Are you ready for this? This is like the most intimate 20 minutes I have ever spent in my life. No joke. Sit and relax and read about the men I have loved, how they have influenced me, and where I’m headed. Ready? Here we go…
True love has found me three times in my life. No, I haven’t only enjoyed three relationships. I’m talking the real thing. That thing folks hope for – true love. My first true love I met when I was fifteen. He was so incredible that I dumped my boyfriend just because he was brazen enough to bow up at him in public. Through ups, downs, breakups and reconciliations we married, divorced, married and divorced. Walking through fire wasn’t enough to keep me away from him, but the threat of becoming a Molotov cocktail was enough to make me realize there was more to life than fear.
The second great love of my life taught me about romance and how real men treat real women. He held me when I broke down, made love to my mind, body and soul, challenged me to always be the better person, and to love with my whole heart. He taught me how to see myself the way he saw me and understand that a loving touch in just the right place lights me up like a fire cracker (minds out of the gutter people – my “g” spot is in the small of my back).
I’m still reeling from the pain of losing the love that lowered my guard and produced the most amazing little girl EVER. I can still remember the first day he knocked on my door and how he looked in his butter yellow cotton shirt and faded blue jeans. Or how we used to kiss for what seemed like hours finally forcing ourselves apart so we could go to work. The look on his face when I walked down the aisle, when he held his little girl for the first time, when I surprised him for his 40th - there’s nothing like those unforgettable loving moments.
All of these men have taught me so much about myself. In fact, I think first and foremost, they’ve taught me who I am but they have also shown me what I want. I can’t imagine ever opening my heart to another, other than my daughter and family, for a long time. When and if I do that’s it; no more doormat. And boy is this guy going to have to be something special. He’s going to have to be a real man, someone who can hold his own in life and with me. A man who knows where to touch me, how to kiss me, how to appreciate making a wrong turn or wrong decision and learning from it, a reader to my writer, a cook, a partner, who loves to laugh and doesn’t pick or criticize, who feels secure in himself and safe with me. He will have his own interests and will want to include me, and will in turn accept and be interested in mine. God, let there be a man with one green eye and one blue who smells of chocolate chip cookies and whose favorite shape is a silver, five-pointed star. God, let there be that family man.
Join the conversation. What loves have influenced your life? Are there particular qualities in your man, woman, or the partner of your dreams that you cannot live without?
Trying desperately to get back into the groove, I am still Unstoppable and still end in Start!
Showing posts with label truth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label truth. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Truth or Fiction Thursday – The Cleaner
The first day on her new job, Sharon was joined by her officemate, Marisol. A Spanish beauty, Marisol swept into the office bringing with her the scent of warm, ripe cherries. She wore bright colors and hummed a tune, at least, until Sharon caught her eye.
“You’re new,” her voice a questionable lilt with a hint of accent.
“Sharon McMurtry,” she extended her hand shyly. “And yes, I am new.”
Marisol was gracious and took her hand. She seemed cautious, guarded. After a second rise and fall of their dainty hands, Marisol jerked her hand away from Sharon, “You’re not alone?”
Sharon shrugged her shoulders, looked around the room, and then looked back at Marisol, “Huh?”
Marisol retreated quickly, like if she remained close to Sharon much longer she might fade into the fluorescent light of their office never to be seen again.
“I’m sorry,” Sharon said, “did I say something wrong?”
Marisol didn’t say anything. She glanced over her shoulder at Sharon as she left what would be their office.
What the hell did I do? Sharon was upset by Marisol’s reaction. She had hoped more than anything to make fast friends and find some distraction from her current circumstances. Disappointed, she sat at her desk and started reading through the stack of orientation paperwork that had to be completed before she could officially begin work.
Sharon was lost in the red tape and didn’t bother to look up from her paperwork until she sensed someone walked into the office. Thinking it was Marisol, Sharon said in a flipant tone without looking up to verify, “So, I’m so bad I chased you right out of here?”
When there was no reply, she looked up and met eyes with a tall, thin, redhead. She would be beautiful if it weren’t for the stark contrast between her bright auburn hair and her pale, almost translucent skin. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Sharon smiled. “I thought you were Marisol. I’m Sharon.”
The young woman returned Sharon’s smile, “Candice. You’re new.”
“People keep pointing that out.”
Candice looked at her shoes, “It’s obvious, you know.”
“No. I guess I don’t,” she said trying to avert her attention back to the papers in front of her.
“Marisol is scared to come back in here.”
Disturbed by the notion that someone was afraid to be around her, Sharon couldn’t help but question, “Why? What the hell did I do to her?”
“Oh, please don’t misunderstand, Sharon. You’re new.”
“I know!” she barked. “And what exactly does that have to do with the price of tea in China?”
“You’re not clean,” Candice responded, the corner of her mouth turning up in a grin. “Yet.”
“Candice, I don’t mean to be rude, but what the exactly does that mean?”
“Marisol is a medium. The reason she won’t come back in here is because someone is attached to you. You’re not alone.”
“What?” Sharon couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Attached to me? Not alone? What is wrong with you people?”
Candice twitched at Sharon's latest insult, “Look Sharon, it’s not us with the problem. It’s not us who Marisol is afraid to be around. It’s you!”
“But why?” she said a little softer, frustrated tears welling up in her eyes.
“All she told me was that there is someone very dark attached to you and until he was gone she couldn’t be in the same space.”
“He?”
“Yes, the presence is male.”
“Are you clairvoyant too?” Sharon couldn’t help but ask.
“I am.”
“And,” she hesitated, “why aren’t you afraid?”
“Because I’m the cleaner.”
Sharon took one step back and tripped on the caster foot of her tall, black office chair, forcing her to fall into the seat.
It’s your turn. Dare to finish the story. What are Sharon’s “circumstances”? What happened next? She’s having a bad enough first day, what could happen, right? Do she and Marisol end up sharing an office? Does she emerge clean? Who is the “he” attached to her?
Until tomorrow, I look forward to hearing your creative ideas and remain a medium, or not a medium (it’s truth or fiction day after all) and Unstoppable.
“You’re new,” her voice a questionable lilt with a hint of accent.
“Sharon McMurtry,” she extended her hand shyly. “And yes, I am new.”
Marisol was gracious and took her hand. She seemed cautious, guarded. After a second rise and fall of their dainty hands, Marisol jerked her hand away from Sharon, “You’re not alone?”
Sharon shrugged her shoulders, looked around the room, and then looked back at Marisol, “Huh?”
Marisol retreated quickly, like if she remained close to Sharon much longer she might fade into the fluorescent light of their office never to be seen again.
“I’m sorry,” Sharon said, “did I say something wrong?”
Marisol didn’t say anything. She glanced over her shoulder at Sharon as she left what would be their office.
What the hell did I do? Sharon was upset by Marisol’s reaction. She had hoped more than anything to make fast friends and find some distraction from her current circumstances. Disappointed, she sat at her desk and started reading through the stack of orientation paperwork that had to be completed before she could officially begin work.
Sharon was lost in the red tape and didn’t bother to look up from her paperwork until she sensed someone walked into the office. Thinking it was Marisol, Sharon said in a flipant tone without looking up to verify, “So, I’m so bad I chased you right out of here?”
When there was no reply, she looked up and met eyes with a tall, thin, redhead. She would be beautiful if it weren’t for the stark contrast between her bright auburn hair and her pale, almost translucent skin. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Sharon smiled. “I thought you were Marisol. I’m Sharon.”
The young woman returned Sharon’s smile, “Candice. You’re new.”
“People keep pointing that out.”
Candice looked at her shoes, “It’s obvious, you know.”
“No. I guess I don’t,” she said trying to avert her attention back to the papers in front of her.
“Marisol is scared to come back in here.”
Disturbed by the notion that someone was afraid to be around her, Sharon couldn’t help but question, “Why? What the hell did I do to her?”
“Oh, please don’t misunderstand, Sharon. You’re new.”
“I know!” she barked. “And what exactly does that have to do with the price of tea in China?”
“You’re not clean,” Candice responded, the corner of her mouth turning up in a grin. “Yet.”
“Candice, I don’t mean to be rude, but what the exactly does that mean?”
“Marisol is a medium. The reason she won’t come back in here is because someone is attached to you. You’re not alone.”
“What?” Sharon couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Attached to me? Not alone? What is wrong with you people?”
Candice twitched at Sharon's latest insult, “Look Sharon, it’s not us with the problem. It’s not us who Marisol is afraid to be around. It’s you!”
“But why?” she said a little softer, frustrated tears welling up in her eyes.
“All she told me was that there is someone very dark attached to you and until he was gone she couldn’t be in the same space.”
“He?”
“Yes, the presence is male.”
“Are you clairvoyant too?” Sharon couldn’t help but ask.
“I am.”
“And,” she hesitated, “why aren’t you afraid?”
“Because I’m the cleaner.”
Sharon took one step back and tripped on the caster foot of her tall, black office chair, forcing her to fall into the seat.
It’s your turn. Dare to finish the story. What are Sharon’s “circumstances”? What happened next? She’s having a bad enough first day, what could happen, right? Do she and Marisol end up sharing an office? Does she emerge clean? Who is the “he” attached to her?
Until tomorrow, I look forward to hearing your creative ideas and remain a medium, or not a medium (it’s truth or fiction day after all) and Unstoppable.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Sylvia’s Roses – The Reveal
Sylvia’s eyes filled with tears as she read the words printed in pencil on the tiny sliver of sack paper:
My sweet Sylvia,
As the sun sets on next summer’s long hours, I respectfully request that you consider becoming my bride. I promise to love you with all my heart, forever and ever. I already talked to your Daddy and he was pleased. Sylvia, won’t you be mine?
All my love,
Elmer
My great aunt and uncle inspired this story with their sixty-plus year marriage. Not only were they the model of abiding love, they always seemed to like one another; they were friends. I can only hope one day to find a love so true and blessed.
Until Monday, I remain hopeful and Unstoppable.
My sweet Sylvia,
As the sun sets on next summer’s long hours, I respectfully request that you consider becoming my bride. I promise to love you with all my heart, forever and ever. I already talked to your Daddy and he was pleased. Sylvia, won’t you be mine?
All my love,
Elmer
My great aunt and uncle inspired this story with their sixty-plus year marriage. Not only were they the model of abiding love, they always seemed to like one another; they were friends. I can only hope one day to find a love so true and blessed.
Until Monday, I remain hopeful and Unstoppable.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Truth or Fiction - The Reveal
Well, if you thought the story was true, in one instance you were right. The meal was very real, and look what it inspired.
As a writer one of the most important things for me to remember is inspiration comes from anywhere and everywhere. This meal made my night some 16 years ago, and to this day I can still find a way to write about it.
Interesting thought, isn't it? What small thing can you recall from 16 years ago that might inspire you to write something today? Take a minute and let that thought bring out your inner-writer.
Until Malleable Monday and the letter "B" for new writers, I remain Unstoppable.
As a writer one of the most important things for me to remember is inspiration comes from anywhere and everywhere. This meal made my night some 16 years ago, and to this day I can still find a way to write about it.
Interesting thought, isn't it? What small thing can you recall from 16 years ago that might inspire you to write something today? Take a minute and let that thought bring out your inner-writer.
Until Malleable Monday and the letter "B" for new writers, I remain Unstoppable.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Truth or Fiction Thursday - Hey! That's Mine!
It's the inaugural installment of Truth or Fiction Thursday, so let's get right to it, shall we...
She was an immovable presence in her neighborhood, a woman not to be challenged. Sara gave her time and energy to her neighborhood association, PTA, and the one charity she held dear, H.E.R.O. for Children. But one day, someone did challenge Sara.
She arrived home at dusk one February evening to find her garbage sitting in white kitchen bags on the curb. That's odd, she thought pulling into the driveway of her West Atlanta home. I put herbie-curbie out this morning.
She stomped inside, upset over her missing $80 garbage can and asked her partner Erica what she did with it.
"I didn’t do anything but put it on the curb full of trash," Erica snapped back, still upset because she was the one who had to take out the garbage that morning. "Why don't you go ask the neighbors?"
Out the back door, Sara marched directly to the next door neighbors, the bee in her bonnet buzzing with fury. "Do you guys know what happened to my fifteen year old, very expensive trash can?" she demanded.
Every neighbor, three in each direction, responded, "No." Finally crossing the street, Sara discovered a witness. "Sure," her neighbor Tom sounded righteous. "I saw someone come through here earlier, empty the trash and pull it away like it was theirs."
With that, the bee stung Sara. She headed right off Tom's porch and paraded up and down the surrounding streets until she found her beloved trash can sitting by the garage of a neighbor's house two blocks over. She walked straight up to the house, emptied the dirty white bags from her can and wrapping her fist around the handle of herbie-curbie she began to walk away. But, the temptation to say something was too great. Sara stood in front of one of the large picture windows on the front of the Brady Bunch contemporary brick home challenging the owner to, "come out and take this trash can from me again!"
When no one accepted her challenge, Sara calmed down and started her walk home. She was proud of herself for locating her precious disposal bin and happy she took the steps to get it back. When she arrived home she wrote her street number in permanent marker on every side of the container, put her trash back inside, and left herbie-curbie on the curb for pickup the next day.
Early the next morning, with coffee in hand, Sara pleaded with Erica to come out and look at her prize. Upon seeing the familiar trash receptacle on the curb, Erica took a sip of coffee and laughing choked out, "Sweetie, that one isn't ours."
Become part of the discussion - Is this a true story, or is it fiction? C'mon, don't you want to know how it ends? Aren't you a little curious? Leave a comment before midnight (EST) March 4, 2011 and you’ll be entered into a drawing to win the Unstoppable Mouse pad. And, you'll get to hear the truth.
Until then, I remain the Unstoppable Ms. Start
She was an immovable presence in her neighborhood, a woman not to be challenged. Sara gave her time and energy to her neighborhood association, PTA, and the one charity she held dear, H.E.R.O. for Children. But one day, someone did challenge Sara.
She arrived home at dusk one February evening to find her garbage sitting in white kitchen bags on the curb. That's odd, she thought pulling into the driveway of her West Atlanta home. I put herbie-curbie out this morning.
She stomped inside, upset over her missing $80 garbage can and asked her partner Erica what she did with it.
"I didn’t do anything but put it on the curb full of trash," Erica snapped back, still upset because she was the one who had to take out the garbage that morning. "Why don't you go ask the neighbors?"
Out the back door, Sara marched directly to the next door neighbors, the bee in her bonnet buzzing with fury. "Do you guys know what happened to my fifteen year old, very expensive trash can?" she demanded.
Every neighbor, three in each direction, responded, "No." Finally crossing the street, Sara discovered a witness. "Sure," her neighbor Tom sounded righteous. "I saw someone come through here earlier, empty the trash and pull it away like it was theirs."
With that, the bee stung Sara. She headed right off Tom's porch and paraded up and down the surrounding streets until she found her beloved trash can sitting by the garage of a neighbor's house two blocks over. She walked straight up to the house, emptied the dirty white bags from her can and wrapping her fist around the handle of herbie-curbie she began to walk away. But, the temptation to say something was too great. Sara stood in front of one of the large picture windows on the front of the Brady Bunch contemporary brick home challenging the owner to, "come out and take this trash can from me again!"
When no one accepted her challenge, Sara calmed down and started her walk home. She was proud of herself for locating her precious disposal bin and happy she took the steps to get it back. When she arrived home she wrote her street number in permanent marker on every side of the container, put her trash back inside, and left herbie-curbie on the curb for pickup the next day.
Early the next morning, with coffee in hand, Sara pleaded with Erica to come out and look at her prize. Upon seeing the familiar trash receptacle on the curb, Erica took a sip of coffee and laughing choked out, "Sweetie, that one isn't ours."
Become part of the discussion - Is this a true story, or is it fiction? C'mon, don't you want to know how it ends? Aren't you a little curious? Leave a comment before midnight (EST) March 4, 2011 and you’ll be entered into a drawing to win the Unstoppable Mouse pad. And, you'll get to hear the truth.
Until then, I remain the Unstoppable Ms. Start
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