Time and Time Again--It AIn't Flying Anymore

Where does time stand still?

Hospitals. That's where. They're in a different time zone altogether--with their own time theories. Time does not move here the way it does out there. It creeps and crawls. Their clocks, external and internal are wired for an alternate universe--a slooooooow universe. Hospitals are the relative you always have to make allowances for, if the party's at 3:00--you tell them it's at 2:00, or 1:30. But with hospitals you have to pad the time. If surgery is scheduled for 10:20, you should add 2 hours.

Just to be on the safe side--or sane side. I wish I had remembered this fact. Luckily I did remember my laptop--and the waiting room has wireless. Thank you, oh great ones of this place outside of time...

So my older son is the one having surgery. Broken jaw. Ow. I won't go into details, suffice it to say, the details are incredibly stupid and only achieved by young men who are legally adults, but so not adults.

The last time I was waiting for him to come out of surgery was 21 years ago, he was 3months old and I was nowhere near the level of calm I am now--and with good reason. But, obviously he survived. And so did I. We'll both be fine after this too, I'm just not sure which one of us will have the longer recovery time.

I don't know if I have a question. I know, what was the hardest lesson you had to learn?

If Time Really Does Fly, Why Doesn't My Baggage Ever Get Lost ?

Okayokayokay...soooo it's been awhile since I've blogged. And I realized I hadn't blogged in awhile, but when I saw the date of my last post, well, that's just not right. Right?

But, we all know life and...other things happen that makes our time fly. So, why can't it fly first class? I think sometimes it does, we just forget about those times.

Lately I feel as if I'm letting it fly by, or maybe as if I've been grasped by the hand and pulled along--with no control as to any destination.

So, today, my Mom, Joan Kennedy (not that one) gave a workshop at the library where I work and I was reminded in a non naggy mom way that I do have control over my life and my time. I'm the damn pilot. D'oh! I had forgotten that fundamental fact. It's my life. A mental slap to the cerebelum, or wherever, is a good thing, something we all need every once in a while. We all just get pulled into the flow of what's going on around us--a centrifigal force of crap--we forget that we are the pilot and the navigator of ourselves.

And that "baggage" we carry with us, well...let's toss it out over the Bermuda triangle. Ba-bye.

So, what's it like where you stand--are you the pilot? What could you do to become the pilot?

D'oh!

It's been over a week since I've posted...time flies.

So, I've been thinking about friendship, new and old, and how much I love it. That sounds sappy. Luckily, I don't care. I seriously don't care if I sound sappy or Pollyana-ish or, or any other metaphor you can come up with that, obviously, I cannot. Friendship is everything.

And by everything I mean, everything. I have different friends, I have friends since birth (literally--we were introduced at birth) since junior high school, since high school (lost and found) since moving to Rhode Island and back to Minnesota, since working at the library, and since I've been on line. And they all fill a certain need--or want--or empty place--or whatever.

You know what I mean.

My husband is my friend, but seriously, do you think he wants to talk cute shoes...or for that matter other cute dads at the school carnival--I think not. He doesn't even want to talk about books. Sheesh. Some friends fill many needs, some just a few. All are important.

All are important.

During my first marriage, I felt as if I had few friends. My long time friend Jeanne was one and if you can count my sister Patty, I had two. I was cut off, I won't blame it on him, because, no matter what, I allowed it. That felt yucky to say.

But now, I feel as if I am a magnet--or a bully: be my friend. Now. When I met one of my best friends, Michelle Buonfiglio, she came into the library and asked about romances--I pounced on her--not literally, we don't like each other that way. Anyway, she kept coming into the library and we kept talking. And then we saw each other at school. We were shawked.

Seriously.

Then I finally said, here's my e-mail, we should go out to lunch. I made her be my friend.

I've always been happy for my one time aggressiveness. Never had I done that before. Maybe in kindergarten (not the e-mail address, cuz that was in the olden days when there was only fire and string) but I may have made someone come over to play Barbies--I think she was invented (I'm joking, of course she was, we're the same age, Barbie and me.)

So my point is, I love my friends and will do anything for them. Seriously.

What would you do for your friend?

Manic Monday

Such good intentions.

I'll take a shower and get ready for work before my youngest leaves for school, then I'll be ready to fly out the door to get the grocery shopping done, get back home and have plenty of time for writing before I actually have to be to work.

D'oh.

I should know better, I've done this before.

I have a habit of trying to cram too many things in too short a time span. I think it keeps me lively.

Or crazy.

Really, I wouldn't have it any other way. I know, it sounds stupid--but I'd rather have a lot to do--I think I actually get more done that way. Too much time equals too much time to waste.

Okay, I might be lying, I do that sometimes. Because I also like to have great expanses of time with nothing to do but sit and read.

Aaah.

Which would you rather have too much time or too many things to do?

Much Ado-doo About Nothin'

That's right--nothin'. Nada. Zero, zip, zilch, as my Dad used to say.

I'm stuck. I got nothing. I'm talking about writing--I got plenty of other stuff, but writing? Plenty of nothing. I know, I know, if I just keep writing something magical will happen and all kinds of ideas and plot twists shall appear.

It's just that...I don't wanna.

I mean I do, but I don't. My husband jokes with me and says, "You want to have written a book, but you don't want to be writing one."

Maybe, maybe in a way he's right except when it really is magic and the words fly from my brain to my fingertips onto the keyboard and appear on the screen. Then, then I want to be writing a book.

To be writing, or not to be writing, that is the question--whether tis nobler...oh, what the hell--I chose to be writing.

It might make me crazy, but at least it keeps me from going crazy. And I have to prove my husband wrong (not about the 'have written' just about the not wanting 'to be' writing).

The Wheels On The Bus Go Round 'N Round...

Hey, I've got an idea, I'm going to take the 10 year old on a bus ride to visit our good friends. It will be exciting...

And it was, the first hour. The last seven and a half hours? Not so much so.

The DVD player didn't hold its charge, I couldn't get the laptop connected to the free WiFi on the bus, and we forgot Bunny. He has never gone to sleep without Bunny, literally. He talks about maybe he's too old for a stuffed animal, but I think when you've been with someone your whole life they're more than a stuffed animal, they're your friend.

The main point is all these things are tied to the bus for him--it is, in fact, the bus's fault that Bunny was left at home, that the DVD player didn't hold its charge and for no internet--well, that's true, it is the bus's fault. Now the cool thing is we played a couple card games (we're talented) and 20 questions and looked at cows and horses along the way--he actually did great with hardly any electronics.

But he's sworn never to set foot on a bus again, luckily, because the bus was so dang cheap I was able to book us on a flight home. He's really excited about it...

Of all the best laid plans what have been your worst ideas?

Enough About Me, Let's Talk About My Shoes

Let's talk fashion.
And just so you don't think I'm a totally uncaring daughter and mother with the whole fashion thing--everyone's doing so much better. Mom's home with a medication change and son is on an over the counter thing for a couple weeks. We're sleeping through the night again baby.

So let's talk fashion. So my girlfriend Michelle, Michelle Buonfiglio, knows the importance of good shoes. And when I say good shoes I don't mean good for you (except for the soul) I mean Good--as in, "Oh my Gawd, those shoes...they take my breath away," good. She came into town this weekend and did she have a great pair of shoes to show me. I won't do them justice describing them, plus they're her shoes to describe or not. But my point (yes, I always one) is that she understands they are the foundation of her outfit--which is also great and has nothing to do with the next paragraph.

Here's the thing with shoes, you can have an okay dress, but pair it with fab shoes and it raises the value on the dress--like a really good school district does for your house...really. But the same can be said in the opposite, which I will:

great dress + okay shoes = blah--or hiding behind the buffet table all night.

My Mom, always said, "Older boys might like you."

No, that's not it.

"Spend more on your accessaries than on the rest of your wardrobe." That's it. You can fake a lot of things, but you can't fake a great pair of shoes.