Category: Life Topics

Life Topics

Hello Friend

Jo Toale

I don’t give a damn if people like me, and it’s incredibly liberating.  I’m finally at a point in my life where my personal needs are a major priority, that I won’t apologize for.  I’m done raising my family and no longer come in third.  Some might say it’s selfishness, if that’s how you were raised.   I beg to differ.  My actions are born from the essential elements that make me happy – it is not selfish.   Like most, I gather fundamental elements that help to fill a menu of actions to choose from.  However, in the process of building a decent and productive life there have been situations where I haven’t always been reflected in a flattering light.  In other words, I may screw up in a way that can cause people to misinterpret who I really am; to dislike me.  That being said, let me introduce myself.

Growing up we were taught to be nice and polite to others, worthy virtues.  Following these tenants was pretty easy and implanted a simple message of friendship, love and harmony.  Do unto others, and all that.  The part “they” fail to mention is that you must do unto yourself as well.  Learn what is important to you and chase it.  Chase it with everything you have!  It could mean missing out some time with your children, spouse or friends.  It could mean missing a game or a play or a dinner.  In the long run it’s not fatal.  You juggle, but it’s ok to drop a few balls, or catch some balls for yourself.  I have forgone many evenings with my family to attend University classes because I told myself it was the right thing to do.  I was chasing and they were stationary. That time in my life weeded out those who had disdain for my “selfish” dreams and ambitions, with those who cared about my success.  Again, a character misinterpretation.  Don’t hate me because I am fragile.

Long ago were the days when you could make a friend at a playground by just saying, “Hi.  Do you want to be my friend?”  I find it incredibly difficult to make friends today.  There are trust issues that swirl around my conscience.  Can I open up to this person, tell them who I really am?  And, there are people who meet you and just don’t like you.  You can always tell by body language, reactions and lack of interest.  Sometimes I let myself wonder why someone doesn’t like me.  I try to brush it away not wanting to feel rejected.  I hate that feeling.  I try to think back to the first impression.  I remember what they said and how I responded.  Was I an ass?  Should I have been more attentive?  Usually, the answer is no.  I was myself, and if that doesn’t cut it then sorry, you lose.  It might be simple chemistry.   Either way, you’re meant to be friends or not.

So, who doesn’t like me?  I really don’t care.  I’ve filled countless days with blessings and delight.
I have two wonderful children, a devoted spouse, a supportive family and a crew of really cool friends.  I try to stay acutely focused on the positive forces in my life.  It helps.  I won’t feel bad about my choices, my downfalls, my missteps, my victories and achievements because it’s all part of who I am.  If I see you out, I might say, “Hi.  Do you want to be my friend?”  And if you say or think “no” that’s OK.  I’ll always be here if you need me.  That’s what I’ve been taught.  You know, I now realize, I really do care who likes me.  I’m not basing my worth on it, but I’m hoping to find a new friend.

Hello friend.

 

Life Topics

High School

Jo Toale

I can remember feeling like a hostage, sitting in an airless, sweltering room as sweat and confusion seeped from my body.  I stared out the static window at the green lifeless trees.  The leaves hung motionless in the absence of a cool breeze with a filtered haze of unbearable humidity.  The buzzing in my head was brought on by severe boredom mixed with heat exposure and the backdrop of an annoying drone.  I was subconsciously hoping I wouldn’t be taken from my own world and called upon to prove my intellectual skill.  It would be hard for the teacher not to see my lack of commitment to learning and life.  I was beyond caring.

In fact, the teachers did notice that I wasn’t all there in body or spirit.  What they didn’t understand was my academic plan was based on a foundation of reluctant achiever, congenial partier, and a minimalist existence.  My budding social life was the primary focus.  Administration was onto my lack of motivation based on the overwhelming number of tardy days and the consistent below average grades.  College unfortunately was becoming a faint option during my senior year.  My parent’s expected little from me, and I expected even less.  It was the perfect marriage for someone with no direction.

Doing just enough to get by was all I could emotionally handle.  My friendships with Alicia, Jinny, Kim and Teresa were my ultimate touchstones.  They had my back, and that’s all I thought I needed in life.  They, for the most part, excelled in their studies and made future plans beyond school.  I was an outlier.  I couldn’t make plans beyond next week.  Being part of the crew was great, but all the time, all these years, I knew something was wrong.

Many years after high school, I was diagnosed with severe clinical depression, a condition I believe I had been suffering from since High School.  Were my early years marred by this debilitating disease?  I believe so.  I’ve spent years since then evaluating myself and have happily grown to be a highly successful person.  Does it matter now, or in the long run, if I know that A+B=C, or memorize the Periodic Table?  If I could go back and do it all over again, knowing what I know now, I may not have fixated on those trees outside the window.

I would have been present in my future.

Life Topics

Like a Fresh Bloom

Jo Toale

I wanted the picture to be a promise.

A symbol of love that smells like a fresh bloom.  Time fades in the background.
A place that didn’t really matter anyway.

It sits on my desk and whispers stories I’ve never heard.  Was she ever that young?  Those hands didn’t belong to her, aged, wrinkled and riddled with veins and spots at the end.

The picture ties me to her other life.  A life without me. Eyes that look hopeful but cautious, not fully knowing anything.  Soon to be a bride, then a mother, my grandmother.

Promise me we’ll see each other again.

Promise.

Life Topics

It’s 6 O’clock Somewhere

Jo Toale

At 6 o’clock the summer sun filters everything around you, turning objects into versions of themselves that seem totally unreal.  Trees lining the water’s edge look like watercolors and the lake has soft ripples of tiny waves and muted colors with bright diamonds dancing on the surface.  It’s hard not to daydream as you wind down your day and become part of nature’s painting.  The angle of the sun brings shadows that appear to marry the landscape bringing depth and meaning to the story.  A simple and glorious prelude to a soft evening, as the lake prepares to sleep.

Unless you live on a lake, it’s hard to imagine the revelry of players that bring comfort to the soul.
The heron glides past you overhead to find a quiet cove, the ducks come in to play and walk along the shore, fish jump out of the water for a quick bug snack, and fisherman float by silently casting long lines of desire and hope. All this drama before you’ve had your morning coffee.  The early day has it’s own splendor that one should never take for granted.  I am especially fond of the graceful flight, yet homely look of the heron, as he descends into the shore where he’ll hunt his prey.  He is hungry and will wait patiently, awkwardly walking the shore for as long as it takes.  All these sights and sounds can be hypnotizing.

Like most people I am absent from my home during the day working and fulfilling commitments. I’m not home to see what mysteries the lake brings in the quiet activities of the warm afternoon unless it is on the weekend.  Truthfully, I don’t think about it much until I return to put my day to rest.  I wipe the slate clean, forgetting about things that don’t matter in the long run.  Arriving home, I pour a glass of wine and settle into my comfortable chair and just stare across the pristine lake anticipating something I haven’t seen.  My partner joins me as we talk about our day, half watching the lake and each other.  It approaches 6 o’clock when everything transforms.

Pontoon boats gently float by, maybe hungry boaters on their way in to have dinner.  Or, boats embark on a slow and deliberate sunset cruise after an early dinner.  The backdrop of the trees and beaming late day sunshine bring a magic to the lake.  Time seems so fluid set between late afternoon and early dusk. You can hardly notice it happening, but it’s there.  And it effects your inner clock.  There is a change from day to dusk.  A crescendo that draws a line between day and evening.  All stress is lifted.  All concerns are forgotten. You’re on lake time after all.  An invisible curtain is lowered to separate what might be routine, to what is exceptional .  All the harsh lines are softened.

We mount the boat after dinner, with a cooler and set out to watch the sun set.  We listen to music and laugh.  Oh, how he makes me laugh!   Hopefully, we’ll tie up with another boat or two to socialize, but we’re happy on our own too.  We look at the clouds bringing red and pink spheres across the sky, knowing tomorrow will also be beautiful. Red sky at night……We know we live in paradise.  There are a scattering of anchored boats around us capturing moments, taking pictures of the sunset.  It is always beautiful no matter how many times you’ve seen it.

Our love for the lake goes beyond words.  We enjoy every part of it, especially when the lake prepares for night. The afternoon sky and night sky come together without contempt, knowing their place, knowing their time.  There is a shift to be admired as nature fulfills it’s promise.  It provides a place to jump off from, a place to start, and a place to end.   This body of water is now part of our DNA.  We couldn’t live anywhere else.  Being invited to witness her change, has changed us.  We are forever grateful for being part of a place that brings us joy every day.

 

Life Topics

Pray for the Witness

Jo Toale

[4 Haikus]

Reach for the living
Touch leads to mistrust ahead
Fold up your feelings

Anchor the deadbeat
Bind them with loving sorrow
Escape leads to doom

Pray for the witness
shame enables admission
Take away the crime

Evade the guilty
Life mistreats the innocent
Accept the true self

Life Topics

A Million Tomorrows

Jo Toale

elementaryschoolYou’re alive in a body full of
baggage and wiring.  Turn away from any voices that whisper lies.

Protect the hope in your pocket.
Warn those who reach for it. Don’t let dissapointments throw you to the muddy ground.

Slowly reveal your scars.
Pick at them carefully, without letting
them bleed.  You’re a grown up for God’s sakes.  Never give up the child inside, or you’ll be lost forever.

Be obnoxiously curious.  Find the answers built on an endless list of ignorant questions. Don’t be afraid to ask.

Build your life on what could be.
Your dreams can fill a million tomorrows.

Life Topics

Your Gentle Muse

Jo Toale

Hands covered in paint,
blotted fingers with peeling,
chipped nails.  There is a story
to tell, maybe a secret
to learn.

The brush can lead you too
soon to the final chapter.
Pace yourself, stroke lightly.
Study what you reveal, and
leave nothing unsaid.

Go back and tell them again.
Darken the line, the paint will speak
for you if you let it.   I am bold, I am sad,
I am beautiful.

Expose the things you hide, things
you’re too afraid to say out loud.
Let the canvas be a soulful messenger
holding dear the paint that is
your gentle muse.

Life Topics

Red October

Jo Toale

After more than 20 hours of extreme physical pain I was beyond exhausted.  I pleaded for release, an escape.  But they continued to barked orders at me. “I don’t want to do this” I repeated in defiance.  My heart felt like it was going to explode in my chest.  I was a prisoner.  It was now well beyond my control. I was fighting with every ounce of strength that I had.  None of the people in the room would listen to me.  They just kept saying to me, through low voices, that I was fine.

First, I heard an agonizing scream.  Was it coming from me?  I was confused and couldn’t tell at first.  In and out of a groggy haze, in a dimly lit room, I could see figures coming and going.  They didn’t seem concerned about my discomfort.  I realized the guttural scream was coming from deep inside me.  I was hot and uncomfortable, cursing them with each breath.  My hair was plastered down with sweat, and I was feeling nauseous.  I prayed to God for it to be over.  “Please take me now.”

They moved me to another room.  It was cold and brightly lit with hanging lamps.  I looked up and squinted because of the glare.  Again, I pleaded and cursed.   Instead of helping me, I was just told to keep going.  I wanted to go, get as far away as I could. In the transition between wake and unconsciousness, I silently begged for help.  They just turned to each other and quietly chattered amongst themselves.  I tried to hear their words to understand what was going on but couldn’t.   And then, the knife came out.

In a remarkable moment, the room fell silent.  I could feel a chill calm in the air.  Was this the end?  My breathing had slowed, and the pain was starting to subside.  I wasn’t screaming anymore.   They must have injected me with something to numb my body.  All I could hear was the din of rhythmic machines in the room. I looked up, and he was standing over me.  I noticed he had kind eyes right before I turned my head in total defeat.  It was over.

I heard a short high pitch cry. I felt my soul leave my body, floating above my captors.  I was shivering uncontrollably, as warmed blankets were lowered onto my body.  I glimpsed at the clock on the wall, it said 10:42 on this chilly autumn day.  A moment later I was gently handed my first-born child.  The nurse had quickly cleaned him up to make a fitting introduction.  As he was lowered into my arms, I saw his feet.  The first thing I noticed was that he had my ugly toes.  Why didn’t I pass on something charming and attractive?  Nonetheless, I cradled him, and softly caressed his head, his shoulders, his back and whispered, “I love you, you’re perfect.”   Through my exhaustion, I was completely relieved and happy.  I felt like I had waited forever to meet him.

The agony of a 24-hour labor was beyond worth it, as this was a well-deserved reward and an epic moment in my life.  It’s a blessing that the ordeal is soon forgotten when you first lay eyes on your child.  I realized since becoming a mother, twice, that birth was the least of my concern as a parent.  There would be a lifetime of worry to come.  With time and love I learned that they are my purpose in life – to raise my sons to be good, strong and decent men.

As far as the toes, it really doesn’t bother him. That long ugly second toe that reaches beyond the big toe isn’t the worst thing in the world.  He came to me healthy, which is all I prayed for.  Merely a superficial anomaly, an awkward physical trait.  He did, however, also inherit my humor, my nose, and my walk.  I’m not going to go as far as to say he’s my favorite, but I do gravitate to our similar dispositions.  He has been strong, independent and stubborn since the day he was born.

I survived both births and promised myself to never wear open toe shoes again.

Life Topics

Second Chance

Jo Toale

How early is too early to arrive at the airport; two hours, three hours?  If you are taking an early morning flight and like to get there when they are washing or fueling the plane – you are there too early.  If arriving before dawn, which I did tonight, chances are the place will be a ghost town with few gates open.  Getting through security is a breeze but getting a cup of coffee is damn near impossible.  Trudging through the dim gray lifeless terminal, I stop several times to put my large pink tote bag and luggage straps back onto my shoulder; a groggy balancing act.  I knew I should have brought my suitcase with wheels. A few people are ahead of me making their way to a glowing area, the place where the journey starts or maybe ends.

I wait at the gate, people watching and typing on my computer.  Across from me sits a pair of new parents with a blue stroller in front of the dad, and a lot of gear littering their space.  The mom sitting a few seats away from the dad eating a yogurt, probably exhausted.  It’s 3:30 in the morning.  A large red bag that resembles a hockey duffle sits between them on the uncomfortable plastic airport seats, no doubt filled with baby stuff.  Mom was tall and thin with shoulder length brown hair, which looked like she wore it up a lot, maybe just took it out of a ponytail.  Wearing black sweatpants and a zipped-up fleece jacket, she sat staring into space.  The dad is obviously on duty, looking into the stroller intermittently.  He is shorter than the mom, a little hefty with sandy blonde hair, with day old stubble wearing a layered winter coat.  It was a cold March night in Boston.

I could see little arms and legs flailing inside the buggy but couldn’t see a formed human.  There were fussing noises coming from inside, as he reached in to relieve distress.  He pulled out an alert and adorable 8-month-old baby girl.  She wore a blue dress, cream tights, and a ribbon in her peach fuzz hair.  The dad held her on one knee which made her shriek with delight.  I can’t help but drift back in time to when my sweet angels were an armful.  I’ve been there, juggling a bag of toys, diapers and Cheerios, my travel buddies for years.  Then slowly over time, one by one, you would lose the rattles, then the diapers and finally the Cheerios, substituted with soft granola bars suitable for their new teeth.

I don’t know if it is because I’m so tired that I can’t stop looking at them.  I didn’t sleep before leaving at 2am for my flight, running on anxiety and anticipation.  Am I having a nostalgic breakdown here at the airport?  My mind continues to wander.

My daydreams happen everywhere, coffee shops, libraries, restaurants, anywhere.  I look at new parents like I’m an infertile woman, longing for a child.  This makes no sense, as I am a middle-aged mother of two grown children.  I was blessed with two sons and feel so lucky to be their mom.  I’ve enjoyed them and have paid my dues; those days are over.  I really don’t want another child.  So, why do I do this?  I think I miss having a little one. Their arms and legs full of rolls and puffy cheeks, kissing exposed knees and rolled necks.  Maybe I’m trying to vicariously re-live those precious days. I want to once again feel that velvety baby skin against my face.  Inhale the unbelievably clean fragrant smell of the top of their head.  I want to be a grandmother.

The dad reaches into the large bag and pulls out a small plastic container of yogurt.  Putting it down beside him, he balances her on his knee and opens the treat to start feeding her.  Her eyes are wide and bright with wild anticipation of a creamy sweet mouthful.  She starts with a shake of excitement for what is coming.  A little shriek of euphoria follows as her eyes are transfixed on the spoon.  Her blue eyes bulge, the arms shake like a baby bird, and the legs stiffen, ready for the first installment.  I laugh a little at how cute and funny she is.  The mom catches my voyeur eyes and sees how amused I am.  We smile at each other.  She is so proud of her child.

About eight years ago I started to think a lot about having grandchildren.  It happened as the realization that my fertile years were over.  My friends were becoming grandparents and were transformed into a higher being.  All the fun with little responsibility; no babysitters, parent-teacher conferences, or doctor appointments.  I thought a lot about my sons having kids and being there to help them.  To me, it would be like having a second chance, enjoying the child of my child.  Watching them create a family and care for them as I did them.  However, my sons do not plan to have children, and I’m proud of them for making such an important decision.  If it’s not right for them, then I totally respect that.  Their happiness means more to me than anything.

There is a loud announcement that my plane is boarding.   I looked up from the computer, and the new parents are gone.  They slipped away without me noticing.  Just like my mothering years slipped away.  I hope they enjoy every step of the journey with their baby.  I gather my heavy bags and decide that this is my second chance.  I will live life to the fullest knowing my kids are safe and happy.  I can travel anywhere I want, whenever I want.   There’s great satisfaction knowing that I did everything I could to provide a happy childhood for them.  I believe being a good mom is the ultimate reward.  No more dreaming about things that aren’t meant to be.

I may never become a grandmother but I gave my mom two beautiful grandsons.

Life Topics

A Fabulous Retirement

Jo Toale

I dream about retirement these days like a dog dreams about a bone.  That blessed and well-deserved day when I get to call it quits.  I imagine the leadup to “o-dark-thirty” may be stressful trying to wrap everything up for the next sap, I mean person, who takes over my job.  My boss will say, “Jo, make sure he/she is well trained…and will you be available if we have any questions?”  I’ll be like, “absolutely, and I will be around if you need anything”.  Right.  Of course, I would never leave anyone high and dry, but already my priorities have changed.  Sometimes learning OTJ is the best way.  I’d be doing them a favor if I was unavailable.  Baptism by fire and all that.  When I’ve finally fulfilled my parting duties, there’ll be no more looking at the clock, no meetings, no deadlines, no projects, no managing people and no boss.  A blissful life full of nos.  But even more so, a presence full of yes’, for anything I want to do if it’s within my newly fixed income.

I’m not what you would call a “planner.” So I may be in a bit of a financial crunch when I stop taking in my lucrative Public Access pay.  I could learn to live meagerly if I had to.  Coupons and day-old bread could be adopted into my routine.  On the bright side though, I’ll be rich with time and an overactive imagination.  Think of the possibilities!   Lunch with friends, reading novels, showering daily, writing stories, walking the dog, sitting in the sun, doing light chores, getting a haircut, maybe do artwork, plan get togethers and floss my teeth.  And, if I get even the slightest bit bored, especially with the personal hygiene, I can get a little part-time job for some pocket change and mental rescue.  As long as the job’s hours are short and flexible with an obscenely high pay rate.  I most definitely plan to live a dilettante life.

Who do I want to be when I’m done being a grown up; fabulous, absolutely fabulous.  My life of leisure will be outrageously delicious.  I will amusingly pretend to forget what day it is saying, “is it a weekday, or weekend day?” I’ll laugh as I say this, feeling clever and witty; feigning confusion.  I’ll be old enough to be excused for being obnoxious.  The only people who would take offense would be those who begrudgingly must work the next day.  Pontoon boat rides in the summer will be a daily activity, staying out late, as there are no more “school nights” to worry about.  Young people may seek my worldly, yet practicle, advice on everything from boiling an egg to changing their motor oil.  I’ll arrogantly think I have it all together, or maybe just bluff, like only a seasoned retiree can do.

I’ll have to wait a while to become that eccentric, retired old lady.  There is still a whole decade before I start to live this fanciful existence.  In the meantime, I’ll practice saying “get off my lawn!” and “God love ya’”.  There’s time enough now to start my retirement hobbies on the weekends to prepare the future.  As far as my job, I really like it and have little to nothing to complain about.  It has served me well.  My mid-life has had no crisis and is mostly unremarkable.  My fifties have been a training ground of fetching rocks and putting out fires, teaching me how to be a stronger woman. All these experiences have helped create a solid gateway to my next phase.  Afterall, a fabulous life must be built, it doesn’t magically happen one day.