I lost a 37-year old pine tree in Irma. Yes. I counted her rings. Quite honestly. I was glad to see her go. I was tired of watching her slowly suffocate. From the potato vine that was creeping up her trunk. Her sap dripping on my patio furniture. She could have fallen a multitude of ways. Hit at least three homes in her wake. But she didn’t. God chose a different path for her. Fences. Two of them. One that revealed a neighbor’s backyard. One I’d never seen. People I’d never met. The hole in the fence revealed a new life. You’d think it would be awkward meeting your neighbors for the first time. Standing on a log. Just hours after Irma made her departure. But it wasn’t. It actually was perfectly normal. Wonderful even. I’m quite grateful for that tree. The one I was happy to see go. As for Irma. I’m grateful that’s all she took.
Y’all! Tomorrow is the big day. The adventure begins. Time to start my new life. The one where I go to work. In a new position. With new coworkers. And a new curriculum that I’m absolutely. Positively. Crazy about. In my home office. Surrounded by all my favorite things. Where I take my girl to school. Just twice per week this year. Thanks to the best invention of all time. Carpool. Where I have to start planning dinners. Packing lunches. Setting alarms to remind me to give Oscar his breaks. All while keeping the house in order. And my plants alive. Doing laundry. And dishes. Floors. Sheets. And bathrooms. And bills. You know the routine. Continue reading “The Big Day”
I’ll be 40 in four months. And currently. At 39. I live with my mom. I have a home. A beautiful one. One with a mortgage. An electric bill. A water bill. And I still pay them. On time. In it are all my favorite things. My old fans. And vintage cameras. Rusty things. National Geographics. And my bed. My seven-year old daughter is here with me, too. We sleep in a full size bed together. Even though there is a queen down the hall. And a king at our own home. I like being close to her at night. Her body is so warm. And we hold hands while she falls asleep. Sometimes she even wakes me in the wee hours. Asking for my hand. And I love it. I’m almost 40. My daughter and I live with my mom. And to be brutally honest. I don’t want to leave. Continue reading “Forty”
I’m a firecracker. A little explosive even. My mouth tends to get me in trouble. A lot. Historically speaking. I’d very much like to blame this on my parents. First my father who I believe gifted me with my combustible nature. And I do mean gifted. After all, I am able to use this burning flame to the benefit of myself and others. Sometimes. Then there’s my mother, nary a firecracker in her, but she did leave me in a hot car. In the Tampa heat. When I was just three years old. “Jesus Christ it’s hot in here,” my mother heard as she opened the car door after those (no more than) 20 seconds. Thus beginning the saga of my dramatic nature. My explosive mouth. The trouble to be had. Historically speaking.
People keep asking me about this jaw thing. I mean, I can’t blame them. I kinda keep posting about it and talking about it, you know while I still can. My favorite question – and no offense to the people I love that have asked this – so you like, have TMJ? Y’all! Asking if I have TMJ is like asking me if have a knee. Or an elbow. Or a pinky toe. TMJ stands for temporomandibular joint. And if you yawn or eat or talk or open your mouth at all, you have one! Some just work a little better than others. My left TMJ happens to be dead currently. Not working so well.