It's Monday and I got nuthin'

I know we all get the same e-mails that get forwarded around the world (or at least the cybersphere) a million times. So...you may have already seen these, but I thought they were cute. At least they kept my interest for a minute.

Gardening Rule: When weeding, the best way to make sure you are removing a weed and not a valuable plant is to pull on it. If it comes out of the ground easily, it is a valuable plant.

The easiest way to find something, that has been lost around your house, is to buy a replacement.

Never take life too seriously, because nobody gets out alive anyway.

Health is merely the slowest possible rate at which one can die.

Life is sexually transmitted.

The only difference between a rut and a grave is the depth.

In the 60's people took acid to make the world weird. Now the world is weird and people take Prozac to make it normal.

How is it that one careless match can start a forest fire, but it takes a whole box of matches to start a campfire?

Did you ever notice that when you blow in a dog's face, he gets mad at you, but when you take him on a car ride, he sticks his head out the window?

Whenever I feel blue, I start breathing again.

I hope you have a wonderful week. I wanted to post this video, it just shows how much you can do with so little. This is Ilana Yahav, she is a sand artist and creates pictures on a light box using only sand and her hands.

Daddy's Girl

I have mentioned my father here before. I don't think that I have really explained our relationship though, I grew up as a daddy's girl. If you don't believe me, ask my siblings. They will tell you, I was the favorite. I don't say that as a matter of bragging, it is just a fact. Don't get me wrong, he loved all of his children. He was a good father to all of us. He provided generously for his whole family. But he and I? We shared something more.

I am really not sure why, but I can postulate a number of reasons. My mother was almost forty when she had me. She had miscarried two previous babies. When she became pregnant with me, her youngest child was eight. The doctors told her that she would miscarry this baby as well. She was confined to bedrest for most of the pregnancy and low and behold, she delivered a perfect baby girl. I was a miracle in my father's eyes. Then, at age two, my trachea was severed in an accident. Again my parents were told that I might die. Again, I was a miracle. I was also the baby of the family. And in many ways, I am the most like my father.

I am certainly not perfect nor am I a miracle. During my teenage years, my father quickly realized this. At times, I was the bane of his existence. I was the only one of his children that ever spoke back to him. I snuck out and came home drunk. I saw boys he disapproved of behind his back. I smoked dope. I was defiant and argumentative. I dropped out of college. I was a Democrat. Despite all of this, he loved me. He was always there for me, even if he never understood me. He never gave up on me. At the height of my rebelliousness, we still did things together. We went camping, we rode horses, we sailed, we worked on cars. He taught me how to fix things. He taught me how to manage money. He taught me how to be a parent. When I was in an abusive marriage and finally decided I'd had enough, he got me out. He took me to a lawyer, he bought me a car. When I was struggling as a single mother, he bought us groceries, he bought us shoes. He told me he was proud of me, when I didn't have much pride left. My father died several years ago. I miss him. Lately, I have been missing him much more. I have been thinking about him. I don't know why, except it just hits me now and then. My father's birthday was earlier this week. I didn't even remember it until last night. When I did remember, I went to bed and cried.

I thought about how he would be proud of my boys. I thought about how he would love my dogs. I thought about how much I just wanted to be able to talk with him. I thought about how we never really understood each other, but how we would probably understand each other now. He would understand my tendency to take in strays. I would understand why he always worried about me. Though we never saw eye to eye on religion or politics, we would share a caring and compassion for all people. We would agree that sometimes people need a little help changing their circumstances and we would offer it if we could. We would agree that everyone deserves a second chance (and sometimes a third), even if they are a criminal. I know we would agree on those things, because those are the things he taught me. He didn't teach them with words, but with deeds. I think that it would please him to know how much I miss him, but he would tell me that I am fine and I am strong. He would also tell me to take care of my mother and to be nice to my sister, because they need me. Then he would tell me to stop crying and to quit sharing all this personal stuff on a blog, because it's nobody's business.

I love you Dad. I wish I could tell you that one more time.

Life is not for sissies

I am still around and I really am okay. I have just been feeling quiet. I want to write, but then I have no idea what to say. I am feeling better, but a complete recovery seems to be a bit longer in coming. I will admit that I haven't been taking very good care of myself, I suppose that I thought that a little pill would just do it. This week, I have started eating better, making myself go to bed earlier, being more careful about all of my medications and also my vitamins. I can tell a difference, my body is coming around (slowly).

At work, I have caught up and taken charge of things again. Good thing too, lots of drama and conflict are going on there. It has been leaving me drained in the evenings. I am finding irritation in many things that I normally would just sweep under the rug. Perhaps there is too much already under the rug. In some ways this has been good, I tend to always fix things. Lately, I have been handing things back for people to fix for themselves. J is my saving grace, he has been an anchor to me. He gives me strength and is often a voice of reason. He has kept me from slipping too far into this funk. My mind has been clinging to him, holding my head above water. I am only now climbing back out. I long for Spring, there have been many days that have teased me, sunny warm days, I need that.

I have begun so many posts, only to decide that they were just whiny and depressing. I have a no whining rule, but today I am breaking it. I am determined not to delete another half-finished post. Sorry, I will absolutely understand if you don't finish reading. Not all is bad, I am not crying, depressed and curled up in a ball, I am just quiet, reserving my strength. I am aggravated with myself, I am not on top of things the way I want to be. I remember when my mother-in-law began developing Alzheimer's, she still had many lucid moments and she would get mad at herself. She once told me, "I never had patience for stupid people, now life is enacting its revenge and I am one." Perhaps Karma is doing the same thing to me. Except, I am still aware of the blessings that I have, many blessings. So that is what I have been doing, reserving my energy and taking stock in my blessings. Trying to embrace the changes, trying to be accepting.

Those changes are occurring all around us, yet the more things change, the more they stay the same. I know the changes have to come from within. Even more than enacting change, I must be accepting of what is. Those are my own thoughts, but here are some from Ghandi, I need to meditate on these:

You must be the change you wish to see in the world.

A man is but the product of his thoughts. What he thinks, he becomes.

And finally, from the great philosopher, David Bowie...