No good deed goes unpunished.
Maybe it’s more like,
No good deed goes remembered by the menopausal mind.
It’s just that I got tired of seeing those bent up, pent up coat hangers by the trashcan. Trying to cram their mangled selves into the plastic liner.
Makes me CRAZY.
So when I saw the hanger recycling container on a trip to the cleaners, I was all on it.
No more feeling guilty for throwing away all those coat hangers.
Not exactly sure who this new person was — one so concerned about infesting our landfills with bent wire, but I was committed.
On a mission of renewal for my bent-up self and the coat hangers, I told my husband, “no more bending the hangers and cramming them in trash cans. We are recycling them.”
As I proclaimed, so it became.
As the pile of discarded coat hangers on the closet floor grew, I came up with a plan. Store the hangers in the trunk of my car so they would always be with me when I went to the cleaners.
So darn proud of my organized, recycling self. Behavior worthy of a 10,000-daily-pageview-Recycling-Blogger for pity’s sake.
Until I actually got to the cleaners and dropped off the hangers.
So proud. Slightly superior.
Walking inside, I deposited the dirty clothes on the counter. I paid for the clean and pressed shirts waiting for me starched and pressed in clear plastic.
The drive home I dare say was tinged with euphoria.
Got out of the car.
The realize I left the clean clothes hanging on the hook at the dry cleaners.
Not so bad you say? What if it happens – over and over and over.
Each trip to the dry cleaners.
This afternoon, I got out of the car after dropping off my dirty clothes, handing over my old hangers and paying for my purty clean clothes.
Back home, I looked at the back seat and realized once again my clothes were still on the hanger back at the cleaners.
I did not say AAARRRGGGHHHH!!!
I said some very, very bad words, very, very loudly. The kind of loud words and volume that make shadows dance back and forth behind the neighbors’ window panes.
Getting back in the car, I thought time for some therapy. Why, oh why this forgetting?
Heck if I know.
I’ve even forgotten why I started this post.
Do you recycle coat hangers? If not, you might better let sleeping coat hangers lie in the trashcan.
Oy. Life is flying by and I haven’t stopped by to chat for the longest time.
Plenty of posts started in my head but paying work, cooking collard green soup, cleaning house, changing the inner tubes on my bike tires and rearing children have taken priority.
But one post hasn’t left my mind, so I’ve decided to stop for a moment and write.
Weekend before last, I had a visit from a childhood friend.
On the porch, in the morning before heading downtown to get some breakfast.
Here we are back in the day.
Anne grew up a block from our high school in Central Florida but since leaving for college, she has lived way up north — Midwest up north.
First she went to Marquette University which is in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
She met and married her journalist husband, Chris and they moved to Duluth, Minnesota. There they had two beautiful children and decided to head south for warmer temps to raise the family.
They settled on Cleveland.
I traveled to Central Georgia in my mid-20s and if we were to move again, notice how my arrows tend to drift.
Yes, I don’t get to see Anne often being that she is in Cleveland, Ohio. So it was extra special that she rented a car and came out to Madison on a Sunday night when she was in Atlanta for the weekend.
We talked and talked. In someways it seemed like just yesterday we were at her house for an after graduation luncheon.
But things have changed since May 1981.
I realized how very young her father, Glenn Miller the long time Director of the Orlando Public Library, was when he had his stroke — younger than I am today.
Her father has been gone a while now. As has mine.
Her younger 6′ 4″ brothers have families of their own. In my mind will always be the young, good-looking, fun, extremely tall boys who drank a gallon a milk each day.
One image sticks out in all that talking we did. Anne remarked we will soon be the grandmothers in the family photos.
Grandmothers in family photos. Us?
Grandmothers are the ones in photos in the spot reserved for grandmothers. Whom we adore.
A few weeks ago, I attended the BAM conference in Nashville meeting so many great women. Women who talked of their careers, life with an empty nest and their grandchildren.
That made sense.
Those conversations with my high school buddy, not so much.
No that’s not true. It does make sense and it is wonderful.
It’s just how quickly time has flown that doesn’t make sense.
Riding out of the high school parking with the windows down and The Wall playing over the radio, life on earth was an eternity.
Now we know better.
That’s why it meant so much that Anne took the time – and the extra day — to head out this way. I’m realizing it’s time to start taking the time for what’s important.
xoxo to you Anne. Hope to visit soon — in the summers.
When was the last time you reconnect with an old friend?
I don’t really know why I started this blog.
No. That’s not entirely correct. When I started this blog in 2009, I was writing a weekly newspaper column. The main purpose in creating my blog was to post my columns on the internet and become nationally syndicated and the rest would be history.
Funny thing happened.
Not with my columns, of course. That part didn’t really puzzle me. What did was the lack of commenting and interaction.
Because I didn’t understand the community of blogging. Blogs are not only about writing and hitting publish and going on with your life.
Blogging is writing and publishing and reading other bloggers and commenting on their thoughts and words. It’s interacting with your readers.
I finally got it.
Blogging is relationship. And when I did get that — it became fun and rewarding.
When I started five years ago, a lot of what I wrote was about my children because that’s what my columns were.
My children are older and nothing makes them crazier than hearing from a teacher or a friend’s mom what they read about them on my blog.
So no more of writing about children.
What to write?
There was the me that turned 50. And hormones and moods. Color the gray or no. Sex and . . . no sillies, I haven’t written about sex EVER. Not that I can remember anyway.
But the great news is there are a lot of midlife bloggers out there and last weekend I went to the Bloggers at Midlife Conference, BAMC 15 and it was incredible.
Anne Parris and Sharon Greenthal brought their online community at Midlife Boulevard together in Nashville.
Can you find me?
From the opening gathering above on Friday night — it was over 24 hours of fun, friendship and finding out what amazing women are out there in the blogosphere.
Such a great, inspiring group of speakers. Starting out with Elisa Camahort Page, a co-founder of BlogHer to Martie Duncan, a finalist on Food Network Star, Season 8.
Every woman who took the platform shared an amazing journey to where they are today.
Between their words and the words of all the women I met, the one take away from BAMC15 for me was REinvention.
I was fascinated with all the stories outlining all the different roles we’ve had in ourselves.
How things that seemed misfortune — crushing misfortune in some cases — moved us forward.
Confession. My humor bread-and-butter is self-deprecation. Always has been. It’s so much easier, and safer, to make fun of yourself.
So now, I’m in a pickle. How do I bemoan about gray hair, bad knees, expanding midsections — that now familiar fold of fat that appears when I sit down.
I feel some what traitorous to this beautiful band. (And to me, darn it.)
Well, it is what it is and I am what I am.
Newly inspired about this time in my life and this community of kindred, yet oh so unique, spirits.
Some of my photos from the conference.
Okay — when I see this pic my first thought is those lovely creases around my eyes are payment for all the hours spent on the beach. *sigh*
I got to meet Cathy Chester!!! For reals! And talk with her. She blogs about her wonder-filled life as wife, friend and mother in New Jersey (I love talking with people from New Jersey. They think I have a Southern accent.)
Cathy writes candidly about life after a Multiple Sclerosis diagnosis on her blog, An Empowered Spirit and other places, such as HuffPo. She’s darling. Cute and silly. If I find silly, I’ve found a friend. Or someone I’ll stalk till they like me or I get served with a restraining order.
Talk about inspiring — take Doreen McGettigan (above at left). A writer and blogger who wrote Bristol Boyz Stomp, a memoir of her brother David’s senseless murder and the journey for justice.
I could go on and on about the writers and bloggers I met yet I hate to start listing women because of course I’ll leave someone out.
Maybe I need to do a post featuring someone and a blog every month? How cool would that be? You know what the road to hell is paved with.
I will, I promise.
Any of you who consider yourself at mid-life, or the calendar says you are — what are your interests? What makes you excited? Leave an answer in the comments.
I’m sure I can find a blogger out there to inspire you, and even write a self-deprecating post on such myself.
Blogging @ Midlife –> her new frontier. I think.
Oh faithful blog readers.
Superwoman has an update. Or is it Wonder Woman?
Last time we heard from The Green Lantern — no sillies, personal trainer and Superwoman, Beverly Morris, she was about to have breast cancer surgery. Strawberry Man had made a very interesting proposal.
And I have a picture of Strawberry Man now. If y’all are very, very good I’ll post it one of these days.
So last time we heard from our heroine, it was days before Christmas. Facing the dilemma of no health insurance, she learned of emergency Federal funds to help with the cost of surgery.
So . . . take it away Beverly:
It has been too long. I have been dealing with so many things. This is not about me. I just want this blog post to bless people. This is about God touching all in ways that we may never know . . .
Me and Beverly last week when I told her “you need to do an update post.” Isn’t she looking good? Back in the gym, yelling at her rug rat clients.
Alive and Well.
Yes. I’m alive and well. I had surgery on January 2. Beforehand, I worked hard on getting mentally ready. Your mind can work against you. Maybe that is why the bible refers to many scriptures about keeping your mind fit?
I researched everything I could get my hands on. It felt like I had been to medical school in one weekend. Knowledge is the lifeline. The bible says my people die from lack of knowledge. As a man thinks so is he. How about the one that says to renew our minds? I am so thankful God is my personal trainer.
It was wonderful to see the different ways he showed me that he had my back. Like the day of surgery. The prep nurse — who I did not know — looked at me and said, “I think I know you.”
I thought well, I get that all the time. But she said, “No, I have been praying for you. You are the trainer with breast cancer.”
Well, I have never been referred to that way. I have had people say:
* I’m the best.
* I’m hard on them.
* But not the trainer with breast cancer.
It has been eight weeks since I lost my breast to cancer. In that period, I’ve gone through some challenging times. Physically, mentally and spiritually. I had tubes coming out everywhere.
When I was having the first tubes removed, you would have thought the doctor was fly-fishing. That was a pain I never want to experience again. For two days, I could not talk and was very short of breath.
They say I’m in the first phase of reconstruction. As a body builder in my younger days, I worked hard on my pectoral muscles. However that does not work too well when you have breast cancer . . . or should I say had breast cancer.
During the reconstruction surgery, my doctor said it was sewing a saddle on a horse. I never had been referred to in that way either. Then three weeks out from my operation, I got an infection and was put on three rounds of antibiotics. The infection resulted from my body rejecting the expanders they put under my pectoral muscles. My doctor looked at the situation on a Wednesday and ordered a new surgery to redo my left side.
So I had two days to make my case with Lord. I looked up every scripture on healing. I read all the events in the bible where he healed. It said that he was the same today as he was then and he said to remind him of his word. So I really had to get in the word so I would know what I was talking about. I did not want to do that surgery again. I know that God works through doctors and I had two great surgeons. Now it was time for the master of them all to once again to show me he had my back.
On Friday I showed up for surgery. I really did not want to do this one — so I asked to speak to the doctor before we started. I asked him to look at it again. I thought it looked a lot better. He agreed and there was no surgery. #happydance
If we could just have that trust at all times knowing he works things out for our good.
During my initial surgery to remove the cancer, they took 16 lymph nodes. Really, Doc? Sixteen of them?
So, yes I’m numb all on my back. But that feeling will come back. The most important thing is when the lab report came back — not one of them had cancer.
God does have my back. He knows what he is doing.
If we could have that trust all the time that he does work things out for our good. That he is in control. No matter what we are facing, it’s about where our hearts are.
My prayer for all my friends is to always have a heart of trust in the Father. So that you will be able to face and endure the wonderful plan he has for you. We are so special to him. Come on guys, he knows how many hairs we have on our heads –which mine have gotten thinner.
Things are going to happen. All the happenings in life are for a purpose. May all of us trust him to allow the purpose to happen. He has a plan. They are good plans. We may not understand but we trust him.
Keep your prayers going up. Thank you for taking this ride with me.
Good health to all.
See. Such great news. We are all so thankful that Beverly is in the gym again so our bodies won’t completely fall apart before the beach in a few months.
I’ll make sure she checks in with us every so often and how her body is soon to gets down and dirty with push-ups again.
Please give Wonder Woman a shout in the comments.
Maybe it’s this cold winter, but I found myself googling cruises to the North Sea. No sillies. Lemon trees.
I had incredible urge to plant a lemon grove.
And there’s $23.46 in my checking account. So I soon realized my lemon dreams had to start small.
How long has that been sitting there? My baby tree nestled in the mail basket overnight in the freezing temps.
I raced inside to see if there had been any damage.
Well. It was still green.
I read up on growing Meyer lemons in pots since I’m going to be a lemon farmer and all. One source said to use a glazed pot. Another advised that they like to be root bound.
I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to take this little net off.
It was perforated so I took it off.
And then half the dirt fell on the floor.
I bet this is how Dr. Phillips started Minute Maid.
Any advice on lemons? Recipes for killer lemonade?
Though not sure I’ll see a lemon in my lifetime.
This past week seemed sooo long. Weird because it was a shorter one.
We traveled back from Florida Monday so the kids had only four days of school. Though it seems like 10. Go figure?
Ten Things Thankful for the week that was.
10. It didn’t snow.
I know. I know. This makes me seem grinchish but if it snows and commerce stops my husband stresses about his business.
So happy it didn’t snow.
9. Thankful for cold medicine.
Got my first official cold of the season. My nose is about to fall off. Thankful for decongestants.
8. Thankful for spring break.
Our college son came home yesterday. Though he was off with friends an hour after he arrived, still nice to know he will be breezing in and out next week. And Mike and Mike will be my background muzak in the morning and not Squawk Box. Though I do love the Squawkers.
7. Thankful for good books to read in the middle of the night.
Said every menopausal woman ever. A subset of all the people trying to sleep with head colds.
6. Thankful for the Dollar Tree selling this little light for a dollar.
Yes. I’d gotten spoiled reading from my phone in the middle of the night. But what happens when you have a good book book? Thankfully you can go old school with the light in the middle of the night for a buck.
5. The book section at Goodwill and Flea Markets.
Trying to awaken dormant frugal matter in my brain and not always automatically downloading from Amazon. Had great luck last time I hit the local Goodwill. Got a hardback of Stephen King’s On Writing to put on my shelf. And this book I finished last night.
One of the prolific Jodi Picoult’s earlier novels. It was good but I like her latest Leaving Time better. Some really good twists in that one. And I’m pretty hard to surprise with a good twist, not to brag. But I kind of am.
4. Thankful for good friends who can recommend a lighter, well-written next book.
Most of what I have read lately has been darker. Next book, I need humor or just not murders, suicides, bat-ship dysfunction. I need a break from reality.
So please comment on any enjoyable books you’ve read lately.
3. Thankful for Monday and Wednesday next week.
Doesn’t even look like they will be nice days. But just seeing 77 makes me HAPPY!!!!!
2. I wasn’t locked out of my house last week.
So I have that going for me.
1. March 1.
Please leave suggestions for good reads. Wishing you a great week.
Whether by blinding passion or raging anxiety, my leap to join the Ronald McDonald House Charity Team for the Disney Princess weekend ended up being a very, very good thing.
Last August, I signed on for the Glass Slipper Challenge — running a 10K on Saturday and a half marathon on Sunday. And committed to raise $750 for the RMHC of Central Georgia by mid-January.
Then my mind tumbled down the rabbit hole a bit further.
Why not have my youngest and I be a team? Joe could run with 10K with me?
Joe and I be a team?
I immediately dismissed that notion. My coding, gaming dojo 11 year old, sign up to go-go six miles? But then, I leapt another millimeter and contacted RMHC of Central Georgia Executive Director, Bonnie Hopkins and Development Director, Julie Wilkerson. I asked if my son and I were a team did we each have to raise $750?
Affirmative. We both needed to raise $750.
Okay. I can do this said she who trembled on every doorstep for each box of Girl Scout cookies I attempted to sell.
Just as I girded my loins with that Forest Green sash and sold the heck out of those Thin Mints, I could do the same for Ronald McDonald.
Or so I hoped.
Starting last August on the hottest day of the year, we set up our Arnold Palmer stand. We visited the house in Macon in September. And baked pecan pies for Thanksgiving. And a host of friends and family donated directly to our FirstGiving pages. Hop by hop our team raised a smidge over $1,800.
Along with way with Facebook magic, we got to meet the rest of our RMHC Team. Almost 200 members strong with runners from Hawaii to Minnesota to every burg in between, we shared our fundraising questions and running triumphs and that dreaded word . . . our injuries.
What follows are a bunch photos from the weekend. With a little explaining in between.
First we picked up our race numbers.
Princess Jamie. Has a nice ring to it.
Joe got a look at the 10K race course.
We picked up our RMHC swag at the RMHC suite over looking the Braves Spring Training diamond. Loved reconnecting with blogger, amazing person Jana Anthoine (standing in crown) and meeting everyone on the TeamRMHC staff.
Spring is right around the corner, right?
Then came what turned out to be the hardest part of the entire weekend. Getting Joe out of bed at 3:30 Saturday morning.
Made it to the car and made it to the start. Woo.
Got to our corral on time and started running.
I see Paris. I see France. I see the princess’ . . .
Joe kept running.
One last photo with Nemo.
And the best photo of the trip.
We got the medals.
Joe is like why am I staring into the sun? I’m just so freak’n happy he had a great race.
The next morning, Sunday, my alarm went off at 3:00.
This time for the half, I was with my lonesome at the start. Well, there were 20,000 other folks packed in around me. In front of me.
And behind me.
I made it up to the castle.
And to the finish.
My favorite pic during the race.
My favorite moment of the trip was the Team breakfast after the 10K on Saturday. Guess where it was?
It was so fun to put smiles and voices with so many people I’d come to know through Facebook. Dear Kerri Hill, who suffered an injury, and completed both races in a ortho boot! And Cassie Helmin, who was the top fundraiser with over $4,800. That’s from my memory but I think it’s close to the amount.
The entire group raised over $165,000 which goes directly to helping families off set the $15 per day charge to stay at the house.
At my fabtabulous chiropractor yesterday, I told fellow runner, Elise Faust — that I’ll have to be on the lookout for another great cause and race. There was something extra special knowing I wasn’t just running up to the castle for myself like I’d done before.
Elise agreed. Running the New York Marathon, she raised over $5,000 running for the Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center’s charity, Fred’s Team. Named in memorial for Fred Lebow who directed the race for so many years.
She talked about the moment in the race when they ran by that great edifice of healing and saw the patients, many of them children, out front cheering. How personal and real it made the fundraising.
I hope the length of this post didn’t deter most folks from making it to this part.
My big takeaway from the last six months of association with TeamRMHC.
It’s the real deal. I had heard of the Ronald McDonald House all my life. I had seen the little boxes at the drive-thrus. But I’d never been touched by the people whose lives have been touched.
Every person I talked to that had a family member or child with a lengthy stay at a hospital couldn’t be thankful enough. Time and time again when I mentioned what my son and I were doing — people told me their stories.
Sunday after the half, I went to the hotel and sat outside having coffee with my husband. Going directly to the restaurant rather than the room, I still had my race clothes on. As we got up to leave, a couple from South Carolina asked what the “C” was for in RMHC. They explained how their grandson had a very rare from of childhood cancer at age two. He was treated at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. The family stay at the Ronald McDonald House — and I was able to add I knew that house was the original house started in the 1970s, when the 3-year-old daughter of Eagle football player Fred Hill received treatment for leukemia and there was no place for families to stay to be with their child.
The gentlemen said the same thing I’ve heard over and over. “You see those little boxes — but you never know how important a place it is till your child is sick.”
Thanks to all who contributed to our quest. Thanks to the TeamRMHC staff for making it such a great experience.
What a surprising, extraordinarily wonderful chapter in my journey toward knee replacement.
Today is Ash Wednesday beginning the 40-day period leading up to Easter.
Traditionally, a period of introspection and focusing on the gift of Easter. Also self-denial.
Looking at a calender and counting the days, you’ll find there are actually 46 days between now and April 5.
Those extra days are the six Sundays till Easter Sunday. What I like to refer to as the Lenten denial loophole.
The word on the street is that you can break your fast on Sundays. But once learning of this facet of Lent, I just ignore it for if I ever break my fast — there is no way to restrain all that pent up energy again.
What to give up?
Well, since high school my sister and I have given up sweets. It wouldn’t be Christmas without draping colored lights over everything and it wouldn’t be Lent to me without giving up sweets. We added chips to our sweets fast somewhere in our mid-20s. Probably about the time I discovered my love for the three amigos: tequila, chips and salsa.
Notice how I haven’t said I’m giving up tequila.
This bag of KitKats received a lot of attention last night before I went to bed.
Yes, every year my sister and I give up sweets and chips and lose tons of weight.
Heck no. We laugh about it. How we used to lose five pounds every spring, but nope. No weight comes off now.
As much as the no sweets and no chips makes me feel Lenten, I know that abstaining from such, for me at least, is just tradition. Any deep meaning and introspection behind the act is long gone — if it ever was more than wanting to lose a few pounds.
So what should this Lent hold for me? How can I try to focus on God and focus on changing for the good?
I decided to give up negativity. Negative thoughts on circumstances. Negative thoughts about myself and of others.
When a worry or less than positive thought bounces through my brain, I’m going to stop.
Stop and pray.
Ask Jesus to open my eyes (figurative language y’all) and help me see this person, this situation as he views it.
Christians have some negative press these days. Some of it deserved. But to anyone reading this who doesn’t believe in Jesus, I’m sorry that we who do have messed up the world’s perception.
Because if anyone truly met Jesus. Truly took the time to experience him, there is no way you wouldn’t be hooked for life.
So for Lent I’m putting my Jesus blinders on. Taking the big Jesus scalpel to my heart. Hooking up my brain to the Jesus download.
We’ll see how it goes.
Thoughts? Positive ones?
I remember the time I was cornered by crazed alligators. I cheated death by parachuting off a cliff onto a passing kayak on the mighty Ichetucknee River.
Grabbing one of the alligators as I sailed off the cliff, I had him stuffed. He sits in my office as a daily reminder how short life is.
That might be a slight embellishment of the truth.
Linking up with All Things Fadra and a 5 minute unedited stream of consciousness, stream of thought.
Brian Williams. Good grief. You can’t turn on the news without that being the news.
But it’s got me thinking. Why do we all feel the need to embellish our reality?
I do on this blog well, because it’s makes it more entertaining to read and honestly, more much more fun for me to write.
But when do we cross the line? When does “in search of a good story” become over reaching?
Most of us agree, that sitting around at a dinner party after a glass or two of wine – our life stories become a little more exciting. A little more dramatic. What was truth is now a little bit of truth and a lot of plastic surgery.
For example, eons ago when I was in Texas — in a bar, a DJ from a radio station approached me and said they were doing a contest for Dallas Forth Sexist Women (this was the early 80s, they would have said hottest today.)
Pooh. In all honesty, that darn timer went off.
The point of that story was this radio guy asked if I wanted to join them and be in the contest. I laughed and went on to the bathroom.
I must have told my mom.
For every once again in a blue moon, if I was feeling unattractive she would say, “Well, you were picked as one of the Dallas Forth Worth prettiest women.”
Of course I wasn’t. But that doesn’t make me correct her — even when she might be saying it in front of a group of people.
Now if she said this a lot, I would correct her. I think.
Hopefully you get my point. Sometimes how events have been twisted over time make us feel better about ourselves.
Or in the retelling we feel that our story as perceived by others not sad enough, scary enough, tragic enough.
I’ve written about the pain of infertility. A pain that was very, very real for me. But what if I felt my inability to get pregnant with interfility treatments, and the humiliation I felt with those treatments and then becoming pregnant without treatment and subsequent miscarriage — not enough.
It was very tragic to me. But is it tragic enough to cut through all the other tragedy out there?
Should I insert five more miscarriages to make me seem really tragic?
Of course not. That would be pathetic and a mockery of all those who struggle daily with the inability to have a child.
I lived that pain. I don’t need to rework my life to make my heartbreak more entertaining for others.
That’s the tipping point for me.
When I reach the point that I feel a need to change a story to make me appear more courageous, more compassionate, more sympathetic than the me that sits here.
When my reality is not enough.
So why is it so difficult these days? Why is the truth – our truth or any truth not enough?
Thoughts? What crosses the line for you?
A memory I’d rather forget.
Who wants to think on that? They need to stay crumpled in a compact ball in the dark recesses of our innards.
Eeny, meany, miney, moe.
The time I threw away my second semester grades before my parents saw them? Yes. In the days before online access it was possible to destroy a report card and have all evidence of your time not spent in class destroyed. Until your father called the university and they shipped him another copy.
I’m thinking of things that I would never post on this blog. Actions as a parent. Actions to another. The times when I did not act and knew I needed to.
Pooh. This is hard.
Honestly, even with memories I choose to not write about, I wouldn’t erase them from my data base.
From mistakes – those humungous and teensy — I learned something. Most of all, I learned I never want to repeat that feeling of disappointing others or myself again.
. . . I’m still thinking, on this.
Every time something comes to mind – some moment from a past life or just yesterday — I can’t say I’d want to forget the pain.
In most cases I’ve moved past the discomfort and in others, I’m in the process of figuring out how to — in the words of the Mega star frozen princess — let it go.
But in all cases, I am at peace with the person who stands on the other side. Happier with the me who walked through the infernos coming to mind –whether a catastrophe by the hand of another or self-inflicted.
And in case you missed this by Will Ferrell click on the link. Seems the powers that be won’t let the masses embed this clip.
(Watch till the last. It’s my favorite part.) Will Ferrell —–>>>> Let it go.
Linking up with the fun Finish the Sentence Friday crowd . . . The memory that haunts me is…”