Dear Readers -

To those of you kind enough to tune in from time to time to read this little blog, I would like to take this opportunity to say thank you. I have enjoyed it immensely and have been uplifted by your kind and thought provoking comments over the past year. I never knew these tele-friendships would come to be such a meaningful part of my life. The time has come, however, for me to give blogging a much needed rest in order to explore other paths of my life.

I would like to propose a toast my favorite bloggers...

Semi-Charmed

One Kentucky Writer

Speculatin on a Hypotenuse

Laura K at the Bay

iList Paducah iBlog

Evil HR Lady

and especially Bizzyville who helped me to believe that I had something worth saying.

Hopefully, I'll be back at this someday, in the meantime I have you all on Speedblog!

Namaste

The Star Attraction

I have to take a moment to say that I personally witnessed this, and it happened exactly that way. The concerned appeared very truly such, and it was a touching exchange. Even while observing such an act of kindness, however, I couldn't stop myself from thinking "That question must get really old." It's an oddly amusing question, because she is about as empowered as I've ever seen her. Bizzy is truly an inspiration, a person who brings joy and laughter along wherever she goes.

On that note, I wanted to shout out to one of my new favorite blogs, Semi-Charmed. This girl has been way too long without blogging. Check it out for yourself here. She tells it like it is, real life, no fluff...something we could all us a lot more of. Plus, she can flat turn a phrase.

Personally, I've been doing a lot of thinking...thinking about The Planets. In case you haven't heard, everything we learned in elementary school is now totally defunct...out the window. Mr. Wilson was wrong. We have 11 planets, not nine...8 "normal" and three dwarf planets. OK, I'm thinking. Wait a minute. First of all, haven't we all just recently been re-trained? Shouldn't it be "little planets?" Secondly, what about all the other millions of big rocks out there in the Kiper belt? We haven't even seen the half of them. How do we know there aren't more dwarfs out there...maybe even midgets?! Are we going to take in every stray dwarf and call them a planet now?

For the record, it's now: Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Ceres, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Eris, Pluto.

And if you are having trouble remembering all of the newly discovered planets out there, this little fourth grader from Montana came up with a lame way of pulling it all together for you...something about an elephant on a magic carpet or some such ridiculous nonsense.

Let's just say it right here and now...Pluto, Eris and Ceres don't deserve to be memorized by millions of fourth graders. They don't deserve to even be questions in the St. Mary Trivia Tournament. They're Midget Planets, for crying out loud. They're tiny. There's something inherently wrong with them!

OK, ok, I know I'm going to catch some heat for this and some of you rock-huggers will say something [in your whiny, bleeding voices] like...

"Just because they're not normal sized doesn't mean they don't matter."

Or "Just because they're not like Earth doesn't mean they don't participate in our Solar System."

Blah, blah, blah.

Well...I'm saying just that. They don't. They're sub-standard. They're not right. They're just plain weird, and nobody wants them around. End of story.

Next thing you know they'll be calling our boy Mercury a dwarf, and we can't be having that with the Gary Coleman of our Solar System...our literal star attraction.

Namaste

Just got back from yoga class...my first class since December. Getting back into any form of exercise is a lot like deciding to watch Grey's Anatomy in the middle of season four. All of your friends know all the subplots, who's slept together, and random additional social configurations, but you're the loser who doesn't even know the name of Patrick Dempsey's character. I don't know if you understand this logic. If you do, we should probably get together for a drink sometime.

Last week a very gracious and premium seated season ticket holder invited my daughter and me to see "Annie" at the Carson Center. I am famous for saying that I dislike all musicals (caveat: "The Wizard of Oz"), but I guess I am being forced to throw yet another blanket statement out the proverbial window. I really, really liked "Annie." And I know I'm going out on a limb here with the possiblility of causing some musical aficianados unspeakable anguish...I liked it better than The Producers.

I ran across a couple of friends in the restroom (where else?) that I hadn't seen in years. They had their daughters (aged 5 and 6, respectively) with them to see the play. I felt such pride and a strange sense of relief after meeting their little girls to point at my own daughter seated in the foyer, absently playing with her cell phone..."That's my little girl." (now basically a full-grown woman).

I know that I have an entire blog pending about being a very young mother...maybe even more than that. The entire time my kids were growing up, going to school, and I was one of the youngest room mothers, I never thought there would ever be relief associated with it. I would love to say it's a cake walk by the time they're 17, but just tonight I had to speak with a very reputable and upstanding attorney of Paducah about teenagers and speeding tickets. Parenthood is like taking a high school achievement test. First you're sailing along being embarrassingly self-congratulatory when suddenly the questions turn into a mensa application as you turn the last page.

Namaste

Today hope returned to my life. After spending some amount of time de-icing my car in the parking lot after work, driving to the library (closed!) to return some items before their actual due date, I returned home to find that my basil seeds have actually germinated! I was astonished. Last spring was a dismal year for my flowers. I simply abandoned them in favor of self-pity and air conditioning. This year I am attempting to rekindle my gardening passion armed with a few peat pots and an assortment of envelopes from the Burpee company. I have an assortment of annual herbs (dill, parsley, basil) as well as sage and even a few annual flowers. I hope my one and only fluorescent light will serve as surrogate sunlight long enough to get them started. By the time they are transplantable, we should be through with all of this icy mush.

There is no therapy like gardening. Setting a seed, watching it sprout and grow, caring for it like your own child. Working the soil in the springtime feels like talking to God. It's deep and hypnotic, revealing truth and meaning. It promotes a feeling of connection with life itself. Peace, I guess.

I wish I had the land to have a real garden...one like my grandfather's. Potatoes, corn, green beans, squash, watermelon and the most luscious tomatoes ever grown on this earth. He had a true talent for gardening, for growing anything, yet he made it seem effortless. There were apple orchards, peach trees, cherry trees (my favorite), gooseberry and blackberry bushes, pear and pecan trees. If only my own grandchildren could visit such a wonderland. I never knew how much love and care lived in the rich dirt of my grandfather's garden until now...when the sight of one tiny sprout makes this soggy, cold, wet February day a great one.

Namaste

I am here but still lacking any substance of which to write. I went to work, then to an off-site event two hours away and am home again. I thought a lot about the event that I attended, and I actually started to write about it but thought better. Work should remain at work.

I haven't been to yoga since December. I get this way...hermitic (is that a word? It should be) at times. I come home from work and immediately put on my sweatshirt and yoga pants. This way, I convince myself there's no chance in leaving since I'd have to put on real clothes to meet society. And let's face it, that's just too much trouble.

Some days, if my daughter is actually at home, I start supper. It's no secret that I like to cook, but cooking for oneself is anticlimactic to say the very least. On the nights that I don't cook and no one's here to witness, I eat gigantic piles of Wheat Thins or half a bag of Baked Lays for supper. Eating something crunchy always makes me feel like I'm getting more bang for my calorie.

Lately I've been sewing. Yes, you read that right. I've taken it up with a vengeance. I have yet to make myself anything presentable, but little Heidi has more dresses than she could ever possibly wear by age 12 months. I've become somewhat obsessed by it, I'll admit.

Well, I have to go now and get back to my latest work in progress. I will update you on how that goes...only if it turns out, that is.

Namaste

It feels a little weird to be sitting here writing in my blog. I've been a little out of sorts lately...in a "general funk" as my friend Kim used to say. With the holidays gone and the cold and dreary weeks of winter creeping in, I had nary an ounce of blogging fortitude. I'm quietly making my way back, but it's been a bit of a struggle.

First and foremost, Seinfeld was great...much funnier than I'd expected. I've never been one of those die hard Seinfeld fans...the ones who know every word in every episode. The ones who know every scene that features the Soup Nazi or each Kramer idiosyncracy. All in all, I can say that I really like Jerry Seinfeld and were it not for this man, would probably have loved the show. I've never been able to name specifically why I despise him so and have wondered that very question aloud to more than one close friend. Is it his Weeble-ish physique? His whiny demeanor? His smarmy, totally unbelievable aptitude with women?

As usual, someone is circling the computer as I type...anxious, nervous. It has been a full 8 hours since her last IM (texts don't count, you know).

To be continued...