Morning Conversations 

Sometimes, Monday mornings are rough. You know, rolling out of bed groggy while attempting to re-establish weekday routines. Playing out the idea of hooky on a Monday inside your head.  Wishing to sink back into your pillow. Little things can feel rushed Monday morning. Like, conversations with your three-year-old. (Almost four-year-old).   

Over peanut-buttered-jelly toast and applesauce McKinley discussed her dream to me.  And we didn’t rush.  

“Were you by the pink and blue hydrangeas last night?” McKinley asked. 

I played along, “Oh yes! I was.” 

“And did you see Papa? He was playing with me in my dreams last night!”  (She is referring to my late father who passed away). 

“Oh really?! What were you guys doing?” 

“Papa was pushing us on the swings, but I was younger,” says McKinley very grown up. 

  
Sometimes it stirs these bottomless emotions inside me, but other times it brings comfort knowing he visits her. Still keeping us all safe. Still staying close.  

~g

One thing at a time.  

It’s days like yesterday when I miss dad the most.  The long grey-color-pallet days of winter and the feeling of 1,000 things gone wrong. Just wrong. All my mistakes and shortcomings and the mistakes and shortcomings of others.

I just need to talk to him. “Dad, I’m having a hard time,” but that’s not actually what I would say.  

It would be a phone call and he would pick up, “Gorrrrdita!” rolling out the “r” for an exaggerated effect. (I forget how, where, and when that nickname actually came to be). His excitement to hear from me is warming, but my heart accelerates and my breath is heavy–

“Hey Dad,” with an exhale.  

“What’s goin’ on?” he says casually to not be presumptuous. But come on–he knows. He always knows. The wooshing wind from his rolled down window distracts me.  No matter what season it is his window is down and  he’s driving—always driving.  

“I dunno. Not much,” I mumble. 

“Uh-huh, well don’t put too much stalk into what other people say.”

“I know.  It’s just…I know. You’re right dad.”

He continues, “Seriously Don’t let other people dictate things for you.  Fuck em.” 

Dad had a way of making things seem OK again. I remember a night 3 years ago after the birth of McKinley.  My anxiety level was at a new high.

I called to talk to mom first, because they worked best as a team.  

“What’s the matter?” mom asks softly. 

Working through my sniffles, “I don’t know if I can do this. It’s too much.” 

“Oh Georgia, of course you can.  I know It’s not easy–trust me!  But, you are going to be an amazing mother.” 

Then dad.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“I don’t think I’m ready for this.” 

“Well, shit–you never are.” 

“What am I gonna do when she’s 15? How am I supposed to teach her right from wrong?” 

“Well, just take it one thing at a time. Don’t think about 15…She’s not even 1 month.  Every age and stage is different.  Don’t think or worry about it until you get there.”

I also miss dad on days like today– when the sun is finally starting to break through. When something happy happens and you get that good news

We’re moving into our first home. No extended family this time.  Just our immediate family unit. 4 elements under 1 roof.  And a dog. 

Dad would have embraced me in his tight hug, kissed my forehead, and whispered, “I’m so proud of you kiddo.”  And, he would have said that on my worst days too. 





Monday Monologue: The Oyster Idiom

20131121-223136.jpg

I’m not gonna lie–sometimes idioms make no sense to me. The words just don’t always process the right way for me to fully comprehend the metaphor. (I’m sure having dyslexia doesn’t help my case). So please chime in if I’m way off base.

The world is your oyster!

Meaning: The world is yours to do whatever you want! Make life what you want it to be. Enjoy life by working hard for what you want, or by being lucky.

The world is our oyster? Really though? Is it? Ours for the taking? Opportunities everywhere?

I don’t know about you, but sometimes I’m constantly having to depend and rely on others. Yes, it’s a part of life and I get that…but…uh, then the world is not my oyster… right?

See, life and people are unpredictable.  Someone could bust their ass working hard and still never find the “pearl.” How does that make the world anyone’s oyster? Is the oyster for an elite group of people who can afford opportunity?

While I do consider myself both lucky and hard-working…It doesn’t change the fact that at times my decisions and choices rest in the hands of others. I can’t just go and do whatever I please. I think people need to have the right resources, like Pistol’s “sword” in Shakespeare’s The Merry Wives of Windsor. —> (This is where the idiom comes from).

Well, at least for now I don’t have the resources, but one day, the world will be mine. Muhaha! (Not sure why, but the creepy evil laugh felt appropriate).

20131121-222627.jpg