Have You Ever?

Hello friends, I hope this day finds you well. Today I’ve had another moment where I did something, tucked it away and then I see it produced by someone else.Someone else has made money off of the same thing that I did a year or more earlier.

If you didn’t know yet, I love to sing, not just while in the shower. Not just any singing either, I will belt it out like a blow horn if I am in the mood, and I am often in the mood.

My daughter hears a song on the radio and asks me “who is the original artist?” I tell her that the original artist is singing it right now. She will tell me it’s a female voice. I will sing a few lines and she just smiles and says, “oh, it’s you I was remembering”. heehee As I age I noticed I have developed a bit of stage freight, I did karaoke a bit ago and was nervous.

I also love to write, I like to create fun short stories and poems, I have even written a sermon just for the heck of it. I used to write down my musical creations and stopped because I thought I was being watched. Have you ever felt like you were being watched? Like things you did or said become a popular phrase, or a song comes out and you made it up a year before?

This happens to me, not just with music but also with poetry, stories, and a phrase I used. I started to think I was going crazy. I mean really, who the heck wants to follow me around? I’m nobody special so what the heck?

I have since decided to believe that creativity is like a whisper or image floating in the wind. I sometimes get a thought of a story, I’ll write it all out in my mind, but just as fast as it goes in my mind it’s gone. Poof! I don’t even remember what the heck it was about. I lose it before the pen and paper is found. So to me, a creative image that I could paint or a song to write, or a poem or whatever creativity that you do, if you don’t catch it and hold onto it then it moves onto another person. As in creativity waits for no man or woman, it has a desire to be told, sung, painted or expressed and it is not going to wait around for you to “get around to it”. Just as fast as it comes its off looking for someone else who is on able to grab it.

I am learning and trying to train myself to always have a pen and paper on me, and to hold that idea until I can write it down and share it. I think the “universe” has things to say and creative individuals are the way it speaks some times.

Or, I really am going a little bonkers.

Has this happened to you? Do you get the inspiration but it’s gone before you can get the pen and paper to write it down, or draw it?

 

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Mom

A bit ago I was missing my father, a lot. And just wanted to say hello to him, ask him some fatherly advice. Since he died I felt like sending it out into the universe how I miss him. So I thought with Thanks Giving coming up and with the whole idea that we are to give thanks on this day, I thought it only fitting to thank my mom.

It’s no secret that we are like fire and ice, we do not see eye to eye at all. As a parent now  I try to understand her. Why she did and said what she did. I think that mom was sad for a long time, since I was adopted I feel like she resented me. She was all done raising children in her mind and now there is another baby in the house. I see that my mom, I think, may have had some mental troubles as well. She did not do well in crowds, she gets flustered and panicked. She is also up and down in moods so perhaps Bipolar. Either way, I know my mother loved me and I love her in our own strange way.

How wonderful it is to have a mother teach you to make cookies and let you lick the spoon, or even better, the bowl. My favourite memory as a kid was when my mom would make jello, she would make a little extra so I could have a 1/2 cup of warm jello before it cooled into the firm wiggly squares. I loved to drink the jello liquid while it was still hot, I still do and so does my daughter.

I was a very active child, a tom boy by all true meaning. I love that mom would get mad at me every time I came home with another cut, another nail through my foot, another gash and needed stitches. The best was when I came home with most of my flesh torn off most of my entire body from a major wipe out. She would get almost sick with worry that it would leave a scar.

“I don’t know if your nails will grow back in, why can’t you act like a girl? Why can’t you play with dolls? Why do you insist on this wild behaviour? You are not a boy and boys don’t date girls that act like boys.” She would say.

Mother would try many things over the years, I know she would stress out about what to bring to the pot luck dinners, and worry about what the other women are wearing. I know my mom never seemed to fit in with the other ladies. I know she felt a little on the outside no matter how hard she tried to fit in, to be a part of the women in the church.  I felt her pain, her tears of not understanding why they all won’t include her or even be nicer to her. Mom tried very hard. When dad couldn’t work anymore, mom went back to school and became a  nurse. She was in her 50’s. She was always doing her best to do what she could for her community, her family, and her neighbours. I respect her very much for all her hard work.

My mom was still in the 1800’s with the idea of a perfect lady. Some of that I agree with, respecting a woman is a big one. But a woman is not needing to be absolutely dependant on anyone else to be considered a lady. And there starts some of our arguments. I want to trust a man, I want to have a husband. I just can’t settle for any man, even if that means I am single my entire life and die alone. I will not settle for just any man just because he’s a “good church member”. Or just because he is “her choice”. But I love her for worrying about me and telling me to “get a man”.

When I was raising my daughter I looked at my parents for “what not to do” and “what to copy”. I believe that once you are of an adult age, you choose what person you want to be and make those changes. I can’t blame parents for everything that is wrong with me, I am to blame as I have freedom to make changes. As a parent, I tried to give my daughter the good things I loved about my upbringing. Like Sunday dinners my dad would cook dinner for breakfast and breakfast for dinner, and mom would set the table and burn the toast. Like learning the value of hard work and the willingness to sacrifice yourself to help another person. Lick the cookie batter bowl. Playing games with my daughter. There are so many I can’t list them all, but as the years go by I learn to value what mom did all those years ago and even still. She is trying her best, to be her best parent she can be, best friend, best person she can be.

I love you for that mom, thank you for all you taught me, and thank you for all your love. It’s not easy to be a great parent, never knowing if the choice you made was right or if you picked the wrong battle.

Happy Thanks Giving to my mom and all you parents out there. Thank you for trying everyday to be a better parent and learning from your mistakes.

 

 

 

Fear of Success

While I wallow in the trenches, this filthy rot smell, fills me with hate, self loathing. Watching endless hopes and dreams drifting down the fast moving sludgy river, never to be recaptured. Oh bitter tasting fear coats my tongue so all I can taste or smell is rot and sludge.

Look up, see the speck of light trying to peer through, sending hope, sparking dreams. Oh what a sweet life if would be to be success. Oh what a sweet life to be my own boss, to set my own wage, to build my own financial freedom. Freedom to travel, to meet interesting intelligent people. The water I think would be blue or maybe green and warm. Imagine what sweet taste that must me.

But what is stopping me? Oh ya, fear. What a vicious circle that has encapsulated me. How to break free? What do the rich know that I don’t? Does it really take a lot of money to  make money? While the wishful saps are stuck to the rotting tree, that speck of light mocks me. Torments me with the unknown. Round and round we go, deeper and deeper in this hole. How do I break free? How to climb the thorny walls to the light above.

Whey! what a dramatic picture of what I feel about success and fear. I feel like every time I get a bit closer, the chair is pulled away and I do not get a thrown in the castle of success. Why is it so scary to try? I mean really, I am afraid to fail, yet if I don’t try I fail.

Anyone else ever have to deal with fear of doing something? Start a business? Try something new? New move? Anything? How did you get over what you feared so that you could do what you know you want to do so?