Coming out of the Closet

Alright!  I’ve decided to come out of the closet and get this secret off of my chest.  I’m tired of living a double life, trying to act one way and clandestinely leading another.  It’s time for the world to know about it.  Ready?  I. Am. A. Shameless.  Flirt.  Yes, yes, yes!  It feels good to say it out loud and to write it down like this.  I am a flirt!  A flirt am I!

So, I know. It is scandalous, right?  I admit it: I flirt with anything that is living and breathing; men, women, boys, girls, dogs, cats and even birds.  Yeah.  That’s right.  Birds.  I lure them to my backyard by a super cool bird feeder that they can’t resist.  It sounds sick.  Perverted.  But I can’t deny it. I am a flirt and there is no cure for me. There’s not even a support group that can break me down and make me comply with convention. I’ve decided to fly in the face of boring relationships and go for it!  I’m out to win adoration. 

The definition of “flirting” is “a playful, romantic or sexual overture by one person to another subtly indicating an interest in a deeper relationship with the other person, and can involve verbal communication as well as body language.”  (Thank you, Wikipedia.)     Now, when I was much younger, I found myself to be very flirtatious.  A coquet in every way.  It was a part of my nature.  It came out of my very being and mixed itself with hormones and pheromones and honestly, it was a big part of my personality.  But I was young and flirting was a game that you played until you won.  The prize was a mate. I married, had children.  Flirting did its job.

Of course, with marriage I toned down (a lot) the sexual flirtations and saved them for my husband Bill.  But I found myself still slipping into flirtations with others, not for sexual reasons, but for deeper relationships…or just for relationships.  Period.  Relationships are hard to come by in this world and I realized that what I really was doing was flirting.  In the words of John Mayer, “So maybe I try too hard but it’s all because of this desire.  Just wanna be liked.  Just wanna be funny .”  Wise words for such a young man.  He’s a flirt, too.

I want to be liked by everyone.  I know that in my heart of hearts.  It’s a desire we all have and if you’re prone to flirting, you go out of your way to make it happen.  I noticed that those who were “asexual” flirts like me, were out-going, tended to have big personalities but nursed a bit of insecurity on the inside.  We needed people to like us to reassure us of our worth.

 Whoa… I know, I just got heavy.  But it’s true.  I talked with a guy friend one night.  He said he was an incurable flirt.  He always had been and he could recognize other flirts.  I said, “It must take one to know one.”  We laughed, but realized we were right.  I saw through to his insecurities right away.  Most people who know him think that he is a “people person”, drawing people like a magnet.  He is.  But he just wants to be liked too.  Ever heard of a people pleaser?

 Whoops….Just got heavy again!  But people pleasers like me have a hard time.  It’s not easy to flirt with everyone because everyone’s not going to flirt back and LIKE you.  We suffer rejection on a daily basis and wear ourselves out trying to make everyone happy.  Down the road, we even may burn ourselves out.  Watch out for bright stars.  They have that tendency.  I. Burned. Myself. Out.

 So, what’s the cure?  I think I have an answer, but It may take some explaining…We may need to spend a little bit of time together (wink, wink.)  So, I’ll sleep on it and share some of my secrets from the closet tomorrow.  Good night, sweetie pie.



The Magic Of Our Lives

Hi friends.  I’m glad to say that I’m back in the blog world;  happy to be here but a bit nervous!  I thought I would open my blog up to a larger audience.  “Mothers of Musicians” attracted mainy, well….mothers of musicians, and I really wanted to make this mess of my mind available to those who follow the muse or…let’s just say for accuracy, the spirit of the creator in us all.

I live now in Sneads Ferry, North Carolina, three miles from the beach.  It’s always been my dream to live at the beach but lately I find myself wishing instead for green, rolling hills, rich black dirt and hardwood forests with an occasisonal  pine instead of flat, sandy land with scrubby pines and oaks bent into ghostly shapes made by harsh winds.  I have found the ocean to be loud, windy and too big to stand next to everyday.  I want to feel contained, sheltered and hemmed in by gentle hills that can help me keep my thoughts together.   Also, the sun here is not just bright, but a white bright that shows everything exactly the way is.  The kind of light artists love.  But I’m not that kind of artist.  I like the sun to be soft and the edges of my days smoothe to the touch.  I don’t have to see everything so starkly.

On the other hand…I probably just miss my children.  They all live in Nashville, Tennessee, twelve hours away from me…over the mountains and then to where overwhelming heights  mellow out into beautiful hills. My kids live in homes that dot that magical, enchanted land,  acre after acre  divided up by low, stone walls, generations old and painted fences that keep things in their right places.  Things like horses, cows, children and maybe, thoughts?   If the grass is greener, it’s because of Empty Nest Syndrome and Menopause.  (And yes, I capitalized them because they are power forces and deserve respect.)

A few weeks ago my child married in that land of enchantment.  Isaaca Joy Byrd (child number five) married Peter Allen Groenwald at a beautiful, old, historical barn on a lovely farm off of The Natchez Trace.  They were married at sunset by Izzy’s grandfather, PaPaw, and her dad, Bill.  The air was chilly and the sun set faster than we thought it would.  We were all shivery down to the core but the magic of the night was ahead and warmed us at the thought of it.  The barn was decorated with natural things, like cotton stalks we pulled right out of the fields here in  North Carolina.  (Some I must say were pulled by permission and some by the light of the moon.) 

The barn glowed with strung  lights and the tent with candles.  Tall cylinders of glass held sticks with live butterflies in them.  Some tables had chandeliers of cotton hanging from above and cotton bolls peeked out from every flower arrangement and bridal bouquet.  “The touch the feel of cotton, the magic of our lives.”  (That’s true, you know.)   The band stepped up to the stage and it was legendary,  several of its  members straight out of the Country Music Hall of Fame.  The Time Jumpers…and yes, Vince Gill was there to play too. 

We danced in the glow of glass bulbs and candle light.  We toasted the bride and groom with our small fruit jars filled with wine, letting the music and the wine  go straight to our heads, giddy all because of Peter and Isaaca’s love and rosy future…and we were in the midst of history and great music and we all smelled of perfume and believe it or not, fire from the outside bon fire.   And we all knew it was magic.  The magic of our lives.

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