Angry – Happy

May 12, 2013March 12, 2020 / jmorise / Leave a comment

What makes one happy? And others just so damned pissed off?

Happy Green frog (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

I’ve met both.
What is anger? What makes it happen?
A little research can enlighten many.

Gargoyle enhanced (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Bitterness Street is that shortcut taken to Anger Street. When you get to Anger Street, you notice the lights are dim, house shades are drawn, nobody sees you and it is so quiet it is deafening. If you ask for directions, residents lie, leading you deeper into unknown territory. Very debilitating. You don’t want to be there, but you are lost and can’t find you’re way back.

English: Angry cat (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Friends want to help but they have no idea what street you’re on. They don’t know what is happening in your head.

Remember when mommy said, “If you get lost. Find a nice police man. He will help you and bring you home.” Well… ?

We all get angry at times. The trick it to get over it.

Insisting on being bitter with another doesn’t make the victim miserable. You, the antagonist, suffer the most. Bitterness turns to anger and poisons our thoughts, relationships, and our lives. By refusing to let go of a hurt, we increase the hurt to ourselves. We become toxic.

“Too easily we become bitter. The thing with bitterness or resentment is, it takes control, and it consumes and robs us. Bitterness is more than a negative outlook on life. It is a destructive and self-destructive power. It can be physically as well as emotionally debilitating. Persistent bitterness and resentment makes one angry and confused, and leads oneself deeper and deeper into a jungle of despair. Bitterness and resentment is a frozen anger in latent form. Bitterness is a malignancy that makes a person extremely vulnerable to unwise decisions and destructive thought patterns that infiltrate and affect our bodies as well as our souls. It may aggravate or even cause physical problems. It causes fatigue, backache, ulcers, headaches, and drains our vitality. It is an oppressive and destructive emotion that is the root of resentment, anger, hate and other negative emotions, which when not dealt with may even lead to violence.
Bitterness spreads easily like cancer, we become bitter towards other things and it can spread to those around us. It also comes out in different ways – the outworking of bitterness often include jealously, anger, division, dissatisfaction and hate. It makes us focus on what we haven’t got, rather than what we have got. Bitterness is a trap that the devil puts out and is all to easy to fall down. It will always hurt ourselves more than it will hurt the other person.
Bitterness and resentment starts growing from denial or rejection followed by shock and/or numbness, guilt, shame, depression, anger and grieving. These feelings are part of the normal grieving process over bitterness. Bitterness grows up when people linger over and cling on tightly to the anger and the depression of the grieving process. Bitterness and resentment is a cold and latent form of anger that shows itself through complaining and plotting and scheming and grouching.”
Source and more info:http://www.charminghealth.com/applicability/bitterness.htm

I have been there. Not a nice place. With much introspection, I realized I had to let go of angry thoughts. I encouraged others to be happy—think positive—it could be worse, etc. This exercise makes me more positive and happier. You also must walk the talk.
I found it too easy to get sucked into a self-pitying, complaint session. Afterwards, I felt drained and angry to have participated. I was angry at just being sucked into discussing a miserable topic!
I feel sadness for the person who is miserable. I don’t want to reinforce misery so I point out “how fortunate that …” or “aren’t you lucky that…” or search for other points of view not considered. Other times, I am blunt and say, “you know, I used to feel that way, but I found that I got nowhere… and now I’m happier because I think or do this—or that— instead.” I try to make them think of what they can do for themselves and focus less of what they can’t do. Then I end the conversation and walk away.
Constant complaining sounds so absurd when you are in a healthy place. Healthy relationships are impossible when you are angry? Like attracts like, ergo you find unhappy people with whom to relate. These people bond with you, ensuring your unhappiness and theirs. You drain energy from each other and anyone within earshot. People avoid you. You may notice, yet don’t know why. So you become resentful about that too. Does this sound like a self-imposed cycle?

Happy people are invigorating!

Today, I met a happy soul who just lifted my spirit. A young man (I’ll call him Hap) drove six hours from up Maine to our home in New Hampshire just to look at a car we advertised for sale.
The car is a 1980 VW Diesel Dasher. The vehicle was a favorite of hubby. I saw it as old and pretty much embarrassing to drive. After having it stored for about three years, the mice got to it and made a mess. The ceiling was now stained and the mice had chewed holes in its fabric. And it smelled.
So what did I do? I whined about this ‘ugly, filthy car’ as I cleaned it out. I resented having hubby’s messy car. However, I knew it truly was a great car with lots of room and the diesel engine guaranteed great mileage—50 mpg.

English: VW Dasher Station Wagon Deutsch: VW Dasher Variant (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My fondness for the VW Dasher was augmented in 1991. It served to keep me save from harm when a driver in a big semi tried to force me to stop on a long, lonely highway. He continually blocked my path on route 10 from Chattahoochee, FL to St. Augustine, FL as he swayed from side to side at 10-20 mph. Terrifying. Each time I tried to get past, the rig sped up and pulled in ahead of me. Phones were mounted on poles along the highway. I was too afraid to stop. No one else was on the road. There were no license plates for me to identify the rig. This started at around 10:00 AM. Finally at sundown, a vehicle appeared in my rear-view mirror. It was on the horizon with headlights switched on. As it traveled pretty fast, it easily caught up with us. It was a little red pick-up and it was going to pass us! My plan was to be one with that red pick-up. I tailgated the pick-up and passed the semi. It worked! I stepped on the accelerator and passed the little truck. Tears of relief followed.

Hours later, I saw the semi pull off the road—perhaps to refuel. On the other hand, I had plenty of fuel and kept going. Not long afterwards, I realized I was lost. Whatever sign posts there were before, the size of the rig blocked them from me as we passed them. I had an interview the next morning in St. Augustine. I needed to get there on time. So I decided to take the next exit—onto a dark, unlit, dirt road. Now what? First a crazy man, and now if I ran out of fuel—alligators would eat me? I had never been to FL by myself. I just followed my instincts and prayed I was on the right path. At 2:00 AM I was across the river from St Augustine! Laughter, more tears and joy in my heart encouraged me on to the nearest motel. A comfortable bed was my reward. Thanks to the Dasher, I hadn’t run out of fuel.

I felt immense gratitude for my reliable Dasher.

Hap is happy with his new Dasher. Nice fellow all around. Everyone was happy and what a nice time we had each time Hap came around. God bless

But this one had to go. We sold it within two days to Hap. He exuded delight at finding a Dasher in ‘excellent’ condition. The liner could be mended and he would give the vehicle a complete cleaning. He even bought the parts-car, which was in similar condition, and all of Hubby’s stored parts necessary to put the Dasher parts-car into driving condition. A month later, Hap came back and purchased our 1987 Mitsubishi pick-up. A prized possession of Hubby and me. Hap was happy! So were we. The Dasher was going to a good home and to a positively happy person. 🙂

Leave a comment below. Love to hear from you.

Okay, I’ve Finished the Manuscript

April 26, 2012March 12, 2020 / jmorise / 8 Comments

I’ve written a story. Twelve years in the making.

First it was an idea, then it just grew from a children’s book to “Oh no. Not possible. This is too much information for little kids.” So I decided to keep writing and see what happened.

Twelve years? Well, I was working full time as a teacher, and I also built my own home—with my own hands, sweat and blood. Then I got married, moved out of state, built two more houses and got another job teaching in my new geographic location. But my unfinished story haunted me. So I kept writing whenever I had a chance.

At one point, I got stuck. Or I should say, the children in my story were really stuck and I put them there. How could I get them out without killing the whole story? Writer’s block? Yeah. That was what it was. The symptoms fit.

Then one day, I decided I needed another character just to make it more interesting. Should it be a boy? No. How about a girl? Then I had to give her a name. What name. It was like having a baby all over again—without the labor pains or stretch marks. So I did re-writes to fit her into the story. Much later, the same thing happened. This time I added two more characters and had to fit them in with a re-write.

Eventually I felt the children needed to be older. Teen and pre-teen. I learned that is referred to as “tween genre”. Then the title no longer fit the story. Decisions were always being made and I wonder if I made good decisions for the story.

Photograph shows a young girl dressed in a fur-trimmed coat and hat, carrying her doll. (Photo credit: Wikipedia) Isn’t she cute?

An idea came as I ate dinner at a restaurant. A pretty, little girl walked to a table with her mom. She had a cute outfit and a beautiful hat. I had to complement her on her hat as I left. I thought, I’d like to paint her. Then it occurred to me. Here was a young girl wearing something special her mom gave her. It was a perceived sign of love by the little girl. My story’s girl needed something to hang on to until her mother came home. So I chose a necklace for my character. It worked for me and for my ‘girl’.

I retired from teaching earlier than planned. My husband was ill once too often and I worried being away all day. Now that I’m home with my happy husband, I have finished my manuscript and have had it reviewed by a critique group. That represents an added two years of critiquing. It was a great experience. The people in the writer’s group were honest and very helpful. I learned so much more in the last two years. Now my story is so much better thanks to their help and that of a friend who also read the manuscript and made a couple of suggestions.

Now what do I do? Research. I started it a while ago, but had to put it aside to fulfill my obligation to produce new paintings for upcoming art showings and possible sales. Go to my website at jomorise.com to see my portfolio.

Meanwhile, another story has been brewing in my head for about two years now and I’ve already started writing that as well.

Wish me luck.

Smile in your mirror every day.

Stream of Conciousness Writing – The Handi-wipe

January 25, 2012March 12, 2020 / jmorise / Leave a comment

(I like to exercise my creativity by just writing. No external cues. Usually. Just write. Try it. You will be surprised that there is a story in there—no matter how silly. Stream of conscious writing. Partly fabricated, partly true.)

The apricots are rotten. Jelly rolls are green. John is coming for breakfast. What a treat he’ll have.

__________________

A terrified Alfalfa wins the game in The Pigsk...

Looks like Alfalfa got the ball. Now what?

Did you see the football roll down the alley. All by itself. No one around. It was the weirdest thing. Instead of following the ball, I chose a different path, and it made all the difference.

__________________

The Handi-Wipe

My step-mother sewed my clothing. She was a seamstress and very proud of it. She made our dresses and coats. Speaking of coats, I remember a time before my step-mother. My sister and I sported navy blue coats with white lace at the cuffs and collar. I was five and didn’t know any better, therefore, I had a habit of sniffing or wiping my nose on my handy, dark blue sleeves.

Grammy took offense to that although I don’t remember any conversation about what a young girl does when her nose is runny. Kleenex was not yet a household word and we didn’t have television. So, unless someone told me what was expected, I did what was natural. I believe I invented the ‘handy-wipe’—navy blue. The only trouble with navy blue for a snot-rag (a term I learned later in life) is that snot dried white. I think it was white—I don’t know if I knew my colors at five.

You see, my mom died a few months before and Grammy found herself busy with two little girls she didn’t expect to have around. Well back to my navy blue handy-wipe.

One day Grammy took our coats, which were now encrusted with a good, healthy coat of filth. I read somewhere that kids today are too clean. That is why they are more susceptible to illness than our generation was. I remember one earache, but I’m not sure if that was me or my friend who always complained of earaches. I did get colds. Oh yes. The miserable stuffy nose.

Okay, okay. Back to the blue snot-rag. Grammy presented me with my c-l-e-a-n blue coat. It was no longer sporting my invention. There were no tell-tale signs of there ever being a snot rag on either arms. I was amazed. How was that accomplished. Words bounced around my little brain. “Clean. Dry-Cleaners. No. Handkerchief. Pocket. No. Not.” I understood the words “no” and “not” and “handkerchief” was easy because I had seen my dad honk his large nose in one. When he had one. Other times he grossed me out by placing his thumb and fore-finger at the bridge of his nose and honking his nose to the right or the left, or in front of him. That’s when his slithery, white and other colorful snot flew out and landed on the ground in a splat. I still gag today, just thinking about it. It wasn’t my snot so it was gross. If I ever did that, I probably would be able to stand it.

As a grown-up, I was once stuck without a Kleenex. (Just the word ‘Kleenex’ tells you that many years had passed by now.) I reached into my pockets and found I had neatly thrown all remnants of Kleenex into the trash at home. None in my purse either. I was desperate. My husband’s pockets were empty as well. This was a predicament. What to do.

I remembered my navy blue coat and smiled. I certainly wouldn’t do that again. Then my dad and his honking nose came to mind. I shuddered. Maybe. I could try. A quick look around reassured me I was alone. Good! I’ll try. I placed my thumb and forefinger at the bridge of my nose, leaned over a little and blew a little meekly. A little success. Next I inhaled a great gulp of air through my mouth in preparation for the big-daddy-honk. I blew hard. It worked! I didn’t sound as bad as my dad. It sounded more like an air-hose.

My husband came around the bend just then. I smiled, relieved that I had solved my problem. He smirked a little and presented me with a Kleenex. “You may want to used this. You have snot on your shirt and your shoes.”

Gross!