Kumbaya...

A few years ago I got a frantic call from Nana. “Nancy, you MUST turn on Oprah. There’s this amazing book that will transform your life!!!”
I was glad she couldn’t see me through the phone line because I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, “Uh-huh. How?”

“Really! You just put what you want down on a piece of paper, place it under your pillow and it’ll happen.” she continued, “It’s called the Secret and it’ll open up the power of the universe to you….”

Yup. I’m sure it will. Just a mere $24.95 investment and you’ll have the all the wealth, the happiness, the power for ever and ever…Amen.

I don’t think so.

I DO believe in Karma.
I DO believe in paying it forward.
I DO believe in the golden rule.

I do NOT believe that a book on Oprahs book list is going to change my life.
I do NOT believe that putting something under my pillow is going to get me everything that I want in life.

I DO believe that is basically up to me. AND I can keep the $25 bucks in my pocket while it’s happening.

I listened politely. And then hung up the phone. It’s not the first time that Nana has been swayed by what she’s seen on TV, or heard from friends, or picked up in an infomercial. People like Nana are suckers for such advertisements. She buys things that people call and tell her about on the phone. She orders amazing hangers that will enlarge your closet space 4 times! only to have it end up in the trash a short time later. She’ll vote for the candidate with the sleekest campaign.

There has been jogging in a jar; vinegar and cider mixture that is supposed to make you thin. Special pills that will increase your mobility. Or pills that will increase your mental awareness. Or pills that will lengthen your life.

Shoes that will improve your posture and exercise equipment that is nothing less than a miracle for only $299. Tony Little with his mullet wonder and spandex target women like Nana.

I’m not immune to advertising campaigns, but I am highly skeptical of most. Which allows my bankroll to remain relatively unscathed when it comes to products too good to be true.

I DID buy that uber expensive Perricone eye serum. At $195 for .5 oz I expected to look years younger after using it. Improvement? Maybe. But who can keep buying it with those prices? (especially since you need the entire system in order to work correctly. If I’m not mistaken that’s an investment to the tune of $600+ every 3 months. Not me. But damn did I use that to the very last drop.
I DID buy a pair of Shape-ups walking sandals. Does my butt and legs look better than they did? Probably not. But they are super cute.
I DID buy a diet pill that is supposed to not only curb your appetite, but give you more energy AND improve your sex life. It did curb my appetite. I might have had more energy. And did it improve my sex life? No. Read previous blog post….it just made me know that I wasn’t getting what I should even without the pills.

It just goes to show that everyone wants to look better, feel better, be better than what they are. None of it is going to be found by buying it. Granted, MY skin looks better than my neighbors (who is the same age as me) because I use lotions and beauty products by the boatload. And she doesn’t. I figure they can’t hurt and you know what? They don’t. At last years garage sale someone asked me to ask my mom what the price was. Ouch.

But boil it all down and what you get is usually measured by the effort put into it.

I KNOW I get results when I walk everyday.
I KNOW that not eating that piece of cheesecake will definitely make my bathing suit look better.
I KNOW that having that extra glass of wine and staying up late is not going to make the puffiness or fine lines around my eyes go away. (but it might be worth it depending on the company!)

Even with what I KNOW, what I do NOT, what I DO and what I hear about that I should have, blahblahblah….sometimes things actually DO happen. Just because. Without effort. Without money. Without energy.

Like yesterday.

I don’t know about your household, but I get maybe 10 calls a day from some political party or another, some veterans group selling flags or bags, someone wanting you to sign some petition or another and then give a donation to help fund the fight. It’s endless.

I love caller ID. Yes, I’m guilty of screening calls. Yes, sometimes I should pick up when my dad calls even when I’m not mentally prepared for that guilt trip I’ll be embarking on. But is it’s ca call from some area code other than my own, or a cellular call from a number I don’t know, or a block call or Unknown Caller….yeah, I don’t usually pick up. That’s why I pay for voice mail.

But yesterday, yesterday the phone rang and I looked at it and it said “Unknown Caller” and yet here I was moving my thumb over the answer button like it was possessed.

“Hello?” I answered with a upward lilt to my voice knowing that this was indeed a mistake.

“Hi!” an overly cheerful voice said, “Is this Nancy?”

Here is goes…another minute of my life wasted on telemarketers until I wait for a break so I can hang up…”Yes, this is she.”

“Nancy! I’ve asked many people there in the Cleveland area and your name keeps getting referred to me!”

Oh geez….what could this be about. Another fund raiser at the school? Easter seals wanting me to send out envelopes to my neighbors? A magazine drive? A catering gig? Argh….my heart was dropping with each word she spoke.

“I’m Patty, the district manager of Talbots and we are creating a new position and are looking for a full time visual person. I know you live on the Westside and this is a Legacy Village position….Do you think you might be interested?” she said all in one breath.

Amazingly enough I was able to hear all she said. I was expecting some sales call and as such I wasn’t really paying attention and holding the phone a little distance from my ear. As soon as she said ’Talbots’ I had that contraption pretty much implanted into my head. Have you seen the new catalog? Have you seen some of their clothes? Talbots has come a long way baby and the holiday stuff is just gorgeous.

“I’m not afraid to cross the river…(east siders and west siders joke about crossing the Cuyahoga River) and I was just circling all the newest fashions in your catalog! I’d love to hear more about it!” I could barely contain my enthusiasm.

Just last week I realized I now have extra time on my hands. Not doting on and doing errands for the ungrateful boyfriend freed up the biggest block of time, but Boo is at school later this year than last because of choir, band, newspaper, Girl Scouts. Almost everyday she doesn’t leave school grounds until almost 5. Sometimes later.

I had been thinking about going back to work, full time, but was unsure of whom to contact etc right now. With the economy as it is, many of my freelance jobs have dried up. So to have this manna from heaven just drop into my lap…? Needless to say, I’m flabbergasted.

Full time. Benefits, including vacation, dental, medical and a discount! Can I hear a WooHoo!?

WooHoo!

The paperwork is Friday morning. They’ll have to get my salary approved (it’s a little higher than they allotted…but hey, to get the best you must pay for the best!) from corporate, but it’s looking pretty much like a Shoo-in. A Shoo-in, Joey!

Let’s all collectively hold hands, keep our fingers crossed and sing Kumbayah. That’ll make everything go smoothly on Friday.

And the Secret? I never did buy it. But there’s a sequel called the Power. Maybe I’ll fork out the dosh for that one. Maybe there was something to Nana’s call after all…

...perhaps she put this wish for ME under her pillow.

:-)


Footnote: The photo above is the fortune I got this afternoon while having lunch with my dad. THAT just made me smile....

Double Footnote: Well now! The interview went great! They want me and are now negotiating with corporate to get my rate. Full medical. Full dental. Full eye. AND they'll match my asking salary (or come pretty damn close). HOW FABULOUS! Drinks all around! I'm buying!!!

Cheers!
:-D

enough is enough...

Enough is enough.

How many times have you heard that phrase? Have you really understood what it meant? At least by the person that said it?

We live in a time of control. Of time tables. Of deadlines. Of limits. If a person can’t get their work done, they are labeled as lazy, or a procrastinator. Always ten minutes late? Some researchers say it’s because of an inability to control impulses. Like eating the last few bites of anything on your plate even though you are full. Impulse. Lack of control.

I get stressed out when my calendar gets too crazy. Rushing gives me anxiety. I hate not being on time. I don’t enjoy nagging my daughter to "Hurry Up! We’re going to be late!” as she tries to get the perfect twist of her bangs to clip back when getting ready for school. As I stand there watching I don’t see any difference between the first clip and the eighth. But apparently number eight was a winner because now she’s ready to go.

I have lists that run in my head. Sometimes it keeps me up at night because I am thinking of all the things that I need to get accomplished the next day. It’s a catch 22. There are times during the day that I run out of steam to get everything done. Then I don’t sleep well. Then I am tired.

It gets rather annoying.

But enough is enough. I’ve started taking things off my schedule that aren't absolutely necessary. I’ve learned that you don’t have to eat that last slice of pizza. It’s okay to leave things on your plate. I've been okay with saying 'No'. I’ve learned that when you feel that you’ve given something your best shot and it hasn’t worked out…you walk away and say, “Enough is enough.”

It’s a big sentence considering it’s only made up of three words and fourteen letters.

Enough: adj.  occurring in such quantity, quality, or scope as to fully meet demands, needs, or expectations.

My big enough is enough happened ten days ago. After trying to communicate that I was unhappy and have continued to be unhappy with my relationship with the man I was dating for some time. I didn't mean for it to go the way it did. Normally, I would get to a point where I had to say something. We’d talk. Time would pass and nothing would really change and then many months later I would end up getting to a point where I had to say something. We’d talk. Time would pass and then many months later I would end up getting to a point where I had to say something. We’d talk…

Do you see a trend?

Do that for six+ years! Oh yeah…I had a enough is enough moment last weekend. Like an Oprah ’Aha!’ moment and I called it off. For real. No going backwards. No accepting of lame apologies or excuses. No listening to any of the banter that kept me caged in a codependent relationship for six fucking years. Everything that I've been unhappy with came rushing in and smashed through the wall that I've been building in my brain to keep all the bad out.

How did I get here? I am SO much smarter than this!
How did I get to a point to let myself be manipulated and then demeaned? I deserve more than this!
How did I allow myself to be mentally abused? I AM better than that!

I didn’t grow up as one of those girls in high school that felt ruined if she didn’t have a current crush or boyfriend. I dated, but it didn’t define who I was. I had friends in college that always had to have a guy taking her out or she would cry. That wasn’t me either. I've had my share of broken hearts. It’s never easy. It’s never fun. But sometimes it’s takes as broken heart to find out more about yourself in order to make it heal.

I’ve done quite of bit of soul searching in the last few months. During that time I discovered that I had become complacent about my level of unhappiness. I didn’t speak up for what it was I wanted. What I needed. I became disheartened by having to ask for approval, for acceptance, for love. I was in denial, no doubt about it. I shielded myself from the real truth and pretended that everything was okay. But it wasn’t. I did not have the mental strength or fortitude to put it to rest and move on.

But I did.
Yup. Finally. I finally got up the nerve to address it head on and say, “Enough is enough.”

Each day gets a little easier. I have moments of weakness when I want to call, to reach out…but why? And each time this urge comes about there's been a sign that has kept me from picking up the phone. A total stranger rings the doorbell. I answer with red rimmed eyes. She asks, “Is everything okay?” I apologize for my appearance and tell her that I’ve a recent breakup with a long time boyfriend. She nods in understanding. We talk for bit about why she’s on my doorstep. I sign the petition. We share a few laughs and as she’s walking down the sidewalk she turns and says, “Stay strong. If he didn’t try to win you back, he’s a fool and you’re better off without him.”

Words from a stranger. Perfectly timed.

Yesterday I sat down in my office to check my e-mail. I picked up the phone sitting beside me and dialed his number. There was no answer. Thank God. In the next few moments though I got a text ‘Hey. You okay?’ ‘OK’, I responded, ‘You?’ I don’t want to let on that I’m having a tough time this morning. I feel empty. Sad. I want to keep it brief, impersonal, but I have things that I‘d like to....no, need to say to him. ‘Can we talk? ‘Sure. When though?’ he answers.

During this brief exchange the dogs start to bark frantically. The kind of bark that lets me know someone is in the driveway. I had forgotten that I asked my window cleaner guy to help me move some stuff that’s too big for me to move alone. He is standing on my deck. It interrupts the messaging.

“Are you okay?” Chuck asks, concern on his face, "You don't look like yourself." I haven’t showered yet although it is mid morning. I’ve dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep. I know I've had better days. I briefly explain the recent turn of events. As I fill my mug, I offer him some coffee. We have a nice talk. I’ve known Chuck for 10 years, maybe more. He’s a sincere and honest guy. He’s had his problems and his demons but he wears them as a badge of honor. He’s a This is where I’ve been-This is where I’m going kind of guy. He shares with me a story of when he saw my boyfriend at a bar years ago. They were talking. They got wasted. They got into a debate that turned into an argument. My boyfriend does that. He likes to push buttons. He likes to get a reaction, especially wilst drinking. Chuck doesn’t stand for that shit. He wouldn’t stop pushing so Chuck knocked him off the barstool. "I just brushed him off and he fell." Chuck told me. The bartender came by and said she was going to call the police. Chuck said not to bother, he was leaving anyway. “No. Not because of you…because of him.” she gestured to none other than my boyfriend.

I had never heard this story. Apparently Chuck had been asked not to share it. “She doesn’t need to know where I am…all the time.” Really? With the amount of freedom the guy has I had no idea what bar went to with friends was a secret. Perhaps there was more to the secrecy than I’ll ever know. Chuck told me, “I liked him, or tried to, Nance, because you did.”

A sentiment that has reverberated through everyone that I’ve spoken of this to. “It’s you we like. It was never him. We liked him because you did.” Brooke told me, “You’re a Rock Star! Don’t ever be a groupie. Especially to him. YOU’RE the star.”

Now this may be banter to make me feel better. And I admit that some of it does. But at the same time, if that had been the case, shouldn’t some of my friends said something to me about their worries of my mate before? It might have saved me some time that cannot ever be replaced. 2,390 days to be exact.  2,390 fucking days.

Now granted, it wasn't all bad. We did have some fun. I enjoyed my time spent with him. Early on. So you can shave off a few of those days for that purpose...but geez, that's a lot. A LOT of wasted time. All things have their time and place. It’s like the saying, “you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink.” Perhaps I was that horse. Not yet willing to drink. Not quite sure if the water was just right. I wanted to wait. I had hopes. Hell, I'm an optimist.

I once read something from my fellow blogger Mike who wrote, 'It brings me great joy to see the light in my fiancées eyes when she smiles…' I never got that from my boyfriend. I would hvae never gotten that from him. I don’t know if he even noticed if I smiled or not. As it turns out I've been living the life of a battered woman. Always there to take a little bit more.

He sent a note yesterday. One of apology. One of supposed remorse. “I feel so bad to have caused you grief and sadness. I miss both you and Boo each day I’m not there. I love you both." Bleck. Make me puke. "I do wish the best for both you and Boo and hope that I can send you things, such as gifts and messages and funny jokes and maybe we could hang out sometimes…”

Did I read that right? Are you fucking kidding me?
Hang out? Send us things?

Yeah…lets hang out over a pint of beer and discuss what a fucking joke I’ve become. Lets go and have a discussion at the pub while your married ex-girlfriend with two kids sends you text messages about how she 'listens to your voicemails and dreams of your hands on her and how you rip her clothes off at a party in a closet.' Lets talk about the return reprimand of “why do you do this! You know Nancy sometimes checks my Blackberry” when she asked why she should use the other e-mail address.

The other e-mail address? Well now. There’s a whole lot of nothing good going on with that, I’m sure. Granted, this is not breaking news. That e-mail? That came a year ago. The e-mail change request was in March. Nothing new, but the hurt is still there. The hurt never goes away. It just gets buried until…well, now.

Sure. Lets go ‘hang out’ and be best friends. Sounds like a great night out. Bah.

Get a grip buddy.
You had plenty of time to ‘hang out’ with me. You just took it for granted. You messed up. Big time. You don’t treat people like that and then expect to be friends.

No. You cannot send us gifts.

No. You cannot send me messages or funny jokes.

No. I do not want to hang out with you ever again.

No. You gave up the right to be my friend.

I think my response shocked him. ‘Wow’, he texted. Apparently he thought he had subdued the real Nancy into a pile of mush without backbone that would say, “Ok honey. Sure that sounds great! Should I pick up your dry cleaning on the way?”

“I don’t believe that we will never speak again or that we won’t be friends (at least I hope not)….” he writes in the letter. Friends? Talk? Seriously?

I have half a mind to send Annas husband the transcripts of her messages. I wonder if he might enjoy her prose. I bet that would make for some wonderful holiday season fodder. Perhaps each of her kids could draw out pictures of their whoring mother on their Christmas stockings.

But I won’t.

I can think of that and it brings me pleasure to think of it, but I won't. You see, I'm human. I get hurt. I have thoughts of retaliation but I’m not cruel like my boyfriend or his texting girlfriend in Washington State. No, Karma is a bitch. I’d place bets that both will find out that you can’t dodge Karma.

Enough is enough.

Fourteen beautiful little letters to live by.

“I hope you can forgive me.” he writes. Forgiveness. Perhaps someday, but not today. Not tomorrow. Not anytime in the near future by my predictions. This isn’t the only texting experience that I’ve had to endure. There have been two…No, five altogether, not including the hookers called from the land line. Five. Yes, the man (if he could have that title) has had plenty of opportunity to straighten up. He’s had a chance to fly right. I've forgiven him many times. Already. But no…he chose to make me believe that this was indeed MY fault. Because I ‘couldn’t fulfill him sexually.’

Excuse me? Come again?
Please tell me you didn’t say that. And to my face.

Fulfill him sexually.

Get a load of that.That is the excuse made for all of his indiscretions. That is the basis for all wrongs commited towards me. He has continued to use me  for two thousand three hundred and ninety days because it was convenient and comfortable for him to do so. And I allowed him to do it because Bear loved him and would sit watching television holding his hand.

I’m so glad I finally found my mind that I’d managed to misplace. I am sitting here wondering how I could have possibly been attracted to such a man? Why would I have put up with all of this for so long? Why would I believe anything that he ever said to me? "I hope you can forgive me." 
I’m actually a bit happy to hold onto this anger for the time being. It allows me to stay focused. It keeps my head clear of ‘woe is me’ thoughts. It creates a mantra in my mind…

Enough is enough.

I have had enough. Enough to last me my lifetime, thank you. I might have this sentiment tattooed on me so I will never. Ever. Forget it again.






Footnote:    Yes, to those of you might have already guessed. This is the same friend who told me that ‘My blog doesn‘t matter.”

As my mother might have said...Good riddance to bad rubbish.

it's been how long...?

Break Away (intransitive verb)

        1 : to detach oneself especially from a group : get away
        2 : to depart from former or accustomed ways
        3 : to pull away with a burst of speed

The word break always has intrigued me. It means so many things. For instance, I love breakfast. I would break away from the pack in past track years. Taking a break and going on vacation. Getting a break on the price. I had to break into my car when I locked the keys inside. I broke ground on the new deck addition. I broke my knee skiing. My divorce broke my heart. My daughters loveliness breaks my heart. Breaking the silence. Breaking the news. Breaking 80 golfing. Breaking a sweat. Give me a break.

It goes on and on.
Variations of the word break, in so many forms, meaning so many things, pop up daily.

A few weeks ago I was dismayed to find that several of my fellow bloggers, ones that I adored and read religiously, decided to take a break. To stop blogging. There are several others that have stopped blogging because they are now focused on writing in other forums. Such as working on books.

I dig that. I get it. I understand.
I was also disappointed.

Add to that a slight downtown in my usual positive attitude and I decided to take a break myself. It wasn’t anything that I actually did intentionally. It just kind of happened. I didn’t sit down and say, “Nance…take some time. Don’t write on your blog. Don’t read any blogs. Just. Don’t.”

No.
I didn’t have that conversation in my head. It just happened.

One day turned into two. Two days turned into five. One week turned into two and now here it is, almost four weeks since my last posting and I felt I had something to say.

My down turn happened basically due to a close friend giving me some ‘friendly advice’. I took it. I don’t know why, but I did. He said, “focus your energy and attention on something that matters. Your blog doesn’t matter. You’re not going to make any money on your blog.”

Money?
Who said anything about money? Did I start this to make money?

No.
I mean yes, you read about those bloggers that now that it's their work. That they now employ several people to maintain their blog. But c'mon. Me? I don't see me being the next Dooce. (although, wouldn't that be nice! One can only dream...)

I should’ve dismissed his criticism right there. Not listened to another word. I mean, sure, making money is a great thing…it allows us to afford things, or do things that perhaps we wouldn’t have thought of doing before because we didn’t want to spend the money on it. Last year I received a payout from a life insurance policy my mother had. It was bonus money in my eyes. So I did something out of the ordinary with it.

I should’ve replaced the furnace.
Maybe bought a few new green windows, or solar panels.
But instead we went to DisneyWorld…the happiest place on earth.

And we had fun.
Lots of it.

We ate out. We stayed out late. We woke up early. We got room service. We stayed at a luxury Disney hotel. We lived like Kings. Or queens and princesses’ actually, but you get the idea.

My mother was smiling down on our festivities. We smiled right back up.

But my friend has a way of turning everything into a way of making money. Or the thought of HOW it could make money. I have a sewing machine that does embroidery. He feels I should do something with that to make money. Sell my embroidered items on eBay or etsy. I have a knack for display. He feels that I should send resumes to Cedar Point, Disney and all the department stores. I’m a good cook. He thinks I should package my sauces or spices for sale in stores. (I’ve already done the catering thing and that, my friends, is just too much work and stress…for me.) It goes on and on…

I get a little tired sometimes of listening to this banter. I like to do things because I enjoy them, not because it might have the possibility of making me money. Of making me rich.

It may be naïve, but I think that a person is rich because of their experiences. The love, the friendship, the joy of doing things and being with people that make you smile. That make you enjoy life. I think that if you do what you enjoy then you are truly both blessed and rich.

Not everything comes down to money. To dollars. To cents.

It annoys me.

I listened. I thought about it. I did lots of things this past month. I’ve worked hard, and I’ve played hard. I went golfing several times. That was lots of fun. I love this time of year on the golf course. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed it. I used to belong to a golf club. I lost that membership with my divorce. Sure there are many public courses around to play at, but I don’t know anyone to play with. When at the club, Tuesday mornings were a given. It was the day the ladies played. 9am tee off. Simple as that.

I played with the A-group. Chris Grace, Ellie Colton and Nita Doyle. They were the old timers, the club regulars. When I joined the Country Club, they for some reason, took me under their wing. Between the three, all of them were always in the running for Club Champion. Ellie took her golf pretty seriously. She was a great golfer. Steady. Sure. She could always score. Chris also was a good golfer. She was just a little wild at times, but could pull off shots that would make Tiger Woods take off his hat in respect. Nita was a par player. Tee shot. Chip shot. Two putt. Tee shot. Chip shot. Two putt. Steady as she goes. No wild card there.

I was the newbie. The rebel. I had a strong tee shot and a good short game. I was either On. Or I was Off. Not much in between. I had, at the time, a higher handicap, but could play. I helped their game. I was the wild card that could make our team win the tourneys. Or not. It all depended. But there was always the steadies to make the score. I was just the gravy. With all the regular play I had (at least twice a week with the ladies and once or twice on the weekends) I mangaed to lower my handicap to a 7.
Not bad.
Not bad at all.

I played a course last weekend that I hadn’t played in twelve years. Elyria Country Club is a gorgeous course. Designed by William S. Flynn who designed other beauties like Shinnecock on Long Island, Homestead Cascades in Virgina and Cherry Hills in Colorado. There are two other courses in Cleveland that he designed and they are both great challenges as well. I remember playing it with the A-team a decade ago on a club swap day. The 12th hole is a par three 165 yard beauty with an elevated tee box down to the green. I mean elevated. Like 50 feet elevated. It’s a gorgeous view and just a tad intimidating. If you miss left, you’re all right. Miss short and your in the water. Miss right, you’re in the sand. Miss long and it’s in the trees, baby.

As I stood on the tee box looking down I wondered which club to pull. I could hear the ghosts of the A-team deciding what to use. Ellie taking out her 4 iron. Chris with her 5 wood. And Nita with her 3 wood. I normally would hit an iron here, but today there was a headwind making the hole play more like 180 or 190. I nodded to my ghosts of the past and played a 3 wood. The wind took it a little right and I was pin high, but in the sand. No worries. I could see my ball.

It was interesting hearing those voices of long ago, from a seemingly different life, spring up in my head. It was a glorious afternoon. I was basking in the beauty of the course, the time spent playing. It took me back to a time when I didn’t think about money or how to make it. I hate to admit this, but I was busy living my privileged life and was thinking about whether or not I should buy that new driver in the club pro shop. Bah to me. Taking that all for granted. Then my divorce.

I no longer had the club membership. So I no longer played.

For some reason it took me two years to take out my golf clubs again. Somewehere in my brain golf was the one thing that I could control since the rest of my life seemed to be in shambles. I was on the course when my marrige came spinning to a close. On the back nine. Hole niumber 16. I just walked off the course. I heard people talking about it in the clubhouse. I heard whispers among the waitstaff. I saw the looks in peoples eyes. I started getting flowers from other club members delivered to my house. Flowers? Really?

I was humiliated. And I never went back.

I left everything in my beautiful wood locker with the brass tag with my name on it. I left my extra shoes that were being cleaned by the locker attendant. I left my trophy winning the tournament out at Springbrook in the trophy case. I only took my clubs, put them in the back of my car and drove away never to see the caddies, the valets, the waitstaff ever again. I no longer could, even if I wanted to, play with the A-team again.

But, it's okay.
That was eleven years ago. A lifetime.

Almost the same as it feels when I hit this publish button. Three weeks gone in the blogosphere? THAT’S a lifetime. Fact is, no one may even read this posting? I may have lost all the contacts that I had out here. The internet has replaced my space with someone else and now I’ve got to fight the curtain back to make room for myself again.

And then again, maybe not.

Maybe I’ll see comments from those that I’ve come to regard almost like family. Like Heather and Carlos and Chrissy and Katherine and Ron and Indigo. There might be a word from Julie and Lora and Lisa and Christine and Becky and Angelina and Kim. There are so many of you that I can’t even name you all, but you know who you are. And I know who you are.

I feel badly about not being around. About not being here.

It was a break.
A break away. Away from my friends.

Geez. And here I thought I didn’t have anything to say. Well, lookie there pal...I guess I did. I’m not making any money on this little blog of mine. But Bah to the naysayer’s. Who really cares!

I don’t.

Oh...Thanks for agreeing with me.
:-)