The following poem was written when I thought about how much my life changed when I simply chose to look at things in a new way. The only thing that really stood between myself and inner peace all those years was my perception of life. ~ SuziCate

She says
Monsters lurk in the darkness
I say
Peace comes in the night
She sees
Worries and heart aches
I see
Things will be alright

She tastes
bitterness in days gone by
I taste
The sweetness of this day
She waits
For her world to fall apart
I wait
For whatever comes my way

She feels
The pounding of the storm
I feel
The dancing of the falling rain
She learns
Dreams can be crushed
I learn
Experience comes through pain

She smells
The stench of her past
I smell
The roses all year long
She hears
The critic in her head
I hear
The beauty of my song

©2010 the orange chair. All Rights Reserved.

My four year old daughter, Maggie, hums herself to sleep. She says she hums because it keeps her bad dreams away. I find this pretty amazing. She was born in China, thousands of miles between us and I too hum myself to sleep. (Must be that red thread . . .) I hum the same song winter, spring, summer, or fall, every night, and it works. . . .

I’ll let you in on a little secret, I’m a Christmas-a-holic. I love everything about it. When I hear people complaining about last minute shopping (mine’s not finished, either) I laugh. When they say they’ve gained weight over the holidays, I look down at my own little pooched out belly, and I smile. When they stress over not finding that perfect gift for that certain someone, I sympathize, but not much.

You see, I am a worrier, and from January through September, it’s chronic. But then October arrives, and all of my problems and worries are miraculously put on the back burner by Christmas magic. It’s only October. My kids say I’m a Christmas nut.They tell me to stop flying my holiday “freak flag”. They look at me wearily if they need to ask me for a ride because they know they will be listening to Elvis singing “Blue Christmas”. And each CD after will be playing more holiday tunes. Changing the station isn’t up for debate. You need a ride, you listen to Christmas carols . . . They laugh, they roll their eyes, they huff and puff. Maggie and I ignore this and count how many houses we see with Christmas lights until we reach our destination. I can’t explain it, but the music brings me comfor. . . . and joy? Yep, and joy. LOL.

My house smells delicious like apples and cinnamon. I smile at the tacky holiday cling-ons stuck on my windows. I say they are for Maggie’s enjoyment, but I love them, too. The lights, the music, the decorations, I love it all. I try to instill my love for Christmas in my children. I hope it works.

The “25 Days of Christmas” on tv is reserved solely for me. The kids get the tv for 339 days of the year, and they think this is unfair! Why on Earth should Mom get to watch Christmas specials in guady holiday pajamas for 25 days?! Maggie’s with me in this though; she’s still wrapped up in the magic of christmas, an innocent child untouched by the ugliness of the outside world.

I sit back with a cup of eggnog and watch “Santa Buddies” with Maggie. When it’s over she states “I think they ( the Santa Buddies) learned Christmas is about giving.” And I think maybe that’s what makes me feel so at peace. It’s the one time of year when people do take the time to love, and listen, and give of themselves. I feel safe in this holiday happiness.

Kaylyn, my 20-year-old daughter, gave me a wonderful gift last month . . . (OCTOBER)!! Late for work, she was running out the door when she stopped, turned around, and said “Mom, can I borrow your Elvis’ Christmas CD?” It’s ONLY October I replied. You’ll have to get it out of my car . . .

Tonight I will smile as I think of that, as I’m drifting off to sleep humming to myself the same ol’ song I’ve hummed for years, “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. . .”

Merry Christmas Everyone and may your hearts be light!!

©2010 the orange chair. All Rights Reserved.

Life is a picture. Whether a photo, or a painting, a sketch or a collage, each is a product of its own unique constitution and circumstance. While we generally have an idea of where it comes from, rarely can we fathom where it will come to. As with the picture, the manufacture is often as interesting as the image and when viewed in the context of its narration, takes on more depth and meaning.

Some are composed, painfully set with the utmost care to insure the proper aperture and focal length or carefully laid on the canvas in layers of shades that have no appeal on their own but together bring life where there was none. Others are the result of a feeling, or happenstance, the luck of the draw or a moment of opportunity. Some of the most interesting are the result of mistakes, or at least what were thought to be mistakes at the time or the results of a frustration that, cast in anger, somehow births a calming panorama.

Each has its own life to live and is endowed with character and intricacies that belong to it alone. Each is subjected to interpretation, often judged by those that do not understand it, as less than beautiful. Or it might be gauged against another, which unjustly disappoints the observer and the subject alike as neither can live to or in the other’s standard.

Each has its layers, its colors or lack thereof. The harder lines of its structure and shadows that bring it depth often mask the feelings and emotions that are the true geneses of its form.

The picture must be seen in its own light. It must live in its own light. It cannot take the place of another. It cannot be cast out of its element for the sake of the eclectic and it should not be detained for the sake of conformity. It must be set in a place that accepts it, even if that placement brings discomfort to its fellows. There is a light somewhere that is suited to it and when that light is found, the true depths of its beauty can emerge.

Each must find the proper frame. A picture can be beautiful but if a proper frame cannot be found, it can never be complete. Attaining the proper frame can be frustrating. Often we must try several before we find the one. Sometimes we hold it in our hands as we cast our eyes abroad. We shop the boutiques when what we need is in an old trunk in our attic. One can have and reject it, only to come back later with a clear eye that finally sees the connection. It may require a quest that we feel is beyond us, not realizing that the metal must endure the flame before it can be forged to form. Regardless, it must be found. When it is found, we must be able to see it and be willing to clinch it and to allow it to digest us. When it is right, we will know. And when we know, we can embrace it and see the picture for all that it is. Its glory and beauty can then be properly appreciated and we can be pleased with what has been created. Once we find that pleasure we can rest, and accept the adulation that our picture deserves.

Find your frame. Unfurl your beautiful picture and set it in its proper light. Then display it to the world. They will love it.

©2010 the orange chair. All Rights Reserved.

I wanted to be happy. I used lots of things to try and make believe I was happy. In these ventures I didn’t succeed. I guess I didn’t really want to because I saw people who had many accomplishments and still were not the definition of the word happy. I then found the greatest way to pretend I was happy.

The greatest way to pretend I was happy happened to be reckless abandonment. I drank, did drugs and stayed out all night. I did this until everything I had was gone. Then, I moved back home, with my mother. When I had a job, a car, and money, I did it all over again.

The last and final time I moved back home was different. I got a job, a car and a boyfriend. I managed to keep them for months without my loved ones seeing my addiction. I did drugs at work, at home, just about everywhere. Of course, it eventually caught up with me. I couldn’t function without the drugs. And eventually I knew I couldn’t keep masking the truth: I didn’t want to be numb anymore; I wanted to care about my reality.

I don’t have a job anymore. I can barely pay my bills. I live with my mother. I stayed a short time in a detox facility, and I learned about so many people who were similar to myself. Now it may seem that I should be extremely saddened at this point in my life. However, my life is the complete opposite. You see, I found something better than drugs and possessions. I found the will to live; and that, makes me very happy.

©2010 the orange chair. All Rights Reserved.

When I grow up I want to be a mommie. I want to experience the undeniable love of a child, to see pure innocence, and hear uncontrollable giggles. I want to watch my babies grow and learn, and go off to college and become doctors and lawyers. I want the whole “mommie” experience. I want to see them in the Christmas pageant, help them catch lightening bugs, and watch them reach for the stars. I want to watch them when they win the spelling bee and make their favorite desserts. These are all the things I want to experience when I become a mommie.

 I am 42 years old. I have raised 5 children. Number 6 is four. I have changed millions of diapers, cleaned up vomit, made numerous visits to the ER. I have heard uncontrollable crying and seen pure innocence lost, never to return. I have seen college days end before they began. I have seen the disappointment of a child lose her spelling bee. I have seen them heartbroken and heard their obscenities muttered under their breath when they were angry with me. I’ve watched them reach for stairs, and I’ve seen their stars fall. Being a mom, I’ve learned hard lessons. It’s the hardest job in the world. Yes, you’re loved unconditionally but you love them unconditionally as well, and sometimes that hurts. You make lots of mistakes, and you share in not only the good, but also the bad. You have high expectations and you have dreams for them. But your dreams aren’t always theirs. Your expectations aren’t always met, and you realize instead of making your mistakes, they made their own, and when you think they’re not listening, they are, and when you’re so fed up you swear you’ll never help them again, they crawl back into your heart asking for help and you do help – to an extent. Because you watched them learn to crawl, to walk, and to run. Now you guide them to fly. But unconditionally, you still love them. No matter what.

So, when I grow up – I think I want to be a grandma.

©2010 the orange chair. All Rights Reserved.

Four years ago right now, I was sittin on the patio at the St. Mary’s Pavilion, hooked up to my very last bag of poison, surrounded by caring friends and celebratory nurses. It was a beautiful day, much like today, and I was so happy to be there, ending my chemical fight against cancer, beginning the end of my bout with baldness and other even-more-fun side effects, and movin on to a little recovery period before phase two of the fight (radiation). For such a hateful time of my life, I sure came out of it heaped up with blessings.

For some, it’s cliche. “Don’t take a single day for granted.” “Life is a gift.” “Live like you were dying.” “Let those you love know you love them.” “Gitter done.” For me, its the gospel. Lance Armstrong said now he only has good days, or great days. Its a very real, tangible, almost touchable feeling. While I don’t wish cancer on anyone, I do wish everyone could feel that sense of what is truly important and what is truly worthwhile, in their lives, and live according to that. I wish everyone could realize the positivity of life, the potential of life, the bright side, of life. It truly IS a gift. Make someone smile today. Make someone feel good. Help someone. And don’t waste a second. Got something you’ve always wanted to do? For Pete’s sakes – DO IT. Enjoy Every Day. Laugh; oh my gosh, LAUGH. Let go of the bygones. Yes, this is the Gospel Accordin to Lee Lee.

I am about to turn 45. When I turned 40, I knew I was going to have the crappiest year of my life. Not even halfway into the year, I was diagnosed. Self-fulfilling prophecy? I dunno. I’m pretty sure I already had cancer when I hit the big 4-0, so I don’t really think I jinxed myself, BUT – this year, I’m going to have one of the best of my life. I’ll be headin into my five-years post cancer year (YAY!). My kids are smart and happy and healthy and fun. My friends – my friends – my friends are the best people I know. This year it was my privilege to vacation with some of my besties, reconnect with long-lost but much-loved friends, form new important and meaningful friendships, and nurture and build on present ones. And, I am happy that I got to see my family this year, and reconnect, share in life’s joys, and reaffirm that familial, deep-rooted unwavering love and devotion. I have had one of my best, most fun years ever, in many respects. And I, cliche or not, am grateful, and am sooo excited about whats to come that I can barely STAND it. Bring it bring it bring it BRING IT!!! Have a good day, everyone. And if you haven’t heard Kenny Chesney’s new song “I’m Alive,” here are the words to it – give it a listen, when ya can. Its definitely an anthem.

Live it up! Lee Lee

Happy Happy Happy. Happy to be, Happy to be. Just flat-out HAPPY.

©2010 the orange chair. All Rights Reserved.

After two nites and a day and a half or so of roughin’ it and elk-watchin’ in the great outdoors of south-western Calla Rada, it was decided that not enuff outdoors, not enuff hikin’, not enuff scoutin’, had been had. There’s more to do, more to see, only 3 hours away! So, after breakfast, we pack (some people take waay to much stuff), head home, unpack (did I mention some people take waaaaay too much stuff?), shower (omg, its never felt so good!), fight off the (big, strong, all-encompassing) urge to nap, and head up on the Mesa. “It’s just a short hike,” I’m told.

Wull, I never knew there were fourteeners on the Mesa, but I swear to the Lord above I was climbin up one. And across one, which was the “quicker, less strenuous” route, I’m told, from Point A to Point B. At about Point A-anna-half, I was thinkin’ I was just… about …done, but then “The hard part’s over,” I’m told. At that point, I’m too elated in this haze of giddy jubilation that I choose not to dwell on the fact that if “its all downhill from here,” that its all gonna be UPhill on the way back. That admittance woulda crumpled me right on the trail.

Oh yeah, the “trail.” Really? Itza TRAIL? Once, we lost the “trail” and my guide was so happy to find the “trail” again. I saw NO difference. Scrub- and oakbrush, butt-tall grass, hidden rocks and downed trees. What, just because there’s bear poop on it makes it a trail? Like they don’t poop on un-trails? Just cuz there’s mountain lion tracks (on top of our boot-prints) makes it a trail? And wait wait wait a minute, back up, bear poop? WE’RE out HERE, there BEARS go POOP? If a bear sees me huffin and puffin, he’ll know he has an easy score. Even if he ain’t hungry, he’ll do it – you know – for fun. For practice. For sport.

And I notice, and I wonder, “Hmmm, my guide never turns around to look behind us, to make sure nuthin’s back there. Huh. THAT’S funny.” Then BAM! I realize, its cuz I’M back there. When the bear or the lion decides to attack, from behind, which is what they do, I’m told, so they can break your neck, I’m told, it’ll be ME they get! The guide doesn’t hafta worry about what’s back there! The guide has ME back there! ME – his protection. When I point this out, that he never turns to look behind us, “I don’t HAVE too look. I LISTEN,” I’m told. Wull what if the bear puts his mammoth paw over my mouth to squelch my scream, and whispers sumthin like “You make a sound, little girl, and I’ll hunt down and eat your whole family!”? The only thing you may notice is NOT hearin my huffin and puffin and mutterin under my breath “What kind of an effin a**hole would call this a ‘little,’ ‘quick’ and ‘less strenuous’ hike?! M-er f-er! Do you KNOW how many birds are gonna build their nests with strands of my hair they pluck from a branch that yanked it from my head and then you make me sit down and be all still and quiet, seemingly in or on a gnat nest, so that you can do your cow-callin, frickin a sumbeech…” anymore.

Anyway, all that aside (and said in jest, really), what a fabulous time. Nature’s beauty like you don’t often see. Well, like I don’t often see, anyway. My guide sees it alllllll the time, is ate up with it, and is happier than – well, than a bear in a berry patch – when he sees bear and lions and elk and deer and moose and turkeys and sheep and daggome sharks and tigers and Bigfoot and wolves and rabid dogs and feral cats and thugs with guns or  ANYTHING on the pix from his “trail” cam. And, actually, there were no lion prints, I only added that to escalate the drama and maybe help you to feel sorry for me – but there WAS bear poop, lots of it, and there were lots of spots where cow elk and calves had bedded down (trust me, I was thinkin of playin’ Goldilocks and nappin in one of ‘em, but that “three bears” part of the story was all too real and convinced me otherwise), and there were elk and there were grouse and fabulous wildflowers and a gorgeous creek and a nice view of my, shall we say, “able-bodied” (mmm hmmm gurls, you KNOW what I’m talkin aBOUT!) impressive guide’s backside (hey it wasn’t intentional, that just how it works when you’re a follower) and just that balance – that balance that nature provides, lettin you know that you’re just a speck, and extreeeemely lucky to be right here, right now. Some people grasp it, some people bypass it. Its my privilege (to at least try) to grasp it, and I appreciate how the same scrub- and oakbrush, butt-tall grass, hidden rocks and downed trees that can trip me up and make me fall are also there to hold up to my reach, givin me sumthin to pull myself up that “trail” with.

Lee Lee soakin' up the sun and fun.

©2010 the orange chair. All Rights Reserved.