"Within you there's a stillness and a sanctuary to which you can retreat at any time and be yourself." Hermann Hesse
I just watched Kourtney Kardashian pull her newborn daughter out of herself during childbirth.
Two things came to mind immediately:
1. Umm....EWWW!
2. How many Kegel exercises was she doing each day in order to be strong enough to stop that baby halfway through the final push?...a thousand??
I have had three children and each time I got to the last stretch, they slid out...literally. All I could do was hope that I hadn't had one of those giant kids we hear about on the news, and that the doctor's baseball mitt would have sufficient traction to catch them.
That just goes to show how each pregnancy experience differs. We all come away with varying perspectives and memories.
The Story: My mother loves to brag about how she never felt any pain, and always arrived at the hospital ten centimeters dilated and ready to deliver.
Reality: Mom will not leave the house without showering, dressing, spending twenty minutes putting on eyeliner, and another twenty fussing with her hair and grumbling about invisible pieces that are out of place. I'm sure that she asked my father about fifty times if her outfit looked OK, knowing full well that they were going to make her wear a paper gown as soon as she arrived. Typically, she doesn't even start to get ready until the very last minute and winds up rushing and being late. With all of that stress and wasted time, who could feel anything...and she's lucky she made it without giving birth in a cab in Queens. (Back in her day, they knocked you out completely. When you woke up, you were handed a clean child. What pain?)
For me, it was an experience in deep connection. If I could just keep delivering babies and then handing them off to parents who enjoy constant crying and diaper changing, I'd do it. Every nine months I'd be able to go back to a place of complete and utter peace. Sure there was some pain...although by my third, I had no idea I was even in labor...but there was also an inability to control anything that was happening. If I could give up that stranglehold on life on a daily basis, you'd witness a religious second coming...I'd be THAT perfect.
During the pregnancy I am at my healthiest. All of us mothers know the story...we wrote it...I'll drown MYSELF in junk, but the minute it's about our precious offspring, putting the equivalent of poison in our bloodstream is not an option. I'm also aware of how I act... that is, as much as the hormone terrorists will allow.
Then, on the way to the hospital, I panic...yes even on my way to deliver the third, it was like the other two never happened...
1. "I don't want to do this."
2. "How can I keep it in me? I can live with a basketball under my shirt for the rest of my life. It's fine as long as I don't have to go in there and do this."
3. "If I focus hard enough, I'm sure I can go back in time and pour those four glasses of wine down the sink..."
The doctors and nurses wordlessly note the trails of sweat dripping from my face and armpits, and disregard the fact that I'm hyperventilating and wheel me to the delivery room anyway. They give me ice chips, making sure to drop a few down my shirt because I'm disgusting and need to cool down. Then they check my progress. I'm dilated, but my water doesn't want to break...aaahh, some part of my body heard me cry out to cease and desist...
For those of you who have never had your water broken before the epidural, I can assure you that it's more painful than childbirth itself...but it's also humbling. The agony I felt completely numbed the fear.
It was like a slap in my face and the shock of it calmed me down. It made me realize that I couldn't stop the baby from coming. All that was left was to relax and let go. The baby would do most of the work, and my body would allow it, one way or another. For the duration, I was at complete peace, suddenly aware of my ability to bring a new life to the planet.
Every once in a while the thought would cross my mind, "Is the Universe crazy? Does it realize who it's trusting with a helpless being?"
There was no answer. There was only the moment and the desire to just be.
When I think about the times when I have felt most comfortable in my skin, most aware and alive, and most pure and true, it is at each one of my children's births. I often long for that truth and am constantly looking inward to achieve it once more.
But I think the answer is right here in print: Let go...and just be.
When was the last time you felt a strong inner peace? And what do you do to get back there?
CF Winn is the award-winning author of The COFFEE BREAK SERIES, a
hilarious group of short stories meant to be read while on break or in
the waiting room of the doctor's office. Her first novella, SUKI, has been grabbing hearts and hugging souls all over the United States.
You can now order SUKI in paperback at BOOK REVUE, one of the nation’s largest independent bookstores, by email at info@bookrevue.com or by calling (631) 271-1442.
Learn more about SUKI at BOOK REVUE http://www.bookrevue.com/localauthors.html
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Sunday, September 16, 2012
THE RULES OF THE ROAD...AND SHOPPING
I'm a very active person. When I'm not traveling around Long Island for work, I'm either driving my kids to activities, coaching, or finding something fun to do; like the time I went to see Brian Weiss.
Brian Weiss is a hypnotherapist who specializes in past-life regression. My husband and I went to see him in NYC, hoping that we could figure out things like why we are so unafraid to use the weird sounding spices when we cook... Maybe we were seamen who imported and exported goods between countries way back when North America was called the New World. (Although based on my current sense of direction, I would've sailed us off the edge of the Earth)
Three hours and several meditations later, my husband explained that he was once a Chinese woman. With a blissful smile, he told me that he had gotten to see his own wedding, but then had died in childbirth. I stood by, jealously listening, then cried for ten minutes before I could confess that I thought I had been a dangerous serial killer. My visions had not been as clear as his, but I'm sure that probably explains why I'm deathly afraid of big burly men named Hank.
Apparently I've been a pretty active person throughout all of my lifetimes.
But here in my present existence, I'm always around people... and then there's the Psychology. I've forever been naturally drawn to what people do and say...it might be because my mother was always asking me, "What the hell is your problem?!"
Ever since SUNY at Stony Brook handed me my degree and pushed me out of the nest, I've noticed some pretty interesting behavioral patterns. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that your driving can reveal a lot about your shopping habits.
Let's take the lady who backed her car into mine at Target. I was waiting to pass her in the parking lot at the same time that she was adjusting her car in her spot. She was one of those perfectionists that have to be absolutely straight and have the same amount of space between the lines on either side of her vehicle before she'll get out and walk into a store. It probably takes the average schmo about thirty to forty-five seconds to park, but Jane Just Right might be out there for three to five minutes...which in car time, when you're waiting to pass, might as well be all afternoon.
I was patient. I had experience under my belt. My mother used to park like that...in our driveway! So I knew to wait it out quietly. Any loud sounds might startle her and ruin her concentration and she'd have to begin all over again. Instead, I daydreamed of double coupons and sale items. I was brought back to reality when I noticed that she was backing up, but not stopping!
I looked in my rear view mirror quickly, but there was nowhere for me to go because there was a car behind me. So I beeped and started screaming, "Hey!" out of my open window.
She kept coming.
There was a customer who was leaving the store. When she saw what was going on, she stopped walking and started yelling and waving her arms. She had to step back to avoid getting hit. At the same time I did my part. I leaned on the horn non-stop...but she bumped right into my car anyway!
I jumped out, livid. I wasn't worried about the car...my dirty, white Ford Taurus had seen better days and in reality, the green paint from her SUV might actually have looked nice with the blue streak my cousin left on my drivers side door when she swiped it as she backed out of my driveway the week before. I was mostly concerned with her killing someone one day.
We exchanged words and I'm sure the question, "What the hell is your problem?!" probably popped out, but without the appropriate experience and educational background, I didn't really expect her to know the answer.
Instead she asked, "Why didn't you beep and let me know you were behind me?"
Really?
My answer: I did. But since your hearing aid wasn't turned up AT ALL, why didn't YOU TURN AROUND AND LOOK BEHIND YOU?!
Despite my witnesses, we were never going to come to an agreement. I didn't have any visible damage, so I took my battered Taurus to a spot and safely tucked it in. Then I went into Target to shop and tried to forget the unfortunate incident.
I was bending down to look at the bottom shelf of one of the clearance end caps...there was a set of crazy European coasters calling me...and I fell over, face first, almost hitting my forehead into the shelf above them.
Someone had backed up into me.
I got myself upright again and turned around to see what had happened. And there she was, Carol Crazy, the same woman from the parking lot, inching her shopping cart every which way, trying to move around in the aisle. She had no idea that she was the one...again.
And that's when I began to make the connection.
On the road, there are the "Bullies"...they race up to your tail and stick there, bullying you until you move, so they can speed up to the back of the next person and do the same thing. When you meet up with them in the supermarket, the Bullies repeat the behavior, even going so far as to bump you a bit with their cart if you don't move right away. Thanks for the permanent scars on the backs of my ankles...
Then there are the "Mirror Drivers" who use their mirrors to screw with you. They slow down when you're merging, giving the illusion of letting you in, but then they speed up as you try to cross lanes. Just like that guy who was just to the right of the canned peaches in Pathmark. He even smiled when you moved your cart over and began to reach out...Yeah, you almost lost a finger on that one...
And what about the people who stop in the middle of the street and have a conversation with their friend? The "Squatters". They position themselves so that no one can pass on either side, as if it's their own personal driveway. And when they're done, they head over to King Kullen and do the same thing...this time using both the shopping cart and their bodies. In either situation, if you tap the horn or say, "Excuse me", you are met with the death look and a silent curse is sent from the Squatters brain to your body..."How dare she interrupt my conversation! I'll never remember the last thing I was saying about my wife nagging me if I have to pull my car/cart over to the side... where I belonged in the first place. May the King Kullen be out of that banana yogurt she loves so much...especially when they're on sale for only forty cents each!"
So the next time I'm in Stop and Shop looking for something on the shelves, and you stand behind me tapping your foot and impatiently willing me to move without ever uttering the words, "Pardon me", know that I KNOW that you don't use your blinker when you want to switch lanes, but instead scream obscenities at me as I pass you, smiling and on my way to the next fabulously fun thing on my shopping list of life.
CF Winn is the award-winning author of The COFFEE BREAK SERIES, a hilarious group of short stories meant to be read while on break or in the waiting room of the doctor's office. Her first novella, SUKI, has been grabbing hearts and hugging souls all over the United States.
You can now order SUKI in paperback at BOOK REVUE, one of the nation’s largest independent bookstores, by email at info@bookrevue.com or by calling (631) 271-1442.
Learn more about SUKI at BOOK REVUE http://www.bookrevue.com/localauthors.html
More posts like these can be found at Humor Outcasts and The Patch where she is a regular contributor.
Brian Weiss is a hypnotherapist who specializes in past-life regression. My husband and I went to see him in NYC, hoping that we could figure out things like why we are so unafraid to use the weird sounding spices when we cook... Maybe we were seamen who imported and exported goods between countries way back when North America was called the New World. (Although based on my current sense of direction, I would've sailed us off the edge of the Earth)
Three hours and several meditations later, my husband explained that he was once a Chinese woman. With a blissful smile, he told me that he had gotten to see his own wedding, but then had died in childbirth. I stood by, jealously listening, then cried for ten minutes before I could confess that I thought I had been a dangerous serial killer. My visions had not been as clear as his, but I'm sure that probably explains why I'm deathly afraid of big burly men named Hank.
Apparently I've been a pretty active person throughout all of my lifetimes.
But here in my present existence, I'm always around people... and then there's the Psychology. I've forever been naturally drawn to what people do and say...it might be because my mother was always asking me, "What the hell is your problem?!"
Ever since SUNY at Stony Brook handed me my degree and pushed me out of the nest, I've noticed some pretty interesting behavioral patterns. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that your driving can reveal a lot about your shopping habits.
Let's take the lady who backed her car into mine at Target. I was waiting to pass her in the parking lot at the same time that she was adjusting her car in her spot. She was one of those perfectionists that have to be absolutely straight and have the same amount of space between the lines on either side of her vehicle before she'll get out and walk into a store. It probably takes the average schmo about thirty to forty-five seconds to park, but Jane Just Right might be out there for three to five minutes...which in car time, when you're waiting to pass, might as well be all afternoon.
I was patient. I had experience under my belt. My mother used to park like that...in our driveway! So I knew to wait it out quietly. Any loud sounds might startle her and ruin her concentration and she'd have to begin all over again. Instead, I daydreamed of double coupons and sale items. I was brought back to reality when I noticed that she was backing up, but not stopping!
I looked in my rear view mirror quickly, but there was nowhere for me to go because there was a car behind me. So I beeped and started screaming, "Hey!" out of my open window.
She kept coming.
There was a customer who was leaving the store. When she saw what was going on, she stopped walking and started yelling and waving her arms. She had to step back to avoid getting hit. At the same time I did my part. I leaned on the horn non-stop...but she bumped right into my car anyway!
I jumped out, livid. I wasn't worried about the car...my dirty, white Ford Taurus had seen better days and in reality, the green paint from her SUV might actually have looked nice with the blue streak my cousin left on my drivers side door when she swiped it as she backed out of my driveway the week before. I was mostly concerned with her killing someone one day.
We exchanged words and I'm sure the question, "What the hell is your problem?!" probably popped out, but without the appropriate experience and educational background, I didn't really expect her to know the answer.
Instead she asked, "Why didn't you beep and let me know you were behind me?"
Really?
My answer: I did. But since your hearing aid wasn't turned up AT ALL, why didn't YOU TURN AROUND AND LOOK BEHIND YOU?!
Despite my witnesses, we were never going to come to an agreement. I didn't have any visible damage, so I took my battered Taurus to a spot and safely tucked it in. Then I went into Target to shop and tried to forget the unfortunate incident.
I was bending down to look at the bottom shelf of one of the clearance end caps...there was a set of crazy European coasters calling me...and I fell over, face first, almost hitting my forehead into the shelf above them.
Someone had backed up into me.
I got myself upright again and turned around to see what had happened. And there she was, Carol Crazy, the same woman from the parking lot, inching her shopping cart every which way, trying to move around in the aisle. She had no idea that she was the one...again.
And that's when I began to make the connection.
On the road, there are the "Bullies"...they race up to your tail and stick there, bullying you until you move, so they can speed up to the back of the next person and do the same thing. When you meet up with them in the supermarket, the Bullies repeat the behavior, even going so far as to bump you a bit with their cart if you don't move right away. Thanks for the permanent scars on the backs of my ankles...
Then there are the "Mirror Drivers" who use their mirrors to screw with you. They slow down when you're merging, giving the illusion of letting you in, but then they speed up as you try to cross lanes. Just like that guy who was just to the right of the canned peaches in Pathmark. He even smiled when you moved your cart over and began to reach out...Yeah, you almost lost a finger on that one...
And what about the people who stop in the middle of the street and have a conversation with their friend? The "Squatters". They position themselves so that no one can pass on either side, as if it's their own personal driveway. And when they're done, they head over to King Kullen and do the same thing...this time using both the shopping cart and their bodies. In either situation, if you tap the horn or say, "Excuse me", you are met with the death look and a silent curse is sent from the Squatters brain to your body..."How dare she interrupt my conversation! I'll never remember the last thing I was saying about my wife nagging me if I have to pull my car/cart over to the side... where I belonged in the first place. May the King Kullen be out of that banana yogurt she loves so much...especially when they're on sale for only forty cents each!"
So the next time I'm in Stop and Shop looking for something on the shelves, and you stand behind me tapping your foot and impatiently willing me to move without ever uttering the words, "Pardon me", know that I KNOW that you don't use your blinker when you want to switch lanes, but instead scream obscenities at me as I pass you, smiling and on my way to the next fabulously fun thing on my shopping list of life.
CF Winn is the award-winning author of The COFFEE BREAK SERIES, a hilarious group of short stories meant to be read while on break or in the waiting room of the doctor's office. Her first novella, SUKI, has been grabbing hearts and hugging souls all over the United States.
You can now order SUKI in paperback at BOOK REVUE, one of the nation’s largest independent bookstores, by email at info@bookrevue.com or by calling (631) 271-1442.
Learn more about SUKI at BOOK REVUE http://www.bookrevue.com/localauthors.html
More posts like these can be found at Humor Outcasts and The Patch where she is a regular contributor.
CF Winn is the founder of Winning! Publications, a firm specializing in
editing and promotion services for authors. Her latest project is the
just released Trailer Trash, With a Girl’s Name, a hilarious and
heartwarming story of a boy saddled with a girl’s name and forced into a
nomadic existence. Order it now: http://www.amazon.com/Trailer-Trash-With-Girls-Name-ebook/dp/B00IX0MIAO
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Life Is Good
Now that we're past the first day/week of school, all of us parents can let out a collective sigh. We've survived the supply lists and the redo of the supply lists; "I thought six glue sticks were a little too much!" and my personal favorite, "Mom! My Spanish, Social Studies, Health AND LUNCH teachers all forgot to post supply lists! I need (three pages) of stuff by 7am tomorrow!"
I don't know about all of you, but I flop back into my recliner and relax for about five minutes before I realize that the "Running of the School Year Activities" is also about to begin. My stomach drops and a headache tries to bust through my temples, but I've got this. I know I need to go to a "happy place", and I think of a time when I didn't have to worry about sign ups and activity fees and oh! the car pooling! (There's always the one kid who, in the dead of winter, acid farts and blows up the car, never admitting it was them, but forcing you to roll down all of the windows...sometimes it's even necessary to pull over and open the doors!)
My headache retreats and my muscles relax once more...Thirty minutes before the school bus is due to pull up, one hour before three consecutive dance classes, and three hours and forty-five minutes before I get the final pick-up call of the night...the moment after I've kicked off my shoes and am raising the wine glass to my lips...
I close my eyes and smile...I've got time to go back...
It's my first day of second grade. I'm excited to put on my new outfit and meet my new teacher. I take my clothes out and lay them across my bed.
When I turn around, I see her.
My mother's up, smiling and waiting to do my hair. She holds up a common hairbrush, but all I see is a torture device. I pivot and start to run out of the bedroom.
I look down.
My legs are pumping wildly, but I'm not going anywhere...and why do I suddenly have an awful headache?
My mother's got a chunk of my hair. She's holding me in place and brushing out my knots at the same time. My arms are flailing, but she calmly pulls out a rubber band and forcefully sections off some hair.
"Ow! That hurts! You're pulling too hard!"
My mother laughs, "It does NOT hurt. Now stay still!"
She tosses aside the messy clump she's just pulled out of my scalp and grabs some more. For the next twenty-five minutes, until both ponytails are perfectly even and each have exactly the same amount of strands of hair in them,my mother will not waver. My head is bleeding, but the bright red corpuscles are diluted by the tears pouring out of me, so my mother doesn't notice.
On the first day of fifth grade, I pull on a new pair of grey corduroys and tighten up my plastic rainbow belt. Every year I get a new pair of pants and every year, before the end of day one, they're stretched out and falling off of me. I beg for jeans, just like all of the other kids have, but my mother insists that corduroys are much more attractive, as she pulls three different colors of the same style off the racks in the JC Penney store. She insists that I try them on before we leave. I don't know why. They're always too big in the legs because I need a bigger size to compensate for my waist...the mayonnaise sandwiches I'm given for lunch on the weekends have started to settle in my belly...but we buy them anyway, and once I run and play in them at recess, the material stretches. Then I have to pull my belt to the notch marked "painful" before I can get them to stay up on me.
On that first day of fifth grade, while in the midst of trying to escape the brush yielding crazy woman...I don't know why. By then the nerves in my head were dead forever. You can pull one or three hundred strands of my hair today, as hard as you'd like, and I can't feel a thing...I sit on my glasses and break them.
I'm devastated. On the first day of school? Wasn't the curse of the corduroys enough to drag around? I need this too? I was never going to be one of the popular girls this way.
Then I see it. The glint in my mother's eye.
"Oh no", I think. "I've ridden this merry-go-round before."
She loves to fix things that are broken. Like the sink. There was a hole in the faucet and water would drip out. She filled it with a whole container of rubber cement, and let it dry. It held...for fifteen minutes. So she took ten of the thickest rubber bands she could find and wrapped them around the hole. Every time she saw a drip, she'd get another rubber band and add it...she's THAT repair guy.
I try to keep her in my room this time. I block the door and shake my thick mane of hair in her face...look...shiny object...don't you want to tug at it??
She pushes me to the side and I follow her down the hallway pleading, "Not the duct tape! DO NOT use the duct tape! I will never forgive you!" She clutches the two halves of my glasses. When I fell backwards on them, they had broken cleanly through the nose piece.
There was no way I was missing school, and it would be weeks before I would be able to convince her that I would need a new pair of spectacles...eventually the build-up of tape glue would be too much on the plastic frames. Nothing would be able to hold it in place for very long, and I'd have scratches on my face from the sharp ends of the breaks as they slipped off of my nose.
Once, I spent an entire day holding the two ends together myself when I had to read the board. The rest of the day I had conversations with empty desks and janitor mops.
She snorts at my cries as if unconcerned and heads for the junk drawer. In a moment of what I can only guess is weakness, she compromises. She rummages through it till she finds the scotch tape. After wrapping it around the middle of my glasses six times, she tries to convince me that because it's "invisible tape", no one will ever see that it's there.
I come out of my memory not as relaxed as I went in. Maybe my childhood was not a simpler time. I think now of all of the instances when my brothers and I would confront our mother about the past...we all nod and giggle in agreement about the story being told, but her reaction is always the same. Tears well up in her eyes as she insists, "You people are all crazy! None of this ever happened!"
Suddenly, my adulthood seems like a cakewalk. Hearing my youngest daughter get upset over my special first day outfit surprise is easy to handle, "Mom! I wanted colorful jeans! Those are only FLUORESCENT green! They need to be so bright that they glow in the dark!"
My feelings aren't hurt. Great. Let's return them and save me a few bucks.
My oldest daughter, clearly too old for high school but too young to get out and earn a living: "I told you five hundred times! I don't like to eat early in the morning and I need money for coffee."
Simple. I'm broke and she can starve.
My son. The middle child. The troubled rebel, worse off because he got sandwiched between two females in the birth order: "Mom! Stop looking at my head. I'm not going to get my hair cut! I'm growing it out and it looks fine! I DO NOT look homeless! I promise you that CPS will not show up at the door this afternoon. Calm down!"
Ok..let it grow. Eventually I'll tell him we're going out for some fresh air and I'll lose him in a dog park.
Yeah. Life is good.
CF Winn is the award-winning author of The COFFEE BREAK SERIES, a hilarious group of short stories meant to be read while on break or in the waiting room of the doctor's office. Her first novella, SUKI, has been grabbing hearts and hugging souls all over the United States.
You can now order SUKI in paperback at BOOK REVUE, one of the nation’s largest independent bookstores, by email at info@bookrevue.com or by calling (631) 271-1442.
Learn more about SUKI at BOOK REVUE http://www.bookrevue.com/localauthors.html
I don't know about all of you, but I flop back into my recliner and relax for about five minutes before I realize that the "Running of the School Year Activities" is also about to begin. My stomach drops and a headache tries to bust through my temples, but I've got this. I know I need to go to a "happy place", and I think of a time when I didn't have to worry about sign ups and activity fees and oh! the car pooling! (There's always the one kid who, in the dead of winter, acid farts and blows up the car, never admitting it was them, but forcing you to roll down all of the windows...sometimes it's even necessary to pull over and open the doors!)
My headache retreats and my muscles relax once more...Thirty minutes before the school bus is due to pull up, one hour before three consecutive dance classes, and three hours and forty-five minutes before I get the final pick-up call of the night...the moment after I've kicked off my shoes and am raising the wine glass to my lips...
I close my eyes and smile...I've got time to go back...
It's my first day of second grade. I'm excited to put on my new outfit and meet my new teacher. I take my clothes out and lay them across my bed.
When I turn around, I see her.
My mother's up, smiling and waiting to do my hair. She holds up a common hairbrush, but all I see is a torture device. I pivot and start to run out of the bedroom.
I look down.
My legs are pumping wildly, but I'm not going anywhere...and why do I suddenly have an awful headache?
My mother's got a chunk of my hair. She's holding me in place and brushing out my knots at the same time. My arms are flailing, but she calmly pulls out a rubber band and forcefully sections off some hair.
"Ow! That hurts! You're pulling too hard!"
My mother laughs, "It does NOT hurt. Now stay still!"
She tosses aside the messy clump she's just pulled out of my scalp and grabs some more. For the next twenty-five minutes, until both ponytails are perfectly even and each have exactly the same amount of strands of hair in them,my mother will not waver. My head is bleeding, but the bright red corpuscles are diluted by the tears pouring out of me, so my mother doesn't notice.
On the first day of fifth grade, I pull on a new pair of grey corduroys and tighten up my plastic rainbow belt. Every year I get a new pair of pants and every year, before the end of day one, they're stretched out and falling off of me. I beg for jeans, just like all of the other kids have, but my mother insists that corduroys are much more attractive, as she pulls three different colors of the same style off the racks in the JC Penney store. She insists that I try them on before we leave. I don't know why. They're always too big in the legs because I need a bigger size to compensate for my waist...the mayonnaise sandwiches I'm given for lunch on the weekends have started to settle in my belly...but we buy them anyway, and once I run and play in them at recess, the material stretches. Then I have to pull my belt to the notch marked "painful" before I can get them to stay up on me.
On that first day of fifth grade, while in the midst of trying to escape the brush yielding crazy woman...I don't know why. By then the nerves in my head were dead forever. You can pull one or three hundred strands of my hair today, as hard as you'd like, and I can't feel a thing...I sit on my glasses and break them.
I'm devastated. On the first day of school? Wasn't the curse of the corduroys enough to drag around? I need this too? I was never going to be one of the popular girls this way.
Then I see it. The glint in my mother's eye.
"Oh no", I think. "I've ridden this merry-go-round before."
She loves to fix things that are broken. Like the sink. There was a hole in the faucet and water would drip out. She filled it with a whole container of rubber cement, and let it dry. It held...for fifteen minutes. So she took ten of the thickest rubber bands she could find and wrapped them around the hole. Every time she saw a drip, she'd get another rubber band and add it...she's THAT repair guy.
I try to keep her in my room this time. I block the door and shake my thick mane of hair in her face...look...shiny object...don't you want to tug at it??
She pushes me to the side and I follow her down the hallway pleading, "Not the duct tape! DO NOT use the duct tape! I will never forgive you!" She clutches the two halves of my glasses. When I fell backwards on them, they had broken cleanly through the nose piece.
There was no way I was missing school, and it would be weeks before I would be able to convince her that I would need a new pair of spectacles...eventually the build-up of tape glue would be too much on the plastic frames. Nothing would be able to hold it in place for very long, and I'd have scratches on my face from the sharp ends of the breaks as they slipped off of my nose.
Once, I spent an entire day holding the two ends together myself when I had to read the board. The rest of the day I had conversations with empty desks and janitor mops.
She snorts at my cries as if unconcerned and heads for the junk drawer. In a moment of what I can only guess is weakness, she compromises. She rummages through it till she finds the scotch tape. After wrapping it around the middle of my glasses six times, she tries to convince me that because it's "invisible tape", no one will ever see that it's there.
I come out of my memory not as relaxed as I went in. Maybe my childhood was not a simpler time. I think now of all of the instances when my brothers and I would confront our mother about the past...we all nod and giggle in agreement about the story being told, but her reaction is always the same. Tears well up in her eyes as she insists, "You people are all crazy! None of this ever happened!"
Suddenly, my adulthood seems like a cakewalk. Hearing my youngest daughter get upset over my special first day outfit surprise is easy to handle, "Mom! I wanted colorful jeans! Those are only FLUORESCENT green! They need to be so bright that they glow in the dark!"
My feelings aren't hurt. Great. Let's return them and save me a few bucks.
My oldest daughter, clearly too old for high school but too young to get out and earn a living: "I told you five hundred times! I don't like to eat early in the morning and I need money for coffee."
Simple. I'm broke and she can starve.
My son. The middle child. The troubled rebel, worse off because he got sandwiched between two females in the birth order: "Mom! Stop looking at my head. I'm not going to get my hair cut! I'm growing it out and it looks fine! I DO NOT look homeless! I promise you that CPS will not show up at the door this afternoon. Calm down!"
Ok..let it grow. Eventually I'll tell him we're going out for some fresh air and I'll lose him in a dog park.
Yeah. Life is good.
CF Winn is the award-winning author of The COFFEE BREAK SERIES, a hilarious group of short stories meant to be read while on break or in the waiting room of the doctor's office. Her first novella, SUKI, has been grabbing hearts and hugging souls all over the United States.
You can now order SUKI in paperback at BOOK REVUE, one of the nation’s largest independent bookstores, by email at info@bookrevue.com or by calling (631) 271-1442.
Learn more about SUKI at BOOK REVUE http://www.bookrevue.com/localauthors.html
Sunday, September 9, 2012
BROKEN ANGEL: A Review
"I know what you are and what you will become. I know that your life will be as mine, pointless and without hope. I have seen your dreams and none of them will be realized. You will die alone, as we all do."
How many of us have felt this way at one time, or are feeling this way right now? Those few lines capture the despair of this brilliantly written piece. BROKEN ANGEL by Gary William Murning taps into the darkness that lies within all of us. For most, it only dares to show itself sometimes, but for the boys turned grown men in this story, the darkness is like another member of the family. It haunts Tom every day, and the nameless main character wears it like an accessory, spinning it into inspiration or using as fuel for hatred; at his mother, at his own insecurity...
The first line of the story: "I was eight when I saw the woman swan-dive like a broken angel from the thirtieth floor of the Caeson Building." traps the reader immediately, holding him a willing hostage in the psyche of the main character. We ride the memory as if it is our own because we have to. The author taps into our darkness and an immediate kinship is formed with the tortured souls on the page. We all have one event that sticks to our insides...sometimes changing us for the better, but sometimes not. It's all about perception.
Having been touched personally by both alcoholism and suicide, this short story stirred up many emotions. Mr. Murning shows such insight on the part of the survivor,that this reviewer has to wonder if he himself has seen such tragedy in his own life.
BROKEN ANGEL is a must read for anyone who thinks and feels deeply. I give it five bookmarks dipped in tears...for those who feel hopeless and lost.
It is available on Amazon for Kindle or Cloud Reader: http://www.amazon.com/Broken-Angel-ebook/dp/B0058TUE8Q/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1347204653&sr=8-1&keywords=broken+angel+gary+murning
MORE GREAT BOOK CLUB PICKS BY INDIE AUTHORS:
SUKI:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2013/06/summer-reading-book-club-week-1.html
WRONG PLACE, WRONG TIME:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2013/06/friends-dont-let-friends-read-alone.html?showComment=1430071350264
MY TWO FLAGS:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2013/07/i-am-master-of-my-words-captain-of-my.html?showComment=1430071350264
OCTOBER SNOW:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2014/06/life-is-like-blanket-of-snow.html?showComment=1430071350264
TRAILER TRASH, WITH A GIRL'S NAME:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2014/10/you-know-youre-modern-day-trailer-trash.html
MOORE THAN MEETS THE EYE:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2014/09/theres-always-another-story.html
WELCOME TO HEIDI:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2014/06/welcome-to-must-read.html
KAFE CASTRO:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2013/08/why-are-you-so-serious-do-it-kafe.html
DEJA DREW:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2012/08/deja-drew-excerpt.html
THE GAZE:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2012/05/gaze-by-javier-arobayoyay-or-nay.html
PGB:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2012/05/javier-robayo-author-of-gaze-steps-in.html
HAUNTED HOUSE, HAUNTED LIFE:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2014/10/haunted-house-haunted-life.html
CF Winn is the award-winning author of The COFFEE BREAK SERIES, a hilarious group of short stories meant to be read while on break or in the waiting room of the doctor's office. Her first novella, SUKI, has been grabbing hearts and hugging souls all over the United States.
You can now order SUKI in paperback at BOOK REVUE, one of the nation’s largest independent bookstores, by email at info@bookrevue.com or by calling (631) 271-1442.
Learn more about SUKI at BOOK REVUE http://www.bookrevue.com/localauthors.html
How many of us have felt this way at one time, or are feeling this way right now? Those few lines capture the despair of this brilliantly written piece. BROKEN ANGEL by Gary William Murning taps into the darkness that lies within all of us. For most, it only dares to show itself sometimes, but for the boys turned grown men in this story, the darkness is like another member of the family. It haunts Tom every day, and the nameless main character wears it like an accessory, spinning it into inspiration or using as fuel for hatred; at his mother, at his own insecurity...
The first line of the story: "I was eight when I saw the woman swan-dive like a broken angel from the thirtieth floor of the Caeson Building." traps the reader immediately, holding him a willing hostage in the psyche of the main character. We ride the memory as if it is our own because we have to. The author taps into our darkness and an immediate kinship is formed with the tortured souls on the page. We all have one event that sticks to our insides...sometimes changing us for the better, but sometimes not. It's all about perception.
Having been touched personally by both alcoholism and suicide, this short story stirred up many emotions. Mr. Murning shows such insight on the part of the survivor,that this reviewer has to wonder if he himself has seen such tragedy in his own life.
BROKEN ANGEL is a must read for anyone who thinks and feels deeply. I give it five bookmarks dipped in tears...for those who feel hopeless and lost.
It is available on Amazon for Kindle or Cloud Reader: http://www.amazon.com/Broken-Angel-ebook/dp/B0058TUE8Q/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1347204653&sr=8-1&keywords=broken+angel+gary+murning
MORE GREAT BOOK CLUB PICKS BY INDIE AUTHORS:
SUKI:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2013/06/summer-reading-book-club-week-1.html
WRONG PLACE, WRONG TIME:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2013/06/friends-dont-let-friends-read-alone.html?showComment=1430071350264
MY TWO FLAGS:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2013/07/i-am-master-of-my-words-captain-of-my.html?showComment=1430071350264
OCTOBER SNOW:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2014/06/life-is-like-blanket-of-snow.html?showComment=1430071350264
TRAILER TRASH, WITH A GIRL'S NAME:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2014/10/you-know-youre-modern-day-trailer-trash.html
MOORE THAN MEETS THE EYE:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2014/09/theres-always-another-story.html
WELCOME TO HEIDI:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2014/06/welcome-to-must-read.html
KAFE CASTRO:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2013/08/why-are-you-so-serious-do-it-kafe.html
DEJA DREW:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2012/08/deja-drew-excerpt.html
THE GAZE:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2012/05/gaze-by-javier-arobayoyay-or-nay.html
PGB:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2012/05/javier-robayo-author-of-gaze-steps-in.html
HAUNTED HOUSE, HAUNTED LIFE:
http://simplystick.blogspot.com/2014/10/haunted-house-haunted-life.html
CF Winn is the award-winning author of The COFFEE BREAK SERIES, a hilarious group of short stories meant to be read while on break or in the waiting room of the doctor's office. Her first novella, SUKI, has been grabbing hearts and hugging souls all over the United States.
You can now order SUKI in paperback at BOOK REVUE, one of the nation’s largest independent bookstores, by email at info@bookrevue.com or by calling (631) 271-1442.
Learn more about SUKI at BOOK REVUE http://www.bookrevue.com/localauthors.html
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