To say that I am something less than a good housekeeper would be an understatement. I’m nowhere near “Hoarders” level, but let’s just say that no one would be safe eating off my floors and I usually have enough dog hair around to knit another dog.


I do seasonal cleaning, though, spring and fall. It takes me nearly a month to do it, but it DOES get done. Fortunately my house is tiny. Sidenote: I made the remark last week that our house was the size of a shoebox, and BigD was offended. I had to explain to him that it wasn’t meant as an insult – I LOVE my little house and wouldn’t want it to be any bigger. Honestly, why are men so obsessed with SIZE? 😈

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all the things i wanted

What the hell does it say about me that a few kind words from a complete stranger can have me sobbing like a three year old? Is my life really that pathetic? Or am I just feeling sorry for myself?

I really don’t think I feel sorry for myself on a regular basis, certainly no more than anyone else.

In all I am a lucky person and for all intents and purposed my dreams have all been realized.

Granted, I may have dreamed “little” by other peoples’ standards, but they were my dreams and when laid side by side next to what might have come of my life, the kind of person I could’ve turned out to be – and in my own eyes – I have been blessed.

I remember one night about twenty-seven years ago. BigD and I had been living together about four months and there was a possibility that I might be pregnant. At that point in my life I had thought – I had WISHED AND PRAYED – a thousand times that I was pregnant. Not with BigD’s baby, but with my previous husband’s baby.

Until that night, sitting alone in a little bitty rented house, with this man that I had fallen so completely in love sleeping in the other room, this man that made me realize that all the “men” that had come before were just so many practice runs, I was doing more than praying, I was begging and making deals with God.

I can’t remember all of the trades that I offered, but I do remember telling God that if he let me be pregnant THIS time, I would give one of my legs. There were other equally ridiculous offers and three weeks later, when I found out that I really WAS pregnant, those promises and deals faded from my memory as those types of covenants often do.

The years rolled on and I was blessed with not only a son, but marriage to the most wonderful man in the world and a daughter. I was granted so many wishes and given so many gifts – good friends, healthy happy children, jobs that I loved and most of all the continuing love of a good, good man.

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That Long Dark Tunnel …

… has a light at the end.

I love Paul Thorn, but some days his songs just put me in a blue funk, even the ones that shouldn’t.

Of course, it might be that I am in something of a blue funk anyway, which is sort of curious since this is the time of year when I finally start coming out of that stupid winter funk that starts in the beginning of February (you’d think, with all of the photography equipment I purchased in the last four weeks, I’d be happy until sometime in July).

Right now I am seriously pissed at my husband. You know the guy, the one that I walk around worshiping all the time.

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