Inspiration in Everyday Things

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Impossible

This is my favorite doorway in the history of doorways.  The stone above the door reads, “Impossible is Un American”—and it’s true!

This particular doorway is attached to an old high school building, long neglected by the school district, now being restored by the city.  They are having to make some adjustments to the building to make it useful again.  It’s future is as a fine arts center.

Strictly speaking, not a restoration.

Strictly speaking, that is just fine with me.  The alternatives were to tear it down, or just leave it sitting, sad and neglected, until it fell down.  I can’t wait to see it when they are done with the inside.  Buildings should be useful, don’t you think?

I think about those long ago high school students passing in and out through this doorway as they get their foundation in life.  Did they carry this message with them to the sports field?  To the classroom or laboratory?  To their future oil and gas jobs Downtown?  Or maybe to overseas destinations during WWII?  Do they carry it with them still?

My inspiration?  Do I pass this message along to all the little ones I encounter?  The future mathematicians, writers, business peoples, convicts, mothers and fathers, and caretakers of the country?  Maybe I need to think about that.

Another door on the same building reads, “Ever Onward”.  Magical, is it not?


Alone Time

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What is it about being a wife and mother that makes “alone time” a guilty pleasure?  I spend my evenings and weekends in the sphere of the husband, who I adore.  I get next to nothing done.  I am all kinds of productive the moment he leaves the house.  I do not understand.

It’s not that the man bugs me or makes demands.  It’s just that when he is home, I live on the couch.  He doesn’t.  The man is ALWAYS busy.  Always working.  Always productive.

I don’t understand why I do this.

This year his Spring Break (and that of the offspring) was the week before mine.  One full week alone!  The Spring Break of Me!

I did yard work, cleaned the garage, lunched with friends, planted a lemon tree…all because I was alone.

Buckle up, Lemon Tree!

Buckle up, Lemon Tree!

I remember to blog when I am alone.  I enjoy it.

I feel guilty.  Like I must not love my family in the way I am supposed to.  I miss them.  If given the opportunity, I’d join them where they are.  I just seriously loved The Spring Break of Me, and hope I get to do it again sometime.


Ooops….I Forgot I Blogged…

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My internal editor has been far too efficient.  There are so many things I’d like to say…but probably shouldn’t.  Therefore, silence.

I will say this…I have a new coworker who shares my office suite* and who is quite delightful.  She can quote old movies.  She has lived EVERYWHERE.  But most importantly, she shares my opinion that Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire are fabulous and wonderful.  She can stay.

Mr. Darcy has moved away.  I’m too sad to discuss it.

All the pets are now microchipped so that I can be classified as a responsible pet owner.

My Starbucks reward card has now been updated to “GOLD”.  I’m very proud.  I keep those homedogs in business!

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*Office suite: what I have started calling the odd shaped collection of interconnected rooms that make up my office area.  I find it adds just that little touch of class.



Excitement on a Saturday Evening

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“What do you want to do?” he asks, wanting me to decide how the evening will go.  It’s not because he puts my entertainment first.  No.  It’s because he cannot think of anything to do himself.

I seem to always be tired.  Why am I so reluctant to tell him I want to do nothing?  I want only to sit on the couch in my jammies, watching Harry Potter movies, avoiding housework, and sharing the room with him.

That’s all.  I have simple needs.

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Mr. Darcy.  He understands, even if the husband does not.  It’s cat wisdom.





On Aging….

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My son is sixteen today.  I feel very accomplished.

I thought, now he has achieved this milestone, that I would somehow feel older.  The honest truth is- I don’t.  I’m rapidly heading toward the “Over the Hill” birthday, and yet I still feel like an awkward and nerdy sixteen-year-old myself.  Does that ever go away?  The pimples never did, despite everyone saying they would.  I can admit this in public, because we all know it’s true.

The way I used to fret over this one freakish hair that sometimes grew on my chin.  Pfffft.  I was so naive.

All of this sounds depressing, but I’m not depressed at all.  I’m so proud, for whatever reason, I feel like I should be handed some sort of award.  Look at me!  Look at what I’ve done!  This overshadows the pride I felt the day he was born…and that was some crazy pride because he was the cutest baby that ever was.

I am now mother to a man.  A man who is taller than I am.  Who drives.  Who flies.  Who volunteers.  Who makes tacos.  Who thinks and plans more about his future than I EVER did.

If only this little man did his homework more consistently….but we will work on that!


Regrets

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A random teacher I used to work with started following me on Twitter. Suddenly all the steps I took to never use personally identifiable information, pictures, etc. was made a waste of time. Twitter had a link to the blog, to the Instagram, to my safe and private life that wasn’t at all private.  What if she told somebody I know in real life? What if, horrors, they read something I wrote…found out who I really am?

I’ll admit, I panicked. In a moment my entire life of social media was deleted. I felt better for a few weeks. Now, inevitably, I am sorry.

The Great Deletion, as I will regretfully remember it, did lead to some reflection on my part.  Never a bad thing.  I do not need Twitter in my life.  Instagram is equally as useless.  Pinterest?  Maybe I’ll keep that one thing.  What I really want is to be heard, but not heard.  I know there are some who will find that statement to be ridiculous.  I agree.  It is ridiculous.  It is not ridiculous.  It is what it is, and it isn’t going to change.

I will blog if I want to.  I will decorate the blog with pictures of my dog and cats, with pink, with fluff.  I will not be sorry.

Let’s begin…I’d like to introduce you to my constant and faithful companion, Emma. She informs me it is time to go clean the kitchen.  She is right.

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