Pitching a Hissy-Fit When Things Don’t Go the Way We Planned

hissy-fit

I remember one thing I learned long ago in a little country town in North Carolina. It was a hard lesson that my grandma taught me. Temper tantrums accomplish absolutely nothing. For that matter, any type of “hissy-fit” as she called them accomplished zip…nada…not one damned thing.

I was six years old, and though I am sure that when I was younger I threw quite a few tantrums her way, but knowing her…she paid em no never-mind. I was told by a little boy in my first grade class that if I cried and screamed and kicked that I would get anything I wanted. He apparently didn’t know my grandma.

My grandma always babysat us after school and in the summer time. So we would go to her house (which was not laid out with all the most modern conveniences) and we would spend several hours or the whole day. She kept a huge garden in the back of acreage and would always haul us out there with her. We were too young to leave in the house and she would always hang blankets from the trees around and we would play under them. One particular day, we were going to pick up ‘taters as she dug them. I hated picking up taters. I will be honest. When I was young, I was a slug of a boy. I wanted to be in front of a fan watching tv. It wasn’t until a few years later that I learned to appreciate what nature had given us. It was on this day that I decided to try the wisdom of that other six year old boy in my class…so I sat down in the middle of the dirt and proceeded to “pitch a hissy-fit.” I wailed and I cried and I kicked and I stomped…just knowing that my grandma was going to crumble before my eyes and beg my forgiveness for expecting me to ever step away from in front of the tv.

In the middle of my hissy-fit, I hear something strange coming from my grandma. I stopped what I was doing and looked directly at her. She was laughing. Well, she was not just laughing….she was laughing at me. I stomped my foot at her and turned red. She stopped laughing. She cocked her left eyebrow, walked over to me, whomped me on the butt hard with her hand and told me, “Boy, if you ever do that again…you will see me pitch a hissy-fit, and I guarantee that you will not like it.” I never pitched another one.

Over the past month or so, I have had a few challenges rise up to meet me. I have dealt with the flu, pneumonia, and now another little issue. I had a biopsy done of a lump below my right pec on Friday. When this little lump showed up a few months back, I headed to the doctor and he stuck a needle in it and aspirated it and it looked like fat. When I went back for the pneumonia, the lump was firm and not moveable. He told me that he would feel better if we did a biopsy. I was ok with that.

When I first got the news that he wanted a biopsy, I was fine. Kinda numb actually….I mean I had an aunt die from cancer this past year, a grandma that was diagnosed with cancer on her kidneys right before she died, another aunt diagnosed with bone cancer…..hmmm seemed like cancer was running rampant through my family. Fear tried to kick in. Panic attacks started. I wrapped myself up so tightly in the fear of what could happen, that I pulled into myself and then proceeded to pitch my own little hissy-fit. I pissed and I moaned to the elements….to the Lord and Lady….to any of the natural elements that would listen. After all, I didn’t need to burden my friends, family and loved ones. I moved into my bitchy zone.

I really didn’t spend all that much time outside….I just kind of boarded up my own little pity house and moved in. I didn’t even realize that it had been a full week without any noise or sound from Mama Crow. A dear friend texted me one night after I had finally ‘come out’ with the news of the pending biopsy. “How are you?” “Fine….well, actually a little scared.” “You have to get control of yourself through this!” Huh?!? You mean she wasn’t going to join my ‘poor me’ party? All over again, I could hear my grandma telling me that if I didn’t stop it, that I was gonna see a hissy-fit like I had never seen….and I wouldn’t like it. It was just the smack I needed.

I walked out the next morning to take Friz to pee and I noticed that Mama Crow’s nest had been torn down from the telephone pole. In the complex, every so often, they try to keep the ‘scavenger’ animals out. So I am quite sure I know who took the nest down. Over the next few days, I noticed the silence in the air. No calls through the trees, no reminders of things to come. Silence. I was prepared to start the grieving process for a friend lost.

I came home from lunch on Wednesday of last week and heard a familiar sound. That harsh crackle of a voice ringing through the trees…I looked up and I see Mama Crow back on top of the phone pole. What is she doing? She is rebuilding her nest. I had to laugh. A setback did not eliminate her….it didn’t deter her….it only changed her path for a few days. 120401fi

My grandma was a lot like that old crow….and I should be too. When the wind changes, that crow doesn’t just stop flying. She just changes the position of her wings. She doesn’t piss and moan and curse the wind, she just makes the necessary changes in her….hmmm couldn’t we all learn a lesson here? I have purposed that no matter what the results of the biopsy are….I will not let my life be derailed. I will continue forward. Do I know where forward will take me? No. But I never did before either. I only need to continue moving.

Blessed Be!

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3 thoughts on “Pitching a Hissy-Fit When Things Don’t Go the Way We Planned

  1. And strong you shall be….you have great support from the Goddess, and from us….blessings to you dear one. So proud. BB

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