Miss Lucy Lu, You are My Sunshine and Every Single Cloud in My Sky

Little Miss Lucy came into the world December 17^th, 2012 in North Carolina at the Naval Hospital at Cherry Point. She was the daughter of love and changed plans. Her parents are Marines, both looking to devote their lives to serving their country, courthouse wedding and then baby. While pregnant Lucy’s mom Ann found out that Lucy was missing a piece to the beautiful complex puzzle that is her, and with that news and the uncertainty that comes with it she changed her plans and dedication from “lifer” to mommy. Once Lucy made her entrance they were relieved to find she had no physical disabilities, a perfect little baby, which grew into a perfect little girl. Eventually plans were able to shift once again, the little girls independence casting need from Ann, allowing her to go back to work that she loved.

That’s when I came into the picture. Little Lucy you are my sunshine and every single cloud in my sky. You gave me a big hug and cuddled right into my chest the first time I met you, gazing with your great big eyes up onto my face, total trust and tenderness in every inch of your little being. You are an ultimate companion; your little laugh making me smile, your gentleness and curiosity helps me push on even when I am on my last leg. You will grow into someone great Lucy, you will grow big and strong and meet great people and do great things. You have parents that love you more than life and a world that’s on your side.

I will help you honey, I am here to kiss your booboos and sing you to sleep. You are you and that is why we love you.

The Great and the Greed

I am a humanitarian; I am sympathetic when called for and feel overpowering empathy for many a people and things. We live in a sometimes-mindless society, with a herd-like mentality, which I believe is leading us to our eventual demise. As you grow older and more aware you realize the horrors and unjustness of things you never really thought about before. Commonplace things have a rallying force behind them, people trying to make a difference whatever their desired outcome, for example vegans for the animals and religious extremists against Halloween. I grew up celebrating Thanksgiving as a time to gather with the family and enjoy good food together, but just this year the beginnings of Thanksgiving was revealed to me in a more evil light, practically ruining what I previously held as true. All in all I still love the holiday, if not just for the meaning it holds for me, no regard to it’s original reasons for celebration, it is truly a day when we can reflect on our lives and appreciate how lucky we are.

That note opens up the question of how such a merciful, modest holiday can be wrapped into the “holiday season,” a full month of greed and excess. I heard a joke the other day and see the terrible truth that it is, “black Friday: because only in America people trample each other for sales exactly one day after being thankful for what they already have.” The even worse thing about this joke than it’s truth, is the fact that now black Friday isn’t just Friday, it starts Thanksgiving and runs until Monday now. We are a capitalist country of consumerism, where we never have enough and will run ourselves into lifetimes of debt trying to fill some ever-growing hole in ourselves.

Maybe growing up with not a lot of money and very hardworking parents showed me the value of objects and the impermanence of wealth and material things. Maybe I am able to step back from consumerist illness we all are drunk on and say “I’d rather not” because I have adapted to live without. This is important, we are bigger. Simplicity is key, and this we shall teach our children. Be not a mindless hungry beast, be the wandering feather in the wind, not tethered or weighted down.

Melissa. Missy. Mama Eastman.

You were an angel from the very start, but tragically the best things always tend to end too soon.

You are a badass Melissa.

The perfect balance between sweet mama bear and “I’ll whoop your ass in a drinking contest.”

I don’t know how long it will take me to realize you aren’t here anymore.

You are the flip flop air freshener dangling from your Hummer’s rear view mirror; your smile as you tell us about how one of the guys with disabilities that you take care of and you have so much love for, picked it out all by himself just for you. You kept that little flip flop dangling there for months, even after the smell had been faded out of it.

You are in the candles that filled your house, never once burned as if to save them for some special day that needed just a little extra light. Fear of expending their beauty on something menial, but all lost in such a short time. If only we could have enjoyed your beautiful light forever.

I remember you driving us home from school when we were just 6 or 7. We were having a particularly grumpy day and you turned to us fussing in the back seat with a fresh bag of milanos. You told us that “milanos make you happy. It is a scientific fact.” I remember reaching my little hand inside of that stiff paper bag and fishing out one of those happiness cookies; and it worked. One cookie and we were all laughing.

Milanos make you happy.

I wish it were still that simple.

I loved the trips you would take us on; the “staycations” just across the state. Our girl trips when we were so small and going away with mom, even if she wasn’t your own, was the biggest, most exciting adventure. Now I see both happy and sad times in those trips; our pure naïve innocence to her someday departure from her role on earth.

You are beautiful in every single way Missy. Not a day will go by where you aren’t being loved from afar. I hope there are lots of milanos wherever you are now; you deserve all of the happiness in the universe. 

S**t I Don't Like

Shit I don't like:

Men with eyes that slice like double edged swords.

Men that seem friendly, harmless, maybe even gracious,

until they open their mouths.

Men that have things to say to me,

about me.

Don’t tell me that I am so beautiful as I stand,

feet aching,

stomach grumbling,

counting down the minutes in this unrelenting job.

Don’t stand and talk to me about things that make me

exceedingly

uncomfortable

while I am trying to work.

Don’t flirt with me while I am in a position that requires my

joyousness

 compliance

cordiality.

You are as old as my father,

an incredibly gentle man who taught me self respect

that you so choose to belittle.

You are out of time Sir.

I cannot waste any more of mine on your

goopy

shit

 compliments on my appearance. 

You are out of place Sir.

No I will not call you by your first name,

no matter how many times I see you a month.

Formality is what separates us.

Just as you should call me by my full name,

the name my parents gave me.

A string of letters which describe me more than just that

pretty face

you think

I have.