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,
LJ

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,

LJ

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,
LJ

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,
LJ

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,
LJ

 

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,
LJ

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,
LJ

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, Thesaurus.com!)
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,

LJ

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.

LJ

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,
LJ

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!
LJ

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,
LJ

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,
LJ

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,
LJ

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. 
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,
LJ

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,
LJ

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.

Regards,
LJ

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,
LJ