The path of life experience

"All that we are is a result of what we have thought."

             Buddha

Two years ago, we were in another state touring a prospective college for A.  He was tired of the rain and determined to attend college in the sun.  The campus was beautiful, the location fabulous…I was ready to go back to college, just to live there.  That day, we knew this would be the location, even though we planned to visit other campuses.

That night, A. and I were in our hotel room, while my husband and daughter were at the store.  We were watching TV…conversation didn’t come easily to A. and me anymore…he was pulling away, becoming more independent…a natural process, but hard on my heart.

I remember the next moment so clearly, and I've watched it many times in my mind.  A. was sitting on one of the beds, and he suddenly turned to me, body rigid, face tense.

“This is crazy, this is crazy."

“What’s crazy?” I asked.
“This is crazy, looking at colleges, everything’s happening so fast.  This is crazy.  I graduate next year.  High school will be over.  This is crazy.  What if I’m not ready?”

This was a defining moment in time...a life path was splitting, and this moment was the deciding factor regarding which fork it would take.  It wasn’t just A’s life path, it was also mine, and my heart was screaming, “Then don’t go to college far away--stay in Oregon where we can see you regularly and still be part of your life!”

Then, through a tunnel, I heard a voice, and I realized that my brain had stepped in where my heart couldn’t.

“It’s a year and a half away, and when the time comes, you will be ready.  It’s ok to feel scared about leaving home and the changes that will bring, but you’ll work through those feelings by the time you graduate.  You’ll be at a different place than you are right now--you’ll be excited to go and experience the next part of your life.”

We talked for a while, and I remember the look of relief that I saw on A’s face—the fear wasn’t gone, but it wasn’t overwhelming anymore.  Instead, our emotional roles had reversed—it took all of my self control to counter the heartache I suddenly felt.  I knew he would soon be over a thousand miles away, and throughout the years of raising your child, nothing prepares you for that.

The past eight months have been a journey for all of us.  D. and I are adjusting to having just one child at home, M. is adjusting to being an only child for the next few years, and A. has found that the road to independence and adulthood has curves you never see coming.  He’s gone through a very rough time in recent months, and I’m incredibly proud of his inner strength and perseverance.

I’ve also learned that there is nothing harder than being separated from your child during a crisis.  I can’t be there to hold him when he’s scared or overwhelmed…I can’t be there to fight his battles…to stand up for him…to make sure he stays strong.  That isn’t my role anymore, and nothing really prepares you for that either. 

My role is to support and trust the amazing man that I helped raise…to know that he has the emotional tools and strength to continue pushing forward and dealing with his life…to know that how he handles tough situations now will be the basis for handling them in the future.

Do I wish that I’d spoken with my heart rather than my mind two years ago?  Do I regret not asking him to attend college closer to home?  Sometimes…for a moment…when my heart outweighs my mind. 

Then I remember clearly…this isn’t my path—it’s his…and his unique journey will shape and strengthen him, just as mine has shaped me.

Valuing time

M and I are reading "The Hunger Games" series by Suzanne Collins.  We're almost done with "Catching Fire," and I can't imagine how the third book will top the first two.  It's actually hard for me to deal with the subject matter at times, but it's a creative, well-written series. 

Mostly...I just enjoy the time with M.  We take turns reading out loud, and I treasure those shared moments.  I'm a closet actress and love doing the voices of each character.  Years ago, I spent many special hours reading the Harry Potter series with my sons, and I'm so glad to have a similar experience with M.

These special moments, so hard won in my busy world, are what keep me going.  They're the moments that ground me, that make me realize how lucky I am.  They're the moments that make me realize how important the little things are...the things so easily taken for granted that actually provide the substance in life.

We all walk a tight rope...life can fall one way or the other, no matter who we are or how we live our lives.  Treasure the moments in time...the moments that touch your heart and lift your spirits.  Those moments carry you through everything else...those moments make it all worthwhile.

Generations

Aging is a funny thing…as you’re aging, so are those older than you…eventually, they slip away, one by one. It would probably be unbearable, except nature offsets loss by birth…nieces, nephews, grandchildren.

I attended my grandmother’s memorial service in northern California last weekend, which set many thoughts in motion. I have a lot to appreciate in life, in part due to my grandmother. A huge part of who I am was shaped by her—via my dad, her actions, my dad’s siblings.

Interestingly, there was tremendous heartache in my family…for multiple generations. And through it all, my relatives persevered, doing the best they could. That’s not to say there wasn’t pain caused by actions that never should have happened, because, of course, there was.

But through it all, every generation found the strength to keep going…trying to make things better. And every generation gained skill—regarding relationships, parenting, friendship. I think that’s all you can ask for in life…that every generation be better than the one preceding.

All this is on my mind, because I’ve produced another generation who’s trying to find its way in the world. A generation who will face things I’ve never faced…who are emerging into a computer-based world that I will never completely understand. Let’s face it, every time Facebook changes its layout, I endure weeks of confusion.

I honestly don’t know what the future holds for my children, because things are changing exponentially. All I can hope is that the roots D and I’ve provided will help them persevere…that our positive affects outweigh the inevitable negative ones we’re bound to have.

As I followed Highway 101 north, driving home last weekend, all these thoughts cascaded through my mind. The sky was crystal clear…never in my life has that drive occurred during a cloudless, ice-blue sky. The north coast of California tends to be enveloped in clouds and fog, just like the coast of Oregon.

Some would say my grandmother was paving the way, and maybe they’re right. What I know for certain is that it was a beautiful, peaceful, fulfilling drive. Via soul searching, I learned a lot along the way…enough to help me connect with the next generation a little more than I could two weeks ago.

So, I will trust my heart and my memories and continue adding to the scaffolding that began many years before I was born. As long as I don’t shake the foundation too much, my children should have a pretty good base upon which to possibly start another generation. And that’s something that I know would make my grandmother smile…

Fuchsia Man

Driving A to soccer practice, just before leaving our neighborhood, I passed a forlorn-looking man carrying a fuchsia down the hill. The plant looked forlorn too—it’s been averaging 100 degrees during the past few days…we’re all looking a little forlorn.

I watched the man, the fuchsia swinging gently in its wire, hanging basket, and wondered aloud if he was leaving home, fuchsia in hand. A. laughed, commenting that maybe he’d had a fight with his wife and she'd kicked him out.

“Surely you’d take more than a fuchsia,” I replied, “like maybe a ficus to provide shade on your journey?”

We continued down the hill, my thoughts still on the fuchsia-man. Why would anyone be carrying a heavy, hanging basket in this heat? The plant wasn’t perky enough to be a gift—it was definitely sad and droopy.

“Maybe he’s carrying it to a neighbor’s house so someone can take care of it while he’s on vacation?” (I thought this was a pretty good guess.)

“And his neighbor can’t walk?” A. replied with appropriate teenage scorn regarding older, less active individuals.

“They would have to go uphill to get to his house,” I pointed out.

“Haven’t they heard of cars?” Scorn and teen logic in one sentence…

We continued on our soccer-oriented journey, and I started to laugh…sometimes funky, bizarre moments in time are the best :)

On that note...

Yesterday, parents all over Oregon did little happy dances…today, it’s my turn.

Kids returned to school yesterday, after the two-week, holiday break. My preschool parents were wreathed in smiles when they delivered their children. Quick kisses and hugs (their children, not me—although, I’m sure they felt like hugging me)…see you in two and a half hours…fa la la la la, la la la la!

This isn’t to imply that parents don’t enjoy being home with their children; it’s to acknowledge the fact that parents also enjoy being home without their children. Two weeks is a long time, for parents and kids alike, especially when everyone is used to the social/physical outlets school provides. Oh…along with the learning aspect…the learning’s important too.

I actually had a wonderful time with my family during the holidays. J was home from the University of Oregon, my aunt visited one weekend, and my parents were here for a week. We watched my nephews wrestle one day, played a ton of board games, mastered difficult crossword puzzles (woohoo Internet search engines), took long walks with The Beasts, and indulged in morning Sudoku (which was far less intimate than it sounds).

Sure, the JAM kids argued, sometimes multiple times in the same minute, multiple times a day. Which led to moments of me wondering why children ever need breaks from school, but overall, it was a great two weeks.

Sunday, J returned to UO (always a difficult good-bye), and yesterday, A, M, and I returned to school. I was thrilled to see my students and hear their exciting holiday stories—I had really missed them. However, I understood the looks on their parents’ faces, the excitement they could barely contain…I’m probably lucky any of them returned for pick up.

But today, it’s my turn…my face mirrors theirs. I don’t work on Tuesdays and Thursdays—this is the first time in three weeks that I’ve had the house to myself.

I’m listening to a Kenny G holiday CD, surrounded by decorations I need to take down. I’ll do that later…right now, I’m savoring the last quiet moments of holiday thoughts, traditions and blessings. Sometimes, it’s hard to do that in the midst of the holiday crush…

Maybe I’ll take a walk with The Beasts, maybe I’ll do one last Sudoku puzzle, maybe I’ll finish the book I started last week. Or maybe, realistically, I’ll clean the house, finish lesson plans, write thank you notes and make lasagna for dinner.

But, for the moment…life and decisions can wait until Kenny G’s last note…fa la la la la, la la la la :)

Winter Solstice

We’re in the throes of the longest winter storm in 40 years…layers of snow, ice, snow, and more on the way. This is an area where mud thrives—rain is our forte.

Many areas have come to a standstill—cars without chains or all-wheel drive have been abandoned right and left. In other winter-competent states, those cars wouldn’t be on the road, but like I said…we lack winter savvy.

The scene outside my window is beautiful, destructive, awe-inspiring. Some of our trees are works of crystalline art; others bow to the ground, paying homage to Mother Nature. One is split in two—a crepe myrtle that evolved in sunshine and warmth. Friends and neighbors have lost huge trees—everyone has a lot of work to do when the sun returns…

Our birch trees are suffering most, which saddens me, but my husband is doing a little happy dance. He’s wanted to replace them for years—he likes sterile trees which drop only leaves. Maybe I’ll surprise him with a Sweet Gum for Christmas…

J.A.M have sledded, built snow walls, thrown snowballs and sledded some more. School was cancelled all last week, which seemed exciting, until the constant togetherness brought out their dark sides. The joys of Christmas are being stretched to the limit, or maybe that’s just my mental state…

The beasts enjoy the snow to a point. They dig up ice chunks, which reminds them of digging up rocks, and they chase the kids around. They’d rather be basking by the fire though, dreaming they’re in the snow digging up ice chunks…

The cats go into shock every time we open the front door. They should have adjusted by now—it’s been over a week—but cats are egocentric. They want to go outside, they refuse to be cold, so voilà, the foreign white stuff should be gone. Trinity ran out in desperation yesterday. Within seconds, she was back at the door, wild-eyed, almost catatonic—too many more days of this, and she’ll need therapy.

And then there’s Neo…a cat whose uniqueness defies description. The Beasts would like to snack on him, but he’s convinced of his canineness. He plays in the snow, jumps in the snow, poops in the snow, all while The Beasts salivate, pondering what a delicious hors devour he must be. Obviously, we keep an eye on the situation when they’re in close vicinity…

I’ve used the past week to catch up on my life, which led to this moment, an actual blog post. Just think of the writing time I’d have living in Alaska or Canada or Greenland. My family refuses to move though--that viable solution isn’t an option…sigh…

Belated Happy Solstice, my friends—stay warm, safe, dry....and never underestimate the power of Mother Nature.

Summer's over

I, Reverie, grudgingly take thee Soccer
To be my partner
On week days and weekends
For debtedness or poorer
In rain and in mud
Til winter do us part.

School starts today…so does 7-days-per-week soccer immersion. The saddest part? Even though the calendar doesn’t agree, summer ended yesterday. There was no warning really, just a sudden chill, a subtle shifting of the elements. I needed a jacket at the fair last night—we’ve never needed jackets before. Sigh…

We always go to the fair on Labor Day, which some years coincides with my brother’s birthday. He executed a little happy dance yesterday, because I mailed his card on time. He’s also pretty sure it will never happen again, but he knows how much I love him :)

Being at the fair is kind of like being at my house…lots of people, lots of animals, a variety of entertainers. I love the draft horse pulls—unless owners push their horses too far—so I hang out in the horse barns part of the day. Draft horses are to equines as mastiffs are to dogs—I really want one. Our CC &Rs are quite clear regarding horses though, so my husband doesn’t worry too much that I’ll bring one home.

So, here I am this morning, daydreaming about the fair, hanging on to the last remnant of summer, before waking my children and facing a new school year. I’ve already taken A. to school…his first day of high school…I still can’t believe it. He also has a JV soccer game this afternoon, in another town, via school bus—another first for us.

I guess I’ve stalled long enough…my coffee cup is empty, the clock is ticking. Enjoy the day, and if summer’s still hanging out at your house, I definitely need to move that direction!

Desert Encounter

Hearing about friends’ high desert explorations this morning triggered memories of our Nevada years. We were surrounded by BLM land and enjoyed outdoor freedom we’ve never experienced elsewhere. I miss the wide-open space and wildlife—I loved listening to the coyotes every night. Now we hear sirens…not quite as peaceful…

I walked by myself almost every night in Nevada. There were no people noises, the stars were endless. We lived in a small, safe community, I never worried about strangers. One evening I walked the mile into town to return a movie—the moon wasn’t visible, there were no street lights, all I could see were stars.

As I walked home, I realized someone was following me, a few yards parallel in the desert. Every time I stopped to listen, they stopped. I couldn’t see anything through the darkness, and yes, I was terrified.

I crossed the road and started jogging—noises from the other side increased, they were jogging too. My neighborhood was a quarter mile away, and I began to run, expecting to be attacked, imagining horrible scenarios. My follower never crossed the road, but I heard its footsteps in sync with mine.

I reached the safety of street lights and houses, stopping to stare into the darkness—I saw nothing. Arriving home, I regaled my family with my escape from horrors unknown—they were suitably worried and impressed, although I’m not sure they believed me.

After a sleepless night, I returned to the scene of terror and searched for footprints in the desert. My sleuthing was rewarded…a single set of hoof prints paralleled my night-time pathway, their distance apart changing as the wild horse altered its speed to match mine.

The hills around us supported several wild herds—I assume one horse was on its own and lonely. Maybe a young male kicked out by the stallion… I’ll never know what the horse thought of our “almost” encounter. It was probably thrilled to have someone to play with and disappointed in the weak nature of humans. Not one of my stellar moments…trust me, I have had some :)

Spring Break that wasn't...

I have lesson plans to complete—any ideas for the letter M? Remember, I teach three and four year olds…rein in your thoughts!

It’s beautiful this morning. If I painted, I’d be madly capturing nature in the most perfect lighting you can imagine. I’m awed by the golden-pink hues, because we’ve endured nothing but hail, rain and snow for days. The snow was pretty…the rest, not so much.

I have no desire to work today…my children have no desire to return to school. We were on spring break last week…aside from our unexpected hospital tour, we did nothing exciting. I think we all feel cheated today…except my oldest who gets to ride to and from school this week, due to his appendectomy. Ok, even he feels cheated, although not having to walk this a.m. made him a little too perky, in my opinion.

The Violet Green swallows returned last week—I don’t believe in spring until they arrive. I’m waiting for them to wake up and swoop through this incredible golden sky… even Monet couldn’t capture that…

I rescued one from the jaws of my cat the other day. I was terrified she’d injured him. After holding him for a long time, his heart rate slowed, and he calmly looked at me. I released him, he gracefully flew away, and I wished for one moment that I could feel that free. Without the cat incident, of course…

There are no ordinary moments :)

Appendicitis...the third thing

Does bad luck come in threes??? Apparently so in my household… I joked about it in a blog last week, but now bow down to the wives’-tale syndicate.

Late Tuesday evening, my oldest son complained about pain in his lower right side. He’d had abdominal pain off and on for a week, but Tuesday night it became localized and unending. We have an HMO, I called the advice line and a nurse advised waiting…my mom antenna was flinging back and forth…I should have listened.

By Wednesday morning, my son’s pain increased dramatically. I called the advice line, told them to notify our local hospital and took my son to the emergency room. A few hours and one ultrasound later, we learned that my son had a swollen appendix and needed surgery.

Did I mention the HMO factor?? My son was bumped from surgery twice and finally had his appendectomy late Wednesday night. By then, he’d spiked a fever and his appendix was near perforation. The surgeon--despite doing back-to-back surgeries all day--did an excellent job, and I’m grateful. I’m also planning to change our insurance plan—my children’s health is far more important than our monthly premium…

As my son lay in the emergency room Wednesday morning, he smiled weakly and said, “This is the third thing, Mom. We’re in the clear now.” I would have rather blown all four tires on a deserted country road, but instead, I smiled too, “You’re right, Honey, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

He believed me and went into surgery relaxed and smiling…I smiled through tears two hours later, when the surgeon told me my son was truly fine…

Blow Out

A semi, Jacob’s brake blaring, blew me off the road last night. That’s what I heard…that wasn’t reality. My right rear tire blew--after checking my side mirror multiple times, I realized there wasn't a semi next to me. That meant the noise emanated from my car—wow, what a concept.

I hadn’t had a flat tire in 20 years, my children had no idea what a flat entailed. Let’s be honest, I wasn’t sure what a flat entailed. I learned how to change a tire 30 years ago—thank you, Dad—but it’s one of those actions supported by practice and a flashlight…lack of both was a huge oversight on my part.

Luckily, when the unthinkable happened, we were talking to my husband via cell phone. He reassured me that we had roadside service…amazingly, I didn’t panic. Hanging up on my husband, I called our insurance company...20 minutes later, a very nice man changed my tire.

While the very nice man patiently worked on my car, the kids and I found Orion, Cassiopeia, the big dipper. Then my daughter realized the flashing tow truck lights made her shadow jump around on the hillside behind her. She went into 70’s disco mode—we laughed hysterically. Soon, all three kids were roadside jiving, their shadows jumping crazily across the embankment.

I happened to notice a kid in a nearby house watching from his bedroom window. My trio began waving and making bizarre movements in the lights. The anonymous viewer kept his calm, much to my daughter’s disappointment. “Ok, that kid is not freaked out enough. We need to scare him a little more!”

More hysterical laughter and crazy movements—I’m sure the very nice man changing my tire couldn’t wait to be done. Keeping his distance, he told me my tires were in poor condition—I agreed to pass the buck to my husband. I told my trio to load up, and we headed for home—all in all, it was actually a nice ending to a great day…the universe continues to be mysterious and allusive….

Winning the Lottery

We’re buying lottery tickets today…actually, my son is—a physical act to commemorate age 18. He’s also old enough to vote, join the military and leave home…all while still in high school, planning for his first prom. I have daily glimpses of the boy he’s been and the man he’s becoming…I think both are buying the ticket.

Our son entered the world 18 years ago, almost six weeks before his due date. He spent two weeks in the hospital…life was pretty scary for 24 hours…but his tremendous will prevailed. My husband’s and my life changed forever…we became parents, our hearts became endless.

The past 18 years have been amazing, and they happened in the blink of an eye. Time actually speeds up during parenthood—physicists are deeply troubled by this phenomenon.

Our son has his own computer consulting business, web-page clients, and an hourly job. He’s been focused on electronic equipment since birth—taking his first steps because I set the vacuum out of reach. After learning the brand names and prices of all vacuums and phones, he moved on to computers at age five.

He dreams of designing a house like the Disney Tower of Terror—I fully expect it to happen. He says his dad and I can have a room in our twilight years—what a great kid-man!

In the meantime, we’re buying lottery tickets today. My son may or may not pick the winning numbers, but we definitely did 18 years ago…

Lunar magic

Fog lifted and clouds parted, illuminating a crystal sky and breathtaking lunar eclipse. I watched the beginning and end, but spent the middle enjoying my son’s band concert. Somehow it all tied together… ethereal lunar beauty, hauntingly beautiful jazz, and an unforgettable moment in time with my children.

I have other thoughts, but somehow this is enough tonight. There are no ordinary moments…

Celebrating Tween-hood

My daughter is officially a tween today. I lay awake early this morning thinking about her birth and what an amazing gift she is. She fought being born, entering the world with fire and strength. I love those qualities, although they almost made me beg for a caesarean :).

She’s poetry in motion on the soccer field, instinctively becoming one with the ball—a talent she received from her father. She fills notebooks with her stories and drawings—I’m awed by her creativity.

When she’s not terrorizing her brothers, she makes them laugh, hanging on them with affection. Sometimes I walk into the family room and they’re all sitting side by side, watching TV, leaning against one another. I memorize every nuance of those moments, holding them in my heart.

I love this amazing young woman. She will always be my baby, but I’m honored to watch her grow up and take on the world.

Touching history

Last year, my writing instructor placed antique items on a table and asked us to choose one. After holding our items, we wrote stories about anything that came to mind. I wrote about an old, handmade sewing kit—turns out that my story and character’s name matched the actual history of the kit…

Coincidence?? I don’t believe in coincidence—I think past, present and future timelines connect sometimes, hence ESP, Déjà Vu, etc. I don’t know exactly how this works, but too many times in my life, I’ve known about the future with absolute certainty.

Einstein would be fascinated by my theories regarding the fourth dimension. If our timelines crossed, I think he would chuckle appreciatively, valuing the complexity of my mind. I’m pretty sure the chuckle is more appreciative than patronizing…

I’m leading you down this convoluted path, because I collect old keys. Writing about Sophus triggered the memory of finding my first antique key. My family was visiting my grandmother in Montana, and we took the trash to a local dump site.

Dumps were veritable treasure troves when I was a child. Sadly, my children will never experience this wondrous adventure. They don’t know what dumps are. Trash goes into cans, cans dump into trucks, trucks leave and…..that’s all they know. I don’t think I’ll tell them about dumps. I might get teary...they might live the rest of their lives feeling deprived.

Back to my story…while my parents emptied the car of bags, I went exploring. I think I was eight or 10 years old. Looking down, I saw a Victorian door key—picking it up, I immediately felt an amazing connection. Keys are rich with history, especially house keys. I don’t know the details, but I sense the emotions.

I feel the same way about safe-deposit-box keys—just imagine the items that have been in and out of those boxes… Banks frown on my desire to keep the keys when we move though.

I have a copy of the key to my paternal grandmother’s house. It’s not the same as the original key, because it doesn’t feel warm with history when I hold it. But it does have great sentimental value.

So, the next time you find something old, antique or ancient, sit quietly, hold it in your hands, let history flow through you. You might be surprised by what you discover…

By the way, Mom—my first key is on a collage you made years ago…I have dibs on that piece of art!

Sophus

Lying on my desk is an old autograph book. The binding is threadbare, the cover cracked and worn, but it tells a story of love and hope. I open it gently, reverently, afraid that it will crumble in my hands. It’s not filled with autographs, it’s filled with pictures of birds.

I love this book—it’s a tangible connection to a man I’ve never met…my maternal grandfather. His name was Sophus, and he died before my mother was two years old. He was young, vibrant, charismatic and loved by everyone who knew him.

Looking through the book last night, I realized that I could lift each picture part way and read the back. Each card has a short description of the bird species on the front. After the description, there’s a statement: Series of 100. Issued by Imperial Tobacco Company of Canada Limited.

I was so surprised and wondered where the cards had come from. Researching online, I learned that tobacco companies used trade cards for advertising. Did my grandfather chew tobacco or smoke cigarettes? Or did my grandmother collect the cards while managing the small, country store they owned? It’s hard for me to picture my grandfather smoking—he made the book while staying in a sanatorium…he had tuberculosis.

When I hold the book, I hold the hope of a man who wanted to be home with his wife and daughter. A man who loved nature, fishing, hunting, freedom. He was a Montanan, born and raised in the most beautiful area I’ve ever known. His love for life took him home, against his doctor’s wishes. I don't know if staying in the sanatorium would have saved his life—I do know that it was killing his spirit.

I have a degree in biology and avidly love nature—I think my grandfather and I would have enjoyed each other’s company. This old, tattered, beautiful book connects me to him in a way nothing else ever has. He’s buried at the base of the Rocky Mountains—my grandmother is with him now, after 60 years of separation.

Fifteen of the bird series are missing from the autograph book. I don’t know if Sophus died before he collected them all, or if he just lost hope. Maybe someday I can finish the book for him…

Achieving Greatness

Today is a reminder of one man’s hope for a world united by our humanity. We are capable of great things, great thoughts, great love and great forgiveness. Living up to that greatness seems to be our strongest weakness.

We are one species, sharing a world growing smaller by the day. We work together to preserve it, or risk destroying it in our separateness.

The winding road

My Americano is almost gone, --a little late in the day for coffee, but it's been that kind of day. I woke up to snow this a.m.--huge, floating crystals of beauty that have continued off and on all day. We've been waiting all winter for snow--with the spring solstice almost upon us, it's finally arrived.

I savored my coffee this morning, watching the snow flakes gently settle on the trees and lawn...some melting, some remaining crystalline. The day seemed magical and carefree--I felt light-hearted when I went to work.

My coworkers/friends greeted me in the same mood--it's been a while since we've laughed so much. Midway through the morning, the phone rang, and within a moment, everything had changed. One of my friends found out that her mother has breast cancer, and she was devastated by the news. There was nothing that I could do but hug her and offer my support. She left to be with her family, and I was struck by how suddenly our laughter had turned to tears...

Life is a constant barrage of emotion... although not always so poignantly clear as this morning. Our moods and thoughts are shifting and changing moment to moment, depending on where we are, who we're with, what we're doing and yes, even due to the weather... How we handle the changes defines who we are and the path our life follows. I guess we should start each day appreciating what we have and prepared for the curves ahead...