Tag Archives: provocation

Fears, Frights, and Phobia’s Oh My

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fearOn twitter a few nights ago, my fear of swimming pools and hot tub drains came spewing forth in 140 characters before I logically weighed the tease factor such an admission would provoke.

Occasionally, I’ve expressed a few fear factors via this blog, and as witty readers who comment can be, many of you have seized the opportunity to tease me in good fun. ( I don’t mind!) Sometimes people even take it to their own blogs!! For example yesterday ~ Indigo mentioned one of my fears, although, she’s fessing up her own creep factor of porcelain dolls, so at least I get some satisfaction outta that.

Today I thought I would take stock,  put my neck on the teasing block (feel the trust!) and confess all the ways someone can send me to the loony bin.

 Hot Tub and Pool Drains~ This is one of my few legitimate fear factors. It’s also the reason I can infamously claim one of the biggest hickeys known on the planet. I, Rebecca Anne, had my back vacumn sealed to a  hot tub drain where I spent hours (ok, it was probably 10-20 minutes while my arms were nearly yanked out of the socket trying to break the seal)  in pure pain, helplessly begging for mercy. Come now, you’ve read or heard the stories on the news right? Poor innocent soul swimming around and suddenly finds themselves pinned to a drain by an unseen super force vacuum? I was lucky. My head was above the water. The result was a HUGE perfect square, black and blue hickey where all the blood had been sucked to the surface of my back. My fear in demon vacumn drains is justified.

Drowning~ This is a conflict of interest considering I love to fly-fish. I get past it, to some degree, but after a few near drowning incidents, I have a strict rule these days. I do NOT wade above my knees. I’ll take any other death, just not this one.

People eating cereal next to me~ I can’t stand it. I can’t take it. It makes my skin do the wave and my eyes roll with freak out. My family knows cereal eating is a private matter and not to share the noise near me. It’s a hundred times worse then fingernails on a chalkboard.

Dentists~ I know. This one is typical. All visits must be carefully thought out and pre-medicated.  But, for the record, if a tooth goes traitor on me, my fear is a healthy dose of I don’t care how much pain I’m in, I can take it, I’m NOT going. Then, when the pain crosses the point of no return. When I can no longer speak, think, blink, sleep, walk across the room……….then I’ll go to the dentist, but only heavily sedated starting hours before I arrive for the medieval torture session. It’s a bit irrational, but by god, I’m rock solid in my convictions.

 Vomiting~ This goes both directions. If I am feeling nauseous, I’ll walk, I’ll curl up in a ball, I’ll deny the obvious solution and refuse to go 15 feet near a bathroom. I will torture my body for hours by sheer will power denying the natural process of evacuation. On the flip side, I am not the friend to hold your hair while you upchuck a nights worth of Vodka. I am not the Mommy who rubs her daughters back while she is miserably praying to the toilet gods. No, I am the wimp that runs the other way yelling, “Love Ya! You’re on your own!” over my shoulder.

Animal eyes glowing red/green/yellow, especially in the dark~ My chest tightens and my breathing stops when I see a simple bad photo of a pet with glowing eyes. It’s evil, thats all I can say. But the best lesson I’ve learned is never, ever, shine a flashlight from a campfire out into the black abyss of the forest. Accidentally shine your flashlight on some random Forrest animal when all you can see is glowing devil eyes and all camping bets are off. I’m sleeping in the truck.

And finally yes, the creme de le creme, Worms~ There has never been a logical reason for my PURE PHOBIA about worms (ehh, my skin is crawling now) It is what it is. I can not stand them, accept them, stomach sharing the same planet with them. They make me run. They make me scream out in violent profanity. They give me nightmares. They who are supposedly harmless and good for dirt and plants can fuck off and die as far as I’m concerned. Those who know me in person have seen the full effects of my mental breakdowns when I’ve faced a worm. The few people who have tested the ‘oh this will be funny’, theory have barely lived to tell another person, “Ya, you know Rebecca, seriously dude, don’t throw a worm at her, you will require medical attention after she’s done with you, I did”

My daughter Kaitlyn owes me a lifetime of worm protection servitude because of a few incidents she tried when she was younger and without full understanding of the consequences of her worm pranks. The worst being, after a rain she gathered up about a 100 worms and put them all in a mixing bowl. She brought them into my bedroom with the bowl above her head and said, “I’ve got a present for you!” She put the bowl right in front of me, on my bed, and although I’ve blacked out most of the incident, I know my instantaneous screams and running out the house and down the street convinced her my fear was real. Not to mention, the entire bedroom had to be stripped, cleaned, furniture removed and searched before I could sleep there again. She totally gets it now and is the first person to dive in front of a worm to protect me, or do a sidewalk check after it’s rained to make sure it’s safe to go outside.

I am curious~  What is it about knowing someones freak factor that makes people instantly want to go for the tease/test/prank jugular? Is it a magnetic possibility of laughter or screams that beckons the inevitable test theory? There must be something juicy about knowing someones weaknesses that draws out an internal desire that says, “Hey, watch this, this otta freak them out!” I’m not innocent, I know I’ve done my fair share of the ‘watch this, ha ha’ moments……….But, I promise, if you comment one, or write your own entry filled with freak factors, I shall be good and refrain. On my honor~

Ok, now I need to go take a tranquilizer. I hope you all have a freak-less sort of day. I think tomorrow I’ll write about all the things I’m not afraid of, you know, save a little dignity here~

Any other Day

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Grandmother Mary & I

Grandmother Mary & I

I understand today holds nothing remarkable to the majority of people out there…….Just as yesterday passed for me without a significant bearing. But today someone is out there celebrating a special birthday or a milestone wedding anniversary. 

Some people will breathlessly celebrate the birth of a baby and others will announce to the world their kid just graduated from High School. Today someone will find the true love they have been searching for and so on…Ordinary, yet, Extraordinary moments are happening all around us.

Within the extraordinary moments that today will bring, someone is going to lose a loved one. It will happen, just as yesterday someones heart broke as they said goodbye to their Mother, or Father, sister or son for the last time. All while I went blissfully about my day.

One year ago today, I was the person who’s heart broke. Who looked at the people walking past me and wondered if they knew how extraordinary the day had become. May 5th, will forever be special to me, a remarkable day, a time for pause and memories. It is the day I kissed my Grandmother for the last time. The last time I held her hand and felt how soft it was. A year ago was our goodbye.

Shortly after she was gone, I wrote this Letter #2) Death and Loss to my daughters. Today I read it and still feel the same. I was lucky, it was extraordinary, to be with her when she passed……..

I am not sad today, not in the way I believe is expected. Instead I’ve been thinking of all the beautiful things that was Grandmother Mary. The way she circled up her big huge family and loved everyone abundantly. The way she never, EVER, said anything negative against anyone, with this exception~ Just a few days before she passed away, she blessed me with one negative sentence. I was sitting with her at the hospital in the early morning. She had requested that if she fell asleep to make sure and wake her up for the Price is Right, which I did.  When it came on, she pointed to the TV and whispered,  ”Drew Carey, is a bad substitute for my Bob Barker.” It was divine.

Grandma always threaded a nasty, *gag* vile worm on my fishing hook. When I was a kid, as a teen, in my twenties, in my thirties and never gave me shit about it. That alone was enough to earn her Saint Grandmahood. But she was also my first pen-pal. The person who influenced my love for writing letters to people through the snail mail system. I have all those letters now. The ones she wrote me, and the ones I wrote her. A priceless gift I had no idea would eventually come back to me. I am blessed by her sentimental safekeeping.  Love you and miss you G-Ma~

Everyone knows they should appreciate the people around them, daily, if not hourly, considering we have no idea what our day may bring. We know it, but sometimes, it’s good to be reminded of that extraordinarily, ordinary concept………

Secondary Overture

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noteLast night kicked off the annual Music Festival in my wee little town and I was there for the evening of musical sensations. I had to get there early, really early, since my youngest daughter, Kaitlyn was performing.

I didn’t mind this, because it afforded me the opportunity to seek and claim prime real estate. I had 10,000 seats to choose from, so based on Kaitlyn’s position on the floor and I staked out a seat directly above her. Perfection achieved!

However, being only one singular body, I could only claim one piece of the row. One seat. This left room for others to horn in on my space of perfection. Being the lucky soul that I am, I got a big family that filed in next to me. Being the extraordinary person that I am, I got the little boy of theirs, age….oh 6 or 7….right next to me, elbow to elbow.

Right out the gate, the little one figured out his chair rocked, sorta. He took all his amped energy and tried to work it out and through that chair of his…squeak, squeak, squeak, rapid fire, squeak squeak……He held onto the arm rests and drove that chair like it would take off eventually and shoot for the sky. After the first 30 minutes of listening to that, it took everything in me not to jump up and sit my ass down on top of him to just stop the insanity.

I have to assume his Mother didn’t stop him because the concert hadn’t started yet and she was letting him dissolve some of that energy. That, or she is completely and totally immune to such noises coming from her son..(or she had highly evolved selective hearing)…..Occasionally he’d pause and belt out, “I’m soooooooooooo bored” and resume his back and forth squeak…..I know, I could have moved, but my seat was perfection! The area had filled up, I would have been banished to the nosebleed section if I had tossed a drumstick in.

Finally the concert started. I kicked back, ready to soak up the music and made a little prayer to Beethoven to bring mercy on my coveted location. All I can say is the louder the music got, the louder little man protested.

“I’m going to dieeeeeeeeeeeee” was his favorite. He said this, loudly, no less the 20 times during the night.

Another favorite of mine became, “Mommyyyyy!! Why are you torturing me???!!!”

During the jazz segment I admit, I had to laugh at him. He covered his ears in agony, squirmed around backwards in his chair and shook his head wildly back and forth like a possessed kid chanting, “Make it gooooo away, Make it go awayyyyyy” Honestly, it took restraint on my part, but I swallowed down my own potential chant of “The power of Christ compels you, The power of Christ compels YOU!”

I’ve always thought any age is the perfect age to be introduced to musical types. His Mom had him there, that’s listening under force……or in his case, duress. I have to give her credit for trying. But he didn’t seem to enjoy any of it. Be it the choir, the orchestra, the honors band and especially NOT the Jazz band.

It makes me wonder what type of music he’ll ultimately enjoy in life. Will his musical tastes be well rounded or will he find one single type and remain steadfast. I’m always interested in people’s music choices. I believe it tells a lot about the individual and even personality. I know I’m all over the place with my music, I listen to it all, with the exception of Jazz. Little man and I agreed on one thing. Jazz, for both of us, is mentally painful. And you? Does Jazz sooth your soul or does it feel like someone is driving a dull screw through your skull?

15 Hours of Terrifying Provocation Blackness

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Let me just say, NO I DID NOT PUSH THE DAMN BUTTON.

However.

At approximately 8:45 p.m, on April 22nd, 2009, I lost Provocation of Mine (d) into a soul sucking, gut punching black abyss of Internet Hell. I shall now call this infamous      15 hour time frame:

“When The Husband HIT some goddamn f**king button.”

Now I understand some of you may not have realized that the Earth had stopped spinning. That life as we know it had been altered between the hours of 8:45 p.m. last night until 12:20 p.m. today. Unless you had tried to visit Provocation between those hours you would not have been aware of the subtle air changes and the dramatic seek & rescue that was being enacted. I hope you enjoyed your peaceful bliss. Really I do. Sleep well?

Some of you did try to come by and was greeted with that oppressing Error 404–Not Found. Some of you emailed. Some of you twittered me. I thank you. I found great sympathy and comfort in those emails and power packed 140 messages. This is what went down………..

8:32 p.m: I had achieved official blog perfection. Beautiful Heather had sent the instructions for removal of ugly gray bar bullets on my blog, the only wart I had left to zap and I did it. I was exhilarated and at 8:36, I sent Heather an email stating we both rocked. I was on top of the website world. No more bullets and I had made that picture video for my blog. (2 bucks is in the mail by the way Heather)

 8:45 p.m. I clicked on my website to admire my bullet handy work. BUT instead of perfection, I get this ::Error 404-Not Found:: The shock was instant. Brain ramming into brick wall– splat.  

 Me: “Oh My GOD WHERE IS MY WEBSITE” as my eye’s sliced across the office to my husband who was logged onto our server host merrily deleting things  from his computer. “What DID YOU DOOOOOOOOOO???”

Husband:” What, nothing, I’m just cleaning up our files like I was told to do by that tech lady.”

Me: “It’s gone! GONE! My site is gone! Get it back. Get it back right this second. DO SOMETHING. Call tech support, backspace, undo, I don’t care but YOU get my website back up right this minute and if one hair, one single letter or line is out of place you will pay!!!”

Husband starts clicking things. “Ok, calm down, I’m sure it’s not GONE gone, Let me call tech support again, I’m sure it’s not a big deal. OH my God, all my websites are gone too! Oh shit!” (delayed panic surrounding his own sites was not a good move btw)  

Me, hyperventilating, “You should know, you’re life, existence as you know it,  is hanging by a thread right now.”

Calling Tech support from the States at 9 o’clock at night is not enjoyable. I applaud the abilities of those working in India, really I do. However 3 word sentences when one needs comforted and assured doesn’t do a lot for the soul. Things like “we work it” “we email you” “we understand” “hopefully find you” “24-48 hours you email” does not tie a pretty bow around all out anxiety attack.

This morning I woke up wayyyyy before my alarm clock. I guess I was hoping my Provocation would be like the resurrection of Jesus. I would get online, click on the link, and she would be smiling down on me with margins open wide and a new glowing halo atop her header. Instead I got the devils smile stretched across error–404.

So I prayed a lot, to the technology gods. Things like, “If you bring back Provocation, I’ll write everyday in a row for 60 days…..I’m sorry I claimed I was a technology Goddess when I posted that video I made…if you give Provocation back to me, I’ll back up, I promise!…If you let me have Provocation back oh powerful Techno Gods, I’ll never cuss at you again”

And then my mind turned to murder. Because HE pushed the damn button that murdered my precious website.  Murderous thoughts grew rampant as the morning wore on. I thought about it. I would bet if I had my lawyer get a jury full of bloggers, I could get off based on sympathy alone. They would understand the irrational panic and temporary insanity of losing their blogs. They would shed a tear for me~

I managed to make it through the morning without committing any felonies. Barely. At noon today, the husband was back on tech support begging for (marriage) mercy and finally, he and them, did something so the world was spinning again. Provocation came back to life.  (He’s acting pretty proud of that fact now. Strutting around like a peacock. I think he sees himself as a hero for pushing the buttons to bring Provocation back, personally I see him as damn lucky)

All I can say after such an experiece is this: Go home, hug your blog. Give it love, and a few hugs. Kiss the screen it walks across. Honor a comment I got just last week, Pauls haunting words that would not stop chanting in my ear for 15 hours, “Backup, backup, backup.” No blogger should ever have to go through the gut busting terror I’ve just suffered. No One.

One, does Not Necessarily Agree with the Other

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Several people have been surprised by my requests (I say groveling) for topic material as I set out to climb Mount Blogger for 30 days. I thought I’d explain that today, because, I’ve sensed confusion and it’s a topic! it’s an entry! it’s day 6 of 30!

Here’s the thing and be prepared for crazy writer talk now….OK, subconsciously prepared for that? All righty then, on this site, we, that’s me as well, are dealing with ‘Rebecca, the writer’…..

When I decided to embark on this endeavor I didn’t exactly consult with Rebecca, the writer. I just assumed she’d enjoy the opportunity to write to her hearts content on a daily basis. She has been in charge of our blogging experience for 5 years now and I boldly decided it was time for her to wrap a pretty bow of predictability around her efforts, daily. I see now, that was placing ambition ahead of permission and it was a brazen assumption of my ability to direct all the aspects that are me, myself and I.

Flash Back~ The first morning of my 30 day challenge: We, all that is Rebecca, sat down at the computer, hands poised over the keyboard and encouraged, “Do your thing, Rebecca who writes”

Nothing. Not a word. Blinking cursor, general panic.

To explain the battle that came next, only an imaginary visual will do. Picture a lady, arms crossed over her chest, leaning against the wall five feet from the computer. We shall call her, Rebecca the writer. Then picture another lady, we shall call her, overall Rebecca, sitting at her computer, hands hovering unsure over the keyboard, eye’s rounded, pleading in the direction of Rebecca the writer, waiting for instruction.

Silent. Painful. Impasse.

Conversation ensued to the tune of ”Please, give me something, anything”…..”What, am I some circus animal that does tricks on command. Am I a dog, sit, stay, fetch?”  ……” No! Of course not, but this is your thing, writing is your passion, this is your blog.” ……..”I don’t write because I have to, I write when I want to, how I want to and if I want to. You didn’t see me raising my hand for some 30 day adventure in writing. I’d’ call that a misstep in judgement considering I’m the one who writes!” …….“Look, I understand that and have always let you do things your way, but just this once, I’d like for you and I to work together with a general goal.” ………”NO, that’s not how it works”…….”what works?” ……….“I work. The creative process dictates when I’m inspired to write about something. It says when a topic has settled around my thoughts and the words are demanding release, THEN I write. Since when have I wrote anything because I  should or have too?” …..”Well, that’s sorta the point of this exercise in daily writing, you haven’t been exactly disciplined or reliable in the writing department.” ….(visual moment) Two handed Double Middle Finger, F*ck off, Flip Off……”Ouch!, Jezus, I know you can be temperamental, and fickle and lets not forget stubborn and impossibly hard to please, but your cooperation is vital now, so please,enough of your creative flow and writer mentality mumbo jumbo, I need you! “…….silence…….”Fine, be that way, I’ll figure out how to get around your tantrum, just you watch”…………….silent wicked double dare smile…….

So, that’s why I needed topics and questions, just in case she who likes to dominate 70% of my mind space, pulls a writer strike and refuses to participate out of spite. I know, I know, crazy-ish talk, but that’s how it goes down in my mind. Negotiations, nice conversations, brawls, congrats, pleasant ruminating and vicious cat fights. Feel the love, feel the love.

Here’s the good news, and she who writes is feeling pissy that I’m going to write this passage. Despite the internal battle that has been going down, when it comes down to the words that do end up on this page I can’t say who is captain of the ship everyday. Usually it is that Rebecca writer. But sometimes when I’m feeling abandoned by her and start plunking words down at random, that lady against the wall walks over, puts her hand on my shoulder and whispers “Good Hell. Writing is so not your talent, I’d write it this way”……and I thank her.