Rainy days make me cry..

I don't know why, but every time it rains, I cry.  Not the bwahha slobber down my face cry.. but the slow emotional tears that purify the soul.

Yesterday was not an exception.  I ran in to work, after close of day and was overwhelmed with nostalgia.   I have been doing what I do for over 10 years now.   True, it started as a whim, a hobby.  But it has grown into a real business, with real problems and real growing pains.

One of the greatest pains was the loss of friendships.   I try to hard to be everyones best friend, and end up being my own worst enemy.   I am not the best at relationships.   Those that try to get close to me, end up trying to save me.   They are amazing for trying... but no one can.  Life is messy and I dive in head first just like always.  I have so many mistakes, but they were made in joyful times.  So many thing to learn from, so many smiles along the way....

I don't revel in the moments of tears, however, to be completely honest... I do enjoy them.  I believe that each tear is a moment of honor for those loved, missed and respected.  Not one life have I met that I consider worthless.. Not one soul could I truly condemn...  So much has been given to me in such a brief life.   How could I think differently on the blessings of growing through the start, growth, wain and loss involved in friendships.  Makes me think of a bonsai.... Painfully pruned, but after freely growing.  Creating detail and beauty.

Paths did cross.
My life forever changed
Smiles set deeply
yet weep........Diva

Why do they end.?

I am a people person.  I can truly tell you there is not any one person that I hate.  I dislike the company of some. However, I have always attributed that to my personal taste in character.   I know there are people out there that just don't like me...  It is going to happen. Not every one is compatible.  I can deal with it.

I don't understand how someone can know you day in and day out.  Be the voice in your head for so many years, and then turn on you.  As if they just woke up and said, "I think I'll ruin her... I have no more use for her...  I don't believe her any more.  I don't trust her any more.. and I don't even care what she has to say for herself..   I don't care if she lives or dies."   that is what it feels like...
             That is the bottom line.

I want to talk this all out - and the most hurtful thing of all of it....  I want to talk to her!   She was who listened and was open and honest about me being over the top - or right on target....

I have spent the last year and a half floundering from friendship to friendship... Never having that solid love happen.   Always they want so much from me... and never willing to give open and honestly back.

I do everything big... so when I love - I love big... friendships are my strong hold.  I love people who are completely honest.. no butt kissers here thank you.   Tell me I am being a drama queen.  I may react hurt at first .. but I will take it into the measure of who I am.
- Do I want to be a drama queen?  - Do I want to change.?   - How do I do it?
Really - that is the true nature of me..   I love to interact with people so that I can make myself a better person.  I love to talk out my problems, and come to an ethical, hopeful conclusion of action.

Somewhere in the past year, I have become a three second friend..  It seems that is all I can maintain a friendship.  Why?  Perhaps I am the morbidly self centered person I am sometimes told I am.   OR   ????
I have no real understanding.. but maybe  it is all me..  All my failure... All my responsibility.
I just don't know how to love any harder than I do.  I don't know how to be kinder than I am.

I am pulled by a company that needs me, a family that needs me and friends that want me...   If I choose one, the others suffer..   and on the moments that I blow everyone away and think of myself - all three crumble..

I know where my love comes from.  I know I do have those that deeply love me and care about me and who I am more that themselves. They are true friends and I love them back, genuinely.
The bottom line....
 I just still miss my friend.  Wow... that was hard to say.  But, sometimes truth is more painful than lies...

Only Daughter... for life.

I am of a large family. I am the only daughter, of a very large family. I AM THE DAUGHTER!....

With this title has come a great deal of personal honor. It has also come with a personal cost. I am expected.

... Expected to be there when beckoned. Expected to look a certain way (which changes daily). Expected to entertain. Expected to help out. Expected to mediate. Expected to spoil the younglings. Expected to listen to every word spoken by brother and parent alike. Expected to answer, laugh, or discuss intelligently in reaction to every item that was spoken to me.

I am expected to be DAUGHTER. Expected to know the family stories, Expected to be seen and not heard, Expected to speak my mind, Expected to work without complaint. Expected to love and be loved.... whew....

Well, OK....

I can do this. I have my whole life. I adore my daddy, and I lived for my brothers. I look at my mother as an amazing woman. Capable of such great things, that I was astounded.

Then one day... a day I knew would come... they were old. Mom got sick. She became seriously ill. Then, I weaned my mother through a very desperate battle with lymphacitic leukemia and a serious infection. She developed sepsis. We took her into our home and kept her. I learned to do what I never wanted to do... Change an IV, Give Shots, and Change a colostomy bag. In short... I was an un-educated health care provider. I would never change what I did. I loved the closeness that I earned over the time. I learned so much about my mother, not only from her being there with us, but from my father being around with the opportunity to speak. Mom tends to do the majority of the talking in the family... But my father has such a way of story telling, when he relaxes. He took us down paths of child hood that only I know. He told of how he met my mother at age 10. How strong he knew she was. For the first time in my life.. I saw his desperate love for his wife. She was set to die.. He knew she wouldn't .. He just knew. He is amazing that way. I watched her get stronger and he, got quieter. When the day came and she left my home, we were sad. I would never have traded those days for anything.

I am the DAUGHTER. I don't take my role lightly. I take it very seriously, BUT... It got to a point that I had no life to share. I DID.. but they didn't want to hear it. They wanted to only focus on what their lives were all about. What new and grave illness was lurking around the corner. What did this grandchild do in school, or what grandchild achieved in what sport. All the while doing all the things that were demanded or expected of me. I pulled away. Mom had begun to say things that hurt. Things that she would try to cushion with the exuse of "her age".. At My age I should be able to say what I want... Well - At MY age.. I don't want to hear it.

Some very sharp words were spoken last year by my mother. She criticized every thing in my life. From my marriage, to my children, to my personal appearance. I was used to the mood

shifts as a child. Mom was never the most stable when it came to her mind. Let's face it - the woman was a bit nutty. She spent her time in and out of hospitals for her nerves. Much due to a chemical imbalance, and once that was settled, she has done quite well. With her stability in mind the event so recent could not be attributed to her "mental state". Was it her heart? Was it so much hatred for a daughter who tries so hard to please?..

OH Come on, Lets face it... I don't have a warm fuzzy family. We use "shut up" as a term of endearment. We just started hugging when we all became parents. We tell each other we love each other, only when it is needed. Heck, We can go years without talking to each other, and we act as if this is a normal way of family life. But the words spoken by my mother... the one woman I needed to approve of me. Those words cut too deep.

For the first time in my life, I would not speak to my mother. No matter how angry with her I had ever been in the past, I always pushed it down and forgave. It was the Christian thing to do! My obligation as her daughter, just take it and shut up. But this time... This time, these words, this life... I could not. It was on the advise of a friend that I finally answered when my mother called, 4 months later. A friend who really didn't know me well. He asked how things were and then heard my phone click, "Do you need to get that?" he asked. I answered " It's my mom... were not speaking."... He responded, "If she is calling, she has something to say.. It may be the last thing she says to you, Donna... do you want it to be a message?" I played it off like no big deal for a while. He then said, "Diva, I am hanging up. You need to talk to your mom. It is just the right thing to do."

Now, I don't know if he just wanted to get off the phone and used that for the "why", but I couldn't get away from the thought that the last words my mother has for me, could be spoken to a recording... So I called. Was there an apology for how she acted.. NOPE. But there was MY MOM. The one that held my hand when I was scared. The one that brushed the knots out of my overly curly hair. The Mom that told me that people were more important than anything else in life. And I remembered. One moment can hurt, but a lifetime heals. She and I have a lifetime...

I know that as a teen I hurt her. I don't remember it... But I am sure that I did. So, if in her senior years, she slips, and hurts me... from now on, it is a moment of hurt, but I know I have a lifetime of love, adoration and pride that she feels for me. It is evident every time I look at my children. I know, because I feel the same. They will rebel, and hurt and I cant do a thing about it. Except, love for a lifetime. Learn from my mother's love and hurt. Grow with a Godly heart, and Pray... Pray.. Pray, that I show patience as I pass on my role as "The Daughter" to my little angel. Because no matter how much I may complain, and I hope and pray I don't do much any more, I LOVE being the DAUGHTER. I love the special place I hold in my brothers and parents lives. And this is the joy that my only daughter and I can share. That she will always be loved in such a special way. As the Only one of her kind. Her brothers Sister and Parent's Daughter.

I'm Just Sayin'

You know you have heard that a million times in the past few years.  
I heard it just today and let myself stop and think about how ridiculous that phrase is.  
If I said what I said.. I was saying it.  Do I need a caveat?  Need I explain that I am saying the actual words that I just said?

OK OK!
I use that phrase.  I am a satirical master. But when I do use it what EXACTLY do I mean by it?
"I'm just sayin'"   ...   Is it an easy way out to say something rude or insulting or even debasing and since.. "I'm just sayin'"..does that somehow make it socially acceptable?   Am i trying somehow to soften the blow of a deep and penetrating truth?   Do I find the need to hide behind these words so that I do not have to own up to what is following/preceding them?   Perhaps if "I'm just sayin' "   I may not need to be sayin' at all?

Now, most of the time this phrase is used in fun and jest.  I love to joke and am probably one of the more sharp tongued of my friends.  I use too harsh a word from time to time and have to pay my penance of apologies.  BUT.. If ,  I'm just saying.. you look like you slept in those clothes... is it somehow softer than, What? you sleep in those?  I may have to make this a preface to each phrase I speak.   Even if I do find it a bit redundant.  I am saying what I am saying, or I wouldn't be saying it after all.

It has almost become the new "like"...   Listening to my  teens talk, is like, almost, like, a western union telegraph., like....
I am going to the mall (stop), like, so I can, (stop) like, get new shoes, (stop) like, and wear them (stop) like, to the after party.

This epidemic has spread to the adult world as well.   At  a recent business meeting one of the presenters was riddled with the "Like" button.  She said "Like", like 40 times in a single paragraph... I couldn't concentrate at all on what was being said.   Her point was valid, her argument to advancement in the community was endearing, but, like, all the while, I like, was hash marking, every, like that, she, like was saying.  I lost her point completely.  It was, like.. so annoying. Someone should talk to her, not ME!
... I'm just sayin'.

People who need people.

After 10 years in the public eye as a restaurant owner I have come to learn one (of many) valuable lessons
People are ...

I know, you are saying,  "Diva, people are what?   I am hanging on your every word.  Where is this taking us.... What journey of literary and mental explore do we have set before us..?"

Well..  That's all I've got.   People ARE...

They are rude, when they want to be.  They don't care if they hurt you.  Your a service industry person... you are below all else.  

They are right.  All the time.  No possible mind change or value for another's opinion.  They know what they said, wanted, had, felt... And YOU ARE WRONG.

They are spiteful.  They believe they are to be treated better than anyone else in the world and when they FEEL they are not.. They lash out and tell every one and their mothers that I am the worst person in the universe.  

THEY ARE GREEDY.  After all that they will call you two weeks later for a donation, money, free food, special service or my ever favorite 'I have a friend who needs a job'.

but then there are the ones that make your life....
They Are REAL...   They tell you when they get mad at you and talk to you about it.
They Are Sincere...  After that they work it out with you and you grow from knowing them.
They Are Encouraging...  Then they tell others that they really love you and have faith in what you are doing.
They Are Friends...  They just listen  and tell NO ONE.  The believe in you and no matter what they hear around town, they choose to only believe the best.


Yes, my friends... People Are People...
I love them,  I can't stand them, I need them....
Such is life...  So I choose to enjoy all the many diverse "People Are's" I can find.  Learn from them how I need to "are" in my life.  And pray for patience with those who "are" not so caring.

IKEA - My new mecca...?

I trekked to Ohio today with a friend.  We found our way to Ikea.  She needed a bed.  I needed nothing.

Now, I have been to IKEA before.  2 times before.  I loved the compact living space concept.  I adored the little bathroom sinks and stylish doors on every thing.   I love their use of red.   I love the unique use of wall space.

I love the furniture.. the couches...

I am not a big fan of their textiles.  Or the food.  I'ts ok mind you.. but - that takes me to the next stop...
(she got her bed, I got candles and kitchen sundry)

JUNGLE JIM'S... Fairfield Ohio.
THIS IS MY MECCA!
They have cheese.... and cheese... and Irish cheese, and french, denmark, norway, and france and wow!

They have shrimp the size of your hand.  I can't get even started on the wine selection... Today I did not allow myself to even step in that direction (although 2 moscado did find their way in the cart).
They have a health food section the size of a small grocery!   Just the health food!...  The produce section is half a kroger!  (jewel for you northerners).
I strolled around the bakery for 20 minutes... I got a baguette, and a batard, a sourdough and an Italian loaf.
A strawberry cream cheese puff, and apple turnovers for Andrew and Strawberry Cream Cheese for Alex.
 (Alex was devastated that I did not take him - he is a foodie as well).  I also got a chocolate croissant..  i love those.

Diet decimated I went to the section I had been dying to check out.  The Egyptian/Medeteranian area.  Wow.. I have some cool stuff to cook.  couscous... Butter Chicken (curry chicken), a pasta that I can't pronounce...

Then i ran quickly past the cooking sundries - NO MORE STUFF!  

Ireland... oh how drab your flavors ... but how cute your wares...

England.. .mmm nope..

GERMANY - the land of chocolate... I had to....  and I did.
I will be working out a lot tomorrow.
enough said.

Diva Described /or Never Spite a Melanie!

Perhaps what you vision a Diva is not what my description of Diva is.  For me Diva is that person that walks into a room and commands - not DE-mands attention.   They unknowingly control the environment around them.
This has been me.  Sometimes completely unknowingly... other times, yes, I planed and manipulated the situation to put me in the forefront... Why LIE!  

First stories First..
Melanie Spite...
My kindergarten best friend.  She came into my life and I was enamored.  I adored her.  She was as cute as I was, had curls - not as curly as mine - and a sweet smile I remember to this day.  And ...  She was a Show Boat!    Before long, little cute Melanie had her own "catch phrase".   Out of NO WHERE!  I could sing and perform at the drop of a hat... but never in a million years did I ever think, Hey... I need a catch phrase.   She out showed me!

At any given moment of true or trumped up frustration, adorable Melanie would announce  "Stuffed Bananas!"  And my brothers.. MY BROTHERS!  would fawn with adoration on her.  "She is so cute... You've got competition JP (Janie Pie).. Adorable!"    I loved her and hated her all in one emotion.
She was getting MY attention!   But She was my best friend and favorite person.  Heck!  I thought it was adorable and tried to get her to say it.   One day I took "Pokey Little Puppy" (her favorite book) and hid it just so she would say to the Sunday School teacher ..  "I wanted to read it again, Stuffed Bananas!"   I mean really - that is quite adorable.   How dare she.

I pondered Sunday after Sunday how I would win the crowds back.  My long Banana curls drew attention one Sunday morning only to be followed by an announcement by Mel that they looked like bananas all right.... Stuffed Bananas.!...     Really!   My naturally curly flaming red high lit mahogany brown tresses that total strangers would dote on was now a part of HER attention bit?   What a world.

Months went by.  I was loosing the crowd week after week.   She was becoming the Diva!
Then one Sunday morning it happened!   Like a light from the heavens.  My brother chose a song.  Not A song... THE song.   This is it,I thought!   I can sing!  I sing good!   I don't want to be mean to Mel to get attention... This is it!   My favorite Song.
My brother, who was directing the congregation in music, began to sing a hymn.... There is a song that Jesus gave me... It was sent from heaven above... . (this was where I stood on the pew next to mom and belted from the tip of my toes!) There never was a sweeter Melanie!  She's the Melanie I Love.....
In    My    Heart   There    Rings a Melanie, there Rings a Melanie in Heaven's harmony..!
The auditorium all looked and smiled.   Melanie blushed and tossed her curls.  She was enthralled!  She was honored...  She was trumped!   My brother began to giggle and could hardly direct.  My mom was so proud she wanted to burst.   My neighbor's dad said out loud that I was the most adorable child he had ever seen.  So beautiful, and so sweet.     Oh, that was my moment!  And I milked it for all it was worth.  Any time that "Stuffed Bananas" came out..   Rings a Melanie was the tune dujour.

This was my moment of realization of how I work.  I may have only been 4 or 5, but I knew exactly what I was doing, and who I was.   I loved to be the center of attention.  I was  born the center of attention...  I love to entertain.  I love people.  I am true to my friends, even if they are not so true to me.  I would never put one down, to lift myself up.  That would be . . . rude.    (another of Mel's phrases.. How Rude!)    I would rather draw attention to myself by building up or showing off someone I love.   I still do this today.  More with my kids than anything.
Let's face it.   My kids are fantastic... but they didn't become that without good parenting.  Oh.. did I just do that.  Reality check.  Yes..  If it were not for my and my husbands teaching and mentoring my kids would be vagrants and hot heads.  They don't want to do anything and they have the tempers that resemble nuclear warfare.  Push the button and it deploys!   By patience and love, they have been shaped into individuals who keep their personalities, but know how to control the selfish nature.  Of course i am blessed.  I give props to the Creator.  But I would be lying if I said that when people comment on my kid's uniqueness and independent strength, I don't get a little puffed up, I know how they got that way..     Knowing that my work with my children brought someone joy.  Yep...Then I have a bit of a Diva Moment.

As for the song...  It is remembered by many to this day.  I wonder if Melanie remembers, I know my brothers still sing Melanie...

My Life Version 1.0

I am told over and over again that I should write my life story.  I don't know why people want this of me, really.   I am just me.  I have always been what I am, just different varieties of me. However, for the sake of posterity (I really don't know what that means, but it sounds poetic)... I am writing my life.  But be known to all that read herin... I will NEVER let the truth dampen a good story... So this is my INTERPRETATION of events, past and present (and possibly non-existing).

I was born a princess.

OK - I was not a REAL princess.  Not the kind with jewels and a throne and all that, but I was the princess of my domain.   I was born the only daughter to a doting father, loving mother and 7 older brothers that believed the sun rose and set on my ....    Well, you get the picture.

I wasn't spoiled in the bratty sense.  I was only given what I asked for.   I just knew what I could and couldn't ask for.   After watching the older ones long enough, you learn what you can push and what you cant.  The youngest 2 of the Devine clan were quite wise in their judgment and disciplined in their desires.  We dreamed of the best and brand new, but enjoyed life with the mediocre and hand-me-down.   Our family spanned 2 decades of men.  I didn't really know my oldest brothers until my late teen years. (but that's a chapter all it's own).   I loved Cat Stevens, and the Monkeys....  Watched the Original Star Trek... and Next Generation. I knew every word of every Niel Diamond song when all my friends were fawning for Michael Jackson.
I loved Fred Astaire movies, and John Wayne was my icon.  I grew up timeless...  I believed in everything, wanted nothing, and was certain that my brothers created and ran the entire world.   Of course, my daddy carried it on his shoulders.

This bubble was near perfect.  Until my dear brother Dennis passed away.  He was born with heart issues.... issues that would later play a significant role in my life.   Denny was my confidant, my story teller, my smile when I skinned my knee.  He taught me how to keep baseball stats on the Cubs, and how to do play by play for the Chicago Blackhawks (thats hockey gal's).  We kept ants.  Ok... we tortured ants.   We caused great battles between different breeds of ant.  Black vs red, carpenter vs. worker.   We would dig until we captured the queen and then watched the drones panic.   He would tell me how this was life.
         How I was a queen.  How I could direct the world with the gifts that I have. How I was why dad worked so hard, and when he came home why he just wanted a hug, and a song.   Why mom wanted me in the kitchen doing dishes with her, just listening to her talk.  Why my brothers all wanted me to "come and see" whatever it was they were doing.  Why even the older ones would take me with them and show me off wherever they went.  I never really understood what he meant then.

I never realized that when I sang... everyone sang.
That the right hand of my father at the dinner table was MY SPOT.
  I was the ant queen.  But, it wouldn't be for years that I realized this.  When I could only hear the impression of his thoughts and not the actual words he spoke.  When I was faced with leaving.  That was when I understood.   I was the center of our house.

 I tried to be like other girls.  I wanted to be Daisy Duke, but could drive more like Bo...   Got my first Motorcycle when I was 8. . . First high heels at 10.  Was told to act like a girl . . . but bragged about by my brothers as tougher than any boy my age.  I played war, but they made me be a medic.     I loved football, but wanted my clothes to be pretty.  I wore makeup to my volleyball games, and even took time outs to re apply the proper amount of mascara.  I was the Tom-Girl... you would say.

Now, the #1 Question I get, Why do I cook.
Did it start in my childhood?  It is true...I loved to pretend to feed everyone.  I made sand food.   Not like mud pies.. like actual concrete sand food.  "contractor's daughter"   Dad built me a sand box  10' wide...  Ok it was his sand for work but I got to use it whenever I wanted.  He put an old oven and refridgerator on the side of the house,  said it was junk for him to haul off.. but we all knew it was for me to play with.   We cooked for hours.   I pulled greens, red berries from the bushes, elephant ears for plates, straw, sand, and mud for cakes.
My mom thinks this is why I ended up cooking for a living for so long.  I dis-agree.  I cook for people because I love people.  I love to see them eat and talk to each other. It is what I saw every Sunday at my house growing up.  I cook because she did.  I loved the days that the missionary's or Pastoral Candidates came over for dinner.  We cleaned all day on Saturday.  She prepared her favorite meals. Meatloaf, Ham, Macaroni and cheese with tomato's, Mashed Potato's, Fresh Green Beans, .. but oh - the Fried Chicken.. (fried chicken - I can't do - but wow could mom do it right)   Not to mention her banana pudding with a merangue.!  I loved that stuff!  And we ate, and ate, and ate... and shared so many things.

 I loved being on the right side of dad, the best conversation was what he half muffled.  Usually some sarcastic comment on how much food the Pastor was shoveling down. This ended in Mom laughing so loud the fan blades shook.  The Wife asking mom's secret recipe, some boys headding down to toss a baseball,  A dog begging food, a missionary kid being mean to one of my cats,  the Husband eating all dad's pecans (death in our house), and eventually, somehow, we all nap in front of the TV with Capt. James T Kirk trying to emote.  These are the moments that shaped me. Listening to my Dad and Mom entertain.  Watching people become enraptured with their wit and, well let's face it, beauty.  They were, and are, beautiful people.  Inside first, then the exterior is noticed.  They make you feel good just being around them.  (well if your not "in the family" - We Devine's tell each other how it is and do NOT hold back)
They have a way of making you feel at home, no matter how far away that home may be.
This is my inspiration in life.  This is who I am.  This is what I want to be.  A light in the darkness.  A moment of joy for people who stumble across my path.   But lately ....    It seems all I do is cause the stumble... and make people mad.

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