One Word at a Time

Early Saturday afternoon posted on the doors, both front and back were words I never thought I'd write. I won't quote them directly for they were many and many but here was the gist. 'Many things bring us together Tonight, it's bacon and beer But more importantly, friendship. We believe in the 1st Amendment Opinions are often shared loud and proud But tonight, the political kind are off the table. Please come in and join us Grab a beer, eat some bacon Remember what is bringing us together.' The sign came down the next day having done its job, for the time being anyway. I'm holding my friends in my heart I'm holding my neighbors in my heart I'm holding the world in my heart. It beats on We'll beat on Together.

blue -  /blo͞o / - adjective 1.  of a color intermediate between green and violet, as of the sky or sea on a sunny day. 2. informal  (of a person or mood) melancholy, sad, or depressed. The first makes me think of your eyes.  I look at the sky today and it is such a strong hue.  Your eyes were your most prominent feature, that blue standing out against your white hair and pale skin.  Those eyes.  I am pretty sure they even actually twinkled every now and again, when you were being fresh or sassy, as you were prone to be. The second is how I feel today - melancholy that you are gone, sadness that you were in pain.  You were so strong, you were so brave, you were so stubborn.  The doctors and nurses and social workers said they had never seen anyone stay so strong faced with so much.  We know you were hurting.  We know you were ready to see all of your angels - Uncle Kenny, your son Kenny, and your great-grandson Cohen - and...

Can you think of ten reasons that you love someone in your life?  Can you think of twenty?  How about fifty? Nine years ago, we spent the day bowling (my grandfather's favorite past-time) and then to dinner at his favorite restaurant.  When we all gathered for dessert, I pulled my cousins into the next room.  I handed them their "script" and walked them through how we would proceed from there. They joked, calling me teacher, but this was important to me.  It had been my idea, my creation, and I wanted it to be perfect. My cousins and I stood in front of my grandfather, eighty years young. We each took turns reading from the "book" - a book of reasons why we loved him, why he was special to us, how he had impacted our life. Now, my grandfather is a cryer.  My mom and her siblings inherited it from him.  And a few of us grandchildren from our parents.  Let's just say there were very few dry eyes in the room. After the tears had dried, cake h...

1) Comments mean everything.  They mean you're heard, your words have value, and other people care. 2) Keeping a physical notebook was hard.  I did much better when ideas came to me and I started a new blog post and saved it as a draft. 3) Time can be hard to find.  I did better when I set a 30 minute timer for myself for writing and a 30 minute timer for commenting, at separate times of the day. 4) I like writing narratives - which makes me laugh, because I hated writing growing up.  My most fun posts were ones where I told stories - with dialogue, or descriptions, or characters. 5) It makes me happy when my writing makes people feel, not necessarily think.  I thought I would enjoy most the posts that were thought provoking or topics I felt strongly about - but I enjoyed the ones where I tried to make people laugh, or smile, or sigh. I appreciate everyone who took the time to read the words that are carrying me through my life.  I am looking ...

"Hi, Mom.  Can I call you back in a minute?" I tucked the phone between my ear and my shoulder.  She often calls in the morning on her way to work, but she must have left earlier than me today.  I struggled to grab all of my bags (why do I need a lunch bag, a computer bag, AND a work bag?!?) without dropping my phone. "Where are you?  Are you okay?"  I could hear the panic in her voice. I stopped what I was doing and focused on making my words clear. "Mom, I'm fine.  I'm home.  I haven't left for work yet." "There is a bad accident in town.  The car looked like yours, so I got nervous." "No, it wasn't me.  I'm still home, but I'm just getting ready to leave." While I couldn't hear her sigh, I could picture her shoulders dropping and her pulse slowing. "I just wanted to make sure it wasn't you." "Thanks for calling to check on me.  I'll see you later tonight." ...

(This is going to be a very ramble-y post since I just got back from Paint Nite and I have so many ideas in my head!) A few coworkers and I decided to do a Paint Nite.  For those who haven't heard of them, here's a rundown.  An artist chooses a painting and walks you step by step through creating that painting - which colors, which brushes, which strokes, etc.  Usually they are held at a bar or restaurant, so drinks can be had. I've never felt more of an understanding of how our children feel learning every day. Some of us came in with experience - others had none.  Some of us were good at mixing colors - others good at certain strokes.  Some of us could keep up - others needed more time.  Some of us talked and chatted - others retreated to a quiet, introverted world.  Some of us were ok with mistakes - others had to redo, repeat, retry, repair. Each of us felt comfortable enough to take the risk of painting - because there was no higher expect...

Zooooooom. Skittles gets a running start and flies onto the carpet.  She lands in the middle, sliding across the floor like she's on her own magic carpet.  The ride abruptly stops when it hits the end of the tile and, nonchalantly, she saunters away like she didn't just take a magic carpet ride. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Skittles is a little stressed today.  Loud noises.  Windows closed.  Mom and Dad brought strangers into the house.  Dad smells like dirt - she remembers the scent on Dad's shoes from a long time ago.  She makes her way over to the carpet and let's loose, giving her claws, legs, and back a stretch. Purr, purr, purr. Skittles has just eaten dinner.  Her tummy is full and it is time to relax.  She can't believe Mom and Dad make her work sooo hard and wait sooo long to be fed.  She steps over to the carpet, making sure no one is around to make any noise or scare her off.  She lays down on the carpet - rolls o...