I know most women, and a few men too, know where a variation of that comment came from.  I have to admit that the first time I heard it I thought it was stupid but what do I know.
Me, I want to be in a corner.  I like the feeling of security that it gives me.  I especially like it if I’m dining out.  I feel like I have a bit more privacy and I’m not getting hammered with as much noise.  I never ever want to be sitting in the middle of a restaurant if I can avoid it.  If I can’t get a corner at least give me something against a wall.  You would have to really know me to know why I feel this way.  No, it’s not some psychosis or anything that simple.  I simply hate a certain something that I won’t get into.
So, what is this about?  A wooden deck.  Yes, you read that right.  In our back yard we have this huge concrete patio and that’s great I guess, but it runs from the back of the house to a third of the way into the yard.  Another words, it’s out in the middle of things pretty much.  I don’t feel like I have any privacy.
I got this idea to ask my husband to build me a deck.  There is a space at the back of our house that forms this L-shaped little corner that I thought would be a great place for it.  I wanted a rail around it with balusters and a little gate so that when I’m out there and our dog is out as well, I could sit out there without our dog in my lap.  Sorry animal lovers but I don’t feel the need to have constant contact with my four-legged friend.  Also, there will be times when I simply want to work out there.  Laptops and animals don’t often do well together if you’re trying to get some serious work done.
Anyway, hubby being hubby said yes and got right on it.  Great.  Well I thought it was.  Right now, I’m concerned that I may end up with something that rivals the Sistine Chapel.  That’s an exaggeration of course but still, what he is talking about doing is a far cry from a little deck with a railing.  The whole point in this was to be able to be outside in a little corner and be reasonable comfortable, weather conditions all taken into consideration, and have a cup of coffee in the morning and or do a little work.
Buddy told me that he was going to extend the roof down to cover the deck.  That’s when I came up with the idea of maybe putting screen around it but that’s when I found out that things were going in a whole different direction.  Buddy started talking about closing it in with windows and walls.  What?  The point is to be outside not build another room to hang out in.  Regardless, he has had me out looking at windows and such and I’m still telling him I just wanted a deck.
I get it, I really do.  He loves me and wants me to be comfortable and I do appreciate it, but I don’t want a damn sunroom.  Hell, I’ll forgo the screen even.
I love being outside but that means outside.  For some reason I love it when the wind is blowing and the idea of having some place I can sit out when it’s raining and can stay dry makes me happy.  With a small front porch and an uncovered concrete patio that’s not something I can do right now, but I don’t need a glass room.
I know most of you are sitting there thinking that I’m am one ungrateful bitch.  No, I’m not.  This is the type of thing that makes me love this man so much.  He can do things that get on my last nerve but when all is said and done, he is one of the sweetest, kindest, most wonderful men I ever met.  I also know that not putting a stop to this means he will work himself into exhaustion trying to give me what he wants me to have.
I feel like I managed to put a stop to the craziness however without hurting his feelings.  One of the walls that will border that deck is to a small spare bedroom.  I told him that we could turn that into a sunroom, and he can then cut a doorway from that spare room to the sunroom and we can run ductwork for the heating and air.  I can then turn that little bedroom into my new office, and we could start work building built in bookshelves and build a desk in there to suite me.  He got really quiet really quick.
Finally, he responded.  “Maybe we need to think about this a little more.”
Yeah, it was a little manipulative on my part, but come one.  I think I’ll end up with what I asked for with a few minor upgrades, namely the railing and roof and he will stop there.  He doesn’t need to be spending the time worrying about making this perfect for me when I know he already does so much.  So, to my dear sweet hubby, thank you but let’s stick to keeping this simple and I’ll be happy.
Remember, I’m going to be in my much-loved corner with brick walls on two sides of me with a roof over my head.  I’ll be out of the direct sun, protected from the rain, no doggy to disrupt my thinking, wet or dry, what more can I possibly ask for or need.  Hopefully my husband will continue to be happy and not working himself into a tizzy trying to make me a small luxury sunroom.  Who knows, once he finishes it, I may even let him sit out there with me.

nnn    Women have been slighted in any genre other than romance and children’s books for far too long.  Even now we seldom get any recognition until we sell so many books we can’t be ignored and only for that one author.  Women are so accepting of this we hide behind our initials in hopes that someone will pick up our books and read them.  Why?  Because as women we know that our chances of being read improves if the person buying a book doesn’t see an obviously female moniker on it.
There’s a video making it’s rounds on facebook regarding books for little girls.  I know that the people who published this video are trying to sell their book and I applaud their efforts but not quite factual in their representation I don’t feel.  But again, I salute their effort and what they are trying to do.
What we don’t have are enough books written by women in all genres of writing.  How many of you will pick up a science fiction book written by a woman?  How about a thriller?  A true crime novel may not put you off if it is written by a woman but how about a fictional crime novel?  And of course, my favorite, horror?  You are far more likely to pick up a book with a man’s name on it or just the first and or second initials than you are one with a woman’s name spelled out across the cover.  Don’t believe me, pay attention to which books you’re drawn to the next time you’re shopping for a book.  The cover may grab you, but I’d be willing to bet you don’t take the time to turn it over or open the cover, to read what the book is about.  Chances are you’ll stick it right back on the shelf.  I’ve seen it myself.  Hell, I’ve done it myself.
So, if you’re reading this, the following two excerpts of two different books I want you to think about which was written by a man or a woman.  Actually, they could both be written by a man or both by a woman.

And the first entry is:

‘Again, he thought he heard his name being called but there was no one there.  His name came again and this time the sound was louder, yet it had a softer tone to it.  When he heard it the fourth time, he was drawn to it.  Slowly he began to move in the direction he thought the sound was coming from.  The soft sweet voice continued to call to him drawing him ever closer.  He now could see the little dancing lights ahead of him.  He thought they looked like brilliant little stars dancing in the wind.
Marcus was unaware when his foot stepped into the beginning edge of the lake.  His mind didn’t register when the water level reached his knees.  He continued to march steadily forward edging toward what he suddenly thought was paradise.  If he could make it to that wonderful voice all his troubles would be over.
By the time the water was up to his chin Marcus was so withdrawn from his surroundings that anyone seeing him would have sworn that the man was out of his mind.  They would never have known what to think when he suddenly stiffened and then screamed as something under the water reached around his legs and pulled him under the surface.  For a couple of minutes, you could have followed the bubbles along the surface as the air left his lungs and filled with liquid.  Actually, it wasn’t drowning that finished Marcus but the long deep gash that was torn down his middle.  His intestines floated out from his body and rippled out behind him like the streamers at the end of a child’s kite as he was drug deeper into the depths of the lake.’

Now the second entry, I have to admit I shortened one word in it, I felt as a woman, some people might find it offensive.  On this one I really leave you hanging because it only goes downhill from there for this poor Walter guy.

‘January 3, 1898
Walter was awakened by the sound of the door to his cabin being smashed in.  At first, he thought that maybe a bear had crashed through it but the angry male voices that accompanied the deafening sound of his cabin being torn apart put that thought out of his head.  Before he could get completely out of his bed, they were on him pulling him from it along with a tattered old quilt he was now entangled in.  They tied his hands together and then taking him by the legs and ankles drug him out of the tiny alcove he used as a sleeping area and then through the rundown living space of the small cabin he called home.
He was hauled out the door through the carnage that had been the man’s humble home into the freezing night air leaving a deep rut in the thick layer of snow that had been falling all day.  His only garment, his long johns, did nothing to protect him from the bitter cold as the heat from his body melted the frozen mixture as he was drug through the ice and snow.  He didn’t even struggle against his captures because his brain still hadn’t caught up to the fact his life was truly in danger.  He kept thinking that this was some kind of horrible joke or maybe even a mistake.
He recognized the man who was leading this insane attack.  It was Jacob Smyth and he kept yelling something about Walter having killed his Becky Lynn.  Becky Lynn dead?  No, that wasn’t possible.  He had just seen her not long ago when he had passed her and Jacob’s cabin earlier this afternoon.  This had to be a joke.
“Jacob what are you talking about?  What do you mean Becky Lynn is dead?”  The snow now coated the worn cotton material that covered his body like another suit of clothing because the melting snow had begun to freeze to the long johns as his body temperature had started to drop.  The consequential condition of his long johns helped to intensify the mind-numbing cold that was beginning to penetrate into his bones.  His mind tried to rationalize what was happening to him still wanting to believe this was a bad joke these bungle heads were playing on him or a bad dream that he would soon awaken from.
“Shut your fucking hole you murdering bastard.”  Jacob turned and spat on him.
That was when Walter understood for the first time this was no joke.  He began to struggle and struggle hard then.  His cries of outrage only serving to agitate the four men hauling him through the cold dark night.  It was taking all four of them, two on each leg, to keep their prisoner from kicking free.  Walter kept fighting not only his captures but the freezing wind that was sapping his strength more than the struggle with his crazed assailants.  Somewhere off in the distance he heard the eerie sound of an owl making a screeching sound in the trees.  He didn’t remember it ever sounding so loud before.  The shrill call of that night bird seemed to pierce his eardrums and added to his misery.
By the time Walter had been drug for over a mile the cold was beginning to get to him and parts of his body were beginning to succumb to the abuse his body was taking from both the men and the cold.  Even the thick blanket of snow didn’t protect him from all the broken tree branches and jagged rocks that lay below the surface of the wintery mix.  At times his body would get caught or wedged into one of these objects and Walter’s abusers would jerk on his lower limbs until he was free.  He had fought every inch of the way and now he was starting to feel the energy leave his body and lethargy was setting in.
“Come on you jackasses it will be here soon, and I don’t want him to die or pass out before it gets here.”  The rage flowing through Jacob only served to give him more determination to continue with his murderous journey.
“Is Becky Lynn really dead?”  Walter asked, his voice weak from the abuse to his body and bone chilling cold.  The heavily falling snow that threatened to cover his face got sucked inside him every time he took a breath.
Jacob didn’t bother to answer.  Yes, Becky Lynn was dead, but Walter hadn’t done it, he had.  Jacob worked on the train and he was gone often days at a time on a run.  When he got back into town this afternoon someone had told him that this “MF” was sticking it to his wife every time he was out of town.’

Yes, I have permission to use both.  What's sad, the vast majority of the people who read this will not leave a comment.

When you go to a steak place you generally order a steak.  On rare occasions I will order chicken, salmon more often, even at times simply a salad, but usually a steak.  This evening was no different.  I ordered a steak.  That is where this story takes a turn for the worst.
One thing I hate is fried steak, well from all but one place that is.  Outside of this one place I honestly do hate country fried steak.  I’m such a nut case that I will go into a restaurant and order a country fried steak to see if my past observations have been correct and they always are.  I never ordered country fried steak at a steak restaurant, until this evening.
Oh dear God in Heaven, why did I do that?  Of all the bad country fried steaks I’ve had this one was the worst by far.  Please understand that this restaurant is someplace I’ve been to often and the food as a rule is good.  Not a five star by no means but it pushes well into the upper side of three.  So, I figured what the hell.
My first indication that this was a bad idea was when the waitress put it down in front of me and then asked, ‘this is what you ordered right?’
I was assuming at the time was my slight note of surprise when she placed it in front of me.  Now I wonder if it wasn’t more to do with the fact that she knew this was a bad idea.  First it was the size of a boogieboard, hell the damn thing was shaped like a boogieboard for that matter.  The second thing I noticed what the fried coating on it.  It resembled one of those tannish yellow brown shingles that some people put on top of their houses.  The tiny drop of white pepper gravy, as they call it, also didn’t bode well for my dining experience.  That I couldn’t get through half of it shouldn’t be surprising due to the size alone.  Hell, that thing would have filled the jolly green giant if he could have gotten past the shear distaste of the damn thing.   The roof, wait didn’t I mention shingles, of my mouth and my tongue feel like I’ve chowed down on sandpaper and it extends back to my throat.  I’m wondering now if I’ll be able to swallow anything at all tomorrow.
So, to sum it up, I had a boogieboard size and shaped shingle with extremely heavy-duty shingle, with whatever they put on those things that look like tiny little pebbles, of a less than appealing color, with a drop of something called white pepper gravy.  I think this has terminated my fixation on ever ordering one of those culinary torture devices again, except at tat one restaurant.  I have learned my lesson.  If you can’t get a good country fried steak at a steak house, then it’s a safe bet that I have discovered the only place on this earth to get one of those gut-wrenching main courses where it is not only eatable but quite tasty.  I will pursue this quest no longer.

Why the hell am I up at three thirty in the morning?  I could try to explain that but it would just be too embarrassing.  No, I didn’t wet myself or anything else of that type.  I will tell you that again, thanks to a small person or two, I’m sick and woke up after my fever broke.  OK, you wake up feeling like you’ve just been in a wet t-shirt contest and you get the idea.
Now before anybody out there gets the idea that’s something they would like to have seen, you don’t.  Remember I’m old.  A wet t-shirt on me is like you spreading a wet flour sack over a big bag of potatoes and if you think that might be a lovely sight then kudos to you.
Once awake you find yourself so stopped up and miserable that the idea of going back to bed it just too much to deal with.  I think I’m going to start taking a page out a certain part of the world’s population and start wearing face mask every time I go out.   I’m going to have to replace the hand sanitizer I carried in my purse because I gave my last one to someone I thought needed it more than I did at the time.  Boy was I wrong on that one.  Kick me for not replacing it when I should have.  So here I am now at 3:43 in the morning, not getting any sleep, a box of tissues close by, giving a whole to meaning to the term mouth breather, and feeling like crap.  Go Me.
No one should be drinking coffee this time of the morning, unless their headed to work really early, but here I am.  Maybe I should have put something a little stronger than just the coffee in it. 
Right now I’m wondering how much sanitizing can my new laptop take before it says screw you and jumps ship.  It certainly didn’t sign on for this.
I like everyone else hates being sick.  It sucks.  I have to applaud all those grandparents who can’t seem to get enough of their lovely grandchildren when, for me it seems like sometimes I get too much.  I don’t remember it being like this when I was just a parent.  Maybe because I so too busy taking care o a sick child I didn’t have time to get sick too often.  Boy, that present a serious conundrum.  Do I prefer to take care of one and not get sick or not take care of one and ending up sick as a dog?  Neither at my age sounds like a great option.
Seriously though, I’ve had to go and take care of one of my daughters while she was sick a couple of times in the past two years and I never even got the sniffles.  If you think of caring for a small child who is sick is a job, try taking care of a grown one.  They get mean and because they are sick thinks it’s OK.  I mean what is the parent going to do, spank them?  I was tempted a couple of times.  I didn’t, but I was tempted.
Looking back on it maybe it isn’t such a hard choice after all.  I actually got to spend time with her and she had to be a captive audience, mean or not.  Thinking back on it, it wasn’t so bad.  Somehow it made me feel young again, go figure, and like a mom in a way I don’t get to do much anymore.  I guess we never stop being a parent.
Anyway, I think I’m going to take my pity pot and try to lay back down.  I probably won’t, but I’m going to try.  Now I have an old series on TV, really old, and I may end up watching a few episodes of that.  If you’re interested the old series is Dark Shadows.  Most of you will only be familiar with the movie with Johnny Depp in it.  It didn’t even come close to the series I’m talking about the one from 1966, so yes, I’m old. 

Women have been slighted in any genre other than romance and children’s books for far too long.  Even now we seldom get any recognition until we sell so many books we can’t be ignored and only for that one author.  Women are so accepting of this we hide behind our initials in hopes that someone will pick up our books and read them.  Why?  Because as women we know that our chances of being read improves if the person buying a book doesn’t see an obviously female moniker on it.
There’s a video making it’s rounds on facebook regarding books for little girls.  I know that the people who published this video are trying to sell their book and I applaud their efforts but not quite factual in their representation I don’t feel.  But again, I salute their effort and what they are trying to do.
What we don’t have are enough books written by women in all genres of writing.  How many of you will pick up a science fiction book written by a woman?  How about a thriller?  A true crime novel may not put you off if it is written by a woman but how about a fictional crime novel?  And of course, my favorite, horror?  You are far more likely to pick up a book with a man’s name on it or just the first and or second initials than you are one with a woman’s name spelled out across the cover.  Don’t believe me, pay attention to which books you’re drawn to the next time you’re shopping for a book.  The cover may grab you, but I’d be willing to bet you don’t take the time to turn it over or open the cover, to read what the book is about.  Chances are you’ll stick it right back on the shelf.  I’ve seen it myself.  Hell, I’ve done it myself.
So, if you’re reading this, the following two excerpts of two different books I want you to think about which was written by a man or a woman.  Actually, they could both be written by a man or both by a woman.
And the first entry is:

‘Again, he thought he heard his name being called but there was no one there.  His name came again and this time the sound was louder, yet it had a softer tone to it.  When he heard it the fourth time, he was drawn to it.  Slowly he began to move in the direction he thought the sound was coming from.  The soft sweet voice continued to call to him drawing him ever closer.  He now could see the little dancing lights ahead of him.  He thought they looked like brilliant little stars dancing in the wind.
Marcus was unaware when his foot stepped into the beginning edge of the lake.  His mind didn’t register when the water level reached his knees.  He continued to march steadily forward edging toward what he suddenly thought was paradise.  If he could make it to that wonderful voice all his troubles would be over.
By the time the water was up to his chin Marcus was so withdrawn from his surroundings that anyone seeing him would have sworn that the man was out of his mind.  They would never have known what to think when he suddenly stiffened and then screamed as something under the water reached around his legs and pulled him under the surface.  For a couple of minutes, you could have followed the bubbles along the surface as the air left his lungs and filled with liquid.  Actually, it wasn’t drowning that finished Marcus but the long deep gash that was torn down his middle.  His intestines floated out from his body and rippled out behind him like the streamers at the end of a child’s kite as he was drug deeper into the depths of the lake.’

Now the second entry, I have to admit I shortened one word in it, I felt as a woman, some people might find it offensive.  On this one I really leave you hanging because it only goes downhill from there for this poor Walter guy.

‘January 3, 1898
Walter was awakened by the sound of the door to his cabin being smashed in.  At first, he thought that maybe a bear had crashed through it but the angry male voices that accompanied the deafening sound of his cabin being torn apart put that thought out of his head.  Before he could get completely out of his bed, they were on him pulling him from it along with a tattered old quilt he was now entangled in.  They tied his hands together and then taking him by the legs and ankles drug him out of the tiny alcove he used as a sleeping area and then through the rundown living space of the small cabin he called home.
He was hauled out the door through the carnage that had been the man’s humble home into the freezing night air leaving a deep rut in the thick layer of snow that had been falling all day.  His only garment, his long johns, did nothing to protect him from the bitter cold as the heat from his body melted the frozen mixture as he was drug through the ice and snow.  He didn’t even struggle against his captures because his brain still hadn’t caught up to the fact his life was truly in danger.  He kept thinking that this was some kind of horrible joke or maybe even a mistake.
He recognized the man who was leading this insane attack.  It was Jacob Smyth and he kept yelling something about Walter having killed his Becky Lynn.  Becky Lynn dead?  No, that wasn’t possible.  He had just seen her not long ago when he had passed her and Jacob’s cabin earlier this afternoon.  This had to be a joke.
“Jacob what are you talking about?  What do you mean Becky Lynn is dead?”  The snow now coated the worn cotton material that covered his body like another suit of clothing because the melting snow had begun to freeze to the long johns as his body temperature had started to drop.  The consequential condition of his long johns helped to intensify the mind-numbing cold that was beginning to penetrate into his bones.  His mind tried to rationalize what was happening to him still wanting to believe this was a bad joke these bungle heads were playing on him or a bad dream that he would soon awaken from.
“Shut your fucking hole you murdering bastard.”  Jacob turned and spat on him.
That was when Walter understood for the first time this was no joke.  He began to struggle and struggle hard then.  His cries of outrage only serving to agitate the four men hauling him through the cold dark night.  It was taking all four of them, two on each leg, to keep their prisoner from kicking free.  Walter kept fighting not only his captures but the freezing wind that was sapping his strength more than the struggle with his crazed assailants.  Somewhere off in the distance he heard the eerie sound of an owl making a screeching sound in the trees.  He didn’t remember it ever sounding so loud before.  The shrill call of that night bird seemed to pierce his eardrums and added to his misery.
By the time Walter had been drug for over a mile the cold was beginning to get to him and parts of his body were beginning to succumb to the abuse his body was taking from both the men and the cold.  Even the thick blanket of snow didn’t protect him from all the broken tree branches and jagged rocks that lay below the surface of the wintery mix.  At times his body would get caught or wedged into one of these objects and Walter’s abusers would jerk on his lower limbs until he was free.  He had fought every inch of the way and now he was starting to feel the energy leave his body and lethargy was setting in.
“Come on you jackasses it will be here soon, and I don’t want him to die or pass out before it gets here.”  The rage flowing through Jacob only served to give him more determination to continue with his murderous journey.
“Is Becky Lynn really dead?”  Walter asked, his voice weak from the abuse to his body and bone chilling cold.  The heavily falling snow that threatened to cover his face got sucked inside him every time he took a breath.
Jacob didn’t bother to answer.  Yes, Becky Lynn was dead, but Walter hadn’t done it, he had.  Jacob worked on the train and he was gone often days at a time on a run.  When he got back into town this afternoon someone had told him that this “MF” was sticking it to his wife every time he was out of town.’

Yes, I have permission to use both.  What's sad, is that those of you who read this won't bother to leave a comment.

I Just Had My Heart Broken.  I don’t know how many of you may have ever visited the dragon Dreams Museum in Chattanooga TN, but I had the honor of doing so many years ago.  Inside was nothing less than a dragon lovers dream.  It was the largest collection of dragons in the world and before the lady who owned it died, she was working on get it named as such by the Guinness Book of World Records.  Unfortunately, she died before that happened.  After sitting for a while boarded up the executor started selling off the collection.  A couple did ultimately buy it and were working to try and reopen it.  That also failed.
I had the pleasure of talking to the original owner a couple of times because she was interested in my collection.  Turned out I have some very rare pieces and she wanted them.  No, I never considered selling any of them.  It breaks my heart to know that the museum no longer exists.  Walking into that magical place was nothing like anything I had ever experienced.  Actually, my husband planned that trip just to take me there.
You walked into an old building with one room after the other that was wall to wall dragons of almost every type you could imagine.   With each turn or entering another room you found a world of magic.  The last time I had looked it up they were working on reopening it but it had been a while and now it is gone for good.  I sit here with tears in my eyes knowing that can never be shared with anyone else.   I had stopped collecting since the kids where born except for a few here and there.  Now I will go back to collecting all that I can get.  My dragon house shoes will now be darn sure be kept put up because I refuse to wear them and mess them up.  Silly I know.
Like I said I don’t know if any of you were ever lucky enough to have stepped into that portal into that land of wonder but if you did you are blessed and if you never had that honor then I’m so very sorry.
Oh, the books by Anne McCaffrey were considered their bible.  So, if you are an honest collector of dragons, hold on to them.  Keep them close. 

For thousands of years people have been trying to figure out how to do that, heal a broken heart.  The majority of the cases people manage to move on with time and often it involves meeting someone new. 
But there are those few who never heal.  No matter what happens, how much time passes, or who enters their life, it doesn’t ever heal.  I think I can understand that but I’m just an old lady who has been around for a while and I have suffered a broken heart once or twice.  Actually twice.
I was fortunate enough to meet someone who put mine back together.  The flip side of that is that if something happened to him, I don’t know if I would be healed from that one, but this isn’t about me.
This is about those who have gone for years and years with this pain haunting them.  Yes, it haunts you.  You go along thinking you’re doing better and then you see something, hear something, maybe smell a certain fragrance and you are right back where you started.  The pain is just as new and raw as it was in the beginning.  I know with me when I was going through this once it was a stupid book.  It suddenly hit a button in me shortly into it and I threw the damn thing across the room.  You have to understand how much books have been respected by me all my life to understand why my mother and daughter thought I had completely lost it.  I did for a moment.  To this day I haven’t finished that book and never will.
This isn’t a pain that you can put a band-aid on and they certainly make no cream or ointment to dull the pain.  Yeah, some people crawl into a bottle maybe or try to swallow something to ease the ache, but when the self-medication wears off the pain is back in full force.  Some people will keep repeating this process until they destroy the rest of themselves.  Others will learn that this really doesn’t help and will learn to bear it as they move through life.  These are the truly brave ones.  They manage to function day to day but for some reason they usually have a gentler soul.   They are the ones who know when to reach out to another person when needed.  They will listen as the other person pours out their pain saying nothing, they just listen.  They know from past experience that there is nothing to say.  There are no magic words that going to help the person who is just starting down that path.  This gentle soul will hope and or pray that the person they are there for will be luckier than they were and ultimately heal.  Again, most do.
So, the next time a friend, a relative, especially a son or daughter, remember that there is nothing you can say that will make it better.  If they are someone close to you emotionally, hold them in your arms and let them cry.  They will do a lot of that, or at least most do.  I’m not a crier myself.
Do remind the person they are loved, if not by the person who hurt them at least by you.  You telling them won’t help their pain but it might help them to find the strength to move past it.
Am I an expert in this?  We all are.  If even one of you who reads this can say you’ve never known that kind of hurt then you’ve never been in love, you’re in love for the first time and up till now things have been going great, or you’re one of the lucky ones who got it right the first time.  There’s not many of the last anymore.

Yeah you heard me, OK you read me.   I really do but I just can’t seem to get to it.  I’ve been in a bit of a slump and right now I’m kind of enjoying it.  I’d sit here and wallow in self-pity, but I’m not depressed.  I’m just feeling extremely lazy since I have the holidays behind me.  Come on, tell me that most of you don’t feel the same way.
I don’t care if you start your Christmas shopping in January the month of December is a roller-coaster ride of obligations, commitments, and social interacting.  This process actually starts around the middle of November leading up to Thanksgiving and then runs right into the first few days of the new year.  So it’s actually more like two months of Hell with bells.
Any shopping, even if you have all you gift shopping done you still have to eat, you are met with ringing bells going in the door of any store and then your ears are hit with tin can Christmas tunes that make you want to reach out to the person closest to you and strangle them.  Not because they did anything wrong to you but simply because they are the closest person to you at the time.
Now let me be straight with you here, I admire all those people who get out and suffer through the cold, bad weather, and bad attitudes of nasty tempered people to ring those bells for a good cause, but what I want to do with those bells sometimes is not nice.  Then, I don’t know about where you are but here, you end up hearing those bells on the news because local news stations are trying to drum up business.  Good for them but can’t they do that without us having to hear more ringing of those bells?  Here’s the crazy part.  My favorite Christmas music is of all things, Carol of the Bell, tell me that isn’t sick.  I just took a moment to listen to it.  I’m telling you people, I’m not right.
Now let’s get back to those people with nasty attitudes, oh and there are a lot of them.  When you come across these dark souls, who I swear are decedents of Scrooge, no matter what kind of mood you were in when you encounter these people, you’re going to walk away being in about the same mood that other person was in.  Here’s the kicker on this one.  You don’t know why these people are in the mood they’re in.  They may be down on their luck, they have a family that sucks, or they may have recently lost someone near and dear to them, so you can’t just jump up and slap the crap out of them and tell them to get their heads out of their asses.  I mean think about it.  You slap the crap out of some horse’s ass and then find out as the cops are putting handcuffs on you as they shove you in the business end of a squad car that this person just lost a loved one…That’s damn sure not going to make for a great Christmas for you.
Then there are the people who work in retail.  There are times when I want to grab them by the collar and jerk them across the counter and scream in their faces, hey asshole, it’s Christmas so can you act like you’re happy to be here helping out the customers, but you have to remember these poor people have been dealing with the prior mentioned assholes.  Of course they aren’t happy.  If they are having to cover a second shift because some self-serving, self-centered, inconsiderate coworker called in at the last minute and they got stuck covering for the absentee worker they really aren’t happy to be there.  I don’t blame them.
So please remember these little tidbits of information next year and keep smiling.  If you have to use superglue on your face to keep that smile in place, then do it.  Whatever you do, try not to make it worse.  Remember if you feel the way I do the person you lash out at may be even more irritated than you and they may be the one who ends up in the back of a squad car while you end up in the back of an ambulance, or worse.

I mistakenly copied and posted that warning that comes out every now and then on facebook about all your post becoming a matter of public domain last night unless you copy and paste this notice to your page.  Let’s get one thing out in the open right now.  That post means nothing.  It will not protect you, it doesn’t do you any good to post it, it is worthless.  So why did I do it?
Actually, I did it for a friend.  The fact that I did it really isn’t any of your business but at the time it seemed like a good thing to do to make her feel better.  She was simply trying to help people and she needed to feel that last night.
What I didn’t expect was the responses I got from that post.  I swear it has turned into nothing less than a humongous pain in the butt.  Yes, I finally took it down because the responses were beyond ridiculous.
I started not to because what’s the point?  Once you type anything on a computer, tablet, phone, or any other electronic device and hit that little button that say post, that’s it.  It’s out there.  You can’t take it back.  Even if you do delete it, and technically it should disappear from the timelines of anyone who might have shared it, it’s still out there.  It doesn’t go away.  If someone has copied whatever you might have posted and then reposted it to their pages you certainly can’t do anything about it.  It’s out there worming its little way over the internet from now on.  That’s the second price we pay for these little electronic gadgets we hold so dear.
You don’t want people using your stuff or passing your information on to others then shut down you social media accounts, close and or turn off all those toys you feel you have to have and if you absolutely need to talk to someone then I suggest you get to know your neighbors and talk to them in person, get in a car and go see family, or if it is an absolute emergency, invest in a landline and only use that when you really have to.
There is no such thing as privacy anymore.  You’re work, comments, personal information is fair game for anyone who wants to take it from you now.  A simple little statement you copy and paste to your timeline isn’t going to change that.
Welcome to the 21st century folks because you can’t turn back the clock or undo what so many have put so much into to bring us to this point.  How you choose to move forward is up to you but remember, if you’re looking for yesterday it has come and gone.

Right now there is a video on facebook that shows a mom and daughter removing books from bookshelves that doesn’t fit into a certain criteria.  This means any book that doesn’t feature a girl as the protagonist.  The point behind this was these two women behind the video thought that a book about women like Ruth Bader Ginsburg and other women who have made a place in the world is the answer to this.  Yes, these are stories about amazing women, but it isn’t the answer
I agree there needs to be more books regarding female protagonist, but a book based on real women isn’t the answer.  Children need to have books that challenge their imaginations and places them in amazing places and situations.
Yes, they need to know that women can do or be anything that’s within their abilities.  I add that last because, no we can’t be anything we want sometimes.  I have a granddaughter that the odds of her being a basket ball player are pretty much nil.  She will be lucky to top out at four foot ten.  This unfortunately will close certain doors for her.  She’s eight and right now she wants to be an optometrist, there is a reason for this now, but I think this will pass in time.
The important thing is to give them something that allows them to dream and look forward to the future with an open mind and plant seeds in their imaginations that help them to find all the places they can go.
I wrote a story for her about a little princess, all books about princesses were removed from the shelves as well.   It’s about a little princess who gets to pick her own mom.  For over four years now she has known only one mother and that’s my daughter.  This little angel, who is a little tank, came with her dad when he met my daughter.  Not literally but you get what I mean I think.  She and her dad were a package deal.  That’s what the story was about.  A mom doesn’t have to be the one who gives birth to you but someone who loves you and is willing to be there when you need her.
Yes, there will be a lot of doors closed to this little one because of her size but one door that could be opened is that one that leads into the oval office one day.   Her hero right now however is ‘The Flash.’  Go figure.  What road will she walk down?  I don’t know.  I do know that she has someone in her life who will do everything she can to see to it that this little girl will have every door possible opened to her.
I will tell you this, whatever door that little girl decides to open one day, don’t be standing in her way.  I wasn’t kidding when I said she is a little tank.  She absolutely amazes me.