Let-Go // Let it Be

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That was on my license plate for a few years.  I’m not sure I learned the lesson my academic advisor intended for me to gain with it – but there it was.  Every day.

Some people thought it was an invitation to race.  Yup.  Me in my little hatchback Subaru Imprezza – we were all about the race scene. Sign me up for Fast and Furious 12.

Anyway.

I think the point was for me to let. it. go. Stop trying to control everything.  Stop trying to make sure everyone knows that I’m smart, likable, have been there done that… To just stop and let it be.

“just” right.  It’s so simple. Just let it go!  Just do it! Just just just.  It’s hard but it’s a worthy pursuit.  In the end doing so might just bring about The Happy.

There have been many dates, many moments where I become undone because “this isn’t how it’s supposed to be/look/feel”

Ready for some sage wisdom it’s taken me 30 years to learn? There is no one size fits all when it comes to moments.  They are yours and they are fleeting.  So let go and live it.

Screen Shot 2013-05-30 at 7.14.14 PMSource: Pinterest
{if anyone has more specifics that would be appreciated}

Queen Bee

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“What’s bees mean?”  She leaned over to me, the leather of the pedicure chair squeaking, her phone extended.

Confused, thinking of winged aphids with vicious stingers I read the text.

” . . . BS? What’s BS?”

I’m sure that as soon as she asked the question the answer popped into her head.

“Bullshit!”

Her infectious laugh rippled across the room.  I shook my head giggling “bees”. 

The Stinger Free variety

The Stinger Free variety

*

When Husband and I first started dating he made mention of talking to his “Mommy”  – had the car been moving I might have asked him to pull over and let me out.  My heart started to pound and arm pits did their thing.  I liked this man a lot.  A lot a lot. He was well past the age of 12 and yet still used the word . . . Mommy? *shudder*  Normally that’s not a good thing.

First visit to the land of 10,000 lakes they met us with flowers.  Future-Husband had mentioned that I was kinda sorta really sick and had no voice.  At the house full of bouncing dogs and framed pictures of future-husband through the years there was hot chicken noodle soup waiting for me.  Vegetarian chicken noodle soup. I was quite touched by the gesture. “That’s my mommy”  This time the word didn’t make me sweat or want to leave.  That is a good thing.

Between visits one and three a lot of shit went down.  A lot a lot. Weddingproposalonthebeachtentativedatesetthenbustedthatiwasareallybadpersonso wassoverymessedupandwasdatingsomeoneelsetooshortlyafterwhichmygallbladderexplodedwillbehusbandmeetsmyparentsanddiscoversthattheyrenotexactlyorthodox(orevenjewish)andthatsnotevenallofit . . .

I am biting the bullet, sucking out the poison, making amends, begging forgiveness, doing whatever it takes to make. things. right. I mail a letter.  It’s easier to put ink to the page than speak the words. Eventually though, on the way to meet the Rabbi for the second time, I make the call.  I stutter and feel the heat rush to my face even though we are thousands of miles apart.

“We fell in love with you a long time ago. We’ll do what we can to help and support you.”  I manage to hold back the hot tears until I get off the phone.

We meet again, this time in the 603 for my pool party. She gifts me candlesticks, a traditional gift given by mothers when their daughters become Bat Mitzvehed. They are beautiful.

Room is given for us to make our own traditions, to find my comfort level.  I tell her about the matzoh ball soup I made that wasn’t so good.

“No, you don’t know how to make that yet.”  She says, kindly.

I pause. Confused since I’m pretty sure I did in fact make it for Friday night Shabbat dinner.

“I haven’t shown you how to make it yet.”

“That’s bees!” I protest, laughing.   The problem is solved on our next visit. She tells me her secret.

Together we shop for the dress I will wear when I marry her oldest son. Her face lights up just as brightly as mine when I find the.one.  We gift her a bracelet at our rehearsal dinner with a silver bee charm.

She loves deeply. Unconditionally. We text, call and laugh.

She is beautiful. As far as Mother in Law’s go – I have no complaints.

She surprised us at our NH shower

She was a very welcome surprise at our NH Jack-n-Jill shower

None.

**Point of order – as far as Father In Law’s go I have no complaints either. None at all but those words are for another post.**

 

*** Also – I am very untalented with the whole “grab my button!” thing and it never seems to work on here – this post is linked up with Kelly at Today was a Fairytale. ***

To Whom It May Concern,

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Today’s prompt (cuz, that’s all I’m writing these days) is to write a letter to my readers.

Hello!

Thanks for reading! I appreciate it.  There are quite literally millions of blogs out there and I’m super flattered you stumbled on to mine and even more so that you stuck around.

On average this blog has 12 views per day. You, my dear readers are part of an elite community.

I’ve posted 30 times in 27 days. I’ve got a lot to say apparently. I doubt I’ll keep up with that pace.  I’d like to write 4/7 days.

There are 21 blog followers and 1 e-mail follower (that would be Husband).

Initially I planned to write about my experiences riding and learning Agnes (my SV650s). It’s rained 5 out of 6 days here which puts a damper on Adventures with Agnes.

Not Agnes

Not Agnes

 

What is it that brings you here to LOVE Full Throttle? Do you feel bad for me?  Find me funny?  Surprised to find a Jewish (heavy on the ish) blog? What is it you’d like to read about here?  What can I do to make this experience better for you?

This blog will be (is) unfiltered and honest.  I aim to write like a motherfu**er. It’s mine and one of the things I loved most about my old personal blog was that it was a micro-history of our lives. I have good fun going back over those 2.5 years of posts/memories. I also spent a lot of time before hitting “publish” or typing up a post thinking about who was reading it and making sure they wouldn’t be offended by it.  I’m not doing that this time.

If you don’t feel like answering any of those above questions, that’s okay.  You can tell me your favorite color, ice cream toping, car or anything else you feel like sharing.

Thank you for reading and I hope you come back by.  Bring a friend!

Yours,

EJ

 

Depression – “recovery” Read it

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Hyperbole and a Half

via Hyperbole and a Half

Today’s prompt from The Story of My Life was to write about something we read online. I didn’t have any inspiration for this.  I’ve been feeling very BLAGH lately and so has Husband.  Everything we do has been tainted with this “what’s the point” feeling that we like to blame on All The Moves but actually is more about depression/adjustment disorder symptoms.

Depression is a wanker.

There are about 121 million people living with depression in some form.

It’s more than just feeling sad, worthless, hopeless.  It’s complicated.  It’s serious and real.

So read this since it’s the most honest -heartbreakingly so piece I’ve ever read on depression. Allie Brosh of Hyperbole and a Half is amazing.  Go – acquaint yourselves with her if you aren’t already familiar. Read some of her “funny” stuff too.  Even though her 3 pieces on depression do make me laugh – it’s the kind of laugh that makes you clamp your hand over your mouth while exclaiming “shit!  I should NOT be laughing!” Awkward. So – read some of her really funny ones to make yourself feel a little better.

-  via Hyperbole and a Half

via Hyperbole and a Half

*If you know anyone struggling with depression or suspect that they might be please be kind to them.  It’s a flaw in chemistry not character and nothing they can control. (in case you were one of those types to offer up advice along the lines of “pull yourself up” or “snap out of it!”) 

Mean. Insecure. Judgmental.

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sugar

source

I hit “publish” and smile.  YES.  Today is IT!  Any minute now! …  Any  … minute.

For the comments to pour in.  For the affirmation that the rest of the world thinks I’m as Hilarious/Profound/Absurd/Brilliant as I think I am. I will be queen of the blog-world! Freshly Pressed fame coming my way!  Any …. Minute …. now …

*crickets*

I rove around online.  Find other blogs. WHAT?  They have 1750 followers? What. The. Heck.  Why?  They didn’t even use the write “too” there!  I’ve had that thought before!  I write way better than they do! Why are there 158 comments on that post? Oh yeah?  I’ll comment too:  “This. Is. Stupid.”*  Take that!

I research blog designs.  Maybe if I’m dressed better? Maybe without the cookie cutter theme alà free Wordpres people would stay longer? Fancy trappings rarely hurt.

Once again I feel like the kid searching for the open seat in the busy cafeteria.  Where is there room for me to sit?  My grumpy pants get even tighter.

I resolve to stop looking at the stats.  Stop checking the WordPress app on my iPhone.  (that lasts maybe a day) I continue to surf the blog-o-sphere.  I comment with nice things about posts I truly like. I look at their designs and bookmark or pin some ideas.

I remind myself why I blog. To record our little micro history. To create an archive of Husband and my’s life.  To share.  I smile again.  It’s okay that I don’t have a comment on that post.  My sister liked it.  My BAMF bestie liked it.  These words on this blog helped bridge the gap from here to Mid-West and East Coast.

I still get envious – judgements are free and insecurity runs rampant in my head.  I’m working on it.  Acknowledgement is step 1.

To quote a favorite writer of mine:

“It’s a closed circuit system, sweet pea. You are not one iota more worthy of love or inclusion than that boy. No matter what happens, no matter how old you are, I know for certain that so long as you believe yourself to be superior to him you will never feel okay with yourself. Until you are incapable of writing the sentence “while I’m stuck with an anti-social kid who picks his nose,” you will never truly believe yourself to be welcome among others. You must love in order to be loved. You must be inclusive in order to feel yourself among the included. You must give in order to receive.” – Sugar

* I would never and have never done that in real life. Ever. 

Always

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“Um, excuse me Miss, but I was was wondering if you had a few dollars to spare?”  I turned from loading groceries into the truck.  He was maybe 15, black ratty backpack slung over his shoulder, unkempt hair spilling over his forehead in an attempt to break away from the black knit cap that seemed unseasonably warm.

“See, my brother and I are homeless and I’d really like to get us something to eat.”

I stood there, feeling like an idiot.  I apologized when he said he was homeless, he shrugged it off. I apologized again, this time for not having cash.

“I don’t have any cash, I’m sorry.”   I reached into one of the bags I’d just put in the truck and pulled out the small plastic one. “You can have this though.”  I never buy deli lunches.  Never.  I don’t know what made me do it that day.  Honestly, I was probably feeling lazy and didn’t want to make anything when I got home from grocery shopping or make another stop on the way.

“Oh no.  No, I don’t want to take your lunch.”  I insisted.  I felt bad that I hadn’t bought more.  The 4 pieces of fried chicken and 20 french fries would do very little to fill those boys up.

“Please.  Take it.  I can buy more and I have no cash to give you.  Please.  Take it.” He thanked me over and over and then headed off – perhaps to find his brother.

Homeless108

*source*

I sat in the truck and started to feel bad.

What more could I do?  What more should I be doing?  Why is it so easy for me to forget all I have? 

I have never known hunger.  I have never been without shelter.

So the Classroom Of Life has taught me this:

There is always something to be thankful for and there is always something (more) you can do.

 

 

I’m Ranting – I’m Raving

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I’m on Fire!

Okay not really.

I’m frustrated with blogging and some of these prompts. I want to be able to devote more time to this and I want my blog to be everything I envision it to be NOW.  These things take time and I understand that but I want to throw my temper tantrum and then wave a wand and have it fixed.

Patience, Patience.  I know.

On to todays prompt alà Ms. Jenni at Story of My Life. 

It bothers me when people don’t help one another. – Treat others how you want to be treated.  Be aware.  Look around.  Is that person carrying one box too many?  Does that person need a cup of coffee?  In their situation what would you want? Stop thinking so much about the WIIFM.

When people think animals are disposable.  They are not.  Think about this before you get one.  They can be expensive and demand a lot of time.  It’s worth it but make sure it’s a commitment you can make.

When people are rude just to be rude. Yep – there is a line, yes you have to wait in it.  Snide remarks are not going to make it move faster but it will make your time more unpleasant.

When people lack empathy and understanding.  Everyone you know and everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.

When people find out I’ve been in the military and deployed and they ask “did you kill anyone?”  Don’t do that. Just – NO.

I miss these comics

I miss these comics – this one is from 20 years ago.  20!

 

Past Favorites

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Well wasn’t this the kick in the ass I needed.  Previously I had a different blog. I kept it for almost 3 years and it was a very personal chronicle of our lives.  Too personal. I didn’t like being able to be googled and having it pop up.  So I moved to this site.

It’s still personal and honest, but there are no names here at LOVE Full Throttle.  We can still be friends right?

Today’s challenge was to link to past favorite posts. So – I brought over some of the posts from the old blog for your viewing pleasure.  It was either that or give you one of the 21 posts you’ve hopefully already read.  If this is your first time here then you should read this one too.  I think it’s pretty great.

And now for something completely different

And now for something completely different

Where I’m From 

A post inspired by a writing prompt from Mama Kat’s in which I explore “Where I’m From”. Oh, sorry, you gathered that from the title?  Okay. Here’s a snippet:

I am from Anchors Aweigh and pale, freckled skin.  From Marilyn and Jean and Nancy. Women with fingers knotted from working knitting needles and braiding heavy wool rugs.  From a woman ahead of her time, teaching herself Lamaze from a record, and a woman slight in frame yet filled deep with strength. Reme, Nana, and Grammy.
 

Marriage Monday’s – The ARt of NAVIGATION

Being a newlywed I felt compelled and, better yet – qualified to give advice on marriage. I wrote it 5 months into our marriage. Seriously, there’s some totally new – never before heard wisdom in this post. (Fine. There isn’t, but you should still read it).

Like any newly married couple, we are building our life together and we’re creating our own traditions. Our own melting pot of past experiences, celebrations, expectations, trials and errors. Together we’re figuring out what observations we’re comfortable embracing, slowly, gradually braiding our stories together. Much like the bread I’ve tried to make, so many times, we’re tweaking our own recipe – now that we have the basics down.
 

These Things I Believe 

Maybe this will help you all get to know me better. It’s a list and I adore lists.

. . .In long hugs and crying when you need to – and that Husband gives some of the very best hugs.
. . . That sometimes it is necessary to eat your body weight in candy. In class. To stay awake. Or because it’s there and tasty.  No reason required.. . . That 3am is far to early to start your day.

. . .That leaving notes around for your Forever Love is one of the most fun things to do