tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48126710176988100212024-03-13T06:44:52.158-07:00Bar Napkins (Poetry, Advice, Stories)Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.comBlogger111125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-16125230599781638912022-01-21T11:18:00.003-08:002022-01-25T11:37:12.813-08:00dresses<p> I took down the hem because I was tall,</p><p>taller than my mother had been,</p><p>taller than my grandmother,</p><p>thin as both,</p><p>playing dress up in hand me downs,</p><p>wanting to wear pink and be a girl,</p><p>but fitting into overalls better,</p><p>twirling around the back bedroom,</p><p>getting caught and in trouble for not asking first,</p><p>then being dressed up like a doll in hats and crinolines,</p><p>laughing like a child,</p><p>wearing the clothes of other generations.</p><p>How different we all were at our different times in history.</p><p>That fading pink dress with bolero,</p><p>full of memories, not just mine, but theirs,</p><p>and now in my closet. </p><p>That fading pink dress that no longer fits my adult frame,</p><p>hanging carefully in the back of the closet.</p><p>That fading pink dress that brings her back.</p><p>A precious piece of history and just a fading cotton dress.</p><p>I took the hem down because I was tall.</p><p><br /></p>Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-49921008271712039052021-12-08T05:02:00.001-08:002021-12-08T05:02:28.531-08:00concert anticipation<p> </p><p>That shadowing area as you enter the crowd, leave behind the awkward light of the single bulb over the bar, to be swallowed by the bodies that sway to yet un-played rhythms; waiting for the band to begin, they vibrate with anticipation. It takes a moment to adjust to the dim, but then she appears in the crowd, a spotlight only you can see guides you to her smile, and you begin to relax and then the two of you dance and sway and suddenly no one else is there.</p>Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-28911434215220865332021-12-08T04:57:00.001-08:002021-12-08T04:57:16.333-08:00Flirting (akwardly)We lean against the same bar,<div>watching the band, </div><div>every time you shift your weight, </div><div>I feel it in my back, </div><div>I try not to look, </div><div>not to feel you, </div><div>but I want to feel you.
</div>Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-58761872162752392602021-12-03T13:19:00.003-08:002021-12-03T13:19:37.740-08:00Holiday AngstThis is not one my typical posts. It isn't a little tiny story or a "poem"
The holidays are so hard for so many of us, but somehow it feels like we shouldn't say anything about it. We shouldn't be glum, we shouldn't dread the company Christmas "Holiday" Party, we shouldn't feel like skipping Thanksgiving this year, and we shouldn't let any one know that watching the kids open presents isn't the joy to us that it should be. My holiday issues aren't as bad as some, but I still feel a little guilty. I feel like I shouldn't really dread the 8 hour plus drive, alone, again. I should be excited to see my family, and I am. I just wish I had a family of my own. I have no partner, no children. I'm the one who moved away, so by power of majority, I'm the one who has to travel. I've never even thought to invite my family to come south. I know they wouldn't anyway. I don't have a place for them to stay. Maybe if I had a big house, or little kids, or lived in a vacation spot, it would be different. But it's not. So, I have to travel. I love to travel. I really do. But. There's something there I can't really but into words. I know I shouldn't complain at all.
Anyhow, the last few years have been different with the global pandemic. People are excited to gather and celebrate now that it is clearing up. But some of us, like me, aren't ready for all that attention again. I'll be the one trying to melt into the couch or standing just outside the doorway. I skipped Thanksgiving this year. I skipped Friendsgiving this year. Being with a bunch of people wears me out. I live alone now, I do everything alone. I work from home: no water cooler banter for me. I love my job and being able to work from home. I don't know. It's not perfect. It's great and I'm thankful, but something is missing. Everyone thinks if you work from home, you can work from your bed, in your jammies, or while you watch TV or play with your pets. But I have a job to do. I can't mess around. I do my laundry sometimes during work hours. But loading and unloading the machines is less time than some people take for smoke breaks. I do enjoy using my own bathroom, having access to my kitchen, and my music. It's a sweet gig. It is. But it is making me anti-social and lonely and wanting people all at the same time.
Back to Christmas. I miss my mother so much at Christmas. I miss being little. I miss traditions. We only have one little left in our family and she just became a teenager. So, everything is different now. And I have a homesickness for a time and place I'll never get back.
I love Christmas lights. I always have. But even those aren't the same. People now have those giant inflatable things on the lawns, or they decorate too much, or the colors are off. I am an old soul, I guess. I have a particular kind of Christmas decoration that I love, and no home of my own to decorate.
Even Christmas music annoys me now.
I've only had one New Year's Eve that came close to my dream date. And then it turned weird. I want to wear a cocktail dress and go to a beautiful place with a handsome partner and dance the night away. I want to be adored and have someone to adore back. And I have. I have been adored. But I haven't had my dream come true.
There's this word Hiraeth. It means homesickness for a place that doesn't exist.
Hiraeth: a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.
That's how I feel. More so at the holidays. So, if you see someone being a wall flower at the holiday party or drinking too much eggnog or waiting til everyone else has filled their plate at a holiday meal, give them some extra love, because they probably feel like me. Just don't be surprised if you need to approach them with a hanky handy.
I wish anyone reading this a very Happy Holiday Season!Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-9996441684318160432021-11-09T07:12:00.000-08:002021-11-09T07:12:04.251-08:00I've done all this and still....I've taken some broad strokes at life,
I've made some tiny masterpieces,
I've colored my world rose by wearing those glasses,
I've been blinded by love,
I've been shocked awake by loss,
I've painted memories to look different in my mind,
I've added color to gray days,
I've glossed over my mistakes,
I've muted the sunshine with my cloudy feelings,
I've turned black into red.
I've collaborated,
I've done solo shows,
I've been part of groups, seminars, classes,
I've been to the school of love and the school of loss.
I've looked at beauty and not recognized it,
I've seen something pretty in a drab, dark space,
I've done all this and still....Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-5517747709278884322021-08-30T05:50:00.001-07:002021-11-09T07:12:53.351-08:00The Bride and Groom<p> <span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">The bride walked down the aisle, slowly. In a dress of traditional white, pearls adorned her ear lobes, a chain of gold with a delicate cross around her neck, her veil attached to a halo of tiny white flowers, she was radiant. Everyone turned to see her. Except the groom. He stood with his back to her, even as his groomsmen turned to see her. The groom listened to the parish reactions, the whispered compliments, the "ohs and ahs". He listened to the wedding march, knew the premise moment she would arrive at the parent's pew. He knew the exact moment he wished to see her. As he turned, he let out his breath, that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His deep sigh echoed in the nave. He was beholden. He felt a rush of his deep love for her. He thought in the never ending moment of his first view of his bride that he was starting a new life. He was reborn. How many lives we lead, seasons in our century. No matter how long we are blessed to live on this earth, we pass through many lives; the life of childhood, the teen years, young adulthood, perhaps spouse, parent, grandparent. We may not experience all, but we have so much life to live. He felt as though he had just finally been born. Today this beautiful woman would make him a man. Her love, her beauty, her quiet determination, her faith, her life, pledged to his as he pledged himself to her. Today was the first day of his new life. He pledged his remaining life to be entwined with hers, alongside her, supporting her, enjoying life together. Right in that moment, before the I dos, before the blessing, right then, he already married her.</span></p>Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-89853844216042700452021-07-28T07:44:00.000-07:002021-07-28T07:44:04.672-07:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QI8D3sMAAVg/YQFqxd1H8qI/AAAAAAAA_z0/XRpdN8kxFQEkryyI8W5qyI0a8HoFyUHMgCPcBGAsYHg/s4032/PXL_20210728_143138913%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QI8D3sMAAVg/YQFqxd1H8qI/AAAAAAAA_z0/XRpdN8kxFQEkryyI8W5qyI0a8HoFyUHMgCPcBGAsYHg/s320/PXL_20210728_143138913%257E2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: left;">The tiny canvas caught her eye daily,</p><p>often more than once a day,</p><p>sitting there amongst her trinkets and memories,</p><p>waiting to become more than it was,</p><p>the tiny pots of paint at the ready,</p><p>the brush, casually laying across the white field,</p><p>she thought of the delicate strokes the brush offered,</p><p>the vibrant red, waiting in it's pot,</p><p>the yellow gold of sunlight,</p><p>the green of earth,</p><p>and blue of sky,</p><p>she wondered what the painting would be,</p><p>flowers on a field of green,</p><p>one giant red rose,</p><p>a balloon, perhaps the hot air type, with basket below,</p><p>maybe a mermaid peaking out of the sea,</p><p>a house on a tree lined street,</p><p>something to do with the beach,</p><p>or mountains,</p><p>or a stream that wanders through woods,</p><p>maybe an animal, or a house plant,</p><p>whatever it would be,</p><p>it was ready,</p><p>but she wasn't yet. </p><p>Soon, she told the canvas, I'll know what to do.</p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p> </p>Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-54519385287992915062021-03-21T09:43:00.001-07:002021-03-21T09:43:41.692-07:00departures and arrivals<p> a car door closes in the distance,</p><p>not slammed, but firmly shut,</p><p>arriving or departing, one does not know,</p><p><br /></p><p>birds chirp as they flit about,</p><p>they gather and disperse,</p><p>little parties of short duration,</p><p><br /></p><p>the sun warms the air,</p><p>the breeze moves it about,</p><p>competing temperatures,</p><p><br /></p><p>on the road, the traffic flows,</p><p>comings and goings,</p><p>purposeful or pleasureful,</p><p><br /></p><p>the day progresses,</p><p>much like those before and those to come,</p><p>each persons own and everyone else's too</p><p><br /></p><p>another door is open and shut,</p><p>somewhere a telephone begins to ring,</p><p>a dog barks his alarm,</p><p><br /></p><p>an airplane passes overhead,</p><p>the roar of it's engine distorted by distance,</p><p>arriving or departing, one does not know,</p><p><br /></p><p>the neighbor's car appears and is parked,</p><p>the neighbor emerges and gathers packages to bring inside,</p><p>an arrival for certain,</p><p><br /></p><p>a man on a bicycle rides by,</p><p>on his face a look of childlike abandon,</p><p>this is a departure from the mundane,</p><p><br /></p><p>a woman comes outside,</p><p>she brings her refuse to the bin,</p><p>returns to her home,</p><p><br /></p><p>a day observed,</p><p>departures and arrivals.</p><p><br /></p>Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-74462410588987225032020-11-18T12:51:00.002-08:002020-11-18T12:51:22.878-08:00untitled<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal">The breeze came up and tapped me on the shoulder,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I turned to face it, but
it had already passed me,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Changing direction it came and nudged me down the hill,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The sun had sent it, <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">To tell me that she’d be going soon,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And I better not be caught up here alone.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As the sun put on her evening show, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And dusk crept in to take up the day,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Night hesitated to swallow up the mountain,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The animals ate their evening meals,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And began to think of bedding down.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I wanted to stay,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I wanted more time with the mountain,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The wind nudged again and reminded me,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I better not be caught up here alone.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As I headed down, <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I looked around,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Trying to remember every scene,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">To commit to memory the place where your ashes now played,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’d never be here again,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Not in this way,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Not with you.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’d better not be caught up here alone.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">all rights reserved </p>Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-81314550421909567972020-11-10T13:38:00.004-08:002020-11-10T13:38:59.964-08:00glimpses<p> sometimes I see glimpses of other worlds</p><p>they are just movements or patterns seen in my peripheral vision</p><p>out of the corner of my eye, a dark column moves</p><p>a shadow has dimension</p><p>I feel a cat jump onto the bed when none lives here now</p><p>a window frame reminds me of a place I've never been</p><p>a smell of ... what? I can not name it or remember it's place</p><p>I look up and hours have passed without my noticing</p><p>the sun has set but I'm still basking in it's warmth</p><p>I feel a caress, but is it just a memory?</p><p>small movements in my otherwise still rooms</p><p>a tapping from the hallway</p><p>meant to draw my attention away or to push me back to now?</p><p>just glimpses </p><p>even alone, not truly alone</p>Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-22276175954182043482020-11-06T07:35:00.000-08:002020-11-06T07:35:19.344-08:00The book of our love.<p> When I said "we need to talk", </p><p>I was asking for your help,</p><p> your love, your input, your phrases, and arguments.</p><p> I knew we had fallen off the same page,</p><p>I wanted to ask you to make some revisions.</p><p>But you just closed the book.</p><p>You didn't want to finish the story.</p><p>You pulled the pages out and threw them in the fire.</p><p>I was on those pages. </p><p>I was on the ones that went in the bin.</p><p>I was on the ones that were thrown into the wind.</p><p>I was on the ones that were crumpled and discarded.</p><p>I'm writing a new book now. </p><p>But you still mark the pages. </p><p>Like a stain, a water mark made of tears.</p><p>There's still more to be written. </p><p>The single volume you destroyed still informs the series.</p><p>Writing you out of the story hasn't been as easy. </p><p>I've made mistakes that can't be erased, </p><p>but they are in that other book.</p><p>This one is still a rough draft,</p><p>but writing it without collaboration hasn't been easy.</p><p>Your editing isn't kind and it isn't constructive. </p><p>I want to build. </p><p>What is your new book going to say?</p><p><br /></p>Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-76285820708821206262020-09-17T07:20:00.002-07:002020-09-17T08:15:43.323-07:00The little girl under the clothesline.<p> </p><p>Shorter than most, this story begins with a moment in time that hasn't happened yet. It is a look into the future by someone who lives in the past. Which, if you think about it, makes it a story about now.</p><p>Emily is on her death bed. She is telling her daughter about her life. She wants to make sure that she has told her the precious memories that have been with her all these years. Her daughter wants her to conserve her energy. She thinks she has heard all these stories already. She makes sure the tape recorder is recording and allows her mother to go on. </p><p>Emily was sitting in her rocking chair, holding the baby. She started to think about days when she was a child. She remembered a special day. She wanted to make sure that when the baby was older she would remember the story so she could her tell it to her. She felt it was important. </p><p>She was just six years old and was a shy child. She loved the outdoors, the sights, the smells, the tastes, the adventures found in the most unusual places. Her imagination ran wild with worlds of talking snails and fencing crickets, and wondering every day, "What did Katy do?"</p><p>On this particular day she was playing under the clothesline, watching her mother hang the sheets to dry. She wondered if mommies thought about the little tiny creatures in the grass while she worked. She asked her mom and to her delight, her mother stopped working and came and sat on the ground next to her. Her mother said, "Yes, dear, I think about them, but mommies don't have as much time to dream about the little things as little girls do. We have to do the laundry, and keep the house, and make sure our children are safe and happy." The little girl was sad and thought she would never be a mommy then. Her mother said, "Let's take some time to do it now. Let's think about the ants who live in the grass." She and her mother sat in the grass for a long time, making up stories, and talking about the language the ants would use. Or it seemed, to her, like a long time. Mommy had to get up and finish with the sheets. </p><p>Emily, the little girl, now on her deathbed, began again, "I believe I was around six years old. It was a sunny day in summer and my mother was hanging sheets on the clothes line. I was playing in the grass and looking for worlds even tinier than mine..."</p>Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-3928673320371855672020-08-14T07:23:00.001-07:002020-08-14T07:23:54.793-07:00depletedI keep looking for your love,<div>but it's not there anymore,</div><div>It's been used up, </div><div>depleted.</div><div><br /></div><div>but you, </div><div>you have this habit,</div><div>this habit of keeping tabs on me,</div><div>dependence.</div><div><br /></div><div>but you, </div><div>you like the attention,</div><div>you like me chasing you,</div><div>ego.</div><div><br /></div><div>but me,</div><div>I want the attention,</div><div>I want to be seen,</div><div>ego.</div><div><br /></div><div>I want to be cared for,</div><div>I want to be needed,</div><div>I want to be guided,</div><div>dependence.</div><div><br /></div><div>My patience is failing, </div><div>my heart is hurting,</div><div>My love is not yet,</div><div>depleted.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-53865078221793239472020-06-22T16:18:00.001-07:002020-06-22T16:18:57.491-07:00The American Inn<br />
Allen knew what he was about to do was going to get him in trouble, but he didn't care. Not now, not after that hot head bartender shut him off for the night. Who the fuck did Gary think he was? He was a jerk in high school and he was a jerk now. He wasn't anybody. Just a lowly bartender in the local watering hole, in the next town over from where he grew up. Gary with his "I don't like your attitude, son." and "no more drinks for you tonight, cowboy" and his smirk as he checked to make sure the waitresses heard him exert his power. Sure Gary had a job and Allen didn't. Gary probably had a girl and Allen didn't. But Allen had the money to pay his bar tab and he had every right to buy himself a beer now and then.<br />
<br />
Allen was all worked up now, standing in the parking lot with the baseball bat he had retrieved from the back of his pickup. Maybe Gary would remember that Allen was a star in high school and stop treating him like a good for nothing.<br />
<br />
He finished his cigarette and stumped on the butt. And that's when he got the idea. If he couldn't have a drink then no one was going to and then Gary would have to close up the bar and he'd lose some tip money and his manager would be pissed off. That's what Allen's next big idea was. Shut it down. He went back to the pickup and traded the baseball bat for his electrician's gloves, a flashlight and some wire cutters and stole around to the back of the house that was the American Inn. He had worked on the renovation and he knew where to find the breaker box and the wires that led into it. He tried the basement door and for once something went his way. It was unlocked. He went into the dark room and switched on his light. He made his way quickly to the box. After flipping the breakers and shutting down the electricity, he went to the side of the box and cut one of the main wires. Even if they flipped the breakers on, there were be no juice. He let out a self satisfied giggle and casually made his way back to his pick up truck. He pulled out of the lot, nice and quiet, so as to not draw attention to himself.<br />
<br />
Allen woke up the next morning with a hell of a hangover. After some pain reliever and strong coffee he checked his phone. 15 messages and multiple texts. What the hell could have happened last night?<br />
<br />
First text: Holy Shit Man, the American is on Fire! Are you there tonight?<br />
Second Text: Hey Man, I know you said you would be there.<br />
Third Text: Allen, man, pick up the phone.<br />
<br />
They went on just like that. The voicemails were similar. The American Inn was his hangout and all his friends knew it. He sent out a mass text. He had been asked to leave and he had done just that.<br />
<br />
He put on the local radio station. They were talking about the fire. Electrical fire, started in the basement, no injuries, but the owner has lost everything. The building went up and with it all the alcohol he'd been stockpiling for Nascar season. They suspected foul play but the fire investigator hadn't been able to get inside yet.<br />
<br />
Allen knew what he was about to do next was going to get him in trouble. But for some reason, he did it anyway. He called Gary, the old son a bitch, to make sure he was okay.Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-44654183101062923002020-06-02T17:01:00.000-07:002020-06-02T17:01:14.940-07:00Today I met my mailman.Today I met my mailman. I live in an apartment complex. I haven't ever seen him while he was delivering the mail before, although I've seen the truck parked outside. Today, I had a piece of mail that was delivered to my mailbox that wasn't for me. I happened to see the mailman walking to the next building. I thought to myself, I'll save myself the trouble of going back upstairs and writing on the envelope, "not at this address", and later driving to a blue mailbox. We don't have a blue box in our neighborhood. So, I followed him. He appeared to be young as I followed him to the next set of mailboxes. He certainly was walking at a good pace. I caught up to him and after saying hello, I explained why I was handing him an envelope. He looked at the envelope and read the address. He said my last name and said, "oh, I try not to let this happen." I was impressed he had memorized the names at the mailboxes. This is a big neighborhood. We chatted for a few minutes. He was so nice. We talked about Covid 19 and making ends meet. He worked a second job as a dishwasher but the restaurant was closed. I told him what I did part time to make grocery money. As we were parting, I told him my first name and he told me his. We laughed about his name. Swan, the name of a bird. I jokingly called him George. As I walked away with a smile on my face, I was glad that I had met him. He was a nice young man.<br />
<br />
That was a couple of days ago. Today, I wonder how he is feeling. I wonder if he was protesting. You see my friendly mailman, is a young black man, in an America that is suffering from unrest. I look forward to seeing Swan again, to making sure he knows that when I met him, I met him. I met a bright, young, hardworking American. And I stand with him. #BlackLivesMatterSharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-42214728503556826332020-05-14T12:31:00.000-07:002020-05-14T12:31:54.007-07:00ExploringI don't know about you, but I just adore the words explore, exploring, exploration. I'm a curious person. I like to get out there in the world and explore. Paths into the woods, dirt roads, famous attractions, not so famous attractions, parks, little towns, they all interest me. But exploring means so much more. I'm exploring myself right now. I'm trying new things. I'm looking for things that give me spark. I just entered three of my photos into an online photo contest. The theme was color. These are the three I entered.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-feFRPeDJKns/Xr2bhK_8cyI/AAAAAAAAyLM/fg9zHnckpqguj5VEi4_KE0tZT_FpLLDvACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20190628_213039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-feFRPeDJKns/Xr2bhK_8cyI/AAAAAAAAyLM/fg9zHnckpqguj5VEi4_KE0tZT_FpLLDvACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20190628_213039.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iPLnq7t8fMI/Xr2bhsSjemI/AAAAAAAAyLU/0Qy_IYIcOlYOgbT_WYO0Vz5YZTwY1IpegCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_20190419_235331_060.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iPLnq7t8fMI/Xr2bhsSjemI/AAAAAAAAyLU/0Qy_IYIcOlYOgbT_WYO0Vz5YZTwY1IpegCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG_20190419_235331_060.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-89y2KfbJ4Ds/Xr2bhqdMMDI/AAAAAAAAyLQ/t1Bt4hgKjQwVLf7Rqpfu943n3jMYdz7TgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_20191128_142120.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1364" data-original-width="1600" height="272" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-89y2KfbJ4Ds/Xr2bhqdMMDI/AAAAAAAAyLQ/t1Bt4hgKjQwVLf7Rqpfu943n3jMYdz7TgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG_20191128_142120.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The competition includes seasoned professionals as well as amateurs like me. But, I'm hopeful. Perhaps at least, I will get some feedback from the other photographers on the website.<br />
<br />
It's this kind of exploration that I believe we should never stop. I have been untrue to myself for many years. I forgot how great it was to not only explore outside but to explore inside my personality and soul, also. Let's all of us, keep exploring!Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-15230366599632000802020-05-06T13:10:00.000-07:002020-05-06T13:10:31.888-07:00Mid Life CrisisI've been being a little more personal on this blog of late. I'm still going to keep sharing my little bits of prose and stories, but this blog is also advice.<br />
<br />
I've been home for over a month now. I was previously going into the office as an essential employee, even though I could work from home. I had a cubicle and only one other employee was in the same room with me. We did have "strangers" coming in, but they stayed in the conference rooms or lobby. The only potential problem were the public bathrooms. But we navigated it with sanitizer wipes and Lysol spray.<br />
<br />
But now, I'm home. I'm taking classes online, researching job opportunities, filling out applications, posting resumes, and hoping to find a new direction for myself.<br />
<br />
I'm single, living alone, and at a career junction.<br />
<br />
I've been working on myself. I've started another blog. (Sharlene Explores) I'd love to be more creative and use my skills and talents in a new career.<br />
<br />
But how do you find that opportunity? And how do you jump at a chance? How do you prove that you can do something that you've never done before? It would be amazing if I could just be creative, write non-stop, take pictures, travel around and tell the world about my adventures, but I need income.<br />
<br />
So, my plan for now is to take every rainy day and spend it teaching myself new skills. Udemy, Creative Live, and Linked In learning are my go to websites. And I'll keep up the job search for income. I'll do my gig work. I'll gather abundance in every way I can think of. And I will use every sunny day to explore and take those pictures and write up those adventures. Just because I'm alone right now, doesn't mean I should be lonely or sad. Sure, I would like to be out of this limbo, but maybe this has all happened at the exact right time for me. I have to be in control.<br />
<br />
I'm the only one that can live my life. I have many good years left. It's time to live for me.<br />
And you my readers, are the only ones that can live your lives. Remember that.<br />
<br />
Okay, now I have Bon Jovi, "It's my life." running through my head!<br />
https://youtu.be/vx2u5uUu3DE<br />
<br />Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-79045740733947609572020-04-20T07:24:00.001-07:002020-04-20T07:24:46.025-07:00Quiet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NXR1pCbJSLk/Xp2wlpCjYjI/AAAAAAAAxNU/N5g50UTABxsWH7TJu-_JwNPmd9b9XSnUwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_20200420_102104.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NXR1pCbJSLk/Xp2wlpCjYjI/AAAAAAAAxNU/N5g50UTABxsWH7TJu-_JwNPmd9b9XSnUwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG_20200420_102104.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
<br />Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-36739813697787641462020-04-07T12:45:00.002-07:002020-04-07T12:45:40.741-07:00Quarantine HealthI'm talking to my friends during this "social distancing" period we are living in and I've noticed a couple of things that I think are worth mentioning.<br />
A daughter of a friend of mine, who is very active and lives in Los Angeles, where they have stay at home orders in place, told him that to combat the boredom, she has been working out a lot. She said she's going to come out of this "prison fit". I've also noticed on Facebook and Instagram lots of people doing all those work out videos and exercise classes that are free online right now. In my own neighborhood, people are outside walking, playing with their kids, riding bikes, and generally trying to keep themselves entertained as family units during time outdoors.<br />
But then, on the opposite end of the spectrum are the people that are stocking up on liquor and wine and just sitting on their couches from coffee time to cocktail time.<br />
I feel like I'm moving back and forth on the spectrum. It's been a few weeks of staying in after work and now, a few days of staying home all day. It's weird, but I find I'm loosing my appetite. Until the sun goes down and then I'm antsy and looking for something to snack on.<br />
So, I plan to be more active. I have the time off. I'm going to start riding my bike. I can do that six feet away from other people. I'm going to challenge myself to improve my body. I saw someone had put their bikini on the fridge door to remind them not to snack. #beachgoals I have a dress that I can't wear anymore. Maybe I'll hang it up in my living room. I'll print up some pictures of myself at a size that made me happy and stick them up all over the apartment. Because you know that we are going to have to squeeze a lot of this summer, making up for lost patio time, when this virus releases us from it's reign of terror.<br />
I'm going to appreciate, love, honor, exercise, train, and care for this container I live in! It is the only one I have, after all!Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-11133069879477896202020-04-06T09:37:00.000-07:002020-04-06T09:37:26.649-07:00The Driver - at the endSo, I just read those two pages I wrote that started a little story called The Driver. Unfortunately, it's over. The story just fell apart in my head. Sometimes, when the muse hits you have to stick with it until it's done, because if you put it down, you will not be able to pick it back up.<br />
<br />
I've been going through a lot of change this year. Circumstantial and otherwise and I feel like maybe it's time to refocus on me. Get out of survival mode and get into thrive mode. Of course, there's this little flu bug that's going around that seems to overshadow even those good intentions.<br />
<br />
We will stick it out together. I'll be back soon.Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-86639881470225638902020-04-01T06:50:00.002-07:002020-04-01T06:52:34.677-07:00INDECISION<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">YOU KNOW YOU HAVE TO DO WHAT'S BEST FOR YOU,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">BUT WHAT IF YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT IS?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I'M NOT GOOD AT MAKING DECISIONS. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I'M NOT SURE WHEN THIS STARTED. HAVE I ALWAYS BEEN LIKE THIS?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I WANT SOMEONE TO GUIDE ME. WHY DO I GIVE OTHER PEOPLE SO MUCH POWER?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I'M GOOD AT HELPING OTHERS MAKE DECISIONS. I'M GOOD AT GIVING ADVICE.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">WHY AREN'T I GOOD AT CARING FOR MYSELF? PUTTING MYSELF FIRST?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I'M ALWAYS AFRAID THAT I'LL MAKE THE WRONG CHOICE FOR ME, OR WORSE, THAT MY CHOICE WILL MAKE ME LOOK BAD, SELFISH, OR PETTY, OR THAT SOMEONE ELSE WILL NOT APPROVE OR WILL BE HURT OR ANGRY BY MY CHOICE.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">MY COMPANY WILL ALLOW ME TO WORK FROM HOME. BUT I'M STILL COMING IN BECAUSE I CAN'T MAKE THE DECISION TO SAY I WANT TO WORK FROM HOME. I KNOW THAT IT'S CLEAN IN MY OFFICE. THERE ARE ONLY THREE OF US IN MY ROOM AND THERE'S PLENTY OF SPACE BETWEEN US. WHILE THERE ARE TWO OR THREE OTHER EMPLOYEES THAT COME AND GO THEY ARE IN THE OTHER ROOMS. THE BATHROOM WE USE IS LOCKED BUT OTHER OFFICES HAVE KEYS. I USE PRECAUTIONS. I WASH MY HANDS A LOT. WE USE LYSOL AND SANITIZING WIPES. NO ONE AROUND ME HAS BEEN SICK. I THINK IT'S SAFE HERE. BUT IF I GET SICK, I'M ALL ALONE. MY FAMILY IS IN NEW ENGLAND. I'M SINGLE. NO KIDS. NO PETS. I'M ALREADY ALL ALONE. BUT I CAN'T FIGURE OUT HOW TO MAKE THIS DECISION. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I WANT TO GO BACK TO WRITING CUTE LITTLE STORIES AND PROSE FOR THIS BLOG. NOT WORRYING ABOUT A GLOBAL PANDEMIC. MAYBE THAT'S WHAT I REALLY NEED. TO WRITE A CUTE LITTLE STORY. I'LL LET YOU KNOW WHAT I DECIDE. </span>Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-89474748425761552462020-03-22T16:03:00.000-07:002020-03-22T16:03:39.695-07:00COVID 19By now, I'm sure that everyone is "sick" of hearing about this virus.<br />
<br />
I feel like everything has happened so very fast. I deal with some depression and anxiety and have just (8 months ago) suffered the loss of a relationship that I was very invested in. My life has been in turmoil; I've had to move twice, I lost my picture of the future, and I was forced to take a really hard look at myself.<br />
<br />
While I am in therapy and have built a great team of advisers and health professionals to help me, I've been actually pretty overwhelmed and haven't taken the time to really process some of what's been happening. I've been keeping myself really busy. Sometimes too busy to reflect.<br />
<br />
On March 9th, I spend the evening with two of my best friends. We weren't talking about Covid at all. I'm not sure if we had even heard about it yet. And then, not two weeks later, our local St. Patrick's parade is cancelled! In just two weeks I went from blissfully unaware to so aware that I considered not going to one of my best friend's house for the weekend to spend some time before she moves across the country next weekend. I almost missed being with her because I was afraid of the unknown. We've been hearing news from all over world about all this sickness, and death. We've heard about so many cities, provenances, and even countries being on "shelter in place" restrictions. Everyone is trying to flatten the curve of the infection. And while, I'm totally on board with this "social distancing" and self quarantine, I also really worry about the effect it is going to have me and my depression and anxiety. I am so glad that it is spring time and it's light outside. I don't think I could handle being so alone and full of anxiety during the dark and cold months.<br />
<br />
Last week, I was so stressed out that I forgot to wear green on St. Patrick's for the first day in years. And I'm part Irish.<br />
<br />
I'm really very thankful for a friend who spend a couple of hours on the phone with me last week, "talking me down", and expressing his own fears. This virus is new. We don't know how it is going to react, we don't know how it will end, we don't know if the things we are doing are going to be enough to keep us and our loved ones healthy. All we can do is follow the guidelines, stay informed, stay at home, and be hopeful. I've talked to my friends and my team and I know this will possibly be a lonely time, but I have paint by numbers to do, books to read, a lovely deck to sit on, a bike to ride, and friends that I can call on the phone. I have this computer and this blog. I can write, I can create, I can appreciate, and I can make it through this challenge. If you have friends with mental health problems, even friends without, make sure you check in with them, text, call, video chat, Facebook, message, email. Stay connected, but stay at home.<br />
<br />
Wishing everyone, good health and happiness.<br />
SharleneSharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-53884197467206928832019-12-13T08:41:00.001-08:002019-12-13T08:41:48.717-08:00CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR'SThis holiday season doesn’t seem like a holiday season just yet. Christmas is just a little over a week away and I’m just not in the mood. I can’t be in Connecticut with my family. I can’t be with Mike and his family. Our relationship of nearly 8 years is, well, I can’t really say over, but it is just so very different. He says we can’t be a couple anymore. But he loves me. And I’m lonely. I miss him. But I have to prove myself to him and to myself. Maybe if I can do that…. I just don’t know. But instead of wallowing in the sadness of it all, I’m going to do something alone. I’m going on an adventure. Sure, it will just be one day in late December, but it will be my day. And then there will be celebrations later in the week with friends, and New Year’s. The turn of the year is always so nostalgic and bitter sweet. I always have such high hopes. I’ve never had that perfect night. I’ve had some close ones. But somehow they never live up to my dreams. It’s probably my own fault. I don’t plan anything. I don’t get the dress. I don’t get my hair done. I procrastinate and wait until it’s too late. But this year, like many before, I will go on my First Day Hike. I will go outside and welcome the New Year with a walk in the woods. And I’ll feel better for a little bit. I’m going to keep chin up, while looking<br />
ahead, and keeping an eye out for things that I could trip on…eyes on the trail doesn’t mean to never look up. You are out here for a reason. Take it all in.Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-35222291730162953142019-03-22T07:25:00.002-07:002019-03-22T07:25:57.882-07:00The Driver - page two<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Susan sat quietly while she listened to this story. Working
intake was always so hard; hearing the stories from these youngsters that were
just trying to find their way in the world after so much heartache. This
particular story hit home, she had the felt the same loneliness, shyness,
self-doubt, and had been an unintentional runaway herself. She had found this
mission when it seemed like there was no hope left. She had been afraid that
she would end up under the control of the pimp that had been trying to recruit
her or dead in some alleyway. Dylan’s Mission had been there and helped her
figure out how to be a young adult. She hoped she could help this kid do the
same. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The story she heard seemed to be missing some key details.
Like where had this kid come from? She had no idea how many miles that old car
had been driven, only that the driver wasn’t about to lose it. She didn’t know
if there were any extended family she could contact, didn’t know if anyone
might be searching for them, didn’t know where to begin. But begin, she must.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
She found the driver a cot at one of the mission’s shelters,
along with a job interview, and made a promise to move the car to the storage
yard behind the main mission building. This driver might be staying here for a
little bit but that car would be here when the time came for moving on. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4812671017698810021.post-23855071689609900392019-03-13T11:03:00.002-07:002019-03-18T07:49:08.244-07:00The Driver<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I trudged through the snow back to the car, I thought
about how things could have gone differently, if only I were a stronger person,
if only I were more self-aware, if only I said the right things at the right
time. I knew this wasn’t going to help me out of this situation. I knew it
would only make me feel bad, but I also felt like I deserved to feel bad. After
all, this failure was mine. Just like the last one. I was going back to the car
and leaving, sad and alone, because I didn’t have the strength to tell you the
truth. To tell you anything. I let the party goers enjoy themselves and make
fun of me. I let them tease me about my lack of confidence. I let them ignore
me when I tried to join in conversations. I let them make me feel unwelcome. I
helped them to make me feel those things. I was shy and nervous and I didn’t
fit in. I don’t know why I keep trying. I don’t why, on this winter’s night, I
thought I could come to your party and talk to you and tell you how I felt
about you. I had hoped a dream could come true, but they don’t, at least not
for me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so I got in the car and I drove away. And I didn’t ever
come back. Another missing person to put on the milk carton. But no one put my
picture out there, did they? My foster parents reported me missing but they
only did what they had to do. In a few months I’d be out of the “system”
anyway. No one to miss me, no one to care, no one to be obligated for me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I went to Landfield, Mississippi after that. I hadn’t
planned on it. I just ran out of money. I hadn’t planned on driving away that
night. I just got in the car and I drove as far as it took me. I didn’t have
anything that I couldn’t leave behind, so I just went. I’d been pretty much
living out of the car anyway. I wouldn’t be let in the house if it was after
curfew and those stubborn fosters refused to understand that I couldn’t get
home from my part time job at the bowling alley all the way across town before
they wanted to lock down the house. So, I’d keep extra stuff in the car and
sneak into the house after they left for work. I knew one day something like
this would happen. Felt it in my bones and so the only things I cared about
were with me in the car. The car, the only thing I had from my old life. It had
been a present for my 16<sup>th</sup> birthday, two days before the fire took
my family. Two days before the worst years of my life began. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, now here I am, at the edge of 18 and a runaway. Out of
money in Mississippi with just a car that I can’t afford to fuel. There are
choices to be made. Options that aren’t very appealing. I have to do something.
I can’t stand the hunger. I’ve lost some weight in the last couple of weeks. My
clothes are dirty and I’m starting to get those looks when I’m walking down the
street. I don’t go far. I don’t want to lose the car too. I was lucky enough to
find a warehouse to park it behind. The janitor there said he’d keep an eye
out. He doesn’t make me feel that safe but he’s the only one that’s been nice
to me. He offered me a joint the other night. I turned it down. I can only
imagine what it might have been laced with. It’s thoughts like these that keep
me safe, but they also hurt my heart. I don’t want to be hard and jaded. I want
to be a normal kid. They say you grow up fast on the streets. I don’t know if I
believe that. I feel younger and more vulnerable than ever. It’s only been a
couple of months. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At least it’s not too cold here. It’s pretty damp, but it’s
not too cold. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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(all rights reserved -Sharlene)Sharlene Thorntonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15140127671946995555noreply@blogger.com0