I do love the holiday season

Thanksgiving day dawned rainy and cool. Mist hung in the air over the road and grass, coating everything in a fine sheen. Without the shrill bell of the alarm clock jarring us from sleep we woke up calmly, lazily. I knew I had to start peeling potatoes and mixing brownie batter but there were something so nice about a morning with no work. Cute boyfriend, being the kind man he is, made a pot of strong coffee and volunteered to go to the store. We needed a potato masher (he being a man didn't have one of course) And I was thankful already. For having a man who understood my need for caffeine. A man who didn't hesitate to run to the store on Thanksgiving morning when he could have been lounging on the couch instead. But he told me that we're a team, and he's happy to help. So my Thanksgiving started out the way it should, with a heart full of gratitude.

I finished the potatoes and brownies, we dressed and headed first to my Mom's. Three of the four brothers were there, along with my stepdaddy and stepgrandmother. And our hodgepodge family ate and drank and shared stories of days gone by while the air stayed foggy and dense. For the first time in years I wasn't very hungry on Thanksgiving. Rather, I was content without a belly full of food. To see the life that I am blessed to have, to be a part of, enacted right in front of me. To see the Mom talk to the brother. To remember the time we did this or that. To hear the newer memories from the newer (well, 10 years we have been a blended family) brothers. So I laughed a lot and poured the wine and didn't wish for anything at all.

For years my brother Nick and I would grasp opposite ends of the wishbone and pull. My secret wish, always the same. And did his ever come true? I don't know. I certainly hope so. But this year, there was nothing to wish for. No need to be sent out into the great universe.

We went around the table and gave thanks. There was the clinking of forks against hundred year old china. There were the waves against the rocks and the background music and the pie being cut and the overall feeling that wealth is more than dollars in an account. It is the shared moments, memories made and times gone by remembered. And perfection is so far out of reach for all of us that we must take the time to offer up thanks for all we've earned and been given.

We left that dinner and headed to cute bf's parents house for an evening dinner. They are so kind and welcoming. We greeted Cody, their new horse and he tasted my finger (no doubt smelling the sweet potatoes and turkey and wanting a taste) We ate again, laughing, taking our time. Sleepiness set in and we said goodbye to make the slow, careful drive home.

Deer hid just beyond the headlights on twisty, dark backroads. And in the peace and quiet of the car we were together and full and happy.

And thankful.

I've missed you!

I haven't forgotten about you! How are you doing? How was your Thanksgiving?

Well, there's been some changes and I've been quite busy. Cute bf and I took the step of moving in together. So I'm unpacking and settling myself and I haven't forgotten you at all.

I will be back to my regular posting tomorrow. In the meantime I hope you are safe and warm and happy.

Wishing you a Happy Thanksgiving!

I love Thanksgiving turkey.
It's the only time in Los Angeles that you see natural breasts.
~Arnold Schwarzenegger

Giving Thanks

T: Anything else I can bring besides the mashed potatoes?
Mom: Wine.
T: besides that?
Mom: MORE WINE

I've spent today doing crafts with a kid. And let me just say how much I enjoy glue, feathers, fingerpainting and googly eyes. And I love watching his eyes light up as he glues popsicle sticks to construction paper declaring, "Pirate ships brought the pilgrims to the first Thanksgiving. They ate candy corn and watched Mulan."

The rain is falling steadily. The traffic lights were out this morning. I have a million things to do. And I couldn't be happier.

This year I am so thankful for my friends, family, amazing boyfriend, jobs, and so much more.

I hope you have a wonderful day filled with Thanks and Giving.

And thanks, for everything.

The good stuff

Day four of the rain. But that's ok with me. The three year old and I are making Thanksgiving crafts and discussing the important issues; what's for lunch, who makes the better TinkerToy gun and just how much glue is too much.

I'm working on my Thanksgiving post, so check back later for that.

Have a great day!

A white girls perspective

I used to work for a major car rental company. When I moved into the Recruiting division I had the opportunity to meet a lot of new people. One of them was my friend Reggie. We both played soccer, loved hockey, and taking breaks whenever possible to talk about all things not work related. He's sort of a Renaissance man. He can do a little bit of everything. He's kind, and funny and married to a gorgeous woman. They are one of those couples you love to hate. But don't hate at all. You know the kind; successful, attractive and so damn nice.

But that's not what this post is about. This post is about racism.

Reggie is, quite literally, one of the best dressed men I have ever known. He is also one of the most eloquent and joyful men I've met. So why then, would cab drivers continually refuse to pick him up on the streets of Washington, D.C.?

Because he is black.
(Canadian too! But I don't think that's why they woosh past him)

Yes. He is black. Therefore he is going to rob the cab drivers. Or at least that's what THIS ARTICLE proves that the cabbies think.

Discrimination is a huge, and documented problem in the District. I myself have been "used" to hail cabs for black friends. How ridiculous is that? I don't know the solution to this problem. It has been swept under the rug for so long that only a complete re-training of cab drivers, and a penalty system would even begin to touch the issue.

All I know is that equality is supposed to mean equal rights for all. But when a cab driver passes by a black man and then another to pick up the white guy something is wrong.

Maybe video cameras and panic buttons should be installed in all cabs. Pricey? Yes. Useful? Yes. If robbers knew they were being videoed and the cab driver could have a direct link to police I have a feeling the muggings would be drastically reduced.

Everyone deserves a safe ride home.

The Tallest Elf

The lovely and honest Ms.Moon wrote here about her, well, lack of interest in Christmas. Ya know, the crappy store music, the damn bell ringers, the way they wrap candy in red and green tin foil to "celebrate". And all of that? I agree wholeheartedly with.

But.

I'm an elf at heart. An eternal child. I simply cannot help myself. Christmas never fails to make me light up like the freakin' Rockefeller tree. I love the carols, the wreaths, wrapping presents, baking thousands of cookies with Mom, and the general feeling that something special is going on. I love to decorate, stringing lights across evergreen boughs (ever-green because they are the store bought plastic kind...but that's ok too).

I spent most of the weekend up at the museum getting Santa's Secret Shop ready. A place where the kids can buy the presents for Mom & Dad. They'll come in with a crumpled five dollar bill suffocating in their sweaty hands. They'll touch each thing reverently. I've seen a six year old spend twenty minutes deciding between the I love Mom mug or bracelet. But either would be perfect. Mom loves whatever you give her.

Their little faces screw up with concentration and they lower their eyes and hand the item to me along with all of their money. So I kneel down and say, "Hey sweetie. Mommy is going to love this. You did a great job picking it out by yourself. And it only costs four dollars so how much do I give you back?"

And they will tell me and I'll put it in a pretty bag and remind them that it's a surprise.

And they'll run out of the store shouting, "Mommy, mommy! I got you a bracelet! The lady said you gonna love it!"

Money makes the world go 'round, but love makes the ride worthwhile

I wear my heart on my sleeve. It is right there, always catching on doorjambs, getting rained on. It gets hurt when the coffee spills, burning it to the center. Brush it off and get back to the business of living; my little battered heart in tow. Each time I change my shirt I peel off my heart and set it on my dresser. I see it still beating. Still pink with life. And I shower and put on my new sweater, my old heart.

It knows all of my secrets. Where the things that really hurt me hide. My little heart has known me my whole life. It watched me fall, and break. It's been there when I triumph, pumping my fist into the air with that whoosh of hope that shoots through a soul like firecrackers into a dark night.

It is the eternal optimist, this little heart of mine. Waking up every morning, renewed. Vowing to beat with the precision of a pendulum. Reminding me that we have only 2.5 billion beats together. Each one unique marking the passage of time. A beat I'll never get back. A second I can't rewind. A memory to be labeled, and filed away in the never-ending memory of my heart.

I wear my heart on my sleeve. For you to see. For me to know. That without love, there is no reason to breathe, to live, to be. I wear my heart on my sleeve because I will always offer it, no matter the risk, to someone I love.

I'm Happy

The Breast Cancer Firestorm

"Women in their 40s should not get routine mammograms

for early detection of breast cancer, according to updated
guidelines set forth by the U.S. Preventive Services Task Force."
(CNN)

Did you hear about THIS yet? I've been reading everything I can get my hands on, and also watching every available discussion on t.v. Why? Because my Mom was diagnosed with Stage IV breast cancer at 43. If she had waited until she was 50 to have a mammogram she would be dead (and then who would I drink margaritas with?)

"The task force is composed of 16 health care experts, none of whom are oncologists."
(CNN)

I'm sorry, you say that none of the experts are oncologists? So, none of them have had to sit in a sterile room while they explain to a woman,her new husband, and daughter that she may die. That chemotherapy, radiation, wigs, throwing up, pain, shots in the leg, hospital beds, would all become daily routine soon. These so called experts spent months looking at charts and graphs and numbers. They studied statistics and cost. They found that 1 in 1900 lives was saved with preventative mammograms. And that one life wasn't enough.

My Mom is that one life.

"...some doctors say the language isn't clear and the
confusion may turn women away from being screened at all."
(CNN)

And how many lives will be lost because women fear their insurance companies won't pay for their routine screening (even though, the current word is that routine mammograms will still be covered for those women who elect to have them). The wording of the finding is obtuse. It is confusing for women. It makes something that is already scary, that much more intimidating. Because as we sit there in that ill fitting paper gown on that table waiting for the doorknob to turn we will question everything. We don't want to bother. Or be complainers. We don't want to be labeled difficult or worried. We just want to be ok. Because after all....

"Breast cancer is the most common cancer for women
in the United States. This year, nearly 200,000 women will
be diagnosed with invasive breast cancer, according to the
American Cancer Society."
(CNN)

So what is the answer? I say to fight. To fight for the right to party. No, wait, wrong topic.
The answer is to demand healthcare. Screw this idiot panel. Screw the new guidelines.

Margaritas Mom?

To protect and serve, and ignore crazy women

It has to be here somewhere.

Digging through my purse at the red light I pull out five chapsticks, a wrinkled dollar bill and helloooo fun size Hershey bar!

Ugh! Where is it? Damn. Green light.

Purse in lap. Cell phone ringing. Searching for hole in purse liner where rogue items may have fallen.

And now I am in a full on conversation with myself about organization. I need a list to keep track of all my lists. If I could just stop the car and really look. But all the lights are green. The one freakin' day all the lights are green. Remove lip gloss, neosporin, fortune from a cookie, tampon, eyedrops, mini-scissors, wallet...

I could live in my purse. Where is it? Red light!! Now I can get down to business.

Pen, q-tips, luna bar, penny, cell phone charger...

SUDDEN SCREECHING OF POLICE SIREN.

I look out my window. The police cruiser is awfully close. And his lights are on. And he's looking at me. Gesturing to roll down my window.

"Ma'am"
"Yes Officer?"
"Are you ok?"
"Yes Officer."
"Well you were swerving and then it seemed like maybe you were upset. Yelling at someone."
"Oh, no everything is fine officer."
..still searching in purse.....
"Well maybe you should pay more attention to the road."
"Yes, of course. I'm sorry. I was just uh..looking for something in my purse. Not liquor or anything!"
"Uh-huh. Well I don't think there's anything in that purse worth getting into an accident over, is there?
TRIUMPHANTLY I SMILE AND HOLD IT UP
"What...what is that?"
"MIDOL!"

Merci Beaucoups

As you know I will be adding advertisements to my blog this coming week (as soon as the code is ready and installed) In order to justify the amount of time I spend on here and the money I put into the site I have also added the Paypal Donate button on the right side of the page. Like everyone I too have bills to pay. I will never make my page a pay to read site. I am really grateful to everyone who reads, comments, emails and generally makes my day. I feel like I have this huge extended family and I love it. That being said, if you like what I write and you visit often I would most sincerely appreciate a donation. Every dollar makes a difference. In addition as I said, I love getting email and meeting everyone who reads this silliness that is my life. My email is tshaw024@aol.com.

Thank you.

Wanderlust

Update: I guess I should have explained that this is the farm where I grew up. It is acres of open land. The corn was recently harvested. There are cows and I love them. They are slow, and lumbering animals. My great uncle lives on the other side of the farm, beyond the creek. The old barn that fell down years ago smelled of the tobacco that hung to dry from the rafters. I searched for four leaf clovers with my Great Grandaddy Mike (named so because he was my Nana's second husband...scandal!)

Peek a boo!

I see you!

Yes you. All of you! The site tracker on the bottom of my site tells me when people visit and how they found me. It's been invaluable while I secure funding, and advertising. I never imagined I'd have the chance to meet people from all over the world. It makes me so happy. So I want to know if I'm doing ok. Do you like what I write? Tell me things! In the meantime....

I want to say HI! and THANK YOU to:

Warrenville, Illinois
Halifax, Nova Scotia
Malaysia
Copperas Cove, Texas
Michigan City, Indiana
Annapolis, Maryland (near and dear to my heart)
Kyle, Texas
Windsor, Ontario
Edmonton, Alberta
Danville, Virginia
Roxboro, North Carolina
Parow, Western Cape
Staten Island, New York
Rosedale, MD (my lovely lovely Tara)
New Zealand

...and so many more!!!!

I can't even list all of the places that come up on my visit list. But thank you. Because of you I'm going to have a great opportunity to make this blog into something that makes me money. And as someone struggling to pay off student loans, it means the world to me that you all tune in to my insane ramblings. What else can I say? THANK YOU. From the depth, and width and breadth of my heart. Thank you.

I ate Twizzlers for dinner. Tell me something about you. Please. I'd love to know.

Along the broken road

"This is a good place for broken hearts," I told Mom. We stood on the pier beneath a sunset that set the horizon on fire. Water lapped the rocks gently, consistently. God I needed something consistent. The wine was sweet. I was bitter.

But I knew I'd be ok. I'd taken the first step. I left. And so much led up to that moment and all the moments since. And I won't go into the why and how and the mess of ending that five year relationship. It was over long before that day.

I lost a lot of weight. I tried to remember who I was before. And then I realized I'd never be the before again. So it was time to define the after. And I got good and drunk and ran a half-marathon (I didn't run the marathon drunk, 'cause one time in college we played a soccer game drunk and we ended up tossing our cookies in the locker room during the first quarter). I re-connected with old friends, and new friends. I kept busy as much as I could. And there were setbacks and wounds ripping open now and again. But when I look back I remember the sunsets. And I remember thinking that I was going to be ok. That maybe someday I'd meet a good, and kind man.

So last night, sitting next to cute bf telling him about my BlogHer opportunity I realized I've met such a good and such a kind man. Because I was rambling on about this blog and these silly things I do that make me happy, and he looked in my eyes and said, "It's not stupid. Don't say that. It's important because it's important to you."

And how simple is that. But its taken me years to understand: something that matters to me, matters.

That day on the pier looking out over the bay I felt lost. And I also felt a sense of hope that I couldn't understand at the time.

I do now.

Little person, big thoughts

(3 year old and I in the car. This kid could rule hollywood)

"Ms. Tiffany?"
"Yes dear?"
"Why it rainin' again?"
"Well the air gets saturated. That means the relative humidity must be 100%. And then there's the water vapor..."
"Oh I know all that. But who make it rain?"
"God, honey. God made the rain. So the plants and trees will grow."
"What??!"
(he is completely indignant and crosses his arms and furrows his little brow)
"God AGAIN? I mean, he does everything!"
"Well yes, and God in himself is a controversial topic....but we need rain. It's good for Earth."
"I know I know I know Ms. Tiffany. But that God sure needs to take a day off."

"The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain."

There is no cure, no balm, nothing that soothes like rocking a sweet smelling baby to sleep on a rainy day.

Play on

I've lost my mojo.

Or something like that. I can't seem to write. Am I broken? I certainly hope not. Maybe just lazy. Or tired. Or thinking about 1,000 other things. And to be honest there are times I feel absolutely embarrassed that I have a blog. That I sit here on my little laptop and click clack the keys until something with paragraphs and too many commas and desires and dreams and haunts and fears and realities comes alive. At least I hope it comes alive. I feel good when I write though. Like it's the one time really am who I am. And maybe to you that doesn't make sense. If so I'll go back to my cave of shame and give myself a good lashing for being this way.

But no. I like to write. I've always written. I communicate with people through the written word because I have a backspace key, or an eraser, or the ability to crumble that piece of paper and make it disappear in a trash can or the orange glow of a flame.

The spoken word is out there. It goes right in. It enters and is processed and my god the ramifications of it all. There's no delete key in our brain. (unless you count gluttonous amounts of vodka or a good amnesia inducing fall). So yeah. I write. Except lately everything I want to write is dumb. It's day to day bullshit. I mean, like my weekend was really good. But I didn't feel like talking about it. I know the cure to writers block is to write. Or at least that's what "they" say. But I don't give a good god damn what "they" say because when I don't feel like writing it's torture to try. It actually makes me feel sick. So I respect that gut instinct and I give "it" the space "it" wants. I wait.

And usually in my waiting I get a logjam in my brain. Thirty three things I want to tell you, but none of them coalesce and then they sit in a pile and get dusty like my shelves and I forget their magic.

Like today, when I took the tiny baby out for a walk and she squealed in her stroller each time we crunched over red Fall leaves. Or how the sun sent shadows slanting wildly down the sidewalk and the cat chased the rabbit. Or how a day spent doing exactly what I want, makes me feel like I can accomplish anything. Did you know that I have absolutely no complaints about my life, except money, I seem to always need more money. But how amazing is that? I am healthy. I love and am loved by a man who would make other women jealous. I have a family that is thoroughly dysfunctional and funny and at the very least consistent in their inconsistency and their love. I have a car, a roof over my head, an education, a cell phone, winter coats, friends who love me and my god the list goes on. And this isn't a post about how we should all be grateful for what we have because there are starving children all over the world.

It's a post about nothing. It's the ramblings of someone who has a carousel of thought in her head. Where the words and the feelings bob up and down, disappearing behind that great mirror in the middle but always come back. And it's a post about love and hope and joy and forgiveness and doing what you love even if it doesn't always makes sense.

So while I wait for cute bf to get home from his successful afternoon of hunting with my Stepdaddy (and how much do I love this man that loves my family?) I will drink my glass of wine and fix dinner and listen to music and just be. Because that is all I have to do.

Do YOU Dooce?

As in, do you read Dooce? 'Cause I do! And she started a new community feature on her blog. One of the questions yesterday was this: "If you have them, what are the three 'nevers' of your life?"

Below I've gathered a list of some of the best ones from her site. And I'm still thinking about mine. What are YOUR three "nevers"?


-Never send an email when I am angry - Write it - just don't send it

-Never say "I hate you" to someone you truly love, even if you're angry.

-Never say never

-Never chop up fruits and vegetables in the kitchen while you are naked

-Never say you can't do something without trying first.

-Never trust a man that wears a pinky ring

-Never call someone a bitch when you're not absolutely positive you've hung up the phone yet

-Never give up hope for the future

-Never date a guy who shows up to your house in an El Camino. If he can't make a commitment between a car or a truck what hope do you really have?

-Never change your core self after getting married - it will cause issues in the relationship

-Never start smoking, then you'll never have to try to quit.

-Never use your credit card for a bar tab... for 4 years

-Never forget that your parents are human beings, not super-human

-Never forget that whatever customer service problem you have is probably not the fault of the person you are dealing with. Being really really nice often gets you further than losing it with said customer service rep.

-Never marry a man unless you want your son to be just like him.

-never play the one up game with anyone, their worst and your worse are still THE worst thing to have happened. your best and their best are still only yours to own. (ugh, I can't stand one uppers. I know a few. If you got up at 6, they got up at 5. If you are sick, they are sicker and so on. It's just not a contest people and no one is impressed)

(there are a lot more, but this is just a sampling)

I think these are mine (but I will never commit to that)

1. Never regret. Everything you did. Every mistake you made. It all went into making you who you are today. Good or bad. We all choose. Own it. Use it. Do better next time.

2. Never stop laughing with/kissing/learning from and about your partner/spouse/significant other. They should always come first.

3. Never blame anyone else for how you act/react. The one thing we are all in control of is ourselves & our attitudes. No matter what anyone does or says we control what we do and say.

Fort Hood

That's my Holly & her wonderful husband Mike.
They live on Fort Hood.
And when I heard what happened, I immediately thought of them and how much they love each other and how much I love them.
And they are ok. So I don't want anything else this year. That was my one wish. Because to lose a couple like that; who were made for each other like I can't even put into words.
To lose a Holly who is one of the only people on this Earth that really gets me.
It would have been unlivable.

And for now we'll just keep the families who were not lucky, in our prayers.

I love you Holly & Mike.

Let me explain

Below I've posted a video of cute boyfriend. And let me explain: he is a police officer on Capitol Hill. And yesterday he and his fellow officers were called in to break up a demonstration and arrest the people holding a sit-in at Senator Lieberman's office. NOW, let it be known that I am NOT against healthcare reform OR the right of people to demonstrate. I fully believe in our freedom of assembly. However, I just had to post this video because well, I'm proud of him. I think he does a good, and important job. He keeps the Senators safe. And while Congress (and all Government, really) is filled with so much corruption and whatnot, I like that I have the kinda guy whose job it is to keep the peace. He makes order out of disorder (I mean, have you met ME?)

Healthcare Protestors storm Lieberman's office

Three thoughts for a Thursday

Shameless Self Promotion

Do you wish people to think well of you? Don't speak well of yourself.
-Blaise Pascal

I just have to (HAVE TO) say something. One of my personal pet peeves is people who are shameless self promoters. They come to you and consistently repeat anything and everything complimentary that anyone has said to them. Don't go around telling everyone how wonderful you are and how wonderful other people think you are. Don't tell me that so and so said you're the best, that you're the most amazing creation short of Reese's cups. If you're that great, I'll notice it. And I'll tell you.

I'm all for self-confidence and being proud of who you are and what you accomplish. But humility goes a long way. Actions speak louder than words (oy, with the cliche).

*steps off soapbox*

The Child in the Median

I was driving to work this morning down Ritchie Hwy (for those of you who live in Maryland, it was the stretch near AACC) when I looked into the median and saw a small child standing alone. He was on the opposite side from me. It is a four lane highway and I couldn't stop right then. So I drove up to the nearest cut through and turned around. As I got to him,I saw a man in a green truck had pulled up. Traffic was at a standstill. I rolled down my window.

The boy was warmly dressed, standing behind the guardrail in between the lanes of high speed traffic. He looked to be about three years old. A passing undercover police officer stopped. It was obvious the man in the green truck didn't know the boy and was just trying to get some information. He was crouched down and smiling but kept his distance. No one moved.

I watched as the officer approached. The man in the green truck took off is hat and scratched his head. I could hear him say, "He was just standin' there. He won't say anythin' but 'Hi'."

The officer approached and got on eye level with the boy. Other cruisers arrived. And traffic started to move again.

I felt helpless. I wanted to scoop him up and take him home. I wanted to feed him soup and demand someone be held accountable for leaving him alone on a freezing morning in the middle of a busy highway.

All the Comforts of Home?

First class? Coach? Does it matter?

In the above story, a Best Buy executive was denied a first-class seat on United Airlines because he was wearing a track suit. Do you think he should have been allowed to fly? Or do you think there should be a dress code?

I'm torn on this. Which is strange. I'm normally a live and let live kind of gal. But I can't help but to long for the days of men wearing suits to ball games, and women sweeping around in elegant dresses with well coiffed hair.

I'm a great lover of sweatpants. In college I would go to the bar after a soccer game in my uniform. I thought nothing of it. I still dress casually- jeans, tshirts, hoodies. But I do love to throw on a skirt, some heels, and pin up my hair.

The local radio stations compared this story to restaurants. In a fine restaurant you are expected to dress accordingly; no jeans, men must wear a jacket in a lot of cases. We don't bat an eye at this. But on a plane, while traveling, should comfort matter more than style?

I really don't know!

There's a part of me (the part who doesn't shop at Target, who doesn't wear flip flops 8 months out of the year) that thinks maybe we should all put a little more effort into how we present ourselves.

I wouldn't mind dusting off my prettiest heels and adding a little eyeshadow now and then. There's something oddly powerful about being purely feminine.

But for now I'll wear my jeans, let my curls be wild, and I'll be glad that I live in a place that allows me to do just that.

I don't have much to say today. The sun is shining. It's almost warm. I'm thinking about the past and the future and how little and how much they have in common. I'm wearing sweatpants and thinking about what to fix for dinner. I'm watching the leaves fall and checking my email. I'm making another to-do list and thinking about how a year ago I didn't know where I'd be now, and I have no idea where I'll be next year. And I like that. I think I'll make soup...or spaghetti.

Tell me about your Tuesday.

Monday, Methadone, and Manners

I am so glad I'm not a drug addict. Oh, I don't judge others. I have enough issues to fill a library. But I am so glad being a drug addict isn't one of them.

Saturday began, and remained gray and rainy. Water dripped off the edges of the pavilion as we set up the kids Halloween party at the museum. Mom and I trudged back and forth with loads of food, prizes, games, and more. We endured the chill, the drizzle, the work. We laughed when we could, rolled our eyes at some outrageous customers and did what we do.

And next door, through a chain link fence I watched a steady stream of drug addicts flow in and out of the methadone clinic. An ambulance idled outside at one point. No one rushed. There were no dramatics, and I got the feeling that the ambulance is there often; they know the drill.

I don't know those people. I don't judge them. But in that moment, when I felt the rain and smelled the air and tasted the coffee. When I was in complete control of all my senses and faculties, I felt a sorry for them. For whatever drove them to such a place of sadness. So I said a prayer, and there's not much more I can do. And I went on with my not so dreary anymore day.

********************************************************

Cute boyfriend is back and well, I'm pretty happy he's in this state again. His work trip was a success and I'm very proud of him (as always). So we went to breakfast on Sunday morning at Bob Evans. We'd finished up and were waiting to pay at the counter. And, like most Sunday mornings, it was busy. Everyone craving pancakes and coffee.

So we're waiting, and there's a disagreement at the cash register, so the wait is longer than usual. We're behind a few people. All around us are people sitting and standing. And to our right is this, uh, well large woman with the most sour expression I've seen. She's huffing, and puffing (and by golly if there'd been a straw house around...) And I'll take this time to explain that there are two benches (occupied) and about fifteen people standing. A name is called, and a bench clears. A young mother and her daughter walk in and sit down. Hufflepuff sighs loudly and says to her friend "Ridiculous. I've been standing here for thirty minutes, they walk in the door and sit right down." Then she proceeds to glare at the woman as if this woman KNEW that ole Hufflepuff had been standing there (not doing lunges, not running in place, but standing stationary). Another name is called. The other bench clears. Hufflepuff cuts in front of us and stands, staring at the two elderly women about to sit down. "I'm next in line for the bench. I've been standing here for thirty minutes, " she snorted. The women are aghast and don't even reply. They simply let her sit.

And as soon as her butt hits the bench, "Hufflepuff, party of two?"

(I won't repeat what cute bf said, but he was totally right)