The Christmas Letter

You know those cheery Christmas letters (CL) you receive in the mail each year? I actually received less this year than normal.

The ones I did receive did have their usual, to be expected highlights. For example, I have been following with interest the news each year of a former college roommate's children's struggle with peanut allergies. Year 1 of the discovery they gave away their cats while trying to get to the bottom of the trouble. The next year found them ripping up their carpets and putting in hardwood floors. Year 3 they moved out of the allergy prone house. Year 6 finds them (with a dog in the photo) attending a national peanut allergy convention in Washington D.C. this spring... you get (long pause) the picture.

One CL is a pictograph of all the events one family has attended in the calendar year. Including 25 miniscule photos of said family with virtual strangers - they do include a key so you can keep up and try to guess who is who in said photo.

A friend at church launched into her CL with an entire paragraph filled with a detailed account of every GI bug her side of the family had, a cousin's illness and a remembrance of a death 11 years before and ended the paragraph with parentheses stating (enough heavy stuff). I'm glad she realized it too.

An extremely quiet and unassuming niece surprised everyone with the CL bombshell that she eloped to Viva Las Vegas. Now that is some NEWS! Best ever read in a CL and her mom included emails for everyone in the family -which I found very helpful. I can email quiet niece and exclaim my good wishes to the happy bride and groom.

Joking aside - the CLs are always welcome - I'm glad to be on the list and get the unabridged version of the modern day town crier. I got my cards out so late this year - I changed the photo card to one bearing a Happy New Year message. I didn't have any returned either and patted myself on the back until I realized that oh yeah, I didn't have time to put my return address on them.

Tonight I returned home after a festive New Year's Eve dinner with my mom and daughter and was tickled to notice a handwritten letter addressed to me (that always means - NO BILLS!).

I didn't recognize the return address. I opened the letter and a slim newspaper clipping slipped out. The letter started out as an introduction from the sister-in-law of an older couple I always send a Christmas card to... .

It seems this couple, who really stood by me during my parents lengthy separation and divorce, did not receive my card this year. Vera is in an Alzheimer's unit in Florida and Gil died seemingly of a broken heart six months later after she could no longer remember him. Some sad news to reflect on this New Year's Eve and the regret that I didn't stand by them and keep in better touch when they may have needed me the most. They forever touched my life that's for sure and I hope I stressed to both of them they had done that for me.

And their seemingly duel passing has touched me as well - thank God I will forever be the hopeless romantic who still hopes I will find a man that loves me that much who can no longer bear to live when my memory fails me.

These Christmas letters bring the moments that are important in people's lives - and why shouldn't they be able to brag about being successful as a family, a new union, pet or grandchild, European travels, raise health concerns, reflect on fun places visited in the past year and most importantly, deliver a simple message in a white envelope of that special kind of love that we all seek.

Things to Do in 2008

A new year has arrived and so much to do...no resolutions for me, but instead lofty goals worth giving serious thought to... .

1. Take more walks.
2. Listen more.
3. Talk less.
4. Set aside five minutes every day to be quiet and still.
5. Read.
6. Cook a new recipe.
7. Learn a new stitch (knitting).
8. Write a real letter.
9. Slow down.
10. Pray for what I really want out of life.

2008 is going to be great!

Someone to Watch Over Me

I was recently questioned by X (ex-husband to those who do not know) as to if I was seeing anyone. After insisting numerous times that it was none of his business, I broke down and told him yes. I was seeing someone. That simple answer shut him up. He seemed satisfied and hopefully he will leave the topic alone.

... What I failed to tell him that the man in my life is Orion the constellation of the nighttime winter sky whom I make direct eye contact with every night while walking Heidi. The three stars in his belt are a constant reminder of what his strengths are to me. Every night it's easy to find him. He's always there unless the clouds get in the way. Strangely, I find his presence comforting. From my front doorstep and my Eastward facing car window I can always find him up there in the sky waiting for me to notice him.

Calmly watching over me - it gives me pause and quiet reflection. After the latest admonissions from X. A very good friend told me she was going to pray for a strong and protective man to come into my life and make me feel safe. Kind of sounds like Orion.

I told her to please add to the list of attributes kind and financially stable. But for now Orion can be my main man. Tall, quiet, strong, safe and always there watching over me.

Discovering A Different Kind of Soul Mate

A soul mate sometimes enters our life as someone to stir us up ... To hold up the mirror so that we can see ourselves more clearly and antagonize us and make us so uncomfortable that we have to change because we can't continue to look at the same thing because we're looking at it clearly now." "The encounter is so intense and so clarifying that we burn through those things quickly."

-- Richard from Texas

Eat, Pray, Love

Michigan State Study: Divorce Isn't Eco-Friendly

Give me a break - to add to the pain and guilt of divorce - now I have to worry my divorce causing causing more than my unfair share of my ecological footprint. I read this recent study in Monday's Washington Post: "Divorce Isn't Eco-Friendly" and felt even more of the literal weight of the world shift on my tired and sore shoulders. The article has its merits and it's facts ring true, but picking on the divorced is laughable in this instance.

After all, the unmarried single women have had enough dumped on them over the past four decades Why don't they go ahead and praise the unmarried single men still living at home in their parents basement for saving the earth. White men would rejoice everywhere and the Republicans could use them as their poster boys on the global warming stage (even though its not happening). They could even trot them out on the Convention floor and allow them to tell their story with their photos projected on the big screen and a patriotic balloon drop in their honor.

Go ahead, pick on the divorced, to hear the experts tell it we are also contributing to the juvenile delinquency rate and the Christian conservatives label us as single moms like we are akin to road whores. As a divorcee does everything have to be blamed on me? I'm wondering if I'm off the hook now. Does that theory change when when one of the spouses remarry, because my ex-husband remarried last May and combined a household of 6 people - so that must mean for the past 7 months - I will take none of the blame this study places on me. They can take that to the dump along with the scarlet letter I removed from my right shoulder. Or maybe I should just recycle it.

The Musicians In Me

After working on a presentation for my "Music, Gender and Sexuality" course and breaching my own "is nothing sacred" cry (after some beloved composers and songs were presented to me in a different light ...and even beloved fairy tales dissected and showcased in a way that was shocking to me) I am working on my final presentation.

After this course, I have been enlightened, embarrassed, labelled a Pollyanna by a friend in class, and shocked. So I'm borrowing from the title of a song in the movie "You are the Music in Me" and composing my own little diddy... it goes something like this.

The Musicians in Me

Boston, Donna Summer, The Eagles
and Frampton Comes Alive
the music of my older sisters
became by 70s vibe.

In the early 80s it was Prince, The Gloved One,
Duran Duran and Loverboy,
Adam Ant in concert, Culture Club, REM,
our Material Girl slash Boy Toy.

Androgynous Annie became a Diva in the 90s
Springsteen, Bon Jovi and Aerosmith kept on rockin'
Garth became Chris Gaines, Nirvana gave us Grunge
and the college kids started moshing.

At the millenium, the Boy Bands faltered,
the Spice Girls lost their Grrrll Power
The Metal Bands joined AARP, rehabbed
and went on another Farewell Tour.

After taking this class now I ask myself?

• Will a gender bender make it to the American Idol stage? (they already have)
• Will Britney get her shit together and once again be all the rage? (probably not)
• Scissor sisters as a position? Am I really that naive? (yes!)
• And, what does it mean if I fancy the Sinatra-like swing of crooner Michael Buble?
• I sit in church and wonder what would the elders think if they knew Messiah's Handel was gay? (not too much probably)
• And finally, through caring about all this I wonder...does it chip my newfound radical feminism away?

My iTunes are my secret
But I'll listen to the musicians in me more carefully now
I've been enlightened, empowered, labelled a Pollyanna
and all I can say after taking this course -WOW!

A Final Step in Setting Myself Free

I just told a very close friend this morning that until she ends a floundering relationship that she will never be open to accepting a new one. She agreed, we said our goodbyes, I hung up and didn't think another thing of it.

As I trolled through my daily work of gathering and collecting news and announcements from med schools & centers across the country I came across the sweetest story: Two Dogs Spend 26 Days With Owner Who Died In The Wilderness and immediately thought of the person who I wanted to share it with.

So I took a deep breath, googled his email on the internet, put his address in the TO: box, wrote a brief note and clicked the Send button.

In sending it I discovered the biggest feeling of relief that washed over me. Why had I been afraid of sending an email to a terrific guy that I had shared so many wonderful moments and memories (of a special dog too!) with? We have both moved on with our lives - married other people, had the careers we planned on?? Was I afraid of being rejected again? I think so.

But I was able to send this before all that other stuff in the thought process got in the way. The words I told my close friend this morning came back to me albeit a tad differently. I haven't pined for this sweetheart since my divorce, while maybe I have, and I didn't unrealisticly think that he would come back and rescue me from my divorce distress but perhaps someone like him. Of course I wonder if I cross his mind? Isn't that normal?

Over the years, I've walked on many a beach and thrown countless but invisible good-bye messages in a bottle to this man, hoping to let that part of my heart go... . I have not been able to do so successfully.

But this morning, by clicking send - I confronted what I was afraid of with a friendly hi (after 15 years but who's counting?) and I'm gleefully discovering that I alone held the power to set myself FREE!!

Waking Up

Every morning when my erratic alarm clock starts it's annoying beeping sound, I wake up half exhausted from the dreams that filled my slumber. I have envisioned emails where I could see the names in the sent box, seen colors so vivid in the darkness of my dreams and heard voices that I still trembled upon hearing.

For the past two months, it's been either a technicolor nightmare of relationships past or psychadelic mindtrip of crazy classroom assignments of dressing like a punk rocker or outrageous conversations that I'm having with people.

In the quiet of my day, I silently snicker to myself that no one in my office has any idea of how I spend my nights.

What has awakened inside of me? Is it me finally breaking away and moving forward? Dare I type it outloud? I feel happy most of the time!! Could it be "the big D" is finally behind me? Let me pinch myself and make sure? But it's true - I'm starting to feel alive again.

If I'm lucky maybe it will catch on to all aspects of my life.

I Am Tennessee (Author Unknown)

I am Tennessee. I am the 30 year old couple coming back to campus for thefirst time with both little ones in tow. One wears her orange and white cheerleader outfit; the other wears #16 even though he's too young to understand why.

I am the 50 year old man who hoped no one saw tears in his eyes when the T wasformed by the band. I was too choked even to sing "Rocky Top". For a moment I felt foolish and then I didn't care. God, I love this place.

I am the 60 year old woman meeting her freshman grand-daughter who is now the3rd generation of UT students in our family. Despite my age, I'd strap it onSaturday and hit someone if it weren't for my gender and this blasted arthritis.

I am Tennessee and I have always believed I was different. You can see it whenyou look up into the stands. My orange is not the same as Florida's or Auburn's . But the differences go much deeper than my colors.

Read my creed. What other school has one? I genuinely believe in these things.To be a real Tennessee man or woman speaks of character, not of geography. All are welcome to walk though my gates, not just the wealthy or the elite.

Georgia and Alabama may have their nations, but we have always been family. Make no mistake, we loathe defeat, but even in defeat, we would rather be aTennessee Vol than anything else.

We are family and you are the sons of Heisman, the sons of Majors and Neyland.You come from a long line of brothers who names include White, Gault, Wilson,Manning, Shuler, Nash and Mahelona. It is a great heritage.

So this Saturday, when the warm ups are over and the prayers and amen spoken,when you hear my thunder growing in the stands above you, when you stand inthe tunnel and the smoke begins to form, listen for my voice when you run on to my field.

Behind the frenzy of the shakers and deafening roar, I will tell you something in a whisper you may miss. I will be telling you that you are my sons and I am proud of you for the way you wear the orange and white. I am telling you that you are my sons and I love you.

Tennessee is so much more than a state or a school or a team or a degree. It is something that, once you have experienced it, will live inside of you forever and become a part of what makes up who you are. It is driving into town on a game day.

You may have come from hundreds of miles away and as you get closer and closer to the city limits, you feel it rising inside of you. Other cars on the highway proudly display their Orange and White flags or magnets or car tags, and you honk and wave at them, because, for that one day, you are all on the same team.

It is the smell in the air and the ritualistic act of tailgating...catching up with old friends, making new ones, and invitations from perfect strangers totry their ribs or watch their satellite TV showing all of the day's important match-ups...of course, all being secondary to the one that will occur in thegreat cathedral of Neyland Stadium later that day.

It is the Vol Walk...where you might just see 300 pound men overcome withemotion and weeping with pride, because you have come there to cheer them on. As they walk by, you might exchange a glance with one or two of them, and youcan see it in their eyes...it is going to be their day.

It is the students...dressed in their best, because going to a Tennessee game is like going to church for Tennessee people....you show the same respect as you would if you were in God's house. Those students remind you of the dayswhen you were walking in their shoes and Tennessee was your home...but thenyou realize, in many ways, it is still and always will be HOME.

It is that lump that rises in your throat when the band plays Rocky Top as the"T" is formed.

It is walking around on a "foreign" and sometimes hostile campus. You are easily identified (Tennessee people always are) and the enemy jeers and shoutsthings at you to mask their feelings of intimidation. But just then you happen upon a friend you have never met before. You know they are your friend by the colors they wear or the shaker in their hand. You exchange a "Go Vols" and a confident grin, because he/she knows what you know.

It is when your heart leaps with every touchdown, field goal, sack, andinterception...because those are our boys. And win or lose, they will alwayshave our un-dying support. After all, it is those boys that you are really there for and not a coach or a logo or a trustee or a president.

It is the complete and utter exhilaration of walking away victorious over a worthy opponent...that feeling of pride and accomplishment as if it were your own feet that had crossed the goal line scoring the last points yourself...that feeling of wanting to scream "Go Big Orange" at the top of your lungs and hug complete strangers...and then there is the ultimate high of defeating your most hated foes from across the state.

No words can describe what this feels like, but you know because you have experienced it. It is the sheer agony of defeat as the last minutes tick off of the clock andyou realize that all hope of a victory is gone.

You feel like crying and maybe you do...then you hear the faint sounds of a cheer that grows louder and louder...."Its Great To Be A Tennessee Vol."

It is knowing that year after year, no matter how things change in our hecticlives, you can always come back to "the Loveliest Place on the River"... theplace where you came from...your home.

It will probably look a little different and there will be new names on the backs of the jerseys, but deepdown, no matter what, it is still the same. You still love it as much as you always have, because Tennessee is as much a part of you as your arms and your legs and the orange blood that runs through your veins.

And, finally, it is the feeling you have right now as you read theselines....the anticipation inside of you, because you know its almost time....Its about to start all over again...but then it really never goes away, does it?

GO BIG ORANGE!

Viva Las Vegas, Part Deux

In honor of my Viva Las Vegas buddy, I am writing installment two today of our trip to VLV! To say that even the shuttle drive to the hotel was totally exciting would be an understatement, I guess that is what happens even when a 40 something country girl goes to the big city. The lights we saw from the airplane were overwhelming, inviting and exhilarating.

I'm sure the other riders en route to their hotels thought there was a Vegas newbie on board, because I vascillated between sharp intakes of breath and little squeals especially when I saw Paris Las Vegas and the Golden Nugget! Also cool to behold was the skyscraper size billboards for Celine, Toni Braxton and other celebs playing the crowded rooms on the Vegas strip.

We threw our bags into our rooms and didn't return until daybreak. This would set the schedule for the rest of the week. Leave the room at 10 return at 5 or 6 and sleep ALL DAY! A luxury for someone who gets little downtime. We agreed to stay in the safe confines of our hotel and venture out the next day into the wild world of VLV.

After being dissed at the all-night restuarant that was not serving the Prime-Rib sandwich we had hungered for across the country we descended into the pits of the casino and lo and behold we ran into Little Richard, Shania, Dolly, Elvis, Tina Turner, The Blues Brothers and Ricky Martin Living Las Vida Loca above the black jack tables. It wasn't the real deal but the dealertainers of Imperial Palace - who needed Celine when this was going on 24/7 in our home casino.

OMG, I Have Become My Mother

Throughout this life, my mom has been my hero, my mentor, my role model to follow as an example as the woman I have most wanted to be like. We have always called her "Miss Stewart County High School" because simply put - she was. Valedictorian, President of the Beta Club, Captain of the Cheerleaders, Editor of the school yearbook and columnist in the local newspaper, were all titles attached to our mother's name. Andy Holt himself promised her a four-year scholarship to the University of Tennessee when he witnessed her commencement speech that she recited from memory.

It's an understatement to say how proud she made her parents. Another still to her three daughters and how it felt to grow up with an academic "rock star mom" who was not only brilliant, but fun and beautiful and strong. Upon "going into town" while visiting our grandparents, her former classmates would stop us on the streets, introduce themselves and say "I went to school with your mother... I'm (fill in the blank) and we had so much fun together, she was so smart, she helped me so much." To hear them speak of her impact on their lives, you would have thought she was the first woman to orbit in space.


The wonderful thing about our mom is that not only did she cheer on the Stewart Co. Rebels, but she was personal cheerleader, advice lender, and a positive reinforcement to everyone she knew, especially her three daughters and now her granddaughter. As her children, we blessedly were the direct recipients of these accolades. She has always looked for the best in people, never allowed us to gossip and always stressed to us to be the bigger person, to take the high road in life.

Words cannot even speak of the sacrifices she made for us before and after our father left - but she she took the high road, did not become bitter, remained beautiful, fun and entered the workforce. She excelled at every position she accepted. She never met a pair of high heels she didn't like. She met the career of her dreams when she became a real estate agent. It was the perfect fit for her positive personality, her intelligence and her cheerleader personality. We began calling her cyber-mom when her prowess on the computer became evident.


After Granddaddy died, her sweet mother remained at home growing even prouder and even getting our mom a few real estate clients. When I got married, it was she who walked me down the aisle.

What I'm trying to say in this post but taking too long to get there is that I understand now and am trying to be forgiving when the cheerleader has a bad day. Always expecting her to be the positive one and cheer us on her way, it's hard for me when she is down. But I have to say now in light of being a divorced mother myself and forging onward each and every day for my daughter, I'll change places with you mom and give you a break. It's okay to have a bad day, a bad week, a bad month even, I will not give you the "pep talk". Mainly because I tried and it didn't work.

My sweet grandmother can no longer be the proud anchor for my mom that she once was so we try to fill her shoes not as a mother, but daughter anchors. I hope she'll use us and let us be her cheerleader for once.

When September Returns

Let the autumn leaves fall,

Let go, let go,
it's time to face the winter.

I miss you most

when the August skies

shine blue
the way your eyes do.

Let the brown leaves fall,
Let go, let go,
do not fear.

Spring - and love -
are so near.

I miss you Chris
when September returns,
for I'm always
thinking of you.

--SHK

Abyss Walking

Working at a medical center has its pluses and minuses. Every time I'm having a bad day, feeling sorry for myself, I simply walk across the courtyard of the medical plaza and I change my mind. You see everything you can imagine and things you never want to. The sick kids are the worst and the saddest have to be the folks hooked up to their IV poles dragging on a cigarette on the smoking porch.

My job entails tracking med school appointments and teaching hospital news, so from the clips I glean these headlines from I also read the reports on the latest research study. So I read the symptoms and do a lot of self-diagnosing - enough to be dangerous a doctor would probably say.


I've convinced that I have PMMD - a disorder that mainly effects me emotionally more than physically. Perhaps my male ob/gyn would laugh it off - but he has never sunk to the depths that I have - self-doubt, low self-worth, hostility, feeling unloved and unloveable and the hopeless blanket that weighs me down. It comes on quickly - something that normal wouldn't bother me makes me terribly irritable and I feel out of control. A simple comment is twisted and I inadvertently jump on an innocent person. Sometimes I panic, sometimes I can recognize it, but other times I feel as if an alien has invaded my body and I'm sure my family, friends and co-workers feel as if they have encountered a counter-culture sub-species. If my one gal pal isn't available to talk to I wait for her call to back because her calmness and patience with me seems to be the one thing that make me feel like I'm not crazy.

The dictionary defines an abyss, as "an immeasurably deep chasm, depth, or void." James Cameron even made a movie called "The Abyss" (pre-Titanic). An American nuclear submarine is attacked (during the cold war) and crashes underwater. A team of deep water divers from an oil rig are sent to examine it - what they encounter is terrifying. When I find myself in this bad place each month I feel as if I'm walking on the edge of an abyss that I could easily slip off of - but something holds me upright on the edge and when I'm there it is a very scary place to be in. When it's over I'm relieved, I feel safe.


Today, I felt the first breeze of fall on my face. It was a welcome touch but it also made me feel melancholy. Abyss walking only makes me want to disappear so no one will notice me. Make me invisible until I'm through feeling this way.

The Importance of Being Ernest

The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.

--Ernest Hemingway

I Have No One to Tell

I received two graded papers back yesterday from my summer masters course and I picked up the phone to call my sisters, my mom, my friends, but no one was home and to tell - "Hey, guess what I got an A" just seemed like I would be bragging. I realized on the drive home that I had no one to tell. No one really cared, but me anyway. A huge wave of loneliness hit me and knocked me down into the rough. There it was - I. Am. Alone. in the world with no partner to share my highs and lows. No one to share the events of the day with - to laugh about things or help shake things off.

It was a rough moment but I quickly got over it and thought - just sharing with myself should be good enough - am I doing this for these other people - no. Who then am I acheiving this for? Me and my daughter - so we both can have a brighter future. When I picked her up I told her my news. She said "That's good Mom" and that was it.

I briefly thought of another alone moment a few months back that I was proud of an alone moment that I thought would be tough but I got through just fine. Christmas Eve - putting the presents under the tree alone - when I finished and looked at the offering of gifts - I realized how hard it was the first time to do that by myself - this past Christmas I realized I was going to be okay and I am now - even if I have no one to tell of my triumphs or my disappointments in life. I'm going to be okay.

10 Chick Flick Movies I Love!

1. When Harry Met Sally - After watching this movie - I was gone! Sally was my hero - embarrassingly I even dressed like her and sported a similar hat for years to come and struggled not to be high maintenance when I thought I was low maintenance.

Fave quote-Harry Burns: I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.

2. Valley Girl - This was a chick flick but I didn't know it yet. I had never seen anything like it - I was kind of into punk and had visited one of my best friends in California and saw real Valley Girls and Boys up, close and personal. "I'll Melt With You" by Modern English will forever take me back to fall of 1983 when I met Chris for the first time.

Fave quote - Fred Bailey: [introducing himself to Julie and Stacey] Hi, I'm Fred. I like tacos and '71 Cabernet. My favorite color is magenta.

3. Gone With the Wind - This movie strikes at the heart of every girl and what it means to be Southern and a Southern belle at that. And always the Cause. In hind site I see I have followed in Scarlett's path and pined for years for a man who will never be in my grasp again and I've got to wake up and let him go once and for all before I miss out on some other special person. I love this scene because Scarlett wants to dance so bad and throws care to the wind that she should be in mourning.

Fave quote-Scarlett: Great balls of fire. Don't bother me anymore, and don't call me sugar.

4. Out of Africa - This movie told the story of an independent and powerful woman in her own right who fell in love with a great adventurer who would never put his love for freedom above her. The scene where Denys washes Karen's hair took my breath away - it was a necessity but such an intimate gesture. Oh to be loved and touched like that.

Fave quote-Karen Blixen: He even took the gramophone on safari. Three rifles, supplies for a month, and Mozart.

5. Proof of Life - Your husband gets kidnapped in a foreign country and Russell Crowe comes to save him. OMG - Forever cemented the fact that - yes, I want to have Russell Crow's love child. Based on a true story that ran in Vanity Fair, this story is beautifully shot amidst lush scenery and combines a chick flick with a tough guy, shoot-em up story. It also marked the return of David Caruso in a role that brought him back from obscurity.
Fave quotes-Alice Bowman: Just tell me you know how much you mean to me. Dino: Downtown One, what the f*ck was that?


6. Serendipity - This is really a buddy film/chick flick - where two guys are doing the same crazy things that two girlfriends would do to track down a lost love. I was hooked the moment John Cusack pointed out the constellation in Kate Beckinsale's freckles. This movie almost inspired me to read Love in the Time of Cholera.

Fave quotes-Dean [Lying on the grass with Jonathan, outside Sara's house] Maybe we're lying here because you don't wanna be standing somewhere else.

Looking for Mr. (W)right

This past weekend my grandmother's roommate passed on to the positive side of heaven and earth. It was sad to visit last night and notice how empty and still it was on her side of the room. The experience left my grandmother shaken and confused. When I arrived my grandmother was looking for her mother. I stayed with her a little longer than usual and even crawled into her bed and laid down with her. I hugged on her, loved on her and spoke in her ear to try and give her (and myself) some comfort.

It was a difficult decision my mother faced when placing Grandmother into this facility for her medical and day to day care. The first night I stayed with her and silently cried throughout the night listening to the sounds and seeing how the light fell into her room. She was safe here, but it was hard to leave her here without one of us present. The facility is clean and bright, the nursing staff is extremely professional, the aides respectful, positive and some are very loving to their patients. However, to borrow from Dorothy, "there's no place like home." On a personal level, it's difficult because from the moment you walk through the front door you are facing your own mortality.

My mom visits my grandmother every day. My sister comes from out of town and stays for weeks and spends entire days with her. My daughter and I visit her every Saturday and Sunday. We try to go for Bingo when she feels like playing or afternoon church services on Sunday.

In this weekly ritual, we have inadvertently gotten to know some of the other residents. There is the stripper at the end of one hall - she strips in the doorway of her room every night at 7:00pm. It is said she targets the thirtysomething male charge nurse who works the weekend shift. There is a klepto - who steals shoes, stuffed animals, candy bars, mardi gras beads and newspapers and only she knows what else. I guess it gives her a little bit of power in the world she lives in. There are also those who count cards at Bingo and will vehemently complain if they feel someone has an unfair advantage. In all fairness, my grandmother is a butt pincher. It's her way of showing affection to those she cares abouts (I inherited this habit from her). We tried to warn the staff and luckily they laugh and do not take offense. And then there are those who are sadly lost in their own world.

The week my grandmother arrived, a sweet gentleman was stationed across the hall from her room. He introduced himself as Arthur Wright and proudly congratulated us "You have finally found Mr. (W)right." He shook our hands and told us that he would check on Grandmother for us. We were tickled to say the least. The next week when we visited I couldn't wait to greet him "Hi, Mr. Wright - I finally found you!" And he looked at me with an unsure almost angry gaze like he had never seen me before. When he dawned on me that he didn't remember our conversation I realized that not only was he not Mr. Right, but that he wouldn't be checking on Grandmother either.

One day he was confused and asked me to help him find the restroom, I pointed him in the direction of his room and he said "No, that's the ladies restroom, I can't go in there." An aide overheard us and gently guided him into his room. The next visit I spotted a huge sign on his bathroom door - with a drawing of a toilet and the words "BATHROOM HERE" displayed in large letters. Another day, he got mom to verify the name on the door was his wife's name because he said the woman in the bed was too old to be his wife and showed mom the photo of young Mrs. Wright in her 20s. Other days, he was back in the hall welcoming us and reminding us that if we needed anything, we had found Mr. Right - he could help us on our way.

His forgetfulness prepared us for the days when Grandmother would endure the same confusion. It may have really worried me if it didn't provide some comfort to me that at least she wasn't the only one - in a sense they were all on the same journey together.

Shortly after, I had a conversation with my mom and some friends about a list of characteristics that I would prefer if I were to start dating again. That's easy I told them "Kindness has to be at the top of the list - outgoing, fun, smart, financially stable, spiritual, everything else is just icing on the proverbial cake." "So," one of my friends replied, "you are looking for Mr. Right?" "No, not quite," I said, "because I've met the Mr. (W)right and he's down at the nursing home and can't find the bathroom. Mr. Right is just a figment of the female imagination."

On a weeknight visit to see Grandmother, I noticed Mr. Wright was not out in the hall, but strangely his wife, Sallie, whom I had never seen out of her hospital bed was up walking around their room. Mr. Wright looked like he had fallen back on the bed - he was just laying there taking a nap. It's like their energy sources had swapped bodies.

We visited Grandmother and as I came out I noticed he was still in the same position. As I approached the nursing station to tell them a team of EMT's passed me in the hall and turned down the hall towards Grandmother's room. I grabbed my daughter's hand and rushed back to Grandmother. I knew that she was okay, but I had to go back to visually check on him. They had stopped at his room and were checking his vitals. We gave Grandmother one last kiss, worriedly glanced into his room and left.

I called my mom from the car crying. I knew something was wrong with sweet Mr. Wright. I told her how worried I was about him. I was surprised at the tears streaming across my cheeks, I never dreamed that I would get so attached to him or any of these people. But I was. I couldn't stop thinking about the first night I met him. How great would it be to walk up to a guy and him say "Congratulations, you have met Mr. Right..." if only it could be so easy.

My mom called me the next day with the news, Mr. Wright had died. He probably already had passed to that positive side of heaven and earth when I saw him laying back on his bed. I sure hope it was peaceful. I said a silent prayer and just quickly thanked God for allowing me the chance to meet Mr. (W)right - if only briefly. The stripper, the klepto, the butt pincher, the bingo police and the lost who live in that space all hold their special places in my heart.

Every weekend when I visit Grandmother, I can't help but picture him standing stationed just across the hall outside her door. And thanks to this sweet man who could never remember our names, he gave me a hope I can't describe just because he verbalized that maybe it could be possible. Thanks to him I will never stop looking for the outstreched hand of Mr. Right.

A giant plague of frogs follow me wherever I go.

Listen carefully… you’ll hear the thunder of their hops…

-- M.D.

And in the end it's not the years in your life that count.

It's the life in your years.

-- Abraham Lincoln

Viva Las Vegas, Part I

Yes, I actually heard this song in Vegas - how appropro I thought as I walked towards the dancing waters of the Bellagio Resort and Casino - Elvis sang me over the pedistrian bridge while the mist of the water cooled the stiff, hot night air.

One of my resolutions for the year 2007 was to go to Vegas for my 40th birthday. My new BFF Tiffany helped to not only make this a reality, but a great trip. We didn't get wild. We didn't dance on any tables. However, two moms disappeared in the desert for a few days, emerged on the strip and stayed up all night and slept all day. We didn't have to cook dinner (we only ate two meals while we were out there), wash clothes and didn't have to take care of anyone but ourselves. It was a great escape with a great friend and a great way to celebrate turning 40.

Our trip began with teary daughters not wanting to send their moms off without them - it tugged at both of our hearts and for me, it was especially hard - I had never left my daughter to go on a trip - for me - without her. Heartstrings were taut with guilt and having to let go a little. But we put on our shades and drove towards BNA.

The plane ride was LONNGGG but we met Vicky from Virginia - who spilled Jack Daniels on her jeans three rows back - and we heard about it all across the Midwest skies. Her husband was "invited" to a poker tournament in Vegas - he was a "professional poker player" (aren't they all) while Vicky supports them working in the E.R. at a Richmond hospital. She found out 1) it was my birthday and 2) I was the only other person drinking on the way to McCarran and then 3) a Crown and Coke arrived courtesy of the poker playing house-husband. When I looked back to thank them - they were making out - Grosser than Gross! We promised we would look her up at Harrah's (yeah right) and glimpsed the lights from the Las Vegas strip from our window to the world on the plane.

The first thing we saw after we hopped off the plane were slot machines in the gate area of the airport. It was a surreal experience. The luggage area was a trip - the huge ads for the Aussie "Thunder From Down Under" greeted us not to be confused with the Outback Steakhouse dessert of the same name (except it's chocolate-enough said!)... .

I loved seeing all the cheetah spotted luggage on the baggage conveyors and the collectors of said luggage who thought they were true pussycat dolls. At another row a California surfer dude was picking up the bright red "American Tourister" suitcase he must have borrowed from his grandmother. It was 11:00 when we landed and baggage claim was as happening as any casino on the strip for a Wednesday night...

South on Hillsboro Road

The collapse of my marriage was a scary time. I don't really remember at times driving from Point A to B. I had so much weighing me down, so many worries, so much pain and sadness. I didn't know where my our lives were heading and I have never felt so lost and alone. I would be overwhelmed by the fact that all my daughter had to get her through life was simply me. The thought paralyzed me at times.

I turned to my mother for refuge and we moved in with her for a brief time. To get to her house was a one shot deal south down Hillsboro Road. I would drive out of the Vanderbilt enclave, cross I-440, run the gauntlet of traffic through afternoon rush hour of Green Hills, meander through Forest Hills and make a brief appearance in Brentwood as I crossed Old Hickory Blvd. Passing the Forest Hills Baptist Church meant I was almost home free from all the issues chasing me. So many times I would pass the sign marking the Williamson County line and I would breathe a sigh of relief, I could escape into the lush, green hills of forest and fields and no one could find me.

Her neighborhood felt safe for me and I would retreat upstairs to the second floor and just "be" in one of her two guest rooms. I did this for months. We slowly began getting back out in the world, but I never ventured far from this radius off Hillsboro Road.

After a few months passed we moved to another area for a brief period of time - this time to the neighborhood I had grown up in. It still felt like home and I would do tours of the old high school stomping grounds, take my daughter to the park I used to play in and I rekindled some old friendships and visited with a lot of my friends' moms that I ran into in the grocery store. I even drove by the home of my high school sweetheart a time or two for the comfort it gave me. I came to realize that I had outgrown this part of town and moved on.

I quickly found my way back down Hillsboro and bought a home of my own and settled us in a spot close to my mom. At the close of each work day, I brighten when my commute takes me past the sign announcing my entry into Williamson County. I say my prayers regularly and give thanks for our safe home, school and "village" as my little one calls it. I rarely drive the interstates anymore - I have no reason to - going South on Hillsboro Road leads me to all the places I need to go - including the most important place - home.

Dad, Thanks for the Bird House

I can't avoid thinking of our dad when June rolls around - his birthday is this month and of course, the Father's Day golf and fishing displays, greeting card aisles and television commericals scream out out for notice in the weeks preceding both of these events. The past few weeks have made me wince when the event was brought to the surface. And not just because our father is no longer around to receive the obligatory card either.

In the past when I would read the verse on the cards, I resented that the lovey-dovey lines about the dad always there for you - words not applicable to the type of relationship we shared.

I always wanted to ask Hallmark if there is a card that says - "Hey dad, Mom did a helluva job raising us all by herself - we turned out great in spite of you being voluntarily absent from our home. Aren't you proud?? Happy Father's Day" ??? There are many other angry, bitter, and sarcastic questions that could easily be posed but I'll stop with this one - it all comes down to underscore this same point.

It wasn't until I became a parent that I realized the mistakes that parents make aren't on purpose - it's a learn as you go process. That life is full of decisions and you don't always make the right choice. As a parent your strengths and weaknesses seemed magnified in the eyes of your child - you would rather die than let them down - however, your child will overlook them just to be loved by you. Maybe our father thought his transgressions were so great that they were unforgivable.

On the other side - just to be in our father's presence meant the world to me - when he showed up for the birth of my daughter and came to see her after the surgery she had as an infant - his absences at my dance recitals, performances at football games, car wrecks, heartaches, awards night and even at my wedding were instantly forgiven.

Every time I make a mistake in a life choice that inadversely affects my daughter - I wish I would have had the chance to talk about this point with my dad as an adult, but I never reached that level in our relationship. I never had the chance because it was hard for me to talk to him without reverting back to that little girl afraid of her father and I would always break down and cry.

The night we came home from the hospital and stood over her on her changing table the enormity of the responsibility of having a child hit me like a seismic wave. My parents did this three times - oh my gosh - how did they do it?

Even though my father's absence in my life was hard to live with - I knew he was out there on the periphery - if I had a need - I think he would have come through for me. I kept telling myself because his father died when he was so young maybe he just didn't know how. He had to be father figure to his three sisters - when his three daughters came around - maybe he was just tired of it all and knew under the tutelage of our mother - that we would survive it somehow.

A few years before he died, I was walking in my backyard in Kingston Springs and I heard an unfamiliar noises - silent-like screams and peeps and little mini-hubbub going on. Hanging from a tree was a birdhouse he had given me and it was filled with the sounds of a young little family - three little birds ready to eat - waiting for their parents to come back to the nest. A beautiful blue-jay approached and warned me away (dive bombed me more like) - I quickly backed off as to not invade the sanctuary of their home and watched from our deck as the parents flew back and forth bringing sustenance to their little babies.

The birdhouse was one that he had built - one of the few gifts I had from him at my home - and I cherished it. I was thrilled that the birds had finally made a home in it, so I picked up the phone and called him and told him how fitting it was that the day was Father's Day - and the little bird family was literally thriving in a house. Just like my sisters and I thrived in the house built by our parents - the baby birds had shelter, they had food, they had love and protection -and they were gonna be just fine.

Not Ready for Swimsuit Season

I was recently pushed into the deep end of the dating pool by a beloved friend long before I was ready for it. After I pulled myself back out of the cold water - I realized that it was both surprising and fun to be pushed in and not only that I found that it was actually quite refreshing... . That first experience over and behind me, however, has led me to decide that wading in slowly is much, much better. Is anytime ever a good time to start back? Probably not. Am I ever going to be ready to pushed into the pool?

I haven't done this in 15 years. And although I enjoyed my dating years when I was younger I don't know how to do this anymore. At this point in my life I always simply envisioned myself just being "mom" - my central and proudest role in life to date. Not "mom" going out on dates, giggling on the phone late at night, hoping to get an email in my inbox and daydreaming of where this could lead or even worse the terrible self-recrimination we put ourselves through and second guessing myself by secretly wishing I looked younger and was actually getting invited out on dates and should I be doing this at all?

Not dating at all just solved these afore mentioned problems because you don't have to deal with it - being a harmless flirt is so much more fun and less problematic.

So my first plunge - albeit shocking and exciting and a little letdown now that it is over before it really got started is behind me. I guess I'm kind of relieved.

I can still do this - the old chops are still there - however, it is not like riding a bike cliche - pick up where you left off ... and so I find myself feeling like an alien? Who is this person inside my skin? I don't know her. It feels "pizarre" as my little one would say. These feelings have lain dormant I now do not know what to do with them.

Some of the feelings feel the same, but some are different. I'm working out of a whole different SOP manual than I used to now that I'm a mom and it's throwing me off my dating game.

It's like standing in the dressing room trying on different swimsuits and hating looking in the mirror - you're looking for the right style that best fits your body shape, but after much self-analyzing you finally have to throw your hands up and say - I just need something suitable to swim in... . I guess dating is going to be like that now - be yourself, have fun and realize that nothing lasts forever, it's just swimsuit season - being thrown in the pool every now and then just simply swimming is not so bad.

Beginnings are scary.

Endings are usually sad.

But it's the Middle that counts the most.

-- Hope Floats

Lost and Found at the Met

A recent Saturday found me with a day in Connecticut all to myself. Been there, done that...I needed to extricate myself out of Connecticut for my daughter was attending her father's wedding. I thought putting myself as far away from the trainwreck unfolding might be the best thing, because for whatever reason I found myself slightly humilated at the spectacle he was creating on his third trip to the altar.

I had thought of more than a few of my New England friends to join me on this day, but it was something I needed to do by myself. A certain, independent rite of passage and most certainly, a great adventure for any Southern Girl and to do it alone was like bungee jumping. I took a deep breath and made my decision. I was going to the city via the train and visit the new Greek and Roman Gallery at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. And in retrospect, I couldn't have spent a more fabulous day to get my mind off of the events unfolding.

I woke up, had a fabulous cup of coffee, borrowed a car and drove an hour over the NY state line to the MetroNorth Station in Katonah. The train station was the crossroads of the city ... quaint coffee shops, stationers, bistros, funky and expensive boutiques lined the picturesque town where Martha Stewart served her in-home sentence.

Taking the train into Grand Central was a breeze. I didn't play tourist too much, after arriving I got a quick visual of my surroundings, information desk, restrooms, foodcourt, newstand and headed outside to the taxi stand. The maize colored cabs streamed through the streets, I looked up and saw the Chrysler building and my heart really did skip a beat - I had arrived safely in Manhattan.

Should I go to the Empire State building? Should I walk down Madison Avenue? No, come back when you can share it with Katie and play tourist then - stick to your plan, I told myself, don't get overwhelmed. My turn came quickly in the cab stand, my senses were on sharp alert as I listened to the different dialects and didn't smell that landlocked city smell. The day was bright and the breeze was light. I humped in and gave the address - followed the street signs on the pocket sized map in my hand.

We whizzed through the city streets, I got tickled at the back and forth video-like game the cabs played with each other. I tried to glimpse down corridors passing by in blur and see the neighborhood flavor but before I could take in too much we had arrived. I was deposited at the steps of the Met paid my fare and stepped out into the bright day. I quickly gobbled down a hot dog from a bona fide street vendor and had to make myself sit down and take it all in. I did it. I HAD arrived. I tried to look cool and not appear to be too dumb-founded and act like Gomer Pyle - well, Gol-ol-ly, I was in NEW YORK CITY (channeling both Gomer and the salsa commerical at the same time here).

People-watching on the concrete steps was something I could have done all day, but galleries of famous and not so famous art awaited me. I had referenced a few pieces from this new exhibit in my research paper I had turned in the week before and presented some images of the collection in a graduate study presentation. I had discovered the new and improved collection from the NY Times that inadvertently sat on my desk for days, so I was extremely exciting about seeing it in person.

The first thing I noticed upon walking into the Grand Hall was that the place was buzzing. People checking bags, waiting on friends, talking on cells, inquiring minds at the information desk lent their voices to the white noise that echoed off of the arched ceiling.

After fumbling around at the information desk and audio tour station, I made it to the Greek Gallery right away - I wanted time to enjoy the entire collection. I got chills seeing some of the pieces we had only viewed in various multimedia collections. The funerary vases from the Geometric period were so much larger in life than I had expected. The expressions on the grave steles were so somber and personal that up close. I loved wandering from piece to piece and marveling that the works of a stonemason lived on these many centuries past.

Finally, I saw the many images of the Greek Gods - Herakles, Aphrodite, and the mighty Zeus. I may as well climbed Mt. Olympus than the steps of the Met.

Ascending to the 2nd floor, I found myself viewing the 19th century & European collections. Matisse, Monet and Van Gogh - nothing compares to seeing them in person. I wandered back down in search of the elevator I kept appearing at the front of this gate in the Medieval collection...

Like Dennis the Menace in the Family Circus comic strip, no matter where I wandered or followed the map or way-finding directions, I ended up back in front of this map, if I had redpaint on my feet they would have criss-crossed and landed at a big X. In a way I was lost and kept coming back at this crossroad. If I went to the left, right or went through it - somehow, I got turned around and landed at the open gates.... it was a minor frustration but resulted in showing me some of the other galleries that didn't particularly interest me. If not for standing in front of the gates and letting fate play it's course I would have missed some spectacular pieces.

Highlights of the day included the infamous Jackson Pollack piece, sculpture Gallery, the China exhibit, Egyptian tombs, and the rooftop garden...

The rooftop was particular exciting - seeing the West Side of Central Park stretch out across the vastness of the green space caused me to pause and realized I had never seen this part of NYC.

I wandered a bit more - sometimes I would sit and look at the details - seeing Washington Cross the Delaware was impressive and I appreciated the art students scattered throughout the gallery making notes and sketching away. What a wonderful classroom this turned out to be for all of us visiting that day. I found that I learned a lot about myself on this day as well.

Upon leaving I browsed in the gift shop but couldn't find anything that came close to representing the precious hours I had spent behind the Ionic columns of the museum's facade. I descended the steps, bought a kitchsy t-shirt for my girl and jumped in a cab & headed to Serendipity III.

I wanted to catch the Ford Escape Cab that looks like our car but couldn't get myself aligned correctly in the cab stand line. After assurances from my English speaking cab driver that I would be able to get a cab on this street, I jumped out to find a yound crowd gathered outside. The wait at Serendipity was 2 hours long - "Not bad," chirped a 20something from Long Island-probably drawn to the place like many - since it had become famous on the silver screen.

I couldn't wait that long - I went out to the curb and threw my hand in the air and yelled "Taxi" and tried to sound as commanding as possible, OMG - I actually hailed a cab all by myself!! One shrieked to a stop at my feet - wow - what power! I jumped in and headed back to Grand Central - tickled with myself - I longed to buy from the street vendors but played it safe and just headed back to my original destination.

Since this cab driver did not speak English - I kept my thoughts to myself - and I realized that I had been voicing an internal conversation with myself all day. I had really enjoyed spending the day with myself and doing something that in another time I would have been told that it wouldn't have been possible.

Back at Grand Central, I puttered around in the news stand - loving being surrounded by all those books, magazines and newspaper headlines, the words caught my attention and I circled the shop and read everything - downstairs I replaced the Frrozen Hot Chocolate craving with an even better piece of NY cheesecake. The girls behind the counter assured me I could go get a Starbucks and make my train in 12 minutes. "We told you," they laughed as I whizzed by 6 minutes later.

Heading northbound on the Harlem line, I relaxed and watch the stops roll by. I saw cars waiting for their loved ones to embark from the train, the dinner hour in full swing at cafes that lined the city centers and finally the quaintness of Katonah came into view. I was relieved to have found my way back safely. And not just to my destination either.

Writing's Power to Heal

Writing's power to heal lies not in pen and paper, but in the mind of the writer.

--APA

Sharing our stories can also be a means of healing. Grief and loss may isolate us, and anger may alienate us. Shared with others, these emotions can be powerfully uniting, as we see that we are not alone, and realize that others weep with us.

--Susan Wittig Albert


It's been a year since I started this blog. I started writing again so I could do something positive with all the emotions I had inside my mind. To try and figure them out so to speak. The address I haven't publicized, but rather shared with only a chosen few...putting posts out when the mood would strike me - not blogging for the sake of blogging but just using it when I needed to examine something and see where it was going - why I was thinking about it or rather trying to decipher some confusing feelings and dreams.

For a time I couldn't write - the words simply would not form for me like they used to - but time is a powerful thing and a year ago I was able to let the keyboard sing again. Like most, I worry about my writing and if I will be judged for what I put down on paper. However, this format enables me to let my thoughts go in an anonymous world and in doing so it has saved a part of me and gave part of me back to myself. Finally I can love the giver - myself.

My writing has allowed me to finally get mad at my ex-husband! It has allowed me to walk on a hiking trail I traveled on long ago. It has allowed me to remember and cherish a special person I love deeply and have lost touch with... It has allowed me to love my old self and build a new self. It has allowed me to define the new space I live in...realizing that it's a good space after all.

This weekend I dreamed I was riding on a train in a antique passenger car... I knew my fellow passengers but I didn't know them...We were all content to be headed in the direction we were going. After I opened my eyes and going throughout the day, I realized that these dream was telling me that my life is heading in the right direction. I had been off-track for a while, but now I'm back on the right course. It is the greatest feeling to realize this feeling of contentment.

What a difference a year has made for me - I'm enrolled in a Master's Program and yes, I have the confidence finally to hold my head up and be a Single Parent (after calling everyone and checking in with everyone else first - yes it's okay, okay). I have a healthy, terrific, smiling, singing, skipping daughter who loves me and my mom and sisters are absolutely fabulous. And my friends, my chosen family - the ones I call on via a rotation basis so too many crisises doesn't overwhelm just one - well, there's not adequate words to describe the roll they have played in helping me build back my live and my self-confidence. They love me for me. They are there for me for my tearful "have to go sit in the car and cry" lunches and are there to laugh and call to make sure I'm watching our favorite team in the NCAA Sweet Sixteen this year.

A month and a half ago life was finally able to break through and make me realize how blessed I am with the life I have re-built and since that day the peace that I have prayed for so long has been present.

So now without my thoughts being clouded by worry I can continue observing things in life that touch me and record them here - my very special healing space.

Home Improvement

I began tackling another room makeover project - with great intentions I selected paint colors and began shopping for new fabrics to redo my bedroom. With a Saturday free, I made the hasty decision to remove the wallpaper in the master bath and paint the bathroom first. I thought it should only take what an afternoon?

I peeled wallpaper for 10 hours over the past weekend. The wallpaper is winning - half of it is still up on the walls, my back is shot and my fingernails still have sticky paste lodged underneath. That's what I get for thinking I would tackle the easiest job first. My oversized master bedroom would be painted by now.

It's amazing the inner dialog you carry on with yourself as you spend that many hours in one of the most utilized rooms of your home. I listened to music. Sang old songs to myself. Thanked myself for thanking myself and talked to the putty knife and magic wallpaper scrapper more times than I care to admit.

Earlier in this online journal I reflected on a lot of self-discovery in Putting on the Primer where I worked on a similar wallpaper removal project in my kitchen. I finished that project that had two stubborn layers of wallpaper (they were much easier) so I know I can do this. I couldn't help but remember the self-reflection that came with that project. This one is no different. So much has happened on my personal journey since then...

While I stripped wallpaper of less than a half inch in length from the wall - I grew frustrated about how long it was taking me - I had given up my weekend for this?!? As I sprayed and sprayed the solution on the wall and scrapped and scrapped I related this act to how long it takes to peel back any layers and see what's underneath. And when you do peel back one layer - sometimes you are only scratching the surface.

Recently, I stumbled upon a peaceful place in my post-divorce life. Days have passed when I don't think about attorney's, court or even attorney's fees. The familiar feeling I have walked around with like air has been let out of a balloon has momentarily left me. Am I finally getting over this?

The spring air has brought me back to the night four years ago when I didn't sleep and knew that when I left my home the next morning it would tragically be my last night there in the home & life that I cherished and loved.

In my conversation with self - I have pondered why I took this route and didn't do the easiest room first. I certainly didn't follow the path of least resistance. Sometimes that's a hard road NOT to take. I tried that in my marriage and it backfired on me.

I have slowly and steadily worked to refortify the foundation that crumbled underneath me. I'm still building and reconstructing - that foundation that I'm now responsible for will remain a work in progress - because I have learned that nothing, not even the colors of the walls, stays the same.

Doughnuts for Dads, Daughters and Dachshunds

They had donuts for dads this morning at school... my daughter got upset and started crying last night saying "daddy hasn't come to anything since kindergarden" - I just let her cry while I held her and told her how much that I loved her hoping that it would ease her hurt a little bit (her dad moved 1,000 miles away four years ago). I told her that I was sure there were some dads who were out of town and couldn't be there and then other kids like her - but to be strong and she would have another special time with her dad.

Then we went to church and in kids and adult worship they had Aash Wednesday service. For me it was very reaffirming when the minister put the ashes on my forehead in the sign of the cross and said "In the name of Jesus Christ you are forgiven" - hearing those words I felt both a sense of spiritual and physical relief wash over me - and I was glad I had made the effort to go the service because the path I have had to take this past year has been both clear and confusing and I'm trying to just look ahead and not look back. When I picked her up from children's worship she had ashes on her forehead also and she was tickled that we both had them

So early this morning - I made a sign that said Doughnuts for Dachshunds - and our dachshund was cooperative and acted crazy - jumping on her owner and biting her toes to wake her up and running like a banshee under the bed and into the bathroom at breakneck speed (at least for a dachshund okay)...and wouldn't stop until she got a mini doughnut...and that chilled the crazy pooch out by the time we left for the day ... so I walked my daughter into school in the midst of all those fathers and said I was going to storm into the principal's office and ask why they couldn't have "Moonpies for Moms" and she loved that and held my hand and was swinging it. So we circumvented the doughnut event and I kept us busy with a classroom project I am assisting with for Read Across America and got her to help me with a tape measure - then we saw a classmate and his dad from the beach this summer and the dad took one look at her instantly caught on and was so wonderful to talk to her about their moonlit hunt for crabs on the beach at night and she was beaming. Internally, I said a silent thank you to the dad - it meant so much to me.

My mom is taking her to her favorite doughnut shop, The Donut Den, this afternoon for a special doughfilled treat.

However, tomorrow is another day - Doughnuts for Dads P - Z. For now I'm taking one moment at a time and hoping that in the morning a crazy dachshund will provide some more much needed licks, laughs and pleas for doughnuts.