Velveteen Mind

Dick and Jane: A Ghost Letter

Guest Post by Jane

Dear Dick,

I dreamed of you again last night.  To this day, you are a ghost who haunts all four chambers of my heart.

You came to me sudden and fierce, giving me no warning that your ghost would conjure an appearance again.  I was blissfully unaware, in that deep, dark place of dreamless sleep when the images abruptly formed, an alternate reality took shape.

It was so instant and brutal, this feeling of you, that now I can't help but wonder if you were dreaming of me too.  Daylight and its companion, Common Sense, tell me the idea is nothing but a remnant of the wish to still have a connection with you.  Yet in this moment of weakness, I want to believe.

I stood in a store, shopping with a friend, and as my purchases were rung up, I thought I heard your voice whisper in my ear.

Your voice - a sound that is still etched in my memory after all these years, and is one of the few sounds that can cause my heart to flutter.  I'll have you know those few sounds are limited to my boys' voices and, for some odd reason, the twinkling of Harry Potter theme music.  And possibly the winning lotto numbers on the TV, but I've yet to have that one happen.

At first, I think my ears are playing a trick on me and I begin to dismiss your voice as imagination.  But then I look up and to my left.

And there you are.

You are so real to me that I swear I catch a trace of your old cologne. One by Ralph Lauren, wasn't it?

My breath is stolen from my body.  My chest is swiftly slashed open, exposing the deep wound you left in my heart, the one that I've been trying for years to heal. 

I see you as I always see you.  Time hasn't frozen for either of us, but it certainly hasn't moved at the same pace as the years that separate us.  You still have that beautiful head of salt and pepper hair and you're dressed in a black sweater and tan slacks, still pulling off that classic and elegant style I always admired.

Without thought, I'm overwhelmed with the desire to run and throw myself into your arms and feel you once again.  God, I want to touch you just once more.

But I don't.

You're with a group of four or so people, talking with them, and this dream becomes something like a dream within a dream.  Or perhaps a cliché with in cliché.  You know the one I speak of.  The one where the guy you have a tremendous crush on is surrounded by a passel of equally elite friends and always, ALWAYS, the guy is making a wonderful witty and funny comment at the exact moment you walk by, and everyone laughs and circles in closer, hoping to capture some of his coolness for their very own, but blocking out your mediocre presence.

THAT scene.

But I?  I'm not exactly standing at the register with white cotton granny briefs and an 18-hour bra in my hands either.  You've also caught me in a moment of sophisticated humor with my friend, laughing at some completely awesome remark I just made, which is why I wasn't sure I heard your voice whispering my name.  There I am, looking just as classic and elegant as you, and the shallow thought of thank god he caught me on a skinny AND good hair day runs through my mind.

This time, I know I'm worthy of your attention.  I've grown and matured, and become something.  I don't know what exactly, but something more than before. This time, I deserve decency from you.

As if your decency, or the lack thereof, ever had anything to do with me?

I know you know I'm there and I'm aware of you too, so I keep staring at you as you talk, hoping the force of my stare causes you to forget your friends and acknowledge my existence again.

Slyly, you glance over to me, not wanting your friends to see you look.  But you look nonetheless.  I give you a tentative smile, hoping to open the door to some type of contact with you, any kind at all.  The yearning to be close to you again is so powerful that I'm brought to the brink of tears in my sleep.

But you quickly look away from my eyes and back to your friends, ignoring my tentative smile.

The door slams shut and I fall into the painful abyss of my own heart once again.

As with every dream I have of you, the pain is so utterly real that I force myself to wake up in order to escape it. The only other dreams that do this to me are the ones where my children are dead or dying. That's the strength of your haunting.  

And so I wake.

I lie in the soft light of dawn, still feeling the tendrils of longing wrapped around my heart, still holding onto the misty form of your ghost.  But soon, so very soon, daylight rushes reality in, and the chasm in my chest is laid bare, exposed to the harsh light of the full morning sun.

I feel the loss of your love all over again.

After these dreams, I've tried to fill this chasm with thoughts of anger, hate and imaginary plots of revenge. I've waited for years for those thoughts to solidify and fill the breach in me so these dreams would stop.  But instead, those feelings have only eroded the foundation even deeper, grinding the pain into the dark places of my heart I'm too afraid to visit.

I want your ghost to be gone from me.

But yet I don't.  It's all I have left of you.

Hauntedly yours,
Jane

If you are new to the story of Dick and Jane, or have simply forgotten the first part of the series in this story because it was sooo long ago and the author is a lazy ass full of good but unfulfilled intentions, then click here for the first installment.

Jane is an anonymous guest blogger.

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over the river and off the deep end

Guest post by the dayton time

So my mother has decided that she is going to be the Thanksgiving Hostess this year.  Her house is located in the same quaint little village as ours, and it is for sale.  Although I keep wondering if her Realtor remembers the freaking house is up for sale, because she never shows it.  There's a contingency offer on my mother's house, and I guess that's good enough for the Realtor.

My mother doesn't really cook any more, since the father figure left her seven years ago, and all of us have since moved out, and, well, why cook for one?  She doesn't invite us over for dinner unless one of my brothers are in town, and then it's A GREAT BIG SHOW of FAMILY and LOVE and STUFF!!!!!

She wants to hostess Thanksgiving because she might never get to have Thanksgiving again.  This makes my eyes get all squinchy, and my teeth clench, and my head begin to shake back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, like the crazy stalker mommy in that horrible book everyone gives you when you become a mama.  (Don't even tell me she's not crazy.  All I have to say is this:  she straps a LADDER to her CAR to climb up to her GROWN SON'S ROOM to ROCK HIS ADULT ASS whilst he sleeps.  Crazy.)  She's just moving to another town, for flip's sake. 

And this Thanksgiving?  Is Cutie Pie Dimple Head's second birthday.  And this?  Is Cutie Pie Dimple Head just hours after his birth.  And yes, my boobs were bigger than his head.  I like this picture of me because the angle of my face shadows/disguises/who cares what you call it, all my preggie facial rolls aren't there.  Due to the circumstances, I think I should be the one who gets to decide about Thanksgiving.  After all, the child was about the same size as the turkey we'll be serving to eight adults and three children, oh yes he was, I remember, and I feel it is my right, as resident Child The Size Of A Turkey Pusher-Outer, to call dibs on Thanksgiving at my house.

I did not get to spend that day at my home two years ago.  In fact, I believe we celebrated Thanksgiving at my mother's house that year (DC-area brother was home), and last year we ate at my in-laws' house, so it's my turn anyway.

And it's my kid's birthday, for flip's sake. 

Here's what will happen if we tell my mother Thanksgiving is at our house:  she will insist on making the turkey.  Not a big deal, right?  Except for my mother likes to eat holiday dinners at Not Dinner Time, you know, around 2 in the afternoon.  Hear that sound?  It's the mommy buzzer going off, and why?  Because all good children who value their general state of being ought to be taking naps at 2 in the afternoon.  And pregnant women like me?  Ought to be taking naps, and two o'clock is just as good a time as any, because, duh! the three kiddos are asleep, so it just makes sense.

This is how it will go:

If you tell your mother you are having Thanksgiving at your house, she'll tell you she wants to cook the turkey.

You'll tell her dinner's at five.

So she'll put the turkey in the oven at 8:15 a.m.  And the turkey will be done around 1:30.

Post-Election Strat-egery for the US of A

Guest post by Jenny from Mommin' It Up!

I'm Jenny Rapson, and I approved this message!

 
We’ve just had an election, and there is a celebratory mood in the air. For some, it’s revelry of relief – no matter who they voted for, many Americans are simply celebrating the fact that it is over. I am one of those Americans. Because the truth is, the past few months in this country have been full of rancor, and it has depleted my spirit.

I have wept, more than once during this election, over the viciousness in the air. I drive down a street nearly every day where for the past four weeks or so there has been a hand-painted sign in the 2nd floor window of a house. It is a painting of John McCain's head, with a drill pointed at his temple. It says, “Drill Here, Drill Now.”

Lovely, America. We should be so proud.

I don't understand why politics causes humans to hate each other so much. I don't understand why people spit a candidate's name out of their mouths like it's a dirty word. I can’t wrap my head around why that has to be part of this democratic process.

I'm not blaming the campaigns for this; I'm blaming their "supporters." Supporters of McCain hell-bent on making Obama, a devoted father of two, out to be a terrorist,  supporters of Obama wearing t-shirts at a rally that said “Sarah Palin is a C***”.

Here’s my brilliant post-election strategy for our country: Why don't we stop acting like jerkwads and start loving each other? Even if we could even love each other just a little bit, it would help so much.  If you prefer, you can choose to follow the Golden Rule, "Do unto others as you'd have done to you." I prefer the words of Jesus in Mark 12:31-32.

“Love your neighbor as yourself.  There is no commandment greater than these.”

Just give it a whirl. I challenge you to treat someone you disagree with like you'd want to be treated. Respect them, honor them, agree to disagree, but agree to work together to make this a better country for all of us. 

 Parents, let’s do it for our children. They are watching our every move. I have seen many pictures of children at campaign rallies this year. They’ve been witness to an amazing historic election in our country; now let them be witness to an amazing outpouring of love among its citizens. If we show them the way, just imagine where they can take these United States! We can’t always agree, but we can always choose to love and respect one another.

I think it’s just that we’ve forgotten that it’s an option. Consider yourself reminded.

Jenny Rapson is a SAHM of two who complains blogs about motherhood,  her vanity, and her coupon addiction over at Mommin' It Up!

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Never Mess With The Face

My name is SciFi Dad, and I write a little blog called Tales From The Dad Side.  (Why do I suddenly feel like I'm standing up at an AA meeting?)

So here I am, guest posting.  If tradition is to be followed, I'm supposed to make some quips about looking in the medicine cabinets or dresser drawers, but since a man rummaging through a woman's drawers is frowned upon in most states, I'll just stick to writing; that way, no one ends up in the back seat of a state trooper's car.  (Although I was in a state trooper's recliner receiving inappropriate attention from his daughter once; but that is a story for another time, and definitely another blog.)  I'm also supposed to tell you how awesome this blog is, and how amazing Megan is, and how I'd totally lie down in traffic for her or something.  But a) you already know about the blog and Megan and b) I don't lie, so the whole traffic thing?  Not going to happen.  (Sorry Megan.)

Guest posting is an interesting thing: people may say they do it as a favour, and in all likelihood that is true.  However, they also do it to direct traffic to their own blog.  Anyone who tells you different is lying.  If they were really trying to be altruistic, they would guest post anonymously with neither name nor link to attribute it back to themselves.  So, if the goal is to drive traffic, what works best?  I could be funny or sarcastic, and while I am those things at my own place, I would not say it happens often.  Usually I'm more pensive, more self-involved more self aware.

Anyhow.  I usually start my posts with a song; sort of a soundtrack for the post.  So, let's get started, shall we?

One night I was sitting on the couch holding my (one month old) son, marveling at the newborn's ability to sleep in any place, in any position, and do so while appearing both peaceful and comfortable when my (three and a half year old) daughter climbed up beside me.  After making the requisite attempt to stroke her brother's hair in an effort to see just how soft his soft spot was, she turned her attention to me.

"Daddy, why is your ear purple?"

"My ear is purple?"

"There's a purple dot in your ear."

"Where?"

"There," she said, touching a spot in my ear.

"Ohhh..."

In university I had a penchant for ear piercings ("never mess with the face", my good friend always said, "always the ears").  When I met my wife I had five earrings in one ear and one in the other.  The singular one was a lobe piercing.  On the other ear, three were in the lobe, one was in the helix, and one was in the upper part of the antihelix above the tragus (ref: Pinna (via Wikipedia) - bet you didn't expect an anatomy lesson when you started this post).  Since then, I have removed all my earrings.

My daughter was interested in the antihelix piercing, probably because it is "inside" the ear and atypical.  My wife smirked with that common "Let's see how you figure your way out of this one, smart guy," look.

GoBloMeMoFo 2008! Save the bunny. Save the blog.

 

Guest Post or the Bunny Dies.

GoBloMeMoFo 2008!

The lazy blogger's answer to NaBloPoMo...

Do the right thing.  Guest post on Velveteen Mind during the month of November. 

This is the second year of GoBloMeMoFo, the first year having been a raging success for both Velveteen Mind and the bloggers that guest posted in order to save the bunny.  Time to save the blog again!

What is GoBloMeMoFo?  It's the lazy blogger's answer to NaBloPoMo, short for National Blog Posting Month, in which bloggers post every day for the month of November.  Yeah, um...

I'll still be posting as usual this month, but no way in hell I can NaBloPoMo by myself.  Together, we can...
Save the Bunny.  Save the Blog. 

 

Brief recap of the original full guidelines (ha.  "guidelines" is tongue-in-cheek, I promise): 

• Any writer. 
• Any content. 
• Any length. 
• Any time in November.

 

And this year?  A special treat... 

Prizes!

Prizes for the commenters, that is. 

To be eligible to win a GoBloMeMoFo rabbit treat, all you have to do is leave a comment on one of the GoBloMeMoFo guest posts (always noted with a bunny-in-peril badge).  You can enter as many times as you want by commenting on as many guest posts that interest you, though only one entry per post will count.   

Earn extra entries by visiting the blogs of the guest bloggers and leaving a comment on their "Visit me at GoBloMeMoFo!" redirect posts, usually easy-to-spot by that poor bunny in a jar.

Poor thing.  Just look at him.  His eyes are pleading, "Seriously, you're going to guest post, right?  Right?  Oh, please, for the love of Bunny Buddha, please post!"

Some of the prizes so far...

• Coach Wristlet 
• Henri Bendel bath & body products 
• Photo jewelry by Fussypants Designs

Hey, how did Mrs. Fussypants make it onto the GoBloMeMoFo front page again this year?  Well, she made these horrifically torturous bunny-in-peril buttons for us and donated some of her custom jewelry designs.  She was, by the way, the evil mind behind "Save the bunny.  Save the blog."

Want to contribute to the prizes and get some free advertising for your business this holiday season?  email me a description of what you'd like to donate, a link to your business URL, and I'll add it to our main page!

Winners will be announced the beginning of December.

 

In the meantime, whether you are participating or not...

Take as many non-PETA-friendly buttons as you want from the button page! 

Guest bloggers have a spot on the official GoBloMeMoFo 2008 page as well as mentions of your post on my NaBloPoMo profile (to be updated shortly).

Leave a comment or email me if you want to play.  I've already received a hefty number of volunteers, but there is room for more because not everyone ends up submitting a post by the end of the month.  I'll email all of the bunny-saving volunteers shortly with "how-to" posting details.

***

*"GoBloMeMoFo" was coined by Jennifer at Playgroups Are No Place For Children.  Respect.

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Come one, come all!  Save the bunny!  Save the blog!

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