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Last week Dear Hubby and I took a walk through the city. We happened by a 5-gallon bucket that seemed to have something in it. Sitting in the border of a lot that belonged to the city and the sidewalk, we peered inside. It was approximately 1/3 full of clear water. There were several pennies, a couple dimes, and an handful of goldfish. We don’t know how long it had been there. I made a comment in passing that they were not going to live in that bucket very long. DH tapped the bucket with the toe of his boot and exclaimed “But they are alive!” To prove his point he did the same again. (Mind you, I almost wrote “kicked the bucket” but that would have been funny and sad at the same time….ah, but I digress.)
We continued our walk and I couldn’t help but to think about those poor goldfish. They were in prison! They even had money! Just….wow. Oh I had a great post to write about it but that inspiration was gone by the time I had an opportunity to write.
Today, we walk by the same place and there is something new. It would have been hard to write about. (Unfortunately, my laptop went to techie heaven and I am composing on my phone.) Ergo here is a picture:
For those of us who have seen the movie, you can see the amusement this brings. Further, it is in the city so there are no hills. Although, there are a lot of strange southern folk around here. Being in the Deep South, there are people around here who have never been out of this county!
Just sharing a little humor from our walk…
What do YOU think?
We have four dogs in our family right now. There have only been two instances where they were not lifelong family members. Those two instances were not long enough to have a detrimental effect on neither me or the dog. No worries there, folks. I was watching a program on television this morning where a Chihuahua was rehomed to a lady who had a stroke and didn’t want a service dog. She wanted a companion and it was a good show. It made me think about the relationships I have had with my furry children over the years. Each one was special and different in it’s own way. The same is with the furry children we currently have.
Of course each one has their own story. Our Roxie, for example. She is officially our “old girl.” She was brought to us at 3 months old already housebroken and with all the accessories. Cal had wanted a Jack Russell and a friend of mine knew someone who had purchased one and didn’t think she was a good fit with their toddler. So we took her in and she has been amazing. Now nearly blind and half deaf, she is still spunky and prefers to lean on you compared to most lapdog or other touchy feely stuff. It works for us and her favorite person in the house is the 9 year old. He is the only one she doesn’t randomly warn about invading her space. (Yes, we are the invisibubble type of people here. Ah, but I digress… a story for another day. Our next oldest is Mollie. Mollie was a neighbors dog and I asked to have her when they became too busy to give her the attention her bold spirit required. She is about 5 or 6 years old (I forget) and is what I would like to call our hippie. Mollie likes to chill on the other side of the room watching the entire activity of the room from afar. If it suits her, she will come and join us. Otherwise, she won’t bother you unless she wants a brain massage or to go out. One of those “if I don’t have anything to say, I will keep my yap shut.” Those are our girls.
Our boys are relatively newer additions to the family and while both are still learning, I have never had a dog with such personalities as these two. Luchador was chosen from a litter of Chihuahuas that a family member had. Born with blue eyes, his eyes are a beautiful hazel and you cannot help but notice them in stark contrast to his labrador yellow fur. He is a sweet, snuggly dog and quite smart. He is one of those dogs that has so much love he fills the room with it upon entry. Luchador is daddy to our Courage. Appropriately named, Courage is quite the chicken and has some strange behaviors like the dog from the cartoon show. He is learning what his place is and it is quite helpful that he tries to mimic his daddy’s behavior. It is appropriate to note that Mollie is the mamma dog.
Thinking about our little pack, they are all important to my sanity during my workday. Working from home can make one feel quite isolated. From a professional point of view, the dogs post no security threat as they are not able to understand any thing I am saying to customers while working and certainly cannot write down any company secrets. Further, they have been taught that my office is a no bark zone. I like this because they can alert me when someone is near the house without making any noise. It makes me feel quite safe. I also refer to them as “my assistants.” Sometimes I tend to get so drawn into my work that I will forget that it is time to get up and take a stretch or that it is lunch time.
Let me stop for a minute. Luchador wants a head pat. Pat Pat pat. 🙂
Ok. Yes, they remind me to get up and stretch. Remember, it is not healthy to sit at your desk for hours and hours. I am a big advocate of taking full advantage of those breaks and lunches. If you work at home, you should too. My furry children help me get through my day and, to be honest, help me keep my sanity.
What saving grace do your furry children provide for you? Are they chock full of personality? Let me know!
What do YOU think?
It is not very often that people are given the opportunity to experience something ethereal. Death is something that many a scientist an after life expert have opinions on but, unless they experience it themselves and come back, there is not much premise to go on. This is where our story begins, and ends…sort of. In my life, I have bore witness to 3 deaths. One was from afar, and the other two were in a hospital room. The first one, in the hospital room was my Aunt Maggie. It was nothing like the second experience and she just ceased to be present in her body and all the machines around her stopped their busy, white noise. I imagine this is typical of what most people experience/witness when they are gathered around the death bed of a loved one.
However, is the experience ever different? I like to think so.
When my father died, it was different. It was one of the most difficult and easiest moments in my life. I seen things that are hard to translate into words but I will try my best for the purposes of this blurb. For lack of a better description, his last moment was sucked out of him. Plain and simple. I don’t understand how nor do I want to try and comprehend what it was that moment meant. But for me, it was peace and terror all in one breath.
I don’t recall who was in the room when Dad died. I remember calling his siblings in Washington and letting them talk to him through the phone while he was still breathing. I remember whispering in his ear. The content of those whispers now leave me and only me and a dead man know what those words consist of. I remember I was standing to his right. They had just leveled the bed. It was in the ICU unit of the local hospital. I also remember that he was fine when we were put out for the half hour that ICU requires all visitors to leave for their daily reset. From 6 to 6:30, everyone in the ICU that was not assigned to that room had to leave the ICU ward. It was hospital rules. So we left. Dad was alright as alright could be when we left. We had all planned on coming back and pick back up where we left off. But, when we came back, his bed was tilted so that his feet were up in the air and his head was near the floor. At this 45 degree angle, it was supposed to be easier on his heart. I remember thinking, “Jeez, they are serious about the health benefits of laying with your feet above your heart.” I vaguely remember my mother’s distraught voice “What did you do to him?” The nurse replied it was to help his heart as his heart rate dropped right after we left.
After that, it was like it was in slow motion. Somehow the room became cold. I chalked it up to being August in the deep South. Air conditioning and such. In those moments it never occurred to me that it was not the air conditioning coming on as it was already blowing and had been at a steady enough pace to keep things comfortable. Aside from the possibility that my mother was on the other side of the bed, I felt as if I was the only one in the room at that point. I felt a chill come over me when I pulled the phone from my fathers face for the last time. I stood there for a minute. Something told me to focus on his face. It seemed peaceful enough. They had turned off all the machines and it was just the fading beep beep of the heart monitor that sort of faded into white noise. My surroundings faded into a blur. It was me and dad and…Death had made its appearance.
Dad had begun to take a breath as if he were coming up for air while swimming. He was a mouth breather when he slept and my mind told me it was him preparing him for that final nap. One breath. Two breaths. Three breaths. Then something happened. I don’t know if it was my mind doing this or if it really happened, I just don’t recall the lighting in the room. I remember when they came to put the white circles on his eyes that the room was dimly lit. But, in the moment that Death had arrived, I don’t remember how the lights were in that room. It was a corner room. The part behind me was part wall and part glass wall and I think there was a window across from me. I am not sure. That part doesn’t matter. That fourth breath Dad took was his final breath. To me, it got dark and cold and his face contorted into an expression I had never seen before. It was not an expression that one can describe as there is not an emotion to attach it to.
c Dad’s last breath. That expression, coupled with the chill in the room and that noise that I heard (or maybe my mind fabricated it) was me watching the life being sucked out of my fathers body by Death itself. His face contorted and twisted up in a way that can only be described as “leaving.” It was every human emotion wrapped up in one second. I remember taking a step back after that. I looked at the air above my father. Human observers would say it was a moment of shock that Daddy was gone. It was not that. Not that at all. There was something there and it fled. Just like that. The hours after that have since been blocked out of my mind and no matter how hard I try, they still flee any recollection.
In the months that followed, I had nightmares of this black shadow of a creature standing on my fathers chest pushing down and sucking the essence out of him. It turns to look at me as if it were a child caught doing something it shouldn’t and then it turns to flee as only a ghostly apparition can do. Leaving behind only the shell of what I identified as my father, the dream ends when I try to run to the body. Same dream every time. I used to wake up with a start when these first happened. But now, I just stand there as if I had been desensitized to it. Sure, I wake up. But I simply roll over and go back to sleep.
When my sister passed away this past Winter, I wanted to be there and see if I could meet Death once again. However, I didn’t want to be. It would turn into some sort of sick hobby and I wanted no part of it. I shared a moment with Death. I watched it at work. I seen every detail in hyper focus. I felt and seen its presence. There is nothing that can change that. I am not special. I don’t claim to have a sixth sense. However, I know when it came and when it fled that hospital room. Honestly, I don’t want to see it again until it is my time to walk with it. However, I still try to grasp the concept of why I was one to be allowed to see the apparition at work. People are often granted permission to see things that mortals should never see. There is ultimately a reason. I have yet to figure that out.
Maybe I will find out one day. Maybe I won’t. They say that only use a minute part of their brain. How does that relate to this experience? Only me and Death know that answer. Unfortunately, I don’t have the key to that door in my brain that contains the answer. I know I will never find it. Maybe that is a good thing.
What do YOU think?
Interesting to note that we still have true hippies in this world. Although, I am not sure it is cool that they feel they have something to prove? What ever happened to the peace loving ones that loved to live and let live?
It all started when I came home from work and found a butterscotch-colored VW microbus in my driveway. I pulled in and as soon as I got out of my car, the door of the microbus swung open and a most interesting character appeared. He was short with salt and pepper hair with a beard […]
I am woman. Hear me roar. Know what? Yes. I make my husband a sandwich from time to time. Know what else? He does it for me too! Marriage and relationships are about team work and not who is wearing the pants or who is in control. It is about give and take. “For better and for worse” means that when he is down, I step up and drive this boat. When I am tired from cleaning, working, caring for the kids, and, God forbid…making sandwiches, he steps up to the plate and does the same. My husband can clean house every bit as well as I can. He can run this house and keep everything running if I need to sleep a day a way or I am ever ill. He doesn’t do FOR me and neither I him. We are in this together and we are equal. When the world, especially the damn internet figures that out, there may be something similar to World Peace happening in the domestic arena.
There’s a real spiritual war going on within our culture right now that some may be blissfully unaware of, the battle of the sandwiches. I too was unaware of it until it began to encroach upon my life. The meme about “making sandwiches” is about far more than the superficial, it is an outright attack […]
As we all know, I have my “writing days.” This means general laziness and lack of the elixir of life (caffeine.) To begin with, I worked late last night. This, of course, horribly threw off my weekend sleeping schedule. As a result, I ended up oversleeping. I know what you are thinking. How can you over sleep on a sleep-in day? Sadly, I had to work for a couple hours this morning.
Bottom line? I was tired, I overslept, and I had no choice but to have a couple cups of Java. No, I have not been squirreled yet, I have just begun my day! Groggily, I meander into the office and get my couple hours out of the way and then brush my teeth. Yes, normally I am ready and the brushing of the hair, brushing of the teeth, beating of the boogey man are all done before work. Like I said, I overslept. Anywhoo…I went to brush my teeth and made the mistake of looking up. Toothbrush and toothpaste in hand, I notice a couple of dots on the wall above the lights that are above the medicine cabinet. I know, why in the sam hill would I look up there? I don’t know. Maybe it was my body finding something to do with an extra dose of caffeine for the week cuz BOY WAS I AWAKE! Instead of proceeding to put the toothpaste on my brush and go about my day, my brain said that I absolutely had to see what those two dots were.
OOOOKAY! I was too lazy to go get the utility bench and stand on it so I just went for it. I climbed up on the counter and stood up. So here I stand, on the counter, without my glasses on, and my face is about 8 inches from the wall so I could determine what these little dots were. Here is what my brain is saying: I don’t know why I never seen these things up here before. But dang….its dusty up here and I need to get a wet rag and wipe the top of the cabinet and the light fixture down because; oh…ick. What are those two dots? Squint. Squint. Think. Squint. Damn, its dusty, let me grab the hand towel and put some water on it because the dusting wipes are in the kitchen. *Looks down* Let me grab my phone by my foot and take a picture and send to Cal because WHY THE FLUCK AM I STANDING ON THE COUNTER? It would be hilarious if he were to walk in the house at this moment from picking up breakfast. Hehe *Click…Send* Where is that towel, there it is. Lower yourself to get water carefully Micaa, that floor is concrete and you might break something if you fall. How would you explain THAT?!”
Let me step back from this thought process.
At some point in all of that noise, it occurs to me that the dots on the wall were ants from an infestation we had originating from the open bathroom window about 4 or 5 years ago. We sprayed ant spray all over the bathroom and there was a line of ants going from the bathroom window to the light fixture above the medicine cabinet. These two guys must not have been wiped off the wall during any subsequent cleaning adventures. Oh, they were crunchy. I imagine there was nothing biological left of those guys except the fact that they were just there. Mummified so to speak. Ultimately, I wiped the entire wall above the medicine cabinet, dusted the top of it off, cleaned the light fixture, and started laundry.
Yea, I started laundry. Then I brushed my teeth. Whew! That took about an hour. All I was going to do was brush my teeth. I have come to a conclusion about this situation. I am either suffering from busy mom syndrome or I truly have ADHD. That was tiring.
What do YOU think?
All weekend I have had a feeling that I absolutely must write. The only problem is that I did not know what it was. I did get a couple of good posts out of it but the satisfaction one gets after forking out a blurb did not last. I almost felt like it was a drug and it had ceased to work its magic for me. It reminded me of that little “Nugget” cartoon that is going around social media that shows what drugs will do to someone. (Here it is in case you need a memory jog… see below. ) Mind you, I am normally satisfied to do 2 posts a week and then wait until the next weekend. However, with this posting on a Monday, you must know that the need for that satisfied feeling has yet to come. I have also felt the need to read something and everything I pick up, with the exception of one book was simply not good enough. I don’t know what it is. I have never felt this way before and like most things that interfere with my rut, it sucks. It sucks a big old fat one and I don’t know what to do.
I have tried all my outlets. From my idea and personal journals, to my book, to my next non-fiction work to my blogs. NOTHING seems right! What is a girl to do? I even thought that if I did this small post that it would satisfy that. Oh no. Like so many other things in my life recently, that was a good idea as it bounced around in my brain but not very fruitful once it came out. Ah, but I digress.
Such it is that we are….
What do YOU think?
Mollie stood there admiring her work. This has been a custom of hers as of late. Every time she completes a difficult job well, she feels compelled to stand there for a moment and take her success in. another habit she has begun is rather odd but she doesn’t find it so. When she finally gets beyond the planning phase of any “work” task, she purchases a new button up shirt. Modern times have shown that most any new button up shirt needs that extra button that no one ever needs or uses. You know what I am talking about. It is normally fastened inside the shirt somewhere. Normally along the seam, at the bottom of the button row, or attached to that annoying tag inside the back of the shirt. All safe and snug in its own little plastic, transparent envelope (of sorts.) Ironic is it that nothing messy can get into that plastic slip unless you tear it open to retrieve the button. Mollie has never had reason to tear open the plastic. She only hopes to keep it that way. You see, the buttons do have some importance. At least for Mollie they do.
Mollie suddenly remembers the button on this blue plaid number. She was short on funds this time around. When it came time for a new button shirt, she had to surf the clearance rack. No biggie. Even cheap shirts are blessed with that button. Remember we came to find Mollie admiring a job well done. After taking a deep, satisfactory breath, she begins to search the shirt for the button. A constant comfort, those buttons. Always there for her. Without fail. Of course it helps that she ensures they are there before purchasing the shirts. But that is a story for another day. She finds the button and then bites the plastic tie with her teeth to snap it off. Firmly grasping the packaged button in her sweaty palm, Mollie heads for the office where she will put it with countless others. The cigar box she keeps them in has enough to cover the bottom and to begin some depth. She smiles serenely as she thinks of it as a small pool….of button water!
Now the real work has to begin. Mollie goes to the closet in her office. So opens this closet so rarely that when she does pull open the accordion doors, dust floats down into her hair and makes her sneeze. She grabs some chemicals she obtained while working nights in the hospital. They have this great stuff that gets rid of bodily fluids quite well. Doesn’t even leave a trace. Not even something those nosey forensic professionals can find. This stuff is so great that it doesn’t even leave a trace of itself. A degree in forensic science helped ensure that she was fully informed of all aspects of the task at hand. She returns to the kitchen. Looking at the clock, she knows she has approximately four hours before the love of her life returns from his business trip. Being married to a wealthy executive has its advantages.
Let’s take a step back from the mind of Mollie for just a moment.
Unbeknownst to her husband, Mollie is the daughter of a famous serial killer. She was taught everything from the moment he slaughtered her mother in front of her at the tender age of four. After all, he included her in the clean up process. At that time in her life, she did everything she could to spend time with her Daddy who was away a lot. Instead of being afraid or sad, she was quite happy to help Daddy clean up his mess. That night, he told her she was good at her part of helping Daddy and asked if she wanted to help her do more cleaning. She jumped at the chance and never looked back. The difference between Mollie and Daddy is that Daddy got lazy. Not only did he get lazy. He tried to run when he knew it was time to quit. Not a good idea. In this life, you have to give up when life tells you to give up. Until then, take it and run with it. After the first time, Mollie understood the happiness killing brought Daddy. Same concept. Only, for Mollie, it was to protect her own feelings. Revenge killing is what you and I would call it. Erasing remnants of bad feelings is what it was for Mollie.
This body laying on the table in the breakfast nook of the kitchen was number 19 for Mollie. As she went about cleaning up the mess, she was singing along with her play list she had on her iPod for just this situation. See, the massacre that occurred in this kitchen just hours before was planned. Mollie has known for years that her husband has been unfaithful. Unbeknownst to hubby, it was convenient for Mollie that all of his flings were local. Made the entire process easier. Less of a disaster if something were to go awry. Mr. Mollie’s business trips were just that. Business. Mollie knew this as she followed him out of town and watched his every move. Several times. She even believed it was for him to get a rest from his current fling and his wife at the same time. “Poor guy” Mollie would think. Poor guy.
You see, whenever Mollie found out who Mr. was seeing, she would seek them out. She would find out all she could about them and then immerse herself quietly into their lives. Mr. was fond of socialites so it was quite easy for her to befriend them and stay below the radar. Mollie always struck when Mr. was away on business. Less questions and drama. By the time Mollie would strike, she would have become a close friend to the woman. Right down to knowing what kind of panties she preferred to wear. Close but not close enough to become a topic of conversation with Mr. She would invite them over to the house. It was quite convenient that these women did not know of this house. After all, Mr. had a separate home that Mollie was not supposed to know about. The secrets men will keep. She would invite the women over and, over coffee, she would tell them who she really was and provide proof. After all, there were pictures all over the house of her an Mr. in their happy days. There are none in the kitchen, however. No one hangs family photos in the kitchen. Prior to the woman’s arrival, Mollie would pluck one off the wall and lay it face down on the table. More for bait less for proof.
No two murders are the same. Ever. The clean up is the same. Thank goodness the fishing sink is just outside on the patio. Makes feeding the pigs so much easier. The pen was at the far end of the porch. They little bacon mongers absolutely loved it when Mollie used the fish sink. She would bring out pieces of her fresh kill, prep them by chopping them up and mixing in some fresh fruit. Over the years, strawberries and raspberries became the fruit of choice. Fortunately, Mr. has a thing for short women and this would not take long. After she fed her beloved pets and cleaned up the kitchen, she would make a grand dinner of steak and eggs, baked potatoes and, broccoli. A candlelit dinner for the Mr. at the breakfast nook table. Flawlessly perfect. In every way. Mollie always included the scraps of her new shirt in the pig slop. The button, a commemorative token of keeping someone away from what rightfully belonged to her. Mr. was always going to be hers. Anyone who thought different would become pig slop. A fitting death for a slut sleeping with a married man. Further, she would be there for him in the days that followed. He always became inexplicably sad after his business trips. This always made Mollie happy. This would always be the confirmation that she needed. The silver lining is that things would get better in her marriage. At least until the next short bitch came along….
This just means Mollie has to go find a new shirt. And a new button….
What do YOU think?
One of the things that makes DH furious about people is that they tend to walk around with blinders on and tune out everything that goes on around them. I admire my better half for his skill in tuning into the details even when they are irrelevant. Apparently, I was walking around like a people (hereafter called sheeple) today and failed to remember that the world was supposed to end today. I got up, went to the cleaning store to buy cleaning supplies and even took the boys grocery shopping. All the while there was supposed to be mass chaos and doomsday going on all around me. BUT….It was just an ordinary day.
Until I came out of the cleaning store….
I hopped on my bike with my thoughtfully balanced bags and mop pointed out in front of me and proceeded to roll down the sidewalk. About halfway to the end of the strip mall, I noted something in the middle of the sidewalk. I always avoid anything I happen to see in the path of my tires because we all know I am the one to hit it and one of two things will happen. I will either pop the tire AND the tube or, the tire will shoot out from under me and I will find a way to become seriously injured and I fall gracefully to the ground. Bottom line? I just avoid things like that. It was a good thing I did this time too. Why?
There was a tiny little bird just sitting there. He was in the middle of the sidewalk and did not budge when I rushed past him on my bike. I happened to look down as I went by and seen him regard me with a calm regard that made me stop and come back. If he curled in his tail feathers, he would be no larger than a golf ball. He continued to sit there and look up at me as if he was trying to tell me something. I parked my bike and lightly stepped over to him and he was watching me just as I was him. There was zero fear in his tiny eyes. I felt compelled to stand there. Not knowing what to do, I took out my phone and snapped a picture. I always share my “adventures” with my family. Thanks to technology, proof is in the peanuts when telling someone something that could be considered a fish story.
After I returned my phone to my pocket, I was unable to leave him there. It was almost as if my feet were glued to that spot in the sidewalk until I was able to make a coherent decision. As I stood there, I looked around to find something I could use to try and pick him up and move him to safety. It has been my experience that when a bird is un-moving when you are towering over them, they are likely injured. Also, if he was diseased in some way, I didn’t want to become a statistic. I had my DH and the kids depending on me. For the first time in what seems like a millennia, I had nothing in my cleaning supplies I could open or use to pick him up as I had all cleaning chemicals. The mop was a cotton mop but it was a tiny one and not nearly long enough to use to wrap around this little guy. Besides, it might have freaked him out. I took inventory of my surroundings and still found nothing. What was I going to do? If I were to leave him here on the sidewalk, he would surely be killed, eaten by a stray or stepped on. I felt helpless. Further, even if I was able to get him to the safety of the bushes in the parking lot, I felt he would die of the heat. Here, on the sidewalk, it was under the roof of the building and it was cooler in the shade. With it being 8 am and 87 degrees already, it was set up to be a hot day.
While I was trying to think of something to do, and still under the spell of having to stay in this spot, I pulled out my phone and started a video. I didn’t expect anything YouTube worthy but it gave some perspective at just how little this guy was. He listened to me talk to him and just watched me. There was obvious trust in his gaze upon me and he did not flinch when I reached out to him. There were busy city sounds going on all around us and every time he startled, it was due to that and nothing I was doing. He trusted me 100% and, for a fleeting moment, I felt like Snow White. Only, I wasn’t singing to the bird. I was talking to it. Here is my proof:
(Kind of ironic that I said it wasn’t YouTube worthy, and here it is….Ah, but I digress.)
After I recorded that video, again, I returned my phone to my pocket and just stood there talking at the bird. I don’t know if I expected it to chirp, talk back to me, or what but I still felt the need to stay right there. Some lady walked by and looked at it like…oh, well…and kept right on going. Sheeple….I swear. I decided that the best course of action, due to lack of other options, was to push him up to the wall of the building gently with my foot. This way, if he angrily pecked at me, it would be my shoe and not a finger. Slowly, carefully, and easily, he let me gently push him to the building wall where it met the sidewalk. He didn’t freak out or anything. He just let it happen. Satisfied, I turned around to my bike and was preparing to leave. Lo and behold, the little guy started hopping in one spot and fluttering his wings a bit. Quickly, I pulled out my phone and this happened:
I was in the middle of wishing the little guy well when, out of the blue, he flew away. You can tell from my expression in the second video, I was shocked. In that moment, I felt a wave of “everything is gonna be alright” come over me. It was almost joy that I felt as I stood there and watched him fly over the building at the other end of the strip mall. I am not sure why that happened or for what reason. However, when it comes to things like that, I do feel there are forces at work that cause people to go through things like this. Most people shrug it off and move on. However, for me, this was out of the ordinary in my ordinary life. It was special. There were forces at work that I could not comprehend and I won’t stress myself out worrying about them. It was a magical moment one in the same. Treat the world right and the rewards will be bountiful. THAT right there is something I believe.
So, the next time you hear me fuss at DH or one of the kiddos about respecting the planet and loving Mother Nature, you will understand. Even in the middle of the city, Mother Nature finds a way. That bird was there for me. No doubt about it. I may not even understand why. Eventually, I will come to understand. For now, I will revel in the magic that it was and appreciate that something happened out of the ordinary to show me that my life is more than just ordinary. It is special.
What do YOU think?