There are days when I wonder why I didn’t do more.

They say, in the end, you are more likely to regret the things you didn’t do, than the things you did.

Travel, adventure, taking chances…all the things you dream of when you’re young (while you haven’t yet stepped out into the world on your own).

I think about this, and wonder what I could’ve been…where I could’ve gone…how things might have been different.

We make decisions in our lives that prove to be stepping-stones to the next place.

Choices made…changed plans.  We pave a way that we will go…and go, we do.

Sometimes to fortune, wealth, ease in living.  Other times to struggle, hardships, back-breaking work.

Could one tiny misstep have changed it all?  Would one little flip of hair, or quick turn the other way, made all the difference?

Who knows, but God?

My only wish, is that the person within, would stop the taunting…the questioning…the “what ifs”…and let me be.

Let me live my life…this crooked, stoney path I’ve chosen…and let me see, the shimmering gold, and the slivers of diamond, scattered among the stones.

Remove this dark veil of second guessing from my eyes…and just let me see.

~The Past~

How many of us feel trapped by our past?

Like someone has a tight grasp on your shirttail,  and holds you still as you try to move forward?

More than just leftover feelings…

It’s as if every day of your present is spent looking back at a faraway scene…seeing yourself in it, as if it were just moments before.

Wishing you could step back into the memory, and nothing would’ve changed.  Wondering if you would feel as lost and fearful as you do right now in this seemingly happy life.

To see the faces that were there…to hear the sounds and feel the touch of the past.

To stand in front of a mirror, and see no signs of the world on your shoulders, showing in your face.



Wet nose on my pillow,

fuzzy little feet.

You’re a special gift from heaven

there’s nothing else as sweet.

Little moppy hairdo,

and ears that touch the floor,

your toenails do a tapdance

as you scurry out the door.

You’ve been here when I’m happy

when I’m grumpy, sad, and beat.

You’re my furry little angel,

and you make my life complete.


ASMR…Have you heard of it?  I recently discovered there is a whole community online concerning asmr.  It’s not a new phenomenon, but it is newly “named”.  I stumbled upon it by accident while looking for makeup tutorials on youtube.  A woman was opening a plastic bag of cotton pads, and that was it!  I thought it was going to be a “haul” video, or a review on a product.  Nope.  Just opening the bag.  I watched it…and listened…and was mesmerized.  It sounds weird, but it is a wonderful form of relaxation.  You have to be a little careful and discerning when searching for these types of videos.  Believe it or not…there are some weirdos out there.  😉  I have 2 different channels that I watch.  If you’ve heard of asmr or would like to learn more, leave me a comment.

No Air

Life hurts.  Right now, I’m disappointed, discouraged, disheartened, and just plain sad.  I don’t know if I’ll ever get back up again.  You think your life will turn out a certain way, but it goes off on some wild, ugly ride…and throws you out, flat on your face.  Or your stomach.  Did you ever lie on a swing, on your stomach, when you were a kid…push off with your feet…soar in the air…then the swing would slide out from under you…and slammed you ,stomach first, in the dirt?  You gasped and choked and groaned…but no air!!  Finally…after you thought for sure you were dying…you breathed again.  Well…I feel like I just hit the dirt.  No air.  I’m ready to breathe again.

To Be a Child…

When I was a little girl, I had a special, safe place.  I walked through the door…and it was paradise.  The smells, the sounds, the warmth of the love.  I lived in a wonderful home…but this place was different.  More magical than home.  There were tents to be made, pies to fill, and cookies to bake. 

What a glorious place to be a child.  They were my Grandparents…and more.  Mim and Pap.  My life.  They survived the Great Depression, WWII, and my brother and me. 

Pap taught me how to shoot craps and shoot a rifle.  He taught me history and spelling, and math.  He taught me what it meant to be a soldier in a great war, and that sometimes the war stays with you long after it has ended.

Mim taught me to read, to cook, to bake, and to sew.  She taught me The Lord’s Prayer, and Amazing Grace.  She sang about “that lonesome whipperwill” and “Ol’ Shep”.   She taught me to enjoy nature, and explore it…that getting outside clears your head and your spirit.  She taught me that even when you have difficult times…you keep moving. 

Oh how I miss that special, safe place.  The years have passed.  They take their toll.  Sometimes it seems like it was all a dream. 

That’s the way life is, isn’t it?  Things happen…they’re real.  You hold on to them throughout the years.  Little bits fall away…so you hold on tighter.  Keeping them all gathered up in your arms. 


Blog Title

I’ve changed the name of this blog so many times.  It’s driving me crazy. 

 Too cutsie, too personal, too weird, too morbid.  I have all these ideas…but nothing looks right at the top of the page.  I didn’t think it would be so hard.  I should’ve known though.  I can’t even decide on a purse…or a watch…or an ice cream flavor. 

Decisions, decisions, decisions.  I hate them.  I want the choice, but not the pressure. 

 I’m so annoying.  I annoy myself. 

Poor Puppy

I’m having our “foster” puppy neutered today.  My son told him that no matter what happens today…he’s still a man.  

  I guess guys have to stick together.  🙂


Real Life…

 I love to read blogs about real life, but I just hate it when I feel like my life stinks when I finish reading.  I want to be inspired and encouraged, but sometimes…I like to read about the rough stuff.   Some writers make their “world” seem so perfect.  So neat and clean and spectacular. 

I want to know that other people stumble and fall flat on their faces just like I do. 

I want to know that their kids and husband drive them nuts sometimes.   I want to know that they don’t always have a picture perfect home, and sometimes wish they could throw up their hands and say I quit!  I want to know that they get up in the morning, look in the mirror, and wonder what happened!…I want to it to be real…and sometimes real is ugly…and funny…and depressing. 

I was subscribed to a few blogs that were beautiful…but made me feel rotten.   I hate feeling rotten. 

I’m not a perfect wife.  I’m not a perfect Mom.  I get mad and blow my stack.  I don’t feel like running into the kitchen throwing daisies and fluttering around in my apron while cooking supper.  Supper usually gives me a headache.  I’d much rather load everyone up and go out…but that’s not often possible, because of money…or the lack thereof.  Not saying this is a good thing about me…just a true thing.  I want my house to always be spotless and all the laundry done.  I want to “want” to make my family healthy home cooked meals everyday, and can and freeze and preserve.   I want the bills to be paid on time.  I want all my flowerbeds weeded and the dogs bathed and brushed. 

Lets just say…I’m working on it. 

If you want to share my real life…the good, the bad, and the ugly… Stick around.    🙂