I can't keep up with the emails I'm getting and nor can Chris, so I thought I'd respond here and 'splain.
...and then disappear, again, because this last week has been really peaceful for me and I need more.
First, thank you. You know why.
Second, there was a huge snafu with the deletion of the blog. Blogger gives you 3 months to reinstate and I came back in a couple of times to copy and keep different things and then, somehow, the HTML spit out a colon - and how gross does that sound? - or ate a comma and the whole thing shit the bed. It took me almost a week for me to even find it.
Third, instead of having that happen again - because I don't plan to stop writing, I just need to decide what medium to do it in and I'm very much leaning toward just a private email list to keep the lynching to a minimum - I chose the "members only" privacy option and all of you were getting a 'permission denied' message. Judging by the emails, it confused, disappointed and even hurt some feelings and I wanted to assure you that no one is reading anything that you aren't.
To summarize: I'm not writing right now. I don't know when I will be, but I do know I will resume (Yep, Kristen - whoops! I mean "Went Through Way Too Much Trouble To Use An Anonymizer To Send Me An Email Because Your Tiresome Overuse of Certain Verbiage and Misspellings Give You Away EVERY. SINGLE. TIME" - contrary to what you emphatically believe, I am a writer. Doesn't mean I'm any good, but when you write, you're a writer, I don't give one fart in the wind if it's textbooks you're writing or the back of Spam labels) but it will be when I enjoy it again. I went back and re-read a lot of the stuff I used to post and I agree with you - I miss that person, too.
And when I do, I'll let you know. In the meantime, have a wonderful holiday, if it's applicable, and if not, have a great... November. And December. And possibly January.
(and I would seriously advise against eating Great Aunt Edna's Sweet Potato Casserole. Those aren't marshmallows)
Monday, November 23, 2009
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Happy Days Are Here Again
In light of recent emails, I decided to post one more thing on this whole Dusty debacle. There are still some people who are very confused (albeit concerned) and even though I am free for the first time in almost 2 years and that, itself, is all I need right now, I feel badly that there are supporters who still don't understand what happened and why. I don't want anyone to be emotionally ... damaged? ... by this, so this is a link to my husbands blog with a clearer picture of what happened. Between the different accounts of those who were there, I am confused, myself, but hallelujah! I did not hurt my dog. I have nothing to feel guilty about, I did nothing wrong (except put my husband through complete and utter hell) and I don't have to defend myself to anyone. Nor do I have to go to ridiculous lengths to prove my innocence. I have always been my worst enemy. I have always been my biggest detractor, and I've always been the first person to say I'm flawed. I had nothing to gain by any of this and everything to lose and the very idea that I did this for traffic is laughable.
So, Michelle-Yoakum-Rebeiro McBee-Gacy-Buttersworth-Smith-Jones-Doolittle, whatever, knock yourself out. But, tread carefully. You're accusing me of criminal acts when there were none. Burden of proof and all that, and right now? I have proof on my side. I'll leave you and your bleating sheep to ponder the meaning of that.
I got my life and my belief in myself back. I don't need anything else. I won't hide in a corner like a criminal, but I am taking some time off.
So, Michelle-Yoakum-Rebeiro McBee-Gacy-Buttersworth-Smith-Jones-Doolittle, whatever, knock yourself out. But, tread carefully. You're accusing me of criminal acts when there were none. Burden of proof and all that, and right now? I have proof on my side. I'll leave you and your bleating sheep to ponder the meaning of that.
I got my life and my belief in myself back. I don't need anything else. I won't hide in a corner like a criminal, but I am taking some time off.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Last of This Subject
A lot of things I post for the benefit of those who read regularly and then I take them down so that my kids don't stumble across it and misunderstand. My middle child is not supposed to read here, but as with any child, her curiosity overcomes her and she very well might. She doesn't understand caches and RSS feeds, so shove that argument up your ass. Sideways.
You Crusaders of the Internet, the ones who claim to be making the web a better place for the children and the people, the ones who have made it their personal mission in life to email every single person I've ever known and tear me down, you're not helping anything. You're not accomplishing anything.
Those link ads in my sidebar? I do those for free, because I don't believe in charging small start up businesses and charities. I do it because I want to help. So, score for you, genius. You just cost me nothing but some hurt feelings.
That's the difference between you and me. You're not helping people in need. You're not promoting peace or love or speaking out against anything that matters. You're perpetuating hate and fear and dissension among people. You're taking what could be a beautiful community and doing your ever-loving damndest to destroy it. And for what? Because there's nothing new and exciting on Days Of Our Lives this week? Because Oprah disappointed you when she endorsed James Frey?
Hurting people like Dooce and Ree and Sandi? You're not just hurting them. In reality, you're hurting their families, too, and for no other reason than the dissatisfaction you feel with your own shortcomings and failures. You hurt my family by destroying what little bit of income we had to hopefully ensure that our children had some sort of Christmas. Hell, we'll be lucky to feed them, but I'll trust in God to provide for us.
But you know what? I forgive you. I sincerely do. I forgive you, Mare, for the vitriol you spewed both in your email to and at that ridiculous parody of a website. I forgive every person who copied and pasted and forwarded and made sure that they gave an opinion of a man, a man who has loved me and done his best to deal with the emotional upheaval I constantly force upon him because I want so very much for people to be inherently good and self aware. I continue to believe that if I put myself out there, I'm helping someone, no matter what it costs. My husband is the man that, even though we have been at the end of a very frayed rope for a long time, still comes to my defense and tries to tell people of the person he knows me to be.
But Chris is right. I cry every single week over someone's misdirected anger. Over an email that's dashed off and sent without a second thought to who's on the receiving end of it.
That's what you're doing. You're making people cry, hurt, question, fight, argue, doubt, fear and hate.
So, think about this the next time you write something...read it to your child. Read it to your mother, your spouse, your best friend. And then ask them how they would feel if you sent it to them. And then send it, if that's the best you can do with what God has given you.
And I'll still forgive you.
You Crusaders of the Internet, the ones who claim to be making the web a better place for the children and the people, the ones who have made it their personal mission in life to email every single person I've ever known and tear me down, you're not helping anything. You're not accomplishing anything.
Those link ads in my sidebar? I do those for free, because I don't believe in charging small start up businesses and charities. I do it because I want to help. So, score for you, genius. You just cost me nothing but some hurt feelings.
That's the difference between you and me. You're not helping people in need. You're not promoting peace or love or speaking out against anything that matters. You're perpetuating hate and fear and dissension among people. You're taking what could be a beautiful community and doing your ever-loving damndest to destroy it. And for what? Because there's nothing new and exciting on Days Of Our Lives this week? Because Oprah disappointed you when she endorsed James Frey?
Hurting people like Dooce and Ree and Sandi? You're not just hurting them. In reality, you're hurting their families, too, and for no other reason than the dissatisfaction you feel with your own shortcomings and failures. You hurt my family by destroying what little bit of income we had to hopefully ensure that our children had some sort of Christmas. Hell, we'll be lucky to feed them, but I'll trust in God to provide for us.
But you know what? I forgive you. I sincerely do. I forgive you, Mare, for the vitriol you spewed both in your email to and at that ridiculous parody of a website. I forgive every person who copied and pasted and forwarded and made sure that they gave an opinion of a man, a man who has loved me and done his best to deal with the emotional upheaval I constantly force upon him because I want so very much for people to be inherently good and self aware. I continue to believe that if I put myself out there, I'm helping someone, no matter what it costs. My husband is the man that, even though we have been at the end of a very frayed rope for a long time, still comes to my defense and tries to tell people of the person he knows me to be.
But Chris is right. I cry every single week over someone's misdirected anger. Over an email that's dashed off and sent without a second thought to who's on the receiving end of it.
That's what you're doing. You're making people cry, hurt, question, fight, argue, doubt, fear and hate.
So, think about this the next time you write something...read it to your child. Read it to your mother, your spouse, your best friend. And then ask them how they would feel if you sent it to them. And then send it, if that's the best you can do with what God has given you.
And I'll still forgive you.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Surrounded by Honor
In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army
In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army
In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
My brother was a veteran of the Persian Gulf War. Today, I drove my mother and we met his widow to honor him at the West Tennessee Veteran's Cemetery
As I drove, my only thoughts were of paying homage to him. When we arrived and I saw the avenue of flags, I vaguely took note of how many other people were in attendance. I was mostly fixated by the dozen white roses my mother was clutching and the knowledge that she makes the trip every week to place fresh flowers on his grave, simply stating, "I'm going to see Steve," as if he is still alive.
We sat down before the ceremony was to begin and I looked into the beautiful fall sky and watched the flags flap and fight against the wind. The Master of Ceremonies made some brief announcements and asked that we stand for the Posting of Colors. I had no idea what that was until I watched the incredibly dignified men carry in each armed forces respective flag. I began to cry.
After the Pledge of Allegiance and the Invocation, a band of drummers and bagpipes played "God Bless America". I continued to weep.
When the Master of Ceremonies took the stage again and asked for the Purple Heart recipients to stand, my heart swelled with pride as three older gentleman stood. He then invited the POW's and one of the same men remained standing as the crowd sat still and silent in their respect.
Judge John Donald, the first black man to be commissioned to the Navy from the ROTC program at the University of Mississippi, gave the address and I held my breath, awed by the power of his words.
And then there was the Service Songs Medley. If you were a service person, you were asked to stand as your branch's song was played. If the veteran was deceased, the family was asked to stand in his or her place. One frail man stood through more than one song and I listened to a very proud older woman point to him, her husband, and explain to my mother that he had been active in the Army and the Navy.
One woman remained standing through three of the songs in the place of those she had lost. She stood during the Navy song and cried, continued to cry during the Army song, and sobbed along with me as The Halls of Montezuma filled the air.
I looked around and swallowed hard when I saw these courageous, honorable men with tears on their cheeks as the 21 Gun Salute rang out and Taps was played while they all held rigid hands to their foreheads as they faced the flag.
I realized that, while I was there because of my brother and his service to his country, I was not there to honor just him, but every person who has ever felt a calling higher than that of just their own life.
I would like to thank all of you...including, but not limited to, my Dad, a veteran of the Vietnam war, US Navy; Mr. Paul Price, US Army Reserve; my brother, Stephen Ross, Persian Gulf veteran, US Marine Corps; his best friend, Mark Williams, also a veteran of the Persian Gulf war, US Marine Corps; my other brother, Tobin Ross, US Marine Corps...and everyone else who has ever made the choice to sacrifice so much for so many.
Thank you.
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Second Chances, Continued
If you're looking for the giveaway, it's the next post down. I also wanted to say that at least one person has emailed me to tell me that Amy was able to help her find her birthmother...thank you, Amy. What you're doing is magical.
__________________________________________________
When I read his email, I laughed, full of relief and joy and wonder. He was thrilled, understandably bursting with curiosity and sweetly unsure of himself. He had worked for thirty minutes on a short paragraph and I could tell from that initial contact that he and I were a lot alike.
The tears began when I read his questions. How have you been? How is everything for you right now?
He was concerned about me.
I replied and told him what time I would be back on to chat via the messenger and then I sat and refreshed my screen every minute for the next two hours.
During that time, I devoured the few pictures he had in his photos and I was flabbergasted. He and Devon could pass for twins with a few minor changes. Their posture, the way they don't smile in pictures, even their expressions were eerily similar.
A chat window appeared. I took a deep breath, willed my heart to slow and for the next several hours, we stumbled over each other as we filled in the gaps of our lives. It was almost instantly that I began to feel fiercely protective of this young man with so many qualities of my heart and soul and the pride that grew as we laughed and (I) cried was immense.
We both moved to a photo friendly messenger and I bombarded him with pictures. I found as many generations as I could and then gave him brief descriptions of each one and tried to preemptively answer any questions he may have about his bloodline. Some of those pictures were embarrassing ("It was 1989. Everyone wore their hair like that") and some of them were painful ("That's my big brother, Steve. You would have loved him...and he, you.") but he was delighted to see them all.
Virginia, suffering middle child syndrome, danced around me and asked questions about her mysterious big brother, excited at the prospect of a sibling who didn't respond to everything with a grunt.
He read some of my blog and admitted that parts of it were hard to read and we briefly touched on the harder topics and some of the less than ideal aspects of his lineage. I couldn't shake the feeling that he was sad in some way, that something in his life was troubling him.
After a long while, we both realized the time. He had a test early in the morning and I had to work. We agreed to talk again and before I could talk myself out of it, I typed, I'm sorry if this sounds forward, but it's true. I love you, Trent. I hit the send button and then kicked myself. Why, why did I put that kind of pressure on him?
To cover up my idiocy, I quickly began babbling about other things so he wouldn't feel obligated to respond. In the midst of my typing fury, this reply appeared. Honestly, it's not forward at all. I love you, too. I have been wanting to say that for 20 years.
And just like that, a twenty-year-old hurt was gone. One sentence, one huge leap of faith from this man who was willing to take a chance that I was an okay person, and it's gone. I knew it was there, but I didn't realize how heavy it had been until I was no longer carrying it. And he did that for me.
We are treading softly. I'm trying to give him as much space as I can and not be intrusive while also letting him know I'm available at any moment. It's a difficult balance. I don't want him to feel abandoned by me, but at the same time, I don't want him to feel like he has to talk to me everytime he logs in to his messenger. I notice the hours going by and I wonder if it's been too long since I've messaged him just to say hello or if he's just trying to process everything, and he'll find me when he's ready. I have so much to say, so much to tell him. And I worry about every little thing and whether or not it's okay for me to ask this, do this, tell him this.
Trent, twenty-one years ago, I kissed you softly on your tiny pink mouth and I told you that my only wish for you was to always be happy. I didn't know for sure if I was doing the right thing. Thank you for trusting me and giving me the incredible gift of knowing that I did.
__________________________________________________
When I read his email, I laughed, full of relief and joy and wonder. He was thrilled, understandably bursting with curiosity and sweetly unsure of himself. He had worked for thirty minutes on a short paragraph and I could tell from that initial contact that he and I were a lot alike.
The tears began when I read his questions. How have you been? How is everything for you right now?
He was concerned about me.
I replied and told him what time I would be back on to chat via the messenger and then I sat and refreshed my screen every minute for the next two hours.
During that time, I devoured the few pictures he had in his photos and I was flabbergasted. He and Devon could pass for twins with a few minor changes. Their posture, the way they don't smile in pictures, even their expressions were eerily similar.
A chat window appeared. I took a deep breath, willed my heart to slow and for the next several hours, we stumbled over each other as we filled in the gaps of our lives. It was almost instantly that I began to feel fiercely protective of this young man with so many qualities of my heart and soul and the pride that grew as we laughed and (I) cried was immense.
We both moved to a photo friendly messenger and I bombarded him with pictures. I found as many generations as I could and then gave him brief descriptions of each one and tried to preemptively answer any questions he may have about his bloodline. Some of those pictures were embarrassing ("It was 1989. Everyone wore their hair like that") and some of them were painful ("That's my big brother, Steve. You would have loved him...and he, you.") but he was delighted to see them all.
Virginia, suffering middle child syndrome, danced around me and asked questions about her mysterious big brother, excited at the prospect of a sibling who didn't respond to everything with a grunt.
He read some of my blog and admitted that parts of it were hard to read and we briefly touched on the harder topics and some of the less than ideal aspects of his lineage. I couldn't shake the feeling that he was sad in some way, that something in his life was troubling him.
After a long while, we both realized the time. He had a test early in the morning and I had to work. We agreed to talk again and before I could talk myself out of it, I typed, I'm sorry if this sounds forward, but it's true. I love you, Trent. I hit the send button and then kicked myself. Why, why did I put that kind of pressure on him?
To cover up my idiocy, I quickly began babbling about other things so he wouldn't feel obligated to respond. In the midst of my typing fury, this reply appeared. Honestly, it's not forward at all. I love you, too. I have been wanting to say that for 20 years.
And just like that, a twenty-year-old hurt was gone. One sentence, one huge leap of faith from this man who was willing to take a chance that I was an okay person, and it's gone. I knew it was there, but I didn't realize how heavy it had been until I was no longer carrying it. And he did that for me.
We are treading softly. I'm trying to give him as much space as I can and not be intrusive while also letting him know I'm available at any moment. It's a difficult balance. I don't want him to feel abandoned by me, but at the same time, I don't want him to feel like he has to talk to me everytime he logs in to his messenger. I notice the hours going by and I wonder if it's been too long since I've messaged him just to say hello or if he's just trying to process everything, and he'll find me when he's ready. I have so much to say, so much to tell him. And I worry about every little thing and whether or not it's okay for me to ask this, do this, tell him this.
Trent, twenty-one years ago, I kissed you softly on your tiny pink mouth and I told you that my only wish for you was to always be happy. I didn't know for sure if I was doing the right thing. Thank you for trusting me and giving me the incredible gift of knowing that I did.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
Giveaway Time. Now With More Sex.
EDIT: Okay, the winner is #124, Melissa @ dragonsdreamers@yahoo.com. Congrats, Melissa! Please email me your mailing address and I'll send the book right away!
______________________________________________________
Ok, same rules apply. Just leave a comment and I'll randomly generate a number on Friday and voila! Free sex!
I was supposed to give this away last year and then we moved and I saw something shiny and got distracted.
It is, your very own brand new copy of Em & Lo's Sex: How to Do Everything. I've perused it (just for the purposes of this giveaway. Ahem.) and it's honestly a very cool book. Extremely informative and, no, it's not x-rated. It's more like a very hip Joy of Sex.
Oh! And it's gold and shiny and festive. Perfect for a holiday coffee table book.
No?
Good luck!
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Technically, It's Already Thursday
...and I'm still not finished with part 2. I'm really struggling with it because, as much as I've shared in the past few years, this borders on too intimate. Mostly because this involves every person I love and their feelings, too, and I want to make sure that I don't cross any lines or leave anything out. What's trivial to one is sometimes incredibly important to another.
And, mostly? Because he'll read it and I am more concerned about his thoughts than anyone's. I want him to love it and I keep reading it and thinking it's not good enough and I need to edit it. And I want you all to feel how wonderful this is, how much I love getting to know him and conveying this kind of emotion is so difficult.
So, I'll find a quiet place tomorrow and put it together in a way that I hope will make him smile.
_________________________
Random thought: Harmony's favorite song for the last few weeks is, "Buffalo Soldier", and she adores Bob Marley and I feel compelled to explain to people that neither Chris nor myself have ever had anything to do with the mary-ju-wanna.
Honestly.
And, mostly? Because he'll read it and I am more concerned about his thoughts than anyone's. I want him to love it and I keep reading it and thinking it's not good enough and I need to edit it. And I want you all to feel how wonderful this is, how much I love getting to know him and conveying this kind of emotion is so difficult.
So, I'll find a quiet place tomorrow and put it together in a way that I hope will make him smile.
_________________________
Random thought: Harmony's favorite song for the last few weeks is, "Buffalo Soldier", and she adores Bob Marley and I feel compelled to explain to people that neither Chris nor myself have ever had anything to do with the mary-ju-wanna.
Honestly.
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