Mamas, Grannys, a Kentucky Twist...and something about Regifting





"You owe me nothing for giving the love that I give
You owe me nothing for caring the way that I have
I give you thanks for receiving it's my privilege
And you owe me nothing in return"

 - Alanis Morisette


My grandmother, Edith Davis Frazier, and hereinafter referred to as Mama, understood the importance of a price tag.  She was also quite skilled at switching them in order to get something she wanted at a much lower price.  Not very yin yang Mama! This was before bar codes and scanning, mind you.  Thank goodness!  My biggest fear was that she was going to get caught and taken by the police, leaving me at the mercy of the mall people.  Even as a little girl, I knew this habit of hers was a form of stealing.  I also knew to keep my mouth shut, because "Mama Frazier" was a natural redhead with an ass the size of a small shed...and a temper to match.  And, admittedly, sometimes I got some really cool stuff on those expeditions.  Bribery to be sure...which, I guess, makes me an accomplice.  Damn.


Ironically, she didn't do this when shopping for Christmas gifts.  The two most popular family jokes with regards to Mama Frazier?  Her habit of leaving the price tag on your gifts and her obsession with fancy hand towels.  One, it was very important that you know how much she paid for your gift and, two, under no circumstances were you to use the pretty, lacy towels in the bathroom.  I like to think she was generous and tidy.  Most likely, she was just nuts. 

In all fairness, she grew up during the Great Depression without her mother; so, maybe her hunger for nice things was a desperate attempt to fill a childhood void.  Whatever the reason, she was never satisfied.  I can still see her closet, stuffed to capacity with clothes and shoes.  Many of these items were never worn and she didn't remove the price tags.  I asked her once why she didn't wear this?  Or that?  Her response?  I don't want to mess it up!  Seriously.  If she were alive today, she'd have Tide to Go in her purse at all times. 


Looking back, I am certain my aversion to shopping malls and fancy towels can be attributed to one Edith Davis Frazier.  I should thank her, actually.  I shop at thrift stores and rarely spend more than $10 on an outfit, and if I spill a little sauce on my favorite denim jacket...it ain't no big thing.  And ask anyone who visits me regularly, you're taking a chance if you don't bring paper towels.  Denim is very absorbent, you know.

Since I'm on the subject of grandmothers, I should mention the other side of the family tree - Elizabeth Edwards, hereinafter referred to as Granny.  Granny gave birth to a dozen or so children (not sure of the exact number, there was a death or two) and lived a true Christian life.  Despite being married to a wandering, guitar-playing alcoholic, she never divorced.  She also didn't have a materialistic bone in her body.  The only two "attachments" she displayed was a daily need for a hot cup of Chase & Sanborn coffee.  (Don't you just love this ad?)

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and a Kentucky Twist!  It looked something like this:

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Granny kept this lovely thing in the cabinet beneath her kitchen sink.  Once, and only once, my sister and I thought it was candy and helped ourselves. Needless to say, I will never forget my one and only taste of Kentucky Twist.



Talk about opposites.  Mama Frazier was a fanatically neat hoarder, by any means she could get away with. Granny Edwards had very little and would not hesitate to give it away.  I daresay it's a very human look at the many ways we can express a spiritual/energetic imbalance between giving and receiving. 



So many examples, so little time.  I'll cut to the chase.



I didn't know much about my Mama Frazier until just a few months before she died; for along with her tendency to hoard material goods, she kept herself under wraps.  I think most people do this...which is a selfish waste of spirit if you ask me.  Anyway, during that time I drove to South Carolina every weekend to help my mother with the care giving.  One weekend in particular is one that I shall never forget.  It was Mother's Day and by this time, Mama was unable to walk without assistance and therefore unable to keep herself clean or curl and tease her hair.  Considering the fact that prior to her illness she never left the house with bad hair or an outfit that didn't match, she was very sad.  With as much respect and dignity as we both could muster, I helped her into a chair in the shower and washed my grandmother.  I washed and rolled her hair, and while she waited for me to put clean sheets on the bed she simply thanked me for "good, clean skin."  Afterwards, she went to bed and relaxed into the joy of clean sheets.



Those few months were a blessing.  I had conversations with my Mama that are still with me today. And shortly before she took her last breath, she acknowledged something.  She expressed a simple regret for having been selfish.  She also insisted that I take two small framed prints that her daughter had wanted.  This would be my Aunt Jeannette who had already passed. They weren't anything special.  Just two simple floral prints that she'd picked up at a yard sale.  She said she had no idea why she didn't give them to her daughter, but she came full circle when she gave them to me.  I later passed them on to a friend who wanted them.


I saw no point in holding onto that gift. I will, however, hold onto her secret for a perfect meringue.


Wow...I've been sitting on this post for over a year, for some reason struggling with how to tidy it up and find the ending.  Without editing for perfection or seeking an appropriate conclusion...the end.

A beautiful image of two souls giving and receiving at the same time...now that's a true gift! Happy holidays!

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"You ask me what I want.

You ask me what I need.

It's nothing you can buy."

Bette Midler/Gift Of Love

This image reminds me of how I feel when I am in the presence of those who share their true selves with me.  There is no greater gift!

For all the souls who reach out and make a difference in my life, I am grateful. 

May the spirit of Christmas find you with an open heart and open arms....and gifts without price tags!

Until next year...KSRL



 

Healers and Horses: Just ask the devil, honey...even angels fall!

"All my friends know the low rider

The low rider is a little higher"

War

"I'm not that kind of angel." -
John Travolta as Archangel Michael



I totally stole a portion of the title for this post from a song written by my nephew Austin Webb, because it's catchy and it's true.  At a very young age, Austin understands the duplicity we inherit the moment our spirit touches ground...and the pain we experience in our attempts to rediscover the whole.

I know, I know.  I'm beating the same dead horse here.  Duh.

Speaking of horses, did you know that the height of your horse is directly proportional to the size of the bruise you're gonna have on your ass when you fall?

Only a spiritual fool confuses being "above it all" with the idea of "compassionate boundaries."  Just saying.  There is no compassion in condescension and judgment.  And organic spirituality is a ground level experience.

And if this sounds cocky and cryptic, it is.  But if I fall off the horse, I won't fall too far.  I'm not that kind of healer.  Shoot, I might not even mess up my hair.  Yep, I'm riding one of these in this life:

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I see my friends up close and personal, warts and all.  And when they see me, I don't mind.  We're human, which means we're all pretty stupid sometimes.  When you can acknowledge this in yourself and laugh about it, you are on the road to recovery from "optical rectumitis". 

Moral of the story?  If you're going to ride the high horse, get your head out of your ass so you can see where you're going.  You might make the finish line completely unscathed and, quite possibly, untouched.

Peace and love my bitches!



Greetings from Hel! Who's your Goddess?

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"There's an angel

With her hand on my head
She say I got nothing to fear
There's a darkness
living deep in my soul
Still got a purpose to serve
So let your light shine"
Carlos Santana and Everlast

Funny things happen when you invite your BFF the Slutty Goddess over for leftover chili and a chance to play guinea pig to your new cards.  Yeah, so when I'm not channeling the universal joy juice to assist others in their healing journey, I sometimes do intuitive readings with cards.

Speaking of cards, after my recent move to Tucker, Georgia, it was discovered that my favorite Tarot cards got lost in the shuffle.  Pun intended.  But seriously, they were nowhere to be found.  And after I moved a 5-piece drum kit into the garage, I stopped looking.  I needed some distance from intuition with regards to others and, instead, began to focus on learning to play an intuitive instrument.  So I got lost in the shuffle.  Another pun intended.

I digress.

Back to the Slutty Goddess and her request for a reading.  She had been hounding me about the whereabouts of my cards, and I had the thought that maybe I needed new cards.  So one day during my lunch break (believe it or not I have a real day job, with a desk and an adult paycheck for providing a very normal product and service...insurance!), I stopped by Health Unlimited to see what I might find.  I love this store!  I found my scent and many an odd gift there over the years.  Check this place out if you haven't already.  It smells awesome and the folks there are very nice and knowledgeable.

Again, I digress.  Oh well. 

So, Slutty Goddess and I ate chili and talked about the past year, our friendships, our family, boys, politics and business ventures, as well as what we are doing now to ensure continued growth.  Some people seek guidance in religion, we simply decided to consult the cards.  Not much difference really.  You can randomly pick a Bible verse for guidance, or you can play a little game called Who's Your Goddess?  The latter is more fun, doesn't cost you anything and there is no fear whatsoever of burning in hell.

Not surprisingly, SG is a Changing Woman.  This Goddess changes with the seasons and, in fact, embodies all aspects of life from birth to death...including rebirth.  According to Native American legend, she is the planned child of First Man and First Woman.  Sound familiar?  Anyway, considering the journey of the past seven years, I think this is spot on for the SG.  Changing Woman is a very good guide for her as she redefines herself as a woman.  I especially love the way the "girl" in her has emerged.  It is a beautiful sight, let me tell you.

We were enjoying this so much that we pulled cards for our closest friends.  I won't divulge those results, but again...spot on! 

Then it was my turn.  Who's my Goddess?  SG is very intuitive, so I wasn't worried. 

Meet Hel!  Norse Goddess of the Dead.  Good thing I have a sense of humor.

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It is interesting to note that Hel's appearance is believed, by some, to be the origin of the masked harlequin, which has frequently appeared as a standard character in Commedia dell'Arte, with a black side of a face, and a white side. In fact, Hel's physical description, much like that of the harlequin mask, exhibits the duality that exists in the world, which is inherent to both life and death.
Legend tells us that Hel had an eye of fire, which could only see that which was true, thereby making it impossible for anyone to hide anything from her. Looking at this in a different light, Hel may actually have been challenging the world to find the courage necessary to look behind the mask that was her appearance, so they might see her as she truly was inside.

Well, I'll be damned.  Maybe I do know who I am after all.  I am duplicitous, black and white...Kimmy Sue and Ruby Lou.  Everyone has two faces.  I simply have names for mine.

Of course, the Bible tells me I am pagan and most likely going to Hell. 

I don't mind.  There's no place like home!

He Said, She Said, We All Said...What????

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"I don't want to start
Any blasphemous rumours
But I think that God's
Got a sick sense of humour
And when I die
I expect to find Him laughing"

- Depeche Mode/Blasphemous Rumours

"What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas!"

When it comes to gossip, there are no innocent people.  Much of what we know, or think we know, has its origins in gossip.  And gossip isn't always bad.  When we gather, it is human nature to discuss more than the weather. 

I am the horse's mouth when it comes to my antics, but I have certainly been the horse's ass when it comes to the antics of others.  And we all know what comes out of a horse's ass!  This reminds me of an improvisational acting class I attended many years ago and a group exercise that was quite funny.  One person would tell a story about themselves to another, that person would then tell someone else...and so on and so on.  The last person to hear the story would then repeat that story to the group as a whole.  It was amazing - and hilarious, in fact - how much the story had changed by the time it reached the last person.  From the horse's mouth to the horse's ass, indeed.

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According to Robin Dunbar, author of Grooming, Gossip, And the Evolution of Language, we have simply improved the process of primate grooming.  I'm not going to take a scholarly leap here, because I'm not that smart.  Besides, that book has been written about by enough people.  If you haven't heard of it, however, I encourage you to check it out. 

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Simply put, we form groups and minimize intrusion by making statements that cement ties.  The world is too big and overwhelming to be friends with everyone, so we find a circle and sit around "nitpicking" until we're all clean.  And if that isn't enough, we stroke each other's fur until the feeling within the circle is mutual.

Basically, we're chimps with a better vocabulary.  And sugar coated with good intentions or dipped in shit, gossip is gossip...a billion dollar industry, and we want more! 

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Why?  The answer escapes each of us to varying degrees, but my youngest daughter seems to have a clue.  I asked her once why she enjoyed watching Jerry Springer.  With an easy grin, she said, "Because it makes me feel better about myself."

Out of the mouths of babes, right?

Seeing as how I've already failed the Google AdSense test, I won't further elaborate.  No need to.  When it comes to gossip, accept that we all do it.  After all, language and motor skills are the only things that separate us from chimps. 

In conclusion, I will refer to a man who always sums it up best:  “If someone says something unkind about you, live so no one will believe it.” – Dalai Lama

Feminine Mystique: When the apple falls too far from the tree!

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"Women do not like timid men.  Cats do not like prudent mice."

H. L. Mencken

So a book that I must write has presented itself, but before I can delve into that I have to blog my way through a few loose ends.  Yes, I'm back on the job with regards to evolving.  Annoying, I know.  However, if you're reading this, you're probably on the same train...even if you're a few cars behind.  Or ahead, for that matter.  And if that's the case, this will be like a distant hum that resonates a familiar note here and there, then vanishes when your own personal journey pulls you towards a song that is meant just for you. 

Regardless of the source, be sure to listen.  If you do, you will hear what you need to hear when you need to hear it. 

As one who is committed to the practice of sharing my time and energy in the healing process of others, by definition I am committed to healing myself as well.  My circle of influence within the healing community fully understands this, since those of us who choose a practice are very much in touch with our own need to heal.  How else can one empathize?  Of course, choosing to practice the healing arts doesn't put you above it all.  Oh no.  That would be too easy.  Sometimes you see or intuit your own demons in the spirit of another, and this is no accident.  As a matter of fact, the moment I found those shoes and put them on (after years of wearing the shoes of a really pissed off, unofficial healer) my own healing journey became a maze of unexpected twists and turns.  Some good, some not so good.  But always spot on! 

For instance, my last divorce (and I do mean my last!) was the result of my own need to reinforce a very low opinion of men.  Well, if your life experience in the formative years has shown you that men can be abusive, unpredictable, unsafe and downright pigs, what are you more likely to do?  Marry Prince Charming or someone who pushes your very last "men are pigs" button?  I was obviously ready for that experience, because he pushed that button good.  And you know what?  I'm glad he did.  It was the straw that broke this camel's back.  Of course, he got what he asked for too.  Here's hoping he learned something from it; otherwise, he'll marry his mother again.

I think some women wear the pants on the homefront because they have to.  After all, masculine energy will present where it is needed.  Always. 

Which leads me closer to the exit door on this train.  It's a damn shame when a woman has to wear the pants at home!  Seriously.  I don't mean that in the sense that a woman has to be all lacy and demure and submissive.  And certainly she should be treated as an equal in a relationship.  I'm just saying that a woman who finds herself in that situation (usually by choice, reread the above paragraph if you must) is truly robbed of something.  She doesn't get to be the woman.  You know, that lovely space in a relationship where she can let her hair down and feel cherished and protected.  When you see such a woman, then you can rest assured that her man is truly the man.

I'm definitely finding my way off this train.  I've progressed from an unspoken invitation to audition for second fiddle, or maybe Plan B, to simply not being old enough.

I'm also a genuinely happy camper these days.  So, if you see this denim-clad ball of fire headed your way...relax!  I'm not going to kick your ass, unless you want me to.  Then again, I might just keep walking! 

Yep, I've got a set of balls to be sure.  But make no mistake about it, my tits are bigger. 

Well, depending on which button you push.  And if you push them both at the same time?  Woo hoo!

NOTE:  In an effort to keep this short and sweet, I've left out a few stories that are quite beautiful where men are concerned - two "little boys" in particular who taught me so much, and to whom I am grateful.  But I've said enough.  Just know that I am fully aware that men suffer too.  We're all in this together right?  Maybe one day we'll all be helping each other and we won't have to recycle all this crap, again and again.  Here's hoping!  Meanwhile, Kimmy Sue and Ruby Lou are celebrating another step towards the whole of some divine masculine AND feminine.

Inner Child and an Old Fart Walk Into a Bar: Freudian slips in a puddle of Jung!

The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.
Carl Jung 

It is impossible to overlook the extent to which civilization is built upon a renunciation of instinct.
Sigmund Freud

One must ask children and birds how cherries and strawberries taste. 
Goethe

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Dammit.  I was on vacation.  Or, as my ex-husband once said to me, "I don't want to evolve!"  But, like it or not - and when you least expect it - the universe will smack you upside the head and remind you to pay attention.  It's a good thing, really.

So, Kimmy Sue walks into a bar.  That's my inner child, by the way, in case you hadn't figured that out.  The whole of my existence (and yours too, if you're honest with yourself) is the outward journey through life struggling between growing up and moving forward, all the while reaching back to grab the hand of the divine child that fears it has been sentenced to a permanent time out for no good reason.

Oops...back to the bar.  Kimmy Sue is ready for a good beer and some good music, supported in full by a grown ass woman named Ruby Lou.  Yeah, she is my dark chocolate, no nonsense reminder that I must keep it real.  This means inner child is gainfully employed and in charge. 

So I'm at the bar, when a very articulate and handsome man starts chatting me up.  How cool is that?  I left my glasses at home, however, because apparently he was old enough to be my father...in certain areas of South Carolina, and pretty much the entire state of Alabama.  More importantly, in his mind.  And, apparently, he left his glasses at home too.  Somehow, he saw a hot red head who might actually be old enough for him.  As in, sometimes miracles occur and a woman who looks 40 something might actually be 60.  Woo hoo!  How lucky can you get?

This is the point where I have to accept that regardless of age and education, men are stupid.  It's okay.  They're allowed.  Women are stupid too.  Actually, people are stupid.  And that's why we're here folks...to get UNstupid.  It's the point of this whole blog, in case you're missing that. 

Which is entirely possible, given my non sequitur inclinations. 

So.  Handsome, articulate old fart...same bar.  A few weeks,  and one damned good minute later, he tells me I'm too young for him.  Wow.  For a not-so-damned good minute, I was offended.  I'm pushing 50 for crying out loud, but I guess I should just feel flattered.  Most women are concerned about being too old.  Anyway, the words "chastened" and "scolded" came to mind.  And then it hit me.  Oh, here we go again...the "daddy" connection.  Seriously, if a man crosses my path and shows an interest in me, the common evolutionary denominator is always the father.  On both sides of the fence, mind you.

Yep, the universe really smacked me upside the head this time, but fortunately I have made great progress with my inner child.   This time, Kimmy Sue thwarted a knee-jerk reaction to go stand in a corner somewhere and said what any strong-willed southern girl would say when challenged in such a manner:  Awwwwwwwwwwwww...hell naw! 

The most important sign of progress, for me, is that I was not a victim this time.  He was a real nice daddy. 

(On the off chance that I'm not making sense - yes, I'm laughing too - what I'm pointing out is the importance of paying attention to what you attract.  More specifically, the common denominator.  It is the key to unlocking those trap doors and giving yourself permission to come out and play.)

I AM too young...and it's about damned time.  I hope I'm too young for the rest of my life.

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