Guru in Training

I'm one of those people who cracks herself up on a regular basis. I have a hard time amusing other people, unless it's because they're laughing at me, but I do a fine job of entertaining myself.  I'm also the kind of person who reads self-help books, in my continual quest for a perfect life.  Or a quieter brain.

I'm reading The Power of Now, by Eckhart Tolle.  It's all about spiritual enlightenment, how to live in the moment, how to get out of your crazy head when your life is spinning in circles, you know, that kind of thing.

Jack comes in last night while I'm reading and he's bouncing off the walls in ecstasy over the new bat his Dad just bought him. He tells me seven times what brand it is and how much it weighs and how much it costs and why it's different from and better than all other bats in the world. He's hopping around next to my bed, making pretend swings with it, way too close to my head, with this beaming grin on his face the entire time.

I'm laughing at how happy he is over a baseball bat, thinking how lucky he is to be in that most simple of times in life, and how fortunate he is to be a person who sees good and light in everything around him.  I tell him,

"I love you.  You'll never have to read this book I'm reading."

"Why? What's it about?"

Uh, well...how do you explain Tolle to a 12 year old whose biggest worry is whether or not the team will be impressed with his bat?

"Oh," I say, casually waving the book away with my hand, "it's just about ... how to be happy."

He busts out laughing and raises his eyebrows.

"Seriously? You're reading a book about how to be happy?"

I sort of nod, wishing it didn't sound so stupid. He shrugs and says,

"You seem pretty happy to me. I mean, you laugh at everything you say."

Touche.

Series Finale, No Warning

I read a "Farewell Post" from a fellow blogger this morning, and it totally took me by surprise.  But it wasn't because she quit blogging, it was the new knowledge that anyone actually does that.

Really?  I'm still a relatively new blogger, so there are a million things I don't know about it, but it never occurred to me that some writers might just stop doing it one day.

I read blogs like I watch TV shows - not often, but I definitely have my favorites.   I read this particular blogger's every post with great pleasure and admiration; while she didn't write daily, or even weekly, she wrote very well and entertained me immensely with her outrageous stories about being a native Scot living as a closet lesbian in Egypt (and I'm not even making that up).  And then, all of sudden, she says she's got other stuff to do.

Hello??? Over here - I'm reading you! (Me, and 600+ followers; what in the world would prompt a person to quit writing when that many people are actually reading you???)

This feels a bit like some random network executives deciding - without my input - that Benjamin Bratt didn't need to be flexing his tattooed guns on my big screen once a week, pretending to be a recovering drug addict.  Um, yeah he does. 


When I started writing this, if you had asked me how long I would do it, I would have thought that a weird question.  Well, until I die, I guess. Or I lose my hands in a farming accident. Which isn't likely, but it could happen.  A lot of the time, I don't have much to say. I don't write as often as some of the other bloggers I love and I don't have a lot of followers.  But I come here to write because I'm practicing. I'm practicing not only my writing, but my thinking, my decision making skills, my life. If I quit writing my blog, it would be the first time in my life I voluntarily chose to shut up.

So, maybe too bad for you, this is not a Farewell Post.  I will miss my cyber friend, Kerry, and her crazy life, but I guess now I know: I better not get too attached to anyone here.

Look how bitter I still am about that Benjamin Bratt thing, and that was two years ago.

Mom Nap

The littlest McDonald had left the building, and the teenagers were upstairs being quiet, for once.  I curled up on the comfy couch with my favorite quilt made by my mother.  The windows were open and a light breeze was flowing through the room making it just cool enough to nap.  In no time, I started to drift off into a heavenly snooze with no threat of interruption.

And then.

The laundry room door opened ...

"Mom!"

But before I am fully awakened by Jack's urgency to ask me some all-important question, Matt appears out of nowhere - bless his heart  - and whispers,

"Dude. Mom's taking a nap."

"Oh, " Jack whispers back.  They are standing 10 feet from my couch. I think they are, anyway, but I can't be sure because I haven't yet opened my eyes and am desperately hoping I will fall right back into my slumber.

Matt: "What do you want?" whispering.

Jack: "I want to ask her something." a little bit louder now...

"What do you need to ask her?" a little bit louder now...

"Something." a little bit louder now...

"Dude, just tell me. Maybe it's something I can help you with." loud...

"No, it's not." louder.

"Jack, you're gonna wake her up.  Just ask me what you want."

"YOU CAN'T ANSWER IT!"

10 feet.  In my ear.  Same dif.

"Oh, you're awake." Jack whispers.  "Can I have a cream soda?"