The Luck of the Irish

Celebrating St. Patrick’s Day, For Those Pretending To Be Irish

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In Honor of St Patrick’s Day, I thought I’d share some tips on how to celebrate the day if you were not lucky enough to be born Irish, as I was.  I thought about it and researched and wrote my thoughts down.  Then, having the luck of the Irish on my side, I ran into this article.  I could not have said it better my self.  So to you, I share with you these words of wisdom which i stumbled upon and decided were just too good to pass up.

Happy St Patrick’s Day……..


 It’s St Patrick’s Day, and millions of people are waking up around the world with one aim. To pretend to be Irish

Gone are the days when you can just celebrate the day with your Irish friends while submerging yourself in the culture, knowing full well you have no Irish blood whatsoever. No. Literally everyone, on this day, has a long lost cousin somewhere in a far distant shire.

It can’t be stopped. Not in a million years. So in an attempt to at least try and make things easier when you’re undercover out there, here are a few tips that may actually get you through a full day as a fake Irishman…

Exaggerate your heritage

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You have absolutely no Irish blood in you, or if you do, it’s extremely faint and almost nonexistent. But that won’t stop you. Exaggerate the sh*t out of it. Your beloved Irish nanny (who is actually called Barbara and has never even been to an Irish bar) dropped your mam on the docks of the Mersey herself and is an icon in your family.

Hate the English

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You’re going to need to hate the English for what they did to your people. Don’t go too deep with this – that’s an absolute no go. You don’t have enough time to learn the history. The best thing you can do in this situation is learn a few rebel songs and blurt them out if someone engages with you about a conflict you know absolutely piss all about.

Don’t wear an Irish flag cape, please

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If you decide to wear the Irish flag as a cape on St Patrick’s Day, you may as well run around screaming “I’m English” all day. Just don’t do it. This is one of the main ways I identify the English people every year. Granted, you will get the odd Irish person wearing one, but the majority of Irish men and women respect their flag enough not to sweat into it all day, sit on it then use it as a means to wipe up green vomit later on.

Kiss me, I’m pretending to be Irish

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Feel free to kiss this person. On the lips. With your fist. If you thought the cape was bad, and a great identifier for the English, then this is a  homing beacon. There is no doubt in my mind that whatever damage you inflict on a person wearing this t-shirt, they already deserve it. However, I will at this point say that it’s not a good idea to assault someone, and while that will probably be happening wherever you look tonight, don’t actually punch people in the lips with your fist. Just laugh at them, instead.

Don’t drink the Green Guinness

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There’s no doubt you’re going to be knocking back the fluid as consistently as possible, in order to keep up with your cohorts, who are much better drinkers than you. But you don’t NEED to drink the green stuff. It doesn’t make you more Irish. What it does, however, is waits. And waits. Until it’s ready to exit your body and make your bathroom look like that 2009 Maga’ foam party.

Don’t ask if Leprechaun’s are real

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Or do, if you want to blow your cover as a real Irish person. I would prefer you actually did this one, if I’m honest. As early on in the night as possible.

Learn the sh*t out of this

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If you don’t know this Irish banger word for word, you’re going to feel like a black sheep. Sorry, you’re going to feel even more like the black sheep that you already are. There will never be a point in the day when everyone will just spontaneously burst into song with this – in most cases it will just be an older guy in the corner, on his own after one too many. But if you really want to impress, that guy could be you.

Turn up for work tomorrow

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You’re going to want to turn up for work tomorrow, too. Your boss knows full well you’re not even the slightest bit Irish and he won’t be pleased when he finds out you just went for a midweek piss up. Your Irish colleagues will probably get the benefit of the doubt. It means something to them – even if ‘something’ just means getting shitfacewankered with their actual Irish family all day. They still have more of a reason to not make it into work the next day.


Luck is believing you’re lucky

May the luck of the Irish be with you today and always

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Why women need women in their lives

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It was a Thursday Morning.  The first Thursday of the New Year.  That meant that I would be meeting up with one of my besties for coffee.    We made a pact last year to meet up once a week at the coffee shop that sits midway between her suburb and mine.   Thursday mornings, that was the day we agreed upon.  They would be our day!!  Regardless of weather.  Regardless of schedules.  And, we stuck to our deal.  Last year we met every single Thursday except for one or two.   The only thing that keeps us away from our sacred get-together is if one of us is out-of-town.  That’s a reasonable excuse.

She always arrives before I do.  And, there is usually an empty “to go” cup waiting for me.  Her treat.  We buy the “to go” cups because this particular spot lets you refill your java as many times as you’d like and then take one with you *to go* if you’d like.  And we do.

I have tried endlessly, unsuccessfully, to beat her to our spot so that I can treat her for coffee just once.  But every week, regardless of how early I get ready in the morning and rush out the door, she is sitting there already.  Waiting.  Enthusiastically.

Our first Thursday of the new year!!  I was ready to get back on track with a normal routine.  I was burned out on the holidays and all of the socializing that comes along with the hectic, jolly season.  I was ready to get back into my regular routine.  I was happy to be up and out the door early and on my way to meet up with my sweet friend. We were going to discuss our new Yoga class we were enrolled in on Saturday mornings!!  Hurray!!

As I pulled into the parking lot I noticed her car right away.  Of courseeee she would be there before me!   I walked in and turned my attention to one of the two spots that we usually sit in.  And, there she was.  Big, bright reddish bouffant, smiling eyes and a huge grin.  *over here!!*  She always stands up when she spots me walking in and waves her arm enthusiastically back and forth – as If I would not be able to find her unless she stood up and signaled me.  Ohhh, my dear, sweet friend must not be aware that I can see her big, beautiful bouffant over the top of the booth from across the room whether or not she stands up to greet me.

I made a beeline for the booth and sat down.  She had papers and a schedule in front of her and was ready to dive into the details of our new Yoga class.  I scooted into the booth across from her and looked at the coffee and water sitting in front of me.  She had put a slice of lemon in my water.  Everybody knows that lemons help to flush out all the millions of calories and impurities that we tend to shove into our bodies over the holidays.  Every little bit counts!!  And, if we can lose weight just by drinking lemon water, bring it on!!

We were all settled in and ready to get to the gabbing.  She looked up at me and immediately knew that something was a little off.  Women do that.  We have a special, ingrained sense of female esp.  We can tell when one of our girlfriends are upset about something.  She asked me what was wrong and I burst into tears.  I had been thinking about my Mom on the way to the coffee shop.  About how desperately I missed her.  My heart-felt such a heavy weight that morning.  I knew that this time of year was a trigger.  The anniversary – the first anniversary of her passing was just around the corner.  It was all too much to bear.

My bestie popped up and went to get some makeshift Kleenex (scratchy paper napkins).  She handed them to me and scooted back in the booth.  I took them and held them up to my face.  I was covering my face with them and blubbering.  I was hiding behind them.  She told me to put them down.  That she knew I was back there behind the scratchy napkin crying.  I thought to myself, that comment was something my Mom would have laughed about.   And as I thought about my Mom laughing at a comment like that, I began to laugh, myself.  I laughed for a minute and then cried some more.  It was the ugly cry where your face is all skewed up.  But then I thought about my friend telling me that she knew I was behind the napkin and my emotions turned into a half laugh half cry.  I lowered my scratchy shield an inch and looked at her through watery, drowned eyes from over the top.  She didn’t seem to be phased that I was making a scene.  So I chanced lowering the napkin all the way down and looked her straight in the eye.  And, went on to unload my soul to her.  Like I had so many times in the past year.  She sat there and listened as I unloaded my grieving sorrow to her.  She had all the right things to say.  All the while, reaching across the table and holding my hand.  And after about 10- 15 minutes, I felt so much better.  I pulled myself together, we smiled at each other.  It had passed.  Unloading on her was like a weight being lifted off my shoulders.  So, we went on to discuss how we were going to become Yoga Guru’s in 2015.  (Lord help us! )

I have always been aware of the fact that women need women in their lives.  Or, maybe it’s just me.  But I don’t think so.  I really do believe that women need women.  For socializing.  For nurturing.  For talking with.  We are strong and intelligent and loyal to each other.  We relate to one another and usually think along the same wavelengths.  I’m constantly amazed by my friends who seem to know when I need them. And, we are complicated.  Men, not so much.  Men are simple.  They can get along with a tv remote and a bag of snacks as their sidekicks.  I’m not sure if I envy that or not.  I just know that I have some amazing women in my life.  I have been blessed with an abundance of besties.  All good women to their core.

Our Thursdays have been a special blessing to me.  This past year would have been overwhelming without my girlfriends in my life.  I treasure each and every one of them.  And, I know just how blessed I am to have the company of so many amazing women on a day-to-day basis in my life.

My Mom was an amazing woman herself.  I miss her SO much.  I think about her everyday.  I will never stop missing her or feeling her void.  But with a little help from my girlfriends from time to time, I learn to smile over the memories I have rather than dwell on the pain.

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twenty fourteen

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Nobody knows what a New Year will bring.  Nobody knows what life holds for each of us from one year to the next.

As I walk away from 2014, I reflect back on a year full of ups and downs.  A year full of joy and heartbreak.  A year that I would hear the word remission.  And, A year that I would end up expectantly saying goodbye to my Sweet Mom.  Amazing joy and bitter sorrow.  Hand in hand throughout the year.

I turned to my friends and family for support.  I turned to my WordPress community as a means of purging my painful feelings through blog posts.  And, with camera constantly in hand, I turned to my photography as a way of relaying through photos what I was not able to and could not verbalize into words.

Before we can look ahead, let’s take a reflective look back at what was 2014.


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Before we move ahead, a chance to look back….

 


“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language and next year’s words await another voice, And to make an end is to make a beginning.”

-T.S.Elliot


 

 

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Growing up 70’s

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Prologue

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I grew up in the 70’s. It was a day and age when elementary school aged kids got up early, ate breakfast and ran out the front door of their suburban homes, hopped on their Schwinn bikes and headed out for the day to meet up with friends who lived down the block or around the corner. Or, across the way into the next neighborhood.

There were softball, baseball and kickball games played on dirt lots in neighborhoods that were not quite completely developed yet, making for great meeting spaces. …..”I’ll meet you on the dirt lot” …

old-basketball-hoop-thumb10588649We played four-square on driveways where we drew the lines for the game in chalk. There was tether-ball and hopscotch and tag. There were always groups of boys in the neighborhood playing basketball at each other’s houses. The basketball nets were mounted off of the part of the roof that hung over the garage.

There were no computers or cell phones. There was no cable TV or MTV. Gameboys, Video Gaming and X-Box systems were still many years away from being created by Microsoft. In fact, there was no Microsoft. Bill Gates was an unknown name. And Apple, well, that was a fruit you ate. We played outdoor everyday, all day long, often not showing up back home again until supper time.

For the most part, our moms stayed home and our Dads went to work. Later, as we grew into our Jr High years, some of the Mom’s started going back to work to help pay the high cost of raising a big family. Families were big back then. Or, they seemed to be. Maybe it was because I grew up in a mainly Irish/Italian, catholic area. Most of my friends came from families of at least 4 – 5 kids. And, it was not unusual to have friends that had 6 or 7 siblings.

Those were good days. Simple. Carefree. Easy. They were days when you formed unbreakable, life-long bonds with friends.1970s_schwinn_small_girls_bike_hollywood_blue_make_offer_peru_28526083There were strong family bonds and daily routines that helped to cement the family together. Chores on the weekends. Getting home from school, having a snack, playing outside for a while with friends, riding your bike or watching one of the 4 channels on TV we had. Helping out by starting dinner before your Mom got home from work.  Dinner in my home was always promptly at 6pm. Every night.

These simple times, these family bonds, were all tools that helped to form the adults we are today. They strengthened the ties between Dads and sons, as well as Moms and daughters. The family structure was well built and strong. I miss those easy days.

I ran across a blog this week that brought memories of the 70’s flooding back. They made me think about my siblings and friends from the old neighborhood, as well as my parents. Especially my Mom. Our bond was unshakable. We were close. Not so much through the teen years, which in my eyes, is a normal part of growing up, but more so after I left for college and especially when I got married and we lived states apart. I miss my siblings and my parents. These days, I miss my Mom. So much so that I find myself thinking about her day and night. So when I read this blog Im about to share, I smiled. I realized that those ties between a Mom and Daughter are never broken. The bond between a Mother and child is universal. And deep.

Sometimes I think back fondly and miss those days.  Always, I miss my Mom…….


Something Worth Sharing

Five O’Clock

Re-blogged and Originally posted by Teri Carter

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I miss my mother most at five o’clock.

When I was a kid and came home after school, the TV was my babysitter — Gilligan’s Island at 3:30 followed by The Brady Bunch followed by The Partridge Family — until five o’clock came and it was time to do the few chores my mother had left for me (as fast as possible) before she got home.  I stayed with my grandparents in the summers.  My mother, if she was working the right shift, the good 7 to 3 shift, would sit for an hour or so at the kitchen table with my grandmother, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes and gossiping, until we went home, just the 2 of us, around five.  As a teenager, I would dink around with friends after school, knowing I had to be home by five, that my mother would be waiting for me to help her with supper.  It was our time, our hour or two in the kitchen, just the two of us, before her new farmer husband came in from working in the field and the night became all about him.

I miss my mother most at five o’clock.

I remember being in my 20s, away from my hometown and working in cubicles and traveling all over the country.  Feeling successful, but untethered.  I called my mother at the end of most workdays.  Hey mom, what are you doing?  Nothing, what are you doing?  Going to grab some food, you?  Making supper.  When I got married, became a mom, and quit my job — all in about a 6 month span — I’d find myself in the kitchen alone around five, trying to figure out how to make a not-boring, edible dinner for my family of four.  Husband not home from work; kids doing homework or watching “The Simpsons”; and me pulling random items from the refrigerator.  I’d pour a glass of wine and call my mother.  Hey, mom, what are you doing?  Making supper.  Me, too, what are you making?  Chicken.  How are you making it?  Well … fried of course!  And we would laugh.

I miss my mother most at five o’clock.

In my mid-30s, I remember thinking that one good thing about having a sick mother was that she was always home, always there, to answer on the first ring.  I would start dinner, pour a glass of wine, and dial.  Hey mom, what are you doing?  Nothing, what are you doing?  Making dinner.  What are you making?  She was no longer able to cook, so she cooked vicariously through me.  Sometimes I lied and pretended I was making things I had no clue how to make — Chicken Cordon Bleu — to change up the conversation, to give us something else to talk about besides doctor appointments and inhalers and the shortening of time.  I’d even make up the ingredients, the steps, the ease of making something new; anything to distract us, to entertain.  All chicken, I would say, doesn’t need to be fried!  

I miss my mother most at five o’clock.

These days, when my husband and I decide we’re getting fat and it’s time to cut back, he will suggest skipping dinner.  Often I’ll agree:  what a great idea that is, we can just have a little snack, nothing big, you’re right.  But I never follow through.  I blame it on the clock.  On time.  It doesn’t matter if it’s winter or summer, daylight savings or dark by five, I pour my glass of wine and open the refrigerator door, ready to finish off the day the only way I know how.  It’s five o’clock.  What are you doing?  Making dinner. 

Do you have a space to call your own?

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It’s been raining for days.  I used to dread cold, gloomy, rainy weather.  That was before my blogging days.  Now?  I look forward to them because frankly, they seem to provide the best environment for writing.  They have a way of helping to diminish the guilt that we tend to feel when we stay indoors on sunny days.

I bought a desk a few months ago.  A desk that I could tuck away into a corner somewhere in my home – into a carved out a space of my own for the days I wanted to write.  Days just like we’ve had this week.  It landed up in the spare bedroom.  A room that once housed my oldest son before he got married.  A room that in my oldest son’s opinion, “got taken apart, dismantled and redecorated far too fast after he moved out”  (He’s still a little heartbroken over that fact!).

My own space!  It’s a place that I have carefully crafted into my very own oasis.  It’s cozy and feminine and perfect for slipping into when I want to get away from the chaos and monotonous routine of everyday – the doorbell, the phone, my last remaining home bound son and his friends, my Hubs and his constant, endearing male questions. “Honey, where’s my glasses?” “Did you get the mail yet?” “Margaret, what on earth have you been using the credit card on!?”

Those are the moments when, yes, it’s time to hideaway in my oasis.  I mean, honestly, for the past 30 years I have lived in a house of all men and myself.  The ratio is 4 to 1.  A ratio, in all honesty, that I have loved and adored because, well, let’s face it, boys are easier to raise than girls.  No raging hormones.  No cat fights with their female friends.  No over the top emotional displays of drama.  And, if my guys did get into a “disagreement” with their friends, it was heatedly discussed one moment and then forgotten the next.  Easy as pie!  Love my guys more than anything on earth!!!!

These days, I find myself hiding in my new, beautiful retreat more and more.  And, during all times of the day and night.  When Clark’s big, resounding snoring is keeping me awake, off I go to my oasis.  This was an added bonus provided by my special holed-up sanctuary that was a wonderful surprise!!  I had never thought about it as an escape from my sleepless nights when one of Clark’s colds (which he assures me that neither I nor anyone else on earth has ever experienced anything remotely as bad)  or his allergies made it sound like I was sleeping next to the freight train.  I used to just poke, kick or pinch him to get him to roll over to his side. This tended to give temporary relief from the quartet of loud trombones coming from my Hubs slumbering mouth.  When he became so accustomed to those tactics that he started to sleep through them, I tried a new approach.  I’d slap the mattress real hard right next to his head.  At first, this would startle him out of a deep sleep.  Heart racing and breathless, he jump straight up, hold his heart and ask me what in the world happened.  Naturally, I’d pretend to be asleep, rouse sleepily and tell him he imagined it.

Now, I can just slip out of bed and away from his personal symphony and head to my own peaceful crash pad.  It’s a win/win for both of us!!  Hurray!

When I first decided to redecorate the room, I promised my hubs it would be a simple project.  Slap a coat of new paint on the walls and buy a new bedspread. Like all worthwhile decorating projects, it turned into a monster.  Once I got a new bedspread, well, the old night stands had to go.  And, once those were replaced, New drapes, mirrors, wall art and lamps soon followed.  Each day as Clark would get home from work and climb the stairs to change his clothes from work, he’d pause briefly by “the” room, glance inside and wonder what new addition he’d find.  I would always assure him that whatever he spotted was a great deal with a huge, slashed discount!!!  Now that I think of it,  I was actually being very considerate in how I was saving him so much money!

This week, I’ve decided I need a small sofa, chair and ottoman or chaise in my home away from home.  And, I’m on the hunt!

Stormy days.  I once found them depressing, boring and lonely.  Today I find myself comforted by surrounding myself in the space I call my own.  Do you have a special place you that you can escape to when the creative juices are flowing?  Or, when you simply want to be by yourself for, well, whatever reason?  I hope so.  It’s a life changer!

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Welcome October!!

October could possibly be the best month of the year!

Yep, Anne said it best!!

Anne


But if she doesn’t convince you ~ maybe some of these Autumn favorites will!!

 

 

October collage

 

Welcome October!!

                                                                                                                                    

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What’s Your Favorite Month??

 

Move over Hallmark, there’s a new card in town.

Have you noticed those funny little ecards that are all over social media sites?  You’d have to have been living in an isolated cave not to know exactly what I’m talking about.  They’re everywhere!

I started taking notice of them about a year or so ago.  But in truth, they came onto the scene in 2007 – (I googled it!!)  They have their own Facebook page with well over 1 million Likes.

They’re brilliant!  And witty!  And quite honestly – completely truthful and accurate.  They say in one line, what most of us try to stammer out in a long-winded, beating around the bush, run on sentence.

I like to email them to Clark sometimes.  They easily convey, what I can’t seem to get across to him.  Like this one….

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There’s many advantages to sending eCards.  They’re free.  They’re delivered automatically to our electronic devices & received immediately with a few clicks of the mouse.  There’s no limit to the audience in which you can send them to.

The Weight Loss Friend

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 The BS’r

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 The Selfie Abuser

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The Grammar Nazi

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 The Screener

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 The Facebook Creeper

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The Employer

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The Fraud

Fraud

The Gym Member

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The Interupter

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And finally – The Online Addict….

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Goodbye Fliphone

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Imagine my shock last week when my sweet sister emailed me to tell me that she had finally admitted that perhaps text’g is here to stay and that she went out and got a smart phone!!  Hurray – Goodbye Fliphone!!

Ok, truthfully, her Hubs gave her a brand new, shiny smart phone for her birthday.  Way to go Brother-In-Law!!  I was both excited to get her email telling me this Fab news – and also very confused at receiving an email rather than a catching wind of it through a text.  C’mon sis, get texting!! 

I thought back to when I first started texting.  It was awkward and slow.  It took some time for my colossal, mammoth fingers to get used to typing on the miniature keypad.  The only person I really had to text was my Hubs & Kids. Sorry, Fam!!  It took me some time to figure out my way around auto correct.  My texts were filled with typos (due to mammoth fingers) and I’m sure some people thought I had no idea how to spell or what I was even trying to say.

 

 

 

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Ok, so I will give her a break because she is new to this.  Before she knows it, she will be all wrapped up in social media and ignoring the real world just like the rest of us.  Happy birthday, Sister!!

 

 


 

Pitfalls of Texting

 

1 – Texts can be easily ignored

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2- Miscommunication

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3- Rudeness in some circumstances

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4- Used to avoid talking to People

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5 – Can’t be sure who you’re talking to

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6 – Could cause friction in friendships

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What was your first experience with smart phones and the world of txt’g?

 

When did you first truly feel like an adult?

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I was listening to my favorite radio station the other day while I was driving into the city.  It’s an interactive station.  It’s hip and fun.  They play all the newest songs.  And some oldies.

I’ve listened to this station for years.  Probably 20 or more.  On this particular morning, the DJ asked his listening audience when it was that they truly felt like an adult.  Did they remember the moment in time?  There were a lot of predictable answers.

When I got married…

After the birth of my first child…

When I was diagnosed with….

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Driving down the freeway towards my destination, I lost myself in thought as the soft sounds of the radio continued playing in the background.  When was it that I truly felt like an adult for the first time…

I had been through so much in the past 2 years.  My life had changed so drastically.  A diagnosis of Cancer.  Surgeries.  Radiation.  Moving my husbands parents across the country ~ back home here.  He and I had gone from the role of adult children to caregivers.  The loss of my Father-in-Law.  The loss of my beloved Mother.

The sting of my Mom’s death was still fresh. The wound still deep.

I went back to my hometown a few weeks ago.  Back to the place where I was raised.  Where I had grown up.  The Midwestern town that had shaped me into the adult I am today.  I needed to go back and go through my Mom’s house one last time.  We had put it on the market shortly after her death.  It had sold in a matter of weeks.  I brought a friend along with me for moral support.  The same friend who had helped me through some very dark days after my Mom’s immediate death.  And I met with my sweet sister, Nancy, there that day, too.

I did not know how I would react to the necessity of this final act of letting go.  Her home was the last materialistic and tangible object remaining of her time with us in this life.  And now, that too, would soon become just a sweet memory.

As I worked together with my sister and dear friend to clear out what was left of her belongings, I thought to myself how odd and somewhat sad it is that we accumulate all of these materialistic things during our lifetime.  Treasures to us.  But to others, just objects.  Often, objects of no interest to those left behind after a loved one dies.  And at the end of your life, it’s as if you just open up your front door, walk out  on your life.   All of your things are just left behind.

I came across things that I had not seen in years.  Things that would bring out a sudden laugh or chuckle.  Things that made me smile ~ each one stirring a treasured memory.  I found myself laughing more than crying that day.  And, I knew my mom would be laughing right beside me.  She was lighthearted.  And fun.  And always found the humor in any situation.  I inherited that from her.  Her take on life was also mine.  Her sense of humor I shared, too.  Thank You, Mom!! 

I thought back upon my deep love for my Mom throughout that entire day.   When did our relationship change from mother-daughter to a true, deep friendship?  I could not pinpoint the time, but I knew there was most definitely a metamorphosis that had taken place.  We truly were friends.  We enjoyed each others company and shared so many moments together that two girlfriends would share.  Hour long phone calls.  Often as long as 2+ hours.  We traveled together.  A lot.  And during those travels we became closer and closer.  We saw things for the first time together and were in awe as we traveled and our eyes were opened to new experiences.  Italy.  France.  Spain.  Parts of the USA as well.  She became close to my children.  They formed close bonds with her.  So much so, that they would travel by themselves to see her and spend time with her.  All treasured memories now, locked up in my heart.

As we finished our task that day and were walking out, I turned back one last time and looked around at what had once been her home. When did I truly first feel like an adult?  I never felt more adult than I did in that moment.  I was left behind here on Earth while my Mother, who I love more than words can describe, had gone home to be with my Dad in Heaven.

My Love for my Mom and Dad is deep rooted in my heart and soul.  Forever.

Tomorrow is Mother’s day.  I am going to be celebrating my Mom and smiling at the memory of her inner beauty, over-abundance of unconditional love, our deep friendship, and her selfless gift of being the best role model I could have ever asked for.

I miss her so, so, so much.  I’m sure she is smiling down on me right now from her new home in Heaven.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.  I Love You.

the-beautiful-heart