Monthly Archives: March 2014

Regina Brett

Below are some statements attributed to Regina Brett, a 90-year-old who knows a few things about living. These are a few of my favorites.

What other people think of you is none of your business.

When in doubt, just take the next small step.

If a relationship has to be secret, you shouldn’t be in it.

Don’t compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.

Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don’t save it for a special occasion. Today is special.

Frame every so-called disaster with these words…”In five years, will this matter?”

Growing old beats the alternative–dying young.

Your children get only one childhood.

God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn’t do.

All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.

With everything happening in the news, it helps me to take pause and center on what this life is all about. Hope the brief time-out was helpful for you as well!

 

Smooches

This past week, a short film about strangers kissing went viral on social media. I may or may not have watched it a million times. If you missed it, you should, too.

I write kisses in my stories — lots and lots of kisses — but do mine start out that sweet and hesitant? Do they quickly turn that steamy and electric? Do my characters lose themselves in their kisses like these strangers do? You can better believe they will from now on.

Also, the writer in my  wants to know, what happened to these couples after? Did they exchange numbers? Go on dates? Fall in love? I don’t know, but I do know this: I want to watch it again.

When Your Night Nurse is a Country and Gospel Singer

You ask him to sing for you.
Or, if you’re not-so-forward like me (or really, just out of sorts because of some medical issues), you keep your thought about his resemblance to one from a famous-to-a-certain-generation vocal quartet to yourself. And then you kick yourself later for not seizing a memorable moment by demanding that he croon you to sleep with his baritone.
And then you, later yet, write about him.
Two weeks ago I took a little personal field trip to an area hospital. I’d had a few days of intermittent chest pain so the ER was calling, and after the standard evaluations, it was determined I’d be kept overnight for observation and additional tests the next morning.
The Oak Ridge Boys kirkwestphotography.com

The Oak Ridge Boys
kirkwestphotography.com

Once transferred to my private room, I noted the message board on the wall next to the clock, beneath the small TV. It informed me, as such hospital boards do: “Your RN is Kevin” and “Your CNA is [name I can’t remember, because she wasn’t as memorable, apparently, as some singer’s doppelganger].”

I thought, Kevin? Seriously, a man? And as I lay there frumpy-times-a-thousand, I hoped and hoped it wouldn’t be some young, hot dude. Because the last thing I wanted was an intimidating man hunk administering my meds and regularly checking all the wires glued to my braless and saggy, you know, heart area.

But my nerves didn’t have long to build before he roamed into my room, looking well-coiffed and a touch out of place.
“OMG! It’s an Oak Ridge Boy!” I said in my head.
Kevin was in his fifties, and wore white (possibly linen) pants and a short-sleeved button-up baby blue shirt. (Why he wasn’t in scrubs like the women, I’ll never know, but I’d guess he has a certain celeb-like appearance to uphold.) Jet-black was his hair, as was his full beard. His Oak Ridge Boy-kind-of-beard.
His bedside manner was not unkind. But it was detached. Almost as if he wasn’t too comfortable with his role. Like he’d have preferred a stage before thousands, not this room with a lone woman in a hospital gown. He prefaced each step he took with a timid narration. “I think I’ll listen to your heart now,” and “I guess I could get your IV fluids going.” I wanted to shout, “Sing it out, Kevin! And hook me up! You can do it!”
We didn’t have a lot of interaction, Kevin and me, as I slept as much as I could through the night, but each time he entered—and announced his intention—I thought, There he is, my very own chart-topper.
If only I’d asked him to sing for me.
** My health is fine, my heart is healthy. Turns out I had a virus which led to pleurisy, an inflammation of the lining of the lung, the pain from which can mimic a heart attack. I’m back to 100% now.

Life Is Short

From the Texas Country Reporter – a beautiful video about love and home and work and how life is short.

http://www.coolestone.com/media/8112/Purple-Hulls—Right-At-Home!/#.UxeEbyhOqQY

Time Flies When You’re Having…

On Monday, Christy’s post caught me off guard. Had she switched places with Dianne? Nope, there on the previous Monday was Dianne’s post.

Yep, time sure does fly when you’re not looking.

Time ClockWhen my boys were little and I worked outside of the house, I used to believe that the days and weeks and years passed by quickly because I was so very busy.

I didn’t know any better.

When my boys were teenagers and I continued to work outside of the home, I believed that the days and hours and minutes would slow down once I was no longer helping with homework and playing chauffeur and working so many gosh-darn overtime hours.

I still didn’t know any better.

The year my mom turned 65, I said, “Mom, time is whooshing past. I can’t wait till the boys grow up and life slows back down.”

My mother looked at me with wisdom in her eyes. “If you think it’s fast now, just wait till you’re my age.”

I didn’t believe her.

And yet, now that my boys are grown up and on their own, now that I’ve stepped out of the daily commute rat race and work from home, now that it feels like I’m not rushing here and there 24/7, time continues to pick up pace.

Beautiful SunsetI’ve talked to my boys and they concur. Those childhood and teenage years crawled past with all of the urgency of a snail crossing the road. But we all agree that the moment we turned the corner into adulthood, time shifted into overdrive.

How can that be? Why does it sometimes seem that the hours in a single day drag on endlessly, yet the passage of time from one Christmas to another happens in the blink of an eye? And if time speeds by faster each year, what will it be like at 95 or 100?

Do you know of a way to slow down time? Or is the ever increasing passage of time all hogwash and you recommend I get my head examined?

Thanks for stopping by to talk to me today!

(Time clock photo credit. Beautiful sunset photo credit.)

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