They called her Deanie.

I have spent a few moments this week thinking about my mom.  My mom was a silly, funny, quirky person.  She listened to Tennessee Ernie Ford, Elvis and Patsy Cline.  She laughed easily and she got fiery mad.  

I was thinking about my mom because, as is often the case, I realized I was in the midst of doing something just as she did.  Sometimes it is something small.  The way I pat my hair, for example.  I realize while I am doing it that it is something she did and even if I concentrate, I can’t seem to not do it.  If I am successful at NOT patting my hair, 30 seconds after I celebrate my will and control, I am patting my darn hair. 

My mom was a riot.  She would play the stereo loud, sing along and dance.  She was usually humming, and would move her little feet around, even while doing the dishes.    When Mom was a young girl, high school aged, she and her best friend, Ruthie, would go out dancing.  They picked their dates not on who they liked but who they knew would dance.  Dancing was big.  Music was big.  

I am pretty sure I get my spunk from my little Irish mother, and her mother before her.  Thanks, Mom.  I’ve needed my spunk every now and then!  

You know you make me wanna...

Don’t you just love hearing good news about someone you know? Or better yet, good news about one of their children? I do.  I really get excited when a child of a friend or relative achieves something beyond what they may have ever imagined for themselves.  

I am delighted with good news, generally.  I would guess that can be said about everyone.  I mean, who would live for bad news? It comes, but its not like we delight in it.  While I do know people who live for drama, I can’t say I know anyone that relishes in bad news. 

I’ve had some folks recently receive a bit of both.  Friends with good news about their kids accomplishments or desires.  Friends with a bit of sad or “bad” news. Someone said “Things are not always what they seem” to me this week and that is something I certainly don’t need to hear again.  Breaks my heart every time.  

 When someone comes to me with some really great news, I’m so excited.  I may even spread it around.  Is it gossip if its good stuff or only gossip if its bad stuff?  I am not someone (spoiler alert!) that gets overly demonstrative about much, but, good news? Shoot, I’m all over it.  We get so much bad news these days ~ I don’t know if we receive less good news but we sure seem to have gotten a lot of bad news. 

So, what’s your good news this week? Share it with others.  Go ahead, brag on your kid.  If people seem bored by it, call me.   New job? Awesome!  New plan? Excellent!   New direction? Yay, you!  Post it here in the comments section. I promise to rejoice with you.  I will clap.  I will shout.  I may even do the hokey pokey, as that’s what its all about! 

Shift happens.

Do you remember a few years ago when all the rage was to get your “colors” done?  Some swatches and fabric squares, paint chips and a new way to find “you”.  I never really got in to my “colors” but someone made a boat load of money off the program. 

About two years ago, maybe three, I decided to take a moratorium from buying clothes.  I had a closet full of things that I rarely wore, and it became even more rare when I began working from home.  I said “I am not going to buy anything new for one year”.  I did pretty well at that, too.  Next step was to start weeding things out.  Things I probably didn’t really like in the first place, but, was a good deal or fit, or worked well for “the office”.   So out went the odd color thing, the skirt that needed hemming, the shirt that never fit quite right.  Yes, even things with tags still on them.  Someone needed these things more than I did and a big bag of clothes went to Goodwill. 

My next phase was all the things I sort of liked, but, knew in my heart it was outdated.  Either the color was wrong, the length was wrong, the flare of the leg, whatever.  If an event happened that I might need this or that, I was probably going to need a new this or that because enough time has passed that what I already owned just wasn’t going to work.  Who hasn’t been somewhere and seen some little old lady in last decade’s dress? Charming at 80, even endearing at 70, but, I’m not there yet.   I might even have loved it once, but, its time had come and gone, at least for me.  This included things that no longer fit...I have had a body change, shall we say.  Shift happens. 

My closet began looking pretty bare, and pretty monotone.  Have lots of black, lots of red and an occasional cream or ivory thing mixed in.  My coloring has changed somewhat over the years, too.  My hair, once darkish and reddish, is now most definitely “salt” with a dash of pepper.  Always fair, its easy to look washed out with this new palette around my face and maybe all the black is a bit too harsh.   I think I am ready for some new threads. 

I’m looking forward to it.  I decided I was going to stick with what I love, which is red.  Red.  But, I may have to soften that up a bit with a pinker tone, more cherry than tomato.  More water color than crayon, if you know what I mean.   I’m introducing some gray, keeping the ivory and black and adding turquoise, which I have read is a color that is flattering to almost everyone, with rose being the next.  I want to be able to go in to my closet and pick any two or three things to wear together.  I don’t need a lot, and I’ve proven that to myself over the last two years.  

Now, about my shoes....

This is TRUE.

What to me is true is the honest to goodness love families hold in their center.  I have always been an observer and one of the things I observe is love being exchanged between people.  Its never bigger than it is within a circle of a family.  

This week I  observed love and pride, as one young woman, whom I adore, stepped bravely into a public arena and offered to be a servant.  I greatly admire people who are willing to expose themselves to open inspection through government service.  I only wish there were more qualified, honest and capable people who do.  Maybe if we stopped inspecting them, they would.  Then again, it is through inspection that flaws are found.  However,  when one steps forward and is shining, we should all pay attention.   As this lovely young person stepped forward, I watched the quiet love of a man for his daughter and the prideful love of a mother for her child.  It was beauty, for sure. 

I also felt love, watched love, and loved in return, in a gathering of family.  I loved watching my nephew, great, lovely man that he is, love his sister’s baby as if he were one of his own.    I also loved watching my great-nephews, his son’s, love this new cousin.  I love when men act like boys and I love when boys act like toddlers!   I also love seeing the thread of a family weave through and around its members, tightly knitting it together.  I love the men in my family, I’ve decided, for reasons beyond their manliness and strength.  I am fortunate to be surrounded by good men with open hearts, and the women who love them, raised them and mother them now.  

I am grateful for the scenes that unfold before me, every day, to observe.  I know I sit back and watch, but to me, its better than any movie I’ve ever seen, any novel I’ve ever read.  Families being families, and love being love. 

Not this girl, not this time.

I am sitting in my office looking out at this beautiful winter wonderland.  I’ve looked at the pictures in the electronic editions of newspapers and magazines, my friend’s posts.  It’s snowy. 

I am not impressed this time.  I really am not.  For some reason this massive storm just bored me.  I didn’t have anywhere to go so it wasn’t keeping me from traveling or visiting.  It seems like the snow is deep and the wind is howling, but I couldn’t begin to describe it.  It is doing what it is suppose to do to keep me interested but well, I’ve got other things, you know? I’m not irritated at this snow that keeps me in my little house and just because I am not going to defy it, doesn’t mean I am it’s servant. 

Husband came in from shoveling and clearing paths for various things and wanted to talk about it.  It’s so cold he tells me.  It’s so deep.  It’s so white and well, I don’t care.  It’s an inconvenience to me, to be sure, as I do have some things to attend to outside of this house but, they will wait. 

I wish this were contentment but I don’t think it is.  I don’t think its depression as it is not at all familiar.  I am not feeling anxious or stressed or even the slightest bit of “cabin fever”. 

A few years ago, a book came out on dating and relationships.  The title is “He’s Just Not That Into You” and it was all the rage.  I think that’s it.  I’m just not that into you, storm. It’s not you, it’s me. I give you respect but no bow, no curtsy...no decline of the head.  No waiting for your call and I’m not going to call you because you see,  I am just not that into you.   Do us both a favor and move along, storm.