freeasthewind2 musings

Whoever thought of the superwoman complex should have been shot.
I am not and do not want to be considered a super woman. The hype if you tend to believe it, is a woman that is everything to everyone and still has a life of her own.
Now let's just break this idea down a little. First, part is the perfect mother. Who takes care of the home and the family including the cooking, cleaning and chaporean around.
Second, there is the perfect wife, who takes care of her mate which includes everything from the first part and adding all that he needs extra.
Then this paragan of a woman goes out into the world to earn a living to bring home to either totally or partially keep everyone going.
Besides on this she is suppose to have a life of her own.
Now to most a life of her own is working outside the home. That is not a life of her own if she is doing to keep all the others going.
Now who in thier right mind would want to be considered a Superwoman. Now where does the SuperMan fit in. Somehow this looks what a slave looks like. Anyway that is what has been running through my brain.

I never thought my son Scott paid any attention when I preached to him or when he went to sunday school. One day Scott was outside digging a hole and I yelled at him to stop. He didnt stop and it look like he was burying something. I went out and requested an explantation. Scott said he was burying a Squirrel he found. I told him to leave it alone as it was dead and it was full of germs. Scott pipes up and say I have to bury the squirrel he needs a new body and to get a new body you have to be buried so it could go to haven and get a new body. Out of mouths of babes. They pay attention more than you think

They say that you can never go home again as it won't be the same. But, there was a time when that wasn't true. When I came home to what I expected.
I opened the back door and there was the steps going down to the basement and then the four steps going up into the kitchen. Going through the kitchen door sitting at the kitchen table was grandpa drinking his morning coffee with his breakfast which was always the same. Eggs, Bacon and Toast. Then to finish the meal off a little sryup in a little bacon grease and the left over toast to mop it up with. I don't think that changed my whole life. Grandma was sitting across the table from gramps and the sun was shining into the kitchen and the smell was so good. The venetian blinds in the dining room were open and the sun was shining through the Priscilla curtains and Micky the Parakeet was on the sideboard talking to himself in the mirror. Going home was the same until the two people that made it the same were gone. No going home isnt the same

One of the earliest memories of this little girl is sitting in church and while the minister was preaching the little girl is pinching her grandmother’s elbow and watching the skin slowly go back into place. And standing on the pew seat while everyone was standing and singing and as they looked at her and smile she was trying to sing as loud as her grandmother and at that time her mother. Is this the little girl that was loved?

The memory of the house next door to her grandmother and sitting in a little rocking chair watching black and white TV (Mickey mouse) while her baby bother laid in the playpen.

There is a memory of grandma’s house where the sun is shining through the venation blinds and sheer Pricilla curtains in the dining room and in the kitchen with the sun shining through with grandpa at the table and grandma at the stove cooking breakfast. The little girl feeling safe. Maybe not being told love but feeling safe.

Memory of a front porch with the swing on one end with grandpa’s chair close to it so they could talk as grandma swung on hot summer nights. And the little girl catching lighting bugs with her little brother and dreaming dreams of always living there.

Memories of sitting in the living room grandma in her rocking chair and me squeezing into it with her. Then as the little girl got bigger she sat in her own chair with grandma and grandpa in their chairs and little brother laying on the floor watching TV and the little girl pinching her brother with her toes picking on him like sisters do.

Memories of the little girl are frozen on these little bites of time that gave her a sense of safety that can’t be taken away. Where did that little girl go? She went into herself building a wall that could not be torn down to keep the hurt and disappointments from tearing down the good. People let the little girl down in so many ways. What the little girl was lead to believe was not true and no one knows how desperately the little girl wanted the family to be still together. When the grandparents left to go to their ancestors the little girl tried to hold on but there was no one that had the same feelings. The parents have took their last ride to their ancestors also and there was none. Who is this little girl, the little girl is gone. The little girl is me