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

I have mixed feelings about people just dropping by our home.  Most of the time the folks that just stop by are friends that live nearby and drop by when they are visiting another mutual friend in the neighborhood.  Nothing is expected and nothing is awkward. Last weekend we had surprise visitor from my former step-son.  I say "former" not because I stopped considering my step-sons from my first marriage family when we divorced, but to specify that I am not talking of Zach.  It is odd that I have been rather a permanent step parent since I was 18.  My first marriage (I only have two, don't panic) I was step-mom to two boys, full time, as their Dad had custody.  It was a very unpleasant situation.  The parents did not get along; in fact they actively fought and it was miserable.  I really do not feel like dredging all of it up but it involved courts both civil and criminal.  Looking back now I think that their mother was treated badly and ev...

I had to set my blog aside while I finished my degree and adjusted to new challenges at work.  I moved into a management position in 2016 and also decided to further my education. While I can say that I am happy I did it, I can also say I am happy it is done.  My college education has always been done while working full time.  The majority of my schooling has been funded by employer provided educational assistance.  While that is a gift I am grateful for, it did not pay for all and it required me to work full time and school 3/4 time. Working and going to school was much easier in the 20's than now in my 40's.  All of a sudden I feel my age creeping into my life like mold.  I know it is partly because while pursuing this most recent educational goal I also had major knee surgery, leaving me in a wheel chair for six weeks.  I felt the consequences of my age in fatigue from working and studying but also in the comparison between recovering from a hys...

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...