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Thursday, January 18, 2018

The Introverted Woman

Thoughts on Introversion

One reason I love Winter is this morning when I went outside, the neighbor's dog was out for a few minutes, and the neighbor was *not. That means peace. When I heard the dog, I sighed as I was sure my decadent solitude would be interrupted, but there was no need. It was a completely beautiful morning with a bonus dog. Perfect.

Far from shyness, introversion, as I experience it, is being at my best, most productive, happiest when I have a good amount of solitude. It's a treasure of a person who can feel to me like they belong in that sacred space with me and even add to it. Even people I like very much can be taxing to me. Make it three or four people, and I'm exhausted and spent for days while I spend time alone to regain my equilibrium.

Later this afternoon, I read a bit from a very smart, gallant and sexy man who spoke of freeing a woman from the shackles of introversion, and I had to smile. Time will take care of that idea, or who knows? He may be absolutely right, but in case anyone might benefit from my fallible thoughts, here they are.

Don't miss the infinite realms of introversion in an attempt to, "Free" her from it. Enter. It. If not, sure, she may let it go and meet you where you are, and you will never know her. Hear this: Someone will.

Introversion is the secret garden where ideas, lust, love and all things juicy grow,  There, she creates, in the depths of heart, mind and in her own body. There, if you're lucky or brave, you'll find the dreams just outside your consciousness - hers for sure, but yours as well. You may find something of yourself. Let her wake you -take you there. 

She's not waiting to be freed from this. In selflessness, she may abandon it to please you for a while, and that's tragic, because she's not being herself. Therefore encourage her to be selfish. 

There is wisdom in the woman of introverted artistry who is true to her being. She's building castles, heavens, and wonders and worlds. If you are invited, appreciate the work she's done, and she just may free you from the shackles of extroversion, and the ceaseless chit chat on the shallow end of the lonely networking pool, where you know as well as she does that your own hope is dying a little every day. She feels it viscerally, and she is the key. The Sea does not envy a cubicle. Enter on white horses, if you like, but never fool yourself on who's freeing whom.


Friday, May 26, 2017

The Perils of Knowing Stuff

How I have read, pondered!

I've even meditated and researched! I have layers of useless information that could make a stone move itself downstream to escape.

The years I have dedicated to deep thinking and wondering where my socks were! A person might think my sacrifice would be right up there with Joan of Arc. I imagined myself  deserving of a paragraph in the annals of Philosophy. Sweating caffeine bullets into the night to find things which I believed you needed to be, "Informed" about. Surely, I thought, my name would be emblazoned with the likes of Plato and Socrates and -and...some other guy. ;)

I've been afflicted with information that I needed to bestow upon the masses more than once, and suffer, I did. So did they. They were not interested in my intellectual generosity much less my bestowing. One learns to develop a peculiar penchant for dodging boulders, or stop that and start learning stuff.I'm still starting, by the way. :)

If you ever find me thinking I know something, run. While unconfirmed, I'm concerned it might be contagious. Unfortunately, in my case, it appears to be chronic.

I'd rather not know a thing or another thing. Knowing means I'm finished learning. Now, I'm certainly inclined to think things, risky as that may be. I suspect a lot of things, but I know nothing. I'm almost sure of it.

Sometimes I come across people who know things. A moment of silence, please for those suffering......

Those poor, tortured souls! Imagine being finished discovering, yet still breathing. Cerebral zombies of enlightenment, and they may well know. Just in case, I walk a wide circle around them, so I don't catch it.It turns out that people warm up more to being my teachers than my proteges. That helps, because I don't know anything. Everyone teaches me something, and the best way I've heard for me to get someone to listen is to...listen.

It's also effective when I want to far.Curiously, I've found the longer I listen, the more likely it is that I'll hear what I was so bent on sharing put more eloquently than I had planned it, myself.

Annoying, really. ;) In that case, I learn an instance of humility, or that a blow to the ego is not likely to kill me ... yet.

Still learning, and thanks for listening.


Saturday, March 18, 2017

Question For the Moon


   Why can't we have all night cafes with old books and a lazily plucking guitarist smelling of tobacco and Bukowski's poetry with a  hat like Tom Waits and callused fingers, maybe one who never quite stands up straight?
   He might, but effort's a costly thing when not for the purposes of pleasure, and the night, only lasts so long. (snap-quiet-snap)

   And it all lit by an intermittently buzzing neon sign that says, "Gladys" or something with the image of a leg-lifting can-can dancer with a dusty black velvet choker round her buttermilk and cigars songbird neck (click-quiet-click) and heavenly notes that spill over regrets.

   And a pool table where the overhead light reflects off of a tired dishwasher's misstruck 8-ball and the slap on the back with a, "You'll get 'em next time," followed by the crunch of a cockroach under the owner's fine faux leather loafer, and me leaving a few coins in a dented green metal ashtray, and the sound of these old shoes walking out the door? (Jingle-quiet...


Saturday, February 4, 2017

For Joe and Kim: Missed Connection

    I guess things got to me, every day things and people. Maybe I've become cynical as people seem to have traded policies for real connections and caps lock for a caring hand. Some days I can't seem to be more than cordial, and some days, I'm just tired, tired of superficial conversations and sources and...nothing that touches the soul.

   I forget sometimes to be still, take care of myself, and all the lovely things I'd say to you. I take care of my son. I'm far from alone. I enjoy solitude, and I'm grateful to have a beautiful life full of love, laughter, struggles and quiet days. After all, that's more than some people know in a lifetime.

   In my life I've been really in love a few times, but the first was named, "Joe." We were together a few years when we married and had two amazing children. I was so in love and he was my prince. We had the struggles everyone has, and we grew apart. Both had faults, and we divorced after 12 years together.

    There were others, but he was part of my life and that of my children, until he passed away a few years ago. I have relished very sweet memories of us since. He was the, "Sitting into the night on a swing," person, the,"Looking at the stars and holding hands," one. Somehow, that was enough and maybe something of Heaven then. He was the rides in that Blue MG Midget with the top down, the one who wrote me letters and made geometric colored drawings for me. He was the wrapped up in ribbons and kept promises, the one in the tuxedo who took my breath away, and the one who held our babies. He was the laughter, the sleepless nights and the one who rigged the kitchen sprayer to spray me when I turned the water on. He was the one whose baths I stole while he was getting his clothes, and the one who didn't mind at all.

   I'm much older now, and vividly aware I've had a charmed life in many ways despite the pain, and I sometimes chuckle at myself for envisioning me as the old lady in the Titanic movie, but it's not a bad gig.

   I can get so committed to just putting one foot in front of the other, so responsible. It's good and bad. It gets a person through life without repercussions and usually isn't too dangerous. Sometimes I've been so jaded that any risk seemed useless. Other times, I just didn't want to screw up the good memories I've had by having some tragic romance.

   Forever is such a strange concept when all we have is this moment, and I forget that sometimes all connections are is here and now, and in this forever that breathes this breath, anything is possible.

   I never answer wrong numbers, so I let it be. There are so many scams out there, and I really have too much to do. The number called back in seconds and that was strange, but that time, they left a message.

   "Kim, this is Joe," it began and he mentioned being at the post office in a nearby town, but it was after hours. Maybe he was an employee and was still at work. He told her he'd call again in about 20 minutes, but it was me listening and not her. He sounded so excited, and happy to be meeting her, and it made me smile, but I was sure it would work out. Maybe she'd call him. I thought it wasn't my business, and I let it go. He'll figure out he has the wrong number, I thought, and I hope it all goes well.

   In a short while he called again and left another message, Still giddy, he said he was on his way to somewhere I didn't quite catch. I wondered if it was a planned meeting place then put it out of my head. In another hour he called and left another message. There was background noise, and he was calmer and seemed concerned, "Kim?...This is Joe." He asked her to call, and I could tell his voice was straining to sound cheerful. I hoped she'd just show up....if she knew where he was.

   "Surely this couldn't be a scam," I thought. "Oh, no." I sank. "This is hurting him. What if she's home thinking he doesn't care? I can't answer this or call the number! It still could be a scam," I thought, so I began randomly searching "Joe's" in nearby areas on Facebook, Twitter, Google -anywhere! I was hoping for a sign or some serendipity, a neon light that read, "That's, Kim's Joe!" I considered leaving a message at the post office. "For the love of ...You have the wrong number!" I looked up USPS, and you can leave a message, but it goes to the National office rather than the local one. This was awful! My heart was breaking! I can't take it! I'm weak!

    This is why I avoid romance movies. It gets personal for me, and I don't need that. I have laundry to do. It was late. I turned off my phone for the night, and I went to bed. Earlier today, I talked to my daughter a while, and I hadn't thought much of the calls this morning, but she and I were joking about avoiding mushy romances and love songs, and ick! "Feelings." No one needs that... maybe. I mean eventually one leaves, or they die, or they both part ways, so what's the point?

     The point is, "Now." I repeated to myself, "Here and now, Tina." (I talk to myself.) "Focus, Tina." It's not the, "After it's over," it's the first moment when my Joey took my hand. (I heard my heartbeat when I typed that. Maybe it was his.)  My daughter said, "This could be the story they tell their grandkids!" She said, "I never get good wrong numbers like this!" She was right. This is their story. This could be their, "Once in a lifetime!"

     I've had helping hands in connections, and the opportunity to help one more love happen might be in the numbers looking at me on my phone.

    It rang in my hand! My daughter was still talking to me, and I had to go. smiles. She was excited too. I waited, "What should I do?" and she laughed at me and said, "Make wise decisions." Damned if I didn't teach her to always encourage and never give advice! haha! I was on my own. I hear her father in her laugh sometimes, and see him in my son's blue eyes.

   We hung up and I was shaking my head at God, The Universe, Kismet, Cupid or Russell Stover. "Whatever You've got going on up there, help them?"

   I was trying to muster the courage to call still holding the phone, and it rang again! I heard myself answer into the phone, "Hi. Is this Joe?" He sounded surprised or relieved, and said, "Yeah, What's up?" trying to be o.k. and sound cool about all the calls that "Kim" didn't answer. He didn't know it was me.

   I am 51 years old, and I went right back to my first phone call at 15 when I asked for, "Joey," but this time it was their turn, and I was on a mission. I said, "Joe, Listen my name is Tina, and you just have the wrong number. Don't be sad. She doesn't know you've been trying." He began to laugh, and said, "Wait!" then he repeated it back to me, "I've been calling the wrong number?" I could hear the excitement returning to his voice. I said, "Yes! You've *got to find her!" He tried to apologize, and I stopped him, and said, "No. By now I am so in love with the idea of the two of you! You've restored my faith in humanity and the possibility of love. Thank you! Go make this happen." He was still laughing in embarrassment, and I said, "Joe! Go find her!" smiles. He said very happily, "Yes, Ma'am! I will!"

   I hope you find her, Joe. And Kim, don't give up on him. I promise you, it's worth it.

   I don't imagine I'll hear from Joe and Kim again, but thank you for reminding me of a love story. smiles. I'm sure you'll pick a good one, but if you're looking, this was, "Our song."

To Joe and Kim,

With love,

Saturday, May 28, 2016

Oh My Darling Cliche: Madness With Peas

I don't recommend English or any other language, not as a first or second form of communication, but more as form of torture. I'm 50 years old. It's my first language, and still I stumble. Try tap dancing instead. You may stub a toe, but it's less painful than dislodging it from the mouth.
I once thought the forlorn sentence, "Never the twain shall meet," meant that I would never have the pleasure of Samuel Clemens over a light dinner with bland chicken and early June peas. I'd never be able to see if he'd chuckle when I told him his name reminded me of lemons and clementines. 
(Samuel Clemens is the name of an American Author of ordinary genius in the opinion of anyone I'd be of a mind to listen to. His pen name was, Mark TwainI, being a fan of Albert Einstein, and Giorgio Tsoukalous,  struggle to know if it was his mind or his hair that so enchanted, but this is no time for romantic hair ideas.Besides, I loved this guy too.)
Sad as that seemed, and no doubt we'd have gotten along brilliantly, I thought surely there were more tragic events to reference.Turns out, I was only cliched. That alone is reason to cry, and I'd tell it was from Kipling's, "East Meets West," but that would deter and entirely siphon the humor out of this otherwise perfectly melancholy quip. I can't help but wonder what Mark Twain would say about that. I sigh at memories of curling dancers from a pipe, an overgrown mustache, and white tendrils be-smoked with wisdom, and a healthy dose of smart aleck -that will never occur. 
In some twist of heavenly wisdom, I arrived entirely too *later for the company of Mr. Clemens, in a world that's in an awful hurry to go nowhere of any benefit that I can tell. And I have a path too, dreaming of Old Masters and maybe card sharks, and while I'd like to have known you, times are moving on, this chair's beginning to creak or maybe it was my knees. It's getting *laterer, and never the Twain shall meet.
tina jones

Friday, November 6, 2015

Anita, the singing cashier: My Ongoing Understanding of Neurotypicals

I didn't want to bother her. She and two others were standing, waiting at the entrances to their checkout lanes, but I'd already turned in the direction of her aisle, before I noticed she looked a little labored to be standing, and she'd done caught me with the dreaded.....eye contact.. I was stuck. 

   She turned to go the short way to her register to meet me, but someone was blocking her with one of those riding carts. "I'll just go this way," she said, and Anita (so her tag said) went hobbling.

I felt like such a terrible person, until I heard it, "Do, do, doo, do, ...Do, dado-do..." I don't know the tune, but she was, "Do, da,doo-ing" possibly the most pleasant bit of Scat singing I've heard. I was putting my things on the counter when she made it to the register, and I, smiling, said, "It was worth the trip, just for the song." People filed in behind me, and she smiled at my comment, and raised the volume and her smile, whereupon I began, my subtlest of jigs, mostly the shoulders and head...a little arm and hand hula action - nothing overboard. 

 Ah, she sang along, and it was beautiful, and I happily paid for the lettuce and cheese. I took the bags from the carousel, and put them in my cart saying, "I think I got them all." She answered playfully, white hair sparkling and lilt in her voice, "Let's give it the traditional twirl and see!" and she spun the carousel while I spun a hand in the air to flourish with a wave, and bid good evening with a shared giggle and thanks for the song...

Should you find yourself in the aisle of Anita, the singing cashier, I recommend dancing along. She knows her stuff! :)

tina jones

Thursday, October 29, 2015

What's It All For?

What's it all for?

   I haven't published a blog post in ages, and my apologies. I've written a lot, but it was mostly for my own growth, and far too self centered to torture another with. I've asked myself the same old questions that I come to time and again, and each time the answers seem to get a little simpler, and a little clearer. 

   I was scrolling through posts here on Facebook, and happened upon a picture of an older celebrity holding his grandbaby. Seems he got the job of sitter for the night. He was holding this baby asleep on his chest, and granddad was smiling.

Another celebrity has recently taken to taking in farm animals with his family, and each seem to be a little more out of the spotlight, and likely making fewer dollars.

 All of those weeks, and hours, pay periods and always saying just the right thing, or having just the right suit or hair cut...That wasn't the point...It never is.

It's, "The farm" and the grand babies, the grey hair and sleepy smiles. It's the moment when there isn't a crowd or a boss or a soul to please, except a few that a person might like to keep close. Even then, I'm not sure if pleasing loved ones is by accident or design, or maybe they love us despite us.

  I think it's those moments of baby's breath and the stopping time when the stars come out when you just look and feel so small... I think that's what it's all for -the work, the struggle of all kinds. It's all for the sweetness of letting go...

with love, 

tina jones