Some days just don't feel sunny even when the sun is shining bright in the sky. Have you ever noticed that?
Today is one of those days. Dark things have pushed all the pretty things aside. The coffee doesn't taste as good, the car doesn't run as well, the wrinkles on the face are deeper. The cat is crying, the dog is barking and the mosquitoes are buzzing double-time looking for some blood to suck.
Here's hoping it's like this wherever Casey Anthony is, as well. Maybe the hungry mosquitoes will suck her plum dry.
between the lines,
see ya next time.
BETWEEN THE LINES
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Brick sidewalks and landscaping won't heal their hearts.
A construction detour took me from my usual route today and I saw a part of town that I have never traveled before.The detour was caused by City crews working on new brick-paved sidewalks and enlarged, landscaped median strips.
I am embarrassed to admit that the minute I saw black bars on a store-front window, I checked to make sure my car doors were locked. There were lots of steel bars on lots of windows. Each building I passed was more run-down than the one next to it. Many business names looked handpainted and the rest of the building, unpainted. Torn, dirty curtains indicated some residential living above Tom's Tavern, King Pawn Shop, and Tatoos to Go.
Lots of people milled about. A large group of men were huddled under a tree reminding me of a herd of cattle shading themselves from the sun. Young men with dark, furtive eyes, peered out from under stained hoodies as they scurried from one corner to the next and engaged in brief conversations followed by even briefer transactions. Men just 'hanging out' lifted brown papered beverages to their lips as they watched the 'local' girls strut up and down the street displaying their wares for sell.
I asked myself, "When do these people work? Do any of them have jobs?" Are the women as afraid to walk here as I am to drive here? Mothers were waiting at bus stops, one child in their arms and the other holding on to the hand of another.
As I'm dodging the cones of construction, I feel a rage welling up in me.
New sidewalks? New median strips? Huh?
How about some job opportunities? Some paint and free building materials? How about some free daycare so parents could look for employment? For God's sake, how about some covered bus stops or a cleaning crew to wipe the profanity from the walls? What about a clinic or an adult education center? Is this too much to ask? Do City officials really believe new brick sidewalks and landscaped medians will better the lives of these people?
We all like pretty things, but pretty doesn't make poverty and oppression go away or look any better.
I am embarrassed to admit that the minute I saw black bars on a store-front window, I checked to make sure my car doors were locked. There were lots of steel bars on lots of windows. Each building I passed was more run-down than the one next to it. Many business names looked handpainted and the rest of the building, unpainted. Torn, dirty curtains indicated some residential living above Tom's Tavern, King Pawn Shop, and Tatoos to Go.
Lots of people milled about. A large group of men were huddled under a tree reminding me of a herd of cattle shading themselves from the sun. Young men with dark, furtive eyes, peered out from under stained hoodies as they scurried from one corner to the next and engaged in brief conversations followed by even briefer transactions. Men just 'hanging out' lifted brown papered beverages to their lips as they watched the 'local' girls strut up and down the street displaying their wares for sell.
I asked myself, "When do these people work? Do any of them have jobs?" Are the women as afraid to walk here as I am to drive here? Mothers were waiting at bus stops, one child in their arms and the other holding on to the hand of another.
As I'm dodging the cones of construction, I feel a rage welling up in me.
New sidewalks? New median strips? Huh?
How about some job opportunities? Some paint and free building materials? How about some free daycare so parents could look for employment? For God's sake, how about some covered bus stops or a cleaning crew to wipe the profanity from the walls? What about a clinic or an adult education center? Is this too much to ask? Do City officials really believe new brick sidewalks and landscaped medians will better the lives of these people?
We all like pretty things, but pretty doesn't make poverty and oppression go away or look any better.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Judgement Day or WTF?
The results are in.
She was found Not Guilty and
I've been found Guilty by a jury of my peers.
"No. I'm not watching that crap," my friend snarked.
"I have better things to do," quipped another friend.
"Nope. Not interested. None of my business," said an Alanon acquaintence.
"I can't believe you're watching that. What a media circus," said my partner.
I'll readily admit it. For the last month I've been addicted to the Casey Anthony trial. At first, I just watched the highlights late at night on CNN, while bemoaning a lack of sleep the following day. Then I found out I could watch the live proceedings. It was a watershed moment.
My daily schedule was fine-tuned to accommodate court time - from the moment of the judge's entry until his departure. Phone calls were answered or returned only during commercial breaks. When I wasn't watching it on tv, I was reading Facebook posts about the trial. I'd say, the opinions ran 50% guilty, 50% not enough evidence. NO ONE I talked to thought innocent.
I watched every move and facial expression of 'Tot Mom'. I wanted to hate her and I learned to hate her more each day. I developed a new obsession - one that enthralled and intrigued me. This was serious. I hadn't even found the time to go to Target in days!
After being slapped down by people a couple of times for bringing up the topic of the trial, I began to seek out conversations with those who were engrossed like me. We could spot each other. We were the ones with dark circles under the eyes, nervously watching the time, and pacing to find opinions on yesterday's court proceedings. We cautiously opened our conversations with subtle references to Nancy Grace or 'the trial' until we were sure we were in the presence of another avid observer. If we were on the same page (and the same tv channel), the discussion would ignite like a firecracker on the 4th of July! It was exhilirating!
Tuesday morning I received a text from a fellow trial stalker. The verdict was in.
30 minutes later, the devil danced as Tot Mom smiled and let her hair down. Not guilty. What?!@!#
Now a week later the hype is all but gone. I miss the excitement. There's a void in my life. Worse yet, I can only blame my age for the dark circles under my eyes.
But to those of you who judged us for our devotion to justice, (and a little daytime soap opera!), to those who poo-poo'd our passion for the courtroom - we will not soon forget your pompous, dismissive criticism when fantasy football season rolls around. Your incessant chatter about which team and which game on tv will garner the same scorn you shoveled out to us during the trial.
We will remember your intolerance and we, unlike the jury in Orlando, will convict! :-)
Until next time and between the lines....
She was found Not Guilty and
I've been found Guilty by a jury of my peers.
"No. I'm not watching that crap," my friend snarked.
"I have better things to do," quipped another friend.
"Nope. Not interested. None of my business," said an Alanon acquaintence.
"I can't believe you're watching that. What a media circus," said my partner.
I'll readily admit it. For the last month I've been addicted to the Casey Anthony trial. At first, I just watched the highlights late at night on CNN, while bemoaning a lack of sleep the following day. Then I found out I could watch the live proceedings. It was a watershed moment.
My daily schedule was fine-tuned to accommodate court time - from the moment of the judge's entry until his departure. Phone calls were answered or returned only during commercial breaks. When I wasn't watching it on tv, I was reading Facebook posts about the trial. I'd say, the opinions ran 50% guilty, 50% not enough evidence. NO ONE I talked to thought innocent.
I watched every move and facial expression of 'Tot Mom'. I wanted to hate her and I learned to hate her more each day. I developed a new obsession - one that enthralled and intrigued me. This was serious. I hadn't even found the time to go to Target in days!
After being slapped down by people a couple of times for bringing up the topic of the trial, I began to seek out conversations with those who were engrossed like me. We could spot each other. We were the ones with dark circles under the eyes, nervously watching the time, and pacing to find opinions on yesterday's court proceedings. We cautiously opened our conversations with subtle references to Nancy Grace or 'the trial' until we were sure we were in the presence of another avid observer. If we were on the same page (and the same tv channel), the discussion would ignite like a firecracker on the 4th of July! It was exhilirating!
Tuesday morning I received a text from a fellow trial stalker. The verdict was in.
30 minutes later, the devil danced as Tot Mom smiled and let her hair down. Not guilty. What?!@!#
Now a week later the hype is all but gone. I miss the excitement. There's a void in my life. Worse yet, I can only blame my age for the dark circles under my eyes.
But to those of you who judged us for our devotion to justice, (and a little daytime soap opera!), to those who poo-poo'd our passion for the courtroom - we will not soon forget your pompous, dismissive criticism when fantasy football season rolls around. Your incessant chatter about which team and which game on tv will garner the same scorn you shoveled out to us during the trial.
We will remember your intolerance and we, unlike the jury in Orlando, will convict! :-)
Until next time and between the lines....
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Cataclysmic Cyclical Cynicism
Cataclysmic Cyclical Cynicism.
Try saying that three times in a row, or harder yet, just try typing it once, without errors!
If you believe that life and all its elements are cyclical, then we're on the same team. And if not, I didn't want to play with you anyway! Of course, I'm teasing except about the part of all things being cyclical. I believe it because I've lived it. The mysterious element is the cognizance to recognize that you have cycled back to where you've been before and that nothing except everything has changed since you were here the last time.
If it feels familiar, chances are you've worn it before.
If it smells good, chances are you ate in the past.
If your wallet seems thinner today, chances are you spent it all yesterday.
Its all a cycle. Politics, love, war, weight gain. And then it cycles back again. War, politics, divorce, weight gain.
Too bad we don't have choices of cycles like we do on the washing machine. I've done the Permanent Press Cycle and the Heavy Wash Cycle. I'm tired. I'd like to do the Gentle Cycle this time. How about you?
See you later - between the lines.
Try saying that three times in a row, or harder yet, just try typing it once, without errors!
If you believe that life and all its elements are cyclical, then we're on the same team. And if not, I didn't want to play with you anyway! Of course, I'm teasing except about the part of all things being cyclical. I believe it because I've lived it. The mysterious element is the cognizance to recognize that you have cycled back to where you've been before and that nothing except everything has changed since you were here the last time.
If it feels familiar, chances are you've worn it before.
If it smells good, chances are you ate in the past.
If your wallet seems thinner today, chances are you spent it all yesterday.
Its all a cycle. Politics, love, war, weight gain. And then it cycles back again. War, politics, divorce, weight gain.
Too bad we don't have choices of cycles like we do on the washing machine. I've done the Permanent Press Cycle and the Heavy Wash Cycle. I'm tired. I'd like to do the Gentle Cycle this time. How about you?
See you later - between the lines.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Raccoon Rescue
Today, writing a novel has been replaced with rescuing a critter and then writing about it.
Mid Sunday afternoon. My step-daughter remarks that she saw kids across the canal throwing rocks at a raccoon. She could see the animal where he had made his way across the canal and was lying half in and out of the water. He was obviously hurt but alive, as she saw him lifting his head several times.
I drive to the neighbors house to get the story. I was met with laughter and disregard. The neighbor claimed the raccoon had tried to attack his large dog. They were aware the raccoon was lying on the edge of the canal dying and suggested that if I had a gun, I shoot it and put it out of its misery.
I cried all the way home wondering to myself, "How can people be so mean?"
After calls to the police and animal control, I was directed to the Wildlife Rescue Center who were more than willing to help. They asked that I verify that the animal was still alive which I did. He was very much alive as I looked down at the little 'bandit' face. It looked like his hindleg was injured thus inhibiting him from getting out of the canal or swimming away.
Kenny from the Wildlife Rescue Center was heading our way but would be about 45 mins coming from West Palm Beach. The tide was rising quickly and I prayed the little guy would make it until we got to him.
This story has a good ending. Kenny arrived, swooped the raccoon out of the water and into a cage where he was transported to the wildlife animal hospital. From his appearance and behavior, Kenny did not believe he was rabid, so the vets would have a look and give him the best care they could and then he would be released onto private, wooded property.
Quite an unexpected drama for an otherwise gray afternoon and an opportunity for reflection on the selflessness of people who love animals. We love them because of their unconditional love toward us and in return, we treat them with unconditional love, regardless of the effort involved and whether they are domesticated or not.
My respect and gratitude to Kenny, the Wildlife Rescue Center, and my neighbors for their moral support and compassion. To the kids across the canal, and even more so to their parents, you have my sympathy. It must get drafty living with a hole that big in your heart.
Mid Sunday afternoon. My step-daughter remarks that she saw kids across the canal throwing rocks at a raccoon. She could see the animal where he had made his way across the canal and was lying half in and out of the water. He was obviously hurt but alive, as she saw him lifting his head several times.
I drive to the neighbors house to get the story. I was met with laughter and disregard. The neighbor claimed the raccoon had tried to attack his large dog. They were aware the raccoon was lying on the edge of the canal dying and suggested that if I had a gun, I shoot it and put it out of its misery.
I cried all the way home wondering to myself, "How can people be so mean?"
After calls to the police and animal control, I was directed to the Wildlife Rescue Center who were more than willing to help. They asked that I verify that the animal was still alive which I did. He was very much alive as I looked down at the little 'bandit' face. It looked like his hindleg was injured thus inhibiting him from getting out of the canal or swimming away.
Kenny from the Wildlife Rescue Center was heading our way but would be about 45 mins coming from West Palm Beach. The tide was rising quickly and I prayed the little guy would make it until we got to him.
This story has a good ending. Kenny arrived, swooped the raccoon out of the water and into a cage where he was transported to the wildlife animal hospital. From his appearance and behavior, Kenny did not believe he was rabid, so the vets would have a look and give him the best care they could and then he would be released onto private, wooded property.
Quite an unexpected drama for an otherwise gray afternoon and an opportunity for reflection on the selflessness of people who love animals. We love them because of their unconditional love toward us and in return, we treat them with unconditional love, regardless of the effort involved and whether they are domesticated or not.
My respect and gratitude to Kenny, the Wildlife Rescue Center, and my neighbors for their moral support and compassion. To the kids across the canal, and even more so to their parents, you have my sympathy. It must get drafty living with a hole that big in your heart.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
There's no place like home...
There's no place like home, except when you're trying to write.
Ahh....a nice uninterrupted day of writing. I'll get a lot done today. Right.
Cat #1 wants to lay on the keyboard.
Cat #2 found the catnip which was hidden in the closet and is now wildly chasing imaginary intruders from one room of the house to the other.
Fat Dog is in need of treats, or a car ride or both. When not begging at my feet he is chewing his own fur and spitting out hairballs.
Cat #3 smells the catnip on #2's breathe and decides a sneak attack is in order.
Fat Dog decides he has a dog in this cat fight and chases both into the backyard where the blue jays have been waiting to dive-bomb said cats.
Fat Dog spots a duck on the dock and performs his best 'guard dog' charge and bark routine.
With twitching tails and arched backs, #1 and #2 dart out of the bushes looking for the duck that just flew off so abruptly he left a few tail feathers behind.
Fat Dog has had his 2 minute limit in the heat and heads inside where he makes a pitstop at the litter box in hopes of an afternoon snack.
I'm exhausted from a morning at the zoo. #1, #2, Fat Dog (who has really bad breath) and myself into the bed and under the covers. Three lines total written before computer is turned off for the day. Nap time.
There's no place like home but now I remember why I don't write here.
Happy writing, or NOT!
Ahh....a nice uninterrupted day of writing. I'll get a lot done today. Right.
Cat #1 wants to lay on the keyboard.
Cat #2 found the catnip which was hidden in the closet and is now wildly chasing imaginary intruders from one room of the house to the other.
Fat Dog is in need of treats, or a car ride or both. When not begging at my feet he is chewing his own fur and spitting out hairballs.
Cat #3 smells the catnip on #2's breathe and decides a sneak attack is in order.
Fat Dog decides he has a dog in this cat fight and chases both into the backyard where the blue jays have been waiting to dive-bomb said cats.
Fat Dog spots a duck on the dock and performs his best 'guard dog' charge and bark routine.
With twitching tails and arched backs, #1 and #2 dart out of the bushes looking for the duck that just flew off so abruptly he left a few tail feathers behind.
Fat Dog has had his 2 minute limit in the heat and heads inside where he makes a pitstop at the litter box in hopes of an afternoon snack.
I'm exhausted from a morning at the zoo. #1, #2, Fat Dog (who has really bad breath) and myself into the bed and under the covers. Three lines total written before computer is turned off for the day. Nap time.
There's no place like home but now I remember why I don't write here.
Happy writing, or NOT!
Monday, April 11, 2011
Five years and counting...
8:00 am
In my attempt to 'cram it all in' in one day, here's my to do list for Monday - the start of a new week, the beginning of my new discipline, the birth of my successful publishing career! Right...
TO DO:
1. laundry.
2.banking.
3.change litter box.
4. write.
5. organize writing area.
6. go to Staples. make the 39th copy of my manuscript. writing will be easier with fresh copies.
7. consider printing on both sides of paper to save trees.
5:00 pm
Accomplished 1, 2, and 3. 4, 5, 6,and 7 went to hell in a handbasket, as usual.
Too late to write now. Can't start this late in the day. Tomorrow, screw the litter box. Write, first!
See you later and remember to Read Between the Lines,
Lee Ann
In my attempt to 'cram it all in' in one day, here's my to do list for Monday - the start of a new week, the beginning of my new discipline, the birth of my successful publishing career! Right...
TO DO:
1. laundry.
2.banking.
3.change litter box.
4. write.
5. organize writing area.
6. go to Staples. make the 39th copy of my manuscript. writing will be easier with fresh copies.
7. consider printing on both sides of paper to save trees.
5:00 pm
Accomplished 1, 2, and 3. 4, 5, 6,and 7 went to hell in a handbasket, as usual.
Too late to write now. Can't start this late in the day. Tomorrow, screw the litter box. Write, first!
See you later and remember to Read Between the Lines,
Lee Ann
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Tips on How NOT to Write a Book
It's been five years...let's see, that's 1,825 days of torture! 1,825 of laying my head down on the pillow acknowledging that another day has passed with very little or no progress on my manuscript.
Every celebrity on the planet has published a book! Now one of my classmates from high school has even finished his 3rd or 4th book. What the hell is wrong with me? I know what you're thinking...with all the problems in today's world, mine is a 'high class' problem. You're right, but its a ball and chain that has bruised my ankles, scratched my hardwood floors to a pulp, and sent me to the chiropracter for curvature of the spine!
In a desperate, but less than subtle attempt to divert my attention from the project at hand, and to ameliorate my bleeding ego, I'm going to share my strategies of avoidance with all those poor souls out there who are trying to write as well.
Tip #1 Make a daily list of chores. Include WRITING. Mark off tasks as they are completed.
Here's a sample of mine:
1. Write
2. Exercise. completed
3. Pay bills. completed
4.Take Dog for a walk.completed
5.Unload dishwasher.completed
6.Clean out wallet.completed
Need I point out which item was left in the lurch?!
Here's to between the lines and happy writing,
Lee Ann
Every celebrity on the planet has published a book! Now one of my classmates from high school has even finished his 3rd or 4th book. What the hell is wrong with me? I know what you're thinking...with all the problems in today's world, mine is a 'high class' problem. You're right, but its a ball and chain that has bruised my ankles, scratched my hardwood floors to a pulp, and sent me to the chiropracter for curvature of the spine!
In a desperate, but less than subtle attempt to divert my attention from the project at hand, and to ameliorate my bleeding ego, I'm going to share my strategies of avoidance with all those poor souls out there who are trying to write as well.
Tip #1 Make a daily list of chores. Include WRITING. Mark off tasks as they are completed.
Here's a sample of mine:
1. Write
2. Exercise. completed
3. Pay bills. completed
4.Take Dog for a walk.completed
5.Unload dishwasher.completed
6.Clean out wallet.completed
Need I point out which item was left in the lurch?!
Here's to between the lines and happy writing,
Lee Ann
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Spiritual Path
He said to me, "I've been searching for years for a spiritual path and I've finally found it." I didn't know him well. I mean how well does one know their favorite barista even if they do make you a brew every day? But his words struck a chord with me. "You found a spiritual path?" I couldn't believe I was asking this question in the middle of a crowded Starbucks. "Can you tell me about it?" I asked. "I would love to," he said. And so my journey began. Frightened, excited and apprehensive, I take a few steps forward each day, trying to leave past beliefs behind and make room for hope, peace, and a new way. Namaste.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Three Wishes, Minus Two.
He replied to her, "Your journey is a personal one. I can't take it for you."
"But," I said, "my inner compass seems to be broken. I' m looking for my destination, but oh, if I only had a glimpse of what it looked like."
"Sorry. You know men don't ask for directions."
"This is true," I sighed. "I'll go it alone but I'll always be looking back wishing you could have joined me."
"But," I said, "my inner compass seems to be broken. I' m looking for my destination, but oh, if I only had a glimpse of what it looked like."
"Sorry. You know men don't ask for directions."
"This is true," I sighed. "I'll go it alone but I'll always be looking back wishing you could have joined me."
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
"They have no good magazines..."
I hate the torture of waiting rooms.
It doesn't matter if its the doctor's office or the building department, I feel trapped in all of them. Impatience rears its pointed head and I start looking for some form of entertainment. People watching exhausted, I start to scrounge for a magazine.
Did I mention how much I hate waiting rooms that have crappy magazines or none at all? Ok, I can understand why the OB/GYN has Parenting magazine. But must they have 300 copies of it and nothing else? I don't have anything against parenting, but I'm over it. At least give me a choice in case I'm just too damn old to parent anything, anymore!
Today the wait was to be interminable. I grabbed a ticket as I entered. My number was 79. They just called the number 33 over the loudspeaker. I felt the anxiety bubble up in me like Mexican food does.
Please. Please. Let there be something here to read, I mumbled under my breath.
I glanced around. There was only one magazine in sight. I made my stealth approach. Oh no. The worst - it was an AARP publication. As I heard them call the next number, only 40 away from mine, I picked up the magazine and headed back to my seat.
Hmm. Dennis Quaid on the cover. He didn't look old. As a matter of fact, he looked damn good. Why was he in this magazine? To sate my curiosity I started flipping through the pages. No ads for Cover Girl makeup. No Cosmo tips on how to keep your man happy. No info on surrogate mothers or parenting tips.
Instead, I found a article on retirement - where, when and how much money do you need. I could relate to that. Which insurance companies cover knee replacement and what is the average recovery time. Yep. I had questions about that subject too.
I flipped back to the cover page to verify that this was AARP. What followed next was an out-of-body experience. I WAS reading AARP and I could relate...to almost every article.
I don't recall hearing the next 30 numbers called (guess I have the memory of an old person too) but when I got ready to leave I squirreled away that magazine into my purse like a shoplifter hiding her stash.
I still feel like a Como girl and I'll continue to buy Cover Girl makeup even though the models who advertise it weren't yet born the year I graduated from highschool. But, I will not join AARP or subscribe to their magazine. I will not give in to being that vintage. I will however graciously accept a senior citizen discount at the movie theater starting next month, that is as long as there is no one in line that knows me.
Did I mention how much I hate aging? :-)
Coming up next time: "Donald flies the coop without filing a flight plan." or "Where the hell is that duck?"
It doesn't matter if its the doctor's office or the building department, I feel trapped in all of them. Impatience rears its pointed head and I start looking for some form of entertainment. People watching exhausted, I start to scrounge for a magazine.
Did I mention how much I hate waiting rooms that have crappy magazines or none at all? Ok, I can understand why the OB/GYN has Parenting magazine. But must they have 300 copies of it and nothing else? I don't have anything against parenting, but I'm over it. At least give me a choice in case I'm just too damn old to parent anything, anymore!
Today the wait was to be interminable. I grabbed a ticket as I entered. My number was 79. They just called the number 33 over the loudspeaker. I felt the anxiety bubble up in me like Mexican food does.
Please. Please. Let there be something here to read, I mumbled under my breath.
I glanced around. There was only one magazine in sight. I made my stealth approach. Oh no. The worst - it was an AARP publication. As I heard them call the next number, only 40 away from mine, I picked up the magazine and headed back to my seat.
Hmm. Dennis Quaid on the cover. He didn't look old. As a matter of fact, he looked damn good. Why was he in this magazine? To sate my curiosity I started flipping through the pages. No ads for Cover Girl makeup. No Cosmo tips on how to keep your man happy. No info on surrogate mothers or parenting tips.
Instead, I found a article on retirement - where, when and how much money do you need. I could relate to that. Which insurance companies cover knee replacement and what is the average recovery time. Yep. I had questions about that subject too.
I flipped back to the cover page to verify that this was AARP. What followed next was an out-of-body experience. I WAS reading AARP and I could relate...to almost every article.
I don't recall hearing the next 30 numbers called (guess I have the memory of an old person too) but when I got ready to leave I squirreled away that magazine into my purse like a shoplifter hiding her stash.
I still feel like a Como girl and I'll continue to buy Cover Girl makeup even though the models who advertise it weren't yet born the year I graduated from highschool. But, I will not join AARP or subscribe to their magazine. I will not give in to being that vintage. I will however graciously accept a senior citizen discount at the movie theater starting next month, that is as long as there is no one in line that knows me.
Did I mention how much I hate aging? :-)
Coming up next time: "Donald flies the coop without filing a flight plan." or "Where the hell is that duck?"
Monday, January 17, 2011
Always On the Wrong Side of the Door
Don't get me wrong.
I love my family. My two daughters are the sunshine of my every day. My sister - a mirror image of myself and a loving opportunity to change and improve at every turn. My boyfriend - the love of a lifetime - generous, kind and gorgeous. I'm a lucky person.
But then, there is the unconditional love of the four-legged, scratching, fighting, barking, bed-hogging, disgusting breathed, neurotic furballs that shadow my every move, every day.
My daughters can ask for 30 things a day from me; my animals ask for only 3 - love, food, and "Help, Mom! I'm on the wrong side of the door, again."
Don't get me wrong. I love my family, but oh those animals. They know how to steal my heart without a word.
The race is on for my greatest affection and I admit, it's looking like a 'photo finish.'
Gotta run...the litter box is calling my name.
**Tomorrow: Donald disappears without filing a flight plan.
I love my family. My two daughters are the sunshine of my every day. My sister - a mirror image of myself and a loving opportunity to change and improve at every turn. My boyfriend - the love of a lifetime - generous, kind and gorgeous. I'm a lucky person.
But then, there is the unconditional love of the four-legged, scratching, fighting, barking, bed-hogging, disgusting breathed, neurotic furballs that shadow my every move, every day.
My daughters can ask for 30 things a day from me; my animals ask for only 3 - love, food, and "Help, Mom! I'm on the wrong side of the door, again."
Don't get me wrong. I love my family, but oh those animals. They know how to steal my heart without a word.
The race is on for my greatest affection and I admit, it's looking like a 'photo finish.'
Gotta run...the litter box is calling my name.
**Tomorrow: Donald disappears without filing a flight plan.
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