The inside of me

As most of you know I started this blog as a place to air my stuff. Some stuff has been funny, some are serious. Some just indicate my mood at the time. I hope you don't mind the ramblings on sometimes. I can ramble for sure. I where my heart on one sleeve and my emotions on the other. What I say here is real and I don't mind letting you in so you can feel what I feel. I love to write. It is a new found passion (see last post). So with that said, here is something swirling around in my head at the moment.

I am a good man. At least I think so. I am who I am from decisions made in my life. Some good, some bad, some down right terrible. But I am who I am. I am 42. So to say I'm new at this is far fetched. I have had experiences that I treasure and some that I wish never came my way. But through it all I have discovered things about me that are what make me, well, me.

I am a Mormon. I was born in the church, baptized when I was 8. Served a mission at 19 and have been active all my life. I love it. I think my life would be so different without it. For the worse. The Gospel can be hard to live sometime. But through faith I have survived many trials that have come my way. There have been many times that I had fallen short of what I believe and it really destroyed my marriage. I am at fault for my faults and for no one else. Being Mormon is and will always be ever present in my life.

I am emotional. Can't watch a hallmark commercial without getting all teary eyed. Drives me nuts sometimes. Seriously, I think there is a deficiency somewhere in me. But with that emotion comes tenderness. I'm very gentle. I don't like violence. Well, the kids may tell you different. Grrrr! Anyway, I was born with a broken collar bone. My sister will tell you that because of that I was treated and handled very differently as a baby. I guess that's where it came from.

I am a product of a broken family. My father ruled the house as kind as he could but when he felt crossed in any way he changed. Different persona, if you will. Later the alcohol came and all the fights with my mom. I remember, vividly, laying in bed one night and hearing my parents get into it. What made them think that it was OK to start fighting at 2 in the morning? As a 8 or 9 year old kid, I didn't feel like there was much I could do but lay awake and listen. My mother was no slouch either. There were times when all I heard was her yelling. Self defense I guess. But as I heard the door rattle and the noise get louder, I made a vow to myself. A nine year old vow. I will never hit my wife. My ex and I had our problems. I never yelled like he yelled and I kept my vow. My promise to myself. And I always will.

I am a romantic. My ex may say other wise. It takes 2 to tango. I love to hold hands, kiss in public and I love to dance. Yes, I said dance. Not out at da club (although I have been to a few). I believe when you are at one with your partner, dancing can be a form of foreplay with no want for sex after. Holding each other and swaying to music or just the rhythm of your breaths,can be exhilarating. I'm a very touchy feely guy. Nothing says I love you more than a pat on the butt, too.

I have dreams. Aspirations. Sometimes visions. They are personal. If I share them with you consider yourself loved. I wouldn't share them with someone I disliked. In my dreams I have a love. A love you only dream about but mine is real. In my dreams I am wealthy without money. I have enough for my needs and that is all I need. I have friends who love me and I them. And I play one mean game of basketball.

Well, I guess I could go on. I think I have said enough. I sit here in my room alone with nothing but my fan to keep me company. There are times when I feel the worst case of loneliness. I do not like it. I was not meant to be alone. I have so much to give if only I had someone to share it with. This is not a booty call. I am just saying that I believe I am a good catch. I have gone through many trials. I am scarred and have been through the ringer. But this in no way changes the fact that I am a good man. Get to know me and you will see. I have a lot of love to give.

The book I read to mother

Summer is coming to a close, I thought to myself. Not knowing if I really meant the seasons were changing or if I knew somehow that life was about to end. Staring out of the window I could see leaves beginning to change color. The sky had such a deep red shade to it. Birds were flying south and as I gazed upon them in the window I saw my reflection. I was so young then. Scared. Helpless. Nothing I could do would ease the strain that was upon me.

In my gaze was my mothers bed. Tubes and bags hanging off the side. Listening to her breathe was as hard to do as her breathing was itself. Short, gasps of what she would soon no longer need. I turned and asked if there was anything I could do to make her comfortable. Her arms had sores on it from just laying there lifeless on the bed. She said, can you raise my arm up? It hurts. Yes mom I can. I lifted her arm up so she could rest it on her forehead. She had no strength in that arm. Hadn't for years. So I stood there and held it for her. I don't recall for how long but after awhile she said OK and I put it back down. She took a deep breath and called my name over and over again. It was as if she wanted me to fix her but I couldn't. She was scared but as much as she could she hid that from me.

I sat down beside her bed and began to read to her from the scriptures. She loved the scriptures but because of her handicap she couldn't read from them very often. So as my last act of service to her I read to her about Christ. It was very hard for me. To think that I was reading to her something that she has always known. Mom had great faith and although she was the one dying she took time to comfort me. She knew where she was going and she knew soon she wouldn't feel pain anymore. And in some way I think that was all she cared about. We would be alright without her. All of us. Her children. And in her last days she provided the ultimate example of Faith.

I finished reading and had to go. I stood up and held her hand and told her I would be back tomorrow and we would continue reading. She said that was fine. So I left the Book in her chair and gathered my things. I stooped down and kissed her on the cheek. Told her to get some rest and headed toward the door. When I got there I turned and said, "I love you Mom." She said, "I love you, too." Those were the last words I would ever hear her say.

When I returned the next day she was unable to speak. Unable to recognize me. Her eyes opened but briefly before falling back into her sleep. We all stayed until about midnight. Early the next morning my sister called to say, "she's gone." My heart sank both with sadness and great joy. Sad that she was gone but oh so glad she was not hurting anymore. My mothers struggles were over. She now rests in peace and is living again beyond the veil with her family long since gone.

One of my greatest joys in life came the moment she spoke her last words to me. "I love you, too", she said. Too. The keyword in that sentence, because it tells me that the last thing she would ever hear me say to her was "I love you." How grateful I am to know that my mother, on her last days on earth knew without doubt of my love for her.

I think of her often especially this time of year. Summer's gone. The air has a chill. The leaves are changing color. Seasons come and seasons go but my undying love for mother will always be there. She left ten years ago today but her presence is always near. Watching over me. Reminding me of the power of the book and the lessons that are there. One day we will see each other again. This time there will be no refection in a window but face to face. What a glorious day that will be.

Discovery and Passions

Passion. I've been hearing a lot about that word today. It's also been on my mind as of late. Such a simple word. Seven letters long and only two syllables. Easy to say, spell and write. Why then is it such a hard word to understand? It has many different meanings or should I say contexts. It may have meaning for one but a different meaning for another.

Not that I watch Oprah, but today she had three guests on her show that all have jobs that they are absolutely passionate about. One was a fashion director for a magazine; one was a florist for a four star hotel in France and the other was a cake chef. She interviewed all three at different times and asked each one of them to explain why they were so successful at what they do. Each one stated the number one reason was passion.

Are some people more in tune with that word than others? How is it that someone who, as a child, was punished by his father by making him bake cakes in his store to keep him from playing outside with his friends become something that makes him millions of dollars every year? (Smart dad, by the way). This chef now has a show on TV and has many number one selling cookbooks to his name. And he has the nerve to say passion is the number one reason he is successful? How can that be? How can something that out of the ordinary be the one thing that sets in motion a highly successful career?

So I took a few moments today to discover or rediscover what my passions are. I sat and thought, sat and thought. Got up, went bowling and thought. Came home and ate dinner, and thought. There were a few things that I discovered or rediscovered that I am passionate about. Obvious things that didn't require a whole lot of thinking really. My kids for one. Duh! No brainier there. I am very passionate about them. Every time they discover or rediscover a passion and see the joy on their faces I get a bit choked up. What's new there, right? I love cooking and when I bite into something that only existed moments ago as raw material I get a rush come over me. I am no chef but man I do love to eat. Oh wow, look at that...another passion.

But for the life of me I could not come up with a passion that I would consider a life changing passion. Nothing comes to mind about doing something so good that I could actually make money from doing it. Not one thing came to my mind that would get me out of bed in the morning and say to myself "Hot dog, I'm going to work!" And if it were a passion of mine wouldn't I not say "work?" Because, as everyone on the Oprah show pointed out, they do not consider what they do as work. Wouldn't that be nice? "Bye, honey! I'm off doing something that I have a passion about. Gotta pay the bills."

So is there something wrong with me? I have no talents and even if I had them I'm too lazy to perfect them. Maybe then those are not my talents after all. Maybe, just maybe, I have yet to discover my true passions. Maybe I have spent way too much time trying to rediscover myself when myself still has yet to be discovered.

Now that thought brings me great joy. To believe that after all I have gone through and all the hard work I have done to come to know that I have yet to be discovered. That gives me great hope. Hope to believe that there is a better me waiting to come forward. A better me that will be more full of life and love and happiness. I don't believe it will come easy. But when I recognize the change in me and see how others see me, there will be no doubt that passion exists in me, and the world around me may be a better place indeed.