Elusive

Love has millions of faces.

It is powerful.

It creates.

It promotes growth.

It maintains peace.

It survives.

But the moment it becomes negative, destructive, jealous, or obsessive --

It is no longer love.

Be who you want to be

Old age is not a given.

Some people die young. Others live long and prosper and others die long lingering deaths.

The quality of old age is not as bleak as many of the cartoons I see depict it.

My genes determine some things in my life, but I have more control than I may want to admit.

There are things I know are bad for a body, sunbathing, smoking, overeating, alcoholism.

There are things I know are good for a body, exercise, sleep, proper nutrition, a positive outlook.

If a body wants a body that can survive in tact, or as intact as possible, the balance needs to be on the side of the good things.

I know people who claim they would rather live now and die young than forgo the pleasures of their particular bad habits, but most of them end up recanting when they discover you don't just up and die in a minute or two.  It can take years of misery to die of many bad habits and by the time this realization hits them over the head it is sometimes too late.

I have lots of role models for both sides of this issue.

I'm trying to follow the smart ones.

I will get old.  I will die.  I will eventually have diminished capabilities of some sort, but I'm sure not in any rush.

In the meantime I'm trying to be the person I want to be.

Bringing home the bacon

A young family sits down to dinner.  The father is at the head of the table, the mother at the other end, and two children sit between them.  The food on the table is pretty traditional fare for many American families.

There is a beef roast surrounded by potatoes, carrots, gravy and hot rolls.  A large toss salad sits on one corner and dessert is behind them on the sideboard waiting to be eaten.  It is a normal happy family.

Soon after this, the father is killed in a freak accident and the mother, now widowed, must eventually get back into her routine of shopping and preparing meals so her children can get on with their lives like children should.

For a while she goes to the grocery store and the food appears on the table like before.  Everyone is grieving the loss of their father, but content to simply sit together and eat.  Until one day the little boy asks, "When are we going to have a beef roast again?  Remember how it was the last time we had dinner with Daddy?"

Mother explains that the freezer is empty, their supply of frozen meat has been used up, but she tells them she will go to the butcher's soon.  And she does.

She calls and makes an appointment and, on the appointed day and time, shows up. The butcher meets her at the door and welcomes her in.  She follows him to the back where she enters a small shed.  On the door above the shed is a freshly painted sign.  It says, Ferdinand.

Inside stands a lovely black Angus steer with large brown eyes.  The butcher introduces them and leaves saying, "You have ten minutes."

The woman stands in front of Ferdinand, who lows gently and nudges her with his head.  She is surprised by the feel of his hair and the way his sides heave as she pets him.  As the time for the butcher to return comes closer, she remembers the small card her husband left on his dresser, just in case something ever happened to him.

Taking it out, she quickly reads out loud, "Thank you Ferdinand for giving your life that we might live.  We are truly sorry that is your fate in this world, but we appreciate you and honor you with all our hearts."

The butcher returns moments later and escorts her into another room where she straddles a long bench facing a small window.  She assumes that since she has already paid for her meat, the butcher will hand it to her in neatly frozen packages when the shutters open.

There is noise on the other side. 

Two hands reach through.

Handing her a loaded rifle, a voice tells her,  "Just place the muzzle tightly against his head and pull the trigger."  The hands disappear and Ferdinand steps up, placing his large head right in the center of the opening.  A tear falls from his eye . . .

Love, lust, or lost

There has been a lot of talk lately -- about where all the good women (or men) have gone.

Of course this is not among the younger set.  It is mostly focused on those who have been around the block a time or two.

The thinking seems to be that people carrying baggage from former relationships are afraid to get deeply involved in new ones.

I can understand that.  No one wants to make the same mistake over again and by the time they hit this part of their lives, people also understand that there are a lot of other considerations when it comes to long term relationships.

Both men and women understand that marriage, even the first time, comes with lots of expectations that people don't want to talk about until it's too late.  Who's going to take out the trash?  Who does the yard work?  Who cooks?  How are the finances going to be handled?  And these are just the easy things!

And then there are those who expect more from a possible liaison than they have to give.  If a surface person is fat and wants a slim trim mate, it's going to take some looking to find a compatible one. If a wealthy well-educated person wants to find another well-educated wealthy person, but one who is willing to hand over the reins and toe the line -- that's another conundrum.

Finding just the right person  is tough once both parties have a pretty good idea of who they are and what they want.  And if someone does not know who they are and what they really want?  The pitfalls are perilous and deep.

When they become so deep you feel like you are buried, maybe it's time to step back and take a long hard look at yourself.

Because the only person you can even dream of changing is you.

Sometimes

People who have a problem almost always say they want to correct it -- and yet they don't want to change anything about themselves.

It's a nice idea to think that I am perfect and the rest of the world is screwed up, but it's usually not true.

All of us could use a little tweaking here and there.

The most successful people are those who can ask a true friend what they think the problem is and then step back and look at themselves through those eyes, because a true friend will not just tell you what you want to hear.  She will tell you what she really thinks.

 

You don't have to agree with her, but if life has let you down again and again, you might want to give those things a little thought.

Sometimes the world sees us as better people than we think we are and sometimes they don't see us at all -- they only see a facade we put on when we were so much younger we have forgotten it is there.

Life is too short to go around huffing and puffing and bull dozing people right and left.  Sometimes it's better to just take a big breath, relax, and do more listening than judging and talking.

Sometimes you can't see yourself clearly until you see yourself through the eyes of others.

 -Ellen DeGeneres, comedian, TV host, actor, and writer (b. 26 Jan 1958)

The heart of my home

I recently told a friend that my apartment is simple, nothing elegant, but clean and nice.  I meant every word of it, but today, as I looked at it again I had other thoughts.

In 2008 I moved all my possessions to another state in a large moving van.  In 2010 I moved back here with only a Honda Sedan.

I had no dishes, no pots and pans, and no household linens of any sort.  All I really brought with me were my bicycle, my dog, my coffee pot, and my clothes, and not even all of them. I also brought a few of my dearest things, a white Armani stallion statue, a white Quan Yin and child statuette, a picture of me and my children the last time we were all together and a small picture of us all playing musical instruments the Christmas before that.

The night I moved into my first local apartment I brought these things with me along with a blow up bed and my twelve inch television.

Today, three apartments later, I look around at the home that has grown up around me and I realize it actually is a little bit elegant. I've collected a few pieces of furniture that blend beautifully with each other and my style of living.  I have a few skillets and pieces of cookware that I deem essential, some nice silverware and a set of china that is absolutely me. The three pieces that hang on my wall are exactly what I love to look at, as is every other thing surrounding me.

My world is compact and utilitarian in a lovely cozy way that speaks about who I am.

I don't think you could call it any particular style, but it feels luxurious in a minimalist sort of way.

It is home in every way that is important to me.  I have room for guests, family dinners and no extra space to clean, heat, or cool.

A new kind of love

If you don't love me, it does not matter, anyway I can love for both of us. -Stendhal (Marie-Henri Beyle), novelist (23 Jan 1783-1842)

Pining away for love has been the center of so many stories that I wouldn't know where to begin talking about them.  Yet it seems to me that this kind of love is a pretty egocentric sort of neediness.

In the best of all world's people love each other, each to the best of his or her ability, but one may continue to love the other long past the time that other has moved on.

Love is a complicated word meaning different things to different people and each person has their own personal needs.  Some of us need to be adored.  Some of us need to be adoring.  Others want the give and take of a more balanced relationship, but who is to say they are not all love?

I can appreciate what you feel, but the true test is what I feel. I can only feel what I feel.

If my love wants you to be truly happy then I want what is best for you -- and it might not be me.

I am still in love with you -- it's just a different way of loving -- and I don't mean self-sacrificing martyr type love, or a stalking type of love where I drive by your house and honk year after year. That's not love, it's obsession.

Allowing the beloved to move on into a life that does not include me; a life that is not burdened with the guilt of me; a life where two people continue on separate paths and forge ahead, seems to be the best gift one might give the other.

That grows a new kind of love altogether - one of compassion, understanding and forgiveness.

Words

It's amazing what a difference a number or a word can make.

Either one can make or break a day.

Get on a scale.  Change a channel on the television. Call someone and say something sweet.

Or, get on a scale, change the channel and call someone something mean.

That old song about sticks and stones can break my bones is mostly wrong.  Life is about the details, the nuances, and a word is a much more effective missile than most sticks.

A word. from a trusted source, can also be the best medicine in the world.

We are whole beings, not just amorphous masses of blood, muscle, fat and bone. That little bit of brain matter on the top of your body is much more powerful than you might want to believe.

Friday's Post

Technically this is now Saturday, but I had a very busy day today, so this is Friday's post.

I skyped with my youngest grandchildren who were busy making a mural on the dining room table.

I managed to get in my walk and do my cycling this morning and then did the weights this evening, so it was quite a productive day.

In between I picked up my daughter and we went out to a late lunch before grocery shopping and coming home.

I did not overeat.

I managed to draw a picture I really liked and now I am writing this simple little blog.

I don't know why I feel compelled to do that when there is nothing exceptional to say -- except -- that non exceptional days can be pretty awesome in their simplicity.

I have learned that being able to pay the bills, live in a decent place, eat good food and still have time to do the things I love is more than many people ever have.

For that I am so grateful.

Ghostly problems

I am a person who acts mostly on instinct.

Doing what feels, sounds, or looks, right, has always worked pretty well for me.

I grew up in a home where people spoke correctly so I never really had to learn the rules for grammar.  They ate dinner at a table with napkins and a full compliment of silverware so that was no problem. I was expected to talk politely and as knowledgeably as possible with whoever was around me.

These get me through most things in life. 

But -- they also make me unsure of myself sometimes.  I rely on "knowing" what to do by how I "feel, " so if I don't feel quite right I know something is wrong.

The problem with that is: I don't know if something is wrong with me, or the situation, or someone else and I find myself second guessing everything.

Self confidence comes less from simple success than successful problem solving, that feeling that I can take care of whatever is going on-- that I am competent on many levels.  For example: when I played piano I could memorize a piece of music with my hands, but not my mind.  I could memorize a poem, or tell a story, but I never knew when I sat down to play the piano, or oboe, if my hands would simply fail me at some point.  I have no confidence when it comes to performing on any sort of instrument.

At this point in my life I have learned to simply avoid possible problems, but that doesn't help when I have a niggling feeling something is wrong.  If I ask people I sound needy, or like I'm fishing for something.

So there are times in my life when I live with an unnecessary amount of stress over nothing --just because something doesn't feel quite right.  When it might just be. "an undigested bit of beef."

You're not a babysitter

Contrary to what many people believe the first five years of a child's life are critical to the rest of his life.

I'm not sure why it should be a surprise.

Almost everyone understands that a building needs a good foundation.  The better the quality of products used and the better the craftsmanship, the better the building will turn out.

Feed a child grass-fed meats or healthy proteins, good quality fats from butter, coconut oil, olive oil, cod liver oil and egg yolks, as well as complex carbohydrate-rich foods like vegetables, whole grains and legumes and fruit–think whole food, natural and seasonal, with a big emphasis on healthy fat. 

A healthy body has a healthy brain and that should be the next focal point.

Talk to him.  Read to him right away (if for no other reason than he will start to equate reading with cuddling and happy times.) Giving him information at this time in his life is like dunking a dry sponge in water -- he is engineered to just soak it up!

After these basics, the most important thing you have to give is yourself!

Baby animals grow up in the wild imitating their caretakers.  Baby humans are geared the same way. It's just natural, a built in survival technique, but if you take advantage of it you can make it so much more!

Parents are so much more than just babysitters, so don't wait for school to teach him what he needs -- you might be too late.

Modern Family

Tonight I was fixing dinner when I received a text.  "Evening skype?"

So I had dinner with my grandchildren in Seattle!

I brought my fish and vegetables to the computer.  They brought their brinner to the table.  They were having cabbage, hummus, apple sausages and scrambled eggs.  It made me wish I was really there.

Grammy was the head at the foot of the table!  Pretty funny when I think about it.

After dinner I was treated to a beautiful dance done by a lovely young ballerina and her lively partner then I saw the tinker toy paddles that partner made for his kayak.

A little more conversation and then the computer was attacked by cuddle bugs full of hugs and kisses and we said goodbye.

They went off to the YMCA and I settled into my evening routine.

That's the story of, that's the glory of

Most of us feel pretty much the same about those we love.

We want to be proud of them.

We want them to be happy with who they are.

We want them to be proud of us.

We don't want to see them suffer.

And we surely don't want to be the cause of their suffering.

Everything else seems to be contingent on one of the above.

In theory we want them to be self sufficient and self supporting.  It makes them stronger and safer.

And we hate to see them with people who hurt them, or make them sad.

That's the real story about love.

Contemplate

What if life is one giant puzzle and everything is a clue?

What if every single person I meet has something to teach me?

What if this entire world is here to help me find out who I am? Or why I am?

Then every one is THE ONE.

Imagine living this way!

The possibilities are endless, overwhelming, amazing -- wonderful!

Memories

I've heard that goldfish have three second memories.  After that everything is new.

The rest of us have to do a little housecleaning now and then.

Dust off the memories, sweep out the crumbs, and make space for all the new things coming up.

Our minds must be a lot like computers.  It they become mired down mulling over old issues there are problems.

Pretending this isn't happening doesn't always work.  At least not for me.

I'm not sure what to do about it, but just recognizing it exists helps some -- I think.

I'll let you know in the morning.

To dream or not to dream

I have been thinking about my dreams a lot lately.  They have not been pleasant.  The idea of sweet dreams has been missing in  my most recent nights.  I almost dread going to sleep.

So I watch television, read, stay up too late and then when I lay down I try NOT to think about what I don't want to dream about -- which really doesn't work.

If I could direct my dreaming it might be different.  Thinking about what I do, or do not, want to dream about doesn't really make any difference.  My dreams have a mind of their own.  They just go on their merry way delving into painful themes.

And they are not particularly specific.  Sometimes I experience the bad feelings from one thing with someone who had nothing to do with them, so figuring them out isn't easy.

Why would I want to figure them out?

Because there are themes that come up again and again and the feelings associated with them are strong enough to keep me from not wanting to sleep.

Some dreams are just dreams, but I honestly believe that some are my own little pyscho-dramas trying to clear things up.

Surprise, surprise surprise

I am a very vivid dreamer.  Sometimes my dreams can feel so real that they actually influence how I feel during the day.  This has been true my whole life.  In fact, it is almost as if I have two lives. The one at night and this one.

Lately my dreams have been dwelling on the negative aspects of my marriage and I wake up feeling as bad now as I did then.

There are things that follow people throughout their lives and one of those things for me was divorce.  When I was three one of my parent's friends got a divorce.  The idea terrified me. I worried about what would happen if my parents did that. Who would I live with?  Where would we go?

My parent's marriage was extraordinarily strong, they never considered a divorce, but my grandparents did, after thirty years of marriage.  In my family there was no distinction between people who married into the family and those who were born into it, so their divorce brought out a lot of fears for everyone I think.  My mother, especially, was very angry about the whole thing and for the first time we had someone in the family who could never be family -- my grandfather's new wife.

She was very kind to all of us, and in no way linked to the divorce, but to like her would have been betraying my mother (and my grandmother, who my mother never liked by the way!) It was confusing and terrifying.

Eventually, after nearly thirty years, my marriage ended in a surprise divorce.  One moment I was married, the next he was moving into an apartment where he'd already moved many of his things.

My dream last night dealt with these things in a way I think I finally understand.  For me it is the surprise, the intentional hiding of the truth until the final blow that is so disturbing. It means anyone could be lying to me, abandonment always looms, ready to rise out of the depths from nowhere.

Whole thoughts

Sometimes I am so disenchanted with people, machines, and our world in general that there is no point in writing a thought about it.

How can so many people be so unaware?

Intelligent people do the same old things over and over and over and then they look for reasons for the things that happen and truly believe it has nothing to do with them.

The way we treat people probably makes more difference than anything else in a life.

If we are forced to live with stress and commotion, with a disregard for our feelings and needs, then we will be sick -- if not physically, then mentally and that leads to physical problems.

The circle of power

Whenever one person bases his identity, his superiority, his ego, on being better than another, his days are numbered.

It is the ultimate form of manipulation to raise people up by making steps out of others.

Look at the history of the world and examples are rampant.  The rich, the so called "noble" people are better than the common man, or serfs.  The wealthy are better than the poor. The whites better than the blacks, or the Jews, or the Spanish.  Americans better than people in other countries.  The working over the unemployed no matter why they are unemployed. Professionals over blue collars.  The lists go on and on and on.

Each group justifying it according to some holy book, some written prescription that proves God is on their side so what they do is justified.

And look at the history of these groups falling as their blindness and bigotry turns on them with a conscience that seems to be inherent in humanity, if not smaller groups.

History takes time and many people suffer before each of these groups builds up enough power to create an equal and opposite resurgence of humanity to do away with them.  Then we look back, feeling superior to those who went before us; at their naivety, their ignorance, their bad ways.

Sometimes it takes a lifetime

I have seldom met a stranger.

Mostly because I am interested in people.  I ask questions and they talk and that is our jumping off point.

So . . .  one might think that I fit in everywhere!

I don't.

In fact, I have almost never found myself feeling like one of the crowd.  I have always felt more like someone looking in on the crowd -- until I met bestest.

Perhaps because we are both writers and that was how we communicated for a very long time, writing two and three emails a day and thousands of texts, but when we came face to face, instead of finding that interesting stranger I am used to, I met someone so much like me that I could almost predict his thoughts.

For the first time I could ever remember, someone was asking me questions.  We drew each other out.

We are so much alike we could be twins born to different parents generations apart -- and yet we are different.  This person is someone who has taken all of my gifts and used them to their fullest.  This is who I could have been had I not been afraid to be me.

What I do with that at this point in my life is a mystery, like one of those hidden picture books, I am discovering more and more about me that is likable and I am amazed that I thought it should have been kept hidden.

Funny how I met all those strangers, but never met myself until now.

Precious words

What if it was possible that your thoughts and words could be cut off at any instant? (Which of course they always could be.)

Those words would become much more important!

Today I was able to experience a tiny experiment into this sort of thinking.  A friend was on an airplane that was going to take off soon.  We knew we would be cut off from texting at any moment.

It actually continued for quite a long time so we were able to say a great many things, but always, behind each sentence was the knowledge that it could be the last -- for several hours, but still . . .

It made me think how precious the people in my life are and how important what I say to them is to me.

The Moldau

PBS took me on a musical trip today as I cleaned house, drew pictures, and generally wasted away a cold Saturday afternoon.

It started with some guy visiting Prague and listening to street musicians playing The Moldau, one of my favorite classical songs, right up there with Danse Macabre!

Then the Lawrence Welk Show came on.  It was from 1961 when I was still a little girl and I suddenly heard those songs that lasted throughout most of my life. Songs I played on the piano and sang with my sister as we grew up.  There was The Blue Bird of Happiness and an Irish folk song by the Lennon sisters and Pat Boone sang Moody River as memories just welled up.

It made me think how much time has passed and how many things I still love that I loved then.  I called my son and asked him to send my paper dolls to my granddaughter, who is the first child who might appreciate them.

I have little Shirley Temple cardboard dolls whose costumes lace on with brightly colored cords, Janet Lennon with her wardrobe in an elegant folder that opened up into a room.  There are the last paperdolls my dad bought for me on my eleventh birthday, tweens with fuzzy shirts so their paper cloth clothes stick right to them, and many many others, including some I made by cutting them out of catalogues and pasting them on shirt cardboards.

I remember those days playing with paper dolls and my dad's old 78 records playing Strauss waltz's, Irish folk songs and The Moldau, with such longing.

I wonder as I wonder

I wonder if other people ever wonder . . .

If this idea of what is feminine, or masculine is more of an idea, more a mere concept in the mind, than a reality?

I grew up thinking the ultimate feminine was petite, dainty, submissive and the ultimate masculine was big, powerful, all knowing and that anything else was -- less than. Yet many top models are often six feet tall and many of the actors we idolize are standing on boxes when the cameras roll. 

Out dated concepts created by people who want to wield power over others, who need to objectify, label and box up others for one selfish reason or another should be put away with other outdated things like the hand drill, or button shoes.

It takes courage, self esteem and confidence to be all that you are. People should be encouraged, not discouraged.

Defining a person with words is like eating plastic food.  No matter how many bites you take, it is never as satisfying as the real thing.

We are all just people -- complex, capable of an infinite number of roles, thoughts, and actions, whole in our own way.  I could write a paragraph of adjectives about most of the people I know and you might have a very difficult time figuring out their gender.

I think that is a good thing.

Paranoia or fact

So much for putting away my second router.  When Comcast first brought me their box the serviceman told me that Roku boxes never worked.  I knew he was wrong, mine works all the time, but then I've always kept my old router connected to it in spite of having a Comcast modem.

Once I removed my old router, nothing made my Roku box (or phone's wifi) work, so I replaced it.

Now everything is back to normal.  I use Comcast's modem for the computer and cable and my own router for everything else, including my phone.

It makes me feel a little paranoid, but I can deal with that so much better than the frustration of not having the others.  Now if only Comcast's internet was as fast as it used to be.

Winter wonder

What do notherners do when it's cold outside?  I mean really cold -- icicle breath, face numbing, frozen toed cold. 

Well, first of all, those of us who do not have to go out -- don't.

There are always a few martyrs out there trying to achieve their first, or even second, heart attack, but no more than you might find outside mowing the lawn on a horrendously hot humid day.  The south may put their crazy people right out on the front porch, we like to hide ours in nice snug little inglenooks.

Today was a good day to stay inside -- and warm.

I turned up the furnace and added a nice little infrared heater then I got busy!

First I tidied the writhing mass of cords behind the television, eliminating the second modem and unused phone and tucking the rest behind the chest the TV sits on.

Then I took all the books off their shelves and began dusting like the mad woman of Chaillot trying to save Paris (and those dust mites fought me at every turn.) 

I vacuumed before, during, and after so that not one speck of errant dirt might escape my winter warring. Then I moved the furniture into a new configuration, which while it may not be better, is certainly different.

I was so successful I actually had to turn the space heater off (and take a nap midway through.)

It is still bone chillingly cold outside, but I am nice and warm sitting here snug as a bug in a rug in my newly arranged, CLEAN little inglenook.

Heal thyself

My own worst enemy is . . . me!

With the blink of a thought I can raise my blood pressure twenty points! 

The knowledge that my own mind can create such negative experiences for me makes me wonder if it can also create good ones?

If I can make myself ill, can I make myself well?

I suspect I can.

The rise and fall of a living life

Life is a series of experiences that rise and fall through my consciousness as I go about the everyday business of existence.  In the past I often found myself struggling just to keep my head above water. Life felt overwhelmingly difficult because it did not focus on what was important to me. Then when that ended, quite abruptly, I was left floundering.  A huge part of my life simply disappeared.

For the first time, ever, I had to find my own way, which meant I could choose what seemed important and that was when I began to discover that the deepest, dearest, things are not always what people think they are.

It took a while to become me.

During the past five years I have slowly become buoyant enough to find the peace and joy I always dreamed of.  Those bits and pieces that were always part of me have begun to congeal into a me I not only like, but really kind of love.

Finding a personal muse had a lot to do with that.  Someone to reflect back the best of me while still giving me the room to be myself, was an incredible gift -- and lesson in living.

It just proves that it is never too late . . .

As long as there is breath, the possibilities continue.  So I recommend hanging on to what's important as long as you can.  Someday your dreams may rise up and become you.

Imagination

Things are seldom as bad as my imagination can make them out to be.

I am a planner.  I not only want to know that the to do list is made, I want to be sure all the "i"s are dotted and "t"s crossed.  I want the columns straight and it is even important which font I use.

I can control that part most of the time.  That's my job. 

What I can't control is your part.  When you will show up, how you will feel, or which ways you will choose to express yourself.  That all belongs to you.  It's the wild card in any gathering.

Of course it is also part of the joy of living.  It keeps things interesting, makes us improvise, or just plain be honest with each other.

Those dreaded interactions flow over, under and around the love that emanates from each one of us. And it is this seasoning, flowing from so many different personalities, that make each occasion the unique and special time that it can be.

Some things cannot, or should not be over planned.  They're best when they happen organically, so I try to reign in my imagination and let things just be.

"Home"

The scrapbook in my mind is full of pictures the way I remember them. Some brighter, some faded, some completely skewed, I'm sure.

For years I tried to recreate the storybook memories of a life I never lived.

We took the children home for every holiday and almost every weekend, dressed in clothes I "remembered" from pictures.  They were clothes I made in memory of those nonexistent moments from the past.

Feed Me I'm Yours was the cook book Bible in our household.  My children were going to grow up naturally.  No refined sugar, no canned vegetables, no "bad" food. When I realized they were being given twinkies and soda pop at "home" we started going back there less.

Slowly realizing that my memories were not the same as my mother's, or my siblings, I began going home less. And by my late thirties there was a more distinct separation of "them" and "us."

The scrapbook was put away as we began to design our own holidays and traditions.  Soccer, baseball and scouts, community theatre, band concerts, piano recitals. . . we were moving ever farther from the family fold.

Until one day I realized that "home" had moved.  It now resided with us, wherever we were and not where I used to be.

Now "home" is truly where my heart is and like love, that is an infinitely large number of places. 

Simple truths

Very few things are really new in this world.  The names change. The shapes change. The force may change, but the results remain pretty much unchanged.

The old saying, "Live by the sword, die by the sword," was written before guns were invented.

But one thing is certainly true: no one has ever been shot by a gun that wasn't there.

When people keep guns in their bedside tables, when mothers keep them in their purses, when unstable people (and supposedly stable ones too) have access to guns -- then people are more likely to be shot.

How that can surprise anyone is beyond me.