Memorial Day

I feel a little guilty today.  I don't think about this holiday the way most do. I'm a little selfish that way.  Instead, I think all of the people in my life that I've lost.  It's kind of like one thought leads to another.  First I  think of the people who were in the military--my father, my son-in-law, my brother-in-law...I pray for them and am very thankful for their service to our great nation.

However, it isn't long before my mind begins to wander and I think about other loved ones who are gone.  And not necessarily because of war really, but because of other incidents.  I think about my nephews, my aunts and uncles, my cousins, my grandparents and on and on.  I tend to get a little sad and nostalgic and then I have to stop--thinking.

Is that why I bar-b-que or go to parades or plant trees and flowers?  To stop remembering?  To stop thinking about the sense of loss?  I wonder.

We went to a parade this morning.  They aren't really my thing, but my husband really wanted to go and so we did.  It was swelteringly hot and humid.  It was crowded and loud.  But, that's not what got to me.  What made me choke up was seeing the little old men in uniform.  It was hot, humid, sticky and there they were marching proudly in the parade on a holiday meant just for them.  Yes, I will remember them and thank them and be forever grateful for their service to our country.  My heartfelt pride for them.

Later we ducked into a little corner grill and had lunch.  We sat outside with lots of other townspeople watching the parade disperse.  And then after lunch, we walked through a few of the cute little shops and finally made our way home.  The rest of the day wasn't about them, it was about us.  We went out for ice cream, did a little garden shopping, planted a tree and went for a ride in our convertible.

It was a great weekend all in all, but I can't seem to get those little old men out of my mind.  Will they be here next year?  To march in my town's parade?  I hope so.  I'd like to have more than just a memory of them.  I want to remember them.  And to tell them thank you.  And happy Memorial Day.

Firefly

I am sitting here this morning watching as the rain pours out of the sky and thunder shakes my house and I am wondering--where is spring?  In California where I am originally from spring would start in March and was pretty much over by May--then the heat of summer would begin.  However, in Northeast Ohio spring starts in May and ends in June.  There is 2 months of it and 2 months of summer and then 2 months of fall.  The rest is winter. Now, I am learning the rhythm of the seasons of Chicagoland.  I think spring starts a little earlier here--maybe in April.  I'm not yet sure when it ends.  Maybe June--we'll see.

All this weather and thinking of the seasons has brought something to mind. Fireflies.  They mean summer.  At least they used too when we lived in Ohio. That's where I saw my first.  My husband was so excited for me to see one, he'd seen his first while on a business trip in Ohio.  He called me long distance back in California to tell me all about them.  It was hard for me to imagine.  A little bug that lights up? Big deal.  But, it was a big deal to him--he couldn't wait for our family to get moved and settled in and then he patiently waited for summer to come so that he could show me my first firefly.  Unfortunately for him, we moved just at the beginning of winter so he had months to wait for the big day!

And then one evening as the cool spring evenings turned into warm summer nights we went on a walk through the neighborhood.  It was dusk.  Neighbors were settling in for the night.  Some sprinklers were going, a few porch lights were being turned on, kids were putting their bikes away--and that's when it happened.  I saw one.  A tiny little flash of a light and then it went out.  My husband got so excited.  And as the night grew darker and more and more of the little lightning bugs appeared, the more excited my husband became.  He started chasing them.  Upon neighbors front lawns, almost to their front doors, hands and arms waving wildly as he yelled to me--do you see them, do you see them?


Oh, I saw them all right, and so did everyone else.  He was causing quite a commotion.  I looked up and saw an old woman standing in her doorway. She was looking at my husband with the strangest look--like he was crazy. The sight of her looking at him and the sight of him with his arms waving like a crazy person was almost too much for me to handle.  I keeled over right there on her front lawn and laughed hysterically.  What a night. Fireflies and a crazy man all at once.  It was the best night ever.  Now, I can't even look at or think about a firefly without also seeing that woman's expression and my husbands waving arms in my mind.  It's a great mental picture and a great memory.

I love memories.  Good memories.  Fun memories.  I hope I have a lot more.  As I wait for the fireflies.

Cars

When I was 16 years old I had a dream, a desire, a want--I wanted a white convertible.  A cute little sports car where I could put the top down, drive around town, wave to my friends and tan all at the same time.  Oh, the freedom.  For a 16-year-old freedom could actually come with a car--any car. I just needed wheels!

And little did I know that over the next few decades I would become a car nut.  Not just any type of car though, I became a luxury car buff.  Not that I was always able to buy a luxury car, but I sure wanted to.

My first car--the one I bought with my own money cost all of $150.  It was a white Ford Comet.  It had plastic blue seats (which got steaming hot in the summer), lots of rust spots and brakes that barely worked.  I had to start stopping far back from stop lights, stop signs and cars in front of me--then pray that my car would roll to a stop before touching anything in my path. I got real good at coasting.  It's an art form.  Also, to get my car looking just a little bit better I'd take Bon Ami cleanser, make a paste and scrub that car until the paint was dull and the little rust spots were gone.  I took good care of it and sold it for $50 bucks more than I bought it for--what a deal.

Eventually, I moved up in the world to a cute little VW bug, and after that, I had everything from minivans, to SUV's and sedans, I've had luxury cars and not so luxurious cars. And now finally after all these years--low and behold this last weekend--a white convertible.  I am in love.  It is adorable. It's just like I imagined it would be when I was 16 years old.

Have you ever wondered why older people buy convertibles?  I think I've figured it out.  The secret.  Or not so secret.  It's called a mid-life crisis car. However, I am wondering why it's called a crisis.  It's more like a miracle.  I finally have the ability to not only look at--but to purchase a car that doesn't need to accommodate more than two people, unless I want it to.  And with my kids being all grown up--there doesn't have to be room for a car seat and I don't have to share it with teenagers.  Woohoo--let the fun times begin.

Yesterday we took ours into the city.  As we were driving around the beautiful streets of Chicago, the wind softly blowing in our hair, and with the sun shining down on us--we looked at each other and smiled.  We were young again.  We were free and young and in love.  We were happy.  We were grinning from ear to ear.  And in that moment life was sweet.

It's back to our the normal routine today, work, errands, life--but that's OK, we had yesterday and hopefully, a whole lot more of tomorrows in our cute little white convertible.

Timing

It is everything.  It's the moment I was born, and the moment I gave birth. It's the moment I met my husband, and the moment my children met their spouses. It's the moment that I made split-second decisions in my life that changed its course.  Timing.

If I hadn't been there at that time would I have met you?  Would I have gone to that school, that church, taken that job or bought that house?  And is there a way to control timing?  Or is it controlled by someone else?  I know that I don't control it, how could I?  I don't even know what is on the other side--of time.

I believe (through my experiences in life) that God controls my timing.  I say my timing because I am specifically talking about me--my life, my time on this earth.  He knew when I would be born, into what household, what country, what income bracket, what year, He knew everything.  So, my conclusion is that He controls the timing of things in my life--all things.

I can look back over my life as a child and while my parents were making the decisions for our family--God was still in complete control over me.  He had a time for each and every circumstance that happened in my life.  I believe that He handpicked the people that came into my life and therefore He chose my husband for me.  There was a precise moment when I walked into a room, looked up and saw him.  One moment--timing.

I think about timing a lot when I am driving.  Especially in traffic.  I don't get anxious in traffic the way some do.  I am a thinker--my brain goes into overdrive and as I sit there I always ponder this thought--
there is a reason I am sitting here and not there.  I see it as a form of protection.  If I had been ahead of God's schedule maybe I would be the one in the accident up ahead rather than being the one waiting for the traffic to clear.  Honestly--that's how my brain works.  And if that's true--working in that same direction of thought--then it has to be true working in the reverse. Had I been the one in the accident--wouldn't that be God's timing for me too?

I like the idea of God's timing rather than my own.  I feel safer that way.  I don't feel the urgency to manipulate circumstances.  I can rest in the knowledge that He has my best interests at heart and that He'll set up the right timing for everything in my life.  Maybe I'm a little naive that way--relying on someone else to take control, but that's OK with me.  I don't mind--because timing is everything.

I love the way it's described in the Bible:

For everything, there is a season,

a time for every activity under heaven.

A time to be born and a time to die.

A time to plant and a time to harvest.

A time to kill and a time to heal.

A time to tear down and a time to build up.

A time to cry and a time to laugh.

A time to grieve and a time to dance.

A time to scatter stones and a time to gather stones.

A time to embrace and a time to turn away.

A time to search and a time to quit searching.

A time to keep and a time to throw away.

A time to tear and a time to mend.

A time to be quiet and a time to speak.

A time to love and a time to hate.

A time for war and a time for peace.

Two Arms

While shopping yesterday for the elusive small white iron chair for my front porch I saw something that impacted me.  There sitting among the patio furniture was a man with no arms.  He didn't just have one arm missing, no he had both arms missing--and he wasn't wearing prosthetics either.  He had a blank expression on his face.  Not sad, not mad, not resentful, just blank.  I wish I knew what he was thinking.  But, maybe it's better that I don't.  I didn't even realize how the sight of him had been imprinted on my brain until this morning.  When I was getting ready for the day.

I always start with a couple of cups of coffee.  We have a semi-professional machine, we are addicts so coffee is a food group to us.  I need only to push a button and voila, coffee beans are measured, ground, brewed and dispensed in my cup before I can say--huh?

And then it dawned on me.  What if I had no arms?  What if I couldn't push that coffee button all on my own?  And so, the morning went that way for me.  The what if's came rolling in.  Questions flooded my brain. How would I do this or that?  And for the first time that I can ever remember I thanked God for my two arms.  And I also began to pray for the man with no arms.

It's funny--I hated my arms until this morning.  Even when I was thin I hated them.  They've always been muscular and now that I'm older they're flabby.  My fault really--but it didn't keep me from hating them.  Until this morning.  And now I love my arms.  I can do all sorts of things by myself--shower, put on makeup, dry my hair, get dressed, drive a car, pet my dog, sweep--little things that I wasn't even aware of before.  Like typing on my computer.   I am so in love with these two arms!  I can button, snap, type, point, hold things, hug, drive, clean, dress, there are endless possibilities.

I don't even want to think about a life with no arms.  I just want to thank God for the two I have.

DC

What could be better than visiting our nation's capital?  What could be better than free museums, beautiful monuments, the Potomac River, fantastic shopping, and tons of restaurants?  What could be better than viewing the White House, walking Capital Mall, or visiting memorials?  I'll tell you what--my family.  My daughter lives here.  Her, her husband and my 2 oldest grandchildren.  They moved here several years ago with the Navy and have stayed ever since.  I hate the fact that they live 12 to 13 hours away from me.  And yet at the same time--what an awesome city!  If they can't live in Chicago near me, then what better city is there to live in?  DC pretty much has it all.

I love visiting them. There's always so much to do and see.  I love the laughing and the grandma, look at this...as they cartwheel across the lawn. Last night we bar-b-qued and ate outside on their deck.  They have the most gorgeous backyard--the foliage in Virginia is beautiful.  And it's fun to watch the kids play and enjoy their big yard.  Also, they've got 2 huge golden retrievers that romp right along side the kids--trying to be included in the game of catch.  It makes for those great picture taking moments.  My 5-year granddaughter has even learned to pose!

Yesterday they took us to Colonial Williamsburg.  And although we were only there for the afternoon (one could easily spend several days exploring the region)--it was awesome.  We walked the old streets, had lunch at the restaurant that invented the dessert Death by Chocolate, and of course again took lots of pictures.  We bought snacks and trinkets--after all who doesn't need a wooden rifle or an old fashioned chalkboard?   Grandparents are always good for the fun stuff that parents are too wise to buy!

Today we went to our grandson's little league game--once again the camera came out.  I think he's the best on the team and the cutest too.  He's a serious player, he's athletic like his dad and tender-hearted like his mom. His little sister was there cheering him on while trying to catch butterflies and talk her mom into one more trip to the snack bar.  We had lots of fun--and his team won!

I know that soon it'll be time to leave.  I'll be choking back tears as we head to the airport.  I won't see them again for 3 months, but to me, it seems like 3 years.  I'll miss them and they'll grow like weeds and their little personalities will continue to develop right along without me.  It makes me sad--not being there.  I'm convinced that they have grown 5 inches each since just 4 months ago when I saw them last.

It's strange really--I love watching them mature and develop and become wise little people, but then I want them to go back to being my little grandbabies again.  Maybe because I know that one day they won't think the visit from grandma and grandpa will be that great of a thing.  In fact, we'll be the ones holding them back from hanging out with their friends--no, you can't go, your grandparents are visiting.  Be quiet they'll hear you!  That is one of my biggest fears.  Maybe one day they won't want me. So, it's important to me to squeeze in these visits, to imprint upon their brains the memory of me.  And one day, when they are grown and I am gone, they can look back over this blog and they can get to know me all over again.  And remember when...

My Favorite Things

Oprah has her list so I'm going to make mine.  They aren't in any sort of order--they are as random as my thoughts--

Talking to God--I love to pray
Holding hands with my husband
Hugging my grandchildren--and rocking them
My dog--sweet baby girl
Walking through tiny winding streets
Europe--especially Italy and France
Luxury cars--love them all
Nice hotels--who doesn't
Flip flops--Havaianas
Jeans
Hoodies--Lucky Brand
Laughing
Music/singing--contemporary Christian
Great food--love it all
Awesome friends
Diet coke
My iphone--my external brain
My MacBook Pro--oh how I love thee
My bed-- pillow top
Coffee--Starbucks Italian
Oceans--yes, the Pacific is the best
The Bible--I prefer the Message translation
TV--hey, at least I'm honest
Central a/c--went 11 years without
Jewelry--I'm a true female
Mani/pedi--it's a need not a want
Shopping--even if it's just window
Snow--I love winter
Fall leaves--crunchy ones
Cafes--with patios
Traveling--I'll go just about anywhere
Reading--mysteries
Handbags--Louis Vuitton
Movies--especially foreign films

And my latest favorite thing--writing my blog

True Friends

I think a lot about friendship.  Probably because like many people I've had some good friends and some bad friends.  Fortunately, I've had very few of the bad ones.  It seems like with friends--true friends are more like family. You work out the kinks and iron out your differences--if there are any, which there usually are.  But, with the friends that aren't really friends--well, there is no working it out.  Maybe there isn't a need.  I don't know.

My friends--the ones that I cherish deeply are true--in every sense of the word.  True blue, loyal, faithful, they are there for me.  They're the ones who I know I can call during the night and with one word--they'd come running to my side.  One such friend was called upon one day.  I had a need.  I called, she answered.  And just as I expected she said what do you need, I'm here for you.  It was the day my nephew died.  I needed a place to stay, I needed a car and I needed a shoulder to cry on.  I honestly didn't even know I had those needs.  But she knew.  And as soon as our plane landed, we were picked up at the airport, placed in their quest room and loaned a car.  I was so grief stricken at the time that I barely remember going through the motions of those few days.  But, I remember my friend.  Right there.  By my side.  Step by step.  I so appreciate her and her husband.  True blue, loyal and faithful.

To me, that's what real friendship is.  Friends who are willing to help at a moments notice.  Who grieve when you grieve, who are happy for you when good things happen, who aren't jealous of you when God blesses you, who prays for you and with you--real friends who are genuine.  They love me. And I love them.  It's described in the Bible in this way:

   Love never gives up. 
   Love cares more for others than for self. 
   Love doesn't want what it doesn't have. 
   Love doesn't strut, 
   Doesn't have a swelled head, 
   Doesn't force itself on others, 
   Isn't always "me first," 
   Doesn't fly off the handle, 
   Doesn't keep score of the sins of others, 
   Doesn't revel when others grovel, 
   Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth, 
   Puts up with anything, 
   Trusts God always, 
   Always looks for the best, 
   Never looks back, 
   But keeps going to the end.

I've been blessed with a handful of these types of friends.  I am fortunate. Some people go through their entire lives without ever knowing a true friend. And although my circle is small, they are such a blessing to me.  Just to know they are there, praying for me--means everything.  And I sure hope that I am that type of friend to them.

I've had the other type of friend too.  I've heard them called frienemies, they are the scary ones.  The ones to beware of, the ones to watch out for.  They start out nice and end up stabbing you in the back.  They aren't happy for you when good things happen--they sit around and wonder why you and not them.  And after a time they become increasingly jealous.  As I've grown older I've become more careful.  I still make friends, but I tend to test the waters a little more thoroughly.  I'm tired of having disloyal friends.  Friends who don't rejoice with me, friends who don't cry with me, or worse yet friends who are untrustworthy.  I'm not sure what goes through their minds. I'm not made like them.

You see--when I make a friend, they are my friend for life.  I would never ever intentionally hurt someone, or use them.  But, when a friend does hurt my feelings and asks for forgiveness--I forgive them and go on.  I do not harbor a grudge, it's over with and with me, they have a clean slate.  After all, we are all human--I am human.  And we are going to make mistakes--I make mistakes. And sometimes unintentionally we say things that might hurt someone or make them angry.  I always think it's best to clear the air and move on.  Or in most cases with a good friend, I give them the benefit of the doubt and think to myself--I know they don't mean it that way.  


Just think--what would life be like if we could all extend grace and forgiveness to each other.
I try hard--really hard.  To be a good friend--as best I can.

With Every Breath

With every breath
I will love you
With every breath
I will believe in you
With every breath
I will praise you
With every breath
I will worship you
With every breath
I will honor you
With every breath
I will seek your face
With every breath
I will proclaim your name
With every breath
I will defend you
With every breath
I will receive your mercy
With every breath
I will receive your grace
With every breath
I will sing of you
With every breath
I will acknowledge you
With every breath
I will in trust you
With every breath
I will obey you
With every breath
I will run this race
With every breath
I will lift my hands
With every breath
I will receive your forgiveness
With every breath
I will talk of your creation
With every breath
I will stand in awe of you
With every breath
I will walk with you always

With every breath
Until my last breath...

High School

Thanks to the Facebook phenomenon over the last couple of years I have been able to reconnect with some of my old high school friends.  I'm referring to them as being old just to get a rise out of them.  Truthfully though, it has been very exciting and a lot of fun for me as I learn about their lives and their many successes--I am very proud of them.  We are spread all over the world now but are able to stay in contact and catch up on each other's lives via technology.

I was fortunate enough to attend a private all girls school.  I loved it.  I had lots of good friends.  Our school was small with only about 500 girls total and in my graduating class, we had only 100 or so.  With it being such a small school we were closer than most and probably did not participate as much in the mean girl mentality as some other schools.  I think we were more accepting of each other.  Some would come to school with curlers in their hair and looked as though they had just rolled out of bed and others came to school looking as if they'd just come from a photo shoot.  I was somewhere in the middle, hair, and makeup always done, but not with a good professional look.  We all came from different ethnic and socioeconomic backgrounds.  But quite honestly I didn't notice because to me we were equals--as in all the same.  Thinking back on those times it was most likely due to the fact that we all had to wear the same uniform.  We would try our hardest to personalize those little gray pleated skirts with different colors of socks and sweaters to go over our white blouses.  However, probably the best way to be an individual in my high school were our shoes, for me--it was all about the shoes.  I fancied myself as a shoe trendsetter.  Really, I did.  And I'm still that way to this day--it's all about the shoes!  Oh, and handbags!

I have such great memories of high school.  But I think my best memories are those of my senior year.  As seniors, we had control of the school.  We could leave campus for lunch or when our classes were over for the day.  And we had senior lawn--where we would hike our skirts up and sunbathe.  We could also sneak up to the small rooftop of one of the campus buildings and sunbathe up there.  We felt invincible--our lives, our futures, and our world was ahead of us.  Some had already traveled abroad, some had serious boyfriends, and some were just happy to hang out with friends and enjoy our last year of high school together.  We'd go to dances, football games and parties, we'd hang out at Folsom Lake or the river, we'd sneak off to grab a Winchell's donut and we'd talk about our hopes and dreams, but most of all we'd laugh.

I think I was the hanger-oner.  I never wanted that year to end.  I guess I knew in my heart that we'd all go our separate ways and we'd never see each other again--most were going off to college and I knew they'd never come home.  Little did I know that years later I'd be one of those who had moved far away from my friends and my home.  It sure is fun going back though.  Sometimes, OK, all the time--when I'm in town I drive by my old high school and I drive down the street where I used to live.  I tell my husband for the thousandth time who lived in what house and when.  And the great thing is--he's patient with me and lets me talk on and on.  

I recently discovered that I was a listener and deep thinker by nature even way back then.  I was fortunate enough a few months ago to meet some of my high school friends for coffee when visiting in my hometown.  As we sat there reminiscing I asked them to describe me in one word.  I was shocked to hear them all use the same one.  They said quiet.  Quiet?  I guess back then I was a true introvert--I kept my thoughts to myself, I was the observer, the watcher.  I'm not quiet any longer--thanks to my husband, he has been able to draw out my inner craziness.  I talk a lot now, and I laugh even more.  I've matured through the years and it was interesting for me to view them--my friends, as mature women too.  However, I have to be honest--they looked just the same to me--my girls, my friends, my high school buddies.  That was quite a day--I am hoping to have more days like that--where we sit outside at a little coffee shop or restaurant, laughing, talking and remembering when...

Mother's Day

Now that my kids are grown and married I get asked all the time how I survived.  You know--the teenage years.  I think they ask because my kids are doing well.  They are homeowners with good jobs, they are married and they have families of their own.  I guess you could say I survived--but maybe that word should be defined.  I'm not going to lie, it wasn't easy--that's for sure.  It wasn't easy at all.  But, I had a saying and I stuck to it.  I would periodically say to them--only one of us is going to win this fight and I guarantee it won't be you.  To some that might seem drastic, but to me, it meant parenting.  And it meant survival.

You see, I had a covenant--with them and with God.  A covenant is an agreement that brings about a relationship of commitment between God and his people.  When I signed up for this job--the job of mom, I made a promise.  One that said that no matter what the circumstances looked like, I would teach my children the ways of God.  Because of my relationship with Him, it was only natural for me to take them to church and to teach them what the Bible said and to teach them values, principles, and morals that were important to me.  You can ask my children--I was a pretty strict mom.  I took my job of mothering seriously and I love my children dearly.  I would give my life for them.

There were also some absolutes in our home.  One of those was job distribution--it was kind of like no workee, no eatee.  A real division of labor that had to be worked out between the kids--small but important tasks to teach them a real work ethic.  Things like taking out the trash, cleaning their rooms, doing their own laundry and so on.  There was to be no lying either.  If you messed up, you were to fess up.  Plain and simple.  If you lied about something and got caught you were in trouble, however, if you told the truth--you got off scot-free.  I felt that it was more important to teach them not to lie than to punish them for doing something wrong.

I realize I had a lot of little parenting idiosyncrasies, but they seemed to work for me.  Between my degree in psychology and my belief in God (which meant a lot of praying)--I survived the child-rearing years without incident.  My oldest was my easiest, my middle was my sneakiest, and my youngest gave me gray hair.  No, I'm kidding, I could not have asked for better children.

So, what is my advice for raising children? 

Make a plan and stick to it. 
Decide early what your values are--what's important to you.  
Train and teach--don't just wing it.  
Listen when they talk--you aren't always right.  
Learn how to apologize.    
Don't waffle--kids hate that--it makes them feel unsafe.  
Treat them with respect.
Give them love, unconditionally.
Put yourself in their shoes--see the world through their eyes.
Pray your brains out and trust--with all your might.
And most important of all--be consistent. 

I am thankful and I am grateful and believe me--He is faithful.  
He made a promise to me.  God said--point your kids in the right direction and when theyare old they won't be lost.  So I did.  
I pointed and they are wonderful adults, and I survived.  

I am a happy mom.  Happy Mother's Day!


My mom...Happy Mother's Day to you!

I'd Need a Savior

This is one of my favorite songs.  When I hear it on the radio I cry. The words say everything.  It touches my heart, it makes me so thankful, and also so needy.  I need Him.  I really, really do.  I could not live one day without Jesus.

I'd Need a Savior 

I'd Need A Savior - Among the Thirsty 

How many names
Can I use to explain
The love of my Jesus
The life that He gave
And so many times
Will I praise You today
I lift up my life
Cause You're always the same
And my offering
To you I bring

Your name is Jesus
Your name is Jesus
You're the wonderful, counselor, my friend
You're what I hold on to
I know that You brought me through
All the days of loss and to the cross, You knew
That I'd need a Savior

How many songs
Can I sing to proclaim
Your wondrous love
Oh and beauty so great
Oh and, What would I say
If You brought down the rain
And every day I walked through the pain
My heart would still say…

......All the days of loss, and to the cross You knew,
That I'd Need a Savior Well, I'd need a Savior....woah
You're what I hold onto, I know that You brought me through
All the days of loss and to the cross You knew,
That I'd need a Savior
I'd need a Savior,
I need You, Savior.

When I Close My Eyes

Sometimes when I close my eyes is when I see best.  I can close them and see the past, the present or my imagined future.  I can do this all by myself, all alone and no one can change my view or tell me that it isn't correct.  I control it.  Each and every situation.  I think I like it.  The control.  I can be sitting in my rocking chair--praying or singing or thinking.  I can be sitting in a car or on an airplane.  I can close my eyes and dream.  Change direction, change the ending, change the emotion.  I have control behind my eyes.

Viewing my past with my eyes closed is when I sometimes change the endings of my stories.  My loved ones are still living during those times.  They are happy, maybe married with children of their own.  Sometimes I am living in a different city or even country.  Sometimes I have more children or grandchildren, it's always something positive or fun or exciting.  Well, not always.  I admit--sometimes it is sad, so I have to close my eyes real tight to make it a happy time.

Thinking with my eyes closed about my present can sometimes be the hardest.  Most situations I can't change.  Like my husband's job, our location, or our circumstances.  Not that I'm saying I'd even want to, it's just a fact that even with my eyes closed, I can't change the present.  So I don't try.  I close my eyes and I am in a thankful state of mind.  I'm grateful.  I embrace my life through closed eyes.  It's probably more of a time of prayer for me--thanking God for my life.  With the closed eyes of gratitude.

Imagining my future with my eyes closed is the most thrilling for me.  My imagination runs wild.  It's an unbridled excitement that is hard to contain.  It is private, and personal, and mine.  I can live anywhere, be anything, and do whatever I want.  And so, many days I am easy to find.  I am sitting in my brown leather rocking chair with my eyes closed, daydreaming about my future and wondering when it will become my present, but not looking forward to it becoming my past.

It's just what I see when I close my eyes...

Next To Me

Coming home was hard,
and yet anticipated at the same time.
We had so much fun, never argued,
never lost our tempers.
Laughed a lot, ate a lot,
walked a lot, dreamed even more.

When we drove in--spring had arrived.
Everything was in bloom.
The trees had tiny new leaves
and the flowers had come up.
Even in our own yard--we weren't
the ones who planted them
and they came up anyway.
Everything looked new
and fresh and welcoming.

I was excited to be home.
The house was clean,
the rooms looked huge
and I felt relieved.
I don't know why.
It just felt so good to be home.

Going over our pictures now,
I can see why we had so much fun.
The cities, towns, and villages that
we visited now hold memories for us.
Some are old, some are new.
I love them both--old and new.

I love that you are here next to me.
When I look into your eyes
I see what you must see in mine.
I love when we walk hand in hand.
When I walk next to you I feel safe.
I feel loved, I feel protected.

Thank you--
for taking me with you
for these memories
for our home
for loving me
for being next to me.

Paris

Why is it my favorite city?  Why is it that when my plane touches down in this city, I cry?  Why is it that when I leave this city, I cry?  Why is it that if I don't come to visit every time I come to France, I feel as though something is missing?  The beauty of the buildings still takes my breath away.  I love the windows, the arches, the fountains, the gardens, the river and the parks.  I could walk all day in Paris and never get tired.  I love the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, and all the cafes--I love the chairs and I love the flowers.  Everything about this city is wonderful to me.  Oh, I've heard all the stories--that the French are rude, etc.  But, I haven't found this to be true.  I love the French people.  They have always been kind to me and have loved sharing their love of Paris with me.  Maybe the saying is true--what goes around comes around.  They know I love Paris, so in turn, they love me!

I will miss Paris when I leave.  So, I've already started planning our next vacation.  I'm thinking the south of France next year.  And, whether this ever comes to pass or not, I still love to plan.  Traveling is so exciting to me.  It challenges me to look outside of my own little selfish world and see the way others live.  It certainly makes me appreciate my own home and life and all that I've been blessed with.

This trip was especially fun for us.  We have friends from Brussels who were able to come over for a day and sight see with us.  We shopped, ate, rode the metro, went to a museum, talked and laughed.  It made Paris even that much more fun.

We returned home last night.  I remembered this just now--on the plane from Italy to Paris there was a little girl sitting next to us, she was about 3 years old and speaking French.  She was adorable.  I thought of my own grandchildren and wondered if others think that they are adorable when they see them.  Do they get teary eyed like I do and think of their own children or grandchildren?  I miss my family so much--we were gone 2 weeks.  However, even after returning home I won't get to see them for a while.  They don't live near me.  It makes going home different now.  Going home means going to my new house and then seeing my dog, whom I love.  But, I won't be seeing my children and grandchildren for a few more weeks.  It's sad.  I hope that makes sense.  I used to love going home after a trip and now it's--well, hard.  I have no friends or family at my new home.  However, I was eager to get home anyway, I must confess.  I do miss my bed and all my things and American television, etc.  I know that I will have to see my children and grandchildren soon though.  It's been too long!  Also, I have purchased little goodies for my grandkids.  French goodies!  I hope they like them.
I sure enjoyed buying them...