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

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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.

Not Just Talking Out My “boro”, TGIF and More

donkymustachmonky

With my feet barely touching the floor, my fingers type away with the kind of zeal that only comes from the end of a hard week of work and a fine glass of wine.

Oh how I’m anticipatin’ un-alarming that no good, dirty rotten alarm clock tonight.
Lord, knows at my age (vintage) I am so grateful to be employed and at the same time, at my age (again, vintage) I am not so grateful that I still have to be employed!!!!

Oh, well I remind myself this evening that is why God made weekends, so we could do all the laundry, clean the house, do the shopping, wash the car, pay the bills and then RELAX.

I remember doing all this when my kids were little. Really, not so much has changed except for the fact that now I’m old enough I kind of smile even when I bitch.

I observe those around me, some still hard at work, some retired and some forced into early retirement.

I remind myself that the grass is never so green as in our own backyard and that each and every one of us has the ability to make it, break it or grab it by the ____
and run with it.

I choose this beautiful Friday evening to get my bitchin out-of-the-way, count my many blessings and then run with each and every one of them into tomorrow.

TGIF, us each and everyone!!!!

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).

As “The Eagles” Soar

cowichecanyonridge

It’s late April 2013 and this sunny day warms both my heart and soul. I’ve opened all the windows and let the fresh air breath in new life. There’s renewal in the air and I start to feel the welcome restless spirit of youth that I’m still not too old to forget.
I get way more than a little nostalgic in the spring and summer because I get to be outside. I get to play, garden, drive and just piddle around. There is only one thing that makes my outdoor love affair totally complete though and sends me into nostalgia paradise. I gotta have my tunes cranked up with Eagles soaring on the soundwaves. There is not much better than sunshine on a warm day and the sound of Eagles making like jelly and jammin.

So, when a co-worker lent me the Farewell Eagles Tour dvd, I allowed myself to regress back to the 70′s and blessed memories of people, places and times I will forever cherish.

I remember when most of the men I knew still had hair, I had a neck and when I waved at you my lower arm didn’t wave back.

I also remember when:

Not only the Eagles but The Doobie Brothers, Black Oak Arkansas, Bob Seger and Steve Miller ruled the airwaves and the 8 track tape player.

“Bitchin” was a really good thing and you couldn’t “hack it” without your really “far out” whatever it is you couldn’t live without at the time.

Mike and I hitchhiked to Newport Beach and caught a ride with a disk jockey who went by “Peyote Pete”, good times!!!!

In the early 70′s it was mocassin shoes and hip huggers that were the attire of choice for any self respecting teenage girl. I can remember shuffling from class to class in those mocassin’s. I don’t think I actually lifted a foot off the ground for an entire school year.

Lot’s of guys were then sporting those ever so attractive striped bell bottom drawers. In retrospect I must admit that one style was better left in the 70′s.

Thanks for the memories Eagles, for me you continue to soar.

The Art of Imperfection

I wrote this way back in 2011.  I was then and unfortunately still am a bit of a reality show junkie.  While I am totally enthralled in what some strive to achieve in their own reality, I am at the same time horrified as to how some us see beauty.  I did not get it back in 2011 and still don’t get it today.  The following is my take on the beauty of imperfection and how for me it is a reality worth celebrating.

 

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the beauty of imperfection.

It may be because I’m a reality show junky, that I have been bombarded with the idea as
to what some call “perfection”.  Or, maybe it’s just that I’m looking at more imperfect people trying very hard to keep up the appearance of perfection in non-reality.

I don’t get it!  Stop the madness! For my part in stopping the madness I have put together a few
thoughts to ponder.

There should be a law prohibiting anyone past the age of forty from EVER wearing hair extensions.  If you want to purchase a hair extension past the age of forty, be
prepared to provide your drivers license, Costco picture, blood test, birth
certificate and library card.  This would be a very harsh but necessary means to hopefully slap you back into reality, as only the picture on that darn drivers license can.

In regards to the lip thing, what can I say except that injecting your lips full of stuff is NUTS!
If you can no longer utter the phrase “The purple platypus’s play purposefully at a precious petunia filled park”, without feeling one lip touch the other, you need again to stop the madness!

What I’m trying to say is please let’s celebrate who we are, warts (icky) and all.

I speak now as one thin lipped, way over forty, graying beauty.  I love my imperfections and wear them proudly!  I don’t want to be what you want me to be.  I just want you to appreciate how perfect I wear my imperfection.

I kind of feel that way about everything in life.  I think too much time is taken away from appreciating the beauty and candor of imperfection because we all get too hung up thinking it all has to be perfect.

I poopoo that thought and encourage each and every one of us to realize the imperfect part of
life is the journey.  Don’t forget to enjoy the trip before you reach what may have never been meant to be your destination at all.

Please Don’t Pee In The Pool!!!!

We have a VERY large family here in “LaLa Land”.  Just recently Glenn turned 37, Maddie 13, Lil Robert 20, Liam 2. Gavin 6 and Aunt Janet “Sisy” 53 years old today.  Holy Macaroni, that is a lot of celebrating going on!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  More fun, more stories, more pictures (though there is always a certain amount of whining involved).  Thank you Father for one more year of love to share.

Because she is the eldest and a matriarch at this point (short for she’s getting up there), I thought I would share one of my favorite birthday stories for my little sisy Janet.

When Janet turned 50, it was of course a REALLY big deal and by golly she deserved to and was gonna be celebrated full-bore!!!!!!!!!!!  One of my brother’s  Mike and his dear wife Darlene drove to Ca. from Az.  Another brother Dan the Man was there with his cutie patootie daughter Ciarra.  Myself and my darling spouse Gary flew down from Wa. state.  Aunt Katie and Uncle Jerry were there also.  Janet’s daughter Bria, her son Cody and his beautiful wife Danielle showed to pay homage to and love on the birthday girl “aka old lady.”

The time when we all met up for her birthday dinner, was so celebratory for my sisy and I knew it meant alot to her.

For me it will be a memory I will treasure forever!!!!  Again, thank you Father!!!!

BUT, the best part of the whole birthday 3 day event, the part that epitomized my little sisy to her core, was the pre party bash.

Just she and me, sisters galore and to their core!  Before the dinner with all the family, Janet and I went for her annual birthday pampering at the wonderful spa in southern Ca. Glen Ivy (google it).  It was wonderful, We basked in the sun, mud bathed, salt bathed and just plain old RELAXED, like you wouldn’t believe.  I recommend highly this experience!!!!!

It was wonderful.  I was so at ease, almost uninhibited, but not quite.

One of the activities at this fantastical spa includes water aerobics.  My beautiful sister and I jumped in the pool, eager to join in as the instructor did her drill sergeant best to aerobicise us into shape.  I was really proud of the two of us boppin up, down and around, all without drowning!  While having so much fun I was still very aware of those around me and tried hard to not invade another’s splash filled space.

This is where it gets good and where I confess what I love most about my little sisy is her ability to be herself.

I was relaxed but still tryin to keep up the appearance of “I’m not really drowning”, while exercising routine.

I looked over at my sisy and she say’s non chalantly “I gotta PEE.”  I was okay with that.  After all she is the birthday girl.  Go ahead sister sashay over to the potty, do your business and then rejoin your older sister as she avoids drowning, while trying to look like water aerobics come natural to her.

Because I was soooo into the routine and staying afloat I momentarily lost track of anything other than keeping my head above water.  As I wiped chlorine filled (there is a reason for that chlorine) water from my eye, I realized my sister was still right next to me and hadn’t left my side.  I asked innocently “I thought you had to PEE?”

She answered as only a beautiful, vibrant and totally emancipated 50yr old could “I DID.”