2 things I NOW know for certain:
1. Even one stinkin' graham cracker before bed can give you some seriously funkadoodle nightmares/dreams AND
2. YOU NEVER NEVER EVER want to be caught walking through a combination...
a. Aquarium ...where they have the guests, kids included, throw big ole Flintstone-sized raw steaks to the sharks when they jump out of the water onto the deck...while all the other guests are contained safe and sound behind cages, and there are shallow ponds filled with pirana with signage which encourages you to "pet them".
b. SLASH petting zoo ...which includes an exhibit of a human lying on a circular bed holding a baby gorilla (who was sooo crazy cute, the gorilla..not the human) while they cuddle up to a female lion as the male stalks free around the enclosure AND where a miniture stegosauruses keeps trying to butt your legs (because you later realize that you are wearing one of those puppet hand dinosaur thingies that McDonalds gave out in their happy meals like 10 years ago, and so probably brought the whole leg-butting thing on yourself).
c. SLASH weirdy university (contained completely inside the aquarium/petting zoo), with dorms that actually look like doll houses with no back on them and that have crazy "recruiting" posters everywhere that feature people you used to know (even a girl from your high school basket ball team, who is apparently giving rave reviews for the "university's" communications department... and who is now also sporting a lovely full mustache in her photo) AND where you run into a "whose who" of who you've dated for the last century..going allllllllllll the way back to your first "boyfriend" in the 8th grade (using this term loosely here as, at that age, you can only really make googly eyes at each other between classes), some dude you really only mostly dated by phone in the 10th grade and took to one family wedding; as well as, an assortment of other characters you have known through time (most of whom you were never very tight with but in this aquarium slash petting zoo slash weirdy university, are strangely very chatty with you as you stand by the "chimpanzee lounging with a white tiger and some other crazy animal I can't quite remember by the end of typing this because I am now sadly, completely awake (but feel strongly it might have been a mythical creature)" exhibit.
Just trust me on number 2 here folks ...cause it just happened to me via one wicked graham cracker...and it weren't pretty (having jerked upright in bed, slightly sweaty, and looking wild-eyed around the room for that pesky little miniture stegosaurs)
so... be warned , no amount of graham-crackery goodness is worth wondering why your kind-of ex is living in a room with no back and doesn't apparently care or being cornered by people you barely know (who may or may not be sporting lush facial hair) while trying not to get your shins bruised all to heck by a smallish dinosaurs...I'm just sayin'.
On that cautionary tale and having now effectively expelled any residual scary stuff, I'm off to recheck all the door locks and try to force myself back sleep (with any luck...minus all zoos, marine life, extinct/mythical creatures and past beaus).
ps...please excuse all run-on sentences and other grammatical errors...that's just the kind of shoddy grammar you can expect from a dream sequence.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Friday, February 3, 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
The Fearsome Sir Focus
Soooo... I got into a chicken fight my seat belt alarm today. Because it's repetitive high dingy noises drive me to the brink of insanity, I usually only have to hear it once to force my compliance, but today my friends I looked that little bugger right in the eye and sat firm as I drove across a VERY BIG parking lot to my next stop. I made it 5 whole series of increasingly alarming dings & pings....
Sadly, this is not a story of victory for the underdog. I lost this battle of wills with my little focus and could be seen by Starbucks patrons clumsily buckling my seat belt as I was PULLING INTO my parking spot.
I tip my hat to you Sir Focus...you have bested me yet again.
Sadly, this is not a story of victory for the underdog. I lost this battle of wills with my little focus and could be seen by Starbucks patrons clumsily buckling my seat belt as I was PULLING INTO my parking spot.
I tip my hat to you Sir Focus...you have bested me yet again.
The Disenfranchised Right Hand
I always feel a twinge of liberal guilt for my Right Hand.
It leads the life of a red-headed step child...disenfranchised, left out in the cold doing menial tasks like steering the car in winter, click click clicking away on the mouse in a drafty library (oh..okay..drafty starbucks) and frantically scribbling class notes. All the while Lefty lives in the lap of luxury swaddled in a coat pocket o...r tucked up fast asleep in a sweater sleeve. Even their names signify their lots in life: the ever stoic "Right Hand" and the jauntily name "Lefty".Will there ever been an end to the Social Injustice....
RISE UP Right Hands! Rename yourselves things like "Right-io" and "Right On" and Occupy Pockets, Fur Muffs and Hobo gloves EVERYWHERE!!
We are the 1%...ummm rather...We are the 50%. unless you've had an unfortunate weed whacker incident in which case Right-io....I'm sorry to say, but you're on your own.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
"Chronicles from the College Years" OR "Just Another Tale from My 2 1/2 Year Stroke"
I have considered, at times, changing my name to “Lucy”. I’ve always had a bit of a knack for getting caught up in (sometimes through bad choices and sometimes just by breathing) ridiculous exploits. One (me) would have hoped that those "Oops I did it again" moments would have faded away and just become my "twenty-something" tales, but sadly...no. Well on my way to the ripe ole age of 41, I still provide myself (and my family and my friends) with a bountiful array of capers. Certain tales from the Andi-side are relatively harmless and can be retold almost immediately; while others need time to age until the rough (read mortifying) edges have smoothed down to just another facet of my gem of a life. (and no Dawn...I'm not ready to write about "Andi & the Oakland County Sherriff" just yet)
Those brain addled years that I affectionately call my “college years” (I use this term ridiculously loosely and should really just come clean and call them my “Living in Virginia off Government Cheese & Chocolate Covered Espresso Beans Era”) has provided me with gobs of raw material. Call it a curse, a gift, or a calling, whatever…but here it goes...
Sit right back and I’ll tell a tale; a tale of a goofy girl that’s had more than her fair share of 3-hour tours. I like to call this one…"Chronicles from the College Years" OR ”Just Another Tale from My 2 ½ Year Stroke”
( in preparation for your read, you may wanna click the link for a little theme music :)
So it seemed like a really good idea (as often it does when one is in serious “like”) to climb up a steep hill, in the dark, through the snow and sneak onto the campus (of my very conservative non-denominational university) after curfew (quite a few of my college antics came from not being at a sanctioned place at an approved of time) to pick up a “friend” (code for “dude I was really into that was only vaguely into me”). As I loped across the rode separating the girl’s dorms from the guys, I saw campus security up the hill. Unfortunately, their headlights bounced off of me at the same time. So…like all the other perps you’ve seen on COPS, I hit the deck in a ludicrous attempt to evade the campus fuzz (who was actually just a guy that sat next to me in geography... unfortunately, our class time interactions were never the same after that). As I belly crawled around the end of a late model Buick, I remember thinking to myself that maybe, just possibly, this wasn’t the highest and best use of my time.
As the high beams of the security car made a beeline for my last know location, I played possum. Laying inert in the thin coating of snow, I felt a car pull up and heard the electric buzz of the auto window. A voice laced with a world-weariness disproportionate to his age asked, “Are you okay, Miss?” (I’m pretty sure he knew the answer).
"Well, yeah...ummmmm (buying some time here) you see I dropped my keys in the snow (all 1/8 inch of it) and they slid under the car." (because you know it’s just sooo icy this time of year in Virginia).
“What are you doing out after curfew, Miss?”, my geography-mate asked me. (Hmm…I believe I detect a note of disbelief).
"Oh, welllllllll (stalling again)…uh...actually I live off campus (true). But my, uhhhhhh, car broke down in the Walmart parking lot (conveniently located down the hill and across the road) (false), and I thought if I could use a phone on campus I could call a friend to come help me out (false...but now, suddenly very very true...PLEASE SAVE ME, ANYBODY PLEASE)." As I stood up and earnestly brushed the “mounds of snow” off my barn coat, I know I have played the last card in my hand, and am waiting to be busted. I am also throwing myself mentally on God’s mercy, Who, to this point, I have seen fit to leave back at my rented farm house (or possibly back in my first dorm room 2 years earlier).
My fellow daytime scholar had mercy on me and Campus security brought me back to the laughably named “guard shack” (which was really just an outpost to stop people from skipping chapel) where I called my friend (who was in ROTC, and not thrilled to have been woken up at midnight the night before drills) to pick me up because, as I communicate in my most stilted / sketchy voice, “my car isn’t, ummmm, starting (wink wink)”. Being an astute young lady (and being a street-smart Jersey girl didn’t hurt either), she arrived in record time to collect me before the thumb screws and water boarding began. I held my breath as we exited campus over the bridge, and I promised myself never, never, never again to act like a kook (some promises are reallllllly hard to keep), and especially not over some guy (even if he IS a singing, guitar-playing athlete with the soul of a poet…I mean seriously…guys like that are like college-girl catnip). My friend read me the riot act like only a girl from Jersey can, and in the end just shook her head. I think she knew this wouldn’t be my last dust-up with bad choices and “I Love Lucy” worthy capers.
As the next day of classes dawned, I resolved to do better and be better. I would be so scholarly I would make Ben Franklin look like a slouch. I would be steadfast in reaching my goals (which were fuzzy at best and having something to do with teaching; which was unfortunate seeing as I didn’t particularly like kids. And yes, fellow homeschooling moms, the irony is thick). I would see the “dude” in question and give him a freeze so deep he would have to report to the campus clinic for frostbite & possible multiple amputations.
Regrettably, I did not run into said “dude” for several days (one would think this was deliberate), and my indignation cooled. I continued to be uninspired with my choice of future vocation; while conversely, I was unrelentingly challenged and thrilled with every other aspect of “college” life. Not one month later, the object of my...whatever, shared with me that he had found “THE ONE”. He extolled her virtues, lauded her accomplishments and demeanor (I’m gonna go out on a limb and say she wouldn’t have belly crawled away from campus security) and compared her to his mom (does anyone else hear that death knell?). He said (in his most intense "sharing" voice) that he just knew she would be the future Mrs. "Singing, Guitar-Playing, Athlete with the Soul of a Poet”. (true…they married, had a passel of kiddos and are together still.) (Oh and ps.. if I forgot to say it then; as I was in shock and gape-mouthed and paralyzed with mortification, Mazel Tov!!).
This scrape served as a potent reminder to me of the girl I had once been...pre-college me. That girl wouldn’t have crossed the street to see a guy let alone re-enact an episode of “COPS” with campus security hot on her (belly) trail in the snow . It was, mercifully, near the end of my college time and a great catalyst for me to get it together. Shortly thereafter, I returned home & got a real life (much to my parents’ great joy). I still know a few people from that time (thankfully very few) and we can giggle over my youthful antics…all the while all knowing and accepting that there will be more;albeit healthier, not-so-youthful ones to come.
Those brain addled years that I affectionately call my “college years” (I use this term ridiculously loosely and should really just come clean and call them my “Living in Virginia off Government Cheese & Chocolate Covered Espresso Beans Era”) has provided me with gobs of raw material. Call it a curse, a gift, or a calling, whatever…but here it goes...
Sit right back and I’ll tell a tale; a tale of a goofy girl that’s had more than her fair share of 3-hour tours. I like to call this one…"Chronicles from the College Years" OR ”Just Another Tale from My 2 ½ Year Stroke”
( in preparation for your read, you may wanna click the link for a little theme music :)
So it seemed like a really good idea (as often it does when one is in serious “like”) to climb up a steep hill, in the dark, through the snow and sneak onto the campus (of my very conservative non-denominational university) after curfew (quite a few of my college antics came from not being at a sanctioned place at an approved of time) to pick up a “friend” (code for “dude I was really into that was only vaguely into me”). As I loped across the rode separating the girl’s dorms from the guys, I saw campus security up the hill. Unfortunately, their headlights bounced off of me at the same time. So…like all the other perps you’ve seen on COPS, I hit the deck in a ludicrous attempt to evade the campus fuzz (who was actually just a guy that sat next to me in geography... unfortunately, our class time interactions were never the same after that). As I belly crawled around the end of a late model Buick, I remember thinking to myself that maybe, just possibly, this wasn’t the highest and best use of my time.
As the high beams of the security car made a beeline for my last know location, I played possum. Laying inert in the thin coating of snow, I felt a car pull up and heard the electric buzz of the auto window. A voice laced with a world-weariness disproportionate to his age asked, “Are you okay, Miss?” (I’m pretty sure he knew the answer).
"Well, yeah...ummmmm (buying some time here) you see I dropped my keys in the snow (all 1/8 inch of it) and they slid under the car." (because you know it’s just sooo icy this time of year in Virginia).
“What are you doing out after curfew, Miss?”, my geography-mate asked me. (Hmm…I believe I detect a note of disbelief).
"Oh, welllllllll (stalling again)…uh...actually I live off campus (true). But my, uhhhhhh, car broke down in the Walmart parking lot (conveniently located down the hill and across the road) (false), and I thought if I could use a phone on campus I could call a friend to come help me out (false...but now, suddenly very very true...PLEASE SAVE ME, ANYBODY PLEASE)." As I stood up and earnestly brushed the “mounds of snow” off my barn coat, I know I have played the last card in my hand, and am waiting to be busted. I am also throwing myself mentally on God’s mercy, Who, to this point, I have seen fit to leave back at my rented farm house (or possibly back in my first dorm room 2 years earlier).
My fellow daytime scholar had mercy on me and Campus security brought me back to the laughably named “guard shack” (which was really just an outpost to stop people from skipping chapel) where I called my friend (who was in ROTC, and not thrilled to have been woken up at midnight the night before drills) to pick me up because, as I communicate in my most stilted / sketchy voice, “my car isn’t, ummmm, starting (wink wink)”. Being an astute young lady (and being a street-smart Jersey girl didn’t hurt either), she arrived in record time to collect me before the thumb screws and water boarding began. I held my breath as we exited campus over the bridge, and I promised myself never, never, never again to act like a kook (some promises are reallllllly hard to keep), and especially not over some guy (even if he IS a singing, guitar-playing athlete with the soul of a poet…I mean seriously…guys like that are like college-girl catnip). My friend read me the riot act like only a girl from Jersey can, and in the end just shook her head. I think she knew this wouldn’t be my last dust-up with bad choices and “I Love Lucy” worthy capers.
As the next day of classes dawned, I resolved to do better and be better. I would be so scholarly I would make Ben Franklin look like a slouch. I would be steadfast in reaching my goals (which were fuzzy at best and having something to do with teaching; which was unfortunate seeing as I didn’t particularly like kids. And yes, fellow homeschooling moms, the irony is thick). I would see the “dude” in question and give him a freeze so deep he would have to report to the campus clinic for frostbite & possible multiple amputations.
Regrettably, I did not run into said “dude” for several days (one would think this was deliberate), and my indignation cooled. I continued to be uninspired with my choice of future vocation; while conversely, I was unrelentingly challenged and thrilled with every other aspect of “college” life. Not one month later, the object of my...whatever, shared with me that he had found “THE ONE”. He extolled her virtues, lauded her accomplishments and demeanor (I’m gonna go out on a limb and say she wouldn’t have belly crawled away from campus security) and compared her to his mom (does anyone else hear that death knell?). He said (in his most intense "sharing" voice) that he just knew she would be the future Mrs. "Singing, Guitar-Playing, Athlete with the Soul of a Poet”. (true…they married, had a passel of kiddos and are together still.) (Oh and ps.. if I forgot to say it then; as I was in shock and gape-mouthed and paralyzed with mortification, Mazel Tov!!).
This scrape served as a potent reminder to me of the girl I had once been...pre-college me. That girl wouldn’t have crossed the street to see a guy let alone re-enact an episode of “COPS” with campus security hot on her (belly) trail in the snow . It was, mercifully, near the end of my college time and a great catalyst for me to get it together. Shortly thereafter, I returned home & got a real life (much to my parents’ great joy). I still know a few people from that time (thankfully very few) and we can giggle over my youthful antics…all the while all knowing and accepting that there will be more;albeit healthier, not-so-youthful ones to come.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Happiness Is... OR... 10 Things I Forgot To Stop And Love
Okay...I have to admit it, I've been a royal grouch for the past couple of weeks. There's really no good reason for it. I could try to chalk it up to stress and worry and (my personal least fave) change, but that would be unspeakably lame; because...news flash...life ALWAYS has change. So, I'll just call this one likes I sees it...I have stopped seeing all the lovely things God has blessed me with. In short, I have been a schmuck.
When you've realized you've been a schmuck, it can set you back on your heels a bit while you figure out how to, well....de-schmuck. A good way to do this is just to pull your head out from the self-involved hole you've stuck it in and look around at God's provisions and blessings.
And so...without further ado...
Happiness is ... OR 10 Things I Forgot to Stop and Love:
1. Happiness is finding a Bible verse that makes your eyes water because the truth hits you so hard and so wonderfully.
Mark 11:23-2423. "I tell you the truth, if anyone says to this mountain, 'Go, throw yourself into the sea,' and DOES NOT DOUBT in his heart but BELIEVES that what he says will happen, it will be done for him. 24. Therefore, I tell you, WHATEVER you ask for in prayer, believe you have received it, and it will be yours."
2. Happiness is belting out an old favorite while cleaning your decimated kitchen (yet again) to help keep the joy in your heart pumping through you...even in the face of baked on gunk.
3. Happiness is being asked by your hubby to sit watch tv with him (even if it is an NCIS rerun) and holding hands the whole time.
4. Happiness is hearing your kiddos oooo and ahhhh over how cool you are cause you know how to make caramel sauce from scratch to pour over their popcorn. (who knew melted sugar would make me such a rock star)
5. Happiness is picking green beans and cherry tomatoes with your boys, rubbing them on your t-shirt and eating them right off the vine.
6. Happiness is surprise flowers brought to you by sweet girls that you love very much.
7. Happiness is listening to your son's voice change from boy to man, and regularly confusing him for his daddy when you walk into a room.
8. Happiness is when your nugget jumps in your bed at 7a.m. and squeezes your face and tells you "Mommy I love you the whole wide world and outer space" as he kisses your nose.
9. Happiness is a kitchen windowsill full of the spoils of summer...as the season glides away.
10. Happiness is the ability to recognize what happiness is...
As the school year starts and new challenges come, I'm sure I'll have new happinesses to add to this list...and may God keep reminding me to stop & love every one!!
When you've realized you've been a schmuck, it can set you back on your heels a bit while you figure out how to, well....de-schmuck. A good way to do this is just to pull your head out from the self-involved hole you've stuck it in and look around at God's provisions and blessings.
And so...without further ado...
Happiness is ... OR 10 Things I Forgot to Stop and Love:
1. Happiness is finding a Bible verse that makes your eyes water because the truth hits you so hard and so wonderfully.
Mark 11:23-2423. "I tell you the truth, if anyone says to this mountain, 'Go, throw yourself into the sea,' and DOES NOT DOUBT in his heart but BELIEVES that what he says will happen, it will be done for him. 24. Therefore, I tell you, WHATEVER you ask for in prayer, believe you have received it, and it will be yours."
2. Happiness is belting out an old favorite while cleaning your decimated kitchen (yet again) to help keep the joy in your heart pumping through you...even in the face of baked on gunk.
3. Happiness is being asked by your hubby to sit watch tv with him (even if it is an NCIS rerun) and holding hands the whole time.
4. Happiness is hearing your kiddos oooo and ahhhh over how cool you are cause you know how to make caramel sauce from scratch to pour over their popcorn. (who knew melted sugar would make me such a rock star)
5. Happiness is picking green beans and cherry tomatoes with your boys, rubbing them on your t-shirt and eating them right off the vine.
6. Happiness is surprise flowers brought to you by sweet girls that you love very much.
7. Happiness is listening to your son's voice change from boy to man, and regularly confusing him for his daddy when you walk into a room.
8. Happiness is when your nugget jumps in your bed at 7a.m. and squeezes your face and tells you "Mommy I love you the whole wide world and outer space" as he kisses your nose.
9. Happiness is a kitchen windowsill full of the spoils of summer...as the season glides away.
10. Happiness is the ability to recognize what happiness is...
As the school year starts and new challenges come, I'm sure I'll have new happinesses to add to this list...and may God keep reminding me to stop & love every one!!
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Considering the Concept of Catharsis or Don't Go All "Pet Cemetery" About the Dead Stuff
So I've been thinking about the idea of catharsis lately. You know, looking at old things, sometimes painful things, right in the face and poking at 'em a bit to see what pokes back. I think the older I've gotten the more I've learned to live without this whole "process". This could simply be that I am too tired to invest any sort of real energy to this sort of "disinterment". Energy that could be better used washing underwear and cooking dinner (not necessarily in that order, and definitely not together).
Or it could just be....wait for it...wait for it...that I've just gotten more mature (audible gasp). I have also noticed the older I get, the exponentially slower I am to be offended. I would like to chalk this up to growing up, but I have to admit there's also a healthy dose of just not wanting to have one more thing on my plate that needs to be cleaned up. So, the question is...Is the "exhumation and examination" (as a fellow philosopher has dubbed it) of the past a good & healthy thing (which, goes without saying, is not as enjoyable as a "Good and Plenty" thing...mmmm yummm...good and plenty's ...uh, sorry.) or is it, instead, just a bunch of self-indulgent moments peppered with alotta touchy-feely big words?
Well, like every other doggone thing in the world, there is no easy answer (with the notable exceptions being: dating your girlfriends ex-boyfriend; whether to bring your babies to a rated "R" movie; or eating any, and I do mean any, sort of meat that has been left in a hot car all day. The answer to all of these is Always, ALWAYS, NO!).
So, I guess it's a balancing act. If your need to unearth and open up the past is so great that it has you having imaginary (possibly ranting) conversations with yourself (what..don't act like you don't do it too), then maybe this is a good time to hand it to God and walk away. Let Him worry about the fixing and mending, and you just be about the business of living right now...here and now. Stop mucking around in the pigpen slop pit of yesterday (Cause, honestly, have you ever driven by a pig farm? You need a cauterizing iron and a HAZMAT spray down to get that stench off of ya, and who wants to walk around giving off that odor?) and maybe just Let It Lie, Lucy (for now, anyhow, hmm?). I guess I've gotten to the point that when I most feel like I need that "catharsis" is the exact time I should walk away from it and give it to God, and later (sometimes much much later; and possibly never) God will deliver the "catharsis" to me...long after I've actively accepted that the only doggone thing I need for comfort and healing is Him.
However, if you have way more than moved on, and catharsis comes to pay a call, I say...let it in, brew a cup-a and settle in for a gracious but candid visit. You need the candor because graciousness by itself isn't gonna cut the mustard. In the interest keeping things all nicey, nicey; graciousness may only exhume a work of revisionist historical fiction that probably isn't all that true to the original story. And where would that get ya but a whole lotta no where. And graciousness? Well you need that because we could all stand to be a wee bit more forgiving, loving and kind to one another, don't you think?
The real trick is to just remember to give that long dead stuff a proper RE-burial and send it all back from whence it came. Because, while a little sojourn in the past is okay (and maybe even fairly purgative), the here and now is where we should be camping out to make our tomorrows.
Oh and PS...I do soooo love my Good and Plenty's...they leave this ghoulish white and black gunk on your tongue that you're just not gonna find anywhere else...what's not to love!! :)
Or it could just be....wait for it...wait for it...that I've just gotten more mature (audible gasp). I have also noticed the older I get, the exponentially slower I am to be offended. I would like to chalk this up to growing up, but I have to admit there's also a healthy dose of just not wanting to have one more thing on my plate that needs to be cleaned up. So, the question is...Is the "exhumation and examination" (as a fellow philosopher has dubbed it) of the past a good & healthy thing (which, goes without saying, is not as enjoyable as a "Good and Plenty" thing...mmmm yummm...good and plenty's ...uh, sorry.) or is it, instead, just a bunch of self-indulgent moments peppered with alotta touchy-feely big words?
So, I guess it's a balancing act. If your need to unearth and open up the past is so great that it has you having imaginary (possibly ranting) conversations with yourself (what..don't act like you don't do it too), then maybe this is a good time to hand it to God and walk away. Let Him worry about the fixing and mending, and you just be about the business of living right now...here and now. Stop mucking around in the pigpen slop pit of yesterday (Cause, honestly, have you ever driven by a pig farm? You need a cauterizing iron and a HAZMAT spray down to get that stench off of ya, and who wants to walk around giving off that odor?) and maybe just Let It Lie, Lucy (for now, anyhow, hmm?). I guess I've gotten to the point that when I most feel like I need that "catharsis" is the exact time I should walk away from it and give it to God, and later (sometimes much much later; and possibly never) God will deliver the "catharsis" to me...long after I've actively accepted that the only doggone thing I need for comfort and healing is Him.
However, if you have way more than moved on, and catharsis comes to pay a call, I say...let it in, brew a cup-a and settle in for a gracious but candid visit. You need the candor because graciousness by itself isn't gonna cut the mustard. In the interest keeping things all nicey, nicey; graciousness may only exhume a work of revisionist historical fiction that probably isn't all that true to the original story. And where would that get ya but a whole lotta no where. And graciousness? Well you need that because we could all stand to be a wee bit more forgiving, loving and kind to one another, don't you think?
The real trick is to just remember to give that long dead stuff a proper RE-burial and send it all back from whence it came. Because, while a little sojourn in the past is okay (and maybe even fairly purgative), the here and now is where we should be camping out to make our tomorrows.
Oh and PS...I do soooo love my Good and Plenty's...they leave this ghoulish white and black gunk on your tongue that you're just not gonna find anywhere else...what's not to love!! :)
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