Mattresses and Mankind

One of my mom's closest friends is moving to a town four hours away from us on Saturday. We'll call this amazing friend Mrs. Sally. Mrs. Sally's oldest son recently got a job on the other side of the country, and moved out leaving behind all his big stuff so that he could start over. As Mrs. Sally's second son is going to college, she and her husband have been doing a lot of cleaning to get ready for their move. Because she and my mom are very, very close friends, we, my mother's children, were rewarded with the bulk of forgotten childhood stuffed monkeys, an alien, a race track, about 200 hot wheels, a couple of games for the Wii, a box spring, and, among other things, the eldest son's mattress. Forget everything else. Remember the mattress.

My mom gave me the mattress.

All our mattresses right now are old. We got them from our cousins a few years ago when they were in their teens, and they'd had them for ages. I mean they're old. Because they're ancient, they're smashed and flimsy and uncomfortable--basically, we all agree they're crap. But it's what we've got, so they're good enough.

And me, outrageously lucky me, got the good mattress. I don't know much about mattresses, but I know Mrs. Sally, and Mrs. Sally's house looks good. Her husband is well taken care of, she is well taken care of, her sons are well taken care of. She's smart. This is a good mattress. And she just gave it to us! And me, outrageously lucky me, got it.

I know. This sounds insane. I'm making an entire post about a mattress. A mattress! But, really, bear with me. She just gave it to us--to me. Most people would have sold such a good mattress at a yard sale or something; made a little money off of it. Not Mrs. Sally.

Living in a family where money is tight and the youngest of us is a four year old, I've learned not to ask for a lot. My siblings ask for enough. I'm not tooting my own horn or anything, that's just how I am. I feel guilty when I take unless we're all getting something or they get something first. I would have expected this mattress to go to my fourteen year old brother, who immediately would have shouted "I GOT DIBS!" at the sight of it. Or perhaps the four year old. But no. I asked my mom before she left, "Who gets the mattress?" She answered, "Probably you."

I was excited. A mattress. A nice mattress. New to me after having had the same old mattress for as long as I can remember. Wow. I'm still excited. Mrs. Sally is a very kind and generous woman. She defeats the whole "We're moving. Let's have a yard sale." idea and gives instead. With so much of the world taking, or giving and expecting something in return, she's refreshing. She's a reminder that there are good people out there, with her definitely being one of them. She's a reminder that in a world full of hate, selfishness, and negativity there is love, selflessness, and positiveness. With the coming of good things, there comes hope. Hope that one day, there will be more people like her. I hope to be one of them someday.

And it all starts with a mattress.

Tropical Storms and Stove Tops

Where I am, there's this thing going on that we call a Tropical Storm. Basically, it's a wanna-be hurricane. Beryl  (because these wanna-be hurricanes get names, too) has been raging since yesterday evening. As we are stuck inside, I've been pondering about blog things all day. Not that we're far into the day; it's barely even noon. Oh, me of little patience.

As I said, we're stuck inside. My mom asked me to prepare beignets. Just prepare them. I won't fry them. But anyways, I agreed. My mom began making pancakes and sausage and eggs. I finished my prep. work, and sat down to surf the net or play Plants vs. Zombies. I then heard the following words from my mom:

"Don't touch the stove. I don't want you to get burned."

I don't know which of my four siblings she was addressing, though I'm pretty sure it was the four year old, Cricket. Because I was already in my "let's find a metaphor in doing the laundry" state of mind, immediately I picked up on this.

Before I continue, I should warn you. I love metaphors, and mixed with my unusual mind, can find a metaphor for something out of anything. I can make metaphors out of things like discarded pencil shavings like God made man out of dust.

So, here I was sitting at my desk, I heard that, and "BANG". It was a "my life flashed before my eyes" kind of moment. I saw all the times I disobeyed my parents--and gotten hurt. See where this is going?

I'm one of those outrageously lucky people that has incredible parents and everything else. I've never been one to disobey my parents about something petty, though. "Don't touch the stove!" Sure! "Don't take money out of my purse!" 'Course not. "Stay away from under the bed!" Yes, mother. It's the big things where I used to think "gosh, they don't know what they're talking about".

"Don't tell the little brother to pull his pants down in the middle of the road!" Let's go! What could go wrong? "Don't get too clingy with the boy you like, especially if he has a girlfriend!" But what if he likes me back? What if he's my prince charming? Love finds a way! "Find friends who respect you!" I can't, so I'll settle for the ones who take advantage of me. "Always remember that I love you!" Really? Why didn't you let me go out with my friends? How come I can't go to this and this and this?

Because I'm outrageously lucky, I pretty much figured out that my mom and dad know a heck of a lot more than I do by the time I was fifteen. It only took a broken heart, lots of groundings, several of "the talks", and the betrayals of those "real friends" for me to figure it out. And here I am! Awesome parental relationships, good friends, good relationship with God, and the humble (sort of) understanding that I am still a girl with braces.

Sure, I still disagree with some things, but I realize that they know better, and can accept their decisions. Like my four year old brother trying to touch the stove, they just don't want me to get hurt. They love me.

Bottom line is this: listen to your parents. They're much taller than we are and can see that the stove is on.

Why, hello there!

Firstly, a lifetime supply of chocolate for my mom for the name. It's quite ingenious, actually. You Net-Dwellers don't realize it, but I really can't pronounce anything right. From tyranny to mellifluous to anonymous to rabid and manic--my tongue and the English language must definitely be siblings because they do not get along together at all.

Secondly, I must warn you. My faith runs deep. I love God, okay? I just can't help it. I seriously love God. For the next 10 months (beginning June 1st) I will begin a spiritual journey to strengthen my relationships with God and Our Lady. I will be taking the 10 virtues of Mary and for each month, focus on a different one. June is Purity. I hope I see progress and I hope you Net-Dwellers see progress. If you don't, please let me know.

Thirdly, I do plan to have fun here. Rants will be far and few in between, and will not be meaningless. I like to think of myself as a very fun person. I may not be clever or witty, but I am quite insane. Not insane like Lisabeth from "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo" or anything. More insane, perhaps, like Dickens' and his copper toads and Grip the Raven.

With this thought, I do welcome you to this blog of wonders, imagination, insanity, faith, and words. Please enjoy your stay.

With love,
~Me~