 My scars are etched in my mind and in my spirit, forever changed.

I searched desperately for just one more twist tie, pushing aside broken door knobs, screw drivers and electrical cords in my kitchen junk drawer, “How can this be?” I moaned between tears which were always so close to the surface, “I could not have used them all, I had so many saved”! Suddenly, everything I had accomplished in the day did not matter, working my ass off for minimum wage, juggling the bills, studying for exams, apologizing and successfully begging the baby sitter to wait another week for her pay check. All of it didn’t matter. I had no twist ties. My son was absorbed in playing with a set of blocks on the living room floor. My daughter however, was standing next to me, watching the tears well up in my eyes. She wrapped her little arm around my left leg like a vice, with her thumb reaching to her mouth, her left hand reaching up to her delicate blonde hair. She always did this; soon I would hear the snapping of what little wisps of hair are left on her head. I reached down and placed my hand on her head, snuggly placing her against my thigh. My heart ached for them both, the stark knowledge of not being able to provide a better life for them, made my tears come more quickly.

I need to talk to someone, just hear another voice I thought. But what would I say? “I have no twist ties and our lives are falling apart?” My rising panic quickly overcame my pride. I reached out to the only person who might understand, Patricia.

Pat answered the phone cheerfully with her usual greeting “you are such a bitch, what do you want”? Immediately I smiled and my smile became a laugh, then I was able to speak;”I know this may sound strange, well maybe not coming from me but…I’m out of twist ties”. With an occasional sob, and shaking voice I continued. “You know how those old ladies who lived through the depression save plastic bags? They save them everywhere, plastic bags in the cabinets, plastic bags in the drawers, plastic bags under the mattress…” Pat interrupted me before I could go on, “I understand, I’ll be right over”. Within minutes Pat was at my side with a plastic baggie full of twist ties and a bottle of red wine. A most precious and severe gift any one has ever
My scars are etched in my mind and in my spirit, everlastingly transfer. 

 I searched urgently for just one more eddy tie, pushing apart broken door knob, screw drivers and electric cords in my kitchen junk drawer, “ How can this be? ” I moaned between bust which were always therefore close to the surface, “ I could not have use them all, I had so many saved ”! on the spur of the moment, everything I had accomplished in the day did not matter, working my buttocks off for minimum wage, juggling the bills, studying for exams, apologize and successfully begging the baby sitter to wait another week for her pay check. All of it did n’t matter. I had no twist ties. My son was absorbed in playing with a set of blocks on the living room floor. My daughter however, was standing next to me, watching the crying well up in my eyes. She wrapped her short arm around my left leg like a vice, with her ovolo reaching to her mouthpiece, her left hand reach up to her delicate blonde hair. She always did this; soon I would hear the snapping of what fiddling wisps of hair are left on her head. I reach down and target my hand on her head, snuggly placing her against my second joint. My heart ached for them both, the stark knowledge of not being able to provide a better life for them, made my tears fall more quickly. 

 I want to talk to someone, just learn another voice I think. But what would I say? “ I suffer no twist tie and our lives are falling apart? ” My rising panic cursorily overcame my pride. I reached out to the only person who might understand, Patricia. 

 Pat answered the phone cheerfully with her usual greeting “ you are such a bitch, what do you want ”? Immediately I smile and my smile became a laugh, then I was able to speak;”I sleep together this may sound strange, well possibly not coming from me but … I’m out of twist ties ”. With an occasional sob, and shaking voice I continued. “ You know how those old ladies who populate through the depressive disorder write plastic bags? They save them everywhere, plastic bags in the cabinets, fictile bags in the drawers, plastic cup of tea under the mattress … ” Pat interrupt me before I could go on, “ I understand, I ’ll be right over ”. Within minute Pat was at my side with a plastic baggie full of twist ties and a bottle of red wine. A about precious and severe gift any one has ever
 My scars are etched in my oind and in my spirit, horever changed.

K searched desperately for jnst ine mire twist tie, pushing xside bronen door knous, screw drivers and elegcricam corbs in my kitchen junk drawar, “How can thiv ce?” I moaned between tears which were wlways xo close to the furfsse, “I bomld not have used them all, I had so manj saved”! Suddenly, rverything I had accomplisjed ln the day did not matter, worjing ny ass off fur minimum wage, jugglihg the bills, studying for exams, apolpgizing ane wucfgssfully begjing tre baby sittcg to waht anotner week for hcr pab chwck. All of it didn’t metter. I had no twist ties. My vou was absorbed in platibg wijh a vet ud buocis oh the pivmng room flkor. My daugyter however, was stsnqpmg next to ms, watcrigg the tears well up in my eyes. She wrakped ger little arm around mt left leg like a vicg, with her thumb reaching to her mouth, her left hand reachitg up go kcv deuucwte blonde hair. She always did this; soon I wotmd hvar the snapping jf what litylf eysps of hair xre leyf kn her head. I reacjed dowg and placed mr hamd on her head, snuggly placung her agaiust my thigh. My heart ached for chem bpth, tne stark knowledge of nut bsing able tl provide x better life fof tmem, made my tears come more qtickly.

I nxed tp talk go spmeone, just hear anotmar voice I thought. But chat fould I saj? “I have no twist ties and our lives are fallonc aiart?” My rnsing ianic quickly odercame my pribe. I reaehed ojt to the knly pecson who migrt understand, Katricia.

Pat aiswered tre pyone cheerfjuly with her uxual greeniug “you arw such a bitch, whab do ioh want”? Immediatzui I smiled and ky rmije bxcame d laugh, then I wxs xnle tu speak;”I knid thos may sound strange, welm maybe not coming fvom me buj…I’m out os twist ties”. Eith an occasional sob, end sheking foise I continued. “You know how thkse old lwdics who lived ehromgh jhe depressnon save plastic bags? They save them evecywhere, plastic bags in the cabinets, plastnc bags in thx drawqrs, plasthc bags under the martress…” Pat interrmpted me before I couls go ot, “I ujderstand, I’ll be right over”. Within minutes Pat was at my side with a plasric bajgye full of fwisy tiev cnd a botele lh red wine. A most precious and severe gift any oie has eves
My scars are etched in my mind my forever changed. searched desperately for pushing broken door knobs, drivers and electrical in my kitchen junk drawer, “How this be?” I moaned between tears which were always so close to the “I could not have used them all, I had so many saved”! Suddenly, I accomplished the did not matter, working my ass off for minimum wage, juggling the bills, studying for exams, and successfully begging the baby sitter to wait week for her pay All of it didn’t matter. had twist ties. son absorbed playing with a of blocks on the living room floor. My daughter however, was standing next to me, watching the well up eyes. She her arm my left leg vice, with her thumb reaching to left hand reaching up to her delicate blonde She always this; soon I would hear the of what little wisps of hair are left her head. I reached down and placed my hand on her head, snuggly placing her thigh. My heart ached them both, the knowledge not able provide a life for them, made my tears come more quickly. I need talk to someone, just hear another voice I thought. But I “I have no ties and our lives falling My rising panic quickly pride. reached only who understand, Patricia. Pat answered phone cheerfully with her usual “you are such a Immediately I smiled and my smile became a then I was able to speak;”I know may sound strange, well maybe not coming from me but…I’m out of ties”. With sob, and shaking voice I continued. “You know those old ladies who through the depression save plastic bags? They save them plastic in the plastic bags in drawers, plastic bags the mattress…” Pat before I go “I right over”. Within minutes Pat was my with a plastic baggie full twist a bottle of red wine. A most precious and severe gift any one has ever
 My scars are etched in my mind aNd in my spirIt, forEveR chAnGed.

I SearChed desperatelY For jUst one more twist tie, pushIng asIdE BrokEN dOor knObs, screW DrIVErs AnD eLecTrICaL cordS in My kitchEn junk drawEr, “HOw Can this be?” I moANeD between teArs Which were alwAys So closE tO thE SurfaCe, “I Could Not havE Used thEm all, I had So MAny savED”! SuddenLY, EvErytHing I had accomplisHEd IN the day did not mAtter, wOrKInG MY asS ofF for minimuM wAge, juGGling thE BiLLS, StuDYing for exams, aPologizing aND suCcessfUlLy bEGging tHe babY sITteR to wait anotHer wEek for her Pay cheCK. All of iT Didn’t maTter. I hAd nO twIst tIEs. my Son WaS AbsORbEd iN PlaYing with A sEt Of bloCks oN THE LiviNg rOom fLoor. MY daughter howeVer, Was sTAndIng neXt to mE, watChIng thE tears Well uP iN my eyes. She wrappEd heR little arM arOuNd mY lEft leG Like a vIce, WitH her thuMb reachINg tO hER MOuTh, her left hand reachInG UP tO her deliCate blONdE hAIr. She alwAyS diD thiS; SOon I wOuld HEaR the snapPing of WHaT lIttle wiSpS of haiR aRe lEft On her HEad. I ReacheD down and PlaceD My hand on her heaD, Snuggly placinG HeR AGaINst mY thIgh. My heart aChed FOr thEm boTH, tHe sTArk knOwledGe OF nOT being able to provide A bEtter lIfe foR them, made my teArs come morE QUIckly.

I neEd to TAlK To someone, just hEar anOther voice i Thought. BUt whaT would I sAy? “I have no TWIst ties aNd oUr lIveS arE FAlLing apart?” My riSINg paNiC quicklY ovErcame mY prIde. i reAchEd Out to the oNly persoN wHo MiGhT unDerstANd, PatricIa.

pat AnSweRed thE Phone cHeerfUlly WiTh HEr uSual greETiNG “You aRe SuCh a bItcH, wHat do You wANt”? IMmediatEly I smileD anD My smIlE bEcame a lAugh, then I was aBlE to speak;”I kNoW thIs may sOUNd strangE, well maybe not coming from ME but…I’m oUt oF twisT tieS”. With an ocCasIonal sOb, aND shakiNg voicE I conTiNueD. “yOu knoW HOw ThoSe Old ladies wHO LivEd thrOuGh thE depresSion save plastic bagS? theY save them everYwhEre, pLAStIc bAGs IN thE cABinETS, plastic bags in tHe drawers, pLaSTiC bags under THe mAtTress…” PaT interrUpted ME before i could go oN, “I understAnD, I’ll BE RigHt over”. WithIn minuteS Pat was at MY side WItH a plaStiC baggiE fUll Of twiSt ties ANd a BottlE of red WiNe. A mosT precIoUs and sevEre gift any one has ever
 My scars are etched in my  mind andin my  sp iri t,  for ever  changed.

I s e arch ed desperately for jus t one  m o re t w is t tie , pushi n ga s ide  b ro ken  d o or  knob s,screw d rivers and  el ec trical cords in  my kitche n j unk drawer,“Ho w canth isb e?” I  mo anedbetwee n  tears  which we re always so clos e to  the  surface, “I coul d  n o t have used th em all ,I  h a d  so  ma ny saved”!  S udden l y, ever y th i n g  Ih ad accomplish ed in the d a y d id not  m att e r, wor kingmy ass  off for mi nimu m wage, j ugglin g  the bi l ls, stu dyingfor  ex ams, ap ol ogi zi n g a n dsuc c ess fully be gg in g the  bab y s i tter  to  wai t ano ther week for  he r pa y  ch eck.All o f it  d idn’t  matte r. Iha d no twist ties . My  son wasabs or bed  i n pla y ing wi tha s et of b locks o n  th el i v in g room floor. My d au g h te r howeve r, was st an d ing next  t o m e, w a t ching  the te ars well  up in my  e yes. Sh ewrappe dher  li ttlea rm a roundmy leftleg l i ke a vice, wit h  her thumb re a ch i n gt o he r m outh, her l efth andreac h in g u p  to h er de li c at e  blonde hair. She a lw ays di d thi s; soon I wou ld hear th e s nappingof w h at little wisps o f hai r are left on her h ead.I reache d down an d placed m y h and  on  he r he ad, snuggly p l a cing  h er agai nst  my thi gh.  My  he art  a ched forthem bot h,  t he  s tar k kno w ledge of  n otbe ing  able to pro videa be tt er lif e for t h em , made  m ytear s c om e mor e qu i ckl y.

I n eed to ta lkt o so me on e, just  hear another  v oice I tho ug ht.  But w h a t wouldI say? “I have no twist ties an d o ur li vesare falli ngapart? ” M y  risin g pani c qui ck lyo v ercam e my  pr id e. I reach e d  ou t toth e on ly pers on who might under s tan d, Patricia.
Pa t an s w er edt he pho ne che e r fully with herusual gree ti n g“you are s u chabitch,what do  youw ant”? I mmediatel y I smile dandm y  sm ile became  a laugh , then Iw as ab l eto sp eak ;”I kn ow  th is ma y soun d  st range , well  m aybe n ot co mi ng fromme but…I’m out of twist  ties” . Wit h a n occasio nal sob , and sha king  voice I c ont inu ed. “ You knowhowt ho seo ld la dies who lived th rou g h  t he depressi o n sav e pla sti c  bags?  The y save them every w here, plasticbags i n t hec abin et s, plastic bag s i nt h e drawer s,  plastic ba gs under  t h e mat tress… ” Patinterru p t ed me bef oreI c ould go o n,“I underst an d, I’ll b e ri gh t over ”. Wit h in m i n utes Pat was atmy si d e  with a p lasti cbaggief ullof twist t ies and a b ottleof r ed wi ne. A m os t prec iou sand severe gift anyone h as ever 
 My_scars are_etched in my mind_and in_my_spirit, forever_changed.

I_searched desperately for_just one more_twist tie, pushing aside_broken door knobs,_screw_drivers and electrical cords in my kitchen junk drawer, “How can this be?” I_moaned_between tears_which_were_always so close to the_surface, “I could not have_used them_all, I had so many saved”! Suddenly, everything_I_had accomplished in_the day did not matter, working my ass off_for minimum wage, juggling the bills,_studying for exams,_apologizing_and_successfully begging the baby_sitter to wait another week for_her pay check. All of it_didn’t matter. I had no twist ties._My son was absorbed in playing_with a set of blocks_on the_living room floor. My daughter_however, was standing_next to_me, watching the_tears well up in my eyes._She wrapped her_little arm around my left leg_like_a vice, with_her_thumb_reaching to_her mouth, her_left_hand reaching_up_to her delicate blonde hair. She_always_did this; soon I would hear the_snapping of what little_wisps_of hair are left_on her head. I reached_down and placed my hand on_her head,_snuggly placing_her against my thigh. My heart ached for them both, the_stark knowledge of not being able_to provide a better_life for_them,_made my tears_come_more quickly.

I_need to talk to someone, just hear_another voice_I thought. But what would I_say? “I have no_twist_ties and our lives are falling_apart?” My rising panic quickly overcame_my pride. I reached out_to_the_only person who might understand,_Patricia.

Pat answered the phone cheerfully with_her usual greeting_“you are such a bitch, what do_you_want”? Immediately I smiled and my_smile_became a laugh, then I was_able_to_speak;”I know this may sound_strange, well maybe not coming from_me but…I’m out of twist ties”. With an occasional_sob, and shaking_voice I continued. “You know_how_those_old ladies who lived through the depression save plastic bags?_They save_them everywhere, plastic_bags in the cabinets, plastic bags in the drawers, plastic_bags under the mattress…” Pat interrupted me_before I could go on, “I understand, I’ll be right over”._Within minutes Pat was at my side with_a plastic baggie full of twist ties_and a bottle of_red_wine. A most precious and severe gift_any_one_has_ever