It's Just Sunday...

I'm not a big fan of Valentine's Day. It's not because I'm single. I've never been a fan - not when I was a kid, not when I was part of a dating couple, not when I was married.

It's partly because of the color scheme.

Pink and red together? Make me want to hurl. 

See? Blech! My stomach gets upset just looking at it. 

It's also partly because so many people wig out about the gifty part... must give the perfect gift... must get the perfect gift... 

Me? I was happy if I got a separate Valentine's Day present and birthday present (I was born on the 15th). 

It also drives me absolutely nuts that a lot of people feel like failures if they're single on Valentine's Day. I suppose it's understandable, really... every television, magazine, and Internet ad from January to V-Day features loving couples giving each other romantic gifts and having romantic dinners (oh, and don't get me started on the fact that it's damn-near impossible to go out to dinner [just plain dinner] on V-Day). It's enough to give a single person (especially one who would like to be in a relationship) a serious inferiority complex. 

Pfffttt.

It's one day. It means nothing in the grand scheme of things. The way I feel about Valentine's Day is much the way I feel about Thanksgiving. I hate that such a production is made over being grateful on one day (a day followed by the greedfest that is Black Friday). If you're grateful, be grateful every day! Think about it, say it, show it. Every. Single. Day. And if you love someone - or several someones - tell them. Every day. Don't wait until Valentine's Day to give them a gift or send them flowers. Do it when you think about it. And show them, not by giving gifts, but by doing for them.

My kid forgets Mother's Day every year. Well, sometimes she doesn't actually forget it... she just lets it slide by without so much as a card (never mind a gift). It used to hurt my feelings. A lot. But then I realized that she gives me gifts every day. She does chores without me having to ask. If I do ask her to do something out of the ordinary, she does it, with no whining. She keeps up with her schoolwork and she follows all my rules. She makes my life so much easier than it might be, as a single mother. She sits at dinner nearly every night and tells me about everything going on in her life. She says thank you when I do for her. She makes me laugh. She makes life good. Every day. And I don't need a gift or a card on Mother's Day to know she loves me, to know she appreciates me. She shows me. 

All the time.

And that's what love is about. 

Every day.

So, my suggestion for whole Valentine's-celebrating world is this:

Don't sweat it.

Love your people up - all your people - all year. Make them feel special all year. Whisper (or shout!) your I love yous, give your gifts, make your special dinners all year. 

And if you're single? LOVE YOURSELF UP! All year. 

Don't you love how I give advice I haven't worked out how to manage myself yet? 

But I'm trying. 

Remember that you are a fully-formed human, all by yourself! That whole 'you complete me' thing? Bullshit. You complete you. Don't forget it!

Just because other people are in relationships (yay for them!) doesn't mean you have to be. It doesn't mean you matter less or that you're deficient in any way, Stop comparing yourself to other people. Damn it. Comparison is the thief of joy (I think Teddy Roosevelt said that. He was right).

Being single can be really cool. You know this. And if you don't know it, trust me. It's true. I wouldn't lie to you. Look here... you've got no one to answer to but you. You can do what you want, when you want, and you can eat whatever you want in bed without anyone whining about cracker crumbs. And? And? There is no snoring to keep you up. I swear to God, that was reason enough to get a divorce in my house. 

When you're single, you have time to heal yourself from past hurts. Of course, you have to do the work (which might not be easy), but that healing is so important. It's really, really important. So take the time. Do what you need to do to take care of you. 

Believe that you are fabulous. And if you don't believe it - if you're not in that place yet (and I so get not being in that place), start doing some things to get you there. Get up, get out, and do things that make you happy! Do things that challenge you! Do things that make you feel alive and accomplished and the very best version of you! 

And do all this stuff all year. For yourself... for the people you love... 

And next year? You'll be, like, "Valentine's Day? You mean Tuesday? Whatevs."

And maybe, just maybe, we can banish all things pink and red once and for all!

What's the Plan, Stan?

I like plans. I like thinking about them, making them, having them.

I do not always follow them, however. 

But that's not what this post is about.

When Life is stressful or worrisome, it helps to look forward. To plan something to look forward to. 

Summer vacation was the plan on tap this week.

Ryan and I go on week-long camping trips every summer. I've been taking her since she was two (the first couple of trips with her dad as a reluctant participant). We do this for a few reasons. First, the vacations of my childhood were taken in a tent and they were the very best days of my summers. I wanted to make sure Ryan had those experiences as well. Second, connecting with nature and being able to completely unplug for a week is good for the body, mind, and soul. Third, camping is much cheaper than staying in a hotel and, given our budget issues, it's really the only way we'd get any sort of decent holiday every year. 

We've camped from Maine to Florida and back to Maine, always staying in state or national parks. We learned the hard way that south is not the direction to go in August (and we always go in August, as we wait until swim season is over). One of our favorite parks is Anastasia State Park in St. Augustine, Florida, but after a trip during the hottest week of the entire year, we decided we would only ever travel north. 

Heatstroke is a bitch, yo.

For this summer, we considered Cape Cod (one of my favorite trips when I was a kid) and upstate New York (Finger Lakes and Thousand Lakes areas). In the end, we decided on Canada - La Mauricie National Park in Quebec province, to be specific. 

Halfway between Montreal and Quebec city, there are promising day-trips on the agenda, between hiking, paddling, biking, and generally lazing around on the banks of Lake Wapigazonke. 

That name seriously makes me giggle.

Wapigazonke.

Heh.

But look at this place... 

How fabulous is that view? 

I made the reservation and got a pleasant little surprise... the exchange rate! So the cost for seven nights in that majestic place is less than one night in a hotel at any vacation destination in the country. 

Can't beat it, baby!

In less than six (short) months, we'll be heading north, for a week of peace, quiet, and cool nights in a tent... 

(The orange one is mine.)

This week, when things were feeling less-than-stellar, it felt really good to put some plans into place... plans that will lead to something really good. 

Life is hard. It's peaks and valleys, ups and downs... and planning an up when you're in a down can make all the difference in the world.

This I know for sure.

And Here We Go Again...

Here we are again... at the last day of the year. It seems as though we were just here. I had one of those 'time flies' moments the other night, when I was talking to my cousin Chris, via Facebook. He's in England and when he was young, we corresponded quite a bit. It was really nice to catch up but I asked why he was in, talking to me at midnight on a Saturday, instead of being out with friends. He replied, "Because I'm 27, not 17." Twenty-SEVEN?! I wanted to cry. Time does indeed fly.

Last year was good in many ways... not-so-good in some others. Overall, though, I'd rate it a success... 

My girl is doing beautifully, in school and in the pool and in her happy social circle. There has been very, very little of the teen angst and attitude I was afraid of when she was younger (whew!). We have a great relationship and I wouldn't trade her for anything.

My fuzzy boy is getting older and I'm seeing him slow down, which is really hard. But he's pretty healthy and seems happy and he still looks forward to the park every single day (and pouts when he doesn't get to go). I'll keep taking him, as long as he smiles at me when I ask if he's ready.

At the end of last year, we added another fuzzy critter to our family - Rue (below, left). She was rescued by the friend of a friend, along with her 3 brothers, after having been thrown, caged, into a dumpster. She settled in beautifully... to be joined in the summer by Pip (below, right), another rescue.

Pip had been abandoned (we don't know how or why) by his mother when he was just a day or two old, so he was bottle-fed by his foster-family. As a result, he's pretty sure he's more human-baby than cat-baby... and we wouldn't have it any other way. He is pure, squishy rotten (oh, so, so rotten) and we love him like mad.

We are still loving our little cottage-that-feels-like-home, and we've continued to add our own little touches to it. It's likely I'll wind up moving after Ryan goes to university, as I don't think I'll be able to afford to stay then, but that's OK. I'm not so attached that I'll be devastated to move, but I'm quite happy here, now.

I turned 50 back in February, and two of the craziest, most wonderful friends a girl could ever have flew in from Chicago and San Diego to celebrate with me. And other friends, right here in Pigsknuckle, also made it an occasion to remember.

At the end of February I fulfilled a bucket list item by doing a 'polar plunge' (or an 'Arctic Dip', as the fundraiser was called) for charity, and plunged into an icy lake, along with about 40 other (crazy) people.

I finished up full year at the job I started in the summer of 2014 - a job I have come to really love. We're a small non-profit that works with people who have disabilities, which is terribly rewarding. And my coworkers? Beyond wonderful. It's a bright, happy place, where I feel welcome, useful, appreciated, and where I get to use and develop a myriad of talents. 

I came through chemo - not unscathed, certainly, but with little permanent damage. I faced a fear that had been hanging over my head since my cancer diagnosis, and let me tell you, that was big. The cancer is still there, but it's being held at bay (hopefully for a long time). Regardless, if/when treatment is necessary in the future, I know I can handle it, difficult and unpleasant as it may be. 

We had an amazing vacation this year - my girl (and her friend) and I. On the heels of cancer treatment, it was welcome and necessary... and better than imagined! 

I was also the lucky recipient, over and over and over this year, of acts of kindness, bestowed upon me by the wonderful, incredibly generous people in my life. I will never know what I have done to deserve them and their love, but I am so grateful. So grateful.

So, what's on tap for 2016? I'm not sure. I'll be sitting down tonight and setting some goals for the coming year. I know I've got another Arctic Dip happening in February... I'm hoping to knock another bucket list item out and jump out of an airplane in the spring or summer... I've got another fun camping vacation to plan... and a ticket to London to buy (for a wedding coming up in January 2017)... 

Other than that we'll see what the year brings... and abundance of good things, I'm hoping!

Happy New Year, my peeps! I hope your 2016 is your best year yet! xoxo

Merry Everything!

It's Christmas Eve here in Pigsknuckle... well, OK, it's Christmas Eve in a whole lot of places. I've done all I'm going to do for today (not all that much, really). Presents are wrapped, breakfast for tomorrow (for some of my family) is prepped, the house is... tidy. Ryan's up in her room watching a 'Dexter' marathon (because nothing says Happy Holidays like a serial killer doing his thing over and over and over and over...) and I'm actually about to settle on the sofa for a bit of BBC crime drama on Netflix myself.

Tonight is not like the Christmas Eves of my childhood... or my young adulthood... or even when Ryan was tiny and we'd come from NC to Pigsknuckle for the holiday.

Our family is different now. It's just the two of us, really. My dad, who was the glue that held us all together, died. My marriage ended. My younger brother and I pretty much (mutually, silently) decided we don't want to ever spend time together again. My extended family in the states are all dealing with their own struggles (and joys) and the trips up and down the eastern seaboard are just too difficult to make.

But it's all good.

Though there's a part of me that longs for family Christmases steeped in age-old, boisterous traditions, Ryan and I have our own smaller, newer, quieter traditions. We get our real tree and put up our happy decorations... we watch 'A Christmas Story' and 'It's a Wonderful Life'... I do my Solstice rituals... we open our gifts together (me first, always, at her insistence)... and we always go to the movies on Christmas Day and get take-out after (my favorite, favorite part of the entire day).

It's different than it was...

It's not what I imagined when I thought of the Christmases I'd create for my family...

But it's good.

My job, which I love, allows time for me to spend the week between Christmas and the New Year on vacation. My wallet doesn't allow for me to go anywhere, so I get to spend the week getting things in order for the calendar flip... I set some goals, I do some organizing, I read, I find some time to be creative.

It's good.

The holidays have never really been my thing. I wish they were. I wish I looked forward to them and thoroughly enjoyed them. But I find them hard. I find them too hectic, too filled with missing people, way too filled with obligation, too expensive, too much. But I've realized that I actually have the power to change that. I don't have to do more than I want to do.

And that's very good.

So, as I sit here at nearly 8pm on Christmas Eve, in sweats (not even showered), ready to watch old episodes of 'Wire in the Blood,' my dog and two kittens all curled around me, my daughter upstairs, engrossed in blood and guts and Showtime depravity, I'm content.

I'm content.

And that's so very good.

So Merry Everything, my peeps! Merry Everything and Happy Always! xoxo

Happy Solstice!

The Winter Solstice is my holiday in the season of holidays. The day we welcome back the light in the northern hemisphere has become, for me, the running start to the new year (where 'running' = 'slowing down and breathing deeply'). It's a day (or, really, an evening) when I turn inward... when I both reflect and look forward, when I express both gratitude and longing, when I dare to hope for a better future... and when I dare to believe that better future is possible.

It's also a day of list-making. 

I make four lists and, after I'm certain they're complete, I burn them, sending all my hopes, dreams, good wishes, and gratitude out into the Universe.

My first list is everything I'm grateful for. I love this list. It's a long one and it always (always) begins with Ryan and Sundance (and this year, with Rue and Pip, the fuzzy, feline additions to our family). It covers big things, like friends and family, work and home, as well as little things, like books and rain and the park and tea (OK, so none of those things are little). And let me tell you, when you list out everything you're grateful for - everything you love - you realize just how damned lucky you are.

The second list is things I wish for others. Of course, I always wish good things for the people I love and those I'm close to, but the real key to this list is that I must wish good things for people I don't love so much. Or even like. Or have a strong desire to smack upside the head regularly. Or people who have hurt me, in both small ways and big. Though you might think otherwise, it's, surprisingly, not-so-hard to do. It forces me to see people in a light other than the one that shines down on them in my day-to-day thoughts of them; it forces me to be kinder than I might want to be. And that? Is a good thing. 

My third list is things I want to let go of. I hold on to a fair bit of negativity, most of which is directed at myself. By writing down the things I want to release, I first have to acknowledge them directly. I have to admit that I hang on to ideas and beliefs that aren't good for me (and might not even be true). And then I have to give deliberate thought - effort - to not doing that anymore. And I've found something really interesting... even though I've written many of the same things down year after year, my grip on several of them is lessening. My belief is wavering. I'm actually letting them go. Slowly, yes, but Life is a process, no? 

The last list is things I want to invite into my life. This is a selfish list, but I think it's an important one. I think we get what we give, so when I write down the things I want (which are never, by the way, things), I also have to think about how I can put those very things out into the Universe. It forces me to be more mindful of what I'm doing and thinking. If I want good, I must do good. I must be good. 

My lists this year were full. They burned brightly and then they were gone, turned to ash and dust, and scattered to the stars. 

By the way, you were all there. In both my gratitude and my wishes for others lists. 

You always are.

Happy Solstice, my peeps. XOXO

Just Wednesday

2014 will be here in about five hours. I've sat here for a little while this evening, trying to figure out what I'm going to write for my last post of the year.

Yeah. I've got nothin'.

In the past, I've written about making resolutions... and breaking resolutions; about the optimism a new year brings; about setting goals and starting over.

But I've spent today feeling really down. I'm not sure why, really. I mean, I'm glad 2013 is almost over, as it's been a year. It's been a year I felt I simply survived. And sometimes? Barely survived.

That's something, though, right? Surviving, even barely so, is better than the alternative, certainly.

But for as glad as I might feel that this year is coming to a close, I realized that tomorrow? 2014? It's really just the day after today. The slate isn't magically wiped clean simply because the calendar flips. When the sun comes up in the morning, it will be 2014, yes... but it will also be 'just Wednesday.' The mess I left on my desk today won't disappear when the ball drops. I won't wake up tomorrow miraculously filled with energy. My lymph nodes will still be full of cancer, my bank account still filled with nothing, my ex-husband still a jerk, my bedroom still a mess.

Right?

Right.

But still...

It is a new year. And the optimist in me (and she's there, even when she's hiding under the blankets, refusing to be social) wants to believe that this new year will be different. She wants to believe that goals will be met, passions uncovered, dreams realized, love found.

Actually, she sort of has to believe it.

Otherwise she'd just give up.

And giving up is not acceptable.

So, tonight, I'm going to ring in the New Year with my dog. And I'm going to wake up tomorrow -- on 'just Wednesday' -- and take him to the park. I'm going to clean my messy bedroom. I'm going to write down a few goals I want to meet in the coming year and plans to reach them.

And I'm going to do my very best to keep my heart and mind open, all year, in order to recognize and realize those passions, dreams, and love when they come my way.

I'm going to keep my Word of the Year - light - in mind, always. I'm going to try to remember that all I have to do is turn the light on when things feel dark.

 And hopefully, when 2015 rolls around, I'll be able to say that I didn't simply survive 2014... I'll be able to say that I thrived.

And that? Might be the most important goal I've ever set... for a Wednesday.

Of Daughters and Backbones

Every year, my daughter asks me what I want for Christmas. I never know what to tell her. I rarely want anything specific and this year was no different.

Mostly I just want to get through the end of December, unscathed.

But that's not really in her price range.

This year, she's been doing a lot of cool projects for her fine arts class. I've liked them all... been impressed with them all. She doesn't consider herself a 'visual artist' (she got into the program in the creative writing strand), so seeing her step out of her comfort zone and produce really original, risky (for her) pieces of tangible, visible art has been kind of wonderful.

So I asked her to make something for me... something I could hang up and look at.

So she did.

The quote is:

"Never grow a wishbone, daughter, where your backbone ought to be." (Clementine Paddleford)

At first, I thought it an odd choice. After all, I'm her mother, not her daughter.

But as I read it, over and over and over, I was struck by how relevant it is to my life right now, in this very moment.

I asked her why she chose that quote to illustrate. She said she didn't really know, but she kept coming back to it... she was drawn to it...

It just seemed right, even if it didn't seem right.

I actually understood that.

Since she was little, I've tried to teach her that wishing for something isn't enough... if you want it, you have to work for it... you have to throw your back into it.

And she does.

But I don't. Not always.

And not lately, it seems.

There's been a lot of wishing going on... in my head and in my heart...

But I haven't been actively working toward what I'm wishing for.

I've been sitting at the bottom of the ladder instead of climbing toward the top.

See, I don't like ladders. They scare me. They give me jelly-knees and when I'm on them and look down, I feel sick.

But you know what?

I also haven't gotten to see the view from the top. Not lately. Not for quite a while.

So I'm going to hang this beautiful piece and I'm going to read it every day. I'm going to remember that wishing isn't enough... that to see the view, I have to climb the ladder.

I'm going to dust my backbone off and replace my wishbone with it... and I'm going to get to work.

Happy Holid...

Yeah. That.

I start Owl School on Thursday.

In the interim, have a nice holiday, peeps.

If Only

There is often just a minute sliver of time between a tragedy and Life going on as normal.

You hear it all the time... If only I'd waited... If only I'd gone... If only I hadn't... If only I had...

If only.

A fragment of a second can change a person's life - a family's life - forever.

Today?

Was not an If only day.

I didn't want to go to the mall today. I don't like the mall on a good day, but the day before Christmas Eve?

No.

Just no.

But I found out last night that my niece had requested something specific for Christmas and, though I'd already gotten her gift, I figured it would be better to get her what she wanted. So I grumbled my way through traffic and the parking lot and the crowds inside. I waited in line in the store and then trudged my way back out of the mall, to brave the mess again.

As I was approaching the crosswalk leading into the parking lot, I heard a woman behind me calling out to her son.

"Tyler! Stop! Now! Tyler, wait for me!"

I turned to see Tyler, about two-years-old, in a bright red jacket and blue jeans, running like mad toward me and the parking lot, giggling like crazy. His mother, looking frustrated, was chasing him, her arms full of bags.

Tyler and I both reached the curb and the crosswalk at the same time. There was an older man, sitting his car, waiting for us to cross. I waved to thank him and just as I was about to step into the walk, I caught a moving vehicle, to my left, in my peripheral vision.

In that minute sliver of time - in that fragment of a second - my mother's reflex kicked in and I grabbed for Tyler's hood with my right hand and, making contact with a handful of soft, quilted nylon, I yanked him back onto the curb. He landed on his little butt and squealed just as I felt the whoosh of air on my face from the large SUV as it barreled past, moving way too quickly for a parking lot on any day, let alone on a crazy-busy one.

Tyler's mother had dropped all her bags and reached us, and the man I later realized was Tyler's father sprinted past us, to catch up with the woman in the Escalade. The little guy's mother scooped him up with one arm and reached for me with the other, sandwiching the toddler, who had no idea what had nearly happened, between us.

I could see in her face, in that split second, every possibility... every Christmas without her precious little boy... every tear... every "If only."

My heart lurched into my throat and I could hardly speak.

She thanked me over and over and over. I assured her it was OK; it was just reflex, as I have a child of my own; I was just so glad he was OK and tragedy had been avoided.

I left that little family a few minutes later, after Tyler's dad came back to us and nearly shook my hand and arm right out of their sockets, thanking me, asking if there was anything they could do for me.

All I wanted to do was go home.

I wished them well and happy holidays and walked to my car. I turned the key in the ignition with a shaking hand... and then burst into tears.

And instead of If only, I thought, What if?

I didn't want to go to the mall today.

But in that minute sliver of time...

I so glad I did.

Whooped

I'm whooped.

I'm still not finished with my Christmas shopping. Every time I think I'm finished, I remember someone else...

I'm not a very good Christmas planner, apparently.

Or a very good shopper.

And I've been busy all weekend.

And I'll be busy tonight.

And I need a nap.

And I have no more words.

I'm sure I'll find some tomorrow.

Words, that is.

All bets are off on Christmas presents.

Happy Solstice!

Today is the Winter Solstice, also known as My Favorite Day of the Holiday Season. It's my Thanksgiving, my Christmas, and my New Year's Eve, all rolled into one. It's been a sacred day, honored and celebrated, for a long time -- long before any religion incorporated its time and traditions. It's the day I welcome back the sun and the day put all my hopes and fears and wishes and gratitude out into the Universe.

It's a day to reflect and to look forward.

It's very good day.

Every year, on the Solstice, I make lists. I like making lists. They give me a sense of purpose... and accomplishment... and direction.

My Solstice Lists are as follows:

• Things I'm thankful for
• Things I need to let go of
• Things I want for others
• Things I'd like to happen in the coming year

I put a lot of thought into them... a lot of care. They're detailed and specific... and general and sweeping.

After I'm sure I've gotten everything down I need to get down, I burn them. I send everything -- all my thanks, my fears, my hopes, and my wishes -- out and up to the heavens, to the Universe.

I've been told they're prayers... and maybe they are.

I'm OK with that.

In the end, I feel good -- less burdened, less hurried, less worried.

It's a very good day.

Happy Solstice, everyone! May your welcoming back of the sun leave you less burdened, less hurried, and less worried! XO

Gifts

This week? A little bit crappy. It started out that way on Monday morning... and then Tuesday felt like Monday all over again... and then Wednesday felt like Tuesday, which felt like Monday all over again... and all I could do was wish it was Friday.

Work has been trying... and tiring. Christmas pressures are wearing on me... the gift-buying (I don't like shopping or crowds... and shopping in crowds gives me anxiety), the money-spending, the running-out-of-time thing. And the rest of Life seems, oftentimes, overwhelming, even when there's no big wallet-sucking holiday to contend with.

So today's Friday... and the day wasn't much better than any of the others earlier in the week. But it did mark the beginning of five days off in a row. That doesn't happen very often, so I'm pretty excited about it... though my last thought when I left the office was how much I was dreading Thursday morning.

Sigh.

Then I got home.

And someone sent me a gift.

A wonderful gift.

And I was overwhelmed.

And I felt loved.

And I realized that I often feel loved.

I am surrounded by people who love me... and who show me. All the time.

I receive gifts every day, in their words, their deeds, their friendship.

But I get so caught up in the crappy Mondays and Tuesdays that feel like Mondays and the dreaded Thursdays, that I forget... or I don't see the gifts, even when they're right in front of my face.

But tonight?

I see them.

I feel them.

And I am ever so grateful for them.

Ever so grateful.

Writer's Workshop: Gifty McGifterson

It's time for Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop and this week, I chose the prompt:

A Memorable Gift

Like most people, I suppose, I have been the recipient of many gifts in my life... some tangible, some intangible... some perfect, some not so much. 

Back in 2008, for one of Mama Kat's Writer's Workshops, I wrote a letter to Santa, which you can read right here, about how I was breaking up with him because of his gift-giving missteps (that fat guy does not know me at all).

But today? Today I'm writing about a different sort of gift. A gift that was most definitely not a misstep. And it wasn't from Mr. Claus, but from one of his elves -- an elf who lives right here in Pigsknuckle.

I have this friend, you see. His name is Loren... though for the purpose of this post, I will refer to him as 'Lorwyn' (as that's, you know, what I call him [well, it's the name I can write here and still stay PG-rated]). Anyway, Lorwyn is, quite possibly, the best gift-giver I have ever met.

Ever.

His gifts are epic. The thought and effort he puts into them is simply beyond my comprehension. And even when you want to be mad at him for spending too much or doing too much or very nearly getting himself arrested for skulking around your yard, planting 200 candy-filled eggs at dark o'clock on Easter morning, you can't.

(For the record, I'm still finding those damned eggs... every time I mow the lawn, another one miraculously appears.)

However, Lorwyn and I decided two Christmases ago that we weren't going to spend much on each other's gifts, as money was tight.

And I? Stuck to our agreement. To be honest, I don't really recall what I got him, though it was probably something like a bag of M&Ms and a 12-pack of toilet paper.

What? Toilet paper is practical, people.

So we met up for breakfast, as we hadn't seen each other in a while, and we exchanged gifts. I handed Lorwyn the TP and M&Ms...

And he called the crane operator to lift mine onto the table.

I kid you not, the package weighed approximately 3,647 pounds.

OK, hyperbole aside, it was freakin' heavy.

He heaved it over to me and I gingerly unwrapped it...

It was a binder. A 3-ring binder, to be specific. Blue. Thick. Like, 6 or 7 inches thick. Like, I didn't know they made binders that thick.

And in it...

Was...

My blog.

My entire blog.

All 400+ posts.

Printed... each sheet placed in its own plastic protector... all the posts and pictures in order, from newest to oldest.

My entire blog.

You see, I had once (just once, but that's all it takes with Lorwyn) mentioned that I was afraid Blogger was going to lose my blog one day (it had happened to someone I know)... and since many of my posts were written right here, I hadn't ever saved them anywhere. And if my blog somehow disappeared, big chunks of my life would be gone.

Gone.

And that? Would be awful. It worried me.

But I never imagined, not in a million years, that anyone would take the time, energy, effort, and money to print out every single post, protect every page, and then hand them to me in a binder that weighed 3,647 pounds.

It was overwhelming.

There were tears.

And not just from the hernia.

And it almost - almost - made up for the time Lorwyn called me a bitch.

Almost.

Right, Lorwyn?

Heh.

Bah Hum Cuteness!

I was feeling kind of Bah Hum Buggy today, so I went looking for something to cheer me up...

Looky what I found...


Baby Ryan says, "Well, hello there, bears! So, what do you want Santa to bring you?"

Baby Ryan is still happy... and tickling Mr. Bear's fuzzy chin...

Uh oh... Baby Ryan has had enough of bears and boxes and bows...

I know I'm partial, but I think Baby Ryan might just have been the cutest little elf ever. I miss that little elf. I crazy-love the big elf she's become... but I miss that little one.

Lecherous and Lewd and Lascivious, Oh My!

This afternoon, I was telling a friend how poor my memory has been of late. And it has. I don't know if it's a focus thing or, you know, an early-onset dementia thing, or what, but I've been struggling to remember stuff I shouldn't be forgetting. But on the way home from work, while driving past a house ablaze with Christmas lights, I found myself traveling down a rather pot-hole-y part of Memory Lane... right to a holiday party I'd rather like to forget...

Several years ago, I dated this guy -- a college professor. He was very nice and funny and attractive... and he drank. A lot. An awful lot (which I didn't actually realize until several months in, as he was rather experienced at hiding it).

Anyway, for the sake of this story, we'll call him Buzz, 'k?

So, as I mentioned, Buzz was a professor and, as such, he had several professorly-type friends. I met them all at once, at a university function, and found everyone to be nice and very friendly; they all seemed to like me. Two of them in particular -- a married couple -- liked me quite a bit.

Quite a bit.

If you get my drift.

They were older than Buzz and myself by a few years, but not many. They were quick with innuendo and double entendre, quick to fill your glass, should you find yourself lacking a boozy drink, and quick to express how much they liked you...

They were both rather, shall we say...

Tactile.

For the sake of this story, we'll call them Mr. and Mrs. Touchy-Feely, 'k?

Though the Touchy-Feelys were quite friendly and hands-on, they were not over-the-top. They let their fingers do the walking in fairly subtle ways -- not quite enough to make you feel really uncomfortable, but just enough to make you...

Wonder.

Fast forward from the start of the school year to December. There was going to be a big party at the Touchy-Feely house and Buzz was all abuzz (as normal) with excitement about it (open bar, natch).

So we got dressed up and we went. We socialized... we ate... we drank (some of us more than others)... we took a tour of the Touchy-Feely's house...

And in the bedroom was a photo of a slightly younger Mr. and Mrs. Touchy-Feely... all naked. All the important bits were covered, true, but they were naked. And it was a big photo. In a frame. On the wall. All naked.

Now, I'm no prude. I quite like photos of an erotic nature. I write stuff of an erotic nature. But I have to admit, I was not prepared to see a photo of our hosts... all naked. It threw me a bit. But I admired it duly, as you do, even when you're surprised by a picture of people you know... all naked.

Then we got to see the hot tub. And as I was commenting about how I wished I had a hot tub, Mr. Touchy-Feely put his arm around me, his hand dangerously close to my backside (and by 'dangerously close,' I totally mean, 'on'), and informed me that I could use their hot tub anytime I'd like. Mrs. Touchy-Feely nodded, with a wink and a lewd little smile, and Buzz just stood there, looking all boozy and very un-PhD-like.

Then Mr. T-F informed me that if I liked, we could stay after the party and have a soak. I said the first thing that came to mind, which was something regarding the fact that I didn't have a swimsuit with me... and I was informed immediately, by way of a decidedly lecherous, breathy little whisper in my ear, that swim suits were completely optional in their tub.

Hello! Of course they were. What was I thinking?

And so the party went on. And because Buzz wasn't keen to leave the open bar, we wound up the last couple still present at the end of the night. I was helping Mrs. T-F clean up a bit when Mr. T-F padded into the kitchen... in a robe and barefoot.

The robe? Not quite open. Not quite. Small favors, people.

But that man? Had some of the ugliest feet I've ever seen in my life.

They were troglodyte-esque, all knotted and gnarly and hairy, with thick yellow nails which needed trimming. Badly. They were like gory accidents affixed to the ends of his legs -- you wanted to look away, but you couldn't. They were feet that should have never seen the light of day, people.

Never.

I fought back the grimace... and the urge to throw up a little in my mouth.

Then Mr. T-F grinned a lascivious little grin and asked if we were all ready for our soak in the tub.

I laughed nervously and replied that I really needed to get Buzz home, as he was fading fast. Both Mr. and Mrs. T-F looked disappointed and protested. Buzz, thankfully, looked drunk and appeared incapable of putting up a fight (or he'd known me just long enough to understand the seriousness of the Stink-Eye).

I'd like to tell you I didn't stay because the Touch-Feelys were libidinous degenerates and they made me feel all weird, especially after seeing that picture of them... all naked.

I'd like to tell you that.

But honestly?

Honestly?

It was the feet.

Hello, December

December is a difficult month for me for a lot of reasons (all of which are valid, to me, anyway, but none of which matter as far as this post is concerned). While most people are feeling all warm and fuzzy about the holidays, I want to just put my head down and plow through to January. I wind up dreading the whole month -- from Thanksgiving until New Year's Day, really...

And I don't like it.

I don't like feeling Grinchy or sad; I don't like struggling through 1/12 of the calendar, only to be dumped into the coldest, greyest part of the winter.

So today, I'm going to list my 10 favorite things about December... and for the rest of the month, I'm going to focus on those things.

And it's all going to be just fine...

Favorite December Thing #1: The Solstice

The Winter Solstice might just be my favorite day of the year. It's the day that marks the return of the sun... it's a day of new beginnings and renewals... it's my Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year all rolled into one, and I have several little traditions that take place on this day (which I'll tell you about later in the month). It's a very, very good day for me.

Favorite December Thing #2: It's a Wonderful Life

Christmas movies, in general, are not my thing, but I love, love, love this one. Jimmy Stewart is perfection. The story is, and will forever be, both beautiful and beautifully told. How many times have we all wondered what life would be like for others if we'd never been born? The idea that one life -- just one life -- can touch so many others in such positive ways makes me want to be a better person (you know, just in case I ever meet my Clarence on a snowy bridge in Pigsknuckle).

Favorite December Thing #3: The Lights

I love Christmas lights. I do. I love the simple, single strand along a porch railing and posts, mingling with evergreens and bows... I love how people light the trees in their front windows and leave their curtains open for passersby to see... I love the elaborate designs on storefronts and office buildings downtown... I love the houses with every tree in the front yard lit in brilliant glory (and the conservationist in me tries not to think too much about the waste of energy). I like to walk or drive around town, just looking. The lights light me up from the inside.

Favorite December Thing #4: Parties and Get-Togethers

Even if I'm not feeling very holiday-ish, I still really enjoy going parties and getting together with friends. My friends are my chosen family and being in a room with a group of people who not only love me but who genuinely like me and want me around (or so they say)? Well, that might just be the best tonic for all that ails me.

Favorite December Thing #5: The Worldwide Spirit of Giving

Now, this one is a bit of a double-edged sword for me... I love that people become more generous around the holidays... but I also get frustrated that their generous spirits often seem to disappear on January 1. However, since I'm focusing on the positives today, I will not look for or find fault. The bottom line is that I am very, very glad that people dig deep around the holidays, to make better what can be a difficult time for others less fortunate.

Favorite December Thing #6: The Thoughtfulness of Friends

I have been blessed with the most remarkable group of friends -- people who love me beyond reason. They understand how and why this time of year is difficult for me and over the years, they have gone so far above and beyond to make my holidays special, that I never feel worthy. Every year, they make me cry tears of joy and gratitude... and wonder how on earth I got so lucky to find them all.

Favorite December Thing #7: A Christmas Story

This is the other Christmas movie I never miss. I bought it for my dad years ago, because it reminded me of the stories he told about his childhood. We watched it together every year until he died. After that, it was about 10 years before I would see it again, as I couldn't bear the thought of watching it without him. But now I do... with Ryan. And I laugh all the way through it, the way I did with my dad.

Favorite December Thing #8: Holiday Cards and Pictures

I love getting holiday cards and photos from friends and family. I love to see their personalities in the cards they've chosen... I love seeing their family photos... I love to see their kids and how they've grown... and I love to see their furry 'children' in Santa hats and reindeer antlers.

Favorite December Thing #9: Ryan on Christmas Morning

I love that since Ryan was a tiny thing, she has always been more concerned with me opening my present from her than she has ever been about any package under the tree with her name on it. She won't even consider opening a present until I've gotten mine. It never fails to amaze me... or warm my heart.

Favorite December Thing #10: The End of the Year

While I'm always alarmed at the speed at which the year flies past, I have to admit that I love the feeling of renewal that comes with the start of the next year. It's a time for lists and planning and goal-setting and reflecting on what did (and didn't) work in the year past.

And there you have it. I didn't actually think I'd be able to come up with 10 things, but it really wasn't that difficult.

And now... onward December!

Writer's Workshop: The Thanksgiving I Almost Died

It's time for another Writer's Workshop post from Mama Kat's prompts...

I chose: A Thanksgiving Memory

When I was a kid, Thanksgivings were so much fun. We usually spent them with the New Jersey leg of our family. We would drive there from Virginia or they would come to us -- my Aunt Maisie and Uncle Jimmy (they were like my grandparents), Aunt Jean and Uncle Ernie, and the three boys – Michael, Stephen, and Richard. The boys were basically the same ages as my brothers and I, so we were sort of stair-step kids – oldest (Michael) to youngest (Richard) – all towheads, with me, the only girl, in the middle.

I loved being the only girl. I really did. We had a lot of fun, the six of us – we’d all crowd into the same bedroom to sleep in sleeping bags; we’d play games (and cheat); and oh, how we’d all laugh!

But the most memorable Thanksgiving I can recall with my cousins didn’t involve a whole lot of laughing. Not at first, anyway.

I was 10-years-old.

And it was the Thanksgiving I almost died.

 

It was the Thanksgiving I got shot.

That’s right.

Shot.

OK, so it was with a pellet gun. And OK, so I didn't really almost die. But it was a gun. And I got shot, people. Right in the chest.

I happened less than an hour after the whole NJ crew arrived. We were outside, down by the creek, and my brothers were showing off their pellet guns to our cousins. Stephen, the middle cousin (and the one closest to my age – just 6 months older), was handling one of them. My younger brother showed him how to load the pellets, how to ‘pump’ the rifle (10 times for maximum distance and power), and he demonstrated the ‘safety’…

And then Stephen hoisted the gun to his shoulder…

And, standing about four feet from me, pointed it right at me.

“I’m going to shoot you.”

I wasn’t askeerd of him.

“Pffftttt. You are not.”

“Oh, yes I am.”

“Yeah, well, you’d better not.”

You know what I learned that day?

I learned that boys? Never listen.

I heard the click of the trigger and the puff of air, as the bullet… er… pellet was released from the gun, right about the same time I felt the impact of the bullet… er… pellet in my chest, just below my collarbone.

“YOU SHOT ME!! OH MY GOD, YOU SHOT ME!”

I think Stephen was as shocked as I was. He thought the safety was on.

For the record? ‘Thought’ was the operative word in that sentence.

He dropped the gun like it was on fire and ran to help me, but I was half-way to the house by then. I cleared a 4-foot chain-link fence like it was 6-inches tall and barreled into the kitchen, screaming about having been shot.

The adults?

Were not happy.

All the boys came flying in behind me… and let me tell you, how they managed to concoct the biggest, fattest, lyingest lie that ever was, to save their behinds, in less than 60 seconds, is beyond me.

As my dad checked me out to see if any real damage had been done, and my Uncle Ernie was hollering about packing up and heading back to NJ, my brother stepped up to explain.

(And by ‘explain,’ I totally mean ‘lie through his 9-year-old too-big-for-his-face teeth.')

He said they’d only pumped the rifle 3 or 4 times… and that Stephen had been pointing the gun toward the creek… and that the pellet (bullet!) had ricocheted off a tree… and accidentally hit me… because I was standing in the wrong place.

It ricocheted off a tree and accidentally hit me because I was standing in the wrong place!

As I stood there with my mouth hanging open, incredulous, stunned at the enormity of the lie and the fact that he made it my fault, every one of those Fibber McGees nodded in agreement.

And then my Uncle Ernie looked at me.

“Diane, honey, is that true?”

I could smell the sweat and the fear from those five delinquents. See, my Uncle Ernie adores me and all I had to do was tell the truth and… and…

And he’d have loaded them all into the car and driven the six hours back to NJ.

Well, he might not have… but at that moment, I believed he would have. And that would have been awful.

So I glared at those boys and, through clenched teeth, I confirmed their story.

And they stayed. And our Thanksgiving was, as always, wonderfully fun and funny.

Except for, you know, the gaping hole in my chest.

And that bullet… er… pellet? It came to the surface (sort of) about a week later. But we couldn’t get it out, not even with tweezers. So I had to go to the doctor and have it dug out of my chest with a big needle and pliers. I kid you not. It hurt like hell.

I nearly 40 years later, I still have a scar.

Oh, and Stephen? The cousin who shot me?

Guess what he does for a living?

Yeah. He’s a police officer.