Why Butterfly? Why?

What's good?     Butterfly.

What's bad?       The ice cream is all the way out in the kitchen.

What's the difference?  Nothing, they have absolutely nothing to do with each other.


Why Butterfly, you ask?  Ok, so maybe you didn't ask that.  But I'll tell you anyway.  

About six years ago I went through a small Zen-ish phase.  You'll find I have many "ish" phases in my life, some ishier than others.  I bought a book, I researched how to arrange your home and what items to put in it.  I think I even put a couple of said items on a dresser, but I don't remember.  Although I found it interesting at the time, I don't remember much of what I learned.  At least not the details.

One detail, though, has never left my mind.  And frequently pops back into the forefront of my thoughts at random times.  That is the symbolism behind the butterfly.  And why I like it so much.

Butterflies are pretty.  But I'm not enamored of them because their prettiness goes so well with my princess dress as I twirl about the room.  I don't even own a princess dress....but I think I'd like one some day.

No, butterflies intrigue me because their entire existence is about evolving. Evolving into something more, something completely different, something seemingly unattainable.

Think about it, it starts off as this creepy, crawly, fuzzy worm with many legs.  It laboriously scuttles from leaf, to branch, to grass blade.  Its only view of life is what is in front of its eyes that it can eat.  It fears becoming the cat's next toy, the bottom of a shoe's next mess to clean up, or that bird's next meal.  Its every moment is a struggle against everything.

And, evidently, that all becomes too much for it.  It curls itself into a ball, fighting mightily to ignore the world, to ignore the harshness of life.  It builds a shell to aid in this battle, to help protect it from so much reality.  

There it huddles, staring blindly into the dark night after night, shuddering through it's thoughts and memories.  It relives every mistake, every near-miss, every hurt, experiencing them all again.  It fears all that exists beyond the safety of its cushioned walls, the walls around its body, its mind, its heart.  It asks itself why, how, and what next.  

Until finally, it learns to accept and begins to come to terms with all of existence.  It starts to understand its triumphs, its successes, and fondly remembers moments of happiness.  It realizes giving up under the weight of all that bad was just too easy.  It's better than that, stronger than that, and has good memories to support those feelings.

One day, a crack appears in that thick layer of protection.  Realizing it's no longer needed, it dries up and withers away.  And there we see......No, not our many-legged, creepy, crawly, fuzzy worm, though maybe, in retrospect, it's not such a worm after all.  No, instead we see two beautiful wings, stretching out, softly waving about that body.

And then it's off, fluttering about the yard, flitting from leaf to branch to blade of grass.  Not in fear, oh no, but in wonderment.  It wants to see it all, taste it all, experience it all.  As it learns to use its wings, it floats above the surface of the lawn enjoying the view, gazing eagerly at all there is to see.  Then it arcs up into the sky, flying as high as it chooses with nothing to hold it back.  It soars over the hedge and can finally see what that shiny stuff is in the neighbor's yard.

And that's why I like the butterfly, it evolves.  It evolves from one thing to another completely different thing to yet a third completely different thing.  And it never gives up.  It may take a break for a bit, but it never gives up.  It always tries for more.  

I think I need to be reminded of that every now and then.  Maybe we all do.

Now, did I ask a caterpillar and butterfly what they were thinking and feeling?  Why, yes.  Yes, I did.  Not really, just kidding.  But in my mind, that's what it felt and thought.

And I still want a princess dress.



As always, take your time leaving but hurry on back.  :)

A Shovel for the Crap.

What's Good? Money.

What's Bad? Money.

What's the Difference? Life and happiness.

I know it's been said before, but I'm saying it again anyway. The creator of the quote “Money can't buy you happiness” is an absolute moron. Seriously, people. Whoever first termed that quote, and all those delusional folks who repeat it in far too many conversations, I have to ask you, “Where is your head at??” Or better yet, “Where is this fantasy world you live in and how do I get there?”

Don't get me wrong, I get the gist of the meaning behind the words. It's better to have a happy family life than to make gobs of cash, marry the personality, not the wallet, etc. But is it really better? Who knows. What I do know is in today's life, you NEED money, all the time, to be happy.

What level of happiness am I talking about? I think at this stage in life I'm all about the basics. Electricity in your home is happiness, you need money to have electricity. Heat during the cold months is happiness, you need money to have heat. Food to eat is happiness, you need money to have food. Work and a regular paycheck is happiness, but you need money to get that work and to get TO that work.

I understand these are basic facts in life and are often taken for granted. Everybody's gotta deal with it, nothing new there, move on. We all plan for it and do what we've got to do to make it happen. It's basic, it's a part of everyday life. But what if all of that stops being basic? What if that existence you've provided for yourself suddenly smacks you upside the head so hard your clothes will be out of style by the time you stop rolling? (One of my father's favorite quotes.) And, out of nowhere, all those plans, all that work, is meaningless.

Plans are great, aren't they? We all have them, we all make them, discard them, rewrite them. They are there. They may be a detailed, long-term list of what and when filling a 300 page notebook. Or perhaps a 10-year agenda of how you want to get from where you are to where you want to be. They may even be something as simple as this vague notion in the back of your thoughts, this fuzzy, dream-quality image of where you want life to take you.

Plans are great. They tell us where to go and how to get there. They're a gentle reminder when we forget what is truly important to us. And a nudge in the right direction if we get knocked off our path a little. Best of all, they're usually easily adjustable and you can modify them to include that new goal or cool, fun thing you've recently discovered.

Yes, plans are great. Until that smack upside the head snatches them from your hands, tears them up, shreds them, and dumps them in a used litter box. I'm not digging them out of there. Are you?

So what do you do now? Many of us live paycheck to paycheck, nothing astounding about that announcement. We don't buy a $50 pair of jeans without budgeting for it or working overtime. We can't wait til next pay when we'll have money to order a pizza. But we're making it, it's working. Until one little bit of crap starts the downhill slide. That $25 vehicle inspection turns into a $400 new breaks and tire bill. A week or two later the alternator goes, couple of weeks after that the starter. Your medication that was a $10 co-pay suddenly isn't covered and you have to pay $300 a month. And on and on.

And the crap just keeps piling up on top of you. I'm no longer talking about those little rabbit turds of crap, I'm talking about the great big globs of crap that plop down one right after the other until you don't even know where to start or what life should smell like.

Money DOES buy you happiness. Because money is the ONLY shovel you have to haul that huge mound of crap out of your existence. So, how do you get it? Where do you find it? There's a shovel laying out there somewhere for you…..but where? And would you even recognize it when you see it?

Very recently, I've been the recipient of the type of head smack I described earlier. In fact, I'm pretty sure my eyeballs are still rattling in my head. Yes, my clothes have gone out of style but that's not new. So, what do I do now?

Well, I'm learning what to do now. And I'm trying a large variety of many things to see if I can find my shovel. At this stage, I'm not sure I even know what a shovel is let alone how to use it, but I'm going to learn.

And I'll share my newly acquired knowledge here. And please note the MY in that last sentence. It's very likely that none of this is new, but it's new to me. I read a lot of blogs and watch a lot of Youtube videos about this. It's so easy to say what to do, the actual doing of it is a whole other ball park, though. So, read on as I explore, as I try, as I discard, and even as I completely screw up. I'll share it all, the good, and the bad, and the difference.

Maybe together we can discover exactly what that stupid shovel is supposed to do.



As always, take your time leaving but hurry on back.  :)

He said I said

I think my son is pretty intelligent. He's smart, bright, funny, quick witted, and ooooohhhhh sooooo dense sometimes.

A word for word recurring conversation:

The Boy:  Where is it?

Me:  Over there.

The Boy:   I don't see it. (looking randomly about the room)

Me:  Look at my hand and look where my finger is pointing.

The Boy:  (Looks at my hand and follows my finger with his eyes.) Oh!!  There it is.

Every.  Single.  Time!!   His WHOLE LIFE!!!!!


As always, take your time leaving but hurry on back.  :)

Meet The Boy.

What's good?  I have a son.

What's bad?   He has ME for a mother.

What's the difference?  Poor kid has never had a chance to be un-wierd.

I'll call my son The Boy.  While this is not the name on his birth certificate, it's close enough.  Since day one of his life, my father has called him The Boy, as if it were a title he alone held.  "Where's The Boy?"  "What's The Boy doing?"  "We're going to take The Boy for ice cream, you wanna go?"  He called him The Boy so much that at various times over the years you'd hear other family members, my friends, and even some of my co-workers refer to my son as The Boy.  So it seems appropriate for here, to me at least.

That was my father's name for him.  My name for him during much of his younger years, from about 1 1/2 to 9 or 10, was Heathen Child.  In so many ways my name suited him so much more, especially once his personality started shining through.  But that's a whole different story.

I can use all the old tried and true platitudes regarding my son.  He's my sole reason for existence, my shining star, my every pride and joy.  He became all the human I ever hoped he would be and then some.  And he's a jerk, a brat, and my biggest irritant.  I don't think he's happy unless he's picking on me or twisting my words around.

Being the single parent that I was, over the years I've evolved from his cocoon of safety and teacher of basic functions, to his biggest homework nag and "girl explainer."  I taught him how to do what was right, and sometimes how NOT to by example.  I attended every wrestling and football function, every boyscout meeting and singing lesson, and coached T-ball and soccer.  I was a parent, a strict disciplinarian, a guide.  His biggest fan and loudest cheerleader, I was also his meanest teacher and most demanding boss.

The Boy is now 26, a full-grown, gainfully employed adult in his own right.  And I've evolved once again.  I am now his friend and we are roommates.  Yes, we share a house.  He moved back in with me a few years ago when life hit him upside the head a little too hard.  I willingly and happily provided the safety and shelter he needed until he could get back on his feet again.  For a short while we were equally contributing adult roommates and he was planning to get his own place.

Then my health hit me upside the head a little harder than I could handle and he's staying on to support me.  That's true friendship and the true give and take of family.  He could easily have said, "See ya later, I'll mow your lawn once a week."  He didn't.  He said, "You can't afford to live here if I take my pay away, can you?"  And so he put his life plans on hold and stayed for me.  And I've never been prouder of him.  Grateful, yes.  But proud of the type of person he's become.

So, he's the bread winner and I can finally be the stay-at-home mom I always wished I could have been when he was younger.  

The Boy is a huge part of my home and my life.  And you'll probably see many conversations between us on here, such as tonight's when he got home from work.

The Boy:  It was busy at work today.  How was your day?

Me:  Good.  I took a shower.

The Boy:  Good job!!  I'm so proud of you.

And that's our life.

As always, take your time leaving but hurry on back.  :)

Quick question before I end my day.......

How many times do YOU try to stab a piece of food with your fork before you finally give up, pick it up with your fingers, and place it on your fork? 

Evidently, my limit is 6.

As always, take your time leaving but hurry on back.  :)

Someone stole my motivation!!! Help!!!

What's good?  We have dishes and we ate food.

What's bad?  Many of said dishes are currently dirty and bulging from the kitchen sink.

What's the difference?  I don't know.  Maybe me?

I'm standing in the middle of the kitchen glaring with every bit of glareness I can summon at those dirty dishes, yet they absolutely refuse to wash themselves!!  So, I turn my all mighty glare upon the useless dishwasher standing insolently against the kitchen wall.  It smirks at me as it leisurely lounges about and silently asks, "Yeah?  So what if I'm broke.  Whatchu gonna to do about it?  I got me a nice, warm home and ain't gotta do squat to earn it."

"What am I going to do about it?" I reply.  "Well......apparently nothing at all since I haven't done anything yet."  

And, yes, I just had a silent conversation in my head with our broken dishwasher.  I really should see about getting someone to fix it.  But I really don't have or want to spend the money on fixing it.  So there it sits, mocking me, scoffing at the piddly weight of the empty dish drainer I force it to carry.

I realize that I'm not working now so there's no reason I can't keep up with the dishes all day.  But somehow, they've developed their own super powers and quickly overwhelmed my mediocre strengths.  

But I've been busy, honest!!  I've had many things to do and have been doing them.  We need money so I've been writing, trying to get some places to publish articles I've written.  I wrote a 600 page novel 3 years ago but never finished editing it, nor have I tried to publish it yet.  So, I've been working on editing that.  I've been doing online transcription, taking online surveys, anything and everything I can do to get some money coming in, even if only a few dollars at a time.

And I have many things I want to do.  Swimming through my thoughts right now are these cute little flower vases I want to make and try to sell.  I have all the stuff needed to make them and have even made one...yes, a whole ONE.  I want to rearrange the living room so it's more work and user friendly for me.....and prettier.  Give me a minute.....I can come up with some more excuses.

But instead of doing and finishing any one of those things, I flounder about, going from one to the next until I've completely confused myself.  And until I can't stand the gloating of those insufferably obnoxious dishes, constantly bragging about their amazing ability to grow.  Or until I have to wash one bowl just to have some ice cream because all the bowls are dirty.  Sigh.

How do you motivate yourself?  How do you force yourself to completely finish one thing and make it go away once and for all before starting the next something?  Where do you find that discipline?  And how do you maintain it?

I'd love to hear your thoughts, suggestions, criticisms....well, unless it's really mean, then maybe not.....on this kryptonite of mine.

Anyway, thanks for not noticing my messy home during this visit.  I promise that next time it'll be much cleaner....probably....maybe.  Fine, fine.  All I can say is I'll try.

As always, take your time leaving but hurry on back.  :)

First EVER post. Welcome to my home.

So, here it is.  My first ever official blog post.  

To those of you visiting me for the first time,  Welcome!!

And yes, I know that as I'm writing this that would be everyone.....or no one?  This could become confusing.  But, hopefully, soon enough, this home will grow and fill up with many people.

I guess that answers one of my questions.  The word "home" just sort of poured from my fingertips to the keyboard without thought from me.  That's a good sign.  I was trying to decide what to call this in my ramblings, considering and discarding many options.  "Blog post" just seems too, well...blah.  Daily activities?  Ugh...too much like work.  My life?  Eerrr...been done too much, I'm thinkin'.  Diary or journal?  Maybe.  I do write in a journal, perhaps too much.  You know those boxes that a case of computer paper comes in?  Well, I have one that is FULL of notebooks I've filled with my thoughts, hopes, wishes, fears, accomplishments, and disasters.

Boxing up those journals is pretty much what prompted me to start this blog.  My life is buried inside that box, scrawled on page after page in the shorthand I learned in high school 30+ years ago.  So, no, you can't peak.  Well..... you can, but it won't do you any good.

Another inspiration for starting this has been comments I've received on some of my Facebook posts.  People have told me I make them laugh, bring a smile to their face, or give them a chuckle for the day.  I have to admit, that makes me feel good and gives me something to be a little bit proud of.  The thought that I can lighten someone's existence, even if only for a second, helps me to believe I really can add a little bit of good to this crazy world we live in.  So maybe I can broaden that to a larger group of people.  And maybe not, we'll see.

I'm not going to spend time here saying much about myself, my About page pretty much sums it up.  And the rest you'll learn through the jibberish I'll most likely post.  Nor am I going to promise specific topics that will visit my "home."  Mainly because, I don't have a clue.  I'm very much a Wannabe.  I'm a wannabe writer, wannabe crafter, wannabe painter, wannabe couponer, wannabe friend, wannabe homemaker.  Wannabe sumpin!!  Just don't know what.  All I know is I'm human.  Whatever happens will happen.  Hopefully you'll gain some connection from it.  Actually, hopefully I'll gain some connection from it, too.  

And, hopefully, you'll walk away with some thoughts and some smiles to lighten your load in life.

So, thanks for visiting my home (I'm liking that more and more) and listening to my jabber.  I think this is the best type of visit with jammies and messy hair more than welcome.  So, fill your coffee cup (or stemmed glassware) with your favorite beverage, plop yourself down, and be human.

And always, take your time leaving but hurry on back.  :)
(Not my saying and I don't know who to give credit to.  But I heard it years ago and have always loved it.  So I'm openly stealing it.)