My dad, my face, Noxema and Oil of Olay

Happy Angel Father’s Day Dad. I love and miss you. I want to thank you for so many things but especially for introducing me to Noxema and Oil of Olay. From your work on heavy machines, welding and your mechanic hobby your hands were a terrible mess. When I was 12 years old you shared your secret to healing the skin of your beleaguered hands, Noxema and Oil of Olay.

It seemed a miracle to my wondering eyes the transformation, relief and lasting effect he received from cleaning with the smelly cream then just a few drops of the mysterious fluid. When I became a young woman I included Noxema and Olay in my fledgling beauty routine and they have remained. Fast forward to today when I went to Olay.com and found the Skin Advisor. I am age 50 but the skin profile came up as 47. 47! This may not seem like a huge difference, and it’s not, except for a few things that were fast forwarded over. I have lived an extraordinary life of curiosity and peril. There hasn’t been a road I didn’t want to explore. I’ve lived through national disasters. Personal loss and tragedy have taken a heavy toll. I’ve lost a child. Home has been in almost every climate of the USA. I smoked for 33 years. I’ve been homeless. I’ve worked hard and played hard. I’ve experimented. My skin has taken a beating from the inside and out. And I’m currently the single mom of an Autistic kiddo. Now, does that 47 seems a bit more impressive? It certainly impressed me. I want to extend my thanks to @Noxema and @Olay for the fantastic product, without which I’d likely have the look of an old paper bag. Dad, I’ll pass on this secret as well.

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Dirge for the boy

From the rhythmic seas to the raw highland breeze we went seeking our fortune and fame.

To that sweet siren song we did follow along never knowing the odds of the game.

So bring us a glass and drink to our passing by the light of the glistening moon. To our loved ones and kin till we meet up again, we’re the ones who were gone much too soon.

By the road long and dreary and with souls sore and weary we were taken a’one all the same.

And avowed to a man we’d return to our land not a hitch nor a fear left to blame.

So bring us a glass and drink to our passing by the light of the glistening moon. To our loved ones and kin till we meet up again, we’re the ones who were gone much too soon.

In the gloom of the night we may cause you a fright but give us laughter and tears at our name.

When you think you can measure go and seek for our treasure if it’s our fate that you wish to claim.

So bring us a glass and drink to our passing by the light of the glistening moon. To our loved ones and kin till we meet up again, we’re the ones who were gone much too soon

If you ask me…

They are mutants
We’re all mutants
We take bits and pieces
Of what we call life
And try to make something
We can call ourselves
In our strive for identity
We sometimes find
Our original design distorted
Or wrong
Or lost
What then?

This was my answer when once asked by a friend my thoughts on homosexuality.  Though this was many years ago it would still be my answer today. I would add that this process begins as soon as we draw breath. Every moment of our existence we are compiling ourselves into forms that fit comfortably. We are naturally fluid beings constantly changing and growing. A skin that once fit with ease now binds, masks wear thru and the face we present emotes with expanding experience. Typical, normal, real, these are the things we are taught to aspire to in life. Normal does not exist and typical is a minority. Intelligent beings strive to be real. Some don’t learn what real is until later in life and their struggle is monumental. Some of us face the daunting task of having no other choice but to present our realness at all times. The one thing we all are is human and as such we deserve understanding. Understand that we are all going through the same thing in our own way.

Quest

I used to illustrate my words with images found on the internet. Mind you this was in the late 90’s when the information super highway was still a two lane country road. If I post one of those old works and you see your art being vandalized, please, holler at me first. One click and all will be well. If you like the transformation you can be added as a creator. This image belongs to me. It is me.

quest

These words still echo in my head.

869 days

Grief is akin to battling addiction. I got my 2 year chip 4 months and 16 days ago.  And some days it’s just as hard to get thru as it was the first day. When you quit a person cold turkey the withdrawals are dire.  There is the constant craving that sneaks out in a tear. The muscle memory that reaches for empty space. The name that escapes your lips in a tremble. There is no way to cleanse your system. So I’ve built fresh skin over the rawness and so far it’s holding.

Keep doing what you’re doing. One day/step/breath at a time. Struggle, love, BE!