A love note...

I was thinking about being a parent today.  It is such a crap shoot, giving birth to a human being.  You start out with a few cells, and before you know it, there is a whole person eating lemon meringue pie (um... what??) and telling you their opinion, and it may not exactly gel with your own, which is all a bit... disconcerting, to say the least.  I am always surprised when one of my offspring spouts off with an opinion in direct conflict with one of my long held beliefs.  (And it happens a lot, let me tell you.  I have one who will disagree just for the fun of debating the topic, so I know what I'm talking about here.)

Speak now, because forever is a long time....

One year ago, I wished my cousin a happy birthday.  Two years older than me, but only one grade ahead in school, we grew up in the same small town and the same smaller church, which means we saw a lot of each other.  And it wasn't always fun.  But he was a part of my growing up, always there, ever present, solid and dependable.  Over time, I didn't even mind the nickname he called me, because I knew it was said out of affection, although he likely wouldn't have admitted it.  From the outside it probably didn't appear that we were close, but over the years we forged a weird, but important, relationship of love and support that meant a lot to each of us.

Circling....

This past weekend I got to witness something very special, even if it is pretty ordinary and happens all the time - I saw my mother-in-law meet her newest great-grandson for the first time, and watched her carefully cradle him in her fragile arms.  I saw the glow on her face as she looked down upon the countenance of the sleeping child, and am reminded in a weird sort of way of all the Madonna and child paintings created by the masters.  There is something about holding a new baby in your arms, cradling this innocent and completely helpless human being, that brings out the maternal instinct in every mother, no matter how old.  And it is always beautiful to see.

Karma....

I have been following the news about the recent Ebola outbreak in Africa with interest.  I am not especially afraid of contracting Ebola.  The odds of me coming into contact with someone who has the disease in the virulent stages while they are contagious are slim to none, so it's not so much personal as it is a matter of pondering the vagaries of life.  It is easy to think you are in isolation in safe little rural Minnesota, but in fact, a man was heading back to this very state from Africa when he was found to be carrying the disease from which he ultimately died.  We are not really alone in this world.

Change is good, change is good. No. Seriously. Change is GOOD.

When I began this blog many years ago, it was a gut reaction to something very difficult that had happened in my life.  Writing has always been the way I worked through emotional distress, and thus, in the throes of one of the most difficult periods a person can endure in this life, I turned to the written word.  Over time, I have shared a great deal about myself - my thoughts, my feelings, my experiences, in the hopes that if another person out there was experiencing the same things and searching for someone who understands, maybe I could give them hope that while I cannot make it go away, they are not alone.  Someone out in cyberspace has been there and survived and they can too.  Sometimes that's all you need to keep going, and it is something I can offer.

But something funny happened on the way to the publish click.  Instead of dwelling on the dark things that haunted me, I started to find the humor in it all.  Instead of angst, I found joy.  At some point, a few years down the line, I realized I had moved from shock into anger, and finally from anger into indifference, a much more peaceful place to exist.