Unmade Bed

unmade bed

Sometimes I don’t make the bed. I don’t see the point in making it pretty every darned day for literally no one to see. Many days I don’t even see it myself until I pull the covers down to climb back into it.

Man I miss this bedroom. It’s my old bedroom from my last house and it was spacious, soothing, quiet, with just the right amount of natural light coming in. I am reminded by this picture of many years where my hubby traveled and I slept alone in this big bed. Making it was simple – pull up the covers on my side and walk away. Continue reading

It’s a Balancing Act

Republican lawmakers targeted by a lone gunman a little after 7 a.m. while practicing for a charity baseball game is not what you expect to see happening before your first sip of coffee on a Wednesday morning.

The gunman died in an angry attempt to express his political feelings. What drives someone to do that? A loss of balanced and rational thinking? I do wonder what his tipping point was but of course, we’ll probably never know. What we do know is the angry divide must be addressed somehow.

Respectfully, as it should be, news from the nation’s capital is not about collusion or obstruction of justice today. This morning’s events are likely a wake-up call to politicians on both sides. I can imagine the horribly frightening moments for those at the ball field this morning.

My guess is many who weren’t there are also imagining what if . . . it could have been me. With a sense of relief many of these folks are probably sharing a lot of loving thoughts with their families this afternoon, perhaps with newfound perspective for what really matters most and a desire to find a sense of balance. Continue reading

Farm Dreams — Part 1

Me and My First Love, Amigo - 1967

Where does a dream begin? How does it develop into something one must pursue? Is it ever too late to take action on pursuing this dream? 

I’ve had a dream my whole life — literally as far back as I can remember. This is Part 1 of my farm dream story:  

As a kid growing up in the Los Angeles suburbs I longed to live on a farm with horses. Corrals, pastures, wide open spaces to ride off alone, just me and my equine best friend, was what I dreamed of nearly every day of my life. I don’t know why or even where this idea came from because I hadn’t been exposed to horses or farms, except on TV. I knew kids who would visit their relatives on farms – always in the Midwest, it seemed. Eventually I married one of those kids. Continue reading