Days Like This

Momma always said there would be days like this, as the song goes. But my mother never really prepared me for what I am experiencing now. I’m hoping that my daughters see what I am going through and learn from it. I’ve always shared things with them and this is no different. They know the story and see how it is affecting me.

I’ve heard that the more trials and tribulations that you go through, the stronger you become. I should be Hercules by now, I’m thinking. But I’m getting tired of fighting the war. Tired of getting one step ahead and then getting kicked back a mile. It reminds me of how things were when my babies were small and it was all on me to take care of them. Life situations knocked me down and I dragged myself back up time after time. I was super mom. And I was exhausted.

This is a little different. I see no end in sight, no light at the end of the tunnel. It’s not that I’m depressed. I’m angry. I’m so angry at circumstances and the situation that is responsible. I can’t get through and it is more frustrating than anything I’ve ever gone through. I can’t have what is mine and I can’t justify the issues. Health is such a fragile thing. You take care of yourself all of your life and issues just eat away at you, causing you to deteriorate no matter how hard you try to placate.

I guess this isn’t really making much sense but I’m thanking God that I have the power to write this down and exfoliate my mind. No, I’m not suicidal. That’s as far from my mind as the earth is from the moon. What I am is tired. Tired of trying to deal with things that are out of my realm. And all I can do now is try to rid myself of the anger so it doesn’t make me bitter. The life we have been given is a gift and to squander that gift with bitterness is more than irresponsible. It’s criminal. Sinful.

And now that I have written it down, I plan to leave it alone. It’s not in my hands anyway so why ruin my sanity with one more thing. So, as I’ve learned to do in this thing called life, I’m picking myself back up and making the best of it. I refuse to let my positive attitude and love of life be destroyed by something that should not have any power over me.

The Mom I Wasn't

Mother’s day always makes me contemplate the effect I had on my children when they were young. Always something that’s easier to do when they are grown, I guess. I always have the same questions year after year. I don’t ask them, of course, because they are going to tell me that I was the best ever. But I always wonder. So this year, since I’m a blogger now (yay hoo!), I decided to write it down. Purge my system of the questions that have been lingering for 20+ years. This is the mom I was. What about the mom I wasn’t?

I remember the first time I held my kids. I thought to myself “this little person grew inside of me.” I was awesome! Then the fear set in. I was just a kid myself. Was I good enough to raise them? How do you raise a child anyway? Mom, help! Asking her just got me the typical response. “There is no manual for raising children. You’ll just have to muddle along like the rest of us did.” Thanks, Mom, I feel ever so much better. But she was there when I inundated her with frantic calls. Deanna has a fever. “Put her in a bathtub with lukewarm water and let her play.” Debbie just fell and cracked her head (which time?). ”Are her eyes crossed? She’ll be ok.” It didn’t help that we were living in Dallas, some 1,200 miles away. Anyway, between Mom’s sage advice and my own inept trials and errors, they grew up fine. But…

Like most moms these days, I had to work. I had the same feelings most moms get when I dropped them off at daycare. I was the most horrible mother in the world. Were the daycares good enough? Who would kiss their boo boos?  What if they choked on their lunch? Would they think I’d deserted them? Or, the worst of it all, would they end up loving their caretakers more than me?  Yeah, that’s a silly one, I know. Brought to life when they didn’t want to go home their first day.

Being a working mom and raising kids is tough enough but try the insecurities of attempting to climb the corporate ladder (not that I did too well) and assuage the guilt. Did I work too much? If I hadn’t put in the extra five to ten hours per week at work, would they be more well adjusted adults? Yes, I loved my job but did I love it more than my kids? I don’t think so but why was it so easy to drop them off at the daycare after a particularly hectic morning at home because work was preferable than dealing with a whiny, snotty child? Deanna, for the first five years of her life, had to be completely dressed before I woke her unless I wanted to wrestle what seemed to be an oversized octopus every day. Not a morning person. Still isn’t, for that matter. Debbie, even at the tender age of two, had to pick out her own clothes because NOTHING I picked out for her would work. Yep, she’s still that way as well.

Speaking of clothes, did they have enough? Did they have what the other kids their age had? Money was always tight but I didn’t want them to be left out. I have strong memories of Deanna being disappointed because the first parent’s night at school was upon us and there was either enough gas in my car to either go to work the next morning or go to the school. I still remember her telling me “But I put all my projects on my desk and everything.” And it still breaks my heart. There wasn’t enough money for Debbie to be a cheerleader in fourth grade. Why kids needed to be cheerleaders at that age is beyond me but I still remember her hiding behind a tree at the park watching the more affluent girls practicing their cheers on the ball field. And I felt like a piece of dirt because she couldn’t join.

Vacations were there but I didn’t get to take them to Europe. Yeah, that’s a stupid one but I wanted it for them anyway. Did I do enough fun stuff with them? We did the zoo and spent lots of time at the park. And shopping. They were champion shoppers before they were ten. Once we moved back to Pennsylvania, they spent lots of time on Pap and Gramma’s farm. They had family. I gave them family.  The county fair every year. Rib cookoffs, once again courtesy of Pap and Gramma. Instruments so that they could join the band in school. From sixth grade to graduation, they were in the band. There was never enough money for Disney when they were kids but damn it, they went with the band in high school. We scrimped, saved, washed cars and fund-raised until we were exhausted but they went to Disney.

Ok, so money was tight. Who doesn’t have that problem these days. More importantly, was there enough love? Did I show them enough love? They never went to bed without a kiss, a hug and an I love you. Even when they were sent to bed in disgrace, they had that. I cooked meals that they liked. Ok, so a lot of those meals were out of a box but they liked them. I played with them when they were small, talked about sex with them as teens and was as helpful as I could be when they came to me with problems. They have always known that they could talk to me about anything. Even…gulp…relationships. Not that I’m an expert on those but I tried. I kissed boo boos, dried tears and drove car pools. They had birthday parties and sleep overs. Warm beds and fully tummies.

Most of all, I guess, they had and still have a mom who loves them, is proud of them and will always be ready to lend a helping hand. Isn’t that what all moms strive to be? I don’t know but it’s who I am. Whether I do it well is a question I guess I will always ask myself.

Things I Wonder About

Since I think about off the wall stuff from time to time (ok, so I do it all the time), I thought I’d put my musings on paper.  Unless you know me pretty well, you as a reader probably won’t understand a lot of what I will be writing about but try to stick with it. It may click or you may click off.  I get it. Not everyone wants to know my inner child or read my ramblings. But I decided that rather than lie awake tonight with a load of things going through my head, I’d write it all down before I turned off the light. What a novel idea! Wish I had thought of it before.  And since I’m writing it all down, I may as well post it, right? Anyway, here goes nothing.

Since my move to the “big city”, I always notice different things that I never noticed back in the home land. Drugs stores are a question to me. Did you ever notice that if you see a Walgreens, you don’t have to look far to see a CVS? It’s always within a block but most likely it will be right across the street. Do they have a competition going? Are they related and want to live close to each other? And do they have spies that go across the street to check prices to see if Colgate toothpaste is cheaper? Just one last drug store thing…what the hell do the letters CVS stand for anyway? OK, so I said you might not get it but I wonder about these things for some reason. It gets better after this, I promise.

I read an article about how things are changing grammatically in the typing world. It is no longer necessary to put two spaces after a period at the end of a sentence. Only one space is required from here on. OMG, who thinks up these things? Was someone in the grammatical world bored one day and just thought “I think I’ll mess with all the writers/bloggers in the world and change a rule that has been in place since the invention of the typewriter (for those of you who don’t know what a typewriter is, it came before computers).” Or was it necessary for planetary alignment that the extra space just HAD TO GO? Astrologically speaking, I just don’t get it. And how does one go about not putting in the extra space after doing it for twenty-five years? My fingers just automatically put it in and when I forget to put it in, I automatically go back and fix it. Whatever will they think of next? And who has this much time on their hands to change the rule that didn’t need to be changed in the first place?

I recently re-entered the dating world after 20+ years so I need some help from singles out there with this one. Is it against proper dating etiquette to text, tweet or answer your cell phone while out having dinner with someone who is boring the crap out of you and talks with their mouth full? I mean, he’s a nice guy and all but there are some things that really gross me out. One of those things is talking with food in your mouth. I mean, you never know when something is going to fly out of their mouth and nail you right in the face. Plus it goes against everything my momma ever taught me about table manners. He also eats with his elbows on the table and points with his fork but I’ll let those things slide. Since he’s paying for dinner, I thought I’d be kind. But I just had to tell a friend (or two) about it or I’ll just explode and tell him to shut his freakin’ mouth because I didn’t want to wear his dinner. So I’m texting, tweeting and answering my cell phone. I’m also back to the same problem I had when I was younger. This guy bored me to tears and grossed me out but I still say at the end of the evening “sure, I’d love to do it again.” I’m a sap.

Why is it so damn hard to stop playing a computer game until you win? I don’t play many, mostly because I don’t have the patience to sit mindlessly staring at the screen while unsuccessfully trying to maneuver my mouse somewhere it apparently doesn’t want to go. But I still sit there playing, occasionally flipping back to my word document that definitely isn’t writing itself, and I can’t shut it off until I win. I’m honestly thinking it’s the screen that comes up after I lose. You know the one I’m talking about. The one that says “sorry but you lost the game”.  It’s actually very polite but you know what it would tell you if it could…you are a LOSER!!! You LOST the game and you SUCK at it! It just galls me that a computer would tell me that if it could. I know it would. Which prompts me to hit the play again button and I get sucked in even deeper. Bloody hell.

And what is the proper length for a blog? I know I ramble on mindlessly until I run out of words to say (that’s a lie because I never do…run out of words, that is) or my eyes cross but no one has ever been able to tell me when to stop. I used to watch the word count at the bottom of the screen but that was a lot of pressure. I would either have what I considered too many words to say what I was saying or not quite enough for what I considered plausible prose. So I’m stuck with winging it and I’m really not a “wing it” kind of girl. I like to think about things because if I don’t, I get into a heap of trouble in the end. Never dive into the pool without first testing the water. Never take a bite without smelling what I’m going to eat (was never allowed to do that at momma’s house, going back to the table manners thing). So I’m floundering a bit and I’ve decided that if I haven’t said it all within a thousand words, it can’t be said. I mean, it’s not a novel I’m writing here, it’s a simple blog, right? Until I hear differently, that’s what I’m going with. Please tell me if I’m wrong.

Well, since I’m near the end of my self-imposed word limit, I guess I should quit while I’m ahead. I did warn you that you may not understand where my thinking comes from. Actually this was more than getting things out of my head, which really doesn’t matter since more stuff comes in to replace it almost immediately anyway. It was an exercise in the new grammatical rule of only putting one space after a period. I came really close to getting it. Seriously, I think it’s time I got some sleep. Because I know as soon as I post this, two young girls are going to be discussing me, asking each other “Has Momma finally lost her marbles?”

Random Thoughts

Sometimes I get bogged down in my self-imposed pit of pithyness where I take everything I have written down in my little faithful notebook that never leaves my side and transform it into a blog. I get little ideas in my head constantly. When these ideas come to me, I write them down (day or night, seriously). Occasionally I look at what I have written and wonder what made me even think these thoughts but most times it makes sense.  Well, to me it does. I have a mind that doesn’t work like most minds do. I constantly see the funny, often irritating side of things in day to day happenings and they get turned around in weird ways with my unusual sense of humor. Thus, I have the aforementioned pit.

 As an example, I was driving to work the yesterday and as I entered the highway, a man in a rather expensive car came up beside me on the ramp, squeezed in between my car and the one ahead of me (despite the fact there was ample space behind me) and what he did next really boggled my mind and got me thinking in my typical “Soozie” way. This man in this rather expensive car (did I mention that?) risked life and limb to cross two lanes, despite the fact that someone else already occupied them, to get to the outside lane. I’m already shaking my head in disbelief. He then proceeded to wangle his way back to the right hand lane to exit less than two miles from where he entered.  So, as I said, I’m already thinking what in the world is so important to this man that he has to risk his life and others to get to that exit five seconds earlier than I. Maybe he’s an obstetrician and has to deliver a baby…right now! Or he’s late for a meeting that could save the world from possible instant destruction. I’m trying to be fair here. And the answer to this man’s desperate, demon-like rush…wait for it!  I caught up to him in the drive through lane at Starbucks. So he drove like a maniac to get a Venti Cinnamon Dolce Frappuccino Light. Seriously, I heard him order it. Of course, I had to write down his order in the event that I would someday need the information.

 The previous paragraph has nothing to do with this blog. It’s just a brief sojourn into the way my strange, often wacky, way the mind of Soozie works. Almost criminal, ain’t it?

 What I really want to write about is this morning. An I-just-can’t-win kind of morning. It’s early on my day off. I am blissfully, peacefully sitting on my patio enjoying my coffee (how does anyone start their day without a cup, I wonder?). Just plain brew, mind you. Nothing fancy. A little cinnamon cream. The birds are singing, the stray cat that lives on my patio is washing her face. All of a sudden, I hear the buzzing and scraping of motorized equipment all around me. What???  Along comes the local landscaping crew with their edgers and wackers and mowers, oh my! And there I sit, unfettered, uncombed and unpolished, looking as if I had just crawled out of bed. Which I had. Even my nails were undone, no mani, no pedi. And the peacefulness is gone. Shot to hell. There should be a law against early birds mowing the grass. At least wait until nine…or ten. Welcome to city (and apartment) life, Soozie Girl. It’s been a long time. And then there’s my daughter, who says “Well, it is Friday, you know. They always do yard work on Friday.” How would I know? I work most Fridays.

 I enter my humble abode to fetter and shower (I think I’ll shower first) to find my always loving and ever so adorable grandson sitting on the counter eating jelly beans in a bucket of leftover coffee. How did he get on the counter, you ask? He opened the oven door, climbed up and on his journey to the coffee pot, turned on the oven. So I have a 900 degree kitchen, coffee that didn’t make it into the bucket spilled on the floor and the innocent, handsome face of a three-year-old who asks me with a smile “Want some jelly beans, YaYa? They’re yummy.”

So after an appointment with a wooden spoon, a stern lecture about the perils of turning on the oven and climbing, some scrubbing to clean up the mess, I adjourn to my sanctuary, which in this case is my bedroom, to turn on my computer. My shower is forgotten as I plan to indulge in some tweeting and FB posting. It’s still early and, as I mentioned, it is my day off. And…my computer will not turn on.  My. Computer. Will. Not. Turn. On.

 Deep breathing. Mantra of “patience, patience, patience.” I unplug it, plug it back in. No luck. I take the battery out, put it back in. No luck. I cuss at it. No luck. Doesn’t understand basic, vulgar English, I guess. I shake it (ok, so I’m really frustrated at this point) and hear a lovely rattle. Take out the battery pack again and remove three pennies, two dimes and a nickel…how did I miss that earlier? I realize that my personal, private sanctuary has been invaded whilst I toiled at my place of employment the day before. Again, the above-mentioned loving and adorable grandson. I removed all coins, put the battery in again and…voila! I’m once again computing. After another stern lecture about the perils of messing with my most prized possession to the three-year-old.

 Ah, hell. I’m just going to take a shower, call work and see if they need me today. I’m not in the mood to have a day off. Or perhaps I should take off my really big bitch hat and try to enjoy myself. Voting for the latter. Not really in the mood to work either.

Advice to My Daughters

Growing up, I watched my mother go through her life as if it were a journey.  She raised six children with a strong but gentle hand (and a switch from the tree next to the house).  She scrimped when times were bad and rejoiced when they were not quite as difficult.  She praised God and encouraged us all to do the same (some of us got it, the others not so much).   She loved a husband who was, for the most part, a difficult and demanding man but also one who took care of her until the end.  And through it all, she never lost her sense of humor, her faith or her positive outlook.  Mom never gave me advice on life and I often wish she had so that I could have avoided a lot of mistakes in my often delusional youth.

So, with two grown daughters of my own, I feel compelled to give them the benefit of my oh-so-worldly experience so perhaps they can avoid some of my biggest blunders.  They’ll make enough mistakes on their own without repeating mine.  That being said, I came up with several pithy, somewhat noteworthy (I think) thoughts I believe could guide them on this sometimes disastrous but mostly rewarding road we call life.

Number one on my list, my angels, is put your life in God’s hands and trust him to lead you forward.  You’ll have to listen closely to avoid missing his council as the world is noisy and misleading but you’ll be glad in the end that you did.  Can you do it without him?  Certainly if you want to but I wouldn’t advise it.  All that will get you is a lot of missteps you could have skipped and a very long, hot eternity.  If you listen to nothing else in this message, listen to this.

Second, learn from my mistakes but don’t let them color your world black or become jaded as I have.  Not all men are abusive.  There are plenty of them out there who are decent and respectful to women.  Long before you were conceived, God had your husband chosen for you (honest, it’s in the Bible).  All you need to do is listen and He will lead you to the one you were meant to be with.  If you pick a man with your hormones, trust me, this too shall pass.  And know that my marriage was not all bad.  It’s just that sometimes weakness leads people to poisons that they shouldn’t indulge in and that, in turn, leads to collisions that could have otherwise been avoided.  But in the end, I was gifted with you and for that, I would do it all again.

Don’t wait too long to realize your passion and move forward with it.  Life sometimes gets in the way and something you were meant to do gets pushed aside.  Do not let this happen.  God has given each of us a special gift, a talent that we are not supposed to squander.  Find it, use it and don’t let it sit idly in your subconscious.  My passion is writing and I’ve waited a long time to realize that it’s what I should have been doing all along.  I might not be good at it but the words that have been in my head for all these years need to come out and be written.  So, ladies, get off your butts and find your passion.

Treat your children as what they are, a precious gift from God.  When they frustrate you, realize that you will laugh about it someday when they are grown and you need to use it to embarrass them.  When they cry, hold them close.  Some day you will wish you still could.  When they laugh, laugh yourself silly with them.  They are such a joy even in the darkest times so realize that and embrace the experience.  Life has taught me, the hard way, that you never know how long you were meant to have them and you must never miss a day of the paradise that is your child.

Now that I’ve gotten all of the mushy, teary junk out of the way, I guess I should add some practical, yeah-right stuff in here so…don’t drink excessively and never drink and drive.  Never smoke and avoid eating yourself into obesity.  Mind your elders; they really do know more than you.  Don’t drive too fast for conditions and always watch for black ice.  And, most importantly, know that chocolate really is a cure-all.  Might I suggest Harry & David Moose Munch Bars?

And this, my precious babies, is what I have learned in my vast experience so far.  Take it to heart or tell me I’m crazy.  But, at the very least, read it.  Just sayin….

What Would I Do Without My Laptop

What would I do without it?

It’s just a possession. A 15.6 inch pink rectangular box. A mainstay of my existence, I’m afraid. I’m speaking of my laptop.  It’s not a gamers dream, doesn’t have BluRay, just DVD. It is HD but that’s as fancy as I get. So what would I do without it? Hmm…I dare to contemplate. My daughter just lost hers as the result of a virus so I’m using her as a guideline of sorts.

Number one, since I’m a writer, I would have to buy pens. Lots and lots of pens. I write constantly. Every time a thought comes in to my head while I’m socially networking or blogging, which is often, I type it in to my trusty little Dell. My friend that never speaks to me but is always close by. So I would need a lot of pens.  Oh, and paper. Paper with lines on it. I’m not the neatest scribbler, as my notebooks on my nightstand can attest. Hey, who can be neat and tidy when it’s 3:00 a.m. and a thought needs to be written down? So I would need pens and paper with lines. A lot of both.

Games. Oh, geez. I’d need to take the board games out of storage and dust them off.  I would be hoping none of the pieces are missing.  Game pieces are never missing on computerized games. It’s kind of a rule.  Oh, and rules.  I’d have to read the rules of the games I own.  It’s been so long since I’ve played any of them that I’ve probably forgotten most of the rules. Then you have to factor in the three-year-old.  Oh, I can see it now; game pieces strewn everywhere. Sure to get lost. So games would be another issue if I didn’t have my little friend.

Then there is the aforementioned social networking. I’d have to get a bigger cell phone plan since I’d be calling everyone instead of just typing the little tidbits of my random thoughts. I wouldn’t be able to blog unless I mailed it in. Can you mail in a blog? I’m thinking not. They wouldn’t be able to read my handwriting anyway since, as I mentioned above, it’s not the neatest. Oh, and email. I rarely use it any more but still, if I didn’t have it, I would definitely miss it. Oh, yeah, I have it on my phone but really? Has to be on the big screen. Twitter, Facebook, I would miss you so much. So my social networking would be next to nil.

News and weather? I’d probably have to start watching the television again but who has the time for that when there is so much to do on the computer (see above). Oh, right. I wouldn’t have the computer so I would have more time to watch TV. But then I’d be scribbling on paper to get my blogs and novel done and I don’t think I can write 95 words per minute like I can type. So it would take twice as long to get my stuff done (every woman has stuff). This would be really bad. And I’m really not patient enough to watch TV either. I hate commercials, news anchors annoy me and I’d have to constantly answer the question “why aren’t we watching Mickey Mouse?”

Mickey Mouse? Oh, here comes another disaster. I would not have all the episodes of the Imagination Movers available at a moment’s notice for that emergency, please-stop-crying-now viewing. Definitely not a good thing. And since it’s our time together, Mr. Three-Year-Old and I, it would be heartbreaking not to have it. I downloaded quite a few episodes of this, his favorite show from I-tunes and, ohmygosh, how would I download music on to my IPod? I’d never survive without it. This is getting worse and worse. Why am I writing this blog and getting myself all upset? There, there.  Little pink friend is alive and kicking, so not to worry.

So, my friend, if you care anything at all about my needs, please take care of yourself.  Do not inherit any nasty little viruses and rest when I do because you know that I will need you when I wake up. I’ve given you the best that I can; top-notch virus protection, a can of air to keep your keyboard neat and tidy, a mouse to die for.  Not to mention that I stroke your ego often and sincerely. All I ask is that you be there for me when I need you.

The Story of Me

I’ve been assigned the task of writing an autobiography, the story of me, an obituary of sorts.  Daunting but cathartic, I’m told.  How does a person who is reluctant to talk about herself write the story of her life?  By looking at it through the eyes of an outsider, I’m thinking.  It’s more than I was born, I grew and I live.  It’s about feelings, beliefs and the courage to act upon both.  And so I begin.

I was born a farm girl, second youngest of six (so reminds me of the line in The Jerk…I was born a poor, black child). We had little money but food was plentiful thanks to gardens and livestock.  Love was also plentiful.  Mom was gentle and caring; Dad tough but fair.  Work was most plentiful of all. I grew up in the garden, the hayfield and the barn.  Throwing bales of hay and pulling weeds.  Picking and canning vegetables.  Chasing cows and pigs.  Ever try to rope a pig? Not easy, I assure you.  And dreamed of the day I could get out.  My fondest memory of it all was my dreams, not realizing that someday I would look back on it all and appreciate what I was given. 

From my father, I learned the value of hard work and developed a love of sports.  He worked the steel mill during the day and the farm in the evening to provide for his large family.  He never stopped as long as there was something that needed to be done.  And we all joined in, willingly or not.  I remember watching sports with him from a very young age.  We went to a lot of Pirate games with my father and they were the greatest times.  I wanted to be the first female member of the Pittsburgh Pirates when I was a kid.  Together we enjoyed the glory days of the ‘70’s Steelers and Pirates, along with the incredible Lemieux years with the Penguins.

From my mother came my love of music and the basis for my faith.  Mom was a concert pianist, a member of the church choir and a fantastic example of how faith can positively mold you.  She led by example.  She was mild mannered and just a wee bit ditsy.  Not much of a cook, but she could make you cry when her fingers touched the piano keys.  When things got her down, she relied on prayer.  In her later years, after all six of us had moved out, Mom had a chair upstairs in the old farmhouse where she sat when life got to her.  She called it her crying chair.  It had sagging springs, with an old cover over the cushion and desperately needed refinishing.  I don’t remember where it came from but when she passed away, I went to the chair and did my own crying.

I think, of the two of them, I resemble my mother in next to nothing other than musical aptitude and strong faith.  I work hard, like my father, and have little tolerance for anyone who doesn’t.  Those who know me would tell you that I inherited my father’s disposition, although whether that is a good thing or bad depends mostly on the situation at hand. 

As a child, I had the usual lessons, piano and gymnastics, baton for which I had no coordination.  Together, my younger sister and I were in local parades twirling our batons (more of a weapon in my hands) in our little purple suits with the fringe on the butt or tumbling on the pavement to the detriment of our knees and hands.  As I grew older, I had my clarinet, piano and singing in the chorus.  Music and dancing had become the two most important things in my life.  To a certain extent, they still are; a calm island in the storms of life.  I have since added a guitar to my repertoire although my lessons there go slowly.

When I was a teen, I discovered my love of the written word.  I began with sappy, miserable poems full of angst, my anger at the world in general.  Because I also loved music, my next genre was song writing, equally foolish and melancholy.  I believe my mother thought I was suicidal when she read it all, although nothing could have been further from the truth.  Except the day that John Lennon was shot but wasn’t every teenager that day?  Writing had become my passion and so upon graduation, I headed to college with the dream of some day becoming the first female sports writer to enter the hallowed halls of the Pittsburgh Steelers locker room.  That didn’t happen but I did make it in when my young daughter, full of love and awe for Bubby Brister and Merril Hoge of the ‘80’s Steelers teams, followed them in after a practice game.  They were both very kind as we were kicked out.

Life is what happens when you are busy making plans or so I’ve heard.  I didn’t graduate from that esteemed institution of higher learning, much to my father’s great disappointment and infuriation.  But although my college experience was brief, I learned well in my brief sojourn there from several very dedicated and talented professors, both of whom I remain in touch with to this day.  Instead of being a world famous reporter, I fell in love and became a wife and mother at a very young age.  And a mother again several years later to a second daughter.  While that sounds cliché and banal even to my ears, that is basically what happened.  Although my tumultuous marriage took the way of my reporting dreams, I have no regrets as I have the love of two beautiful young ladies, both of whom I am very proud.  I had a son for a short time, a handsome sprite who loved to play basketball and pretend he was Michael Jordan.  I guess God figured he needed him more than I and took him away after only four years.  And finally, a grandson, who is just rowdy and resourceful enough to make my life both challenging and exhausting.  And I wouldn’t change a thing about any of it, even if I could.

I have my little quirks, as most people do.  Most of them revolve around my dream.  How many people do you know edit every novel they read as they read it?  I do it unconsciously.  I can’t help myself.  It is also a habit to wake up out of a sound sleep to write on the notepad I keep beside my bed.  Or halt a conversation to do the same thing.  People who know me have come to expect it.  Hey, if it isn’t written down, it’s forgotten.  I speak to strangers constantly, although now, almost everyone is a stranger.  I listen to everyone’s problems without judgment.  My friends from back home say I like to adopt people and perhaps I do.  Children most of all.  I may be more like my mother than I thought because I feel an incessant need to help people. 

I spent almost twenty years behind a desk at several different companies, each as diverse and, to be truthful, boring as the other.  While I made some really awesome lifelong friends, I had a constant feeling with each job that I was only there on a temporary basis, as a means to an end.  I had no idea where I was supposed to be but knew that I’d get there in time.  I lived in several different states, enjoying my time in Texas most of all.  And knew that I would move on, whether I liked it or not.  My younger daughter calls me a flight risk. And now, as I sit in the place I have chosen (or was chosen for me), I am almost back to the beginning.  Utilizing my love for writing and hoping, despite my ocean of self-doubt at times, that I can succeed where I didn’t before.  My dream changed as I got older, but became no less grandiose.  And now, as I venture on in my writing, my only goal is to become better than Danielle Steele and almost as good as Nora Roberts.

How will I be seen when I am no longer around to see?  A Christian who, more often than not, walked the walk.  A loving mother, most assuredly.  An adoring grandmother, most definitely.  But hopefully also a loyal friend and confidant.  These four things are worth more than as a talented writer or even a successful one.  I’d like to see my legacy as children and grandchildren who are secure in who they are and fully free to show their love to whomever they choose.  To follow their dreams wherever they might lead them.  And that, for better or worse, is the story of me.