Roomies

I've been on a trip recently, as most of you have seen by my posts spread across Instagram and Facebook. One thing I haven't shared about the trip is actually two major things. My two dearest friends that took time out of their lives to Bunny-Sit the Bunny Boys. Jeanette took the first leg and Mitzi Jo the tail end. They let them both have out/run around times, fed them, watered them, talked to them, gave them treats and they both even brushed Pickle because he's a good shaggy fuzzy boy.

I can't even really and truly convey how much peace of mind it gave me while I was away, so I could truly be in the moment and enjoy my Aunt, Cousin and Mom in a new scenery and get to know them all over again. To be so lucky to have people I love take care here and understand how much I love my guys, is immeasurable.

I highly recommend loving people, going on road trips, laughing, taking alternate routes, trusting, laughing some more, snuggling bunnies and hugging. Oh, and smiling is my favorite.

Loose Change/Dirty Thoughts

In a store aisle yesterday and a worker comes over and starts making plans with another worker about changing the displays. She says "Here's where Mark and I want to have a Four-Way."

I lose it. Just bust up. I look at the woman and say "From here that sounds mighty interesting." Worker pauses, puts her hand over her mouth, doubles over in laughter and finally responds "Guess I should check what I say around customers better." Me - "At least the ones with filthy minds."

The two workers left to the next aisle. I could hear them giggling and one whispered "that was so funny I can't stand it."

A Day

Today is a day. Just your average wonderfully ordinary Sunday where people do things like have lunch, watch television, have birthdays (Hey Michelle!) eat, breath, walk, talk, sleep and then start out all over again tomorrow.

Today is also the anniversary of when my Stephie stopped being alive. Nine years ago. I know it's not the big ten, that is usually the one to get marked, but something happened recently that got me missing her even more than usual. I was spending time with Sissy's kids and I started to tell a story that involved Stephie when only her oldest Taysie remembered her. I felt gutted. No spark, no tiny piece of memory from them. Nothing.

They are missing out on her and she on them. The giggles, the jokes, all the family parties with the wretched verses of Happy Birthday that can make your ears bleed. Her tiny feet and hands. Her smile. Purple, always purple.

It's tragically and beautifully strange, because her funeral was during the time of Hurricane Katrina, and I kept thinking how lucky we were to have her body to bury. Now, every year the anniversary of Katrina and all of that misery is mixed with those memories of sitting next to her special purple casket and being so grateful, and now it is mixed with such longing and sadness for everyone that doesn't get to carry the silly and fun memories of her around with them everyday.

Some may want to comfort me with platitudes of how it was her time or she's in a better place. Don't. I'm comfortable being uncomfortable about My Stephie no longer being alive. What does give me comfort is sharing stories of her, remembering her, and being here to love and enjoy all the things of life I know she would. Each and every day.

Face Forward

I had severely crooked teeth while growing up. My mouth, which has been measured to be 10 millimeters too small (yes Miss Big Mouth in actuality has a tiny mouth) couldn't hold all of my teeth properly so four of them had to be pulled as well as my so called wisdom teeth (we can surmise that all of my potential wisdom was extracted with them.) As all of you that know me, not much that has to do with my body goes smoothly so the pulling of the four teeth was an ordeal. They broke off so they had to cut open my gums and pull them out root first which made healing take so much longer and the ultimate goal of braces so much further away. The correction of my crooked teeth didn't happen until freshman year of high school, so I had years and years of the habit of covering my mouth every time I smiled or laughed. My brother used to swipe away my hands in an effort to retrain me. Even then he saw what I would do to hide myself. I hated any and all pictures. I hated smiling without my hand over my mouth.

As a teenager it felt like the world was picking on me. Giving me another thing on top of all the things. Being a teenage girl, in this beauty obsessed culture, surrounded by such pretty friends (I secretly hatched a plot to get less attractive friends so I could be the Queen of the Uglies) you constantly measure yourself. We, I, still do it. Facebook, Instagram, Selfie Sundays... #NoFilter, it's the same. The saying "Put your best face forward" in this society that makes snap judgements, either giving credit for beauty from the lottery of birth and then conversely assigning blame for unattractiveness. I was doing it. I do still, with Thor.

Truth is, to have a face at all, an actual functioning face with teeth and a nose and lips and both eyes and both ears without a terrible malformation that you can utilize to communicate with the other people in your life if you are lucky enough to have some is not only more than some people have, THAT is putting your best face forward.

So many people tell me I have a terrific or a beautiful smile now. It doesn't have anything to do with my teeth, or the years of braces and headgear. It's because when I smile I mean it.

Share Bliss

I haven't watched a full news cast since (whisper) "The Cancer." I had been seriously contemplated relocating myself from the entire miserable news structure prior to the whole incident with my girly bits, then the day I was diagnosed that sealed it. I wasn't spending another minute on something that didn't increase my happy.

It is selfish. I know that. Up until then I had always viewed watching the news as a civic payment for being part of the global community. But it cost me. Way, way too much. I would sometimes end up crying by the end of a broadcast, seeing the horrors of the world on that particular day. Feeling so connected to everything then translates into feeling responsible, and when you are limited, helplessness starts to creep.

I'm looking to flip that script. There is good news out there, every day. Happy news. It just doesn't get the headline coverage it deserves. There are never the statistics of how many people didn't die of lung cancer last year at the top of the hour, or how many people made it home alive during rush hour traffic without incident. How many kids had wonderful days today, without being bullied? Just the other day every single person I smiled at, for the entire day, smiled in return. Two young men held the door open for my Mother, one as she entered the bank and one as she left. My handyman gave me two ears of corn, just because. People grew a garden, fathers played with their kids, horses ran in the field, crickets chirped, the stars shone and music rang out.

Politicians say racist and bigoted words in front of cameras, bombs fall, people die of horrific diseases in lonely ways, and children starve. This will more than unfortunately never stop. It will be reported. I'm not choosing the ignorance is bliss side, I'm choosing bliss. Share bliss. We have as much of a responsibility to share the beauty of being alive as the top story as any other.

Power Up

Much like Zeus with Athena, I woke up this morning with a fully formed blog post sprung right from my head.  I'm not claiming to be a god, or this post a goddess, but it's creation does rank with the mythical.  Worship as you see fit.

I've never been a good video game player.  In fact, I've never made it past the first level on the original Mario Brothers.  Todd would soar through that blasted thing and I would sit there, so frustrated, stuck at level one.  I'd keep trying.  For a good long while.  Then when I couldn't feel my thumbs, I'd go to my usual position of Couch Cheerleader.  I'd do the same with that Crash Bandikoot (sp) thing.  Ooooohing and aaaaaahing, being amazed and exasperated in tandem.  I do it now, with his much more sophisticated games.  I'm still really a twelve year old in many ways.

It's easy to get disgusted when you/we watch people excel, comparing those imaginary societal high scores with what feels like your last life on the first screen.  What's not easy is tiring your thumbs out giving everyone thumbs up just for playing the game.