Sleep won't come

The light does fades and I
begin to yawn and stretch.
I rub my eyes and pray to God
for sleep to come tonight.

I brush my teeth and wash
my face and swallow pills
with hope.  I look myself straight
in my eye and will myself to sleep.

I lay me down on cool white sheets
and fluff a pillow, soft.  To sleep I
pray, bless me, bless they.
I close my eyes, Amen.

Tick tock the clock downstairs will
chime each hour passing, long.
One, two, then three, and still
I wait for sleep to come to me.

I think of all the work I will be
far too tired to do.  Fear stalks
my thoughts and seems so huge.
Oh sleep why won't you come?

Then, the bliss of thoughtlessness,
sleep has found my brain.  Awake,
I hear my dog cry loud.
He needs to go outside.

My best friend

I met up with an OLD friend the other day.  Haha, old friend, as in long-time friend, 'cause she's the same age as me (ok, six months younger) and I'm not really old yet.  It was a great day.  I totally understand why a long-time childhood friend is one of the six friends every woman needs.  Can I say it again, it was a great day.  What did we do?  We talked.  And talked.  And talked.  Oh, and we drank.  So we could talk some more.  We walked a lot while we talked.  Can we say this was aerobic exercise?  It was wonderful to catch up on her sisters, my brothers, her parents, my parents, old high school friends, reunions that there is NO WAY we will be going to, hopes for the future and, of course husbands and children.

It is true when they say the childhood friend just "gets you."  She told me such nice things about myself.  She reminded me of the girl I was with all the hopes and dreams and promise for the future.  We remembered the days we were seriously carefree.  The biggest issue was ditching school or staying out after curfew.  I could barely remember those days, but while I was with my friend all these memories came rushing back.  Isn't it funny how we can remember the words to the songs we sang in the car while we were in high school.  We can remember crazy escapades we took when we should have been in algebra or English.  We can remember old boyfriends that dumped us or those we dumped.  But, we can't remember the difficult days with our children, now grown, or the arguments with a husband when we were frazzled by toddlers or teachers.  The memory is a selective place to visit.  It lets you travel back through some of the back passages, but blocks you from others.  I'm glad this time spent with a childhood friend opened the gates to the cherished memories of youth.

My memories of her were always the best.  She was the sweetest friend.  EVERYONE liked her.  But, I was her bestie and we always hung out together.  She always wanted to have fun and go anywhere.  She was brave enough to knock on a door of a house of people we didn't know, but had heard had a bathroom with a toilet shaped like (or hidden in) a flower pot.  We did it.  We knocked on the door.  We asked to use the bathroom AND... indeed the flower pot toilet existed.  I had the balls, she had the sweet smile that got us in the house.  So funny.

I can only hope I was as good a tonic for her as she was for me.  She told me she remembered me as smart and self assured.  I loved this.  Ever since my son became a teenager I've been told I'm not too smart.  Hee hee.  I've become a woman in my 50's and the wonderful generation of those young people in their 30's have reminded me I'm "past my prime" and really not too sharp anymore.  I work at a college, so I'm used to being around kids and being invisible because I'm irrelevant to them.  It's amazing how we see ourselves as time passes.  It was so good to hear a positive word about me.  (I'm not saying my husband doesn't compliment me, but from him, I know it's foreplay.  :))

Oh, and for anyone who read the post I wrote about my dream a couple weeks ago I have to share this little tidbit.  The valet at the hotel my friend was staying at offered to keep my car in the front driveway for me while we went out for dinner and before I would need it to drive home.  This, I hoped, would save me a little money (it didn't) and save me some time in retrieving my car when we returned (it did).  Paul from Nigeria, as his name tag read, told me I didn't need a valet ticket for my car.  He would remember me.  My car would be Just Fine.  Here's the thought bubble over my head, "What!?! No Ticket!?!  Should I give him my car keys and not have a ticket?  Am I NUTS?"  Yeah, I gave him the keys.  My car was Just Fine.  See, my dreams don't come true.

What's the point

of blogging.

I've been thinking about this lately.  Why am I blogging?  Why do people blog?

I've been looking over my blog and the blogs of those bloggers I "follow."  It gives me pause.  When I started my blog it was to record my thoughts and my journey to a positive mental attitude.  I looked back and I could see I've made great strides in that direction.  Yeah, I'm feeling much happier.  I'm happier at work.  I'm no longer so fearful about making mistakes and "getting in trouble" at work.  I mean, really, what can they do to me?  They could fire me or kill me, but they can't eat me.  I'm pretty sure someone would put a stop to that.  I'm happy with my marriage.  But I don't really think this has been an issue since I started blogging.  My sweetie and I have found our "happy place" and life is good.  I worked through a painful issue with some women I was in a bible study with.  I've forgiven them and have really put it behind me.  I'm not saying it doesn't sting when I think about it, but I don't think about it too much anymore.  I'm working on my relationship with my son, but I hesitate working it out on this blog.  It's private and I really CAN set SOME boundaries.  :)

Surprisingly, I started dabbling in poetry or verse or whatever you want to call it.  I found some blogs about Christian living and they just so happened to have poetry in them.  Not only was there poetry, but there was a "link up with me" day.  So I started linking to Emily's blog.  She was so encouraging of my writing.  I started with haikus.  I started there because of the form.  They were short and relatively easy to do.  And, they made me stretch myself in my writing.  Granted, the stretch wasn't very far, but for me it was a start.  Then a funny thing happened.  By linking to Emily's blog folks started coming to my blog and leaving comments.  And then following my blog.  I was so surprised.  I should have known it would happen, but I still didn't expect it.  And, I liked it.  A lot.

I still like it.  Maybe too much.  I've started getting a bit addicted to seeing if folks are looking at my blog and seeing if they are leaving comments.  I've started getting addicted to noticing if more people look at what I've written this month than last month.  I'll tell you, the little stats portion of the blogger dashboard can be addicting.  I don't think this is good for me.  I've even started feeling competitive about it.  I know this sounds a little crazy, but it's true.  I look at the blog that gave me an interest in blogging.  I remember when that blog put up ads and the blogger declared they were going to start "making money" off their blog.  I remember seeing how many followers she had.  Not many.  I remember seeing how often she blogged.  Not often.  I started investigating making money on my blog.  I had more followers and I blogged more often.  I read articles like this.  And, I decided not to do the Amazon monetizing thing.  I wasn't going to make money and it was going to look tacky, in my humble opinion.  I always wonder if she makes any money?  I've decided my blog isn't about making money.  I'm no Pioneer Woman or Flylady.  (Btw, I knew Flylady when she was just Marla and hadn't given herself the handle yet.  Those were back in the Slob Sister chat board days.  Long long ago.)  :)

Another blogger I follow has parlayed her blog into writing an actual ebook.  She no longer blogs about her family adventures.  She now blogs as a life coach.  Sure, she's trying to drum up business for herself in the life coaching department, but why not?  It's as good a "talk therapy" as anything.  She is also VERY involved in sustainable living.  (she uses reusable tp, ... 'nuff said)  I don't think this is a direction I want to go.

What do I want my blog to be?  What is the point of writing my thoughts every day or so?  I'm going to stay with the initial premise of having it be a journal of my thoughts about various subjects and a tool to steer me in my journey to a positive view on life.  I'm going to work on my obsession of looking at the stats.  I need to ration the views of the stats WAY DOWN.  Looking at this isn't doing me any good.  I'm going to keep trying my hand at poetry and different writing styles.  I don't think I'll be a writer, but it will help me improve my writing without having to spend the money to take a writing class.  I'm not saying I'd never take a class, I just don't want to do that now.  I thought I'd like to add posts about cooking, but I don't think I can do that half as well as some of the REAL food bloggers.  AND, I don't have a cool camera.

I'm sure I'll review my motives for blogging again throughout this process.  I haven't been blogging very long and I still consider myself new to the blogosphere.  There are TONS of blogs out there and I'm happy to have the readers I have.  I have the MOST encouraging readers.  :)

Thanks

Johnny can't read

Tell me what it means
To leave no child behind?  It seems
A problem for Johnny cannot
Read a book he's never seen.

He's a bright young guy
With a mind so fly
He memorizes all the words
Ever heard read aloud to him.

When reading's this hard
Life can be rough
In the schoolyard.

Friday Flash 55 for Gman

Jealous

I know it's been said before and again
these thoughts spin relentless, my wheels won't
catch purchase.  I'm stuck in rut, I'm
grinding it deeper.  These are my thoughts as
sleep avoids me.  Resisting the urge to run
screaming or drinking the last of the gin.

The mud globs I sling as I rev up my engine
in cycles as wheels spin in circles.  It sprays
everywhere, everyone in my pathway.
I'm sure they don't know I don't mean any
harm when I sting their ears and their
eyes with my barbs dipped in poison.

My pain and my fear of a life in the future
in darkness, unknown, outside of a plan. I
suffer inside force a smile to my face so
someone won't see all the junk inside me.
Your enviable life of perfection is galling.
Boys growing strong with no struggle at all.

Embarrassment floods my face with blood
leaving a stomach bloodless and sick with
lost hope of a friend in this struggle.  Life is
much harder when done with secrets, alone
and lying and hiding inside.  Open the sealed
door of my pride and spill fear to the outside.

Fear spoken aloud is a chance worth the
risking.  This cycle and circle of living, a
mystery shared by the forgivable.  We
all at incremental points on the journey.  I
trust compassion is out there for me.  Here
is my cheek, you can slap it as well.

100 things about me

This is my 100th post on the Being Happy blog.  I thought I celebrate by sharing 100 things about me.  This is going to be tough for me and some things may just give you just a bit Too Much Information.  I don't have the finest filter in the world.  Please, to enjoy.

1.  I'm married and it will be 29 years in August. (fingers crossed)
2.  I have one child, a son.
3.  My parents are alive and doing pretty well.
4.  My parents are still married and have only been married to each other and they've been married 57 years.
5.  I have three younger brothers.  Two of them are twins, but they are NOTHING alike.
6.  I have three sister's-in-law.  All my brothers have only had the one wife. (per brother, we don't share) 
7.  I live in MD and have lived here, this time, for 16 years. (Yikes, that's a long time)
8.  I am a college graduate.  I graduated with a bachelor of science in Medical Technology.
9.  I'm a secretary.  It's what I do for a job.  I mean, I'm a woman, but...  it's getting pretty metaphysical now...
10.  I drive a 1999 Lexus.  (I like luxury, but I can't afford it new.  There will be more about this later.)
11.  My favorite color is red, but I usually wear black.
12.  The matron of honor at my wedding and I gave birth on the same day. (I had my son, she had her daughter)
13.  I am blind in one eye.  (ocular histoplasmosis syndrome, thanks mid-west childhood)
14.  I cannot sleep in an unmade bed.  If the bed is not made, I need to straighten the sheets and fluff the pillows so I can sleep.
15.  I can parallel park better than my husband can.
16.  I was born in the Chicago area and grew up in Palos Heights, IL.  I heart the mid-west.
17.  I married my husband when he was a frocked Lieutenant in the US Navy.  Thus, not considered a "Real Navy Wife" as I was not married during AOCS.  (now you have lots of things to google to find out what I'm talking about)  Btw, I AM/was a real navy wife.
18.  I've never withdrawn money from an ATM and I've only made two deposits in an ATM.  I don't know my PIN anymore, so it will never happen again.
19.  I have a dog.  A Jack Russell terrier named Chet the Jet.  I don't like dogs.
20.  I drink my coffee black.
21.  I snore (or that's what my husband says, I have a difficult time believing this)
22.  I am left handed.  Seriously left handed.  I don't think my right hand functions at all.
23.  I have pretty teeth and they are quite white, even though I haven't bleached them.  And I've never had braces and they are quite straight.  I get compliments on them a lot.
24.  I haven't been to Europe since the Euro was instated, but I've vacationed in Europe a few times before then.
25.  I lived in Naples, Italy for three years.  (1984-1987)  I loved it.
26.  I've never had a cat and I REALLY don't like cats.  I don't even like kittens that much.
27.  I'd rather eat at home than go to a restaurant to eat, UNLESS it is an AMAZINGLY good restaurant.
28.  I stay up way too late.  I usually don't go to bed before 11:30 p.m.
29.  I've never carried a credit card balance.
30.  I voted for Ronald Reagan both times and it's really the only time I felt GOOD about my votes.  (I think history will remember George Bush in a good light, too)
31.  I have a fairly strong Chicago accent.  I don't hear it, but when I listen to Bill Murray in a movie, I feel at home.
32.  My guilty pleasure is the Real Housewives of wherever.  Although, I like it best with the sound off.
33.  I like to cook.  I'm OK at it.  And my family likes my food.
34.  I don't like to bake.  I'm not good at it.  But I make a killer peach pie.
35.  I usually kill plants.  I have a ficus tree that has survived me, but this is not normal.
36.  I quit smoking 20 years ago.  It was the best thing I ever did.
37.  I like potato chips better than french fries.  Why don't they offer chips more often?
38.  My favorite movie is Gone With the Wind (I know, boring) however, Fargo comes in a close second.
39.  I can read the Mitford series by Jan Karon over and over again.  I love the characters.
40.  I stopped watching Oprah 15 years ago, so I don't miss her.  However, I used to check to see what her "favorite things" were and decide if I wanted to buy the stock.  I did well with Deckers.
41.  None of my grandparents had cancer.  I'm pretty happy about this.  They lived fairly long lives and both my grandpas smoked.
42.  I think both sets of grandparents "had" to get married.  And they stayed married until they died.
43.  My favorite thing to eat is my Spaghetti Carbonara, also known as a heart attack on a plate because my friend had a heart attack after having it for dinner at our home.  I don't make it very often.
44.  I've suffered from depression in the past, but I think I'm doing pretty well now.  :)
45.  My watch is a Rolex, but I bought it used.  (see, luxury item, not new)
46.  I'm organized and I LIKE being organized.  I can't think in a messy room.
47.  I don't balance my own checkbook.  It's not that I CAN'T, but my husband wants to do it and I wasn't doing it often enough for his taste.
48.  I don't really like apples that much.  Unless you put peanut butter on them.
49.  I LOVE blueberries and watermelon.  They are my co-favorite fruits.
50.  I want to go to China.  I don't think I'll ever get there.  Maybe we will all be Chinese before I get to China.  I mean, we owe them a LOT of money.  They may foreclose on us.
51.  I don't completely trust vegetarians.  And vegans, nope, not at all.
52.  I think Ann Coulter is smart and witty, but I wouldn't want to be on her wrong side.  (She was so right about John Edwards, you've GOT to give her that)
53.  I used to be afraid I'd get fired from my job.  Now that I'd be OK if they let me go, I'm pretty sure they will NEVER fire me.  It's all in the attitude.
54.  I'm a Christian, but I've stopped attending church regularly.  I don't feel that good about it though.
55.  I can't stand whiners and liars.  Really, I can't STAND them.  You will have a hard time getting back on my good side if you lie to me.   I'd rather have had you slap me.
56.  I have never eaten a school lunch.  Ever.  I went home for lunch all of K through 8. And my high school had split shifts all four years and I was done with classes by noon.  I was a commuter student at my 4-year college and never stepped foot in the cafeteria.
57.  I used to think Johnny Depp was super cute.  Now I think he looks like a homeless person.
58.  I buy most of my clothes at Ross's Dress for Less.  I don't like clothes shopping.  I don't know how people can buy clothes on line.
59.  I love the days when I come home from work and know there are enough leftovers so I don't have to cook dinner on a weekday.
60.  I don't know how single moms do it.  I wouldn't have been able to raise my son on my own and work full time.  Nope, even 20 years ago I would have been too tired.  
61.  I'm a terrible speller.  I have to look up words all the time.  (can you believe proofreading is part of my job?)
62.  I'm incredibly nearsighted and now I'm getting old age eyes and need reading glasses.  So I can't see far and I can't see to read.  I am so grateful for corrective lenses.
63.  I can sing.  I'm kind of good at it.  I've even been paid to do it.
64.  I'm not a PC, I'm a Mac.  But they make me be a PC at work.
65.  I talk to my mother on the phone every morning on my drive to work.  My dad answers the phone about half the time, so I talk to him a bit less.
66.  I'm lousy at sending cards.  I do it, but I'm usually late.
67.  I need to smile more.  I just don't smile enough.  My natural or relaxed expression is a frown.
68.  I don't wear make-up to work.  I just don't do it.  I just don't feel like it.
69.  I color my hair.  Well, not me, but my hairdresser.  I don't want to stop.  Ever.
70.  I have a girlfriend from grammar school that I've kept in touch with and still consider a "best friend" even though we haven't lived near each other since I married my sailor husband and he took me away.  I'm proud of us for keeping in touch.  (btw, she was my matron of honor in #12)
71.  I can be terse, both in conversation and in email.  This is a trait I am trying to change.
72.  My favorite flowers are tulips.  Any color.
73.  My heritage is Dutch.  Completely.  My husband is Swedish, English, Irish, and something else.  My parents consider ours a "mixed marriage."
74.  I am a very loyal friend.
75.  Holidays, birthdays, anniversaries don't mean very much to me.  I have to work at it to remember they mean a lot to others.
76.  I'm looking more and more like my mother every day.  It scares me.  Just a little.
77.  I only drink top shelf liquor.  So I have a large bar bill.  :)
78.  I don't talk to my brothers as much as I think I should.  But, I call them more often than they call me.  I'm not very close with my sisters-in-law, but we get along when we are together.
79.  I didn't go to one of my brother's wedding.  I was sick with Bell's Palsy and lived in Monterey, CA at the time.  His wedding was in Chicago, IL.  I still feel bad about this.
80.  I'm not afraid of technology, but I'm not geeky.  If you teach me how to do stuff with my computer, I can learn.  And, I like it.
81.  I always ask to be upgraded to first class for free when I fly.  And I get upgraded more often than you'd think.
82.  I hate to cry.  If I have to cry, I prefer to do it in the shower.
83.  I don't think I could live in the desert.  I start to feel unhappy or down if I don't see trees.
84.  I like doing sudokus and crossword puzzles to kill time.
85.  I don't read as much as I would like.
86.  I almost died from a bleeding ulcer in my stomach.  I had to have an emergency blood transfusion.  I'm not allowed to take nsaid medications anymore.  Bye-bye Aleve.
87.  I can see the river from my office window.  Sometimes I look out the window too often instead of working.
88.  I dislike ironing clothes.  My mom ironed EVERYTHING, even sheets.  I have a pile of ironing that has been there for a month.  :(
89.  I don't have a very good relationship with my son.  I think he doesn't like me and he thinks I don't like him.  I love him more than anything.  I don't understand why he doesn't see this.
90.  I'm not a fan of shopping, but I miss living near shopping malls.  I loved walking around malls and looking at all the stuff.  I love the energy I feel inside the STORES.
91.  Once I had poison ivy so bad I had it up my nose and in my mouth.  I think I got it from someone burning a field with the poison ivy in it.  I was a kid, but it was so horrible I still remember it.
92.  I've learned a lot about myself through blogging.  I think I would have learned more about myself earlier if I could have been better at writing a journal.  I just hate writing.  I never learned the cursive thing very well because of the left-handedness.  Teachers just wouldn't work with me.
93.  I've never like teachers.  I didn't like them when I went to school.  I can barely remember any of their names.  They meant nothing to me.  I HATED teachers when my son was in school.  Getting them to follow his IEP was like pulling teeth daily.  And, I find most teachers I know socially to be difficult to be around.  They are used to being the smartest person in the room during the working day.  I think they forget that when they leave the classroom, they AREN'T ANYMORE.
94.  I have an uncanny ability to remember colors.  I can match paint colors from memory.  *I have no idea of what use this could possibly be.*
95.  I startle easily.
96.  I've noticed the older I get, the more fearful I feel in new situations and new places.  I'm not happy about this.
97.  My wedding reception was in my parents back yard.  It rained 4 inches in one hour.  Can you say deluge?  No one left.  People STILL talk about my wedding.
98.  I think I'm a city girl living in a semi-rural area.  I'm ready to live in a city.  Soon.
99.  My favorite word, right now, is "Super."  It can mean so much...
100.  My favorite sound is the sound of my husband's truck, pulling in the driveway after work.
 

 

Updates and random thoughts

I have an update on my ongoing romance with tamoxifen.  I have to have a endometrial biopsy.  Evidently, ladies, your endometrial layer should be 4 mm.  Mine, however, is a WHOPPING 1 cm.  So, off I go for more testing.  :)

I've become a Power Seller on eBay. What does this mean, you may ask.  One thing it means is that I've been working eBay like it's a job and not just an enjoyable hobby.  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I sold a LOT of silver coins on eBay.  They're on to me.  In fact, eBay powers that be, are so "in tune" with the climate of the marketplace, they have opened a Precious Metal Bullion section of eBay.  I guess they heard the price of silver had risen.  Don't they read my blog?  I don't think I'm going to be a power seller for long.  Alas, the well has run dry.  :)

I haven't been to the gym in 2 weeks.  Yeah, I'm feeling lazy and tired.  Not a good combination.  I'm going with the fewer calories in, in order to fit in my pants.  I need to turn this action around soon.  :)

I'm going to San Diego, CA in a couple weeks.  I haven't been there in 21 years.  I'm sure it's changed a lot.  If anyone wants to tell me fun things to do while I'm there, please do.  I'm staying in the gas lamp district.  I've never been there.  I've heard about a mystery dinner theater.  Is that a fun thing to do?  I'm open to suggestions.  I'll even consider going to the zoo, but it's not my favorite idea.  :)

This is my 99th post on my blog.  Wow.  99.  I know a lot of you have WAY more than this, but this is where I am.  For my 100th post I'm going to write 100 things about me.  I wonder if I can think of 100 things?  :)

Last Friday my boss asked me how to make a smiley face on the computer.  :)  I told him how and when he looked at it he said, "That's not a smiley face."  *shrug*

I read a blog about not having expectations about other people.  The example given was this.  If you ask someone to do something for you, and they say they will do it, and then they don't do it, don't get upset.  Adults can do whatever they want.  If they don't want to do something they've committed to doing, that's just the way it goes.  It was your fault for expecting them to do what they said they were going to do.  Huh?  I've got to think about this some more.  I'm just not getting something.  :)

Canada's postal system is on strike.  How can they do that?  I've got a buyer for eBay stuff and I can't mail it to them.  I guess I'll use UPS.  *rhymes*   :)

I've been having a hard time writing poetry.  I admire the blogging poets I read.  I don't know how your minds work, but it must be busy in there.  :)

I'm getting over the idea that my blog is going viral.  haha  Last month I wrote a post, I took an arrow in the chest.  I don't know what happened, but it kept getting page view after page view.  (us blogger have a dashboard that we can see these things on)  Anyway, for a month, I thought I was pretty darn popular.  Now things are back to "normal" and I'm feeling kinda down about it.  I've got to get over myself.  :)

All in all, life is good.  It's the end of the fiscal year at work.  This will keep me busy at work.  I think I'll buy a new book for my kindle.  Something entertaining and not controversial.  There's enough controversial stuff out in the blogosphere.  :)

Dad

Since this Sunday is Father's Day I've been thinking a lot about my dad.  I love my dad.  I'm going to just start with these words.  I love my dad.  My dad is not the easiest guy in the world to love.  He's prickly.  He's opinionated.  He consistently sees the glass half empty.  Btw, the apple does not fall far from the tree.  Just sayin'.

My dad is a hard worker.  My dad believes in showing his love for us by working hard and giving us everything we need.  My dad is a proud man.  He is proud of the accomplishments he has made in his life.  He considers my brothers and me his greatest accomplishment, but you'll never get him to say it.  I think he tries to cover up for his lack of formal education.  My dad left school at age 15.  My dad had to go to work to help support his family.  I think my dad had a bit of a wild streak in him during his youth.  But you'd never get him to talk about it.  Let's just say, I was NEVER able to get away with anything while growing up.  My dad was two steps ahead of me all the time.  I don't think I could THINK of a caper he hadn't already pulled when he was young.  I met my dad's boyhood best friend at the 40th wedding anniversary party my brothers and I threw for our parents.  This guy was the antithesis of my dad.  He was jovial.  He was a talker.  He smiled and laughed and EVERYBODY was his friend.  And, he was a storyteller.  Needless to say, I asked him to sit by me.  I wanted to hear EVERYTHING.  So, the stories began.  There was one about girls.  My dad was a looker in his youth.  He had a James Dean quality to his looks.  Cigarette pack rolled in the t-shirt sleeve, hair slicked back with a few curls coming through at the forehead.  He looked like a bad boy.  Anyway, my dad would get the girl's attention, but he couldn't talk to them.  That's where his buddy came in.  From the stories I heard, this was the set-up these two used to meet girls until they each married.  I guess my dad got his heart broken once, before he met my mom.  I'm glad.  I like my mom.  I'm glad she's the one that got him.  Sexy.

The job my dad left school to do was the job of a telephone linesman.  My dad climbed telephone poles all day, every day.  He was tan, strong, agile, and fearless.  However, my dad was not good at sports.  He just wasn't coordinated with a ball.  He has no rhythm.  He can't walk and chew gum at the same time.  He can climb anything, but a flat playing field is lost on him.  Funny combination.  Therefore, he wanted all of us to be good at sports.  He REALLY wanted this.  And, the fact that coordination, or lack thereof, may be a genetically inherited trait, never occurred to him.  It was a source of great frustration between him and one of my brothers.  I think this has affected their relationship to this day.  Sad.

My mom and dad met through a mutual friend.  Their love affair was FAST.  I really never hear about it from my dad's side of the story.  My mom tells the story.  And it is not very romantic.  It goes like this.  My mom and dad go out on a blind date with another couple.  Mom and dad meet.  They like each other.  One month later dad asks mom to marry him.  Four months later they get married.  They move into my grandma and grandpa's basement apartment. (dad's folks)  Three years later, I am born.  This is not a romantic story.  And I wonder where I get my "just the facts, ma'm" storytelling ability.  Sigh.

My dad is a singer.  He has a wonderful tenor voice.  When I was a little girl he would take me with him to his singing gigs.  He did a lot of wedding and funerals and the like.  I'm told there was constantly a question of whether or not I had the ability to walk, since dad carried me everywhere.  I'm told my feet never touched the ground.  I am also told, I sat in the front row of every event my dad sang at and never moved.  I never made a sound or fidgeted.  I sat in my chair and listened to my dad sing and smiled and acted like a little angel.  Smirk.

My dad was a tough disciplinarian.  I've told you I never got away with anything.  And, dad was very much a "spare the rod, spoil the child" believer.  Yeah ..., he did.  The joke among my friends in high school was that I was grounded ALL through high school.  I'd get out one Friday night and be back in solitary for the next three weeks.  And sometimes I needed all three of them to recover.  Yeah, dad was tough.  He always told me I was too easy on my son.  If I was tougher, my son would do better.  I don't think he thinks this way anymore.  But, it was hard when my son was young and I was trying to be a good mom.  This makes me love my husband more.  Smile.

My dad taught me to work hard, be on time, tell the truth, go to church, save your money, take care of your things and they will last a long time, family is most important, friends come and go, read Proverbs, and working for yourself is better than working for somebody else.  I respect my dad.  He didn't have an easy life.  He worked hard to make sure my brothers and I had more than he had.  He encouraged us in our education.  He modeled a faithful and long marriage.  He bowed his head and thanked God for every meal he ate, no matter where he was.  He took his family on trips all around this country and showed us places and gave us experiences because he wanted us to experience more than he did in his youth.  Such a loving Father. 

I love you dad.  Happy Father's Day.

A wet dream

Not that kind of wet dream.  :)

Last night I had a dream so vivid, it scared me.  It wasn't a good dream, but it wasn't really a nightmare.  It contained elements of my real life and fears I only see in the movies.  I will do my best in the telling, not only for my own information, (with the horrible fear of dreams predicting the future) but to work on my story telling abilities (I am such a "just the facts m'am" kind of girl).

I was on my way to NYC to meet my girlfriend, Donna, who was visiting from Chicago.  (I don't really remember the mode of transportation I was using, but for sake of the story let's say I'm taking the train.)  I was happy and excited and a bit nervous.  My instructions were to meet Donna at the library.  Even though I've been to NYC many times, I'm unfamiliar with the library.  I understand it is located near the train station.  (In my dream the train station is Union Station in Washington, DC.  I guess a train station is a train station, but I like Penn Station and maybe things would have gone better for me, in my dream, had I gone to the train station corresponding with the city I was visiting.  Just a thought.  And, I don't really know that I'm taking a train, because there was no train in my dream.)  I arrive at the library near the train station that happens to be next to Union Station even though I'm in NYC.  (I'm telling this quite badly, I think.)

I enter the library.  It has a modern type of decor.  Very IKEA.  There is a curved, birch wood circulation desk with a librarian standing and smiling.  I notice a number of people in the area behind the circulation desk.  There is a doorway leading to, what I assume, are offices.  Library employees are milling about behind the desk.  I am looking around for my friend.  I'm carrying my purse.  My purse is EXACTLY the purse I carry in real life.  It is a purple patent leather tote.  Way too big for my needs, but quite stylish.  I don't know exactly what is in my bag, but I know I have my phone, my wallet and peppermints.  All of a sudden, I notice there are quite a few people around me.  I'm uncomfortable with the crowd around me.  I guess the librarian notices my discomfort and beckons me towards her.  I go.  She offers to take my bag and keep it behind the desk so I can browse the stacks and look for my friend.  I give it to her.  I go into the library and begin browsing.  While looking through some books, my girlfriend taps me on the shoulder.  We hug and greet each other.  Lots of smiling.  I feel happy.

We sit down at a table in the library and begin to talk and catch up on each other's lives.  Then the conversation turns to discussion of dinner.  Where do we want to go?  Donna suggests a restaurant near the Arch in Washington Square or it could be the Lincoln Memorial. (These landmarks seem to switch around in my dream.  It is so confusing to me.  Even in my dream, I'm wondering to myself, "what city am I in?"  No matter.)  We get up to leave and I tell Donna I need to stop at the desk to get my purse.  She looks at me in horror.  "You gave your purse to the person at the desk?  Are you NUTS?  This in NEW YORK CITY!"  I go to the desk.  I begin to think to myself, "I'm such an idiot.  Why didn't I ask for a claim ticket?  Why did I do this?  I'm so stupid."  I see bags hanging on hooks on the wall.  I don't see my bag.  I ask for my bag, they don't have it.  The librarian really doesn't seem to know what I'm talking about, at all.  She invites me behind the desk to look.  I look EVERYWHERE.  I'm frantic.  I go into the offices through the doorway and look in every drawer and closet.  I'm more frantic.  I'm panicking.  No purse.  It's gone.  I'm devastated.  I'm scared.

Donna and I look at each other in horror.  She is much more compassionate now.  Donna suggests we get a cab, go to dinner, and decide what to do from there.  Suddenly her iPad rings.  (Now, I have no idea why her phone is an iPad?  I know iPads do not have a phone feature, but this is a dream and this one did.  So, you will just have to bear with me.)  On the iPad is the image of a man saying he has my bag and if I want it I need to go to the lake in Central Park.  (Yeah, I guess we are using 'face time' on the iPad.  I think this is a really good idea.  Steve Jobs?  Are you listening?)

Donna and I leave the library and hail a cab.  We get in the cab, and, of course, the driver is the Cash Cab guy.  He doesn't speak to us.  We travel to Central Park, to the lake.  I'm very concerned, but hopeful I will get my purse back.  It's dark outside now.  So we're both a little nervous.  We get out of the cab and walk over the lake.  The vantage point I have of the lake makes me think I'm standing on a bridge.  I don't remember seeing a bridge, but this is what I remember of my dream.  Anyway, I see my purse floating in the lake.  The first thing I think to myself is, "crap, my phone is ruined."

I climb down to the edge of the lake and scoop my bag out of the water.  Yes, it's mine.  Purple.  Shiny.  Full of water.  Ruined.  I open the purse.  Yep.  My phone is there.  Broken.  I open the clasp of the compartment I keep my wallet in.  Yep.  Wallet is there.  I open the wallet.  Empty.  No money.  I'm relieved and upset at the same time.  I'm wet.  I'm dirty.  I sit on the ground and look through the wallet.  My identification is there.  My credit card is there.  I just don't have any cash.  I've been robbed.  

I wake up.

This is the first time I've ever taken the time to sit down and write down a dream, a vivid dream.  I don't know whether or not it holds much significance, but it was fun.  Here's some background for any of you dream analysis people out there.  I do have a friend named Donna, from Chicago.  I have just planned to see her in a couple weeks.  She's coming to DC.  This dream was so vivid, the first thing I did when I woke up was to go downstairs and see if my purse was in my kitchen.  It was.

Thanks for letting me share.  I hope this wasn't too boring.

Gratitude 201

I read Ann Voskamp's blog today.  It's about praying to be like Jesus.  It's about wondering if a comfortable Christian can really be like Jesus.  I know I can't.  I am the rich young ruler.  I remember reading this story, as a child, and thinking "Thank goodness I'm not rich.  I'll never be in this position."  Now I find myself in exactly this position.  If Jesus would ask me to give away all my money, I think I could do this.  I find myself thinking of living in a monastery or whatever the equivalent for woman is.  I can imagine having no possessions and sleeping in a cell (like a nun).  I can imagine working all day for no money, but having simple meals to eat.  These imaginings make me laugh.  If you ate dinner with me sometime, or if we went out for drinks, you would have heard me say, out loud, "I could go to prison.  I wouldn't mind three squares a day and an hour for exercise.  I would read and study and rest."  However, I couldn't take the roughness of the people in the Big House.  I'm a weeny.  I would be afraid.  The only thing I've got going for me is the fact that I don't smoke.  I could buy cigarettes and pay for my protection.  Wow, I've digressed.  Ann never goes off on tangents like this. 

But if He asked me to walk (live) side by side with the poor, this would be a different story.  I don't think I could do it.  I've seen poor.  I've gone on mission trips.  I've been to Haiti.  I don't think I could live that life.  I'm spoiled.  I do as much as I can to alleviate myself of thinking about this.

One of the things I do to divert my thoughts from thinking about myself as a selfish person is financially supporting a child through Compassion International.  I support a little girl from Columbia.  Karen.  I hardly ever write to her.  I'm a crummy Compassion supporter.  I need to do better.  When she writes to me it's always the same thing.  Thank you.  Do you have a family?  What do you do in your day?  etc.  I always answer the questions when I write, but I guess I don't write often enough for her to remember the answers to these questions in the months between my letters.  Another thing I do is send money to Care Net Pregnancy Care Center.  I used to do more.  I used to send money AND volunteer.  But, when I started working full-time, the volunteering fell off my list of things I want to do.  I also give money to church, when I attend.  Since church attendance has become less frequent, I no longer consider myself a tither.  I should feel more shame than I do.  I rationalize this behavior by telling myself the church isn't doing what it should with "my" money.  I can make better choices.

Why have I titled this post Gratitude 201.  What makes this an higher level post.  Well, a couple of things.  First of all, starting a gratitude list is WAY easier than continuing a gratitude list.  Writing on it EVERY day.  Thinking of all the blessings and ways I've been blessed every day.  This is harder to do than say.  I've been making an effort.  Effort isn't really enough.  What changes a selfish person into a grateful person is the WORK.  The actual writing of the list, DAILY.  The thinking of the blessings.  The remembering of the good and kind actions I've been the recipient of.  This is the work that changes my thinking.

Secondly, focusing on the blessings I have reminds me of others living without.  Without money, shelter, food, comfort, security, ...  I'm hoping the focus on gratitude will start my path on being compassionate.  This will be a tougher nut for me to crack.  Don't get me wrong, I care about people.  Some people.  But I can give myself some healthy rationalizations about this, too.  Here are a few of mine.  "Welfare is a way of life for some people."  "The money I send to Africa/wherever goes to the war-lords/criminals and funds them to buy more weapons and enslave and persecute more people."  "The bible tells us the poor will be with us always."   I could go on.  These are the rationalizations I want to change about myself.  I'm doing the work.

The bottom line is that I am not poor.  I need to rethink my rationalizations and see if they really hold water.  I need to find the people willing to do the hard work and live and walk alongside the world's poor.  I need to give them support.  Financially and with serious prayer.  Especially since I'm not ready to do that yet.  I need to keep doing the work of becoming a truly grateful person.

If you are reading this on your computer or laptop or smartphone at home, you aren't poor either.  People who throw the "I'm poor" phrase around so freely, especially when they are EASILY within the richest 15% of the world, should stop it.  It is ungrateful.

It's not me, it's YOU

I've read a lot of blogs, books, articles and face book comments reminding me that "it's not you, it's ME."  I'm to take responsibility for the way I feel or react to words or actions of those people who interact with me, whether it is face to face or in writing.  Or, they say, my reaction to a person's actions or words are all about how I'm feeling or the state of emotion I happen to find myself in at the time.  Sure, I need to take responsibility for myself.  I'm a grown-up.  I know people can't make me FEEL anything I don't want to feel.  I know others can't make me DO anything I don't want to do.  But, come on, we all know there are hurtful, mean spirited people out there.  Hopefully they are few and far in between.  However, social networking, including face book, blogging, etc. has given some folks UNBELIEVABLE GALL.  I'll bet the same folks that slam you on fb or write scathing comments on your blog, wouldn't have the nerve to say any of it to your face.  I'm wondering if these same people would have then nerve to pick up the phone and say any of the same things over the phone?  I doubt it.  And, of course, there is always the possibility of drunk commenting.  It could happen.  (drinking and blogging is not a good combo)  It's funny, to me, that some bloggers out there think they should be protected from the pointed or disagreeing comments.  As a blogger, I know I'm putting myself out there.  I allow anonymous commenting.  I can take it.

I'm of the mind, it's not me, it's YOU.  I'm not responsible for your feelings about my blog or my face book status or my comment or, even, your displeasure with the way I live my life.  I'm responsible for being respectful of my readers, co-workers, friends, family and the human race, in general.  I don't have to agree with you.  I don't have to like you.  I don't have to tolerate you.  I do, however, need to treat you with respect and civility.  I'm glad to have the freedom and opportunity to share my feelings on different subjects on a blog and I feel fortunate to receive comments from encouraging and caring readers.  I think I would appreciate a dissenting comment.  I think a comment disagreeing with a point of view I hold would give me the opportunity to ponder another side of an issue.  My blogging intentions are not to teach anyone anything.  My intentions are to learn more about myself and focus on the positive.  I haven't had any issues, so don't worry about me.  I was thinking about how easily some folks get their noses pushed out of joint about comments on blogs or fb.  I guess I feel a little sorry for them.  Maybe they are young and immature?  Maybe they haven't had much life experience and have been sheltered in the life they live?  Maybe they just have very thin skin?

So, there you have it.  It's not me, it's you.

Making money in Atlantic City

Hi all.  I'm in Atlantic City this weekend.  I came with my girlfriend (the one that questioned the irony of my name) to AC.  She's visiting her family in NJ and I'm making money by chilling in the swanky hotel room.  Really, I am.  Now we all know they don't keep the lights on in those casinos by giving away the money.  Check out what has been happening at the Tropicana this past week.  Can you say "pay out 11 MILLION!!!" 

Yeah, I'd never have the guts to make the kind of bet it would take to win that kind of cash. 

To be completely honest, I'm not a betting kind of girl.  I just can't do it.  So, why do I go to Atlantic City?  My answer is, it is just good to get away sometimes.  I'm enjoying my time away.  I'm relaxing.  I walked on the boardwalk.

Yep, walked.  I didn't take a ride in one of those carts.

I'm way too cheap to pay those prices.  I went and got a pedicure.  And, I made money.  Yep, I'm back on eBay selling silver.  Sure, the price isn't as high as it used to be, but... there is still money to be made out there people.  I have my camera and my laptop and I'm snapping pics and writing descriptions and adding items to my sell page on eBay.  I know this isn't romantic, but I enjoy it.  This is my kind of gambling.  I just can't do the slots or the tables.  Congrats to the big winners, but I'll make my money the old fashioned way.  Working for it. 

Google guitar

Did everyone have fun with the Google Guitar today?  I know I did.  It was in loving memory of Les Paul.  I worked most of the day to learn how to play Here Comes the Sun.  Needless to say, this was not one of my most productive days.

It was HOT today.  HOT with a capital H O T.  Anyway, one of the VPs in the building bought everyone in the building ice cream.  It was a treat.  Thanks boss.  I know I had a smile on my face.  :)

If you didn't play with this today, take five minutes.  It's FUN.

photo credit

Bad art

I love art.  I enjoy strolling through an art gallery and enjoying the paintings and sculpture.  I've been to the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, Italy.  I've seen the Venus on the half shell.  I've been to the Louvre in Paris.  I've seen the Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo.  I've been to the art gallery in Chicago and seen American Gothic.  I've been to the National Gallery and seen the Gauguin collection and a special showing of Calder's work.  I've been to the impressionist art museum in Paris before they moved it to the train station and now I can't remember what the name was 'cause I'm old and old people forget stuff.  Anyway, I enjoy art.

How come there is so much bad art out there?  I work at a college.  There is TONS of bad art here.  Most of it is very ugly, depressing and bland.  I guess when you have a lot of young people and a lot of angst and lots of art materials you can get a lot of bad art.

Why am I telling you this?  They've removed the ugly art in the hallway leading to the ladies room in my building.  Yippee!!!  I think.  Who knows what they will hang to replace the piece I am certain was a representation of a dead cow?  Or what will hang instead of the special piece consisting of a black line and black outline of a circle and a red dot?  Or, what will replace the piece that looked like black ink watered down and smeared across the paper?  Btw, what is the deal with all the black.  Don't we buy colored paints or inks or anything with a splash of color?  Or, can we have art that is a representation of something identifiable?  Just a question.  Anyway, now we have blank walls and the improvement is ENORMOUS.  Time will tell.

Oh, and don't think a college is the only place with bad art.  There ought to be a law.

Em, send some art my way.  We need some beauty over here.

It isn't ironic

I've learned some things about myself since I've begun blogging with a purpose.  I say "with a purpose" because, technically, I started this blog in February 2010.  But I was terrible at it.  I would write, then I wouldn't write, then I'd think about writing, but I wouldn't write.  Finally, I'm not sure exactly what the impetus was, I think it may have been Farmgirl Paints leaving a comment on my blog saying something like, "oh, you don't blog anymore.  too bad."  I think that may have been the spark to get me going.  The other spark was my new relationship with tamoxifen and how I was going to cope with the side effects.  I mean, if I was going to get a divorce or fatally wound my husband, I wanted to see the trail leading up to this action.  (btw, I don't think I would harm my sweetie, but tamoxifen can cause depression and you never know what can come of depression)  Anyway, these are the things that pushed me to write regularly, but what have I learned about myself?

I think the first thing I've learned is the more I exercise the easier it is for me to exercise.  If I skip a few days or a week, sheesh, it's like pulling teeth to get me back in the gym.  And, I think I feel better about myself when I exercise.  Maybe it's just that I feel a bit stronger and a little bit more capable.  It's a good feeling.  I should exercise more.  I not only strengthens my body, it promotes a sense of positivity.

I learned I don't really like yoga.  I'm not good at it and it often made me feel sick to my stomach.  I don't know why, but any time I mentioned this to the instructors, they told my this was normal.  I don't think doing something that makes you feel sick to your stomach and the fact that feeling sick to your stomach is normal is a good thing for me to do.  I'll be passing on yoga for a while.  At least I gave it a good try.

I like meditation more than I thought I would.  I'm not going to be a person meditating for hours on end, but I stop and take 15 minutes and meditate during the day.  I'm really surprised about this.  Meditation never appealed to me, but, there you go.  Sometimes you can surprise yourself when you try something new.

Here's another surprising thing.  I wrote poetry.  I NEVER thought I would give this a try.  I know I'm not very good at it, but...  I still did it.  And a couple times some folks said they liked it.  Even my sweet husband enjoyed the poems I wrote for his mom.  I was surprised I could put feelings into words and have them make sense.  And even more surprising, the words have moved other people.

By blogging I have become a member of the blogging community.  Wow, there are A LOT of bloggers out there in cyberspace.  I have learned a lot by reading the blogs of others.  I, also, have received hope and encouragement from bloggers out there.  There is something anonymous about sitting behind a screen and typing.  I know you can't see me and I know I could really type just ANYTHING.  Would you know?  But the truth is, sitting behind this screen and writing is WAY more revealing than I thought it would be.  I'm chipping away at my tough exterior and allowing some of my creamy goodness to escape.  I know this doesn't sound good, but I'm struggling with the metaphor.  I'm peeling the onion I call Happy Girl.  And this is the best part, I'm learning things about myself and finding something good inside.  Ok, I'm thinking about going a little deeper here...

I talk to my mom on the phone almost every day, on the drive into work.  Lately I've been noticing the negative way she has of talking about herself and others.  Hmmm, maybe I got a bit of my negative POV from her?  Maybe.  I can tell you, my dad is able to turn any good thing on its head in a NY minute.  Not a lot of positivity there, either.  Hmmm... I'm thinking this may be genetic?  Anyway, by taking time every day to think about my blog and what I'll write about, I've been forcing myself to focus on the positive.  And, it changes the way I've been looking at the world.  This is a good thing.

I've told you before, my one girlfriend who reads this blog has asked me, "Do the people who read your blog know how ironic your name is?"  Maybe my name is becoming less ironic every day. 

Comments are so helpful

Oh Being Happy readers.  Thank you thank you and thank you.  I can't express how touched and uplifted I was by the comments on my son's birthday post.  I have to say I had a hard time writing this post.  I didn't want to sugarcoat the hurts I feel, but I didn't want to blame my son for my hurts, either.  It's not his fault.  Well, trust me, some of the things he does to hurt my feelings ARE his fault.  I mean, really, NO PIZZA BOXES UNDER THE BED.  I also didn't want to bust him in front of friends or others that may know him and/or have  friends or relatives reading this blog.  Yeah, it could happen.  AND, once something is on the internet it is there FOREVER.  Yep, even the picture you took at your girlfriend's bachelorette party.  Don't take pictures of your junk and put it on the internet.  It's there forever.  Anyway, the bottom line is, I wanted to be authentic and yet be kind.  I wanted to write strictly from my point of view and not put any of the blame on him.

I really didn't expect to get many comments on this one, but I was wrong.  In fact, I need to read them over and over and even respond to some of them.  When I looked at them this weekend, it was a brief glance.  And, yet, I got a bit choked up.  Click.  I shut them down.  I wasn't able to celebrate and be choked up at the same time.  I thank you all for being so encouraging to me.  I thank you all for understanding the hurt of broken dreams.  And I thank you for being able to remind me of the hope still out there and available for me.  24 is still young AND 24 is young when you have a developmental delay.  Yes it is.

Many of you reminded me of the plans God has for him.  I believe this is true.  I believe God has plans for him and for me.  And, I need to remember the plans for my son's future may include me.  I don't have a crystal ball and I don't want to mix up the plans I have for my son and the plans God has for my son.  They may not be the same.  (insert laughter)  Hard to believe, I know.

Many of you commiserated with tales of young adults in similar situations.  I tell you "Thank You."  It really does feel good to know I am not the only one with these feelings.  I don't wish the hurt you have that may be similar to what I'm feeling, but it's good to know others are not only "getting through", but loving their adult children through this difficult situation.

And best of all, many of you could see the good, kind person my son is and you repeated it back to me.  It was so sweet.  And, possibly, the most uplifting thing I've had happen to me in a while.  I don't hear sweet things about my son very often.  Maybe I'm not listening.  After reading the comments on this post and having them WRITTEN and available to read over and over, I couldn't dismiss them.  I think I dismiss kind words said about my son too often.  I'm going to stop doing this.  I'm going to let every compliment I hear about him SOAK IN.  Accepting compliments about myself has always been a challenge, but to disregard a compliment about my child is a crime.  Thank you again for reading and COMMENTING.  Your kind words of hope, strength and experience are changing me for the better.

Happy Birthday to my son

Today I celebrate being a mom for 24 years.  Wow, how did this happen?  Time flies when you're having fun.  I have a wonderful son.  He is healthy, intelligent, creative and kind.  He lives with us, still, and this has been unexpected, on my part.  I couldn't move out of my parent's house fast enough.  I dreamed of moving out.  I almost had to move out in the middle of the night because my mom didn't want me to move.  He is happy living with us.  He helps around the house, when asked (3 or 4 times).  We don't really have too much to do with each other anymore.  Our relationship seems to have become a bit adversarial, but I'm working hard to change this.  I guess it's been hard to watch my hopes and dreams for him, die.  It's all my fault, of course.  I shouldn't have had expectations or dreams, for him.  But, I did.

My son doesn't have a very good job.  I mean, it's an OK job, for a college kid.  But my son isn't in college and he needs a better job.  Damn this economy.  All the jobs he should have seem to be taken by college graduates.  He didn't go to college.  School isn't his strong suit.  I keep hoping he'll give it another shot, but it's his life, not mine.  He's strongly dyslexic and that makes reading and writing quite a challenge for him.  He falls under the autism umbrella, but it's hard to pinpoint and name his issue.  I guess I've spent too much time of my life focusing on what my really great son can't do and not enough on what he can do.  I need to change.  I need to switch my perspective and look at the possibilities for him.

He's quite a gamer.  LOVES these video games.  I'm not a fan.  I've been encouraged by some of my blogging mama friends to give them a try.  I have.  But I'm not good at it.  And I really don't enjoy them.  But, I try.  I also try to enjoy the anime stuff he is interested in.  I've watched a couple movies, but I don't enjoy them either.  But I try.  I don't know what other interests he has.  And this is my fault, too.

I love my son.  I worry for his future.  I worry because I love him.  I want him to have a girlfriend.  I want him to have a job with benefits.  I want him to be able to live on his own.

I try not to get jealous when I read blogs about families with kids doing wonderful things and getting an education and getting great jobs and living their lives out there in the world.  I try.  But, sometimes I get jealous.  My son is really good at his job.  He takes care of school age children before and after school in a Rec and Parks program with the county.  I could NEVER do this job.  No way.  I don't know if he wants to do this for the rest of his life.  I kind of doubt it.  But, change doesn't come easy for him.  And, talking to us about what he wants doesn't come easy for him either.

I have a wonderful son.  He is so kind.  He is very gentle.  He is very polite.  He is a good guy.

Happy birthday to my wonderful son.  I've loved being your mom these past 24 years.

I'm not a perfect person

What is the perfect person like?  Is it the selfless caring person?  Always ready to lend a hand or help financially.  Or do we call this person an enabler?  Is this the person keeping the ones they help in "victim" status?  Is the perfect person the encourager?  Always rooting for you to "do your best!"  Or is the perfect person the guy reminding you this isn't your battle?  Reminding you to take a step back.  Cut your losses.  Is the perfect person the friend always available to hear your tale of woe?  You never need to work things out for yourself.  She has the answer or the shoulder to cry on or the nodding assent.  Or does she tell you to suck it up!  Get over it!  Don't be such a baby!  Which is the perfect response?  Is the perfect person organized and orderly?  Is the perfect person a disorganized person?  Is the perfect person great at sports?  Is he a fine physical specimen?  Or, is he average and let's you feel OK about yourself because you're average, too?  Does the perfect person accept whining?  Does she accept lying?  Does she accept "forgetting to call you back or return your book?"  Does the perfect person forget about the unpaid loan and chalk it up as a gift?  Do perfect people get crabby?  Do they say the wrong thing at the wrong time?  Do they only say the right thing at the perfect moment?  Does the perfect person earn enough money to live a perfect lifestyle?  Or does a perfect person live within his means and require his family to do the same?  Does a perfect person feel compassion for those living outside their means?  Or does he resent their greed?  Does a perfect person cook healthy meals for the family?  Or does a perfect person order pizza?  Is a perfect person an artist?  Or is a perfect person an accountant?  Can an artist be an accountant?  Can an accountant be an artist?  Which is a perfect combination?  Does a perfect person have unshakable faith?  Or does a perfect person work their faith out daily with fear and trembling?  Does a perfect person attend church every Sunday?  Or does a perfect person take a "day of rest" and rest?  Does a perfect person need other people?  Do they need to have a friend?  Or do they need to be a friend?  Does a perfect person have all the answers?  Or does a perfect person keep their mouth (and blog) shut and pose the question for consideration?  Is a perfect person real?  Does this perfect person exist?  Is there a list of qualities and characteristics for the perfect person?  I wonder.

When I went out to my car to go to lunch, just after posting this post, The Reason was the song that came on the radio in my car.  It makes you say, hmmm?