Embrace the Bacongal, and what ever I'm itching to say !

I have a few possessions that belonged to my parents.   Items that hold special memories for me are displayed in my home.   My mom’s glass bell collection and my dad’s acoustic guitar are all in my living room.   People that come to our home sometimes notice them, and I like to mention that they belonged to my parents.   There is one item that I don’t display, it’s too precious and for me acts as a pathway to the past.   A touchstone that when I concentrate can take me to a time when my parents were alive.   My Dad’s camera, a 1978 Mamiya NC-1000 35 MM camera, for me is a talisman of my parents, and my history.   My Mom died from brain cancer when I was sixteen years old.   My Dad died, unexpectedly, when I was thirty-five.   The loss of my parents are the two experiences that have had the biggest impact on who I am.   They were both good, honest and loving human beings that lived their lives with grace and courage.   I know ...

Since I mastered the skill of reading and comprehension I've been blessed with a very strong ability and drive to read.  I read everything.  If I'm caught on the toilet without a device that has an e-book on it, or a magazine, I read the backs of bottles, the inserts in medication, whatever I can reach while ensconced on the throne.  Growing up my Dad had his collection of Reader's Digest stored in the bathroom, along with the collection of coupon toilet paper that was purchased by pimping me out to go buy the limited 2 rolls with the coupon.  Before my first kindle ( I have 4, don't judge) I kept a book on the tank at all times.  I also carried a book in my purse, car or gym bag.  It's a sickness, I know.  I love the weight and smell of a real printed book.  I love the portability of an e-book.  Having a Kindle has not ended my purchasing of printed material. In fact I was humiliated by my own cheapness at the Wilsonville Goodwill....

Today I am 44 years old.  I don't know what 44 is supposed to feel like, but I don't think I feel like what I thought 44 felt like when I was 22. I feel good.  I'm not in the same shape I was at 35, time seems to give less results for the same output.  But I can still do everything I want to. For my birthday this year I am giving myself a gift. I'm giving myself permission. Permission to have people in my life that I trust Permission to remove people from my life that hurt me, mistreat me, ignore my feelings or in any way directly make me feel less than who I am. Fortunately for me, there aren't very many people that fall into the category, I can think of 4 right now. Permission to laugh as loud as I want. Permission to wear what I want, even if I don't like my upper arms. (don't panic I'm not talking hot pants and crop tops ) Permission to live my life, with Riddick, as we see fit.  No one else really needs to like it. Peace Bacongal...

Wow it doesn’t seem like it’s been September since I uploaded something to my blog.  I write all the time, and I think of uploading but I guess I forget the last part.  Last summer started smoothly, or as smoothly as it can be when you are remodeling your home.  Most of the labor was done by Riddick.  I’m the planner, accountant and sandwich maker. It was a huge job replacing flooring, windows, doors, siding and painting.  I’m grateful for Riddick but I’m even more grateful that we are done. The end of summer wasn’t nearly as smooth and definitely wasn’t planned.  Late August my step-son Ironman decided to move in with us and finish his senior year.  Without going into gory detail that combination of having my in-laws (whom I adore) and my 18 year old red headed step child (yes he really is) was beautiful chaos.  I don’t know how we all did it, but we did.  As Mama and Papa ventured south in the fall and Ironman started school ther...

I wrote this 7 years ago.  It seems so long ago. Before I met Robbie and learned what marriage and life can be. So grateful. This day is about remembering those fallen and sacrifices. This is just my little story. 9-11-01 is a date that none of us could forget, nor should we. It was like a wake up call in the most horrific painful way, for the whole country. For me it was a wake up call on a completely different level. I didn’t know it was a wake up call for another 8 years, and those 8 years will be something that I can never regain. On September 11, 2001 my husband was spending a long weekend with another woman. His mistress. His first mistress, that I know about. Her name was Dora. Dora Elise Perez to be exact. I just said that out loud as I typed it. Because for years and years I was afraid to say it out loud, to think it even. Because if I thought it, than I would be accusing the man I love of something horrible. Dora was just the first, or at least he said she was t...

That's how old my Mom was on the day she died. Mom was born October 13, 1945 and died September 28, 1988. Today, I am 42 Years, 11 months and 7 days old. The idea that in 8 days I will be as old as my Mom ever was is kinda freaking me out. When she died, I was 16, and of course she seemed old even though I knew she wasn't. But now I am her age, and unless I get hit by a truck or the rapture happens, I will grow older than she did. Thinking of that is a huge dose of her reality versus what mine is. She was dying when she was my age, and had been for a couple years.  Me, I don't think I'm dying, not any faster than any other healthy person.  I should be very grateful for my reality.  I am a slow runner, but can run 5 miles and at worst have a sore big toe on my left food (true story). Be thankful for all you have, grateful that you are healthy enough to know what you don't have, and humble enough to remember there are those that see the end of their lif...

My Mom loved Christmas.  She loved Halloween and Easter too, but not for any religious reason.  Halloween because it was the same month as her birthday and of the cool decoration possibilities, and Easter because of the get together s with family and the baskets. But today I'm talking of Christmas. I did not understand, as a child of the 80's when on the news people would speak of not being able to afford a Christams tree.  I lived and live in Oregon.  When I was little, trees were as little as $5 or free.  My parents, loving the Grand Nobles, spent more in the area of $15.  But until my Dad explained to me that Christmas trees in other parts of our country were actually expensive did I grasp my fortune. We would get our tree.  And than the waiting and whining would start.  My Mom would take what felt like forever but was probably no more than a day, do put on the lights.  Plastic flower petaled ensconced plastic lights that she meticul...