Category: journey

A charmingly woeful tale…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay7 Comments
This is the very sad story about a girl who returned home to a state, let’s say Idaho, just after one of her favorite bands performed a big show there. Hypothetically, for legitimacy sake, we’ll say this band was Death Cab for Cutie.
The girl was pretty sad. {She also missed getting to sit down and chat candidly with Matt Damon, but that’s an entirely different story…} So, sadly the SEE DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE LIVE part of her life’s goals check list remained untouched.
Le’ Sigh…
Life went on, and many other lines became scratched off. She was happy about this and uber grateful. Eventually the scars of missing Death Cab by just an inch began to heal and finally they retreated to hide in that secret place where the many missed Dave Matthews show scars had gone. {That is a truly terrible series’ of stories that she may or may not talk about one day.}
Moving on- One day Girl got really sick and all of the health experts in her village scratched their heads in confusion telling her, time and again, We just don’t know what could possibly be wrong with you, Girl! So, she was sad once again. As her strength grew weaker {er, shrankweaker???}, she missed weddings and parties, weekend trips and all sorts of fun adventures. It was in this delirious and debilitated state that Girl learned that one of her most favorite bands, of all time- {Death Cab!!!!} was once again planning a performance in her village. Hope blossomed within her, like a hydrangea bush and she optimistically looked forward to the day that she would sway with thousands of others during Soul Meets Body, and her life would be complete.
Alas, doctor’s bills from Girl’s mystery illness began to stack up. Prescriptions increased in cost and ran dry having no altering betterment on her health. Girl realized that it was a frivolous purchase to buy tickets to the glorious Death Cab event, and sadly she walked past the ticket booth and pushed them from her mind.
Messages came, via cellular technology, in a rare abundance asking Girl if she planned to go to Death Cab. It seemed everyone was going, and forgetting about the show seemed  an impossibility. Then, one day, Girl’s friend Kelly won tickets to see Death Cab. Due to life circumstances Kelly could not attend the event and offered her beloved, magical, prized tickets to Girl.
Girl cried with happiness. {HAPPINESS!!!} Girl read SEE DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE LIVE in her goal journal over and over and over again. Like a dream coming true- this reality once again dawned hope.
Her mystery illness, however, had other plans. The day before the show she fell ill with a fever and rested as much as possible. She was determined not to miss it. The night before the show left her ill and sleepless, but her strong will prevailed. She finally rose and began to busy herself in preparation on what was to be the magical event day. She felt great. As the hours passed however, and the show neared- she grew weaker and her fever raged higher. With the diagnosis (after months of no answers) of pneumonia came the crippling instructions telling her to rest and nothing else, {Cue crushing gameshow music}. No night air. No exertion. Repetitively her doctor assured her that Girl had no idea how truly sick she was.
No Death Cab. Girl was sure no one knew how truly sad she was.
Hoping to cuddle up somewhere warm and find the rest which eluded her- to balm her heartache- Girl was surprised to learn of Boy’s other plans.

No concert? No Death Cab? I have a great idea then! Why don’t I turn our entire house upside down? Move the lower floor of our humble cottage to the upper floor and switch everything around! Won’t that be adventurous? Won’t that be fun? !?!?!
Thinking Boy meant someday, she nodded to appease him. While typically adventures of the home interior type were Girl’s most adored adventures of all- these days finding the bottle of milk on a different shelf in the refrigerator seemed extreme enough.  Taken quickly by sleep, Girl woke twenty minutes later to boy disassembling nearly everything.
BIG Sigh, Cough, Cough…
As sad stories go, this is far from the saddest- but it’s still pretty sad all the same. If there were a moral it would probably be something like don’t hope, don’t dream– but that somehow makes it more horror story than sad tale so instead I’ll make it this: life is full of adventures- don’t pin your hope on just one because that isn’t fair to the fun waiting around the corner…
Oh yeah, and this: Your tv can always be moved back, if it looks awful, and he’ll have to do it since this was his idea in the first place!
The End… 

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And what do you do?

Published on by Mae @ RainydayinmayLeave a comment
I was up most of the night, due to this crazy virus that won’t go away- and decided not to blog this morning. Something about you guys likely not wanting to read about the mucous laced details of my ultra romantic life and such. Instead I nestled down with my orange juice and laptop, to go through my reader, when I read one of my favorite bloggers, Ada over at Of Woods and Words who posted  about being a writer and expressing/describing that to others. 
Her post, and my own experiences in answering the dreaded questions really got me to thinking about how writers got the short end of the stick. If you work in payroll and someone asks you what you do for a living- it’s pretty simple: payroll. If you are a chef, also totally simple. Even my husband’s job, which is pretty complicated unless you are already familiar with his industry, is explained happily enough in a few sentences. 
I think that is why, back in ’08, it was so appealing to throw caution to the wind and start my own photography business. I loved it. i was doing it regularly for others anyway so why not do it professionally? But it did matter. It mattered because when the question came, Do you work? And I would answer that I did, I could say I own a photography business, and everyone was happy. 
Well, they were happy anyway. I wasn’t happy, so much, because first and foremost I AM a writer and due to booking photo fun, I wasn’t writing… I’ve already said all of that though. 
Instead once again the question comes, And Misty, What do you do? And I get to respond with, I’m a writer. And they force a smile, often wiry and self righteous, and say Oh? What do you write? 
And the spiraling and tumbling of Alice down the rabbit hole becomes my very existence…
Somehow a suitable answer never comes. 
Not one. 
I blog. Definitely not the answer they’d be happy with OR the truth really. 
Books. Oh? Can I see them at Barnes & Noble?
And on and on it could go. Worst case scenario nearly every time. 
It occurred to me that I answer the questions based on society rather than soul. Our American society places at the forefront of everything MONEY. Anyone who is a writer knows that writing and money aren’t really synonymous. For a true writer, it has never been about money, though the little bit of money we sometimes get is nice. I know this, and am one hundred percent ok with this until the dreaded questions come. Suddenly I clam up. I wrack my brain trying to sort it all and figure out what writing had paychecks attached, most recently. Well, i recently wrote an article for a publishing house. Before that I did a handful of press reviews. Freelance mostly. Whatever comes along. I’d love to finish my novel and have it published someday but you’ve got to pay the bills. 
Cue {weak, unsure} smile. 
And, end scene. 
CRAP. 
I may as well be a temp worker, unable to commit to an actual job. I instead fly by the seat of my pants and takes whatever comes along on days when I’m willing to get off my butt and work. Oh yeah, and there’s the idea of a ludicrous pipe dream too, hiding back there. For years I’ve thought that was way the world saw us writers but now, today, I am wondering if that’s not because it’s the way I’ve painted it? 
I mean, isn’t that how the majority of us learn to see the world? Through the words woven and splayed out for us, by writers? 
It’s kind of enough to make your head hurt, isn’t it? 
I’ve decided that I’m done playing that game. I am done answering, (or not answering, but verbally spiraling head first down a volcano)
Misty, do you work? 
I do, head held high, I am a writer. 
Oh. Well, what do you write? 
Right now I’m focusing on my novel. I have been doing freelance for years, but the novel is my top priority.
It’s true, and it sounds good to me. Then again, I am a writer so it would. The point is- I don’t care. I don’t care anymore what people think. If the day that magical book deal shows up, ever comes, all of the naysayers and condescenders will change their tune anyway so who cares what they think now? And like Ada, I write on what inspires me. That’s why I blog. It may change, with the wind, but I don’t have to explain that to anyone. 
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Truly, madly, deeply…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay4 Comments
i kind of had this relationship between my divorce and reconciliation. We had been friends, (albeit new friends) when my marriage fell apart and then, a few months later he professed his love for me. 
Via song. 
Truly, Madly, Deeply by Savage Garden, to be exact. 
It’s kind of funny because the emotion that song evoked, in me, upon gaining national radio (over played) airtime was more along the gagging, eye roll expressing emotion. When you fast forward a year or so, add a guy to the mix and when he sings that song to me (expressing that it is his favorite song EVER) suddenly it is the most exceptionally beautiful song ever written… 
But we, as people are kind of complex like that. 
I mean, I love my husband. I LOVE him, and I believe that in loving him- more than anything else- it means I am actively choosing him constantly. And the thing about choosing is that I did choose my husband over the Truly, Madly, Deeply guy. The one person who had been there (aside from Chw and I) to know the hurt and pain that was my every day existence. We grew as close as we did, in the short time frame that we did because my husband sadly left me with nothing but broken shambles of something that hadn’t been so great to begin with. He got to know me through my fragmented life, my fragmented heart. Did he love me truly, madly or deeply? Maybe. In his own way. Did I love him? I did. Not in the way I ever loved my husband, or anyone else for that matter. It was something real though. 
Something from a long time ago. 
And I’ve never regretting coming home to Chw. 
I have never regretting closing that door and telling the TMD guy goodbye… NEVER. 
And then, one day I am driving down the road and what song should come on the radio? 
Yep. 
And rationally I think, it shouldn’t matter. It’s over. That was a long time ago and I do love my husband in a way that nothing else could even remotely compare to.
Yet, my heart stirs. 
Something tugs internally, and tears threaten to stream. 
And I thank God that although I love my husband every day, that on this particular one I wasn’t harboring any resentment or anger towards him because folks- that moment right there is the stuff that affairs and divorce grow from. 
That’s the seeds. 
No matter how safe or protected we believe we are- the seeds ARE there as sure as our heart and lungs are. They are there, in one form or another, and they wait. 
They wait to tug when we are in that frame of mind that might nurture them along. Maybe it’s a nostalgic moment, or an old familiar scent in the air. Perhaps it’s a compliment from a co-worker or the grazing of hands in the work place. 
I know this is a little deep, but it’s worth saying (and hearing) and repeating. Marriages, at their rock solid strongest, are more fragile than anything else we have. And our spouses, even at their most selfish and annoying are still the ones we chose- just like even at our most disgusting and bitchy- we’re theirs… 
Now, to lighten to mood here is a sampling of the most cliche’, nauseating and infinitely beautiful song ever recorded… (although, not any less cliche’ my personal favorite would be Annie’s song by John Denver) 
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The ordinary…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay7 Comments
It is in the exchange of simple, kisses in passing or grazing fingertips through doorways. 
Stretched out foot, in bed, reaching for his. Reassuringly it reaches back, touching. 
Cheek peck kisses, zipped up jacket and lunchbox in tow. 
Ordinary. 
I love my ordinary. My loud morning following by dirty breakfast dishes and silence. 
It is in those dishes that I know my home has family in it. Love in it. Warmth. 
In the morning’s oatmeal, more than fiber and belly warming happened. 
Ordinary. 
Cozy towels still evident with lingering dryer heat. 
Soft socks. 
DVD rentals and take out. To droves of hipsters and cynics this life is known as the boring life, the over life- The end. 
To me it is simply the ordinary. The goodness. The toothbrush, complete with toothpaste waiting for me because he brushed his teeth first. The coffee pot, full with steamy goodness waiting because one of us turned it on. 
The ordinary. My ordinary…
{For more Five Minute Friday, please go to the Gypsy Mama.}
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the back up plan…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay8 Comments
Recently my husband was asked to sit in a meeting where he walked away with some very grim insight into the future of his current job. That being said, I realize most men are hardwired to worry about things like job security and to obsess over things like work. It took me awhile to get this, but now I do. Over the years, upon coming to this place I have learned to be a bit more aware of Chw’s sensitivity to this, therefore encouraging him. 
So, when he fumbled through our evening acting a little funny, I simply waited. At eleven when he sat me down and said we needed to talk, I sat down to listen. 
He’s worried. 
He’s worried to the point of coming up with crazy suggestions like selling all of our worldly possessions and moving to New Mexico. Or joining the circus… 
From what I gather, he (along with other managers) has been given the task of finding ways to cut extreme costs or they are looking at time served in the unemployment line. 
“We need a back up plan.” He flatly stated. 
A back up plan. 
For, you know, if our lives (as we know them) fall apart. 
This really got me thinking… 
Unfortunately my daily fantasy of living pool side in Phoenix, with my spanish tiled roof and rock front yard (just minutes from BOTH IKEA and Trader Joe’s) doesn’t really fit into the idea of an emergency back up plan. So, pretty much I had nothing to offer him. (suffice it to say I am NOT really a huge fan of the NM part of this plan. The circus thing I could work with because the circus has elephants, and giraffes. But also clowns, so it’s still a scary option, but doable.) So, instead I took the other side of the spectrum. Why did i have to wrack my brain over a back up plan, if I was able to single handedly revolutionize things at his company, therefore saving them loads of cash. 
Genius right? 
Brainstorming, at nearly midnight, here’s what i came up with… 
{and personally, if you ask me, it’s an awesome first draft!} 
  • First off, the company spends roughly $30,000 per month in electricity. I immediately suggested applying for a grant that would cover a huge chunk of transitioning to partial solar energy. Then i chided myself, pointing out that wasn’t extreme enough. We are talking CPR extreme changes needed, SO I suggested: why not have their employees work in the dark? They can wear the little miner head lamps so they can work more efficiently, of course… 
  • Second, periodically there will be safety luncheons, or training lunches that are catered. As far as i am concerned this is a HUGE waste of money. I remember many a school day field trips where my mom was asked to provide a few dollars to cover my sack lunch consisting of a PB & J, an apple and a string cheese. There is no reason that these luncheons can’t function the same. Let’s face it, if these grown men feel like they would need more food- they can bring it themselves. Or what about a safety potluck? SEE! The possibilities are endless!
  • Third, I feel that on occasion some of the employees can behave a tad on the need-to-be-babysat-6 year old scale of things. Being one who actually grew up and became an adult roughly twenty some years ago, I feel this is a little sad. I suggested letting a person from each shift go and hiring a drill sergeant to take their place. My prediction was that within 90 days things would be running far smoother than they ever have before, and with A LOT less screw ups.
  • Lastly, was my extreme motivator. Earlier this week one of my husband’s employees was injured. Suffice it to say a VERY large metal drill (think radius of a tire) came fiercely into contact with his head. Not pretty… The good news though is, after an ambulence ride to the hospital, a ton of lost blood and a few days of R & R, he is doing awesome and itching to come back to work. I say, let’s slap a label on this thing (thus birthing the Head Gong) and throw it into the mix. 

It would work like this: 
  • Employee A gets in trouble for constantly ruining parts due to his inability to stop day dreaming about ALSO living poolside in Phoenix. HEAD GONG. 
  • Employee B clocks in late 40 days in a row, actually rolling his eyes at my husband’s pleas for him to be on time and care about his job. HEAD GONG. 

I mean we’ve already proven it to be safe and obviously highly effective… (read: itching to come back to work.)
Suffice it to say, my husband wasn’t really on board with any of my suggestions. He’s such a party pooper. 
My new back up plan suggestion: Worst case scenario, i can be hired out by companies to revolutionize the way they do things, streamline their methods and save them money. I think it’s obviously a real hidden skill I have. 
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