Picture Perfect/Capture the Moment/Slightly Offbeat
They say one picture tells a thousand words. Just imagine how many words would be in your mind if you have a photographic memory? Words that must come out. Writing helps to release those words. It is stress relieving. I put my fingers on the keyboard and type word after word. No bothering with spell check or grammar. I write. The writing then seems to release endorphins the same as exercise.
I do not write many descriptive essays because when releasing the memory onto the page, the picture fades in my mind. I want to keep those images for by chance; I might all of a sudden go blind. It is weird but I will stare at my children’s and loved ones faces, so if in fact I ever go blind, I will still have their face in my memory. I tend to worry about the strangest things.
Pictures are sometimes perfect all dolled up in Shirley Temple curls
A hard task to do with nothing but rags to curl with
and straight thick impossible to curl hair.
Somehow my grandmother Ruby managed to do that
The twins even won a contest for their portraits
All sorts of pictures and portraits all around grandma’s house
Of all ages on the wall, on the dresser, on the night stand
The twins dressed alike. Identical. I have stared so much
I can tell my mommy from any other
Including the identical beside her.
I go to grandma’s house and stare into the pictures
Pictures at my mother’s house are hidden.
They are protected like treasured gold.
Portraits of me and six month younger sister separated
Or always striking a different pose
Same home-made dresses slightly different
Maybe just a slight color change
Hair-bows made to match each dress.
Hair of my sisters curled to not quite perfect Shirley Temple curls
My hair in waves naturally flowing
Smiles upon my face because I love to dress up and look so pretty
I tend to glow right off the page with a genuine beautiful smile
No one can take that smile from me
It is captured forever in this picture
I sneak everyday to the top dresser drawer while my mom is out
Stare at the pictures stuffed so tightly that one move
And the pictures will be ruined
By not fitting securely into the space provided
Mom could some times tell that I looked at the pictures
She screamed don’t ever do that again me wondering
Why does she not frame the pictures and have them on the wall?
Then I could stare and not risk damage to the priceless heirlooms.
Pictures are not always perfect
The not so perfect pictures captured by mom’s camera put away in albums.
I was always told to never look at them, but I did anyway.
These not so perfect pictures fascinated me even more
Picture of me and my sis playing in a cardboard box
Picture of us wearing daddy’s military boots, picture of me asleep on the potty
Head against the shower curtain?
Potty trained before the age of rememberence
My memory only goes back to age 3.
A bedwetter until age 12.
I remember mom waking me up
Out of deep sleep,” come to the bathroom no wetting the bed tonight”
Spanked anyway the next day
Because all though she woke me up
In the middle of the night, I wet the bed
To this day I wish I knew why?
It was not because of laziness for sure.
I awoke after my bed was soaked. I never knew it until then.
I would of gladly woken up and used the restroom preferred to the
Physical and verbal abuse of bedwetting.
I spent many mornings making my bed up with it wet hoping to go undiscovered.
Every now and again it worked and a reprieve was granted
From the constant nagging for something I had no control over
Pictures to me are the most beautiful when natural
Not perfectly posed of even the perfect smile
I love to watch the models strike their serious poses
With one little thing slightly out of place or off center
You can’t quite tell what it is
Just enough wrong that you want to look at it again and again
I think the most beautiful singer in her picture is
One that has an earlobe on one side of her face lower than the other
It took such courage to do that with all the computer enhanced technology
And the money to buy the fix
The picture tells me she sees herself as beautiful just the way she is
No alteration needed
Indeed she is very beautiful. My eyes want to look at the picture over and over
Not because it is perfect but because she is beautiful even with a flaw
I seem to now like my flawed attributes
If someone stops to stare at me, it is
Because I am beautiful not ugly
Just enough flawed that someone will notice
I am beautiful with the flaw
Love me even though I am not perfect even when I am bad…..this is what my mind says to that.
Breaking the Bank Once Again
I am back. I have not posted anything lately because my computer has been at the repair shop. Best Buy had to send it to the manufacturer for a new hard drive. Well I needed a computer to renew my Nursing license. Without it I can not work. So I broke my bank again to buy another lab top. It’s all good though. Now, when the broken one comes home repaired my son will have his very own laptop. Which was something I had planned anyways. Who would have ever figured on a lab-top less than a month old could get that damaged?
I have broken my bank more times than I can count. Mostly for my children whom I love dearly. They are the only blood relatives I have in the world that I have ever spoken to in my life. I knew choosing unwed single motherhood would not be easy, for I give to my children everything with in my possibility. I give them more than I have for myself for sure. I give them my heart. They are my heritage. My only heritage.
I am very different from my mother in many ways. My sister was born on Valentine’s Day. When she was little mom made special her birthday. Bought special heart-shaped cake pans little ones and one big one. She made enough little cakes for all the students in my sister’s classroom and the big one. She celebrated Lisa’s birthday with her whole classroom at school. Me six months older in age one grade ahead of her did not get to even be invited to the party. In fact, my mom did not even save me a little cake from the party. It never really bothered me much until, six months later in August the family was on vacation. Not just some little vacation. This was a two-week trip to Florida staying not in an RV but motels. Eating steak dinners every day for lunch and supper at restaurants, breakfast every day at Shoney’s. Well my mom is always happy on vacations. I was so excited my birthday was during this vacation. I just knew it would be so special. I woke up that morning not one word of happy birthday from anyone’s mouth. We went to a tourist thing. I don’t even remember where. I remember the gift shop though because it was late in the day and still not even one word to me of a” Happy Birthday”. I saw a teddy bear key chain in the gift store. Nothing really that special but it did have my name on it. I asked my mom to please buy that for me. The cost was 4 dollars and twenty-five cents. Mom said no that was too expensive. I said please momma please. I begged and begged. Then I even through a hissy fit. I screamed back at her mom its my BIRTHDAY PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEE. She said no and never even apologized for forgetting it was my birthday. That was that. From then on, I realized for sure in my mom’s eyes there was nothing at all special about me.
So for my children, I will break my bank and not blink an eye.
You live for your future the moment you are born. You thrive or not. Some babies even die from failure to thrive. [...The future is not the result of choices among Alternative paths offered; It is a place that is created, Created first in the mind and will, Created next in activity. The future is not some place we are going to, But one we are creating. The paths to it are not found, but made. And the activity of making them changes both the maker and the destiny. -Anonymous, 1987...] from the text book, Issues and Trends.
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