~Thought For The Day~ Christmas Edition~ The Little Girl in the Red Sweater ©

     For my entire life there was a story that my Mom told me every Christmas, one that had been told to her by her father. Without fail, at just the right time she would pull me to her and tell me this tale. As my children were growing up, she relayed it to them. This week as we unpacked our Christmas ornaments, Luke reminded me of the story. I will now tell it to you and then follow with my thoughts.

I know a few details but will describe it as I saw it as she told it to me.

There was once a little girl. She was fair haired, she was meek, and she was poor. She had been walking by the local stores every day of the Christmas season, and there in the store front window was a baby doll that she wanted so very much. 

She knew she need not ask her Mother, because they barely had the money to eat. She looked at it so longingly. She loved that doll, and much to her sadness, that large glass window and the price tag she displayed kept her from calling this beautiful baby doll her very own.

She walked past it every day, she stared in wonder, and then she shuffled on.

She would straighten her little worn dress, and button up her thread bare, red sweater, heading back home to her family in the now building cold weather. Always hopeful for a Christmas miracle; she smiled as she left the store front.

I am not sure how it came to be, but by a miracle I would speculate, she was given enough money to finally open the large store door and enter inside to purchase that pretty baby doll that she was so very in love with.

She rushed inside, still very polite and meek, but very eager in her quest to have something of her own.

She walked with the store keep to the front, and carefully he placed this bundle of joy into her arms at last, she surely had a golden light shining around her as she was allowed at last to touch her baby.

As she left the store, smiling so huge, feeling so alive and so blessed, she noticed that it had turned frightfully cold and the snowflakes had begun to fall. She swirled and twirled with her new baby doll, feeling like the luckiest little girl in the world. She couldn’t wait to get home to show her Mama.

The snow falling at a faster rate, but feeling a little tired from the most exciting day she could ever remember. She saw a park bench and decided to take a short rest, it would be dark soon but if she sat for a moment she would have time to make it home before darkness and more snow fell.

She looked down at her precious toy, so new, so shiny and amazing. It quickly occurred to her that the baby doll only wore a thin little dress, so she quickly took off her red sweater with a teddy bear sew upon the pocket, and she wrapped her baby doll up nice and snug. She would be warm and cozy she thought.

She pulled it close to her, smiling, feeling like she had something so very special, she drifted off to sleep.

The next morning when they found the little girl, covered in snow, clutching her baby doll, her tiny body frozen to death by the elements, they saw the honest, genuine smile upon her dear, little face.

She had not thought of herself, she wanted to give warmth to her baby doll, she gave her only shelter from the elements away, and she gave her life to ensure the warmth of another, even it was just an object, it was far more to her. It was love to her, she passed away smiling, holding something close and protecting it, feeling the love of her beloved baby doll returned as she slipped away into the realm of death.

This story has always meant so many things to me. As I discussed it with Luke this week, I felt very sad but also quite fortunate. Sad because this time of year can bring out such materialism in people, but fortunately my Mom had a grasp on something greater and began teaching it to me at a very young age.

Christmas, it can be viewed so many ways, it can be about who gets what, who gives the biggest whatever, a mad sulky feeling because you didn't get something lavish or extravagant. I feel for those who only know this side of Christmas.

Christmas is about love, it is about hope, it holds no dollar amount, it is a time of year that we should clutch as tightly to our chest as the little girl clutched her baby a feeling of love and peace and pass it on, not for just a season, but all year long.

I may not have the perfect tree, in fact mine is leaning heavy to the left, my star is wobbly, but it still shines, I may not have been able to purchase everyone I love something grand, or strut into the mall with a plastic card and load myself down with trivial sale items. I am glad I didn't, I won’t, ever.

Christmas is about giving, not gifts, but of yourself, from your heart. The best gift you can ever give another soul is yourself, love, kindness, friendship and care. Without those, well, you are the one who is far less fortunate than those who understand what giving is really about.

I wish I could reach through and give you all something, not a generous gift, but quite simply, a hug. That to me speaks volumes and that gift can be given in any weather, any season, and it can heal the broken, reassure the sick, and most of make another soul feel that someone else cares.

I hope you all have a beautiful Christmas. Think of what I have said, and think of the little girl in the red teddy bear sweater who understood the act of giving far better than we do.

With Love,

Teresa

©

~Thought For the Day~ A Tattooed Soul ©

      I have had something weighing on my mind for nearly a week and the best way for me to release is to put it into written form and share it with the world, hopefully changing the hearts and minds of my readers.

As most of you know, I have two sons, five and half years apart, they are complete opposites in their passion and interests but there are few things they have in common. I have instilled in them to be who they are, never worrying what others think as long as they are pleased with themselves and also I have worked very hard to teach them good morals and to constantly think of others above yourself, doing good deeds and an positive attitude.

It was brought to my attention that my eldest son was put down, by his own family mind you, for being himself. I saw the deep, hurtful pain in his eyes as he hung his head and told me of the tongue lashing he received and the shame he felt when fired upon. Why did they put him down? For having tattoos:, he wasn’t mistreating animals or kicking elderly people, he has tattoos.

 Saying he would never amount to anything in life because he has ink on his skin.

  One of which had they cared enough to ask is in memory of my Mom, his Nina who he was so very close to.

I have had to contain myself for quite a few days before I could even write this piece. My son, my child is not to be judged by what is on his body. He has a good heart, a beautiful smile, and kindness for others that continues to amaze me.

I am sure many people out there feel that tattoos are not a good thing, and hooray for you, but it might surprise you to know that I myself have two. One is on my left foot, my mother’s handwriting of my nickname that she called me, and also one on my back of the sun and the names of my sons. Oh and I am sure I will have another. Does that change how you feel about me? It shouldn’t, and if it does, shame on you.

What if I had scars on my face, back and shoulders? Would you put me down? What if my hair was purple and I was paralyzed, would you look down on me, and assume I was a nobody?

I hate that my child was subjected to such ignorance and rude behavior, had I been present that conversation and put down session would have ended promptly, but my son also has a personality that strives for peace and will do anything not to raise a fuss.

This same young man that was put down by family that has never taken the time to get to know him is the same young man who has proved himself a man long before his legal age. 

When our dying neighbor was in the last stages of his life, this young man barged into a hospital room to bid a life long friend goodbye, his first encounter of seeing someone on the brink of death.

 This young man who stood by my side and stood firm as I watched my Mom’s health spiral downward and I felt as though my life was over, he saw more in me than I could at the time, and he stood like a man beside me, holding me up.

 As my Mother lay in a hospital, dying, her time down to minutes, he entered her room, totally slammed in the face with a sight that no person should have to see, and when their eyes met, her blood pressure rose to a normal rate, unable to speak, she was letting him know, she loved him, that heart was trying to stay on track for him just so he could spend some time with her.

 He sat beside her, holding her hand, watching a woman who had been there for him his entire life, slip away, and he held it together, he held her, he made their jokes, and gave her tears, I have no doubt that in the last moments of her life, the amount of pride she felt towards him was beyond measure.

Did she care that after her passing that he got tattoos?  Would she care had she lived? No, a huge resounding, NO! Maybe that fellow got them as a way to cope and deal with our loss, I don’t know, but it is his life and his choice.

 She is the very soul that taught me how to mother these boys and the one lesson she was adamant about was that we are all the same, our skin color makes no difference, our social standing means zilch, and material wealth is garbage.

My children are upstanding, good young men, and if you can’t see that, well too bad for you.

In life we will encounter all types of people, large, small, rich, poor, people with tattoos, different skin tones and physical impairments; we are to see the beauty beyond the surface.

I feel sad that there are people in this world who are so obviously ignorant.

If you base your value of a person on things you don’t care for, you live a sad, pathetic life.

Would you turn away a man or woman with tattoos that might be the paramedic that holds your life in their hands?

 Would you deny a person of something because they aren’t just like you, if you would, you are miserable.

I am so sorry my son had to encounter such people in his life already, but they are the ones missing out, and if they had taken time to get to know him, they would find beneath his tattoos, he is becoming one of the best men I know.

 Don’t be ashamed of who you are, be ashamed for the people who are hypocrites, idiots and losers who aren’t bold enough to be who they are, and hide behind society’s ideas of the ideal person.

Be you, and be the best you than you can be.

I will now take my tattooed self outside wearing flip flops for all the world to see my foot, tattoo in tact and be who I am.

I won’t judge you for being you, as long as you are genuine, and you know what,  each person you encounter leaves a tattoo on your soul, long after you are gone. 

Remember that.

Here are my thoughts.

©

Teresa 

~Thought For the Day~ Look! Do You See it?~ ©

     Yesterday I milled around somewhat glum, with no reason really but because of everything. Just one of those days; thinking over mistakes, pitfalls, debts, age and anything else that could enter my head and bring about a somewhat overcast mood.

I heard something downstairs so I ventured that way and I am so very thankful that I did.

I had seen an elderly lady moving in the prior weekend, but she had not spent any time here yet, so yesterday was her move in day.

She greeted me with a smile as I passed in front of her open door. She welcomed me in and I gladly stepped inside to say hello.

Her niece was there helping her get what few belongings she owned unpacked, and after about a minute I started lending a hand. I didn't even think about it, I just started doing this and that.

Being the tallest in the room I found my clumsy self balancing on a very small, meager bed trying to put in light bulbs without breaking my neck. Laughing with people I didn't know, but already felt a twinge of closeness to.

I heard a familiar voice and it was my youngest son, I should have known if I was doing something to help someone, he would be right there with me.

We both did small tasks, nothing huge, just things she couldn’t do.

We made small talk and as I was setting up her small television, I began getting to know her. Sitting on a stranger’s floor looking up at her sitting on her couch I saw something about her that I can’t really explain. She looked at me with hope; I guess that is what it was. She was glad someone was sitting there and was talking away, and as I was listening, I was also thinking. She reminded me of a few other people I have known in my life.

She asked my name and I told her, and I just kept studying her face. She then began to tell me she was on dialysis and was recently put on the transplant list. My heart fell into my stomach and I suddenly wanted to just grab her and hold her, but I couldn't so I sat there with tears in my eyes as she talked with such an upbeat and positive attitude.  She was showing me her curtains someone had given her, and I ran up to my place for some thumb tacks because she didn't have anything to hang things up with.

We kept talking and when everything was pretty much done, because as I said before she doesn’t have much at all, but she appeared so gracious and proud of the few things she had, and our conversation continued. Her niece making sure she was ok before she left her here in her new home. Now she was here all alone, in a two bedroom apartment that would seem small to most, but to this woman the area seemed to consume her, the rooms appearing much bigger as she leaned back obviously tired from her day.

She was telling me she had dialysis the next day and how it made her feel, someone would be dropping her off and she would alone. She didn't say that but I put it together. I can’t imagine going through a treatment and then coming back to a care for myself on my own, weak and unsure of what tomorrow would bring.

Her niece poking her head in for one last goodbye before she departed, I heard her call this woman’s name it and it tripped a switch in me. “Dove”. Her name is Dove. How beautiful.

I asked what time she would be returning from her treatment and she let me know, I casually said I would be around and that if she needed help getting in and settled I would be right here. I had in my mind already determined I would be watching for someone to drop her off so I could help her in some way, if any, but I will be present.

I tried to nonchalantly ask her what she needed, knowing I can’t afford presently to do much but I might have some things I could give her. I looked around and I could tell that anything I offer her she will be overjoyed to receive so as soon as I am finished writing this I will go to look through my closets and belongings to see if there is anything she can use. It is times like this that I wish I had more wealth, not for me, but for people like this gorgeous soul, so she would know someone cares, that hope isn’t far away and that people do care.

As I was leaving I had an afterthought and knocked again, I let her know that lots of nights I sit on the stairs to just think and take in the night, I didn't want her to be alarmed and I let her know it is my way of doing what I used to do back home, sitting out in the country just marveling in what is around me, and I felt homesick for that old hill, for my swing and that time alone I spent sitting and reflecting. I suddenly felt guilty for even having a thought of regret and missing home, I am grateful for where I am, I have a roof over my head and a staircase under the stars. She smiled and said something that just brought down the house for me, “Honey, don’t sit out there all alone in the cold, you can come in here and talk to me.” 

Her offering just brought me to tears, this sweet, sick woman, with no material wealth, her health dangling from a ledge, and she offers to take me in when I am sitting out there in my flip flops and socks and give me companionship.

Needless to say when I headed back upstairs I wasn't full of gloom and worry about what was bothering me. I am so very appreciative of everything I have, not just because I have a kitchen table and chairs, unlike Dove, but because I have people, I have love, I have smiles, I have my health and I have way more than I had when I first went down those the steps yesterday.

There are so many people in this world that would gladly trade lives with us. We complain about this and that, we make a fuss over what we don't have, gadgets, technology, the latest clothes, a new car, grown up play toys and yet there are people in this world who are just grateful that I found my thumb tacks to help them hang a set of worn curtains.

Take a few minutes today to be thankful for all that you do have. Stop going over what you haven't got, if you have a child, you are wealthy, if you have a place to call home, you are wealthy, if you have the love of friends, if you have food to eat( even a modest amount), if you have transportation, and most of all if you have someone there for you in sickness, wellness and all those times in between, quit feeling sorry for yourself. I know someone who would gladly take your leftovers and feel like they had been crowned a queen.

Today I challenge you to take account of what you have. That is all, take that any way you want it, just remember if you are feeling down, scared, unsure or ill tempered, hope can drift in on the wings of a “dove” very softly, calling no attention to itself, you have to look and see it. It doesn’t always smack you in the head, it takes effort and to take a break from feeling sorry for yourself to see it. Look up, look around, see it? Hope and an overwhelming feeling of having everything are right there.

Here are my thoughts.

©

Teresa 

~The Tree Foundation~ ©

     I am going to speak to you today about the vision of the charity I have been planning for quite some time, where it all started and what has prompted me to go ahead with it now.

My Mother gave to others, all of the time. Most of the time she had very little but instead of complaining or letting it defeat her, she kept giving, sometimes literally all she had. She hated to see someone do without or to see someone with a wounded spirit. She touched many lives in her time on Earth.

We sat for many accumulated hours discussing the need we felt called to address and since Mom’s passing I see it now more than ever.

I will give you a story to illustrate and maybe from there you can see what I am shooting for and making my dream of helping others into a reality.

On July 20, 2011, my Mama had a doctor’s appointment. She was frail, sick and even though I didn’t want to come to terms with it, she was dying.

I was prepared that morning to get her ready as usual and help her get cleaned up and ready to see her physician.

I went into her room, and I stood there watching before she knew I was there. I saw a light in her eyes, a sparkle, and I waited to see what she was doing. She turned and met my face with a smile as always. Trying to stay as upbeat and positive as I could I said “You ready for Nurse T here to get you ready?” She quickly told me, “No, I am going to get ready by myself this time.”

How could I tell her no? I knew she had very little self pride left because I was her constant nurse and she had poked and probed so much, I had to hope to she was able to carry out a once simple task.

I glanced back into her room just to make sure she was steady enough to go through with what she had willed herself to do. To my surprise she was trying so hard to do her nails, and then her toes. She wanted to feel pretty, even amidst all of her sickness she ached to feel like a woman, one that had always taken care of herself the best she could.

I heard her door open, and I couldn’t help but trembling and crying, she looked so beautiful. She had managed to find her favorite top and skirt combo and not only had she painted her nails she was wearing makeup. She was so radiant, I didn’t see her illness, I saw her beauty, and she felt it as well. She walked slowly towards me as she once had, with dignity and pride.

I noticed she had found a broach and had fastened it properly on her dressy top.

She smiled so pretty.

She went to the doctor and as I assisted her in sitting down at the dining table in her house, her blue eyes welled with tears. “Tesi, baby it isn’t good.” She need not say anymore, my guts felt like falling out, she knew, I refused to believe but she was sure her time was now limited. I refused to come to terms with it.

I just stared at her and how very beautiful my Mother was, an image I will never forget.

To some this may not strike you as odd, but you see Mama had spent every penny she had on medications, doctors and meager amounts of food. She was coming to the end of her life and she didn’t have anything. She did however have me, my children and a love that words can never touch in description.

She had never been able to afford luxury items, some we take for granted, the nail polish she used was some I had gotten her for Christmas and she was delighted, also I gave her a plush, fluffy robe that she wore until she passed. 

She didn’t have many nice things, but she much more than material wealth.

Our idea for a charity was to give to people that couldn't afford the small luxury items, nail polish, perfume, fluffy robes, comfy socks, snuggly throws, deodorant, and cologne for men, things that are wonderful to have but things that so many people can’t have. The people who struggle to live, who give every penny to bills, a roof over their head and feeding themselves.

She and I had devised the plan of putting together boxes filled with items such as those mentioned above and distributing them to people, to make them smile but most importantly to make them feel good about themselves.

I put the idea aside after Mama died. Oh how I hate typing that but I must.

This week I fought myself about speaking of something very personal that happened immediately after she passed. I decided for the good of others I will share, I don’t think that Mom would care, she had so much pride, but now I think she would want me to do whatever I could to get my point across in order to help others.

As we were making the arrangements with the funeral home, I was presented with a problem, and it makes me feel so sad as I type this, and I wish I could have done more, I had picked out her outfit, the ones she wore that final time to the doctor for her to be buried in, and then I realized my poor Mama didn’t have decent undergarments to be buried in. Just re-reading that sentence makes my soul ache and the tears begin to flow. We had both spent every penny we had combined to pay for her medication, me at the time being a single parent and not having a lot myself, I did as much as I could, and to me it just wasn't enough, she deserved more.

 I stood in her bedroom, looking through her drawers for something suitable for her burial, and I couldn't.  I hate to even type the rest, but I am going to. I counted change to purchase new undergarments for Mama. I couldn't bear the thought of her being laid to rest in something worn out. It broke my soul.

Now I look back, and I never want another soul to have to live like that. To not have simple, little things to make them feel good about themselves; I want those less fortunate people to have simple joys, the happiness of a pretty scent, nail polish, undergarments, fluffy things that bring comfort, from a sweater or robe. Things they can’t seem to get for themselves.

I am starting the “The Tree Foundation”, and my main goal is to bring little things to people who have seen a hard time, fallen between the cracks, known poverty and give them a feeling of being somebody, and looking in the mirror and admiring how much better they feel when presented with items that enhance them, help them and most of all let them know that someone cares about little things.

I am naming it The Tree Foundation because Mama, and Mama alone called me Tree. She said I gave her shade, and a breeze of hope, and all the while remembering my roots.

We go through life so often and gripe and complain, and when I see people fussing and getting out of sorts over trivial things it bothers me, your life could be so much worse, wealth isn't measured by dollar amount, it is tallied by who you are, what you are made of and what you can to change the world, or at least the world of one person. It is my mission to touch, heal and give hope and I am going to be working very diligently to get this charity started so many people can feel beautiful and find a feeling that someone out there cares and loves them.

Be rich my friends, be rich in friendship, love and peace. Those that know those gifts are the richest among us. When you feel compelled to gripe and grumble, remember, someone out there is struggling just to live.

Here are my thoughts.

 ©

Teresa 

~Thought For The Day~ My Opinion of Bullies ©

     The dictionary defines a bully as this; a blustering, quarrelsome person who habitually badgers and intimidates people who are seemingly weaker than them.

Now, you read that again.

A bully is so much more but of course Webster’s Dictionary can only give you a brief definition, so let me elaborate.  

I will start with myself; I was tall for my age, the gawky girl, the weirdo if you will, because I have always been different. Therefore I was a big ol target for bullies. Anytime someone is the least bit different, you will find that you draw more attention. I didn’t understand this concept at a young age, and I didn’t know how to handle the taunts of kids, and hey even adults. Yes, I had an adult bully me from childhood into adulthood. We will go there later.

I would go home, cry to Mama, and beg to quit school, but at 9, I really couldn't do that now could I?

Mama’s advice was to stand up, and walk with my head high, because they were jealous of the “different” girl. I should have taken her advice, but hindsight is 20/20 now isn’t it?

What was my approach? I hate to say it; I kept being my silly, goofy self, but I broke bad and starting beating the crap out of a few of my bullies. Their words and taunts still hurt, but now I was for lack of a better term,” Kicking ass and taking names.”

I did earn respect in some ways, but I just didn’t feel right. I kept it up. Coming home all torn up, and then finally I faced a bully one Saturday afternoon that was twice my size. He kicked my butt. I didn’t stop, by the end of that day I had blacked both his eyes and gave him a limp. Mama wasn’t mad, but the boy’s Mother was furious. I listened closely as Mom spoke to the other Mother, “I won’t say I am going to punish her, she stood up for herself, what she did wasn’t the best way to handle it, but I bet you five bucks he never touches her again.” Afterwards I received a stern talking to about taking justice in my own hands, and as she wiped off my bloody knuckles, she winked and said “I swear, I am still proud of you killer.” I laugh now, but as I venture back to that time, I see where I changed. I see that violence is not the answer. Did I learn my lesson? Well, no, I was kicked out of summer camp and sent home for beating up a girl who was picking on several girls that were smaller than her.

Mom still telling me that my best revenge would be to keep being myself and not let them get to me, from then on I approached the issue from another angle; I quit caring, or acting like I cared. Of course it hurt, but when I laughed it off, I saw that the bullies had no return attack because I didn't fold or act off of what they had provoked. I then became somewhat of a vigilante for kids that were bullied, I found myself in many fights and I didn’t care, I hated seeing kids picked on. Maybe I shouldn't have taken it to that level, but I was young and so mad at kids that couldn't fight back being the victim of physical and mental torture.  

That was many years ago, kids can’t display “playground justice” like we once would.

Today our children face a different level of violence, guns and weapons are involved and that is sickening. Also now with the internet very present in the lives of most every person, the cases of cyber bullying are staggering and it leads to some very grim places for our youth. Many see no way out and take their own lives. That makes me feel physically sick to my stomach.

I can’t imagine the thought process and fear that leads our children to take their own life because a bully is relentless and makes them feel worthless.

My son was bullied for some time when he was in school, I was furious, when he struck back, the system attempted to punish him for defending himself against physical harm. I sat in the office beside him, he was terrified and when I told the school administration that I was proud that he didn’t let this bully beat him to death, which after twelve hits to his face, my son finally was able to find the will and strength to push this boy off of him, who outweighed him by more than a 100 pounds and brought blood to the head of his tormentor  he replied “Teresa you are instilling violence in your children!” 

Me? Really? 

No, I taught my kids to never start it, but to always defend themselves and if possible to help others if they aren't capable of defending themselves.

I now see how dangerous bullying has become; lives are being lost because this epidemic is out of control.

This is only my opinion but I think a bully starts at home, I believe it is learned behavior, and I would bet my bottom dollar that a parent home either condones it is a grown up bully. My solution won’t fix it, but my fury towards this matter is to kick the asses of the parents who don’t stop their children. I know that isn't logical but in anger, I would like to. But how can we stop this growing problem? Seriously, how can we as parents and adults stop our children from suffering and dying from this senseless problem?

I really want to know.

Sadly, I see that this isn't just a childhood problem; adult bullies seem to be very common as well.

 Here is my definition of a bully, like it or not, here is my opinion. A bully is coward, a bully is jealous, and has let anger and fear rule their actions so they lash out at someone because they have no other outlet, they target people who have a weak spot, maybe the poor, the less fortunate, the different person, the one who goes against the grain, someone with a self esteem issues and that infuriates me. These are the targets of bullies, children and adults, we all have a weak spot and when a bully finds it, they play on it, and if they can’t find something to punish their victim with, they tend to spread vicious lies about them, therefore tormenting them even more so. I have seen this many times.

I don’t care what your sexual preference is, what skin tone you have, your gender, your financial bracket, NOBODY deserves to be bullied and if I had my way, I would show them how I handle it, by a good old fashion ass kicking.

 If I am using language that is offensive in this piece, I hate it for you, I am angry and you can agree or disagree, I don’t care. My words, my way! I didn't think of clever title for this piece because it isn't needed. I am telling you straight from my gut, how I feel and the anger I have about this issue. 

I think if we as a community rally to stop this mess, we can make a difference. Stand up for your kids, stand up for your friends, I don’t care how old you are. As a person who has been bullied many times, I can tell you first hand that just knowing someone cares and is on your side makes all the difference in the world. Stand up, use your voice, we can make a change, and slowly but surely stop people from dying because someone is a low life, name calling coward who uses scare tactics to evoke fear in the hearts of their victims. Oh what I wouldn't give for some good old fashioned playground justice!

If we band together, and show that we won’t back down, that bully has no power, and you rob them of the attention and power that feeds them.

But instead, stand with me, stand beside me and if you know someone is being harassed and bullied do everything you can to help, it seriously could save a life.

Here are my thoughts.

©

Teresa  ;)

~Thought For The Day~ Hey Beautiful, Yes, YOU! ©

     I remember being the gawky kid, tall, broad shoulders, and what my grandma called “big boned”.

I always got picked first for Red Rover and kickball, but I always went home and looked at myself, and wished I looked like the skinny little girls, with narrow shoulders and toothpick legs.

I voiced this to my Mother once, and it is a moment that I will never forget, because it came back to light years later. She marched me in front of her full length mirror, and had me look at myself.

Saying nothing at first, she stood behind me smiling.

I finally interjected, “But, Mama, look at my shoulders!” “All the better for people to lean on, baby”, she quickly answered.

‘But, I have stupid ol’ big bones!” “All the better for you to be noticed, honey!”  Her tone was now becoming a little sterner.

She pointed out my hair, my eyes that change colors, my lips that she bragged that were just like hers, my long eyelashes, and my tall stature.

She leaned in and said, “If you aren’t beautiful, then I don’t know who is. Why in God’s name would you want to look like everyone else? You have your own unique beauty.  Watch and see Tesi, you will be a knockout.”

I never really saw all that, but her words stuck with me, and I never cared what people thought of my looks.

Reaching 40, and becoming more aware of people, I have begun to notice more things about people, and their learned behavior.

I was scrolling through Facebook, and I saw two photos posted.

One was a full body shot of a friend, who is very curvy, with some meat on her bones, and very gorgeous. I looked at the comments, and all of them were so generic: “aww, you have such a pretty face”, etc. Now I scroll down further, and see a skinny chick with almost the same pose, and the replies hurt me. Hurt, because I felt sorry for our world, she had comments like “WOW, you are stunning, why aren’t you single”, and every person was talking about her rack, her hotness, and I sat here and cried.

I cried for our society.

Why is someone not gorgeous or beautiful because of what a size tag says?

Our society has become programmed to think that women are gorgeous if they have rock hard abs, a chest like a porn star, and a rear end that looks almost like a cartoon.

Yeah, did I mention, I am not built like that? I am curvy, but by God almighty, I am a beautiful person. Why? Not because I have a kicking rack, or a tail end that you can bounce quarters off of, but because I have so much more going for me.

Size does not equal beauty.

I have met some really gorgeous people by the standards of our now society, and they didn’t impress me at all; they were rude, mean and ugly inside, not all of them, but some. True beauty comes from within.

I am sickened that so many people gorgeous people walk this earth, and feel so ugly and ashamed because of the stupid stereotype that television, magazines and the media have set.

I also see this among people as they age, and that infuriates me, hey so what if someone is gorgeous at 21, can they maintain that beauty and still be stunning at 70? That is real beauty.

I have seen pics of men with rock hard abs and chiseled chins, ok for a moment they are ok, but give me a fella with a gorgeous soul and a poochie belly, and if that fella has a brain, I am highly attracted to them. It has nothing to do with the tag in his jeans.

I am sick to death of the standards that are set.

Kids and adults are made to feel shamed, for not looking just like everyone else, and that makes me want to scream.

A mindless set of boobs and some dude with 6 pack abs don’t make you dazzling.

Dazzling comes from an inner beauty, but there are so many folks who can’t see it, because of the crap we see online, in the stores or on TV.

I don’t have fake boobs, hell, I don’t have big ones, but my perky set will still be rocking at 70 so there!

Now, let’s go back to a couple of years ago.

My Mother was dying, and in my eyes she was just as stunning as she had always been. I watched her struggle to that same full length mirror; she had tears softly streaming down her tired face.

I stood behind her and said ‘What’s wrong Mama.”

She pointed out her wrinkles, her now slumping shoulders and the gray hair she gracefully wore.

I said “Mama, you are so pretty, look at those lips, I have a sensational set that you gave me, your shoulders, shoot Ma, I can hug you easier, and those wrinkles are smiles lines, and the signs of a life well lived.” She said “Look at these age spots”, Oh Mama those are pretty freckles that you earn as you age.”

I kissed her cheek while she watched me from behind, and I said “You are gorgeous Mama, and I see it in those big blue eyes that still sparkle.” I said,” Mama you will always be my pretty girl, just like I am yours.” We hugged and she cried and smiled that stunning smile, and we both felt so very pretty.

Mama died shortly after, but the day before she left me, I cried and even though she couldn’t speak, I told her how very gorgeous she was, and I ended it with “I love you my pretty girl.”

She was, age spots, graying hair and laugh lines.

Her beauty developed from a 21 year old into a stunning 65 year old woman who could still captivate anyone with just her presence.

STOP looking at all the outsides people, you will never find a perfect person, perfection doesn’t exists, but being beautiful can last a lifetime, and that comes from deep down inside and what kind of soul you carry inside that warms the hearts of others, built by how you treat others and the light you shine upon this world.

I am big boned, I have stretch marks from giving birth to two amazing sons and I have an outlook on the world that can outshine any cleavage or bouncy butt.  I am dazzling and so are you!

Be real people, and those who aren't too shallow to see it will appreciate it.

Now I am gonna take my big boned, broad shouldered self outside to enjoy the stars!

Here are my thoughts!

 ©

Teresa ;)

~Thought For The Day~ Love Much,Live Simply,Work Hard;Diary of Summers Past ©

       As the summer comes to a close I reflect upon the summers of my childhood and I smile, cry and also give thanks for the lessons I learned. At the time I had no idea I would use these memories to be better person in my adulthood but as I sit here writing I am so grateful for what I learned and experienced.

A typical summer day in my life consisted of getting up before the roosters started crowing in the chicken house, I would drag down the steps, still feeling the heat on my body from the previous work day in the sun. I drudged into the kitchen with sleepy eyes, and watched as Mama finished up cooking breakfast. I slumped in my chair still trying to understand why I had to get up so early.

Daddy would come in with a smile, who smiles this early?

As Mom served us a good old fashioned Southern breakfast of fried eggs, bacon, grits, biscuits and fresh cut tomatoes from our garden I would patiently wait until she sat down, and nodded at me to say the blessing. Her morning feast could always wake me up.

Dad and I would head out the door, the humidity already crashing into us, we chose our chores for the day. Sometimes it was gardening all day, others it was mowing, raking, clipping, cutting and getting the yard squared away. There was also the summer we spent building the pond, all day work of cutting trees down, dragging the crush away, clearing land, lots of laughs, tons of sweat and feeling exhausted at day’s end.

I never imagined that life was any different, it was all I knew. We worked. We worked together and then at dusk again Mama would grace us with a country fried supper that I can still smell if I close my eyes and lick my lips. Fresh veggies we grew ourselves, meat that we had butchered and a feeling I have come to love of self-satisfaction from growing and doing it ourselves.

The highlight of the week was quickly approaching, Sunday. Not just a day of rest, a day of church, family, fellowship and some awfully gorgeous memories.

Hurrying into our little brown church with Mama and Mimi, griping about wearing a dress and fidgeting with my hair, I sat there and took it all in. I look back down and the words from the pulpit are not only what sink in, but also the hand of my Mother holding mine, the smile while we sung my favorite hymns from my grandma, and the sweet smile of my first love looking back to sneak a peek at me.

Sitting at my Mimi’s table after church, devouring an amazing Sunday lunch, I couldn't wait to get home, I wanted to stay at her house but I couldn't wait for the rest of this beautiful Sunday to unfold.

One Sunday stands out in my mind.

Mr. and Mrs. Wicker lived just up the hill from our house. They would be getting home from church and finishing up lunch about the same time as us and I begged Mama to go up there and play with their granddaughter Deb.

I was met by one of the sweetest, most hard working men I have ever known, Deb’s grandpa Newton.

He welcomed me in, and instantly our silly girl giggles and antics began.

Mr. Wicker watching over us, sitting there in his chair, as we frolicked in his cow pasture without a care in the world.

We saw him get up and start messing with something, so we bounced right over.

He had made us a very country swimming pool. Deb grabbed her bathing suit and let me borrow one so we could get in as fast as we could. This wasn't just any country pool; this was the mother of all pools. Her grandpa had made us a pool out of a cow trough.

It was incredible! We splashed, we laughed, and we dived down like we were near the Great Barrier Reef.

I think we stayed in that thing for hours, I could hear Mom calling up the hill for me to come home, and knowing better than to ever tempt my fate, I ran home, still laughing and smiling from such a simple Southern Sunday.

I don’t have to tell you that our biggest meal of the week was on Sunday night, and that specific Sunday I prayed even harder because I was so thankful for such a good day.

Monday came far too quickly, and back to work we went, and it always continued in this pattern.

Now, while writing this I mentioned Mr. Wicker, today 3 years ago he passed away.

He left a legacy to this world that I hold very dear. He taught his family just as I was taught, work for what you want, don’t stop, and on Sunday, take things slow and easy and reflect on the goodness you have been given.

I can’t count how many times I have been moving the yard, splitting wood or picking green beans and hear him coming down our road with a load of hay, grand kids hanging off the back, and we all waved at each other. A way of life;  a way of life that now is sadly not observed like it should be, maybe it is my country raising or maybe I just am old fashioned but I believe things in life goes much better when you work hard all week with your family, together, and then come Sunday you rest and visit together.

I miss Mr. Wicker, his dedication to his family and his strong work ethic are to be admired, but I must say he raised some mighty fine grand kids and great grand kids that are following in his footsteps.

I never thought that at 40 years old I would miss being out in 100 degree wearing tilling up ground and planting row after row of corn and “maters” but I sure do.

I am so appreciative for those hot summer days, because it instilled in me a simpler way to live, a strong connection to family and a true love for being country.

I thank Mr. Wicker and my parents and Mimi for teaching me these things, not by words but through their actions.

Life doesn't have to be complicated people, unless you allow it to be. Work hard, love your family and follow the good book and you are doing alright.

I wouldn't mind finding an old cow through and hanging by the “pool” with Deb again.

Live simply, love simply and hard, and work with passion for the rewards are great my friends.

The picture I am using with this thought for the day is of Mr. Wicker, his grandson and son. Thank you Deb for letting me use it.

Here are my thoughts.

©

Teresa  ;) 

~Thought For The Day~ Fight On ©

     I am writing this today because I feel that I can.

Tomorrow it will be two years since I lost Mama. Two years, it seems so long ago, but also at times it feels like it was just yesterday.

I was thinking this morning about how far I have come.

I began thinking of Mom and at about 11 am today, was the last time I heard her speak.

Her final words to me, “I love you Tesi, we got this, Eye of the Tiger Baby.”

And then my world came crashing down.

I never dreamed I would be sitting here now able to talk about it, able to even function and even move on.

I have surprised myself. It is amazing how when you think you can’t, you really can. I remember being a fog for a long time, trying to numb myself, avoiding the topic and scared that if I cried that I would break.

Every single time that I felt like I couldn’t, I could hear here, pushing me, like only she could, telling me to fight; I have. Now here I am, and what have I become? I have become stronger, tougher skinned, and determined to live each day to the fullest. My main goal in life is to now live out my dreams, the dreams she never got to reach because her time here ended.

I want to take dance again, I want to write page after page, I want to start a charity for the poor. Oh let me rephrase, because I can hear her as I type, “don’t say I want, say, I will”.

All of these things I will do, no ifs ands or buts. It will be done.

Some of you may have been blessed enough to know my Mama, and if so I don’t have to tell you how she was, she was stubborn, feisty and determined, but there was such a gentle caring side that I saw so often. For those of you who didn’t know her, and know her only through my words, she was something else. A beauty, inside and out; She stood up for what she believed, she went against the grain and if anyone was in need of help, she was there.

Tomorrow is going to be tough, I am not why it is hitting me this year so hard, I guess the numb has worn off, but I will carry on, I will hold my head high, and keep reaching until I make all my dreams come true.

I want to tell you today, there is nothing you can’t do, nothing annoys me more than a quitter, a gloomy Gus or a pessimist.

 Get up off your rear end and make it happen. That is all that it takes. DO IT.

The one lesson I have learned from this climb, life can change dramatically in a matter of minutes. Your whole world can be cruising along and then BAM out of the blue something happens.

So my advice, from hard living experience, made into a list of course, is this.

Live now.

Love so much.

Speak your mind.

Don’t listen to others opinions that will drag you down.

If you want something, go get it.

Take time to tell those you love, that you do, and if can, show it some unique way.

Hug people.

Touch the hand of someone hurting.

Be satisfied with who you see in the mirror, don’t ever think you aren't enough, you are gorgeous, no matter the size tag in the back.

When people hate on you, smile at them, and keep going!

Live your life, your own way.

Be honest.

Live right.

Laugh a lot.

Smile, even when you are alone.

AND most important, don’t let one day pass without telling those that you love, how much they mean.

Hey Mama, I am getting the hang of this, you said I could and I am sorry I didn’t believe you. I still miss you so much, but I am still coming out of my corner swinging. EYE OF THE TIGER BABY!

 I just smiled and laughed, I can just hear Mom singing our Randleman High School fight song, “See them Tigers passing by, with their heads held high, Fight On, Fight On!” Do it! Fight on!

Here are my thoughts.

 ©

Teresa

~Thought For The Day~ Trust, More Than Words ©

      Standing atop the high dive, I felt like all the breath inside my body was gone, I felt like everyone below could hear my heart pounding, I carefully curled my toes on the very edge of the board.

My face burning from the sun and also from the thought of the whole wide world watching me high above them; I peered down, the water was the most beautiful shade of blue, the warm but yet refreshing, summer breeze coming along at just the right time, reminding me to exhale.

I searched the blue for that familiar face, where was he? He promised! As our eyes met, felt the raging emotions calm and I thought back to our previous conversation.  And to this day, I remember it pretty word for word.

“Teece, you can do it, I promise I will be right there to catch you when you jump, just go, and then you won’t be afraid anymore.”

“But Brian, what if you aren’t there, what if, you forget, or you see one of your friends and I jump by myself?”

“TC, I will be there, I promise, trust me.”

So after feeling like I would puke I carefully and very deliberately climbed every rung of the high dive ladder.

My mind playing every scene that could happen, I had only been alive for about 12 years so I played out much like a horror movie, but as my fears rose, I could hear a whisper in my ear, “I promise, trust me”.

So here we stand on top of the world, well it was to me, the sounds became muted, the world didn't exist anymore, and I only focused on Brian’s face. He smiled and waved me down.

I uncurled my toes, I sprung up and then as I quickly made my way down I thought of nothing other than Brian’s promise, my mind racing, he just had to be there waiting for me.

I remember as I plunged down and the cold water met my body that I was sinking from the impact of the dive, I looked around and before I could even start to paddle to the surface, I felt him there, his arm in mine, his face next to me smiling, and then he gave me that big ol’ thumbs up.

I did it! I made it!

We got back up to the edge of pool and he was still holding my arm, not wanting to embarrass him in front of any potential girlfriends, I reached down and squeezed his hand, he winked and I knew. He was proud of me and we would discuss this further when we went home.

He kept his promise; he was there when he said he would be.

That further strengthened our bond of trust.

At such a pivotal moment in my life, I took a leap of faith, and he kept his word and was right there, with me trusting his word.

Now let’s replay this if he had not been waiting in the deep end for me.

I would have surely risen to the water’s surface, but his promise would have been broken, I would have forgiven him of course, over time but the element of trust that I took a leap for would have been broken.

It would have taken time to regain it and it would have caused a tremendous strain on our relationship.

I am glad he was there.

Trust is a tricky devil, I, myself trust very easily but once it is beaten, broken or bruised, I tend to shy away because I am guarding myself and if the person who broke it makes no attempts to fix it, then I am safe from harm. If that person works at meeting the promises and works to restore trust once again and I see progress then my wall slowly begins to crumble and the healing can begin.

I ran across this quote and I could not find the author but how very true it is.

“You should trust people by their actions, not their words. Because a person might have a heart of gold, but then again so does an egg.”

Trust is the foundation for every single relationship in this world, be it with a parent, a friend, a love, whatever, if you don’t have trust, what do you have? If trust becomes broken, it takes much time to repair it and reinstate the feeling of knowing you can count on that person’s word once again.

Many times in my life I have faced trust issues, and at one point I became very jaded and trusted few, as I began to open my heart again and let people in I also saw things in a new light.

If someone wants you in their life, to remain there, they must maintain trust, and if by chance it is damaged, it is up to the person that brought about the broken bond of trust to  put on their tool belt and get busy doing the needed repairs.

A common argument I have heard in my life is this, “I said I was sorry, I won’t do it again.”

Sadly that often times isn't true, and words alone can’t regain trust, it is an action, one that is hard but if you want that person in your life, it is worth all the work to get it back.

My bond of trust with Brian is very much still intact, we have had normal

 friend quarrels and problems, but he has kept his word to me over the years, and that single fact alone has kept us close for 30 plus years.

In my mind’s eye, I see trust as a bridge, with two people standing on each end, you walk towards each other, knowing you will meet in the middle, if one of you doesn't come forward and never tries to advance, you are back at the start of the bridge trying to regain entry, and shouting across a bridge making promise won’t make the other person believe, they have to see take steps towards them. The step may be slow but they see advancement and with each step, their faith and trust starts to form once more.

My friends, trust is a precious gift, and if you find that you wrecked it or injured it, treat it as a wound, apply the necessary medication, lightly bandage it and care for it with love and attention until you can remove the bandage and see that the healing has taken place. 

Never neglect it, deny it or take advantage of it, because infection will set in, and it much harder to nurse back to health at that stage.

I am not preaching to never trust, I stated before I trust so easily, I am saying if you have tampered with it, do all that you can to restore its strong powers and you will see that faith will be rebuilt, possibly stronger than before.

Here are my thoughts.

©

Teresa  

~Thought For The Day~ It Will Not Change~ ©

I wrote this piece one year ago, and I felt the need to share it again. 

 It was this week, one year ago that my Mother and I had a conversation. It wasn't like the many conversations of our past. This one was different. This one held precious content that I will always cherish and one that will guide me through the rest of my days. We had not talked about her illness, not being something she couldn't overcome, we had never entertained that notion. Until this point we still held on to our faith and just knew one day we would look back as we had so many times and count the blessing of making it through another portion of living hard.

I am unsure how we came to speak of this but I can still see her face. Her expression was very strong, very sincere, and she looked at me with those blue eyes and behind them I could detect that she no longer shared the same outcome as before.

I said “Mama, what will I do? Mama, I can't make it without you, Mama, I need you, Mama please be ok.” I said it just like that. She took my hand in hers, and she said “Oh baby, no matter what happens you will go on, but if life were to take you first, I doubt I could.” I knew I was her sparkle, her reason for always trying and never giving up, but she was mine.

She look long and hard at my face, the sun glistening across my hair from her bedroom window. She tried so hard to raise from her bed. She touched my features, almost like she was memorizing them She reminded me of how she said she touched me when I was born and the first time I was laid in her arms. She looked at that moment like the 20 something year old woman who had just had her daughter. Seeing no flaws, tracing every feature, in awe. I looked at her in the very same way. I was in awe as well. Through all her sickness, pain and intense struggle, she maintained her beauty, not just on the outside but her inner beauty was so present.

We stared at each other for quite a while. Smiling, tears flowing, no words. Finally she said “Tesi, this is a win- win situation for me.” Quickly I said “Mama if you leave me I see no win here.” She replied, “Oh baby, if I go, I am at peace, I will be with my Mama and Daddy and I will be going home, if I stay, I will be with you and the boys.”

Oh Mama, I felt so greedy, I wanted her to have the peace she tried so hard to find for so many years, but I also wanted her here with me.

“I will always be with you, that will never change. Even if I pass, that will never change.”

Today that phrase has played in my mind 100 times. I knew it sounded familiar, so I dug deep, it had another meaning, I just needed to find it.

I sat here this evening covered in chills as I opened the works of our favorite poet Sara Teasdale. If I couldn't find my answers in a Conway song, I knew that my solution could be found in poetic form

The first poem on the page jumped out at me, and this time instead of crying tears of sadness, I cried .because I felt her so near me. She always did make me work for the answers and I guess this time was no different. Here lies my answer. 

“It Will Not Change”

It will not change now

 After so many years;

 Life has not broken it

With parting or tears;

Death will not alter it,

It will live on,

In all my songs for you,

When I am gone.

Sarah Teasdale

I am crying now, because this has been a tremendous journey, one that isn't over yet, but today I feel, I feel my Mama, I feel her strength, her will to never give up and the one thing she begged of me, to never change who I am. I needed a reminder.

I have changed in so many ways, ones I think she would be fine with and changes that have bettered me. I have sadly lost friends along this road, but I suppose if they were friends, they would have never exited when I hit my lowest point in life.

I have not changed my way of speaking my mind, my ability to be a lady, and I am still marching to the beat of a different drummer. It is who I am.

I have learned that you can't please everyone, it is impossible, but it is totally possible to please yourself, so I am doing that,living my life, the best way I know how and if people don't like it, well, “It Will Not Change”.

I am me, if you love me, good, I will love you back with all that I am, if you hate me, well you are only hurting yourself.

A year ago this week, Mama taught me once again to be proud of who I am, hold my head high, even when you feel like running away, stand strong.

Here are my thoughts.

 ©

Teresa