I absolutely love my sleep – even more so the older I get. Isn’t it funny how sleep seemed like punishment when we were kids, but all the sudden changes to a gift as we get older? Life’s just weird like that.
When I was younger I always slept IN something. During the era I grew up, young girls always wore gowns. I loved my gowns. Through the years I had many of them, some of which my mother even made for me. One of my fondest childhood memories involved such a nightgown. Courtesy of my uncle – my mother, grandmother and I had a week in a private oceanfront house at the end of the beach. While under her watchful eye, my mother let me walk around the big low-tide beach under a big bright full moon. The beach was very private and I was the only one on it that night. The moon was huge and full, and it felt like daylight on the beach – only with the moon instead. To this very day, the moon has never been more beautiful to me than it was that night.
From my teenage years on, it was usually just an oversized t-shirt and shorts that I slept in. If it was really cold out, pajama pants would probably come into play. I guess the point of all this is… I just can’t remember a time when I didn’t wear some form of clothing to bed. The mindset I had just couldn’t fathom not wearing clothing to bed.
If it were ever considered a hangup of mine – let’s just say that little ditty is out the window now. For the past 5-6 years, nothing has ever felt more natural than sleeping naked. I don’t know if I can explain why exactly, but I’ll give it a whirl.
It just feels healthy. My skin feels cool all night, as opposed to being oppressed with outerwear. Since I take my showers at night, it feels even better getting into bed clean. Sleeping naked feels natural… and free. More than anything else, that’s what it is – I feel free. I actually sleep better and more soundly than I ever have before. I believe there to be a multitude of other advantages to sleeping naked, suffice it to say I won’t list them here. 🙂 Let’s just say everything I’ve referenced so far has to do with flying solo. If you have a significant other, there are many added benefits of sleeping bare.
I guess the only drawbacks would be a break-in, fire, or other such sort of calamity – for these, I like to think I’ve planned ahead as much as possible and taken some necessary precautions. I can report I’ve sneaked around in the dark naked with a loaded weapon before when I heard something outside… but that’s a whole other post altogether. All things considered, as I look back it kinda makes me sad that I’ve missed out on sleeping naked my entire adult life. Looks like I’ve got some lost time to make up for.
It is to me, at least.
My circle of friends is small, and that’s by choice. Once you’ve been burnt by a select few throughout the course of a lifetime, it becomes pretty easy to build up that old retaining wall – to keep the nicely filtered water safe inside and disastrous tidal waves out. The quality level of my true friends is nothing short of stellar now – that’s what is important to me. I love having a friend I know so well that half the time we actually finish each other’s sentences. With most every subject, Lou and I end up having the same opinion. On the rare occasions we don’t agree on something, we still respect each others opinions. Neither of us have ever tried to change each other, nor persuade the other into doing something we’re uncomfortable with. Because a ‘real’ friend would never do that.
Lou and I have joked for years now about how we would be perfectly content to drive home from work on Friday and not leave out again until Monday rolls around. Once home from work on a weekday, we won’t start our car and go out again until the next workday. Doesn’t matter if we’re in need of something, it has to wait. You’d literally have to light a fire under both our asses to get us back out. Like many others, we both have a dog waiting for us to get home. Fact is, any type of errand after work requires careful prioritizing because of our pets – but I don’t know a pet-lover out there that begrudges this. I wouldn’t trade a thing.
I’m not complaining about any of this – quite the contrary. It makes me happy going straight home and and staying home. I’m not a socially active person by nature, never have been. Once in a while Keith and I will have a family event to attend over the weekend which we enjoy. I just find joy in weekends which have no plans whatsoever – aside from the rare impromptu day trip with him.
Speaking of my husband. He’s a hard-working man who works out of state all week and only comes home on the weekends. After so long it became routine like anything else – I just got used to it. I am not afraid. I’ve got my fearless boy Mojo, a fully loaded S&W and a quite sophisticated home security system. All that said, when the weekend finally does get here I relish my time with him. Since the weekend is all we have, we definitely make the most of every moment together. Hey, I realize it could always be worse – he could be deployed overseas for months or even years. I’m thankful for the time I do have with him and everything else we’ve been blessed with.
I’ve never been a bar person by choice. Ever. There’s something very sad to me about bars. Again, just my personal preference and opinion. We do enjoy having dinner with our parents on occasion. I don’t socialize with friends on a ‘regular’ basis aside from maybe a couple times a year, then it’s usually just for dinner or when someone is moving away or some life-changing event like that. I do not enjoy shopping – while I know this is weird for a woman, trust me when I say I’m totally okay with it. I guess the most social I’ve been in my entire life was last summer while I was busy planning our wedding, which I’ll admit about killed me. Literally had to be somewhere or meet up with someone 3-4 times a week. My stress and anxiety levels were off the charts. It was during this time that my friend Lou even sacrificed her own after-work time (something we both hold sacred, remember?) to plod the hot summer streets with me to help search for a wedding dress. I remember that after the wedding was over, I couldn’t wait to get back to my old ‘rut’. And so I did. I didn’t walk… I literally RAN back to it.
Ah… the aroma of sweet familiarity. Mmmm – smells SO so good. Just. Breathe. It. In. And Relax.
So what’s the point of all this, Bon? This is getting a little monotonous.
Apparently there are some out there bearing a false impression that I have a moral obligation to restructure my time to deligate more of my after-work hours to socialize. This has even included pressured attempts during the weekend when Keith comes home from working out of town all week. Needless to say, my patience level has bottomed out on this.
It’s not like I’ve been silent about my stand on the subject. It’s not a hidden secret on a game show being held for a big reveal later to floor everyone. I’ve expressly stated on several occasions that I’m a homebody and choose to spend my time after work at home, and my weekend time with my husband – but it’s all been blatently ignored.
My question is this… having made this a wide-open fact, why on earth would someone push the envelope, again and again? And if you do find yourself attempting to change or reroute how a person thinks – what kind of friend does that make you? And why would a person want to spend more time with you if you’re trying so hard to inflict your preferred method of thinking on them? Why would any real friend do that?
My reasoning is, a real friend wouldn’t.
I will not change the way I choose to spend my time, and I refuse to be bullied into it. Of course I realize there are exceptions to every rule. But if dire circumstances ever did warrant a change, my family and close friends would be those who took precedence. This 46 year-old broad has worked 40+ hours a week my entire adult life (attending several years of college during that), and traveled from one side of hell to the other in an attempt to start a new life. I have earned my right to spend my time after work however I damn well please. So I’m gonna clear something up real quick-like, once and for all. If you have a problem with how I spend MY time – weeknights or weekends – I strongly suggest that you start keeping it to yourself.
I will not apologize to anyone for being a homebody. It’s who I am, and I won’t apologize for being me. So quit right now trying to change me.
That is all.
Now if you’ll excuse me – I’m home for the evening. So I’m gonna fix myself something to eat and watch Dr. Phil.
The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned. ~Maya Angelou
If we allow ourselves to admit it, we are all constantly learning new things about ourselves. In reality, perhaps it’s only the realization of some already existing traits; or where certain events have led us. Through spurts of time, I enjoy compiling certain findings to peruse at a later date – thought I’d share my most recent ones.
• Unlike the majority of the population, I do not trust cruise control – therefore I don’t use it. And I’ve tried. When enabled, I experience the most profound sense of loss of control ever. For this reason I must maintain control of the brake and gas with my own foot – just my own personal preference.
• I have found that you can learn a lot about a person simply by watching how they treat a stranger. I’ll go so far to say that it speaks volumes.
• I cannot understand why someone would purposely choose to stay in a relationship without a strong sense of commitment from each side. Of course, I’m aware there exists an entire rainbow of exceptions on this little finding.
• I can sit with the insides of my thighs, calves and ankles flat on the floor like a frog. When I was younger, I secretly enjoyed the looks of horror from others when I did it. I kinda still do.
• I’ve never broken a bone, had stitches or been in the hospital (with the exception of having my daughter, and a hysterectomy some twenty years later).
• I have found that under most conditions, I drive better with one hand instead of two.
• The $5 taco bell ‘box deal’ will generally be a disappointment due to a lot of dough. It’s better to just order what you like.
• I’ve abhorred any type of seafood my entire life, but 2 years ago found I love sushi. Not the veggie stuff, but good reputable sushi with raw fish. I have it at least once or twice a week.
• I dated Clyde Pickler (Kelli Pickler’s father) back when I was 17 and living in Albemarle, NC. This was long before he had Kelli. He was a nice guy and a gentleman – and of course we thought the whole ‘Bonnie and Clyde’ thing was treacherous. Back then, treacherous was the word Albemarlinians substituted for cool.
• I have a scar on the back of my right hand that looks exactly like the Starship Enterprise on Star Trek. It happened when I was washing dishes while swirling my hand inside a glass and the glass decided to bust. Thus, the ‘Scarship Enterprise’ serves as a daily reminder never to stick my hand in a glass again.
• Certain dreams have much significance to me, so I pay close attention to them. One such recent incident occurred two nights before Keith hit that deer. My mother has a very strong hold on this ‘gift’, and apparently my daughter as well – as she dreamed of the tragic 2005 tsunami two days before it happened. Unfortunately, with dreams you sometimes have to read between the lines and figure the details out.
• The power of certain words continually amaze me. Like a man who opts to use the word ‘dear’ condescendingly on a female. You can always spot it – I’ve found it’s almost always used in a persuasion effort. ‘Here here!! SEE THINGS MY WAY… NOW.’ Guys, you gotta know we don’t like that shit. So am I one of those females that will call you on it? Damn straight, every time. And for the record, it’s not my husband who does this. He’s a smart one, he is.
I’ve already grown weary of winter. Winter months are hard, and those who know me already know I’m not a fan of anything difficult.
If you’re still reading this, you’re probably aware that this will be a rant post. Hey, we all need one now and then. With that said, I’ll proceed to touch on a few of the reasons why I
abhor hate dislike the season.
- All the extra required clothing, resulting in more laundry. Additionally, more clothes give the illusion of more pounds. Hate.
- I must wear socks. I hate socks. More importantly, my feet hate socks. And any accompanying enclosed shoes.
- Staying up longer at night to make sure that last log is in fact extinguished results in Bon getting less sleep. This is not a good thing.
- Everything looks bare naked and dead. That’s because it is. For several months.
- My car is happy in cool weather – but hates freezing temperatures. It’s not unusual for my key locks and/or door jams to freeze, resulting in me being late for work.
- Lotion up. Now, lotion up once more. Wait, we’re not done here – dammit the lotion bottle’s empty again.
- Dear Sun, how I adore thee. But alas, our time together seems to have been cut in half. I am pale. I mean like Edward Cullen pale. The forecast calls for even more pale.
When torrential rain gets thrown into the mix (over three-inches-expected-in-one-day torrential) it turns from aggravating to disastrous. Like when you let your puppy out to poo and he decides to find a hidden spot in the yard to dig while in said torrential rain.
Yep, I’ll be late for work again.
As I came to the first red light on the way to work this morning, I was stunned to see a car stalled between it and the busy highway which I was waiting to turn on. An elderly lady with a desperate look on her face sat in the drivers seat on the phone, and her husband sat slumped in the passenger seat with a blank look on his face. The ass-end of their car sat poised in the busy intersection of the highway, just waiting to be t-boned. She’d even called the cops, who still hadn’t showed by the time I left a half-hour later.
When I finally got her attention I asked if her car was stalled, she replied yes. I asked her to hang on since I was forced to make the green light turn. Maneuvering a quick U, I pulled in front of her, ran back to their car and asked her to put it in neutral. I immediately took note of the incline it would have to be pushed up – even though I had doubts about handling it alone, knew I had to try anyway. They always say adrenaline kicks in the moment you need it, and these people desperately needed to be moved out of a very busy intersection of a highway. The cars came and went, some honking and rapidly switching lanes to avoid hitting us at the last minute. I finally had to face the brutal stomach-sinking reality that I couldn’t move the car by myself. I started locking eyes with passerby cars who came to rest at that red light, spotted what I thought was a guy, and waved them down. Lo and behold, the door opened and out popped a female. I yelled over to her that we needed to find a man, but she ran over anyway and became my teammate.
Inch by slow inch, we made tiny progress. We both put our entire body weights into it, which even combined didn’t seem enough to get the job done. The elderly disabled husband began exiting the car very slowly (as we were moving it). I noticed his arms didn’t work – they just hung to his sides. I tried to get him to step to the side but he wouldn’t. He leaned his back end into it and did what he could, bless his heart.
My cohort and I proceeded to inch the car along, with it coming to rest every few seconds. Her and I didn’t speak, but every time the car stopped I knew we were thinking the same thing – we both had to fight to keep it from reversing backwards on us. I truly believe it was God’s hand that helped us push that car upward…
For the next 20 minutes, car after car whizzed past us while we expended every bit of energy we had to get the car up the hill. Once we got her pulling into the grass, a van stopped and a man got out. With three bodies pushing, the car finally came to rest safely in the grass.
When it was all over and I was back in my car, I found myself beyond infuriated. Why, you may ask? It’s simple, really. WHERE THE HELL WERE ALL THE MEN?? I mean, are you serious? Out of the scores of cars that passed us in that 20 minutes, my money’s certainly not riding on the fact that they were all female. This includes all the ones at the red light who were already safely stopped, who came and went.
I know of a good many men that I feel sure would have stopped and leant their strongarms. I’m hoping that chivalry is indeed not dead and the people I encountered this morning who ‘opted out’ were not in the majority of the population. This chance encounter only dimmed that hope, unfortunately.
I have a lot of pet peeves, probably even more than the average person. After my experience going home yesterday, thought I’d touch on just one.
Anyone who knows me knows I have the utmost respect for a good motorcycle driver. I’m always on the lookout for that one headlight and allow extra following room when behind one. However… I hate those crotch-rocket motorcycles with drivers who are on a suicide mission. I literally cringe when I hear the high-pitched ‘niiiii-niiiii’ of one – I liken it to the whine of a bitching kid. You’ll never go fast enough to please them, they simply have to be in front of you. Cops can’t catch them, and engaging in a high-speed chase isn’t worth the danger to others anyway.
One of the disadvantages of living off a long country road are these underground groups who congregate their whining little bikes and drag race. The act of drag racing changes everything – from putting their own lives in danger to inserting you and I into the mix. That’s my ultimate peeve about the assholes that choose to drive like this, the total lack of respect for others lives.
The long road I was on yesterday maintains an unspoken rule of going 5-10 mph over an already generous speed limit. I’ll go a step further to say I rarely have anyone on my bumper, if you know what I mean. In an instant, two unmistakable whines mysteriously appeared behind me. Just as the dotted line ended (did you expect anything less?) the helmet-less crotchers wizzed by doing at least 100. As they both reached the top of the hill to pass the car in front of me (seriously guys, I can’t make this shit up) the guy in the back ducked.
He DUCKED. Like that’s gonna help him out of a lethal situation. He should know that with this kind of ‘driving’, someone will eventually have the not-so-pleasant task of scraping his brains off the asphalt. I wonder how much that person gets paid? Think I’ll pass on sending in a resume for that position.
Word. There’s a time and place for everything. I like my life, and I want to keep it. If you want to
risk play roulette off yourself, have at it – but know that you’re an unspeakable piece of shit if you take my life while doing so. Hey, somebody had to say it.
I love wind chimes.
Maybe it’s because they’re one of the few things left in life that are non technology-related. Maybe it’s because it’s the first thing I bought myself a couple of months prior to moving and starting a new life in 2008. Or maybe it’s because they provided such good company during the times I felt alone.
I paid only ten dollars for this set of windchimes, which is a steal for chimes (I know mine isn’t such a vintage set, but I’ve grown accustomed to their harmonial sounds). I’m sure at times my neighbors could’ve shot me for the relentless chime songs coming from my third floor condo, but I never got any complaints.
My chimes are still with me, though now weathered and worn. Much like an old flag proudly waving, both require that common denominator of wind in order to perform their duties. I’ve always thought weathered and worn adds character to pretty much anything. Weathered and worn tells stories.
This morning I ran across the Mother of all Windchimes -they’re called Corinthian Bells. I can’t afford them, but if I ever can you can bet I’ll have a set. Aside from the beautiful music of a harp – I’ve never heard anything quite as lovely. Thought I’d share one more video (not mine) showcasing this beautiful set – it’s so sweet. The end of this video made it an instant favorite of mine… and who couldn’t use a little more sweetness in their day?
When I started this little blog back in ’09, the intent was to create a sort of release valve for myself. Blogging can be a great way of expressing ones innermost thoughts, opinions, and feelings – especially for things that tend to go unsaid. Anything I jot down is not intended to impress a single soul with the exception of my own self. I held no expectations of anyone ever wanting to read what I wrote. I’ve said before but feel it bears repeating – those of you who find anything I have to say even remotely interesting humbles me greatly, and I thank you for that.
Regardless of content, anything you write that’s open to the public eye will eventually be critiqued on some level. It’s not a matter of if, but when. I’ve had posts taken out of context, some misconstrued, and three or four even taken personally which was never my intent. Through the course of time I have been ‘conditioned’ on what might be acceptable material and what might not ‘pass’. I’ve been advised as to what did and didn’t sound right, had recommendations on future topics, and believe it or not – had disappointment expressed on certain topics that I did choose. For example, something as simple as a television show that I like.
I believe when you change how you express yourself for the sole purpose of being politically correct to others, you start to lose a huge chunk of your own depth and creativity. I’ll even go so far as to say an actual part of your own self. Being a natural cut-up, I enjoy laughing more than anything – it’s not uncommon for me to incriminate myself from time to time in an attempt to be funny. Alas, long gone are my drinking jokes on twitter (hey, Blake Shelton can do it, why can’t I?). I have abandoned most of the profanity in my posts. Just when I think I have everything down pat – along comes yet another evaluation that all but demands a detour.
I guess it all boils down to how I choose to react to or handle the ‘conditioning’. I remind myself it’s only natural as a human being to yearn for positive attention and that ‘fix of approval’ from others. Sometimes though, I feel like a sculpture in the making – watching silently from the inside, as chip by chip I am chiseled into an image that everyone else approves of. But this isn’t reality – there is no such thing. It’s impossible to please everyone.
Personal possessions aside, how many things in life can you say really belong to you? Are actual extensions of you? Probably not very many. I’m not writing this blog for anything or anyone other than myself. These are my thoughts, and however crudely they may or may not be written is also mine. In fact, this whole thing you’re reading is about me. And I’ve gotta get back to being me.
Sammy said it best…[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h5k2ZE6HAVo &rel=0]
Ever throw a hint that doesn’t get picked up on? Maybe you’re sure that it’s a strong enough one to be recognized but it gets averted anyway, or worse – avoided. Not a good feeling. Can even be frustrating, especially if the hint’s been thrown out on a semi-annual basis for any length of time.
Hinting about a want, desire, or issue of importance in your life can be mentally draining when the hint goes unacknowledged. I understand it’s sometimes better to come right out and say what it is you want – but for me that key word is sometimes. The problem I have with this is, depending on the subject matter, there are wants/needs I just don’t believe I should have to suggest or hint for. It’s just the way I feel, the way I was brought up, the way… well, let’s just say I don’t want to repeat any past mistakes. That’d be kind of stupid.
Mama always said, stupid is as stupid does.
Setting Stages is a very close friend of hinting, and they often show up at the same event together. I’ve set some pretty cool stages myself, if I may say so – like Biltmore House and the beach. Is it right? Wrong? Hell, I don’t know. I just know I could do it, so I did. There’s this little thing you’ve gotta remember about setting stages, though. If your expectations are too high, you’ll end up setting your own self up for disappointment. Which sucks.
Throwing out an effective hint can be tricky. It needs to be thought out carefully beforehand, because the last thing you want is for the hint-recipient to feel pressured or bad in any way. You need to make sure whatever it is you’re hinting for isn’t too far-fetched or ‘out of reason’. If repeated hints never get addressed or acknowledged, the time will come when you must accept the fact that it’s probably something the other person doesn’t want.
Some things are meant to be… while others aren’t. And I’m pooped.
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…
When I was a kid, my Mom used to point out the sand on the side of the road to indicate we were getting close to the beach. I must’ve worn the question “Mommy, how much longer ’til we’re there?” into the ground. She finally found a way to divert my attention from that irritating question every
ten minute s – to pay attention for my own self to my own surroundings. Another great lesson in life by a great Mom.
Now when I’m on the way to the beach, I still pay attention to how the red dirt slowly evolves into beautiful white sand. Except now, I also appreciate the beauty of it. It serves two purposes.
Sometimes it takes patience while you’re waiting on the dirt to evolve into white sand. As my dear uncle used to say, ‘such is life’.
Ever felt like you’ve bonded with an animal of the wild? I tend to bond with many of the seagulls, at least I like to think so. This little girl seemed ever-accommodating – a trait I see as both admirable and disturbing. I named her Bon.
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.
An instance happened the other day that I’m unable to shake. I decided to share it with all of you.
Two days ago, the word came for my guy to go back to work. He’s been laid off for several months now – the economy’s really played hell on new construction. Being a mechanic, they have mandatory ‘helpers’ and work together as a team. Needing to start the job immediately, his BA gave him the opportunity to call other laid-off helpers he’s worked with in the past, thereby assuring a good pick for the job. Of all the ones he called – only one was interested in working again. One.
The replies were all along the same line: ‘Uh, I’ll pass on this one, man.’
Are you serious? So you’ve been laid off for HOW long now and a good job comes around and ‘you’ll pass’? Are you really doing that great on unemployment? And is this unemployment check guaranteed to last until the next job opportunity comes beating at your door again?
Sorry… I just don’t get it.
So the next time you see those hefty unemployment numbers on the news, remember this little story. Something tells me the numbers that shift in this particular direction would astound us all.
In searching for the post I wrote about last New Year’s beach trip, I found I never wrote one. This surprised me since it was such a beautiful time and the weather was so mild. I guess this is old news now, but at least it’ll get posted in the year 2011. Oh, well.
Each year we go to the coast to bring in and celebrate the New Year. It’s become customary for us to do this, and I like traditions. We stay somewhere different every time, and have found the winter season a good time to familiarize ourselves with the different hotels in the area. The hotel choices can even be a bit more exclusive in the winter because of the rates. The lodging possibilities really are endless.
Glow-bracelets and necklaces are a must for New Years Eve at the beach, because you’ve got to be able to see each other. 🙂 After that, they’re assigned a proper resting place on the terrace.
In addition to the firework show at Broadway on New Years Eve, the fireworks are also plentiful on the beach. You don’t even have to buy any, just sit back and enjoy the ones that others bought. 🙂
On our most recent trip we visited the Aquarium, I’d wanted to go for years now. We instantly fell in love with it, and when it came time to leave almost couldn’t pry ourselves out of the large ‘tunnel’ area where you’re able to walk under the sharks and other marine life. It was like being ‘at one’ with these amazing animals. We talked about how awesome it would be to spend the night in there – the pictures really don’t do justice.
In looking back over my photos, I was disappointed that I’d not gotten pictures of the thing I fell in love with most there (aside from the sharks) – the stingrays. There were many different kinds, and they seemed to really enjoy seeing the people and showing off for us. The ones I loved the most looked like they actually had a ‘head’. They seemed the most entertaining, and even appeared to be smiling for us. I’ll definitely get some shots of them if we go back to the Aquarium this year.
There’s enough people here still during the New Year’s holiday to keep things interesting… but it’s still not crowded. I do think this coast at New Year’s thing is catching on, though. If the sea is your thing, being here for the holiday is magical and enchanting – dare I say, almost dreamlike. It’s definitely a different state of mind, and makes a great start to a brand New Year.
Daylight savings time has always been my preference if given the choice. It just feels right – at least most of the time. Now though, it seems right to make the change back. I’m feeling the need to hibernate, while adorning my feet with not one but two pairs of socks. After 43 years I guess I’ve finally grown accustomed to the bi-annual change of time.
Recently I learned that two of my ex-bf’s are engaged. This doesn’t bother me, it’s just kind of weird in a way. I can only describe it like this – it’s like I’m watching life go on around me from inside of a bubble. I know that probably makes little sense to anyone who’s reading.
I get along well with my ex-husband, probably much better than the majority of the divorced population. I won’t say we talk often, but when we do it’s always pleasant and long enough to catch up with meaningful events in his, mine and our daughter’s life. During a conversation this past summer, he confided that he missed being married and he’d like to be married again one day. I totally understood where that came from because I feel the same way. We went on to agree that it’s a ‘state of mind’ comfort that just never leaves you. He’s had a wonderful lady in his life for years now, as I’ve had a wonderful man in mine. It’s something I never forget to thank my dear Lord for every day.
A few weeks ago, I had a conversation along the same lines with a coworker. Like me, he also came out of a long-term marriage and now he has a special lady in his life. We both agreed that we don’t feel that the word boyfriend or girlfriend is taken very seriously, for whatever reason. It was funny to learn we had the same view on this. I’ve always appreciated a male perspective, especially on issues like these.
Hope everyone has a fantastic weekend, and enjoy your extra hour! Don’t go and spend it all in one place. 😀
Oh hai, November. You could’ve taken your time, you know – no need to have rushed on my account. Since you’re here now, I’ve been reminded of a few important things.
The last bit of summer I’ve held onto all this time really is gone. Maybe it’s time to finally pick up the pair of flip-flops still sitting by the door and replace them with a pair of warm snuggly bedroom slippers. For just a little while.
You’ve brought along with you a stopwatch. Know that I really really dislike stopwatches. As of today, it’s a mere 53 days until Christmas and 61 days until the New Year of 2012. Our annual New Years beach vacation will, however, be something well worth counting down to.
You usher in the early sunset nights and dinners, where blazing fires abide the fireplace and more movies are watched on television. So be it.
Through it all, you remind me of the most important factor to me – the fact that from the start of coldness and still life will eventually come rebirth. In a short 4 1/2-5 months, a lush spring will once again be reborn.
So it’s finally become real to me that you’ve laid Spring and Summer down to rest for a few months, November. Give them a kiss for me and tell them I miss them. Oh, and how ’bout being a little easy on that stopwatch for the next couple of months?
My solemn vow to never get attached to another reality show = major fail. Oh, how I do love me some Gene Simmons Family Jewels.
I was shocked to learn the show’s been around since 2007. Where the heck have I been?! Honestly, if I’d seen it back then I don’t know if it would’ve held my interest or not. But now… most definitely. It’s a show for all ages – I even know of a 70+ year-young person who enjoys it.
If you’ve never seen it, on the outside it may look silly. On the inside, it’s about a real family with real-life issues. Gene Simmons and Shannon Tweed started out about 28 years ago – back in the days of Playboy Playmates, the Rock & Roll heyday and Kiss tours. Today, they have two terrific kids – Nick, 22 and Sophie, 19. It’s totally unlike me to immediately fall in love with a set of kids like I did with them. They’re both talented, seem wise beyond their years, and bring some very intellectual conversation to the show. Add to that the fact that the whole family is hilarious… and I’m totally buying into it.
Gene and Shannon had 27 years of domestic partnership under their belt but had never married. I’m not the type to bash marriage or lack thereof in this case, because I feel marriage is a personal preference left up to each individual partner. I realize everyone’s preferences are different, and I respect that.
Last night was the episode of their wedding. It was, of course, gorgeous. I also like seeing what all money can buy. Whooo, baby… made my head spin.
There’s something bigger that’s held my interest. Made public on the show were the marital indiscretions that Gene had, and there were many episodes that addressed how the family as a whole dealt with this. Shannon’s pain and the shame of it being made public, how it directly affected their kids, all the work it took as a family through many counseling sessions that were in public view for all of America to see. To me, this is reality TV.
I have an entirely different respect for Gene now. Why? Because he truly manned up. Will Shannon ever be able to forget the past? Of course not. Can she forgive? Absolutely and wholeheartedly, and she finally has. How? Because from the very beginning, Gene took responsibility for his actions. There was much to be worked out in therapy, but he was always a willing participant. Why? True Love. He would do anything and everything to try and repair the damage that he admittedly caused to her and their family. To Gene, there was never an option of letting her walk away and not fighting to keep her. To him, she was well worth the fight of his life to keep.
And, he won. Actually… they all did. 🙂
Upon hearing of his resignation a couple of months ago, I knew it had to be very close. Steve would never ‘resign’ from the thing he loved most in life. The thing that had become his life.
He’s the sole reason I’m in the business I’m in today. Why I do what I do. The design and creation of graphics would never have gone the way it has without the typography and graphic integration of the Macintosh computer.
I’d like to share a few of his quotes that I ran upon last night.
“The most compelling reason for most people to buy a computer for the home will be to link it into a nationwide communications network. We’re just in the beginning stages of what will be a truly remarkable breakthrough for most people – as remarkable as the telephone.” ~1985
“Picasso had a saying: ‘Good artists copy, great artists steal.’ We have always been shameless about stealing great ideas… I think part of what made the Macintosh great was that the people working on it were musicians, poets, artists, zoologists and historians who also happened to be the best computer scientists in the world.” ~1994
“Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything – all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure – these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart…. Stay hungry. Stay foolish. ~2005 Stanford University commencement address
“The computer is the most remarkable tool that we’ve ever come up with. It’s the equivalent of a bicycle for our minds.” ~1990
“My model for business is the Beatles. They were four guys who kept each other’s kind of negative tendencies in check. They balanced each other and the total was greater than the sum of the parts. That’s how I see business: great things in business are never done by one person, they’re done by a team of people.” ~2003
Launching the apple site will really grab you this morning. I’ll give you a preview…
Rest peacefully, Steve. And… thank you.