Embrace The Suck

AP Photo "Live your life each day as you would climb a mountain. An occasional glance toward the summit keeps the goal in mind, but many beautiful scenes are to be observed from each new vantage point." Harold V Melchert Today, Oh Eun-Sun, 44, became the first woman to climb all 14 of the world's tallest mountains. Is it beyond the realm of possibility to think that if we set our minds to it, the women of the world will one day unite and "birth" this planet into peace? May all your mountains be molehills, Merry ME

"For some years I have been aware of the importance of each day and not projecting beyond that day our spiritual awareness of ourselves and all that is around us, contact with the natural world and its beauties sensing the sounds and smells and colors of our world, accepting the love of others and returning that love - these are the things that are important which I relearn I should relish each and every day." Frank X. Friedman, Jr.* Yesterday over at her blog Pam challenged her readers "to find something beautiful and write it on your heart." Rather boldly and with way more moxie than the situation really called for, I commented with something like "bring it on!" I hoped to go to a plant store to get some pointers on making a small garden. And, I wanted to spend some together time with my Sweetie. If I couldn't find something to write on my heart at the garden store, then it was a given that Sweetie would say or do something heart writing worthy. Ou...

When you are feeling in need of a little bit of love, don't wait for it to come to you. Grab it whenever/wherever you can. I had a friend who often told the story of when her son was young how he would follow her around talking nonstop. As he grew older he would tell stories she really didn't want to here. Her only reprieve, or so she thought, was the bathroom. She'd take a book and lock herself into the room where there was only one seat and the promise of privacy. Thing was, her son would sit right down on the other side of the door and continue talking. I think about this every time I go into the bathroom and forget to shut the door til it clicks in place. Girl Cat has decided my bathroom time is "our" special time. It doesn't matter what the clock says, whether it is day, night, or the wee hours of the morning. If Girl Cat hears me lift the toilet lid, she's there beside me. Sometimes she's even there before I get there, jumping on the seat as I...

"You are always living a reflection of whatever you are outputting. And so, if you get into a little pocket where a lot of people are being rude, it's probably because you are being rude -- or because you have been aware of people being rude. Nothing ever happens to you that is not part of your vibration!" Esther Abraham-Hicks* OMG! I just had a thought. A scary thought. What if (Sorry Sweetie) when my father looks at me he sees a frowny old poot (with a pony tail). And what if when he talks to me he hears nothing but arguments and sarcasm. What if I am the egg and he is the chicken? What I am the mirror and he is the reflection? Suddenly not-so-merry ME

"You are at this moment, standing in the middle of your own 'acres of diamonds.'" Earl Nightingale No, actually, I am not. I'm sitting in the dinette area, staring at my computer knowing there are several things I should be doing as the clock moves into the one o'clock hour. Let's see, there is emptying Dad's commode, starting a load of laundry, vacuuming up the birdseed that continues to fall like Icelandic volcanic ash, and re-write some stories for my writing group. In other words move a little. Trouble is I feel weighted down with thoughts. Thoughts that are zinging through my mind like one of those little silver balls in a pin ball machine. Can you hear them whizzing by the bells .. cling, clang ... coming down into the homestretch only to be shot back up to bells and whistles by the little batty things (Dang, what are they called? the bells are getting to me!). As soon as one thought falls into the point-of-no-return-hole another is shot back int...

" To seek approval is to have no resting place, no sanctuary. Like all judgement, approval encourages a constant striving. It makes us uncertain of who we are and of our true value. Approval cannot be trusted. It can be withdrawn at any time no matter what our track record has been. It is as nourishing of real growth as cotton candy. Yet many of us spend our lives pursuing it." Rachel Naomi Remen Sweetie has an office at home, and spends a good deal of time in there with the door closed. Behind the door it is a bit like another world. It's neat and quiet (unless the windows are open and the birds are singing). Sweetie has surrounded himself with pictures, sayings, reminder notes and books. It used to bother me that he had an inner sanctum and I had the rest of the house. In other words he has solitude and I have dogs barking, Dad buzzing around on his GoGo , bumping into walls as he goes, the TV set on Country Classics, the phone ringing and clutter. Sure, it's my own...

Yesterday after spending some serious time in the blogosphere I ended up at a site called Confessions of a Pioneer Woman. The title alone was enough to draw me in, but what kept me there until around 2 am and again for most of this afternoon was this statement on a sidebar: " The Night I met the Marlboro Man or Harlequin Romance meets Green Acres meets the Godfather in our wild tale of romance and cow manure." If you mosey on over to the site don't say I didn't warn you. Once you read the first installment, you'll be hooked. I've been reading off and on all day and I've only gotten to Chapter 28. So far there has been steamy, rolling around in a pick-up truck under a starry night sky making out. Actually, there's been steamy making out in lots of places. Mix that with some Lucille Ball goofiness and you'll be entertained. Maybe it's just me. I've kind of had a secret thing for cowboys. Tall, muscular, boot-wearing, hat-dipping, Howdy Mam ...

WARNING: If by any chance you find yourself caring for someone who is old and on the edge of being obsessive compulsive about having (or not having) regular (daily) bowel movements and your medical advisor says it's okay to give two stool softeners plus a dose of Miralax on top of the one half dosage of softener already consumed it could be considered deleterious to both the patient and the caregiver (who is in charge of cleaning the beside commode) to add four prunes to the patient's breakfast because the patient is likely to spend the next twenty-four hours intermittently rushing to the bathroom because he is no longer constipated, in fact he is experiencing no problem at all with said movements, and sleeping because making so many trips to the bathroom has worn him out and perhaps dehydrated him. It would be considered highly advisable to leave the prunes in the back of the refrigerator where they have resided for the past six months getting a little bit fuzzy. Follow this a...

"Music was my joy, my home, the one place I felt happy and secure." Lawrence Welk Saturday night TV leaves a little to be desired. With no Oprah to sleep through, Dad had me channel surf until we landed on a PBS music show. OMG, I just sat through an hour of Lawrence Welk "Memories and Milestones." I think it was filmed in Branson, MO so it is a toss up as to whom was older - the musical family on stage or the audience. Like a lot of the fund raising PBS shows this one was not brand new. There were lots of glittery dresses with big shoulder pads, big hair and darkly lined lips. The men sported comb overs and polyester pants. I'm guessing it had a little something for everyone over the age of 80. While my dad mosied down a musical memory lane, his toes tapping the beat against his sheets, I watched the clock slowly tick off the seconds. Just when I thought I was on my way to going completely bonkers there she was ... Janet Lennon. I should probably be embarrasse...

I must have writer's block. Every time I try to write something, I end up staring at the blank screen as if my computer has channeled a Magic 8 ball an idea is going to appear. In an attempt to break the block I'm going to try the just-write-what-comes-to-your-mind technique and see what happens. 1. First of all, I can pretty much guarantee I'm not going to have a good day when my father calls me from the bathroom to tell me he thinks I should call the Hospice nurse because he is having trouble going #2. This is a side of growing older that I frankly do want to deal with. I'm not sure when it happens that our bodily functions begin to take priority over everything else. In my mind some things should remain private. I am relatively sure that when my Dad was a younger man, he did not need assistance in determining how many stool softeners to take. In fact, I'm guessing he took whatever he needed to take without so much as a glance at the directions on the bottle. No...

OMG. Did you see the way Phil Mickelson hugged his wife after winning the Masters? In my humble opinion, that is the way a man is supposed to hug the person he loves. When he hugged his caddy, it was a "woohoo" or "we did it" kind of hug. The way he embraced his wife was way more than "did you see me win?" I don't know what he whispered to her as the cameras that had been focused on the green were all of a sudden in his face, but I'm guessing it was pretty special. I wonder what it would be like if each of us put our whole being into the hugs we give to our loved ones. Like seeing beyond the normal it would be like feeling beyond the normal. How cool would that be? Wishing for you someone special to hug, Merry ME

"Nature will bear the closest inspection. She invites us to lay our eye level with her smallest leaf, and take an insect view of its plain." Henry David Thoreau Reading is one of my favorite things to do. There is nothing like being alone on a Saturday afternoon with time stretching in front of you and a good book that takes you away to place where you have no worries or concerns. Unless, that is, you are reading a scary who dunnit. Then being alone and hearing creaking noises in the hall can be kind of unnerving. But mostly, reading is an enjoyable past time. That said, I don't usually read much during the day. I'm in the habit of climbing into bed, burrowing under the covers, making a spot for my Sweetie to lay his head, then reading a few pages while I scratch his head. It doesn't take long before my eyelids grow heavy, or the Girl Cat decides it's her time for a little extra loving and plops herself down right in front of the book. Basically, I only read a...

“ All things appear and disappear because of the concurrence of causes and conditions. Nothing ever exists entirely alone; everything is in relation to everything else. ” Buddha Yesterday my hunter gatherer in the faded blue shirt asked for help getting a snake out of the pool drain. For some reason that I cannot really explain, I jumped up to the ready. At the time I didn't know it was going to be a little tiny thing. I'm usually a little squeamish, i.e girly, when it comes to things that slither in the grass. I surprised even myself by my willingness to look at the snake, let alone help release it from its chlorinated captivity. Upon removal of the drain cover, I found myself cooing at "the cute little thing". I was almost willing to stick my hand into the mushy oak blossoms and pick the little cutie up with bare hands. "Stand back," said Sweetie, with real concern in his voice." "We don't know what we're dealing with here." He was ...

You can clutch the past so tightly to your chest that it leave your arms too full to embrace the present." Jan Glidewell Sweetie has one particular shirt that falls into "you'd better not" category. As in you'd better not even consider throwing it away. Once upon a time it was the color and texture of stone-washed jeans. Now it is more white than blue, threadbare in places, and spotted with food stains that Oxy clean can't penetrate. Because of its age, the fabric has softened to a thin but deliciously comfortable cotton. Every time I take it out of the washing machine I think it is going to be in pieces, a sleeve here, the collar there, yet, like the Energizer Bunny or a Timex watch, it has a life that won't end. The last time I ironed it (for unknown reasons, ironing is a past time I seem to enjoy) I made the mistake of suggesting to Sweetie that he start looking for another shirt to take its place. The shocked expression on my love's face told me...