Little video clip of my flowers this year. I especially love the outside sounds here. It’s a lot of the charm, those outside sounds.

I went to visit Dad in the hospital. They expect him to be fine, after they add a couple more stints to his heart. But he’s almost 80. So, you never know. They just moved back into town, it’s a half hour trip. I’m going to see him before he goes to surgery.

My brother was there, with his wife, now adult son, and granddaughter. He looks, walks, and sounds so much like my dad it’s freakish.  I haven’t seen him for maybe 15 years; been probably a decade since I’ve heard his voice. They’re all dressed up, fresh from their meeting.

He was nice enough to me, and talked to me a little. But it’s weird as holy Hell, you know? It’s like it’s this person you know but you don’t, and everybody’s acting like it’s not weird that we haven’t talked in 15 years.  It’s not even mentioned or acknowledged.

His wife didn’t speak to me, but wasn’t rude. After they left, some of my parents’ friends came in–one I recognized, the mom of my best friends growing up. She didn’t speak to me either, and I was out of there pretty shortly thereafter.

It’s disconcerting and upsetting to be in a group where most of the people act as if you simply weren’t there. It probably shouldn’t have been. I’ve been through this before and it’s part of the territory I traversed in exchange for claiming my own adventure.

I AM the black sheep; my folks talk to me normally, but when someone else is around from their religious tribe, I cease to exist.

It’s not like they don’t see me. That’s the thing. Everybody there is going to know who I am. Even if they never met me. “That must be their disfellowshipped daughter. How sad…”

You are the sinner who’s been condemned to die in Armageddon because–well, you just weren’t a good enough person. What a disappointment to those poor parents. As you may imagine, this is not my favorite vibe.

The other thing that glared was how very old they both seemed, how fragile. They’d been moving, so they were all banged, bruised and scraped. It made me sad. I knew it all along, but the reminder I have no idea how long they’re going to be with us just hasn’t been clearer for a long time, and it stings.

I’m glad I went, regardless. Mom and Dad both said what I was thinking: that he should be fine, probably will be fine, but it’s good to see him anyway. You never know what’s gonna happen tomorrow.

As I’m flipping the grilled cheese sandwiches over with my bare hands, I wonder what my daughter would say if she saw me. She did assign Captain Safety to watch me.

“Your Dad wasn’t watching me, so I can do this!” I think to myself and laugh aloud with glee. “Bwahahaaaa!”  (I’m not making that up. I really did.) I mean, okay. I’ll give you that sometimes he’s got some good points. Maybe it’s not the best idea to scratch my back with the scissors–they’re closed and everything, but still–and sure, it wasn’t my proudest moment when he pointed out reservations about my move to squirt water at a cat standing in front of the DVR, although that really shouldn’t count because I wasn’t close enough to get electrocuted.

But hey. I can take constructive feedback.

Sometimes, I just don’t want to have to think about it, though. I am in the moment and my brain is firing off whatever it’s firing off, I am engaged and absorbed in my thoughts and I simply don’t want to interrupt the flow of eccentric genius to stop to ask myself, “Is there any possible way this could hurt me?”

Fortunately, I have a volunteer for that. And he’s damned good at it, too.

But I am not going to say anything about the grilled cheese incident, anyway. Nobody squeal, okay? Or no doubt about it, Captain Safety would start following me around the house…

I’ve been trying to dance in the mud, all day. Things that should have been easy, quick, or done weren’t. I had to push, be there, focus my wavy energy on target like a laser to make anything happen. As soon as I’d get fine some focus, somebody would come over and slap it right out of my hands like I’d just picked up a poison apple.

It’s okay. But I have so much I need to, want to do–and well. I mean, I don’t just wanna half-ass anything. I’d like to be many things, but mediocre isn’t one of them.

So I’ll just keep dancing, I guess. Just because it’s slower than I’d like it to be doesn’t mean it can’t still be beautiful.

New Year’s, I generally eschew resolutions. There’s so often more an excuse to pretend we can solve every problem we have in two and half weeks, or maybe just another opportunity to feel bad about ourselves. It’s usually a better idea to make changes day-to-day, as you see the need. While there’s perhaps some value in the ritualization or symbolic significance of new year/new you thing, still… We’re usually not reasonable or kind with ourselves that way.

But this year, I did make a resolution: I am getting rid of all the holey socks.

I’m pretty frugal. Maybe from growing up in a family that sometimes had little, lean times raising kids in our 20′s, or just a practical nature, I don’t know. But I have socks. With holes. Too many. And when I run across one of these holey socks, what had I traditionally done?

Why, wear them, of course! Sometimes two pair, or teamed up with some slippers, to make up for the holes. And afterward? I take them off and put them in the laundry and wash the damn things again. And each time I end up with one of ‘em after a sock search, I am surprised and disappointed all over again. But I put them on anyway.

It’s as if I somehow expect the socks to magically heal in the drawer. I try to avoid it, ignore it, put it off and forget about it instead of just throwing the stupid socks out.

Uh oh. How many times do I avoid, ignore, cobble up or otherwise deny what is not working in my life? Because it’s easier “not to think about that right now?”

I’m done putting on holey socks. When I notice anything in my life isn’t serving it’s function, when I see something isn’t working with my life, it’s done.

That’s hard sometimes. Sometimes your favorite socks wear out. Sometimes, it’s just time to change socks. You outgrow the old ones, and they don’t fit anymore. You may still have an emotional attachment, but it doesn’t change the facts, man.

It was harder than I thought. I figured I’m not over-involved with my kids, so empty nest would be no sweat. It’s been coming and going in waves. She’s about 12 hours away now, which is probably the hardest part. If she could come over every week for a visit or something, I don’t think it would feel the same. I’d probably have some sentimental moments, but it wouldn’t feel quite so hard.

I’ve done this before and it was hard, but in a totally different way. The other kid always steeled herself for moving out by complete disconnect emotionally before the fact for months. It hurt like Hell, but a totally different type of pain.

I’m happy for her, though, because she wants to live a grown up life and be on her own now, and I want for her to thrive. She’s kind, smart and funny, and she’s sane and sensible. She knows what boundaries are and how to love. I’ve given her the best start I knew how to, and I hope it will be enough to smooth her path.

That’s where my head and heart is at today: wishing my baby the best as she moves into her new life.  That was then…this is now.

She's grown up a lot.

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Got some great tips over here on the Toilet Paper Entrepreneur on letting go of work for a while. How do I know? I submitted on of em!

Tips on Relaxing for Entrepreneurs!

Please ignore my blip.

1. locate the image you want to use. Windows users can “right click” to see the image info. Select properties.  Hold your left mouse button down and drag over the image location for copying.
2. And you can use Control+C to copy, and Control+V to paste.
3. click the tree icon on the elsa boards. paste the image url there.
4. Holler if you have questions.

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Look for the tiny Tree Picture