When you are lucky enough to lose, you are lucky enough to live.
And when you are lucky enough to be reminded of how alive you are, well there are no words for that.
I have been reminded this week of what it feels like to be alive. I think I finally turned off the snooze button that for so long was also known as my heart. I've been saved. Saved by knowing my heart is not dead, infact, it is overflowing with the ability to feel again. But I am lost just as I have been saved. And the newness of my heart is only felt in the way it seems to have broken.
The lack of sleep for four days I'm quite sure has contributed to my sudden sappiness, disdane, and overall melancholy. I was good this year. In fact, I put myself to bed at 11:00, without a cocktail, I might add on the first night. That doesn't mean I slept any. A neurotic dog, drunk or stranded attendees, and many racing thoughts contributed to the three or four hours I did get. I made it through my big conference welcome, and in a nutshell, the whole conference went off without a hitch. And just as I always do, I cried at the end - cried because I was glad to be done with it and because I had to say goodbye...but this year I think I might have learned something.
I learned that I look like Barbra Streisand all of a sudden. And that people don't recognize me. I learned that Blue Men can eat a lot of marshmallows and make for a great conference activity. I learned that sometimes you can know someone better in only a few days than you can in a lifetime. I learned that the bigger this event gets, the less I want to stay out late and play. I learned that you have to tell people three times before they get it, and some people you could tell a million times and they still won't. I learned about the shared power of the Number 5. And that your best friend always comes to your rescue. I learned you can't bet it all on a horse called "S****r's Steady Stallion." I learned that there are certain songs that mean the same to two people. And that there are certain fragrances that will bring tears to your eyes almost immediately. I learned that I am of value to the company who pays my bills. And that my boss is out for my best intrests. I learned there are some people who, no matter how much you want them too, just don't know when you need them the most.
But most of all, I learned that a half a world away is just far enough to find someone who makes you believe, all over again.
10.26.2006
10.17.2006
On Diagrams, Internet Connectivity, and the Impending Lack of Sleep
Have a little spare time on my hands tonight - so I just wanted to let you know the old girl is officially in hell. Well, not quite yet - but soon, real soon. Five days, to be exact. See, you know this little conference I plan that I've told ya'll a little about - well it's gonna be here. In five days. So right now my time is being consumed with room diagrams, banquet event orders, uncooperative IT professionals, ever changing attendees, and a budget that seems to be ever inflating. Aaaah, yes, I'm in the thick of it now. I'm freakin' a little cause I know that 4-hours of sleep a night is in store from Saturday to Wednesday. Having to be the emcee for 300+ people bright and early on Monday morning (after what's typically a heavy night of drinking - much like when you go on vacay, or to the lake or something, and you over do it right off the bat because you're so excited to see all the old friends, place, or whatever).
Having to be witty while still legally intoxicated blows. I know, I've done it now for the last two, ummm, maybe 4 years. They make me drink, mom. They tie me up against my will and they make me do it. Really. So I'm really psyching myself up to take it easy - get sleep - kick people out of my suite so that I can be semi-coherent and don't forget charming, and at the top of my game all by 7:00 a.m.. New venue this year and all. Better be on my best behavior. Crap. I'm not good at that.
Well in other good news - my Belgian will be here in a mere four days. I might have mentioned once or twice at my almost giddy like state at the thought of seeing my good, my good, my good friend. Sorry lost concentration. Dreaming. Oh, speaking of, did I mention that the pre-conference dreams have begun? Yep, now all I think about is all that needs to be done, crossing the "t's" and dotting the "i's." I found an error in the conference agenda today. It's at the printer - tough luck. Hope my boss doesn't catch it. Woops. Perspective: Not the end of the world.
Did you know that convention centers can charge $1,000 for tap water in a water cooler? Yep, they can. They do, and they charge you for everything else under the sun as well. Air? Yep, that too. Like I said, it's an ever inflating budget.
Aaah, but all for the love of it. I get to see lots of friends made over the last five years and usually get kudos for my efforts from those who are those. It's nice for that reason. My five year friends play and play and play until we're so exhausted we can't wait to crash and then they all go home and I usually cry. (Attributed to my weird issue with goodbyes). So much effort, so little time, so long until we see each other again. My friends leave and then there is just a whole lotta miles (and for some an ocean and a continent) between us. For those few days though, for as tiring as it is and for the mental drain it takes on me the week of and the weeks before - it's always worth it.
So I build it, and they come. And then they leave and the circle starts all over again. And I bitch and moan until it gets here, and sometimes I have people to look forward to, and we have a blast and we love each other for as long as we can and then we say ciao, arevederci, a bientot, au revoir, until we meet again...
4-days and counting.
Having to be witty while still legally intoxicated blows. I know, I've done it now for the last two, ummm, maybe 4 years. They make me drink, mom. They tie me up against my will and they make me do it. Really. So I'm really psyching myself up to take it easy - get sleep - kick people out of my suite so that I can be semi-coherent and don't forget charming, and at the top of my game all by 7:00 a.m.. New venue this year and all. Better be on my best behavior. Crap. I'm not good at that.
Well in other good news - my Belgian will be here in a mere four days. I might have mentioned once or twice at my almost giddy like state at the thought of seeing my good, my good, my good friend. Sorry lost concentration. Dreaming. Oh, speaking of, did I mention that the pre-conference dreams have begun? Yep, now all I think about is all that needs to be done, crossing the "t's" and dotting the "i's." I found an error in the conference agenda today. It's at the printer - tough luck. Hope my boss doesn't catch it. Woops. Perspective: Not the end of the world.
Did you know that convention centers can charge $1,000 for tap water in a water cooler? Yep, they can. They do, and they charge you for everything else under the sun as well. Air? Yep, that too. Like I said, it's an ever inflating budget.
Aaah, but all for the love of it. I get to see lots of friends made over the last five years and usually get kudos for my efforts from those who are those. It's nice for that reason. My five year friends play and play and play until we're so exhausted we can't wait to crash and then they all go home and I usually cry. (Attributed to my weird issue with goodbyes). So much effort, so little time, so long until we see each other again. My friends leave and then there is just a whole lotta miles (and for some an ocean and a continent) between us. For those few days though, for as tiring as it is and for the mental drain it takes on me the week of and the weeks before - it's always worth it.
So I build it, and they come. And then they leave and the circle starts all over again. And I bitch and moan until it gets here, and sometimes I have people to look forward to, and we have a blast and we love each other for as long as we can and then we say ciao, arevederci, a bientot, au revoir, until we meet again...
ik kan wachten niet om u opnieuw te zien...
4-days and counting.
10.12.2006
Co-Habitation Is Overrated
I really enjoy living alone. I like my stuff. In my space. I like it cause it's just mine. I leave it the way I want, have everything I need, and when I do venture to let my mind wander to the thought of what it would be like to co-habitate once again some day, I don't think this is what I had envisioned for myself...
I've been held hostage. By a raccoon.
He started stalking me in the springtime. At least that's when I first noticed his little poo-poo presents he so nicely left for me on my window eaves. I think it started when I saw the poo, and then was confirmed when sitting at another window, talking to Vee, when a strange pair of eyes stared back at me.
I screamed. He ran.
I called everyone for reinforcement.
He disappeared.
Or so I thought...
I think he just went on vacation for the summer.
I suspected recently he might of returned from his summer vacay when I began to notice some more random presents appear as if to warn me of his return.
To preface, my Hobbit house is the third floor of a 5-plex apartment/house-ish sort of dwelling. I'm sort of the bastardized penthouse if you will. I love my little space and apparently Rocky the Raccoon does, too. I think the presents have been his way of figuring out how to get inside for a couple months now. Yep, I'm pretty sure he's been stalking every possible place he could find to make his grand entrance. I'm also convinced he's just been waiting for that perfect time to surprise me, as he lounges in a silk robe, smokin' a stogie and drinking a Scotch on my sofa.
Well he finally succeeded.
I have mentioned also, once or twice, that I have the most wonderful dog in the world. Ya, a wonderfully chicken dog. Around 5:00 or so this morning my 50-pound chicken comes squeaking in my room, jumps on the bed and proceeds to whine and shake violently until I wake up. Tattle tell, yes. Guard dog, not a chance.
So at her beckon to go find Timmy, I groggily listen for a couple minutes and finally hear something banging around my kitchen. Shit. It's either my stalking rodent or a ghost. Neither of which I'm prepared to find in my current state. I get out of bed, it's freezing cold and I walk to the doorway of my bedroom. I don't have to turn on a light to find the little devil rading My Girl's food. There he was, he finally made it in. A raccoon. In my freakin' apartment. I half expected him to say hello in his best Cary Grant voice.
Instead, like any good city girl, I completely freaked.
I'll spare the minute details and get to the good stuff. To make a totally long story shorter, I paid NB-C back for her weather related non-emergency wake up call to inform her that I had been taken hostage by a rodent. She replied, as any best friend would do, "you want me to come over?" To which I reply, "to do what? Look at it together???"
I finally got a window open and saw the brilliant bugger cowering under the radiator in the dining room. How cute, he's scared. I decide just to leave him alone and let him leave - at will. After 2-hours he finally made it out the open window. Abby and I holed up in the bedroom and I (sans chien) came out to check his status every 20-minutes or so. He finally left. Not fully convinced, I plowed around the kitchen sanitizing and double checking, just to make sure he wasn't going to leap out of my oven at me in a fit of rage.
His exit was finally confirmed when I heard him run across the roof...suspicious I thought. I stood with my mop in hand ready to ward off any further danger. And then through the offending hole, I saw his little eyes, peering back at me - daring to come back in as if this three hour prank was just a big freakin' circus. Didn't he know that messing with my sleep is the most critical offense anyone could make - let alone some dog-food eating bandit who has just invaded my precious space!
So, I devise a plan and I made a boobie trap - a big cookbook in front of the hole he was trying to get back through. Abby and I return to the bedroom. Door closed. NB-C calls - back from the gym...I hear the book fall. Sonofabitch, the game is on. I, phone in one hand, protective mop/life saving defense in the other move to the offending window and see his little head back in - taunting me. Bastard. I push the mop in his face and he bites down and growls. I scream. He leaves. I rig the thing up with cookbooks and blue painters tape. Bring it on bastard. Bring it on.
I feel pretty good about my cookbook/blue tape/chair in front of the window thing. Take Abby out - get a shower. Go back to check my work - he's tried again. Although his last attempts were unsuccessful, it is he who has the last laugh.
He shit right by the window.
******************************************************************************
So the story ends, hopefully, with my newly built armor against my hostage taker. It's a lovely decoupage of plywood, crafted masterfully by the building manager/neighbor who lives underneath me (but who also blissfully slept while I launched my own offensive against the masked intruder)!
Seriously, ya'll.
Don't be jealous of my ghetto fabulous-ness.
Like I said before, I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.
I've been held hostage. By a raccoon.
He started stalking me in the springtime. At least that's when I first noticed his little poo-poo presents he so nicely left for me on my window eaves. I think it started when I saw the poo, and then was confirmed when sitting at another window, talking to Vee, when a strange pair of eyes stared back at me.
I screamed. He ran.
I called everyone for reinforcement.
He disappeared.
Or so I thought...
I think he just went on vacation for the summer.
I suspected recently he might of returned from his summer vacay when I began to notice some more random presents appear as if to warn me of his return.
To preface, my Hobbit house is the third floor of a 5-plex apartment/house-ish sort of dwelling. I'm sort of the bastardized penthouse if you will. I love my little space and apparently Rocky the Raccoon does, too. I think the presents have been his way of figuring out how to get inside for a couple months now. Yep, I'm pretty sure he's been stalking every possible place he could find to make his grand entrance. I'm also convinced he's just been waiting for that perfect time to surprise me, as he lounges in a silk robe, smokin' a stogie and drinking a Scotch on my sofa.
Well he finally succeeded.
I have mentioned also, once or twice, that I have the most wonderful dog in the world. Ya, a wonderfully chicken dog. Around 5:00 or so this morning my 50-pound chicken comes squeaking in my room, jumps on the bed and proceeds to whine and shake violently until I wake up. Tattle tell, yes. Guard dog, not a chance.
So at her beckon to go find Timmy, I groggily listen for a couple minutes and finally hear something banging around my kitchen. Shit. It's either my stalking rodent or a ghost. Neither of which I'm prepared to find in my current state. I get out of bed, it's freezing cold and I walk to the doorway of my bedroom. I don't have to turn on a light to find the little devil rading My Girl's food. There he was, he finally made it in. A raccoon. In my freakin' apartment. I half expected him to say hello in his best Cary Grant voice.
Instead, like any good city girl, I completely freaked.
I'll spare the minute details and get to the good stuff. To make a totally long story shorter, I paid NB-C back for her weather related non-emergency wake up call to inform her that I had been taken hostage by a rodent. She replied, as any best friend would do, "you want me to come over?" To which I reply, "to do what? Look at it together???"
I finally got a window open and saw the brilliant bugger cowering under the radiator in the dining room. How cute, he's scared. I decide just to leave him alone and let him leave - at will. After 2-hours he finally made it out the open window. Abby and I holed up in the bedroom and I (sans chien) came out to check his status every 20-minutes or so. He finally left. Not fully convinced, I plowed around the kitchen sanitizing and double checking, just to make sure he wasn't going to leap out of my oven at me in a fit of rage.
His exit was finally confirmed when I heard him run across the roof...suspicious I thought. I stood with my mop in hand ready to ward off any further danger. And then through the offending hole, I saw his little eyes, peering back at me - daring to come back in as if this three hour prank was just a big freakin' circus. Didn't he know that messing with my sleep is the most critical offense anyone could make - let alone some dog-food eating bandit who has just invaded my precious space!
So, I devise a plan and I made a boobie trap - a big cookbook in front of the hole he was trying to get back through. Abby and I return to the bedroom. Door closed. NB-C calls - back from the gym...I hear the book fall. Sonofabitch, the game is on. I, phone in one hand, protective mop/life saving defense in the other move to the offending window and see his little head back in - taunting me. Bastard. I push the mop in his face and he bites down and growls. I scream. He leaves. I rig the thing up with cookbooks and blue painters tape. Bring it on bastard. Bring it on.
I feel pretty good about my cookbook/blue tape/chair in front of the window thing. Take Abby out - get a shower. Go back to check my work - he's tried again. Although his last attempts were unsuccessful, it is he who has the last laugh.
He shit right by the window.
******************************************************************************
So the story ends, hopefully, with my newly built armor against my hostage taker. It's a lovely decoupage of plywood, crafted masterfully by the building manager/neighbor who lives underneath me (but who also blissfully slept while I launched my own offensive against the masked intruder)!
Seriously, ya'll.
Don't be jealous of my ghetto fabulous-ness.
Like I said before, I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.
10.07.2006
Happy FIRST Birthday Little Man!!!!
Dear Daniel,
One year ago today you came into our world, you the first of what I hope is to be many. You took your time getting here and gave us all quite a scare after you arrived. But you taught us to be patient and you taught us about faith. I like to think you just wanted to make sure everyone noticed you had arrived.
I remember the sound in your mom's voice when she called to say you were here. Her voice had changed and there was an ever so slight difference that wasn't blatently obvious unless you knew what to listen for. It was the sound of your mom becoming your mother. It was filled with love and hope and strength and promise.
It was a beautiful sound.
I wanted to tell you, Daniel, that you are loved beyond the boundries of love. You have people far and wide holding you in their arms even when the miles are greater than the distance can hold. You bring us joy when your momma sends us pictures of your bright blue eyes and your heart breaking smile. There's joy when your momma sends us video when you do something great for the first time. You make me laugh when I hear you talking in the background - so not to be upstaged or ignored. You amaze me because you are so smart and perceptive.
This is my wish for you on your first birthday:
May your life to be a happy one. May you know the love of your family - and your extended family. May you never have to sit in traffic for long. Or eat bad food. May you always flirt with the pretty ladies. Laugh at the funny looking animals. And talk until every last person has heard you make your point. May your best friend one day be a ddddggeeee. May your smile be big when you realize your Gigi comes to spoil you. May you ever be the side kick for your daddy and the love behind your momma's voice. And most of all, Daniel - my wish for you is a that you always remember to live, never forget how to laugh, and for the rest of your life may you always know what it means to - and what it means to be - loved.
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