When Christmas time draws near
We sometimes see a tear
In the corner of our snowman’s little eye.
But please don’t be concerned
It’s just he never learned
That Christmas cards are better off kept dry.
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
Well, almost.
I present to you, book #5.
Monkeys on an Island will be available soon. Very soon! (It has a publication date of February 1, 2012, but books typically are available a little before their pub date.)
In case you haven’t guessed already, it is a picture book.
Look for it. I bet I’ll spot it on Amazon before you do.
I awoke this morning with the oddest words echoing through my head. They were playing, over and over, as if their importance was so intense that my mind was determined to etch them into the walls of my brain.
“You can’t delegate your life.”
In my sleepy state I felt they made perfect sense. Of course you couldn’t delegate your life! How silly to even think you could. To delegate is to choose someone to act for you, and how can you choose someone to live your life? Impossible.
And then I began to awake. Each step toward consciousness brought me closer to the realization that the statement was not quite as simple as I had first thought. When an epiphany finally slapped me fully awake I knew what the statement meant.
There are times I do delegate my life. With every television show I watch, every book I read, every video game I play, I delegate my life to their creators. Because you see, while I am watching, reading, and playing, I am not actively living. I am passive. I am in a life that is not my own, a life someone else created.
Now, before you get all huffy and say reading is good for you and an occasional game or TV show never hurt anyone, let me say I agree. Entertainment, in small doses, is great! It is necessary. It serves a very important purpose in our lives to help us de-stress and relax.
But only in small doses. As soon as the pursuit of entertainment makes us forget to actually live, we’ve delegated away our lives.
I’ve seen it happen time and time again. I don’t know what causes some people to get caught up in passivity. Maybe they are tired, or bored, or lazy, or even afraid of life.
All I know is that now that I’ve gotten the message, I have to live it.
You can’t delegate your life.
Living is doing.
If I didn’t know the imagination was powerful before, I sure do now!
I am taking a class about research, something I am comfortable with and enjoy very much. The subject I was given to research was pandemic viruses.
Everything was fine until I came across a plethora of articles about the 1918 influenza pandemic that killed somewhere between 50 million and 100 million people. For whatever reason, that particular pandemic made my imagination kick into overdrive. I felt suddenly sick. With the flu, no less.
The symptoms hit me like a ton of bricks. Stuffed up nose, upset stomach, feverish, and that all over feeling of blah. The more I researched, the worse I felt. By the time I had a sufficient amount of research I felt my best bet was to call it a day (even if it was only 9:30 am) and go to bed. So I wrote out my findings, posted my assignment, and trudged downstairs to get a pre-nap dose of vitamin C.
I never took the vitamin C. Within two minutes of posting my research, all my symptoms were gone. Not a sign of fever, not a sniffle, nada.
Yes, the imagination is an amazing thing.
Note to self: Never, never, never write a horror story or a thriller. Never!
Running across the airport is always a trying experience, especially when the mischievous pixies of the reservation system have been busy moving whichever gate I needed to the far corners of the airport.
I arrived just as the last passenger was having his boarding pass scanned by the attendant. I was out of breath, but happy. I had made it! The plane had not left without me!
I boarded the crowded plane, and as I arrived at my seat my heart dropped to my feet.
Eek! I had a middle seat! How could life treat me this cruelly? I was now destined to spend the next few hours squished between two perfect strangers, a hostage to the “fasten seat belt” sign that was sure to stay lit the entire time.
With a deep breath I straightened my shoulders and decided to grin and bear it. After all, it was Thanksgiving day. Instead of focusing on the bad seating arrangement, I would spend my hours in flight enumerating the many things I am thankful for.
Or so I thought.
I never asked the guy in the aisle seat next to me his name. It would not have mattered anyway, because I will always think of him as Elbows Malone, the orneriest elbow thrower the West has ever known.
He seemed to believe that both armrests were his personal property, and after the third time he slammed his sharp elbow down on my arm, which I had rested on the very edge of the armrest for a moment, I wondered if he might be right.
I decided to take the high road and ignore his ill manners.
The real test of my fortitude came about the fourth time his elbows jabbed me in the ribs. It was a particularly painful jab, and my natural instinct was to use my much sharper elbows in retaliation. I was able to restrain myself by repeating, over and over again, my long list of thanks.
We finally landed, and I watched as Elbows Malone used his built-in swords to force his way off the plane ahead of his turn.
As I exited I added two more “I am thankfuls” to my list.
I am thankful that Elbows Malone is not a friend or family member, and I am thankful I will never have to sit next to him on a plane again.
But if the world plays a trick on me and I find myself again trapped beside him and his out of control appendages, he had better hope I have once again decided to fly on Thanksgiving Day!
Or better yet, maybe the next time I fly I will go prepared, with a big roll of duct tape.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I have so much to be thankful for that I won’t list everything here, you all would be bored to tears. God has blessed me in so many ways.
Instead I’ll just list the highlights.
Every “I am thankful for” list I’ve ever scribbled begins with my wonderful family. After all, my life would not be the same without them. I have been blessed, and am thankful for, the family I was born into, the one I married into, and most especially the one my husband and I built together.
And this year I am extra thankful for my mother.
All it took was a single “what if” moment, one thought of “what if my mother wasn’t around?” and I instantly remembered what she means to me.
During my childhood my friends would cower as my mother approached, fear oozing from their pores and every transgression evident on their faces. Their eyes wide with fright, they waited, breathless, only capable of responding to my mom’s friendly questions with simple, monosyllabic answers.
The funny thing was, my mother had never raised her voice nor said a cross word to a single one them, and she was not likely to. It was not her way.
Still, their fear was not unfounded. My mom, though small in stature, is a powerhouse radiating massive rays of strength.
Maybe it is that backbone of steel, or the perfectly tuned moral compass.
Any way around I am thankful for her. She is the foundation on which my life began. She is a solid rock to lean on, a comforting teddy bear to hug, and an encyclopedia of commonsense wisdom.
I am very, very lucky to have my mother.
I’ve noticed the phenomenon before.
If you are a studying archaeology, engineering, business, computer science or any number of fields, either nothing is mentioned about chances of getting a job, or it is said that the outlook is wonderful.
If you are studying in an artistic field, say like writing, a very different future is hammered into your brain.
Books by writers, about becoming writers, are grim. I’ve read several of them, and all say the same thing: I’ve made it. I’m able to pay my bills by doing what I love. But you, fledgling writer, will not be so fortunate. You must keep your day job, because I am unique, and you are not. I have talent, I work hard, and I have a lucky streak a mile wide. If you think you’re going to have a success like mine you are deluding yourself.
Now there is one thing I’ve learned about myself. I detest being told that there is an unsurmountable roadblock in my way. If someone, anyone, tells me I cannot do something, that I’m not capable, the old rebellious juices begin to bubble. Furiously.
In the last few months, I’ve read innumerable times that the chances of anyone becoming a writer, the kind who is actually paid for her work, is about a million to one.
The gauntlet has been tossed. I accept the challenge.
I will be the one.
As the wife of a veteran, I appreciate what our men and women in the military do.
My husband retired from the Air Force after serving this country for more than 20 years. He did his job willingly, even though it often meant missing important milestones in the lives of our children. He missed birthdays, Christmases, Thanksgivings, school projects, first dates, and even some driving lessons.
Missing these things was was no small sacrifice for my husband. He truly cares for his family and loves being a part of it.
But he, like most military personnel, had a calling. He was called to serve, to protect, to insure that future Americans will be able to enjoy the freedoms that those of us not in the military often take for granted.
His love for America continues and doesn’t wane, even amidst our crazy society with its bickering politicians, protesters who can’t seem to figure out what exactly they are protesting, and the wanna-be ‘funny’ people who claim the military is populated by uneducated morons who have no other options in life.
My husband is my best friend. He has partnered with me to rear 4 beautiful daughters who are all both good and strong. He possesses 2 Bachelor degrees and a Masters. He is one the the smartest men I know, has a wickedly funny sense of humor, and the soul of an artist.
He now fulfills that call to serve by teaching. His philosophy is that we are put on this world to make it a better place, and he does his part by helping the next generation learn to love learning.
The men and women who serve in our military deserve the gratitude of every citizen of this country. But more than that, they deserve the gratitude of every downtrodden nation that our military has liberated from the bonds of tyranny.
They won’t get it, and they are aware that they won’t. Because as a group, the military is made up of a pretty savvy bunch of people. I should know.
My husband is a veteran.
Have you ever had one of those days? You know, a day when everything happens, when your life has somehow shifted into high gear?
Yesterday was one of those days. I’ll list, in order of appearance, the unusual things that happened in one measly 24 hour period. Keep in mind I’m only listing the unusual things.
- A member of my family, on the other side of the country, had open heart surgery, which made me a basket case all day long. (I am happy to report that I have been informed that she is now resting comfortably in the ICU.)
- It was my sister’s birthday.
- I received an email requesting a phone interview (for a job).
- A nearby member of my family called saying she felt very ill and wanted me to drive her to urgent care (which I gladly did).
- I was told about a very happy upcoming event (more to come at a later date).
- I received a phone call from a relative upset because I had not called to say I was driving above family member to urgent care.
- I received a second upset call from a second relative for the same reason.
- I dreamed of a solution to a tricky homework problem that had been bugging me.
So there you go. It was a very roller coaster type of day, filled with pretty much every emotion possible.
To be perfectly frank, I wouldn’t mind today being boring. Sometimes, boring is good.
I don’t want to come off as a scold, but really!
How could they? How could my alma mater be so slack in their proofreading that they actually misspell the name of a country? An entire country! On the college application, no less!
When I think of all those impressionable, wannabe students….
I think I’d better spell it, just so there is no mistake.
The correct spelling is C-O-L-O-M-B-I-A.
There is no U in the name of the country.
I’m very embarrassed for my alma mater.
Am I blushing?