Skip to main content

It feels like home to me.

I'm not that good of a fancy girl although I fear it's a great disappointment to my daughter. One must don fancies from time to time but Fancy is relative. My fancy rarely includes heels or other such hurty footwear. Getting fancied up makes me feel like a cat in a room full of rockers. I literally embrace comfort in thick terrycloth robe form. If it weren't so socially inappropriate, I would wear slippers everywhere because why wouldn't all footwear be luxurious?

What I really like is jammies. Soft and old. New and crisp. Delicious, warm and cozy.

Time was, I couldn't get fancy enough. Football games, camping, doctor appointments or even shopping for more fancies. I never met an occasion I didn't accessorize. "I'm not dressed until I'm overdressed" was my preteen anthem.

A ludicrous and embarrassing example: Red crop pants and a brightyellow yellow blouse combined with enormous white beads, an enormouser white sash and white capezios and I'm all set for volleyball at summer camp. This ensemble would've looked delicious on a hamburger. Additionally, my hair was new wave fabulous and Simon Le Bon could not have desired more.

Clearly, my frontal lobe was underdeveloped. I can't imagine what that person was thinking although it eases my mind as I observe the curious fashion choices of my Beautiful Daughter.

I'm cozy and I don't care who knows it. Judging by the contents of my laundry basket, it appears I may have overcorrected.


Popular posts from this blog

Just get out the way, and let the gentleman do his thing.

Retired Memphis Police Department Chief Inspector Robert Jones came to my pool party the other day. Over hot dogs and fruit salad, he regaled his grandchildren with tales of his days in Special Services on the police force. That's SWAT to you and me.

Among those anecdotes, he spins a yarn that includes a tear gas capsule hidden on the motor of a car full of pimps and ladies of the night, effectively expelling these law breakers out of a Buick Electra 225, running crazy. Later, he would be appointed Chief Inspector, along with fellow officer James Bolden (who also served MPD director), climbing his way up the career ladder with an excellent work ethic. But, before all that, he was a regular joe on the beat, paying his dues. Only, this fiery, young Irishman was going to do it his way.

They called him The Flame. Not only for his ability to run like one but, there was also that shiny red hair. In his youth, his stubborn independence got him into some trouble so he channeled that and mad…

I was so scared to face my fears.

Why You even trust us with so much, I can't even imagine. We alternate between pumping triumphant fists in the air and rocking quietly in the corner, squeezy eyes and knitty brows, vulnerable to the next thing next. In a matter of weeks, issues that include extreme trauma, mental illness, genetic disorders, and tired, old grudges, which serve to poison the waters, pass through our hands. We stand, arm in arm, carefully considering whether we are meant to dodge or take the shots:What are we supposed to be to learning?
Can we set it gently to the side and move along?
Is this our burden to bear for a season?
Who is wearing hearts on sleeves?
and should we?It's hard to say in a world of emotions but I KNOW our hearts are true. Even in their ugliest states, we keep it real. Sometimes, we're all Daigle, inspired and fortified, but, as many times as not, we're blasting Adele, accidentally alienating the ones we love and raw as can be. Let's just keep the Gungors, Eminems …

You built me palaces out of paragraphs.

You're so sure I don't hear your words. Maybe you think there's too much weary history for me to contend with New & Fun. You hear told of the time before yours and sometimes you feel alone. Maybe you've even wondered if I'm still up to the challenge.
You assume too much, Love Child, because yours are the words I've been waiting for all my life.
So many words.
My time before you taught me to talk less and hear more but I sift through ALL your words and listen for your heart.
Without your words, how could I know that you sometimes say what you don't mean just because you feel too much to articulate?
Without your words, how could I know that you are unsure and insecure about who you might become?
How could I know, were I not listening, that you often hold back because you think it's not quite your time?
Without your words, how could I know how much you root for the underdog with a righteous anger?
Without your words, how could I know that you often …