I'm looking at a blank page. I type a bit, but it feels wrong. I backspace and delete. Do you ever want to say something, but the little voice inside won't let you?
By now, I know to listen to that quiet voice. But I do still argue with it from time-to-time.
I: I know you really want to tell everyone.
Self: Yes, I do. I've been thinking about it and yes, I want to say it. I was shocked when I heard this and I think others will be too. If nothing else, for entertainment value.
I: But don't you think someone might be hurt when they read it? Actually, more than one person.
Self: Yes, but this is reality. I was there. It really happened. It isn't as if I'm saying something false or making this up. Plus, there is a greater cause at stake here. I'd like to hop up on my soapbox and make a few comments to make others aware.
I: Look, you are free to do what you want. But I'm telling you, you will regret it if you go ahead and do this.
Self: Gosh darn it! I hate when you say things like that. This would have been such a good blog subject. Think about all of those folks who are reading today who this would have been food for thought, something to chew on-not everyone ate breakfast this morning. But you are right.
I: I'm always right.
I smile with a smug satisfaction.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Friday, October 16, 2009
STOP
Did the prankster think that if he removed the words somehow we wouldn't know what this sign means?
Or was there just an overwhelming need to vandalize something and this was a seemingly harmless way to do it?
This must be the work of the AppleHood gang.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Still Life
Beth at I should be folding laundry has a weekly photo challenge. This week's theme is Still Life.
I don't own a fancy camera, so I make do with what I have.
My morning routine pre-computer.
I don't own a fancy camera, so I make do with what I have.
My morning routine pre-computer.
I cook with this wine. Somewhere between a white and red, it's a white merlot. But I like the color.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Constant Questions
I don't have little children around anymore asking curious questions, "why is my hair brown and her hair blonde?" I miss those pondering thoughts. Now I have to make up my own. So I am wondering, "Why is someone who has diabetes a diabetic?"
My inquiry came from a conversation with a gentleman who referred to his wife not as having Celiac, but "she's a celiac." It was as if her disease now defined who she is. No longer his wife has this, but she is this. It struck me as wrong.
Someone with cancer doesn't call themselves a cancerite or cancerette...what would we say? Nobody wants cancer to define them, Elisabeth pointed out. Sarabeth mentioned celiac is a lifelong disease but cancer wasn't necessarily. No, cancer can snuff a life out pretty quickly, or one can become a cancer survivor.
So I posed the question, "what other diseases do we have a term that identifies you as the illness?" I had a hard time thinking of any others.
"A leper."
Elisabeth was right. Someone with leprosy is called a leper. This is a great example of a disease defining who you are and as I suspected holds a negative connotation. We brainstormed.
"Alcoholic"
"Hemophiliac" That is another for sure.
We thought of a lot of words. Down syndrome used to be defined as being Mongoloid. I'm happy that was changed. Someone with Autism is said to be Autistic. That is defining, but I see it more as an adjective rather than a noun/pronoun for someone.
We discussed why we wouldn't want to be classified by a disease. Elisabeth was certain she does not want to be called a Celiac. The silly musings continued:
"Since it is Cillyass disease, why not call yourself a sillyass."
Spoken like a true father.
My inquiry came from a conversation with a gentleman who referred to his wife not as having Celiac, but "she's a celiac." It was as if her disease now defined who she is. No longer his wife has this, but she is this. It struck me as wrong.
Someone with cancer doesn't call themselves a cancerite or cancerette...what would we say? Nobody wants cancer to define them, Elisabeth pointed out. Sarabeth mentioned celiac is a lifelong disease but cancer wasn't necessarily. No, cancer can snuff a life out pretty quickly, or one can become a cancer survivor.
So I posed the question, "what other diseases do we have a term that identifies you as the illness?" I had a hard time thinking of any others.
"A leper."
Elisabeth was right. Someone with leprosy is called a leper. This is a great example of a disease defining who you are and as I suspected holds a negative connotation. We brainstormed.
"Alcoholic"
"Hemophiliac" That is another for sure.
We thought of a lot of words. Down syndrome used to be defined as being Mongoloid. I'm happy that was changed. Someone with Autism is said to be Autistic. That is defining, but I see it more as an adjective rather than a noun/pronoun for someone.
We discussed why we wouldn't want to be classified by a disease. Elisabeth was certain she does not want to be called a Celiac. The silly musings continued:
"Since it is Cillyass disease, why not call yourself a sillyass."
Spoken like a true father.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
1st Anniversary
One year ago today, Christopher & Lauren were wed. I've been poring over pictures trying to find a few or maybe one to post in remembrance of a spectacular day. Everything about the day was near perfect, the photos lovely, the bride and groom stunning. While I try to pick a photo, I reflect on moments not caught on film. Images captured only in memories.
The tenderness in Christopher's voice, the morning of his wedding. He asked if someone could hand deliver a card and roses to his soon-to-be bride. As he spoke, his eyes smiled. Did he envision the delight on Lauren's face?
Amidst the laughter and tears, prayers of thanksgiving were uttered. Unspeakable joy of the joining of these two lives radiated from members of both families.
Standing in the back of the church, waiting to walk down the aisle with Christopher, we watched as Christina, Sarabeth & Ethan lit the candles. The wonder on Ethan's face spoke volumes. Nearly losing his composure, Christopher turned towards me. Wiping his eyes he murmured, "Mom, I don't know how I'm going to get through this."
The bittersweetness of a father, as he kisses his little girl one last time, before she gives her heart to another man.
Innumerable, indelible imprints forever etched in my mind, that words cannot begin to express. Suffice it to say, a day marked in heaven as the end of two, the beginning of one.
Happy 1st Anniversary Christopher & Lauren.
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Does this make my butt look big?
I went shopping today. I tried on clothes and was disappointed that every single outfit made me look fat. At what point do I stop and tell myself, "maybe it isn't the clothes?"
I: Hey, self. Maybe it isn't the clothes.
Self: What? Of course it's the clothes. I am NOT this fat.
I: Well, I'm just saying. Everything you've tried on so far has been, umm...tight. And maybe, just maybe, it is not the fault of the clothing.
Self: Shut up!
Silence.
Self: Maybe it it the lighting in these darn dressing rooms. Look how pale I look. It must be the lighting and the mirrors. I know I don't look this bad at home.
I: What about those slimming jeans. You know, the one that have a built in thingy to hold your tummy in so it doesn't pooch out.
Self: Hmmm...ok, I'll give it a try.
I: Well, I hate to say it.
Self: What the freak is wrong with these jeans??? Yeah, sure they hold in the part that is tucked and zipped. But what about the other part of my belly mushrooming over the top of my jeans. That doesn't look very slimming. I'm suing for false advertising.
I: I see you are not having a good day. By-the-way, do you realize that saying "what-the-freak" is really just a substitute for a swear word? It isn't much different than swearing. And you know how you are about not swearing. You go around telling everyone how offensive it is. Do you think some might find "what the freak" offensive?
Self: I am not having this conversation with you. Who asked you anyway? Certainly not I. Or maybe it was I.
I: Hey, self. Maybe it isn't the clothes.
Self: What? Of course it's the clothes. I am NOT this fat.
I: Well, I'm just saying. Everything you've tried on so far has been, umm...tight. And maybe, just maybe, it is not the fault of the clothing.
Self: Shut up!
Silence.
Self: Maybe it it the lighting in these darn dressing rooms. Look how pale I look. It must be the lighting and the mirrors. I know I don't look this bad at home.
I: What about those slimming jeans. You know, the one that have a built in thingy to hold your tummy in so it doesn't pooch out.
Self: Hmmm...ok, I'll give it a try.
I: Well, I hate to say it.
Self: What the freak is wrong with these jeans??? Yeah, sure they hold in the part that is tucked and zipped. But what about the other part of my belly mushrooming over the top of my jeans. That doesn't look very slimming. I'm suing for false advertising.
I: I see you are not having a good day. By-the-way, do you realize that saying "what-the-freak" is really just a substitute for a swear word? It isn't much different than swearing. And you know how you are about not swearing. You go around telling everyone how offensive it is. Do you think some might find "what the freak" offensive?
Self: I am not having this conversation with you. Who asked you anyway? Certainly not I. Or maybe it was I.
Wednesday Wonderings
Just because I haven't posted much lately, doesn't mean I'm sitting around idle. I'm actually working on a few things. I thought I would share, but when I tried, things seemed to get very wacky. That leads me to believe I'm probably on the right track. Let's just say change is not easy, walking on the water isn't either. But I'm thinking of stepping out of the boat.
Saturday, October 03, 2009
The Best Part Of Fall
I know I've mentioned way too many times that I'm not fond of fall. The bright side to getting up so early...before Michael? Coming back to find this:
I offered an explanation here, but it still thrills me to see my bed gift-wrapped just for me every single day.
Other little joys I found:
Signs of Fall color changes.
I offered an explanation here, but it still thrills me to see my bed gift-wrapped just for me every single day.
Other little joys I found:
Signs of Fall color changes.
But I've been missing:
and his mom. I also can't wait to have Christopher and Lauren back.
Joining You Capture Red, from I Should Be Folding Laundry, thanks to Prairie Lady's watchful eye.
Oh, and my favorite red of all:
And one more red that I ran into yesterday. Yikes!
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
I'll Be There
Things seem so very urgent
With the passing of each day
But when you get to heaven
Last year was yesterday.
On earth we fret & stress
We worry endlessly,
Longing for a day of rest
A break from misery.
If only you could see up here
Splendid, harmonious, lovely
But if you think I've nothing to do
Your thinking is mistakenly.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Texting
Sometimes I hate text messages. Especially when I send a message to the wrong person. It can be very embarrassing. But not as bad as telling one person something about another individual and then inadvertantly clicking on that person's name and they receive the message. (I know someone who does this more often than she'd like anyone to know.)
I sent a text on Saturday night. Hilary went to Homecoming and the rest of us had nothing to do. At the last minute, we decided to go out. I thought I'd text message some friends to see if they wanted to join us.
When I didn't hear back, I checked my phone to make sure it sent. It sure did. But I accidently sent it to the wrong person. Both people names began with D. So I went ahead and sent it to the intended recipient. I had no idea who, if anyone, might show up. Nobody did. No one responded to my message.
Much later, like 4 hours, I did get two messages back. One said, "Just got your message, thx for the invite, maybe next time."
The other one:
"I'm sorry, but who is this?" Yikes! And that was who the message was intended for. Good old fashioned communication via a phone call would have made this so much simpler.
I sent a text on Saturday night. Hilary went to Homecoming and the rest of us had nothing to do. At the last minute, we decided to go out. I thought I'd text message some friends to see if they wanted to join us.
When I didn't hear back, I checked my phone to make sure it sent. It sure did. But I accidently sent it to the wrong person. Both people names began with D. So I went ahead and sent it to the intended recipient. I had no idea who, if anyone, might show up. Nobody did. No one responded to my message.
Much later, like 4 hours, I did get two messages back. One said, "Just got your message, thx for the invite, maybe next time."
The other one:
"I'm sorry, but who is this?" Yikes! And that was who the message was intended for. Good old fashioned communication via a phone call would have made this so much simpler.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Not For Everyone
Gross and probably TMI but I was shocked yesterday at what I found with a little "routine" cleaning...so if you are a frequent visitor to my house STOP READING NOW. I don't want to scare you into never coming back.
Or if you see me as a lovely, organized, hostess, with a spotless home-don't read this! I don't want to tarnish that image.
Over the weekend, Christina and Ethan were here. We were sitting around in the living room and Christina says, "do you smell that?"
"No, what?"
"Every time I sit here it smells like someone's dirty socks or something. It smells bad." She tried to find the source, but never did.
I have glass coffee tables that looked quite dirty. Ethan ate a bowl of coconut milk ice cream with chocolate swirls, sitting on the floor. I believe he tried to wipe his hands by smearing them against the glass. And yes, it was Thursday and I was finally getting around to tidying up.
I sat on the floor to windex the tables. I had to tip them on their sides to get underneath as little hand prints were there too. While I was spraying and wiping, scraping and spraying some more, I noticed what looked like chocolate on my leather couch. I spritzed a little glass cleaner on the leather to wipe it off. But it was dried on pretty good. Wondering if it would damage the leather, I sprayed again. I scrubbed harder. And then I began to smell an odor. Sure enough. That was what Christina had been smelling. OMG! Crusted on poop.
And as a side note, I've gotta say this.
When moms are sitting around discussing the frustrations of potty training and such. Do not try to reassure them by saying something dumb like, "don't worry. Relax. It will happen when he is ready. He won't go to kindergarten wearing diapers."
Every time I hear a comment like that I want to say, "oh yeah? Well, that's what everyone told Christina when Ethan was 2, then 3. At 4, she didn't hear it as much. He is 7 now. And yes. He DOES wear diapers to school."
Sorry. Just another one of my pet peeves.
Or if you see me as a lovely, organized, hostess, with a spotless home-don't read this! I don't want to tarnish that image.
Over the weekend, Christina and Ethan were here. We were sitting around in the living room and Christina says, "do you smell that?"
"No, what?"
"Every time I sit here it smells like someone's dirty socks or something. It smells bad." She tried to find the source, but never did.
I have glass coffee tables that looked quite dirty. Ethan ate a bowl of coconut milk ice cream with chocolate swirls, sitting on the floor. I believe he tried to wipe his hands by smearing them against the glass. And yes, it was Thursday and I was finally getting around to tidying up.
I sat on the floor to windex the tables. I had to tip them on their sides to get underneath as little hand prints were there too. While I was spraying and wiping, scraping and spraying some more, I noticed what looked like chocolate on my leather couch. I spritzed a little glass cleaner on the leather to wipe it off. But it was dried on pretty good. Wondering if it would damage the leather, I sprayed again. I scrubbed harder. And then I began to smell an odor. Sure enough. That was what Christina had been smelling. OMG! Crusted on poop.
And as a side note, I've gotta say this.
When moms are sitting around discussing the frustrations of potty training and such. Do not try to reassure them by saying something dumb like, "don't worry. Relax. It will happen when he is ready. He won't go to kindergarten wearing diapers."
Every time I hear a comment like that I want to say, "oh yeah? Well, that's what everyone told Christina when Ethan was 2, then 3. At 4, she didn't hear it as much. He is 7 now. And yes. He DOES wear diapers to school."
Sorry. Just another one of my pet peeves.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Smile
Someone must be smiling down on me. Knowing my lack of fondness for Fall, we've headed straight into winter. Snow is forecast for tomorrow. I turned the heat on today. Someone knew winter is my second favorite season. But gosh, I'm not quite ready.
Heth mentioned one of her favorite things about Fall is cute jackets. She is the queen of cute and chic. Yesterday I wore a leather jacket and boots. Fall has been redeemed.
I also wanted to thank everyone for their very generous comments on my Martha I Am Not post. You all are too kind but so very encouraging. Thank-you!
And just because he makes me smile:
Monday, September 21, 2009
Monday Morning Musings
Yes, it really is the last day of summer. It's a seasonal battle. Yesterday summer was winning with plenty of sunshine and 85 degrees. Ahhh...it was lovely. But today Fall fought back with ferocious winds. And rain. And it's pushing against the temperature to keep it below 52 degrees for the high. In fact the forecast has it fighting with snow in the high country just so we know it means business. Summer's last day is a dreary one.
I wish I'd had my camera yesterday. Amid the summer sun, the winds began to swirl, loosening the leaves from their branches, toppling them from the trees. Ethan was fascinated. He chased the leaves as they chinked along the ground. But it was the wind that caught him by surprise. He looked to be playing tag with it. As he ran, it tapped lightly upon his shoulder and he'd whirl around hoping to grasp it. His arms outstretched, he'd spin around and around embraced in the wind's pirouette. The satisfied smile I can't capture in words. The wonder and delight through the eyes of a child.
I wish I'd had my camera yesterday. Amid the summer sun, the winds began to swirl, loosening the leaves from their branches, toppling them from the trees. Ethan was fascinated. He chased the leaves as they chinked along the ground. But it was the wind that caught him by surprise. He looked to be playing tag with it. As he ran, it tapped lightly upon his shoulder and he'd whirl around hoping to grasp it. His arms outstretched, he'd spin around and around embraced in the wind's pirouette. The satisfied smile I can't capture in words. The wonder and delight through the eyes of a child.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Martha I Am Not
In case you had any doubts as to my abilities and gifts...I do NOT have the gift of serving. I am no Martha Stewart, or the biblical Martha who spent her energy preparing and serving. Her house was probably immaculate. Throngs of people descended upon her home to hear Jesus and could she get any help??? What was wrong with Mary anyway. Didn't she notice Martha needed help? Well, no she didn't.
I have a friend with the gift of serving. Lots of people do, because quite frankly, we need more servers than leaders. And just so you get it straight, I am not a leader either. Don't ask me to organize, delegate, and pull together an event. I'd end up doing it all myself. A good leader knows how to delegate the best person for each task. Not many are gifted at leading-because how many leaders do we need? But let's get back to serving.
My friend, the one gifted in serving, will walk into my home and can immediately see I need help. She would think nothing of loading my dishwasher, wiping off a table, or jumping in to prepare a meal. And I never have to tell her what to do. She instinctively knows what is needed. I love her! I love that she has the gift of serving and uses her talent so well. Those of you with this gift, probably don't see it as a gift. Instead, like Martha, you probably wonder what is wrong with the rest of us. Why can't we see when there is work to be done? Are we so selfish and thoughtless that we can't jump in and help wherever necessary? Truth be told, most of the time, we don't see it. But I'm trying.
I too used to wonder why I couldn't be like my friend. Why couldn't I see with her eyes? It wasn't until I took a class on spiritual gifts that I found the freedom to see with my eyes. The teaching came from Romans 12:6-8.
"In his grace, God has given us different gifts for doing certain things well. So if God has given you the ability to prophesy, speak out with as much faith as God has given you. If your gift is serving others, serve them well. If you are a teacher, teach well. If your gift is to encourage others, be encouraging. If it is giving, give generously. If God has given you leadership ability, take the responsibility seriously. And if you have a gift for showing kindness to others, do it gladly."
Does this mean that just because I am not gifted in serving that I am not to serve? Certainly not. But I shouldn't feel guilty because I have to work harder at serving. Nor should I try to lead when there is someone more qualified for the job, but I might find myself leading at times.
I was reminded of this not long ago while talking with my sister, Carolyn. She mentioned that she's always taken the servant roles but more recently took on a leadership role. She's more comfortable in serving, not leading. Growing up the oldest of 4 kids, I can't help but wonder if she isn't gifted in leadership. But at the same time, she does have a lot of that other Martha's tendencies. No, the Martha with a flair for decorating and creating a lovely home. Carolyn sees things I don't. She has a vision for the rooms in her house and it is fun to see the magical transformations she is forever creating.
Like I said. A martha I am not. I have trouble picking out a paint color. But that's ok.
I have a friend with the gift of serving. Lots of people do, because quite frankly, we need more servers than leaders. And just so you get it straight, I am not a leader either. Don't ask me to organize, delegate, and pull together an event. I'd end up doing it all myself. A good leader knows how to delegate the best person for each task. Not many are gifted at leading-because how many leaders do we need? But let's get back to serving.
My friend, the one gifted in serving, will walk into my home and can immediately see I need help. She would think nothing of loading my dishwasher, wiping off a table, or jumping in to prepare a meal. And I never have to tell her what to do. She instinctively knows what is needed. I love her! I love that she has the gift of serving and uses her talent so well. Those of you with this gift, probably don't see it as a gift. Instead, like Martha, you probably wonder what is wrong with the rest of us. Why can't we see when there is work to be done? Are we so selfish and thoughtless that we can't jump in and help wherever necessary? Truth be told, most of the time, we don't see it. But I'm trying.
I too used to wonder why I couldn't be like my friend. Why couldn't I see with her eyes? It wasn't until I took a class on spiritual gifts that I found the freedom to see with my eyes. The teaching came from Romans 12:6-8.
"In his grace, God has given us different gifts for doing certain things well. So if God has given you the ability to prophesy, speak out with as much faith as God has given you. If your gift is serving others, serve them well. If you are a teacher, teach well. If your gift is to encourage others, be encouraging. If it is giving, give generously. If God has given you leadership ability, take the responsibility seriously. And if you have a gift for showing kindness to others, do it gladly."
Does this mean that just because I am not gifted in serving that I am not to serve? Certainly not. But I shouldn't feel guilty because I have to work harder at serving. Nor should I try to lead when there is someone more qualified for the job, but I might find myself leading at times.
I was reminded of this not long ago while talking with my sister, Carolyn. She mentioned that she's always taken the servant roles but more recently took on a leadership role. She's more comfortable in serving, not leading. Growing up the oldest of 4 kids, I can't help but wonder if she isn't gifted in leadership. But at the same time, she does have a lot of that other Martha's tendencies. No, the Martha with a flair for decorating and creating a lovely home. Carolyn sees things I don't. She has a vision for the rooms in her house and it is fun to see the magical transformations she is forever creating.
Like I said. A martha I am not. I have trouble picking out a paint color. But that's ok.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Ran Out Of Gas
I really thought the humiliation of the past was a good lesson. I thought wrong.
When Hilary was in 4th grade, I picked her and Sarabeth up from school. We drove a few miles to the high school to pick up Elisabeth. But as we neared the school, my suburban sputtered and died. I couldn't figure out what was wrong. I'd run out of gas.
About a month later, with Hilary in the car, it happened again. In the same neighborhood, picking Elisabeth up from school. This time a police officer stopped to help us. He pushed the suburban to the side of the road with his lights flashing and then we got to ride in the back of his car. As we drove to the gas station, Hilary sank lower and lower in her seat. She didn't want anyone to see her peering out the back of a police car, locked in like a criminal. I laughed about it later when she told me how embarrassed she was. And I figured out that my gas guage was broken.
Fast forward a few years, different car. I get an early morning call from Sarabeth. She, Hilary, and the neighbor were driving to school when they ran out of gas on the highway. Luckily, they were able to coast down the off ramp, park the car on the shoulder and walk 1/2 a mile to a gas station. I was proud of them for taking care of the situation themselves. And I was hoping they'd figured out that when the gas light comes on, it really does mean you need to stop and put gas in it for it to keep running.
This morning my cell phone rings. It's Hilary. She should be at school by now.
"Hi mom."
"Hi Hilary."
"So...I was driving down Simms and the car started sputtering. I coasted to the bottom of the hill, but I ran out of gas."
Gee, I really thought she understood that cars need gas to stay running. And yes, that little light on the dash that comes on as you near empty is there for a reason.
When Hilary was in 4th grade, I picked her and Sarabeth up from school. We drove a few miles to the high school to pick up Elisabeth. But as we neared the school, my suburban sputtered and died. I couldn't figure out what was wrong. I'd run out of gas.
About a month later, with Hilary in the car, it happened again. In the same neighborhood, picking Elisabeth up from school. This time a police officer stopped to help us. He pushed the suburban to the side of the road with his lights flashing and then we got to ride in the back of his car. As we drove to the gas station, Hilary sank lower and lower in her seat. She didn't want anyone to see her peering out the back of a police car, locked in like a criminal. I laughed about it later when she told me how embarrassed she was. And I figured out that my gas guage was broken.
Fast forward a few years, different car. I get an early morning call from Sarabeth. She, Hilary, and the neighbor were driving to school when they ran out of gas on the highway. Luckily, they were able to coast down the off ramp, park the car on the shoulder and walk 1/2 a mile to a gas station. I was proud of them for taking care of the situation themselves. And I was hoping they'd figured out that when the gas light comes on, it really does mean you need to stop and put gas in it for it to keep running.
This morning my cell phone rings. It's Hilary. She should be at school by now.
"Hi mom."
"Hi Hilary."
"So...I was driving down Simms and the car started sputtering. I coasted to the bottom of the hill, but I ran out of gas."
Gee, I really thought she understood that cars need gas to stay running. And yes, that little light on the dash that comes on as you near empty is there for a reason.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Fallish
Sunday morning it was 62 degrees...in my bedroom. Brrr.
It felt like football weather. We wore sweat shirts. It was a great day for football.
Monday evening Michael and went for a drive with the top down. He loves fall and the cool, crisp air. He can't get enough of it. He savors it, soaks in it. He bestows praises upon Fall and its splendor. And I want to be that thrilled.
I've mentioned before; Fall is my least favorite season. I've attributed my distate to many things. I've wondered and questioned why the dread and glum. But still the heaviness descends. It seeks to settle, surrounding me, and I grope and writhe trying not to suffocate.
There is a beauty in Fall, unmatched. Looking out my window I see the ending of summer. Yellow peeking out between the green leaves. It taunts and tempts me with its alluring colors. I want to yield, to embrace the glorious beauty. Yet I am held back. Fearing loss, I scratch and claw. I need to win this compelling fight. Or do I?
It felt like football weather. We wore sweat shirts. It was a great day for football.
Monday evening Michael and went for a drive with the top down. He loves fall and the cool, crisp air. He can't get enough of it. He savors it, soaks in it. He bestows praises upon Fall and its splendor. And I want to be that thrilled.
I've mentioned before; Fall is my least favorite season. I've attributed my distate to many things. I've wondered and questioned why the dread and glum. But still the heaviness descends. It seeks to settle, surrounding me, and I grope and writhe trying not to suffocate.
There is a beauty in Fall, unmatched. Looking out my window I see the ending of summer. Yellow peeking out between the green leaves. It taunts and tempts me with its alluring colors. I want to yield, to embrace the glorious beauty. Yet I am held back. Fearing loss, I scratch and claw. I need to win this compelling fight. Or do I?
Monday, September 14, 2009
A Letter To Taylor Swift
Dear Taylor,
Stick to country music. Country folk are kinder, caring people. I have no idea why or how Kanye West got on stage during your award last night. Who does he think he is? Spend a few minutes with the man, listen to the lyrics of his songs and you will know much about his character.
I'm sorry he left you speechless. It was nice of Beyonce to call you back on stage during her award. But sadly, your VMA award will forever be remembered by the ugly remarks of a pathetic rapper.
Embrace your country roots where men are tough cowboys, but gentlemen at heart.
And some still wonder why "Ladies Love Country Boys."
Stick to country music. Country folk are kinder, caring people. I have no idea why or how Kanye West got on stage during your award last night. Who does he think he is? Spend a few minutes with the man, listen to the lyrics of his songs and you will know much about his character.
I'm sorry he left you speechless. It was nice of Beyonce to call you back on stage during her award. But sadly, your VMA award will forever be remembered by the ugly remarks of a pathetic rapper.
Embrace your country roots where men are tough cowboys, but gentlemen at heart.
And some still wonder why "Ladies Love Country Boys."
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Friday, September 11, 2009
Fun, Fabulous, Friday or Silly Saturday
Yesterday I wasn't terribly motivated. Even though it was a short week, I was tired. Plus 9/11 seems to be a somewhat sad day. So what did I do? Spent my time being silly.
Thursday night Hilary informed me that Friday was the last day to turn in a baby photo for her senior yearbook. Nice. I like to have time to find the right photo and think of a meaningful dedication to write. I don't like being crunched for time. I wasn't given a choice. It had to be done.
I did have fun rummaging through photos. Too bad I can't submit this to the yearbook.
Musical Photo-Yes, that is a blow up guitar. But boy can she rock.
I didn't make dinner last night either. Nobody was here. Dee called. (That's my daughter-in-law's mom.) She asked if we wanted to go out for dinner. Woohoo! I knew there was a reason I didn't cook anything.
And then I don't know what came over me. I wondered if I could still do the splits. I kicked my leg out and down I went. And I could almost got there. Halfway down I hear a loud pop in my hip.
Elisabeth snapped this before I fell over in pain.
Today it doesn't feel so great. I'm off to the chiropractor to see if he can pop it back. What was I thinking? I couldn't do the splits as a teenager...why did I think I could do them now???
Thursday night Hilary informed me that Friday was the last day to turn in a baby photo for her senior yearbook. Nice. I like to have time to find the right photo and think of a meaningful dedication to write. I don't like being crunched for time. I wasn't given a choice. It had to be done.
I did have fun rummaging through photos. Too bad I can't submit this to the yearbook.
Musical Photo-Yes, that is a blow up guitar. But boy can she rock.
I didn't make dinner last night either. Nobody was here. Dee called. (That's my daughter-in-law's mom.) She asked if we wanted to go out for dinner. Woohoo! I knew there was a reason I didn't cook anything.
And then I don't know what came over me. I wondered if I could still do the splits. I kicked my leg out and down I went. And I could almost got there. Halfway down I hear a loud pop in my hip.
Elisabeth snapped this before I fell over in pain.
Today it doesn't feel so great. I'm off to the chiropractor to see if he can pop it back. What was I thinking? I couldn't do the splits as a teenager...why did I think I could do them now???
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