About fallingaboutmyownthing

I am a mother of two brilliant children, an avid Dave Matthews Band follower, have worked the non-profit sector for over 15 years and love exploring cultures. I am interested in the development of people, the betterment of things and the ability to have a positive impact in our world. I also happen to be going through one of the most pivotal adjustments in my life...a divorce and then some. I like to call it "My Capital Refinement.".

I felt fire.

He was already sitting there. I arrived and sat two seats over.

He ordered the ribs with fries. I ordered a spinach salad with grilled chicken.

I have five fingers attached to each of my hands. He had five on his left and three on his right.

He moved one seat closer.

We drank. We talked.

He was divorced and had a girlfriend. I was divorced and had a boyfriend.

He was from Maine and had a homestead. I was from Atlanta and had a 600’ ft loft.

He was handsome and had an attractive beard. I was beautiful and had Aphrodite’s hair, but darker.

We drank. We talked.

He was intriguing with many stories and made me laugh. I was his equal and enjoyed his bellow.

I wanted to ask him about his missing fingers. He wanted to ask me why I didn’t ask about them.

We went to his room.

We drank. We talked.

He touched me with his three fingers. I felt fire.



Man, what makes you think you have something I want?

What ignites this flame on your tongue that burns my thoughts, my space, my time?

How do you imagine yourself so comfortable without authorization in my world?

Where did you learn this lack of self awareness?

Who taught you?



Great start to a wonderful vacation.

Little do they know.

You are covering for a 19 year old addict in the bathroom

praying to the porcelain god all over the sacred 640′ pad your pay for with your food stamps

You pay to the Godfather of your forefathers (unrelated) with nothing in return.

Except for the putrid acidic stench now stained in your carpet that makes you wonder why anyone would ever bless you with the gift of childbirth.

Dancing with a Welcome Mat and Other Embarrassing Things

I thought that I would write about my most embarrassing moment in life and then decided against it. That specific moment included the realization that I have an intense fear of heights when I’m hanging from a suspended pole hundreds of feet in the air. I’ll tell that story publicly when I can be honest; more authentic.

patty1This story, however, happens on the ground. I must have been fifteen or sixteen years old. Patty was my best friend. We did everything together. We were in band, drama club, and clown ministry together. We finished homework together, went to church together, curled each other’s hair – big bangs! We shared clothes and make up and had so many sleepovers. We learned all the lyrics and dance moves to NKOTB (90’s reference) and fantasized about Mark and Joey. We knew how to have a good time together. I mean a really good time. We once spent an afternoon playing kiddie pool Frisbee. We would take a kiddie pool with about a half gallon of water in it and then sling that thing across the backyard towards each other. The goal was to catch the kiddie pool Frisbee without getting wet as the water sloshed around after the catch. What made it even funnier was her three dogs would chase the “Frisbee” as well. This silliness was our pastime and it was awesome.

Patty’s father was a Colonel in the Navy and worked at the Army base hospital. He was a drunk and verbally abusive to her. This made it even easier for us to find reasons to be silly together and escape. One of our escapes was shopping (no surprise there). Living in Hinesville, Georgia provided very little opportunity to do the appropriate teenage shopping every sixteen year old deserves, but we made the best of it. We incorporated guy watching by going to the Army base and perusing whatever might be in store for us at the Post Exchange (PX), including the young government issued guys (GI Joes). Yummy!

So, on this particular day in the middle of a hot Georgia summer, we decided to make ourselves look good (big bangs) and head on over to the PX. We parked and began to walk into the store. I knew I looked good and smelled good and felt good. There’s this theory I learned about years later in college psych class about teenage invincibility. I was proving that theory on this day. I. WAS. A. SUPERSTAR.

We walked towards the door; Patty and me, me and Patty.
The next sequencing of events was choreographed like a Janet Jackson music video minus the finesse. It went something like this:

Step 1 – Tango with big blob of gum. Without looking, as I was too busy worried about who was looking at me, I stepped on a large piece of Hubba Bubba, nasty, sticky, hot lump of gum. It stuck.

Step 2 – Tap dance with the large welcome mat at the front door. This is the choreographed sequence where I met my dance partner – the mat. Somehow the gum was the perfect consistency to attach to my shoe, which was attached to my body with perfect cohesion to the corner of the large plastic rectangular “WELCOME” mat. We were the perfect couple, “Mat” and me with a love bond of stringy, sticky gum.

Step 3 – “Mat” tried to lead me through a step ball change, but instead he brought me to my knees. I fell to the floor. This was not rehearsed. As I fell, another dance partner entered the scene. The corner of the mat was right next to the small cylinder trash can.

Step 4 – Cylinder can enters into a graceful free spin as it rolls out passed the sidewalk, passed quite a few people and into the parking lot. I watched while I was still on my knees. The base of the can rolled to the right and littered pieces of trash as it gently rolled away. The top of the can holding kitty litter and cigarette butts rolled to the left, leaving a trail of gray pebbles and used up cancer sticks.

I looked up and made eye contact with a few folks. Superstar status depleted.

Patty..? Where was Patty? Patty was watching the entire time and with uncontrollable laughter from a safe distance. She walked over to me and helped me up. She made it okay for me to laugh at myself and we proceeded to walk in to the PX to implement more silliness.

I think this moment will always stand out for me for a couple of reasons. First of all, in just mere seconds, I went from total invincibility to hanging out with some already been chewed gum on the ground. It was a humbling life lesson. It is also one of the few memories I still have of Patty. After graduation, she joined the Navy and was very disappointed to be medically discharged. Three years after high school and before any of us had really experienced adult life hers was taken away due to complications from Epilepsy. It was too soon. She left me with so many humorous memories and most importantly the reminder to not take things so seriously, including tap dancing with a cigarette butt can as well as myself.

littlegirl says meow: A story of misdirected texts, four lokos and new underwear.

Friends close to me know that I am always entertained by wrong number texting. Typically, when I receive them, I ignore them. Recently, I received this text from someone I don’t know:

“hey. can me and lucie eat all the ice cream and jump on the beds?”

That sounds like a splendid idea, so I replied, “yes”

I never heard from them again and hope everything worked out okay with the ice cream.

Much more entertaining was an exchange I had during the summer of 2011. It began in early July with a few missed phone calls from a number I never knew and a couple of random texts that I ignored. Although you can clearly hear MY voice saying MY name on MY voicemail message, she still left a couple messages for “Jim”. I don’t think I even know a Jim. The texts continued and I finally responded with “wrong number”. This continued over a couple of weeks.

wrong number. Wrong Number! WRONGNUMBER!!!!

You would think the average person would pause and check that they had the correct number. You would think. In the middle of the continued back and forth and with some encouragement from friends, I lost my sanity and lowered myself to the level of my texter.

Hilarity followed:


Is her name Lisa or Melisa??!? Punctuation is so important, folks!

A number of weeks have passed at this point since the first communication, now legally considered harassment. In August, I did everything I could to block the caller/texter. I was able to block the calls, but not the texts. On August 26, I adopted that old motto that everyone has heard: If you can’t beat them, join ‘em. It was a total game changer.


During the text exchanges on this day, I was traveling in Atlanta for work. After the work week ended, I headed to visit my best friend in Alabama for the weekend before returning to Florida where I lived at the time. I had a great time visiting her and her husband and while I won’t disclose if they encouraged me to continue the communication madness, I will say that not all of the comments/questions that came next in the exchange were originally mine. It was relieving for me to have the crazy I had been enduring become validated by my friends.


I have no idea where I was getting picked up from or where home was, but I knew something big was about to happen.


Oh boy, somebody is going to be disappointed about those plums.


This is when the shit hits the fan or the road or something is going to hit something. It’s going down.

(I really was in Huntsville.)


I like how the language changes quickly into sanskrit. What exactly does “yw 9ww ihav” mean? Part of me felt pretty darn bad at this point. Part of me figured that Melisa/Lisa should have figured this out by now. Part of me did not care anymore. (Sorry about your eye.)

And then finally….the next day, the angels sang. A miracle!


Thank you Melisa/Lisa! Thank you.

It was a very, very short lived miracle.


I was so excited that she finally understood and had removed me. And then 5 days later, like a homing pigeon with a message about karma, she was back.

Things take a turn for the worse. I am now in the hospital. There’s good news, though. I still have a girlfriend. Oh yeah, and Littlegirl says meow.


I am somewhat curious as to why I am ill. Melisa/Lisa has referred to me as a player. Urban Dictionary defines player as, “A male who is skilled at manipulating (“playing”) others, and especially at seducing women by pretending to care about them, when in reality they are only interested in sex.”  Maybe my girlfriend beat me up? Or her husband? Maybe Littlegirl scratched me and now I have an infection?

At this point, I am distratught. Melisa/Lisa clearly does not care for me. She never really pays me enough attention to understand me and when she gets angry, she curses at me in sanskrit. I just can’t take it anymore and ignore her evil texting.


I don’t know why, but for some reason, I need new underwear and that is very concerning. Bill Cosby must have been right.

It all ended after the last message I ever sent to her. I will miss Melisa/Lisa. She will forever be in my blog.


Sunrise Surprise and Life Lessons

newbornSurprises are interesting. I mostly like them. I mostly like them because they become life lessons.  Sometimes they are gifts and those are good, too. In my former life of grandeur, we owned multiple properties, homes, and pets. This is the story of how we acquired three horses by surprise.

We had made an agreement with our daughters. They had been horse riding for years and getting lessons from Uncle Rod and Aunt Debbie. More than anything, they wanted horses of their own. They were willing to muck and feed and clean and train and scoop poop and other unmentionable acts of care; practically anything to have horses.  We were willing to let them do so if they could afford it and were committed. Horses had become a great way to teach our children about trust and resilience and responsibility and life. My daughters saved penny after penny and dollar after dollar and searched. At the ages of thirteen and eleven, my daughters were in the market to buy horses.

They begged me to visit a gentleman and his family that were selling two Ponies of Americas-a brother and sister. Asking price: $500 each. I knew the girls had been saving, but they certainly didn’t have enough for $1,000 plus all other initial costs. It was unlikely to happen, so what would it hurt to go anyway? It would be good experience.

katieThe ponies were sturdy, good, young, a little green, but “unspookable” (they don’t scare easily = great for the kiddos).  It was a lot to consider as we had never owned horses before, but the girls didn’t have enough money anyway so I thanked the gentleman and let him know that we would be in touch, but unlikely to buy. On the way home, I talked to the girls, in hopes to reset expectations and regroup. Again, we weren’t opposed to having horses, but let’s make sure they understood the verbal contract they were entering, the commitment needed to horses and the costs. They took the news well and did not try to renegotiate. Then they informed me that by the end of the month, they would have a collective savings of over $700 in allowance, gifts and doing extra chores.



When we got home, I checked the mail and the voicemail messages. There was a message from the gentleman we had just left minutes ago letting us know that he was willing to drop the price to $750 for both horses. I called back and asked if we could come back later that week with Uncle Rod and Aunt Debbie along to check them out. And so we did. Later that week, the price dropped to $500 and we became horse owners.

Double surprise!


Little ManWe became the proud owners of two POAs, Little Man and Dalilah. With a lot of shared wisdom, help, and grace from many of our beautiful horse people friends, we did our best to further train and nurture these precious creatures, but as the months went by, we realized that something was not right with Dalilah. She was losing weight in her ribs and gaining in her stomach.

“Maybe she’s pregnant!!!?!!” my daughter said.



We called the vet. “She’s too young to be pregnant and she hasn’t been around a stud.” (Little Man was gelded.) “Likely needs to be dewormed,” doc said.

So we started a more aggressive de-wormer process. We increased her feed intake and the number of feedings. We provided more hay, more attention, more love and she just got worse. The vet came out again and then again. She might have hay belly. We changed her feed again. On the vet’s last visit, he told us that she either had a rare disease or she was indeed pregnant. However, she was very weak and he did not want to put her through a physical exam. He took her blood for testing and told us to call him in the morning for the results. I went home devastated, expecting her to not make it to the end of the week. Our Dalilah was dying under my watch. I knew that I would soon have to break the news via phone to the girls, as they were out of state visiting family. I cried.

(sad) surprise.


The next morning came and I was wakened by an early morning phone call that went something like this:

Him:       “Hey! We’ve got three horses out here.”

Me:        “What do you mean three horses? A horse got through the gate somehow? Who’s horse is it?”

Him:       “No. Negative. WE have three horses.”

Long pause.

Me:        “What do you mean exactly? What are you saying?”

Him:       “I’m saying Little Man is here. Dalilah is here and there is a baby horse or a colt or whatever it’s called. I’m saying we don’t need to call the vet for the pregnancy test results.”newborn2



I’m pretty certain the conversation was followed by a joyous release of astonished expletives followed by a crazy thought process including some need I felt to locate towels and hot water, confusion as to what kind of leave I would need to take from work for the day and the desire to contact the girls immediately.

I called the girls and sent pictures. “I told you so!” was mumbled by the thirteen year old and they quickly came up with the name for our new baby boy: Sunrise Surprise, Sunny for short.

Sunrise Surprise became a wonderful addition to our horse family and we continued to learn many things as he grew. As time has passed only one of my daughters rides regularly now and has successfully sold three horses and currently owns two.

I forget to be thankful for the surprises life offers me.  As time has passed for me, I find that I am less surprised at things as I used to be and generally yearn for more.



Three things I like about you (that impact my life).

1 – You never give up (and it helps me to hold on).

I am always amazed by people that never give in. Let me be clear here: I don’t mean the people that set some amazing goal like running a marathon or winning some kind of competition and relentlessly press forward until they meet that accomplishment. These are indeed great achievers and should be praised in their own way, but what I mean is something different. What I am amazed by are people that have been exposed to great strife in their lives…a loved one lost, a crime of humanity committed against them, an overwhelming sickness.

What I am amazed by are abused children whom are capable of creating lives with beauty and meaning and impact. What I am amazed by are the mothers who have lost their children and the children who have lost their parents and continue to wake up every day, hearts heavy with grief, but they still wake up! and accept the day. What I am amazed by are the caretakers of the sick or the dying, these sacrificing saints make life changes to accommodate, putting others needs before their own, knowing that no one else will.

You never give up and this makes me look up to you in amazement. It makes me want to be a better person. It makes me want to live my life in a more humble way, appreciative of the challenges that are presented to me with the knowledge that everything is relative.

2 – You smile (and it makes me smile IN MY HEART!)

Happiness is contagious and is most easily spread amongst people who matter to each other; people like you. I love your smile, especially in that moment when it first begins to appear on your face. Your eyes give it away first followed by all of the other features that support that lovely smile. In that beautifully timed sequence, synapses lead your mind to inform your face to spread that “glad thing”; to share it and I am so glad you do.

I’d like to think that it is my presence in your life that might be causing those smiles, but I am aware that those are selfish thoughts. You often smile without me and that makes me glad, too. I know that it has been scientifically proven that happiness prolongs life, so when you are smiling, I am happy because I know that you will live longer. I want you to live longer. That would make me smile, too.

3 – You are successful (and it makes me feel successful; I AM successful.)

It makes me happy to hear about what you are doing to make your life better, to grow, to learn, to have fun, to share times with friends and family, experience the world and sustain the successes you have created.

Usually when I am worried or fearful or sad or not at ease in life, it is because you are struggling. Whether I should or not, I own part of that struggle. I want you to know that I believe that challenges can always lead to some level of success, but challenges are not something I would typically think to celebrate. For instance, grieving the loss of a loved one does not ever feel successful in my experience, but the success is delivered through the deeper relationships shared with others and the continued celebration of the life that once was.  I believe that our human instinct is to think negatively of the challenges, but think about this: what if we celebrated them instead?

If it is going to result in some level of success, wouldn’t we be better off focusing on the success instead of the struggles? The struggle is inevitable, of course!

Sometimes it is simply easier to isolate the struggles and not realize the delayed success that does come, even if in limited amounts. I don’t always know what your struggles will lead to but I do know two things: First, you don’t give up. Second, you like to smile. With that combination, it’s hard to believe that you can’t be somewhat successful; and somewhat successful is pretty damn good. Remember…? It’s ALL relative.

Because I am a part of your life, I share your success. Every time you achieve something new, get over a challenge, decide to not give up on the day, I become more successful because you are part of me.

Yes, I like you (and thank you for impacting my life).

Titles are free. Tell me what you have done for the world. That’s significant.

Oh? So you say you are a Vice President, COO? Great for you. So what? Are you happy?

Titles are free in this world. Call yourself whatever you want. Associate something-or-other. Director of what?? Does it matter? Like the state of Missouri…SHOW ME!

Despite all my years raised as a military brat, I have little regard for titles or seniority. Show me your worth. Show me who you are. Show me how you respond to society…to those in need, to those in seniority..or not. Show me your values. Do you have any? What are they? What is important to you?

Let go of the pointless drama and the people who create it. Surround yourself with people who thrive with passion and compassion and humor and style and generosity and kindness.

Titles will never get in the way.

Getting my mind right: Individual loss at the sake of societal impact

Storms are strong. Lightning strikes. Electricity is out somewhere between ML King Station and Indian Creek. I have no idea where Indian Creek is but it sounds like something from generations ago and suddenly I’d rather go there than home. I’m stuck on the MARTA. It’s 5:48 PM and people are hot, wet, tired and hangry (a mix of hungry and angry). The conductor assures us that he has no control over our destiny. Most are not convinced.  Eye rolling ensues, as does unhappiness. Mass people, mixed socio-economics, mixed everything–It becomes a sociological study. I pull my hair back; sweat beads beginning to form on my brow. I am entertained.

“I wish I had a cold beer,” says self. I’d like to sit back, but this station is standing room only. Standing room and be ready to run. Confusion occurs as it often does in large groups…do we load on buses? Do we wait for electricity to come back on for the MARTA to run? Go upstairs. Go downstairs. Train is back up? Electricity is!!  I’m as close as I will ever be ready for the running of the bulls. Checking for exit signs. I watch the older people. They are wise. They sit and wait. Someone told me earlier this week that all he has is time. While I appeciate that; it must be nice. I have things to do.  Mostly sleep. I am tired…tungry even.

So here we are. People are late for work. Late picking up kids from daycare. Late for dinner. Late for meetings. Late. But we are together. Somehow, in all of this misery that people want to believe they are victims of, we are united. United as victims or united as hangry, tungry people that all have something in common. We just want to get wherever we are going.

Don’t we all?

The Next Big Thing

As I sit by his side, watching his chest, waiting for movement (validation that he is still breathing) my senses are alive. I hear his elder mother sing gospel hymns softly; hymns that she has known for 80 or more years. I feel his calloused dry hand in mine becoming colder. It seems that it is already lifeless. I am close to his head and smell the foul, dry breath that comes out of his mouth. I kiss his forehead as a reminder that we are still here with him. As she heads for the door, his wife speaks, “I’m going to have a cigarette.”

“No, mama,” I say strongly. “Stay here. Come sit next to me. It is time.”

I have been watching, observing. We have been waiting for death for days and the pattern of breathing I have come to know has changed in the last minutes. Somehow I know that if she leaves now she will regret it. She looks at me half surprised I gave her such a command and half questioning what “time” I allude to. Our eyes connect and she now understands as I begin to taste the tears running down my face. She comes to his side and takes my seat next to him. She begins to sing some song I have never heard about her baby’s eyes or his baby’s eyes maybe something blue eyes. I can’t follow as she barely sings. I am still holding his hand. His mother switches from hymns to prayers, naming her God in every way she can as if by doing so her son will be carried away by a group of Deities to Heaven. “Dear Jesus, Holy Lord, Heavenly Father, O Lord, Our Lord, Father in the Promised Land.”

The three of us hold vigil as his weak body seizes up to take its last breath. Exhale.

Pause.                             I close his eyelids.

There is something incredibly humbling and beautiful poignant to witness someone that you care for take their last breath. When you accompany someone through their end of days, it is not something you ever forget.

I had the opportunity to help take care of Tony for a few years before he died. He actually lived with us for over a year from the time when he could barely walk to the time when we could no longer properly care for him. During this time and while he was under hospice care, I fed him, I gave him his medicine, even awkwardly changed his diaper a couple of times. I would sit and watch endless reruns of Law and Order with him.

Much like death there are times in our lives that demand help from others; sometimes just to be a witness and testament to whom we are and what we represent.  It is during the most difficult times, usually at the end of a chapter, when we are in the greatest need of an escort. And, we are all in need of escorts; someone to hold our hand, to plead for our soul’s happiness, to sing a love song, to remind us that they are still there, with us, escorting us to the next big thing.