I decide to write in my blog. For a few seconds I search for a subject, thumbing through the Rolodex of my mind. I file topic cards away in my brain every day, as incidents, emotions and ideas abound. But as the cards riffle and the ideas begin to form a shape I find myself tearing up. What the hell? Can't I even string some feelings together without starting to cry? Apparently not.
I have been crying since day one. I imagine I entered this world red-faced with tears streaming down my chubby cheeks. Of course, I have no idea because my father was not in the room and my mother was probably out like a light from gin and/or anesthesia. She never bothered to tell me.
When I was a child, my mother would tauntingly call me Sarah Heartburn after the famous stage and screen actress Sarah Bernhardt. She was known for her emotive style and often was a bit "over the top". I was always in tears carrying on about the injustices of life, the minor injuries of play and the dying character in the book I was currently reading.
The men in my life should have bought stock in Kleenex. Whether feeling angry, rejected, insecure, thankful or incredibly in love, tears are part of my emotional package. I see that, "Oh, no, not again" look in their eyes. Some men walk away, others have known that a hug and a little contrition will cut the episode at its quick and I will bounce back in mere seconds. Yes, I recover as quickly as a baby that fakes a cry just to see what you will do make them happy. But I swear I am not faking. I am sad, glad or outraged. I just get tired of the histrionics and move on. I do not reserve this lovely behavior for men, I do this to my oldest friend as well. I burst into tears when she answers the phone and less than 30 seconds later I am done. I bore myself. The cause of my outburst is usually something out of my control or some trite issue that is downright ridiculous.
I appreciate my tears. They serve me. When my husband Bruce died the tears were endless and came from a place I didn't even know existed. Buried deep in my gut was a roiling pool of water that overflowed. I would try to erect a dam to hold them back but they would not be contained. They washed me in memories and helped to relieve the tension that pulled at every muscle including my breaking heart.
When work spun out of control I did a poor job of keeping my tears to myself. Though embarrassing, they represented my deep commitment to my profession and those that I supervised. They were the "red flag" telling me that I needed to move on. My love for the job and my staff was not enough. I was the poster child of secondary traumatic stress.
Crying is a part of who I am. Whether it is the love for my son, the loss of my husband or the deep affection shown by my loving partner that drives the tears, it really doesn't matter. Fortunately you won't see my lip start to quiver or the tears well up in my eyes as I prepare to write this blog. You are spared the drama and I can wallow (for a few seconds) without restraint.
The saying, "Cry in your beer" just popped into my head. It basically means to feel sorry for yourself. I do not drink alcohol when I am sad..bad combination. But were I to do so, I would cry in my cocktail ...
Tonight I will be sharing some cocktails with my neighbors. They have a large clay pot of mint growing wildly on their porch. I am helping them cull the crop by offering to make some mojitos. I made this recipe before for a large crowd and they were a huge hit. Here, my friends, is the recipe. It is over 90 degrees outside. Enjoy!
Mojitos
Recipe found on Food.com
10 servings (alleged)
10 limes
30 leaves Fresh Mint
3/4 c Sugar
1 c White Rum
Club Soda, chilled
1. Juice half the limes. After juicing cut rinds into quarters.
2. Cut the other half of limes into quarters. Hold back a lime for garnish.
3. Place limes, sugar and mint leaves in a pitcher and muddle (mash with a stick). I use a wooden rolling pin that is one solid piece of wood. You want to extract the flavors from the rinds and the leaves. Hold back a lime and some mint for garnish.
4. Add the rum and lots of ice and top with club soda. Add club soda to individual glasses if mixture is too strong.
5. Garnish with mint and lime slices.
They taste so good they may make you cry.
In my family, if someone says it's a Paula movie or a Paula book that means it has a sad ending. I can relate to the strong emotions.
ReplyDeleteAh, from one crier to another. I feel like I've spent my life apologizing for getting teary. Only my closest friends appreciate that quality and nurture it. With others, I hide it as best as I can.
ReplyDelete