~ On A Clear Day . . . .

....you can't always see forever. The picture on the bottom is how I usually see the mountains when I look out my back door ~ on a beautiful clear day the mountains are gorgeous and majestic. There's rarely a cloud in the sky and even more rarely does anything block this spectacular view.

However, this is wild fire season and last week, there were a total of 4 major wild fires burning in the state of California. The picture on the top is my view when the wild fires are burning. We eventually get the smoke, making it very hazy outside. So hazy, that you can barely make out even the outline of the mountains. We can actually smell the smoke in the air, but I'm sure it's not nearly as strong as it is where the fires actually are.

Personally, I prefer the picture on the left ~ beautiful and clear. They're even more beautiful when the first snow comes and the tops are blanketed in white. If I stand out on the patio long enough, I can almost smell that crisp fall air, almost feel the chill from that new blanket of snow.

Close enough for me to enjoy the beauty of it but just far enough away that I don't have to deal with the bone chilling cold.

Perfect!

~ Take Too Many Pictures

If I had just one piece of advice to give to my kids, my nieces and my nephews, and all the other kids in my life, it would be this . . . .

“As we grow up, we learn that even the one person that wasn’t supposed to ever let us down, probably will. You’ll have your heart broken and you’ll break others’ hearts. You’ll fight with your best friend or maybe even fall in love with them, and you’ll cry because time is flying by. So take too many pictures, laugh too much, forgive freely, and love like you’ve never been hurt. Life comes with no guarantees, no time outs, no second chances. you just have to live life to the fullest, tell someone what they mean to you and tell someone off, speak out, dance in the pouring rain, hold someone’s hand, comfort a friend, fall asleep watching the sun come up, stay up late, be a flirt, and smile until your face hurts. Don’t be afraid to take chances or fall in love and most of all, live in the moment because every second you spend angry or upset is a second of happiness you can never get back.”

~ unknown

~ And It Tasted Like Sawdust

Every now and then I run across something that throws me back to the days of my childhood. The other day I was looking at a site that I enjoy browsing through and came across this picture of the Easy Bake Oven. God, I think this was one of my most favorite toys when I was younger. It was like magic ~ a little light bulb in the belly of this play oven could magically turn watery batter into something totally inedible.

I’m fairly certain the one I had looked just like this blue one. If I try really hard, I can conjure up pictures in my mind of it sitting on the kitchen counter, the light bulb flickering on and off in its belly so the inside could get hot enough to bake a minuscule cake or teeny tiny cookies.

I’m also fairly certain that every thing that I pulled out of it tasted like sawdust. But, God bless my mom, she ate it anyway. All the cakes that were the size of silver dollars and flat as pancakes, the cookies that were the size of quarters...she ate every bite without batting an eye. Needless to say, the charm of the Easy Bake oven did not turn me into Martha Stewart.

Oh, my baking skills have improved over the years. My mom told me I bake the best Snickerdoodle cookies and homemade brownies she’s ever tasted. Once I got married and the kids came along, baking took a back seat to the kids, the job, basic family life. My baked goods came out of a box or a tube. KJ jokes that our grandkids will tell everyone that their grandma makes the best boxed brownies ever. Something every grandma wants to be remembered for ~ her boxed brownies.

In any case, the Easy Bake oven was one of those toys of yesteryear that brought hours and hours of fun to girls of all ages.

Hours and hours, or at least until the lightbulb burned out. Which, for my mom, probably wasn’t soon enough.

~ Never Forgotten

Growing up, I had a love of two things ~ books and music. The love of books came from my mom and the love of music, from my dad. When I was in Oklahoma City in June, I told my mom that I have 4,000 songs in my iTunes library and I blame my dad for the fact that I'm a music whore.

I had many 'loves' where music was concerned. I loved Donny Osmond and thought that every time he sang "Puppy Love", he was singing to me and me only. I remember the year I wanted the purple bedroom, my tribute to Donny. But my favorite of all time ~ Elvis. Seriously, how could a girl not love Elvis? The voice, the eyes, the hips and the way he moved them......

One Christmas, my gift from my parents were tickets to see Elvis in concert ~ December 27, 1976 in Wichita, Kansas. I was 16 years old and a junior in high school and to this day, that is the gift that I treasure the most. Yeah, I still have my concert ticket stub, along with a bunch of other Elvis mementos.

Listening to Elvis or watching his movies is one thing. Watching him in person, on a stage, is something entirely different. Remember seeing clips of the Beatles and the way the girls would scream, cry and swoon? That was me with Elvis. I screamed 'til I was hoarse. I cried for the pure joy of being there. And I swear I damn near fainted when he sang, "Fever." Admittedly, he wasn't the Elvis of days gone by. He was overweight and probably high as a kite on drugs. But you know what? I didn't care. Nobody cared. We were there, listening to a legend croon, listening to him mesmerize a crowd and watching him wiggle those hips. And let me just say that even then, the man could still move.

Like most people, I still remember the day I found out Elvis died. I remember where I was and who told me (thanks, mom) and like most people, I'll probably never forget. I couldn't believe that I had seen him on stage just 8 months before and now he was dead. I was 16 and at the time, had a hard time wrapping my head around that one.

Thanks to my parents, I have a gift that will last me a lifetime ~ the gift and pure exhilaration of seeing him in concert.

Elvis Aaron Presley ~ January 8th, 1935 - August 16th, 1977

~ Don't Ask Me To Exercise, I Might Spill My Drink

It goes without saying that I HATE to exercise. There. I put it in bold letters, ever stressing that I truly hate to exercise. Everyone who knows me knows this is a true statement.

I did fairly well at keeping my weight on an even keel before moving out west. A few years ago, I followed the Weight Watchers diet and did pretty damn good on it. I did, however, have help. A bunch of us walked at school. We’d gather after school and walk the hallways. We were sorta like those old ‘mall walkers’ you see racing through the mall at a fast paced clip. They walked through the mall, we walked the halls at school.

Starting out, we all had good intentions. Nancy and I even walked on breaks, using the time to do our ‘dime diving’ (stories for another blog..lol). Eventually, the after school group started dwindling until there were only a couple of us left. It wasn’t long until the only walking I did was either on breaks with Nancy or to and from the car across the parking lot of Target or school.

The good thing was, I worked. I was always going here and there, rarely staying in one place long enough to let those extra bags of cellulite gather on my legs. At home, I was cleaning or doing laundry. During the summers, I’d mow the lawn but even that chore soon left my hands and was handed over to it's rightful owner. Because I was seemingly always on the go, my weight pretty much stayed even.

Until I moved here. I’m not working and I’m rarely on the go. These two factors equal one thing ~ the gathering of the cellulite. So, last fall I started hitting the treadmill. Because hell, I can’t swim every day and well, my swimming quickly turns to lazy floating on my raft.

Now, at one point, the treadmill was in the extra bedroom but when it became apparent that that space needed to be used as it was intended, the treadmill was relegated to the garage. Last fall I started hitting the treadmill. As I hit a momentum, I found myself out there on a regular schedule. I did great ~ the legs started to slim down, the butt started to go back to it’s normal shape and size and I was cussing the treadmill out on a daily basis. Life was good.

During all this, I forgot one small detail. I forgot that once summer arrived and the temperature outside hit anywhere from 105 to 120, that meant that the temperature in the garage would be a comfortable 102-108. Not exactly my idea of a nice brisk walk on the treadmill. Hey, I don’t mind breaking a sweat but I don’t want to bathe in it. Besides, summer is when the spiders are out and we all know how I feel about the spiders. One thing I’m not going to do is take a stroll with one of those bad boys that seem to get off on sending me screaming like a little girl back into the house.

The treadmill has become one of those things I’ve given up during the summer months. I mean, seriously, can you picture yourself walking at a brisk, heart racing clip in an unventilated room where the temperature is at least 105? Nope, me either.

So, I look at it as something like Lent. During Lent, I give up chocolate. Kinda. During the summer, I give up the treadmill. Totally.

I know, hell of a sacrifice but somebody has to do it.

~ The Power of Pink

"There is one pain I often feel, which you'll never know ~ it's caused by the absence of you.

~ Ashleigh Brilliant

When I lived in Omaha and was working at Papio, I was very fortunate to be surrounded by a loving and supportive group of friends. We started out as 5 and went down to 4 when one transferred to the new high school. That group of 4 soon grew to a group of 9 and we’d try to meet at least once a month at one of our homes. These evenings were always filled with laughter, food, wine and an abundance of friendship. I can’t even begin to describe how much I miss this group of women in my life.

Monday night, one of these women passed away after a long battle with breast cancer. My heart hurts. For her family, her loved ones and the women whose lives were so lucky to have been touched by her.

My life, like many, has been touched by breast cancer more times than I care to remember. I lost my favorite aunt to the disease in 1996. I lost one of my closest and oldest friends last year. One of my Pipettes is a breast cancer survivor. And on Monday night, another beautiful soul was taken.

When Sally died last year, I ranted and raved. I didn’t understand how a woman who had enriched so many lives, had so much to live for, had 3 sons whom she adored, a husband, and an army of friends who loved her could be taken from us. I don’t understand how there are people like her who want so badly to live and are taken from us, while there are others who have literally been at deaths door only to be miraculously saved and then not appreciate the second chance at life that they’ve been given. It’s something that will always baffle, confuse and sadden me.

When we lose someone who has been such an integral part of our lives, the pain and emptiness of that loss is overwhelming. We need to remember that life is short and while we’re here, we need to remember to dance, to play, to love and to appreciate.

~ Another Monday ~