that's mrs. mediocrity to you

Hindsight is 20/20. or at least that’s what they say. I am blind as a bat, no matter what direction I’m looking in.

I keep trying to focus on what’s right in front of me, and sometimes, I can actually do it.

Other times, no matter how hard I squint, everything stays just a little fuzzy around the edges.

The older I get, the faster life passes me by. Or the faster I pass it, I’m not sure which. It’s like the blur on the edges of a highway. I know something is there, but I can’t quite make out exactly what it is.

When I slow down to get a closer look, all I see is trash and weeds and dirty ditches.

But wait.

If I look just a little harder, take my time and notice the details,

I see a small blossom nestled in amongst the detritus.

And that’s what I’m looking for.

Always.

a moment in the sun

comes better late

than never.

::

Today I am over at Vision & Verb

having some fun with a handful of idioms.

‘Cause time flies when you’re having fun…

::

i too omit one kelly

::

a line from an e.e. cummings poem

that has always made me smile

being a kelly and all

and always wondering

which one

he chose

to omit.

::

april is national poetry month

::

and right now i am into

all things that make me

smile.

And/or, everything is broken.

My knee doesn’t work, spring still hasn’t managed to find its way up north, my computer keeps revolting, my house is a mess and it took five phone calls to get the phone company to fix the thing they told me was fixed on the first call. And it only got fixed on the fifth call because Rebecca in Arizona accidentally switched me to the programming department.

This was after John in New York assured me it was fixed two weeks ago, and Terry in Florida assured me it was fixed a couple days after that, and Jody in Colorado assured me it was fixed three days ago, and two hours ago, Jenny in Virginia assured me it was really, truly fixed this time after we spent 45 minutes on the phone together.

Except, it still wasn’t fixed.

So when I called back AGAIN, I got Rebecca, whom I could barely hear and who, after I spent five minutes explaining the whole problem to again, stressing that I work from home and really need this taken care of, said, “So, what can I help you with today?”

Deep breath. Long strings of silent curses that were dangerously close to becoming audible.

“I just explained it all to you, did you not hear what just I said?”

“I’m sorry, I was listening to someone else who was talking to me at the same time you were.”

Deep teeth marks in my tongue at this point, from all that biting.

Finally, after being put on hold (again!) for so long that the phone rang through to somewhere else, I ended up with the programming department in the city 30 miles from here, which is where they handle all the problems that I have been explaining to other people all over the country for the past two weeks.

Is it just me, or is there something wrong with this picture?

Can’t someone, somewhere, figure out how to set up a customer service system, or a health care system, or any system, that actually works?

I know, I’m ranting. And I’m sorry.

I know there are far worse things going on in the world, and quite honestly, that is all part of this frustration, this feeling that everything is broken.

That’s from a song, you know. I didn’t make it up.

But I’m singing it really, really loud right now.

Is anyone listening?

from a distance

there is

beauty.

::

up close

this ability to soar

always remains

hidden.

::

Yesterday was a day filled with little big things.

I got up incredible early, I dropped my son off at the airport for his first solo trip to a big city, I watched the sun rise, and I went to a nature center with my brother and his wife and my parents.

There were all kinds of birds feeding out of our hands. Well, okay, not my hands because mine were holding a camera, but I got a lot of really great pictures of chickadees and nuthatches and a titmouse and cardinals and a beautiful turkey vulture. (Now that’s an oxymoron if ever there was one!)

This little sparrow landed right at my feet to pick up the piece of corn that is in his mouth, and then kept hopping towards me as I took his photo. Something about him just made me laugh. He was quite the show-off, puffing himself all up and acting tough.

A few minutes later, we had a visit from a four-legged friend that completely melted my heart. (I will be writing about that over at Inspiration Studio tomorrow.)

In the grand scheme of things, it was just another day, filled with pretty normal activities. But for me, there were a lot of big moments. Moments I will always remember, and some that I will probably forget. But I lived in each one, immersed in its beauty, significance, simplicity, and the ability to make me smile.

And every smile most certainly qualifies as a little big thing,

don’t you think?

::

hitting the nail

on the head

sometimes

hurts.

::

One of my favorite songs of all time is Springsteen’s Candy’s Room.

“In Candy’s room, there are pictures of heroes on the wall.”

I sit here in my living room looking around me, and I see pictures of heroes everywhere. My children, my parents, my grandmother, my husband’s father whom I never met, pets from both past and present.

In a row of six, along one wall, there is my grandfather working on a tractor, his face hidden, probably completely unaware that his photo was being taken. And there, in another shot, he stands with his brother and an uncle or a cousin, and next, there is a woman that I don’t even know, just that she was someone’s wife or mother or sister, someone related or someone that knew someone related.

In those days, pictures did not come as easily as they do now, nothing quick or instant or easy. They were records, of time and people and life.

Hardworking people stand before me in these pictures, people who worked themselves to the bone and then some, just to survive. People who struggled through the Great Depression, the World Wars, poverty, hardship, strife.

This is where I come from.

No one famous, no one rich, no one that stood out in any crowd. Average people that lived average lives and made the best of it all, and could still manage to crack a smile for the camera. My grandfather, stricken with polio at a young age and permanently disabled, was one of the hardest working people I have ever known. I wonder what he was like when he was young, if he was ever carefree and silly, if he ever had time to sit in his backyard and ponder life.

Down further on this same wall is my drawing of our dog, Coby, the dog that made his way into my heart, a gift to my husband on his 40th birthday. And around the room are our children’s senior portraits, reminders of a time that seems like just yesterday and long ago all at once.

On the bookshelves, there is the old frau who befriended my husband as a young soldier in Germany, my grandmother in her nurse’s uniform, a woman who worked as a nurse to support nine children, mostly on her own. And my parents, whose smiles have been a constant in my life.

These are my heroes.

They’re all over the place, right here in my living room.

I am honored to stand among them.

Today I am over at Vision & Verb

along with the man in the moon.

Do you believe?

::