Everyone dies, it isn't a matter of when, it's a matter of how. Whether you lived your life to it's fullest without regret or if you bowed in the face of your own existence arrogantly thinking it would be forever. Well, it is forever.
We never know when our time will come but it's the life lived that gets counted. It is judged by the good you have left behind. Your legacy. What will you leave? In whose mind will you pass on memories of a life with stories that will continue to be told? What good will come from you walking this earth among the rest of us? What lessons have you left us with? On whose heart will you leave your footprint? Who will remember you...
While we can only be who we are and give what we can at the time, we can always manage to leave this life with a smile... maybe even a tiny grin.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
The best is yet to come.
Driving home from downtown yesterday I realized something - unlike most of my friends or relatives, I still have soo many firsts ahead of me. Now, forgive me if this whole post is like a run-on sentence and blabbering session but I'm writing it as it comes...
A few posts ago I boasted giving the gift of being alone to me. Truth be known I wasn't too thrilled about it. But, as they say, fake it until you make it. Well, here I am. I am alone and it feels great. I know that I will have at least one more first kiss in my lifetime and that mystery is enough to get me through any dreadful wait in the inevitable grocery store line behind a woman who is trying to cash coupons and the clerk is officially "In training" - at least that's what her name tag tells me. I know that I'll at least once see someone's eyes from across a crowded room *insert gag sound here* and feel those butterflies in my tummy. I know that I will feel the overwhelming rush of passion. I know I will crave him... whoever he is.
You know, for the first time I'm not in a rush to find him. According to a wise friend of mine, we'll call her Shannon, he's getting ready for me as I am for him and when the time is right the universe will make it happen. Fate. Destiny. There's really something to be said for a process you've believed in that has never worked yet you continue to have faith, blindly. I still believe that this time, it is different. Don't we all?
Think of all the firsts that are coming. The first hand holding. The first time. Exploring someone soo deeply, knowing how he takes his coffee, giggling together and knowing inside jokes that no one else understands, cooking together. Discovering all of the big and little things that make me, me, him, him and we, we.
In the meantime, I am still sans hot pink sheets and lovin' every minute of it. After all, the best is yet to come ... but it’s also right here and right now.
A few posts ago I boasted giving the gift of being alone to me. Truth be known I wasn't too thrilled about it. But, as they say, fake it until you make it. Well, here I am. I am alone and it feels great. I know that I will have at least one more first kiss in my lifetime and that mystery is enough to get me through any dreadful wait in the inevitable grocery store line behind a woman who is trying to cash coupons and the clerk is officially "In training" - at least that's what her name tag tells me. I know that I'll at least once see someone's eyes from across a crowded room *insert gag sound here* and feel those butterflies in my tummy. I know that I will feel the overwhelming rush of passion. I know I will crave him... whoever he is.
You know, for the first time I'm not in a rush to find him. According to a wise friend of mine, we'll call her Shannon, he's getting ready for me as I am for him and when the time is right the universe will make it happen. Fate. Destiny. There's really something to be said for a process you've believed in that has never worked yet you continue to have faith, blindly. I still believe that this time, it is different. Don't we all?
Think of all the firsts that are coming. The first hand holding. The first time. Exploring someone soo deeply, knowing how he takes his coffee, giggling together and knowing inside jokes that no one else understands, cooking together. Discovering all of the big and little things that make me, me, him, him and we, we.
In the meantime, I am still sans hot pink sheets and lovin' every minute of it. After all, the best is yet to come ... but it’s also right here and right now.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
The value of good judgment...
...and when I could have used it.
When is it time to stop eating after a Coke, handfuls of Fritos, a 14oz rib steak, roasted potatoes, Greek salad. Maybe after the ice cream covered in fruit and heaping spoonfuls of whipped cream? Nowhere in your meal should the word 'cream' appear twice. I feel sick.
When to remove yourself from situations and conversations that are a) none of your business and b) soo negative that if you had a gauge it would be off the charts. Always, always, always take the high road uttering curse words and gesturing violently with your arms. Mature.
When to keep your mouth shut about dropping your cob of corn on the ground and not sounding like a 4 year old who just dropped her lollipop in the sand. Wait, sidebar: I think corn IS the adult lollipop - although the traditional ways to enjoy each of them are dramatically different. Yummy.
When to say goodbye and know that it truly is the best decision for you. The other person may not appreciate what you have done but in time they will realize that you could have ripped their heart out one painful piece at a time and instead you walked away. I could never be one of those wives with a whipped husband. The whole thing just makes me feel icky. Icky.
When to let go and keep faith in the choices you made all the while knowing you can never go back. There's a certain finality to that one. Excruciating.
Confession... most times, I ain't got it. Shocker.
When is it time to stop eating after a Coke, handfuls of Fritos, a 14oz rib steak, roasted potatoes, Greek salad. Maybe after the ice cream covered in fruit and heaping spoonfuls of whipped cream? Nowhere in your meal should the word 'cream' appear twice. I feel sick.
When to remove yourself from situations and conversations that are a) none of your business and b) soo negative that if you had a gauge it would be off the charts. Always, always, always take the high road uttering curse words and gesturing violently with your arms. Mature.
When to keep your mouth shut about dropping your cob of corn on the ground and not sounding like a 4 year old who just dropped her lollipop in the sand. Wait, sidebar: I think corn IS the adult lollipop - although the traditional ways to enjoy each of them are dramatically different. Yummy.
When to say goodbye and know that it truly is the best decision for you. The other person may not appreciate what you have done but in time they will realize that you could have ripped their heart out one painful piece at a time and instead you walked away. I could never be one of those wives with a whipped husband. The whole thing just makes me feel icky. Icky.
When to let go and keep faith in the choices you made all the while knowing you can never go back. There's a certain finality to that one. Excruciating.
Confession... most times, I ain't got it. Shocker.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Dude, where's my castle?!
This week I will be spending the anniversary of my birth touring a castle that was built for Louise... the love of George Boldt's life.
At the turn-of-the-century, George C. Boldt, millionaire proprietor of the world famous Waldorf Astoria Hotel in New York City, set out to build a full size Rhineland Castle in Alexandria Bay, on Picturesque Heart Island. The grandiose structure was to be a display of his love for his wife, Louise.
Beginning in 1900, Boldt's family shared four glorious summers on the island in the Alster Tower while 300 workers including stonemasons, carpenters, and artists fashioned the six story, 120 room castle, complete with tunnels, a powerhouse, Italian gardens, a draw bridge, and a dove cote. Not a single detail or expense was spared.
In 1904, tragedy struck. Boldt telegraphed the island and commanded the workers to immediately "stop all construction." Louise had died suddenly. A broken hearted Boldt could not imagine his dream castle without his beloved. Boldt never returned to the island, leaving behind the structure as a monument of his love.
http://www.boldtcastle.com/history.html
Reading this love story, though tragic, leaves me with one thought. What happened to the days of castle-building, courting, chivalry, knight in shining armour, fight to the death for his lady's honour? The F-word, Feminism, in a healthy dose, I believe still leaves room for the romance of those days, of course without horses, swords, and powder wigs.
A friend of mine confessed that he feels with women being independent (which is something he finds very attractive) leaves a line that is blurred and men often don't know their place - before you hang me, those were his words not mine - and that opening a door for some women could be viewed as thoughtful whereas others would take it as an attack on their equality. Phooey!, I say. If someone wants to open my door, drape their jacket over my shoulders on a cool night, bring me flowers for no reason at all, that is ok with me. Those gestures, small or grandiose, do not and will never make me the weaker sex.
Now, building a castle is very sweet but for my needs it is completely unnecessary. I would rather a castle built on respect, love, friendship and laughter. I think that recipe makes a quite satisfying foundation if not the entire structure.
So on that note, I wait. I wait for my castle while I secure my own foundation in hopes of someday sharing it.
At the turn-of-the-century, George C. Boldt, millionaire proprietor of the world famous Waldorf Astoria Hotel in New York City, set out to build a full size Rhineland Castle in Alexandria Bay, on Picturesque Heart Island. The grandiose structure was to be a display of his love for his wife, Louise.
Beginning in 1900, Boldt's family shared four glorious summers on the island in the Alster Tower while 300 workers including stonemasons, carpenters, and artists fashioned the six story, 120 room castle, complete with tunnels, a powerhouse, Italian gardens, a draw bridge, and a dove cote. Not a single detail or expense was spared.
In 1904, tragedy struck. Boldt telegraphed the island and commanded the workers to immediately "stop all construction." Louise had died suddenly. A broken hearted Boldt could not imagine his dream castle without his beloved. Boldt never returned to the island, leaving behind the structure as a monument of his love.
http://www.boldtcastle.com/history.html
Reading this love story, though tragic, leaves me with one thought. What happened to the days of castle-building, courting, chivalry, knight in shining armour, fight to the death for his lady's honour? The F-word, Feminism, in a healthy dose, I believe still leaves room for the romance of those days, of course without horses, swords, and powder wigs.
A friend of mine confessed that he feels with women being independent (which is something he finds very attractive) leaves a line that is blurred and men often don't know their place - before you hang me, those were his words not mine - and that opening a door for some women could be viewed as thoughtful whereas others would take it as an attack on their equality. Phooey!, I say. If someone wants to open my door, drape their jacket over my shoulders on a cool night, bring me flowers for no reason at all, that is ok with me. Those gestures, small or grandiose, do not and will never make me the weaker sex.
Now, building a castle is very sweet but for my needs it is completely unnecessary. I would rather a castle built on respect, love, friendship and laughter. I think that recipe makes a quite satisfying foundation if not the entire structure.
So on that note, I wait. I wait for my castle while I secure my own foundation in hopes of someday sharing it.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Dance Like No One is Watching
Reading a friends blog made me giggle, made me sad, and struck me as something I should be writing. Telling a story of a 40-something-balding-out-of-shape guy dancing by his lonesome self trying to get it on with the girls on the dance floor... man, sometimes I feel like that guy. Desperately trying to reach out, wondering if anyone sees me.
I am becoming the invisible woman. Oh, wait scratch that - I'm the Woman Only Seen By 40-something-balding-out-of-shape guys. I remember a mature person who labeled herself as the Invisible Woman. She shared her absolutely depressing views on how we, the female species, age and now I will share this ill-fated wisdom with you.
In our late teens we are often seen as young women with hard bodies, who knew everything, and dated boys with tattoos, piercings, and a motorcycle. We were the envy of the 30 somethings who wished they could do it all again, sans sagging asses and adult acne. Then came our twenties when were educated, pretending to like martinis, and claiming we knew the true meaning of "oh god, remember when...??", Stars on 45, and dreaming of being taken to Funkytown in our nighties. Through it all we were still gawked at, honked at, whistled at, poked, groped, and hit on.
Now comes our actual thirties when less heads turn as we walk by. We're considered to be mothers, career-women with families, grocery bag touting mommies who discuss preschool mishaps, women who are slowly becoming invisible. Sidebar: what happens when you're not actually one of these?
Forties... yeah, won't even go there. I'm not in that stage of life and would hate the wrath of comments that may follow from actual 40 year olds who may not appreciate this second-hand wisdom. I won't even delve into the fifty+ market, you guys get the idea.
The Invisible Woman - someone in their twenties could never understand what it feels like when it starts to happen. When you only get the attention from guys who wear tuques in the bar, have four teeth and smell like cabbage while they're offering to buy you a drink with their pocket full of toonies! What happened to that young virile totally make my knees weak hottie that used to take me in by the eye full? Hmph...
So, thinking about it now, would it be so bad to Dance Like No One Is Watching? At least someone is lookin'... even if it's just to point and laugh at your jabbing-the-air dance moves.
I am becoming the invisible woman. Oh, wait scratch that - I'm the Woman Only Seen By 40-something-balding-out-of-shape guys. I remember a mature person who labeled herself as the Invisible Woman. She shared her absolutely depressing views on how we, the female species, age and now I will share this ill-fated wisdom with you.
In our late teens we are often seen as young women with hard bodies, who knew everything, and dated boys with tattoos, piercings, and a motorcycle. We were the envy of the 30 somethings who wished they could do it all again, sans sagging asses and adult acne. Then came our twenties when were educated, pretending to like martinis, and claiming we knew the true meaning of "oh god, remember when...??", Stars on 45, and dreaming of being taken to Funkytown in our nighties. Through it all we were still gawked at, honked at, whistled at, poked, groped, and hit on.
Now comes our actual thirties when less heads turn as we walk by. We're considered to be mothers, career-women with families, grocery bag touting mommies who discuss preschool mishaps, women who are slowly becoming invisible. Sidebar: what happens when you're not actually one of these?
Forties... yeah, won't even go there. I'm not in that stage of life and would hate the wrath of comments that may follow from actual 40 year olds who may not appreciate this second-hand wisdom. I won't even delve into the fifty+ market, you guys get the idea.
The Invisible Woman - someone in their twenties could never understand what it feels like when it starts to happen. When you only get the attention from guys who wear tuques in the bar, have four teeth and smell like cabbage while they're offering to buy you a drink with their pocket full of toonies! What happened to that young virile totally make my knees weak hottie that used to take me in by the eye full? Hmph...
So, thinking about it now, would it be so bad to Dance Like No One Is Watching? At least someone is lookin'... even if it's just to point and laugh at your jabbing-the-air dance moves.
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