Some of my fondest childhood memories involved my favorite Uncle Herbert. He was responsible for teaching me to read even before I was in kindergarten, teaching me to draw, and making me want to do my best.
My fondest childhood memories of Christmas morning involved “coffee milk,” presents and swearing. It’s usually what got me out of bed on Christmas morning. I wasn’t like a normal kid who got up at 3 in the morning to stake out the tree waiting for Santa to arrive, hoping to catch him in the act (or my parents in a huge coverup). Nope, I stayed in bed until I heard the cussing and smelled the coffee.
I cannot believe it’s been a year. I couldn’t blog on the anniversary. It hit me pretty hard. I spent the day remembering, hour by hour reliving everything. My brain wouldn’t let me NOT do that. Everyone around me is planning Christmas and I am trying to be cheerful about it all. We never decorated the house for Christmas — I guess not having kids spared us of that obligation. But we always treated ourselves to one spectacular “house present” every year, ranging from airline tickets for a planned Las Vegas trip to a new HD TV and everything in between. Last year, we had planned to treat ourselves to a fine steak dinner at Morton’s Steakhouse. I had even printed out the menus and Robo had already begun fantasizing about his dinner. But that never happened. And I got caught up in the funeral arrangements and my own hospitalization at the same time — so that the holidays last year were just a big blur. This year I have more time to brood about it, and that’s exactly what I’ve done. Not consciously, you understand. but I just cannot help it.
Anyone who knows me well knows that I cry at the drop of a hat. My favorite uncle told me when I was just a little girl that the world would be an unhappy place for someone who wore their heart on their sleeve. He was right, I guess.
There are all kind of tears, cried for all kinds of reasons. There have been times I’ve laughed so hard that I’ve cried. I cry when I hear a sad song or see a sad movie. When I see or read something that kills my soul, like animal abuse and other inhumanities that humans visit on themselves and other creatures. I cry when I am frustrated with something or if something disappoints me (read: If I don’t get my way about something I’ve counted on).
Someone asked me a question the other day that kind of pissed me off and certainly offended me. She asked me when I was going to start “dating.” Dating? Good grief. The answer is a resounding NEVER. Why? I’ll tell you why. I spent the better part of my adult …
Found a cool typing competition online via Twitter buddy @VPrelovac, here. So far, I’m ahead of everyone else. But does everyone else spend at least 8 full hours a day typing? Unfair advantage?