Jueves de Gracias

Grateful I am. For?

* A skinny white preacher man who cares so deeply about having you unwrap your gift that he's moved to tears. J/O, you rock.

* Dana. She knows what I drink. She dances while she works. She smiles, and shares her popcorn.

* 4WD. Click. Go.

* Luvly. She's got a luvly, um, back there.

* Him. I give Him his money back. He helps me with the rest.

* Laughing ladies. Giggling girls. And how they brighten my Caffienation Station.

* Cinema therapy. Factotum, while not showing me how I want to live my life, helped me see why I want to live my life.

* Bloggers. You inspire me.

Rotten Fruit

"You have an uncommon ability."

I tried not to hang my head, because the subtext was this; "I have read your writing, for a dozen years or better. You got the goods, but you haven't produced."

This was a good friend, with international experience in travel, consulting, teaching. He has the ear of government and business leaders around the world. He does not pander.

He knows I can write. I know I can.

What is the box I'm in that keeps me from producing? And I use that word deliberately. You produce out of what you are. Your life bears fruit. If your life does not produce that fruit, it's somewhere inside, rotting.

Jueves de Gracias

On this Thursday, what I'm grateful for:

1. Sunshine, even in February. Especially in February.

2. Not feeling dizzy when I stand up. Yea, sick sucks, which leads us to...

3. Brandy. No, not her. 80 proof golden glory, which rescued me from said sucky sickness.

4. IM bilingual banter. La poca risa goes a long way.

5. PR calories. When the cleaning lady brings donuts, yea, you eat one.

6. Vanessa's foam. On my latte, I mean. Starbucks, eat your heart out.

7. Dreams. The sleeping kind. Cuz that's the only time my lovely wraps her arms around me just because she wants me there. Last night she did.

8. Dreams. The what am I here for kind. Sometimes I forget. Today I remember.

P.S. The picture? That was pretty much my drive to work this morning. Except more magical-looking. So beautiful it hurts.

It's all in how you ask

My request to a writer friend:

Respectfully submitted for your consideration;

"Umm…do you…" He twisted his faded cap in his grubby hands.

"What is it?" she snapped.

"Well… I don't… I mean, I can't…"

"You lost another one, didn't you?"

He stared at his scruffy shoes scraping in the dust as he tried to form a reply. He nodded.

"Do you think I keep new ones sitting around in case you lose one? Do you?"

"No." It was a whisper.

"Which one this time?"

"Chapter Ten, ma'am."


Her reply:

After picking herself up off the floor, and tenderly holding her side, she acquiesced to his request.
The result:
I got Chapter Ten. It was good. Thank you, Becky

Not a Fireman

So what do I want to be when I grow up? The questions was posed in a comic strip by a working mother who looked around at the mess of her life and replied, "Not this."

I agree. Not this. On so many levels. But I'm stuck at a limiting step. I will not, can not, progress until I make one critical decision.

I'm sitting at a fork in the road, hearing stories about the wonders down each path. All the great possibilities ahead. But I can't make that one choice which will release me to motion. To action. To commitment. To being.

I cannot be, until I am.

A Cold Toast to Warm Beer

Slush.

Snow.

Ice.

Cold.

Clouds.

Yeah, that kind of day

Then on to an hour and a half of boring and stressful paperwork at home.

At 10:30 I'm finally ready for my nightcap. From the best breadman in 6 counties, a dill seasoned roll, split in two, toasted, and topped with brie. Oh yeah.

And! My son brought home a six pack of a Great Lakes Amber Lager. The boy has good taste.

So, hot toast, melting brie, cold beer, Las Vegas on da tube, I'm good for the night.

Except. I stopped in my son's room with a routine question, and got instead a Dad's dream conversation. He asked me about the date he was planning. Is the restaurant okay? The chick flick cause it's romantic, or the thriller because his date wants to see it too? What to do if they have extra time? Yeah, he was asking questions, and listening to the answers.

Twenty minutes later, I went back to cold toast, rubbery cheese, and warm beer. And enjoyed every bit of it.