My Closet Is Not My Own

Hey!

Do you remember what your closet looked like back in high school?  I do.  

It was filled with clothes, of course, but it also had some mementos from my childhood, stuff my mother told me to clean up and I threw it in there, shoes, papers I didn't want to throw away, and the odd accessory.   

Essentially, if you looked in my closet back then, it would've been an extension of me, and you could've gleaned some information about who I was.  Probably pretty egocentric.  I mean, it was a place for all things Bonnie.

nice wooden hangers.  my clothes wish I bought those.

Nowadays, I look at my closet and think, "Who put that there?"  But I also think that my closet is still a pretty good representative of who I am today.

As I take a gander at my built-in shoe shelves, I don't see just shoes.  One shelf contains a varied assortment of washcloths. (the "master bath" doesn't have a linen closet to itself, and the cabinet under the sinks can't hold all the accouterments necessary for the bathroom.  My husband's closet is in charge of the towels.)

Mine are actually various shades of white.  Bleach would help.

Another holds miscellaneous hair bobs, smallish mementos and papers that I haven't found a place for, my one bottle of perfume, and the face cream and makeup bag I always forget to use.

The bottom 2 shelves actually hold shoes, and they don't seem any worse for the wear being piled up on top of each other like that.  I mean, most of them were bought over 3 years ago, so who'd know anyway?

not really.

The big shelves on top that span the perimeter of the space hold too many things to name, but it consists of everything from Christmas and birthday gifts and books all bought in preparation for the next gifting season, to unopened essential oil bottles, to medical tubing and supplies from when our youngest was ill in the hospital.  (might can use those at home again sometime!  Maybe they should go in the craft supply area and out of my closet....hmmm.)

There is another lower shelf that holds items that are in "time out".

What?  You didn't know inanimate objects could be put in "time out"?  I'm sure you did, but you just forgot.  It's the items that have been given too much attention, (particularly loved books, video games, and movies) or have been used as diversions for certain children when chores or schoolwork were waiting to be completed.  
Along with those items, an accidental home has been made for children's artwork, pictures, funeral bulletins, and various electronic odds and ends from the above mentioned punished devices.

You'll also find stickers applied to my walls by loving children, gift wrapping, and sample sized toiletries for children's use on trips, camps, and overnight stays.  I also have a garment or two of my teen aged daughter's hanging in there, along with my own jackets and a few items that I didn't want junking up my bedroom and irritating my neater husband.  Essentially, my closet also serves as a version of sweeping a few things "under the rug".

So, clearly, my closet is truly not just my own, but it does accurately speak of who I am - A mother who is more messy under the surface that at first she appears, who cares little for updated footwear but values a child's feelings, and who is a little sentimental, but not about medical tubing. 
   
I wonder what your closet says about you?  

A Touching Metaphorical Tale

I was minding my own business one day when I felt what I believed to be someone tapping my shoulder from behind.  I turned around and saw no one.  “Hmm,” I said to no one in particular, as I shrugged and went back to my work.

A bit later, I again felt a tap on my shoulder, but this time it was more pronounced.  Maybe even forceful.  When I turned around, I saw, to my surprise, someone who looked exceptionally like me, except for a few differences I had never noticed in my own self.

She was my height and had my same hair coloring but with a bit more grey around the temples and sprinkled throughout her long brown locks.  “Definitely an older gal” I thought.  She also had reading glasses on her head, as if she had just used them and slid them up there ready for their next assignment.  “Poor thing.  She can’t even see when she wants to read an article on what the current dress trend is.  She clearly needs to brush up on that info.”

However, because I was feeling automatically friendly toward her, (she looked almost exactly like me after all!) I inquired, “Hello.  Who are you?”

“I’m you,” she replied, “only older.”

“Come again?” I queried.

“Oh yes, silly woman.  You haven’t noticed me, but I’ve been here for some time.  I’m the “Over 40” you,” she said with a slight mocking laugh.

I was perplexed.  At 44 years old and nearing 45, I had noticed a few minor changes, but though this woman seemed the same as me in many ways, she was also too unlike me to BE me.  Wasn’t she?

I wasn’t sure I liked this.  Or her.   Yet.

“Haven’t you noticed that sometime in the last two years or so, you couldn’t refocus far away after spending any time reading?  Don’t you remember you went for your first eye exam EVER and the doc prescribed reading glasses?”

Of course I remembered!  The audacity!  The look-alike went on to imply that just because the glasses currently lived in the bottom of my purse didn’t mean that I didn’t need them.

“And how about those “infections” you had last year?  Remember those?”

Oh!  You mean the UTIs I elegantly received right during two different holiday seasons?  You bet I remembered!  The first time I EVER had one had been last year at Easter and it was followed at Christmas by another excruciating one.

“That was you?” I implored with a rising sense of strong dislike.

“Oh yes, honeybun!”  But there was more.

“You didn’t think that was a coincidence did you?  And what about 3 miscarriages in as many years?  After 7 healthy, no-problem pregnancies and births, you didn’t think “Over 40” had nothing to do with it, did you?”

“Ummm…”

As she continued candidly, my indignation grew, and I told her so.  “What is wrong with you lady?  Do you have some horrid self-hate?  I mean, I am YOU after all, and this seems a little self-defeating!  (What other big words did I learn in freshman psyc to screw this woman down?)  You are self-sabotaging you know?  Why bring this down on me?  I mean You?  I mean Us?”  This conversation was confusing.

“Oh Bonnie, don’t act so put out.  You saw these things happening.  You just ignored them!” she remonstrated.  “You noticed that for the first time in your entire life you had a horrible itching “down there”.  You knew you’d never had a yeast infection before turning 40!  Don’t act so naïve!  Your friends are experiencing all this too, and you’ve all talked about high blood pressure, pre-menopause, hot flashes, thyroid issues, pre-diabetic issues.  C’mon!” she admonished.

I was still skeptical.  “But those are unrelated issues.  And some of my friends are quite a bit older than me, (6 years counts, right?) and some of them have had these issues for a while.  Certainly before turning 40.”  I felt justified and more confident the more I thought about it.

“Sure,” she condescended.  “And none of those issues have escalated after 40, right?  And new issues haven’t surfaced, sometimes with alarming speed, right?”

She had me there.  With growing concern I inquired, “Well what am I, uhhh, are we, going to do about it?”

With a sense of calm and soothing encouragement she replied, “Almost nothing.”

I realized at that moment how I had grown to trust this woman’s judgement.  She seemed so … grown up.  So wise.  I think I even admired her.  So I continued my questions.

“Why aren’t YOU worried?  And doing ‘almost nothing’ sounds really dumb by the way.”

 “Well, you get your symptoms checked out, like when you got treatment for the UTIs, and then you live with the ones that are here to stay, like your saggy arm skin.”  She seemed a little snippy.  “You put up with the occasional lack of bladder control and do less jumping around, coughing, and sneezing without proper “protection” in your undergarments.  And you don’t think there is any need to change your evolved, "matured" opinion about music, movies, and tv programs of our current age do you?

“Heck no!" I replied emphatically.  "There was a day I was into all of those things.  But I was young and stupid then.”  I continued to consider.  “Of course in MY youth,” I reminded her, “those things weren’t so pointless, violent, and lacking in morals.  I mean, entertainment wasn’t perfect, but it was a lot more obvious what was being touted as right and wrong.  The immoral stuff was less graphic and insidious.  We didn’t like that kind of stuff.  But kids today…” I trailed off, as I caught a glimpse of her countenance.  She had a sly smile, and a know-it-all look on her face.

“You do realize you sound like an old person, right?”

“Well aren’t you high and mighty?” I rebuffed.  “YOU are me, too, so I guess you’re putting yourself down!  Ha!”   This was getting tricky.

“Yes, but I’m okay with it,” she replied with a hint of irony.

Slowly, I began to see her point, and I realized that all the things I didn’t like that “Mrs. Over 40” had brought with her, were just part of getting all her glorious confidence and wisdom of experience.  Yes, I dressed for comfort more than style!  (far more practical and accommodating than heels, tight jeans and short skirts) Yes, I hate most of what our culture dishes out, but I’m more discerning and understand WHY it sucks.  Yes, I don’t remember words I want to use in conversation, but my vocabulary has grown to...enable me to…pick out….other words to use in their place!  HA HA!  And Yes, I may sound arrogant to the young (or maybe everyone else!), but I feel very certain that anyone who wants to pick my brain will be rewarded for their efforts because I too have screwed up royally and been stupid, but the difference between me and the ignorant 20-somethings is I have learned from it and already had multiple opportunities to try again and get it right!

(stupid.  sorry, it is.  no wait.  I'm not sorry.)

 So, I made my peace with that amusing, slightly cynical, self-assured middle-aged lady, gave her a grateful hug, and invited her to stay.  She can be completely lacking in sympathy (“Stop your whining about how the kitchen looked before you went to bed!  What do you think, everything will get done everyday?” I heard her tell me yesterday), but she is almost always sincere and she knows a lot of …. (Um, what’s the word?)… stuff.     

Not Worth It.

People, I’m sitting here wincing every time my tongue touches the roof of my mouth, because I burned it.  Yes, the skin is gone.  All from an inferno hot corn-on-the-cob.  I know you sympathize, because we’ve all done it.  But as I sit here nursing the shredded remains of my mouth roof, I wonder why?

I mean, it’s not like we don’t know the item is hot.  We, as people, are generally observant.  We notice signs of hotness.  So much so that we must use fun little, yellow, corn-shaped corn holders.  We regard the steam rolling off the juicy kernels, the warm buttery fragrance wafting up, the heat warming our face as we bring it to our lips; all these things suggest that this food is more than lukewarm. 

And yet, we continue putting the fork/spoon/knife/spade/cob all the way into our mouths.  Why?

Maybe we’re really hungry.  I mean REALLY hungry.  Hmmm…..let’s think of an analogy of a perceived need that would make us willing to chance skin being burned off a sensitive part of our body that we use every waking moment….

I got it!  Remember what it feels like to be tired?  No, I mean REALLY tired?  So tired you are aching for your bed and are actually falling asleep with your eyes open?  Okay.  Are you, in that moment, tired enough to burn the skin off your eyelids in order to lay your weary head upon your pillow?  Of course not!!!  So I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me!*

Maybe we are just so excited?  It’s one of our favorite foods!  We haven’t had it in forever! And the good people at Kroger advertised that it was the First of the Season “Olathe sweet sweet corn” to quote.  And it was 10 for $2!  So I get to eat two!  Let’s see.  I am absolutely positive my personal excitement has never led to inattention of the temperature of the food placed before me.  I’m betting your excitement hasn’t either.  So I can clearly not choose the wine in front you.*

Where does that leave us…let us sum up*.

We don’t burn our mouths because:

1)  We don’t know it’s hot

2)  We are really hungry

3)  We are too interested/excited to notice the temperature

So I guess we’re just impatient.  Is that it?  Is it that simple?  We are such gluttonous impatient hogs that we won’t wait for the food to cool to a reasonable temperature?  Not even to avoid a 3-day literal pain-in-the-mouth?  That’s embarrassing.  Seriously.  I can’t even talk about it anymore.  Mostly because I need to go suck on some ice to relieve the swelling.

* movie references.  Don't know which one?  For shame. "Princess Bride".  See it and be forgiven.

I'm listening....

Alright Steph.

"Ask and you shall receive."

So Stephanie and I were talking today, and I mentioned that whenever I have struggled with something the Lord was doing, I was temped to "pull a ___ "(blank left to signify a person who shall remain nameless. On second thought, let's call him "Tom".) What I meant was that "Tom" has, in the past, on occasion, decided to,.... shall we say,.... thumb his nose at God.

To be fair, the situations that "Tom" had to deal with were fairly difficult, and under the same pressure, I'm sure I would've faired much worse. However, "Tom" found some solace in washing his hands of the whole circumstance by mumbling "Screw it", or some-such-other, and effectively throwing in the towel. If only for a few hours. (Long enough to eat a burger, fries, some donuts, and wash it all down with a coke.)

Really, it was only a bluff. Just a mindgame "Tom" played on himself to relieve a little pressure. (Still, I don't have the liberty to tell God to "step off", and apparently, he did. )

So, anyhow, I have considered this option, on rare occasion, and I dubbed it "pullin' a Tom".

That got me and Steph to thinkin'.

What would be "pullin' a Bonnie"?

It would have to be something unflattering, because I think that's what the term insinuates. Also, it doesn't have to be done very often at all, but must have been done consistently in the same situation.

So, maybe... arguing a point until I'm very indignant, emotional, and loud, and then breaking into tears because I can't stand the strain that anger puts on me and the relationship.

Maybe "pullin' a Bonnie" would be having conversations with guests while simultaneously sweeping, clearing the table, and answering questions from children. (Rude! very Rude.)

Anywho, perhaps you will share a bit about the dark underbelly of your soul with all of us here at "Bonnie Life". I will not laugh at you, but I may "pull a Bonnie" and dust the keyboard while I read.

You know you look.

I know it's been said before, and maybe it's trite, but I'll say it again.

People act like monkeys.

Remember that episode of Seinfeld where some guys at the office are watching George through a glass door? He's ranting and flinging his arms around while holding a banana. The guys give him the nickname "Coco".

Well, besides flinging our arms for emphasis, we share another quality with the monkeys. I'm not the first to notice this, but it bears repeating. We gotta look at what comes out of our bodies.

I watched as one of my children, while working on some schoolwork, scratched their nose. (name, and gender sensitive pronoun omitted to protect the innocent) You know what this child did, right? Looked at what was brought away from said nose.

This child is no different from any of the rest of us. (so get that "poor, gross little kid" look off your face!) We ALL look at what gets scratched off the skin, what comes out of the nose, off the hiney, and out of the hiney. When people blow their noses or cough, they look. When they scratch the inside of their ear with a finger, they look.

What is this about? I know, and I'll tell you.

I'll begin by admitting that I've shamelessly taken part in this activity. First of all, it's entertaining. Also, I think I have gleaned some important knowledge about my bodily-goings-on by looking at what comes out of it. I'm sure LOTS of medical facts have been acquired this way - however, I'm not as interested in what comes out of other people's bodies. That's the difference between normal people and doctors.

Anyway, I won't stop looking, though I will always try to be discreet in front of you.