I want to shake people!

ImageThis is probably going to be a very quick, non-poetic, jumbled up mess of a post. The only reason it’s going here is because I really don’t want to offend some of my loved ones on Facebook. When I say loved ones, I mean that I really L-O-V-E my FB family, but some of them are driving me nutso! The constant political rants, the abusive fear tactics and the bashing of this country’s leaders are getting to be too much. When will it stop? Can’t we just live our lives and write our Senators and Congressmen? Stop typing and posting silly pictures of the POTUS not holding his hand over his heart, not having a US flag behind him, blah, blah and blah. Stop striking fear into everyone’s heart that ATF is going to be knocking on everyone’s door and taking away their second amendment and their banana clips.

Those of you who read this and don’t know me need to know that this has nothing to do with who I voted for. This has nothing to do with whether or not I stand firmly with my second amendment in hand. If you do know me, you know that I love things that go pow and you probably know who I voted for and how left AND right I am.  It just has to do with wishing everyone was more informed and wishing they would stop showing their ignorance. The most recent posting I saw included a picture of Obama (now Secret Service is reading this. Yay me!) standing behind a podium before a group of people and he didn’t have an American flag anywhere near him, behind him, or waving out of his nostril. I can find the same type of setup with Reagan, Bush and Bush! 

If you believe in prayer, pray for our leaders. If you believe in sending positive energy, do that. If you believe in nothing, do nothing. By the way, doing nothing means don’t post it on FB!

It seems like it’s the same people who talk about prayer not being in school or keeping Christ in Christmas are the ones who are trying to scare the cheeses out of everyone who doesn’t know how to go to snopes or mental floss and get the real story. No one can take prayer out of schools or banish any spiritual entity from being there. Last time I checked, Christ can be anywhere he wants, including Christmas. 

Write someone who counts; don’t put it all over your wall! 

As far as gun control is concerned, plan on hearing more rants about that. This Rogue Mare has to be able to run somewhere, and her blog is a 20,000 acre field. 

Peace from the Rogue Mare


Silly Girl

Where did I come up with the crazy idea that love included things like affection, connection and a general feeling of being a part of a team? Why did I think that being in love meant having the feeling that two people were truly joined as one? It feels like the only time that I’ve ever felt that way, it has fallen apart or been a complete lie.

Peace from the Rogue Mare

So, it’s been a year now…..

I listened to it. Our song. It has taken me a full year to be able to listen, but I did it. I didn’t shed a tear. I did get that sick filling in my gut that I call betrayal. I just want to know that he misses me. I don’t know why. Am I that self-absorbed that I need to know that he misses me?

These words meant so much to me at one time. Now they’re all just a lie.

The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus’ “Your Guardian Angel”

When I see your smile
Tears run down my face
I can’t replace
And now that I’m strong
I have figured out
How this world turns cold
and it breaks through my soul
And I know I’ll find
deep inside me
I can be the one

I will never let you fall(let you fall)
I’ll stand up with you forever
I’ll be there for you through it all(though it all)
Even if saving you sends me to heaven

It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.
Seasons are changing
And waves are crashing
And stars are falling all for us
Days grow longer and nights grow shorter
I can show you I’ll be the one

I will never let you fall (let you fall)
I’ll stand up with you forever
I’ll be there for you through it all (through it all)
Even if saving you sends me to heaven

Cuz you’re my, you’re my, my, my true love, my whole heart
Please don’t throw that away
Cuz I’m here for you
Please don’t walk away and
Please tell me you’ll stay, stay

Use me as you will
Pull my strings just for a thrill
And I know I’ll be okay
Though my skies are turning gray

I will never let you fall
I’ll stand up with you forever
I’ll be there for you through it all
Even if saving you sends me to heaven.

I’ll throw a little humor in here and say that our love was like this group’s fame. See? I’m still here. I’m still alive and I can still laugh!

Peace from the Rogue Mare


A Sunday Quickie

I don’t like it when people continuously play the victim and I hope that I don’t come across as that type of person. I prefer being victorious over things. I was not a victim of a random act of violence. I  willingly entered into the blinding haze of love. Most of my pain is somewhat self-inflicted. That doesn’t mean that I don’t suffer or that my pain, or that anyone’s pain, should be discounted.

The healing process has been a combined effort of my faith, my friendships and my mind. I began attending yoga and am working on healing some physical pain through massage. I had no idea how much these visits would enlighten my mind. I’ll save those adventures for a more lengthy post though.

As my youngest son would say, “I’m off to go see the Baby J.” I adore the teachings of Christ and the life that he lived. Everyone needs to believe in something. It’s okay to be in different boats but we all need oars…….or twin two-hundred horse motors.

Peace from the Rogue Mare

Strippers Have a Story

I have my homework nest built and I’m ready to settle in for roughly six hours of homework. I knew that the Rogue Mare needed to pour some of her own grammatically incorrect, non-math related words out of her head to be able to proceed with the mind numbing world of “have to do” things.

I recently found myself in the midst of topless dancers. Yes mom, (she reads my blog), I was hanging around strippers. I’m sure that this does not even phase my mother though. If it does, she’d never show it. I would consider mom to be pretty conservative but she knows her daughter is always looking for a story. A person’s story, an animal’s story or her own story.

I’m not really sure how to label the girls that I met. It doesn’t matter to me though because, when I’m not at work, do folks refer to me as my occupation? No, they don’t. I’m just gonna call them “the girls” for the duration of this post. This paragraph caused me to think about how family members would say, “My son brought a stripper to Christmas dinner.” Would that same family member say, “My son brought a library assistant to Thanksgiving dinner?”

I spoke with girls who, for the most part, like their job, some who hated it but needed the money, and some who didn’t think there was anything wrong with what they did. I can identify with all of those feelings in regards to career choices and I’m sure most of you will concur.

Every face has a story. The girls were very open about who they were, if they had children, where they were from, whether they were going to college or merely trying to survive. Some are just trying to stay well enough to make it through the day. When I say well enough, I mean that they have found themselves to be addicted to drugs and they need this job to buy or trade the substance that keeps them functioning.

The girls were very kind. They were telling me how beautiful and sweet I was! No, they weren’t trying to get money from me. That was not the forum in which this meeting took place. They were just happy to talk to someone who was interested in who they were. That, gentlemen readers, is how you get a girl to like you.

The girls are people with beautiful bodies, stunning smiles and tortured souls. Many of us, especially artists, have tortured souls. You may or may not agree with the fashion in which they make their living but that is extraneous. Wait, I take that back, it is of greatest significance. Many career choices have the ability to derive a negative connotation. My first job was at a pizza joint. I seem to recall a pastor asking my parents if they were okay with my working at an establishment that sold alcohol. Really? He had the nerve to ask that while his daughter worked as a checkout girl for a local grocery store! I’m sure that she rang up her share of beer and wine on any given day. Funny thing is, the pizza place I worked at didn’t even serve alcohol.

I’m almost down to the conclusion. The core of my experience is that I respect the girls. We live in a money driven society. It is an animal that most of us have created. These girls pay sales tax and pay  into the economic system just as much, or more, than you and I. Sexuality sells.

“Judgements prevent us from seeing the good that lies beyond appearances.” ~ Wayne Dyer

Peace from the Rogue Mare

Wine is a Woman

People who are in pain do strange things. It’s very difficult, and I might add wrong, to judge someone who is in pain. It doesn’t matter if that pain is physical, mental or both. It doesn’t matter if that person put themselves in that position or not. Pain is just pain. As humans, we should be there to comfort one another when we observe another human’s pain. This doesn’t mean that one should enable negative behavior. Just hold someone’s hand, give them a hug, or just do like I do, tell a raunchy joke or make light of their situation when needed.

I broke a rule. I contacted the one who broke my heart. I didn’t ask my friends if I should do this. I didn’t ask anyone’s permission. I did consult my favorite bottle of red wine and she said, “Go for it.” You know that wine is a woman. She has to be. She’s beautiful to gaze upon through a transparent glass. She’s seductive. She wants to be wanted and enjoyed. Some are full bodied while others are bare bones. Some are sweet and some are like vinegar. My favorite, Apothic Red, has an awesome nose and a fabulous finish. I’m sure that you’d love to meet her, but I digress.

So I contacted the lost love. I could also say that Adele made me do it. Sultry, broken, fierce lyrics pour out of her like lava. I sent a text message. I still have the number memorized. I frequently dream about dialing the number and the numbers don’t work. Maybe I’ve pushed past that dream because the numbers did work. I sent “Adele’s ‘Someone Like You’.” It took a few minutes and I received a reply, ” I listened to the song. Who is this?” Lost love never knew my number. All this time I kept from breaking the rule to ensure that there was no way of contacting me and I kept it that way. I responded, “If you listened to the song then you should know who this is.” Lost love knew and asked how I was doing, how my family was doing. I responded by saying that we were all fine and to forgive me because I wouldn’t ask how he was doing because it would hurt too much. Lost love understood. The interaction lasted for about forty-five minutes. Not once did we lash out, lay blame, or overemphasize how grandiose our lives were now.

I needed to make this painful memory into a human being and I needed to put my feelings in order. This interaction had nothing to do with wanting to return to the life I had before. It had everything with doing what I needed to do to survive my own twisted heart and mind. It was an experiment and I was willing to do anything. I don’t like being angry or confused. I don’t like harboring ill feelings toward anyone.

So far so good. Once again, I’m not perfect. I went against the rules, but I repaired a tear in my heart. I feel relieved. Lost love is a human being and someone I once viewed as a hero. I recalled all the wonderful things that we once shared. I realized and embraced what I already knew, focusing on the negative doesn’t provide any comfort.

I won’t ask for forgiveness for my broken rule. I compare it to a hungry person stealing a piece of bread. It’s about survival and it’s about learning.

Peace from the Rogue Mare


Why where it was made matters to me

Several years ago I visited the remains of a town that was once a booming textile community. They proudly made sheets, bath towels, kitchen towels and such. This visit was way before I thought about American made and such, but I can remember feeling the energy that once inhabited those streets. I felt bad for the people who no longer had jobs and wondered what they did to take care of their families now.

Today I needed to buy new sheets for my bed. I couldn’t find anything that wasn’t made in India. My mind went back to thinking about those ghosts who still walk around the textile mills. Empty parking lots with chained link fences and buildings with broken windows abound in that area. Images of people with their metal lunch boxes walking from their cars into their steady job filled my mind.

The mills have since been leveled, imploded, demolished. I’m sure that there is a lingering heavy spirit that still covers those grounds.

There was a nearby village where mill workers lived. I did a little homework on this area and found out that the collapse of Fieldcrest-Cannon and the surrounding village was basically put to death by Wal-Mart’s insistence to send production overseas. The company, then Pillowtex, refused to do so. Because of undercuts by other companies, 7,650 people lost their jobs. The Cannon Mills era was over.

This was just a spot on a map when I visited. I didn’t realize the impact that it had on me until many years later. No wonder I felt the sadness and the energy still lingering in the air. There’s no telling how many families were destroyed, how many suicides complete, contemplated or attempted.

What you buy does matter. Take small steps in buying American made products. Don’t let it overwhelm you.

Make 2012 the year you try to make a difference in the American economy and in the lives of those who work here. Don’t forget to make it a happy new year too!

Peace from the Rogue Mare

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