A Little Bit of This and a Whole lot of That

I’d like to thank the academy for giving me this award for the longest title which makes little to no sense what so ever. Thank you. Thank you very much.

Whew. What a week. Okay, two weeks or 52 weeks. Same thing.

Have you ever felt like time was flying and you are just trying to hang on and breathe? You know, our parents warned us when we were young whipper-snappers waiting foreeevvver for our birthday that time would fly when we grew up. I hate when they are right.

Speaking of parents. My dad and his twin sister (yes, I was all kinds of paranoid when we were having children since they are not the only set of twins in the family…on both sides of my family) turned the big 9-0 last week. I know, right? And, just to make it clear since I hear those calculators coming out, he was older when he and my mom married therefore older when I graced their presence.

Our families decided to celebrate them by meeting at a restaurant in my aunt’s neck of the woods. Oh, what a grand time. Hugs, smiles, laughter, and food. And, everyone seemed to take note of my dad and his twin sister wearing the same color shirt and pants…without calling each other and finding out what each would wear. And, if you want to get even more twinning, when they turned 80 years old what did they wear? The.same.color!!! Talk about twinning.

Even in the joy of celebrating them, it was especially nice to talk with my cousin whose wife lost her fight with brain cancer last year. I was so glad we could both say her name and remember the good along with the terrible at the end. I hope it felt freeing for him as it did for me.

When we celebrate birthdays around here, we do it up big. Spread out the birthday love? Pfffttt. Not around here. Our son’s birthday was a few days later. Oh my. Our youngest is twenty. I am trying to figure out how he is twenty when I’m only twenty-eight. Go figure. No. Seriously. Don’t figure.

In other news you need to know . . . I need a new clock for the living room. I know, earth shattering! I purchased one of those big clocks for the wall. You know the kind. The I’m-not-getting-any-younger-and-my-eyesight-isn’t-either clocks. I paid a whooping $7 for said clock in a box store during Black Friday. Don’t look at me like that. I waited until the afternoon. I haven’t totally lost my mind . . . yet.

Where was I? Oh, yes. Huge clock. Anyway, it was perfect. It was silent. No tick-tock noise for that bad boy. I was in love. Until last week when it decided to give up the good fight. It took a nose dive off the wall. Sad day.

It may or may not have been a little, tiny bit my fault. Maybe. I’m past the point of putting nails in our walls to hang something. I mean really. I’m past, “Where is the hammer? Why isn’t it in it’s spot?” “Where are the nails? Why did you move them and not tell me? How am I supposed to find anything when someone keeps moving things where it doesn’t make sense?!” You know. Common stuff.

A woman, I’m sure, decided to solve the marital bickering by inventing Command Strips. It was like a whole new world opened up for me. So why would I not hang up my perfect, seven-dollar clock on the wall with one of those nice little Command Strip hooks? Well, it lasted 6 months before the Command Strip gave up its fight. And, that also may or may not have been my fault. It’s a textured wall. And, perhaps the hook wasn’t big enough. Sigh.

So, now we are all looking at a blank wall and “ugh-ing” a lot because we are people of habit. Do you know how hard it is to purchase another big-ole clock when this one was only seven dollars. Clocks who are not a black Friday price are way-too-many dollars!!

Maybe I should have titled this, “Hey, Warning. Extra Long Post A Head. Save Yourself!”



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s