Don’t even approach my body unless you’ve first been between my ears. I’m 48, not 18.
True love isn’t roses and chocolate. It’s starting my car on a winter’s morning or bringing home pizza on a Friday night.
Love is buying me the Sunday paper on Saturday so I don’t have to go outside on a cold morning.
Love means being able to continue to believe.
I’ve seen a number of movies in the past month or so, three of which have been based upon books. American Sniper is the only one in which I felt the movie didn’t accurately portray the author’s experiences with real accuracy.
I admire Chris Kyle’s patriotism and willingness to sacrifice his life for his country, but the violence he exhibited away from the battlefield made me uncomfortable. It also left me wondering if such an innate streak of violence is what makes a soldier so successful.
The scenes depicting the gun battles were horrifying. I struggle to believe that after all of the supposed evolution of our species we have no other way to resolve conflict.
I have no problem whatsoever with Chris’ description of his enemy as being “savage.” Anybody who is willing to sacrifice a child’s life to harm another can only be described as such.
I am incapable of doing anything other than closing eyes when I am confronted with images of torture and physical aggression. It isn’t that I don’t want to know about it, I simply can’t watch it without feeling physically ill.
The fact that there are (were) people like Chris Kyle who have such a powerful patriotism that it causes them to feel drawn to helping to eliminate threats to our country and citizens is remarkable to me. Undoubtedly, he was a hero.
The choice between country, God and family, for some, isn’t easy. I admire the commitment Chris Kyle and other members of our armed forces made to our country and wish it had been rewarded with appropriate post-active duty attention and care.
It doesn’t matter how many “kills” he had in battle. His life was really more about taking care of people (his brother, his family, other soldiers) than it ever was about taking people out. RIP, Chris Kyle.
My run Sunday came at a price – more specifically, the knee of my oldest running tights and a little skin on both my palm and my knee. Jeter and I had gotten a later start at the golf course than I had hoped, and by the time we completed the back nine and were midway through the front nine, it was fairly dark. Or maybe unfairly dark when it came to that patch of ice which did not reveal itself until my foot landed on it. Oops.
As my foot led, my body went up in the air, ultimately smacking to the ground on hip, hand and knee. Ouch. It hurt. I like to think that overall, I didn’t go down as terribly as I might have. I mean, I was a gymnast years ago and there’s muscle memory when it comes to falling, isn’t there? On the cold ground I did a quick inventory and, comfortable with my self-assessment, I got back up. Because that is what you do, isn’t it?
Once I regained my feet, I continued on the path with my thoughts shifting from where they had been previously. Before my slip, I had been reflecting about how much I loved exercising outdoors, year round. Even when I lose my footing and completely wipe out, fresh air still trumps the stale air and static view of a gym.
Now I thought back to when my children were toddlers and young boys and the frequency with which they seemed to fall down. It was remarkable. The slightest discrepancy in flooring, the tiniest drops of moisture, a tree root or dip in the earth would end with the same result – child on the ground. It was almost predictable in its capriciousness.
As we age, we don’t expect to end up on the ground, do we? Indulgence and illness aside, we remain consistently on our feet. Falling down is a part of life, though. Maybe the occasional reminder of that truth is something we all need.
Take 1 – Tina Fey and Amy Poehler are fearless. The collective gasp when they ran their Bill Cosby bit was definitely an indication that they caused some discomfort in the audience. Unlike the rest of Hollywood, Tina and Amy weren’t letting Cosby get away with anything.
Take 2 – Nothing worked harder during last night’s broadcast than the yards of double-stick tape employed by so many of the women to prevent nip slip. Many of last night’s gowns gave new meaning to the phrase Golden Globes…
Take 3 – Amy Adams in her incredibly awkward and inarticulate acceptance speech did nothing to endear herself to me – until she stopped speaking, that is. I don’t know what it is about her, but I just can’t stand her.
Many years ago a friend in the midst of the disintegration of her marriage, told me she didn’t want to be responsible for her husband’s happiness. Since that time, I’ve learned what that felt like and I’ve heard other women say the same thing, although not always using the same words. Who are you responsible for making happy?
I’ve learned that I can contribute to someone’s happiness. I may on occasion even inspire another’s happiness. But, when it comes to making someone happy, I don’t think it is possible for me to make it so. The only person I have the ability to make happy is myself.
I may at times be self-indulgent, but I don’t believe I can accurately be described as selfish. When I think about making myself happy, it isn’t at another’s expense. In fact, if I don’t take the time to ensure my own pleasure with life, the only one who pays is me.
So? What made me happy today? A morning yoga class (more about that tomorrow), errands and chores, a long walk with my celebrity dog,* watching a hawk swoop across the road in front of me, cooking some simple and delicious food and the anticipation of a half-time bubble bath.
What did you do today to make yourself happy?
*Did you see Jeter in Thursday’s Times Union? He’s been recognized each day since his photo was published.
The day we first met Jeter
The youngest of my “boys” recently celebrated his first birthday and, while the occasion was a happy one to mark, I also noted the date with a tinge of sadness. That year certainly went quickly. When I thought about the number of years we got to love Cassidy (12.5) and started doing simple math in my head, I got a bit melancholy considering how few more years we can expect Jeter to be our baby. It simply doesn’t feel like nearly enough.
I don’t dwell on the lack of how much time remains, but I do find myself conscious of it. I’ve been thinking a lot about time recently. The older I get, the more I value it. What to do with my time and who to spend it with are two of the most important decisions I make each day. What once seemed infinite has definitely evolved into being one of life’s most precious gifts. It’s true, time is a present and I’ve vowed to become even more discriminating about how I use it.
When it comes to time, how long are you willing to invest in someone? What length of time would you give a person to show you their very best? A week? A year? Or, are you of the mindset that we’re all works in progress and it is acceptable to wait forever? It’s a tough call, one we each have to make (and live with) ourselves.
How do we ever know if we’ve done the right thing(s) with our time? As my oldest son gets ready to make decisions about where to continue to his education and to leave home, I wonder how the time of our living under the same roof went by so remarkably fast. Is he ready? Did his father and I sufficiently prepare him for what comes next? Was our time together well spent?
Is there a way to ever truly know? Or, maybe a means to just slow down the clock?
- To run for my own pleasure without measure.
- To get out once or twice a month for the sole purpose of being social without the crutch of working.
- To eat quality food and drink copious amounts of water.
- To strive to get Jeter out and active as much as possible.
- To live an honest life.
- To both smile and cry more often.
- To keep practicing yoga.
- To read more “classics” to expand my cultural knowledge.
- To embrace the moment as frequently as possible.
- To remain cognizant of motion. Things may not always seem to move forward, but when they start moving backwards it probably is time to let go.
- To not settle for less than I want – or deserve.
- To love fiercely and tenderly.
- To learn more handy woman skills.
- To continue recording my journey.
- To understand and accept that what I want may not be possible, but what I have is pretty damn remarkable.
It’s a new year. Make it happy.