My propensity toward motherhood was minimal.

It's not that I didn't want mothering to come naturally. It just didn't. The creative element was easy. Heart shaped lunch sandwiches. Elaborate birthdays parties and favor bags. Travel agent for trips to the zoo and circus. All of these tasks I considered fun. They were a piece of cake. But, sitting down to play a game, establishing a healthy routine, exercising patience - I struggled and admired those mothers who seemed to have it together with no effort at all. They had the nurturing element I lacked. Sigh.

As my girls got older, and the challenges more complicated, I pondered my role in their lives. How does one begin to set boundaries after they've reached their teens? Ahhh. A creative solution was what I sought. A visual to guide me and them. It turned out to be, of all things, a bowling alley.

With an elaborately painted picture of a bowling lane, I described that my job was to act as their 'gutter bumpers.' Their job was a straight path down the lane. If they veered off into unacceptable behavior and/or danger (aka - the gutters), the bumper, also known as mom, would be there to guide them back into the middle of the lane and to safety.

This image worked for me. I thought it ingenious. Now years later, I realize I never even asked them if it worked for them. Maternal instincts gone awry again!

Today, I am in need of my own bumpers. Daily I find myself bouncing from one side to the other of the lane. Truth is, my body should be bruised from the constant crisscrossing. If I weren't so defiant, I might find it embarrassing to be adrift in indecision, homelessness, and a soul, searching for what ails it. Stubbornness and a judgemental nature are my achilles' heels. This, is no new revelation for me, and unfortunately, for those closest to me.

Many years ago, a beautiful man said soon after meeting me, "The solution to all of your problems is a spiritual one." If only my head and heart had been open to that suggestion. Perhaps I would not find myself so lost and searching desperately for my authentic self.

Well, most of us know about hindsight. It's repulsive in it's accuracy. I am where I am and my only choice is to move forward. I'll admit it. I need spiritual bumpers. Something to believe in. Something to make the 'roll' down the lane to better things, better people, and a better me. I'm tired of gutter balls and zero scores.

A power greater than myself - be it nature, or a god, or a creative spirit of the universe...to act as my gutter bumpers. This is my long ignored, fervently denied, deficit. So, I'm sending out a message into the great beyond. Here I am. Guide me. Use me. Show me the way to peace and happiness before I throw in the towel and burn my bowling shoes.

PS...If I promise not to cheat the next time I'm the scorekeeper, could I talk you out of one or two strikes? Thanks.

between the lines,
me

6 years have passed and it's still all true...

2008 in review and revamp-

Good year, Bad year.

Have discovered a few things at my ripe ol' age!

-Finding a good hairdresser is almost as important as finding a good spouse.
-If you tweeze your eyebrows everyday they always look good and you're less likely to over-tweeze.
-Tank tops. How did I ever live without them...in every color. Beautiful to wear under oversized shirts to hide muffin top.
-Lip liner is for more than lining lips. Fill in the whole lip and lipstick stays on, or just wear the lipliner filled in instead of lipstick.
-Texting isn't as hard as it looks. Learned didn't have to wait secs before moving on to the next letter. Wow!
-Learned that blogs are free.
-Learned that oldsters have discovered Facebook. Sorry kids.
-Realized that returning unwanted or deficient retail items is a right and not a character defect.
-Learned that correctly described meds can change your life.
-Learned that programs like Alanon can reshape control freaks.
-Learned that spare bedrooms that contain beds attract grown children like sugar attracts ants.
-Discovered store brands taste the same as top selling brands.
-Acknowledged that Starbucks is addictive.
-Acknowledged that like the old people of my past, now I are one and caffiene keeps me awake at night.
-Realized I talk like my mother and think like my dad. Pray for me!
-Understood that when a friend's loved one dies, it helps to continue to talk with them about it long after the loss. Knowing you remember and talking about it, makes the pain lessen.
-Learned that most people will read any thing...maybe that's why you're reading this.

Thank you and good riddance President Bush and 2008.

Home. Sweet home.

 

"I know they say you can't go home again. I thought if I could touch this place or feel it,
this brokenness inside me might start healing. Out here it's like I'm someone else, I thought that maybe I could find myself.  You leave home, you move on and you do the best you can.
- I got lost in this whole world and forgot who I am."  - Miranda Lambert

 

One can see forever on the back roads. The fields all look the same. Planted corn in perfect rows. A vibrant green blanket of a soy bean crop. No need to worry when a crossroad has no marked name.

You just keep driving and the road will lead to an recognizable spot. The familiar rocks are in the same place. And although grown, the trees as well.

 

There's Martin Place. I was ten. The home of my first piano and our dog, Cubbie, who died. The kitchen fire was frightening and the news one day was very sad. Instead of lunch, we listened and heard that our President had died.

 

We reveled in carmel apples on a stick from the five and dime, and nothing impressed us more than Santa's house on the courthouse square. Movies at the Artcraft theater where the fat lady sold the corn. And Providence Park and the community pool where we took swimming lessons against our will.

 

There's an answer here on the back roads, on a two lane road. That answer's as soft as Indiana grass and as strong as Indiana people.

It's still here.

It never left.

I did.

 

Between the lines,

 

 

  

 

 

 



Every country road leads to a memory.

I'm finding myself in a time warp. I'm not there (Florida) and I'm not here (Indiana). I'm floating somewhere back in childhood.

It's fifth grade as I pass by the corner with the little white farm house and huge, brown silo in the back. It's Mrs. Coy's house. It's the house where we bought our eggs - white or brown and sometimes still warm since they had come directly from the chickens in the backyard. She left them on her screened-in porch. We went in, made our choice and participated in the 'honor system' as we dropped our 50 cents into the basket.

It's a crossroad named 75W and I'm in high school. Socially immature and inept, I find myself one night on this dark road where teens park to 'makeout'. The road's infamous reputation was alive and well even during my dad's high school years. I recall the awkwardness and laughter as my dad described the night he got busted by the local police, doing his thing with his girl. I recall with horror and laughter, the night some guy tried to do his thing with me on that road. I cried. He cringed. My maiden name was Limp. It was an appropriate name for his ride home, I'm sure. Did I make up for lost time after that? Here, my memory gets fuzzy. Ha.

Two-lane roads. I've forgotten how to us the passing lane which is essential in rural areas. Farmers drive big machinery. They move slowly. As I try not to tailgate the combine in front of me, I realize I am passing 'the barn.' It's red and most importantly, it's round. Each time we passed it, Dad never failed to tell us the story. The story about the man who went crazy in there. He couldn't find a corner to pee in. I can hear Dad's laughter as if it was yesterday and not almost 50 years ago.

I met a fellow Hoosier recently when I was visiting in Texas. He was familiar with the 'S curve' in our county. I never doubted that it's a small world, but he knew about the 'S curve' ? Yep. I drove the S curve yesterday.  Other than being a dangerous road, it holds a special memory. It's the spot where Dad released our wild rabbits. We raised five babies when their mother was killed by the blades of our lawnmower. We fed them with eyedroppers. And despite the naysayers who said you'll never keep them alive, they lived and thrived. Dad released them into the field by the curve when he thought they were old enough to take care of themselves. We cried until we thought we spotted them near the S curve several times after that. We decided they looked happy and healthy.

Every road. Almost every corner. They all hold a memory. Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe these bits of the past will help erase the scars of the past year. Maybe they will move me forward in some strange way. Perhaps they will encourage me to finish the book I started writing nine years ago. After all, the manuscript is about this neck of the woods. It's about the events and the people that make up these memories. It's about the country roads.

Between the lines somewhere in the boonies,

me.