It's a Holiday...it's a Holiday....whoop-dee-doo.
I ride on this road every Christmas. It's called Hope. My heart longs to see a peaceful time with my relatives. My vision is filled with mushy love and laughter. Happy, happy, happy! But, I get lost and my detour takes me to Highway to Hell. I repeat to myself "I will remain calm, composed and full of joy". The last three words should probably be rearranged to "full of something else".
It begins. The first hours of hugging and kissing happen. It's all good. I look at my watch. Wow. It's been 4 hours and all is well. Curious.
I'm about to wash my hands. My sister reminds me that I may have some loose screws in my head. She casually informs me that the left handle is for hot water. Right-o. I shrug it off. It's beginning to look like Christmas.
This is hard to explain. It's about trying to describe a human being who pushes everyone's buttons except my husband's and that's mainly because he can't speak French. Smart man.. This human being makes you want to guzzle down a bottle of Xanax with a martini.. Her name Mom. She loves you. The problem is her mouth. It's filled with painful daggers. Her words can slice you in half.
She chirps to my sister "I lost another 5lbs and I'm not even trying". She shoves a plate of cookies she's baked on the kitchen counter. "Should you be eating those? she says to both of us with a sparkle in her eyes.
My sister rolls her eyes. Mom can't sit. She immediately starts to wipe things down. She's like a defective slinky that never stops. She's gurgling sweet googoo gaga's to our dogs. "Oh my sweet pootie-pooh's ---grandma brought you some yummy treats". Her treats always makes all 3 dogs fart which makes my folks unhappy. "They're so stinky!" "Mom, stop feeding them stuff!" It's like talking to a doorknob.
I take my dog out in the woods behind their backyard for a poop. Easy enough. I look back at my mom in horror. I dragged dog doo doo all over her perfect carpet with my shoe. "Crap!" I'm suddenly twelve again. Panic grabs my throat. I feel clammy. This reminds me of my sister's bigger fiasco with a dog she adopted 5 years ago. Her new dog Phoenix was not feeling so well while everyone slept peacefully at my parent's house. Phoenix became a giant pinata overnight. When he busted, he exploded on my mom's white carpet, sofa, curtains, lamps and the walls. It wasn't candy. My sister and my mom both cried over that one.
"Ah, mon Dieu!" she says with eyes big as beach balls. She looks like she is about to faint. Perfect. "Hey, remember when Phoenix...." I try to make my sister's dog look awful to make Nuke sweet in comparison. Not working. I clean the awful mess and think I may throw up on her germ free carpet. I wipe off my shoe and throw the smelly stuff it in their large outdoor garbage can.
"Ah non, you didn't throw the merde in the garbage can?" she says. I hate this part. My parents have very complicated garbage disposal rules. Most items have to be cleaned before you throw them out. Some items are put into a bag that have to be put into another bag and then put into thrash bin #1 inside or thrash bin #2 outside. I still don't get it.
More fun coming our way. Dad is about to cook. A simple sentence that's loaded like a gun. Apparently, my sister and I do not comprehend the art of buying kitchen tools. Every kitchen gadget we own are primitive tools that belong to cavemen according to dad. Our wheels are square.
Here it comes. It's the same thing every year. He's about to peel potatoes. This particular tool sends him into a fit of madness. It's a potato peeler. I look at my sister. Here we go 1, 2, 3..."Your peeler is a -+)*&^%$!" We both look at the ceiling. We're hoping Jesus will come and save us, but he's too busy with his own birthday plans.
This escalates into WWIII. His face is going through painful contortions. Every bad word invented resonates into the room. It's like he's in a boxing ring with Mohammed Ali except it's a dang potato peeler. Mom to Dad "Voyons...don't be upset" which is exactly what it does and dad disappears. The potato peeler won the first round. I'm looking for the girl with high heels who walks around the ring with a number on her board.
"What happened? Where did he go?" my sister says.
Wow - I'm thinking about our family breaking a record. We made it without a scene for exactly 7 hours, 6 minutes and 2 seconds.
"He's sitting in his car" I say with some pride for breaking a new record. Sniff. Sniff. Fumes are coming out of my sister's nostrils. She is tomato red. I add with well intentioned cheer "He's upset. He feels that we don't want him around. Personally, I think it's the potato peeler".
She marches outside with flames in her hair. "GET OUT OF THE CAR! WE ARE GOING TO HAVE A NICE CHRISTMAS TOGETHER!!!!" Her speaker like lungs work and my dad comes back into the house mumbling. He's probably still cursing the evil potato peeler. Bad bad tool!
David is picking at his guitar with a far far away look in his eyes. He's grinning. His mind has checked out into a hotel in Brazil. The calmness has returned. It's as though nothing has ever happened. I like to rationalize our behavior by saying "Well, you know the French! We may want to kill you one minute and the next it's all beautiful.". Keeps you on your toes. This small family of four equals a loud army of a hundred. We leave some heavy Pig-Pen dust behind us. Among the chaos, I find that I love them no matter what. I'm lucky that they are still around to celebrate the holidays. May the New Year bring us lots of Kumbaya. We need it. Happy 2012.
Diane Sesler
Copyright 12/31/11
Friday, December 30, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Pumpkins & Candy Corn Hair
Halloween. Always reminds me of candy corn. I don't like it. It brings back memories of a hairdo gone wrong.
I had a wild hair years ago and decided to get a new doo. That sounds normal. Unfortunately, I had a spontaneous moment and picked a salon at random. Really. This is why I have stories to tell. I don't always function well mentally.
"HI!" The too bubbly salon greeter shouts at me.
"I want a cut and color" I said with confidence.
"Do you have an appointment" Ms. Bubbly says. She's too excited. This is a sign I missed. There's not many clients in this joint.
"Do you have an appointment" Ms. Bubbly says. She's too excited. This is a sign I missed. There's not many clients in this joint.
One stylist is available. His name is probably Maurice, but I will call him Sas Quatch. He is so hairy that hair is protruding from his shirt. He looks like he's wearing a faux carpet on his chest. I wonder why he doesn't use his talent on himself. He's a bit sweaty. All those are signs. They say follow your intuition. I didn't.
Sas Quatch has a nasal voice. "Is that what you want?"
He's pointing at the pic I chose in a magazine. It's a hair brushed celebrity with a smart funky cut.
"Yep, and I want a different color for the fall...pretty auburn with a few light streaks here and there."
I'm thinking this is going well. I smile.
Sas disappears to blend the magical color that will sit on my head. I feel good. A new me is about to emerge. He's back. Goodness he sweats a lot.
I feel his big paws working on my hair. I'm expecting grunts but can't hear any. I'm looking at a magazine. Drop. What's up with that? Another drop. It splashes on my glossy mag. I give a side glance towards Sas and there's pearl size sweat all over his forehead. He keeps wiping himself. I feel myself gagging. He's dropping sweat bullets all over my paper.
I'm having to concentrate so that I don't lose my lunch. Run. I can't. I have chemicals on my head. Relax.
Sas is finished with the color and puts me under the dryer. I bathe in relief as sweaty pants moves away from me. I curse myself for thinking that I'm a cool spontaneous chick. Never again.
I'm hoping that Sas Quatch Sweaty Pants will have to leave for a minor emergency. Nothing serious. May be just a tiny reaction from the hair dye he put on my head. He's itchy like hell and can't do my hair anymore. Nope, he's back and his carpeted chest looks damp. I'm stuck.
He takes the foils out and washes my hair. What is usually a pleasant experience sends me into a panic attack. Oh, please, please, please don't get sweat on me. Drip. I dare to say in a loud voice "I have a neck issue and can't stay in this position very long."
"Oh hon, it won't be much longer, you poor thing." Darn. I should of told him that I can only be in that position for a minute or else I go into convulsions.
I reluctantly go back to his station. Gee, that's funny, my hair isn't dry yet but it sure looks unusually bright. I'm holding the picture of the doo I want with high hopes of looking fresh and spunky.
He's snipping away and I have to dodge his sweat drops. I am in a numb zone so that I don't focus on his body issues. Oh wow....that piece of hair he just cut doesn't look right. I'm starting to look like I have lice and someone without a hair licence got a hold of my head. It's choppy.
Drying my hair is next. I'm in a shock. I stare at myself in the mirror in pure horror. Where am I in that reflection? There's no doubt in my mind. I look like a bright orange orangutan. If that's not enough, an orangutan with a bad hairdo that his unskilled buddy did while drinking too many beers.
I'm speechless. Sas Quatch is all smiles. "Looks great huh!". I stumble out of my chair in a daze and mumble "hat....need hat now".
I drive home sobbing. I know the local circus would hire me on the spot. I run and hide inside my home. I immediately put a hat on.
"How bad can it be?" said my friend on the phone. "I'm coming over" she declares.
I take the hat off. See. My friend explodes with laughter. She snorts. She holds her ribs. She can't speak. She's on the floor. I want to snap her little head off her shoulders.
"Oh wow, that is sooooo bad!"
"Gee, thanks" I'm not happy.
"Holy cow" and then she says what I didn't want to hear. "You look like candy corn for Halloween". I look in the mirror and dang it she's right. I'm staring at bright orange hair with uneven streaks of white and yellow strands. It's not much better than looking like a orangutan.
"Perfect for Halloween" she says. She's proud of herself and I don't like her right now.
I have not eaten candy since the incident, but I do feel some kind of bonding with orangutans.
Happy Halloween
Sas Quatch has a nasal voice. "Is that what you want?"
He's pointing at the pic I chose in a magazine. It's a hair brushed celebrity with a smart funky cut.
"Yep, and I want a different color for the fall...pretty auburn with a few light streaks here and there."
I'm thinking this is going well. I smile.
Sas disappears to blend the magical color that will sit on my head. I feel good. A new me is about to emerge. He's back. Goodness he sweats a lot.
I feel his big paws working on my hair. I'm expecting grunts but can't hear any. I'm looking at a magazine. Drop. What's up with that? Another drop. It splashes on my glossy mag. I give a side glance towards Sas and there's pearl size sweat all over his forehead. He keeps wiping himself. I feel myself gagging. He's dropping sweat bullets all over my paper.
I'm having to concentrate so that I don't lose my lunch. Run. I can't. I have chemicals on my head. Relax.
Sas is finished with the color and puts me under the dryer. I bathe in relief as sweaty pants moves away from me. I curse myself for thinking that I'm a cool spontaneous chick. Never again.
I'm hoping that Sas Quatch Sweaty Pants will have to leave for a minor emergency. Nothing serious. May be just a tiny reaction from the hair dye he put on my head. He's itchy like hell and can't do my hair anymore. Nope, he's back and his carpeted chest looks damp. I'm stuck.
He takes the foils out and washes my hair. What is usually a pleasant experience sends me into a panic attack. Oh, please, please, please don't get sweat on me. Drip. I dare to say in a loud voice "I have a neck issue and can't stay in this position very long."
"Oh hon, it won't be much longer, you poor thing." Darn. I should of told him that I can only be in that position for a minute or else I go into convulsions.
I reluctantly go back to his station. Gee, that's funny, my hair isn't dry yet but it sure looks unusually bright. I'm holding the picture of the doo I want with high hopes of looking fresh and spunky.
He's snipping away and I have to dodge his sweat drops. I am in a numb zone so that I don't focus on his body issues. Oh wow....that piece of hair he just cut doesn't look right. I'm starting to look like I have lice and someone without a hair licence got a hold of my head. It's choppy.
Drying my hair is next. I'm in a shock. I stare at myself in the mirror in pure horror. Where am I in that reflection? There's no doubt in my mind. I look like a bright orange orangutan. If that's not enough, an orangutan with a bad hairdo that his unskilled buddy did while drinking too many beers.
I'm speechless. Sas Quatch is all smiles. "Looks great huh!". I stumble out of my chair in a daze and mumble "hat....need hat now".
I drive home sobbing. I know the local circus would hire me on the spot. I run and hide inside my home. I immediately put a hat on.
"How bad can it be?" said my friend on the phone. "I'm coming over" she declares.
I take the hat off. See. My friend explodes with laughter. She snorts. She holds her ribs. She can't speak. She's on the floor. I want to snap her little head off her shoulders.
"Oh wow, that is sooooo bad!"
"Gee, thanks" I'm not happy.
"Holy cow" and then she says what I didn't want to hear. "You look like candy corn for Halloween". I look in the mirror and dang it she's right. I'm staring at bright orange hair with uneven streaks of white and yellow strands. It's not much better than looking like a orangutan.
"Perfect for Halloween" she says. She's proud of herself and I don't like her right now.
I have not eaten candy since the incident, but I do feel some kind of bonding with orangutans.
Happy Halloween
Monday, September 5, 2011
Your Silence Speaks To Me
Your silence speaks to me.
I'm closing the pages to the story of our friendship. I have been carrying your book for too long. It is heavy and has an unhappy ending. It will be burned.
I trusted you.
I believed you were my friend. Behind your smile sat the deep darkness of your heart. You chose cruelty as your best friend. While good souls helped us during the flood, you decided to take another path. You felt that kicking us while we were down was a sport. You stole what little we had left. My heart still aches at the thought of your sickening scheme. It makes me sad. It makes me angry. You disgust me.
I trusted you.
You preach that you love God. You made sure that I heard you speak about the bible. You were not silent about how holy you were. You are an hypocrite. You bathe in lies, but I can still smell your stench.
I trusted you.
I was naive. I saw a few signs, but dismissed them. I thought I knew you after so many years, but I was looking at a fake and ugly stone. You once showed me a letter of a former friend. You owe her money. She said "how can you sleep at night knowing what you have done to me?". You said she was crazy, and that she gave you the money. I understand your former friend now. She was kicked by you too. Will you be showing this letter to your next victim?
I trusted you.
Your silence speaks to me.
How can a longtime friend not reach out and try to speak with me about the money they stole from us? I have waited. I wanted you to tell me you were sorry. I wanted to hear that you never meant for this to happen. I wanted to hear "what can I do about what we have done to you?".
Nothing.
Silence.
Another stab to the heart
I don't trust you.
I am thankful. It took a long time for me to realize that what you did was a gift. I am happy that your evil company will not be walking by my side. I don't want to be part of your world. You are unhappy, shallow, and insincere Money and things mean more to you than a relationship with a friend. You put down your husband on how materialistic he is. Now I know that you are two peas in the same pod. It is a perfect marriage. Perhaps you should hold a mirror to your face. It could make you stop blaming your mate. He is a pawn. Putting him down gives you the allure that you are a queen and that you sit high on your throne of deceit. You told me that he is a poor simpleton that needs you to survive. I get it. You think you need him to make yourself look good. It's not working.
I will never trust you.
I will forgive you someday so that I may move on and not spend time thinking about what you did to us. But, I will never forget. I'm putting this chapter away from me today.
I hope spending our money was worth it and that you are enjoying all your lifeless things over our friendship.
It may be a good idea to truly read your bible today and not just talk about it.
I'm closing the pages to the story of our friendship. I have been carrying your book for too long. It is heavy and has an unhappy ending. It will be burned.
I trusted you.
I believed you were my friend. Behind your smile sat the deep darkness of your heart. You chose cruelty as your best friend. While good souls helped us during the flood, you decided to take another path. You felt that kicking us while we were down was a sport. You stole what little we had left. My heart still aches at the thought of your sickening scheme. It makes me sad. It makes me angry. You disgust me.
I trusted you.
You preach that you love God. You made sure that I heard you speak about the bible. You were not silent about how holy you were. You are an hypocrite. You bathe in lies, but I can still smell your stench.
I trusted you.
I was naive. I saw a few signs, but dismissed them. I thought I knew you after so many years, but I was looking at a fake and ugly stone. You once showed me a letter of a former friend. You owe her money. She said "how can you sleep at night knowing what you have done to me?". You said she was crazy, and that she gave you the money. I understand your former friend now. She was kicked by you too. Will you be showing this letter to your next victim?
I trusted you.
Your silence speaks to me.
How can a longtime friend not reach out and try to speak with me about the money they stole from us? I have waited. I wanted you to tell me you were sorry. I wanted to hear that you never meant for this to happen. I wanted to hear "what can I do about what we have done to you?".
Nothing.
Silence.
Another stab to the heart
I don't trust you.
I am thankful. It took a long time for me to realize that what you did was a gift. I am happy that your evil company will not be walking by my side. I don't want to be part of your world. You are unhappy, shallow, and insincere Money and things mean more to you than a relationship with a friend. You put down your husband on how materialistic he is. Now I know that you are two peas in the same pod. It is a perfect marriage. Perhaps you should hold a mirror to your face. It could make you stop blaming your mate. He is a pawn. Putting him down gives you the allure that you are a queen and that you sit high on your throne of deceit. You told me that he is a poor simpleton that needs you to survive. I get it. You think you need him to make yourself look good. It's not working.
I will never trust you.
I will forgive you someday so that I may move on and not spend time thinking about what you did to us. But, I will never forget. I'm putting this chapter away from me today.
I hope spending our money was worth it and that you are enjoying all your lifeless things over our friendship.
It may be a good idea to truly read your bible today and not just talk about it.
Goodbye & Yippee Ying-Yang Day
I've got my happy pants on. Moving. That word takes a lot of space in our Pennington Bend Trailer. Wer'e moving material things along with emotions in a big fat bag. It's bursting out at the seams. The history is rich. Tears of sadness. Tears of happiness. Yippee ying/yang day.
Goodbye trailer. You were great! You helped us keep a steady foot on shaky ground. You saw our tears, our fears, our confusion, our anger, and our laughter. You whispered to us to take it easy...that it would be all ok someday. You were right.
But, best of all...drumroll here "I am running out of the camper right now to buy a huge load of 2-ply I will not detoriate in your hands toilet paper". Oh yeah! Living the big life!
Goodbye trailer. You were great! You helped us keep a steady foot on shaky ground. You saw our tears, our fears, our confusion, our anger, and our laughter. You whispered to us to take it easy...that it would be all ok someday. You were right.
But, best of all...drumroll here "I am running out of the camper right now to buy a huge load of 2-ply I will not detoriate in your hands toilet paper". Oh yeah! Living the big life!
For You Tante Georgette
Your wings have brought me here
Outstretched
Reaching the blue of infinity
Bird of beauty - you have taught me your song
Fly High
Let the wind whisper your story
As your teardrops cover the earth
Like a soft kiss
A cool night
The ivory moon
I sleep under a sycamore
Its leaves are blowing to the symphony of your life
There is no fear
Only your voice that wraps me in a starry blanket
And I dream of a stream
That transports all of your hopes
And as you reach the shore
Pebbles glow and spell your name
copyright Diane sesler 5/14/11
Outstretched
Reaching the blue of infinity
Bird of beauty - you have taught me your song
Fly High
Let the wind whisper your story
As your teardrops cover the earth
Like a soft kiss
A cool night
The ivory moon
I sleep under a sycamore
Its leaves are blowing to the symphony of your life
There is no fear
Only your voice that wraps me in a starry blanket
And I dream of a stream
That transports all of your hopes
And as you reach the shore
Pebbles glow and spell your name
copyright Diane sesler 5/14/11
The Sisters Visit The Chamber of Torture
The yearly torture trip is due. It's time for the sisters to get a mammogram. The uncomfortable visualization in my head makes me wince. Boobie pancakes minus the syrup comes to mind. Fingernails on a chalkboard is a better alternative than this once a year exam.
As usual, the waiting room's thermostat is set on the icicle position. An unfriendly nurse with upside down lips hands me a paper thin robe. She gives me tiny white stick on's with a silver ball on the end of the disks to put on the tip of my breasts. I feel like an old stripper without a pole. I'm shivering into convulsion. My nipples are now frozen. You could play ring toss with them.
I bet an unhappy man invented the squish the tatas machine. He's 4' tall, wears a bad rug, has tiny manicured hands, a long pointy nose and can never get a date. He lives with his mother. He's highly frustrated and invents painful contraptions. I bet I'm right on.Well... perhaps the nose is red and bulbous.and not pointy.
Ms. Ihate Myjob mechanically tells me to get close to the machine. She plops my right boob onto a plate like it's lunchmeat. I'm expecting her to add a sprig of parsley to garnish the dish. Next comes the upper plate that will make me want to poke her in the eyes. The upper plate meets the lower plate and turns me into a fried egg sandwich. "Hold your breath" she barks. Ouch, ouch, ouch! I'm reminded of a Chinese acupuncturist who once said to me "You just big baby!". I feel like just big baby now. Repeat with breast number two. Small tears are collecting at the corner of my eyes. The nurse says "we have to redo the right one". I want to curse obscenities at her..I bite my upper lips and grunt.
Mammograms save lives. They are essential, but do they have to be so frigging painful? I'm esctatic the exam is over for another year. I have the urge to stick my tongue out at the nurse, but refrain from being 12 again. Big baby is buying herself a hot cocoa. Wah wah wah.
As usual, the waiting room's thermostat is set on the icicle position. An unfriendly nurse with upside down lips hands me a paper thin robe. She gives me tiny white stick on's with a silver ball on the end of the disks to put on the tip of my breasts. I feel like an old stripper without a pole. I'm shivering into convulsion. My nipples are now frozen. You could play ring toss with them.
I bet an unhappy man invented the squish the tatas machine. He's 4' tall, wears a bad rug, has tiny manicured hands, a long pointy nose and can never get a date. He lives with his mother. He's highly frustrated and invents painful contraptions. I bet I'm right on.Well... perhaps the nose is red and bulbous.and not pointy.
Ms. Ihate Myjob mechanically tells me to get close to the machine. She plops my right boob onto a plate like it's lunchmeat. I'm expecting her to add a sprig of parsley to garnish the dish. Next comes the upper plate that will make me want to poke her in the eyes. The upper plate meets the lower plate and turns me into a fried egg sandwich. "Hold your breath" she barks. Ouch, ouch, ouch! I'm reminded of a Chinese acupuncturist who once said to me "You just big baby!". I feel like just big baby now. Repeat with breast number two. Small tears are collecting at the corner of my eyes. The nurse says "we have to redo the right one". I want to curse obscenities at her..I bite my upper lips and grunt.
Mammograms save lives. They are essential, but do they have to be so frigging painful? I'm esctatic the exam is over for another year. I have the urge to stick my tongue out at the nurse, but refrain from being 12 again. Big baby is buying herself a hot cocoa. Wah wah wah.
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