Skip to main content

Live like you mean it

Yesterday my friend Julie left me a text message, that would bring dread to anybody..."Did you hear".

Now understand. Julie is not someone who would text you if she heard juicy gossip, in fact she's known for NEVER repeating stuff. When I got divorced, she had the class to ask me if she could tell people. And I appreciated that. I already trusted her judgement, knowing whatever she did would be out of love and concern for me, and she would never gossip about me. But that she asked, let me know that my trust in her was well put.

Back to my point.

Yesterday she told me about a co-worker. Julie and I are co-workers, but more importantly she is my friend. And there is a difference, don't let anybody tell you there isn't.

Our co-worker, Ed, died. Very suddenly, over a weekend basically. He was always at work, working later than others. He worked hard at a job he didn't always like for one reason..His family. To support them and give them a life that he wanted for them.

Now yesterday Riddick and I were debating about staying home and doing chores or going hiking up Angel's rest. After Julie's call, I chose hiking.

I could die now, or tomorrow, or Riddick could. And I don't want to miss a thing.

I learned something from my parents brief time on this earth..live like you mean it, love like you mean it, and have faith like you mean it.

I forget that sometimes. Time from time I get caught up in some dramatic crap that distracts me from the way I should be living my life.

But today, remember it, and mean it.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Rats Exposed!

I yelled that once. Not really yelled, more like exclaimed it loudly and with panic. Panic caused by the fear of projectile vomit coming out all over me and everyone else at the table. I was on Roatan, with two friends, Missy and Prissy. We had been "dolphin trainers for a day" and had chosen to buy the cheap lunch with the locals. We were told they had only two plates of fish left and than the conejo. Conejo is spanish for "rabbit". So I made the sacrifce and let the twins have the fish. It's not my favorite meat, but I figured what the heck..when in rome... All was good until the american dolphin trainer walked by and was kind enough to tell me that "conejo" wasn't the "rabbit" I was thinking of. She said the magic word.."Watusa" Abruptly a plate with rice and fried plantain appear with a dark sweet smelling meat...Watusa. That's when the yelling came in and the controlled gag reflex fyi....Watusa is a damm r

I miss my mom!

I can't express to anyone why the ache of missing my Mom comes and goes at is does.  Perhaps it's because I am approaching the anniversary of her death, September 28, 1988.  But beyond that, right now, this moment, I am aching for my Mom. I had such jealousy of my friends who passed by the bullshit of teen years and got to know their Mom's as fellow adults.  Cohorts that supported each other.  In reality of my three closes friends none of them have had that much extra time with their Mom's.  Missy and Prissy lost their mom to cancer not long after I did.  Graybelle has lost her mom to the absence of other distractions.  But still I ache. I want to know what my Mom's favorite color was.  I want to know what she wanted to be when she grew up.  I want to know how she felt about gay marriage.  My gut tells me she wouldn't have given a fig, which is how I feel. But mostly I want the warm embrace.  The hug she gave me when I started my period at Burgerville.  I

Good Friday..memories of fish

I was raised catholic. I migrated away from the church in my teens. Moving to an evangelical church, motivated by my acceptance of Christ at 12. I don't think my Dad was completely on board with the whole thing, but really, he let me go to a Christian summer camp, what did he think was going to happen. So for years I lived a double life, catachism and mass on Sunday, and youth group at a Christian church during the week. Until I started driving, and than I'd go to two church services on Sunday. And to be perfectly honest I was happy. I enjoyed that much fellowship and the church as a whole, Catholic of other, is a home for me. I should make it very clear that to me the Catholic church was a place of comfort and safety. I never experienced any abuse, and I have nothing by sorrow and sympathy, and anger about, the abuse suffered by so many others. On Good Friday at St. Patrick's church we had a fish feed. Earlier in the day there was fish sandwiches at school for