Over the weekend, my grandaughters happened to come over to see their perfumista grandmother. I was pleased to see that I had not only a budding perfumista in my older grandaughter, Deana, who is 25, but now I was witnessing the emergence of her sister Lauren, who is 15, as a brand-new baby or princess "perfumista". I am so pleased, no honored, to see that genetically the fragrance gene is being passed! They sat and discussed, over lunch, which fragrance families were better suited to summer and winter, etc. I passed on to Lauren several of my fragrances that I now longer wore frequently. She is becoming quite adept at identifying florals, orientals, musks, etc., this tiny, beautiful 15 year old! She told me that her friends admire her 'collection' of fragrances that I have already given her. She sniffs fragrance strips in magazines and is developing her own fragrance style or signature, if you will. I could not have been more pleased!
My older daughter, Leslie, (their mother) loved perfume as well, but vacillated between two or three fragrances. Her sister, Holly, likes fragrance occasionally, but could really live without it if she had to. Can you believe it?
I was becoming frustrated that my love of fragrance would never be passed to future generations, considering it almost a failure on my part as a perfumista. However, I am pleased to witness the birth of two future perfumistas that will:
*Know what a dram is, and be able to convert it into milliliters.
*Know how many sprays there are in one milliliter.
*Pretend to listen when a salesperson explains the intricasies of a new scent production (even though they know more than her).
*Knows the right fragrance family for all the people each knows around them, family or friend.
*Have a long perfume wishlist that makes no sense to any other living creature on earth, but another perfumista, like myself.
*Hoards discontinued scents that were favorites 20 years ago.
*Dreams of the perfect arrangement for all of her perfumes to display.
*Understands when another perfumista's favorite scent is being discontinued, mourning along with them, understanding the pain.
*Always has a perfume atomizer full, beside the bed for a quick spritz when needed to make one's day, or night.
*Can discuss perfume for hours, but only to perfumistas, or other perfume lovers, and not think this is unusual.
*Knows the latest fragrance releases, even before sales associates do, and quite often has much more knowledge than them.
*Has tons of perfume shopping sites bookmarked in her favorites.
*Sees certain perfume bottles as "works of art".
*Actually contemplates and studies whether to purchase groceries or a new fragrance.
Now I can die with the knowledge that I have passed on this very important genetic trait! I have witnessed the birth of two young perfumistas that will wear the title of "perfumista" well! Thank you Deana and Lauren, may your life be filled with fragrance.
I think that it has been about a year since I began writing my blog. Writing a blog and reading those of so many other people has been a fascinating journey for me.
Most of what I have read has been positive, and this blogging hobby of mine has allowed me to uncover and to discover so much about myself through my writing, and I have met some very wonderful people in the process.
For the most part, it has been a rewarding process. But I have also met some nasty people, vindictive, vengeful people as well. I have seen individuals, who shall go unnamed, who are cruel, mean, abusive and who speak poorly of others. They use words here in the land of Blogville that would not dare be uttered within their community, nor to others. Some men and women actually brag about being unfaithful to their spouses. There is a bully mentality among several of them, the conclusion being that if you are made to feel terrible, you may change to their way of thinking. Consequently, some feel it is necessary to come here and berate others simply because they can. To me, this conduct is a form of bullyism by proxy.
This brings me to my question for the day. Are these individuals really so righteous? Does God look upon them with favor, dignity and strength, or as those with weaknesses? One example I read was from a very kind religious woman who admitted to being bi-sexual. She was literally harrased, shunned, bullied and made fun of, and was spoken to in the most unpleasant of terms, all because these individuals did not approve of her life-style. So, who is the more righteous? The one who is open and honest, although maybe different, but who has a kind heart and a good soul, or the one who is mean, nasty and abusive? I was raised to believe that being a good Christian means being a good person, no matter what else may be involved. Are these individuals who cheat, lie, bully, demean, curse, harass, truly good people? Not in my world they are not! Frankly, I think they are shameful individuals, who live within a realm of negativity and criticism, and the only way to make themselves feel big/better is by putting other people down, regardless of the cost.
Therefore, this post is for all of you, who ae a little different, maybe not so observant, committed, or have chosen another path, to know that you are respected and loved for who you are. Live and let live for heavens sake. It is also for those of you who are religious and righteous to know that you, are the examples, the pillars of our community, whose words, thoughts and deeds are cherished and appreciated by us all as well. If we cannot learn to respect one another, how can the world be expected to respect us as well?
A co-worker and myself were having a discussion the other day about marriage and when I told her that I was going through my current divorce, she said, "Wow, you must really be hard to live with". I looked at her and responded, "No, I just made a few wrong choices in partners". I then began to think to myself about the perception of people that have been married more than once as well as the perception of single women living alone who prefer it that way.
I must say that I entered each of my three marriages with the best of intentions; to live happily ever after, to be faithful and honest with each other, and above all else, to trust. I would have probably been shocked if I had known at a young age that I would go through three divorces! I would have said to myself, "No way, marriage is forever", because this is how I was raised. My own parents stuck it out even though their marriage was not a good one If my father had not passed away at an early age,they would probably still be married. Would this be considered a happy marriage? Not on my terms, but I didn't know it then. My parents fought like cats and dogs, but when you are young you don't understand that. Today 50% of all marriages fail. I admit that I tried to buck the odds with my second and third marriages, but I became part of the 50% failure again. I am not unhappy because of this because I have learned to be alone, to like my own company, and to survive quite well on my own. It is a myth that single women are sad, lonely and financially troubled. Actually, despite some very real hardships, they've never been happier.
Do they become lonely? Of course they do, but it is much lonelier to be in a relationship where you feel lonely. That is a sad state, believe me. Are they sad now and then? Sure, aren't we all? Do they occasionally lose sleep worrying about the future? Yes, and with good reason: being a single older woman comes with it's own economic challenges. But that doesn't stop the majority from believing that middlelife offers an opportunity for growth, for instance, doing something you always wanted to do. In reality, many of my single friends and myself are living lives of secret contentment.
We are not desperate to find a mate, open to a nice relationship, maybe; but obsessed with finding a partner, not on your life. I know I have reached a point in my life where I am more mature, more secure and more content. I don't have to be out and about seeking attention like some younger single women do - and I did the same as a younger single women. I like myself for who I have become. Lord knows I worked hard enough emotionally to get here. It was a hard road of disappointments and severe emotional pain to become confident, self-assured and proud of who I am now in my later years. Is this the wisdom that comes with old age, is it maturity and finally growing up? I don't know, but I am happy that I have finally arrived. I don't feel the need to have someone 'complete me' as Jerry McGuire said. I am complete and do not feel the need begin a search for another man. A relationship would be nice, but no more marriages.
In all reality, I would be very reluctant to even contemplate another marriage. I expect so much from a marriage. Those same old things I was looking for when I was young: eternal love, faithfullness and truth and devotion to each other. I most likely would pick the wrong person again. Am I hard to live with? I don't really think so, I just make bad choices every now and then.
Thought about my sweet Grandma all day yesterday, July 17, on what was the 39th year of the day I lost her.
I have missed her deeply since the day I traveled to Troy, Ohio to her funeral and met her brothers and sisters from Mississippi attending her funeral. Her sister Susie looked so much like her it made me cry. I had never met any of her people, the Ballards, from Mississippi, but I would have loved to have know them.
My grandmother married my grandfather, Cecil , as a young girl and moved to Kentucky with him. She bore him 4 sons, losing one at birth. She lost my dad, Stanley Eugene Ballard before her death and I know that it literally broke her heart. Since I have lost a child at almost the very same age that my grandma did, I understand the pain that she suffered at the time.
My grandma was in the room of the home on Simpson Street when I was born. I was her first grandchild and I was the girl she always wanted. My mother had already decided my name was going to be Linda Diane, but my grandmother convinced her to name me Charlotte Diane. Charlotte was a dear friend of hers that I never knew growing up, but I have her name just the same. My grandmother literally doted on me the moment I was born and loved me deeply until the day she died.
We moved from Ohio when I was barely 9 years old. It was extremely difficult leaving my grandmother in Ohio. She solved that problem by having my Dad drive me to Ohio the very minute that school let out. I stayed with her for the whole summer, just returning to Michigan when it was time to go back to school.
My grandmother ran a boarding house for men in Ohio. She also had a gentlemen who worked for the railroad have only his meals every day at her immaculate, well-maintained home. This was her source of income since she had no skills, marrying as young as she did. I grew up around her roomers and boarders and remember each one of them fondly. She also lived in sin with a man named Preston Cross for years and they had a wonderful relationship until the day he died. I never questioned why they didn't marry, but I never associated her with my grandpa Cecil. Preston was like a grandpa to me as well. My grandmother doted on me when I stayed with her. I remember going to a dry-goods store and going up to their upper floor by way of the old creaky wooden stairs and looking through all of the books of paper dolls, and at the coloring books, and the crayons. My grandma would just tell the shop owner, "give the girl whatever she wants", she was like that. I didn't just get a box of crayons, I got the big box with the gold, silver and copper crayons! She was so good to me. I thought all grandmas were like that. She would take me to the County Fair in Ohio and would say "let's have our picture made" and we did. I didn't know until recently that her real name was Minerva Frances. She went by Frances. I remember the fragrance of that dry-goods store, the fragrance of the paper doll books and crayons, and it is comforting to be able to remember them.
My travels to my grandmothers house in the summer continued all of my young life. I even stopped and stayed at her house on the way to Florida for my honeymoon. She was so glad that I did. She would write letters to me faithfully until her fingers became so crippled with arthritis that she couldn't. She then had a friend write as she dictated. I traveled to Ohio to see her in the hospital right before she died. I remember brushing her beautiful, long, black hair that grew to the middle of her back. She never dyed her hair, but it was a lustrous black until the day she died, just like my Dads. She was confused during her last hospitalization, but told me that she had heard them 'calling me' over the hospital intercom to come to her side, and now, here I was.
Minerva Frances was a very special part of my life and I will always love her and honor her memory. I like to believe that my Leslie is now with her and enjoying her like I did. I took Leslie on a train once to see her when Leslie was a toddler and my grandma showered her with the same love she always gave me. I am convinced she will know her when she sees her now................
You know how kids are when they are hurt....they keep their hands over the boo-boos so that you can't see them or treat them. As adults, you know they have to let go so you can help them and make them feel better......but most of the time, the biggest job is prying those fingers away.
That is the way we are sometimes with the hurtful things in our lives.....we are so busy "holding" on to them that we don't give our faith and God the chance to do his work...because we "think" we know better.
Now, asked straight out who could handle it better, us or God...we would think it was a silly question, God, of course! But WHAT do our actons say? And what is the benefit of worry? And what does it tell our children about the faithfulness of God to his people and the covenant he has with us? Let go and let God..........
Currently I am reading a book called "Tuesdays With Morrie" by Mitch Albom. I previously read "The Five People You Meet In Heaven" as well, completing it in one sitting!
"Tuesdays With Morrie" is about a man who is dying from Lou Gehrigs Disease (ALS) and how he handles it. "The Five People In Heaven" is about a man who works at a carnival and fixes certain rides when they need it. He is a man who felt that he went through life and no one noticed or cared, even when he died. These are both small, but very powerful, books.
Each one of us has experienced change in the form of illnesses, or the natural deterioration of our own bodies during the ageing process, and it is an inevitable consequence for us all. Moreover, many of us have gone through the pain of watching a loved close to us die, either figuratively or actually (such as an illness which renders a person to be someone other than he/she used to be, or death).
This subject makes one think about how our own bodies change, and the impact that this has on those around us as well. Some of us will fight and resist change and insist upon hanging on to a dream or an idea of a person as he/she used to be. Is it not often the case that as we watch someone whom we love or care about deeply become ill or suffer, that at times, we too may die in the process as well? Are we not all ordinary individuals having extraordinary experiences?
When the day is done and over, how do we decide who we are? How do we judge ourselves, and when, and by what achievements (of lack thereof) does one leave an imprint on those around us? Do we measure ourselves by only our achievements? Do each of us stop to live the very best life we can, or do we keep waiting for the miracles around us to happen? Does age become our teacher, or our own enemy? If you had to write your own epitaph, what would you want it to say, and why?
Here it is July, a month that I have grown to hate. Each year, I try not to think about it, but I literally hold my breath that nothing happens until the month is over. Silly, yes? But, I have had so many losses occur in this month that I feel it has become a month to fear.
My first loss in July was July 7, 1962. My father, who was only 40 at the time, died while I was at the airport picking up my sister who was coming in from Missouri to be at his bedside. I just happened to stop during my walk through the airport and called my mother. I had a feeling something was wrong, but my Dad had conquered illness so many times that I wasn't prepared for this loss. I was pregnant with my first child, Leslie. I took his death very hard - I was extremely close to my Dad and not at all prepared to lose him.
My second loss was my dear grandmother, Frances on July 17, 1967 . Oh how I loved that woman. She had been ill but I didn't expect to lose her either. I traveled to Ohio to be at her funeral and was pregnant at the time with my second child, my son Steven.
My oldest daughter died on July 5, 2002. Now I knew there was something about July. Her death took all of the inner strength that I could muster up just to keep breathing.
I hope to get through this July with no further loss and I dedicate this message to the loved ones that I have lost:
Listen to the wind when I'm not there to be with you,
For as it dries your tears away it will tell you of my love.
As you walk in the fields of Heaven, when I'm not there to walk with you,
Listen to the lark as it sings of my love for you.
When it's late at night and I'm not there to hold you,
Dream of tomorrow and you will find me there.
In my opinion, lying to your partner is never right, but sometimes understandable. Some people try to control their partner by becoming upset at things they disapprove or or don't like. The other person resorts to lying to avoid upsetting them.
However, true communication involves both a willingness to hear the truth and a willingness to tell the truth. If one person refuses to hear the truth, the other person may stop telling it. People need to give each other the freedom to be honest.
It is fine to express your feelings about a partner's behavior and hope that they will change. It is quite another to use emotional blackmail to prevent them from doing things you don't like. Adults should be in charge of their own behavior and accountable for the same. Obviously if their actions are illegal or immoral that changes things - as long as you don't try to apply your own moral values on them. Adults also have a right to decide on their own moral values.
Even though I worked last night on the fourth of July, I was thinking about my country and some of the basic rights that were set forth by the founders of our nation. We are truly blessed to live in this country. Among the things that I considered, some were vague, although significant, they included the pursuit of happiness.
What is happiness though? Many could say it is objectively defined, as being a virtue, or a state of being that has more reference to doing service for others, and impact on the outside world rather than a subjective state of being. Other people define happiness more subjectively, in terms of tangible objects, such as money, winning the lottery, have a beautiful home with a swimming pool, a well-stocked fragrance collection (me), looking good all the time, buying as much as one wants, etc. Still, for others, the idea is defined more from within, having a state of well being, including and most important, good health, both physical and mental, and achieving a certain type of inner peace, a quiet mind if you will. Still for others, it could be having children, seeing them succeed in the lives, and being happy and healthy and reaching their goals.
My question is, what is your definition of happiness? How, and under what circumstances do you achieve it? Does it involve selfless acts, necessary? Are the accumulation of material goods a part of what makes you happy? Is it a state of mind, body and soul? Remember though, happiness is not a way of life, it is fleeting, and must be appreciated while you have it. It comes and goes, and is not a permanent thing, only short-lived so that you compare it to the other times, making it special and worthwhile.
Over the weekend, two of my grandaughters came over for a visit; the older one is expecting my great-grandchild in January and I can hardly contain myself in the anticipation of this event. Can you even begin to imagine, a great-grandchild? We were talking about my hobby of scrapbooking, which I love. I have made scrapbooks for each of them and the older one said that several people that she showed her books to stated that they were good enough to be done professionally and sold. I love the compliment because I am proud of my work, but, as I told her, I could never do that because they are too personal to me. After they left, I began to think about that and realized that I scrapbook for them not only to somehow preserve their legacy, but also, to give them my memories.
I have given many gifts to my children and grandchildren over the years and I suspect I will give many more before my life is through. Some will be simple, some extravagant, most carefully chosen, some picked in haste on the way to somewhere. Some could be rare and unusual, the kind of gift that makes the giver hover excitedly while the paper is unwrapped. But even those incomparable treasures could have been uncovered by someone else - even, heaven forbid, by another grandmother. They're unusual, but they're not unique. There is only one gift in all the world that can be given by me alone, only one gift I can give that is 'truly' unique. That is the gift of memories, captured and preserved and passed on to the people that I love. Only I can preserve the timeless treasure that conveys my heart and my love to them most eloquently. Even some of the treasures that I make by hand, my crocheted blankets, for example, provide a mute testimony to my unconditional love for them. But not even the most exquisite handmade treasure cannot communicate the way a picture can, the way a word can. Sometimes you have to tell the story by actually telling the story. Just yesterday, I was listening to some music and heard the song "Jesus Christ Superstar" from the broadway show by the same name. I had taken my three children to see the play at their school when they were younger. At the end of the performance when everyone was standing and clapping their hands to the music and such a great performance, I looked up and there on the stage were my three kids with the cast, singing their little hearts out. What a fond memory! I will have to scrapbook that thought, I want to let them know how great a moment that was in my life, something I will always remember. The gift of family stories preserved in words and pictures is an irreplaceable and timeless treasure.
