pinteresting this week


I think this every time I hear people I know complain and snark about other people’s happiness. Even better they claim to be their friends. Friends like that? Um, no thank you. Just be super happy. It will drive the ugly people crazy.

What will I do with all those bobby pins after Jodie is done dancing competitively?

What nursing is…and what it is not…like no, we did not settle for nursing instead of becoming a doctor. P.S. Nurses Week is May 6-12 just in case you are wondering. We like coffee, wine, chocolate, massages, pedicures and always, gratitude and respect for taking care of you and yours.

This may or may not have been my darling husband last Saturday night.

My son will be needing this.

And my grandbabies will likely need these…maybe my kids…okay, me too!

And for my Zoë, who really doesn’t need map coordinates to find her way to Disneyland since it is her backyard and she is there every chance she gets.

Elizabeth Weinzirl (pictured in Minneapolis 1978) has brightly colored tattoos winding around her body from her neck to her knees. She says she loves her ink and got the tattoos because her husband wanted a tattooed wife “and I didn’t want to move out.” According to a 2012 Harris poll, 11 percent of those 50 to 64 years old and 5 percent of those 65 and older have tattoos.

Asparagus Egg and Bacon Salad with Dijon Vinaigrette – perfect for Easter dinner.

You know what is scarier than clowns? Easter Bunnies at the mall.

 

Word.

 

 

the waiting


And the question on Facebitch, er, Facebook today is: how many people will you get behind in the drive thru at Starbuck’s instead of parking and going in?

We all been there at one time or another. We all have found ourselves stuck in what seems to us to be an ENDLESS line in a drive-thru.

OMG! The waiting! It just might kill some of us I am sure…like my facebitching friend.

So do you have a limit? Three cars? Six? Twelve?

On Facebook it would seem that six is just too much…and fodder for judge-y shaking of one’s head as they park their car and get out to go inside to get their latte. Twelve or more is just absolutely, positively ridiculous. Ain’t no one got time for that.

Right?!

But then again parking and getting out with two or maybe three or, oh dear god, FIVE kids to go inside might give one pause; especially if kids in car seats are involved. It also will guarantee that the family-size police will jump all over that…extra points when it is the vice principal of one your kids’ schools because he’s like the captain of the family-size police.

Or perhaps the weather outside is frightful and the seat warmer in your car is so delightful.

Maybe you just finished a 5 mile run and , well, you’d rather not share that sweaty, stinky, hot messiness with anyone…that is if you sweat so bad running five miles or more that you look like a salt lick. It’s a public service you are performing. You are welcome Starbucks’ customers!

You just might be THAT mom who drops the kids off at school while you are STILL in your jammies. No one needs to see that…except your favorite barista. Y’all know they can see all of you in the car as they hand you your order? The former baristas I birthed have told me stories. Oh dear glob! And my favorite barista loves to tease me when I do manage to put on clothes.

Oh, and then there is  my favorite barista. He handles that twelve-plus car line like nobody’s business while the counter guy is still trying to figure out how to spell your name on the damn cup. Just in case you were wondering, counter guy never spells my name right. But my favorite barista knows what my favorite drinks are and will often just ask if I want it hot or cold. I pull up to the window and it is there ready for me. Counter guy, on the other hand, would be asking me to repeat my drink order to him…for the third time…because a non-fat white mocha, no whip, two pumps raspberry can so freakin’ complicated.

Then there are the times where I just enjoy sitting in the long drive thru line. I have come to appreciate the time in the line to just be still, not be in such a hurry and to just get lost in my quiet thoughts and meditations.

I’m thankful for the waiting sometimes.

Bonus when everyone is paying it forward…okay except when the guy behind me ordered four drinks and pastries.

 

 

it’s hard out there for a cat


Oh enough with this mawkish talk of punctuation! You want to talk about a hard life. Let’s talk about a hard life.

It’s an exhausting life!

Spending your day curled up sleeping in someone’s bed.

Stretching and yawning…then going back to sleep.

You need that nap because soon enough you need to get up and play in a sink full of water because…WATER!

You can’t even begin to know how exhausting that five minutes of play can be.

Zzzz…

She meows in her sleep. No, really. She does.

And then she wakes up, stretches. Jumps up onto my desk to get into my face and say, “My food bowl is half empty.”

It’s hard out there for a cat.

 

 

using the semicolon


When one becomes a person of a certain age, one sees their doctor more regularly…unless one is my darling husband who would rather hide from what the good doctor is recommending for him these days. He’ll wait until he’s bothered by his daily hacking-up-a-lung cough that becomes even worse than it already is or until his wife’s nagging becomes unbearable. Me, on the other hand, I do try to see my doctor annually and not just when I am sick. Just trying to walk the nurse talk of the importance of maintaining one’s good health, building trust with a good doctor-patient relationship and stuff like that there. So today was the day. The good doctor sits down with me going over the results of the physical exam and ordered tests. The physical exam…perfect. Cardiac function…perfect. Lab work…in his words his 30-something patients should have labs like these.

“You’re a perfect patient!”, he concludes.

“Yes, except for the depression, anxiety and panic attacks.”, I answer back.

“Yes, there’s that.”

And that is why I use a semicolon all the time.

A semicolon represents a sentence the author could have ended, but chose not to. Every single day of my life I choose to use a semicolon.

No, not usually with my writing. I know my use of punctuation could easily be criticized…and sometimes is. Have you seen how often I over-use an ellipsis?

No, the semicolon here represents the fact that my story isn’t over yet. Far from it. I am my author and the sentence is my life and as long as I choose to live this life I will choose to use the semicolon…every day.

Every.

Single.

Day.

Some days it is a struggle. Some days it can be almost a knock down, drag out fight. The fight to choose the semicolon, to keep myself grounded in the love others have for me instead of the hate I feel for myself, remains a struggle…and one I don’t always share for so many reasons. I hate being viewed as weak or less than or even just as someone who struggles. I hate being compared to the parent who far too many times in my lifetime tried to put a period at the end of her sentence. I can imagine her pain and her struggle. I lived survived a lot of it with her. It was so hard for her. So very hard. Still, no child should ever be the one to call for help because mommy won’t wake up…again. No child should ever have to try and get her younger siblings out of the house before the ambulance comes to protect them from seeing mommy this way. No child should have to run down the hill that was Davis Lane to flag down the ambulance because you can’t see that gravel road very well in the dark of night. Add that to the many reasons why I, every day, consciously choose to use a semicolon.

I should be stronger than this.

I should be braver than this.

I will always have anxiety. I will struggle from time to time with debilitating depression. I will sometimes become frozen in panic for no rational reason whatsoever. I will, at times, choose poor coping mechanisms. But I will always choose the semicolon.

My story isn’t over yet.

The Semicolon Project 416