and good people that I have peppering my life with light and love, it is an election year and a few asshats are sure to screw up even the brightest day. With that in mind, this year I'm keeping it simple: Focus on the POSITIVE. At all times. Now, I'm not over-going a personality change. I'm still me. I'm still going to be inclined to find that one pimple and poke it. BUT this year, I'm trying to find the positive IN the pimple! The bar may seem low to you but I've found that being realistic is the best way to achieve a goal. So, ya'll, HAPPY 2016! My New Year is off to a great start. My husband's keys are clean! |
AuthorMy name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me Archives
April 2019
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