Celine Dion

At the mention of her name, 

without hesitation the first song that comes to mind 

and tugs at my heart like none other...

My Heart Will Go On

March 30, 1968

Happy Birthday,

Celine Dion.

Thank you for your gift of music to the world.

Engage Your Moxie

Shivery cold and soaked to the bone, I had been standing in the pouring, incessant rain all day at my son's track meet,   I could not remember a more miserable sporting event in all the years I'd been attending.  The rain poured steady all day, the wind whipping at times, cutting raw to the bone,  There was no reprieve.  Track meets even under the best of conditions are painful; they go on and on and on with no way of knowing when they'll end.  There is no time clock on a board, ticking away the seconds toward exodus.  You just suck it up and deal with it. And you do this because you love your kids and you want to support them.  You do what you have to do.  Fun does not always accompany "the games."    

It was pointless to sit down, my canvas chair having long since become soaked, and regardless, I had to keep pacing back and forth from one event to his next since they were scheduled at the same time. There was no way to know how long each flight would take.  And so I stood, and walked, and stood, my rain slicker (thankfully lined) and my umbrella my only sense of shelter,  I kept hoping for a break in the clouds -- that never came.  My socks and shoes were soaked, my jeans wet all the way up to my thighs where the rain water had absorbed and spread.  Dripping ringlets of hair-gone-wild falling and obscuring my vision, I couldn't brush them away since my hands were busy holding my umbrella, a folded, wet and useless blanket, and a carry bag of survival items -- water bottle, snacks, Kindle, camera.  

Finally the last event came to an end, and my son turned to me, squinting through the rain with a thumbs up signal.  We were done.  I could go get the car.  He was going to meet me at the rear entrance. 

The meet finally over, all I could think about was getting out of the pouring rain to my dry, warm car in the parking lot.  Our last event was in the discus field, the farthest area from the parking lot, and I dreaded having to trek all that distance in the pouring rain, loaded down and weary, through the masses of people.  There had to be a shorter way.

I glanced over toward the parking lot in the distance. "As the crow flies,” there appeared to be a shortcut winding down a cemented path over a sloping hill, snaking around a couple buildings.  I was sure I could work my way down and around and up that short hill leading to the parking lot.  In my desperation, this clearly made the most sense.  No one else was going that way for a reason (big clue), but I thought to myself, how hard can this be?  I'll figure out a way.   

So I began walking the snaking path, down the slope of the hill, making my way toward the buildings on the perimeter of the campus, marveling at this brilliant idea to cut my journey short in this dreadful weather.  Just keep going.  You're almost there.  And then I saw it, a padlocked chain link fence.  Looking in all directions, I saw no openings, nowhere to squeeze through.  I was effectively blocked from the asphalt road above, just a short distance ahead leading to the parking lot.  Pissed off and tired to the bone, I turned to look back, realizing that I had two options:  I can turn around and go back the way I came, making my trip twice as long as it would have been had I gone the way everyone else had gone, or I could climb the fence. 

I thought to myself:  So what do ya think, T?  You’re a strong woman.  How bad do you want over this fence? Just tell yourself -- I can do this -- and you’re home.   

Doubt starting to creep in, I looked back once more, at how far I’d already come.  Then I uttered aloud, “Fuck this.  I’m climbing the fence.”

I tossed my soaked umbrella, blanket and bag over the fence.  Grabbing high and hard, hands cold and wet and stinging, with a rush of moxie I pulled myself upward, managing to eventually get my leg over the top.  Yes.  I got this!  Hah!  And then clinching the top of the fence, pausing to balance, I hurled my other leg across and in one leap jumped backward down to the ground, landing protectively in a crouched position.  Getting up triumphantly, I wiped my hands on my slicker, grabbed my gear, and finished climbing the short distance up to the asphalt road.  My car was only a few more feet away.

Soaked and dreary umbrella-toting onlookers making their way down the road toward the parking lot had witnessed my feat.  A priceless hint of shock and amusement on their faces:  Where did SHE come from?  Did she just climb that fence?   

Hell yeah!

It was a gratifying way to end a dreadfully long and miserable day at a track meet.  Another life lesson: If you want something bad enough, you’ll engage your moxie.

Wear Your Scars

So about blogs and blogging...

I read blogs very randomly.  I subscribe to some, but oftentimes I'll just jump randomly from mystery blog to mystery blog with no rhyme or reason to my perusal.  The process is fascinating.  It's like watching trailers of movies, catching a glimpse of a story line.  Sometimes you move on to the next trailer, and sometimes you get reeled in, it hooks you, and you find yourself digging a little deeper.  Tell me more ...  

The beauty of blogging is that it allows you to open and empty your heart, the good, the bad, the beautiful, the ugly -- you simply bleed.  You empty.  Purge.  Let it out and let it go.  I blog to unclog.  To cleanse.

Sometimes when I'm alone (like tonight) and it's quiet in the house, I'll turn on mindless, relaxing instrumental music, pour myself a glass of wine, light a candle, and get lost in a good book, or a good magazine article -- or, every now and then, I'm lucky enough to stumble upon a blog post that makes me stop, back up, read it again, pause, and then simply utter, "Wow."

FNL - What If

(full screen...eau yeah)

Southerners Embrace Nonsense

I love that!

SOS for Chessie!

My poor little Chessie is sick.  I'm not sure what's ailing her, but I suspect it is pain-related rather than intestinal type of sick.  She was running and playing and jumping and throwing her toys around like normal on Tuesday evening, and when I woke up yesterday morning and came downstairs to make coffee, she was sitting quietly beside the chair in the floor.  Not wagging her tail, not reacting to me much at all.

• Red Flag 1:  She never just SITS in the floor; she either wants in someone's lap or she wants on a comfy piece of furniture, blanket, or pillows
• Red Flag 2:  She wasn't wagging her tail at me, her usual morning greeting
• Red Flag 3:  She was still and unanimated; she's RARELY still
• Red Flag 4:  She was walking slowly and sullenly as she followed me down the hall to let her outside to pee
• Red Flag 5:  One of her favorite treats is a carrot every morning after she goes outside to pee -- she LIVES for that carrot every morning.  When I handed it to her, she sniffed and looked away.
• Red Flag 6:  She hasn't eaten anything except a couple of licks of Coconut Oil off my finger -- because, hey, doesn't everyone know that Coconut Oil is a miracle cure for all of life's woes?

She seems okay with moving her bowels, so I'm thinking it's not intestinal.  When we pick her up, she doesn't cry out in pain from a tender or painful injury -- at least so far as we've been able to tell, but we've not palpated like a vet would. We gave her ibuprofen yesterday, hoping it would help, but she remained docile and lifeless all last night.  She's a Pekeapoo -- they're rarely still.  She can jump from the floor to the top of the back of the sofa like a cat in the blink of an eye and can probably outrun any cat around.  

I've called her vet this morning and she will be seeing Chessie at 3:30 this afternoon.  My Chessie is sick and it breaks my heart.  And what's more, Gavin is on his way home tonight ...
and guess who's coming along with him ...

(cue Psycho music)

Chessie has more problems
than she deserves today!

• 
  

The Skinny Jean Scam

skinny jeans

(don't be fooled)
are designed for women
SKINNY
WOMEN

--skinny tall women--

whose upper thighs do not touch

look around...
such women are a 

very

rare

breed

skinny jeans

are an  

illusion

skinny jeans

should be outlawed

Who cares!
We're amazing just the way we are...
...oh yeah...
Oh Yeah.

Know When to Shut the Hell Up

I received an email yesterday afternoon that a dear neighbor friend of mine had been in a horrific accident (one of those stuck accelerator stories that scare the shit out of you when you dwell on it) this past Saturday and had miraculously lived to tell about it, and had just gotten home from the hospital.  I panicked.  She lives a few blocks away and I only see her now and then while she's walking her dogs. We used to play Bunco together, which is when I got to know her well, falling in love with her joie de vivre and adorable, contagious sense of humor.  Though in her late 70's, one would never guess it.  She's constantly on the go and in the know.

I texted her son before I stopped by to make sure she was up for company, and he later texted back to tell me she would love for me to stop over.  He and his brother live in Cleveland and Columbus and had dropped everything to come to her aid the minute they heard the news.  After picking up a maple & cinnamon bagel and a caramel chocolate muffin from the bakery, I stopped by our house, unloaded my briefcase, let Chessie out, then headed down the street toward her house.   Rounding the corner, I saw two women carrying dishes of food, and by the time I got to her driveway, they were getting back in their car and pulling away.  Fearful of what to expect, I was certain that I didn't want to stay long.  She needed her rest, and too much company would only wear her out.

When I arrived, her sons (both in their 40's or so) welcomed me and filled me in on her condition, the wreck, etc.  They thanked me for coming.  When I saw her standing in the kitchen doorway having a conversation with one of our neighbors, I was astonished at the degree of bruising and swelling over her face, chest, arms. She waved and smiled at me, "Hi, Twyla, I can't see you very well but I hear your voice and I know it's you.  Wish I could see better," that adorable, infectious giggle laced with understandable nervousness.  I tenderly reached for her hand and gave her a light hug.  I wanted to cry.

After being shown photos of the car and seeing her injuries, I was so thankful that she had survived this awful accident with not even one broken bone!   They had to extricate her and airlift her to the hospital.  Everyone who witnessed the scene agreed that she was a walking miracle.  Tender Mercies from Above.  My heart was breaking for her.

As she began to tell me about her broken glasses, the eye doctor's report, grateful that she had not lost her eyesight, this other neighbor, a notorious flap jaw, began finishing each of her sentences, interrupting to tell about an experience she had gone through years ago, how scared she was, and what she remembers and doesn't remember, and oh how glad she was that .... blah-BLAH, blah-BLAH, blah-BLAH.  On and on and on and --- And with fire in my eyes, surely burning holes in her curly, goofy head, I'm thinking ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS, BITCH? SHUT THE HELL UP!

How inconsiderate! Here I am trying to get just a minute or two with her, reach out, offer comfort, LISTEN to her, wanting her to know I'm willing to prepare meals, shop, do whatever she needs me to do, and here's this annoying, screechy-voice windbag who just won't stop.  I finally interrupted her mid sentence, insisting that my friend come and sit down in the living room, get off her feet.  I emphasized that WE SHOULD BE LEAVING because she needed some peace and quiet, needed her rest.  She seemed grateful for that initiative.

Turning to make my way to the kitchen with her bagels and muffins, her son began sharing with me a few brief details and expressions of gratitude.  And there she goes again, that VOICE!  That hyena laugh.  Chatty Cathy was at it again, towering over her in her recliner, going on and on and on about absolutely nothing.

What is it about people 

who don't know when to shut up?  

You know, I try to be conscious of this, on guard most of the time trying not to monopolize conversations in a social setting.  I strive to be a good listener, attentive, intuitive, in touch.  A fluid exchange.  Quid pro quo.  Good conversation skills are SO underrated.

Well, it dawned on me that I needed to rescue my friend from this self-centered prattle monkey.  So butting in again -- and most certainly for the last time -- I said very emphatically, "Well, it's time for us to leave (more preferably stated "get the hell out of here") and let you get some rest. You've been through enough and you need some peace and quiet," coming very close to placing my hands on this clueless woman's shoulders, perfecting her about-face, and kicking her ass out the door.

Why are people so oblivious?  Why???

Waves of Happiness

Every ray of sun at this season of the year is like finding a lone bloom in an empty bed of flowers, struggling to make its appearance, to breathe life back into the vast cold emptiness.  Amid an abundance of blooms, that pitiful little display of a single flower would surely go unnoticed.

Driving down the road, I see the rays of sun and I cannot suppress the rising waves of anticipation of brighter days, promises of hope and renewal, beauty and rebirth, waves and waves -- ENDLESS WAVES -- of the simplest pleasures of this world that until taken away, they go unnoticed.  Taken for granted.

There is a chance -- a chance, whether big or small, it remains uncertain -- that my oldest son Zach, whom I haven't seen since August, will be able to fly to Marco Island to join us this year in July.  There's an even better chance that my middle son Gavin will manage to get several days of vacation from his current job in the Pittsburgh area to join us there also.  To think that I'll have all of my sons at Marco Island for the first time in -- YEARS -- is joy indescribable.

Closing my eyes, I hear the rolling waves of the surf, the birds, the laughter ... I smell the salt in the air ... I feel the wind on my skin, in my hair, the sun on my face...I see the breaks of those waves, iridescent streams of light dancing on air ... I imagine sitting around together on the beach, laughing, talking, remembering, celebrating...and I am awash with an outpouring of love and cries of gratitude.  These are the moments in life that eclipse all the struggles, the stifling, cooped-up, long winter days.

Let me remember ...

Ludovico Einaudi

One of my favorite incredibly gifted musicians!

Is It Time to String Beans, Mawmaw?

It is common knowledge in our family that our maternal grandmother was never idle.  I rarely saw her sitting down.  She was queen of multitasking.  I used to love to help her string beans in the cool shade of her front porch in the summer -- she didn't have air conditioning, but trying to get her to sit down was a chore in itself.  Yes, those beans needed stringing, but there were clothes to hang on the line, weeds to pull, bathrooms to clean, dusting, shaking rugs, sweeping ... and the list went on and on.  Lead by example.  It's all I knew as a kid.  There was rarely idle time in her world.  

I think of today's world, how times have changed.  Kids -- even adults -- nowadays find themselves bored more often than not, seeking out TV shows or DVD's to entertain themselves when they feel boredom setting in.  

And not in MY world.  I don't know what boredom feels like either, Mawmaw.  My list of things I either need to do or want to do is never-ending.  I never seem to have ENOUGH time to do all the things I want to accomplish in that flimsy sliver of waking hours.

I've been having fun playing around with my camera lately.  I like to carry it with me in case I'm blessed with a fleeting moment of beauty, whimsy or intrigue.  Some of the photos below were even taken while sitting down for a breather yesterday afternoon on the patio ... never idle ... never a dull moment.  The shadows caught my eye, and away I went ...click, click, click...I don't want to miss a thing.

On my way to work last week

In self-teaching, I'm learning that the usually harsh midday sun can produce a compelling contrast of shadows ... I see the beauty even now.

Playfully out of focus.

A marriage of shadow and light.

Textures and mosaic hues ...

scrumptious sepia

tinted black & white

purposefully overexposed

mystic light

calming grays

Short  as life is,

we make it still shorther by the

careless waste of time.

Victor Hugo

This Week's Mane Event

I've been pinning haircuts and hairstyles to my Pinterst boards for several months now.  If there were subcategories for my hairstyle boards, they'd be entitled "Now," "Later," and "Much Later."  Those falling under "much later" are mostly very short cuts that I'd like to try at some point in my 60's.  I'm just not bold enough to give up my length.  I'd probably love the short cut for a while, but I'd end up missing my length -- which actually serves as a shield of armor to my insecurities.  We all have them.  No explanation needed.  Just a vulnerability that I'll admit to (eyes cast downward).

I see those short, sassy, sexy cuts all the time -- in magazines, on the street, on TV, and I feel SO very tempted.  Such a chic, bold statement -- emphasis on bold.  For those women who have the courage to let go of their locks and rock a drastically shorter look, I admire them.  Bravo.  Work it, girlfriends!  And yes, I envy all of you a little bit -- that's a lie.  I envy you a lot.

But I'm not saying "never."  I never say never.  Never, ever ever say never.

When I went in for my scheduled trim on Tuesday, I took along the cut I posted in my blog (here) and asked my girl what she thought...

What do you think?

Would my hair lay like that?

What are the pros?  The cons?

What if we start with a longer version first?  Can that be done?

As we talked, she asked me if I realized that we'd be taking off quite a bit of length, and even with the "longer" version at least three inches.  Yep.  Got that.   I told her I was ready for a change, ready to let go of the length, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to go all the way yet.  Let's stick with foreplay.  (giggle)

And then she began ... snip, snip, snip....and I see long locks of hair falling left and right all around me.  I didn't even flinch.  But I knew that to get a good read on the end result, I'd have to go home and wash/style it myself.  I always like the way I style my hair better than the way most hairdressers style my hair.  I can't even think of one exception.  She coached me a little as I was leaving on some product options -- there are SO MANY products out there, and they all have different purposes.  I knew from experience that my hair would need to be flat ironed, and I would need to use Morccan Oil, Sealed Ends, and a little bit of texturizer for the finish to piece it out and give it texture, either a wax or a heavy gel.  My husband being in this industry and having an entire warehouse of products to choose from, my wish was his command.  Perks!

The result?  I'm happy with the shorter length and the extra layers.  It feels lighter and fresh and easy.  I only wish I'd had her take a little more off the length.  I can still easily pull it back in a ponytail for the gym.  I hadn't realized it had gotten so long.  This DO was way OVERdo.

I'll be going back in April to get my color redone again (blondes and copper), and I plan to have her take an extra inch or two off the length.

As I was leaving for work today, taking one last glance in the mirror before turning off the light, I thought to myself:  Yes, this may be the longest my hair will ever be again.

New beginnings.  Let's keep life interesting, shall we?  Bring on the bold.

Unfinished Restlessness

In order that people may be happy in their work,

these three things are needed:

they must be fit for it;

they must not do too much of it;

and they must have a sense of success in it.

-John Ruskin

Happy in my work.

That I am.

But I find that I also struggle with a sense of unfinished restlessness.

Restlessness.

Daydreams.

It's almost a daily thing for me.

I wake up in the morning with that coveted first cup of coffee on my mind…

…I let out the dog…I feed the dog…

I take my B6 vitamin cocktail and my BCAA’s...

...I splash my face with water, then moisturizer...I get into my gym gear.  

The coffee is ready by now.  

I yearn for a new coffee pot with a timer 

-- ours is old, but it still works! -- 

so I’m waiting for Old Faithful to die.

I let out the dog again.  

I grab my coffee and my mini morning blizzard...

(1 Tbs whey protein, 2 oz yogurt, .5 T coconut oil, 1 T Fiber One) 

I sit down at my laptop to catch up on emails and read scripture.  

I read my devotions and I pray -- I talk to God.

It's like a morning shower...a cleansing of my soul...

...the need to remove the tarnish..

(my halo stays quite rusty)  

Without prayer, my feelings of inadequacy overshadow

every ounce of my resolve.  

...another sip of coffee...
glorious

Then I wander over to Facebook 

to see if there’s anything I’ll regret not reading about -- still waiting on that one.  

By now my coffee is finished and I’m ready to hit the gym.  

I do a mental checklist:  Water bottle, check.  MP3 player, check.  

Towel (I prefer my own), check.  Chapstick, check.  

Gym bag, check.  Keys, check.  Then out the door.

My cardio warmup is an opportunity to escape...

...hey, there, Happy Dreamer ...

...my mind drifts...

 I reflect on the possibilities of a new day...  

A caravan of adventurous thoughts expanding into weeks, months, seasons…

...years ahead...  

I'm lost in a kaleidoscope of daydreams, 

a pleasing procession of plans and goals, all sparkly and bewitching…

an arousal of senses...

...faster, T...

...pick up the pace...

...get to the sweet spot...

I want to take up classical guitar again …

I want to get my personal trainer certification …

I want to take a few photography lessons and find my very own artistic niche …

I want to travel and explore and satisfy my insatiable wanderlust…

I want to do all of this while still working as a court reporter, either part time or full time, because I really do still love my day job!

   

I want to have time to do ALL of those things 

and not just so-so

I want to rock ALL of them...

How do I manage to cram all of that into one tall order?

Is there enough time?

When?  And how?

Enough of me to go around?

My inner voice -- MY voice -- says, not unless I find balance first and foremost.  

Life without balance is like music lacking harmony.  

The notes must complement the chord.  

Without the balance and harmony, 

I'll be left with a cacophony of loose ends and broken dreams.

Passion tempered with patience.  

Keep it lit, keep it alive, but be realistic. 

There.  That's how it's done.  

And just as I think I’ve gotten my strategies all figured out, 

I hear another voice...

...His voice...

 ...a reminder...

Blessed assurances.

I see it all so clearly now.

“But seek ye first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness…

and all these things shall be added unto you.” 

~ Matthew 6:33

Little Bit of This, Little Bit of That

Ah, that spring is so close I can smell it -- I can!  Just the other night I was taking a walk in my neighborhood around 9 pm.  The stars were out.  The weather was cool, but mild.  It felt wonderful.  I inhaled deeply... deja vu.  That wonderful unmistakable scent of a spring or summer night.  Or was that just my mind playing tricks on me?  Does it even matter?

Let it flow.  I'll gladly entertain a touch of playful psychosis to get my happies elevated.  Let the illusions tease and taunt and tickle my fancy.  It's working.

The last two days have been a breakthrough in my mood posturing.  I've made it to the gym twice already this week.  Yesterday was back and abs day.  Today was lower body, high volume, lower weight; and a bit of abs; I tacked on a tricep burn at the end of my workout.  I'm feeling cleansed and energized and focused.  It's' all so very good.  It's better than any drug.

The sun is shining and it's supposed to be in the 70's today.  I will savor every single second of it since temps will be falling pretty drastically on Thursday.  Looking forward to getting my hair trimmed today, and toying with the idea of a short cut for summer.  Will I miss my length?  Will I regret it?  Decisions...