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Riddle of the Sphinx I am the youngest , the oldest , and a middle . I am an only . I am the riddle of the Sphinx. Puzzling as it might be, what I have written, will unfold the story of the maze of my life. Maybe the puzzle is that my life has survived many twists and angles, is unusual, yet, very unordinary. I was born on the Equinox in the fall of 1966. I am Wednesday’s full of woe. Even my name means “the weary one” in Hebrew. How’s that for a send off into the world? What were my parents thinking, anyways? The Equinox will plays its part in my life, weaving its way like grape vine, twisting and turning, until it meets up with itself, again and again. I think being brought into the world on that day has given me a strong connection with moon. It as the though the tides of my life have paralleled the moons cycles. No, I don’t howl with the full moon on a regular basis, but I can associate with that long lonely call, to find lost loved ones. It is so eerie to hear the call of the Timber wolf; it makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. I know that sounds cliché, but once, when I went deer hunting, I left before dusk heading out for my stand in the woods, only to stop cold in my tracks, as I heard the call of the wolf. As I listened to the long lonely howling, my skin began to tingle, and I could feel the hair on my arms stand up. The solo artist was then joined by another, and it was the duet of there chilling recital that sent me running back home to await daylight. I don’t think I went back out in the woods that day. I really didn’t like to hunt deer, but it was a way to be in the forest, and get out of spending time in the house with my mother-in-law, Evelyn. That’s pronounced Evil Lynn. I’m not sure who I was more afraid of, the Timber Wolves of the forest, or the she-wolf that fathered my husband. But I digress from the story, which I tend to do often, because my mind is so full, it spills over in all directions. The mind is a terrible thing to waste, but mine bubbles like and unwatched pot on the stove of life, and spills out all at once. Leaving little left of the original substance, sometimes scorched, and lots of mess to clean up. I will try and watch my pot, but there are no guarantees. I come without a warranty. How can I lay title to the “Riddle of the Sphinx,” what walks on four legs, than two legs, than on three? Well actually I can’t because it’s already taken, but maybe I am riddle to a different Sphinx, a female one, with an imagination and a sense of humor. Its just reminds me of my complicated life as a , living in a broken home. I hate that term broken; as I look back at it, maybe it wasn’t, it just had several cracks, and a few very large gaps. Okay, maybe it even had a crater the size of school bus, but it had one thing a broken home never could, it had love. Through the muck and mire, it had the one binding, healing, glue that made it stick like no other substance could, love. It is probably less complicated than I make it sound. I had two older sisters from my mom’s first marriage. My parents met and married for what seems like a brief moment of my history, and had me. Their marriage was so brief, I only have a few memories of us being together, the other memories I think I have borrowed from my sisters. My parents then divorced, and went their separate ways. I lived with my mom, and older sisters. My dad remarried, and had three more , two brothers, and the littlest, another sister. I was six years younger than my older sisters, and six years older than my little brother. I was the youngest in one family, the oldest in the other. I was my parent’s only together. I won’t use the word, half brother or sister, as I find it very offensive. I have three sisters, and two brothers, but with the gap in the age difference, and the split families, I sometimes felt like an only . Christmas’s would become very complicated throughout my childhood. My family, however many fissures it had in it, had one constant. I loved each and every one of my family members fiercely, and they loved me back. I am special, when I was born, the days and the night split in half. I am the baby of the family, I am the oldest sister. I am the riddle of some lioness Sphinx. I am a conundrum. I used to hate, hate, hate, having to explain my family genealogy, so I didn’t if I could avoid it. I think I was the only in my elementary school that had divorced parents. At least it seemed that way in my mind, so I didn’t talk about it, unless anyone brought it up. Funny, how it seemed that my parent’s marital status always was of some interest. Not by the other , but by their parents. I however, was smarter than most adults, by this time, and was wise to their meager ploys to eek out information from an unsuspecting . I learned how to skirt the subject, and give brief answers to their annoying attempts to get some gossip for the tongue wagging that was sure to erupt at the first chance. The benefits, I’m sure of growing up in a small Midwestern town...  Earth is the insane asylum for the universe. |
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It's the same in most towns
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oh come on! Stop blaming your destiny and start making your own luck. No use blaming something non_existant. a lot of people have faced these things and they were born at different times. Love yourself and be happy. care for those who care for you.
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Hey blue...was just writing a story of my life...kinda funny..kinda sad...and I dont believe in luck...I believe in making my own destiny...but thanks for the feed back... Wee Earth is the insane asylum for the universe.
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