Tag Archives: life

Moving Along With Some Changes

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“Eighteen days” said the feed status since the last time I wrote in this corner of the Internet Highway. Is that a sad display of blog love or is it a clear sign of neglect? Either way,  thankfully this blog can’t call me in or report me to a blog neglect site (that I know of anyway) Can you imagine if our blogs have a voice? Rights? A say in how things went down? I shudder to think! Provocation would be one of the first blogs seized and shuffled into a blog foster care system.

~Outta Here~

~Outta Here~

Basically I’ve been off in Rebecca LaLa Lands with a side of absorbing changes, packing up my house to move, pondering the direction of my next 10 years, and writing where my writing dictated I go, which is a different location. When I go into overloaded mode, I tend to shut down non-major artery systems and it seems, this aspect of my life is the first to go, typically. Ehhh, enough of that……

I’m moving, houses that is (no more blog moves, evvahher)

Who knew moving would uncover a hundred things I thought long gone. As I pack up each day I find myself going, “Oh hell, so that’s where I put that” and “Oh, why do I even have this…donation time!” The worst exclaim that can be heard at my soon to be deserted home is “OMG - Get the hazard suit, the dust bunnies have been located and they have been breeding.” I’ve confirmed that what you don’t see, can’t hurt you and ignorance is dust particle bliss.

There’s a reason I’m a strict creature of habit. I like having my things exactly where I want them and having my life in boxes is not such a great feeling. Although I’m excited to move into the new digs, this grey zone is grade A torture. I know some people who move on a yearly basis and at this point, I can’t even comprehend how they do it. I’ve lived in this house for 8 years (creature of habit) which is evidenced by the dust bunny population.

Until I get finished moving, get unpacked, get resettled and all Rebecca cozy and comfy, posting on this site and interaction on the Internet will continue to be minimum at best. I take comfort in my complete and total trust in the fact this world will continue chugging along it’s merry way without me. I know this because I have not achieved world domination as of yet and no one is counting on me in the least. It’s good to be a nobody ~

And Lastly. Over my years of blogging I have exchanged addresses with many people from the Internet world. I’ve sent things afar in the mail and received some great notes and letters back. My address is changing so I decided to do something I probably should have done a long time ago. I purchased myself a private personal mailbox. If those that have my address could revise to this new address, that would be great. If you didn’t have my address and want to send me a hello in a real live mailbox, well, here ya go! I might feel better about my 70 dollars for 6 months mailbox purchase if I actually get something in the mail (grin)

New Address;
Rebecca Anne
3527 S. Federal Way, Ste 103, #221
Boise, Idaho
83705

P.S. I don’t live there so attempting any form of cyber stalker might be tricky. The guy that runs the place looks like he could kick some ass. Ya know, just thought I should mention that.

October, it’s so nice to meet you

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 Yesterday brought the first day of October and with that new date an impressive show of bone chilling cold to Idaho. Well hello Mr. Fall/Winter you sorta kicked Summer and her blazing warm panties off her September soapbox, now didn’t ya. I’m ok with that because I was pretty tired of wearing my warm weather clothing and hats all the time. Plus my favorite pair of flip-flops broke on Tuesday, so that was a decent time to say buh-bye to Summer.

Kate in the Red Kilt

Kate in the Red Kilt

I spent the last official weekend of warm weather outside with my family listening to beautiful music and watching lots and lots of men in kilts walking around. At this point I totally get the historical romance novels and why those buxom babes swoon over their Highland scoundrels. A guy in a kilt is rather sexy.

Of course, my Mother who plays the bagpipes and my daughter who plays the snare drum were also in kilts, but for a lady it can’t be sexy (especially family), so it’s just cool. Watching Kaitlyn perform next to all the big giant men in kilts is jaw dropping for me personally, as the El Mommasun. She always looks so teenie tiny, which she is of course, because she’s only 5 feet 1 whole inch. My other daughter Shelby is a short shrimp as well at 5 feet 2 whole inches. The fact I, who is tall enough not to personally know a single female taller than me, is perplexed by my short daughters. Genetically speaking, they should have been at least 5 foot plus 8 inches or more…….

Yesterday Provocation of Mine experienced another 404-error blackout for an estimated 5 hours. I know the world kept spinning for everyone else, but for me, I have learned certain lessons when it comes to messing with webspace in ones domain administration page. To put it simple, don’t touch things. In fact, just stay away from the interior bowels, don’t even sign in to look around. Basically, I humbly swear, never to touch a damn thing again…for I am undeniably voodoo cursed.

That’s it, that’s all I’ve got for today. I wish everyone a happy and enjoyable October.

The Age of Perspective

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This weekend while strolling around an art festival arm in arm with two wonderful men (aren’t I the smart gal) I ran into the Mother of an old, old, haven’t talked to old friend in 18 years, sort of blast from my past. Now usually if I spot anyone that is from R-BC (Rebecca Before Children) I run the opposite direction like a doe running from a wolf of memories, but I shocked myself in a moment of brazen curiosity and walked up to old friends Mom.  I must have left a lingering impression because she remembered me, and it must have been a decent impression because she didn’t gasp, “Oh noooooooo not you!” (and run the opposite direction with her fingers in her ears) Instead, she was very friendly and instantly called me by my R-BC name ~ Becky.

We talked for some time, catching up, filling in the years of what I’ve been up too and this sweet Mom, catching me up on her daughters world. What struck me, and has lingered since Saturday is the huge difference in my life compared to my old friend. I have two children, old friend is thinking about having kids soon. I’ve been married twice, she’s never married. She lived out the country for 10 years, I’ve never broke past the borders of Idaho. My oldest daughter is the same age R-BC and old friend hung out last. Hello time warp……..

Kaitlyn & Shelby

Kaitlyn & Shelby 1st day of School 2009

We are the same age, yet, our lives that once mirrored one another are so far removed, universes apart and our realities only share the common thread of past memories. When I got home Saturday evening I pulled up the picture of my two daughters and their first day of school this year. When I was 19 years old I had a baby and that baby is now 17 years old and a Senior in High School. Time in a vice grip.

Since the day, the very second I moved out of my parents home with a baby on my hip, I have lived life firmly attached to parenthood and adulthood responsibilities. I never experienced life apart from my parents and solely responsible for myself and myself alone like my old friend. Yes, to this day, I wonder what could have been, where I would have gone, what I could have done if I hadn’t poured such precious concrete around my future.

I don’t believe what I feel is regret, but rather the occasional discreet glances over my shoulder at turning points. I am human and not to glance occasionally would be downright inhuman —right? For me a very profound defining moment happened one month after I turned 19 and it wasn’t the sex, it was the baby it created. The moment of conception is when my path in life took a hard left and I was shuffled off the learn solitary independence path my friends were on and I lined up, single file, on the fast track to caring for another, 24/7.

This subject, my reality and past is itchy grass to sit down in. Sometimes I observe my girls and wonder if they realized what I gave up for them, not just in my youth, but other path choices over the years, if they would pity me, feel unwarranted guilt or understand my love and what I thought was best for them superseded anything I could have gifted myself. I’ll never know because they will never know. Unnecessary truths and admissions can create burdens no innocent soul should carry. I see no need to ever go there…….

I’ve planned a meeting with my old friend. I look forward to absorbing her stories and her view of the world around her. I’ll look at it as a foggy confirmation or disenchantment of what could have been and in return, I’ll share with her what life having children out the gate of teenage-hood has gifted and shown me. Maybe we’ll look at each other and feel so disconnected it will be the last time we talk. Perhaps we’ll click like we once did and simply enjoy our different life perspectives. Maybe, just maybe, we’ll both envy a piece of what each other has had or has now and together we can thread a common connection once again.

On the bright side, when I do find myself slipping over the shoulder glances at where I’ve been I can straighten up, look forward and because of my past, I’m like totally in the homestretch of having children home 24/7 and at the age of 37 I couldn’t even comprehend, fantasize or swallow having a baby at this age. Hell—oooo Noooo to the double O.

What I really appreciate about perspective is that it has a nice resounding bitch slap when you need it the most~

A case of the missing Betty Poppins

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~Betty~

~Betty~

Shhhh…….can you hear that? It’s the sound of relief or tears from  many, many Mommies sending their kiddos back to school today.

I happen to fall into the relief category. That’s right, I’m one of those Moms. It has nothing to do with my daughters and everything to do with me. The older I get, the more I need the predictable schedule of their school hours. I need that space of time between 7:45 a.m and 3:00 p.m. that is all about focus and getting things accomplished.

Being a summer slacker looses it’s luster after awhile and I’ve been feeling the need for an actual schedule creeping around the edges this last month. Thats utterly boring to admit so I shall blame age, responsibility, life and obligations for losing my carefree spirit.  Damn adulthood anyway.

A week, or so ago (without schedule time tends to fold into and over itself), I was chatting with one of my daughters about Motherhood. She would like 4 children. A Boy first and then any combination of boy or girl after that until she fulfils the desired 2 boy-2 girl quota. As a Grandma to be, I’m all over those numbers. The more the merrier I say.

~Poppins~

~Poppins~

Daughter:  I’m not sure what type of Mother I’ll be.

Me:  Well, you’ll either be a bit like I’ve been or because of the type of Mom I’ve been, you’ll run to the other side and be a Betty Poppins Mom. 

Daughter: What Is A Betty Poppins Mom??

Me: Oh you know, the sort of Mom I’ve never been. 1/2 Betty Crocker and 1/2 Mary Poppins. Cupcakes and a spoon full of sugar and all that.

Daughter: Ohhhhhh–well, ummm 

Me: Darlin, we both know I’ve never been one of those Moms and I’m Mom enough to admit it. Hopefully it isn’t a genetic thing so maybe your kids will have a chance.

Daughter: Maybe!

Me: You should know though, I totally plan on being the Anna Osbourne Grandma. And if you’re wondering what that is I’ll tell you. It’s 1/2 my Mother Anna and her amazing Grandma skills, plus 1/2 Sharon Osbourne and her rockin wacky ways. You’re kids are gonna love me as a Grandma so make sure and have lots and lots of them.

A Hazy Shade of Lavender

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108I’m not sure what it’s like for other people. I can’t say what their dark place of mental residence is decorated with or smells like. I don’t know how it tastes or how much it weighs on their shoulders. I do know it’s a place other people go.

I’m not sure if I can, or should, explain my personal brand of Lavender Black. There isn’t a map to show how I surrender to such a place, or how I eventually find my way back. It simply, happens.

I can say that naming my dark is an act of conventional word defiance. It’s my personal perspective; the condition may be ordinary, but I can name it and decorate it any way I please. Lavender Black isn’t a desirable destination, but it is a place. My place. It’s quiet there and the deeper I wander in, the fact is, the less I participate in the world around me.

Typically, I can still write while meandering through such a space of individual seclusion. Some of my best writing has originated from time spent in my lavender realm, but sometimes, I move past the threshold of expression and the result is silence. It’s where I’ve been these last few weeks, beyond the green fields and purple flowers. In this version, I walked deep into the black parts of Lavender and disappeared for awhile.

Going to Lavender Black is easy enough, coming back proves difficult. There’s something sadly comfortable about suffocating in a zone meant only for single occupancy. It’s a self indulgent territory dripping with familiarity and knowing. If there’s one place that covets a thousand reasons for being dark and twisty, it’s the back room in my mind that collects life’s little black trinkets like a chemically imbalanced pack rat.

Surface maintenance. That’s how I handle day to day reality when I’ve gone off into my place of silence. When a body is in trouble, it has the ability to shut off functions to everything but the vitals. I’ve fined tuned that perspective when it comes to the dark side of my personality. Vitals=Family and that’s the scope of my selective interactions during Lavender Black spells.

Either people will understand this about me, or they won’t. It’s nothing personal. Never has been. I understand that it isn’t easy to accept or understand, not when people interact and depend on feedback/input from one another. My occasional shut downs go against the human nature rules of engagement and I realize I always run the risk of hurting the feelings of other people when I dissolve into myself. Regrettably, my only recourse is to try and pick up the pieces once I’ve came back.

I’m not sure it serves any purpose by writing about this, here, publicly, other then disclosure. But it is who I am. A part of me, one I find both interesting and challenging. Just as I observe the world around me, it’s important I spend time observing my interior workings, the beautiful, the black and the unexplainable…….