Essentials

A few days ago I was shopping at one of those deluxe grocery stores. The kind with the regular grocery stuff, but also a cosmetics department, a hunting department, a computer department, and an Army surplus department. Okay, not really but you know the mega-stores I mean.

I do not like to shop. I tolerate grocery shopping because the end result is eating, but otherwise I don't like it.

I am often guilty of thinking I'll just run right in here, grab a couple things and be done. Voila!

This turns out to be wishful thinking more often than not. What usually happens is more like, I run in and refuse to grab a cart or even a basket because I'm only getting a few things, remember? I get my 'few' things, but while I'm shopping I spot something (or some things) else that I really need to get (really) but forgot to put on the short list in my hand. So by the time I get up to the check out, things are over flowing my arms. I walk up there with a death-grip hug on a gallon of milk, a bag of ice, sunscreen, notebook paper, ice cream, champagne, a five pound bag of rice (because it's so much cheaper per pound) and the Sunday newspaper. Knowing that if I let go of any one thing, we are going to need 'clean up' on Checkstand 713. Speedy quick.

So a few days ago I found myself running in said mastodon-store. It worked out fine, I was successful in not having to break down and grab a basket, I paid for my items and carried my three bags, worth ninety-seven dollars, and headed out to my car. Whew, another shopping trip survived.

An hour later I was sitting at the dining room table of a friend, catching up, when I felt something odd in my pocket. It was a tiny bottle of lavender essential oil from the Natural Food section of the Godzilla-store. Exactly $9.99 worth of essential oil. The odd thing about this item in my pocket is that I never took it out of my grocery bag. So, as I'm fingering this bottle and the little security tag attached to the side that is almost bigger than the bottle itself, I realize that for the first time since before grade school, I have shop lifted.

Now we all have our youthful indiscretions to look back on. I have mine, not to be mentioned here, and you have yours. Remember? Anyway, shop lifting is not one of my childhood guilts. One time, just once, I took something. I took a single, whole walnut from the bulk bin of the produce department of the only Safeway of our small town and slipped it into my pocket. I was probably about four or five years old. When I got home, I was so afraid of getting caught that all I wanted to do was hide it. There was enormous guilt in that one nut. I found a hiding place behind our recliner/rocker in the corner. It sat there for a while, then the next time we were headed for the store, I put it back in my pocket and slipped it back into the bulk bin at Safeway.

Whew, crisis and a life of crime averted.

Now do you wonder, if I was going to shop lift anything, why I didn't go for a Blowpop, or Bottlecaps or pretend cigarettes? Something worth the risk? I wonder exactly the same thing. I think the walnut, in it's impenetrable-for-a-five-year-old shell, is symbolic. I'm just not sure of what. Maybe that I am nuts.

Back to the present: I sit at my friend's table not mentioning the sweaty hand and bottle in my pocket. Now of course, I'm not worried about getting caught, but I hate this feeling. When loading up my arms with the big ticket items, I must have slipped it into my pocket to free up a hand. I hate that I shopped mindlessly, that I was not paying attention, that I was in such a hurry that I walked out of that high security mother of all stores (where the alarm did NOT sound as I walked out) with this essential oil in my pocket. Do you know what most people use lavender oil for? RELAXATION! The irony!

So I'm tired and I looking forward to getting home after our visit. I could return to the store another day and pay for the misdemeanor in my pocket but I know that my soul will not like this one little bit. I have to, want to take care of it as soon as possible.

I pull into the parking lot and run back into the store. The alarm sounds as I'm crossing the threshold. Yeah, yeah. I take it back to the same check out I went through the first time I was in this hell store; it was not the same cashier. I explain that 'somehow' I walked out without paying for this item (and by the way, you're alarm system is on backward) and so I now need to pay for it. The cashier is a kid, a young man of maybe, MAYBE nineteen. He listens to me, and squints his eyes.
"You came back to pay for it?"
"Yes."
"Most people wouldn't have done that," he states, probably not realizing that I'm taking this as a compliment, instead of the way he intends it.
"Most people would probably break out in boils when they used it too," I explain. "I am not taking any chances."
He looks confused.
"I don't screw with karma like that," I said.
He gives me half a smile, pity probably, and I leave the store and head home to reward myself with a cold glass of Bellatore and a clear retail conscience.

Now as most of my posts do, this one is taking on a life of its own. The point I set out to make here is that we have become a society of seeing what we can get away with. It has become an 'accomplishment' to envy, when some one boasts of getting away with something.

"Guess what! The chick at the drive up at Wendy's just gave me five dollars too much change."

"I got caught going twenty over the speed limit, but I went to court to fight my ticket and I got it cut in half."

In sports, children (not to mention the paid professionals) spend the entire game trying to get away with something. Arguing calls that they know are just, flopping to the ground acting like they were fouled to get an undeserved (and probably unpracticed) foul shot. Getting tackled at the eight yard line, and wrestling around in the pile, inching the ball closer and closer to the first down marker when they think the ref won't see. Always trying to get away with something, and then patting themselves on the back when they are successful.

When did this happen? This shift from doing the right thing, simply because it wouldn't occur to us to do anything else. It feels very subtle to me. It's not like the price of gas or the rate of meth use, that you can see creeping ever sky ward. It happens unseen, unchecked and even celebrated.

I do not want any credit or brownie points for doing the right thing here. (Although I wouldn't mind a brownie.) What I hope happens instead is that that kid thinks about it; that after he got off work and was deciding which fast food establishment to patronize, he remembers the lady who came all the way back into the store just to pay for one item she inadvertently walked out with.

This is a lot to hope for, I'm afraid.

The Red Road to Happy

I haven't posted here for a long while. I want to, but the overwhelming thoughts on my mind today are a bit questionable for this, and possibly any other forum.
So I'm wondering if it's a good idea to give them air.

You know what I mean, something is swirling within your head, and you can't quite decide if it would be wise or foolish to talk about. Maybe the question itself is a good indication.

Erring on the side of caution or throwing caution to the wind?


I wonder why there are days when thoughts can be so consuming, heavy in nature. And other times, thoughts are light, airy and energizing. When by all appearances there is nothing significantly different from one day to the next.

Is it a physiological matter, like blood sugar or hormones?
Is it the tide, the pull of the moon?
Is it metaphysical and dependant on the thoughts I allow versus those I do not?
Could it be the weather, the effect of the draining oppressive high temperatures or of gray skies?

It startles me at times what has the power to thrill me and what does not.

And what has the power to kill my joy and what does not.

I will plan a special day of alone time, with indulgent ingredients like fresh flowers, a trip to the bookstore, champagne in crystal, walking in the sand. But at the end of the day, I'm feeling less satisfied than I would have imagined. I went through all the proper steps, but something didn't take.

Then on the other hand, I'll have no such plans, but hear the perfect song at the perfect moment in an otherwise overwhelmingly imperfect day and suddenly I feel fully re-energized, immortal and taller.

Recently, I cleaned out and reorganized the supply closet at work. It was simply a task on my list of things to do that day. It was a job long overdue and became quite involved. When it was complete, it felt as good as a 'job well done' usually feels. Pretty damn good, if you ask me.

But then over the next few days, I found myself going over to that closet, opening the doors, checking over both shoulders to make sure no one was looking, then stepping back and taking a good deep breath of the order before me. This simple, occasional task had the power to soothe my library tired, road weary soul. I love but would never have predicted such an effect.

For too long now, I've owned a generic, beige dish drainer with no personality at all (still doing my dishes the 'old school' way). It was looking dreary and weary so I grabbed a new one at the store last week. A new RED one. *Sigh* It radiated "pretty and shiny" in the store like all new products are supposed to, emitting that silent but deadly brain twisting radar signal "Buy me, buy me. I will bring you happiness, success, riches untold. If you buy me, you will BE somebody!" Well, don't tell anyone but it's true. It does brings me happiness. Every time I walk by that shiny new RED bauble on my kitchen counter, I stop and smile. Plus it still has that new drainer smell. Win-win.

Who knew happiness, even momentary happiness, could sometimes be found in the color a dish drainer?

Or Aretha Franklin's spelling ability?

Or from running my hands over a perfectly placed box of freshly sharpened #2 pencils?

(Do they make RED #2 pencils?)

Or looking forward to crawling into bed with Harry Potter?

How is it on some days, in some ways, I can be so easily pleased?
Then at other times, that seem no different at all, I am virtually impossible to please?

Do you have unusual events or objects in your life that surprise you at their power to please, to touch your happy spot, to bring you peace? I'd like to hear. Maybe I'm missing out on something that I could be appreciating as much as you do. SHARE!

Admit it, you'll never look at a new RED dish drainer the same again, will ya?

'Shiny Child' & 'Genius Grandmother'

The best thing happened today. The BEST thing happened!

And my joy is in no way diminished by the fact that no one is going to appreciate how ‘best’ this is, except for me. I don’t care if you get it or not. I’m so happy. (How often do you hear me say that?)

As I have mentioned before, I work in a library. And as good as that is, it is not the best thing today. I work in a really small branch of a library that is housed in the local community center. There are many advantages that fit my nature perfectly about working in this tiny library. One advantage is that it completely fits my desire to control. I can be a true freak about control if I’m not careful. At this library, most everything peripheral and superficial is influenced by my opinion. I have a lot to say about how things get shelved, what items go on display, what items get moved where and so on. I love this job.

When I got this job, I inherited some factors from the previous branch assistant. One being the acrylic rack that hung on the wall in the back corner by the door that has that 'Alarm Will Sound' warning on it. You know, the corner that gets hardly any foot traffic. Anyway, these two shelves were home to our ‘free’ periodicals. Magazines and newspapers that are free of charge: listings of the local farmers markets, upcoming events for the elderly, the local parks & recreation department's calendar, etc.

These acrylic holders bothered me from day one, two and a half years ago. They sucked, as far as I could tell. All the magazines and periodicals fell over in the holders. They would stand up straight the first day, but then gravity would rule all the days that follow. I hated looking over to that corner and seeing all those floppy periodicals, much less having to go over there and try to make it look better, which by the way was not humanly possible. Eventually my frustration got the best of me and I begged someone with string pulling authority to ‘fix it.’ She ordered new, free standing acrylic book shelves to solve my problem and the free stuff now looks great. Order & beauty restored. Whew.

The empty shelves that completely failed to fulfill their free periodical destiny were moved to another location in the library with my hopes of finding different library material that would not flop upon display and stand up shiny faced instead, for all our patrons to admire and check out and possibly even read.

Well, I tried everything in those shelves: talking books, non-fiction DVDs, paperbacks, board books. Nothing worked, not because they flopped but because of the nature of the shelves; they faced down toward the ground. So unless you were lying on our industrial strength multi-colored carpet and looking up admiring the speckled, universally generic ceiling tiles, you would never accidentally catch a glimpse of the cover, much less the title of anything in those holders. I officially gave up. But couldn’t really put that resignation into action yet, so they've hung on the wall empty and defeated for months.

When my string puller stopped by one day, I mentioned to her the futility of these shelves and my belief that whomever in our library system who ordered these useless items had probably worked for the pentagon in a previous life, ordering gold plated toilet seats and diamond tipped screw drivers or hammers or what ever they were. She wondered aloud if maybe they had been assembled incorrectly and we both stood there for a few minutes trying to figure out in what other configuration they could possibly be put together. We came up with nothing.

That was a month or two ago.

Today a young patron, I’d say she was about seven or eight years old, was in the branch with her grandmother. Now this library is tiny so I know the names and astrological signs of almost everyone who steps into our magical ‘Libraryland.’ But these two patrons were unfamiliar to me. As the grandmother browsed through our adult fiction section, the grand daughter sat on a small stool close by and read a book. She saw me shelving near by and asked me what those empty shelves were over her head. I explained how I’d tried but failed to find anything that displayed well in those shelves and that I really needed to just take them down and send them away, out of my sight. She looked at them as if she too were trying to think of something to put in those shelves. She ran over to a table and grabbed a book she planned to check out and put it in the middle shelf. I complimented her on her choice of books but showed her how unless you were a Chihuahua looking up from the floor or an infant gliding by in an adult driven stroller, and likely without the ability to read and probably without possession of a library card, no one could really appreciate this great book she picked because it faced the ground. I mentioned how I had even tried to figure out a different way to assemble them but that I was stumped.

It was then that all the planets aligned and all the library gods joined hands and the grandmother, that I will from now on refer to only as Genius Grandmother, said "Maybe they are put together backward." I studied the shelves, trying to picture them 'backward' but still saw nothing. I looked back to the grandmother and then back to the shelves and that's when I saw it.

It took this unique pair of patrons in the library at that very moment, my shelving in that specific area, my leaving those empty shelves hanging there all that time (thinking something would come to me), this inquisitive, socially shiny child and her Genius Grandmother converging at exactly that moment in the cosmic magic of library destiny. Like the library version of the Big Bang theory.

I could see it. The slots were in backward. I had tried to picture them reversed before but my logic couldn't make it work. She was right. They were all backward.

I pulled the top shelf and turned it around, then all the rest. I was giddy. If Nancy Pearl had been there, she'd have 'shushed' me.

I asked the child to help me pick books to fill the born-again shelves. She said her favorite animals were zebras, so we found all our junior non-fiction books on zebras. Genius Grandmother said hers were elephants, so we threw a couple of those in too. I went skipping around the stacks, all the typical daily burdens temporarily lifted from my shoulders.

Singing Tra-la-la. Okay not really, although I could have because these two magic people were our only patrons.

And so for the rest of my day, no matter what else happened, I was so happy. The zebras and elephants in our branch have never looked better and all is well.

Unhealthy Debate

A long time ago, I had an interesting conversation with someone I loved deeply, and later managed to treat questionably. And I've carried that talk around with me since.

One day Kevin, the guy I was seeing in college, and I were walking on campus and talking. It was a relaxing, quiet Sunday afternoon and we'd spent the last couple of days together, looking ahead to another week of class. College was an amazing and difficult time in my life. I certainly wish I'd done it all differently.

Anyway.

Somehow the topic of selflessness came up and it turned into perhaps our biggest argument. It was my contention that there is no truly selfless act. That even an act that 'appears' to be selfless, is not. A very cynical belief at any age. I have never been above debate for the sake of debate, but this wasn't the case that day. I believed fully in my point.

Kevin asked about a person who would dive into frigid waters to save a drowning person and wouldn't that be a selfless act? I claimed that it would not be, even if he were to lose his life in the act of saving the drowning person. Because if that person were to stand there and watch someone drown when he believed it was in his power to help, he would hate himself for the rest of his life if he didn't try. He would not be able to live with his action, or in this case, non-action. So, it still comes back to how it effects the would-be rescuer.

It was a memorable discussion and started out friendly enough. He kept trying to come up with scenarios that would prove me and my theory wrong. There was nothing he could find that I was unable to turn around to an act that ultimately served the 'selfless' person, in one way or another. It started to get heated, and Kevin got pretty pissed off at me in the end.

I confess to enjoying, through out my life, winning a debate. It feels good. But on that day, there was something sad inside me because I could see that it was indeed a sad and unfortunate belief to hold. The fact was, however, that I couldn't see any other truth. Kevin was disappointed in me and quite frankly I think he hated that I felt this way. It wasn't a deal breaker for 'us' but it definitely didn't add to the magic of our relationship.

Today, twenty five years, one marriage and three children later, I still can't find an exception to this theory. Can you? I think I would like to be proven wrong. I think I would like to have been proven wrong that day. Maybe things would have gone differently for me since then. Maybe not.

Some might say the act of having children is a selfless act, because there is so much to sacrifice along the way. However, I don't think so. I don't think people have children for selfless reasons. I won't go into the reasons I think most people, myself included, have children because it would only reveal more of my cynical nature and how much it has in fact evolved, but I definitely do not believe it to be selflessness.

What about donating a kidney? Giving all one's money to charity? Pushing a child out of the way of a speeding car, only to be killed yourself? No, I'm not buying it. For these potentially 'selfless' people, to do otherwise would have been unthinkable. They would never be able to be happy being a person who wouldn't not have acted in the moment of need.

I wonder what Kevin thinks now. I presume he has gone on to marriage, career, children and more. Would he still disagree with me? I wish I had the opportunity to ask him this question and a few others.

Do you disagree with me? Is my thinking warped? Dark, harsh, twisted? Defeatist? Does it enable me in dysfunction somehow? I would LOVE your thoughts and your help in this. Another perspective might be more important than you could imagine.

Edify Me

I recently found myself trying to explain, when asked, why I no longer watch a popular television series. Or more accurately, verbally fumbling all over myself trying to explain why I no longer watch a popular television series. And in the end, I'm pretty sure I was unsuccessful.

I like to think I'm relatively articulate but found myself running circles around my point. This has led me to the conclusion that I probably shouldn't be trying to explain something I don't even understand myself.

So over the next couple of days, I meditated on it. I danced on it. I ate on it. Why had I removed this series and a number of other 'hit' shows from my current viewing menu? It felt 'right,' that much was true. But 'right' as reasoning felt incomplete and vague.

There was a word I was lacking that I just knew would fit my sense of this answer. But the word remained elusive for a good number of days.

What I did know, as I reached for this word, was that lately I have little tolerance for 'entertainment' that steels something from me, that compromises me in some way.

For example, I try to watch very little news. The news industry can claim their mission is to inform, but I'm skeptical. I think their goal is to disturb and upset. What is it about the news that makes us keep coming back for more disturbing and true stories?

Another example: I am not crazy about the genre of Suspense when it comes to movies and books. I do not like that gut gripping "I have to know how this ends" feeling I get about half way through. Even if the movie or book sucks, I have to see how it turns out or it will drive me crazy thinking about it. I'm a freak, what can I say?

I find most reality TV to be disturbing. The suspense of waiting to see who will exhibit what manipulative, self-serving egregious behavior next. Waiting to see what nasty, rude dream-crushing thing Simon says next. I believe reality TV has very little to offer. Why are we so intoxicated by watching what is often the very worst of people? Even if it somehow accidentally manages to inspire someone, it isn't worth the price of the toxic nature that seems to be required for good ratings.

The huge following such programs enjoy are just another reason for me not to join in. Why would I seek to be counted among the pop culture 'throng?' (Not thong, throng.) Does that argument work in your head? "Everyone else loves it, so it must be good?" Bullshit. I understand that there are valid objections to my point; I can hear them in my head. I do not care.

I do not believe something has to be disturbing to be entertaining. But in fact, most pop media seek to push the envelope in this direction. I've had enough. 'Disturbing' steels something from my soul each time I allow it. It robs me of my peace, bit by bit. What little optimism, hope, encouragement I was naturally born with is slowly worn away by provocative media. I do not need to be provoked to be entertained. It's quick and easy entertainment but it is not quality entertainment.

It feels like an addiction to me. I don't know if I'm interested in anything that I HAVE to have. I feel dependent and weak when I NEED to see the next installment of Sopranos, The L Word, Desperate Housewives, Rescue Me, Survivor; Central Park or what ever. Now, I realize there are millions of toes to be stepped on here. That's fine, I can live with that. Fortunately for me, there are very few people stopping here to get their toes stepped on. Sorry to those two people.

So, if 'disturbing' is what I seek to avoid, what then do I seek to include deliberately in my life? The answer is 'that which edifies.'

Raised in Sunday School, there were a few words heard frequently in that specific setting, that a child would rarely hear on the outside. Redemption, sanctification, reverence. Valid words all, but not often used in common, everyday verse. For me, as a child, 'edify, edification' were even more mysterious than other such church-specific words.

But that is what I seek: to invite into my life that which enlightens, empowers, stimulates intelligent thought, encourages my spirit, my dreams, lightens my path, expands my future, bolsters me to walk taller, farther. The world as it stands is a dark and disturbing place. Why go seeking more of what we already suffer to endure?

As I said, I like to think of myself as relatively articulate, you may disagree. If I have failed to make my point, I think I still get an 'A' for quantity and for use of my thesaurus. If the gauge by which you judge content include that of most of the world: sensational, edgy, provocative, dark, creepy, inciting, 'fringe,' well then I'll happily just continue to suck, by those standards.

Ecce Cor Meum

My first child was born with a broken heart.

Complex Congenital Heart Defects, officially. His heart was smaller than the size of his little newborn fist, and it had five serious things wrong within that tiny space. His survival was not assured. And on some days not likely. Gave me a whole new appreciation for the pain my own heart could endure.
Not endure well, but endure none the less.

He was transported directly to Children's Hospital from his birth hospital. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. We spent almost three months there, that initial 'visit' and I received a reluctant education in a few areas, during our time.

• I learned (and used) medical terminology I hoped never to need.


• I learned (and performed) minor but practical medical procedures that my son would require if I ever hoped to take him home.


• I learned that in any given situation, one of three things will happen. Things will get worse, they will get better or they will stay the same. I've yet to find an exception to this.


• I also learned that I never want to hold a job that my heart is not called to. This may be the greatest lesson I learned.

It was one of those "don't try this at home" type lessons. As we lived day-in, day-out in the midst of sick children, parents sick at heart and the staff of a hospital designed specifically to support the well-being of these first two groups, it slowly became apparent that not every one working within the walls of Children's hospital was necessarily 'called' to work there.

Upon hearing of our stay at Children's, people most often remarked "Aren't they wonderful people there?" And the answer is Yes, absolutely. There are indeed some incredible individuals at Children's. People most amazing. Talented, motivated, exceptional, gentle of hand and kind of heart. And my family & I were fortunate to know each one. These were people who literally saved the life of my son. They are extensions of the hands of God, as far as I am concerned. For these people, their work with the lives of these children, broken in one way or another, was their calling.

There were also people working at Children's for whom, it seemed, it was just a job. Their hearts were not in their work. We were there for months the first time and for weeks during subsequent visits; I'm not referring to people who were having a random bad day. They were not happy in their jobs, and it showed day after day.
I know I could never do it. I am not made of the right stuff for such a job, so wouldn't you rather I work somewhere else? Isn't it better for all concerned if I find a profession I'm made for? Maybe it grows to be too much, taking care of babies, children, teens who sometimes die before your eyes. Growing attached to children and families who eventually leave, one way or another. Maybe these people didn't begin their work discouraged and disheartened, but over time it couldn't be helped? I don't know.

What I do know is that when this becomes the case, it might be best for everyone to decide to move on. Go to work at a place where there is less at stake. Where parents aren't clinging to your every word for some flicker of hope, where your snide mood left over from I-don't-care-what, doesn't have the power to add to the burden of a suffering family. The staff of such facilities have the honor of working with sick children. I held the hands of two mothers whose children died at Children's, it was my privilege to know these women and their two infant sons. I'm a better person for having been part of the months of life those little boys had.
It was the best feeling, being in contact with staff that lived and loved their chosen profession. It was inspiring, it was reassuring and it was calming to my soul.
And it was the worst feeling being on the receiving end of someone who hated their job, someone who did not want to be there. And in this we agreed, I didn't want them there either.
If you're going to be miserable in your work, do it at the IRS or as a lighthouse keeper or a news reporter or a bounty hunter. Somewhere else, please.
As a new mother sits next to the bed of a gravely ill baby, wondering if she is going to have to plan a funeral soon, she should not also have to be exposed to and have to contend with a disgruntled, ill-tempered, unsatisfied, prickly person sharing the same intimate space.

In the rest of life, we may have the understanding that we have to exist with such people, we work beside them, live with them, order food from them, (we may even be these people at times) but parents in this most vulnerable of situations should get a temporary 'Get Out of Jail Free' card.

Playing Solitaire

Do you ever wonder if the universe is out to get you? You know that feeling, just when you think things may be going your way, then SLAM, you run smack, full speed into an invisible but thick wall of pain?
It's in my heart's desires that I wonder this the most. When I find myself really wanting something, craving it emotionally, soulfully. Thinking my heart is pulling me in a very specific direction for some predestined reason.
Like the feeling that I was meant to live by the sea. I feel like something within me actually calls for salt water washing up on my toes. I feel a sacred longing. (I love that word, longing.) But I have to confess that part of me is afraid to get my wish. My fear is that I've wanted this for so long now that maybe when I genuinely have it, it won't feel as good as the life-long longing led me to believe it would. Am I making any sense? Please don't answer that question.
It's like that saying "Be careful what you wish for...." The implication being that we aren't smart enough to know what we should be reaching for.
I find myself pining for solitude. I want to be alone. I want to come home to an empty house (by the sea). I want to sit in my favorite spot and not have to ask someone to move their homework assignment and empty Pringle's canister first. I want to sit for hours in warm lavender bathwater reading my most recent favorite book and leave the door wide open so I can hear Vivaldi playing softly from the other room. I want to leave my best fountain pen out on my desk and know it will be there when I get back to my story tomorrow. I want to write when the spirit moves me and not have to drop everything because someone has to have 'this shirt washed right now' so it will be dry by tomorrow or we risk such dire consequences that global warming starts looking good. I want to have to deal only with my own unfortunate habits and no one else's. (My own being more than I can handle already.)

I have a full-time sixteen year old daughter and a part-time twenty year old son, so I understand that I need to take care of my parenting privileges first and do things in this area, in the proper order, but my soul cries today for solitude someday.
My fear is that the universe is messing me. "You may think this is what you want, but just wait until you get your wish. Then you'll be crying for company, companionship." In other words, 'be careful what you wish for.' Am I going to get my way and then see that the grass in greener on the other side, where there are people to talk to and watch old movies with? I've thought long and hard about this possibility and I don't think so. I do not believe I'll feel lonely. I hope not. Why would my heart yearn for this if there weren't some form of destiny involved?
I'm telling you right now, that if I bust my ass achieving this dream and then . . . . . . . . well, let's just say I'll be so pissed.

Of course, I do not wish for my loved ones to be gone. I am just eager for the day when they are living on their own, happily and peacefully, enjoying their own privacy and space. And cleaning up their own petrified toothpaste globs in the bathroom sink.