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Thoughts that clammer through my head |
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Ok, so This is my blog and when I started it, I just wrote, not realizing this first page was supposed to describe my blog. I don't want to delete anything here, so I'm leaving what I wrote below. And my blog....well, I write what I'm thinking about. Most of the time it's pretty deep stuff but that's just where I am in my life. Sometimes I may get a wire or two crossed and write about something funny or weird, but that's just me too. So for anyone reading these, I hope you enjoy them. I made my first post on writing.com yesterday, which doesn't seem like a big deal but when you find out that I've been a member since September 2013, it is. Before one can post anything, you have to go through a process...fill out a bio; tell us about yourself. What kind of writing do you like to do, where are you from, etc., etc. As I was filling these boxes out, I realized this was the main reason I haven't been on this site before now. The thing I hate most is talking about myself. What do I say about this person (me), whom I consider to have an average, no drama life? My friends would all disagree with that. I don't like to talk about myself. I am more comfortable writing about events, thoughts and anything else that inspires me. I don't even mind people reading my writing, but I am very self-conscious when people read something I've written about myself. This morning that realization hit me like a bat between the eyes. I had the same problem when I wrote my art bio. I'm an artist too. I love painting, but when the gallery owner asked me to put together a bio, my stomach curled up like someone just asked me to eat a cockroach. It took me 4 months to write something that would fit on a 4x9 card. We're talking less than 300 words! It shouldn't have been that difficult, but it caused me so much anxiety, I got sick to my stomach every time I tried to put something together. How do I tell people who I am in one small paragraph? I realized a long time ago, I can't. People find out who I am through the relationships we build. A 4x9 card can give someone a detailed, sterile view of what I do and how I do it, but it does not give anyone a glimpse into who I am as a person. Those things that motivate me, inspire me, make me sad, smile and scream with joy, are the hidden, silent parts of me that go unnoticed until you get to know me. I'm bigger and deeper than a 4x9 card, more mysterious than a one inch paragraph can provide, yet I'm as deep and wide as the ocean for those close to me. My husband said it was that mystery and depth, that made him want to learn more about me when we met. He claims that was a "gift" to him, but I think that is the gift that we all give to each other when we connect with other people and see who they really are instead of what we publicly portrait with words and pictures. Maybe my anxiety is something more simple in that I never learned how to sell myself.....but no, I don't believe that. No one should have to sell their self. What you do, say, and contribute does more than any written words ever will. It suddenly dawned on me that I just wrote a lot about myself. |
| Another night, or rather early dawn, and I'm awake, as a million thoughts and memories run through my head like a trading ticker on the stock market. It doesn't slow down and I start tossing around as my body won't get comfortable. Finally, I get up refusing to fight what woke me in the first place. Why do some memories just show up out of the blue? Why don't others? As I sit here in the dark, sipping on a cup of tea, I remember nights like this when I lived a block off the ocean in Long Beach, California. I always slept with my window open, because I loved the smell of the ocean's air. It seems like a lifetime ago but the memory is still vivid, along with the smells and sounds.There was a woman who passed below my window every day in the early morning hours, before the sun came up. I don't know why I thought of her now. But the following poem poured out of me when I woke. I use the term "poem" lightly. Maybe once her memory is brought to life, I can sleep again. Morning’s Rite Crickets sing to whoever listens. The air is heavy and sticky with salty moisture of the ocean. The robin’s solo sounds lonely in the darkness. Then I hear the humming; Her “ohms” on every exhale, in harmony together with each step she takes, like every predawn past. As her song slowly fades into the distance, it's replaced by the surf crashing in repetitive sequence and I am lulled back into dreams. |
| Social media, the new way to have people see you. At least that's the way I see it. It's not really about keeping in touch as much as I think it's a way for each person to have an audience. I must admit I'm on Facebook. My peers in college told me about it, begging me please to get on it so they could stay in touch with me after graduation. I was extremely reluctant. That was when Facebook was only available to college students. It hadn't been opened to the general public. I succumbed to peer pressure! Yes me! Guess how many of those same people I still keep in touch with or have as friends.....none. That doesn't mean it hasn't been good. I probably still have about 20 friends and professors that I am still friends with and stay in touch. The rest of my 133 friends are mostly family. A handful of very close friends are in there. Mostly ones I interact with outside of Facebook. I spend very little time on Facebook. I post new paintings I've done and I like to see what my kids and grandkids are up to. I see more and more how people spend their time complaining about something or even nothing! Some like to make a comment that stirs others up and then there is a line of comments where everyone is taking jabs at each other as they all vie for "being right." That was never so prominent as it was with the last election. Politics is like religion and my mother used to tell me growing up that those are two conversations you don't have with people because everyone feels so strong about it. She was right. I've watched good friends get vicious with each other over a political opinion. I've watched most friends use FB as a platform to get attention in various ways and none of it is positive. Some days I feel like I want to close my account, but it's the only way I can "consistently" stay in touch with my kids or grandkids. With lives being so busy, picking up the telephone is almost unheard of, unless you want to text someone.  Now my little sister got my 78 year old mother on Facebook. Mom isn't very good at navigating and doesn't post much, but she gets to see all of her kids, grandkids and great-grandkids. She loves the pictures and videos. The last time I saw her, she commented, "nobody sends pictures any more. Everything is on Facebook or digital. I like pictures on my walls!" I understood completely. I've felt that way at times myself. So I made her a photo book with pictures I had from visits with her, and with some of her grandchildren. She is so proud of that book she keeps it on her coffee table and shows everyone who will listen. The intimacy in relationships is what Social Media has stolen from society. I know it has it's place, but it shouldn't replace a true relationship with others. Making posts on a social media site is impersonal and lacks warmth. It's just a statement. I've lost more relationships on Facebook than I've added. People will post things that they wouldn't say in public. Sitting behind a computer gives some more courage (if you want to call it that) to post the meanest, craziest or the most stupid things. Really! Good or bad, I know social media is here to stay and whether I like it or not, I learn to adapt. Call me old-fashioned or just nuts, but I still love the face to face relationships and phone calls. My oldest grandchild is now starting to text me. He recently got an iPhone for his birthday so now we can FaceTime. That's one piece of technology I love.  |
| One of the beautiful things about traveling is coming home. All those little things we do around our our home are the little nuances that provide us with comfort, happiness and a sense of belonging. My home is torn up right now as we get ready to put in a new kitchen, and after two weeks away, I was still so happy to come back to this unfloored, bare stud walls, place. It's familiar. It has the smells that I'm used to; the lavender used on the linens, the dish soap and fresh forrest air drifting through the windows. It has my bed. As I get older that's the thing I appreciate most when I come home...a good bed. Our vacation was a family reunion with our children and grandchildren all gathered in one place. It was fun seeing them all because we don't get to see them that often any more. Everyone is so spread out. Each child has their own family, their own place of comforts now, and even though coming together brings back a lot of wonderful memories and enjoyment, they also are happy when they go back to their own home they have created. They feel the same about their home as I do ours. Our home doesn't have children any more. It's just myself and my husband. It's quiet, something we never had when raising our children. I'm amazed how quickly one gets used to the quiet surroundings and it becomes a sanctuary. I think about things I never had time to before. That time when raising children was noisy, and running from one thing to another just trying to keep it all together. Deep thoughts only happened late at night when everyone was asleep and only when I wasn't falling asleep myself from exhaustion. Home is a wonderful place. I grew up moving every three years because my stepfather was in the military. I learned to love travel and still do, but I value more a place to come back to every time. The same place, the familiar place, the place where all my adult memories are. There is so much truth in the statement that "Home is where the heart is." My home is here because it is where my husband is and where our memories are. It holds all the little things we've done to create a place of comfort. It is where my heart is. So as much as I love traveling, I will always love coming home more. |
| This past two weeks have been so busy. I get anxious when my days are this busy; I feel like things are flying out of control. "Stop....take a deep breath....slow down." Words I repeat to my self throughout the day when I feel like it's too much. Sometimes life just gets that way, chaotic. I'm one of those people who has to have everything organized, so when things get a little nuts and out of control, it can upset my apple cart. Writing things down helps. I'm a list maker. I love making a list because everything is in the forefront of my mind and better yet, I can cross them off when they are done! YES! I'm sure I'm not the only one like this and I won't be the last. Tonight I decided to give it all up for the night. I'm sitting here in my office with the window open, the fresh smell of the forest after a good old-fashioned thunderstorm drifts through. There's a small animal crying somewhere and I wonder if it's mother is close by. Squirrels are chattering and fighting over something. They make me laugh watching them. Crickets are starting up their songs, which bring back memories of childhood summers. I love this time of year and I love the peacefulness right now. This, the beautiful sound of silence, the sound of nature, is soothing to my soul and reminds me it's ok to sit back and enjoy it. Tomorrow is another day, a little more beautiful chaos, and another chance to start over. I need to remember this moment though and realize it is available to me every day, every night and all I have to do is reach for it. Chaos makes me crazy but there is beauty in those moments too, so it's all good. A little nutty, a little chaotic and a whole lot of happy. |
| I love my last name. Mostly because it was my father's name. It's the one thing he left me that can't be taken away. He's no longer here...he died when I was two-years-old. I actually didn't know I had this name until I was ten because my mother had remarried when I was so young and she had me and my two brothers use my stepfather's last name, even though he never adopted us. That was ok, but you can imagine my surprise when I had to learn how to spell my real last name. We were going abroad and I had to sign my passport with my real name. I asked my mother where it came from (she had NEVER talked about my father), and finally she told us, me and brothers. This just made me curious and I wanted to know more about my real father. All the moments that I thought were dreams, were actual memories from my little two-year-old mind about my father! My mother finally confessed this to me saying that she was amazed I had any memory about him at all. They had really happened, they were not dreams! Whew!! As an adult now, I find it fascinating that a child that little could actually remember events, even if they were a little vague. So there's a good argument for anyone who says a baby will forget....NOT! I started getting used to my new-old name...W-o-r-m-i-n-g-t-o-n. Worrrm...innng...ton! Wormington! Cool! It had pizzaz, it was different, and it had a great "swing" to it. Worm...ing...ton! According to my mother, I still had to go by my stepfather's name so everyone would think we were all the same family. I didn't know a name could make you NOT a family! (Good subject for a blog) But I used the other name instead of Wormington. I would still practice writing it in my notebook over and over again. Wormington, Wormington, Wormington. Then later in life as fate would have it, or rather the law, I got my first driver's license and had to use my REAL name! Mom didn't like it and the school was confused as hell because I was still going by my stepfather's name. I couldn't help but get excited when I looked at my picture on my driver's license and underneath, it said: Carla Wormington. It was official, even though it had always been my real name, it was now official for me. I've been a Wormington now for most of my life, even though in actuality, I've always been a Wormington. It's not a very common name. Actually I'm the only Wormington in the state where I live. How cool is that! I used to get really upset with people when they misspelled my name. How tough can it be??? W-o-r-m-i-n-g-t-o-n. Just like it sounds...Worm--ing--ton! Easy! Getting upset about it didn't help, and people would just get annoyed at me for them misspelling my name! So figured I needed a new way to communicate. The next time I told someone my name and they spelled it as, Warmington, I told them, "NO....my name has a WORM in it, not warm! You know...those slimmy little things you fish with!" I looked at her with a big, cheery smile. The shock on her face was fantastic! She choked and with a nervous laugh said, "Oh, I'm sorry. Ha ha that's cute." "I'll bet you won't forget it the next time will you," I laughed. She just looked at me, raised an eyebrow, and didn't say a thing. So that's how a Worm was born. I still use the same line all the time....My name is not warm or worth! It has a WORM in it! A WORM! Every time I say it, I visualize this little slimy worm looking back at me with big black eyes...grinning. Best of all everyone remembers my name after the worm lesson. The Worm thing has caught on a lot better than I imagined. I now have a few friends that refer to me as "Worm." I've gotten so used to it, I even respond! I love the Worm....I love the name Wormington....I love that it connects me to my dad. Worm, Worm, Worm...Wormington. So today when I stopped somewhere and had to give my name to them, they asked me.... "So how do you spell, Carla, with a C or K?" HUH????       |
| I hugged him tight and kissed his lips. "Call me to let me know you made it in and remember to call me to say good night." I said. He smiled and said, "I will. I love you. Thanks for bringing me to the airport." "I will always bring you to the airport," I said while grinning. "When I quit bringing you, then you have something to worry about!" He laughed and grabbed the handle of his suitcase and walked into the terminal. "You've got two days!" he yelled over his shoulder, laughing. He hates these separations too. He will call me three times before his flight leaves, just to talk. Every time I watch him leave, my heart aches, which seems so crazy because I also look forward to these short two day trips where I can get a lot of work done. He knows that. He knows that I set aside things I want to do, to take care of home, cook some decent meals, exercise and still work part time. He's the first one to admit he is high maintenance and by contrast he tells me I am so easy to be with. It took a long time for me to even find him. I say that because when we finally did meet each other I felt like I had known him forever. He too said there was a strange connection that he never experienced before. We've been together for 20 years, some of it pretty rocky, but we are always together. We just really enjoy each other's company. We like to sit and talk in the mornings over a cup of coffee before work starts. We take breaks throughout the day to have lunch together or just talk about things we are working on. We are both so lucky to be able to work from home. The first time we were ever apart was in 2009 for two months. My job and his job kept us in different places. When he was able, he joined me and brought an engagement ring with him. Something I never thought he would do. He said being apart gave him the window he needed to see what life would be like without me, and he didn't like it. He never wanted to be without me again. We were married in 2011. Our families just said, "it's about time!" but they were really excited for us. He is my best friend. Our moments apart are very brief now. One to two days, and yet every time I watch him leave, I say a prayer to bring him home safe. I never thought I would feel this way about anyone in my life. I'm never tired of seeing him; I'm never tired of our conversations and each day seems like another adventure. My heart aches when I watch him leave, and yet I know when I get home I will work like crazy to get so many things done while he is gone. I'll crank the music up high to lift my spirits and to keep the house from feeling so empty. I will be just fine until I go to bed. I'll reach across to feel for his hand to hold, like we do every night, and it won't be there. I'll toss and turn unable to sleep and then my phone will ring. It will be him, calling to say good night. |
| I've been in a funk since yesterday or maybe a better word would be "sadness." I've been in a sadness since yesterday. Most of the time I am pretty passionate about things I believe in, but I'm always open to listening to someone else's thoughts and ideas. Who knows, they may have a better one! What an ingenious thought right? Wrong. At lease not with some people. There are those who swing to extremes and have no room for ideas or thoughts outside of their own. At least that has been my experience within my circle of people I know. I was crushed yesterday when a friend of mine made a post about a pretty controversial subject, but the post she used was an opinion blog where some guy made some outlandish, nasty claims and no facts referenced. I couldn't even find anything on the internet to support it. I told her that it appeared he was trying to "stir up the masses" without providing any evidence, and from the things she was saying, it was obviously working for him. I also clarified that it was my opinion and nothing more. That single statement stirred something up in her that I've never seen before. It took her down a completely different path which is even more controversial and she got upset when I didn't agree with her. Which should be ok not to agree on everything but she really stretched it, accusing me of things I never said, then her kid jumps in and I won't even go there with the kids. I find it sad that people want you to agree with them and their attitude is one of "I already know the answer, don't confuse me with the facts." So in her case, she made the post to also stir up the masses and really didn't want anyone to disagree with her. I thought I knew this woman. I've always known her to be loving, caring, compassionate and open to other ideas and at least listening to them. She never cut anyone off or put them down for their own beliefs or opinions before. I don't know this new person. I tried talking about it this morning with my husband. All I got out of my mouth was "there are some people so close minded that they have no room for ideas outside of their own" and he proceeded to tell me about the bad experience he had with someone this week, similar to mine. So I'm not the only one to experience this and I won't be the last one. I never got to finish my story because he continued to talk about his. I could tell he was pretty disturbed about it. So I'm writing about mine, so I can let go of it. I think about all the anger, bitterness and bigotry there is in the world lately, and if people are so close minded about anything outside of what they think, none of us will ever come together in love and compassion. Someone will always "be right and everyone else, wrong." That makes me sad. I never thought I would see that in my friend of 12 years. What happened? The worst part is that she was using her religion as justification to be mean, hateful and bigoted. When you use God as justification to be that way, you only show the world what a mean, ugly bigoted god you have and I don't want to be part of your world. She couldn't grasp the idea of love, compassion, and service as the best way to change people, or to have them listen to your ideas. Most people (myself included) can't stand to listen to ideas of hate. So I said a little prayer for her last night and let her go. That's sad...the letting go part, but I realize that throughout life, sometimes we grow together as friends and sometimes we have to part ways. My heart still hurts this morning. A wise friend told me once, that when those moments come when you know you have to part ways, just understand that your journey with them is over. You have learned everything you need from this person and they from you. Be thankful for the time you shared and wish them well on their journey, and move on. He was a very wise friend. |
| What a bunch of blog.... That's how I feel today. My writing goals for the week run through my head as I answer business calls, make the bed and pour myself a cup of coffee. One call turns into two, then four, then eight. My mind sends me another reminder to write. One more person hands me something that is needed right away. Please help? Ok, ok. I pick up the paper and start working on another problem that needs solved today. Another reminder of writing flashes in my mind's eye. Another phone call, another problem to take care of. I got it! I got it! The day speeds by like a blur. Ooops! I missed my photography class. Maybe I can still get my one photo in today. I try but it doest work out very well. That was a waste of time. Another fleeting reminder of writing flashes like a bolt in my head. What time is it? Oh goodness it's dinner time! "I'm not cooking tonight!" I yell, but no one listens. I order pizza. There goes my diet. "Please sit and watch a movie with me honey. I haven't seen you all day." My husband gives me that poor puppy dog, feel sorry for me, look. "Ok, fine." I give in and sit down with him. Two hours later, as the movie ends, he gets up. "I'm going to bed." And that's it. It's 11:52. The house is dark and silence fills every corner. He's asleep. I'm still up while piles of guilt scream at me because I haven't written anything today, or yesterday, or the day before. What day is it? Wednesday. Maybe I will have some more time tomorrow. Maybe. I'm tired. No, I'm exhausted. It's time to go to bed. |
| I spent the morning having coffee on the lanai with my husband and we got into conversations about our lives as kids growing up. My fondest memories of my mother are of her being a spitfire that set people in their place. What was so interesting about our conversation is that I had just gone down this memory lane with my mother about a week ago. How ironic. I asked my mother if she remembered the time my school called her because they felt my skirt was too short. (This was when mini skirts were in). "Oh Yes!" she told me and continued the story. "When I got a call from the principal saying I needed to take you home to change your clothes, I got mad! I put on my shortest skirt which was just below my ass, and put on my GoGo boots! (My mother's skirts were much shorter than mine.) I marched into his office and let him know I was not about to make my daughter wear anything different than I would! And if they didn't like you showing your underwear, they shouldn't have you bowling in PE in your skirt! (That was the reason I got into trouble). They should have the decency to let you put on shorts. I gave him an earful and the poor bastard didn't know what to say, but he let you go back to class and I never heard anything again about the way you were dressed!" As my mother told that story, I could hear the rebellous pride in her voice, and then she started giggling like a little girl. Moments like those in my life, watching my mother stand up for what she believed in, also taught me that it's ok to question anything that I don't agree with or feel comfortable about. It's ok, to go against the grain, to be different from what everyone else is doing. My mom was never the greatest mom. But she had some great moments. Now my mom is 78 and our relationship is better than it ever was. She is so much more calm than she was when I was growing up, and people would never suspect the colorful life my mother had. But when I look at her now and those memories run through my mind, I understand why she is still so headstrong. It's part of her DNA. It's the accumulation of her experiences, good or bad. It took me a long time to get to this point where I could see her as all of that, instead of just being angry because she wasn't the mother I wanted her to be. I also realize that my journey with her is part of my accumulated experiences that have made me who I am also, and I am thankful I have her spitfire in me. Chasing Worms |
| So I'm trying hard to stay awake tonight, and my body is putting up a pretty good fight about it too. I've been sick for two weeks, upper respiratory stuff that sucks the energy out of you, but tonight I'm on a mission. We are going to have a lunar eclipse tonight, a blood moon! The camera is ready and mounted to the tripod. I already have the settings dialed in and the battery is charged. My husband finally went to bed unable to fight off the sleep. He's been sick too so I don't blame him. My kids are sending me text messages. No matter how old they get, every lunar eclipse brings memories of our first one together lying on a California beach at midnight. The moon was ghostly white and there wasn't any blood moon but we watched the blackness cover it and slide right off the other side. The ocean reacted with as much excitement as we did. Waves crashed the beach so hard, it created it's own breeze and fine sprays of salt water. In one hour the tide had reached our blanket we were laying on. We started laughing and screaming when a wave doused us with cold water. We jumped up, grabbed our blanket and ran further up the beach. We plopped ourselves down in the sand again and finished watching the spectacular show in the sky. My kids are in other parts of the country now, staying awake with their own kids to watch the eclipse tonight. They send me text messages now with little notes of love. I'm filled with the beautiful memories when they were little and I am excited about getting pictures tonight to share with my grandchildren when I see them. It's time to go. Chasing Worms |
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