Thursday, December 31, 2009

When we look up at the same bright moon



Color me shmoopy. Say I'm hypnotized by the glorious full moon. This song just popped up on my playlist. It's as lovely as the moonlit night.

My NYE Earworm

This has been melodically looping in my head since early this morning.  I finally had to listen to it. I think it shall be my new ringtone.  2010 (twenty-ten? two thousand ten?) will be a year of positivity and good vibes, my friends. This should start it off quite nicely.

"How can I tell you about my loved one?"

2010: A Riss-Odyssey

It's officially New Year's Eve '09.

Currently, I am overcome with a fit of the weepies.  Waking at 4:00 AM might have something to do with it. Sleep deprivation seems like a good source of blame. But that's not why I feel overwhelmed with the power of emotion.  My heart and soul are whirling in a cacophony of feelings. All of this was set forth after a morning of volleying emails with that friend I've reconnected with after years of wondering how he has been since graduation.  For that alone I am glad I couldn't sleep in this morning.

While I am looking forward to what 2010 will bring, I am riddled with anxiety to bid 2009 farewell.  That's not to say '09 has been nothing but a big party.  This year has been a psychosensory roller coaster.  But on that ride of twists and turns there has been tremendous personal growth.  I think this has been my best year ever in that regard. That is not to say '09 hasn't been difficult.  Two close friends have said their final good byes to their mothers. That's an experience I wish upon no one -- having gone through it myself at age 15.  However, because of that I was further able to deal with grieving my Mom.  It's a process that never ends.
We bid farewell to my Unca Chunk -- there's a life story worth re-telling. He was so close to my Mom. This year was the first year since '81 none of us received a call from him on her birthday.


I've watched my family grow ... and grow ... and grow.  It's a thing of beauty.  I want to make a collage of my family. All of them. Seriously, it will blow your minds. My hope for the coming year is that my kinfolk will manage to keep open hearts and minds so they might experience the growth more richly.
My sister Maureen's battle with cancer continues, but miracles never cease.  She's the happiest I've ever seen her in her adult life. Whoddathunk it, ya know? But that's her story to tell ... perhaps she'll grace all of you with more detail by being a guest blogger on WILDHAIR in the coming year.

I can't let another sentence be written without talking about Mancub. All the credit isn't on me, mind you.  He's an amazing boy who hasn't been without challenge, but he rises above each and every instance.  I joke that I believe God knew I'd be raising him alone.  As a result, he's the easiest child to rear. Oh sure, maybe he spends more time on video games and less on studying, but he's not a speck of trouble. Period. He has the respect and adoration of his teachers and administration.  Transitioning into high school hasn't been without faults or drama, but he's not begged to stay home. He faces each day with a new outlook.  I admire him.  I hope one day I will manage such a mindset.  How many parents can say their children are their heroes, huh?

This year has helped me open myself up to friendship.  That is not to say I shunned people before, but I started opening up to the possibilities of developing long term relationships.  The razor wire fortress I once wrapped around myself is far less forboding.  You can laugh and point fingers of stupidity at the use of Facebook, but the connections I've made through that once silly social networking site only teens used has been a major player.  EASTRIDGE CLASS OF '83 RULES! If you were ever a Raider you'll understand.

So, while my heart is rather heavy to say bon voyage to 2009, by midnight tonight I'll manage to muster the excitement for 2010: A Riss-Odyssey.  ........... stay tuned! This is gonna be great!!


Wednesday, December 30, 2009

New Year's Eve and the Angry Girl

The new year is quickly approaching. In fact, it's so close I can hear the clicking of its stiletto heels on the pavement. New Year's Eve is very much like a Hollywood starlet with all the glitz and glamour of a red carpet event.  In she strolls and all the attention is on her.  So much is expected from this beauty.  Then, at least for me, reality strikes when she opens her mouth ... all the build up was for naught. She's just another girl wearing a form fitting designer gown on loan from Valentino and borrowed jewels from Harry Winston. Stripped down and without all the hype, we realize it's just the turning of a page on the calendar.  Well, that and we have to get accustomed to writing another date on checks.

I do not fancy New Year's Eve.  There. I said it. Call me envious or jaded.  It's rare if ever that I have plans to celebrate the new year.  In this decade there has been only one occasion that I wasn't at home with my son.  It was 2001. December 31, 2001 was rolling over to January 1, 2002.  Dating a guy in Savannah -- remember him? Savannah Blue Eyes. After claiming our kiss at midnight "the best kiss ever in the history of kisses" he broke up with me three weeks following -- for an ex-stripper he met on a dating website .. a site he'd been perusing the entire time we dated. Nice guy, huh? Did I mention he wasn't man enough to face me? He tried ending it over instant messenger on AOL. HA!! He's what we commonly call an asshat, today.

OK! I'm not still pissy about that incident. It's merely a Riss-tory lesson.

I've not compiled a list of Rissolutions.  I find that making assertions that I'll actually stick with them is hogwash.  Committing to myself has always been a downfall.  I just vow to work on being better than the past.  We'll see how that goes.

I haven't bothered with my horriblescope in quite awhile.  It's not that I lead my life by them, but interesting food-for-thought is often sprouted from those inane babblings of some overpaid intern at the house of Yahoo. Yes, I know most interns aren't paid and that is the joke of it.

Here is today's invocation of insight: Wanderlust has grabbed your fancy and won't let go. Maybe your nose is pressed hard to the grindstone at the moment and you can't whisk yourself away on an impromptu adventure, but you can liven up the day-to-day routine with some creative thinking. One option is to start planning for the trip of a lifetime. Just collecting travel brochures and reading about exotic places will help channel your longing. With the right planning, you can achieve this dream.

"...Liven up the day to day with creative thinking" ... hello!? Have we met? That's daydreaming and I already do a shit-load of it. It's what maintains my relative sanity.  ".. start planning for the trip of a lifetime." I certainly hope that the winning Lotto numbers are coming my way in a yet to be released horriblescope. I can barely afford to drive to work let alone plan and pay for a trip.  *snort*  Silly interns!

"... channel your longing." Sweetheart, if I channel it anymore my head will do an impression of Scanners. It's a good thing I have a regular dose of reality to set me straight.


WOW! I just read what I wrote above. I am a tad angry, aren't I? I believe I have a viable explanation for what's pushing it all up toward the surface. The Wii Sports pack that came with Mancub's Wii has been providing me with hours of working off aggression. Boxing is my favorite.  The pent up anger is oozing from my pores right now. I never realized just how much vitriol I had cooped up in my system until I started beating the snot out of virtual opponents.  I visualize the face of the people who've rattled my cage or hurt me or my loved ones ... then BAM! BLAST! My body aches currently as a result of this Wii therapy. A once dormant volcano needs to let off steam .... ssssssssstttttttttteam heat.

Sunday, December 27, 2009

After glow


It's Sunday.  Oh how I love this day of rest ... wait a minute! I don't get to rest today. The work schedule demands that I be there.

The after glow of Christmas day remains.  It was filled with surprises for Mancub and me.  Christmas eventually proves to be a special time of year once you cut through the layers of impatient shoppers, shifting of funds and frustration of not being able to find the perfect gift for someone on your list. 

Mancub wanted me to make it clear that he didn't completely say the word crap in his excitement over the Wii. "I stopped myself mom." To him, it's a swear word even though it's commonly thrown around (even by yours truly). He didn't want it on record that he sounds like a degenerate. As if!

The warm embrace of the words written in the book I received for Christmas continues to envelope me like a warm bubble bath ...

.... I hope it can keep me warm as I step into the 16° temps to make my way to work today.

Friday, December 25, 2009

Holy Crap! You got me a Wii!

So, those are not the most eloquent words ever exclaimed on Christmas morning, but it was a sentiment of true surprise. My son had no idea what he was getting today. He's fully aware of the challenges I meet each month financially. He's never been a gimme gimme kid. He's joyful no matter the gift.

I gave him games to go with the Wii before he unwrapped the console. I feigned surprise that I grabbed the wrong game system versions."Oh, poo! Well, you can exchange them for PS2."

His reply was not surprising, "Well, my cousins have Wii systems. Maybe they'd like them as gifts."

It was then when I got up and reached behind the couch to reveal yet another gift. He noticed how heavy it was when I sat it on his lap. He screwed up his face in wonder. Here's the result:



Additionally, Mancub is the proud owner of a Trek bike. Santa has some amazing elves, let me tell you. I prefer to call them Heaven's angels on Earth. This spring I hope to write about our many journeys on our bikes -- I inherit the hot red bike he got last spring.

Before all the excitement over the Wii and the bicycle began, I had a few hours of quiet time. Earlier this week, a gift traveled over the ocean to get to me, but instructions were that I couldn't open it until Christmas. It wasn't easy abiding but I managed. Knowing there was a gift in the box for Mancub, as well, I considered waiting for him to wake up. With coffee brewing, I opted to give in to my anxious, child like excitement and carefully cut the packing tape that came between me and my gift.

Tears flowed bountifully. It's not so much what took residence inside the box that turned me into an sobbing mess in my kitchen. A few words inscribed in a book took my breath away. Words having the power to reach into my soul and embrace me ... a much needed hug that reached me from the other side of the world. The true beauty of Christmas and friendship ... and yes, love.

Merry Christmas. ∞♥

Thursday, December 24, 2009

A holly, jolly video Christmas card!

Merry Christmas.  Go grab a cup of cheer, sit back and listen to me babble on video. As usual, I had nothing planned beyond my bedazzled attire.  May this not bring you nightmares of gorged sugar plum zombies. 



I'll try to be funnier next year.

Merry Angstmas


I'm feeling anxious and full of angst.  My pulse is racing but not in an excited, joyful manner.  I'm pretty sure it's not a rush of caffeine. I had less than usual. Maybe it's just residual spazattack from yesterday's onslaught of visually impaired people requiring new spectacles two days before Christmas. Perhaps it's concern over the weather (ice storm and flooding) potentially preventing Mancub and I traveling on Christmas day.  Possibly -- most likely -- it's caused from not being able to afford gifts for my family members.  Normally I would overextend my checking account just to save the embarrassment of admitting I don't have money to make purchases for anyone other than my son.  With the cutbacks at work, that was hardly manageable and I thank God for the angels in my life.

This year I baked.  As I said in an earlier post celebrating our cookie creations, I've never made sugar cookies from scratch.  We baked a fresh batch and colorfully decorated them.  Today will be my inaugural attempt at making fudge.   More shortbread cookies with the dot of chocolate in the center will also be prepared.  But the question remains: Will my family consider these baked goods acceptable gifts? They are, after all, a labor of love. Mancub and I have enjoyed this domestic time together.

I've pulled out scraps of festive fabric and wire trimmed ribbon so the treats can represent the spirit of the season.  I also discovered that I have ornaments that I bought post Christmas with the intention of giving them as gifts.  Like many things, they slipped into the abyss known as my closet. I had no idea all the clearance items I picked up at Michael's, Kohl's, The Dollar Tree and Carlton Cards. Booyah! It's a regular smorgasbord of whatsits and doo-ma-jigs.

If you need me I'll be in my living room watching a marathon of "White Christmas" and putting together tins and bags chock-full  of treats ... and lots and lots of love.

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Just listen



This song was part of a program encouraging adoption. "A Home for the Holidays" was a presentation lead by Faith Hill to honor The Dave Thomas Foundation. When the singer/songwriter Michael Franti told his own story about being adopted, it brought a flutter to my heart. Then, as he sang this beautiful song there were snippets of children awaiting adoption ... children who've been in over five homes in a year's time. That's when the tears really began to flow. The lyrics of this song are simple; yet, they speak volumes. He's managed to put to verse what I feel in my heart about close friendships that simply cannot be defined or labeled.

Merry Christmas.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Where are your wings?


Both of my parents instilled in me the belief in miracles and angels.  My mother was more likely to tell me a story about a harrowing event in her life where her guardian angel protected her from harm. My father, on the other hand, was more philosophical in his telling of incidents that solidified his belief in a higher being.  Our family was loosely Catholic. Read: Lots of the guilt inducing practices and none of the church-going, sacramental requirements.  Regardless of the methods and theories taught, we were a spiritual clan with the ability to find reason and cause to why we were fortunate in the face of often dismal times.

I recall as a little girl my mother telling me to always listen to the little voices in my head because that was my guardian angel giving me direction. "She knows better than you do. So don't ignore her."  In my child-like mind's eye, angels have always been filmy, beautiful, ethereal beings with wings and halos.  That is, after all, how they are artistically rendered in books and movies ... unless, of course, you consider Clarence from "It's a Wonderful Life." 

As a grown up, I have learned that the holographic depiction of heavenly creatures is not wholly true.  It has become apparent that I live amongst the angels.  They have fully functional cardio-vascular systems.  They speak to me not in echoing sounds within my head, but directly to me interacting on a day to day basis.  Their clothing is no different than mine. They have jobs and toils of daily life just like me. 

If not for these angelic souls I wouldn't be able to give Mancub the Christmas he is about to behold.  Additionally, if it wasn't for the angels who greet me each and every day, I would feel less accomplished and far less fulfilled in my life.  Without their reminders that I am not only permitted to admit that I am a human requiring unconditional love and affection but encouraged to embrace that aspect of myself, I would not be able to be so open with myself here. 

Those angels are my friends. It doesn't matter whether we've met face to face or I encounter them at work. Our connections may be limited to words in an email or a limited number of characters in a text. All the same, they are able to lift me up with their wings of compassion. Their humor pulls me from sadness. 

This brings to question, what have I done to deserve this?  All too often that phrase is accompanied with someone's declaration of bad luck following them around.  Though I may often be considered a cynic, I know that we have to seek our good fortune and find the bright speck no matter how gray the day may seem.. So, tell me? What have I done to deserve such graciousness and generosity?  I do question why I strike my friends as someone special enough to receive a bounty of gifts for my son.  This isn't me looking a gift horse in the mouth, mind you.  It is simply a concept that perplexes me. It's easy to question why me when negative circumstances infiltrate our lives. 

My parental units were big supporters of the golden rule.  Though, I don't remember them telling it as such.  Rather, they took a more philosophical stance on it.  "You get what you give in life."  If that's true, I don't feel like I'm fulfilling my end of the bargain. My sister tells me stop questioning the why.  She adds that I'm not nearly as prickly as I view myself.  Are my friends just that intuitive? Maybe I should heed sis's advice and just know that I'm loved. Unconditionally.

Angels? Santa? Do I believe? Of course I do ... wouldn't you?

This is dedicated to those who've enriched my life with your love and support ... even when I tried to push you away. Thank you for sticking by my side -- just like Mama said.

Friday, December 18, 2009

A Muppet Death??

I pray that PETM (People for the Ethical Treatment of Muppets) doesn't come hunting for me.  I'm convinced that one -- or four -- of Jim Henson's creations was killed to make my warm, cozy, very pink house socks (that's what the tag read -- house socks).  Is it possible that a cute and delightful entertainer of children was sacrificed for the comfort of my tootsies? Perhaps a kinfolk to Elmo?


I'm no domestic goddess, but ...

A couple of weeks ago the temperatures here took a swift dip into the danger zone. Like it is often, the wind chill factor was the real culprit.  Gusts up to 50 mph hour were predicted. Business at the work place was dreadfully slow.  So slow that my presence was not required.  Suddenly I had a free day and the baking bug bit me.  Beyond boxed brownies and a bi-yearly batch of Toll House Cookies, this girl doesn't bake.  My kitchen is lucky if it ever sees a spatter of olive oil. I cook out of necessity. But holiday baking? Get out of the city!

I bundled myself up and head out into the blustery, frigid day.  My intention was to buy the pre-fab sugar cookie dough in the tube, but as I made my way through the store I had collected ingredients to bake from scratch.  I felt my head for fever. Then, I thought perhaps all of this was a dream and I'd awaken in my warm cozy bed.  Upon departing the store it was obvious that I was wide awake because the strong winds nearly had me falling backwards.  Pushing the cart against the wind proved to be quite a workout.

Once I made it back home, I immediately turned on the oven and got to measuring and mixing.  There was disappointment when I realized that not one cookie cutter was to be found. Duh! Why would there be any, moron!? You don't bake.  A tumbler cup would provide circles and the squeeze tubes of sugar cookie frosting would have to be decoration enough.  Sorry, no gingerbread boys or snowmen to grace the plate.

Just as the first batch was about to go in to the oven, Mancub arrived home. He was not only shocked to see me baking, but happy we'd get to decorate them together. It always does his heart good to hear that I'm not required to work the closing shift.

The tumbler used was quite large. Because of that, the quantity of cookies per batch was decreased, but oh boy, they were beautiful, chewy and delicious.  Bigger is better, right? Am I right?  Proudly I offered them to  co-workers. While my coworkers are known for eating just about anything put on the table, I am confident their praises were honest.


Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Say Thanks

This hardly takes any time to do and it might mean the world to the recipient.

Monday, December 14, 2009

She's fierce!

Sue Ellen practiced in the mirror for months prior to her Senior photo shoot. I think she nailed it.



Work it, super girl!

photo found on http://www.pizzacomedy.com/

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Small Appliances and the Single Girl

It's Sunday morning and all I hear is the hum of the furnace. When I awoke before 6 AM, I got my coffee brewing and crawled back into bed. A half hour later it was apparent that dozing off wasn't going to happen.  Once my brain is alerted that it's a new day it just won't shut off.  By nature I am not a list maker, but jotting mental notes is not unheard of. The bad thing about that is the task needs to be committed right away or it will be forgotten. 

Tiny Post-It Notes line my computer monitor. Sometimes the notations actually make enough sense to jar my memory.  One of them says "new coffee pot."  The current model makes the java juice OK, but it leaks all over the counter.  I have an incontinent coffee maker.  Bounty Paper Towels to the rescue.  While laying in bed, the thought occurred to me to price Keurigs.  I know they are pricey, but a girl can dream.  This line of thinking drove me to daydream about other small appliances that would do me good -- not that kind of small appliance.  No really! It's a neck massager.

I've been threatening to buy a George Foreman Grill.  We have a couple of them at work that get lots of use provided someone cleaned them after using. I don't own a grill, but pan frying a steak or chicken breast isn't the same without the grill marks. And the broiler is a royal pain the tushy! The smoke and clean up is a total bitch. No thank you.  Since there are two residents in this household, I require the bigger one. Grilled veggies are so tasty, too.  I was perusing a couple different store sites and was surprised by the number of models available. Like Foreman's kids, they all have the same name, but different.  I'm particularly fond of those with removable grill plates -- easier clean up.

Bread makers.  OY! I thought there were a lot of Foreman Grills on the market. Egads! I am not Suzy Homemaker nor do I have the inclination to perform the toils required to make bread.  I watched my Dad for years puttering around the kitchen kneading the dough, letting it rise, kneading it some more. The house was permeating an aroma that could be smelled a block away.  I have to question how much I'd use a bread maker after the novelty wore off.  If you own one, do you still use it often enough to justify the room required to store it?

So there you go. My Sunday morning though processes shared. The Wedding Singer is on and I think I'll watch it ... for the 30th time.

Friday, December 11, 2009

Life imitates theater

Twenty-six and a half or so years ago I stood alone on a stage wearing a lovely costume while a spotlight shone upon me. My character, Helen, had finally come to grips with the fact that the subject of her affections would never be hers to have and to hold.  She gracefully accepts her fate and with morose resolve sings :

I have wished before,
I will wish no more.

Love, look away!
Love, look away from me.
Fly, when you pass my door,
Fly and get lost at sea.

Call it a day.
Love, let us say we're through.
No good are you for me,
No good am I for you.

Wanting you so,
I try too much.
After you go,
I cry too much.

Love, look away.
Lonely though I may be,
Leave me and set me free,
Look away, look away, look away... from... me.

There's no psychotic outburst that one might see portrayed today.   Helen, dejected, walks away with only the memory of hope ... her head held high.

Little did I realize when I was cast in that role that my own life would lead a similar path. It's as if Rogers and Hammerstein wrote that part just for me. Chasing the impossible; completely aware that it is nothing more than a wish.  A dream. Faith in hope. Having such a mindset is like sucker punching yourself repeatedly.

The wind is knocked out of the sails that were blindly guiding my heart, but there's another course for it to travel on.  No doubt that I'll be fine. I'm a survivor, at the risk of sounding cliché. It's a misstep that I made. Letting the heart get control over the head is a foolish error. I admit it wholeheartedly, no pun intended.

Why am I so willing to air it in the open like this? I'm a masochist amongst other choice words I like to call myself. This also provides me with an outlet to prevent me from sending off an email where I blather and spew vitriol. This way, I maintain a level (shoddy as it may be) of class and dignity -- yes, I realize this format also reveals that I'm a self-deprecating woman.

I can't hide behind the fantasy anymore.  Sure, I was enjoying romanticizing that I might finally get a stab at love (cue the shrill Psycho theme music).  A chuckle rises from my belly as I type that.

Reality's overture is playing ...



Love Look Away from the musical Flower Drum Song by Rogers and Hammerstein

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Where'd my little boy go?

If good parenting was judged by the number of photos of my child scattered about the home, I would be one giant failure.  Oh, it's not that I don't have pictures of my son.  I have tons of them ... in a big box in the closet.  There's a most recent photo of him that sits on my bookshelf.  There are always promises made to myself that I'll get photo albums and frames, but that's yet to happen.  One day ...

What brought this line of thinking about was my scrounging through the big box of photos this morning. With Christmas staring me in the face, I remembered the cutest pictures taken of Mancub when he was 5 years old. A photography studio was called upon at his pre-k to take memorable Christmas photos.  Seeing them always brings forth a giant puddle of tears.  Where has that little boy gone?

Imagine Chevy Chase as Clark Griswold in Christmas Vacation when he's holed up in the attic ... blubbering like a fool as he views a movie from his childhood.  That isn't too far from what it looked like as I sat on my living room floor digging through the corrugated brown treasure trove of memories.  Sans turquoise turban, of course.

The last time I gushed over the photo featured in Mancub's presence, he rolled his eyes and implored me to stop being such a dork.  Then, he saw the tears in my eyes and hugged me.  He sees the picture and asks what was up with his hair.  I look at it and see the excitement of Christmas.  Innocence of childhood.

And the spirit of the season takes hold.

Sunday, December 6, 2009

What not to buy ... part 1

Fun Slides Carpet Skates :

Make sure your insurance is paid up and get your stories straight before taking the kids to the emergency room. I'm sure my brother would just love if I sent his 3 boys each a pair of these to use in the same room the HDTV is housed.

HD Vision Night Wraparounds This item is perfect for the guy who buys the sports car when he's in denial of his mid-life crisis. All the young babes will be salivating when he walks through the doors of the club wearing these over his no-line bifocal specs. Nothing says "I'll be your sugar daddy" like these urine colored lenses.

Lens Doctor DO NOT USE THIS CRAP! I cannot stress this enough. You might as well throw the $14.95 it costs directly into a shredder. Your lenses will be ruined and then you'll come to me at my place of business frustrated that I can't remove the dried goop on the lenses that causes you severely blurred vision.

S'Mores MakerReally? Are you that much of a dimwit that the concept of making s'mores requires a
gadget? Since chocolate met marshmallow people have been creating this sweet treat with nothing more than a stick and fire. It's so easy a caveman could do it. Besides that, it looks like Mr. Potato Head's cousin from Ecuador.

The Magic Bullet -- I still say this was a vibrator experiment gone wrong. Having already patented the name, they kept it. I imagine the test subjects for this pleasure item gone wrong have a suit pending for destroyed va-jay-jays.

Wood Bed Lifters I have to know if these come with warnings: DO NOT USE during raucus sex as severe injury might occur. Do not use these if your bed is near a window during even mild sexual encounters. Do not use these on tile or hardwood flooring as a Linda Blair Exorcist situation may occur during restlessness. I can appreciate the need to use the space under the bed for more than harboring dust bunnies, used tissues and an array of other misfit items. I've lived in places with very limited storage. However, I'd fear rolling over too quickly in my sleep and KABLAM!!!

Saturday, December 5, 2009

Trimming the tree and fa-la-la-la

Last year I didn't even bother putting up a Christmas tree.  The year prior, kitties decided that knocking ornaments off and destroying them was a far better idea than just admiring them as they dangled from the twinkling branches. 


With twenty more days before the mythical fat-man descends from his toy shop in the frozen tundra of the North Pole, I figured my weekend off could be spent trying to turn our domicile into a place of festive lights and adornment.  The tree will likely be left out another year.  Our cats may be older, but they are still creatures of nature with an inclination to climb and toy with anything that wiggles. So, with Mancub's small collection of nutcrackers displayed, I think we can make a go of putting forth the image that the Christmas spirit is alive and well at Casa Marissa. I'll string lights where the cats can't bother them, as well as, garland around the tops of the windows.  Majestic? Not hardly.

I know for certain that my one wish for this Christmas won't materialize, but I'm determined not to let the news deter me from having a joyful season with my son.

So, with Bing Crosby crooning the tunes of the season, I'm off to Dasher and Comet ....

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

A moment is all it takes


A moment is all it takes. This is not a new concept, but it's something requiring self reminding.  In the blink of an eye tragedy can strike. That's the way of the world.  When that happens we often reflect upon the importance of the people in our lives. A life altering incident causes our lifetimes to flash before our eyes as we grasp for something positive.  Such a situation didn't happen.  This isn't a cause for concern out of the norm.  I apologize if this initially heightened your worry censors. I'm fine. Mancub is doubly fine.  The moment in time that is the subject is the good moments.  We all (hopefully) have those seconds in the day that manage to put a beautiful spin on what seems to have been filled with sighs of mundane.

Earlier this morning I took a silly Facebook quiz to determine my real age.  Biologically I'm 44.  I have no qualms about aging, but it was something fun to do that my life long friend had already participated.  Her age was 23. Mine was 34.  Being overweight and a self-described couch potato adds years on, but my overall happiness gave me 10 years youth.  That Internet moment of bonding with my friend was one of those minuscule strands of time I speak of.  Additionally, she posted a photo of herself and husband taken by her sister-in-law.  If a picture speaks volumes, then that snapshot tells me how ridiculously loving they are to each other.

Yesterday was our annual Hometown Day.  A company wide day of giving.  That in itself is cause for joy, but there were seconds within that occasion is what pushed my sluggish mood up and over the hump to full-on laughter and exhuberance.  A conversation from an unexpected phone caller lifted my spirits and aided me in being far less cranky than my aching, tired body and mind wanted to be. Sixty seconds to change a day.

Additionally, nearly each weekday morning I spend about an hour and a half corresponding with someone whom I adore beyond the boundaries of words.  It doesn't matter what the subject is in our emails, those approximate 5,400 seconds give new life and meaning to my day.  The vitality between the syllables shared is caffeine to infinity.  There are 24 hours in a day, but the most meaningful part of the day consists of moments.

What I'm saying is that while people want to look at the big picture. We don't always take the time to see that it's the tiny pixels and specks of brilliant, opulent colors that give us hope, joy, laughter ... the moments in life that often take our breath away.