Monika Basile's Blog: Confessions of a Bleeding Heart, page 7
October 12, 2011
Love Advice From a Crazy Lady
She is insane. Literally.
I shall call her “Bess” here to protect her privacy. She is one of my client’s that resides in the group home for seriously mentally ill adults that I work at. I usually do not write about clients, their lives are very private and not something I care to discuss with the world. But since this was about me and her unique view of me, I wanted to share it and her insanely insightful love advice.
Upon meeting Bess, she immediately began praying for me to find a husband. She has offered assorted advice such as, “Hey, hey pretend to let your car break down and let a man take you home but no sex! No sex on a first date.”
And my all time favorite, “Pick up a gardener snake,” she makes motion of doing so and throwing it over her shoulder as she smiles coyly, “and then say, ‘Hey, look at me. I have a gardener snake.’ I swear it will work.”
There are days when Bess tells me, “Wow lady, you are one sexy woman. He’ll come you just got to believe it. I asked God about it.” That one was a bit embarrassing since we were standing in a long line at the Social Security office and she screamed it at the top of her lungs.
There are days she is bit quieter, a bit more lucid in the midst of her less lucid moments when the things she says astounds me.
“You know Joe, or Moe or is it Flo? Hey Mojo Lady. You have to believe it will happen.” Then she claps frantically and insists I shout with her on the patio, “I believe! I believe! Come on lady shout it like you mean it!” and she will not stop until I do. “It’s about believing, honey girl. You keep talking yourself out of believing there is someone out there looking just for you.”
I am a bit stunned and now I am quieter too. I study this woman, this crazy lady covered with wrist bangles and broken neck chains, two blouses and one sock on upside down. Her face is worn and wrinkled but you can see the beauty she used to be. Bess begins praying and making odd hand gestures. “Tell her God, tell her that she is beautiful and lovely and has damn sexy legs.”
I laugh out loud. Sometimes you just have to. Bess then looks like she is talking to someone not there, “I’m telling you, she said you need to try that internet thing again. Oh she knows you don’t want to and you’re scared of it but he’s looking for you too.”
I am surprised to know she has even heard of internet dating.
“You’ve gotta stop this stuff and put yourself out there.” She cackles with a wild sparkle in her eyes. “You’ll see. He’ll look at you and you’ll look at him and the stars will just be shining. And it will be the best thing you ever knew. Then you’ll know I’m right.” She kisses her hands and throws them up to the sky laughing. “I’m telling you the truth.”
I don’t really know what to say to all of that so I say, “Bess? Why are you so concerned with finding me a husband?”
“Ohhhhhh! You have been alone enough. It’s time to find just one guy, not a whole bunch, just one. You’ll see. Just wait. You will see.” She then begins dancing to the music on the patio, an oddly hysterical type of chair dancing that she somehow uses her entire body creating unusual contortions as she sings “Is There Something I Should Know?” by Duran Duran. Her interest in me is forgotten.
I realize she is right. I need to believe. I need to put myself back out there. I have been alone a while, longer than I ever wanted. I am not quite sure about the husband thing but I am ready to share my life. I only need one, not a whole bunch. Out of the mouth of a crazy lady comes sanity. I need to take her advice.
Hmmm, I wonder how I can get a hold of a gardener snake…
Monika M. Basile
I shall call her “Bess” here to protect her privacy. She is one of my client’s that resides in the group home for seriously mentally ill adults that I work at. I usually do not write about clients, their lives are very private and not something I care to discuss with the world. But since this was about me and her unique view of me, I wanted to share it and her insanely insightful love advice.
Upon meeting Bess, she immediately began praying for me to find a husband. She has offered assorted advice such as, “Hey, hey pretend to let your car break down and let a man take you home but no sex! No sex on a first date.”
And my all time favorite, “Pick up a gardener snake,” she makes motion of doing so and throwing it over her shoulder as she smiles coyly, “and then say, ‘Hey, look at me. I have a gardener snake.’ I swear it will work.”
There are days when Bess tells me, “Wow lady, you are one sexy woman. He’ll come you just got to believe it. I asked God about it.” That one was a bit embarrassing since we were standing in a long line at the Social Security office and she screamed it at the top of her lungs.
There are days she is bit quieter, a bit more lucid in the midst of her less lucid moments when the things she says astounds me.
“You know Joe, or Moe or is it Flo? Hey Mojo Lady. You have to believe it will happen.” Then she claps frantically and insists I shout with her on the patio, “I believe! I believe! Come on lady shout it like you mean it!” and she will not stop until I do. “It’s about believing, honey girl. You keep talking yourself out of believing there is someone out there looking just for you.”
I am a bit stunned and now I am quieter too. I study this woman, this crazy lady covered with wrist bangles and broken neck chains, two blouses and one sock on upside down. Her face is worn and wrinkled but you can see the beauty she used to be. Bess begins praying and making odd hand gestures. “Tell her God, tell her that she is beautiful and lovely and has damn sexy legs.”
I laugh out loud. Sometimes you just have to. Bess then looks like she is talking to someone not there, “I’m telling you, she said you need to try that internet thing again. Oh she knows you don’t want to and you’re scared of it but he’s looking for you too.”
I am surprised to know she has even heard of internet dating.
“You’ve gotta stop this stuff and put yourself out there.” She cackles with a wild sparkle in her eyes. “You’ll see. He’ll look at you and you’ll look at him and the stars will just be shining. And it will be the best thing you ever knew. Then you’ll know I’m right.” She kisses her hands and throws them up to the sky laughing. “I’m telling you the truth.”
I don’t really know what to say to all of that so I say, “Bess? Why are you so concerned with finding me a husband?”
“Ohhhhhh! You have been alone enough. It’s time to find just one guy, not a whole bunch, just one. You’ll see. Just wait. You will see.” She then begins dancing to the music on the patio, an oddly hysterical type of chair dancing that she somehow uses her entire body creating unusual contortions as she sings “Is There Something I Should Know?” by Duran Duran. Her interest in me is forgotten.
I realize she is right. I need to believe. I need to put myself back out there. I have been alone a while, longer than I ever wanted. I am not quite sure about the husband thing but I am ready to share my life. I only need one, not a whole bunch. Out of the mouth of a crazy lady comes sanity. I need to take her advice.
Hmmm, I wonder how I can get a hold of a gardener snake…
Monika M. Basile
October 5, 2011
Calling the Perfect for me Man
Ahhh life. What strange twists and turns and drops off the edges of cliffs into the bottom of the “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” deep well of confusion.
I received a text recently from a man I dated for a moment over a year ago. I was surprised to hear from him and at the same time a bit flattered that he had saved my number. I do not save numbers of former “almost” men I saw simply because I fear I will hit their number in my contacts by accident and have to explain why I called. And besides, what is the point anyway?
So anywho, we have a polite little chat. He asks if I am seeing anyone and I text, “Not at the moment.” He says he is seeing someone. I can’t quite figure that out so I assume he is merely being “friend-like”. Low and behold, today, he texts again and I finally just out right ask why he is texting me if he is seeing someone. His answer is as follows:
“I’m going to be honest here. We are looking to have a threesome and I liked you before and I think you are really beautiful.”
Here is where I want to say, “What the blankety blank blank is going on?” but I can’t swear here—oh wait, I actually can but it bothers my mom when I swear too much so I won’t. Yet, I still felt the need to be polite and say no thank you, not ever in a million years, I only want all the moments of my life to be meaningful. He text back, “Why not just have sex with us until you find the one you are looking for…”
What is that? How am I continuing to attract this kind of behavior into my life? What is going on? Am I some sort of magnet of the oddest sort? I am not knocking anyone’s lifestyle choice. I am just wondering if I am sending some unconscious message to the universe that this is what I want for my life and I want men to crawl out of the woodwork to offer me their body parts or the use of their lady friends.
I responded one last time. Why? I don’t know why other than I am forever some sort of lady in my own mind. “No thank you, really. I want it all now. I want love, respect, continuity along with the mind blowing sex—I need something deeper to achieve that.” I responded no further.
Someone told me I needed to make a list of what I wanted in my “perfect for me man”. I am doing this and right here to try and counter act this bad mojo that is drawing everything I do not want to me and upsetting me.
The man who is perfect for me...
He will actually like me most of the time.
He will listen to me and tell me when I have talked too long.
We will be able to talk with each other instead of at each other.
He will find the oddness about me charming.
He will be kind.
He will respect me as much as I will surely respect him.
He will be strong in spirit and mind (and body would be an added bonus).
He will make me a priority.
He will have loving hands (they cannot be these weird little baby hands that make me cringe).
He will still have dreams.
He will look at me as if I am someone special.
He will not think of me as an afterthough.t
He will not be a racist or hate people just because they are different.
he will love my children even when they are awful just because they are mine.
He will not disappear when I need him, not fix my life but just be there with me to share in it as I go through the things I do just as I will do for him.
He will be nice to his mother even when she is annoying and to mine too when she is annoying.
He will think I am the perfect one for him.
I wonder if that is too much to ask for. I am putting it out there in the universe and now I shall wait and see.
Monika M. Basile
I received a text recently from a man I dated for a moment over a year ago. I was surprised to hear from him and at the same time a bit flattered that he had saved my number. I do not save numbers of former “almost” men I saw simply because I fear I will hit their number in my contacts by accident and have to explain why I called. And besides, what is the point anyway?
So anywho, we have a polite little chat. He asks if I am seeing anyone and I text, “Not at the moment.” He says he is seeing someone. I can’t quite figure that out so I assume he is merely being “friend-like”. Low and behold, today, he texts again and I finally just out right ask why he is texting me if he is seeing someone. His answer is as follows:
“I’m going to be honest here. We are looking to have a threesome and I liked you before and I think you are really beautiful.”
Here is where I want to say, “What the blankety blank blank is going on?” but I can’t swear here—oh wait, I actually can but it bothers my mom when I swear too much so I won’t. Yet, I still felt the need to be polite and say no thank you, not ever in a million years, I only want all the moments of my life to be meaningful. He text back, “Why not just have sex with us until you find the one you are looking for…”
What is that? How am I continuing to attract this kind of behavior into my life? What is going on? Am I some sort of magnet of the oddest sort? I am not knocking anyone’s lifestyle choice. I am just wondering if I am sending some unconscious message to the universe that this is what I want for my life and I want men to crawl out of the woodwork to offer me their body parts or the use of their lady friends.
I responded one last time. Why? I don’t know why other than I am forever some sort of lady in my own mind. “No thank you, really. I want it all now. I want love, respect, continuity along with the mind blowing sex—I need something deeper to achieve that.” I responded no further.
Someone told me I needed to make a list of what I wanted in my “perfect for me man”. I am doing this and right here to try and counter act this bad mojo that is drawing everything I do not want to me and upsetting me.
The man who is perfect for me...
He will actually like me most of the time.
He will listen to me and tell me when I have talked too long.
We will be able to talk with each other instead of at each other.
He will find the oddness about me charming.
He will be kind.
He will respect me as much as I will surely respect him.
He will be strong in spirit and mind (and body would be an added bonus).
He will make me a priority.
He will have loving hands (they cannot be these weird little baby hands that make me cringe).
He will still have dreams.
He will look at me as if I am someone special.
He will not think of me as an afterthough.t
He will not be a racist or hate people just because they are different.
he will love my children even when they are awful just because they are mine.
He will not disappear when I need him, not fix my life but just be there with me to share in it as I go through the things I do just as I will do for him.
He will be nice to his mother even when she is annoying and to mine too when she is annoying.
He will think I am the perfect one for him.
I wonder if that is too much to ask for. I am putting it out there in the universe and now I shall wait and see.
Monika M. Basile
September 29, 2011
Don't Let Me Go
I have never been good at letting go. It is something I know about myself but don’t know how to change.
I hold on to things much longer than most would—longer than is good for me, and long enough to get hurt more than once or twice or a dozen or so times. I am pig headed and stubborn and I have a hard time giving up. I am not sure if this is a blessing or a curse. I think sometimes it is truly both.
When are we supposed to give up on the people we love—if ever? When is the point where we say to ourselves, “I have had enough and now I must walk away”? And does it make us stupid to continue to believe in someone who has stopped believing in us or even in themselves?
Someone, tell me how to do this without regret, without the nagging thought that I threw in the towel too soon, without the wondering of if I had just held on a bit longer maybe everything would have changed. It is hard I think for most people to turn off their feelings, to stop loving someone even when it is pointless. What is the moment that overcomes us to know when it is finally over?
I think about the times people may have wanted to give up on me or have been tired of listening to me and my “issues” or me and my “tragedies” or even me and my “joys”. I think about those in my life whom I may have hurt countless times that may have loved me anyway. I think of those who may have become bored simply listening to me—especially if I was not listening to them enough. I hope there are not too many. The saddest thing is I really don’t know.
People have disappeared out of my life in the blink of an eye. Is it me? Is it them? What is it that causes someone to simply walk away when all I wanted was them to stay? When did they give up on me and when did they have enough? How did they know? And most of all—do they regret it?
Maybe I have just answered my own questions here in this rambling. I don’t want to regret it. I fear in letting someone go that I will regret it. I assume it is some half-cocked way to make sure I won’t—this hanging on too long thing.
It may also be that I am some crazy control freak and am unwilling to leave it to God or the Universe or even the other person to do with what they may. I have a hard time saying, “I can’t fix this.” And, “It’s up to you now.” I tend to believe that if I stick around long enough I will find some magic words to make everything okay. But that is not within my power. It really isn’t.
I don’t know how to fix this part of me. I don’t even know if I am supposed to fix my eternally optimistic frame of mind that those I love are worth holding onto even as they slip away. I will just continue to annoy them and be a cling-on until the Universe intercedes and breaks my heart free.
Monika M. Basile
I hold on to things much longer than most would—longer than is good for me, and long enough to get hurt more than once or twice or a dozen or so times. I am pig headed and stubborn and I have a hard time giving up. I am not sure if this is a blessing or a curse. I think sometimes it is truly both.
When are we supposed to give up on the people we love—if ever? When is the point where we say to ourselves, “I have had enough and now I must walk away”? And does it make us stupid to continue to believe in someone who has stopped believing in us or even in themselves?
Someone, tell me how to do this without regret, without the nagging thought that I threw in the towel too soon, without the wondering of if I had just held on a bit longer maybe everything would have changed. It is hard I think for most people to turn off their feelings, to stop loving someone even when it is pointless. What is the moment that overcomes us to know when it is finally over?
I think about the times people may have wanted to give up on me or have been tired of listening to me and my “issues” or me and my “tragedies” or even me and my “joys”. I think about those in my life whom I may have hurt countless times that may have loved me anyway. I think of those who may have become bored simply listening to me—especially if I was not listening to them enough. I hope there are not too many. The saddest thing is I really don’t know.
People have disappeared out of my life in the blink of an eye. Is it me? Is it them? What is it that causes someone to simply walk away when all I wanted was them to stay? When did they give up on me and when did they have enough? How did they know? And most of all—do they regret it?
Maybe I have just answered my own questions here in this rambling. I don’t want to regret it. I fear in letting someone go that I will regret it. I assume it is some half-cocked way to make sure I won’t—this hanging on too long thing.
It may also be that I am some crazy control freak and am unwilling to leave it to God or the Universe or even the other person to do with what they may. I have a hard time saying, “I can’t fix this.” And, “It’s up to you now.” I tend to believe that if I stick around long enough I will find some magic words to make everything okay. But that is not within my power. It really isn’t.
I don’t know how to fix this part of me. I don’t even know if I am supposed to fix my eternally optimistic frame of mind that those I love are worth holding onto even as they slip away. I will just continue to annoy them and be a cling-on until the Universe intercedes and breaks my heart free.
Monika M. Basile
September 16, 2011
Ripples of Love
Sometimes love comes quietly without a fireworks show. Sometimes it is in the silence, in the normalcy and in the peacefulness that we fall in love. Yet, most of us don’t even realize it as we wait for the big ka-bang.
We can see the grandest passion as the ocean, a whirlwind of crashing waves and exotic creatures or we can realize that sometimes love is the quiet of a gentle ripple on a lake. Both can make you seasick if you are floating long enough. The whole point of it is, is that we need to anchor somewhere. We cannot float forever. We hope we don’t float forever drifting aimlessly while we wait for the tide to sweep us away into the fantasy we create in our own minds. We need to stop in our quest of only searching for the wildest turbulent emotion to tell us we have love in our life.
I want the quiet lake now. I want the sun setting in the same spot. I want to know that the waves won’t erode me or wash me away in a current of feeling—feelings that can last moments or even a lifetime. I want the constancy, the ever changing, shifting but without worrying there is shark waiting to bite my leg off.
I am not knocking passion. I love passion. I am filled with passion. I just have realized that I can be blinded by my own passions as well as others. I do not want to live without any type of passion I just do not need it to fuel the person I am so much anymore. I don’t need to have my heart skip beats every time I see someone to find the value in them anymore as my potential mate. And it is quite strange really; as I get older the things that make my heart fill are so very different than they used to be.
It used to be a handsome man would cause me a bit of dizziness and now—a man treating me kindly and as if I were someone precious, causes me the same dizziness. It used to be that the sparkle and flash of a man’s eyes would make me blush and now, a man looking in my eyes and listening—hearing what I am saying, causes the heat to creep to my cheeks. It is strange how much more beautiful all men have become to me as I let the notions of Adonis fall away.
I am not saying if you find someone physically repulsive that the thought of that would change. I am saying that there are so many more things that make a man handsome and set our hearts beating. It is easier for me to focus on his warm eyes, rather than the little beer belly—especially when he is looking at me as if I were the best thing that ever happened to him. It is easier to hold all sorts of different hands when they are holding mine with tenderness and knowing I may be as safely held in his heart. There is a comfort that is not unpleasant to hear a voice that has a slight lift to it when he says my name.
These are not huge things. These are not things that set bombs off all around me. Yet, they are things I want—the things that have no monetary value at all yet are priceless to me.
So many men are under the misguided assumption that women want it all—we want the house, the two point five kids, the two karat diamond, the social status etc. These things are all nice but that is all they are—they are nice things.
I want more. I want to watch the ripples on the lake and know that when I am growing old, there will still be ripples, different ripples—but the sun will set in the same spot every night. And I want to know there will be someone wanting to watch the sun setting in the same spot every night with me, holding my hand as well as my heart.
Monika M. Basile
We can see the grandest passion as the ocean, a whirlwind of crashing waves and exotic creatures or we can realize that sometimes love is the quiet of a gentle ripple on a lake. Both can make you seasick if you are floating long enough. The whole point of it is, is that we need to anchor somewhere. We cannot float forever. We hope we don’t float forever drifting aimlessly while we wait for the tide to sweep us away into the fantasy we create in our own minds. We need to stop in our quest of only searching for the wildest turbulent emotion to tell us we have love in our life.
I want the quiet lake now. I want the sun setting in the same spot. I want to know that the waves won’t erode me or wash me away in a current of feeling—feelings that can last moments or even a lifetime. I want the constancy, the ever changing, shifting but without worrying there is shark waiting to bite my leg off.
I am not knocking passion. I love passion. I am filled with passion. I just have realized that I can be blinded by my own passions as well as others. I do not want to live without any type of passion I just do not need it to fuel the person I am so much anymore. I don’t need to have my heart skip beats every time I see someone to find the value in them anymore as my potential mate. And it is quite strange really; as I get older the things that make my heart fill are so very different than they used to be.
It used to be a handsome man would cause me a bit of dizziness and now—a man treating me kindly and as if I were someone precious, causes me the same dizziness. It used to be that the sparkle and flash of a man’s eyes would make me blush and now, a man looking in my eyes and listening—hearing what I am saying, causes the heat to creep to my cheeks. It is strange how much more beautiful all men have become to me as I let the notions of Adonis fall away.
I am not saying if you find someone physically repulsive that the thought of that would change. I am saying that there are so many more things that make a man handsome and set our hearts beating. It is easier for me to focus on his warm eyes, rather than the little beer belly—especially when he is looking at me as if I were the best thing that ever happened to him. It is easier to hold all sorts of different hands when they are holding mine with tenderness and knowing I may be as safely held in his heart. There is a comfort that is not unpleasant to hear a voice that has a slight lift to it when he says my name.
These are not huge things. These are not things that set bombs off all around me. Yet, they are things I want—the things that have no monetary value at all yet are priceless to me.
So many men are under the misguided assumption that women want it all—we want the house, the two point five kids, the two karat diamond, the social status etc. These things are all nice but that is all they are—they are nice things.
I want more. I want to watch the ripples on the lake and know that when I am growing old, there will still be ripples, different ripples—but the sun will set in the same spot every night. And I want to know there will be someone wanting to watch the sun setting in the same spot every night with me, holding my hand as well as my heart.
Monika M. Basile
September 2, 2011
Simple Joys
Today is a day when I need to find my simple joys.
Today is a day when I need to look at all the little things that I have experienced that add up to living in a lifetime, because I have been having a day where I have been mourning things I have missed so far. Today is a day when I need to take account for moments that I have been lucky enough to know.
I have made love in a thunderstorm. Not sex, love.
I have held newborn babies in my arms.
I have watched someone cured though I thought they would die from the cure.
I have watched someone die.
I have watched someone survive the deepest tragedy and go on.
I have survived multiple tragedies and I am still kicking.
I have a job that I feel good about going to. I see amazing people every day accomplish things I never imagined was possible.
I saw a shooting star once while I lay on a road because the stars made me dizzy. I shared that experience with my dear old dog. I am not sure if he saw it too.
I have had a good night’s sleep here and there.
I have tasted caviar. I didn’t like it but I got the chance to taste it.
I listened to every single one of my grandfather’s stories and remembered them all.
I saw a moon-bow once in the middle of the night after I had been crying. Not many people in the world know what one is let alone get to actually see its magnificence.
I have had many things to laugh about.
I have cried just as many tears.
I can really feel every part of my life whether it is good or bad.
I have read good books and been touched by them.
I have written a good book which touched others.
I was brave more than once even when I didn’t want to be.
I have been able to fly in my dreams and that is the most exhilarating feeling.
I have eaten the best cheesecake.
I drove a Mercedes once.
I had someone once love me most of all for a moment.
I loved people anyway.
I had a near death experience. It made me appreciate my life more than I already did.
I own a velvet painting of Elvis and Jesus in heaven—instant laugh. I also own an Elvis purse that someone compliments each and every day.
I have the best sister anyone could ever have and we have never had an argument in all these years.
I have a brother, who can be a know it all—but actually does know it all and has taught me some of what he knows.
I have an hourglass that keeps exactly an hour’s worth of time.
I survived the blizzard of ’79 and ’11.
I have about a hundred different bottles of nail polish to paint my toes with.
I have seen an abundance of rainbows.
I loved several people most of all.
I took a picture with a naked man sculpture. I got in trouble for it but it made one of the dear teachers in my life laugh. It was worth it.
I have had the truest friend. She passed away but I am glad I had her for the time I did.
I have had the biggest ambitions and actually accomplished a few.
I sang in a musical and was damn good.
I believed in someone when everyone else turned away.
I have seen the bluest skies with perfect clouds and captured pictures of them.
I have had just enough to make it more than once.
One time I lost almost everything except my family. Family was the most important thing to keep.
I have had faith—even when I am mad at God.
These are my simple joys. These are the things I need to hold onto on a day like today. I cannot ever say I have had nothing when I have had all of this—and this; this is just the tip of the iceberg.
Monika M. Basile
Today is a day when I need to look at all the little things that I have experienced that add up to living in a lifetime, because I have been having a day where I have been mourning things I have missed so far. Today is a day when I need to take account for moments that I have been lucky enough to know.
I have made love in a thunderstorm. Not sex, love.
I have held newborn babies in my arms.
I have watched someone cured though I thought they would die from the cure.
I have watched someone die.
I have watched someone survive the deepest tragedy and go on.
I have survived multiple tragedies and I am still kicking.
I have a job that I feel good about going to. I see amazing people every day accomplish things I never imagined was possible.
I saw a shooting star once while I lay on a road because the stars made me dizzy. I shared that experience with my dear old dog. I am not sure if he saw it too.
I have had a good night’s sleep here and there.
I have tasted caviar. I didn’t like it but I got the chance to taste it.
I listened to every single one of my grandfather’s stories and remembered them all.
I saw a moon-bow once in the middle of the night after I had been crying. Not many people in the world know what one is let alone get to actually see its magnificence.
I have had many things to laugh about.
I have cried just as many tears.
I can really feel every part of my life whether it is good or bad.
I have read good books and been touched by them.
I have written a good book which touched others.
I was brave more than once even when I didn’t want to be.
I have been able to fly in my dreams and that is the most exhilarating feeling.
I have eaten the best cheesecake.
I drove a Mercedes once.
I had someone once love me most of all for a moment.
I loved people anyway.
I had a near death experience. It made me appreciate my life more than I already did.
I own a velvet painting of Elvis and Jesus in heaven—instant laugh. I also own an Elvis purse that someone compliments each and every day.
I have the best sister anyone could ever have and we have never had an argument in all these years.
I have a brother, who can be a know it all—but actually does know it all and has taught me some of what he knows.
I have an hourglass that keeps exactly an hour’s worth of time.
I survived the blizzard of ’79 and ’11.
I have about a hundred different bottles of nail polish to paint my toes with.
I have seen an abundance of rainbows.
I loved several people most of all.
I took a picture with a naked man sculpture. I got in trouble for it but it made one of the dear teachers in my life laugh. It was worth it.
I have had the truest friend. She passed away but I am glad I had her for the time I did.
I have had the biggest ambitions and actually accomplished a few.
I sang in a musical and was damn good.
I believed in someone when everyone else turned away.
I have seen the bluest skies with perfect clouds and captured pictures of them.
I have had just enough to make it more than once.
One time I lost almost everything except my family. Family was the most important thing to keep.
I have had faith—even when I am mad at God.
These are my simple joys. These are the things I need to hold onto on a day like today. I cannot ever say I have had nothing when I have had all of this—and this; this is just the tip of the iceberg.
Monika M. Basile
August 11, 2011
Ordinary Miracles
Einstein said that we could live two ways. One way is as if nothing is a miracle. The other as if everything is a miracle. I live that quote by the latter part.
In the darkest parts of night, I think too much. My mind goes a hundred miles a minute and I can get dizzy laying in my bed without ever having the luxury of a good stiff drink. I am a worrier by nature, by heredity and by being blessed/cursed with an overactive imagination and yet, I am a believer in miracles in whatever form they take. I am merely impatient for them to arrive.
I am also learning to be a bit more specific in what I pray for too. I am sure God knows what I actually mean yet I think he tries to teach me a lesson or two along the way.
Last year I prayed for my stinking old faded— red to hot pink van that sounded like a spaceship taking off to just last until August. “Please, God.” I begged. “Just let this damn van last until August when I get my bonus so I can find another car.” It did. It died on August 11. However, I needed to be more specific as my bonus arrived almost two weeks later. But to me—that van creeping on and on for months on end lasted me and this was a miracle in my life. That van itself was the vehicle in several miracles. I happened to get a flat tire literally in front of the tire place where I had bought tires a few years before. My warranty had expired but someone else with the last name Basile still had a warranty and the service man took pity on me and gave me a tire. I had driven on the tire all morning. It could have blown out anywhere, but instead it blew out right in the spot I needed it to.
Though some may see it more as a tragedy to suffer out driving a van in a heat wave with no air conditioning and windows that did not roll down—I was still able to get to work each day. Of course I prayed each time I got in the stupid thing, but God made it last until August like I asked. And though this is a small thing, a small miracle, it helped me continue on in life.
We do not need a big ka-bang to have had a miracle in our lives. There does not have to be a burning bush, a fire breathing dragon slain, a neon lettered sign hanging in the sky with fireworks spelling out, “Hey you! Miracle coming—watch for it now!” We simply have to notice that what happened—shouldn’t have but it did anyway. We only have to see that we are somehow changed by what happens.
Sometimes people are put into our lives simply to be a miracle. It’s funny really, a dear friend of mine who is not a believer in miracles helped create one. He helped me to save someone whom I love very much and never realized he was the miracle. And it doesn’t matter what he believes—he is a miracle to me along with all of the other miraculous people who helped. There have been so many people in my life who have simply stepped in at the least expected time and changed my world. It isn’t luck(because mine isn’t very good). It isn’t even chance. It is what it is. You do not have to believe in miracles for them to happen. They happen anyway.
Does it mean my life is free of heartache? Does it mean that I live the life of Riley? Does it mean that things are easy and wonderful and perfect because I believe in miracles? Does it mean I never fear or question or wonder how I will get through what I have to get through?
Absolutely not.
It means that no matter how much I worry and no matter how much real or imagined tragedy may haunt me—I have hope that a miracle may just be waiting to appear as soon as I turn my head. I just have to stop a moment and notice.
Monika M. Basile
In the darkest parts of night, I think too much. My mind goes a hundred miles a minute and I can get dizzy laying in my bed without ever having the luxury of a good stiff drink. I am a worrier by nature, by heredity and by being blessed/cursed with an overactive imagination and yet, I am a believer in miracles in whatever form they take. I am merely impatient for them to arrive.
I am also learning to be a bit more specific in what I pray for too. I am sure God knows what I actually mean yet I think he tries to teach me a lesson or two along the way.
Last year I prayed for my stinking old faded— red to hot pink van that sounded like a spaceship taking off to just last until August. “Please, God.” I begged. “Just let this damn van last until August when I get my bonus so I can find another car.” It did. It died on August 11. However, I needed to be more specific as my bonus arrived almost two weeks later. But to me—that van creeping on and on for months on end lasted me and this was a miracle in my life. That van itself was the vehicle in several miracles. I happened to get a flat tire literally in front of the tire place where I had bought tires a few years before. My warranty had expired but someone else with the last name Basile still had a warranty and the service man took pity on me and gave me a tire. I had driven on the tire all morning. It could have blown out anywhere, but instead it blew out right in the spot I needed it to.
Though some may see it more as a tragedy to suffer out driving a van in a heat wave with no air conditioning and windows that did not roll down—I was still able to get to work each day. Of course I prayed each time I got in the stupid thing, but God made it last until August like I asked. And though this is a small thing, a small miracle, it helped me continue on in life.
We do not need a big ka-bang to have had a miracle in our lives. There does not have to be a burning bush, a fire breathing dragon slain, a neon lettered sign hanging in the sky with fireworks spelling out, “Hey you! Miracle coming—watch for it now!” We simply have to notice that what happened—shouldn’t have but it did anyway. We only have to see that we are somehow changed by what happens.
Sometimes people are put into our lives simply to be a miracle. It’s funny really, a dear friend of mine who is not a believer in miracles helped create one. He helped me to save someone whom I love very much and never realized he was the miracle. And it doesn’t matter what he believes—he is a miracle to me along with all of the other miraculous people who helped. There have been so many people in my life who have simply stepped in at the least expected time and changed my world. It isn’t luck(because mine isn’t very good). It isn’t even chance. It is what it is. You do not have to believe in miracles for them to happen. They happen anyway.
Does it mean my life is free of heartache? Does it mean that I live the life of Riley? Does it mean that things are easy and wonderful and perfect because I believe in miracles? Does it mean I never fear or question or wonder how I will get through what I have to get through?
Absolutely not.
It means that no matter how much I worry and no matter how much real or imagined tragedy may haunt me—I have hope that a miracle may just be waiting to appear as soon as I turn my head. I just have to stop a moment and notice.
Monika M. Basile
August 5, 2011
Reality Bites
I hate reality TV.
Someone tell me what is actually real about it. Someone explain how being set up in a mansion, on an island, having all of your bills paid or having a variety of the “perfect” mates at your disposal is reality in any way? Please, I want an answer, if people behave as badly as they can, hurt as many as they can, and show themselves to be selfish and mean, how they wind up being rewarded with their own television show? How did this happen?
I watch TV to escape reality not watch someone else’s created fake reality. What happened to a story or a plot? Even the “based on true story” movies are making me a bit crazy to see. What happened to brain storming and creativity? I am at a loss as to why so many people are focused on watching such insults to their intelligence. Does anyone actually believe that this is reality?
Here is an eye opener that I try to give my children when they are sucked into the Jersey Shores and Biggest Losers and Survivors. These are real people, but this is not real life. This is being paid to pretend to have a real life. I hope, I truly hope, the real world is not like this.
I think in the real world, the strongest survive—yet I believe the less strong are pulled then by the others. I would hope we do not “vote” someone off the Earth who is weaker and instead provide for them.
In the real world, if you spend your whole entire life partying, you wind up in rehab. Sometimes you wind up penniless. You destroy relationships and lose jobs and you lose chances and opportunities. You do not get your own spin off TV show when you show up to work drunk and cause damage. You do not get chance after chance to get yourself together before you lose yourself completely. In reality, you wind up dead or in jail or killing someone else. In the real world you wind up with regrets—not a fan club.
In real life living—you do not merely have potential suitors standing in a row vying for your attention. Instead, most people are lucky to find one, or two or so to actually be able to stand them and all the baggage they bring that they can actually stand too. And most people are not blessed with a millionaire matchmaker to find that perfect guy or gal. Most people don’t even expose their real person in the season it takes in reality television to find the perfect mate.
Even the weight loss shows—though they are inspiring—they are not even close in the least to the real struggle. Most of us do not have personal trainers or anyone at all even to motivate us. We don’t have professional cooks or a big house to stay in to keep us away from every bad food we may crave. Most of us have to do it on our own and find the strength within ourselves to not eat that last piece of cake or the whole bag of cookies. And I do not know a single soul personally who won a grand prize for the struggle they went through. Their prize is only the feeling of personal accomplishment (and yes, this is a prize) and then the continuing struggle for the rest of their lives to keep it off.
People like to say that good old television shows distort our perceptions of reality. They like to say if we watch romantic comedies and think that relationships really are so clear cut and easy. If we watch action films and we suddenly all believe we are superheroes and can save the world. If we play video games— we are desensitized and will suddenly go on killing sprees. If we listen to rock music or questionable lyrics it pollutes our brains and our IQ’s drop.
I say that our society’s new version of reality is distorting reality. We are smarter than this.
Monika M. Basile
Someone tell me what is actually real about it. Someone explain how being set up in a mansion, on an island, having all of your bills paid or having a variety of the “perfect” mates at your disposal is reality in any way? Please, I want an answer, if people behave as badly as they can, hurt as many as they can, and show themselves to be selfish and mean, how they wind up being rewarded with their own television show? How did this happen?
I watch TV to escape reality not watch someone else’s created fake reality. What happened to a story or a plot? Even the “based on true story” movies are making me a bit crazy to see. What happened to brain storming and creativity? I am at a loss as to why so many people are focused on watching such insults to their intelligence. Does anyone actually believe that this is reality?
Here is an eye opener that I try to give my children when they are sucked into the Jersey Shores and Biggest Losers and Survivors. These are real people, but this is not real life. This is being paid to pretend to have a real life. I hope, I truly hope, the real world is not like this.
I think in the real world, the strongest survive—yet I believe the less strong are pulled then by the others. I would hope we do not “vote” someone off the Earth who is weaker and instead provide for them.
In the real world, if you spend your whole entire life partying, you wind up in rehab. Sometimes you wind up penniless. You destroy relationships and lose jobs and you lose chances and opportunities. You do not get your own spin off TV show when you show up to work drunk and cause damage. You do not get chance after chance to get yourself together before you lose yourself completely. In reality, you wind up dead or in jail or killing someone else. In the real world you wind up with regrets—not a fan club.
In real life living—you do not merely have potential suitors standing in a row vying for your attention. Instead, most people are lucky to find one, or two or so to actually be able to stand them and all the baggage they bring that they can actually stand too. And most people are not blessed with a millionaire matchmaker to find that perfect guy or gal. Most people don’t even expose their real person in the season it takes in reality television to find the perfect mate.
Even the weight loss shows—though they are inspiring—they are not even close in the least to the real struggle. Most of us do not have personal trainers or anyone at all even to motivate us. We don’t have professional cooks or a big house to stay in to keep us away from every bad food we may crave. Most of us have to do it on our own and find the strength within ourselves to not eat that last piece of cake or the whole bag of cookies. And I do not know a single soul personally who won a grand prize for the struggle they went through. Their prize is only the feeling of personal accomplishment (and yes, this is a prize) and then the continuing struggle for the rest of their lives to keep it off.
People like to say that good old television shows distort our perceptions of reality. They like to say if we watch romantic comedies and think that relationships really are so clear cut and easy. If we watch action films and we suddenly all believe we are superheroes and can save the world. If we play video games— we are desensitized and will suddenly go on killing sprees. If we listen to rock music or questionable lyrics it pollutes our brains and our IQ’s drop.
I say that our society’s new version of reality is distorting reality. We are smarter than this.
Monika M. Basile
July 29, 2011
Rescue Me...
Sometimes I can be the ultimate dork. It makes no sense at all really as I have no issue speaking with people, except in one situation—when a man is speaking to me showing obvious attraction. Then all of the eloquent words, the witty remarks, the deep insights I can easily spew—slip right down the tubes and I sound like a ten year old socially challenged little twit. How can this be me? How can I possibly not immediately know how to respond in this situation when no other situation unnerves me?
I am in love with words. Reading them, writing them and speaking them. I got an A in speech class from a teacher who never gave A’s. I won fifth in the state of Illinois on the speech team for a piece I did. I was in every play in high school. I was an MC for a festival. I speak to everyone about everything. I actually can’t shut up most of the time even when I should. Yet, throw a handsome man my way who happens to take me off guard and I am suddenly Jerry Lewis stuttering and blurting out idiocy.
It's not like I haven’t dated much. It is not like I have no experience to fall back on. I have dated a variety of men from every walk of life, but usually I realize what is happening before it happens and I can avoid my dorkiness showing up because I am somewhat prepared. It’s the surprises that send me for a tailspin. Then I am in "dork mania" with my mind racing a mile a minute to say something to make me look less goofy and I instead spill out everything that has raced through my mind—and I make absolutely no sense. To top it all off—I laugh. I don’t mean a coy flirty laugh; I am talking about the awful laugh. I am talking about the laugh that builds up inside me that I can never stop and I sound like Ernie from Sesame Street which of course brings on the blushing which is another prize I am unable to control.
Last night, two men came to fix the air conditioning in my apartment. I heard a few shouts, a ladder hit the building. I ran out to the top of the stairs hoping upon hope that it would be the saviors who would deliver me from the fiery pit my apartment had become.
“Please tell me you are here to fix my air!” I shouted down. “I’m dying in here.”
One of the men is shielding his eyes from the sun as he walks nearer to the staircase. “How are you handling this heat?” he asks as he pulls his hand away and I can see his handsome face and I am speechless as his gaze then drifts up my body and he smiles.
My inner dork creeped out right then, “By being a bitch. The children are afraid. Save us.” I blurted. Oh my God! Shut up, shut up, shut up.
He laughs and comes up the stairs. Staring intently at me he asks, “Where is your husband? Where is your boyfriend?”
“I don’t have one. That’s why I live here...” and then the awful laugh seeps out while I let him in my apartment. Shut up!
He starts to fire off questions to me about myself and not the air conditioning problems. I answer them without thinking. He asks if I work and where and I explain how I work with seriously mentally ill adults in a group home. He asks how old I am and then says he is ten years older than me. I am laughing the horrid laugh again and tell him he looks so young. (Which he does, and handsome too, and has a sexy lyrical accent)He asks why the cold air duct door is hanging down in the hallway. I tell him it’s because I lost the screws when I was changing the filter. He tells me he will be right back.
While he goes outside, I am telling myself to calm the hell down because I am being a total idiot and shaming myself in front of all of the teenagers coming in and out. I feel the heat spreading over my face and it is not because my living room feels like the towering inferno. I am embarrassed by the way he has looked at me, embarrassed by my reaction, embarrassed by my embarrassment.
He comes back with the screws and climbs up on a chair to fix the cold air return door. “You didn’t need screws. You need nuts.” I of course think of that differently than I think he meant that. His “not screws” are at eye level and I am overcome with giggles.
And there comes the mouse voice squeaking out and me trying at the same time to apologize for not knowing the difference between the two, while I try to hold in the obnoxious Ernie laugh. He is laughing too.
They fix the air temporarily and tell me they will be back the next week because it is a big job. They leave. The man, the handsome man winks at me as he walks out the door.
A few minutes later I go outside to the car to take my daughter to a friend’s. Ugh. He is still here packing their truck and watches me walk down the stairs.
“What are you doing later?”
And my most wonderful response, the queen of all dorkiness responses is, “Enjoying the cool air.” Along with the obnoxious Ernie laugh. Lord, help me…please. I jump in the car and high tail it out of there.
My youngest daughter says, “Oh man was he flirting with you. What is wrong with you?”
I wish I knew.
There is next week though—maybe I will get it together and figure it out by then.
Monika M. Basile
I am in love with words. Reading them, writing them and speaking them. I got an A in speech class from a teacher who never gave A’s. I won fifth in the state of Illinois on the speech team for a piece I did. I was in every play in high school. I was an MC for a festival. I speak to everyone about everything. I actually can’t shut up most of the time even when I should. Yet, throw a handsome man my way who happens to take me off guard and I am suddenly Jerry Lewis stuttering and blurting out idiocy.
It's not like I haven’t dated much. It is not like I have no experience to fall back on. I have dated a variety of men from every walk of life, but usually I realize what is happening before it happens and I can avoid my dorkiness showing up because I am somewhat prepared. It’s the surprises that send me for a tailspin. Then I am in "dork mania" with my mind racing a mile a minute to say something to make me look less goofy and I instead spill out everything that has raced through my mind—and I make absolutely no sense. To top it all off—I laugh. I don’t mean a coy flirty laugh; I am talking about the awful laugh. I am talking about the laugh that builds up inside me that I can never stop and I sound like Ernie from Sesame Street which of course brings on the blushing which is another prize I am unable to control.
Last night, two men came to fix the air conditioning in my apartment. I heard a few shouts, a ladder hit the building. I ran out to the top of the stairs hoping upon hope that it would be the saviors who would deliver me from the fiery pit my apartment had become.
“Please tell me you are here to fix my air!” I shouted down. “I’m dying in here.”
One of the men is shielding his eyes from the sun as he walks nearer to the staircase. “How are you handling this heat?” he asks as he pulls his hand away and I can see his handsome face and I am speechless as his gaze then drifts up my body and he smiles.
My inner dork creeped out right then, “By being a bitch. The children are afraid. Save us.” I blurted. Oh my God! Shut up, shut up, shut up.
He laughs and comes up the stairs. Staring intently at me he asks, “Where is your husband? Where is your boyfriend?”
“I don’t have one. That’s why I live here...” and then the awful laugh seeps out while I let him in my apartment. Shut up!
He starts to fire off questions to me about myself and not the air conditioning problems. I answer them without thinking. He asks if I work and where and I explain how I work with seriously mentally ill adults in a group home. He asks how old I am and then says he is ten years older than me. I am laughing the horrid laugh again and tell him he looks so young. (Which he does, and handsome too, and has a sexy lyrical accent)He asks why the cold air duct door is hanging down in the hallway. I tell him it’s because I lost the screws when I was changing the filter. He tells me he will be right back.
While he goes outside, I am telling myself to calm the hell down because I am being a total idiot and shaming myself in front of all of the teenagers coming in and out. I feel the heat spreading over my face and it is not because my living room feels like the towering inferno. I am embarrassed by the way he has looked at me, embarrassed by my reaction, embarrassed by my embarrassment.
He comes back with the screws and climbs up on a chair to fix the cold air return door. “You didn’t need screws. You need nuts.” I of course think of that differently than I think he meant that. His “not screws” are at eye level and I am overcome with giggles.
And there comes the mouse voice squeaking out and me trying at the same time to apologize for not knowing the difference between the two, while I try to hold in the obnoxious Ernie laugh. He is laughing too.
They fix the air temporarily and tell me they will be back the next week because it is a big job. They leave. The man, the handsome man winks at me as he walks out the door.
A few minutes later I go outside to the car to take my daughter to a friend’s. Ugh. He is still here packing their truck and watches me walk down the stairs.
“What are you doing later?”
And my most wonderful response, the queen of all dorkiness responses is, “Enjoying the cool air.” Along with the obnoxious Ernie laugh. Lord, help me…please. I jump in the car and high tail it out of there.
My youngest daughter says, “Oh man was he flirting with you. What is wrong with you?”
I wish I knew.
There is next week though—maybe I will get it together and figure it out by then.
Monika M. Basile
July 16, 2011
Letter to the Man of My Future
There are things you will not know about me in the beginning. We are supposed to show our best sides first and be on our best behavior in the beginning. We are imposed upon with that rule by whatever deity created it.
If we are cars in the show room of life, we wouldn’t point out all the faulty parts, the dings and scratches we try to hide with a fine wax. We would never say, “Hey buddy, sometimes it breaks down and then you have to call a tow.” I am not implying that I am some hunk of junk trying to pass herself off as a Rolls Royce. What I am merely trying to get across with this bad metaphor is I am not “new” and that there are secrets in my life, just like in yours. And besides, one man’s junk is another man’s treasure—this is what I am banking on. I am hoping that you, the man of my future, will see all of the junk—yet find me enough of a treasure to keep me and not throw me into the scrap pile.
It would be so much easier to go into a relationship and just blurt out every ridiculous tragedy or insanity of my life. It would be easier to tell you that I have all these odd happenings and chaos rather than hope you will like me enough after awhile, to not run for the hills screaming when you witness them one by one or all at the same time. (This is my life and it happens quite often for everything to hit all at once.) It would avoid so much heartache to show up in a romance with a resume—politely listing each challenge that affects me and will someday affect you if you choose to stay.
Future man? There are things you will have to accept and get used to about me and the life I live and I would rather find out in the beginning that you are capable of trying. I would like to know before my heart gets too involved that you are brave—that you see enough in me to at least try to be brave some of the time if not most of the time. I know it seems a lot to ask but I will give the same. I can promise you I am not a ninny and I will not run away at the first sign of strangeness or difficulty.
I ask too—that you do not expect me to change the inherent characteristics that make me who I am. I ask that you accept that I will forever be a bleeding heart and trying to take care of people. I will never be able to walk away from someone who needs me no matter how many times they may have hurt me—no matter if I actually am emotionally involved with someone our not. My home will most likely have one child or another messing it up and causing me both joy and great worry. It will be my own children and even other people’s children whom I take under my wing. Just remember this heart of mine is big and it may even be your children someday too. Please sir, see this great capacity for loving people as a treasure and not a weakness. I most likely will love you just as fiercely and with the same loyalty.
I want to tell you I have silly fears that are unreasonable and absurd. I will always be afraid of the dark and the wind and clowns. I have been afraid of these things for my entire life and I do not see that ever changing. So don’t go standing in the middle of a tornado and let me cower inside alone terrified you will be blown away. Don’t dress up in a red nose and giant shoes and hide under my bed thinking that if I face my fear I will get over it. Don’t be annoyed that I sleep with the blinds open to let the stars and moon in because in the darkest part of night I feel it swallows me whole if I can’t see outside.
I hope you will be able to understand that I get lost in my own thinking at times. Sometimes, I need to be pulled back into reality and not with criticism and outrage—but with kindness and humor. I know it’s a tough job but someone has to do it. I have an extremely over active imagination and can get carried away. There will be times that I will need you—and I will be afraid to ask. And if I actually do muster up the courage to actually tell you, I will need you to follow through and be there—even if you can’t help me. Just be there.
Since I began with a bad metaphor I shall end with one too dear sir. Man of my future, I am not something to be test driven and discarded, I am waiting for you to close the deal so you will see that though there are kinks to be worked out… I am quite dependable. There are a few weird noises, clanks and clatters, but I still run pretty well. And just when you think that the brakes have gone bad and you are careening into a head on collision—it’ll be okay again. I’m here, sir, and I know—somewhere out there in this giant car lot, you’re looking for me.
Monika M. Basile
If we are cars in the show room of life, we wouldn’t point out all the faulty parts, the dings and scratches we try to hide with a fine wax. We would never say, “Hey buddy, sometimes it breaks down and then you have to call a tow.” I am not implying that I am some hunk of junk trying to pass herself off as a Rolls Royce. What I am merely trying to get across with this bad metaphor is I am not “new” and that there are secrets in my life, just like in yours. And besides, one man’s junk is another man’s treasure—this is what I am banking on. I am hoping that you, the man of my future, will see all of the junk—yet find me enough of a treasure to keep me and not throw me into the scrap pile.
It would be so much easier to go into a relationship and just blurt out every ridiculous tragedy or insanity of my life. It would be easier to tell you that I have all these odd happenings and chaos rather than hope you will like me enough after awhile, to not run for the hills screaming when you witness them one by one or all at the same time. (This is my life and it happens quite often for everything to hit all at once.) It would avoid so much heartache to show up in a romance with a resume—politely listing each challenge that affects me and will someday affect you if you choose to stay.
Future man? There are things you will have to accept and get used to about me and the life I live and I would rather find out in the beginning that you are capable of trying. I would like to know before my heart gets too involved that you are brave—that you see enough in me to at least try to be brave some of the time if not most of the time. I know it seems a lot to ask but I will give the same. I can promise you I am not a ninny and I will not run away at the first sign of strangeness or difficulty.
I ask too—that you do not expect me to change the inherent characteristics that make me who I am. I ask that you accept that I will forever be a bleeding heart and trying to take care of people. I will never be able to walk away from someone who needs me no matter how many times they may have hurt me—no matter if I actually am emotionally involved with someone our not. My home will most likely have one child or another messing it up and causing me both joy and great worry. It will be my own children and even other people’s children whom I take under my wing. Just remember this heart of mine is big and it may even be your children someday too. Please sir, see this great capacity for loving people as a treasure and not a weakness. I most likely will love you just as fiercely and with the same loyalty.
I want to tell you I have silly fears that are unreasonable and absurd. I will always be afraid of the dark and the wind and clowns. I have been afraid of these things for my entire life and I do not see that ever changing. So don’t go standing in the middle of a tornado and let me cower inside alone terrified you will be blown away. Don’t dress up in a red nose and giant shoes and hide under my bed thinking that if I face my fear I will get over it. Don’t be annoyed that I sleep with the blinds open to let the stars and moon in because in the darkest part of night I feel it swallows me whole if I can’t see outside.
I hope you will be able to understand that I get lost in my own thinking at times. Sometimes, I need to be pulled back into reality and not with criticism and outrage—but with kindness and humor. I know it’s a tough job but someone has to do it. I have an extremely over active imagination and can get carried away. There will be times that I will need you—and I will be afraid to ask. And if I actually do muster up the courage to actually tell you, I will need you to follow through and be there—even if you can’t help me. Just be there.
Since I began with a bad metaphor I shall end with one too dear sir. Man of my future, I am not something to be test driven and discarded, I am waiting for you to close the deal so you will see that though there are kinks to be worked out… I am quite dependable. There are a few weird noises, clanks and clatters, but I still run pretty well. And just when you think that the brakes have gone bad and you are careening into a head on collision—it’ll be okay again. I’m here, sir, and I know—somewhere out there in this giant car lot, you’re looking for me.
Monika M. Basile
July 2, 2011
My America
This is my country. I am glad to be here.
There are many Americans who do not believe that they are lucky to be here. I do—despite a lot of the bad luck that comes my way. I am honored to call this land my home, my country, my place in the world. I feel blessed to be born in this part of the world and I know, no matter where I may want to visit, I will never leave this beautiful country and set up house anywhere else.
I do not take my freedom for granted. I am thankful for it. For every little part of freedom that we experience each day—I am thankful. So many times we forget that being free is our privilege and we don’t stop to even realize how many others are not.
We forget, as we cringe listening to some awful music blaring out of a car window or coming from our neighbors house, that there are others who cannot choose what they listen to. It is chosen for them. We forget when we spy art that someone may deem pornographic, that there are places in the world to show a woman’s arm or ankle can be punished by stoning. We forget, as we watch people who have different opinions than us protesting, that there are those who are murdered, jailed and tortured for voicing theirs out loud. We forget that we are lucky, damn lucky, that our bodies were either birthed in this country or brought here by hard work and even by chance.
The National Anthem brings tears to my eyes every time I hear it. Yet, so many people have heard it so often that they don’t listen to the words anymore. They don’t hear of the battles for our freedom and the men and women who fought them so that we could be here, living or trying to live the American dream. It is not the words that bring such tears, it is the patriotism behind it that does. Look at the old men when they sing. Look at their faces and how they place their hands on their hearts and they still actually believe it. This great love of country is moving to me. These men, who survived too many wars, still love their country. They have seen the worst of it—more than someone like me has ever seen—and they still feel lucky and proud.
Not everything is right in this country. Because of our freedoms, we have the opportunity to screw things up in a royal way—but also because we are free; we have the chance to change it all. We get to stand up for what we believe in and shout out that we won’t tolerate whatever is making us disturbed. We have the chance to change it, improve it as well as to make it worse.
We truly are the greatest country in this world. Proof of that statement is simple to show. Look at all the people trying desperately to get into this country or stay in this country. Who in their right mind would risk their lives, leave their families and risk imprisonment to come to America if they did not believe it was worth it? I think if I had not been lucky to be born here that I would do the same.
I am creating the American dream by simply being alive in this country. I have the opportunity and the freedom to try and do anything I want to that is legal. The American dream does not mean it is all handed to me on a silver platter—it means that I have the opportunity to reach out for what I want. I am doing that. I am doing that right at this moment writing these words. I am feeling blessed because as a writer in America, I have the freedom of speech so many in other places don’t. I can sit right here in this spot, type out whatever comes to mind, and I never have to stop and think that I can’t say what I want to say.
I just say it because—this is my country.
Monika M. Basile
There are many Americans who do not believe that they are lucky to be here. I do—despite a lot of the bad luck that comes my way. I am honored to call this land my home, my country, my place in the world. I feel blessed to be born in this part of the world and I know, no matter where I may want to visit, I will never leave this beautiful country and set up house anywhere else.
I do not take my freedom for granted. I am thankful for it. For every little part of freedom that we experience each day—I am thankful. So many times we forget that being free is our privilege and we don’t stop to even realize how many others are not.
We forget, as we cringe listening to some awful music blaring out of a car window or coming from our neighbors house, that there are others who cannot choose what they listen to. It is chosen for them. We forget when we spy art that someone may deem pornographic, that there are places in the world to show a woman’s arm or ankle can be punished by stoning. We forget, as we watch people who have different opinions than us protesting, that there are those who are murdered, jailed and tortured for voicing theirs out loud. We forget that we are lucky, damn lucky, that our bodies were either birthed in this country or brought here by hard work and even by chance.
The National Anthem brings tears to my eyes every time I hear it. Yet, so many people have heard it so often that they don’t listen to the words anymore. They don’t hear of the battles for our freedom and the men and women who fought them so that we could be here, living or trying to live the American dream. It is not the words that bring such tears, it is the patriotism behind it that does. Look at the old men when they sing. Look at their faces and how they place their hands on their hearts and they still actually believe it. This great love of country is moving to me. These men, who survived too many wars, still love their country. They have seen the worst of it—more than someone like me has ever seen—and they still feel lucky and proud.
Not everything is right in this country. Because of our freedoms, we have the opportunity to screw things up in a royal way—but also because we are free; we have the chance to change it all. We get to stand up for what we believe in and shout out that we won’t tolerate whatever is making us disturbed. We have the chance to change it, improve it as well as to make it worse.
We truly are the greatest country in this world. Proof of that statement is simple to show. Look at all the people trying desperately to get into this country or stay in this country. Who in their right mind would risk their lives, leave their families and risk imprisonment to come to America if they did not believe it was worth it? I think if I had not been lucky to be born here that I would do the same.
I am creating the American dream by simply being alive in this country. I have the opportunity and the freedom to try and do anything I want to that is legal. The American dream does not mean it is all handed to me on a silver platter—it means that I have the opportunity to reach out for what I want. I am doing that. I am doing that right at this moment writing these words. I am feeling blessed because as a writer in America, I have the freedom of speech so many in other places don’t. I can sit right here in this spot, type out whatever comes to mind, and I never have to stop and think that I can’t say what I want to say.
I just say it because—this is my country.
Monika M. Basile
