Keep Hands & Arms Inside The Car … Do NOT stand up!

Enter Stage Right

We all come to this earth and walk various paths of life. Lucky folks find the path set for their life journeys to be rather normal and the tracks run relatively close to the ground. Oh sure, even on these ‘normal’ paths, there still are bumps in the road. Everyone has them. No one gets through life  unscathed. We all encounter those dreaded slings and arrows that The Bard whinged about.

Then there are others of us, who arrive on the planet, only to discover that Rand McNally and AAA colluded beforehand to play a joke on us to see how good we are at developing a sense of humor. In these instances, our TripTiks begin off the tracks, a few miles off the beaten path. But some of us like a little adventure, eh?

In these instances, rather than easing us into things by placing us on the kiddie coaster until we get ourselves acclimated to life, some of us split the womb and immediately get strapped into the front car of of the roller coaster to begin what turns out to be a lifelong fun-fest of plunging downhill and whipping around hairpin turns. Wheeee!

The Cliff Notes

I’ll leave debating about whether such ‘interesting’ life events are predestined fates or simply artifacts of our own cause-and-effect-decision making to the philosophy majors and religion types. All I know is that I seemed to make my way through life perpetually finding myself in situations where my life path was anything but ‘normal’.

An example of this was a few years ago when a shocking and unexpected odyssey began for me. Because I had no idea it was coming, I didn’t handle it well. I fell to pieces, thereby providing ample fuel for the gossip mongers and holier-than-thou types. But hey, someone’s gotta provide the entertainment for Life’s Party, right?

Exactly. Ever the optimist, I believe there’s always a silver lining in every tragedy, if we take the time to look closely enough to find it. So, although I choked a bit on all the foamy water as I was circling the drain, I’m glad to report that by God’s grace, I ended up on the other side of the cataracts with my humor still very much intact.

Oh The Wonders Of Technology

Gotta love the video cameras on smart phones. Inserted below is a digital short that I’d say portrays my life’s journey.

The camera views going through the tunnels are perfect depictions of me not-so-skillfully navigating my sudden and unanticipated ‘changes’. LOL. But, as you hear at the end of the video, there’s that beautiful announcement: “You did it. You did it!”

Yep, despite my close encounter of the third kind with life-induced whiplash, I ended up leveled out—along with everyone else on Train One—back on the platform.


I have ridden this coaster hundreds of times in real life. I still think wooden coasters are, as they say, ‘the bomdiggity’.

It’s Safe To Come In Now

Wash, Rinse, Repeat

At one time I had over 27 blogs.  I am in the process of going through those sites and consolidating my humor posts here.

Things I transfer here are at least 3rd Generation edits of these posts. I have heavily edited them before bringing them over to prevent the possibility of dangerous radiation surges during view. In the early days, occasional singed eyebrows were reported by readers of my other blogs, due to the high level of vitriol.

Not to worry. I have taken great pains to clean each of them for your safety—thoughtfully removing the justified but brutal sarcasm that underpinned the original iterations. You can now read all of them at your leisure with no need to apply sunscreen or wear a badge dosimeter.

In other words, what you find here will be only good-natured teasing and light-hearted humor.

I Suspect I’m Not Alone

I know I’m not the only woman to face such harsh realities. Perhaps you too have been dumped, ghosted, or experienced your own Dark Night Of The Soul.

Maybe you or one of your loved ones were in a dance macabre. And perhaps, like me, you encountered your own cohort of flying monkeys barraging you from all sides.

If so, you have my deepest empathy.

I hope you never have to face the bitter reality that your husband, wife, or significant other is not the Romeo or Juliet you imagined them to be in your mind.

I hope you never have to shovel your way through a bucket full of crazy—desperately trying to find the real truth about what happened—only to a polished turd at the bottom.

Bummer. Been there. Done that.

Laughter Can Be Good Medicine

If you have, and if you think you’re far enough along in your healing process to  appreciate a little humor on the subject—stick around.

Perhaps me lampooning myself will provide you with some much needed comic relief.

And hey, if nothing else, you may leave this site feeling better about yourself by being able to say, “Well, at least I’ve not been as stupid as that woman was!’ LOL.


When The Shop Is Dark And Closed [Who Is Harry Chapin Anyway?]

A Hobbyist At Best

Although I did go to college, I’m not formally educated in writing, graphics or web design. I didn’t write much at all until after my husband left and I started journaling for self-therapy. As such, I don’t  profess to be any kind of real ‘writer’ or professional blogger

I’m a hobbyist, at best. Think of me as more along the lines of a feral blogger, playing somewhere in the wild, hiding out from all the folks who do consider themselves ‘real’ writers. LOL. Hide? Yes, I said hide. Hide, lest the grammar nazi’s find me and flog me publicly. I have this thing with embarrassment.

Lord only knows how many participles I’ve left dangling and scattered along the way. Hopefully some kind soul has come along and built an orphanage or two for all the infinitives I’ve split and left to fend for themselves alone in the blogosphere. I’m definitely a person who needs an editor.

Nah, I’m simply a closet creative whose hobby has now has become a passion.

ADHD In the Closet

I write like I think—and therein lies the problem. My writing probably is not in approved format most of the time. Hey, it took me decades to even find my ‘voice’, so grandma here has to get it typed out as quickly as she can before it evaporates and is reabsorbed into the recesses of the steel trap that is known as my mind. Eye roll.

Admittedly, there are a few co-morbidities that affect my writing. First, I’m blessed [cursed?] with a wicked sense of humor and I’m constantly having to swat it back on a constant basis to stick to any kind of story line. Second, I also love graphics and visual layout just much as I love to write. And then there’s that music thing; I can find a song for every occasion or topic. Don’t even get me started on that one.

I said all that to say this: I have a hard time staying on one path.

I get inspired. I start writing furiously, and then [squirrel!], I get another idea and I have to stop and find just the right graphic—or at least write it down—lest I forget. Often, before I’m finished with that task, then [squirrel!], I notice that my paragraphs are looking all blocky and text-intensive, so [squirrel], I start messing around with paragraph division, headlines, and pull quotes.

Not For Prime Time But Who Really Cares?

Dialing this runaway dialogue back over to the serious setting again until the end of this post, I think I’m a lot like the character ‘Mr. Tanner’ that Harry Chapin sang about back in 1973. I doubt that too many folks today’s have even heard of Harry Chapin or that song.

The song [aptly entitled ‘Mr. Tanner’] tells the story of a man from Dayton, Ohio, my hometown, coincidentally. He is a dry cleaner by trade, yet music and singing was his life’s passion.

The lyrics artfully paint the mental imagery of him happily singing to himself while cleaning clothes during the day, and then singing with all his heart after the shop is closed for the night. His friends and neighbors encourage him to expand his singing into more than just something he enjoyed; they encouraged him to try to make it his livelihood. Finally, he caves to their insistence and decides to try making music his full time career. Sadly, he is less than well received by his Hall Of Critics.

After his anti-climatic debut, he placidly returns to where he started: back to being just a lowly dry cleaner, content with the fact that whether anyone else applauds or  not, he enjoys his passion for music.

The Mr. Tanner Connection

How this relates to me is that I write, if that’s what you want to call it. I make videos. I play with graphics. Since my husband cleaned out the bank and left me with the debts when he ghosted, I lost my home after I lost my job and could no longer work.

I now live with a dear friend and her family. Being retired, I clean their home, do all the laundry, and run daily errands for them in return for my keep. Then at night, after my contributions to the household are completed [‘when the shop is dark and closed’], I steal away by myself and write and do my graphics.

I do it because I love it. And whether anyone see it, reads it, likes it or not, I’m like Mr. Tanner. All I know is that it just makes me whole.



He did not know how well he sang, he only heard the flaws …

But the critics were concise, it only took four lines.
And no one could accuse them of being over kind.

[spoken] “Mr. Martin Tanner, a Baritone, of Dayton, Ohio made his Town Hall debut last night. He came well prepared, but unfortunately His presentation was not up to contemporary professional standards.
His voice lacks the range and tonal color necessary to make it consistently interesting. Full time consideration of another endeavor might be in order.”

He came home to Dayton and was questioned by his friends.
But he smiled and just said nothing and he never sang again,
Excepting very late at night when the shop was dark and closed.
He sang softly to himself as he sorted through the clothes.

Music was his life, it was not his livelihood,
And it made him feel so happy and it made him feel so good.
And he sang from his heart and he sang from his soul.
He did not know how well he sang; It just made him whole. “

Protons, Neutrons & Electrons, Oh My!

Hey, Happy Valentine’s Day!

Every February, I am reminded of how some of us can happily live our lives for decades—totally unaware that things may not be as they seem! That is, until Life sneaks up behind us, taps us on the shoulder, and when we turn around—smacks us square in the face with a reality two-by-four! I speak from personal experience.

You see, my two-by-four-moment happened to coincide with Valentine’s Day, a now infamous day when [cough, cough] the love of my life—code named Casper The Unholy Ghost—‘ghosted’ our long term marriage.

With the unexpected announcement that he was leaving, my dear departing poltergeist commenced with his total annihilation of everything that comprised our marriage and life we’d built together.

With one fell swoop, he nuked it all, in nanoseconds! It happened just like that [!] leaving me stunned and bewildered—and quite frankly—looking much like a mouth-breathing idiot.

Malfunctioning Early Warning System

The weird thing about it was that there’d been absolutely no perceptible precursors, no warning signs, or prodromal period. Nothing! Those facts—combined with how he included the Machiavellian element of surprise—made it all so very surreal. It was as if I’d somehow been dropped onto a Hollywood movie set and I was observing something happening to two actors—not something happening in to me in real life.

Hit And Run

Thirty minutes after his announcement, my thought-to-be-loving husband was gone for good. He left with only the clothes on his back, his laptop, miscellaneous technology items, and the few things he was able to cram into a duffel bag. He ran around like a crazy person as he packed, crying as he pulled things out of dresser drawers, the closet, and out from under the bed.

Once he finished with his abbreviated packing, he hugged me and began walking slowly down the sidewalk towards his awaiting running car. Once he placed his hand on the handle of the car door, he turned, looked back at me, smiled a forced smile. He then nodded like they do in the movies—and pulled out of the driveway.

An Almost Out Of Body Experience

I was in absolute shock, so much so that I couldn’t move or speak. All I could do was watch in stunned silence as his car made it’s way out of the subdivision. Once he left, he went No Contact immediately, and has stuck by it with very few exceptions—to this very day.

I would soon learn that he left with a lot more than his clothes. I had yet to discover that for years, as ‘we’ were paying the household bills [and the annual income taxes on his 1099 employment] from the bank account where ‘my’ paycheck was deposited, he had been converting to cash and using ‘his’ paychecks to amass a suitcase full of gold. Apparently, he needed to be liquid as possible when he left the country.

Also unbeknownst to me was the fact that sometime prior to the day he walked out, he appropriated all the funds from the account where ‘we’ had putting away money to pay our grandson’s college tuition. God only knows what other marital assets he’d been siphoning off and hid to abscond with.

Fade To Black

Still unable to speak, l looked around in eery silence. In under an hour, there had been a total implosion of everything I’d known as my life [‘our life’] for nearly three decades.

Inanimate objects remained untouched and unaffected … The house was still standing … The furniture was still in place … Even the television in his man cave was still blaring ESPN as it had been.

There was no question about it. Something other-worldly had just occurred.

I had yet to comprehend what had caused that sudden, very powerful, and strangely evil vacuum-like sensation that left an uncomfortable chill in all the rooms. All I knew was that it felt as if all the energy and life force had been instantly sucked out of what had formerly been a home. Yet the home itself and the contents within it was still standing. 

It was then that I realized what had just occurred … Mr. Machiavelli had been there and I had been a first-party witness witness to the detonation of a neutron bomb.


Neutron Dance by The Pointer Sisters

There’s no money falling from the sky—‘Cause my man took my heart and robbed me blind
Someone stole my brand new Chevrolet—And the rent is due, I got no place to stay
Whoo oooh—Whoo oooh

And it’s hard to say—Just how some things never change
And it’s hard to find—Any strength to draw the line
Oh I’m just burning doin’ the neutron dance—I’m just burning doin’ the neutron dance

Industry don’t pay a price that’s fair—All the common people breathing filthy air (Lord have mercy)
Roof caved in on all the simple dreams—And to get ahead your heart starts pumping schemes
And it’s hard to say—Just how some things never change (hey, hey)
And it’s hard to find—Any strength to draw the line (whoa oh)
I’m just burning doin’ the neutron dance—I’m just burning doin’ the neutron dance
Whoo oooh—Whoo oooh

I’m on fire, yeah—I’m on fire, yeah
And it’s hard to say—Just how some things never change
And it’s hard to find—Any strength to draw the line
I’m just burning doin’ the neutron dance—I’m just burning doin’ the neutron dance
I know there’s a pot of gold for me—All I got to do is just believe

I’m so happy doin’ the neutron dance—And I’m just burning doin’ the neutron dance
I’m so happy doin’ the neutron dance—I’m just burning doin’ the neutron dance
Whoo oooh—Whoo oooh
I’m so happy doin’ the neutron dance—And I’m just burning doin’ the neutron dance (yeah, yeah)
Whoo oooh—Whoo oooh

I’m so happy (it’s in my hands)—I’m just burning (it’s in my feet)
I’m so happy (it’s all over me)—I’m just burning (I can’t help myself)
I’m so happy (yeah, yeah)—I’m just burning (oh, yeah)
I’m so happy (oh, yeah)—I’m just burning (I’m just burning)
I’m so happy (oh, yeah)—I’m just burning (it’s in my feet)
I’m so happy (it’s in my hands)—I’m just burning (it’s in my feet)
I’m so happy (it’s all over me)

Songwriters: Allee Willis / Danny Sembello
Neutron Dance lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

Attachments area

Which Shall It Be? Compazine or Zofran?

Hyperemesis

I know that I sound like a broken record, but my face glows red like a beacon at sea whenever I look back on how I did that humiliating ‘pick-me!” dance when my husband dumped me after decades of marriage. Lord have mercy!

As if the songs and dance routines weren’t enough, I rounded out my tragic comedy by throwing in all those tearful pleadings, blubberings, and my sickening confessions of my undying loved for him … Something you should NEVER! … EVER! … do if you’ve been kicked to the curb!

Public Warning

You may need to place your emesis buckets firmly on your lap, and wrap your arms around them tightly as I continue. I have a feeling that you just might need them before this post is over.

Everybody ready? … Okay … Here’s just how stupid I was:

  • Like the idiot I was, I assured my departed hubby that I had faith in him. [Queasy feeling beginning.]
  • Like the idiot I was, I assured him that—despite leaving me for another woman—I still believed he was a good person. [Stomach contents churning and rumbling.]
  • Like the idiot I was, I told him that I felt his bizarre behavior was because he’d simply ‘lost his way’. [Breaking into a cold sweat … mouth doing that tell-tale, right-before-you-vomit watering thing.]
  • Like the idiot I was, I told him that he simply must’ve flirted around too long with temptation and in a moment of human weakness, his carnal desires had taken him over. [We have launch. Violent projectile vomiting in process!]

My sincere apologies to you nearsighted folks who may have been leaning forward toward your monitor and to those of you who may have been staring intently into your phone screens. Don’t worry, it’ll wash off. However, you might want to grab some Febreze so as not to be wafting that Eau-De-Emesis aroma for the rest of the day. Sorry.

Connecting The Dots That Were Never There

It comes down to this … people see what they want to see. I know I did! But in my defense, my false hope was based [at least partially] on how husband had been so extremely religious [for quite a few years] prior to his ‘fall from grace’ and ‘indiscretion’. That is, if you define religious by how many times a person warms the pews at church.

Mr. Cheater Pants and I both attended church three times a week for decades before all of this happened.

But like they say … ‘Going to church doesn’t make you a Christian any more than going to McDonald makes you a hamburger.’ 

Too Many Hits From The Tank

I hyperventilated every time I got even close to looking at the reality that was staring me in the face. And the more I hyperventilated, the more snugly I tightened the mask over my nose and mouth. Each day that went by, I inhaled deeper and deeper from the Hopium tank that I kept beside my bed—guarding it with my life.

I was a force to be reckoned with—stubborn with a capital S. I refused to let anyone rain on my parade. He was coming back. Period. [I’m so glad that he didn’t! … But I digress.]

I have since learned the important lesson that faith and hope are two very different things. The faith I thought I had was nothing more than stubborn hope. I hoped against hope that the love of my life had simply experienced a huge lapse of judgment.

And because I wanted it so very badly, I deluded myself into thinking that what we were going through was nothing more than a trial to test our faith and build character in both of us. I know … pitifully grasping at straws.

A Very Self Aware Narcissist

I vividly remember the last time I told him that I believed in him. I stood there explaining how I would always believe that in his heart he was really a good person. His response was to laugh in my face and say:

“Yeah, and you’re stupid too! I am NOT a good person! Someday you’re going to find this out, and when you do—you’ll end up hating me. You’re going to wake up one day and discover that I am NOT that ‘good person’ that you want so desperately for me to be.”

To add to additional dramatic emphasis to that statement, he picked up The Bible that was laying nearby, furrowed his brow—and with a half-sad/half-angry countenance—threw it down on the floor and left. That was the last time I saw him.

Well, he was right. I did wake up, and I did figure it out.


You looked like an angel … Walked like an angel
Talked like an angel … But I got wise

You’re the devil in disguise, Oh yes you are
The devil in disguise

You fooled me with your kisses, You cheated and you schemed
Heaven knows how you lied to me, You’re not the way you seemed

You looked like an angel … Walked like an angel
Talked like an angel … But I got wise
You’re the devil in disguise, Oh yes you are
The devil in disguise

I thought that I was in heaven …But I was sure surprised
Heaven help me, I didn’t see, the Devil in your eyes

You looked like an angel …Walked like an angel
Talked like an angel …But I got wise

You’re the devil in disguise, Oh yes you are
The devil in disguise

You’re the devil in disguise, Oh yes you are
The devil in disguise. Oh yes you are
The devil in disguise

Songwriters: Bernie Baum / Bill Giant / Florence Kaye
(You’re The) Devil in Disguise lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Raleigh Music Publishing

Trust Me Sweetie, You Don’t Want To Go To That Kind Of Dance

Just Say No To The ‘Pick Me’ Dance

Ladies and/or gentlemen, should you ever find yourselves as a veritable ‘dump-ee’—suddenly thrown to the curb by an affairing/departing ‘dump-er‘—learn by my mistake. Don’t ever lower yourself to grovel—not even once! Please, please, please, learn from my idiocy. Do not fall into this trap yourselves.

Don’t make me have to come to your house and slap the stupid out of you. I burned through enough stupid for all of us, so trust me, I got you covered.

I let the anguish and heartbreak of my husband’s ghosting get the best of me. As a result, it cost me my job, my professional reputation, and my life as I’d known it. Bottom line: I acted like a pitiful chump. More succinctly, I was ‘stooopid!’

Like an idiot, I foolishly thought that if I somehow continued showing Mr. Runaway Cheater Pants my unconditional love—or if I was able to demonstrate my undying love and affection to him—that he compare/contrast my character and devotion to that of Satan’s Mistress, and he’d mystically/magically realize what he walked away from.

Yeah, Well A Sucker’s Born Every Minute

No, really. I honestly believed that my demonstration of commitment to him would work a miracle and resurrect the good that I was so certain was still buried somewhere deep within him. I was looking for that old story where good triumphs over evil in the end and the lovely couple rides off into the sunset to live happily ever after.

Um excuse me. You do know that I can hear y’all laughing, don’t you?

Today, I actually cherish people laughing at me/with me on this. When they laugh, it means that they’re not crying like I was. Besides, entertainment is a good thing. When you’re in a dark place, you need to take it wherever you can find it. People laughing at me on this helps me see that my journey wasn’t for naught. My pain might help someone else along the way, albeit through the vehicle of humor.

Oh my! How silly I was boys and girls! I was such a dope that I hoped [against hope] that Dear Departed would see the error of his ways and snap back to his senses. I was hoping that my love for him would prove that love conquers all, right?

Nope! Only in silly Hollywood romantic comedies. And we can’t live in the movies.

The Takeaway

The bottom line here is that no how many times your misguided emotions tell you to do the ‘pick me’ dance in attempts to try to keep someone whose made the decision to betray you and walk away, don’t do it.

Take it from me, nothing good can come of sacrificing your dignity.

Nah, I say let the one doing the departing be the one to go to the dance. Go ahead—step out of the way. Don’t impede them changing partners. It’s a statistical fact that more often than not, someone who callously abandons a spouse is likely to be changing partners again in the future.

It is what is is … And it was what is was … Shrug.


I Found My Life’s Purpose—It Wasn’t What I Thought

Wheelbarrows Of Documentation

I did a lot of cathartic writing after my husband disappeared. Yada, yada, yada … you know, that whole ‘get your thoughts on paper so you can start dealing with them‘ drill that everyone advises you to do. Gotta be textbook Psychology 101, the first thing they teach wanna-be psychologists in school, because they ALL told me to write. So write, I did!

I wrote about everything that happened. I wrote about everything ‘those people’ had done to me. Like a dutiful court reporter, I meticulously documented each and every infraction. I described in intricate detail how nasty all of ‘those people‘ had been. I levied summary judgments about how awful ‘those people’ were.

A Veritable PhD In Taxonomy

As a result, my original essays were serious contemplative tomes, replete with dates and time stamps for the myriad injustices. Like the always-organized medical office administrator I’d been for decades, I meticulously catalogued everything—coding to the highest level of specificity—often to the fourth and fifth digit.

I have to laugh because when I first started writing, my essays were more like legal documentation for an upcoming deposition rather than the more humorous stream of consciousness projectile vomiting they would later become.

I get embarrassed just thinking my first iterations. Good boogly-woogly! Even I had to repent over some of the things I said in those scorchers! LOL

Time Passages

Then, as time rolled on and the calendar pages flipped faster and faster, my focus began to change from ‘those people‘ to me. I began to look within to identify and correct the things that were amiss within me that caused me care about what ‘those people‘ thought in the first place.

The more intensely I navel-gazed, the more it became apparent that ‘I’ had been a schmuck … ‘I’ had abdicated my own agency … ‘I’ had exacerbated so much of my own pain.

Most notably, ‘I’ had internalized one very crazy notion. That crazy notion was that my husband’s character deficit and his desire to escape real life—to flit off and live a fantasy with someone he dated in high school—was somehow due to a a fatal flaw in ME.

What’s worse, for several years I viewed that flaw as something I needed to slink away from and hide in shame. [Insert the sound of a loud annoying buzzer here.] WRONG! His choices and behavior defined him—not me. I finally had that long overdue ‘aha!’ moment.

Suddenly The Music Starts, The Clouds Part, And The Angel Sing

Nah … it was more like the imps got together, held hands, danced around in a circle, and had a raucous laugh at my expense.

Embarrassed over all the time and energy I wasted on what’s-his-hickey—I had an marvelous epiphany. Suddenly, I could see it!

Apparently MY life’s purpose was to be a very public example of what NOT do when one becomes entangled in a dance macabre with a wing-nut and a bunch of dingbats.

I Know My Truth … Just As Dr. Google

Grab your nearest dictionary or, better yet, open your browser and type in the word ‘Chump’. That’s me.

I now accept that my life’s purpose is to be the mid-life poster child for how to take something that should only have been a transient insult to the ego—and parlay it into a life-altering, career-ending, multi-year ‘Ordeal’. [The crown roars with applause.]

Well, after my glorious revelation, it became apparent to me that in order to turn my Titanic around, I was gonna need some extra terrestrial help.

The clouds had already parted … The music had already started … but something was still missing …

It raining lightly as I glanced down at my watch. Tapping my foot impatiently I looked around and asked: “Okay, where are those angels?!”


 

I’m calling all angels
I’m calling all you angels
I won’t give up if You don’t give up, I won’t give up if You don’t give up
I won’t give up if You don’t give up, I won’t give up if You don’t give up

I need a sign to let me know you’re here
Cause my TV set just keeps it all from being clear
I want a reason for the way things have to be
I need a hand to help build up some kind of hope inside of me

And I’m calling all angels
I’m calling all you angels

When children have to play inside so they don’t disappear
Where private eyes solve marriage lies cause we don’t talk for years
And football teams are kissing Queens
And losing sight of having dreams
In a world that what we want is only what we want until it’s ours

I’m calling all angels
I’m calling all you angels

Songwriters: Charles Colin / Charlie Colin / James Stafford / James W Stafford / Pat Monahan / Scott Underwood / Scott Michael Underwood

Calling All Angels lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Calm Down Ricky Road Rage!

Beep, Beep

I read this quote and decided to make it into a graphic because it made me think of all those crazy people I see in traffic—you know, the ones who have a hissy fit over every little thing when they are in traffic. Yes, those people. I think they need to consider the wisdom of this little quip.

You’ve seen them. You may know some of them. You may even be one of them. I honestly can’t relate to these poor souls getting so wrapped around the axle. It appears that they believe that driving a vehicle and defending one’s lane on the highway is apocalyptic warfare. Warfare that they must win at all costs. Goodness!

I know several folks who nearly stroke out every time they get behind the wheel of a car to go somewhere. Now let me clarify right here that I am not minimizing the fact that there are lots of dangerous idiots on the road—because there certainly are. There’s a valid reason to be hyper-vigilant where those motorists are concerned. And if you’ve ever driven anywhere near New York City or Boston, then you certainly know what I am talking about. It’s flat-out duck-and-cover in those parts of the country. Atlanta during rush hour gets honorable mention as well.

The Road Runner

The ones I’m talking about are those selfish drivers who come barreling down the right berm like Mario Andretti—throwing gravel everywhere and cutting the wheel at a 90 degree angle to abruptly dive in front of you at the last minute when there’s been a lane closure.

I’m talking about His or Her Royal Highness [they ARE the center of the Universe, don’t you know!] that—rather than waiting their turn and merging politely like the rest of us civilized human beings—muscle their way ahead by any mean necessary and cut to the front of the line.

Or that person who inches their vehicle into oncoming traffic and continues to pull out without a care. You’ve seen them. They seem to think that as long as they don’t make eye contact with any other drivers, and that by staring straight ahead without blinking—an invisible shield magically drops down from the sky and envelops their car—somehow protecting them from being t-boned. Wrong.

But You’re An Old Grandma

Some people think I’m too passive because I always slow down and I normally always let them in. My uptight friends are adamant that these errant drivers should be ‘taught a lesson!’

I just laugh and think to myself “Bless your heart, honey [my southern manners—not a compliment, by the way] if you’re wrapped so tightly that getting one car length ahead of me and saving a whopping 10-seconds in your day is going to be the make-or-break-point of your entire existence, and it keeps you off the ledge… then … by all means … be my guest. Carpe diem. Grab your moment of conquest“.

License And Registration Please

Really, there’s no sense getting all worked up over it. Nah, I have my own saying, and it’s this:

“Letting someone have the right of way takes less time than filling out a police report, so there. In other words, I’m not being passive; I’m just being efficient”.

Hey! Did You Hear Me? I Said You Can Never Go Home Again. Got it?!

Tempted By The View In The Rear View Mirror

At one time or another, I think we all get tempted to revisit our pasts and reopen old wounds—even when we know we shouldn’t. In 2014—a good three years after my husband left—I did just that. I was still living in my home state. I’d not moved yet. One day I was bored, so I got in my car, turned up my music, and drove about 90 miles to visit the suburb where Casper and I lived for several decades.

Morbid curiosity beckoned me back there, even though I knew in my higher mind that ‘that’ life had been obliterated. But we do wax nostalgic sometimes when it’s a slow news day, don’t we? Well, thankfully, when we do stupid things, sometimes God watches out for us and acts to quickly give us a nudge when we need it most.

This is what I believe happened that day.

A Coincidence Or A Celestial Intervention?

As I exited the outerbelt and was driving on the secondary roads leading to our former  subdivision, my attention was drawn to the song that was playing through the sound system from my ITunes collection. The irony of the lyrics jumped out at me. Extremely eerlily, as if the lyrics had fingers, they were tapping me on the shoulder and saying “Pay attention, there’s a message here. Don’t miss it.” All I can say is that it was a very surreal experience.

The song’s lyrics were narrating where I was and exactly what I was doing! What are the chances of that happening, and having it happen so very precisely?!

As I turned onto my old street, I got gooseflesh. The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up as Tom Petty sang to me … “Stop walking down my street” … “Who do you expect to meet? … Hey! Don’t come around here no more!”

It was as if an unseen Presence was telling me NOT to romanticize anything about my past, and to deep-six all files related to Casper, this town, or any of the people it represented. Something much greater than me had already intervened, plucking me from a life and a marriage that had been on a collision course with destiny from the start. I needed to accept that.

Okay, Okay. I Got The Message, I’m Leaving!

Giving an acquiescing “mea-culpa” nod of surrender, I made the decision to terminate any further indulgence of my runaway curiosity and fangirl longing for my mirage of a past. I located the next convenient driveway and proceeded to begin turning my car around.

As I did, my eyes were drawn to the parking lot of a nearby church. I noticed several large bouquets of BLACK balloons being released. They had just started to rise above the roof line. Double confirmation [!] that I should not be doing this, I thought to myself.

Requiem For The Past

I turned off the car engine and sat there in silence—reverently watching those black balloons as if I were respectfully waiting for a funeral procession to pass. When the last balloons drifted out of sight, I restarted the engine to leave.

Certain that I had been given two distinct ‘signs’ of confirmation that it was time to finally close the lid on the coffin of nearly 30 years of that history—I left that city with a much lighter heart.

Sometimes Reality Slaps The Stupid Out Of Us, For Us

On my drive to get there, I had been mentally struggling—wishing I could wake up and discover that everything had just been a bad dream. My mindset was that if given the chance to snap my fingers and make it all as if it had never happened and go back to my life with Casper—I would have done so in a heartbeat. I would have given anything to stop the pain of such blatant and public rejection.

As I drove back home, I noticed that I felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Granted, my full recovery didn’t happen overnight, but from that day forward, the intense anguish and intractable grief over Casper’s ghosting began to diminish—and continued to do so.

At The End Of The Day

I guess the takeaway here is that when we are living too much in our heads—and we fall victim to the tug of our heartstrings and want to turn back toward what is not good for us—we sometimes get sent a little extra help from Above.

To that, I want to say thank to my guardian angel(s), and at the same time, apologize for that 90 mile detour.


Here is the video I made of this song when I got back home. Listen to how eery the words are, in light of my circumstances and the exact timing. I used pictures of our neighborhood, surrounding streets, parks, businesses we frequented, and the general community. I hope you enjoy it.

Let me know if you liked it, and also comment below if you’ve ever succumbed to the draw to ‘go back home’ again when you knew you shouldn’t.