When I was in Maui for Thanksgiving, I snapped this picture of my friend’s phenomenal kid. I would like to say that I don’t judge kids but I do. Judging is not what is expected of me since I am a pediatrician. I don’t judge them in a high school, Clueless movie kind of way. The judgment is actually admiration for the ones that remind me of what it is to be awesome and not bothered with it, the ones that remind me to indulge our free rein, and the ones that remind me to simply let in the madness. It’s freedom of the soul and mind before it becomes chiseled down with society’s restraints. This photo represents independence, fearlessness, nakedness and just plain fun.
The largest slip and slide was snugged down onto the grass. This was not your dry patched, stingy watered slip and slide where the plastic bunches up and blades of green curdle upon your limbs. This was supreme. Each of the kids were in line and ready to propel down. There was hesitation for some but not one was getting out of line. The oldest kid being 7 and the youngest kid being 3, I could no longer resist it.
I got in line with the rest of them as this was only fair and these are the rules. This is one rule in kid world that translates well into adult world. My heart was sweating and my palms were beating only because of the infinite possibilities that would leave havoc on my body versus the ride itself. I did a nice dive onto my stomach and slip and slide I did. I was less clever than the 5 year old that elevated herself onto her forearms as her helm. Instead, I chose to have no visual guidance as water sprayed into them. As I was nearing the end, I peeked and attempted to slow down but instead rotated into a snail shaped coil. The creators of the mega slide crafted a small pool at the end to accumulate water. Thus, my body decided not to ease into this pool but rail itself off the end and blunder into the grass. As I got up hastily to look for damages, my good friend Eric ,saucer eyed, covers his mouth and points to my chest. I hear Aidas chuckling as I pop my right bit back into my bikini top.
I made sure that there are no other scene stealers lurking.
No big deal. These are my friends. This is my freedom. And Eric can archive that one.
Holidays are to be joyful and cozy but this 2012 caboose gave me an arse kicking. When I just got the gusto to get back into the swing of thing after a sucker-punched breakup in early November. My trip to Maui was a fragile package arriving for my friends to heal. And they did. However, within one week my mother fell and hit her head. She was hospitalized and suffered a bleed. Fortunately, there was not surgery and it was stable so she was released. I flew to Detroit and stayed for then next 13 days. During that stay, she had bouts of dizziness and to the point of faint in which I had to call 911. That resolved and we returned home. My time was limited, so I was busy making the best of getting her to doctor’s appointments, filling out paperwork workers compensation and keeping her spirits up. However, family has to obliged drama and ’tis it was. In the end, my mother suffered between the wars at hand and I couldn’t handle it well and it resulted in me going to a hotel. I needed mental rest to get up and take care of my mother, to be able to formulate sentences and speak rationally to the family that warrants little respect.
All while this was happening, the Connecticut school shootings occurred and I was not able to absorb this. I was on an emotional edge to begin with and then to see children terrorized and the teachers that gave up their lives would tear the lining of my heart.
Christmas has come and gone and mom is hanging in there. The breakup does noteven matter as the lesson will never be learned by the transgressor. The families of those victims still feel the pain as the list of my teachers names flood through my memory from kindergarten grade to…
For whatever reason, I still find myself addressing teachers of my youth by their formal surname, Mr. Mrs, Ms. I think it keeps that memory alive of my youth. So, I hope those families find peace and solace. I hope my mother heals completely without any residual effects and we get her to warmer climates. And once the holidays are over, I hope we do not forgot the kindness that the rest of the year and our lifetime deserves as well.
Let me preface this, I hate cold weather. I am currently in Michigan with family and miss my Arizona.
I love the West coast. Two reasons are the better weather and the laid back attitude. If I had to give up the weather then put me in the East coast. Growing up in Ohio, I always looked to New York to dictate what was going on in the world. So, I still look for its flow. I’ve lived in England, St. Martin, Chicago, and Baltimore, and other spaces in between and have traveled many different places.
My career led me West which unknowingly grew on me. I returned to the middle to realize that I was happier than people in the middle. The sun makes all the difference! People are generally happier, nicer and I use the person at the drive-thru as my yardstick. Yes, it sounds nuts. I’ve just noticed people in better weather areas working the drive-thru are friendlier. Ironically, I find less Starbucks drive-thrus in cold weather states than warm weather ones. This definitely dismayed me.
Now, please understand me. Every place has its share of nice and mean people however the rays of sunshine definitely ups the percentages. Hence, seasonal affective disorder is a real deal. Snow is pretty but not the gray sludge. Sunshine is good. At the end of the day, its not where you are but who you are with which makes all the difference! Thank you for listening to my rant today;)
So I was out to get a reprieve from visiting the family and ran into a Bollywood actor on a random rainy, cold Sunday evening. By no means would I have known this on my own, however, some of the ladies I was with said it was him. This was confirmed later with twitter. If I had known then maybe I could of met him and had a Bollywood ending??
Either way, I would have to keep up on my blog.
I was a little impressed that we saw him. He was simply just walking into the theatre, no pretense. Now, I wonder who he is. Its quite strange when you do see famous people. We feel like we know them but we don’t and we speculate so much about them. We are dismayed if they are disinterested in us, giddy if they smile and pose for pics and annoyed if they are plain arses. I do it too. I refuse to see any tom cruise movies for his antics about postpartum depression not being real. So he gets none of my money nor is capitalized in a sentence. How childish of me! However, seeing Tusshar Kapoor simply just going to the movies made me feel connected in some weird way. I definitely know how it so be defined by what you do. Every assumption is there and if you steer from it then that cannot be you cause you do -this.
I digress. Opinion has it that he is not a great actor. Either way, I hope he liked the movie he saw.
So I rediscovered that I have been truly denying my insanity. Now, I do not mean I am diagnosed with anything from the DSM IV (the psychiatric manual of all mental disorders), but I have realized I worked so hard to fit the mold, the square, the syllabus. I opened this blog to document a new Madness. A Madness that I cannot explain and a part of my Madness is writing. So I opened up dialogue to the outside world through social mediums I have been fit to destroy. Now I am blogging. I may be late to the game but, so far liking it cause its a space of Madness by others and a way I may let the world in as I siphon out my insanity.
I came about this from perusing Meetup writing groups and came across a chick who mentioned this Madness, so I peeked. So on top of the Madness list is to write more and join a writing group so they can horrify my soul by their critique but make me grow fonder of the Madness. My friend challenged me on finding my passion. And I said it out loud. Writing. Seems simple to say, not simple to do. What does one write about that doesn’t play off whiny, narcissistic or annoying. Then who cares as there are a million blogs out there. I have stories dusted off from five years ago, pieces from college poetry class and teenage woes filled in journals that I vaguely recall tearing the sheets out for the trash thinking I will not need these.
So lets say this is my baptism to writing. I have sinned so long without writing that I have washed anew to reveal the small cracks splintering to release the insanity.
I will keep you posted along this new Madness as the journey will go in many directions. I promise to insert some humor, travel, sincerity, music and wherever the Madness takes me.