Fresh as a Summer's Eve.

So I am going to go ahead and divulge something to all of my friends, since it is Monday, what I have to say is funny and I also have not had enough caffeine to stop me.  Also, I have not had a blog offering in some time.  Since it is summer and I sweat like a dirty hairy man that is laying on an asphalt driveway wearing long underwear and a parka, I thought it would be prudent to try and deodorize and be proactive in stopping sweat on every single part of my sweaty self.  So, that said I bought some Summer’s Eve Tahitian Sunset deodorant spray for the nether regions.  I really pondered on the scent, thinking:

1.     I have never been to Tahiti.

2.     I bet a sunset on a Tahitian beach would be beautiful.

3.     I think tropical flowers, citrus fruit and the fresh breeze of the ocean would smell delightful.

4.     Men could surely overlook a glistening sweaty crotchular area when it smells as amazing as a Tahitian Sunset.  I mean, how ROMANTIC, right?

5.     Most definitely a man would HAVE to be drawn to sopping wet, perspiration drenched jeans and underwear , if the prize underneath smelled like a fresh sliced pineapple fruit salad?

So, here is the reality of what happened with my glorious summer’s eve.

1.     During the one of the hottest, most dank, humid and sweltering days of the summer I choose to go to a concert that has a PACKED house.

2.     I chose to puff on some Tahitian Breeze post shower, to keep me feeling like I have pineapple, coconut and tropical wildflowers blooming in my groinial region.

3.     I liberally apply said deodorant without testing the scent first.

4.     I was “iffy” about the smell…questioning whether or not, in fact, that it had ANYTHING to do with Tahiti at ALL.

5.     Once the tight black jeans were on and I was all decked out, I stepped out into Satan’s LAIR outdoors, and then into a sub-par air-conditioned facility with shoulder to shoulder people.  Let’s just say that my lady parts staged a protest, along with every other part of my body…I sprouted a sweat mustache, back sweat and of course we cannot forget the armpits.  (I LOVE feeling like a sexy beast…and by beast I mean a Sasquatch trapped on a sandbar in the South Pacific…) 

6.     Once the lady bits were sufficiently roasting; I noticed that instead of pineapple on the grill…I smelled what I liken to the Glade bathroom spray that our Grandmothers all collectively had in their bathrooms circa 1978.  (Maybe even one of those melty gelatinous masses, the Glade solid air fresheners that you lift the lid on and it slowly dissolves into a massive goo pile stuck to the stick in the middle, you know the ones I mean?) 

7.     Every time I moved my legs I could catch a drift of what seemed like the equivalent of the Glade factory malfunctioning and shooting out vapors of dead lilacs, banana peels and freshly mowed grass clippings.  This scent was neither appealing to me, nor do I believe that any man on the planet would be magnetically drawn to my vagina via this scent.  (Envision Pepe LePew and how he used to magically float over to the one he chose for his affection…yeah, not happening.)  There would be no one magically drifting on a scent cloud to my loins.

8.     I spent the entire rest of the concert, trying to keep my legs plastered together so I wouldn’t attract some wayward raccoons thinking that I had a compost bin of overheated banana peels and dead lilacs in my pants.

My advice to you:  Stick with baby powder…at least we all can grasp what that smells like.  I mean, at the worst it might conjure itself up into some really strange paste down there, but it will still smell like baby fresh paste.  Also, do not buy into any commercial lie that tells you that they know what a Tahitian Sunset smells like.  They don’t.  I have never been to Tahiti, and I can STILL unequivocally tell you that it does NOT smell like the product in that tiny aerosol can.

In closing, I want to remind each and every one of you to stay fresh the best way you know how…and may you be forever blessed with genes that don’t cause you to sweat profusely.  Go forth, and may you find only the smell of pineapple birthing from your undercarriage! 

Just Another Brick

Life is beautiful.  Every single day I see my broken pieces having more meaning.  All the cracks in my surface are there for a purpose.  I am starting to see a cohesiveness that I had never seen before.  For whatever reason, I am seeing things with a new vision and under a different light…I am thankful for this blessing.  Life is starting to happen.

 

 

Literally, my stomach is covered in scars.  I have been cut open more times than I can count.   Until recently, I saw my scars as ugly.  They were a reminder of things that I had lost.  They were a reminder of things that were taken from me against my will.  All of those nasty looking wounds that had healed over were simply the marks of the tools that had been used against me to open me up and take out parts of my body.

 The scars symbolically are the wounds that have been left by those that have harmed me.  They are the reminders that people have taken things from me that I cannot ever have returned.  They are the marks that have been left behind from people that hurt me.  The wounds that were there were sometimes visible to the world but sometimes those wounds were hidden and deep.  Sometimes those wounds were covered with a mask that displayed an illuminated smile.  The confidence that I falsely exhibited was simply a device I used to keep people from getting inside.  It was masterfully executed and it was also very effective.  I truly think my epic performance was worthy of an academy award nomination.

 

I took pride in the walls that I had built to protect myself.   In all honesty, I had built a formidable fortress.  I spent a great deal of time crafting some beautiful bricks.  My bricks were so artistic.  I felt as if the partitions I had created around my heart were so simply lovely that no one would notice that they were there.  I was pretty certain that everything would, by all accounts, find that I was normal.  My barricade successfully kept most people out.  Here and there, I had chosen to let a select few inside my barriers, but I was extremely picky.  Not everyone is worthy to being exposed to my weaknesses and vulnerability.  If I let just anyone in, I might be destroyed.  I had turned this game of life into a virtual blockbuster mini-series of WAR.  I safely guarded myself from all opponents.  I was in lock down mode.  My guns were loaded and I was fully prepared to kill knowing that I would rather have it be HIM or me.  It was rarely me.  Now, the few times I had managed to let someone sneak by the artillery I have to say that mistakenly I was injured.  I was foolish only a few times.  I ended up wounded.  I bandaged myself right quick, and then assisted my adversary in making more bricks.  My enemies were more than cordial with lending a helpful hand slapping down another piece of well crafted stone while I mixed up the mortar and spread it on thicker and thicker.  I really wanted to make sure those impediments surrounding my heart and frailties stayed nice and sturdy, and it is always better to work as a team when creating buffers to reality.

Regarding the scars; I am beginning to view them differently, though.  Recently I have begun, with the help of what I will call the whirlwind, to find that these defenses of mine are not permanent.   To be honest, when this whirlwind swept through, I was clinging with all my might to every possible weapon I had in my cache.  I needed the reinforcements.  I felt as if right away, I KNEW this would bring my utter destruction.  I absolutely positively KNEW that whirlwind was certainly going to destroy my life as I knew it.  I needed to hang on to safety.  I truly needed to grasp all that I had that kept me in the realm of the familiar.  The familiar for me was being suspicious that my heart would inevitably break when I made myself vulnerable.  The whirlwind has lessons for me to learn.  I decided to give this sweeping change a chance because there is something so compelling when you absolutely know that something HAS to just BE in your life.  There was no denying that my destiny was to take this course regardless of the outcome.  I embarked on my journey and let fate take its course.

 

So far, I have been awakened to many things.  The first is that I have been undoubtedly the cause of most of my own suffering.  All in simple acts of protecting myself unnecessarily, I have caused myself profound grief.  I mistakenly have fallen back on the notion that all outcomes will be the same as they always have been.  I have fruitlessly been defending a heart that can no longer be hurt, because in reality there is no such thing for myself unless I am the one that created it.  There are beautiful people out there, in fact there are those that want nothing more than to put on their hard hats and their gloves and take sledgehammers and break down all of the blockades I have created.  For the first time in as long as I have a memory, I have recently felt like I could really breathe.  I felt like I could relax…almost as if I had melted.  How or why is this so profound?  Well, I actually have had physicians touch my muscles and say they know I must be constantly in ‘fight or flight’ because I am physically unable to relax my muscles.  I didn’t know what it felt like to have peace.  I didn’t know what it felt like not to be used.  I didn’t know what it felt like to be loved by a man without conditions.  I have learned to breathe.  The breath I have taken is slow and deep and immensely cleansing.  I have felt things shatter piece by piece inside of me.  It is terrifying…Oh my God is it terrifying for me!  I am learning that so many of my beliefs about reality have all been created out of my self-protective illusions.  Waking up can be hard…but I have a feeling it is worth it.  The Whirlwind has created something amazing with the force of change.  I promise to embrace it fully.  Always.  As well as count my blessings every single day.  Those scars I have, they are proof that something tried to hurt me and I was stronger.  Those scars remind me of everything I was, everything I needed to heal the wounds and all that I have been through.  Those things are also things that no longer serve me the remainder of this journey.  I am clearing out the warehouse of my arsenal, I am going to break up the bricks and mortar and I shall forsake all that no longer suits my purpose.  I will love.  Nothing will stop me.  The journey has begun. 

ANGRY lady parts!!

            I thought I would put out a timely blog post regarding the recent op-ed announcement Angelina Jolie wrote for the New York Times regarding her surgery to remove her ovaries and fallopian tubes.  You know that I of course have something to say.

            Ever since I was approximately 25 years old my sexual reproductive system had been actively plotting to kill me.  I am not sure if anyone knows what it feels like to be basically “living with” a hit man that is trying to snuff you, but it is awkward to say the least.  There is nothing more unsettling than knowing that lurking within your groinial (YES, I know it is not a word…) cavity lays a beast awaiting you.  I mean, I had, over the years grown fond of my internal organs.  There was a point in which I pondered deeply what I had done that pissed off my uterus, cervix, fallopian tubes and ovaries.  How on earth did I end up with these little sociopathic rogues stewing inside of me?  Was it me?  What the hell? 

 

            Don’t get me wrong, I had an iffy relationship with my lady parts anyway.  Love/hate kind of thing, you know what I mean.  I was only 11 years old when I got my period.  Oh joy.  At first I was tickled that the next year in middle school I would be able to miss swimming class on occasion with a valid excuse.  (I was terrified of water.)  Little did I know that this beast of a period would plague me with the kind of pain that only Satan himself enjoys inflicting?  It was BRUTAL.  There were days where I had to be home from school that it was so bad.  There were many days during the menstruation years that I literally wished I could ceremoniously rip out my organs, toss them upon the ground and do a ritualistic dance upon them prior to throwing them in a fire.  Yes, that is the truth.  I was in pain for a good portion of my youth and adulthood because of these organs.

            On the plus side, I was somehow blessed with an amazing son.  This is actually nothing short of a miracle for me, as I view it in hindsight.  I had no clue how severe my issues really were.  I consider myself blessed for my arch nemeses being so gracious as to allow my boy to incubate in their malevolent domain for nine months, so for that alone I am thankful beyond belief.

            Shortly after the birth of my son, I found out that I had severe cervical dysplasia.  I was just months short of having cervical cancer.  I was terrified.  How on earth could it possibly be that I could have such a tiny part of my body masterminding a ploy to bring about my demise?  I first had to have a procedure done called a colposcopy and subsequently a biopsy.  This process is not done under any sort of anesthetic.  I will reiterate this several times whilst discussing this portion, so imagine if you will your OWN tender nether regions so to put yourself in the shoes of someone having this done.  After the biopsy and the confirmation of severity, I had to undergo what is called a LEEP procedure (loop electrosurgical excision procedure), which uses electricity to remove abnormal tissue.  Basically, it cauterizes the cervix or burns it.  FYI, this procedure also is not performed with anesthetic, local or otherwise.  It was extremely painful.  If you can imagine having your body cavity invades by a giant electrical wand and having it zap your sensitive body parts while making the sound of a thousand flies meeting their demise in a bug zapper, you can pretty much sum up the uneasy state of panic I was in.  It did not help matters any that my then husband refused to come with me for said procedures and I was alone and nervous.  I waited for the allotted period of time, went back in for a repeat pap, and once again found that my dysplasia had not gotten better even after the LEEP procedure.  It was now time for the crew to break out the big guns.  (I hope you can read into that all of my sarcastic excitement.)    The next game plan required me to have what is called Cryosurgery.  By surgery I was assuming, much to my relief that I would be ‘put under.’  I was hoping that I would be, so that I would not have to feel the pain yet again.  Wrongo, bucko.  This procedure Cryosurgery works by taking advantage of the destructive force of freezing temperatures on cells. When their temperature sinks beyond a certain level ice crystals begin forming inside the cells and, because of their lower density, eventually tear apart those cells. Further harm to malignant growth will result once the blood vessels supplying the affected tissue begin to freeze.  How do they freeze it you ask?  Liquid nitrogen.  Yep, liquid nitrogen ‘torch’ stuck up there and they went to town…freezing all of those cancer cells.  Now, if you have never had such a treat as this, you don’t know that again; you are awake for the procedure, you cannot deaden the cervix in preparation and the act of freezing the cervix causes the uterus to cramp up at the level of childbirth strength.  Again, I was alone for this…however I was BLESSED to have a wonderful doctor and amazing nurses that held my hand as tears rolled down my face.  Anyone who knows me knows it takes a LOT for me to express pain, but this one really got to me.  It was worse than childbirth for me, to be honest.  After this was over, I had to wear pads for a week while my lady bits unthawed.  I felt super sexy.  That one seemed to do the trick for awhile, and I was all clear for the time being.

            My lady parts were now armed with the knowledge that their plot to destroy me had been thwarted by the physicians; thus, my body starting cooking up another plan to kill me slowly.  As the years went by, I developed various oddities.  I had a bizarre twisted cyst that hung off of my fallopian tube, I had nearly constant cysts on my ovaries, ruptured cysts on my ovaries, I developed Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome and I developed Endometriosis. 

 

            I pretty much had a frequent customer punch card for ultrasounds.  (Good governor, the transvaginal ultrasound, the enormous “magic wand.”) What a treat.  Also I think about how many times my abdomen has been cut into for surgeries…my poor belly. 

            This brings me to current times, just a year and a half ago, to be exact.  I had another surgery because I was having trouble sitting without pain, and knew that my endometriosis was back again.  They did an ultrasound and found out that I had a polyp inside my uterus also, so we elected to surgically treat both issues.  The doctor cleaned up my endometriosis and removed the polyp.  Post surgery she told me she did not like the looks of my ovaries, and she also sent the polyp to the lab to analyze it.  When I came to my two week post-op she told me that the growth in my uterus was pre-cancerous, that my entire uterine lining was pre-cancerous and that the recommendation was to either have uterine biopsies 4 times a year, again under no anesthetic, OR to get a complete hysterectomy before things developed into cancer.

            Immediately I was PISSED!!  Really, lady parts?  CANCER AGAIN?  F-YOU.  Honestly, you can’t get any more creative than that?  You fall back on the easiest excuse to attempt to slay me yet again.  Not only that, but now you have left me no choice but to come to terms with a few things that I had not been letting go of for reasons….the reasons were perhaps unreasonable, but they were reasons!  I wanted to have more children…yeah, I KNOW…I was 41…probably not a good idea anyway…but damn, it was my PLAN, and you took it away.  PLUS, I had these unreasonable notions that if you took away my parts that made me female, that I would suddenly lose my femininity.  Would I grow a beard?  God forbid, a penis shoots outta me suddenly.  Damn.  What the HELL, life?  Thanks for continuing to NOT follow MY blueprint on how things are SUPPOSED to go.  Anyway, I decided after much mourning and deliberation that I needed to remove everything.  Given the fact that my ovaries were cloaked in a veil of suspicion, they had to vamoose as well…and even my cervix…BE GONE, ALL OF YOU!  Lori spoke, and it was done.  Second surgery in 2 months scheduled.

 

            The surgery went smoothly, and I woke up without facial hair and male genitalia.  Two weeks post op I returned to find out that my ovaries had been sent to pathology lab and that they too were pre-cancerous.  I am thankful that all of them are rotting away in a landfill somewhere…or I have visions of some diabolical mad scientist having all of my disfigured parts floating in Mason jars of liquid on shelves in his work space.  I hope that created a nice vision for you. 

            So, what I am simply trying to convey in the form of a long-winded story, is that MANY women face decisions that are life and death.  They do it on a daily basis.  They do it as quiet heroes.  They do it without the need to write an op-ed in the New York Times; without the media jumping to grab a microphone and do an interview.  Just because Angelina Jolie is a celebrity, it does not make her special.  It does not make her struggles any different from that of the rest of the women that battle with issues exclusive to females.  It simply means one thing; she has the financial means to take care of her medical bills better than the rest of us.  Otherwise, we are all the same.   We all are faced with thoughts that plague us; are we making the right decision?  We are all faced with sadness that we cannot bear any children, or any more children.  We are all faced with the fact that we have to mourn the loss of parts of our body that make us feminine.  We all have to face the fear that cancer will yet again rear its ugly head somewhere else in our bodies.  We are the same.  Just not all of us get to tell our stories.  I get to tell mine today, but millions of readers won’t see it.  None the less, the freedom of telling a story is bliss.  I am thankful that I am alive, and I pray that my body stops trying to throw a coup.  Damn rebels trying to overthrow me, anyhow!!

            As always, hugs and such.  Lori

Sand, Rocks, Beauty and Life...YES it really makes sense.

      Beautiful, is a word that conjures up many meanings for many different people. The definition of the word means to please the senses or the mind aesthetically.  It is something that I have been chasing since I was a young girl.  I have pursued all things that are beautiful.

 

          I used to be fascinated for hours and hours when I was little girl sitting in a pile of sand, sorting out the tiny rocks into different colors.  There were pinks, yellows, reds, crystal clear and even  jade green little bitty rocks inside of that giant pile of sand.  Some people might have looked at the way I spent my time as a waste.  Other people might have looked at that pile of sand and saw just that…sand.  I looked at that mound of petite rocks as an adventure.  When I saw it, I saw the potential for hidden treasure.  I saw it as an opportunity to dig deeper.  I absolutely KNEW that inside of that pile of bland tan gritty mass were little specks of phenomenal beauty.  Sometimes I sat down and found an agate right away!  Other times I had to search awhile for something pretty, digging and sorting until something stood out.  Then there were times that there were things that may not seem very striking at all, but rather it was more of a uniqueness.  Perhaps I found rocks with tiny holes in them, maybe a little fossil or an exceptional shape.  There were times I would find tiny pieces of clay, sometimes deep shades of terra cotta or bright golden yellows.  I would then take the time to make the mark of the clay color on my notebook to remember it by.

 

          Honestly, as I sit here reflecting on myself mining through the sand for treasure, an immense feeling of peace and calm overwhelms me.  I can easily discern that in my often chaotic childhood that this act of seeking was therapeutic to me.  To this day, there is nothing more serene to me than to sit on a picturesque beach by a lake looking for rocks.  Listening to the waves lapping on the shore, the simple repetitive movement of water brings serenity and finding rocks and holding them in my hands grounds me.  It is a little known fact that I collect rocks even today.  Simply putting these words out there gives me that same sensation of joy and silence.  I love that I can generate this kind of absolute stillness within myself by just ruminating about the subject.

 

          So, while pondering on this topic today, I realized how applicable this search for minute specks of splendor is SO important to our lives.  The ability to see beyond the surface of the people in our lives is the difference between simply passing someone by because of their exterior and creating deep and meaningful relationships with a person as we have taken the time to excavate beyond the surface.  Sometimes you sit down with somebody and right away you find this glimmer and spark inside of them that immediately got your attention.  Other times you have to burrow a bit a more, take some time, wait and then linger even more before you find the treasure.  Then there are those moments where it may be hard to find the riches that lie within the person in front of you.  Perhaps this person has lived a lifetime of painful experiences, perhaps this person is not ready to reveal that which makes them feel vulnerable.  However, I assure you that it is THERE.  It may be in the form of that rock with holes in it.  Their treasure may be the fact that they are imperfect with the anguish in which they have suffered.  Their inner beauty may be the fact that they have survived, despite the holes.  Conceivably, it could be that their inner gifts may be like that fossil that has hardened over time.  Their blessings to the world were once alive and vibrant, but over time and disappointment a shell, tough as nails, formed over the surface.  Can we help them dust off those dreams again?  Maybe their treasure is like the clay, making a mark where ever they go leaving an impression for us to learn from?  There is something.  We ALL have SOMETHING. 

 

          Beauty is in the eye of the beholder; however we need to peel back the layers sometimes to discover it.  Today, may you take that time to really process your surroundings.  Find the beauty in the crisp air, the snow, the sparrows and the frozen water.  Also take the time to dig a little deeper and make some marvelous connections to the fellow human beings we share our space with.  Look at everyone with new eyes.  See an adventure that you are willing and able to invest in.  Your life will be renewed and I can guarantee you that you will learn a staggering amount about YOURSELF.  We have the capacity to not only ignite and refurbish the flames within someone else, but this act of discovering the blessings others have to offer will in turn repair our own souls.  Like the child in the sandbox searching for tiny rocks, you will find it rejuvenates you and brings you harmony and freedom. 

          I love you all.  Unearth some treasures today.

 

I was pondering about some things the other day.  Mostly the fact that throughout my lifetime I have had words burned into my memory.  Envision my brain waiting inside some stockade gates and a searing red hot metal rod with some nasty term scorches itself onto my gooey gray matter.  This is obviously the vision my over-active imagination paints, however for me it has really been so remarkably true.

            Regardless of how I tried in the past to focus on the positive, it did not come easily to me.  I grew up around fairly constant put-downs.  I learned I was a loser, a ‘lifer’ in this town, my interests weren’t something to be commended, my good grades were insignificant because I would never go to college, that I would never make it as an artist, that no matter how hard I tried my efforts were futile.  My heart of hearts told me that was SO wrong, but eventually I came to doubt myself.  I started feeling like maybe those words were correct.  I literally heard them every day in SOME form.  It was truly agonizing, and I HATE to admit it but those things really beat me down.  I was worn out by the words; they sucked the life out of me.

 

            As time went on, and I became interested in boys the words I heard at home made it all too acceptable to involve myself with the same type of people.  I remember every cruel remark that guys ever made to me.  I was frequently called ugly.  My facial features picked over as if I was not even REAL…saying things in front of me that I dare say were so mean that it would cut to the soul of even the most hardened heart.  I had been told to feel LUCKY by certain people I dated; because surely they were doing me a favor…no one else would date someone so unattractive.  At 110 pounds I had been called fat several times actually.  They would poke my runner’s thighs and say I could stand to lose some.  My arms were too hairy, my nose too big…and my lips…well those got made fun of all the time.  I recall one time that I came out of the bathroom at a fellow’s house that I was dating to have him say “Jesus Christ, go back in the bathroom and fix yourself up…you look like a pile of shit.”  In front of my friends and his friends he said this, and for a young lady that was a deeply traumatic moment. 

            The way the girls treated me in school was far worse on a level of the brutality scale.  Although a virgin, I was a slut and a whore according to them.  I was also the ugliest creature on the planet, and heard that daily.  If I didn’t hear it verbally nearly every hour at school every day, they were very kind as to give me written reminders; all over the walls in the bathroom…all over my locker…all over my car.  Not to mention the vandalism to my property, and the theft of things that were important to me that went along with this. 

            I think about all of this now and wonder how it was that I was so fragile that I believed them?  I think that truly this is a testament to the power that we all throw forth on a daily basis with what we say.  Our words and intentions can be a formidable force for all that is good, beautiful, inspiring and joyful.  Our words and intentions can be an astounding and malevolent beast for all that is wicked, foul, vile and malicious as well.  Our words have the capacity to uplift and sustain someone that is suffering, and by the same token our words can injure and weaken the same person.

            In my lifetime I had been conditioned to believe that which was spoken to me, and subsequently surrounded myself with the only kind of people I thought I was worthy of…and unfortunately my expectations were not that high.  I look back and think of the opportunities I may have missed because I thought that I wasn’t good enough for so many people.  I am certainly thankful for being able to clearly see that so often mean and judgmental words are truly the feelings and inner workings of the person who is saying them regarding their beliefs about THEMSELVES.  It has nothing to do with me; I am simply the trigger that enacted such feelings.  I know I pushed a few buttons back in my school days by simply being myself.  I wore band shirts and miniskirts with Chuck Taylor high tops.  My eyeliner was too dark, my leather hat was ‘weird’, my laugh was too loud and I was a nerd.  I think that maybe because I was authentic to myself, that this caused stress in others.  At least I am proud that I stuck with my guns and remained who I was despite the fact that it was not well received.

            So, today I ask you to be mindful of what you say.  Remember that those that surround you on a daily basis in your family listen to every word you say.  Please, make sure you are lifting them up with your words.  In your relationships, be aware that you have the capacity to bring someone the greatest gifts with what you say to them…be kind, be passionate, be a loving person…see them with eyes that are full of love every single day.  We deserve that much.  In your friendships, remember to value those that have chosen to remain with you and by your side.  Be sure to honor them, treasure them and tell them how awesome they are.  Finally, in our everyday life we have the power to make an impact on other people by simply being kind.  We can SMILE.  We can send out a random compliment to a stranger.  We can build up our communities with love…that not only includes in person, but also our activity online.  Be nice.  You may make a new friend…and at the very least, you won’t be the cause of a nasty burn in someone else’s brain.

            I love you all!!  XO  Lori

V-day...Does romance exist without electric guitars and spandex???

                All you need is love, right?  Valentine’s Day is fast approaching and my thought was I would do a slight reflection on V-days of the past.  So I thought and thought and thought.  I really couldn’t remember any historic moments in my past that rocked me to the core of my being. 

                So, Valentine’s Day…I remember that in high school an awesome guy sent me flowers to the office.  I was thrilled…but the card contained some sarcasm about “feeling sorry for me.”  SO, I pretty much thought it was an insult.  Looking back, I think it probably was not…what high school guy would buy a girl a whole bunch of red roses if he was trying to be mean to her?  Probably none, but picking up on a guy picking on me and liking me simultaneously was beyond my grasp back then.  I also seemed to have an aversion for a long time for anyone that would potentially treat me nicely.  This was NOT because I wanted to be treated poorly, but it was more that I had NO CLUE how a woman should be treated.  I didn’t have that modeled for me at home, so I just settled for never being anyone’s special someone, because I thought I didn’t deserve it.  Needless to say, I spent most nights at home.  Not much has changed.  Haha!

                I totally realize that my perception of romance WAS skewed growing up.  I had envisioned it all so differently.  You know, my imagination led me to believe that “IT” was out there somewhere.  The dream relationship HAD to be there, and I was totally going to get it!!!  Close your eyes, and envision it if you will.  (Wait…you have to read.)  I had this vision that I would marry a guy in a band.  Probably a lead guitarist, or a singer.  I would have four perfect children, three boys and one girl.  I would have this big house in LA with a swimming pool.  I would wear bikinis a LOT.  My man would never cheat on me, even though he was in a band.  (Realistic…)  We would have a recording studio in our house, and I would go listen to awesome bands record.  I would have lots of dogs. 

                Soooooooo….I have one awesome son and dogs.  Some wishes do come true.  As time went on, I started compromising more and more about relationships.  My marriage failed miserably.  I started to lose the battle with my biological clock.  My uterus and ovaries plotted to kill me.  It was either me or them…I chose me.  They are in the garbage somewhere.  However not being able to have children thins down a gal’s prospects I am sure.  As well as age…sigh.  I started accepting the fact that I would never have this thing called romance.  I am not sure I even knew what the heck romance is.  Is it even real?! 

                                My definition of love is complex.  My definition of romance is simple.  Unexpected text messages that tell me they heard a song and thought of me…a random card in the mail…a surprise weekend together without distractions…making dinner together…a drive in the country stopping to look at stars and maybe a slow dance to a song on the radio.  Hell…it really IS that simple.  A gal can dream, right? 

                I am wishing a Happy Valentine’s Day to you a little early, my friends.  Remember…if you HAVE a Valentine, don’t take them for granted.  Hugs and such…Lori  Meanwhile, it looks like I have an admirer...  ;)

 

What Flowed Through my Mind This Morning

Inspiration is all around us.  The energy and brilliance of that which gives us electricity flowing through our bodies can be found around us at any given moment if we can peel back the film from our eyes which prevents us from clearly seeing such muses. I see my muses in the bee that drinks sweet nectar and collects pollen on his tiny legs.  I see my muse in the vibrant red maple leaves twisting and turning on their stems in the crisp autumn breeze.  My muse can be a horse galloping with happiness through a grassy field or a simple dandelion that has gone to seed.   My inspiration flows in streams and rivers, floats delicately on quiet lakes, moves gently among the leaves in the trees, scurries quickly with the squirrels, swiftly flies with birds, delicately drifts like the scents of spring flowers, sways repetitively to the timing of the breeze like the tall grass of summertime and dances elegantly like a butterfly in the sky.  The immense beauty that our own earth provides all of us is the power supply to what makes my heart tick.  I love to share with others this incredible gift we have been given through my photographs, and honestly that feels like such a tremendous blessing.  The ability to see the tiny details and intricacies of the miracle of nature all around me and to allow others to partake in this vision through my eyes is priceless.

If I am able to give someone else the gift of being able to slow down, to ponder, to wonder and question, then I have given them the ability to unlock within them their own creative desires.  What an amazing contribution it is to be able to help ignite the fire within someone to be able to observe the astonishing splendor that our planet had provided us to enjoy.  Perhaps by inspiring others, I am allowing them to express their own hidden artist?  This action alone may kindle the future of another person to express that which they see by photograph, painting, drawing or words.  There is always room for more artists, and I truly believe we all have one; sometimes living boldly or sometimes suppressed within us.  To be able to give this part of us a voice, means to pay it forward to others and share our visions with the masses.

Truly, it is an art to be able to see the intricacies in our lives.  My spirit and passion for the world around me is a gift I intend on sharing.  My inspiration surrounds me daily, and for that reason I am richly consecrated.  I feel I am obligated to share my aptitude in capturing my visualizations with my camera to enrich the lives of those around me.  I want to give them all the ability to see the same wonder with which my eyes see every day.  My inspiration, my zeal and my delight comes with a camera strap and my imagination.

My Cinderella Story...and not the Glass Slipper Kind.

            Once upon a time, about seven years ago, I attended a concert with people I knew from a former job.  Envision it.  Poison and Cinderella, and I was STOKED to see Cinderella.  I am not a fan of Poison, so ‘meh’ on that one…but Cinderella…Oh lordy…yes please.  Give me some Tom Keifer ANY day and I will be overjoyed.

            Where does the crux of the story come into my story, you ask?  Let me tell you.

            Right now I am asking you to envision a Winnebago.  (RV for those not well versed in brands.)  There are at least 10 people in this mammoth vehicle not including the driver.  The driver and I are the only ones sober upon entrance of the vehicle at around 3 p.m. in the afternoon on this fine Saturday.  Not sure if any of you have experienced what an utter treat it is to be the only sober person surrounded by people that are shit-faced, but I can tell you this was no trip to Fantasy Island.  I had one person there that I enjoyed being around, but still…when everyone else is tripping the light fantastic with booze and I am there with my can of Coke.  Just ‘ugh’ sums it up.

            So, as we are traveling the two hours to arrive at our destination, I start to develop a headache, which I attributed to the mayhem that was occurring with the Winnebago.  I couldn’t have been more incorrect.  We arrive at Mankato MN, the destination for the concert…we grab a bite to eat…we go to the show.  Now mind you, I am not one to bring my purse into a concert normally.  I rarely even carry a purse these days at all.  I just don’t like to be encumbered with a bag of crap when I am trying to ROCK.  So, that said, I stuffed my money and ticket into my pocket and off I went.  All of us were sitting in different locations within the building.  My friend and I were on the floor up close.  I admittedly was a little giddy.  I have a massive crush on Tom Keifer and I will not lie about it.  Once we get to our seats, I feel a twinge…a cramp…and a gusher.  That’s right…I have my period.  Two weeks early as a matter of fact.  I rush off to the bathroom to find the temple of the tampons. 

            The first bathroom I went in, the vending machine was empty.  “Oh whatever,“ I say to myself.  “This arena is huge, they will have one somewhere.”  Meanwhile, my headache turns into an all encompassing demon.  Second bathroom, NOTHING.  Third bathroom, NOTHING.  There is NO damn tampons, OR God forbid, even some tug-boat sized maxi pad ANYWHERE in the building.  I ask the people that work in the arena…they even check the staff bathrooms and have nothing.  At this point, I am DESPERATE.  I don’t want to bleed through my bloomers.  I am a pissy bitch now as well, oh joy.  We all can assume why I am this way given my estrogen rush.  I begin to BEG every woman I see for a tampon.  C’mon ladies, we sisters HAVE to stick together.  (I might add, by this time Cinderella is HALF OVER.)  I FINALLY find a kind-hearted t-shirt vendor willing to check her purse for a tampon.  The only one she has was one that was not wrapped in the plastic; it was covered in make-up dust, purse debris and smelled like peppermint gum.  I didn’t care.  In fact, at this juncture I wouldn’t have cared if it gave me gonorrhea.  I just needed to stop the hemorrhage.  Anywho…I tamponed myself and went to enjoy the show.  I got to hear TWO Cinderella songs.  TWO.  Then I proceed to endure Poison…how fitting the name of the band was what I wanted to do to myself to rid me of all of agony experienced thus far in my evening.

            I survive hearing Bret Michaels sing, which to me is some sort of miracle.  “God is good!”  We all aboard the Winnebago, where I eagerly anticipate an incredibly compelling two hours worth of drunken havoc; I mean how could it NOT be, they were drunk before…they will be drunker after.  (Is drunker a word?  Right now, I couldn’t care less.)  We begin our pilgrimage back home.  Across from me, there sits a certain someone.  A gentleman that is quite large.  We are facing each other in the seats.  He is passed out from boozery.  (Yes, I do what I want with words…)  The sound being emitted from him is something akin to a death rattle.  He is drooling, with mouth agape.  He is wearing short shorts, with Ted Hose (diabetic socks that go to the knees) with tube socks over those, with sandals.  He is wearing a translucent white ‘muscle shirt’ that is incredibly tight…barely fitting over the 20 months pregnant belly.  As we roll along the dark highway, I am enthralled with the vision I behold in front of me.  I begin to ponder life.  I begin to question why I was made.  Why am I here?  What purpose did this trip serve?  What can I learn, other than to bring tampons with me at all times?  I NEED Advil.  Satan is ripping out my uterus, and I have a headache.  I hope that the one scurvy tampon I have in me will suffice until we get home.  I keep staring at the man across from me….as if I am watching people being pulled from the wreckage of a train accident.  The rumble of curdled throat aspirations coming from his wide mouth…saliva puddles form on his shoulder.  As we move onward…his shirt begins to roll up, exposing a bit of belly.  It rolls up further…and further…and further…until like someone releasing their hand from a window shade, it explodes with FURY over the top of his bulbous belly.  His gargantuan stomach exposed in full, his belly button was the size of a cup holder and his shirt was now firmly rolled underneath his D-cups.  Despite what you may think, I still kept looking.  The horrifying scene unfurling before my eyes was still NOT TOO MUCH to bear as my evening kept progressively getting worse and worse.  I mean, why NOT test this out, and see how far it is going to go.  Can’t be much more that could happen to cap my evening off, right?

            WRONG.  Wrongo, bucko.  We passed underneath a highway light…I cast my gaze downward toward my riding partner across from me.  His legs are now spread full bore, like he is going to get a gyno exam.  I see something.  No, really.  I saw it.  IT.  I saw IT.  His balls.  “NO!!!!” I think to myself.  I did NOT just see this dude’s balls.  We keep on toolin’ down the highway…we pass underneath another light and I double check to make sure I saw it right.  You betcha I did.  The whole works was situated outside of the short shorts.  The entire working unit of this man’s genital system was on display.  Before I briskly turn away, I do one more survey of the landscape of which I had been gazing upon…you know…just savor it, take it all in.  Soak it up like the ray of sunshine which it was.  Damn…life is amazing!  I turned away and thought of ways to die quickly on the way home and prayed that if it didn’t happen, that there would be some way out there of washing my mind clean of what happened.  Nope.  Still remember.  Now YOU do too!  Muahahahaha!!  My work here is done.

            HUGS and SUCH!!  ~L By the way, some of you MAY know the man of which I speak…but you can’t tell.  ;)