The flower of Midlife sifted through faith, family and heaping helping of southern fried chicken.

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I want to be remembered as someone who was fun to live with,” Billy Graham. I read this quote from a friend’s blog post yesterday.  www.justmerrill.com.

Then I read a tweet from a friend linking to this news. “University of Florida creates plan to handle zombie attack.”

“GAINESVILLE – No one expects a zombie apocalypse. But the University of Florida is making sure officials are ready for a night of the living dead, just in case. The school has a plan for responding to the undead on its Web site among outlines for dealing with hurricanes and pandemics. The exercise lays out how university officials would respond to attacks by “flesh-eating, apparently life impaired individuals.” It notes that a zombie outbreak might include “documentation of lots of strange moaning.”  The article went on to state that an employee placed the information to add levity to the school’s disaster preparation discussions.

Later in the day, reading Merrill’s blog this was the part that hit home…”Now I don’t know if I am fun to live with, my kids could argue that one on certain days I am sure, but I like fun. I like to celebrate and laugh. I think we all do. Who doesn’t like a good belly laugh, or just good old plain fun and being silly? Sometimes we get so caught up in the routine…… pack the lunches, do the homework, feeding, cleaning, returning emails, carpool, making sure shoes are tied, seat belts are buckled…… that we miss the giggles along the way. We focus on achievement, on the “doing” that we lose sight of the joy of “being”.

Our children need to see us laugh, be silly and have fun. To celebrate even the simple things life offers. And as a mother I can say there is nothing like hearing your children’s laughter, no matter how old they are, and what a gift it is to be able to share in the laughter with them.” JustMerrill.

Yes, I was having one of those days that my children would definitely echo Billy Graham….”You are not much fun to live with, Mom.” Now they were being brat-ish. I was rapidly spirally down. But when aren’t kids brats?? (Or at least my children.) They can be brats and angels within 30 seconds.

I pray that tomorrow I write a zombie attack preparedness plan. I want to be silly. I want to be looking for decaying, creepy smelly old bodies lumbering down our hall. I want to be scared with my children. Scared of creepy unearthly creatures, not scared of catching deadly illness or terrorist attacks. There is enough serious outside our doors. Friday and this weekend take time to be silly and fun.

I think I’ll start with buying a can of silly string. Madison’s Ruth Bearden lucked out with that a few weeks ago.

What about you? Any suggestions? I am all ears. And eyes on the door watching for zombies…or maybe a mummy. That would be cool. No vampires though. I’m not quite sure they aren’t real.

Have a great Friday. Be remembered as someone terribly fun.

This is a big day. For the last week (work week), I have gotten up at 4 a.m. Made it a full week. That’s at least 5 waking hours I added to my lifetime.

If I do that for 52 weeks that makes…let me find the calculator…because I am tired and hopeless at math even when I am not tired.

That makes 260 hours waking hours added to a year. I will gain 10.8 DAYS.

If the Lord gives me 30 more years…waking up an hour earlier adds 325 days. I gain almost a full year of life.

WOW. That was a lot of math.

And that is a lot of time. To learn, to write, to study God’s word, to swim, to bike, to run. To work on building up your client base…to hug and to take quantum leaps toward playing Jingle Bells on the banjo. To volunteer or show love in ways you’ve always felt led but never could find the time. Well, we found it!

I found five hours this week.

The sky’s the limit. Just five days a week. Take some time this weekend to think about what you could do with 10.8 days added to your year.

Just think about how much one could sleep…

Have great Friday.  ZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Spending some time on the beach. Just me and this seagull.

Seagulls usually hang in flocks, but his flock was nowhere to be seen. You think he would like some company – like me, stalking him with a camera?

He tolerated me at best.

How could I communicate that I wanted to be his flock mate? To skim out over the ocean, dive for little fish and scoop bitty crabs out of the sand for lunch.

Take a risk Jamie… stick your neck out and be vulnerable. You might make a new friend. So I asked if he wanted some company. I mentioned skimming out over the ocean, snacking on a teensy silver fish.

He stared.

I moved closer.

He took off, flew right in front of me and landed about 15 yards down the shoreline. So you want to act the lonely seagull. One cast out into the utter regions, banished from his flock, sentenced to a life of solitude — flying up and down the waterline.  I yelled into the wind, “Playing the petulant, brooding sea bird is not very attractive!”  He glanced over and turned his head.  Birds. Ugh.

Finding myself alone for the moment at the beach with the sand, the tide and the breeze on my face, I opened a jar and scooped up a bit of sand, a drop of the Atlantic and quickly snagged a ray of sunshine as it broke through the clouds.

I clamped the lid down with force and twisted it quick. There. All ready to pull out on January 25 when I really need a shot of the beach.

My friend looked back. Definitely wanting me to follow. So follow I did. Walking down the beach for one last moment of summer.

Perfect. Or would be if that darned bird tossed a smile my way. I know he wants to. Maybe he wants to? Surely if he knew me — he would want to be my friend.

Birds. Ugh.

 Have a great Friday.