One of my New Year’s resolutions was to read more of what my fellow bloggers have to say – even if it meant me writing less. I figured if I didn’t have anything interesting to post (which often I don’t) I’d just utilize the time to enjoy the intellect of others. This has been one of the few resolutions that I’ve actually kept, and turns out to be the most beneficial one.
Most of us have heard the saying ‘listen more, speak less’. I’ve never taken that in the literal sense perhaps like I should. In carrying out my resolution, I discovered an invaluable treasure when I chose to ‘read more, write less’.
The extra effort I’ve put into reading more has opened up a whole new world. The depth of talent out there amazes me, and I’ve learned much from each of you. All this compels me to search and read even more. I have a deep appreciation for all the thoughts, music, ideas, art, poems and pictures you guys give so freely for the rest of us to enjoy.
I just wanted to take a moment to give a shout-out to all you gifted souls out there… and thank you for sharing a piece of your world with the rest of us.
Today’s date with my daughter at the farmers market was to start bright and early at 8 am, per her request. The little darling overslept, leaving me there to people-watch for over an hour which is a bad move. I’ve since decided ‘opening time’ at the farmer’s market isn’t necessarily the best time for yours truly to arrive. Why? Because this is when all the skinny little vegan people are scurrying about, looking desperately hungry, frail and cold. It’s not hard for me to spot ’em – their beady little accusing eyes attempting to size me up tends to give me the creeps. The women’s ponytails are pulled so tight it could actually serve as a breast-lift. Instead of one canvas tote, they’re carrying three or four – still requiring a dump of the first load in their car before going back in for another round. With stern expressions, they complete their mission like a well-oiled machine. Truth is, I guess I’m more of the I’m hungover, slept ’til noon and decided to come out in my pajamas® type. Sue me.
So that’s my observation on spotting a vegan. I also learned something today from babygirl – it appears I’ve mispronounced ‘vegan’ all my life (for the short time I’ve known what they were, anyway). Apparently the correct pronunciation is vee’-gan, with a long e and hard g. I like my own pronunciation better, which is ve’-jan, with a short e and soft g. This just makes more sense to me – it sounds short for vegetable, which is what they eat, right? Vee’-gan sounds too much like a monster or witch or something. So I think I’ll keep saying ve’-jan.
I’m just having a little fun here, so if you’re one of ‘them’
I’m sure I hope you don’t resemble the vast stereotype I witnessed today. Word… I just might have joined forces with you if I didn’t enjoy my meat so [very very] much. Then again, I could never give up that extra-heavy leather coat I got for Christmas that still permeates an entire room with the most pungently aromatic leather smell everrrrr. Pure Heaven, I tell you.
Off to cook my chicken. And zucchini. And squash. And corn. Did I mention I’m having chicken?
I was raised living with both my Mother and Grandmother (Mammaw), to whom I give credit for many ‘old-school’ morals I had instilled. Looking back now, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Born in 1917, she rose in the era of the Great Depression – a gentle, vibrant and curious child number five out of an eventual ten. Of her nine sisters and brothers, Marjorie McCorkle was the only child who was not assigned a middle name. At the very least, these odds alone might deliver a hefty blow to one’s own self-worth. The others were all given distinguished middle names, such as Coolidge, Fletcher, Louise and Gleason – so it still behooves me as to why her parents would choose to let one child go without that very important integer in their life.
I overheard the story several times throughout my childhood. “It must not have been important at the time. All the other children were given a middle name – except for me.” Whenever she talked about it, she always smiled – but I knew that smile all too well. Marjorie had become a master of hiding any hurt behind that beautiful smile of hers.
The meaning of the name Marjorie is ‘Pearl’ – I found the description to coincide as closely with her persona as it did the effect she had on people. It is a strong and elegant name, one of empowering status. It may be pronounced the English way by way of MAARJHeriy (to sound like a ‘zh’ instead of a ‘j’). I wish I’d known the meaning of Marjorie before now, as she would have had some damn nice pearls. What is it they say about hindsight again?
It interested me to learn of some famous personalities who were born in 1917: Zsa Zsa Gabor, Desi Arnaz, Nat King Cole, Dean Martin, Lena Horne, Richard Boone, Phyllis Diller, Joan Fontaine, Robert Mitchum, Susan Hayward and Jane Wyman. At this very moment I can almost sense her reply, “I’ll bet they all had middle names.” And you know, she was probably right.
In pondering the subject, perhaps for too long – I have decided to give my dear grandmother an honorary middle name. I ended up with two full legal pad pages of names. My final choice was not taken lightly, nor was it made quickly.
From beginning to end the name Elizabeth refused to leave my head. At some point during my childhood, I remember her telling me she did love that name – perhaps would have even picked it for herself. In biblical times, Elizabeth was John the Baptist’s Mother. The name Elizabeth is from a Greek translation of the Hebrew name Elisheva, meaning “God’s promise”, “oath of God”, or “God’s daughter”. Elizabeth has always been a widely used English name, of which my grandmother was of Irish-English ancestry. It makes perfect sense for her to have been given an English first and middle name, whilst carrying the Irish surname – eventually changing back to English once she was married. How I do love things that make sense; there are so very few in the world that do.
It may be 95 years late, dear Marjorie – but do know that you were extremely worthy in all aspects. This albeit ‘honorary’ bestowal comes with much love and adoration from your ‘bunny rabbit’ who misses you still, every day.
Until that fabulous day when we meet again, Marjorie ‘Elizabeth’ McCorkle Jones. And guess what, Mammaw? It’s got a real nice ring to it…
Today is Betty White’s 90th birthday – so here’s a big ole’ shoutout to one of the funniest ladies ever. I heart Betty White. I mean I really-really BIG ole’ heart Betty White. Why? For a whole truckload of reasons, really… the main one being that she’s always reminded me so much of my own Mammaw.
Betty and my Mammaw share the same birthday. Betty was born on January 17, 1922; Mammaw on January 17, 1917 – both children of the great depression under very different circumstances. Betty had originally aspired to become a writer, until she wrote and played the lead in a graduation play at school where she discovered her interest in acting. She has always had the unique ability to sustain grace, class and elegance while showcasing her superior wit, charm, and sense of humor.
Marjorie McCorkle Jones not only possessed that graceful and elegant forte, raised to appreciate the finer things though her life had many struggles – she had an extraordinary sense of humor. She could light a dark room up with her smile and laughter. One day, she’d hop like a bunny across the floor for me – the next, chase my bully off across the school parking lot (if you’ve never seen a bulging pre-teen boy running from a white-haired lady hauling ass out of a yellow Ford Pinto, I highly recommend you do). My Mammaw was a good Christian lady who always knew her place and loved the Lord dearly – but like Betty, she hadn’t a single inhibition of the occasional curse word passing her lips when so warranted. She loved to laugh more than any person I’ve ever known, lest I include myself.
Through the years I’ve followed Betty’s career, I’ve found the two personalities to so closely mimic each other that I could actually imagine a scenario of Betty and Mammaw being best friends back in the day. Her and a group of her girls skipping a day of high school together as they swung from vines underneath an old one-lane bridge on Old Dowd Road – where one eventually fell, broke her arm and brought the fun to a screeching halt. True story. Minus the Betty White scenario.
For the above and many more reasons, I’ve officially added Betty to my I’d love to Spend 24 Hours With… list. To hang out with this chick for a whole day would be a much-needed blast. In my book, she’d be right up there with Ellen.
So… Happy 90th, Miss Betty White Ludden. And Happy 95th to you up there in Heaven, dear Mammaw – if the earth numbers even matter now. Big hugs and kisses, from your bunny rabbit. 🙂
How do I start this, I sit here and wonder to myself. Do I even want to write about it at all? Not really. Do I need to? Probably. Problem is, my fingers don’t want to do the talking either. What the hell am I afraid of writing? Hello out there… brain to fingers – get to moving, babies. I need to get this out.
More ‘stuff’ over at the old house to go sort through. When my ex contacted me about it last week, I thought there was maybe just a bag or two to pick up. It was this time about four years ago when we were busy ‘splitting’ stuff. We stayed busy ‘splitting’ for months on end – after all, you do tend to accumulate a shitload throughout twenty-one years. So we split, split and split some more. When the emotions would get too high, we’d quit and start up again the next day, splitting again. I remember the pictures were the hardest – boxes and boxes of them.
I thought everything had been done. Nope… there’s more. Let’s go take care of it – it’s Goodwill or bust, ya know.
I’ve only had to go back over to the house a handful of times during the last several years. I don’t like driving through the neighborhood. I don’t like going down the street. I do NOT WANT to go in the house, as my daughter insisted on today “Mom, Dad knows you’re gonna be here to go through this stuff – I told him and he’s okay with it.” And so I commenced inside, where neatly stacked in her old room was a good-sized pile that came from the attic. Old baby clothes, stuffed animals, my old knitting materials, some outdated clothes, a few things that belonged to my grandmother, some of my old toys as a kid, all the missing Halloween decorations, and cards. If I failed to mention it before, I do not like going through cards.
Just when I think I’m a step ahead of the game, a day like today comes and knocks me back down a notch. Reminds me that I might not be as strong as I think I am. Was. Whatever. I must swallow the fact that I will forever have these demons, I’ve just realized they aren’t going to go away. What is it? No matter, for what’s done is done. My biggest demon? Failure. Still haven’t moved past that effing failure thing.
Through the years, I’ve learned a neat little trick. I can usually disguise the funk with a smile – on a good day, maybe even season it up with my boisterous laughter. It’s a trick my Mammaw taught me, albeit unconsciously. Ordinarily, it works. Until I’m alone. But that’s what matters, right? It’s just enough to get ya through a tight spot, when someone might be looking. Alone… well, you’re just that. On your own.
I guess the passage of time really isn’t all that when it comes to healing, or growing, or progressing, or whatever it is they say you do. I realize there are good days and bad, for all of us. As for me, I’m just thankful for that huge smile I was born with.
Once again, a New Year is upon us. Time for me to choose a new header/banner, for the year 2012. Just as I choose a single word that best describes the prior year that passed, I also pick a new banner to use for the coming year. I enjoy reflecting back on the prior years’ words and banners, specifically for their powerful meaning to me.
In 2008 I wasn’t blogging yet, so no banner – but my word for that year was Monumental.
It’s not by accident that my first banner below included so many mountains.
My word of 2009 was Colorful.
The next piece below is made up of five of my most favorite things.
My word of 2010 was Serene.
The below shot is a panoram I took while staying at the beach last New Years.
My new word for 2011… drum roll please…
My word of 2011 is Transitional.
It was hard to find a word for 2011. When I finally ran across transitional, I knew I didn’t need to look any further.
I’m finding the end of 2011 to be this huge reflection pool, of this year as well as years prior. In late Spring I moved from my humble abode of three years, the place where I started my new life in 2008. It took some adapting to learn to live with someone again, since Keith and I had both been living alone for so long.
It didn’t take long at all. Where I live now is home in every sense of the word. Hard to explain, except that I feel like I’ve always lived there. Whenever Keith and I are together, everything just seems so easy. Of course life will always have it’s trials and tribulations – but it just seems easy. If that makes any sense.
So on to a brand new year. Nearly four years later, I can finally breathe that long-awaited sigh and say… this butterfly has completed her journey. And what a journey it’s been.
Christmas is here, the celebration of our Savior’s birth. The little baby whose bed was a manger on that cold star-filled night. Little did he know what was to lie ahead for him. Then again, maybe he did.
This has been the most amazing Christmas ever. Our girls are here and still snuggled tight under the covers fast asleep. I’d love to get a picture of them, but I don’t feel like getting killed today. 🙂 Stockings are filled, and I’m simply biding time with this little post before I start cooking breakfast and have to wake everyone.
I wish every one of you the merriest of Christmases, spent with good friends and family.
And Happy Birthday, Jesus.
“The most enduring traditions of the season are best enjoyed in the warm embrace of kith and kin. Thith tree is a thymbol of the thspirit of the Griswold family Chrithmath.”
~Clark W. Griswold
“Where ya gonna put a tree that big, Griswold?”
“Bend over and I’ll show you.”
My daughter and I are literally obsessed with the movie Christmas Vacation. I’m definitely not the best at remembering some of the quotes, but my girl can pull one out of
her the air with absolutely no notice in less than a fraction of a second.
“You surprised to see us, Clark?”
“Oh, Eddie… If I woke up tomorrow with my head sewn to the carpet, I wouldn’t be more surprised than I am right now…”
Now I don’t mean to toot my own horn here, but this kid of mine is a huge pile of awesomeness. Seriously. Just when I thought her awesomeness couldn’t get any more awesome, last night she sends me this picture of a sweater she made for an ‘Ugly Sweater’ Christmas party she was attending. In true Christmas Vacation fashion. (Did I mention the fact that she made it?)
“They had to replace my metal plate with a plastic one. Every time Catherine revved up the microwave, I’d piss my pants and forget who I was for about half an hour or so.”
This kid could take table scraps and turn them into the most fabulous Cinderella gown you’ve ever seen. Just like clockwork, her Christmas Vacation quotes start annually around October 1st. She still has that same laugh as when she was a baby, and gets a big rise out of making others laugh. And hey, who couldn’t use a little hilarity in a
sometimes often stressful season?
“Oh, I was just smelling – smiling. I was just blouse – browsing. I, uh, heh heh. Well, I guess it just wouldn’t… Oh hee hee, it wouldn’t be the Christmas shopping season if the stores were any less hooter than they – HOTTER than they are. Whew. It is warm in here, isn’t it?”
She’s gonna shoot me for posting this, but see, I just can’t help myself. Now I’m getting all nostalgic in typical Clark-fashion. Seems like it was only yesterday when I dipped her in the ocean for the very first time… yeah, just like yesterday…
“Can I refill your eggnog for you? Get you something to eat? Drive you out to the middle of nowhere and leave you for dead?”
“Naw, I’m doing just fine, Clark.”
Mele Kalikimaka to you all!
It’s very entertaining to me to learn the nickname of the area I now live is called ‘Boogertown’. When I first saw it listed that as my location on social networking sites, I honestly thought it was a joke. It’s not! Well, it’s probably a pretty good joke for the people to the north of us. 🙂
It’s true – I live in Boogertown. Hey, at least I’m outside the city limits.
I’m just about ready for the Christmas holidays to be upon us, good thing because it’s happening quickly. I got about the best news ever last night when Keith confirmed that his daughter will be here for Christmas – that means we’ll have BOTH our daughters home for the Holidays! We’re so excited about it, you just can’t get any better than to have your kids together at home on the most important holiday (to me, anyway) of the year. My own family gets together and celebrates on Christmas Eve – my mother, her husband, uncle and aunts – and Christmas Eve will be held here at our house this year. (Did I mention we’ll also have our daughters with us this year?)
We’re already hot on the planning of the Christmas Eve menu. So far I have on the roster a turkey breast, dressing, meatballs, broccoli casserole, cranberries, my Mom’s most famous potato salad, a cheeseball, and many many other delectable goodies. My family will open up presents to each on the Eve, then later in the evening when everyone leaves we’ll all four have a family Christmas with our girls. The fire will be going, Christmas carols on, the lights outside twinkling. Christmas morning Keith and I will get up and cook our special breakfast, and let the girls sort through their stockings full of goodies. After that, we’ll pack up the car to head to Keith’s sister’s house for his side of the family’s Christmas. Just the mere thought of it all is so very magical to me – I already know it’s going to be a Christmas we’ll remember for the rest of our lives.
What have you all got planned for the Christmas holiday? ♥
- My one and only child, my daughter, is amazing. I have absolutely no doubt she was heaven-sent. She’s smart, beautiful, kind and God-fearing – and she loves me as much as I love her. Well… almost. 🙂
- My mother and my father are alive and well, and are each amazing in their own right. Our individual relationships are more precious and meaningful than I’ll ever be able to convey in words.
- I’m fortunate enough to have found an honest, genuine, beautiful man who possesses the rare ability to love me unconditionally (and I love him more). His awesome family members are added gems.
- A warm, comfortable, quiet house to come home to every day is my refuge, my peace, my tranquility.
- My job affords me the ability to live. It’s a good job with good people at a reputable company – something I’ll never take for granted.
- I own the most reliable vehicle in the history of reliable vehicles. I really do have the ‘little engine that could’. My little sedan has proven herself for many years now and still performs like a champ.
- As of current I have no known debilitating disease or other affliction that would affect my daily life. I say this while I watch so many around me suffer – including children.
- I count the small circle of genuine friends I have as part of my life’s riches. Because true friends are indeed a treasure.
- I’ve never gone hungry. We always always have more food than we need.
- My little furbaby Camille has brought more joy to my life than I could ever repay her with. It astounds me just how much love God has bestowed into these little hearts.
- Never will I take my individual freedom to come and go and do as I want for granted. As a law-abiding citizen, I may travel at whim and make my own decisions – all benefits of free will.
- My most beloved blessing… the most glorious gift from God for anyone who is willing to accept it – the promise of eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.
This morning as I sat in front of my computer, my trusty sidekick hung out with me.
I caught her snuggling with Mr. Frog (the first stuffed animal Keith ever gave me).
For once, I happened to have the camera right beside me.
A few minutes later, she gave her customary ‘hummpphh’ from her table beside the computer desk. Knowing my little girl so well, I immediately took note it was more than a ‘hey mommy, over here!!’ grunt. It was obvious she was planning a desk-launch, and she wanted clearance to do so.
And so the stance was taken.
“No, Camille.” Hunched forward again in pounce mode. (A little firmer now) “Camille – NO.”
She then backed off completely with one exception – her little left paw was left suspended
and quivering in mid-air.
And it hung.
And hung. And quivered.
“Aren’t I cuuuuute, Mommy?
Let me squint my eyes at you to let you know how much I love you Mommy and,
and, and… you are getting very sleepy, Mommy…”
“sooooo, now could be my chance – lemme slide in a little looksie at two o’clock…”
She shoots – she scores.
After digging her out from the wires on back of computer (oh how I hate that)
comes the dreaded walk of shame.
“Whatta you mean I gotta get back on the bore-table?! All that work for nuttin’??
Oh I’m pissed. No, I won’t look at you. No. I’m so…”
“…pissed, I tell you. Errr, what… a close-up you say?
Well – okay, gotta look my best for dem close-ups. Cheese!!”
This ten-year mark of the September eleventh attacks will be a little different than the prior nine.
What’s sure to be an emotional unveiling of the 9/11 Memorial and Museum will happen this Sunday morning of September 11 2011. It has been a long-awaited and intricately planned project to say the least. Granted, these are my words. I realize there are no ‘appropriate’ words to use to describe the attack itself, it’s Memorial nor the intense emotions that run so deep when one thinks back to that fateful day ten years ago.
This past weekend I watched a 2-hour special on the years of work leading up to the completion of the 9/11 Memorial Site and Museum. All the time, effort and respect shown by everyone involved was nothing short of an amazing story. It had it all – love, grief, courage, oneness. Such an important word in the continued endeavor to heal – ONENESS. I believe the generations that went through these attacks will be working to heal for the rest of their lives.
To me, there could be no more appropriate memorial than this beautiful one that took so long to conceptualize and create. Two seemingly ‘endless’ pools sit on the area where the Twin Towers once stood. They are each nearly an acre in size and feature the largest man-made waterfalls in North America. The large pool of the initial waterfall spawns a second small one in the center which appears to cascade infinitely into the earth. The surrounding bronze panels edging the pools are carefully inscribed with the names of every person who perished in both the 2001 and 1993 attacks. I can’t imagine there being many dry eyes for those citizens witnessing the unveiling of this Memorial, whether in person or on television.
I’ve been told more than once that I ‘dwell’ too much on the most horrific terror attack in modern history. My answer to that is and always will be, so be it. One time when I brought it up to a close friend, I was dismissed with I never want to think about it again – it’s too horrible. It’s something that’s already happened and in the past now. As much as I still love this person, I’ll never forget the impact of hearing those words. Just mere days after the attack, when airplanes had yet to be given clearance to fly in our skies again – my ex husband told me I can’t watch any more of this, I’ve had it. From then on, just about everything else I watched had to be on my own time – adjusted around other shows which seemed to take precedence over 9/11. Again, so be it. I can report with much confidence that I did continue seeking information, and by the grace of God, I got it.
I’ve said this before but feel it bears repeating – I’d rather have nightmares about 9/11 every night for the rest of my life than to ever to forget about it. It’s true each of us are different, and we all have our own ways of dealing with tragedy. I realize this post is only one person’s views of the lasting effects from the largest loss of life from a foreign attack in the US so far. But let us not confuse the term ‘morbid dwelling’ with somber respect and remembrance. The act of remembering September 11th isn’t just black or white – equally as important are the shades of grey in between.
This morning I drove past my favorite bull in the misty morning field, and noticed a little calf with exactly the same coloring he has. I just had to smile. The slightest hint of autumn air whisked past me – I’d recognize this transition even if I weren’t conscious of the coming season change. I don’t mind autumn, really I don’t – I think of it as an end-of-summer reward at it’s best. At last, we will have bearable temperatures, cool nights, and gorgeous colors everywhere. I can even go hiking again. I’m just not fond of what comes next – bare trees, blustery cold mornings of devoting an extra fifteen minutes to defrost the car, the careful layering of our clothing to keep warm. I sleep about twice as much in the winter, hibernating like a bear. A cute little mama bear, that is. 🙂
Lucky for us, we have the current friendly neighborhood hurricane season to take our minds off those imminent winter days and nights! Oh, yay. Katia looks to be the next big boy coming our way. Incidentally, my daughter sails off from Tampa on Sunday for a seven-day cruise. She’ll be hitting some optimal ports – Cozumel, Belize, Isla Roatan Honduras and Grand Caymen. Tonight we’re taking her out to dinner bon-voyage style at our favorite Japanese hibachi restaurant. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit nervous about the weather for her. I know it’s to be expected, though…
Because that’s how September rolls.
My mother and her husband finally got out of town for a couple of days. She’s had a rough Summer with her brother passing away recently from a terminal illness, add to that the fact they haven’t been anywhere in years. Everyone deserves a vacation every now and then, and it’s been way too long for them.
Our family has this unique ability of finding humor in our own self, and Mom is no exception. The kind of laughter I heard from her yesterday was priceless, it’s the kind of laughter I haven’t heard in a long time. Mammaw was terrific at it too, and Mom is definitely a chip off the ole’ block! She was laughing so hard I couldn’t even understand her (no alcohol involved). Of course she couldn’t leave her husband out of the ‘roast’, so he got included too. 🙂
The complicated directions they were given to their room in the casino hotel made me think of the Griswold’s Vegas Vacation. There’s my sick sense of humor – I usually think of a movie to compare things to. Now, if Mom comes home with Wayne Newton on her arm I’m gonna have to give her a lecture.
We’ve all heard about them. Famous people have written them; a Hollywood movie was even filmed about them. Just for the fun of it, I started out to write my own. Something that just wasn’t meant to happen today.
Whenever I hear of a bucket list, I always think about my precious grandma. She didn’t have a list that we knew of, at least not a written one. But everyone who knew Mammaw was well aware of the one thing she wanted to do before she kicked the bucket (her words). She wanted to travel out west in an RV – through the big state of Texas right on into Arizona. Just her, us, and the open road. She had a deep passion for growing cactus, and all the varying species she grew here in North Carolina thrived. One day she had hoped to stand beside those big cactuses in Arizona.
On Christmas Day one year, her son got her what he thought to be the most hilarious gag gift. He brought her outside to find a surprise toy Winnebago ‘parked’ in the driveway behind her little Toyota Corolla. Ill-timed? Probably. I’ll be the first to admit that my Mammaw was the Queen of jokes and pranks – but I never will forget that twinge of disappointment she attempted to hide behind those deep brown eyes that day.
Through the years, she dearly loved the other toy replicas that were given to her as interim gifts. On a table in her living room, she proudly displayed her 2ft. wide intricate wood-carved covered wagon. It ended up surrounded with some of her authentic cactus and given a complete family, which she dressed up in era-appropriate western garb and bonnets.
She really yearned for that trip, but never got it. Looking back now, I’d do anything to have made that trip happen for her.
If Mammaw had had a bucket list, I know this trip would have appeared at the top. Not that writing your wants down necessarily makes them happen. I’ll go a step further to say the trip would’ve been the only thing on her list…
The ghosts of the past who appear in my recent dreams are starting to wear me down. Saturday and Sunday nights were both restless; when sleep did come it was packed full of crappy dreams. Weird, emotional, gross, sad, useless – all of it. In dire need of sleep, I retired early again last night. Once more, the ghosts of times past infiltrated my dreams. None of these entities have a current role in our lives, so I just couldn’t imagine a reason for them being in the dreams.
It’s not like me to have repetitive dreams of a undesirable nature, but I believe I’ve at least figured out the cause of them. As of recent, I’ve been putting more thought into the future than ever before. Sometimes when you contemplate the future you inadvertently propel yourself into the past – whether or not you want to. Your subconscious thoughts can and will manifest into your dreams. The fine line between fantasy and reality has never been a difficult thing for me to discern. That said, I now find a slice of my reality being spent fighting demons ensued by the dreams that decide to hang around and poke me with a stick the next day.
A long time ago I was asked, ‘Which would you prefer? The devil you know, or the devil you don’t know?’. My answer was ‘The devil I know’. Somehow I have to figure out how to not pick both.
I read an interesting post this morning written by someone dear. It has everything to do with assumption and its repercussions.
Nagging little mosquitos continue to swarm around, hoping for a good meal.
Assuming something that’s not been proven fact can get you into trouble. When coupled with unfounded accusations, even bigger trouble. Best to stay away from both.
In logic, an assumption is a proposition that is taken for granted, as if it were true based upon presupposition without preponderance of the facts. (Wikipedia)
Presume. Speculate. I was just a bit surprised to find (Dictionary.com) the word arrogance as an important integer in the definition of assumption… imagine that.
(Urban Dictionary) coins the phrase we’ve heard for just about our entire existence. Assume = to make an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me’. For instance, it is sometimes spelled as ASSume, to emphasize the importance of the word “ass” in the equation.
We should also remember that assumption can foolishly lead a person astray from the ‘real’ path they should have been following to begin with.
Just another day in the life – here’s to better days ahead.
My friend Kim over at What Now? It’s a Matter of Inflection… wrote a very nice post yesterday about how much positive energy she’s gotten out of facebook. Keeping up with friends and family updates on facebook does seem to be of the ‘norm’ nowadays. At the risk of looking like a copycat, I’ve got to run with a prime example that coincides closely with her own post.
I have a
rut routine in the morning. First I go straight for my little 7-day container of medicine, pretty much consisting of bp meds and vitamins, scoring either a diet coke or diet Dr. Pepper to down them. Then I’ll grab my iPhone, where I’ll quickly graze facebook and twitter to get any up-to-date news and make sure nobody died (seriously, I’ve found this kind of stuff out on there before). I’ve found I don’t need any rss feed on other news channels, since anything newsworthy will appear on either of these two social networks.
C’mon Bon… what’s your point??
Soooo – I wake up this morning to a facebook post by my 23-year old daughter that reads, “I hate hospitals. Ewwww.” Posted at approximately 0327 hours.
Instant panic. Of course, none of the comments posted afterward allude to what actually happened, which is par for the course. My fingers couldn’t text her fast enough this morning.
Why are you texting her, Bon – why not just call her? This is important, after all!!
Today’s generation of children do not answer their cell phone. Additionally, do not bother leaving them a voicemail. If you do prefer to waste your precious time leaving a voicemail, know that it will sit all alone in it’s inbox for years until tumbleweeds begin to float past it. Our kids today only want a written (short) text which they may respond to AT. THEIR. LEISURE. If you know all this beforehand, it’ll save you a lot of time and trouble. Unfortunately since I’m a first-generation parent of the current generation of kids – I’ve had to learn it all the hard way.
I didn’t receive any reply from my daughter until just now, 1104 hours in the morning. The golden text just arrived telling me she is fine, and it was her friend who had cut his hand wide open. While cutting an apple. At three in the morning. Of course, her phone died while waiting 4 hours in the ER, and since she didn’t go to bed until this morning she couldn’t hear Mum’s text! At least now I can finally
sigh very loudly breathe easier knowing that she’s okay. You never stop worrying about your kids. I guess it’ll be the same at any age, 23 or 53.
In closing, I guess Kim and I won’t be closing down our facebook accounts anytime soon! I hope everyone out there enjoys a wonderful weekend. 🙂
I was recently told that a friend of mine’s father now tells him he loves him before they hang up. It comes at a time later in life for him, but I realize how much it must mean to finally hear his father say I love you after all these years. It’s definitely better late than never.
I tell my close friends I love you before we part ways or hang up. I tell my mother and father I love you every night before we end the call. Of course, I tell Keith I love you more times per day than I care to count. I tell my beloved little Camille I love you before I leave her to go to work.
It’s three simple words that mean so very much. It feels good to say them, and it gives the recipient a feeling of such worth. If you feel it, it’s okay to say it. If it feels awkward that first time, no worries – that’ll fade quickly.
Can you say it too much or too often? Is it ever overused? I don’t believe so. Nah – not at all.