I have a great dislike for the word Busy. Not for the word itself, but rather, how the word is often used. ...It's longed for. It's worn like a badge. It makes a home unpleasant. It makes children have to entertain themselves. And it doesn't make time for rest.

Aging gives you a certain perspective. It's one of the perks of getting older, I believe. If you ask me, I'll probably have some answers for you. In fact, I'm sure I would... I've tried to listen to the input from people who have been around for awhile. It's like a cheat-sheet. And I want others to "cheat" from what I've done. Learn from what I've done wrong. Learn from what I've done right... But the perspective that comes with age can also be one of the downfalls. I'm frustrated when I'm not asked. Or when what I say goes unheeded by those I care about. Goodness. It seems lately I spend a lot of time being frustrated, but that's a different story for a different time...

When I was younger, I loved being Busy. I felt that it gave me a sense of purpose. Like, somehow, if I wasn't Busy, I wasn't valuable... But looking back, I see some of the things I missed, things I rushed through or glanced over. I don't wanna be like that ever again... Right now, I relish in walking my dogs. I like seeing things through the eyes of my iPhone camera. Instagram was made for my dog walks. Stopping to smell the wisteria in bloom fills my senses and spurs my creativity. I like spending evenings with my husband, watching Seinfeld reruns on TBS. Yesterday, I taught my oldest GrandBoy about looking for pictures in the clouds. For about 60 seconds. He's three. I like reading good children's literature. I like laughing with some of my favorite comedians on Pandora.

There are pulls on my time, sometimes more than I'm comfortable with. I get overwhelmed at them every so often. And I don't like that feeling. It reminds me of my earlier days and ways. I'll snap at my husband, or cry because of so-much-to-do. That sort of situation is a weakness of mine. At the very least, Too Busy is not my Happy Place.

So, as much as is within my power, I think I'll choose to take it as slow as I can. To take things one at a time. And when I do have lots to do, I'll just take busy without the capital B...

I'm back. I'm opinionated. And I'm having a TIME figuring out the posting process! These are busy days. Days full of change. Some good, some not that great. Some happy, some not that great. At any rate, I welcome change. My mother-in-law always said, concerning birthdays, to "consider the alternative"... Change is that way. The alternative is to stay the same. While everyone else changes, grows and moves on. So, I embrace change. I look forward to the perspective I'll have on the other side. And that perspective is what I plan to blog about. Cause, if I can do it...

I've decided to treat this blog as a "day in the life of" blog... A day in the life of a girl. A day in the life of a wife. A mom. An empty-nester. A grandmother. A daughter. A party planner. A dog person. A shopper. A Believer. A traveler. A football fan. a wanna-be artist. Or any one of the several hats that I wear. Maybe somedays you'll relate to my posts. Maybe somedays you won't... At any rate, it will be a use of my extra words. It will be a chat with a friend (that'd be you). It will be the sharing of a fine new discovery. It will be how I organized my pantry, which I did! It will be how I got on an airplane and cried when I left my grandsons behind, or, it will be how I travelled with one of them! It will be a picture of a pretty sunset. Or a yummy recipe I found. 

Since this page is just sitting here waiting for me, I think I'll do just that. Cause, if I can, you can...

I've decided to treat this blog as a "day in the life of" blog... A day in the life of a girl. A day in the life of a wife. A mom. An empty-nester. A grandmother. A daughter. A party planner. A dog person. A shopper. A Believer. A traveler. A football fan. a wanna-be artist. Or any one of the several hats that I wear. Maybe somedays you'll relate to my posts. Maybe somedays you won't... At any rate, it will be a use of my extra words. It will be a chat with a friend (that'd be you). It will be the sharing of a fine new discovery. It will be how I organized my pantry, which I did! It will be how I got on an airplane and cried when I left my grandsons behind, or, it will be how I travelled with one of them! It will be a picture of a pretty sunset. Or a yummy recipe I found. Since this page is just sitting here waiting for me, I think I'll do just that. Cause, if I can, you can...

Inspiration and creativity go hand in hand. Once you experience one, the other will follow. There's an exercise that one of my teachers in college did with each semester's class. She gave us a blank piece of paper and a crayon and said, "Draw a flower". So we did. Mostly, all the flowers were the same. A circle surrounded by five petals (daisy), or half of a broken egg (tulip), and we laughed when we saw the similarities of our drawings. But THEN, she turned the lights down and showed us wall-sized full-color images of poppy fields, and close-ups of elegant calla lilies, and tall sunflowers stretching toward the sky. You could almost feel the sunshine on your face and hear the birds singing from nearby trees and the coolness of springtime grass underneath your bare feet... Then, she turned the lights on, handed us another sheet of paper and said, "Draw a flower". Oh, and this time, completely immersed as we were, draw flowers we did! Each of us felt (and drew!) like our names were Rembrandt. Why? Because we were inspired. If I'm to write about creativity-and i am, I have to begin with inspiration-so I will. To me, inspiration is an unexpectedly warm day. Or the song of a cardinal. Or the playfulness of my pups. Or a visit with one of my sons. Or a favorite song. Or the dimples in the cheeks of my grandsons. Or one of a hundred of other happenings. I look for inspiration every day. I need it. I long for it. And I use it. And creativity follows...

Carpe Diem...

Last week Larry and I spent a few days in NYC, and yes, it's one of my favorite places...

From my very first visit, I was immediately smitten..the view of the skyline from the window of the plane sent me over the moon. The people have always been kind and accommodating, grateful to have us there and there's no limit of things to do. I like the food, the accents, the shopping, the weather, the sights. I like that New Yorkers create their own privacy, whether by their iPods or lack of eye contact. Once on a train, a woman across the aisle was dozing and snoring-something that I could NEVER allow myself to do in public-but I liked it, not the snoring but the sheer faux-seclusion of it. But what I look forward to most, is the pace, the energy of the people and the place... How quickly everyone walks. How everyone seems to know exactly where they're going and exactly how to get there. It usually takes me a couple of hours to get used to it...and those few hours are filled with me being in lots of someone's way or stepping out into traffic or any number of near-mishaps and stumbles.

But this last trip I realized its not just pace or energy. It's the INTENTIONALITY of it all. Its the fact that not one inch of space goes unused. That every second of every minute is maximized. That every waiter is an actor-in-training. That everything is the best-of-the-best because if not, someone or something better will replace it without missing a beat. Intentional. Maximized. Honed. Thought out. On purpose.

I think I like that because that's how we should be living...

Maximizing our time and our resources. Our talents. Living each moment to its fullest. Not "seizing the day" for our sakes, but for His sake. Doing and saying what we see and hear Him do and say.

When I've been restless and itching to go (which is quite often these days), I've felt the Lord letting me know that resting-which to me involves art projects and naps with pups and shopping and must see TV and hearing my GrandBoy call me "Munny" no less than a dozen times an hour-is the purpose of that particular time. And then, I enjoy it cause I know that won't always be the Plan for the day...

I'll be honest (what other choice is there?!), this isn't an easy time. I feel temporary. And uncomfortable. And out-of-place.

But those are feelings. And they'll change.

So today? I'm picking up the pace. I'm being deliberate. I'm maximizing. And you should too. Cause if I Can, So Can You...

13 years-old...

For some reason, my year as a thirteen year-old was both horrible and note-worthy. But not necessarily in that order. Stories from that year always work their way into my everyday conversation. And I never seem to run out of them. Especially the ones that I should be embarrassed about. And believe me, there are plenty of those.

My youngest son and I took a trip to NYC a few days before Christmas. He is getting married in April and this was a gift from my hubs. Memories and such... While we were traveling I brought up one of the "incidents" aka "real things that I tragically did/said as a pre-teen". He had never heard it and as I retold it we laughed so hard. I can't even remember what it was about... The time I (miserably) tried out for my middle school choir? My first facial blemish and the ensuing band-aid? How "Laura Stuart" is a oft-used verb for throwing someone under the bus, as I often was by her? My strict obedience to yearbook photographers who told me to say "cheese" like they did to everyone yet no one else did? My "best" friend Janice, who I believed was doing me a great favor by switching outfits with me so I could go to the skating rink without the shame of my new pants suit, which, of course, she wore and, oh, the outfit was a great hit? There are so many that I lose track. I just asked hubs to name a story and he said, "Which teacher said you were acting cutesy while you were giving a speech? And then you started crying? And then she said 'are you crying'?". Then I had to correct by reminding him, "No, that was my freshman year of college in a class full of seniors and an entire different horrible year"...but I digress.

I was painfully self-conscious for a great part of my life. I think that's why my thirteen year-old stories bring me so much joy. It's the fact that I can now laugh at events that so horribly rocked my world. My friend, Kate, even wants me to write a book of those stories. I think I just might...