Memorable

NOTE: I started this post in September. Then, life got in the way, and I never finished it. I'm finishing it today, because I'm tired of life getting in the way of me finishing what I want to finish. And by "finished," I don't mean finished. Nothing is ever finished, is it?

* * * * * * * * * * *

"Well, hello, Wilson!" said the Nike Youth Games/Special Olympics volunteer at check-in. I looked at Wil to see if he was wearing a name tag I hadn't remembered him wearing. I replayed the last minute in my head: Had he said his name? No, he hadn't said anything, he'd simply walked up to the table.

"I remember you from last year," the adorable, young, volunteer said.

She remembered him from LAST year? There are hundreds and hundreds of kids here, how could she remember HIM?

But she had.

Wil participated in his second Nike Youth Games event held in conjunction with Special Olympics. He played soccer on a Project UNIFY team and was matched with (not against) three other teams from the area. If you want to know all that's right with the world, look no further than a Project UNIFY team. A unified team has both players with and without intellectual disabilities. Those with intellectual disabilities are "athletes" and those without are "partners." There are strict rules about how many athletes must be on the field/court/etc. at a time, and how many partners. Athletes get to make the goals, the baskets, the points, what-have-you. Partners are there to support the athletes in every way. It's a wonder to behold. If you're not tearing up after a Project UNIFY game, you have a stone for a heart.

I recently watched (the best show on TV) "Super Soul Sunday" with Timothy Shriver, chairman of Special Olympics. Amazing man. Amazing family legacies. Amazing inspiration: his aunt, Rosemary Kennedy. Rosemary Kennedy had a traumatic birth, which left her with an intellectual disability. It was not easy to "see," and the family kept it hidden (in shame). Rosemary functioned approximately at the age of an 8-12 year-old. At 23, her father agreed, without his wife's knowledge or consent, to a prefrontal lobotomy for Rosemary. It left her incapacitated. She lived until 86.

It's easy to go down the Her-Life-Was-Tragic road, and believe me, I've gone down it. I've also gone down the How-Could-You-Stay-Married-To-A-Man-That-Does-Not-Consult-You-Before-Such-A-Thing? road. It's not a pretty road. Or, very helpful.

Eunice Shriver took the family secret and she put it front of the country, in a time where the intellectually disabled were the most stigmatized population in the country (one could argue that they still are). The first Special Olympics were held in July 1968, in Chicago, Illinois.

There are over 4 million Special Olympic athletes in the world now.

Over 4 million people are now getting opportunities, and respect, that is long over-due.

Rosemary Kennedy, you are remembered.

Small Victories

Been awhile since I posted. Thank you to those that have noticed, and a special thank you to those that have checked in on me, to make sure everything is okay. I am okay.

I just finished reading Anne Lamott's newest book, Small Victories: Spotting Improbable Moments of Grace. I am a big Anne Lamott lover for many reasons. I love that she's a hot mess most of the time, yet writes about the biggies: grace, forgiveness, love. I dare say, I've learned more from her in her screwed-up way, than from many that pretend to have it all figured out.

Anne is 60 now, and says she knows less than ever. That resonated with me. I, too, know less than ever about almost everything.

Last night I dreamed I had a swollen left palm. I pierced it somehow, and out came fluid. In the fluid were two tiny fish - larger than microscopic, but not by much. The fish left my palm, left the small amount of fluid in which they'd lived, and left for the great beyond.

My dream then switched to me sitting at a computer, and two large cats were surrounding me, one was actually wedging herself between my chair and my back, pushing me into the computer and making it almost impossible to type. I knew that the tiny little fish that had left my palm, had turned into big, strong, determined cats.

Life is like that, isn't it? Parts of us that start off small, almost microscopic, leave us and go on to turn into other things, sometimes almost unrecognizably so. It is not up to us what happens with the stories, the events, the people, the "fish" that were part of us at one time. We have to pierce open ourselves and let them go, let them become what they will. Or won't.

That is one of the few things I still know.

Eggnog Lattes

Did you hear all the fuss about Starbucks dropping eggnog lattes from their seasonal menu? I am an eggnog latte lover, and look forward each year to the red cups, the November 1st launch, and the occasional trip into Starbucks just for that very drink.

I went in yesterday and discussed all the hoopla with the barista. She was quick to say it was never going to affect the Pacific Northwest, but what about all those other poor souls out there, without their eggnog lattes?

"It's just eggnog, people!" she said with disdain.

"Yes and no," I responded. Of course, it's "just" eggnog. But life can be stressful and challenging, and sometimes it's the "eggnog lattes" in our life that get us from Point A to Point B all in one piece.

Could I live without eggnog? Starbucks? Red cups? Absolutely. It is, after all, only eggnog.

But by the same token, there are plenty of days when adding that stop in is the best part of my day. A little love from Carrie to Carrie. A splurge, if you will. A few minutes, and dollars, as in investment in my over-all well-being.

Priceless.

Making Flowers Bloom

Gratitude is a flower

that blooms in noble souls.

Pope Francis

We all know that you can't think your way out of a rut, you have to "do" your way out. 

We all know that like attracts like, and when you're in a dark place, you're drawn to others in a dark place.

We all know that it's easy to over-generalize and globalize; that when several things are not going well in our lives, we can easily feel that nothing is going well.

We all know that the lies we tell ourselves are big and powerful and hard to break through.

One thing I just learned was that 60% of what we do is habit. The key to life, therefore, is developing good ones.

Digging for, discovering and delighting in all that is positive in our lives, is worth making into a habit.

I've been having my own go-round with life-sucks-thinking. I decided to finally write some much over-due thank-you notes. After writing three, I decided to keep going. I used up my Trader Joe's $. 99 cards, then dug out my special occasion stationary. What am I saving it for? It's to be used, and what better way to use it, than to say thank you.

It helped. It opened up the channel of gratitude that I'd silenced with despair. It didn't make the things that are hard and despair-making go away, but it brought a perspective that was missing.

We're all noble souls. We're all fighting a hard battle. We're all just doing the best we can with what we know.

Thank you.

Please join me over at Hopeful Parents. Thanks!

Top 10 Things Bugging Me at this Moment

10. People that say, "Inneresting."

9. People that cannot get the proper use of me/I (this includes almost everyone)

8. The general assumption that everyone prefers an 80+ degree day, over, say, a perfectly fine 65 degree day

7. People who don't use capital letters

6. People that insert an apostrophe before every word ending in "s"

5. People that try and sound smart by using "badly" to describe how they feel (see: bad vs. badly)

4. People that don't spell out words, and resort to using R, U, C, 2, etc...

3. Smugness

2. People easily bugged by things that don't matter

1. People that distract themselves from what they really need to focus on, by writing Top 10 lists

Helpers

Found this on my windshield after shopping at New Seasons. Actually, that's not exactly true. Found it on my windshield about five miles down the road, after shopping at New Seasons. Almost drove back to see if every car in the parking lot also had one, or if I was special.

I didn't quite know what to make of it. I am not one for evangelizing. I'm not one for trying to convert someone to another way of thinking. I am, however, one for random acts of kindness, and in the end, chalked it up to just that.

In some ways my life has never been better, and in some ways, it's never been more challenging. I remember being a new mother, and talking to my friend Ruth. Her two girls were just enough older than my two, that she held wisdom I was looking for. I'll never forget what she said, "At each stage, something gets easier, and something gets harder."

I've thought of that over and over through the years, and it's as true in life, as it is in child-raising. It's too easy to focus on what's getting harder, than what is getting easier. Sometimes it requires a step back and a wider view to see that it's even true: something has gotten easier.

Today I found myself with an unexpected free day. Wil got to help at the Snack Shack from 8-2. I didn't know what to do with myself. My mom's birthday is today, and we have plans for Tuesday, when he's in school. But, I decided to call today and offer up breakfast, or coffee, lunch or birthday cake - whatever she wanted. She was enjoying her morning of answering the phone and talking to all the friends and relatives that were calling to wish her a happy birthday, so we agreed that she'd call me later with a time. She did. When I arrived at her house to take her out for dessert, there were two of my cousins and a cousin-in-law. They were just landing in town from Washington, and were quickly stopping on the way to see their mom (my mom's sister). The timing was perfect. One might even say, no accidents.

Twice in the last week, Wil has gone to bed after me. He's turned off all the lights, brushed his teeth, and put himself to bed.

On Thursday night he rode the rooter bus to a football game, one hour away. He didn't get back until 11:00 PM.

Long shifts helping at a Snack Shack. Rooter buses. Turning lights off. Putting himself to bed. Staying up until after 11:00 PM (second time this school year). All huge.

One day after school last week, we went to Baskin Robbins for a large milkshake. Seven scoops and 2 cups of milk later, we sat down outside, because the music was way too loud inside. The time before I'd actually spoken up and asked if they could turn it down a little, and they did, but this time, I opted for the path of least resistance.

The only other woman in the shop, left her inside table, and joined us outside. There weren't even tables, just chairs in a line. "It's SO loud in there. Do you mind if I join you? I didn't even realize there were chairs outside!"

What started as a surface conversation, "Do you live around here?" quickly turned to the fact that she has turned her house into a group home, and manages the care of two adults (34 and 53) with developmental disabilities. Both of these adults came to her through unusual circumstances, she wasn't even considering running a group home, but it evolved. She felt called to do the work after one friend could no longer care for her daughter, and from that she became an advocate. She, at mid-life, knowing nothing about disabilities or social services, has become an expert. She thought she'd enjoy being an empty nester, maybe travel or pursue a hobby. Instead, she found her true calling.

There are random notes left on car windshields, then there are kindnesses that make one a living saint.

While it's true that at each stage something gets easier, and something gets harder, it is also true that there are helpers all along the way. Some small, windshield-type helpers, and some that will turn their lives upside down just to do what needs to be done.

Dual-Control

My dear friend, Candace, and I just finished walking our dogs. She has Missy, or Melissa, as Wil calls her, and I have Flicka. Flicka has been trained to walk on the left, and Missy/Melissa, on the right. We get our pace set; one that works for a big dog with a slower pace, and a littler dog with a faster one. The dogs do their thing, and we do ours, falling quickly into deep conversation, skipping entirely over the chit-chat phase. This is one of my favorite things about my time with Candace, it nourishes me at my very roots.

At the end of our walk I said to her, "Now, go into your studio and paint something beautiful."

"You go to your computer and write something that makes me laugh," she countered.

So, given that task, I will tell you about my earlier morning power struggle with Wil. Ever since I replaced my 17-year-old CR-V with a new CR-V, we've had an on-going issue over the heating and cooling system. Wil used to always ride in the back seat of my car, but when I got the new car, we made the switch to him in the passenger seat. I should have, but didn't, foresee the endless frustration on both our parts, with all the knobs and opportunities to fidget, with the new car. He is at it non-stop.

I thought the solution was inherent in the design of the car: dual-control. There is a button that says, "Sync" and when it's depressed, the driver's knob controls the whole car, but when the passenger side is adjusted by, oh, say, a passenger, then it's get "un-synced." Perfect, right? The passenger can be as warm or as cold as said passenger would like to be, while the driver can be fully independent from the whims of the passenger.

However.

Wil is not content just moving his knob back and forth a million times in the 10-minute drive to school, he wants to control mine, too. "DON'T TOUCH MY DIAL!" I shout each day. He vacillates between freezing me out and making my menopausal body sweat to death, and today, I was in no mood for it. None.

He'd already spent the better part of last night and this morning Googling a specific type of bubble gum (Extra/Classic), and giving me careful instructions as to where and when we would be purchasing this gum, for his new best friend.

"If you touch my dial ONE MORE TIME, we will NOT stop and get the gum," I said.

We all know what he did.

I did not stop.

He did not stop.

He lectured me for the remaining ride on his rights to adjust the dial anytime and anyway he sees fit, as the car is not all mine, it's his, too. Nothing is all mine.

Truer words were never spoken.

Nothing is all mine.

Not the power.

Not the control.

It's dual.

Support

I'm over at Hopeful Parents today, talking about the need for support. : )

Case Worker

I donated blood yesterday. As I was walking up to my appointment, I ran into a friend walking up to get her kids from school.

"Where are you headed?" she asked.

"I'm going up to the church to donate blood."

"Oh, good for you!" she said.

"I feel like I've been donating blood all day," I replied, bitterly.

Yesterday was one of those days where I gave and gave and gave some more. Everyone needed something and they needed it all at the same time. I put over 80 miles on my car just putting out fires.

It's been years since anyone asked me what I do for a living, but three people have asked me in the last week. More specifically, they've said the words, "Do you work?"

I need to come up with a good answer to that question.

I most certainly do work.

Do I get paid?

Not so much.

I can no longer answer that I'm a stay-at-home mom, because the follow-up question is, "How old are your children?" When I answer that they are 18 and 20, that paints an entirely different picture from the reality.

I have spent no fewer than 4 hours this week dealing with the lock on Wil's locker at school. Multiply that by the 10 million details that go into starting a new year for him, and there you have part of the story. I have other loved ones in my life that need care, too, and in one case, that level just keeps increasing.

"Tell people you're a case worker," my friend, Megan, said when I was telling her about all this, "because everyone in your life is a total case."

We had a good laugh about that and the laughter alone, helped tremendously.

As I thought about her joke, I realized it's not true, they're not all a "total case," but they are what I "do." Does that make me a "professional" caregiver? Social worker? Enabler? Personal assistant? What am I?

Today was a better day. The emergencies were kept to a minimum. In one case, we finally got some traction and got some things done that needed doing. Anytime there's forward momentum, my spirits lift. I can not handle spinning my wheels, and anything that feels like moving backwards, sends me through the roof.

I am going to be journeying with a group of women as part of a sacred circle these next nine months. I met with the leaders today to talk about the group, my background, etc. The three of us had a lively and delightful conversation about what our image of God is (or isn't). Later, Wil's former Resource Room teacher and her darling husband and child (Wil's goddaughter), came over for Beer O'Clock. We also had a scintillating conversation about what God is and isn't, in our minds, what we've come to believe, what we used to think, and where we are headed with the whole notion of "God."

you are

god

and you are not

it's good

not to get

the two confused

it is one

                        - Corita Kent

It doesn't matter what I call myself, how I answer the question of whether or not I work, or how big of a "case" people are or aren't. What matters is that I not forget that I am God and I am not. 

It is one.

Top 10 Great Things About Dropping Your iPhone in the Toilet

10. It finally answers the question, "Why do we even have a land line?"

  9. At least all that insurance money you've been paying, is finally doing something

  8. You get a five-day vacation

  7. You realize just how dependent/tethered/addicted you've become

  6. People that want to get in touch with you, have to work a little harder

  5. Most won't

  4. You have extra time on your hands because you're not playing/checking/obsessing over it

  3. You feel as though you've gone back in time

  2. You're grateful for the phone you had and realize an upgrade is unnecessary

  1. You're excited to see the FedEx truck drive up with the new one any minute

Seniors

This happy, dancing, joyful little boy, will start his senior year in high school tomorrow. He was three in these pictures, and they are certainly worth more than three thousand words. He loved those shorts. He loved those socks. He loved, loved, LOVED that Sesame Street sweatshirt, and he wore it long after it was too small (see exhibit A):

This is a picture of Wil's best bud since kindergarten, Ian. Today Ian drove to our house at 6:00 AM (sharp, don't you know), to take Wil to the Senior Sunrise Prayer Service at the top of a butte. Ian did not take Wil to the prayer service because Ian was dying to get up before 6:00 on his last day of summer, he took Wil to the prayer service because Wil wanted to go to the prayer service. Wil did not want his mother taking him (and his mother was good with that), he wanted to go with friends, just like all the other seniors. And so, Ian took both Wil and his long-time friend, Jack. That's just a tiny example of the kid Ian is. Ian would no doubt be a stellar human regardless of whether or not Wil came into his life at the young age of barely five. But it didn't hurt. 

And you all know how we feel about Claire Rose...

Couldn't you just eat her with a spoon? Claire Rose is one of those kids that was born 40-years-old. Her wisdom is unmatched. I look up to her in all ways except literally, she's a little bit of a thing. Claire Rose has had one heck of a year, but she remains rock solid and ever the wiser for the tremendous obstacles life has thrown her.

The photo above is of two of "The Boobs," a name Wil came up with for the pack of boys that have been running around together since fifth grade. Woohoo can, and should, marry any one of The Boobs. They are all the boys you bring home to mom. The Boobs are all playing varsity football together this year. For three of them, they haven't played football in years, but the team needed them and they needed to spend each and every minute they can being The Boobs until they scatter and go their separate ways a year from now.

Based on the Special Olympics Project UNIFY model, wherein a team is made-up of both typical and special athletes, there will be a religion class at high school this year that is "unified." Don't you know it, both Claire Rose and Ian are in it with Wil.

My vow to myself is to be present to this year ahead. To really be with the moments as they present themselves and then pass. I'm done crying because it will all be over soon. I know there will be no shortage of people in Wil's life once high school is over, even if there's a shortage of typical peers. 

Thank you to each and every one of the many, many, many angels in Wil's life these last 18 years. He is deeply blessed and forever changed.

And so are you.

One Donut Can Go a Long Way

Please join me over at Hopeful Parents today. Thanks!

Pat Longo

My dear friend, Terry, gave me a wonderful birthday gift. Yes, my birthday was six months ago. I just received it, because it was a phone session with Pat Longo. Pat is a gifted teacher and healer, who is booked six months out. She is perhaps most famous for being a mentor and healer for Theresa Caputo, the Long Island Medium.

Pat and I had an hour together on the phone. She diagnosed me as an empath. "Google 'Traits of an Empath'" she said. And so, I did. Yepperdo. I'm an empath.

"Did you suffer from anxiety as a child?"

"Do you walk into a room and immediately know what mood everyone is in?"

"Are you exhausted after being in a crowd?"

"Do you frequently have a sense of deja vu or synchronicities?"

"Do you dream lucidly and vividly?"

"Do you just know things?"

"Do you suffer from digestive troubles?"

"Have you ever had migraines?"

"Are you extremely affected by sounds, sights and smells?"

"Is it unbearable for you to watch violence or cruelty on TV? Do you feel as though it's happening to you?"

She suggested many strategies to help me both develop my own psychic abilities, as well as to ward off unwanted energies. "Do you know those big belts that professional wrestlers wear? I want you to visualize yourself putting one on each morning, right around your solar plexus, under the rib cage and above the navel."

She taught me an exercise called Ground and Surround, in which you visualize yourself in a bubble of pure white light. That's surround. Then you visualize white cords of light coming from your heels and tailbone, growing deep into the earth and wrapping around a tree at the very center. That's ground.

"Six seconds for the whole thing. Try it every single morning and all your physical ailments will go away."

She concluded the session by doing a long-distance healing with me. We were both silent, eyes closed, for just a few minutes. I got an intense sense of being whirled around on a merry-go-round at a park. I could see the colors spinning by and could feel the clockwise motion. I told her that when she was done. "That's exactly what I did. I very quickly did a healing that cleared everything from every part of your body. Clockwise."

So. All of you with all of your moods and energies, your sounds, your smells, your visual stimuli. You can't get to me. I've got my belt, my bubble and my cords.

Normal

We are moving right along with attaining guardianship. I say "we" but mean "I." Only one person can be named guardian, and if/when I am no longer able to perform the duties, the whole long, arduous, expensive process begins all over again.

Before a child turns 18 a parent can name a guardian in their will, and subsequent guardians, should the need ever arise. For whatever reason, one cannot do that after the "child" is 18. I will be awarded guardianship of the person I've been taking care of 24/7 for 18 years, but cannot legally name my successor.

Anyway.

I dreaded the arrival of the processor, the person that would come at an appointed time and hand Wil a stack of papers and let him know he was being officially "served." That whole thing took less than 2 minutes and the woman could not have been any kinder. Nonetheless, the emotional toll was high and began months (years) ago in anticipation of all that it represented.

The next "ordeal" I fretted about was the court visitor. We were to expect someone to come to the house and "vet" us, for lack of a better word. Wil had to be there, I had to be there, and so I decided STM had to be there, too. Again, the nicest woman came at the appointed time. She was respectful, natural, kind, and only asked Wil a handful of questions. "I don't have any more questions for you, do you have any more for me?" she asked. He indicated no, and then she asked, "Is it OK if I ask your parents some more questions?" He then went upstairs and she quietly, graciously, asked us a few more questions. She wasn't in our house more than 25 minutes.

"Technically, I'm supposed to ask a whole bunch more questions, but I thought they'd confuse and upset him, and it's clear to me that guardianship is appropriate," she said. She is a psychologist who has done this for years. "They send us out on each and every case because every once and awhile there is a need to protect someone for whom guardianship is not appropriate."

We received word that her vetting was complete, she had obtained information from our primary care doctor, our behavioral/developmental pediatrician and a few others; all in full support of me being Wil's legal guardian.

It's a weird thing to feel like you "won," something that is so obvious, so necessary, so matter-of-fact. It's a weird thing to celebrate that your child is so disabled that everyone can see he is so disabled. It's a weird thing to be glad you "get" to keep doing what you've always been doing.

And yet, I have won.

And yet, I am celebrating.

And yet, I am glad.

There is a peace prevailing that has not been around for at least a full year. Now I am "this" close to obtaining guardianship. I have a stack of documents 8" high that I will take to my Social Security appointment on Tuesday. Included in the stack is a letter from Wil's behavioral/developmental pediatrician explaining her recommendation that I not take him to his own appointment. I have been filled with angst over that damn appointment for months, but now that it's five days away, I'm very calm.

It's so true that the fear of it, is way, way, way worse than the reality of it. Maybe it's just the way grief works, another layer is peeled back and you are exposed and vulnerable, and then you motor through until it's all swept into the cog of your normal. Not everyone's normal, but yours. Your different, but very much OK normal. Your normal that is normal if you stop comparing yourself, your child, your life to anyone and everyone else's. Your normal that is not going anywhere, so you might as well embrace it and get on with it. Your normal that is what it is: blessed.

Soooooo Good Looking

Just me, or do you remember the "Seinfeld" episode where Jerry suggests that instead of saying, "God bless you," when someone sneezes, you should say, "You're sooooo good looking!"?

Just in case you need a reminder:



I thought of that the other day when I had a little follow-up chat with Wil in the car. We were following up after I had a meeting with someone, and he wanted to know how the meeting had gone. "It went great. You know, Bill thinks you're it on a stick."

"Does he think I'm good looking?" he asked, dead pan.

"Well, he said a lot of nice things about you, but no, he didn't specifically mention that he thought you were good looking," I answered.

"I do have good looks," he said, "don't laugh."

I didn't laugh.

Not until he got out of the car.

What to Give the Kid Who Wants for Nothing

The invitation clearly stated: "No gifts, YOU are the gift, and we want to thank you." We meant that. Yet, many kindly, generous souls felt like bringing a gift to Wil's 18th birthday party, anyway.

When Grandma asked him what he'd like for his birthday he replied, "Dial hand soap. The foaming kind."

When his friend Cameron asked he said, "How about a couple bucks. Let's say $2.25."

When Kathleen asked he said, "I like when you give me dollars for the ice cream truck." She gives him one-per-year, so was thinking 18 this time. "I'm thinking... maybe 40?"

When my mom asked he said, "Fancy socks."

The guests got creative. The guests got inside his head. The guests know him well. Here's a sampling of some of the great gifts he received, and is already enjoying:

* Bi-Mart gift card
* 7-Eleven gift cards
* Frozen yogurt gift cards
*  Baskin Robbins gift cards
*  Scratch-It lottery ticket
* Fancy socks
* Soap
* Clothes he can wear to church
* Tie-dye shirts
* Dollar bills

One older couple from our church wrote in their card, "We'd like for you to select a movie and come over to our house to watch it with us." I thought that was super sweet and wonderful. He'll never sit for a full-length movie, but if they're up for endless repeats of "Sam and Cat," "Drake and Josh," or "iCarly," then he's all in.

But truly, the real gifts are the villagers themselves, those invested, those with eyes, ears and hearts open to watch out for him, care for him, help guide and direct him.

And to all of them and all of you, we bow our heads with deepest gratitude.

A Natural

I'm over at Hopeful Parents today. Thanks for clicking over!

It's All a Sham

So, remember me telling you that Don Wilson took off with the pillow shams while I was away? Remember STM saying there were only two people that could have taken them, Wil or Don Wilson? Well, that's not actually what happened. I decided the bed needed changing again, so I stripped it down to nothing. After taking off a set of pillow cases, I noticed something weird: there was still a set on. There were the shams. STM had not ever taken them off in the first place, he'd "stripped" the bed, washed, dried and put back on, placing the second set right on top of the dirty shams. "How is it possible one does not notice shams on a pillow?" you might be asking yourself? Well, I asked myself the very same question. The answer is one of the following:

A) He's a guy
B) He's virtually blind, even with glasses
C) He's performed this activity so few times in his life, he's still a beginner
D) All of the above

I'm not sure what the life lesson is in all this, but I think it's one of the following:

A) Just be grateful STM tried, and don't ask for perfection
B) If you want something done right, do it yourself
C) What you're looking for was never lost in the first place
D) Who even thought of the word "sham" and why did we think they were such a good idea?
E) All of the above

Lately, I've been driving myself 1000% (private joke) crazy analyzing myself to death. The effort to awaken is so so damn exhausting, well, I just want to go back to sleep.

I've been working with the what-you-seek-is-right-in-front-of-you idea. Could it be true that often we already have what we need and want, but what we don't have, is the ability to see it? Appreciate it? Get down on our knees and be grateful for having it? I believe I'm guilty of that. They say you'd give anything to have what you have.

Deep thoughts for the day:

A) What is a "sham" that I'm spending way too much time looking for?
B) What is not a sham, that I'm not even bringing into my deeper awareness?
C) What appears to be a sham, but is actually real?
D) What is real, but appears to be a sham?
E) Where can I get my hands on a good IPA?

Top 10 Ways to Throw a Stress-Free Party

10. Have it catered
9. Don't have it inside your house
8. Let the guest-of-honor be in charge of the guest list
7. Allow that there will be some "random" people, as a result
6. Believe there are no accidents
5. Don't freak when the day that was promised to be hot and dry, turns out wet, with thunderstorms
4. Believe that there are no accidents
3. When choosing your inner circle of friends, make sure that their love language is service - when they offer to help, let them
2. Have a beer and enjoy yourself
1. Believe there are no accidents, and the universe, and your village, always provides