Mystic Simpatico~

Blogs are still for bitchin’right?
Pardon me, venting.

Since my mom died or getting married when I was 17, I have by far just gone through the most stressful thing in my life; building and buying a house in four months and then moving home to Oz.

I can assure you, Bobby will wholeheartedly agree.

I have no choice to share the truth first. It was a natural high, exciting time with my husband to plan all of this, envisioning growing old in a stunning home someday being our girls’ babies nana and pappy near our roots. It’s a comfortable restful feeling knowing my Uncle Mike is nearby, let alone all the others I love and respect.

There’s an unforced power to the term going home.

Although, coming home to not taking part in what we built down south simply could not be replaced. We made a healthy, active life there for a long time.
I read once long ago in this health battle, that every persons body responds to a climate and if you have the luxury to attempt them all, you will know where your vessel feels it’s best. As hot as literal hell the south can become, we both felt 30 years old easy. The south won’t allow a person to sit either. Ever. A perfect combination for us.

I longed for laughs with my siblings, Northerners demeanors, cozy rainy days, snow on Christmas morning and it felt like a blessing to experience just that. Meanwhile admitting to each other it’s just as enjoyable to relish in it all during a visit, while continuing the life we led for so long.

When we can, when the house sells, when it’s right. The future nana and pappy isn’t ready to hang up the surf boards.

I’ll say this, in case you don’t know what I mean, I will miss the smell of a creek in the air. I really will, it’s a scent that settles in your pores for the rest of your years. The crackling comfort to bonfires. Right along on the cold bitter days, I made it a mission to climb a steep hill or three, almost every day. Never fails to take me back to the farm, green grass in every view, sounds of dad’s piano. Every one of Grandma Morris’ family dinners, every ex boyfriend, friend, cousin comes to mind. It’s a filling feeling view of memories.

While our parents are not here anymore.

I know Bobby carries that in his heart as well. I told him I think we expected to come home to something that is gone.

If you haven’t lived it, you simply can not give an opinion on it. Losing your parents is one of those silent uncomfortable conversations where you will never find the right words. Around you will be ones who have walked in those shoes, their somber nod or downward glance will be your only validation to your tongue tied riddle.

I can easily be sincere in hearing about others parents. I am happy for them. I want to hear what they want to share. It does not hurt me as most of them compassionately think it does, I only ache for the loss of my own parents.

There is nowhere to look that I don’t see memories with my mom. Challenging to say the least while Melanie, from the New York neck cancer staff hilariously reminds me, ‘youz gotts to not get stressed so you can hit your fifth yeeeer’.

But I love Pennsylvania. It’s home. I love my niece enjoys my company and thinks I’m cool, I don’t want to be so far from her. I personally could live here if our business focused daughter didn’t care about going in debt to get her masters degree, if my three doctors from the south that only cared if I was getting my weekly massage and mimosa were here, if Bobby had every single favorite hobby at his disposal while tanning him, my writers opportunities were here, if my brother Doug moved in, my head and neck didn’t burn as much, my arthritic knee liked the cold and we saw my ole uplifting friend the sun much more, well then we’d never leave.

Home brings memories you can’t really relive until you live in them. Bobby and I laughed and talked for hours how we grew up on the same street in Waynesburg. As his parents divorced, he rode his bike and watched the mine out his window, I was four houses up to the left in my Grandma Barnhart (Belford) house, freshly bathed, in my pristine weekend bedroom she always prepared for me watching the mine lights, falling asleep to the thumping sounds in that same mine, on that shared street. It’s captivating to know we shared it as children to only marry as high school sweethearts.

I will always reminisce in seeing the Five and Dime running strong on Main Street in my hometown, pounding on the Moose door to have it opened just by seeing my face, riding in mom or dad’s car, singing a song with dad, telling my mom my secrets, eating Bobby’s mom’s noodles, but jobs and healthy choices must surround us. That is a motivator to a cancerous tumor in your trachea almost taking your life; to a Captains boat the crew must be in tip top shape.

I told ya it was a blessing and a curse to live wherever you choose but don’t forget what is going on in your inside will show on your outside.

Here’s to a Healthy and Happy 2017 to all. Enjoy every day!


I am a mama, wife, freelance writer, childrens rights activist, singer/songwriter, self employed music producer, music enthusiast, and dry comedian. Also, have lived and won the fight of ambiguous injustice in misdiagnoses, health challenges, and recovery. Along with being highly opinionated, all for your entertainment and my creativity. ALSO possibly the biggest Elvis Presley fan you'll ever meet, without collecting all the junk. ~~~~~~~~~~~
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