Abortion, such an ugly word

 

Abortion, such an ugly word, so ugly we don’t talk about it with each other.  We rather choose to beat each other up with it.  It’s ugly for a reason

Abortion, it’s all in how you look at it and I pray we do just that
Abortion, an act of violence chosen in response to terror

Compassion, the pride of righteousness is replaced with the solution of life and the offering of support beyond the termination of the problem. Eventually the shoe always does drop and with choice comes consequence
Compassion, Gods gift to respond to another not merely react to their pain

Hypocrisy, when we shout down each other for shouting down each other
Hypocrisy, when the bullied becomes the bully
Hypocrisy, when we profess to be the champion for the less fortunate yet choose the more convenient way, in the attempt to silent the silent
Hypocrisy, who can scream the loudest while victimizing the victim wins the argument

I pray we look beyond the right to choose
And research why and what we have to loose
I think we get so caught up in the act of fight
That we know not what is the true plight
Sometimes we’re quick to judge another
Flaunt our righteousness in protection of sister/brother
Arguments screamed in high volume
In the hopes that doing so, the agenda you must consume
The fight to right the injustice to all?
Loses it’s merit when discussion is not brought out to call

Advertisements

Psalm 139:13-14

I share my story in hopes another woman will not have to share hers
I share my story because in my youth I chose to end a life.

As a teenager in the 70’s I was kind of a wild child. Actually I was a wild non-conforming geek, with little to no self esteem. At sixteen I wanted no one to tell me what to do. At the same time, if you offered to love me/like me I would do whatever you asked. If you loved me enough, maybe I could love me too.

Just after turning 16 I met a boy who told me he liked me. I just knew he would love me if I gave him whatever he wanted. So, an emotionally immature child had sex to force someone to love her and with that decision came a lifetime of regret.
With that decision I forced myself to make a choice no mother should ever make.
With that decision I chose to abort/terminate/kill my child. With that decision, I have carried 43yrs of painful remorse.

Back in the 1970’s Roe vs Wade had just come to be and I wish to God it had not. I believe because abortion was so newly legalized “those is charge” were “loose cannons” and not prepared to counsel but rather (and I lived it and saw it) to bring the the lambs to slaughter.

When I had told my boyfriend I was pregnant, he wanted to know who the father was? He also dumped me so hard my dad threatened to physically put the hurt on him. My poor parents, mom told me she would support me whatever I decided. My dad felt different. He wanted me to go back to normal (poor dad he didn’t seem to get it, that normal was not an option). He thought, now that abortion was legal, we could terminate the problem and get on with life. I was so immature and had no idea the choice I made would forever change me. I couldn’t see that there were those waiting to assist me in the choice to murder my child.

At just about 12 weeks my mother took me to a local Dr. The Dr. for whatever reason told me I was far enough along that I would have to wait until I was seventeen weeks. I was so stupid and to this day I do not understand what the heck happened. I was a kid who didn’t know anything of sex except, I thought it could get you love. I had no idea as to what this Dr. was talking about.

Now I will interject here, that before the final decision to abort was made I had one teacher who was kind enough to tell me, there were places for girls like me to go and have their babies. As a selfish teenager I could only think of myself not wanting to give up my unstable teenage life, I chose what I thought was the easy way out.
I went in at 17 weeks (my sister had said I was farther along than that, apparently I have still chosen to not be able to remember) pregnant to have a late term abortion. I remember a fifteen year old girl in the room also that day. The Dr. inserted a needle into our abdomens I have always thought he injected our children with saline? All I remember is both of us went through labor and that the Dr. laid my dead son on my tummy. It was all very matter of fact to him, it seemed.

Back to why I have chosen to share this story. I carried the shame of this horror for many years before I discussed it with anyone other than my sister.  I never wanted to exploit my dead son and I thought if I never spoke of it, I was somehow protecting him. The reality is I did not protect him but I have the chance to protect other children and women.
Six  years ago I attended a Christian led group full of many other women who also had lived the horror that comes with the choice to abort. It was so painful to admit to and relive the choices we all made. As I sat in the group I just couldn’t get over how many other women were suffering and missing the children we chose not to have.
Again I must interject, I have always been a person who does not want anybody telling me what to do. I was such a liberal, once upon a time. So I understand fully why people want to make their own choices. But I also understand that with choice must come honesty. If you choose to abort, you choose to murder and with that comes a pain you will live with the rest of your life.
If the heartbeat of a fetus is detectable at 6 weeks and I believe brain waves are as well, it is in my opinion murder if you choose to end that life?   As one who did make that choice I will tell you, you may eliminate a child’s physical presence, you will most likely also feel the sense of relief in thinking your burden has been lifted.  The reality is however that many feel that child’s presence in pain the rest of their lives.  The relief is replaced by shock, numbness, guilt, loss and shame.  It is odd how in life we can miss something so much that we chose not to have.

My prayer is that we choose to educate and no longer terminate. As our children struggle with the many issues that come with adolescence, educate them as to the realities that come with the choices they make.
My prayer is that we cultivate a revival of respect. I believe as we encourage our young to respect others, they in turn develop self-respect which is needed to make responsible choices in life.
My prayer is that we adults celebrate the moral responsibility that we are obliged to carry.

Again I share my story, not to judge you but to save another women from the aftermath of pain that comes with abortion.
I share my story for the countless unborn children and I pray someday the holocaust we continue to inflict ends.

God  ALWAYS manages to take the dark and ugly and brings it into the light of His beauty.

From Trash to Treasure (taped to memory)

imageimage

As I drove up to the yard sale and saw this beauty, it took a lot for me not to jump out of the car while still moving. I was almost in salivation mode while walking (running) up to the owner.
Needless to say I bought it for a reasonable price and enjoyed thoroughly the process of restoration. Well I enjoyed most of it. The one thing that drives me nuts is finding TAPE adhered to wood. I do not understand why anyone tapes wood and have decided that while I’m trying to refrain in the curse word department, TAPE is my new four letter word.

Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Go Back In The Water (after they told you, please don’t pee in the pool)

Forgive me for the repost but I love this one.

This has been the summer of self discovery. First and foremost I discovered I had completely lost my groove. Sadly, I then discovered that I had been so worn down, worn out and worn through I didn’t even remember I had one. Through no ones fault but my own, my get up and go, had got up and left and with no forwarding address to boot.

None the less, just like Stella I did get my groove back. It wasn’t on an island paradise or tropical cruise that it was rediscovered. I regained my funk in the most unlikely place and with one of my favorite people. I found the groove I didn’t even know I had lost, yet still managed to miss.

It went something like this. My darlin little sisy took her (slightly older) sister to her favorite outdoor spa for a little R&R. I must interject now that one of the things I love most about my sisy is her total inhibition and ability to enjoy life. I am the overly cautious (again slightly older), uptight sister. Not to be redundant, but just to remind you I went on this little trip grooveless and wound tighter than a clock.

As my darling sister and I sauntered from one luxurious outdoor pool to another I found myself actually starting to truly relax. I hadn’t been silly in so long and it felt so good to laugh out loud. I could hear myself and I gotta say it was music to my tired ears. But,then it got even better. With a glass of red wine in hand, we sat together in one of the smaller pools. There we were just the two wild and crazy sisters without a care. It was like we were kids again (only with wine). It was great to feel so free and at that point I did what I NEVER in my life would have normally done. I like my little sisy had done on her 50th birthday did it, I pee’d in the pool!!!!! It was one of craziest things I have ever done, cause I really didn’t give a diddly, PIDDLY, doo what anyone else may think. If the water turned blue who the heck cared. That was the freeing part I didn’t worry about it, I just did it.

That simple, silly and maybe a little inappropriate act soothed my soul. At 56yrs old that pee became a right of passage for me. It allowed me to not only to retrieve my lost groove but to realize the importance of the fact I still have one!

From Blue Sky Bliss to Blue Light Madness

cowichecanyonridge

As the blue-sky envelopes all the natural beauty the great northwest has to offer, I find myself in awe of my surroundings. Even the drive to my local grocery store is scenic and my senses are ripe to breath it all in. I feel so alive, so vibrant and so grateful!!!!

Until that is, the actual shopping experience begins. The minute I start frantically wiping off (with a tiny disinfectant wipe) that filthy, cumbersome cart, all the pre-store, enjoy the trip euphoria is now only a memory for me to cling to.

Is it only me that is transfixed on thinking about how many little “pee-pee” bottoms have sat in that cart at one time or another? I think about it enough that I got to go back for another wipe. Then I must try to not take any poor bystander out while I steer that monster cart with one hand and wipe frantically that “stinkin” seat with the other.

I just have to interject here that I really DO NOT think people with that stupid blue tooth thing hanging out of there ear, should be allowed in the grocery store while wearing that ridiculous thing. Nothing screams “I need attention” more than that silly bit of business.

When shopping on a budget stopping and picking up the weekly ad is a must. Then you have to find some quiet little spot to have a minute to peruse what’s on the table for this week. Not an easy task if you’ve hit the store on a payday or senior Tuesday. Your chances of being hit by a cart driven by some old fart are way better than sneaking off somewhere to check that ad in private.

If you do manage to get those precious sale items memorized and those coupons ripped out with your bare hands and neatly enough there is still some remnant of bar code, you’ve done well. I know I’m always quite proud of myself when I get all that accomplished without cursing so loudly some poor soul thinks there’s been a flip out in aisle 5. I really do try not to curse in the grocery store but I have been known to slip up on that from time to time.

When I finally do make it to check out, is when I really must focus and breath. Again if it’s busy and the lines are long I will make at least one pre-emptive pass, by all the cashiers. I’m looking for that experienced, friendly face that I think will help me to achieve my goal to get through that line as quickly as possible. I’m also checking out my shopping competition. I do not want to get behind a couponer or social butterfly, cause to me that is the equivalent of torture. Again too there better not be a “bluetooth” wearer in my line. I will shift from side to side to side to side, while focusing on anything but the horror in front of me. I get the shakes just thinking about it!

But when it’s all said, done, bought and paid for I exit and take again a deep breath of outside bliss. That is until I realize I forgot, yet again where I parked that freakin car. This is why I have grandchildren. My role as grandmother is nurturer. Their role is to keep grandma the loving nurturer and save her from the grocery store parking lot trauma about to happen!!!!!!!!

I’ve Got A Monkey On My Back and I Told Him To Get Off My Ass!!!!

monkeydonkeypicture

I’m afraid it’s just a fact my friends, we all get the “monkey on the back” thing at one time or another.

It doesn’t matter if we make every attempt to keep our “ass” out of trouble and live the good life. We are all more than capable of developing an itch that only that stinkin monkey can scratch.

I’m gonna come clean right now and admit my monkey this summer has been frequenting every low down, flea bitten (and monkeys can carry fleas you know) yard sale this side of the Pacific. I’m officially an old lady, yard sale junkie!

It started off as fun. I was just trying to find my treasure in somebody else’s trash. I wanted to give new life to old crap. It was my mission and I thought an innocent one, until recently that is.

But a couple of weeks ago I noticed beads of sweat upon my brow whilst planning the route for my yard sale madness.
I’ve been a little cranky on Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays when there’s nobody’s curb I get to pull up to.
My husband is starting to question, “how much money did you spend” when I return with a trunk load just scored.
My children and grandchildren have come to know, grandma ain’t available Thursday, Friday or Saturday before noon and not until she’s got her “junk on”.
I really have almost caused an accident while happening upon a sale, not mapped out on my treasure hunt.
Also I’ve noticed I barely stop the car anymore before racing up to a honey whole of loot. I can feel my eyes start to widen on the approach. My heart races and I feel just like a shark that tastes blood in the water. Dear Lord, I’ve become a bloodthirsty yard sale-er and I need help.

I’ve heard many a time that the first part of the cure is admitting to the problem. With that in mind today I admit “I have a yard sale monkey on my back and I’m telling him to get off my ass.”
At least long enough for me to map out my route for next week, make room in the car for more goodies and convince my spouse I’m the worlds best price negotiator and saving us money in the long run.

Bitch Slapped Into Reality II

photosunsetjanet
Because I’m now a card carrying, senior discount taking, don’t mess with an old lady, member of the AARP. I reserve the right to re-tweek just a little, a previous post in which I allowed myself to poke a little fun at all us oldie’s but still goodie’s.

So, suck up the neck, pull on the depends and try not to pee yourself if you do get your giggle on, cuz here goes nothin;

As a still vibrant on the inside, used to be cute on the outside, 57yr old woman I just gotta say growing older aint for no stinkin sissy’s to be sure.

For me every birthday has been a celebration of life.
I love that I get the opportunity to age, learn and hopefully mature (debateable in my case). I am grateful to be older (again debatable as to any wiser.)

After all I have soooo many more life experiences I get to share (whether they like it or not) with my family and friends. So many more memories made together with those I love (and in some cases love to terrorize).
So, why in the heck does this neck of mine betray me at the supposed to be precious “kodak” moments.

Why am I developing and oversensitive fear that I may actually have to acknowledge someone, with the now tsunami porportioned “wave” capability of my lower arm?

Geez, I want to be able to gesture a big hidy-ho to all the other gray haired beauties, while we’re hitting senior Tuesday at the Goodwill.
But at the same time I avoid at all costs raising the arm that when in “wave” motion has the potential to “bitch slap” us all right back into our senior reality, like it or not!!!!

All kidding aside, I really do dig the fact that I’m still here. I love most of the journey (as long as they have a bathroom along the way). I’m still too cool for school and determined to live, love and learn (but not wave).

You Go “Fly a Kite” In Your Best Poker Face

go fly a kite at mardon

I’ll preface this little essay with a great big TGIF!!!! I LOVE Fridays. I LOVE Friday’s so much that I think the work week should consist of Monday, Friday, Wednesday, Friday, Thursday would be followed by Friday of course.

Don’t get me wrong, I am so grateful to be employed and for the most part have wonderful job with wonderful people. Nonetheless I am a person who believes totally in enjoying my down time and I do it with zeal. In fact I consider myself somewhat of a professional relax-ologist (I do realize that is not a profession but darn I wish it was, cause I’d be rich).

Okay, now that I’ve flexed my Friday night I’m off work muscle I’ll get to the gist of this little ditty.

I want to know if there are others out there, who don’t or maybe can’t (without hurting themselves) pull out a poker face when need be.

I’ve always hoped to achieve the look of poker face perfection. But a well meaning coworker recently felt the need to point out that I could be “read like a book”. I’m hoping she wasn’t really saying that I could be “read like a well worn book” because that would just be rude. I don’t know for sure though, she has way more of a poker face than I do.

While I pride myself on the fact that with me it’s “what you see is what you get.” I really don’t like that “what you see is what you get” part of me. Because I now realize that I have no stinkin filter on my face!!!!!!

This became even more apparent to me later when talking to another coworker who was asking for my advice on a personal issue. Inside I was screaming out “dear God, where’s the door. I don’t want to tell her what I really think”. On the outside I was trying probably in vain to display a mature, wise and calm demeanor. All the while I was thinking about the fact my face filter was nonexistent. In silence I prayed “face, please don’t fail me now”.

But, I think it probably did because I detected a slight look of disdain in her eyes. Actually, now that I think about it I don’t think she has much of a poker face either because I’m pretty sure there was a “why don’t you go fly a kite” look on her face.

Take Me Out To The Ballgame

With the spring 2013 baseball season in full swing (hee-hee), I hope you’ll enjoy this repost from one grateful but frugal grandma.

A few years ago my husband Gary and I took our grandson Mikey to a Seattle Mariner’s game.

Oh my, he was excited and I was determined to milk every moment of my super grandma status for all it’s worth!

I had pried my purse strings open, painful as that is for me to do, and actually purchased tickets to something.

After our arrival to the stadium and trudging up step after step to the nosebleed section, I soon realized that maybe I should have pried a little harder on those purse strings. Sometimes you do get what you pay for and this was the case here. The nosebleed section is called that for good reason.  Honestly, I thought I may have heard the “Sound of Music” playing off in the distance. I felt we were on a Swiss Alp, Bavarian kind of hike and I started to frantically search for oxygen.  In my opinion, the stadium could make a small fortune renting oxygen tanks to cheap grandmas.  Thank goodness we eventually collapsed in, I mean arrived to our seats.

But just as soon as those bats started crackin’ things quickly got to a fever pitch and I couldn’t help but get caught up in all the excitement. I must have been delirious from all the action and lack of oxygen because I grabbed the grandkid and announced to my husband I was off to get some eats, a giant finger for Mikey and a $6.00 beer! Good Lord, would the madness never end! Off we went, one lucky grandkid and one blessed grandma.

After dropping more than a buck or two at the concession stand, we collected all our booty and began the long hike back. While making the climb I happened to notice people were staring at me. I thought I was looking nice but I must have been looking real good that day. Wow, maybe they thought I was Mikey’s mom. Climbing, carrying food and sucking in my gut and double chin at the same time was quite a feat. But, with each step my confidence grew almost as big as my head.

Finally we were to our row and had only to squeeze by several people, who looked thrilled to see us coming. As we continually excused ourselves while slipping past fellow spectators, the stares continued and I’m sure I was flashing a smile here and there to all my admirers! Then when we were almost to the safety of our cheap seats, it happened.  There was some very nice, possibly also oxygen deprived woman, who felt compelled to let me know, “Excuse me ma’am, but your fly is open”.

Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Go Back In The Water!!!!

I hate when the weatherman is right in predicting rain on my spring almost into summertime parade. It’s just a little gloomy out there today and apparently there will be showers through this weekend. But I still see some rays of sunshine and because I’m still in summertime anticipation mode I thought I would repost a summer memory from last year. Last summer was when I got my groove back and I must say it was fun trip finding it. With that I digress back to summer 2012.

This has been the summer of self discovery.  First and foremost I discovered I had completely lost my groove.  Sadly, I then discovered that I had been so worn down, worn out and worn through I didn’t even remember I had one.  Through no ones fault but my own, my get up and go had got up and left without me and with no forwarding address.

None the less, just like Stella I did get my groove back.  It wasn’t on an island paradise or tropical cruise that  it was rediscovered.  I regained my funk in the most unlikely place and with one of my favorite people.  I found the groove I didn’t even know I had lost, yet still managed to miss.

It went something like this.  My darlin little sisy took her (slightly older) sister to her favorite outdoor spa for a little R&R.  I must interject now that one of the things I love most about my sisy is her total inhibition and ability to enjoy life.  I am the overly cautious (again slightly older), uptight sister.  Not to be redundant, but just to remind you I went on this little trip grooveless and wound tighter than a clock.

As my darling sister and I sauntered from one luxurious outdoor pool to another I found myself actually starting to truly relax. I hadn’t been silly in so long and it felt so good to laugh out loud.  I could hear myself and I gotta say it was music to my tired ears.  But,then it got even better.  With a glass of red wine in hand, we sat together in one of the smaller pools.  There we were just the two wild and crazy sisters without a care.  It was like we were kids again (only with wine).  It was great to feel so free and at that point I did what I NEVER in my life would have normally done.  I like my little sisy had done on her 50th birthday did it, I pee’d in the pool!!!!! It was one of craziest things I have ever done, cause I really didn’t give a diddly, PIDDLY, doo what anyone else may think.  If the water turned blue who the heck cared.  That was the freeing part I didn’t worry about it, I just did it.

That simple, silly and maybe a little inappropriate act soothed my soul.  At 56yrs old that pee became a right of passage for me.  It allowed me to not only to retrieve my lost groove but to realize the importance of the fact I still have one!