Sunshine on my shoulder makes me happy!!

I have been remiss in my postings.

I have been in a rough state of mind during the month of February.

I have been ill and down in the dumps.

Maybe suffering from some seasonal depression.

But the sun is shining now and life IS good.

I am feeling so much better.

Physically and emotionally.

Have a great day!!

Am I the reincarnation of Lucy Ricardo??

I don't think there is really anyone over the age of 30 who does not know "I Love Lucy." For those you young whipper snappers that don't, "I Love Lucy" was a great, if not the greatest sitcom of all time. Lucille Ball was the star along with her real life husband Desi Arnaz. Together they played Ricky and Lucy Ricardo a 1940's, New York couple. Ricky was a Big Band leader and Lucy was your atypical house wife with a penchant for ridiculous hilarity.

Now, I am not married to a HOT Cuban band leader (he is a HOT exCalifornian) but there ends the differences.

If you have something valuable that CAN NOT get broken, well when I walk by it will find its way into several pieces.

Let me give you the perfect "Lucy" scenario. Many years ago, my own personal "Ethel" and I were driving along when the car just stopped. After several tries to start it, Wendy (my Ethel) ran down the street to borrow her boyfriends car. Now our car was a junky, piece o junk VW bug. Kevin's car on the other hand, was a beautiful, nearly brand new Chevy Lemans. Together, we formulated the brainiac plan to push the Bug with the Lemans.

Can you see where this is headed? It does not really take a rocket scientist to figure out that this would not end pretty.

And it didn't.

It started out beautifully. Wendy was in the Lemans, seeing as it was her boyfriends car, it seemed fitting. I was in the Bug, and it was moving forward. We really only needed to move it about a block into a parking lot. We make it about 10, maybe 15 feet. There was sort of a thump and a grinding sound. Wendy put on the brake thinking that the Bug would roll forward.

Uh uh.

She popped it into reverse, and backed up. So did I.

But I wasn't in reverse.

I was still in drive.

More grinding and scraping. Metal on metal is not good at any time. We tried several more, unsuccessful maneuvers. But those cars were stuck

The spirits of Lucy and Ethel were very successful. We were good and stuck, minus the cameras and the laugh track. We did have an audience though. And they were laughing. All except Kevin.

Poor man. He was unaware of his "role" in our sitcom.

He did not get it that he was supposed to say some witty remark and get humorous but gentle revenge on us.

Instead, he chose to take the low road, and get pissy and ignorant over the Bug imprint on his front bumper.

Thank God he did not sue!!!

Now, when ever something insanely goofy, and outrageously unbelievable happens to me, I would swear I can hear the voice of Ricky Ricardo emanating from a tv signal decades past, "Luuucy" followed immediately by whisp of a breeze and the unmistakable scent of henna.

Well, I know Lucy has come calling.

"I am going to kick you A#@!"

I know that at first glance, this sounds like a threat.

But, you have to be able to read between the lines in order to translate.

"I am going to ( I was wrong) kick your a#@ ( and I am sorry)!"

I believe that I mentioned in yesterday's post that Randy has a unique way of apologizing.

And this is it.

I don't know if this holds true with all men. I can only judge by my own man. He does not LIKE to say "I'm sorry" or " I was wrong", out loud.

But I have learned over the years to read through the words to the meaning behind it.

It is always said with just a hint of humility and humor.

And since I understand the meaning of these words, it makes me smile.

A Pile of Love

What is the first thing you think about when February rolls around?

Roses, mushy Valentines Day cards, red velvet hearts and chocolate.

Mmmmm, chocolate………

Oh, uh sorry. I got sidetracked for a second.

And Love.

What does it mean to truly love someone?

I think in today’s world, love gets a romanticized view.

It is not that I think that love is not romantic, it totally can be.

But it just can’t be moonlight and roses, champagne and chocolates at every turn.

Morning comes.

And with it comes eye buggers, bad breath and the inevitable hair curling gas passing.

In my mind, it is so much more than just the fluttery stomach,

first kiss tingles that make up true love.

How many times have you heard “ I just fell out of love with _____________”

Fell out of love?

That sounds like an accident right there.

“I fell out of bed.”

“I fell out of the truck.”

"I fell out of a plane and I didn’t have a parachute on.”

Which in turn, leaves the falling IN love equally distasteful .

Like falling into a pile of something .

I think we try to make love much more complicated than it needs to be.

My husband and I have a few things that we ALWAYS do.

We say “I love you” every time one of us leaves to go any where, or talk on the phone.

We also, kiss goodnight , goodbye and hello.

We hug.

We take responsibility for our actions.

We say we are sorry. ( Randy has a distinctive way of doing it, but it means the same.)

I have a disclaimer.

We are not perfect.

Perfection exists only in the movies and the occasional greeting card.

I didn’t trip into a pile of love with my man.

I learned to love him.

Randy and I have been together 10 years.

I still look at him in all his glorious imperfection and smile.

He is beautiful.

And I love him.

Rest in Peace, Miep Gies

Miep Gies passed away yesterday. I did not recognize her name, but I knew a bit of her story.

She, along with 20,000 other Dutch citizens, risked their lives and the lives of their families to hide Jews during World War 2.

Miep Gies, her sister Bep and two others, hid the Otto Frank family in a secret annex inside the factory where they worked. For two years they cared for this family and kept it secret. Two years. I am floored by the courage these people displayed. 20,000 Dutch citizens hid 20,000+ Jews from the Nazi's

They risked their own lives and their families lives to save their neighbors and countrymen.

Could I do the same?

If a neighbor came to me and said "I am being persecuted for my beliefs and if caught I will be sent to a prison where I will be burned alive, or gassed, or starved, or have and insane doctor do horrific experiments on me and my family."

What would I do?

My heart would be screaming "Take them in!!"

My head would be reeling over the horror and injustice!

But somewhere, in my head or in my heart there would be a huge and inescapable fear.

What if we are caught, then we will suffer the same fate of prison that my neighbor faces.

My heart is screaming "Take the risk, if caught we will have stood for something bigger than myself."

But the rest of my family? Can I make that decision for them? My husband could decide for himself. But what about my children? Can I put them at risk for this cause?

And yet, during World War 2, thousands of people, like you and me, were asked to do this very thing.

I'm sure these same fears and questions ran through the minds of each and everyone of those who chose to help and hide Jews during this time.

But they did it anyway.

They served their fellow man at the risk of their own freedom and lives.

To all those people who risk it all to do what they feel in their hearts is the right thing,

Thank you.

To make resolutions, or not to make resolutions. That is the question.

January of every year starts out exactly the same. I make resolutions that I truly deep down in pit of my being, I know I will not keep. "I resolve to.... fill in the blank. My blank has ALWAYS been filled in with "lose weight". This year I resolve to make no resolutions. I will make goals and a plan in which to achieve those goals.

Goals

1. To write a blog post at least once per week.

2. To save money for the furthering of some education.

3. Futher my education.

4 I will add excercise to my life at least 3 times per week.

5. Self-feed. For those who don't know, self-feeding is spiritual improvement and study.

It is a short list, I know, but I have to start slow.

Why I cry when my children perform.

My daughter took a 5 day dance camp a couple of years ago. I was so excited for her. I myself had always wanted to take dance lessons. But we lived in a small town 30 miles from the nearest dance studio. Today it would not stretch the imagination to drive so far for dance lessons. But back in the 70's it would have been unheard of.
So we bought an inexpensive pair of tap shoes, ballet practice slippers, and a leotard and tutu. She looked so sweet in her leotard. Her little pot belly protruding ever so slightly.

Every morning we would get up and I would style her hair into a cute pony do that would keep it under control. We packed her little bag with things she would need at camp. All her dance shoes, socks, extra clothes, and a snack (to keep the energy level up).

The camp included instruction in ballet, tap, and gymnastics. After the 5 days there would be a recital where the girls would showcase what had been learned.

So the day of the recital came. Randy and I both took off of work to attend the event.

There they were, nine little girls each wearing their dance leotards mom had helped them choose. Nine little hands waving frantically to nine sets of moms and dads and various assorted grandparents. It really does'nt get much more adorable than that.

The lights went down on the audience, the music began, cameras began flashing, and nine little girls began to dance.

My heart sang at the sight of my sweet little angel. There she was on the stage, a ballarina. I had a fantasy of being a ballarina from the first moment I had seen the Nutcracker performed on public tv. Here was my beautiful daughter fulfilling that fantasy for me. In my minds eye, I could see her twirling and pliaing to the symphony at Carnegie Hall. My eyes welled with tears of joy as I watched my baby on that stage. I took a deep breath, wiped the tears from my eyes and returned from my future fantasy to the reality of the moment. Nine little girls dancing off step as if they were marionettes, their strings being pulled by some uncooridinated dance puppeteer at stage left.

Each girl had her eyes glued to the instructor, each pirrouette, each plie was performed with little finesse. They tapped and pirrouetted and performed feats of gymnastics in choreographed chaos.

I heard the quiet sniffles of mothers all around me. And it was at that moment that I realized why my mother always had that teary eyed look after every performance we went to when I was a child. I knew then, that it is a mothers inherrent ability to see beyond the clumsy off-step to the prima dona behind. To hear each flat note, and block it out and hear the lilting melody of a future diva. To see each A on the report card as an indication of the genious that lies within.

So the next time you are attending a function where children are performing, bring along some extra tissue. Share them with the mom next to you. She will be ever so grateful.










when i think of my child hood I remember it so differently than say...it actually was. Hope in ballet. me on the cheer squad.