Random Thoughts

We are old. Giving gifts has always meant a lot to me.  I was raised in a household that valued gifts, valued “things” actually.  At Christmas time, the base of our tree would be piled hiiiigh with presents wrapped in brightly colored paper tied with neatly curled ribbons.    Birthdays would mean being spoiled by more gifts.   Even Valentine’s Day came with a present.   So, without being overtly taught, I learned that love was shown by giving something tangible.   As I became an adult, I noticed people older than me asking for things for the holidays that I thought were silly – cheese, wine, nuts…   “Those aren’t PRESENTS,” I remember thinking. “Presents are touchable, physical things – things to be KEPT, not to be consumed.”   So, when I found my life partner, I showered him with GIFTS.   Gifts wrapped just as I had been subconsciously taught must be wrapped in beautiful paper, tied tight with a bow.   But it didn’t take long for me to notice that my love and

I am a firm believer in HOLIDAYS.   Like, all holidays. They don’t have to be events tied to your religious belief.   They don’t have to be things celebrated in your country.   They are just holidays .   Days to celebrate, to mourn, to eat, to party – whatever tradition dictates.   HOLIDAYS. And I am perfectly fine inventing holidays.   No, not the lame ones that greeting card companies try and get people to buy into.   And no, not the “national cotton candy day” types invented just to fill space on the calendar. But significant, important holidays . One of my most sacred is Mary Day.   I celebrate it every October 20 th .   Mary Day is the anniversary of my mom, Mary Eleanor Thompson’s, death in 2002.   My mom and dad at Christmas in the basement of the house I grew up in on Borman Street  Wow – this October 20 th was the 21 st Mary Day celebration.   It is hard to believe it has been that long. Anyway, the traditional way that I celebrate Mary Day is b

Lots of my mind.   A miles long “to do” list with more that needs added to it swirling in my head.   Decisions to be made.   Laundry to be done.   Suitcases to unpack.   A. DAY.   OFF.   WORK. “Should” use the time wisely to focus on getting things accomplished.   “Should” triage the to-dos and focus on steadily checking them off.   Should, should, should, should, should. Instead, I slept in.   Woke up around 10:30 am, tossed around the bed a bit thinking I “should” go back to sleep.   No, I “should” get up.   What is the deal with all of these should s ?? Then I heard someone on the front porch.   That’s not that unusual – could be someone dropping off donations for the free pantry, an Amazon delivery, someone picking something up that I offered on Buy Nothing. The doorbell rang.   I peeked out the blinds – it was my artist friend.   She has been coming to work here daily for the last month and a half in preparation for the big Kindness Fundraiser Yard Sale.   She

I am “the girl who can’t ride a bike”. I guess to be accurate, I should say that I WAS “the girl who can’t ride a bike”.   But it was such a big part of my identity growing up, that the never formalized (but often teased about) nickname stuck in my psyche. You know how most kids love to jump on their bikes and pedal around the neighborhood once they have figured out how to balance, brake, and GO?   Yeah, that wasn’t me.   I wasn’t that kid. I am not sure WHAT really happened. The one thing I do remember is being on a bike in my family’s garage in Omaha, Nebraska trying to ride my bike.   It must’ve been winter, otherwise, why wouldn’t I have been outdoors??   But I think my foot slipped off the pedal and I know for sure my knee hit the handlebar.   It hurt.   I remember crying. But I am guessing that it hurt my pride more than it hurt my knee.   I think I was already past the age where kids were “supposed” to ride a bike.   But then and there I must’ve secretly made

The days are getting shorter. The sun, that brilliant star that lights our lives, is setting earlier.   Bit by bit, every evening.   This time of year is always a bit sad for me.   It is a form of closure.   Saying “goodbye” to another summer.   Somehow, it is hard for me to couch it as saying “hello” to another winter.   In my mind I know that is logical, but in my heart, another summer has passed to mourn. I haven’t felt my best the last couple of days.   I put it down to stress – the big annual fundraiser I host is quickly approaching, and at the same time my job, my main source of income, is being threatened to disappear (health insurance along with it).   So yeah, stress could make my body not function properly, right?   Only, as the second day of feeling “off” wore on, it became harder and harder to ignore that things just weren’t right.   It came to a head on a 25-minute car ride.   We had met a friend for dinner and had a lovely time.   It was so fun catching up

  I am not one for New Year’s Resolutions.   As a non-believer of them looking in, they appear to be recipes for feeling bad about yourself.   ·         “Lose 20 pounds” – didn’t everyone make that resolution last year, and the year before, and the year before…   ·         “Get my life in order” – if THIS isn’t a promise to yourself that is impossible to keep, I don’t know what is.  (How about, instead, “Find a way to comes to terms at least a little bit about the chaos that is my life”)   ·         “Start a new job/new school/new career/new relationship/new beginning” – not everything is in your control.  Setting a mile high lofty resolution that will likely be impossible for you and you alone to fulfill (without the forces of nature and chemistry and finances and and and… that it takes to make major changes) – well, that might be being downright MEAN to yourself.  And if you are going to be kind to anyone this year, let it start with being kind to yourself.   ·