Saturday, December 22, 2012

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Dear Diary,

This celebratory week is brought to you by:

the Baby Jesus.

Originally advertised (including an unforgettable musical number) by:
the Heavenly Host.

Proud sponsors:
Mary, Joseph,
the Shepherds, Wise Men,
and Santa Claus

I also want to share this song by Francesca Battistelli (only 2 1/2 minutes long).  Just a fun little ditty -- enjoy!

Have a safe and happy Christmas and New Year!


Christmas Trivia:
How many wise men travelled to see Jesus?  Leave your answer in a comment....

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Time to Take a Breather

Dear Diary,

Today I read a list of names of (mostly) children who were massacred in Connecticut. 

I literally.

It reminded me of my kids' class lists they bring home at the beginning of each school year.  We end up marking it up during the year, especially in preparation for the Valentines to be made and handed out in February. 

It reminded me of the lists I typed up for parents in my own classroom, for which I was an aide.

But these kids won't be getting Valentines, nor will they be able to unwrap the gifts that were already under their Christmas trees, or hidden in closets. 

This list of names has so much gut-wrenching meaning.  And I could tack on the names of the victims of the Portland Mall shooting, the Colorado movie theater massacre this summer, and the weekly drive-by shootings of kids in Chicago, to name a few other events of recent memory.

Each person, precious.  Each shooting, senseless.

I just needed to write this out tonight, in the hopes that it would help resuscitate my breathing.  Who couldn't use a little resuscitation after a day like Friday? 

I have been shaken out of my stupor of mundane life.  I am newly revived to make the most of each day as I look forward to the celebration of Christ's birth, and the coming of Jesus again.  And the kids are getting more hugs than usual these days too.

In Remembrance,

Source unknown, copied from Facebook

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

If You are a Worrier, Don't Read This Entry

Dear Diary,

Lately I have been inundated with "Don't be afraid" messages from blogs, books and Bible studies.  Don't let fear keep you from saying "yes" to God.  Don't let fear keep you from following your dreams.  Don't be afraid to step out of your comfort zone.  Don't be afraid to try something new.  Etcetera, etcetera. 

These are certainly worthwhile messages, which are usually either preceded or followed by several chapters of reasoning, rationalizing, or how-to-ing.  Doctors, psycho-analysts, and the spiritually gifted are available to offer life-changing solutions for our life-changing fears.

Except the message I need to hear is "Don't be afraid of the little things."  The little worries that keep me up at night, or steal away productive time during the day.  Petty, sometimes irrational things that are not in my control -- which is obviously the reason I worry about them.

Here are some useless worries I have: 
Did the dog take full advantage of his "outside time" before bedtime?  What if he needs to pee in the night?  How will he sleep if he's uncomfortable?  He may suffer in silence and not get any sleep at all.  Or he will whine and then I'll have to get up and take him outside.  Ugh, I'd hate that.

One may insert a child's name in place of the dog.  jk!
Or this one:

What time is it?  10:06?  Isn't the host of WXYZ radio station supposed to stop for traffic and weather on the fives?  But it's 06....nope, now its 07.  They are really running behind this time.  They need to get that caller to stop yapping and cut to the traffic girl.  Why don't they interrupt?  Can't they see the time?  I don't even need to know the traffic and weather since I heard it 10 minutes ago, but their programming will be all messed up if they don't wrap this up.  What will their boss think? Oh, finally.  Two minutes late by my clock.

Yeah.  I get bothered if the schedule is not followed.  I blame this on my paternal genes and not on any character trait unique to me.

Oh, great, here I am revealing to all who read this diary what my petty little worries are.  I am really setting myself up for some ridicule now.  They are going to think I'm an idiot.  Or a control freak.  I don't want them to think that.  I want my vulnerability to be unifying, or at least somewhat entertaining. Or worse, what if my worries make someone else start to worry about my worries.  First they'll think I'm an idiot control freak, and then they'll worry that I worry too much. Or maybe naming my worries will just be a trigger for their own worries to surface.  I don't want them to become even more worried worriers.  But if I go back and erase those worries I won't have much of a post today. Oh bother.

Now I have revealed a sampling of the little worry wars that rage inside my head. 

And here's where my readers can help me.  Feel free to post uplifting comments about how I'm not alone, that you fret about the radio station's timely newscasts too, and that it's normal to worry about night-time potty breaks and other meaningless things that are out of my control.

Cuz if you don't, I'll worry.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

What Was I Thinking?

Dear Diary,

The Hobbit movie is now in a theater near me.
A few in our household are excited about this.  Yes, that includes me.

I have enjoyed the J.R.R. Tolkien books and Lord of the Ring movies.  But I have a mind that sometimes strays from the story at hand.  In this movie scene of Lord of the Rings, Liv Tyler's elfin character whispers sweet nothings into the human ear of Aragorn, played by Viggo Mortensen.  While watching it, I let my mind marvel over a couple things about the creation of that scene.

Tolkien had to create the ancient language for those beautiful, magical elves to speak. (Have I mentioned Orlando Bloom was an elf? I digress. But only slightly.)  Back to the language thing.  Tolkien did not whip up a spoken, jibberish language, no. He created a written language, with sentence structure and linguistic rules.  He not only created the 'Elvish' language, he constructed almost 20 for his books set in Middle Earth.  Wikipedia would be happy to share their knowledge on the subject of Tolkien and his created languages.

And second,
Once the written story became a movie, this originally written language had to now be spoken by actors as if it were their first language, while English subtitles flash across the screen for the benefit of us humans.

Yes, this is where my mind goes sometimes.

And now for something completely different (but I promise there will be a connection).

I am s-l-o-w-l-y reading through a devotional book called Praying the Names of God, by Ann Spangler.  In it, week by week, I am introduced to a Hebrew name for the Christian God of the Bible.  The names are taken from the Old Testament, which was written in the ancient language of Hebrew.  What could be more awesome than calling God by names in His own language?  For example, Elohim means God, Mighty Creator.  In English I need to use three words to express the meaning contained in one hebraic word, Elohim.  And it sooo cool to say!  Go ahead and try. 
Yahweh Yireh is another example, meaning The Lord Will Provide. 

Cool, huh.  These are ancient names of God that have been translated nicely into English in my Bible.  But it is so much cooler to learn how God's chosen people said and prayed His name, way back when the Scriptures were written. 

OK, wake up, here is the connection I promised.
As I am learning these names, I got to thinkin'.  Hebrew sounds alot like the Elvish language of Tolkien.  Go ahead a try it.  Lean into someone's ear and whisper:
            Ehad, shenayim, shelosha/ani tsame/ yim huledet sameah/layla tov

Make sure you say it Liv Tyler-style:  breathy, whispery, elvishly.  And don't worry about pronunciation, unless you are speaking to a Jew.  Then you may need to practice first.  Sounds just like elvish, yes?

Well, I guess I could have saved Tolkien many hours -- no, probably weeks-- creating a language for the elves of Middle Earth.  But while the Hebrew language is beautiful, especially if it were to come out of Liv's (or Orlando's) mouth, the subtitles of the above sample would have really changed the meaning of the romantic scene. Translated into English:
            One, Two, Three/I'm thirsty/Happy Birthday/Good night!

Yup, this is what goes on in my head.  Welcome to my world.

Layla tov!

Thursday, November 29, 2012

Crossing the Line

Dear Diary,
This is the last post I'll mention this.  OK, the last one for a few weeks, anyway.

As a parent of a toddler there are many firsts to record:  first tooth, smile, word, etc.  The trend of firsts does continue, it just doesn't get recorded in the baby book.  Since our firstborn is now learning to drive, it is a momentous first for this parent and household.  It is a novelty that won't soon wear off.  So, I must write, again, on the topic of driving.

I will admit that with a budding driver now by my side in our well- worn loved minivan, I am a bit more careful with my driving. 

I use my blinker light 100 feet prior to my turn. [Don't ask me how far that is.  Oh, too late, Sarah already did.] 

I make sure I come to a full stop at lights/signs.  ["Now see what that black car did?  That is what we call a 'rolling stop'.  Daddy got chased down by a cop for that once." Oh. Is she old enough to know that now?]

I don't text and drive, nor do I apply makeup, shave body parts, or play instruments.

The long-forgotten three second rule has also come to my attention.  It now becomes an obssession with me to count down the seconds between myself and the car ahead of me.  [Okay, he passed that road-kill; one....two...three...yup, I have established a safe distance.]

I am not a tail-gater, or (much of) a speeder.  [I will provide sunglasses to any who need protection against the glare of my halo.] But I do have one "glaringly" obvious flaw which has come to my attention only because I have a budding young driver watching my every move. 

It's the white line. 
Not the dividing line between lanes.  I mean the big, fat line at all stoplights and stopsigns. 
Yeah.  I roll right on past those -- but I do stop, thank you very much.

I will be working on that.  It's amazing how many of those I ignore on my daily routes.  Now that I am not ignoring them, it sure gives a different perspective to those intersections.

So while I have a renewed spirit of good driving habits, I would be remiss if I didn't include this link
Animal crossing signs won't ever be the same for me.

I think I will market a new bumper sticker:

Save a Deer, Move a Sign

Drive Safe!

Sunday, November 25, 2012

I Can't Believe...

Dear Diary,

I can't believe Thanksgiving has come and gone.
              But I am grateful for the leftovers so that I can make my Turkey Florentine recipe tonight.

I can't believe it is November 25th and I am panicked about running out of time to buy gifts (I guess the early Christmas - I mean, "holiday" - marketing is doing its job).
              But I am grateful I still have exactly one month to get the job done.

I can't believe Lee got up at 3 a.m. for his super duper Black Friday Deal.
              But I am grateful he let me sleep in and do my shopping at 10 a.m.

I can't believe my oldest is learning to drive.
              But I am grateful there were no tears for her first hands-on lesson with dad.

I can't believe how many school concerts I "get" to attend in the next two weeks.
              But I am grateful my kids love to perform.

I can't believe how low my bank account is right now.
              But I am grateful my husband has a job.
I can't believe I am actually going to see my siblings-in-law in a couple weeks.
              But I am grateful we are all looking forward to the meeting.

I can't believe I am a no-good-lousy-sinner.
              But I am grateful that while I am yet a sinner, Christ loves me enough to be born a man,
              die a criminal, and make me righteous in his sight.

This is the season of Believe
I just need to make sure I Believe in the right thing.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Happiness is Thankfulness

Dear Diary,
I am a firm believer in counting my blessings.  I have a few friends who believe that too.  ;-)

If one is disciplined in this practice, I believe one's heart (mind, will, emotions) fills with optimism and happiness, crowding out self-pity, envy, and depression*.

In Jr. High, my chorus sang the song, Happiness, [click for link] from You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown.  It describes what "happiness is:"
  • five different crayons
  • two kinds of ice cream
  • knowing a secret
  • learning to tell time
  • finding a nickel
just to name a few!  What is this song really doing?  It is counting blessings.  Appreciating even the small things that happen, the little "niceties" we have.

While Charlie Brown and friends sing about happiness, they are really proclaiming that a thankful heart breeds happiness.  Which segues into another song, a la Veggie Tales [click for link]. 

Madame Blueberry is never satisfied with what she has, and therefore is (fill in the blank) .  Yes, children, the answer is unhappy.  It is the poor, simple family who reminds her that a thankful heart is a happy heart. 

People notice happy people. 
People envy happy people.
Envy no more. 
The answer is here. 
Be Thankful. 

Have a blessedly Happy Thanksgiving,

For everything God created is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving.
1 Timothy 4:4

*Just clarifying so I don't get messages about this, I am referring to being depressed, not the clinical kind of depression, which can't usually be solved solely with the formula mentioned.

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Lessons from the DMV

Dear Diary,
Oh, Department of Motor Vehicles, let me count thy ways!

Really, you don't spend 1.5 hours of your life at the DMV without observing humanity at its finest. Or do I mean without observing the finest of humanity?

I step into that cold, cement-walled building with all the optimism of a 15-year-old getting her driver's permit.  (Did I mention my daughter was with me?) 

Yes, there is a sea of humans seated in the waiting area behind the glass wall dividing my line from their masses; but, no, I don't let that sway me.  I don't falter.  I stride up to the first DMV checkpoint.  I have my file folder full of every ID paper known to me and my daughter.  And the first thing we are asked is, "Do you have the blue and white form the driver instructor gave you?"  Blink.  What?  Huh?  Blue form.  A few moments of shuffling past the credit card bill, school report card, birth certificate, and voila!  I find a white form with blue ink:  the permit application.  Phew! Crisis averted. Not exactly a blue form, but it's mute now, let's move on.  We are given a number and told to "Please take a seat.  Computers were down for a bit this morning, so I'm not sure what the wait is."  (Why do I feel like the "computers were down for a bit" every time I walk into the DMV?)

LESSON:  Be prepared.  Show confidence.  And don't hesitate to clarify what is asked of you.

Well, the wait is thirty-plus minutes of sitting with the masses, staring at the number board along with everyone else. Numbers are called, and we all peek with envy at the person who stands up in response, a pleased-as-punch look on his/her face.  And the calling system was not exactly numerical, so we waited for the next number posting with eager anticipation. Are we next?  I remember years ago when I was getting my permit.  We didn't have the luxury of sitting down to wait our turn.  We had to be herded, weaving around the room Disney-line-style, to the next available clerk.  Only this ain't Disney.

LESSON:  Sometimes waiting is part of life. [For more on this, reference The Cell Phone Lot, 9/15/12]  In a lull? Anticipate.  Be ready when your number is called. 

Our number was called, and with our "pleased as punch" expressions, we approach checkpoint #2. I can tell this guy is a seasoned employee.  But he is a pleasant fellow, not a bitter one.  Nice to banter with.  First-time-permit-obtaining-mom type of banter. 

LESSON:  Pleasant encounters lead to good impressions.

Checkpoint #3 was the payment line.  A very quick, no-hassle line in which to hand over our cash. Not hard to find a lesson in that.

On to checkpoint #4: The Written Test.  This is the first emotionless, blank-faced employee we've encountered. But this is the written test! This is the time we need assurances that everything will be alright!  We need that warm smile, those kindly eyes, telling us:  "I don't know you, but from the looks of you, I'm sure you are smart.  You will be fine.  Don't let this colorless, windowless, room full of old desks intimidate you.  I'll be here for you when its over."

LESSON:  Sometimes our success needs to be determined by our own will, because we may not always get encouragement from others.

This is getting long, so I'll wrap this up.  My daughter passed, and we breezed out the door with a driver's permit in hand. 

LESSON:  When faced with an unpleasant task, get the hubby to do it.

Most patiently,

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Chores I Could Do Without

Dear Diary,

Here are a few chores I really would like to limit to just an annual occurrence.  Believe me, I have more, but I am keeping it to three so that I can get to bed at decent hour tonight.

I have my ironing board set up in my bedroom.  I place all of the wrinkled clothes on hangers, which I then dangle from the edge of the ironing board to await the day they will join the other, wrinkle-free clothes in the closet.  I figure the pull of gravity on those wrinkles can only help me while they wait.  Which is a really ---  long --- time.  One way I keep the ironing chore to a minimum is by keeping the ironing board in the bedroom.  I am only there a couple of times a day. When I wake up. ("Gotta get myself showered and out the door.")  And when I go to bed.  ("So tired, gotta read my Grisham under these glaring lights and turn in.")  Yup, outta-sight, outta-mind really does help keep the ironing down to a minimum.

Cleaning the tub/shower.
I love my Mr. Clean Magic Eraser, made specially for the bathroom.  It "erases" away all the soap scum and buildup on those walls.  I keep it handy right there next to my Zest bar of soap so that I can just use it spontaneously when needed (HA!).  (Let's hope I don't magically erase myself one day by grabbing the wrong "bar.")  Oh, and "magic" doesn't mean it will turn into a self-powered sponge, like Mickey's enchanted mop in The Sorcerer's Apprentice.  It just sits there, unless someone picks it up and scrubs with it.  Darn.

Changing the bed sheets.
With four beds to change on a "regular" basis, this can tucker me out. I am working out a rotation system so I don't strain myself.  (Hey, being over 40 does have its hangups.) That's a lot of  peeling, piling, putting, washing, softening, drying, folding, pulling, tugging, and smoothing just for one bed.  And if bunk beds are involved, boy, I'd need to be Mary Poppins to enjoy doing that while balanced atop the tiny step ladder.  The reward is the fresh sheets at the end of the day.  Too bad that's only a one-day kind of moment.

Well, now that I've gone on about that, it's time to stop stalling and do it.  Well, maybe not all at once.  Pacing oneself is a good way to get through the icky chores of life.  I just happen to be a slow pacer. 

Where's Mickey when you need him?

Friday, November 9, 2012

Just Reach Out

Dear Diary,
Life is full of surprises, isn't it?

Back when my peers and I were in our prime fertile years, finding out the gender of the baby-under-construction was starting to become standard.  A question that was once never an option and only a guessing game from old wives tales was creeping into our language:  "Are you going to find out what it is?" 

In answer to this question, a friend once told me, "There are few, true surprises in life."  (And I think she meant happy surprises.)  She and her husband would wait until due time for the gender of their baby to reveal itself.  Ahhhh, delayed gratification... a topic for another day, I'm sure.

Anyway, I always remembered her statement.  And I have a terrible memory, so it must have been worth remembering.  It is said that death and taxes are a sure thing.  That leaves pretty much everything else in life on shaky ground, right?  Hence, life's little surprises.  Of course I'm not going to name them all here.  That would be boring and depressing, and I would certainly overlook a multitude of experiences others have had that I have not. 

Suffice it to say that we all experience times of lulls.  Our solid ground times.

Humdrum, comfortable predictability. 

Then BOOM! 
A phone call, a comment, an election, a doctor visit, changes the solid ground into:


In one week, I have seen two examples of desperate people who couldn't handle life's surprises anymore.

I can't even fathom the helplessness and hopelessness they felt in order to make the decision they did. 

Surprises were meant to be shared. 
The happy ones are easy.  Usually they are hard to contain, like some bubbling, carbonated liquid, which by nature, must spill over. 
But the surprises which are sad, bitter, and hard need to be shared too. 

Reach for a phone, a friend, a minister, a Bible.  Just reach out, and spill it.  There will be relief --solid ground-- again.

Firmly planted,

I love you, O Lord, my strength.
The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer,
my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge,
my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.
Psalm 18:1-2

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

My Post-Election Day Post

Dear Diary,

This is a bit lazy, but to me it summarizes the emotions of the day.  I have friends on both sides of the aisle.  So this should be a nice, safe, non-offensive, totally PC post.  Oh, except that I put God into this.  For that I don't apologize.

It is from Jon Acuff's Stuff Christians Like blog.  On days like today, God's word is especially comforting.


P.S. Oh and you wouldn't believe what happened to me on the way to the voting booth. 
Imagine being told you already voted when you give Table #2 your signature on the paper you signed at Table #1.  Yup, something fishy going on in the major metropolitan area of the midwest city near which I live. 

Double Uptight,

Monday, November 5, 2012

A Luxury I Love

Dear Diary,
I love the library.

Lately, as one of our "filling time" activities [see post on Filling Time 10/26] I head to the library with or without a kid in tow.  Thankfully, the library is in close proximity to our school, the locale for most of my kids' time-filling activities.

Now, reading is a luxury for which I can find some uninterupted time during one of these moments:
  • My lunch -- a blissful break during which I get to simultaneously do two things I enjoy:  eating and reading.  I open a book over my sandwich and hope I don't get orange Cheetos smudges on the pages.
  • In bed -- a quiet break during which I can't find a good, reclined, reading position without the overhead lights glaring into my eyes like some inquisition torture chamber.  So then I have to use the book as a light shield, which shades the pages and really tires out my arm.  Feelin' sorry for me yet?
Right now I have two books that I am working on. (The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and The Good Nearby, if you must know.)  I can't read two books very well, let alone get some quality daily Bible reading in.  (My DailyBible app is great!  A random verse a day keeps the guilt away!) But I digress.

I was at the library today and decided to pick up yet another book -- yes, a third, if you are keeping track -- and a couple of DVDs (Carousel and The Artist, if you must know-- and don't even ask how I will find time to watch them.  My Netflix dvd has been sitting by my TV, unwatched, for over a month.)

2 + 1 = 3 books I now need to find time to read.

But the library is like a candy store for the brain!  How could I not get another when I am surrounded by shelves and shelves of delectable, delightful pages of escape?  Historical fiction -- queens and castles, spies, horses and the guillotine; mysteries -- cloaks and daggers, lawyers, detectives and clues; dramatic fiction -- estranged spouses, unexpected illnesses, and trips to secluded cabins, or Europe -- or secluded cabins in Europe -- to become a writer and find one's self.

Yes, the library is a luxury of leisure.  If I had to play the "Would You Rather" game, I would rather be locked up in a library than, let's say, a craft store. 

Well, would you look at the time!  I think bedtime may come a little early tonight!  Maybe a baseball hat or sunglasses will do the trick.

Inquisitively yours,

Thursday, November 1, 2012

And the First Runner Up Is.....

Dear Diary,

How can I not write about this on the heels of yesterday's post?  Yesterday I noted that I was waiting for a call on a job for which I interviewed twice. 

Well, it came while driving my kids to school.  I was in both a school and construction zone, and in Illinois that is a double no-no for cell phone use.  So yes, I did pull over to park and talk.  I knew this would be a serious phone call.

Being told you are second choice is never easy. 
Sure you got the smile, cheerful demeanor, and "thank you very much" attitude, but inside your gut is squeezing your heart into your throat.  I new there was a reason I didn't put on mascara today.  I thought it was because I was under the weather.

Out of 88 teams, second place is really great, right? 

Well, I know the answer to that.  My daughter's volleyball team had a great tournament recently in which they ended up with the first place trophy.  Yup, that second place team didn't feel good to be second best I can tell you that.

Grocery shopping was on my to-do list after dropping the kids at school.  Probably not the best idea when you are on a downer.  But boy I can't wait to dig into those pumpkin pie pop-tarts!  I did see a friend at the store who was quick with the hug.  Thank you!

So now I take just a few more moments for self-pity.  Then I shall dust myself off (at least no mascara racoon eyes to worry about) and roll up my sleeves.  There is a pantry that needs cleaning out.  I bought a few extra items I need to make room for. 

Count Chocula Treat anyone?

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

On the Verge

Dear Diary,
I'm on the verge.

There are many things right now that I am on the brink of resolving.  Things that are half-done, waiting for completion.  The trouble is, they are out of my control to resolve.  So I remain on the verge.....
Two job interviews (for the same job) and still waiting for THE phone call.
With a 2-hour nap this morning and some (more) Advil down my throat, I am a cold (or something worse) waiting to happen. 
Phone calls to a couple of friends, unreturned. 
Painstakingly researching rentals (darn dog), finally committing to a condo on the Gulf Coast in December, and praying no one gets it booked before we send in our lease.
Planning and prepping for a church function, which is a month away, for which I rely on others' participation for its success. [Nativity Walk, Immanuel Lutheran in E. Dundee, December 1! Come one and come all!]

Piles of yarn ready for my crochet hook, books waiting to be devoured, and movies waiting to be viewed, but time must be managed well to partake in these offerings.

It's unsettling - -maybe even SCARY (thank you for indulging me on that Halloween reference) -- to have things hanging in the air, especially too many things.  I derive satisfaction, and sometimes even happiness, from resolution.  Who doesn't?  Give me heaven, not purgatory! 

Time to find my Vitamin C lozenges,

Friday, October 26, 2012

Killing Time or Filling Time?

Dear Diary,
I walked a new path yesterday morning.

We moms have the pleasure of dealing with down time.  That 20-40 minutes of time spent between dropping one kid off at soccer, bringing another to piano lessons, and waiting that half-hour or more until said children need to be picked up again.  It's not long enough to go home and come back, and if we are lucky, we can run to a store to pick up milk or other needed item.  We can feel really efficient on those days-- when we've put our down time to "good use."

But sometimes the stores aren't open at 8:00 a.m., or they aren't within 5 minutes of the drop-off point.  That's when we need our office or our library in our car.

Oooh, I got 20 minutes.  Did I leave my book at home? 
Rats, I left the mail on the counter; could've run to the post office. 
Where's my iPad car charger, I can't finish my game of Solitaire!

We moms are masters of efficiency, even in our down time.

Take yesterday.  Probably our last 75-degree day of the season.  I had 30 minutes of  time to kill, er, down time, after dropping the kids at school, and before going to the dentist.  The library isn't open then, but there is an area behind it I have been curious about.  I decided to use that time to go see it.  It's a designated open space called Library Springs.  Here is my mini photo album.

These boots were made for walkin'. 
After a couple of days of rain, and going into uncharted territory, I wasn't taking any chances!
A few paces into the woods and I found this growing out of a tree. Can you see it?

When I walked around the tree to get a better shot, I found another!  There were more, even higher, in other trees.  Cool!

OK, that's not my photo. 
But imagine seeing six deer high-tail it across your path.  That is what happened! 

I saw a few springs along the way.  This is just one I happened to take a pic of.
Hard to tell, but I was up high, looking down onto the spring in the distance.
All this (and my other undocumented sightings) was just a 20-minute walk through the forest behind one local library.  Not a bad way to  kill -- I mean fill -- those minutes!
Fleetingly Yours,

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

That Thing I Can't Have

Dear Diary,

Have you ever wanted what you couldn't have?  That thing that remains elusive, perhaps always in sight, but never grasped?

As children, the things we want are usually in the form of a present.  Didn't matter if a birthday or Christmas was coming, a present received any time was awesome

As teens, its usually the relational things.  Good looks.  A boy/girl friend.  A zit-free face.  A bff.

As adults it gets more serious.  A job.  A job interview.  A place of your own that is NOT in your parents' basement.  A husband or wife.  A family.  Financial stability.

Though at times these things feel unobtainable, people do eventually get some of their desires.

Dear Diary, do you know what I want?

A vibrato. 

That little waver in your voice that all the good singers have.  I've tried to get one of those, but I can't figure out how.  I've tried relaxing my throat.  I've tried tensing my throat.  I've tried singing real loud to give it a chance to come shining through.  I've tried pushing through my diaphragm (please, you know what I mean).  And, yes, I've tried doing the fake vibrato, but it's, well, fake.

At this point in my life I fear I shall never grasp the secret to a vibrato-filled singing voice.   I've tried and failed. I'm vibrato-less. (OK, I admit I may keep trying in the privacy of my shower stall.)

So I will have to pursue some other dangling carrot just out of my reach.  I wonder if anyone has tried to break the sound barrier with their body?  Hmmmmm.

Until next time,

Monday, October 22, 2012

Got Feelings? There's a Descriptor for That!

Dear Diary,

I have one of those blessed relationships with my parents.  I actually enjoy being with them.  But since they are retired beach-combers and I am a mid-western soccer mom  ("soccer" is used loosely btw), I can only be in their presence a couple of times a year due to the distance between us.  Which means while we anticipate those joyous "hellos," we also have the teary "goodbyes."  Today was a goodbye day, and I will continue my day with a lump in my throat and an unusually sensitive nature.

This brings me to my thought process for the day.
I was thinking about feelings, and how we describe our physical bodies (especially our hearts) when we feel them.  Take two obvious opposites:  happy and sad.

If I were to use any of the following words -- empty, broken, drained, heavy, down -- I would be describing sadness.

Likewise, these words (which happen to be completely opposite) -- full, whole, overflowing, light, high -- would convey happiness.  I don't think anyone would describe an emptiness or hollowness as being a happy emotion. 

There are universal descriptors to describe universal feelings.    Am I the only one who finds this cool?  (I am in such a philosophical mood. Tomorrow I'll be, like, who cares?)

I'm glad to know that others know what I am feeling. 

OK, let me qualify that.  I'm glad to know that other people who get along with their parents know what I am feeling today.

Funkily yours,

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Would You Rather...?

Dear Diary,
I hope that I'm not the only one who plays silly mind games.  There is one that is now at a retailer near you called "Would You Rather?"  It is a game of annoying (and many times gross) questions that have no relevance to my life but are amusing or bothersome enough to discuss for entertainment purposes.  (At least my children think so.)

Here is an example.
Would you rather paint a wall with a cotton swab or would you rather paint a wall with your tongue?  Irrelevant, yes; thought-provoking but senseless, sure.  Here's another one.

Would you rather be deaf or blind?

While taking a walk this morning, I had this thought:
There is no language to describe God's creation. 
I was walking in silence (mainly because I forgot my ipod shuffle) and taking in my surroundings at the time this popped up. Could I describe what I saw to a blind person? No way. And I'm just talking about trees and leaves here, not beaches, mountains, gardens, or other wonders of the world.
I have only scratched the surface of deaf culture and language.  As a hearing person, I know what beautiful sounds they are missing.  But they are not missing it-- many having never heard it in the first place.  Despite my misguided thoughts on how much deaf people are missing, here is the bottom line.  People without hearing have the advantage of both communication and the ability to see their surroundings.

Can I describe color, birds flitting, flowers blooming, leaves falling, waves crashing, or a child's face to someone who can't see?  I can talk myself blue in the face but they still won't "see" what I do.

My visual world is so important to me.  I take my cues on how to act, where to go, and what to do or say next based on what I see. My emotions are often ignited by what I see. That is why I believe there is no language to describe this world to someone who can't see it.  

[I'll take this a step further:  What about heaven?  I can't see it, and in Revelation poor John has tried to describe it in terms humans can understand.  As God-inspired as the Bible is, I'm sure John's attempt is still a poor representation of what is really waiting for me there.]

Although it is an irrelevant question, my mind still plays those silly games, and I have to answer it so that I can get on with more productive thoughts.  I guess now I have my answer.

If you have any thoughts to share, I'm all ears,


Monday, October 15, 2012

Take Note

Dear Diary,

Today I have many scraps of paper littering the surface of the computer desk. 
  • A calendar I printed out specifically to help me prepare (and therefore not stress out about) for the upcoming Nativity Walk that I organize at my church. Volunteers, ahem?
  • A post-it displaying in pink highlighter the function key that needs to be pressed every time we start this computer.  I don't understand the reason, I just know if I don't heed it, the mouse won't work.
  • A list of friends' prayer requests, ones I usually glean from Facebook, emails and blogs.
  • A recipe for eggless, edible cookie dough my daughter wrote out from the internet -- probably Pinterest.  BTW am I the only one thoroughly confused by Pinterest?
  • Two scrap pages of research on pet-friendly gulf coast accommodations for Christmas break.  I love VRBO and Trip Advisor!
  • And a budget sheet I worked up this morning.  We are exactly half way through the month and my budget money is exactly 80% gone.  It's time for a raise.  No, no, less spending is NOT the answer I am looking for, so don't even think about putting that in the comments, Aunt Katybelle!
I read Jon Acuff's blog today and I identify with what he said, which includes in part:
"Make sure, as you chase a dream, you give your family and your friends and your faith the best of your time and creativity, not just the rest of your time and creativity."
I will add that it's not just in the chasing of dreams but in everyday life as well.  I see that in my household too much; family members getting "the rest" of each other's time.  I indict myself too.

I think that I shall write another note for my desktop that reads:

Right now, since no other human is presently at home, my fill-in-the-blank is "Flash."  That is our goldfish currently on hospice.  Seriously, he has been on his death bed for three days.  Just when we think its over he moves a fin or tail.  It has been hard to watch him lie there, pale and helpless, but is it more compassionate to let nature slowly take him or to send him ever-so-slightly prematurely down the porcelain waterslide to his final resting place?  Where is PETA when you need them?  It is a quandary. 

Well, I have been a little random today, but this IS a diary after all.  Who is your fill-in-the-blank today?  A phone call to a friend?  A chat with a family member?  (Or visitation with a pet?)

RIP Flash,

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Did I Happen to Mention...?

Dear Diary,
These days I seem to be just flyin' by the seat of my pants, and that includes the topic for today.  I don't know what thoughts will be flying off these typing fingers.....

I could mention the leaky windows we have yet to replace, one of which I am sitting near on this breezy, 50 degree day. 

I could mention that I took the bird to the vet today, for which he received a steroid shot to somehow possibly heal his lame foot, and I received a nice little bill.

I could mention how intensely heated the political realm is and what an idiot a certain presidential candidate is, but I think I vowed not to talk politics here (reference the definition of "pleasant" in my last post).  Plus the language gets too racy for decent folk.

I could mention that I got contacted for a job interview tomorrow, and yes, I have done a few Happy Dances as a result.

I could mention how great my kids and husband are, and that behind all great kids and husbands is a great mom and wife.

I could mention that I still think about a moment after my third daughter was born almost 12 weeks premature, with two preschoolers at home, and me still recovering from a physically and mentally traumatic birth experience.  I was at Walmart at 10:00 at night and just wanted to get home to crash (a ten 'oclock trip to Walmart is no leisure shopping trip).  I finished unloading my cart and put it aside the car, rather than heft it to the cart corral.  Suddenly, out of the cold darkness comes the holler of some lady (some random lady, my kids would say) in the parking lot, reaming me out for being lazy with the cart.  Really?  Is your life so bad that you need to get your cheap power kicks off some poor, unsuspecting, random stranger who is living close to a nightmare?

Did I mention that that was over 9 years ago?  That tells you what kind of person I am. 
I need to let it go.   As much as I was hurt and offended by this person, and as much as I needed to attend to my own needs, I do believe I went home and prayed for her.  It was my only defense.

Note to self:  A helping hand is much better than a sharp word.

Helping hand?  Sharp word?  I know which act I would want a stranger or friend to remember me for, especially if it's remembered more than 9 years later!

Letting go,

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

What's It All About?

Dear Diary,

From my window I can watch it burn.
Well, more like smolder. 
No, I'm not talking about passion or anger. 
It's the leaves.

I have spent a lovely Fall morning, gray though it is, getting Leaf Layer #1 bagged and burned.  Perfect sweatshirt weather.  And with the energy spent, perhaps it's a little too warm for a cup of steamy, sinus pleasing tea.  Nope, for me refueling only requires a glass of water and a cookie.

The farmers are harvesting across the street.  I like living this close to the country and also this close to the convenience of the burbs.  If I have to live in the Midwest, this is okay.

To the point, this is not a day where I want to be aggressively looking for a job. This is a pleasant day to be "working at home."   While watching the smoldering leaves, I was thinking about this blog.  What's it all about?

I don't read many blogs.  I've not been exposed to many and haven't sought any out either.  [If you have a blog, tell me!  I would love to see it!]  I know someone who started blogging about 10 years ago.  Yes, before Facebook and iPads.  I didn't "get it" at the time. 

Now blogging is commonplace.  You've got bloggers who love a hobby and want to share their love and expertise:  cooking, home decorating, travel, antiques, books, you name it.  You've got bloggers who have certain opinions and want to share their politics and advice:  education, social welfare, democracy, religion.  You've got bloggers who have had certain experiences and want to share their story and (hopefully) provide hope:  depression, substance abuse, adoption, divorce, parenting.

Where does my Not So Secret Diary fit in?  I'm not a hobby-ist.  I avoid politics except on debate and voting day.  And though I've had my experiences, I would bore you with the details. 

Let's go back to the word pleasant.  Here are its synonyms.  (Thank you,!)
affable, agreeable, amiable, amusing, bland, charming, cheerful, civil, civilized, congenial, convivial, cool, copacetic, cordial, delectable, delightful, diplomatic, enchanting, engaging, enjoyable, fine, fun, genial, good-humored, gracious, gratifying, homey, jolly, jovial, kindly, likable, lovely, mild, mild-mannered, nice, obliging, pleasing, pleasurable, polite, refreshing, satisfying, social, soft, sweet, sympathetic, urbane, welcome

Who knew there could be so many?
Here are its antonyms.
bothersome, disagreeable, hateful, nasty, troubling, unacceptable, unfriendly, unhappy, unpleasant, worrisome
So while I don't have the desire to write soley about the virtues of dusting the top of the fridge, or converting you to Christianity (specifically Lutheranism, feel free to look it up), or why bugs are important to our ecosystem,
I DO want to be pleasant. 
Don't you?
Copacetic-ly yours,

Friday, September 28, 2012

Lessons From a Bird Brain

Dear Diary,

I am at the point in my day where I have finished the prep work for mopping.  I have dusted, swept and vacuumed.  Then, faced with the joyous task of mopping, I decided I really needed to write another entry!  (You will learn I am good at avoidance.)

I wanna tell you about my bird Jayda.  He's named after the precious green stone Jade, and, as is often the case with baby parakeets, we weren't quite sure of its sex at that young age.  We suspected a boy, but wanted a name that would fit a girl, too, in case.   He's got brilliant yellow and green plumage.  Hence the name: Jayda Sunshine Thompson.  I admit I was kinda hoping it would be a girl as they are better able to mimic sounds, especially the human voice.  (Photo courtesy of CGT.)

Jayda has been our pet since Christmas of 2005.  We have dubbed July 4th as his birthday, a nice mid-year, memorable date.  So he is now 7 years old.  I have never had a parakeet live this long under my (or my mom's, ahem) care.  Aside from his regular visits to the vet for beak and nail trim (yup, tried that once, ain't gonna try it again) he has had good health.

Up until last week.

I don't know how it happened.  I heard some fluttering of wings and saw his struggle to stay perched atop his favorite spot in his cage:  in front of his mirror.  Did I mention he is narcissistic?  But I digress.

Upon closer examination (I am not a vet, I just play one in my house), I could see he could not bear weight on his right foot, nor even open and close his toes.  I was hoping it was a mysterious sprain or something temporary which would heal over time.  It hasn't yet.

But Jayda has learned to adapt.  Thankfully he does not appear to be in any discomfort.  He still acts like his normal chirpy self.  And while he has shown that he has learned to manipulate his toes so at least he can bear some weight on the perch, he cannot easily move from one place to another.  He relies a lot more on his beak to climb around on the cage walls to get to food and drink and back again to aforementioned mirror.  It's clumsy and not bird-graceful at all, but he can do it.

Why do I bring this up?  I am sad to have a lame bird.  But I marvel at his ability to adapt to a rough situation.  He relies on the creativity of his little bird brain to adjust and conquer his environment, overcoming the obstacles along the way.  All with a beak and one good foot.

Now here I am, with two good feet and two good hands and brain a little bigger than my bird's.

Time to mop.


Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Sharing My Path

Dear Diary,

This was my path this morning.  Take a moment to look at it.  Ponder walking it. 

Where does your path lead you today?

Serenely Yours,

Monday, September 24, 2012

Paralyzed with Freedom

Dear Diary,

It's Monday.  Time to start a new week.  The weekend schedule is over.  Concluded is the two-day volleyball tournament, two different church services for different family members, a lovely dinner party, and homework. 

Now the kids are off to school, and the hubby to work. I have 6 to 7 hours of "freedom."  Time alone before the 3:00 plan of action kicks in.  Just me and the dog. 

My mind is swirling. I have so much I want to do in addition to the so much I have to do.  How do I sort it out?  How do I prioritize?  How do I implement?

A list.  Yes, that's a good thing, a list.  Problem is right now I have several lists.  One is a Shopping List for the next errand run.  One is a more immediate Must-Do Soon...Today if Possible list.  I also have a Must-Do Later... Today if Possible list.  One is more of a Note to Self for those things I don't want to forget but which don't require an immediate action.  And that's not even counting the items scrawled on the daily calendar, or the chores that don't need a list, they so obviously need to be done.

Yes, I am a firm believer in The List.  I get much pleasure from crossing off a job, signaling a finished task, an accomplishment made. 

But this morning I am overwhelmed with the little things.  I am paralyzed with freedom.  I can choose this over that.  That over this.   Where do I start?  I guess I start with avoidance.  Hence this blog.

Happy Monday!

Thursday, September 20, 2012

The Birds and the Bees

Dear Diary,
I dread the day the hummers leave.  This month I have been mentally preparing myself for the inevitable.  I've been telling myself it could be any day now, and that it will be OK. 

Well that day came.  And it's not OK.  For the last two days the bees have been the only thing humming at the feeder.  The hummers and bees have had nectar sipping wars all summer.  The hummer wins every time of course.  But this is the first year I've noticed the bees caring at all about the feeder.  So it was interesting to watch the bees and hummers dance around each other to vie for the little plastic flower that seemed to supply an endless amount of syrupy sweet sustenance. 

I was very faithful about filling that feeder.   As if I was their sole provider and sustain-er.  I didn't want to let those pretty little guys down.  Frankly, I was afraid they'd run out on me.   "Well Sal, this one's run dry.  I am deeply disappointed in our provider.  Now we must move on or die." 

No, it was not my lack of attention that caused their exodus.   It was their choice to move on.  But it saddens me when I look out the kitchen window and see the deserted oasis.

Once I bring in the feeder and store it for the winter, I will pull out my seed feeder.  When that first snow flies, you can be sure it will be filled to the brim with seeds.  'Cuz how will those chickadees, finches and sparrows manage without my supply of food?  "Wow Bob, look-a-here! Lets stay awhile.  I'm so grateful, I was on the verge of starvation."

Oh my.  What kind of power kick am I on anyway?

Sweetly yours,

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Time, Slow Down!

Dear Diary,

Yesterday my oldest (or is it eldest?) daughter turned 15. 

We are not talking about a fresh, newly branded teen girl anymore.  She is no longer in that post pre-teen phase when she officially graduates from the "pre-teen" label and becomes a "teen" by definition -- but, at my house, is still not old enough for most PG-13 movies. 

She now qualifies as a mid-teen, a young adult who is quickly becoming more adult than young.  Oh, and let's not forget the driver's permit.

This is where my heart screams, "Time, slow down! Hit the brakes!"  Let me explain.

Fifteen years ago, as new, doting parents to our first beautiful, most perfect daughter in the whole wide world, we were anxious for our brilliant offspring to reach all those milestones we read about in What to Expect...

The first smile, the first word, the first tummy-to-back flip, the first solid food.  Of course child #1 gets these milestones faithfully written in her baby book.  (Poor child #3.) 

I could go on.  Potty training, walking, reading, etc. etc.  The excitement and wonder of watching our child grow coincided with relief when she seemed to reach them in all the age-appropriate time frames.  Again, thank you What to Expect... (sarcasm here.)  I guess my point is that I loved every phase of her development but I always looked forward to the next.  My advice (which I took with child #2 and #3):  Enjoy the moment. Don't worry about when the next "moment" will happen.

Fast forward to now.  God willing, we have less than four more years until she flies from the nest.  Gulp.  Blink.  Trying to keep the emotions at bay.  Now my eldest (or is it oldest?) niece is off to college this fall.  What?  Wasn't I just IN college myself a few years ago?  Yup, I know that her parents and even grandparents are thinking the same thing.

My heart is so happy to see all of my daughters growing up into young women.  But couldn't time slow down just a little?  I want to savor those "firsts" that keep coming despite their age.  And believe me, I am heeding my advice and enjoying the moment.

Just don't expect me to write it in the baby book.

Momentously yours,

Saturday, September 15, 2012

The Cell Phone Lot

Dear Diary,

I'm an allegory person.  I think in my parenting phase of life it comes naturally for me to find the lesson in the event.  It doesn't always have to be a lesson.  It could just be another way to look at the big picture.

Take yesterday for instance.  I was waiting for my husband to arrive home on an international flight at the major metropolitan airport near where I live.  (See Blog I Remember for, well, no useful additional airport reference.)

I used the Cell Phone Lot (CPL) for the first time.  You know, that mostly empty parking lot with a few cars sitting neatly in their spaces, their drivers idling the time away, awaiting the call of their loved one.  And I do mean "loved one" as you have to have some sort of love connection to take on the task of driving anyone to or from the airport. 
But I digress.

While I sat I had time.  I made a few observations.
  •  It wasn't pretty.  The relatively small CPL is surrounded by the larger economy parking lot.  The barriers between them were an 8-foot galvanized fence and some concrete barriers.  No, I wasn't there for the scenery.
  • Planes arriving.  With their descent comes a sense of anticipation for those passengers.   "Arriving" means home to me, but to others, this was their destination, or at least a stop on their way to wherever.
  • Planes departing.   Again, for some "departing" means they are home-bound.  But from where I sat, it means "off I go into the wild blue yonder!"
Most days I am in the CPL of life.  Waiting and observing the comings and goings of others who are on their way to somewhere.  Perhaps it is to the comforts of something familiar (home) or to new exciting events (the blue yonder).  I am content in the CPL.  Though some days I may feel the confinement of a steel fence, that is not true now. 

Now I see the freedom of the sky and I wait and I watch.  And only one thing will move me into action.

The call of a loved one.

Awaiting the next departure,

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

My Enemy's MO

Dear Diary,

My daughter showed me a YouTube video today.  It only took a minute to realize this is what I wanted to post today.  And I will pat myself on the back if I can actually link it up correctly!

My church's pastor presented this for the 7th and 8th graders on a retreat last weekend.  It left an impression on my daughter, because she had a need to share it with me.  And yet despite her desire to share it with me, she told me I probably wouldn't like it.  Oh was she wrong!

I've heard a lot of sermons in my lifetime.  (Refer to first post if knowing my age is important to you.)  I've heard how
God loves me. 
God saves me. 
God sacrificed his Son for me. 
God gives abundant grace. 
More Grace.

These are really, really good things to hear. 

But in my lifetime, how many sermons have I heard about the Devil? 
Not devil with a small 'd'.  The Devil.  Satan.
God's rival and, therefore, my rival. 
If he's my enemy, how do I protect myself?   How does he operate?  What are his MO's?  The answers are, of course, in the Bible.  But indulge me with this song.  It's not your typical Sunday School song.

Take a listen.

In the Words of Satan, by The Arrows

Sinful but Redeemed,

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

I Remember

Dear Diary,

I remember where I was 11 years ago.  In fact, probably every American over the age of 10 at the time remembers. 

Since I was young I've had the quirky, macabre fear that I would someday witness a plane crash.  Perhaps this was because I have lived in the path of a major metropolitan airport all my life.  Sometimes I hear those planes make noises that seem a little too loud and a little too strange.  I rush to the window to make sure the 400-ton piece of flying metal is still aloft, praying it is not my worst fear being realized.  Of course it isn't. 

Until 9/11/01.

Although we have a melting pot of backgrounds that shape who we are, today is a day we become united in our thoughts.   Not to remember the macabre, but to remember the heroics and bravery of men and women who were thrown into a situation never seen before in our history.  I am soooo proud to be an American.

Patriotically yours,

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Dirty Jobs

Dear Diary,

Today I had to do something repulsive.  I never would have though myself capable, in fact. 
I deliberately killed a baby bird.

As a youngster, there was a point in my adolescence when my parents no longer rescued me from the stray spider dwelling in my room.  I either had to live with it, or get rid of it myself.  Getting rid of it consisted of half a roll of toilet paper wadded up in my hand. 

I didn't want to feel the crunch.

My dad referred to my technique as "fluffing" it to death, and would proceed to mimic a spider enjoying its demise with my squeezably soft Charmin fluff ball.

As adults, we are called upon to do some dirty jobs.

Many dirty jobs come with parenting.  They don't tell you about that in What to Expect When You're Expecting.  Ask the parent who's had to change dirty diapers, or wipe their kids' runny nose with their own hands, or clean up puke in the bed - and the trail on the carpet -- and all over the bathroom cabinets.  They will tell you, "Well, someone had to do it!" 

I try to allocate all dirty jobs to my husband.  He's a man.  Men are tough.  Men were taught at an early age not to cry.  And certainly they are not squeamish (except when it comes to the birthing room).  That automatically qualifies him for the job.

But when my man is not around, I get the job.  Today, my dog snagged a baby bird.  Actually a young bird.  One that was completely feathered, and probably still groggy from his night's rest, enjoying his Sunday morning sunning himself on the grass, when WHAM, up he is snatched by a slathering, toothy cockapoo.  I won't go into the details, but needless to say, I had to put it out of its suffering.  It was an awful feeling and a memory I won't soon forget.  Yet at the same time, I was proud that I could call upon myself in a time I would normally have wimped out.  Even at my age, I am growing and learning new things about myself.

I'm trying to teach my children to grow a little too. Take the spider illustration. For them it usually involves a lot of screaming and a shoe, but they are learning how to do a hard job. Because mommy and daddy aren't going to be there to usher out every spider in their path.  I'm glad they are squeamish, it means they have compassion.  But in life everyone has to do their fair share of dirty jobs. 

So keep that Charmin handy.


Thursday, September 6, 2012

My First Diary

Dear Diary,
Here I am.  It's been a while since I've written in a diary.  I still have my first diary.  Never even lost the key!  Too bad I didn't have anything juicy or philosophical to say when I was ten.  My brother could have secretly read it and fallen asleep with the evidence still in his hand.  Here's an entry from January 3, 1978 (yes, now you know how old I am)

           Dear Diary,
           I went to school today and brought my math home.  I watched happy days.

By April even I was figuring out how dull the entries were.  I decided to juice it up with entries like:

          Dear Diary,
          I started to like Lonnie Bailey and I'm glad I did!

Unfortunately, according to my historically and biographically accurate diary, ten days later Lonnie and I were no longer an item.

Why do I bring this up?  Well for one it was fun for me to go dig up a 30-something year old relic written in my own hand.  For another, I want to contrast my first, matter-of-fact diary with this one I am writing today.

Here there is no key, no secrets.  This is an outlet for me I am happy to share with my friends, family and the curious.  I don't know what I will write from time to time.  Oh you can be sure it will be whatever is on my heart at the time.  Me: waxing poet, emotion emoter, heart-reaching philosopher.  But isn't that what all bloggers do?

My youngest daughter will be ten this year, on New Year's Eve to be exact.  I wonder if she'll want to keep her 10-year-old secrets in a diary?  It could be the start of something good.

Yours sincerely,