This Blog Needs To Be ABOUT Something

And I need to do a Part Two to my It’s Time Part One.


I jump around willy-nilly and write about whatever hits me when it hits me. I have no rhyme or reason. I have no glue. Or should that be clue? Well, I don’t have a clue either. That is just one of my many imperfections. I’m wishy-washy.

It is well with my soul.

I am growing and learning.  Life is filled with such wonder. I am amazed. Everyday. I am amazed at life.

Here’s my problem according to the experts:  I don’t know what my niche is. Do I even have a niche? What is a niche anyway.

I am art journaling these days. This blog could be about my “creative” self. Been taking all kinds of classes. Learning that it’s ok if I’m messy and do stupid stuff and can’t draw worth beans. It’s ok…EVERYTHING is ok. That sweetheart, is music to my ears. Whatever I do…is how it’s supposed to be.

{patting me on the back}

My doctor told me last week that I HAD to lose weight and I HAD to start moving my body! Ok…this blog could be about my journey into health.

I am decluttering my home, life, brain, computer, office. That would be an awesome blog cause I am at the bottom. Starting at ground zero. Well minus zero really. It’s bad people. I am so messy and I have to keep everything because well…it’s mine. Except trash. No, that’s not true. I even keep what others would call trash to use in my Remains of the Day Journal. A class taught by Mary Ann Moss that is just the most wonderful class you will ever take.


Oh, I almost forgot I have a class starting December 15th with Mary Ann called Ticket To Venice.

MaryAnnMossI think I may be in way over my head on this one. I don’t know…I’m kind of nervous about this class.

This one thing I am doing is very important so take note:

I am trying to teach my family how to survive after I’m gone. You know, just in case. I do everything for them. My family has it made. I do too much. I don’t do enough. I love them so! Not that I don’t think they’d pick up and move on tomorrow if something should happen to me (and probably with a “thank God and Greyhound she’s gone” smile) but I want to know I’ve left everything in order. I want to make it easy. This blog could be about that. I could call it the “If I Should Die” Project or IISD for short.

“When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it is over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.”
~ Mary Oliver

I am taking this weekend to: either decide how to make this blog about something or start fresh somewhere else.

I’m also taking this weekend to get my coupons organized so I can start couponing. Another good blog idea!

And we have to decorate for Christmas this weekend.

AND it’s supposed to be pretty weather so I need to be working outside cleaning the patio.

There’s really so much this blog could be about. I just have to decide what I want to focus on. Actually, it all ties in together.

“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.” ~ Annie Dillard

It’s all LIFE. It’s all about our days.

I’m closing up 2012 and opening up a bright new 2013 in a few days. I’ll be documenting this year. Like a mad scientist. Sniffing it out like a bloodhound. I’ll be taking names and kicking butt. I will be snatching minutes and putting them on paper so fast it will make your head spin. No moment will be safe from me. And why? you ask. I realized this morning that I couldn’t remember mornings with my son (he’s 30 years old, so it’s not like it was just yesterday). I don’t remember getting him off to school. I don’t remember what he did after school. I don’t remember cooking dinner for my family. I don’t remember helping my son get ready for bed.

These may be itsy bitsy things compared to the “big picture” but these things are a part of my life and I don’t remember them.

I’d like to say that I’ll be here everyday journaling about 2013 but I can’t promise and I do plan to discipline myself a bit better.

One day at a time, ya know.


Getting Lost


Detour by Ruth Feldman

I took a long time getting here,
much of it wasted on wrong turns,
back roads riddled by ruts.
I had adventures
I never would have known
if I proceeded as the crow flies.
Super highways are so sure
of where they are going:
they arrive too soon.

A straight line isn’t always
the shortest distance
between two people.
Sometimes I act as though
I’m heading somewhere else
while, imperceptibly,
I narrow the gap between you and me.
I’m not sure I’ll ever
know the right way, but I don’t mind
getting lost now and then.
Maps don’t know everything.

(The Ambitions of Ghosts)

I just needed something to calm me on this manic Monday.  Poetry calms me.  Soothing words.  And truths.

Such as I wouldn’t be here today if I’d followed a map.

Getting lost along the way…

Only to discover a certain comfort in being lost and then finding the way back home.

I am happy here.

Yes Mr. ASIJ, You CAN Go Home!

I have always felt saddened by the fact that  “you can’t go home”, but today I felt a sense of relief as I read a quote from Maya Angelou.  In her book, Letters to My Daughter she states:

“Thomas Wolfe warned in the title of America’s great novel that ‘You Can’t Go Home Again.’ I enjoyed the book but I never agreed with the title. I believe that one can never leave home. I believe that one carries the shadows, the dreams, the fears, and the dragons of home under one’s skin, at the extreme corners of one’s eyes, and possibly in the gristle of the ear lobe.”

I agree with her wholeheartedly.  I have always thought it so sad that supposedly I couldn’t go home, especially since I live where I grew up. Am I here and not supposed to be?  Even when I didn’t live in my home town I still carried it with me and never, ever left it behind.  True, I don’t have many friends here.  True, there are some less than happy memories here.  But I grew up with this dirt under my fingernails and in the seat of my britches.  I grew up with this mud oozing between my toes.  I grew up breathing this air.  I looked up everyday as a child and saw this sky.

Not that I haven’t tried to get away, thinking if I left I could “start over”.  My new starts were only bandaids, hiding wounds and scars that were always going to be there no matter what.  The shadows, the dreams, the fears, the dragons, always right there with me, hanging around my neck like a noose.  I thought if I left, I could leave behind “who I was” and be somebody else.  Didn’t work.  Not even one time did it work.  That “who I was” was, remarkably, “who I was” no matter where my tailbone landed.  That “who I was” is still “who I am”.


But I am, as I’ve written before, learning to love “who I am”.

Slow process…big rewards.

Also a very remarkable fact I’ve discovered is that all I had to do was reach up and loosen the noose around my neck and BREATHE.  I am in control.  I never really had to leave in the first place.  There now…all better…I can go home.

I am at home.

I am at home even in this old house that is falling apart around me.  I am at home when everyone else around me seems strange, wearing masks so I can’t see who they really are.  I am at home when there is war next door and murder down the street.

BUT I also believe that HOME is where your heart is.  HOME  is where you hang you hat.  HOME is where you plop your butt.  Anyplace can be home.  So if you’re not playing in the dirt you grew up in – take the shadows, dreams, fears and dragons of home and plant them in the dirt you stand in now.

Have I contradicted myself?  Probably.

The truth is…home is wherever I chose to be.

Plain and simple.

But its never truly black and white.  Only shades of gray.

And nothing is written in stone.  I can be home, go home, leave home, or build a new home…anytime I want to.

I’ll hush talking now.  I’m confusing myself.  Am I home or not?