Sunny Sunday

There is much that needs doing this afternoon - laundry and vacuuming, some small work projects brought home from the office, packing my suitcase (more about that later!) -but here I sit at my kitchen table, the remnants of dessert (vanilla yogurt topped with fresh strawberries) next to me, tapping away at the keyboard and watching "that brilliant orb" settle into the western sky.  Lord yes, believe it or not, it was sunny here in southeastern Michigan -all day.  And all day yesterday.  And all day the day before.

Only those who have lived in the midwest in winter know how rare an occurence that is.  Three days of solid sunshine, no wind, moderate temperatures - surely a gift from God.

So I let some indoor things slide, and took the doggies for several walks.  Imagine their ectasy on feeling dry pavement beneath their padded paws!  Magic went flying down the street, plumed tail high in the air, a definite manly swagger in his shoulders.   Even Molly, usually sedate and ladylike, broke into a run just to catch up, and they trotted happily shoulder to shoulder, occasionally bumping hips like the two best friends that they are.  I tried hard to ignore their dirty paws and mud spattered undercarriages and allow them their moments of glory.

But now that the sun has dipped below the horizon, an amber glow waning behind the rooftops, I've got to accomplish a few things.  Like laundry and vacuuming, some small work projects from the office, packing my suitcase...

Oh, I promised to tell you about that...

Well, (lucky me!) our good friends have invited us to spend some time in with them next week at their timeshare in Scottsdale, Arizona.  Needless to say, I'm really excited.  But I have to pack a suitcase for this trip - I'm so accustomed to going to our house in Florida where I have everything I need already there, that I think I've forgotten how to pack! 

So tell me, do you have any good packing tips for me?

Tagged~Six Things About Me

Marcy has tagged me to share six non-important things/habits/quirks about myself. Here goes:

1. Hot beverages and soups have to be really hot~I can't abide lukewarm; 

2.  I always leave a small amount of coffee or tea in the bottom of my cup, usually because it's lukewarm by then (refer to #1);

3. I love being near large bodies of water - but I can't swim;

4. Also love being near mountains-but I'm afraid of heights;

5. I can't stand to leave the house with my bed unmade.  The rest of the place can be a disaster, but the bed must be made!

6. I'm terribly claustraphobic.  I can handle elevators ok, but being stuck in traffic jams nearly drives me over the edge.

And now, according to the rules* (and you all know I always play by the rules), I must tag six others...

Bella Rum

Firefly Nights

Greenish Lady

Public Musings of a Mama 

Sage and Thyme

Spatter

*Rules:

Link to the person that tagged you.

Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.

Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.

Let each person know you've tagged them by leaving a comment on their blog.

Tear Jerking

It's late, and I'm blog surfing... you know how that goes, don't you?  A long day at the office, tired from carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, worries about innumerable things swirling around inside your mind.  You fall into your favorite chair and pull your computer onto your lap...and start surfing.  Checking in with old friends that have been silent for a while....remembering blogs that inspired you way back when you first embarked on this writing journey... And you read words like this...

But knowing who I want to be and knowing when I'm not living from that place can at times crack my heart.  And that crack in my heart is often where my words come from...as well as my tears.  What cracks my heart are the things that are important to me, the things I'm passionate about, and often our passion can bring our tears because there's so much emotion and energy behind the passion.  When was the last time you cried?

Oh, I used to cry a lot.  At movies and commericals and concerts and dance recitals.  At books and paintings and small children playing and birds singing and even flowers growing. 

But I was so much younger then.  I'm so much older now - and the tears hardly ever come. 

I miss crying.  That sounds ridiculous, I suppose - why should anyone miss the red eyes and stuffy nose that inevitably follows a good crying jag.  But there's something cathartic about crying- it cleanses the emotional system, like shaking the rugs in our senses, airing out the linens.  After a good cry, you can pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and start all over again.

Those italicized words up there nearly made me cry, and that's no small feat these days.  Fact is, the writer of those words probed a very sensitive nerve with me..."what cracks my heart are the things that are important to me, the things I'm passionate about, and often our passion can bring our tears.

Sitting here in my little study, curled up in my favorite chair, two small dogs sleeping contentedly at my feet, I reach over to the table beside me to pick up my teacup...suddenly, warm tears fill my eyes. 

On that table is a photograph of a little boy dressed in a red sweater and denim overalls,  a blue baseball cap on his head, an expression of joyful wonder on his face.  A photo I snapped 26 years ago of my son, taking his first independent steps on the fresh spring grass in our backyard.

"These are the things that are important to me, the things I'm passionate about..."

If you have children, you know there is nothing more important than that, nothing that brings a greater sense of fulfillment, nothing that evokes more passion. 

No writing, no music, no traveling, no nothing.

Children grow up much too quickly, and I think mine more than most (which is both a blessing and a curse).  Thinking about my son as a child, thinking about him now as a grown man -well, that makes me cry when nothing else can.

"Our passion can bring our tears."

Michelle, thanks for reminding me.  It's good to know.

Three Word Wednesday

punch

 t-shirt

unravel

A punch of color, Tanya thought staring at her pale reflection, that's what I desperately need.   She picked up her mother's scarf, and fingered the fuschia silk between her fingers, releasing the scent of Joy perfume, it's aroma swirling around her head like a ghostly presence.    She inhaled deeply, hoping to channel her mother's energy and strength.

For life had begun to unravel for Tanya, her relationship with Tony coming undone at the seams and disintegrating before her eyes.  She could feel the growing distance between them, but she had no idea how to bridge the gap.

Perhaps a vacation, she thought, a long trip just the two of us, walking along the beach and sipping champage.  Or something more adverturous - an Alaskan cruise or even a safari.

Who was she kidding?  She draped the scarf around her neck, letting it hang loosely down the front of her black t-shirt.  She had none of her mother's adventurous spirit, none of the signature style had that made Jocylen Ventura so widely admired.  Why, she couldn't even wear a scarf the right way. 

She pulled the soft fabric from her neck and tossed it carelessly onto the bed. 

"What's up, doll?" she heard her stepfather's laconic voice from the doorway behind her. 

Startled, Tanya turned, her eyes taking in Tony's olive colored skin, his warm dark eyes, his tall, lean frame dressed in charcoal gray slacks and form fitting sweater.  Color rushed to her cheeks, and she looked quickly away. 

"Nothing," she mumbled, plucking the scarf up from the bed and twisting it nervously around her fingers. 

Tony stepped closer to her and lifted one end of the silk scarf to his face, burying his nose in its scented folds.  "God," he murmured, "this smells just like her, doesn't it?"

Tanya's eyes focused intently on him, pure fury burning through the irises directly onto Tony's bent head.  How could he be so oblivious? she wondered.  Hadn't he realized her mother didn't really love him?  She simply used him for "arm candy," a ridiculous expression but particularly appropriate for the situation.  He deserved so much better, Tanya thought, suddenly overcome with a desire to cup his cheek in the palm of her hand. 

At that moment, Tony looked up, his eyes meeting her own, so full of pleading and expectation.  She could feel him recoil slightly, even as he took a step back, placing a good distance between himself and her body. 

"May I keep this?" he asked, deftly pulling the silk scarf away from her grasp.  "It reminds me so much of Jocelyn..."

Tanya shrugged.  "It's yours," she replied, pulling back into her shell and closing the dresser drawer behind her.  "Enjoy it."

She shrugged past him, careful not to let any part of her body touch him as she walked out of the room.

Hopeless, she thought, the image of Tony's face buried in his dead wife's favorite silk scarf, inhaling her scent as if it were a magical elixir. 

Too bad he doesn't know, she thought to herself, remembering the way she had wound the length of silky fabric around her mother's slender neck. 

Too bad for him.