The Village People

My family is my village.  We don't try to control each other, or manipulate each other.  We've had our ups and downs, but we've had them together.

And no matter how far up the ups... And no matter how down the downs...
When anyone sends out a distress call, it doesn't MATTER if we hadn't been speaking to each other that week, we ALL come running.

We don't keep secrets from each other.  Not big ones.

We don't lie to each other.

When we tell one person something and tell them to keep it to themselves, generally we already know that the entire family will know by the end of the day.  And that's okay, because we're only going to gain more support.

There are people in my bloodline that are not part of my village.  There are people not of my bloodline whom I can't imagine my village without.

I'm only sorry I had to watch a super dysfunctional family spread hate and discontent for so many years before I was REALLY able to appreciate how wonderful it is to have such an awesome little village of my own.

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Face to Face

I never realized how freeing it would be to stop wearing make-up.

To not spend half an hour standing, staring into the mirror every day, crucially, and harshly judging and covering up my every perceived flaw.

Why must I paint my face to be seen as attractive?

We look at babies and they are the most beautiful things.  We would never consider painting the baby's face because it wasn't perfect enough already.  Third world countries paint and pierce their babies, and we look on in horror... and yet so many people take their babies at the first opportunity to have earrings jammed through those perfect little ears. **I look on in horror.

I digress...

Why do we perceive ourselves as less perfect as we grow older?

Why does wearing a lifetime of joy in the corners of my eyes make me ugly?

Why are the black circles under my eyes unacceptable? Shouldn't it evoke compassion toward an obviously sleep deprived woman?  I haven't slept more than three and a half hours per night in a week.  Making my eyes less offensive to you is the last thing on my mind.

I haven't worn make-up in about two years.  And for about six months before that, I wore only a little mascara.  It was absolutely freeing to become friends with my face.  To walk out the door just lookin' like me.

My face even stopped breaking out.  I don't think my skin could breathe under all that gunk.

To all you make-up wearers out there...

Self image is important.  You should do whatever makes you feel good.  But I promise, even without make-up... you're all beautiful.

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Nostalgia

Caught this video on Yahoo news today and it made me all warm, fuzzy, and nostalgic.

It took me back to a simpler time, back when Mister and I were first together.  We lived for months in a tiny, little camper.  He could sit on one side and I could sit on the other, and if we reached toward each other, we could touch.

Then, when we moved out of there, we moved into this tiny efficiency apartment.  Mini fridge under the counter.  Stove at the end of said counter, though actually IN the living room.

It was a joke that one could reach the living room ashtray from the chair at the kitchen table.

From there we moved into our first house.  It was enormous compared to what we were used to, but still only like 920 square feet.

Over the next five years, we completely gutted that house and rebuilt it as we built our family.

When Shorter was two and a half, and as Short was on the verge of turning five and starting school, we refinanced our house giving us the down payment for what would be our home.

Then, when we moved here, we spent the next five years sharing a 9'x9' bedroom while doing some remodeling to expand a bit.

Finally, in the summer of 2010, we moved into our "Master Suite" complete with a nearly finished bathroom, partially finished sun room, and a completely incomplete walk in closet that is currently more of a catch all, but does provide some functionality.

It's nice to have space as long as the space doesn't create a vacuum and suck clutter and junk into itself.

Unfortunately that's mostly the only sort of vacuum happening in my home much of the time.  Country living, dogs, cats, kids, and mechanics... Clean carpet is a myth as far as I'm concerned.

Small spaces definitely stay cleaner.
Of course I couldn't fit all of this beautiful family into such a small space.

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If I Wanted to Melt to Death, I'd Move to the Equator!

I am completely in awe at the heatwave that most of the United States in experiencing right now.

My Coloradian BFF Sophia has been sweltering for weeks now.  We were in the 80's here while she and her family were enduring 100º to 105º temps without air conditioning.  Fortunately for them (fortunate? maybe. nice and dry for fires.) they live in a more desert climate and are spared the ridiculousness of humidity.

Today, it is 95º on my front porch with 75% humidity.

Here, in NE Ohio, we are VERY familiar with something called the heat index.  The heat index tells you how the humidity in the air affects the way the temperature feels.

Anyone who has been in a dry 90º in a desert and a humid 90º near water can tell you that the 90º with high humidity will knock the wind right out of you.  Literally.

From http://www.weather.gov/

As you can see from the above picture, the heat index places my front yard between "feeling like 124º and 132º" and lemme tell ya... it do.

I am sitting still, in front of a fan and still sweat rolls down my face and neck.

I just keep telling myself... It's detoxifying!  And then I open another beer.

I know, I know... Stay hydrated.

But this girl LOVES a nice cold beer when the temps soar.

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I dragged a snow sled out of the weeds and filled it with water so none of the little fur babies in or around my yard go without water.  I'll probably refill it with fresh, cool water before bed.

If I don't, they try to drink from the pool and drown :(

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While standing in the grocery store, I actually heard someone say, "Hot enough for ya?"

It should be legal to smack people for being so cliche'.

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The bright, white ring around my dark, tan finger amuses me.

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Irony:

The chicks are hiding under the trucks in the side yard, scratching and rolling in the cool, shaded dust.

The cats are on the hardwood floors, stretched out napping.

The pitbull/Aussie shepherd, Abby, is in the dark, cool corner behind Mister's chair.

Bandit... the husky... the snow dog... Well, he's out laying in a big patch of sun taking a nap.

~*~

It's 88º in the pool.  That's almost pointless.

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A Note on Perspective

Many years ago, in a poor Chinese village, there lived a farmer and his son. His only material possession, apart from the land and a small hut, was a horse he had inherited from his father.

One day, the horse ran away, leaving the man with no animal with which to work the land. His neighbours, who respected him for his honesty and diligence, went to his house to say how much they regretted his loss. He thanked them for their visit, but asked:

“How do you know that what happened was a misfortune in my life?”

Someone muttered to a friend: “He obviously doesn’t want to face facts, but let him think what he likes, after all, it’s better than being sad about it.”

And the neighbours went away again, pretending to agree with what he had said.

A week later, the horse returned to its stable, but it was not alone; it brought with it a beautiful mare for company. The inhabitants of the village were thrilled when they heard the news, for only then did they understand the reply the man had given them, and they went back to the farmer’s house to congratulate him on his good fortune.

“Instead of one horse, you’ve got two. Congratulations!” they said.

“Many thanks for your visit and for your solidarity,” replied the farmer. “But how do you know that what happened was a blessing in my life?”

The neighbours were rather put out and decided that the man must be going mad, and, as they left, they said: “Doesn’t the man realise that the horse is a gift from God?”

A month later, the farmer’s son decided to break the mare in. However, the animal bucked wildly and threw the boy off; the boy fell awkwardly and broke his leg.

The neighbours returned to the farmer’s house, bringing presents for the injured boy. The mayor of the village solemnly presented his condolences to the father, saying how sad they all were about what had occurred.

The man thanked them for their visit and for their kindness, but he asked:

“How do you know that what happened was a misfortune in my life?”

These words left everyone dumbstruck, because they were all quite sure that the son’s accident was a real tragedy. As they left the farmer’s house, they said to each other: “Now he really has gone mad; his only son could be left permanently crippled, and he’s not sure whether the accident was a misfortune or not!”

A few months went by, and Japan declared war on China. The emperor’s emissaries scoured the country for healthy young men to be sent to the front. When they reached the village, they recruited all the young men, except the farmer’s son, whose leg had not yet mended.

None of the young men came back alive. The son recovered, and the two horses produced foals that were all sold for a good price. The farmer went to visit his neighbours to console and to help them, since they had always shown him such solidarity. 

Whenever any of them complained, the farmer would say: “How do you know that what happened was a misfortune?” 

If someone was overjoyed about something, he would ask: “How do you know that what happened was a blessing?” 

And the people of the village came to understand that life has other meanings that go beyond mere appearance.

Copied from wakeup-world.com

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