There should I suppose be some sort of conversation between us to make up for all my silence. Sound reasoning in fact should be laid out on the table of examination in explanation of my whereabouts for the past few months. Because I, the woman who once had more than enough time to blog all the things I wanted to talk about, has now become the woman who wishes she had more time to say all the things she'd really like to say. And today, with as much of a lark as it has started out to be, what with waking up to three puppies intent on playing in my bed, have decided that there really must be enough time to steal a few precious moments for the sharing of words.
As some of you may already know, or at least be marginally aware of, I decided well over six months ago to take back what had then been my life going in a downhill direction. For years I had willed myself to become complacent regarding my own personal health and well being. I had in fact given up, tossed in the towel, and made a passable peace with myself that as good as life could get, I just didn't have enough fight in me to make a true and honest effort. I made deals with myself that as long as my daughter could live the life I wanted to live, what happened to me really didn't matter.
And then I realized last January just how wrong I was...
"Love is watching someone die." - Death Cab For Cutie
Without detailing the complexity of my relationship with my stepmother, there is no doubt that the days leading up to her death and the afternoon she died had a profound affect on me. The reality of loss was overwhelming... The reality of life however was not.
Before Becky died, I made her a promise. A promise to care as best as I could for our family. To be there when I was needed and to take a back seat when I was not. Fulfilling this promise has been a gift of grace. I am closer to my Dad now than I have ever really been in my entire life, and my relationship with both of my younger sisters has bloomed into a garden all its own. And I am only now realizing that the promise I made to Becky was in fact a promise she made to me...
My eyes are watering as I sit here curled up in my chair typing away, though a small smile plays on my face. I think of all I've accomplished this year. The dedication and strength of spirit it has taken to get so far in such a short time with the encouragement of my entire family and their actual participation in the changes we have been making.
For Dad, Jodi and I, our commitment has been made to becoming healthy. Trekking to the gym everyday (though I've got to admit, we've been a bit lax this week) we have been pushing ourselves to the very limits of our capabilities, inspiring each other to work out harder, to do more rather than less and to encourage rather than discourage.
And each one of us has made significant progress from where we started... For me personally I am over eighty pounds lighter than where I began, and still challenging myself to lose more. Where once I couldn't walk a mile without thinking I would die from the attempt, I can now run a mile and half without stopping. And though I still think I am quite crazy for even thinking I'll be ready to do this by summer, Jodi and I have begun training to run a 5K road race in July.
The honest to God truth is that there is nothing impossible to achieve when you believe you can do it. You don't need a genie, a wishing star or a magic bullet to make changes in your life. You just need faith to begin, dedication to see it through, and hope to carry you forward into the blessing and opportunity of each new day.
I thank God for the family he has given me, for the people who have touched my life, and for the second chance that I have been given to learn the true lesson of life.
Live! Without fear. Without regrets! With everything you have! With everything you'd like to be! With all the goodness you have inside you to share! With absolute joy even in the darkest of days for even the darkness has its own blessings to bestow.
Live! Because you're here. Because you can...
A Very Merry Christmas
Before I can say anything else - or come up with a valid excuse for not giving anyone anything to read for well over a month and a half, let me be first (or quite possibly last) to wish you, your families and the entire known world a very Merry Christmas.
And though my Christmas is somewhat put on hold until my daughter gets home from her father's this afternoon, the Christmas spirit is all around me, from Santa Claus sitting in his plastic sled on my father's table, presents adorned in brightly colored paper held together by invisible tape beneath our tree to the four dogs at my feet begging for attention.
Grander yet is the addition of the fourth dog to our family this year...
Meet Sophia, or as she will most likely be called Sophie, Lucy's new sister... Who is actually Isabella's half-sister who is Arabella's sister who is indeed Lucianna's true sister from the same litter. In other words, we've got ourselves a bunch of related, non-related dogs.
And though I'm quite sure I didn't need another dog, especially a puppy to train and teethe, I've got to admit, it was love at first sight. But honestly, how could you not love a face like that?
For now however, I am back to Christmas and my bagel which hot from the toaster requires my attention. So in the spirit of the season, enjoy...
Passing the Torch
When bitching becomes a full time job, all I've got to say is, "I'm hired!"
Someone after all has got to point out where everyone on this planet is going wrong... From the waitress who never bothers to take your order fifteen minutes after you've been seated, to the moronic check out girl who cocks you the one second finger gesture in order to answer her cell phone be-bopping from her back pocket rather than wait on you, the customer.
Far be it for me to be the bearer of bad news but the absolute truth is that the days of good old fashioned customer service with a smile have long since left us with a poor imitation of what it actually is to what it ought to and damn well should be.
The thing is blaming the small fry who forgot your small fries or giving a brief and yet well punctuated lecture to the unsuspecting perpetrator of a really crummy service crime isn't nearly enough. Complaining on any level has to be taken to the top where the response to your plea garners far more than complete indifference followed by mindless eye rolling. At least you hope it does...
Unfortunately my daughter doesn't quite yet agree that situations such as these should be dealt with head on. Her idea of beating bad service is to slink out quietly without a fuss and say nothing. And though I could have once seen her point, I am far too much like my Mother to let these little things go without so much as a how do you do... Proof positive that with age not only comes wisdom and maturity but also the ability to bitch with good reason.
I consider it a skill... A life learning lesson between what's right and what's wrong and when it's wrong, I like people to know about it. After all if no one puts Baby in a corner, than Stacey (this would be me speaking of myself in third person and therefore the ultimate sign of I've got my own issues here to deal with) isn't going to sit quietly in the corner either.
And that's exactly where I was a few weeks ago when KC and I decided to go out on a Friday night for a little Mother/Daughter bonding over dinner made by someone else. Daughter's choice brought us to a local place just down the road a wee bit from where we live, a place that for the sake of this particular story I will call Carmen's where we walked in at precisely five o'clock and walked right back out of fifteen minutes later after we were literally seated and then completely forgotten about.
To know me is to know two things... (1)I've little patience for complete and utter stupidity and (2)Patience is one of those virtues I just don't have. And when my patience has been pricked, it normally results in a verbal mudslide either eloquently put or right down and dirty going after you with an ice pick precision of let me pour it on until you can't take it anymore, listen to me I've got something to say bitch session.
True to form it didn't take me long to get irritated by being ignored. After five minutes of mindless waiting, KC was well aware that dinner as planned wasn't going to be a smooth and easy affair. She tried making up her own set of excuses, "Wow. They're really busy in here," she said, looking around as if the cluster of we're just here for happy hour people constituted a great rush on the dining room's waitstaff. Meanwhile I eyeballed not one, but four waitresses standing around watching each other stand around. I was not happy...
I was not happy five minutes later whilst I was still waiting for someone to remember us, sitting there waiting without even a drink to wet our whistles let alone take our order... I eyeballed my cell phone, noting the time...
Speaking of time... Let me pause here to say, I'm going to have to part two you on this little event as it is now 11:20 (also known as my "special time") and my need to go to bed has far surpassed my need to finish this story... At least at the present time.
I know this is a bit weird to come out of the blue like this when things were just starting to sum themselves up quite nicely, but as in life, one must deal with the hand their dealt...
Tune in tomorrow, as I assure you that yes, there will be more...
Someone after all has got to point out where everyone on this planet is going wrong... From the waitress who never bothers to take your order fifteen minutes after you've been seated, to the moronic check out girl who cocks you the one second finger gesture in order to answer her cell phone be-bopping from her back pocket rather than wait on you, the customer.
Far be it for me to be the bearer of bad news but the absolute truth is that the days of good old fashioned customer service with a smile have long since left us with a poor imitation of what it actually is to what it ought to and damn well should be.
The thing is blaming the small fry who forgot your small fries or giving a brief and yet well punctuated lecture to the unsuspecting perpetrator of a really crummy service crime isn't nearly enough. Complaining on any level has to be taken to the top where the response to your plea garners far more than complete indifference followed by mindless eye rolling. At least you hope it does...
Unfortunately my daughter doesn't quite yet agree that situations such as these should be dealt with head on. Her idea of beating bad service is to slink out quietly without a fuss and say nothing. And though I could have once seen her point, I am far too much like my Mother to let these little things go without so much as a how do you do... Proof positive that with age not only comes wisdom and maturity but also the ability to bitch with good reason.
I consider it a skill... A life learning lesson between what's right and what's wrong and when it's wrong, I like people to know about it. After all if no one puts Baby in a corner, than Stacey (this would be me speaking of myself in third person and therefore the ultimate sign of I've got my own issues here to deal with) isn't going to sit quietly in the corner either.
And that's exactly where I was a few weeks ago when KC and I decided to go out on a Friday night for a little Mother/Daughter bonding over dinner made by someone else. Daughter's choice brought us to a local place just down the road a wee bit from where we live, a place that for the sake of this particular story I will call Carmen's where we walked in at precisely five o'clock and walked right back out of fifteen minutes later after we were literally seated and then completely forgotten about.
To know me is to know two things... (1)I've little patience for complete and utter stupidity and (2)Patience is one of those virtues I just don't have. And when my patience has been pricked, it normally results in a verbal mudslide either eloquently put or right down and dirty going after you with an ice pick precision of let me pour it on until you can't take it anymore, listen to me I've got something to say bitch session.
True to form it didn't take me long to get irritated by being ignored. After five minutes of mindless waiting, KC was well aware that dinner as planned wasn't going to be a smooth and easy affair. She tried making up her own set of excuses, "Wow. They're really busy in here," she said, looking around as if the cluster of we're just here for happy hour people constituted a great rush on the dining room's waitstaff. Meanwhile I eyeballed not one, but four waitresses standing around watching each other stand around. I was not happy...
I was not happy five minutes later whilst I was still waiting for someone to remember us, sitting there waiting without even a drink to wet our whistles let alone take our order... I eyeballed my cell phone, noting the time...
Speaking of time... Let me pause here to say, I'm going to have to part two you on this little event as it is now 11:20 (also known as my "special time") and my need to go to bed has far surpassed my need to finish this story... At least at the present time.
I know this is a bit weird to come out of the blue like this when things were just starting to sum themselves up quite nicely, but as in life, one must deal with the hand their dealt...
Tune in tomorrow, as I assure you that yes, there will be more...
Proud To Be A Democrat (Win or Lose)
I know... I know... I'm a bad little non-blogging blogger... But even so, you had to know I'd be around tonight watching my TV as if my eyes were glued to the screen with my fingers crossed and my heart hoping that the future of our country is about to change...
Change for the better that is...
So if I wake up tomorrow morning and I hear that Senator Obama will indeed become President Obama, I'm going to be one happy woman... On the flip side of the coin, if I hear McCain took the prize, I'm going to throw the covers back over my head, cover my face with a pillow (maybe even two) and scream like no one has ever heard a woman scream before...
That however is not something I want to even contemplate for too long... After all, I've been constantly reminded for the last eight years what's it like to have a republican at the helm... (Not that they're all bad... They're just not democrats!)
Change for the better that is...
So if I wake up tomorrow morning and I hear that Senator Obama will indeed become President Obama, I'm going to be one happy woman... On the flip side of the coin, if I hear McCain took the prize, I'm going to throw the covers back over my head, cover my face with a pillow (maybe even two) and scream like no one has ever heard a woman scream before...
That however is not something I want to even contemplate for too long... After all, I've been constantly reminded for the last eight years what's it like to have a republican at the helm... (Not that they're all bad... They're just not democrats!)
Something Short of Extraordinary
It's far too late to post, though truth be told, this one was going to be far easier on the eyes than what I've given you to read lately...
It will however have to keep until tomorrow when I'm not falling asleep in my chair, in front of my computer, freezing my little non-painted toes off.
And though technically tomorrow is already today, it's still going to have to wait until much later.
It will however have to keep until tomorrow when I'm not falling asleep in my chair, in front of my computer, freezing my little non-painted toes off.
And though technically tomorrow is already today, it's still going to have to wait until much later.
Straight Out of the Fog
Sometimes it's easier to hide behind a wall of words. Walking your way gently around the edges, coming just within reach of the moment you might, before hitting the wall of can't take the chance just yet.
Sometimes something needs to be said so loudly that the only way to contain it is to silence it completely from the outside world. You shelter it as if it needs protection. You give it plenty of space to call its own, but somewhere along the way you sacrifice yourself to keep your secret.
Sometimes it's easier to tell a complete stranger. Someone who has absolutely no expectations of their relationship with you. Someone who doesn't feel the need to say anything at all when you open up your mouth and speak. Someone whose reaction doesn't cause you worry. Someones whose feelings you feel no need to spare.
You give them bare facts without embellishments, the essence of every hurt, the freedom of every tear, the anger that you don't quite know how to express. You allow yourself to become vulnerable, opening up every door you've ever locked to let them see a glimpse of what's truly inside.
And then as quickly as you found yourself sitting in a room with a complete stranger telling her most of everything you've ever wanted to say, you suddenly go back to being silent. Like you cleared your plate after the meal was over, pushed yourself away from the table and went about business as usual as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
You didn't solve the worlds problems. You didn't even really solve your own. You simply let them breathe for a short while, and then returned them to the same exact place you'd been sheltering them for years. Holding on to them like precious jewels, valuables you didn't want to give away, refusing to let them go in a direction that did not take you along for the ride.
You did more damage to yourself willingly than the damage you could not control. Sanctioning it as safety and not the true case of neglect it turned out to be. You cannot forget yourself no matter how hard you try... And forgiving yourself some days seems all but impossible.
Bright lights however have a habit of shining. Beacons that call you forth from the ever present gloom. Moments when the world around you is so much bigger than the environment you've created. Times that call upon every ounce of strength you have to think of something more than just yourself while presenting the opportunity to find yourself all the same.
And you decide that inspiration doesn't always come in a pretty package with a red satin bow. Inspiration can grow like a flower watered by loss, in a body that still breathes for a second chance. And you stop waiting for someone else to hold your hand and lead the way, taking that first difficult step all on your own.
You say to yourself no more excuses. No more reasons why you won't. And you begin to list all the reasons why you can, why you will, and why you won't fail yourself this time around.
Because the truth is, you don't need to hide.
Sometimes something needs to be said so loudly that the only way to contain it is to silence it completely from the outside world. You shelter it as if it needs protection. You give it plenty of space to call its own, but somewhere along the way you sacrifice yourself to keep your secret.
Sometimes it's easier to tell a complete stranger. Someone who has absolutely no expectations of their relationship with you. Someone who doesn't feel the need to say anything at all when you open up your mouth and speak. Someone whose reaction doesn't cause you worry. Someones whose feelings you feel no need to spare.
You give them bare facts without embellishments, the essence of every hurt, the freedom of every tear, the anger that you don't quite know how to express. You allow yourself to become vulnerable, opening up every door you've ever locked to let them see a glimpse of what's truly inside.
And then as quickly as you found yourself sitting in a room with a complete stranger telling her most of everything you've ever wanted to say, you suddenly go back to being silent. Like you cleared your plate after the meal was over, pushed yourself away from the table and went about business as usual as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
You didn't solve the worlds problems. You didn't even really solve your own. You simply let them breathe for a short while, and then returned them to the same exact place you'd been sheltering them for years. Holding on to them like precious jewels, valuables you didn't want to give away, refusing to let them go in a direction that did not take you along for the ride.
You did more damage to yourself willingly than the damage you could not control. Sanctioning it as safety and not the true case of neglect it turned out to be. You cannot forget yourself no matter how hard you try... And forgiving yourself some days seems all but impossible.
Bright lights however have a habit of shining. Beacons that call you forth from the ever present gloom. Moments when the world around you is so much bigger than the environment you've created. Times that call upon every ounce of strength you have to think of something more than just yourself while presenting the opportunity to find yourself all the same.
And you decide that inspiration doesn't always come in a pretty package with a red satin bow. Inspiration can grow like a flower watered by loss, in a body that still breathes for a second chance. And you stop waiting for someone else to hold your hand and lead the way, taking that first difficult step all on your own.
You say to yourself no more excuses. No more reasons why you won't. And you begin to list all the reasons why you can, why you will, and why you won't fail yourself this time around.
Because the truth is, you don't need to hide.
Stuck In the Middle
Fear can make you stop dead in your tracks. And you stand still, hoping no one will notice that you've stopped while all the world continues on around without you. You learn to imitate its motions, going so naturally with the flow that you almost feel as if you could still be moving. So you begin to believe that being alive is half truth and half compromise. You give up what you have given up on. And you tell yourself that you can live like this, for a day, a month, a year, until you prove that you can regardless of how much you don't want to.
You think in some small way this makes life that much easier. To throw in the towel and wash your hands of the whole affair. To pretend you are who you always were and that nothing has changed you. But it has been years since you have been yourself and even longer since you have recognized your own face in the mirror.
You learned how to be defeated. To give up your dreams freely rather than allow for even one to be stolen. You blamed yourself for having too much confidence, too much pride. So you left yourself with none to even out of the score.
You gave yourself a rigid line of rules and held yourself straight and learned how to lean without bending. To say just enough without saying anything at all. To pretend not to understand while understanding more than they could ever know. You gave them all what they wanted, exactly what and whom they expected to see, fooling them all with the simple act of holding your tongue, knowing what words to keep and which words to say...
And you wait, preparing yourself, thinking maybe yes, this time you'll be brave enough to say exactly what you mean. Maybe then you'll understand how to cross the bridge and gain some distance.
You think in some small way this makes life that much easier. To throw in the towel and wash your hands of the whole affair. To pretend you are who you always were and that nothing has changed you. But it has been years since you have been yourself and even longer since you have recognized your own face in the mirror.
You learned how to be defeated. To give up your dreams freely rather than allow for even one to be stolen. You blamed yourself for having too much confidence, too much pride. So you left yourself with none to even out of the score.
You gave yourself a rigid line of rules and held yourself straight and learned how to lean without bending. To say just enough without saying anything at all. To pretend not to understand while understanding more than they could ever know. You gave them all what they wanted, exactly what and whom they expected to see, fooling them all with the simple act of holding your tongue, knowing what words to keep and which words to say...
And you wait, preparing yourself, thinking maybe yes, this time you'll be brave enough to say exactly what you mean. Maybe then you'll understand how to cross the bridge and gain some distance.
Compelling Is the Need To Be Funny
I am feeling the need to be serious coming on, but today, at this exact moment in time, I am more willing than not to overlook this need in favor of another.
Life after all cannot be completely serious from one minute to the next. Not if you want to have anything close to being considered a sense of humor and now that Ron has elected my blog for a status of reward based on the fact that he reads me and finds me funny (at least upon occasion) it puts all sorts of pressure on a girl to maintain the status quo.
I'm not sure I can do forced funny though. I mean if you're trying too hard to do anything, funny included, you end up being everything but the funny you meant yourself to be and you wind up being very unfunny, uninteresting, single, depressed and wondering why the only men who seem to be interested in you are the ones that make the idea of becoming a lesbian a viable option.
Life after all cannot be completely serious from one minute to the next. Not if you want to have anything close to being considered a sense of humor and now that Ron has elected my blog for a status of reward based on the fact that he reads me and finds me funny (at least upon occasion) it puts all sorts of pressure on a girl to maintain the status quo.
I'm not sure I can do forced funny though. I mean if you're trying too hard to do anything, funny included, you end up being everything but the funny you meant yourself to be and you wind up being very unfunny, uninteresting, single, depressed and wondering why the only men who seem to be interested in you are the ones that make the idea of becoming a lesbian a viable option.
So thanks to Ron for stressing me out! At least I know Connecticut is close by and I can still get married should I ever decide to go girl...
(Time out for a moment of seriousness... As a liberal democrat, I do believe that same sex couples should have equal rights under the laws of our land to marry. It may not be a popular opinion, but it's mine and I believe our America was built on the belief of being fair, free and equal for all and not just for some. If I ever run for a goverment office, you can bet I'll run on a ticket that is as honest as the day is long... And just to prove it, I have smoked weed and I would have been a complete moron had I not inhaled!)
Now back to trying to be funny...
Therefore if my blog is no longer funny, know this, I blame Ron. Say it with me now, "It's all Ron's fault from Troubled Ramblings with his award giving ways."
Funny however had me in stitches yesterday when my local library called me at my office to let me know we had an overdue. Or as I should really say that KC, the girl who doesn't like to read like her Mother likes to read, and shouldn't be allowed to take more than one book out from the library at a time without signing a promissory note to actually read it when she gets it home, has an overdue book that needs to be returned.
And so I asked the librarian as I am wont to ask questions when a question must be asked, "Could you tell me the title of the book that needs to be returned?"
Now librarians are normally pretty quick on their game being as they deal daily with a whole lot of black and white issues, and so I was a bit surprised when she paused, in this really big sort of dramatic pause kind of way and said, "I'd tell you that I love you, but then I'd have to kill you."
Oh yes, I tell you there is a God in heaven and I've little doubt he made this moment just for me. Because you know that I know that there is no way I'm going to resist the opportunity for making the most out of any moment where the punchline has been willingly supplied from the innocent and unsuspecting.
I beamed a smile across my face, sat forward in my chair, my elbows propped up on the edge of my desk and replied, maybe a little too eagerly now that I think about it, "Wow. I had no idea you felt this way." Letting the moment hang there just long enough to be slightly uncomfortable in a completely funny (see Ron, still funny) kind of way before letting her off the hook and saying "I take it that's the title of the book..."
(Time out for a moment of seriousness... As a liberal democrat, I do believe that same sex couples should have equal rights under the laws of our land to marry. It may not be a popular opinion, but it's mine and I believe our America was built on the belief of being fair, free and equal for all and not just for some. If I ever run for a goverment office, you can bet I'll run on a ticket that is as honest as the day is long... And just to prove it, I have smoked weed and I would have been a complete moron had I not inhaled!)
Now back to trying to be funny...
Therefore if my blog is no longer funny, know this, I blame Ron. Say it with me now, "It's all Ron's fault from Troubled Ramblings with his award giving ways."
Funny however had me in stitches yesterday when my local library called me at my office to let me know we had an overdue. Or as I should really say that KC, the girl who doesn't like to read like her Mother likes to read, and shouldn't be allowed to take more than one book out from the library at a time without signing a promissory note to actually read it when she gets it home, has an overdue book that needs to be returned.
And so I asked the librarian as I am wont to ask questions when a question must be asked, "Could you tell me the title of the book that needs to be returned?"
Now librarians are normally pretty quick on their game being as they deal daily with a whole lot of black and white issues, and so I was a bit surprised when she paused, in this really big sort of dramatic pause kind of way and said, "I'd tell you that I love you, but then I'd have to kill you."Oh yes, I tell you there is a God in heaven and I've little doubt he made this moment just for me. Because you know that I know that there is no way I'm going to resist the opportunity for making the most out of any moment where the punchline has been willingly supplied from the innocent and unsuspecting.
I beamed a smile across my face, sat forward in my chair, my elbows propped up on the edge of my desk and replied, maybe a little too eagerly now that I think about it, "Wow. I had no idea you felt this way." Letting the moment hang there just long enough to be slightly uncomfortable in a completely funny (see Ron, still funny) kind of way before letting her off the hook and saying "I take it that's the title of the book..."
My Take On Political Debates
In other words, everything you've already heard before. Like on the night of the first debate. Repeated once more during the VP cross exam. And now, one more time in a new format with the same questions and yes, even the same answers.
And all I have to say is one thing and one thing only...
Somebody wake me in November so I can cast my vote.
And all I have to say is one thing and one thing only...
Somebody wake me in November so I can cast my vote.
What I Meant To Say Was...
I'm self editing tonight. Writing a few lines, backing them up and erasing them rather than letting them hit the page with whatever force they're meant to carry. It's always much easier to think of things I want to say when I'm nowhere near a keyboard.
I do some of my best thinking while behind the wheel. And of course, the best thoughts are the thoughts you can't write down. And if you can't write it down, chances are by the time you find yourself with a pen in hand and a pad of paper in front of you, you can't remember whatever it was you wanted to say to begin with.
I keep meaning to drive with a tape recorder. Then again I hate the sound of my own voice so I imagine I might spend the entire time critiquing myself for sounding like a chipmunk rather than concentrating on recapturing my thoughts while I listen to me being me in mid-thought.
Still I wish I could remember whatever it was I was thinking about this morning while the windshield wipers washed away the rain, and the music on the radio was just the right song to get me in the right mood to say something so profound that I almost forgot I was driving.
Maybe I'm just upset because I went into Barnes and Nobles yesterday and walked out without a single book. In all my life, I've never gone in and come out empty... And I'm still trying to understand how it's even possible that there wasn't a single thing that tempted me enough to buy it and bring it home.
Could it be I'm losing my ability to find the right book at the right time, the one I'm supposed to read just when I need to read it most? Has my right touch gone wrong? Have bookstores denounced me as a traitor for my defection to the local library where books are free to read, enjoy and return within a limited amount of time?
I do some of my best thinking while behind the wheel. And of course, the best thoughts are the thoughts you can't write down. And if you can't write it down, chances are by the time you find yourself with a pen in hand and a pad of paper in front of you, you can't remember whatever it was you wanted to say to begin with.
I keep meaning to drive with a tape recorder. Then again I hate the sound of my own voice so I imagine I might spend the entire time critiquing myself for sounding like a chipmunk rather than concentrating on recapturing my thoughts while I listen to me being me in mid-thought.
Still I wish I could remember whatever it was I was thinking about this morning while the windshield wipers washed away the rain, and the music on the radio was just the right song to get me in the right mood to say something so profound that I almost forgot I was driving.
Maybe I'm just upset because I went into Barnes and Nobles yesterday and walked out without a single book. In all my life, I've never gone in and come out empty... And I'm still trying to understand how it's even possible that there wasn't a single thing that tempted me enough to buy it and bring it home.
Could it be I'm losing my ability to find the right book at the right time, the one I'm supposed to read just when I need to read it most? Has my right touch gone wrong? Have bookstores denounced me as a traitor for my defection to the local library where books are free to read, enjoy and return within a limited amount of time?
Maybe I just need to go back this weekend and try again. Me, the bookstore, my gift card, and a few quality hours to browse, sounds like a pretty good plan.
Went for a walk yesterday morning, just Lu and me and decided to take some pictures along my way. Nothing too earth shattering as I was using KC's digital rather than my own Nikon SLR. But what her camera lacks in quality, it more than makes up for it in its ease to carry.
And of course, when you've nothing to write about it helps to post lots and lots of pictures to just take up space.
A Saturday Sigh
The day begins early and to the do list grows without ever having written a word. What I need to do right now, is grab a shower, get dressed and get both KC and myself out the door and on our way to this mornings cross country meet... After that, once KC moves on to her Dad's for the remainder of the weekend, what I want most is downtime.
Time to maybe go over to Barnes and Nobles and spend a few glorious hours by myself in the stacks with a gift card tucked in my back left pocket just waiting to be spent. Or just time to leash up Lucy for a walk and enjoy the beginning of fall foliage on the trees. Or just time to do whatever, whenever simply because I want to.
Time to maybe go over to Barnes and Nobles and spend a few glorious hours by myself in the stacks with a gift card tucked in my back left pocket just waiting to be spent. Or just time to leash up Lucy for a walk and enjoy the beginning of fall foliage on the trees. Or just time to do whatever, whenever simply because I want to.
Why I Need To Get Out More
Have you ever noticed just how distracting man nipples can be? They can leave you speechless just when you need words the most. Words to say, "No. I don't have a laundry stick pen," when someone stands in front of you, pulling their polo shirt tight against their skin to demonstrate the location of their not even noticeable stain when all your eyes can focus on is one lonely man nipple, obviously cold and eager to say hello.
Doggie Dearest
Made possible by me... The one who emailed the link to the sister who has been trying to convince her husband to agree to bringing home a new friend for Dieter, sausage dog extraordinaire.
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If only more endings happened just as happily...
Welcome to the family Hugo...
From,
Isabella (Izzy), Arabella (Ella), Luciana (Lucy) and of course, your new brother Dieter.
** Hugo was one of the puppies rescued from an out of control puppy breeder.
Without good shelters and the good people who run them, far too many animals would be left without any options for a better life. My local shelter accepts donations of all kinds. Money, food, cleaning supplies and time...
If you don't know what your local shelter needs, give them a call.
You just might find a worthy cause, and a new friend as well.
Take Me Out To the Ballgame
Off to a Yankees game shortly, so no time to take the time to say much of anything at all...
And sometimes you just have to admit that this is the way some things in life work out. Or don't work out. Or sort of kind of work out, but not really work out at all, if you were keeping track of what does and doesn't that is.
If Derek Jeter takes one look at me and falls in love at first site however, don't expect me back anytime soon. That man has enough money to make the term extended honey moon a reality.
And sometimes you just have to admit that this is the way some things in life work out. Or don't work out. Or sort of kind of work out, but not really work out at all, if you were keeping track of what does and doesn't that is.
If Derek Jeter takes one look at me and falls in love at first site however, don't expect me back anytime soon. That man has enough money to make the term extended honey moon a reality.
A Matter of Friendship
We ate grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with tall glasses of milk. Messy but delightfully warm and delicious, and than it would be back outside, sometimes to swim, sometimes to play in the snow depending upon the season we were in.
She was my best friend before we grew apart, before my best friend became someone else, the person who knew me best until she stopped really knowing me at all. And yet, I can still remember so many minute details. Her Dad's ham radio, the way her Mother styled her silver gray hair, the exact layout of her house.
Small things like eating breakfast in the morning, her cereal never adulterated with milk. Or flying down the hill on our bikes like blurs, careless until we fell, skinning our knees and elbows and whatever else the gravel managed to grab.
We had our good moments, and our bad.
I remember a snowball fight ending once very badly, though I can't remember which of us were really to blame for it beginning. I do know however that it was I who dumped a significantly large shovelful of snow upon her head.
Shocked, cold and crying she ran into the house while I trudged slowly behind her, secretly sorry but feeling justified all the same. Either way it was a turning point, the first real wedge in what had been a solid friendship.
We were changing.
Getting older, seeing opportunity in new people, and beginning new friendships. A new grade, a new school, a transition from child to young adult, it seemed the right thing to do to let some things go, to forget to be friends as unintentional as it all seemed to be.
As an adult, I find I don't make friends as easily as I used to. Much more reserved than I ever was, and less willing to go out on a ledge and suggest the idea of going out to lunch, or sitting down to a cup of coffee, it doesn't seem as simple as throwing out the idea of being friends to make friends.
There are excuses as well... Being a parent, having a job, maintaining a household, or having a significant other, there are far too many reasons why there are simply not enough hours in a day to have more than one or two close personal friends.
But I am blessed with two such people, that regardless of the number I choose to call friend, quality in my case certainly exceeds quantity. To both Brenda and Sue, I say thank you. Your friendships are among the most treasured of my possessions...
Still I am reminded of a song we used to sing in Brownies, never mind that I never made it to full fledged Girl Scout.
Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver, and the other gold.
You don't need me to tell you how true of a statement this really is. You remember friends you've lost through nothing more than neglect as well as I do. Our only difference, is that I'm the one talking about it now.
I talk with reason however. A random copy on an email that results in a new old friendship taking blossom. And I find that regardless of how long a friendship has laid dormant, it takes only a few simple words to wake it from slumber. And I think to myself how wonderful this is, to be given a new opportunity once more, to meet again later in life and learn what has changed, and what has not.
I don't know if friendships are the same for men. But I do know that as women we need the relationships we forge between true sisters, and the sisters we create from our hearts. No one can make you feel better than a friend who knows you. Who is there to laugh and take joy from every good and wonderful thing to come your way and who stands strong and firm when gale force winds threaten to take you apart.
In whatever way we choose to be friends, be it through daily phone calls, once in a while emails, or the pages I leave her on this blog for you to read, I hope that if you take anything away from me at all, it's the warmth of unconditional friendship in the true spirit of which it's given.
She was my best friend before we grew apart, before my best friend became someone else, the person who knew me best until she stopped really knowing me at all. And yet, I can still remember so many minute details. Her Dad's ham radio, the way her Mother styled her silver gray hair, the exact layout of her house.
Small things like eating breakfast in the morning, her cereal never adulterated with milk. Or flying down the hill on our bikes like blurs, careless until we fell, skinning our knees and elbows and whatever else the gravel managed to grab.
We had our good moments, and our bad.
I remember a snowball fight ending once very badly, though I can't remember which of us were really to blame for it beginning. I do know however that it was I who dumped a significantly large shovelful of snow upon her head. Shocked, cold and crying she ran into the house while I trudged slowly behind her, secretly sorry but feeling justified all the same. Either way it was a turning point, the first real wedge in what had been a solid friendship.
We were changing.
Getting older, seeing opportunity in new people, and beginning new friendships. A new grade, a new school, a transition from child to young adult, it seemed the right thing to do to let some things go, to forget to be friends as unintentional as it all seemed to be.
As an adult, I find I don't make friends as easily as I used to. Much more reserved than I ever was, and less willing to go out on a ledge and suggest the idea of going out to lunch, or sitting down to a cup of coffee, it doesn't seem as simple as throwing out the idea of being friends to make friends.
There are excuses as well... Being a parent, having a job, maintaining a household, or having a significant other, there are far too many reasons why there are simply not enough hours in a day to have more than one or two close personal friends.
But I am blessed with two such people, that regardless of the number I choose to call friend, quality in my case certainly exceeds quantity. To both Brenda and Sue, I say thank you. Your friendships are among the most treasured of my possessions...Still I am reminded of a song we used to sing in Brownies, never mind that I never made it to full fledged Girl Scout.
Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver, and the other gold.
You don't need me to tell you how true of a statement this really is. You remember friends you've lost through nothing more than neglect as well as I do. Our only difference, is that I'm the one talking about it now.
I talk with reason however. A random copy on an email that results in a new old friendship taking blossom. And I find that regardless of how long a friendship has laid dormant, it takes only a few simple words to wake it from slumber. And I think to myself how wonderful this is, to be given a new opportunity once more, to meet again later in life and learn what has changed, and what has not.
I don't know if friendships are the same for men. But I do know that as women we need the relationships we forge between true sisters, and the sisters we create from our hearts. No one can make you feel better than a friend who knows you. Who is there to laugh and take joy from every good and wonderful thing to come your way and who stands strong and firm when gale force winds threaten to take you apart.
In whatever way we choose to be friends, be it through daily phone calls, once in a while emails, or the pages I leave her on this blog for you to read, I hope that if you take anything away from me at all, it's the warmth of unconditional friendship in the true spirit of which it's given.
Getting Rid of the Green Catchphrase
Have you ever noticed that the government has gone big on promoting all things GREEN but still refuses to admit that global warning exists?
Or that businesses that claim they're greener than a retirees well manicured front lawn still fail to implement a recycling plan right within their own facilities?
And can you even imagine that there are people out there right now who are absolutely against utilizing the classroom as a place to teach our children about the importance of conservation, thinking instead it's just an open opportunity excuse for liberal brainwashing?
To those people and really to anyone who thinks we're doing enough doing the very little we do, a wake up call! We have a responsibility to this planet, to leave it, if not the way we found it, than at least no more worse for wear. The world is not a replenishable resource. If we ruin it beyond recognition, there is no easy fix to put our mistakes right. Even now, we are fighting an uphill battle to combat against everything the human race collectively has already done.
But do we do enough?
Sadly the answer is no... And because we don't look at this beyond our own front door, or beyond our own lifespan, too many of us toss our concerns (if we have any)into the dumpster like one more bag of garbage to be gotten rid of.
Every individual needs to care. Every individual needs to be responsible for what they put in and what they take out.It takes a lot more to live green than it is to say you are green.
Isn't it time to admit we have a problem?
Someone Could Have Told Me
When trying to renew your vehicle registration, it's good to keep one thing in mind. The month it expires doesn't necessarily mean you have to go into panic mode if it's good through 2009.
Evidently it's still 2008 and as usual, I'm the last one to know.
Evidently it's still 2008 and as usual, I'm the last one to know.
If It Doesn't Make Sense, I Understand It Perfectly
I need a to don't list.
Let's face it. The to do list is old news. Been there. Done that. Or tried to do some of it before giving up halfway through.
It just seems to me that a to do list only knows how to do one thing, starting with one little got to be done and ending up with a whole batch of still got to do, which adds up to only one thing... Stress!
So I'm switching it up, turning things around, and trying something new on for size just to see how it might feel to be high up on the probability chart for completing a task by doing nothing much at all.
Doubt not my genius good people! I am like a pioneer left stranded on the Oregon Trail faced with the horror of making a decision between (A), (B), (C), or (Depending Doom). Will I trade the bullets needed to shoot big game to buy a two ounce vial of Chicken Pox vaccine to save poor Tommy's life, or will I hook up with another wagon train, and barter my old washing tub in return for a ride on a half dead donkey?
Or will I completely get off topic and wind up talking about something so out of the blue that I'll have no idea of how to get back to what I was originally saying?
Some things, like how many licks it takes to get to the center of a tootsie pop, the world may never know...
Let's face it. The to do list is old news. Been there. Done that. Or tried to do some of it before giving up halfway through.
It just seems to me that a to do list only knows how to do one thing, starting with one little got to be done and ending up with a whole batch of still got to do, which adds up to only one thing... Stress!
So I'm switching it up, turning things around, and trying something new on for size just to see how it might feel to be high up on the probability chart for completing a task by doing nothing much at all.
Doubt not my genius good people! I am like a pioneer left stranded on the Oregon Trail faced with the horror of making a decision between (A), (B), (C), or (Depending Doom). Will I trade the bullets needed to shoot big game to buy a two ounce vial of Chicken Pox vaccine to save poor Tommy's life, or will I hook up with another wagon train, and barter my old washing tub in return for a ride on a half dead donkey?
Or will I completely get off topic and wind up talking about something so out of the blue that I'll have no idea of how to get back to what I was originally saying?
Some things, like how many licks it takes to get to the center of a tootsie pop, the world may never know...
To Do List Be Damned
There are about a hundred things on my to do list tonight and only about a one in one hundred chance that something on that list might actually get done...
I have however had dinner. A truly gourmet meal of Kashi whole grain, honey imbibed something that looked like cereal - but didn't taste nearly as good as a bowl of chocolate peanut butter pops - dowsed with just the right amount of skim milk to make it look perfectly enticing.
If we must be honest with each other, and I feel we must, enticing is was not. It was however quick, easy, to the point, and absolutely no fuss on a night when I was running late from work, had nothing much else in the house to make, and no intention of cleaning up until tomorrow.
In other words, it worked for me.
I have however had dinner. A truly gourmet meal of Kashi whole grain, honey imbibed something that looked like cereal - but didn't taste nearly as good as a bowl of chocolate peanut butter pops - dowsed with just the right amount of skim milk to make it look perfectly enticing.
If we must be honest with each other, and I feel we must, enticing is was not. It was however quick, easy, to the point, and absolutely no fuss on a night when I was running late from work, had nothing much else in the house to make, and no intention of cleaning up until tomorrow.
In other words, it worked for me.
KC on the other hand had a microwave mac and cheese meal courtesy of Stouffer's. I might have had some too, but I made the mistake of looking at the calorie count including the calorie count from fats and decided as my breath expelled itself out in a sigh, that it was most definitely off my list of the can eat eats.
Still even KC knows better than to think that this kind of meal is the norm in our house. We are more a brown rice and chicken prepared in a thousand different ways family. A family who avoids fast food at all cost, and rarely buys prepacked prepared meals except for infrequent occasions when it's just too convenient to pass up.
My daughter however isn't happy over our healthier lifestyle. She thinks I'm denying her her right to double cheeseburgers at McDonald's, and she had a perfectly good snit the other night when I absolutely refused to stop at the drive-thru to fulfill her need for a chocolate milkshake. Twenty unbearable minutes of listening to her whine, complain, and moan incessantly over my not stopping, she finally went mute and gave it up.
In other news, and yes, I do have other news. I finally found my missing library book on Saturday beneath my dresser in my room, though I swear I had looked there about a thousand time before to no avail. Excited as I was to have it in my hands, I must admit I was a little nervous about the overdue fee. After all there are only so many times you can renew something you can't find before the library catches on. Lucky for me, the fine was reasonable. Seven dollars, paid in full, was well worth being able to check out more books. Two of which I've already read and returned and one that as of this morning, I am now halfway through. I just can't seem to help myself...
Books are like a constant northern star, always a new name, and a new place, but a welcome respite all the same.
Actually I think I finally did manage to make a dent in my own prolific scratchings. Like a mute swan in a frozen lake, my ideas have been trapped in ice. And nothing, no matter what I did, could chip those ice blocks away. That is, until I read something quite by accident. And then the thaw began, and a name popped into my mind and I could see her as if she had been patiently waiting just to exist the moment I was able to call her into being.
Her story began tumbling out of me, breathing its own air, waking me from my sleep to sit in front of my computer late at night and listen to everything she had to say. And she is very wordy, wanting to talk no matter what the time, no matter what it is I should be doing. And so I wake up to the randomness of her mutterings and do my best to write them down as fast as I am able before they slip away like fading headlights into the fog.
Still even KC knows better than to think that this kind of meal is the norm in our house. We are more a brown rice and chicken prepared in a thousand different ways family. A family who avoids fast food at all cost, and rarely buys prepacked prepared meals except for infrequent occasions when it's just too convenient to pass up.
My daughter however isn't happy over our healthier lifestyle. She thinks I'm denying her her right to double cheeseburgers at McDonald's, and she had a perfectly good snit the other night when I absolutely refused to stop at the drive-thru to fulfill her need for a chocolate milkshake. Twenty unbearable minutes of listening to her whine, complain, and moan incessantly over my not stopping, she finally went mute and gave it up.
In other news, and yes, I do have other news. I finally found my missing library book on Saturday beneath my dresser in my room, though I swear I had looked there about a thousand time before to no avail. Excited as I was to have it in my hands, I must admit I was a little nervous about the overdue fee. After all there are only so many times you can renew something you can't find before the library catches on. Lucky for me, the fine was reasonable. Seven dollars, paid in full, was well worth being able to check out more books. Two of which I've already read and returned and one that as of this morning, I am now halfway through. I just can't seem to help myself...Books are like a constant northern star, always a new name, and a new place, but a welcome respite all the same.
Actually I think I finally did manage to make a dent in my own prolific scratchings. Like a mute swan in a frozen lake, my ideas have been trapped in ice. And nothing, no matter what I did, could chip those ice blocks away. That is, until I read something quite by accident. And then the thaw began, and a name popped into my mind and I could see her as if she had been patiently waiting just to exist the moment I was able to call her into being.
Her story began tumbling out of me, breathing its own air, waking me from my sleep to sit in front of my computer late at night and listen to everything she had to say. And she is very wordy, wanting to talk no matter what the time, no matter what it is I should be doing. And so I wake up to the randomness of her mutterings and do my best to write them down as fast as I am able before they slip away like fading headlights into the fog.
Who's Your Daddy?
Dear Noisy Neighbors Downstairs,
It would be ever so nice of you to not leave your television set on at top volume from the moment my head hits the pillow at night, to the minute my alarm goes off in the morning. You see, and I don't think is going to come as any out of the blue surprise, people who have jobs need plenty of peaceful and relaxing sleep in order to be able to function properly throughout their workday.
I'm sure that if you had a job, you would probably be better able to see the bigger picture as to why I can't stand you without ever having met you face to face...
As for your sex life which you so kindly decided to share with everyone within a one mile hearing distance the other night, let me just point out that I honestly do hope he's really not your Daddy, and that you have some hair left in your head despite your pleas for him to pull it harder...
Had I not heard it for myself, I might have gone on to believe that white trash sex talk didn't exist... Thank you for providing me with such an extensive repertoire to add to my vocabulary. I can now rest easy in my new found knowledge that should the situation ever call for it, I'll know exactly what to say and when!
Here's hoping you'll find a new place to move that's much more suitable to your personality really soon...
Your Neighbor and Nemesis Upstairs
PS... Garbage goes in the bin, not outside it. Try lifting the lid, it always seems to work really well for me.
It would be ever so nice of you to not leave your television set on at top volume from the moment my head hits the pillow at night, to the minute my alarm goes off in the morning. You see, and I don't think is going to come as any out of the blue surprise, people who have jobs need plenty of peaceful and relaxing sleep in order to be able to function properly throughout their workday.
I'm sure that if you had a job, you would probably be better able to see the bigger picture as to why I can't stand you without ever having met you face to face...
As for your sex life which you so kindly decided to share with everyone within a one mile hearing distance the other night, let me just point out that I honestly do hope he's really not your Daddy, and that you have some hair left in your head despite your pleas for him to pull it harder...Had I not heard it for myself, I might have gone on to believe that white trash sex talk didn't exist... Thank you for providing me with such an extensive repertoire to add to my vocabulary. I can now rest easy in my new found knowledge that should the situation ever call for it, I'll know exactly what to say and when!
Here's hoping you'll find a new place to move that's much more suitable to your personality really soon...
Your Neighbor and Nemesis Upstairs
PS... Garbage goes in the bin, not outside it. Try lifting the lid, it always seems to work really well for me.
The Bitch Blog
Feeling much more myself tonight and not like I'm about to knock, knock on heaven's door, it's a good time to open up with a little bit more bitch and a lot less bite my tongue until it bleeds.
I am annoyed...
Though admittedly I've been annoyed almost my entire life towards one thing or another and cannot say at this time that this is something new...
This time however I'm really above my limit of tolerance annoyed.
Annoyed at people who act more like a spoiled three year old child set loose in a workplace with behavior that is quite unacceptable in the parameters of nine to five office life.
My philosophy is do your job, work with whom you must work with, and leave your personal differences at the door. Notice I didn't mention like or respect. That kind of thing isn't necessary when relying on professionalism.
So if someone chooses not to talk to me, I'm all for their choice and more than happy that they made one.
I do not however enjoy playing patty cakes with a third co-worker whose only purpose in the mix is to relay messages back and forth as if they're the cheap ass string in a two tin can conversation.
(The Scenario)
Ten minutes into my day, co-worker "A" utilized co-worker "B" for what I have now decided is the absolute, not going to play this game anymore, last time.
What is was exactly that set me off my ice block this morning, I'm not sure I know. All I know is that it was just enough to push me out of my chair and across the hall to say what I've been wanting to say for over six months.
It went a little something like this...
"If you have a question you need to ask me, or some documentation you need to get to me or from me, I'd appreciate it if you would ask me direct rather than sending in co-worker "B" to get it for you."
Co-worker "A" froze, looking at me as if she were a shocked deer in the headlights, visibly stumbling over what to say in response. (It could of course be contributed to the fact than when I'm angry, and I was seething, I can be quite formidable, in a very intimidating way when one does not take into account my five foot stature.)
She didn't have much to say however, other than an excuse which I quickly blew to smithereens with one little huff and a short little puff.
"Don't think I haven't noticed that you've been bypassing me for months. Whatever grudge you've got, you feel free to keep right on carrying it, but for the sake of getting the job done, get over it when it comes to our working relationship, so we can all stop playing footsie."
I didn't wait for a reply. And to be honest, I didn't find it necessary. Had my buttons not been pushed to the point of must explode or else, I would have let it slide another day, another week, another month, only for the sake of not giving her the satisfaction of letting her know that I was ever affected by any of it at all.
There are two truths I know when it comes down to holding a grudge.
One, it's a well known fact that the person holding it expands much more energy to do so than the one the grudge is being held against.
And two, if you're the rock in my pocket, believe you me, I've already let you go.
I am annoyed...
Though admittedly I've been annoyed almost my entire life towards one thing or another and cannot say at this time that this is something new...
This time however I'm really above my limit of tolerance annoyed.
Annoyed at people who act more like a spoiled three year old child set loose in a workplace with behavior that is quite unacceptable in the parameters of nine to five office life.
My philosophy is do your job, work with whom you must work with, and leave your personal differences at the door. Notice I didn't mention like or respect. That kind of thing isn't necessary when relying on professionalism.
So if someone chooses not to talk to me, I'm all for their choice and more than happy that they made one. I do not however enjoy playing patty cakes with a third co-worker whose only purpose in the mix is to relay messages back and forth as if they're the cheap ass string in a two tin can conversation.
(The Scenario)Ten minutes into my day, co-worker "A" utilized co-worker "B" for what I have now decided is the absolute, not going to play this game anymore, last time.
What is was exactly that set me off my ice block this morning, I'm not sure I know. All I know is that it was just enough to push me out of my chair and across the hall to say what I've been wanting to say for over six months.
It went a little something like this...
"If you have a question you need to ask me, or some documentation you need to get to me or from me, I'd appreciate it if you would ask me direct rather than sending in co-worker "B" to get it for you."
Co-worker "A" froze, looking at me as if she were a shocked deer in the headlights, visibly stumbling over what to say in response. (It could of course be contributed to the fact than when I'm angry, and I was seething, I can be quite formidable, in a very intimidating way when one does not take into account my five foot stature.)
She didn't have much to say however, other than an excuse which I quickly blew to smithereens with one little huff and a short little puff.
"Don't think I haven't noticed that you've been bypassing me for months. Whatever grudge you've got, you feel free to keep right on carrying it, but for the sake of getting the job done, get over it when it comes to our working relationship, so we can all stop playing footsie."
I didn't wait for a reply. And to be honest, I didn't find it necessary. Had my buttons not been pushed to the point of must explode or else, I would have let it slide another day, another week, another month, only for the sake of not giving her the satisfaction of letting her know that I was ever affected by any of it at all.
There are two truths I know when it comes down to holding a grudge.
One, it's a well known fact that the person holding it expands much more energy to do so than the one the grudge is being held against.
And two, if you're the rock in my pocket, believe you me, I've already let you go.
Chillin' & Illin'
When you're coughing up phlegm, you can look at it in one of two ways. And while completely sucking on the sick front is a valid opinion of catching a cold in the tail end of summer, a more positive spin on the situation would be to say, "It's better out than in."
I may have stolen that line from Shrek, and you'll just have to forgive me if I did...
But honestly, feeling as ill as I have for the past four days, a little slack on the whole plagiarism issue is an absolute must have for the September season. I am after all sick, and should be treated with some respect if not at least a marginal amount of passing concern.
Chicken soup however doesn't seem to be doing its job. I made a whole super size batch from scratch Thursday night when I first felt this coming on, and it hasn't made a lick of difference. At least not one that I've noticed. Then again it's pretty hard to notice much of anything when you're passed out on the furniture drooling.
Being sick did not keep me from taking KC to her Jonas Brother's concert Friday night despite a pounding headache made much worse by the sound of a thousand, if not more, screaming girls professing their undying love for Kevin, Nick and Joe. And I must admit, though it's begrudgingly, that those partly prepubescent boys do indeed have natural God given talent enabling them to put on quite a show.And KC, well to say she had a great time would be putting it mildly... In fact, I'd even go so far to say that in her opinion it was a most perfect night. Heartfelt thanks should then be said (again and in print) to Grandma Nancy for making the impossible possible. Had it been left up to me, this is one concert that might not have had a happy ending.
Ending a Dry Spell
Understanding defies logic. You cannot after all make sense out of something that makes no sense at all. But there it is. A light shining beacon in the darkness that turns itself on faster than you can flick a switch and the idea begins to grow.
And you remember what it is to write with purpose and with passion.
One seed. One thought. Fed, watered, allowed to bloom, taking shape beneath a tender hand.
And you remember what it is to write with purpose and with passion.
One seed. One thought. Fed, watered, allowed to bloom, taking shape beneath a tender hand.
Home Chillin'
I skipped the gym tonight in favor of staying home with Lucy, who with her plastic looks like she got her head stuck in a lampshade but effectively keeps her from getting at her stitches collar, looks ready for a flight into outer space.
Our lunar landing notwithstanding, I am at least doing one positive thing today just by stopping in to say hello. Of course that doesn't mean my hello is going to last all that long. Not tonight I'm afraid when I'm more than ready to call it a night, than fight with myself for something to write about.
And since today was more work than play, there really isn't much fodder in the larder for public fanfare. It was so busy in fact, that I never even noticed that my radio remained eerily off.
My yawning however has reminded me that it's far beyond the time for bed.
I am to sleep posthaste...
Making Faces
People who take random pictures of you sticking your tongue out and then post them on the Internet ought to be taken out and flogged until they can't so much as press the button on a point and shoot camera.
Seriously... I'm not photogenic. And it certainly doesn't help when I'm making faces in the midst of an unscripted Kodak moment.
And yes, I know I'm partly to blame... I mean I was the one sticking my tongue out and all, but honestly, does that mean we have to share it with the entire world?
Sigh... If only I were a vampire, this so wouldn't be a problem.
Not A Political Blog
Oh dear...
I am days late again with keeping up to date on events that are for the most part current. As usual however there is nothing of any great import to share with you, nor the world at large.
I sit here in the dark, attempting to fade out the noise of cars passing by with Italian arias. I am if I were to be honest, a tad bit lonely tonight with both my daughter and my fearless pup gone away.
KC at her father's is for the most part a welcome respite. After the pass few days, one of which included a four girl sleepover, and then an entire day spent in their sleep deprived company, followed by an even more heinous day of school shopping on a budget, I am more than ready for my fair share of solitude.
Lulu's absence however sits on my heart like a rock. And as bad as I know this is going to sound, I miss my little rat dog with her goofy grin, her half cocked ears and the way she cuddles up on the couch, resting her chin on the edge so she's always near me, even while I write.
I am overly attached to my dog. I admit it. It's just a welcome relief to know that at the end of the day, there's at least one happy face to greet me at the door. Not that KC doesn't try, but her greetings are usually followed up with a long want list and then a long face when I do my parental duty by saying, "No." (I practice that one in the mirror all of the time, and only manage to get it right half of the time.)
Thankfully Lulu will be home tomorrow from her brief and temporary stay at the vets. As a responsible pet owner, I did what must be done and had her spayed. I didn't want to do it necessarily, but it was the right thing to do and I (almost) always (except for occasionally once in a while) do the right thing.
Of course, when I do do the wrong thing, I can be counted on to make it one hell of a big blunder. But honestly, who can be good all of the time? (Okay... So Mother Theresa! But besides her, who?)
Which brings me to yet another opinion I feel the need to share...
What was Obama thinking? Joseph Biden? What?
Okay... okay. I get it. With Hillary in his camp, he would have had a constant power struggle on his hand, someone who would have always questioned his politics, policies and procedures. And yet, I can't say that this sounds like a bad thing...
Sure I probably wouldn't appreciate having someone all up in my business (not you guys, you're like invited) all of the time, but then again, I'm not on a public platform asking to be nominated as your President. Unless you really want me there, and then by all means, throw in my name and we'll see what happens.
Note to self: Mandatory three day work week to be implemented the minute I hit the oval office. Change weekends to include Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday. No exceptions!
But honestly, it would have been a political dream team. And I would feel a hell of a lot more secure in my vote had he chosen a woman who many in this country are still more for than either Barack himself or Bush's clone McCain...
And just to point out the obvious, if you hadn't yet realized I'm a registered democrat, I guess the cat is pretty much out of the bag at this point. This will not, as no one as my witness however, become a political blog... I just don't have it in me to stay on top of every issue that's going to be in the news for the next three months.
But honestly, you'd think that we could vote for people who would be above mud slinging. Every side may do it, but then again, I'm not jumping off a bridge just because my best friend might decide to give it a try. And the fact that I am seriously afraid of heights pretty much keeps me away from the edge anyway.
I am days late again with keeping up to date on events that are for the most part current. As usual however there is nothing of any great import to share with you, nor the world at large.
I sit here in the dark, attempting to fade out the noise of cars passing by with Italian arias. I am if I were to be honest, a tad bit lonely tonight with both my daughter and my fearless pup gone away.
KC at her father's is for the most part a welcome respite. After the pass few days, one of which included a four girl sleepover, and then an entire day spent in their sleep deprived company, followed by an even more heinous day of school shopping on a budget, I am more than ready for my fair share of solitude.
Lulu's absence however sits on my heart like a rock. And as bad as I know this is going to sound, I miss my little rat dog with her goofy grin, her half cocked ears and the way she cuddles up on the couch, resting her chin on the edge so she's always near me, even while I write.
I am overly attached to my dog. I admit it. It's just a welcome relief to know that at the end of the day, there's at least one happy face to greet me at the door. Not that KC doesn't try, but her greetings are usually followed up with a long want list and then a long face when I do my parental duty by saying, "No." (I practice that one in the mirror all of the time, and only manage to get it right half of the time.)
Thankfully Lulu will be home tomorrow from her brief and temporary stay at the vets. As a responsible pet owner, I did what must be done and had her spayed. I didn't want to do it necessarily, but it was the right thing to do and I (almost) always (except for occasionally once in a while) do the right thing.
Of course, when I do do the wrong thing, I can be counted on to make it one hell of a big blunder. But honestly, who can be good all of the time? (Okay... So Mother Theresa! But besides her, who?)
Which brings me to yet another opinion I feel the need to share...
What was Obama thinking? Joseph Biden? What?
Okay... okay. I get it. With Hillary in his camp, he would have had a constant power struggle on his hand, someone who would have always questioned his politics, policies and procedures. And yet, I can't say that this sounds like a bad thing...
Sure I probably wouldn't appreciate having someone all up in my business (not you guys, you're like invited) all of the time, but then again, I'm not on a public platform asking to be nominated as your President. Unless you really want me there, and then by all means, throw in my name and we'll see what happens.
Note to self: Mandatory three day work week to be implemented the minute I hit the oval office. Change weekends to include Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday. No exceptions!
But honestly, it would have been a political dream team. And I would feel a hell of a lot more secure in my vote had he chosen a woman who many in this country are still more for than either Barack himself or Bush's clone McCain...
And just to point out the obvious, if you hadn't yet realized I'm a registered democrat, I guess the cat is pretty much out of the bag at this point. This will not, as no one as my witness however, become a political blog... I just don't have it in me to stay on top of every issue that's going to be in the news for the next three months.
But honestly, you'd think that we could vote for people who would be above mud slinging. Every side may do it, but then again, I'm not jumping off a bridge just because my best friend might decide to give it a try. And the fact that I am seriously afraid of heights pretty much keeps me away from the edge anyway.
When It Rains
Odd happenings in the world today that have raised the question of, "Huh?"
Namely an email conversation that started early on this morning and lasted until the very last minutes of my day with the not so mysterious and until today extremely silent Mister H.
And since my current flirtation was too busy to play email tag whilst preparing for his vacation, I simply switched my attentions back momentarily to see what it was my old friend had to say.
It turns out we had lots of skimming the surface to speak of, though it was painfully obvious that anything else would have been too much information after too long a silence. And yet, I have to wonder what exactly is was all about and what purpose it might have served.
For me the answers are not forthcoming. And as much as I am a woman who likes answers to every single question I've ever had, even I know that for some questions the only true answer you'll ever hear is quite simply the one you don't.
Which doesn't make me feel any less in the middle of wanting to feel something and feeling nothing at all. Perhaps there is no remedy for water already under the bridge other than just to let it go.
Ocean Pebbles
There was something I heard today, that I was trying to remember, that I've evidently forgotten... And it seems to me that most profound thoughts seem to be as easily lost as they are found.
I used to carry a small notebook around with me to jot everything down in. But somewhere along the way, I fell out of that habit. Mostly because I also had a bad habit of leaving those notebooks lying around where anyone could prop them open and read them to their heart's content.
I think the difference between words here compared to words there is the level of polish they've been given. Private words on paper are seemingly more raw than the poetics applied to a post. And a post is more accurately described as a shelter, protected from the elements on the inside while seemingly exposed for all to see.
Or better yet, perhaps all of this is simply my version of cheap talk therapy...
Whatever it is or for that matter isn't, it keeps me in tune to the sound of my own voice.
I used to carry a small notebook around with me to jot everything down in. But somewhere along the way, I fell out of that habit. Mostly because I also had a bad habit of leaving those notebooks lying around where anyone could prop them open and read them to their heart's content.
I think the difference between words here compared to words there is the level of polish they've been given. Private words on paper are seemingly more raw than the poetics applied to a post. And a post is more accurately described as a shelter, protected from the elements on the inside while seemingly exposed for all to see.
Or better yet, perhaps all of this is simply my version of cheap talk therapy...
Whatever it is or for that matter isn't, it keeps me in tune to the sound of my own voice.
LuLu's Two Cents
She's listening to classical music again, which can only mean one thing. She's in a sappy, all you really need is love kind of mood. Don't tell anyone, but I think she met a boy today. Or kind of sort of met a boy today that she has been not so harmlessly flirting with these past two months.
Two... And this is just odd... If she had birds sailing around her head and no tan, I would have pegged her for Snow White. Snow White minus the ruby red lips that is. And just to clarify, that whole fairest in the land thing, as far as this pup's opinion goes, is about as overrated as overrated can get.
Needless to say, she was in good humor which meant treats for me, a pat on the head, and not the least little bit of trouble over that tasty little morsel of a shoe I sort of helped myself to earlier today while everyone was going goo goo over those gosh darn cats.
I could tell from the moment she got home. One... She managed to completely ignore me for five minutes, a feat practically unheard of in our house, and this after she told her own Mother the other night, that I, yes I did say I, I complete her. (A bit over dramatic and all, but if you know my owner, you'd understand.)
Two... And this is just odd... If she had birds sailing around her head and no tan, I would have pegged her for Snow White. Snow White minus the ruby red lips that is. And just to clarify, that whole fairest in the land thing, as far as this pup's opinion goes, is about as overrated as overrated can get.
Needless to say, she was in good humor which meant treats for me, a pat on the head, and not the least little bit of trouble over that tasty little morsel of a shoe I sort of helped myself to earlier today while everyone was going goo goo over those gosh darn cats.
Cats I might add that live to torment me when no one else is home. You'd think they were here first or something...
But back to this boy thing... I don't know much about him at all other than she thinks he may actually be the last nice guy left on the planet that is without a doubt single and unattached. It doesn't hurt either that he's a single Dad with physical custody of his son. Not only does he get the whole parenting thing, but he gets it on a level that for the sake of not being politically correct, most non-custodial Dad's don't.
She however is keeping mum on this whole thing, not wanting to build it up too much in case it turns out to be nothing, but I can tell she's interested all the same... Let's just say when it comes to my owner, I know her mind better than she knows it herself. After all, I'm what's known as a muse when it comes to supplying her with things to write about. Don't blame me for her unexcused absences though, the credit for that belongs to only one place, and I'll tell you it rhymes with Jim.
Seriously however it is getting a little past this wee doggies bedtime and my warm spot beneath the covers is calling my name... Or at least I think it's my name...
Anyhoo this is L to the L to the double U signing off. Over and dog gone out.
Anyhoo this is L to the L to the double U signing off. Over and dog gone out.
Imagination Vs. Reality Where Reality Wins
If you're into sadomasochism, the massage chairs at my gym are just the thing to provide you with a good time. This morning was the first time (ever) that I subjected myself to public humiliation, at least whilst at the gym and not including the time I almost lost my footing on the elliptical machine in what would have been a serious non-flattering face planter.
I expected it to be soft music, warm glow of candlelight soothing. You know the whole mental yoga picture of relaxing like a zen moment ought to be. And after the workout I put in this morning, I was ready to sit back, close my eyes and and check out of reality for a few blissful minutes.
Yelling out "Jesus!" regardless of it being Sunday, doesn't really work however unless you're in a church having one of those I've just been saved moments. And believe me, I haven't been saved. In the immortal words of Karen Carpenter, "We've only just begun..."
Still I didn't think having my spine nearly pulled liked a wishbone from my body was on my agenda for today. Beaten, bruised, pummeled and for the sake of continuity limping, I lifted myself from the chair, looked at my sister and meekly said, "Next time I think I'll just tan."
I expected it to be soft music, warm glow of candlelight soothing. You know the whole mental yoga picture of relaxing like a zen moment ought to be. And after the workout I put in this morning, I was ready to sit back, close my eyes and and check out of reality for a few blissful minutes.
Yelling out "Jesus!" regardless of it being Sunday, doesn't really work however unless you're in a church having one of those I've just been saved moments. And believe me, I haven't been saved. In the immortal words of Karen Carpenter, "We've only just begun..."
Still I didn't think having my spine nearly pulled liked a wishbone from my body was on my agenda for today. Beaten, bruised, pummeled and for the sake of continuity limping, I lifted myself from the chair, looked at my sister and meekly said, "Next time I think I'll just tan."
The Post That Almost Was
And just like that, an hour and a half of writing goes down the tubes when the auto-save feature decides to take a nosedive...
To say that I am a bit less than pleased at present time would be a gross understatement of I'm irritated beyond all reason of fact.
Lost are my references to cotton candy clouds and dandelion fluff. My dragonflies hovering over blue waters, skimming a glass surface. Gone are my perceptions of how one must write from the inside out. My belief that words don't come when you wait, but wait until you are ready to hear them. How one must be like a white sheet left on the line to catch the wind with only one unprecedented and unassuming pin to hold it down.
Such pretty, pretty prose...
Such a waste of a perfectly good post.
To say that I am a bit less than pleased at present time would be a gross understatement of I'm irritated beyond all reason of fact.
Lost are my references to cotton candy clouds and dandelion fluff. My dragonflies hovering over blue waters, skimming a glass surface. Gone are my perceptions of how one must write from the inside out. My belief that words don't come when you wait, but wait until you are ready to hear them. How one must be like a white sheet left on the line to catch the wind with only one unprecedented and unassuming pin to hold it down.
Such pretty, pretty prose...
Such a waste of a perfectly good post.
Patience - A Dying Art
Dear Non-Diary,
Lucy won't stop barking at the cat and Octavia (the cat in contention) is sauntering about the living room providing the dog with uncensored and unlimited agitation. Normally I would find this behavior amusing, but I'm hungry, sore and on the borderline of having a blooming onion sized headache, so right now I'd have to say no, I'm not impressed. Not one itsy bitsy little bit.
Thankfully food does help in stressful situations, and at the moment, something warm and yummy is high on my list of make Stacey happy. Tonight's dinner, brown rice topped with chili, is my idea of deliciously simple. And no fuss, no mess clean up is what I'm all about...
Back to the cat and the dog and the cat that never comes downstairs since the dog came home... I believe I'd be accurate in saying that the cat is kicking the dog's butt. And if that isn't a sad matter of fact, then I really don't know what is.
But enough about the animals that run my house... Or at the least the place where I presently live. I say that because I've begun what I'd like to call my downfall into poverty. Otherwise known as my search for a place to call home. Emphasis on home, as in mine right along with the monthly mortgage payment.
House hunting is far more stressful than I never gave it credit for however. All this run to this house, run to that house and imagine they could be yours is starting to wear me down so much that I'm not even safe from the thought in my dreams. And my realtor needs a bit of a reality check, like stop showing me houses that are at the highest end of my I really don't want to spend that much spectrum. A woman has to have some cash in her pocket without taking on another job to afford to live...
So I have to learn patience... And while I'm at it, I may take up juggling knives on a unicycle while singing show tunes. Hey, either one could happen... Right?
Well, maybe not... But I do know that with the present choices of houses available to be owned, there isn't a single jem among them that calls my name... Every single one has had one thing or another that keeps it from being the house I've dreamed of since I was old enough to want my own space.
You see, I've got this picture in my head of a cozy little cottage with a bright red door and the garden of all gardens filled with beautiful bouquets of color that says, "Finally... Welcome home."
Lucy won't stop barking at the cat and Octavia (the cat in contention) is sauntering about the living room providing the dog with uncensored and unlimited agitation. Normally I would find this behavior amusing, but I'm hungry, sore and on the borderline of having a blooming onion sized headache, so right now I'd have to say no, I'm not impressed. Not one itsy bitsy little bit.
Thankfully food does help in stressful situations, and at the moment, something warm and yummy is high on my list of make Stacey happy. Tonight's dinner, brown rice topped with chili, is my idea of deliciously simple. And no fuss, no mess clean up is what I'm all about...
Back to the cat and the dog and the cat that never comes downstairs since the dog came home... I believe I'd be accurate in saying that the cat is kicking the dog's butt. And if that isn't a sad matter of fact, then I really don't know what is.
But enough about the animals that run my house... Or at the least the place where I presently live. I say that because I've begun what I'd like to call my downfall into poverty. Otherwise known as my search for a place to call home. Emphasis on home, as in mine right along with the monthly mortgage payment.
House hunting is far more stressful than I never gave it credit for however. All this run to this house, run to that house and imagine they could be yours is starting to wear me down so much that I'm not even safe from the thought in my dreams. And my realtor needs a bit of a reality check, like stop showing me houses that are at the highest end of my I really don't want to spend that much spectrum. A woman has to have some cash in her pocket without taking on another job to afford to live...
So I have to learn patience... And while I'm at it, I may take up juggling knives on a unicycle while singing show tunes. Hey, either one could happen... Right?
Well, maybe not... But I do know that with the present choices of houses available to be owned, there isn't a single jem among them that calls my name... Every single one has had one thing or another that keeps it from being the house I've dreamed of since I was old enough to want my own space.
You see, I've got this picture in my head of a cozy little cottage with a bright red door and the garden of all gardens filled with beautiful bouquets of color that says, "Finally... Welcome home."
Ren Fair Highlight Photos
Fun (and at the same time exhausting) day yesterday... Not quite as proficient with my daughter's digital camera as I am with my own Nikon SLR (too burdensome to carry on this wee adventure) so not the best pics from the land of Warwickshire... Still it was enough just to enjoy a bright, beautiful and sunny day in the company of friends and family.
Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen's Mom
I'm like a flashing neon sign that screams out CLOSED! Or at least my brain is. I'm not quite sure, but I think it melted. Can't quite pinpoint the when or even at this point the where, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that I've got nothing left...
I blame it on my cell phone bill. Or to be exact, my daughter's unmentionable contribution to my cell phone bill. The jaw dropping, it was a good thing she was at her Dad's when I opened it, almost needed to be resuscitated, she's grounded until I stop turning blue cell phone bill.
Yeah. That one.
Which reminds me, I've got to go to a Jonas Brothers concert this month!
I'd like to point out that I do this out of parental duty and parental duty alone as I would not willingly subject myself to those wanna berock pop stars... And honestly, their stylist ought to be fired! Between their clothes and their hair, I've yet to decide what's worse.
Worse however is the screaming headache I'm already anticipating I've going to have once I'm at this concert. Have I mentioned that I'm going under duress?
Back to the subject of my cell phone bill however, there's not much I can do other than pay it, and make KC's life as miserable as humanly possible for whatever length of time it takes until she's duly apologetic (doubtful) and/or manages to come up with the funds to pay off her share of the bill (impossible) or until I feel I've gotten my parental revenge.
For those of you who have or are raising teenagers, you understand quite perfectly what I'm talking about. And for those of you still in the aren't they so cute stages of parenthood, a warning...
The cuteness wears off.
I blame it on my cell phone bill. Or to be exact, my daughter's unmentionable contribution to my cell phone bill. The jaw dropping, it was a good thing she was at her Dad's when I opened it, almost needed to be resuscitated, she's grounded until I stop turning blue cell phone bill.
Yeah. That one.
Which reminds me, I've got to go to a Jonas Brothers concert this month!
I'd like to point out that I do this out of parental duty and parental duty alone as I would not willingly subject myself to those wanna be
Worse however is the screaming headache I'm already anticipating I've going to have once I'm at this concert. Have I mentioned that I'm going under duress?
Back to the subject of my cell phone bill however, there's not much I can do other than pay it, and make KC's life as miserable as humanly possible for whatever length of time it takes until she's duly apologetic (doubtful) and/or manages to come up with the funds to pay off her share of the bill (impossible) or until I feel I've gotten my parental revenge.
For those of you who have or are raising teenagers, you understand quite perfectly what I'm talking about. And for those of you still in the aren't they so cute stages of parenthood, a warning...
The cuteness wears off.
Crack Me Up Conversations Via Email
So? Do you miss me? Have you been crying all morning? Despondent. Sad. I know. Canadians have that effect on Americans.
Question: when you have a free moment (ha - like that ever happens), could you send me a list of the t/a codes that are used most often? Going to start studying the book and will begin with those.
Merci beaucoup.
J'espere que t'a journee passe bien. A bientôt.
D
It's like someone has stolen the sun without you here... Or it could just be that I have no window to look out of which has reduced me to being the only person on earth who suffers from
seasonal affective disorder in the tail end of summer...
That being said, I wouldn't know if Canadians have that effect on Americans (as you say) as you are the first and only Canadian I've ever really had a conversation with beyond hi, goodbye and don't let the door hit your (censored for your protection) on the way out.
Free moments don't come around all that often, but I figure writing this email is a pretty good
excuse to ignore all calls ringing in on my line... Good to know my customer service skills rank right up there with the best.
Anyhoo... To answer your question, study up on your t/a part numbers first. And yes, I
will be quizzing you come next week so I expect you to be practicing with your flash cards all weekend long...
If you said thanks, and to enjoy my weekend, followed with a short and sweet goodbye, you got it... Same to you but in English as I don't speak French unless I'm really, really tired and
watching a movie with subtitles imagining I'm bilingual.
Your Newly
Acquired American Pen Pal,
S
Awesome reply! Much appreciated. I like your wit. Your windowless story made me cry. Really. Now there are tears and snot everywhere!
I will study hard. Flash cards and all. The quiz will have to wait for the following week as I will be travelling with E. next week.
Yes, have a great weekend. Well, close. I will start your French lessons
when I return.
A bientôt (means see / speak to you soon).
D
At least I was in the ballpark with my interpretation...
And just because you're traveling with E, doesn't mean you don't get quizzed... Who do you think taught E?
See ya on the flip side...
S
PS... I have an endless supply of wit... It's just the common sense I'm lacking. : )
There is a store in Montreal that sells common sense. $2.99 / lb. I will get you some.
I will call you at home at 1AM next Wed for the quiz.
D
Good luck getting that across customs...
I don't answer my phone after midnight, but feel free to leave your answers on my voice mail.
Who knows, you might just get yourself a gold star!!! (Woo hoo!)
Alrighty then, I've avoided work long enough... Must BTR before the hour strikes the time to flee...
Enjoy your weekend,
S
Taking a Break
My Mom wants to clean my house and I don't.
I'm not in the mood. And I refuse to be forced into manual labor at 10:19 on a Saturday morning.
So I'm putting my foot down. Or to be more exact, sitting on my ass to write this post while drinking a cup of coffee from my chocolate brown big girl mug.
Unfortunately this isn't going to last long for two reasons...
1. My Mother is on the phone talking to Ken.
2. Break time is over the moment she hangs up the phone.
And just for good measure...
3. Have you met my Mother?
I love the woman but honestly, she's got a one track mind that when set in motion does not deter from its predetermined course. Ever.
Normally this would be a most excellent trait. And for the most part, it is. It's just not my favorite trait at this exact moment when what I really want to do is a whole lot of nothing much at all.
I'm thirty-three and I'm feeling seven, getting ready to be sent to my room for bad behavior.
Aha!
Saved by the bell. Or to be exact, Brenda ringing my cell. And if she's ringing, it can only mean one thing...
There's something she doesn't feel like doing either!
This is Stacey. Over, out and off to the rescue...
Soul Stirrings
Another quiet Adirondack morning and it's just me and the sound of this keyboard while my Mother creaks the floorboards in the other room sorting through piles of piles of more piles. The rain falls straight, from sky to ground, as if it's worried someone will come to take its measure.
I could get used to this quiet. This ticking clock. The sound of cars passing by through rainy puddles on the street. The slow nature of life in a place where I have nowhere to go and no true schedule demanding that I be diligent in all my duties.
For the moment I am relaxed. Just enough to breathe a sigh of relief, but not enough to ease the worry knots knitting down my back. Vacations cannot last forever. It is a sad and sorry fact and I am counting down the days until it's done.
If wishes were horses, I'd put my own out to pasture here. Up in this quaint mountain view town and city. Up here where time stops and starts on whims, pushing me forward into the future, calling me back just as quickly to the past.
Places such as these that whisper home. Here is where you are, and here is where you should stay. Why return to places that do not speak to you such as I?
But how can I be true?
Too many obligations call me back to where I am. Home, job, family, friends... There is no option to pack them all up and move away.
So I cement myself down as best I can.
Making do.
Marking time.
Waiting.
I could get used to this quiet. This ticking clock. The sound of cars passing by through rainy puddles on the street. The slow nature of life in a place where I have nowhere to go and no true schedule demanding that I be diligent in all my duties.
For the moment I am relaxed. Just enough to breathe a sigh of relief, but not enough to ease the worry knots knitting down my back. Vacations cannot last forever. It is a sad and sorry fact and I am counting down the days until it's done.
If wishes were horses, I'd put my own out to pasture here. Up in this quaint mountain view town and city. Up here where time stops and starts on whims, pushing me forward into the future, calling me back just as quickly to the past.
Places such as these that whisper home. Here is where you are, and here is where you should stay. Why return to places that do not speak to you such as I?
But how can I be true?
Too many obligations call me back to where I am. Home, job, family, friends... There is no option to pack them all up and move away.
So I cement myself down as best I can.
Making do.
Marking time.
Waiting.
Sound Reasoning
Love is passion, obsession, someone you can't live without. If you don't start with that, what are you going to end up with? Fall head over heels. I say find someone you can love like crazy and who'll love you the same way back. And how do you find him? Forget your head and listen to your heart. I'm not hearing any heart. Run the risk, if you get hurt, you'll come back. Because, the truth is there is no sense living your life without this. To make the journey and not fall deeply in love - well, you haven't lived a life at all. You have to try. Because if you haven't tried, you haven't lived". [William Parrish] from the movie, Meet Joe Black (1998)
Sleep Walking
I need a vacation from my vacation and I am missing my bed terribly...
Why I'm still awake, I've yet to know. But here I am, trying to make good on writing just a wee bit more than I have well, lately.
Visited my Grams in the hospital today. Mom and KC disappeared for a short while, and I wasn't really sure what it was that they were doing, although I was placing odds that somehow the somewhere involved a revolving door my daughter has decided is the coolest thing ever... A good example of what the big city has to offer.
Honestly however, I'm too tired to write much more. My eyes are closing. My brain is shutting down. And I'm quite certain, I'm already asleep.
Why I'm still awake, I've yet to know. But here I am, trying to make good on writing just a wee bit more than I have well, lately.
Visited my Grams in the hospital today. Mom and KC disappeared for a short while, and I wasn't really sure what it was that they were doing, although I was placing odds that somehow the somewhere involved a revolving door my daughter has decided is the coolest thing ever... A good example of what the big city has to offer.
Honestly however, I'm too tired to write much more. My eyes are closing. My brain is shutting down. And I'm quite certain, I'm already asleep.
Dead Drops
There are moments such as these when you give up on sleep as sleep has pretty much given up on you.
I've been thinking for the last twenty minutes that I should probably just suit up and head over to the gym. Waking up early after all doesn't have to be a curse when it could just be a gift horse in disguise.
Still I can't put my finger on what exactly it was that pulled me from my bed this morning. I could blame my dog, but then again, we get up at least once most every night so she can do her business, and normally getting back to sleep is a non-brainer.
But not this morning...
It may have something to do with the dream I just had, or the small amount of stress I'm feeling this morning, or the laundry list of concerns, things to do, and things I should have already done being so much on my mind that my mind can no longer focus on the importance of sleeping.
Either way it seems as if I'm up for the long haul and there's no point now in trying to deny it, regardless that it's the first day of my vacation and here I am, up with the birds as if I'm going to work.
And work be damned...
I need a week off from that place to regain what little bearing I have left as of late.
I am convinced that I can attribute much of my energy drain on a windowless office, and a desk decked out with an invisible chain. Many negative vibes and the job I used to love is more like the job I loathe, and the only time I marginally like it is on payday when they grease my palm.
Still it would be nice to do something I love... Then again, I'm not really at a place in my life where struggling writer sounds like a wise career move. And though I do what I can when I can, I've got to admit that I'm on a snail trail for completing the things I really want done.
Last night I went to bed thinking about what I refer to as the dead end drop. The point in a story where the author has weaved their tale from the initial plot, to the but it has to end here somewhere part. Or much like my accidental dip in the water, the point where the ride was going smoothly until you hard stick your paddle into the water and end up all wet.
The dead drop is sudden. Unexpected. An ending so quick you had no idea that you were even being led up to it, convinced that the pages still left to go hold some sort of words of explanation rather than more author acknowledgements for why they suddenly cast their characters so harshly from the boat.
I too am guilty of the dead drop. The point in the story where my brain just says, "Okay, Stacey. Time to bring this to a close. We don't have all night, you know."
And I hate to do it. Hate the lazy way it just seems to say, I couldn't think of any other way to end it all. It leaves the reader unsatisfied. Stuck if you will inside a story that forces them to imagine an ending other than the one they were forced to abruptly accept.
As writers we have a responsibility to work an ending until the ending turns out right. Though don't confuse my statement as an argument for a happy ending. More often than not, the happy ending is a worn out cliche. Not that I want to end every book I read with a box of Kleenex by my side and a raging migraine just to prove my point that some endings require darkness rather than light.
Every story has to answer to its own end. And when it doesn't, the reader knows. Sensing the deception that has been passed off as completion, they close the book with less satisfaction than any writer would want them to.
An unfinished story is like a Picasso half painted. A great masterpiece lost to an even greater ambition to please the masses when all that matters at the time of its conception is pleasing yourself.
It makes sense if given some thought.
And this is why we write. Why a painter paints. Why a musician composes. It's not, as some would believe because it's what we want to do. When we're called, it's a summons that refuses be ignored. Not even at four in the morning when it calls us from our beds, and wakes our mind with endless possibilities.
It's for the love of the creation. The sound of a thousand words on our lips. The thirst we have to impart whatever knowledge it is we believe we've gained. An attempt to reach, to touch, to be a part of this great big world. To make you laugh, to make you cry, to make you remember from where it was you came, and push you to go to the places you've just begun to dream to go.
We are a destination. And an invitation.
A journey that begs you come explore.
I've been thinking for the last twenty minutes that I should probably just suit up and head over to the gym. Waking up early after all doesn't have to be a curse when it could just be a gift horse in disguise.
Still I can't put my finger on what exactly it was that pulled me from my bed this morning. I could blame my dog, but then again, we get up at least once most every night so she can do her business, and normally getting back to sleep is a non-brainer.But not this morning...
It may have something to do with the dream I just had, or the small amount of stress I'm feeling this morning, or the laundry list of concerns, things to do, and things I should have already done being so much on my mind that my mind can no longer focus on the importance of sleeping.
Either way it seems as if I'm up for the long haul and there's no point now in trying to deny it, regardless that it's the first day of my vacation and here I am, up with the birds as if I'm going to work.
And work be damned...
I need a week off from that place to regain what little bearing I have left as of late.
I am convinced that I can attribute much of my energy drain on a windowless office, and a desk decked out with an invisible chain. Many negative vibes and the job I used to love is more like the job I loathe, and the only time I marginally like it is on payday when they grease my palm.
Still it would be nice to do something I love... Then again, I'm not really at a place in my life where struggling writer sounds like a wise career move. And though I do what I can when I can, I've got to admit that I'm on a snail trail for completing the things I really want done.
Last night I went to bed thinking about what I refer to as the dead end drop. The point in a story where the author has weaved their tale from the initial plot, to the but it has to end here somewhere part. Or much like my accidental dip in the water, the point where the ride was going smoothly until you hard stick your paddle into the water and end up all wet.
The dead drop is sudden. Unexpected. An ending so quick you had no idea that you were even being led up to it, convinced that the pages still left to go hold some sort of words of explanation rather than more author acknowledgements for why they suddenly cast their characters so harshly from the boat.
I too am guilty of the dead drop. The point in the story where my brain just says, "Okay, Stacey. Time to bring this to a close. We don't have all night, you know."
And I hate to do it. Hate the lazy way it just seems to say, I couldn't think of any other way to end it all. It leaves the reader unsatisfied. Stuck if you will inside a story that forces them to imagine an ending other than the one they were forced to abruptly accept.
As writers we have a responsibility to work an ending until the ending turns out right. Though don't confuse my statement as an argument for a happy ending. More often than not, the happy ending is a worn out cliche. Not that I want to end every book I read with a box of Kleenex by my side and a raging migraine just to prove my point that some endings require darkness rather than light.
Every story has to answer to its own end. And when it doesn't, the reader knows. Sensing the deception that has been passed off as completion, they close the book with less satisfaction than any writer would want them to.
An unfinished story is like a Picasso half painted. A great masterpiece lost to an even greater ambition to please the masses when all that matters at the time of its conception is pleasing yourself.
It makes sense if given some thought.
And this is why we write. Why a painter paints. Why a musician composes. It's not, as some would believe because it's what we want to do. When we're called, it's a summons that refuses be ignored. Not even at four in the morning when it calls us from our beds, and wakes our mind with endless possibilities.
It's for the love of the creation. The sound of a thousand words on our lips. The thirst we have to impart whatever knowledge it is we believe we've gained. An attempt to reach, to touch, to be a part of this great big world. To make you laugh, to make you cry, to make you remember from where it was you came, and push you to go to the places you've just begun to dream to go.
We are a destination. And an invitation.
A journey that begs you come explore.
The Kayak Story... Many Weeks Later
When you're swimming for shore, it's best not to be in the middle of the lake...
This is a life lesson I learned just a few weeks ago when my sister Jo and I went on a kayaking expedition.
It was one of those perfect bright blue sky, big white puffy pillow cloud kind of days with just enough of a breeze to keep us from feeling like fried eggs sizzling on a sidewalk. Blingy sunglasses, bathing suit top (bottoms implied) and lunch stored safely away in the waterproof compartment of Jo's kayak, we launched ourselves off, into the great blue yonder.
Yonder being in front of my Father's friend's camp with them waving from above, safely up on shore.
This would be a good time to mention that I'm slightly wary of water. And believe me when I tell you that's there's not enough therapy in this world to combat the irrational fears of my childhood. (And no, I'm still not over that damn cartoon Hobbit movie my elementary school made us watch every year as if it were some kind of treat! Frodo Bagins be damned, I was scared of ring wearing frogs and goblins I was convinced lived in my basement.)
Rewind to one really bad perm, a tin can disguised as a boat, and a girl completely clueless as to how to get herself back in to shore, and you've got yourself a serious situation. In other words, a completely inappropriate time for those posing as responsible adults to merely watch the events unfold as if it's comedy night at the Improv and I'm the star attraction.
Yeah... Not impressed. Not then. Not now. And pretty much never hits the mark on me finding anything about that moment in time to laugh about. Which reminds me that whoever took that picture belongs high up on my shit list! I mean hello, abject terror, fear and more tears than the lake had in it is not my idea of a Kodak moment, Mom!
So who could blame me for being more than a bit freaked out about putting myself in a craft that could pretty much land me in the drink without the slightest provocation on my part?
I am however a great believer in doing the things I'm scared to do... One cannot be a role model for one's saucy mouthed daughter if one doesn't prove that it can be done by sheer force of will and fortitude of spirit. Luckily for me, I fear a great many things so I've lots of options to explore on quite a regular basis.
Karaoke kindly is not on this list... Been there, done that and did it quite badly. Then again, whoever thought Me and Bobby McGee should go country ought to be tarred, feathered and dropped into an eel infested pit, right along with the big belt buckle wearing boy whose bright idea that was.
But I'm digressing.
It was a bright blue day, the sun was warm, and the water was cold as we cut a sharp path through the water, taking the small waves from motorized passersbys. And we'd gone far. Two miles perhaps. To a little island populated by sand ants, and more dog shit than I've ever seen on an island so small. Yet it was here we decided to bank and have ourselves a little lunch. After all, islands don't come around all that often and quite frankly I was beginning to feel my arms turning to mush.
Satiated and well rested, my confidence was soaring high. "Here I am," I remember thinking, "Practically a pro. And seriously, who needs these stinking water shoes anyway? I can just take them off and store them away for later."
You know when you watch a movie, and you're really rooting for the good guy or in this case girl but you can see the calamity that they can't, and you clutch the seat of your chair, close your eyes, shake your head and wish you could just bop them in the side of the head to get them to wake up to the stupidity all around them?
This was exactly that moment.
The one I couldn't see coming...
Heading back in the direction of which we came, Jo just a bit farther ahead from where I was, my kayak suddenly decided that it wanted to go a different way then where I was headed. And me not wanting to find myself turned around (and without much thought for the frailness of my existence) dunked my paddle in hard to correct my motion. Only it didn't correct it at all. It stopped me, it turned me and then it did exactly what I was hoping it wouldn't do...
In a split second, I was sitting in my kayak upside down talking to the fishes. It took me about three seconds to slip out, surface and sputter in what was a combination of warm body hitting cold water and the sudden realization that I was seriously screwed.
Jo, equally freaked out by me being freaked out, quickly turned back to come to my rescue. Treading water, clutching my life jacket, and feeling something slimy slip across my leg, I immediately began cursing my own idiocy.
I won't repeat exactly what it was that I said, but I can assure you that the "F" word was used with great abandon!
But to be honest, I couldn't help myself. I laughed. And kept laughing until a little water in my mouth reminded me that this wasn't exactly what the moment called for, at least not when the water was threatening to take my kayak under to the same (may they rest in peace) place my favorite pair of sunglasses and bright orange water shoes now call home.
So I did what any good kayaker would do. I righted the kayak, kicked up my heels, grabbed on to the toe handle and started swimming... Very slowly.
Karma being the bitch goddess she is known to be, made damn sure that the moment my stupidity put me under, I was also dead center in the middle of the lake. Thankfully it's not all that big of a lake. I was however far from shore, and completely freaking out everytime I felt something plant/fish like touch my legs. I am against all things slimy!
But swim I did... Swim, swam, swum... You name it. I did it. And when I tired, I grabbed on to my sister's kayak and let her paddle me in. And no, I'm not ashamed to admit that the closer that we got to shore, the more I body hugged the bottom of her vessel and prayed that the rocks scraping against the small of my back wouldn't leave too many a damaging mark.
I do after all have a little dignity left to hold onto...
Though at this point, it's much less than what I started out with.
This is a life lesson I learned just a few weeks ago when my sister Jo and I went on a kayaking expedition.
It was one of those perfect bright blue sky, big white puffy pillow cloud kind of days with just enough of a breeze to keep us from feeling like fried eggs sizzling on a sidewalk. Blingy sunglasses, bathing suit top (bottoms implied) and lunch stored safely away in the waterproof compartment of Jo's kayak, we launched ourselves off, into the great blue yonder.
Yonder being in front of my Father's friend's camp with them waving from above, safely up on shore.
This would be a good time to mention that I'm slightly wary of water. And believe me when I tell you that's there's not enough therapy in this world to combat the irrational fears of my childhood. (And no, I'm still not over that damn cartoon Hobbit movie my elementary school made us watch every year as if it were some kind of treat! Frodo Bagins be damned, I was scared of ring wearing frogs and goblins I was convinced lived in my basement.)
Rewind to one really bad perm, a tin can disguised as a boat, and a girl completely clueless as to how to get herself back in to shore, and you've got yourself a serious situation. In other words, a completely inappropriate time for those posing as responsible adults to merely watch the events unfold as if it's comedy night at the Improv and I'm the star attraction.Yeah... Not impressed. Not then. Not now. And pretty much never hits the mark on me finding anything about that moment in time to laugh about. Which reminds me that whoever took that picture belongs high up on my shit list! I mean hello, abject terror, fear and more tears than the lake had in it is not my idea of a Kodak moment, Mom!
So who could blame me for being more than a bit freaked out about putting myself in a craft that could pretty much land me in the drink without the slightest provocation on my part?
I am however a great believer in doing the things I'm scared to do... One cannot be a role model for one's saucy mouthed daughter if one doesn't prove that it can be done by sheer force of will and fortitude of spirit. Luckily for me, I fear a great many things so I've lots of options to explore on quite a regular basis.
Karaoke kindly is not on this list... Been there, done that and did it quite badly. Then again, whoever thought Me and Bobby McGee should go country ought to be tarred, feathered and dropped into an eel infested pit, right along with the big belt buckle wearing boy whose bright idea that was.
But I'm digressing.
It was a bright blue day, the sun was warm, and the water was cold as we cut a sharp path through the water, taking the small waves from motorized passersbys. And we'd gone far. Two miles perhaps. To a little island populated by sand ants, and more dog shit than I've ever seen on an island so small. Yet it was here we decided to bank and have ourselves a little lunch. After all, islands don't come around all that often and quite frankly I was beginning to feel my arms turning to mush.
Satiated and well rested, my confidence was soaring high. "Here I am," I remember thinking, "Practically a pro. And seriously, who needs these stinking water shoes anyway? I can just take them off and store them away for later."
You know when you watch a movie, and you're really rooting for the good guy or in this case girl but you can see the calamity that they can't, and you clutch the seat of your chair, close your eyes, shake your head and wish you could just bop them in the side of the head to get them to wake up to the stupidity all around them?
This was exactly that moment.
The one I couldn't see coming...
Heading back in the direction of which we came, Jo just a bit farther ahead from where I was, my kayak suddenly decided that it wanted to go a different way then where I was headed. And me not wanting to find myself turned around (and without much thought for the frailness of my existence) dunked my paddle in hard to correct my motion. Only it didn't correct it at all. It stopped me, it turned me and then it did exactly what I was hoping it wouldn't do...
In a split second, I was sitting in my kayak upside down talking to the fishes. It took me about three seconds to slip out, surface and sputter in what was a combination of warm body hitting cold water and the sudden realization that I was seriously screwed.
Jo, equally freaked out by me being freaked out, quickly turned back to come to my rescue. Treading water, clutching my life jacket, and feeling something slimy slip across my leg, I immediately began cursing my own idiocy.
I won't repeat exactly what it was that I said, but I can assure you that the "F" word was used with great abandon!
But to be honest, I couldn't help myself. I laughed. And kept laughing until a little water in my mouth reminded me that this wasn't exactly what the moment called for, at least not when the water was threatening to take my kayak under to the same (may they rest in peace) place my favorite pair of sunglasses and bright orange water shoes now call home.
So I did what any good kayaker would do. I righted the kayak, kicked up my heels, grabbed on to the toe handle and started swimming... Very slowly.
Karma being the bitch goddess she is known to be, made damn sure that the moment my stupidity put me under, I was also dead center in the middle of the lake. Thankfully it's not all that big of a lake. I was however far from shore, and completely freaking out everytime I felt something plant/fish like touch my legs. I am against all things slimy!
But swim I did... Swim, swam, swum... You name it. I did it. And when I tired, I grabbed on to my sister's kayak and let her paddle me in. And no, I'm not ashamed to admit that the closer that we got to shore, the more I body hugged the bottom of her vessel and prayed that the rocks scraping against the small of my back wouldn't leave too many a damaging mark.
I do after all have a little dignity left to hold onto...
Though at this point, it's much less than what I started out with.
