Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Especially in the 80's...
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
I pranced around the kitchen in a red embroidered black suspender belt and stocking set complete with a matching red bra and thong.
But Manolos won’t help if you need a stiff drink!
Oh, after they drop a load of babies, they are ready to get pregnant again within hours...HOURS!
i've been a little naughty!!
Hhmmm... I don’t do the whole housework slash laundry slash budgeting thing very well, but I did lose weight and I started focusing a little on wearing matching clothes and make-up and such... teehee!
Warm and hot.
There was no vegetable penetration.
Rumors are swirling this is going to be one very messy, divorce.
He hated me and he hated you,
My Dad didn't think I was his child, so he refused to come to the hospital.
I now refuse to go to Lowe’s on Tuesdays for fear I’ll find him there waiting with flowers and moonshine in hand, and that drunk snaggletoothed donkey grin plastered hopefully across his grizzled old face!
I would play a drinking game…you know the one…where you take a drink every time he mentions 9/11, but I’m afraid of alcohol poisoning.
There were moments where I wished I could climb in there myself.
Grateful for the distraction after approximately 7 minutes of working which translates into 2 minutes of writing I answer the call to hear a voice that I had not heard for 2 years.
AND THEN, it hit me!
Friday, January 25, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Upon opening the mailbox I immediately notice the junk mail that we are still receiving despite paying for a junk mail removal system. After wading through the advertisements and the bills, I come to a letter, hand addressed to me. I recognize the return address and with a smile on my face, I throw all the other mail back in the mailbox and skip back across the lawn to my front door, enter the house and plop down in my office chair excited to read a hand written letter.
By the time I have read this letter, I am aware as I usually am, that I am probably not the first or the only one to have read it. I can’t be sure of this, but I always assume that the letters written by prison inmates are read by someone before they are allowed to seal the envelope.
You are probably wondering if I get a lot of mail from prison, if I am one of those women who have low self esteem and find it gratifying to have men with tarnished backgrounds sending me letters asking me for photos of myself. Well I’m not one of those women so keep reading.
I’ll admit that I do have a friend on the “inside.” He has been there for a few years and could quite possibly be there for many more depending on his appeal process. He was my friend prior to going to prison so if you could please resist the temptation to picture me standing outside the prison clinging desperately to the electronic chain link fence pining over a convict who wants a prison marriage ceremony, I would really appreciate it. And now that we have cleared that up…lets move on.
The letter starts in the usual way, catching me up on his daily routine and the only two things he is allowed to do all week that is enjoyable (pray and play music). He fills me in on who has written and who he’d like to hear from because writing letters is a way to not only help him keep his sanity, but it helps pass the “time.” He thoughtfully asks questions about my family and remarks on my last correspondence to him. That’s usually the bulk of our letters…when you sit in a little room for most of your day, you don’t create much to talk about. This is understandable, so I try to keep him entertained with my writing (sad as it may be) and life on the “outside.”
But today as I sit thinking about my reply to him, I can’t help but think of something he said to me in his letter last week and more importantly, the things he has not said to me in all of his letters over the years. What he said was this - “all in all, I can’t complain.” In my head I am thinking “REALLY???...You sit, eat, sleep, and poop in a tiny room 24/7, writing with God knows what since they probably don’t let you have a pen for fear that you pen yourself or someone else to death, knowing that you have been convicted of a crime that you are innocent of and you really can’t complain?” But he doesn’t complain. Instead he uses his time to build his friendships and his relationship with God and sends letter after letter without one complaint. He's gracious and thoughtful and punctual with his writing. And although he is human afterall and nobody would fault him for moaning a bit, he chooses not to.
And so as I sat at my computer today, grumbling about the fact that I am having some computer issues and bellyaching about what to cook for dinner; I stop for a moment to allow some perspective to pass through my thoughts. I pause to appreciate that I have a computer (or three) and a dinner that I will not be serving up on some sort of safety tray with dull, non-threatening utensils. My life, with all its flaws, I wouldn’t give up for anything.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Thanks for being here...Michelle
"I HAVE A DREAM" (1963)
I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.
Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.
But 100 years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.
In a sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men - yes, black men as well as white men - would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check that has come back marked "insufficient funds."
But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and security of justice. We have also come to his hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.
It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end but a beginning. Those who hoped that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.
But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.
And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "for whites only." We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no we are not satisfied and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.
Let us not wallow in the valley of despair. I say to you today my friends - so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification - one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day, this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning "My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my father's died, land of the Pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring!"
And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.
Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado. Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.
But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi - from every mountainside.
Let freedom ring. And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring - when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children - black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics - will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"
Distribution statement: Accepted as part of the Douglass Archives of American Public Address (http://douglass.speech.nwu.edu) on May 26, 1999. Prepared by D. Oetting (http://nonce.com/oetting).
Permission is hereby granted to download, reprint, and/or otherwise redistribute this file, provided this distribution statement is included and appropriate point of origin credit is given to the preparer and Douglass.
Also, if you are interested in reading more..."I've Been to the Mountaintop" and "Letter from a Birmingham Jail" both by MLK, Jr.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
One third fragments of my breath
A paradisaical moment
But features more like death
No escaping without words
Locked up inside the master
Yet can be lost forever
Without its conscious capture
Where apples can be oranges
And it’s logical to see
Loved ones gone to heaven
Now right in front of me
I met a man there once
Buying tickets to the show
We talked as if we were old friends
Yet his name I did not know
Traveling distant lands abroad
No grain of sand did pass
Inside a quixotic time machine
Devoid an hourglass
On our journey we met a girl
Riding upon a three legged giraffe
I did not think it odd at all
When I heard his long neck laugh
It’s whimsical and magical
And woven with the thread
Strands each from real and make believe
Sewn right in through my head
No fear or death comes round this place
Unless I do not go there
For if I fall not to a dream
I might well land a nightmare
Michelle Hix 2008
Thursday, January 17, 2008
"I am a great distance from where I once was as a man."
"I’m amazed there’s no head in his bed."
"I was desperate for a long hot shower."
"As I walk around to see what looks like their stock room I begin to panic as I realise how ‘dodgy’ this would look if someone came down and saw this drunk black man wading through the clubs supplies trying to explain himself in nonsensical incoherent sentences."
"Someday someone should invent "Jungle Chess!" - where the players slap each other around a bit while they play. "
"Who Knows Where It Is We Go"
"That way, when you piss down your leg repeatedly, everyone knows it was you."
"What if a passerby, a jogger or someone walking their dog found a body in a ditch and then called the police."
"in addition to the blisters, I was also nursing a mammoth migraine and a Colorado River sized log-jam of constipation."
"So, yesterday I had to drop off my post-vasectomy Mooge sample."
"was scared i have to admit...didn't want to be hit by a stray bullet y'know"
"Isn't she a gorgeous looking girl?"
"Yesterday i received a lovely suprise."
"Yep, I spent the night spooning with the toilet."
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
The alarm forgot to ring
Running late I microwave yesterday’s coffee
Can’t find a mug to bring
Cold outside, I accidentally grab your scarf
Just can’t seem to purge a thing
It makes me remember, yes, I remember
Out of groceries, picked up a few
Couldn’t find that penny at the bottom of my purse
Thought I saw you in the parking lot
That just made it worse
Probably a good thing it wasn’t you
The words I haven’t yet rehearsed
Trying to remember, yes, I remember
Clicked the button, the garage door opens
And then our song came on
Sat there in the car, listening
I’m feeling so withdrawn
Thinking of the times we laughed
I just can’t seem to recall one
But then I remember, yes, I remember
Watched the news, my heart still aches
Too many deaths unexplained
You used to watch me watch the news
Until your loyalty feigned
Now even if you were here right now
I’m not sure trust could be regained
Don’t want to remember, yes, I remember
Sunday, January 13, 2008
But what does forgiveness look like?
I will describe what it is for me, which may or may not follow the biblical, moral, or societal norm, but hey, that’s me!…its what I’ve got!
It’s nice when the catalyst for forgiveness is repentance…sort of gets the ball rolling…but let’ assume I don’t get that luxury. I can’t let myself continue to be the victim by waiting and being held captive to the other person’s indecisiveness to repent or the ignorance of their act. It simply slows down the process and makes forgiveness contingent upon someone else. This simply won’t do as I haven’t got all day!
Should we try to forget after we forgive?
How it’s done!
Well, for me anyway, after a period of feeling badly, I make the conscious decision to stop sulking, I bite my pouty lip back in, unfold my arms and get off the fainting couch…the drama is over. I say to myself “I can forgive you”. This usually occurs in the shower, where I do most of my brainstorming and some of my critical thinking for the day. Then I make a mental list (no paper in shower) of things that I like about this person, things that they have done for me, ways that they add to my life, things that I appreciate about them, and
really neat shit that they have bought me over the years. I am making this sound simple, but honestly, this could add up to a month of showers. Sometimes my husband opens the water bill and says “Who were you mad at this month?” You just never know until you start the process. Each day, I add good thoughts about this person and slowly let myself think less of the knife in my back. This process starts out very deliberately, but then something natural takes over and I start doing it without any effort and without even realizing that I am doing it. Once it becomes more natural, I’m pretty much over the hump, rounding third and almost home free. The power of positive thinking is nothing short of amazing and the law of attraction starts to apply by bringing peace to my life through my own thoughts. After which, I simply hand the knife back to them and say “I’m only giving this back to you because I love you."
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Friday, January 11, 2008
As I was reading, I was reminded of when I worked in the tech industry. Before I was a writer, I was managing a building for the same company. I was usually one of the first people in the building and many times the last to leave at night. Several high level managers were also there early/late. One day, one of them changed my life.
Early in the morning as I walked by his office, he said “Hi Michelle, how are you?” Now, this is a very very busy man. Very busy.
I replied with the usual “fine thanks, how are you” and kept walking.
Then I hear “No…Michelle…come back…REALLY, HOW ARE YOU”?
Ashamed, I backed up and stopped at his office door. He asked me to come in and sit down. So I did. At that time he asked me again how I was and we started a conversation and a friendship that has carried on till this very day, years after we have stopped working together. I always look forward to having a conversation with him.
Some years later, I was introduced to the ministry of Dave Ramsey. For those of you who don’t know of him, Dave Ramsey has a radio program and a financial ministry called Financial Peace University. Hubby and I took his 13 week course many years ago after the purchase of our first home.
When someone asks Dave Ramsey “how are you”…he replies “Better than I deserve”. I always thought that this was a good response because it makes people ask “why?". Its not your typical response. The bible teaches that the blood of Christ is a covenant sign that God not treat our sins as they deserve to be treated. It says that the fullness of God’s wrath has already been cast on Christ and because of that we are spared. You can choose to believe it or not…but either way…that leaves us sittin’ pretty good don’t cha think? How cool is that?
But seriously, “Better than I deserve” is probably true for me most of the time (or all of the time biblically speaking) and I don’t mind being reminded of that…I am one lucky girl!
So when someone asks you “how are you?”…think about your response…you have many opportunities every single day to change your answer to something other than “fine thanks.”
I wish that as a society, we would just stop using the question. It just doesn't seem to make any sense that we'd keep asking a question that we can predict the answer to 99/100 times.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
- Open. Scoop. Brew. Pour. Sip. Ahhh.
- Poop. Poop. Scoop. Poop. Poop. Scoop. (for all you cat lovers)
- Stumble. Fall. Forgiven. Repeat as necessary!
- Can I push this button? oops.
- Negative. Negative. Finally two pink lines!
- Order when ready...Pumpkin latte please!
- Gaze. Smile. Touch. Sigh. Tingle. Melt.
- Pine. Velvet. Flowers. Dirt. Goodbye love.
- Fall. Catch. I'll always be there.
- Ouch. Mom. Kiss. Bandaid. Koolaid. Hug.
- Gasp. Beat. Skip. I love you.
- Friendship. Passion. Love. Baby makes three.
- Hang up. No you go first.
- Eyes closed tight. Pony please. Blow.
- And just like that…she vanished.
- Colonel Mustard…caught with murder weapon.
- Will you? Yes. I’d be honored.
- For sale. One water spout. Too rainy.
- Knock knock. Come in. Thanks Peter.
Friday, January 4, 2008
Andrew Olmsted was a husband, a son, a writer, a soldier, a friend to many...the list goes on and on. Today, people all over the world are celebrating his life and mourning his death.
Death was no stranger to Andrew. He was an American Soldier in Iraq.
Andrew enjoyed blogging and also wrote for the Rocky Mountain News here in Colorado. You can find his blog posts on countless blogs all over the Internet including Obsidian Wings, All Things Conservative, and of course, his own blog Andrew Olmsted.
Andrew's final blog post was posted today by his friend Hilzoy. This was a final goodbye that he wrote several months ago in anticipation of his own death, of course hoping that Hilzoy would never have the need to post it.
Read it here Final Post.
In his final post, Andrew asks that his death not be used to further any political agenda. I respect that.
And I say, thank you Andrew, for I am living because you were willing to die.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
"Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up. It knows it must outrun the fastest lion or it will be killed. Every morning in Africa, a lion wakes up. It knows it must run faster than the slowest gazelle, or it will starve. It doesn't matter whether you're a lion or gazelle - when the sun comes up, you'd better be running."