I am truly sick of all the election "hoopla" but I still believe the "old guys" know what they are talking about. (I suppose my conservative colors are showing.)
From Abraham Lincoln…
"Property is the fruit of labor...property is desirable... a positive good in the world. That some should be rich shows that others may become rich, and hence is just encouragement to industry and enterprise. Let not him who is houseless pull down the house of another; but let him labor diligently and build one for himself, thus by example assuring that his own shall be safe from violence when built."
From Thomas Jefferson…
"To take from one because it is thought that his own industry and that of his father's has acquired too much, in order to spare to others, who, or whose fathers have not exercised equal industry and skill, is to violate arbitrarily the first principle of association - the guarantee to every one of a free exercise of his industry and the fruits acquired by it."
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Not Really Gone
I am rushing Isabelle out the door on a typical Monday morning trying to remember all of the things I want to do in the two hours while she is at preschool. I juggle my purse, car keys, the all important plastic bottle of diet Lipton raspberry white tea that I am currently addicted to, and Isabelle's back pack, while I help her get her other arm into her coat sleeve and lift her into the back seat of the Jeep. We go through this routine like a well-oiled machine, our bodies mindlessly performing the tasks we ask of them while all the while she and I keep up a running dialogue of what she might do in school today. I close her door, walk around to mine, get in, start the car, buckle up, back out of the garage, press the garage door button to close it, and quickly take a gloved hand to brush a stray curl out of my face and tuck it behind an ear...............
All at once I am slammed full force back into my grandmother's kitchen, feeling the heat coming off of her stove, radiating warm against my thigh as something bakes within. I am embraced by two arms, enveloping me like fragile butterfly wings, yet at the same time providing a tremendous sense of security and safety. I feel her baby soft cheek against mine as I stoop to hug her, her slightly scratchy grey hair tickling my nose, and deeply breathe in that smell, that grandma smell, something I cannot describe, but something intrinsically linked with her in my mind. And now here I am in October and she passed away in July and I am sobbing like a baby in my car because I am wearing a pair of her gloves for the first time and I just pushed a piece of hair out of my face and suddenly it was like she never died. Yes, I cried, but really it was such a gift to have such a vivid memory brought forth. God, the mind is powerful.
Part of me doesn't want to wear the gloves because the more I do the less they will bear her scent and the more they will gain mine. Of course, the other part of me does. The part of me that took them in the first place.... the part of me that thought it would be nice to put my hand inside something that once had her hand in it. As if in some way it could link us up once more and in a way we could still hold each other's hand. I know it is silly, but then again, perhaps not. Later that evening I told Clay about it when we went out for our after dinner walk with Isabelle. I told him it was like my grandmother was right here with me, and he stopped me and looked me right in the eye and said, "She is still with you."
I married a really smart man, but that is a blog for another day. (And we don't want him getting a big head).
All at once I am slammed full force back into my grandmother's kitchen, feeling the heat coming off of her stove, radiating warm against my thigh as something bakes within. I am embraced by two arms, enveloping me like fragile butterfly wings, yet at the same time providing a tremendous sense of security and safety. I feel her baby soft cheek against mine as I stoop to hug her, her slightly scratchy grey hair tickling my nose, and deeply breathe in that smell, that grandma smell, something I cannot describe, but something intrinsically linked with her in my mind. And now here I am in October and she passed away in July and I am sobbing like a baby in my car because I am wearing a pair of her gloves for the first time and I just pushed a piece of hair out of my face and suddenly it was like she never died. Yes, I cried, but really it was such a gift to have such a vivid memory brought forth. God, the mind is powerful.
Part of me doesn't want to wear the gloves because the more I do the less they will bear her scent and the more they will gain mine. Of course, the other part of me does. The part of me that took them in the first place.... the part of me that thought it would be nice to put my hand inside something that once had her hand in it. As if in some way it could link us up once more and in a way we could still hold each other's hand. I know it is silly, but then again, perhaps not. Later that evening I told Clay about it when we went out for our after dinner walk with Isabelle. I told him it was like my grandmother was right here with me, and he stopped me and looked me right in the eye and said, "She is still with you."
I married a really smart man, but that is a blog for another day. (And we don't want him getting a big head).
Thursday, October 16, 2008
My Not So Glamorous Life
"Mommy, I'm AWAKE!"
(slight pause).
"Mommy, I'm AWAKE!!!"
(slight pause, with an audible "huff" attached to the end of it.)
"MOOOOOMMY! I'M AAAAAAAAWAKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
And so my day began this morning, no alarm needed. Clay was out of town on business and Isabelle was obviously ready to get up. I was completely and utterly out of it, but somehow staggered across the hall and opened my daughter's bedroom door, mostly just to get her to (for the love of God) stop yelling because the assault on my ears was just too much when still attempting to gain full consciousness. Our morning routine upstairs got interrupted by the sounds of my fat cat, Nib puking up his breakfast downstairs, so I found myself scrubbing my grey carpet (Why do cats always vomit on the carpet and never on the tile? And who in the hell decided to put grey carpet in this damn house anyways? Curse the people we bought it from and their bad/impractical taste!) with Resolve yet again. When I put the Resolve back in the cupboard I figure I might as well clean up the litter boxes since I am already in the laundry room, and, after all, what is a little excrement after vomit?
I manage to get through my routine on the treadmill only having to stop twice to help my daughter in the bathroom as she has not yet mastered the fine art of "wiping her bum" adequately and I feel like my morning has been taken up with nothing except bodily excretions in various forms. Needless to say I skip breakfast and figure I might as well go with the theme. I scrub toilets. Joy. Isabelle plays and eats her breakfast while I clean both bathrooms, still in my sweaty workout clothes and now also sporting a pair of yellow rubber gloves, with my bed head, workout hair, knotted into a greasy blob on top of my skull.
About this time Fed Ex decides to ring the door bell and deliver a package. More joy. Looking like the number one reason why my husband would decide to have an affair with some hot office floozy, I answer the door and watch the Fed Ex guy do his best to smother his look of alarm as I sheepishly thank him and open the door just wide enough to nab the box and close it again, all the while with Isabelle jabbering away asking "Who is it, Mommy?"
I get through some more cleaning, manage to shower, where I nick myself twice while shaving, discover three zits popping out on my face despite the fact that I am now also getting wrinkles (Sigh) and collapse in a heap on the couch to discover it is now only lunch time. Ugh.
"I love you, Mommy."
"I love you too, baby."
"No, I wiwwy love you very much, Mommy."
As usual, my daughter can make my not so glamorous life seem pretty spectacular with just a few simple words. I swallow the sudden lump in my throat and blink the tears from my eyes.
"I really love you very much too, Isabelle."
We curl up and read some books together, and suddenly I remember why I decided to stay home with her in the first place. No, it isn't glamorous, but it is important. Even if on some days no one except Isabelle and the Fed Ex guy sees me. And I bet I wish he hadn't!
(slight pause).
"Mommy, I'm AWAKE!!!"
(slight pause, with an audible "huff" attached to the end of it.)
"MOOOOOMMY! I'M AAAAAAAAWAKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
And so my day began this morning, no alarm needed. Clay was out of town on business and Isabelle was obviously ready to get up. I was completely and utterly out of it, but somehow staggered across the hall and opened my daughter's bedroom door, mostly just to get her to (for the love of God) stop yelling because the assault on my ears was just too much when still attempting to gain full consciousness. Our morning routine upstairs got interrupted by the sounds of my fat cat, Nib puking up his breakfast downstairs, so I found myself scrubbing my grey carpet (Why do cats always vomit on the carpet and never on the tile? And who in the hell decided to put grey carpet in this damn house anyways? Curse the people we bought it from and their bad/impractical taste!) with Resolve yet again. When I put the Resolve back in the cupboard I figure I might as well clean up the litter boxes since I am already in the laundry room, and, after all, what is a little excrement after vomit?
I manage to get through my routine on the treadmill only having to stop twice to help my daughter in the bathroom as she has not yet mastered the fine art of "wiping her bum" adequately and I feel like my morning has been taken up with nothing except bodily excretions in various forms. Needless to say I skip breakfast and figure I might as well go with the theme. I scrub toilets. Joy. Isabelle plays and eats her breakfast while I clean both bathrooms, still in my sweaty workout clothes and now also sporting a pair of yellow rubber gloves, with my bed head, workout hair, knotted into a greasy blob on top of my skull.
About this time Fed Ex decides to ring the door bell and deliver a package. More joy. Looking like the number one reason why my husband would decide to have an affair with some hot office floozy, I answer the door and watch the Fed Ex guy do his best to smother his look of alarm as I sheepishly thank him and open the door just wide enough to nab the box and close it again, all the while with Isabelle jabbering away asking "Who is it, Mommy?"
I get through some more cleaning, manage to shower, where I nick myself twice while shaving, discover three zits popping out on my face despite the fact that I am now also getting wrinkles (Sigh) and collapse in a heap on the couch to discover it is now only lunch time. Ugh.
"I love you, Mommy."
"I love you too, baby."
"No, I wiwwy love you very much, Mommy."
As usual, my daughter can make my not so glamorous life seem pretty spectacular with just a few simple words. I swallow the sudden lump in my throat and blink the tears from my eyes.
"I really love you very much too, Isabelle."
We curl up and read some books together, and suddenly I remember why I decided to stay home with her in the first place. No, it isn't glamorous, but it is important. Even if on some days no one except Isabelle and the Fed Ex guy sees me. And I bet I wish he hadn't!
Friday, October 10, 2008
Another Hockey Season, Hallelujah!
The Red Wings officially started another hockey season last night and they did so with a loss. It is hardly surprising as it is hard to begin one season while still saying good-bye to the last. Looking shiny and bruise-free (with the exception of Lidstrom who is already sporting a broken nose and numerous stitches from an injury in the preseason) they watched yet another banner be hoisted into the rafters of the Joe, proclaiming them the Stanley Cup Champions. All of their numerous trophies were on display on the ice along with Lord Stanley for the audience to view. Meanwhile Toronto watched and coveted.
Then, of course, the ice was wiped clean, the puck was dropped, and the Wings are asked to do it all over again. And the so-called experts on television start right back up where they left off last year saying the Wings are too old, and it is impossible to repeat. And I watch the Leafs gun for them through this first game like rabid pit bulls scenting wounded prey, and I know teams will do this all season because they are the champions and this is hockey and, after all, this is how the game is played.
So, I will say this: Yeah, they were a little flat last night. Whoopee. Do you think that will effect a team with this kind of experience? So, you all still think they are old? Do you think they care at this point after proving you wrong repeatedly so many times? So, it is hard to repeat? Damn straight it is, but if any team in hockey can do it, I would put my money on this one..... it will all come down to injuries and, lets face it, the all important hockey gods. Bring on the doubters, bring on the Red Wing haters..... we have proven you wrong so many times before.... we do not mind doing it yet again. Oh, and thank you God for another hockey season! GO WINGS!
Then, of course, the ice was wiped clean, the puck was dropped, and the Wings are asked to do it all over again. And the so-called experts on television start right back up where they left off last year saying the Wings are too old, and it is impossible to repeat. And I watch the Leafs gun for them through this first game like rabid pit bulls scenting wounded prey, and I know teams will do this all season because they are the champions and this is hockey and, after all, this is how the game is played.
So, I will say this: Yeah, they were a little flat last night. Whoopee. Do you think that will effect a team with this kind of experience? So, you all still think they are old? Do you think they care at this point after proving you wrong repeatedly so many times? So, it is hard to repeat? Damn straight it is, but if any team in hockey can do it, I would put my money on this one..... it will all come down to injuries and, lets face it, the all important hockey gods. Bring on the doubters, bring on the Red Wing haters..... we have proven you wrong so many times before.... we do not mind doing it yet again. Oh, and thank you God for another hockey season! GO WINGS!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)