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 |  This was my first blog, maybe my best blog...nah! The journey continues with another..!
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Check out this signature's match at Thomas  's blog** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "You want to become aware of your thoughts and choose them carefully. You are the Michelangelo of your own life; the 'David' you are sculpting is YOU!" Dr. Joe Vitale
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| A lot of people confuse rudeness and "proper etiquette." To me, "proper etiquette" speaks of white linen tablecloths and pinky fingers out when tea is sipped and white lacy gloves folded just so on the lap. No elbows on the table, by the way!  I have no etiquette. I really don't. I drop things too much. I slip and burp too often. I giggle and joke and can't possibly keep a straight face longer than it takes to serve "the first soup-and-salad course." Nope, no etiquette here! My kids laugh at the table, occasionally bicker  but always leave it after human interaction has had its say. I don't think etiquette in its actual form agrees with that. Which is why we don't practice it at my house, heh heh.We do, however, practice kindness. There's a difference. My kids often cross the line, I am the first to admit that one. They cross it too much and I never let them go without mentioning it, admonishing it, calling them down for it. Two of them are pretty much grown by now but I still do it, because I have a strong belief that in my house, it matters how they treat each other, it matters how they treat others, it matters how they feel about themselves--and don't kid yourselves, how you treat others has a direct affect on how you feel about yourself. I shake my head in consternation at people who truly don't get that. I've had more than one compliment thrown to me about my kids and their "manners." What others notice is their kindness. I work at it, have worked at preserving it since they were all born, because I am a big believer that you GET what you GIVE. It's getting tougher to keep pushing and plugging the "kindness" message because so many in our world are putting less and less stock in it. And in my own humble opinion, so much that is wrong in our society and our very world originates with just this...less kindness. Less understanding, less affinity for our fellow man. I'm not always kind. Just ask the people who live with me. I'm not always altruistic or giving or forgiving. But I try. I work at it. And I preach ad nauseum to my kids about how important it is. It's amazing; when I've said or done some little tiny nice thing to or for someone else and I walk away feeling...well...BIG!Try it. You won't be disappointed.  |
| Isn't it funny how what we think we want from life turns out to be what we really never wanted at all? How maybe on some level we find the life we think we want is attractive and even desirable, but in the end it's just not who we are or where we are supposed to be in this greater scheme of what we really need? For years I thought what I wanted was to be free and independent. I thought what I wanted most in life was to be like Mary Tyler Moore in her landmark sitcom, a woman alone and free with nothing to hold me down but the limits of my imagination. I started to think Chicago was it, the place I'd go and where I'd be this Mary character, footloose...cool, right?? "Life is what happens when we're making other plans." Ever heard that little saying? I used to enjoy it because it's always spoken about the particulars of my life, and now is not exception. I have been blindsided recently, you know, by a life event I honestly didn't see coming...go figure! Thomas is my soulmate, the sunshine of my days, the light of my very life. Thinking about him makes me smile, talking to him makes me laugh, being with him makes me whole. Now where did that fit in with Mary Richards and her bachelor pad?? Um, I don't think it does so much... But you know what? I have a new dream, one that feels so right for ME it's crazy. I dream, now, of sharing my life with Thomas Harper. I dream of my girls having the daily benefit of seeing a man who behaves with love and respect towards those he considers important to his life, who is giving and endlessly caring and lets them know men like this exist in the world. I dream of spending my days with a smile on my face and my nights in the arms of a man who makes me not only whole, but happy and satisfied and just plain content. I have a dream. To live my life with the man I love, to enjoy family life with all its ups and downs with a partner, a friend, a teammate, the love of my life. That's my new dream, my right dream, the best dream. |
| ...getting to experience, firsthand, what it's like to spend time with the one who makes you feel whole, the one who gives me that sensation of "ah HA! THIS is what's been missing all these years!" I'd look up at the stars sometimes and wonder at this vague emptiness I always felt, like something in my world wasn't quite right, I wasn't quite what I should be, there was something missing... Enter my soulmate, Thomas "Oooh," says my mind to my heart to my now very full soul, "so THIS is it! I was missing HIM and now I'm whole!" I never have less than a wonderful time with the man of my dreams, and last weekend is no exception. We started out with a bump that actually became part of the whole that was necessary to grow even closer to my best buddy who just happens to be the love of my life... And nothing is better than creating with someone who is the other half of who you are meant to be. I don't do "form" poetry so well, being a "tad" challenged in the patience department, but him? Oh he's a MASTER! We have our strengths and our weaknesses and it's so cool...they seem to balance each other out perfectly! Every day I have to spend with this man is a gift. Add others who enjoy poetry and the creation of it on an intense, professional level, along with programs designed specifically to challenge the mind and open the heart, and it's as close to perfection as we're going to get in this lifetime. And oh yeah, that bed really was so very soft and inviting. *innocent* |
| I had a Gary once. I was almost fifteen the first time we went on a date, the same age-on the same evening-when I received my first kiss. Ironically, even though Gary was someone I weak-in-the-knees liked, that first time was not a stellar moment for me. When he put his tongue in my mouth I was actually sort of repulsed. I couldn't believe this "french kissing" thing was done by so many people because honestly, I didn't see the draw in it at all. But that same night, after more talking, he did it again...repulsion gone! Hmm, I guessed it wasn't so bad... I've kissed a few men here and there since then , but you know, I have a poem I recently wrote about "Invalid Item"  , and the same is true of every kiss I've experienced.Thomas may not be my first kiss, but he sure is my best kiss. By a LARGE margin.   |
| What is strange? I had never even heard of this thing called "Craig's List" before I started looking for housing and a job and all the stuff necessary to human survival... Speaking of fish and babel, would it be too much, do you think, to ask Jesus to come down here like he did before-when he fed loaves and fishes to the masses out of literally nothing-and gift me with something similar? I mean it doesn't have to be a fish necessarily. I'd be just as satisfied with a place to plant my butt, with room enough for me to be alone and away from the almost-grown girl-types who insist on following me around , and it would have to be soundproof for their "occasional" raised voices. See Jesus? I'm not asking for much. Not that mansion on the hill outside my friends small town, not even a big space at all. I would like a yard for my crazy chicken dog who probably needs therapy as much as the rest of us and some space tucked away for the cat's litter box-I'd say "small space" but if you've seen Pumpkin the kitty cow...wouldn't work. I'd also like a job. A good job with benefits and great wages which give me plenty of time to write while on the job...eh, I'm stretching it, ain't I? Okay, how about this: a job that doesn't make me want to puke every time I have to go there with people who don't make me want to hurt them and a few perks which keep me sane. Now THAT isn't too much to ask, is it? Oh yeah, it can't be a standing job because of my knees. Oh, and I'd like to find one I actually LIKE if it's not too much trouble. Still not alot, right? RIGHT?? So a little subtle wording, a posting on Craig's List, and Jesus will read and agree to ALL my terms... I just thought of something. What if He doesn't READ Craig's List?!  |
| Madaleine L'engle is one of my favorite authors ever. She wrote my childhood favorite, A Wrinkle in Time, but she has writen so much more- I took a children's literature class several years ago, and one of the projects entailed taking a book written for what they now term a "young adult"-read that "preteens to older teenagers"-and create an entire lesson plan around it from beginning to end. She put a handful of books out on a table for us to choose. As luck would have it one of them was by Madaleine L'engle, and remembering the profound experience of that first book of hers, I snatched it up. It happened to be A Ring of Endless Light. I hadn't read the woman's work since I was much younger, and for some reason I'd forgotten that all of her books are connected, somehow. I find it fascinating that she does what another favorite of mine did, William Faulkner. He, too, related ever character of every novel he wrote to all the rest, indelibly marking his work with a continuity and a community feel few others have. And she does the same, Ms L'engle does! I go for the same kind of writer, it seems So it was I began to read my assigned book, feeling just a little funny about reading a novel intended for a young girl...I felt that way for the first half sentence. After that I was so hooked I couldn't put it down. I made dinner with my face in the book. I did laundry with my face in the book. I think I even did some algebra with my face in the book! Suffice it to render my opinion that this book is...phenomenal. It has one the Newberry award for fiction for good reason. This book about a young woman, about fifteen, coming to grips with the impending death of her beloved grandfather while at the same time starting to date and be interested in boys... She's torn between worlds, the one her grandfather has given her, full of ideas and intelligent dreams and lofty ideals, and the one her young female self wants, full of boys and parties and flirting...the two converge when one young man works at a marine biology lab, primarily with dolphins, and they discover she has a knack- You'll have to read the rest for yourself. This sterling piece of literature might say it's for "young adults," but anyone who has questioned the big "why are we here" and "what is our purpose" scenerio will have no problem benefitting from a novel such as this. Madeleine L'engle did it again. She touched me, moved me, and I never forgot. Oh to be an author like that! |
| I can't say I've been in a "funk" so much for the last couple of days, as perhaps I've been feeling overwhelmed, out of my element, like maybe I've bitten off more of this life than I can actually chew. I don't mind changes, not usually, and there's nothing I outright dislike about the changes I've brought about in my life and the lives of my offspring, except perhaps one: the need I have at this point to impose upon my friend Mandy's largesse and stay at her house long past my promised exit from it. She's being wonderful about the situation, still giving and patient and working hard to maintain a home in the middle of chaos...because no matter how well behaved or cooperative they try to be, five teenagers in one house is fodder for hair-pulling, teeth-gnashing, and perhaps the onset of a nervous condition in an adult, period. I feel an urgency to move along and away from having to take advantage of my wonderful friend, but for some reason I'm finding myself stuck. AARGH!!! I usually find answers to weird situations in my life under rocks, around trees, in the sky...but this time I'm stumped. And I'm rather bummed about it, feeling that overwhelmed emotion I sometimes tend to get stuck and wallow in. But I can't do that... Enter Reba. I was driving along in my "lovely" SUV and shoved a cd in, knowing it was full of country songs but not quite sure which ones. And then it happened, that little "ah-ha" moment, the kind you know has its basis in the Higher Power I attribute with far too many moments like this to chalk it up to coincidence. Here is the song she belted out: I was born 3 months too early The doctor gave me 30 days But I must have had my mama's will And God's amazing grace I guess I'll keep on livin Even if this love's to die for Cuz your bags are packed And I ain't cryin Your walkin out and I'm not tryin To change your mind Cuz I was born to be The baby girl without a chance A victim of circumstance The one who oughta give up But she's just too hard headed A single mom Who works too hard Who loves her kids and never stops With gentle hands And the heart of a fighter I'm a survivor I don't believe in self pity It only brings you down May be the queen of broken hearts But I don't hide behind the crown When the deck is stacked against me I just play a different game My roots are planted in the past And though my life is changing fast Who I am is who I wanna be Oh a single mom Who works 2 jobs Who loves her kids and never stops With gentle hands And the heart of a fighter I'm a survivor I've always loved that song because I can feel it into my bones. It's me, I AM a survivor. I've always been able to pull rabbits out of hats and make lemonade out of lemons-it's been one of my saving graces since I can remember, even before I became a mom. There are a lot of experiences I've had and things I've done that I shouldn't have been able to do...but I don't take "no" or "quit" or "give up" from myself very often...if ever. OH YEAH, my brain snapped, my heart popped up, and they sat straight up while my voice belted out the song. "I'm a survivor." Music reminds me of who I am, why I am, and how I came to be. It reminds me to cherish every day and the people I love who are a part of those days: The kids screaming, phone ringing Dog barking at the mailman bringing That stack of bills - overdue Good morning baby, how are you? Got a half hour, quick shower Take a drink of milk but the milk's gone sour My funny face makes you laugh Twist the top on and I put it back There goes the washing machine Baby, don't kick it. I promise I'll fix it Long about a million other things Well, it's ok. It's so nice It's just another day in paradise Well, there's no place that I'd rather be Well, it's two hearts And one dream I wouldn't trade it for anything And I ask the Lord every night For just another day in paradise Friday, you're late Guess we'll never make our dinner date At the restaurant you start to cry Baby, we'll just improvise Well, plan B looks like Dominoes' pizza in the candle light Then we'll tippy toe to our room Make a little love that's overdue But somebody had a bad dream Mama and daddy Can me and my teddy Come in to sleep in between? Yeah it's ok. It's so nice. It's just another day in paradise. Well, there's no place that I'd rather be Well, it's two hearts And one dream I wouldn't trade it for anything And I ask the Lord every night For just another day in paradise Well, it's ok. It's so nice. It's just another day in paradise. Well, there's no place that I'd rather be Two hearts And one dream I wouldn't trade it for anything And I ask the Lord every night For just another day in paradise -performed by Phil Vassar See? Just another song I love to remind me that life may not always be perfect or easy or even fun sometimes, but it's the moments, days, weekends that ARE which matter most. They're the reason to slog through the rest...and gee, I have no reason to be in any kind of "funk." I'm blessed with a man in my life who's ready to listen when I moan and groan and grouse and complain and generally feel darned sorry for myself, and he takes on the task to laugh me out of it, put a shining smile on my face with his humor and wit and intelligence and love...how crazy am I  Music reminded me. |
| I consider people watching a viable sport. As a writer I'm endlessly fascinated by what I see and who...and by what their stories might be. Can any of us guess just by looking? Have you ever gone into "paranoid mode" and wondered, yourself, if everyone who passes you by knows exactly what has occurred inside your life, your mind, your heart? Just how transparent are we anyway- I like to attach stories to the people I watch, occasionally giving them exotic lives in foreign places...what are they doing, visiting a Starbucks in Moline, IL? Why they're under cover, of course! What better way to throw off an enemy or potential assassin than by sauntering into a coffee shop in the middle of a banal small city in the heart of the Midwest?! Makes total sense...if you have a mind that works like mine For the most part though, I keep the stories I create around those I watch simple and perhaps as close to real as I can. I know the signs emitted by a haggard mother with a houseful of toddlers at home and not a whole lot of help-ever. I understand the harried face of a businessman worried about his workday, his salary, the security of his job. I get the restless demeanor of the young college student, bouncing on the balls of his feet while he waits for yet more caffeine, intent to study until life's answers and all the solvents for the world's ills come to him, one coffee at a time. Those are the most interesting stories. The ones that are real, vibrant, pulsing with life's ups and downs and disappointments and euphoria. The human condition is what I like to write most of all. So people watching is my sport of choice. As to that question, if others can see what's really going on in your world? Nah. But what they make up might prompt you into appalled surprise.  |
| What a loaded subject. Speaking of changes...well let's see...since June 1st I have discovered the love of my life-under my nose sure, but to turn in the direction we have...BIG changes already and ahead. For my entire family too, by the way. Relationships with my girls have changed as a result of this new relationship, a new way of seeing "mom", a new person for them to learn about and ultimately accept...and they have. But still, those changes loom... We have moved. We now live in middle Iowa, I travel often to Southern Minnesota and those girls of mine are learning what it is to have a mom who DOESN'T hover...in a new place, with new people, in new surroundings...Rachael is touring Drake University in DesMoines tomorrow. Just far enough from Ames yet close enough, but more of those pesky changes coming about. Sarah will be starting 9th grade at Ames high school, totally different from what she assumed would be her reality last June 1st. Yup, lots of changes. Too many changes? I don't think so. June 1st, the day my life looked up, went up, and my girls are along for the ride. It's all good....don't be afraid of them, those changes. You never know how good it's gonna be. |
| Isn't if funny, sometimes, how the smallest, most minute part of a distant memory can bring it flooding back into our minds? I know I can be transported with dizzying speed into another time and place with the whiff of an odor, the sight of an old building, the glimpse of a book cover... I was not a shy child. I was an energetic, talkative, excitable child; I believe my very presence made some people tired I seemed to be always bubbly, outgoing, sociable. I hid the rest down deep, the insecure little girl who lived with an always-angry grandmother, a tired mother who worked long hours for little pay, and an introverted brother who would close himself off to focus on his hobbies. The library was where I belonged, I felt. I would walk into the place and feel the hush of it wave through me, calm me in a way nothing else did. I could find a book, any book, from endless shelves of them, curl up in a cushy chair, and be transported to other lands, other worlds, other times and places...One day I pulled Madeleine L'engle's book off the shelf, A Wrinkle in Time. The cover was interesting to my ten-yr-old eyesight, I read the synopsis, and decided it was worth my time. Indeed it was. I began to read and my mouth dropped open. The girl was me. She didn't make good grades even though she was smart. She had a family that didn't pay a lot of attention to her, the father was gone, she felt stupid and alone and out of place. Wow. I was hooked. By the end of that story I was sobbing and happy and profoundly touched. That book altered my reality like nothing else ever had: the possibility of different worlds, a place for even the ones like me, who didn't quite fit anywhere else. The ability of a storyteller to affect a person so deeply they never, ever forget it. Before Madaleine L'engle there was the spark of a writer in my young soul. Afterwards there was a fire. This last March I opened a story, A Wrinkle in Time, and began to read it with my youngest daughter Sarah. At the beginning I felt a little disappointed, not remembering the childlike quality of the tale-it is a children's book after all!-but by the end Sarah and I were both sobbing and happy and profoundly moved. Sometimes you can go back.  |
| To me there is no difference in those two words up there. They are one. Have you ever experienced a relationship where the person in it with you is determined to be in competition? In a friendship, a relationship, or even a mentor situation like teacher/student or boss/employer. Some people wrap their entire self worth in "winning" against everyone and anyone, including those who are supposed to be closest to them. The idea of a "partnership" doesn't seem to enter their minds-it's all about the ONE. Sometimes these individuals, the ones with the most severe case of "one upmanship," want to be the best in life; they need to be happier, more successful, better off financially, have a better future. I once heard a conversation between two friends I couldn't believe-one was trying to talk the other out of college because it was "a waste of time" even though the friend talking seemed to be preparing for his fall semester...! It's mind boggling to realize some people have no concept of cohesian. It's darn sad! And so I look up at those words, Creativity vs Community, and I feel that familiar sense of wrongness. No, those two ideas aren't meant to be seperate. They are meant to meld together and become one. A creative community. Can you imagine it? Full of-yes I'm going there-color and vision and music and poetry and sculpture...paintings and stories and dancing... And the people are smiling, standing side by side, all different colors and ethnicities, smiling because it just doesn't matter. A creative community. Partnership. Now THERE'S Eutopia. |
| Walking into a room and having no idea why you felt the need to travel to it. Driving your car only to snap back into reality and find out you are miles from where you intended to be. Missing an appointment, or two, or three, or countless numbers of them because it dropped somewhere through the cracks of the hundreds of other thoughts going through a swift-moving, seldom-stalling little brain. So many thoughts flowing in and out it's no wonder something gets lost somewhere...such is the life of an adult with ADHD. I should know. You are reading the blog entry of one. The condition is so minimized because it was talked about so much not long ago. It's so dismissed by those who refuse to acknowledge its existance. What I can truthfully respond: You have no idea. No idea what it's like to forget something so simple it's embarrassing to admit it when you're an adult who is supposed to be responsible. You have no clue what it's like to look for the damn keys every morning of your life because you cannot remember when it's afternoon that you will be looking for them AGAIN in the morning!! There is just too much going on in there... Little things help. Sometimes drugs, sometimes behavioral therapy, always lists! I live by my lists, have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing without one. The bottom line, though, is that when you are an adult with ADHD, you must learn to compensate, laugh at yourself, be tolerent of your "scatterbrained nature," and live with it. I stole the last line of my "Myopia" entry back there *look down* from a research/persuasive paper I wrote concerning this affliction: Life is all about the colors. Learning to deal with all of the colors flooding into my brain all the time with no censor to mute them or sort them or keep some in the background...it's quite a task to handle them all coming at me fast and furiously, but I have learned...sort of. After all, life really IS all about the colors. 
*Note: The past several entries, and many to come, are part of a contest run by Mood Indigo. I'm enjoying the process, but I feel the need to explain to regular readers...so enjoy my contest entries; they're fun to write and challenging!* |
| Oooh, the sound my heart makes-okay, I can do that, but there is one slight problem. I don't have my heart. It belongs to someone else now. For all the years I've lived, I never realized what it was to actually hand my heart over to another person with nothing to bring it flinging back if the need arose. You know, to put a rubber band around it so it could bounce back when-not if-the one I lended it to was done with it after perhaps flinging it around a little. Or a lot. There is a piece of me I always hold away, a part of my soul no one every gets to see, or experience, or have... That has changed. On the heels of "revelations about my father," the absentee man who shaped my need to hold myself out of reach, and upon the discovery that one of my best friends in the world, a man I've connected with in every other way, saw me in a way no one else ever has, completely stripped of self protection, I gave my heart and it's "lub dub" beat to him. He's taking mighty good care of it. He is, after all, my soulmate. |
| Physically I have myopia. I wear glasses that become stronger every year, and I suffer frequent migraines as a result of my crummy eyesight. Without my glasses the world is a pretty blurry place. I didn't know until I was twelve and placed my first pair on the bridge of my nose that it's possible to see individual leaves, that stars in the sky twinlke one by one I've relayed to several people my experiences in drivers' ed class when I was fifteen-an experience in learning how important a simple pair of frames and corrective lenses can be to the active driver I've decided, though, that I'd rather be physicall myopic than the other kind... My mind reaches far and away, beyond where I live and what my daily world consists of. Like I mentioned in my last entry, I'm often visited in the night-and even at other times-by worlds and sights removed from what some consider "reality," and for this piece of myself I am gratified. It is because of this arena of thought that I am compelled to write, dance, sing, act...that I am pushed by some inner force to share what I percieve, to impart my concept of how to meld what IS into what COULD be... Sometimes I have to remember to be tolerant of those who experience myopia of the mind. I'm boggled when I stumble across someone who just can't see beyond the here-and-now, who can't see the colors and the meanings of words and songs and the deeper colors of art, dance, music...I stop myself from the familiar jolt of impatience and feel sympathy instead. Life is all about the colors. |
| I sleep, visited by the vibrancy of colors I sometimes have the opportunity to recall-and sometimes not. There are days I walk through, applying my normal routine and doing what must be done, but in the background is that haze. I know that many hours previously I was in another place, surrounded by a reality where dirty dishes don't exist, where a world of swirling mist is encased by nothing more than my mind's limitations. These worlds, these hazy rememberances of slumber are a catalyst to the tales I spin, the words that march ceaselessly through my mind and tap at me, urgent to be released... |
| I feel elite! Why you might ask? Because over at that other site known as myspace, I was befriended by the profile of Ghandi. Not really Gandhi of course, but by someone who runs a -space dedicated to him and his legacy. When I take those political "who are you most like" surveys, meant in terms of political philosophy, he is one I ssem to rub elbows with. Most who hear the name might vaguely recall his dark complexion, white robes...and oh yes, wasn't there something about fasting? Mohandas Gandhi was born on October 2, 1869. Ah, he was a fellow Libra! No wonder he treasured justice and the fair treatment of all above everything. He is most legendary for the practice of "passive resistance," a form of protest meant to convey displeasure with status quo society, but with an intent of non-violence. He was one who respected the sanctity of life and a man who practiced and demonstrated tolerence before it was "politically correct." In learning and considering the lessons Gandhi and his ideals continue to teach, I am reminded of several Independance Day blog entries I read last week. They touted the greatness of our country, the need for those who live in the United States to properly appreciate it, and generally rang that patriotic bell. I enjoyed the entries and thought they were nicely written for the most part and timely...but I saw something missing from all of them, and when I responded to one. I couldn't resist pointing it out: I am free to voice my opinions and ideas and ideals and I am free to worship my God...and so is everyone else in this wonderful country. Thank GOD IN HEAVEN there are those who grouse and gripe and complain...and remind us of how lucky we are to be in a country where they can do that without fear of imprisonment and/or torture and death. They may be fools, but they are fools who are safe to speak out and be foolish. Amen to THAT!!! I feel I might have been remiss in not adding something along the lines that our freedom certainly IS invaluable and we are indeed granted the right to worship...or not. Gandhi was a man of faith, but he was also a man of tolerence. He never imposed his own beliefs upon others without their consent, and he also did not stand in judgement of those whose opinions and life choices differed from his own. He was a follower of the concept "live and let live" unless there was harm being done in some way. Then he would not only speak up, he would activate himself and scores of others to protest with dignity, without violence. I'm just fine with being next to Gandhi on those political philosophy wheels. In fact, I'm honored. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| My daughters, all three of them, own a digital camera. At least they're around somewhere... They don't use them very often because these particular cameras are not what they desire. They are not expensive, not equipped with a lot of gadgetry, and certainly not designed to impress their friends! I know, WHAT was I thinking! Sheesh. Once I used my daughter's camera-I forget which daughter-to take a quick picture of myself. I don't have many posted if you haven't noticed and there is a reason for that. I take TERRIBLE pictures! I detest the way I look in them, always have. In my "comedy of errors" style I'm usually caught doing something weird or stupid or just plain odd. Once I think a photographer snapped in the middle of a gorgeous sneeze. Oh yes, pinup material. I'm entirely truthful when I tell others it really isn't about some lack of self esteem or that I think this digital beast will steal my soul-actually I think I'm cute, which is way better than model pretty in my opinion anyway-but man do I take baaad pictures! My oldest daughter Liz takes fabulous pictures, so of course I hate her My youngest daughter takes fantastic ones, too, being as photo friendly, somehow, as her sister. And my beautiful, intelligent, well-read, angsty middle daughter Rachael? Um, she takes after her mother, poor thing. She's cute, really, but her pictures never tell the whole story. Like me she's usually caught doing something odd or weird or just plain crazy. Sigh. What IS it with us?I KNOW! It's those darned cheap cameras! We need the GOOD ones, the EXPENSIVE ones, the ones with all those buttons and gadgets and whirring noises...eh, maybe not. I'd probably be startled by some gadget sound, widen my eyes, lean forward to figure out the sound, and take that all-important "I'm frightened for my life and must bolt" look. Or something. Besodes. back in the good ol' days BEFORE these "dreams in digital," my frozen-in-time persona was no better. My yearly school photos are the premier example of my "comedy of errors" world. SO not pretty! I'm resigned to my non-photogenic fate. I really am. Everyone will simply have to settle for the 3D version of me. If anyone has complaints about that...I'll show you my infamous "sneeze freeze." Okay no I won't. I think I burned that one in a ritual of some sort. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** the photogenic oldest ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** picture-challenged middle-this one's not so bad! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** the youngest who is a picture waiting to happen. Lucky kid. |
| There's something about spending a weekend with your soulmate that just ROCKS! Sometimes he finishes my sentences for me. Sometimes I finish his. Sometimes one of us will think of a joke, a funny one-liner to something someone near us has said, and all we have to do is look at each other to know--we are often of one mind. Sometimes a bratty mind He makes me laugh A LOT! He knows exactly how to tickle my funny bone and he takes advantage of that knowledge He sings. He sings songs to his favorite cds and I love them now because they remind me of him. He sings songs he makes up about whatever happens to be going on at the moment. He sings nonsense songs to be funny-and he is. He sings at the top of his lungs when he's happy and I get darn bubbly in response. Contrary to his belief, I WILL NEVER get tired of his singing. *Oh, and just in case anyone wonders, he does a great Shania* We talk. And talk. And talk. And talk some more. We confuse, amuse, annoy, or just plain flummox sales people and fellow patrons wherever we happen to be. Most often I'm kind of his "straight man" and he's the-um-"interesting one." It works! *I've never had so much fun because I've never found anyone else as outragous-thinking as me...until now* We inspire each other's muse, we come up with ideas for skits and new material for his comedy act...and we talk about immigration and politics and why we think what we do and how cool it is we mostly agree on the most important issues...we even agree about which issues are most important! BUT... He doesn't like onions, can you believe that?? I LOVE THEM! He thinks the Minnesota Vikings are a great football team. PULLEASE. It's only about the Dallas Cowboys, if only he understood---sigh. He also doesn't like kraut and that stuff is awesome. He's a chocolate FIEND and I am not. I like some once in a while but I could live without it. Upon reading that sentence he is now praying for my soul There are others...So you can see we are not completely alike and we don't always think the same, but he is that certain someone who makes my life richer, brighter, more colorful when I am near him. And when I speak to him. And when I think of him and can't help this wide, wide smile that threatens to engulf my entire face; it makes me look just a bit loony-tunes. There's something about the thought of spending many more weekends with your soulmate that more than rocks...it rolls, too. Heh heh. Of course this is dedicated to my soulmate Thomas |
| A few evenings ago I was at a softball game. My daughter's team was playing and I was dutifully in the bleachers where she likes me to be-even if I do get eye rolls and "mooom"s for my words of encouragement. She is thirteen, after all! The field where her softball games are played is quite nice. There are eight fields in all, and they're very well maintained, carefully policed, and kept clean and nice for the myriad of softball and baseball games that are played on them throughout the spring and summer. I don't know who "Spencer" is, but the area is called "Spencer Park." Most of the maintanance and day-to-day running of this operation is run by volunteers. We have an organization in the community called the "Dad's Club," and it's exactly what the name heralds it. Community dads have banded together to create softball and baseball teams for those youngsters who want to play organzed sports but aren't hell-bent on making the pros or even particularly talented enough...but play they do in the "Dad's Club." The uniforms are really spiffy looking and everyone gets to play. There is a level of competition but it's not brutal. To me the way "Dad's Club" runs team sports is what it should all be about. Teaching kids more than the sport, but teaching them about giving back, about team spirit, about community involvement, about HEALTHY competition. For the most part, these beautiful baseball diamonds, the lovely concession stands, and the nice sign above the park are maintained by the men who run this club. Walking out of the park at after 10pm, I was yawning and tired from an evening outside. To the side of me, walking out after their own baseball game, were two elderly gents all spruced up in their baseball finery. I overheard their conversation. "Who's gonna take down that flag?" "I dunno." Grunt. "Guess around here they don't care about the flag." "It's not supposed to just stay up like that." "People around here are too lazy to treat the flag right." "Well that's a shame." I looked up at the offending flag high up on a silver metal pole at the entrance to the park. And I couldn't help my own thought processes. The park is maintained and run by men who have families, two or three kids at least probably, with full time jobs, many of them important jobs, and most likely overwhelming commitments as a result. Yet these men find time to run a club which fosters the growth of our children while they work overtime to the nth degree making the park pleasant and safe for those same kids. They didn't find time to plan the taking-down of the flag nightly. Somehow, I don't think that matters in the grand sceme of things. The men who dedicate themselves to my daughter and all the other young people who have played ball at Spencer park won't remember that they "didn't take the flag down." They'll remember the time, the effort, the yelled encouragement, and the smiles of the tired dads who cared enough to be there. Now THAT is patriotism to me. |
| Anyone who has read my blog entries for more than a few months knows of a penchant I have that I haven't done enough of lately...that would be to plug other writers on this site and the work they create which speaks to ME and I just have to share with all of YOU. Now the writer and work I am going to plug this evening...you may think I would have some "motive" for this plug because of what I've said about this person in the far-to-recent past, but let me assure you that this is NOT the case! The short story I absolutely MUST share with all of you here stands on its own as another great story from a master storyteller, one to which we will all relate! How many of us have, at one time or other on this site or elsewhere, been the unfortunate recipient of the "review from hell?" How often have we sat, slack-jawed in amazement at such venom from a stranger towards work we considered more than a little worthy of literary consideration? How often have we writers been critiqued by someone who so obviously had no idea what he was talking about that you wondered where in the WORLD he came from and why he thinks he has the right to tear apart another person's creation with no consideration or care about actually HELPING?? WHERE do these people come from??? WELL. If you will sit back and take a few minutes to read one heck of a fantastic satire, you will find out. And who among us doesn't want to know?!
Go ahead, read! You won't be disappointed...no bias involved, seriously! |
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I know I'm not around much, and it's due to a myriad of things, but you know you can ALWAYS, always contact me here or on myspace, or whatnot. You're a kindred soul to me, you've helped me keep sanity even when you needed to keep your sanity just as much. You truly are a virtual best friend Susan. If you decide to move on with your life and meet new horizons, please remember me, and don't hesitate to keep me updated in some fashion please. 
