Tuesday's True Life Story...

So... many of the blogs I read have a theme for a certain day of the week.  Well, Tuesday is going to be my True Life Story day.  It will be the day I share with you my memories of my life... and as odd as some of them may seem, they will all be one thing:  true stories.

So, we'll start with a brief anecdote today ...

Hanging Upside Down in a Barn

photo from someone wonderful on stock xchng

To set the scene, imagine a piece of skinny, old twine-rope dangling to the first floor of a barn, from a trapdoor in the ceiling (or the second second floor of the barn).  Imagine you hung that piece of twine, and to make it easier to climb, you knotted "loops" into the rope every few inches up.  Hey... making anything "easier" is always better, no?  Okay, now... imagine your best friend Carrie climbing that rope (she's lighter, so of course she would go first) and getting up at least 6-7 feet off the floor.  Almost there, really! 

Whoops!   You know those loops you tied into the rope?  Well, apparently you didn't know how to make a knot that didn't "slip".  This proved a challenge for Carrie, whose foot is now strangled - and very much trapped -  by the rope.  She can't move up or down.  She can't reach her foot.  And she's high enough that you can't reach her very easily. 

Now... imagine Carrie dangling by her foot, upside down, from the old piece of twine-rope hanging from the trapdoor in the ceiling of a barn. 

What would YOU do?

I'll tell you what I did... I dragged an old car seat (bench style) from a room away to set underneath Carrie, all the while she's screaming at me to get her down.  Hey... if the rope broke, and it really wasn't a very sturdy rope, the least I could do is break her fall with the car seat, no??

True story.

PS>  She got down safely... I don't remember how, but I do know I helped.  No car seat necessary.  We climbed the stairs to the 2nd level from then on.

Rainy Days and Mondays

... you know how that ends... rainy days and Mondays always get me down. While I do love a good Carpenters tune, this is so not true for me. Sundays get me down. Mondays are yucky only because it's the end of a weekend "off" and "back to the grind" for those of us who have a "grind" to go to. But rainy days are soothing and mellow for me, although, too many in a row admittedly damper my spirits. But today... today was not raining... and it was simply a GREAT Monday! Some highlights:

• My son is still talking to me.
• I joined a wonderful team of strong, creative women... what else could be better?
• I walked a mile (a little over) and feel so good and energized now.
• I am blogging!
• The cicadas are singing and I love that sound... soon, since the sun is setting the crickets will take over.
• Two people were cutting their grass while I was walking and I love the smell of freshly cut grass!
• Read an email from my sister which had an attachment from an aunt filled with remembrances of times when she was young, with my mom. What a great glimpse into my geneological history and someone's memories of my mom, aunt, uncle and grandparents.
• I paid the balance of my scrapbooking retreat coming up in September.

I hope you had a great Monday... if not... I hope you had a Monday with some bright spots. Remember them. Hold on to them. They're what matter.

Speaking of Art...

Can I just share one of my favorite artists of all times... at least a very old piece of work that is one of my absolute favorites? This little girl was drawn in 2005. Although it is an older piece from this artist, it is one of my favorites... perhaps because I'm so attracted to woodsy/darker/mythological creatures. His detail is amazing to me... I wish I had the talent this gentleman has. Maybe I'm being a little overwhelmingly biased... but hey, he's my son, and I think he's very talented. It is sad that he doesn't think he is. Consider this... in 2005, when he drew this gal (in ink pen, no sketching ahead of time), he was around 16 years old! He inspires me.

What do you think?

My Kind of Art...

Everyone has their own tastes in art. I'm not a classical fan, nor do I love ONE artist. I tend to lean toward the mythical and fantasy types of things. I love all things Green Man. Darker is more attractive to me than light-hearted, although those flitting faeries do have their time and place.

As I was wandering around the internet looking for some pictures to borrow to scrapbook for a SFTIO challenge, I came across this very awesome picture called Pan's Broken Mirror at deviantart.com. Like, wow. I must go and peruse her gallery more, because this was very cool.

One Murdered Right...

In our lawsuit-happy world today, I see so many good things being killed in the face of “new liberties” (e.g. I can say/feel/do/believe what I want, but your words/feelings/actions/beliefs infringe on my rights) or misconstrued intentions or just fear itself.

Let’s take something that is so simple, so comforting… so REAL that is becoming almost extinct in the world in which I live: hugging. A hug is something that means so many different things. It is an outreach to a friend who is hurting; it is a symbol of caring between two people; it is an unobtrusive indication of love; it is congratulatory; it is a hello and a goodbye. But in the face of “sexual harassment” or “inappropriate between {two children, adult and child, same sex individuals}” a hug has become something to be cautious of, instead of the spontaneous, warm and giving affection it is meant to be.

Perhaps it is geographical in nature as well. I grew up in a family and area of the world where hugging was just natural. My family hugged. My dad hugged me, my mom hugged me, my sisters hugged me, grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins hugged me, my nieces and nephews hugged, my friends hugged me (female or male) and nothing other than care and well-being was meant by it. It was not twisted or unnatural or uncomfortable. It just was as it was meant to be: an outreach, a show of caring, support; a hello or goodbye.

I miss it.

I can’t exactly put my finger on it, but it seems so different now. Is it the day and age of the world we live in now… or because of the field or company in which I work… or the new geographical location where I live… or perhaps the stars are aligned differently? I’m not sure, but I do know it’s now very uncomfortable. The cells in my body cry out to hug someone who is crying, but when I do, more often than not, the other person stiffens and is obviously uncomfortable with the touch. Or I stop myself from even starting the action, for fear of the rebuff, or the misunderstanding of my intentions. In the workplace, sexual harassment rears it's ugly presence - always weighing down from above. With most of my friends I have here there are rarely hugs hello or goodbye. If there is a hug, it doesn’t seem natural, or comfortable. I sometimes feel like I’m a visitor from another country with unfamiliar customs.

Even my kids are stiff and unresponsive when I hug them. I have always been expressive with them, and perhaps it is the teen angst years… when hugs and expressions of love are an embarrassment. But I don’t remember feeling embarrassed in my own home when hugging my parents, even if my friends witnessed the event. My kids are stiff and embarrassed even if it’s just the two of us in the kitchen with no witnesses.

Maybe I’m being too simplistic, maybe this isn’t something that will affect the world, but, maybe… just maybe, if we had more hugs, there would be less anger in the world. More hugs and fewer random shootings. More hugs and fewer tears.

Here’s your charge today – just reach out and hug someone today. Anyone (well... choose wisely). For no reason. Desensitize yourself and others to the “oddity” of hugging. Give someone a good squeeze. Make it an every day event. Show you care. Please...HUG!

Things I Never Thought I'd Say...

• “Kids today… {fill in the blank}”
• “Stop running!”
• “Because I said so!”
• “When you’re {older, more mature, graduated, 21, a mother, working full time} you’ll understand.”
• “I’m too old to {fill in the blank}.”

Age will kill ya! True statement. Every day you move further away from your birth and closer to your death. It doesn’t have to be depressing. All my life, I’ve maintained that you’re only as old as you act/feel. And at 18 to 20-something, I never felt “too old” for anything. But today, I had an epiphany. I AM too told for some things.

Consider this… as a teen and college age gal, I could skip sleeping like some people can skip eating. (BTW, the not eating thing is not something I’ve ever mastered.) I didn’t get tired. I ran on pure will-power. I remember days in college where I would go on 1-3 hours of sleep for 4-5 days before crashing out for 12 hours. And I felt fine. I didn’t feel “draggy” or groggy. I was awake, aware and energetic. Yes, physically I knew I wasn’t “OK”… my driving skills suffered, for one. Good thing I walked most places. My concentration on homework and in class? I’m sure it wasn’t up to 100%. But I did it and felt very little after effects. Let’s be very clear, too, that I am not a coffee drinker. I had an occasional coca-cola, but other than that, caffeine did not keep me awake. Energy drinks were barely, if at all, in existence back then (late 80’s, early 90’s). Like I said, pure will power.

I am SO too old to do that. I still do, but it doesn’t feel good anymore. I’m TIRED. All the time. I need to recognize that I’m just too old to run on 5 or less hours of sleep. This “old” body needs at least eight. My inner rebel is screaming, “Bedtime before midnight? Never!” Oh, yes… I still believe in what I said above – you’re only as old as you act/feel. But boy oh boy, it is time for the 10 o’clock bedtime. Because I’m just too old to run on pure will power now.

In the words of the great Max Headroom: I need sleep.

10 Happy Things Today...

Sundays are typically mixed full of emotions. I have a love-hate relationship with Sundays. I'm not quite sure why, but it has been this way for as long as I can remember. For many years, I have cried on Sunday. Like clockwork. This was very perplexing to The Husband when we were first dating. "What's wrong?!" he'd say, frustrated. "I don't know," would come the blubbering reply.

Maybe it's because Sundays mean that Monday is nearing... and I waste the whole day of Sunday dreading that awful Monday. Maybe it's because Sundays are tied to being home with my parents and my father would watch football through his eyelids on our only TV and I'd be stuck sewing another mini-outfit for my Barbie knock-off doll. Maybe it's because Sundays meant early bedtimes again. I don't know.

Today is one of those Sundays when I didn't work, and we didn't have friends over, so it's been a pretty mellow day. Everyone is doing their own thing... and just now, I started to feel the tugging of tears... the downside of Sunday pulling on me. I don't want this, so today I'm listing out ten things that are happy TODAY...

(1) It is a beautiful day out today... low humidity, low heat, sunshine, no rain.

(2) I spent many hours last night and this morning compiling 6 music CDs - all 80's music!

(3) I finally talked with my son and it was a good conversation, without yelling.

(4) My husband fixed my dripping kitchen faucet.

(5) This big ol' fat kitty...

(6) The smell of clean laundry (although I'd give anything to have a clothes line again)

(7) My son brought home dinner from work for all of us tonight... so, no pressure to get dinner cooked.

(8) A list of goals to get done today and some are already crossed off!

(9) Writing in this blog...

(10) Inspired to work on some scrapbooking stuff... usually I'm not 'feeling it'.