Glo Blog

It took a long time for me to hit the wall. Literally.  Years.  And then without a hint of a warning, there it was.  My wall. Never even saw it coming.  And I hit it hard-going ninety to nothing in a fitted black cocktail dress and leopard print pumps. Bam!  Left a mark on the wall of glass in a perfect shade of dusted rose with a hint of shimmer.  Squished lips imprinted on plate glass.  The scene of the crime.

I hit the glass wall so hard the pain did not even register at first.  But the sound sure did.  A guy loading in his drum set rounded the corner took one look, removed the cigarette from his mouth and simply said:

That musta hurt.

I check my two front teeth- still there. Blinding pain-and then I remember something about noses and lips bleeding a lot.  A real lot.

And sure enough, lips bleed.  A lot.

A part from the pain-I was pissed.  In between cursing myself for doing something so stupid-and for doing it so well- I apply pressure and access the damage.

Ewwwwwwwwww.

Lip flap and blood-split my cupid’s bow it did.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

And then I have to decide what to do.  Leave it alone?  Ice?  I have to sell art and mingle about in an hour-do I wing it and just go on?

I go on.  Nonchalantly mingling and hobnobbing in the name of art, as my top lip swells to porn star heights.   And every time I hobnob and smile, I feel the trickle of blood begin again…..

Um…your, um, lip is bleeding.

Oh. Sorry. I walked into a wall on my way in.

Jokes about screen doors and alcohol.

A mark of distinction?

Oh, it’s nothing.

THAT’S going to leave a mark.

Funny.

Does my husband secretly wish my upper lip would stay this swollen?? Hmmmm?  What is it about swollen lips and men?

Advice on where to go, where NOT to go, what to do and what not to do.

You’re gonna need a plastics guy ya know?

Really?  Plastics guy?  But I don’t know any plastics guys.

And then thanks to the power of word of mouth( no pun intended) I find a plastics guy.

Who very carefully and artistically put me back to together again.

Me and my cupids bow.

The swelling will go down. ( sorry honey) I will slow down. And best of all, I will have a small little scar to remind me to do so.

And my plastics guy?  If he is this good on lips I wonder how he is with………?

Well, every good woman needs a good plastics guy.

**Gracious and sincere thanks to Dr. Russell Babbitt III, Lyn and Robin for putting me back together again…..the guy is a genius.

 

 

Hattie used to say “ya’ll point ya’lls finger at someone they’ll be three point’in right back at cha”.   She would say this when after a terribly fun time in the family room-the den we called it-we would get to playing and playing turned to something getting broken.  Hattie would run in from the kitchen, leaving the fried bologna in the pan and look at us-quiet now, looking down at the floor-never at the broken object-and she’d say:

“Alright now, who did it?”

I would point at my brother, my brother would point at me and the kid from down the street would shrug his shoulders.

Silence.  Nothing but fingers.  And shoulders.  Stuck up right by his ears.  Frozen.

“I told ya’ll not to be horse’in round. Now who did it?”

Fingers and shoulders stay where they are.

Frying bologna beckons

Hattie leaves the room throwing the dishtowel over her shoulder along with her finger pointing quote.

“Ya’ll keep point’in.  Ya’ll got one finger in someones face and three pointing right back at you.  Hmmmmmmmp.”

I think about it every time I find myself pointing-literally or figuratively.  That one powerful finger pointing at someone else-and those three pointing right back at me. AS we navigate human error-community issues and worldly turbulence, it is easy to point the finger.  That one defiant moment when blame goes right away-up and out through the very tip of the pointer.  Mr. Pointer.  And yet, and yet, what is held in the those three pointing back?  Guilt?  Weakness?  Ignorance?  More defiance?  Times 3?  So there in my quest to shift and be brighter, lighter and more Buddha like.  There in those moments I am back on the road to a well lived life, I look a little more closer not at Mr. Pointer-but at those other three fingers that fold down and point back.  And one by one I name them:  Acceptance, and it unfolds. Courage, and it unfolds. Love, and it unfolds.  I am now looking at an open hand-palm up-open.  Mr. Pointer is now part of the pack-the whole hand. The whole.

Sun up, covers off, feet down, robe on,down the stairs leaving one snoring behind. Lights on, dogs fed, coffee on, laundry sorted, check the list. Computer on, journal opened,bills splayed, which one first? Dogs out, dogs in, coffee poured, smell the cream, cream poured, coffee stirred, brain stirring.  Quiet house. For now. Journal open, journal open. journal open to the page I have yet to finish, need to finish. Check face.  Sigh. Age.  What to do? Start laundry, the darks.  Coffee cup is, where? It’s Monday. It’s Monday. It’s Monday. Check this, start that, sit down. No. Get up. And what about?  Foot steps, snorer up, quiet is gone, dogs welcome another riser.  Kiss, kiss, love, love, dogs jumping. Little footsteps now, grumpy start for a nine year old’s day.  No, no, we won’t have this.  Kiss, kiss, love,love. Breakfast?  Darks out, whites in.  Dryer started. creaking, creaking, creaking, a dryer complains with every turn of the drum. Thump, squeal, thump squeal.  How much is a new dryer? Oh. and new tires. Before winter. How much are new tires?  Coffee.  New cup. Is there anything worse than cold coffee?  One leaves, kiss, kiss, love, love, the other goes up stairs,to change,now, right now,there is no way you are wearing that to schoo, because I said so. Off she goes hitting each stair with defiance. Lunch packed, teeth brushed, pass by journal open on the desk,get in the car, drive.  Wait.  For the line of cars to go. Kiss, kiss, not in front of everyone, mooooom!, door slammed, drive. Coffee. is. cold. again. House is quiet. Again. Except for the dryer. That damn dryer.  Dog throws up. Hmmmm? Ham bone not a good idea. Bone fragments and ham bits blended into a semi wool shag.  Journal open.  Sit.  Write. Phone rings, insurance questions.  Am I dressed for today? Will this do?  How vocal do I want to be today?  Do I care?  Really?  Breathe.  Journal open. Write.