Six Degrees of Separation from Death

Recently, there was a horrific accident in the town where I work. It reminds me of a strange phenomenon I've observed about people when this sort of thing happens. They want to indicate how the event relates personally to them, and will stretch far and wide to find some connection to the people involved. Why is this?

In my life I have been far too close for comfort to death, disease, and the dying process. I want nothing to do with it. I hate to admit it, but when I hear of something like this I breathe a sigh of relief that it wasn't me or someone I know. I do feel empathy towards the family, but I'd rather not think of it at all. It's just too much.

Why are some people wanting to get closer to it? This is something I don't think I'll ever understand.

Procrastinator.

So, I put a fairly important bill on top of the computer keyboard so that the next time I used the computer, the first thing I would do would be pay that bill. That was 2 1/2 weeks ago. The bill is now under a usb cable and a Post-It pad.

Mostly I don't want to pay this bill. It's vehicle tax. I didn't have to pay vehicle tax until I moved here. I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO PAY IT. But I will. Just not today.

If it makes you happy...

I just love that Cheryl Crow song. The problem is, I never really know what makes me happy until I'm already in it. In fact, I seem to be most miserable when I'm TRYING to make myself happy.

I recently got something I've been wanting for a long time. Then I sat there waiting to feel the bliss, the excitement, the all-out Yee-Haw-ness of the situation. Nothin'.

My husband said, "Maybe we're just not meant to be happy all the time." Thanks a lot Mr. Sunshine.

But then I thought about it. Happiness comes from stuff or events, and is fleeting. Joy is deep-rooted, part of the soul, flowing through our very being. Once I caught on, I realized, like the folks in Oz, I have had joy all along. I just couldn't feel it because I was too busy trying to be happy.

Forecast: Chance of Intermittent but Occasional Blogging

I am, quite possibly, the worst blogger ever. "Intermittent" does not even begin to describe my blogging behavior. It reminds me of all of the other hobbies I've had throughout my life - the remnants of which can be found in various boxes in the attic. Well, I'm dusting this baby off. Time to get back at it. At least for today.

The Dichotomy of Motherhood

Picture this: An incredibly cute yet incredibly loud short person spending most of his waking hours yelling, "Train, Mama" or, "Cookie, Mama", or "Down, Mama", or "Up Mama" pretty much constantly. This has been my Christmas Vacation.

However, between the yelling I've been given sweet kisses and hugs, the smell of baby shampoo, new words and new dance moves, and a Christmas morning filled with awe and delight.

I am a mother, and I am grateful.

Perspective

An old friend of my parents emailed me recently. I hadn't heard from him since before they died. He wanted to know what had become of me and my siblings. This kind of thing happens more often than you'd think, thanks to Mother Internet. She makes it so hard to hide.

My first reaction was anger because I felt like what he was asking was for me to assure him that we are fine, and that he no longer has to feel guilty for not checking in when we were young children, in need of many connections with people who loved us and loved our parents. I let that pass and then sent him a brief note letting him know that, in fact, my siblings and I have grown up relatively unscathed.

He wrote back. He told me about his family. His wife died in 1995 in a car accident. His sadness was evident in the words he wrote. I was reminded once again that everyone has their own burdens to bear and we are foolish to think that ours are heavier than anyone else's.

Eeyore

According to Just-Pooh.com, Eeyore is an unbelievably loveable donkey who is dismally gloomy for almost eternity. I have just today realized that I share an office with Eeyore. Her weekends make her tired. Time off is busier than being at work. The usual things that everyone else anticipates with excitement are burdens to this woman.

In addition, she finds the need to comment on every email she receives - without actually indicating what the email is about. Imagine sitting at your desk and intermittently hearing comments such as, "Well, I guess I'll have to stay late again tonight." or "Nobody realizes how much work that is."

She just answered the phone and responded to the caller, "Yes I took yesterday off, but it wasn't that great of a day." Oh Eeyore, I hope your tail doesn't fall off again today.