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 |   You never know what you'll find - humor, ramblings, rants, randomness- it's all me! |
This description part is challenging. I never know what I will blog about until I start typing. I do know there will be typos. I don't reread or correct my blog. Otherwise it turns technical instead of my feelings and thoughts. Trust me, on stories and poems I'm a grammaraholic, but this is freedom. Sometimes to keep it from getting too personal, I even turn my head away while I type. Weird, right?. I hope you find this somewhat entertaining, thought-provoking, and humorous.   A little about me. The most important things in my life are family, especially my son, Reese, and my husband, Bruce, my walk with God, and making a positive impact in some way. I am a teacher, currently teaching 6th grade Language Arts. While at times my job can be trying, overall, it is one of the most rewarding passions in my life.   This is my wonderful son, Reese. He is now 20 and and a junior at Oklahoma State University. I may be partial, but he is an exceptional kid with the best heart I've ever known. He makes me laugh, think, and want to be a better person. We are both huge Oklahoma State Cowboy fans - Gooooooo Pokes!  This is Reese's dog, Betty. She shares a name with my mother. Reese named her that because she was beautiful and kind just like his Nanny (my mom). I'm not sure my mom is quite convinced it is a compliment though. Betty is a huge part of our family. She even had her own blog for awhile. Poke around at your leisure and shake your head at some of things that go through mine. I always return reviews/comments, though admittedly, sometimes it does take me awhile depending on what life is serving me at that point. Keeping the faith, Audra  |
| Last night we lost our dear sweet cat, Tina. I had about decided not to blog about it because it is difficult, but she deserves to be included in the history that this blog might (or might not) serve of a history of part of our life. We got Tina from a truck with a box of kittens at the side of the road. It was a spur of the moment surprise for my animal-loving son. We had cats before so this wasn't an willy-nilly irresponsible act. She was a beautiful calico. I can say with all honesty that we never regretted including her in our home. Even when she pooped in the car as we were driving to safety from an Oklahoma tornado, or when she attacked my boob at a visit to the vet to have, well, a pet hysterectomy. She loved to lay on my side as I slept, sit on my papers as I graded them, and knock objects down in my son's room in the night. She wasn't the most graceful feline. Many a jumps were incomplete with a look back at us as if to say - "Hey, you can't jump from the tv to the top of the dresser either." She was a sweetheart though. She was a great mama cat - though the fact that she was a mama was a shock to me - she was very young and had 5 her first litter. Tina loved to play fetch; yes, fetch. She would bring you little things like a hairband or a milk topper doo-dad and nose at you until you threw it. It would go on and on until my son or I made the object 'disappear' for awhile. A few years ago, she acquired her best friend, Indy. Though she wasn't always fond of his youthful energy, she always took care of him and showed him the ropes. She would always let him eat first - and he had NO problem agreeing to that. Tina loved my son and me. I know she did. We had her for almost 8 years. She had been sick for a little over a month - we tried all the vets suggested, but it was just too much for her. Last night, when I arrived home she tried to run out the door. The first time I'd seen her move that fast in weeks. I gathered her up and could tell this was probably the end. We hadn't put her down, because the vet thought there was a chance and didn't believe she was hurting. As I laid her on a chair, she began to have a seizure or something like it. It was the same sound I heard when my grandmother passed away. At that point she was unconscious. My wonderful husband gently laid her on one of my son's t-shirts by her water bowl. Bruce's older cat came and sat with her. In less than an hour, she was gone. Bruce says she was waiting for me to get home. I like to think so. I am glad my son wasn't here. Though he is 18 and towers over the majority of people he knows, his heart is tender - and honestly, I suppose selfishly, I don't know how I could have handled Tina's death and seeing his sadness at the same time. She is buried on our land now. I know she is at peace. I'm confident she knew we loved her and grateful for having her in our lives. . . but yet, I can't help wishing we had had even more time with her. I guess that's a human thing - we are grateful for what we were given and that the deceased are at peace but sometimes it's just not quite enough and that part that wants to cure the ache in your heart says 'I wish we could have had just a little more time.' We love you, Tina. Thanks for blessing our lives. A kiss to Heaven, Audra |
| Remember Green Acres? For you younguns it's worth a YouTube search to at least listen to the theme song. As I have mentioned, I got married in June... to a farmer. (Yes, that can be and is a full-time job with no pay for overtime and the "smaller" holidays, such as Labor Day are ironically still work days. Now, I wasn't any city slicker before this - despite the rumors. I actually grew up on 160 acres; though I spent the vast majority of it inside trying to avoid chores or pulling of animals out of other animals or weird bugs, physical labor, and I might have even longed for just one Icee stand to be within 15 miles of the house - but I was NOT a city slicker. I was good at this evasive behavior too. The first and possibly only 'real' farm work I had to attempt was my Senior year in high school. Before that my brother or sister were called upon to do such things - dang them for going to college. I won't go into to detail but this calf was halfway out of the mama cow, breach (not good) and it wasn't going to live or maybe never had; but anyway Dad needed help coaxing said cow somewhere for something. All I really remember (after being hypnotized several times in an effort to forget this event) was it is the closest I ever came to raising my voice to my dad, my dad raised his voice many times to me during the 'task' with more idioms and colorful language than was needed, AND I was having a good hair day. Work with me here, be 18 again and finally having a hair day that you know looks good; that you can flip, shake your head, and it doesn't go flat or frizz or have one weird stubborn strand of hair. Now add perspiration and dirt to it - not even the most amazing hair can live up to that. That was just an anecdote to provide back story to my farm life. I went to an education conference today so I saw several teachers that I'd not seen since I married. Immediately, the thought of me on a farm brought humor to the conference. "So, Audra what have you done on the ole homestead this summer?" chuckle chuckle. For those doubters of my ability to adapt, here you go: 1. I've opened gates (It's hot in Oklahoma) - Every day. . . and I almost don't dread it now. 2. I've heated water without complaint to bath and do dishes when the hot water heater wasn't working. 3. I have killed a wasp (inside the house. . . more than once). 4. I have seen dead animals - mice, poor baby kitty, centipede 5. I held a new baby kitty (not the one mentioned above) all day trying to keep it alive because it had been in the rain during the night. My efforts didn't work, but I tried. 6. I picked up tree limbs,a bazillion I think, so the 'lawn' could be mowed. How do you know on a farm where the lawn ends and the wilderness begins? 7. I have gained the ability to not verbalize the words: "You want me to do what?" when my sweet husband asks me to do something that is common place to him. 8. Okay this is a biggie - deep breath - I have checked my husband's back for ticks when he has come in and even once pulled one off. But we don't call them ticks because that still freaks me out so I just requested that we please refer to them as "fuzz". It doesn't make sense but it sounds so much more pleasant. I'm sure I will do so much more - and guess what? I'm kind of looking forward to it. (not the fuzz part though). So I may still be a little green but this is the place for me to be. It's the berries, Audra/size} |
| Fourth of July is just around the corner, so we all know what that means. . . some alien takes over my father's body. Don't get me wrong, I fully realize that people change as they get older; tough men seem to soften. But this goes beyond that. I always knew my dad loved me, of that there was never a doubt. But there was let's say, a lack of affection or perhaps celebratory attitude. Let me give you an example. The thing I remember most about my high school graduation was that my dad hugged me. He NEVER did that; he just wasn't a hugger. He showed his love and devotion by working hard and providing for us. Holidays were great for us as kids, but it seemed that Dad found all the hoopla more of a distraction from things that needed to be done. Oh, don't misunderstand - Thanksgiving meant quail hunting which he loved and all holidays had some sort of athletic competition such as football, softball, or maybe even tennis. Of course, for the last about 40 years he's been saying this would be his last year playing. "I'm getting too old for this." Yet, somehow at 72 he still finds a few good passes in him. So what's the change then? Well, my no-hoopla-holiday father has in the past years become holiday obsessed. The first day of September he begins growing his white beard out so he looks like Santa by the holidays. (Many kids have stopped being brats in Wal-mart when they see his bowl full of jelly turn down the aisle.) He has dressed as Father Time - which quite honestly was a little disturbing especially when he asked me to post the picture on Facebook. Here comes Independence Day - which means. . . A PARADE. There have been times when the parade consisted just of my family members because every one in their right mind wasn't coming outside for a 5 minute parade in 105 degree weather with 100 percent humidity. I received my instructions last week of my parade duties. I was to make a CD with 5 patriotic songs - he was very definite about the the songs and the order they should be recorded: 1. God Bless the USA (Lee Greenwood) 2. God Bless America 3. It's a song with Green Beret in it - I'm sure you can figure it out - those were his instructions to me. 4. America the Beautiful 5. Okie from Muskogee - doesn't everyone consider that a patriotic song? So he says, "So those songs will just keep playing over and over, right?" Me: Dad, the parade is less than a mile; how slow do you intend to drive the motorcycle? Dad: Speaking of motorcycle, I was thinking since Reese is in Minnesota, I'll need someone to ride in the sidecar and throw candy. How about Bruce? Bruce is my husband of not even a month though we have known him all our lives. I'm not sure if this is a rite of passage or he just can't think of anyone else to 'convince' to do it. Dad: Now, you'll need to go to Wal-mart and get him a red, white, and blue shirt and cap. Unless you think he'd like to wear the Uncle Sam costume. But that is really more of my thing. Shaking my head and smiling, I try to mesh the hard working, matter of fact father of my youth with this wonderfully crazy holiday obsessed man before me. I don't know what has happened over the years, but I'm so blessed to have known both men. Daddy's girl (just don't tell him that - he'll gruff and say that I'll get over that), Audra |
| Yes, I admit it freely. . . I'm in love with an inanimate object. Personally, I think we all are on some level - well, maybe that's just what I want to believe. For instance, I'm pretty sure my dad is in love with his '49 Dodge, and my brother and niece pay a lot of attention to a volley ball (and Tom Hanks too - poor Wilson). So here I confess. . . I'm in love with sharpies! I can't get enough; plus, they always come out with new kinds or new colors. They have a set that is based on the '80's! Who could resist that? Not me, that's for sure. I love them. . . to the point of not wanting to share them with almost anybody. I mean normally I'll share anything with anyone, especially children, but we are talking SHARPIES! It's not because they are expensive, which they are. I don't really know why - maybe I'm reverting to a 2 year old because the only reason I can come up with is because they are mine! I gave some special ones to my husband as a wedding gift - Gold, Silver, and Bronze - that's special, baby! Okay, that wasn't all I got him, but I was trying to demonstrate the depths of my love for him. Which now is causing me a little guilt because yesterday I took them out of his desk drawer and colored with them! But I gave the picture to him - doesn't that count for something? Okay, maybe not. You may be asking yourself things like "I thought Audra was in her 40's" or "Does she realize she's admitting to doing a kindergarten activity by choice on her summer vacation?". Well, here's the truth - you bet your buttons I'm admitting to coloring and yep, I'm 46. I love it! I'm not particularly talented at it, but something in me has always loved to color. Maybe it is the enjoyment of completing something that doesn't require physical labor or much depth of thought or concentration. To me, sharpies equal smiles. I will share with my husband though. He can use his wedding present anytime he wants. . . he'll just need to get them out of my Sharpies box. Color the world, A. Branson |
| You might have noticed that aralls is gone - poof - genie blink - to become abranson! Yep, I did it - I said 'I do' and more. I married the most amazing man; it only took me about 41 years to do it, but hey - some of us are slower than others. But that story is for another blog or a real written story. Today, I just want to close my eyes and capture the images of this special day. I can't imagine forgetting, but I've noticed sometimes as the years go by, new memories scoot some of the important ones over - again, I don't think this could happen. June 6, 2015 1. Awoke at my parents to a text from Bruce - I allowed myself a few minutes to lay there and smile knowing that today we would get the happy ending/beginning we never even imagined. 2. Getting my hair and make-up done with Jen - Tracy and Lesa (my best friends) show up with some "special water" to toast the day. 3. Fake eye lashes and glitter? 'Are you sure, Jen? I'm 46.' Looking at her 'masterpiece' with joy: 'You got this, girl.' Why protest? I just want to marry Bruce and share the event with close family and friends. 4. Riding to the building with Jen, I look at things and realize I will never look at this bridge, the building, this road without being joined with Bruce. I smile. 5. Pulling in, I see my father and son at the door waiting for my arrival. My father seems nervous/anxious; my son confident and a little amused. A reversal of roles for those two. Again, I smile. 6. I enter from the outside so I've not seen who has shown up for the wedding. Walking through the door with my dad on my right and my 18 year-old son on my left, holding a bouquet of orchids (I don't care if they match the decor - they have meaning). . . I look first for Bruce. Our eyes meet and we both smile as if we share a secret. The look on his face says 'Let's get 'er done.' 7. I scan the room. . . tears well up seeing who has come to share in the moment. Everyone in this room means so much to us - I feel blessed and in awe that some have traveled hours, others have canceled work (farmers rarely do this), co-workers that have turned into true friends. My heart swells too for those that aren't there, yet I can feel them in spirit. . . Bruce's mother who had passed away a year ago - I knew her when I was in school, but didn't get the opportunity to know her as an adult. His father - who I was blessed to not only meet, but love instantly - who passed just weeks earlier. It is not just hopeful wishing. . . I feel them there with us. 8. The ceremony begins. . . and so does the train less than a football field away from us. Somehow we knew this would happen.. it brings laughter. . . and seems like the longest, loudest train whistle ever. It is then I realize it has proven to be a hot/humid day in Oklahoma. Good thing we didn't give in to people telling us 10:30 a.m. was a strange time to have a wedding. Old historical buildings aren't blessed with air conditioning; but, what they lack in modern convenience they make up for in ambiance. 9. Bruce says his vows first. We agreed not to write or rehearse them before this moment as we wanted them to come from the heart not be a 'show'. He reminds me of the honor he takes in a promise (something I know to be true) and talks of the love we share, our future, and much more. I want to kiss him right then. I should have - we've always been rule followers, even in kindergarten - maybe, this time I should have been a rebel. 10. My vows . . . seemed to flow out - I might have stumbled over words - I don't know - all I could see was Bruce's eyes and that smile . . holding my hands as his thumb gently rubs my skin. I don't know how, because he is behind me, but I catch a glimpse of my son smiling - sharing our joy. 11. And then the kiss - how will he kiss me? - to answer that... perfectly. And then we are one. Mr. and Mrs. Bruce Branson - the way it was meant to be. 12. Cutting the cake - lol - sweat has now caused an eyelash to de-glue - Bruce gently pulls the other one off and blows gently on me to cool me down. 13. I think there are 4 maybe 5 round tables filled with our family and friends, all in their circle of comfort by those they know best yet at the same time mixing with everyone. . . as it should be. We are blessed that our families have known each other for years. 14. Kids playing with bubbles. People explore the old building. Pictures taken. Laughter and hugs. Bruce always near touching my hand sharing in this magical time together. No urgency, no stress, no awkwardness. Everyone feels at home, which is what we had hoped for. 15. How did we end up off to the side kind of dancing by ourselves? Was there even music or was it just us enjoying the moment and silently lifting a prayer to God for his guidance. 16. Tomorrow will be three weeks that we have been married. And I must admit, I feel as if we have always been together. Sure, I'm still learning which drawer has the dish towels in it, but I feel as if I'm finally home. Signing off for the first time as. . . , Audra L. Branson  |
| I'm beginning to pack things in my house (again). For keeps this time though. For one, my amazing son, Reese, will be heading to college in August, and I will also be making a permanent move in the first of June (more details forthcoming in future blogs). Anyway, I'm not necessarily a 'keeper', not that I purge every piece of paper or clothing that enters my house, but I also don't hold on to every random purchase or gift. But my dilemma is. . . PICTURES! Problem 1: Pictures of people I have no idea who they are. Now my initial response is to trash those suckers, but then another voice says, "You felt strongly enough to take a picture of them or they felt strongly enough to give you a picture." But still, it's not like my memory is improving with age. I'm not going to ever go - "Wow, where did I put the picture of the girl with the HUGE 80's hair in the Glamour Shot?" I'm relatively sure it isn't me -- whew. It just seems kind of mean to throw people in the trash, but the only other thing I can think of is to take them to school and make 8th graders write what they see or turn the picture into a story. And let's be honest, that's probably not going to end up being very kind either. I suppose I could make a 'I have no idea who these people are' collage. Could be a good conversation starter, but then again it seems like that might require time and work. Problem 2: How many of the same similar picture do I need? Let's face it - my son is the first grand baby on both sides - there was A LOT of picture taking. And not just him - but that beautiful sunset you took 212 shots of somewhere when you were on vacation because that's the only time you notice beautiful sunsets - how many of those should I keep? It is mind boggling. I would let my boyfriend decide but he is a KEEPER. He'd probably want to go make copies just to be sure it is preserved in history. Then I would need even more boxes for spiders to hide in. Problem 3: What if I don't like the people anymore? I know that sounds harsh but shit happens. Should it be like financial records? Keep them for 8 years, and if you still don't like them trash them? WHERE ARE THE PHOTOGRAPH RULES?!?! Problem 4: (you know why) Scenic pictures of places you don't remember being or maybe you just don't recognize it. Another collage? I mean they are pretty and all, but I'm not sure they happened in my life. What if I accidentally received someone else's film one time and never looked at the pictures until now because I like to prove consistent on my level of procrastination? Say cheese, (I have a student who doesn't like cheese of any kind. I wonder what they make him say.) Audra
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| Sleep is overrated.... said no one that ever had insomnia. In fact, I'm so tired I have no clue who or why anyone would say that -- Maybe I saw it on a Facebook post or maybe I dreamed it - - nope, no chance of that one since I CAN'T SLEEP! FYI - I may never get this post done because every other word is spelled/typed wrong (in fact I just misspelled spelled and misspelled - TWICE). That should serve as point #1. You need sleep, precious sleep to function on a semi-normal level of your capabilities. Poop - I ought to just quit correcting the spelling to further emphasize my point but part of me just can't look that incompetent all the time. Sleep is amazing! Even if you have bad dreams it is still pretty darn good. It's like a mini-vacation from life. Plus, when you wake up (after the needed caffeine of course), you are able to do such tasks as dialing a phone or tying your shoes without trying to run through your memory log to figure out the first step. Are you getting that I haven't slept? It is 3:15 p.m. right now. Part of my mind/body says, "Hey girl, lay down, take a nap. You deserve it." Oddly, enough this voice has an Italian/New York accent. We don't hear that often in Oklahoma. Anyway, I know it is a trick to torture me further. See, if I do go turtle under my covers, one of either two things will happen. 1. I will sleep, interrupted occasionally by my 18 year-old son that still finds it easier to ask me where the scissors are rather than look in the drawer we have always kept the scissors in. However, I will sleep which is a backhanded blessing, because it is 3:20 p.m. now. So if say I slept until 6:00 p.m. I wouldn't be able to go to sleep at 10:00 p.m. so I will be perpetually in a state of day/night confusion like a new born infant except no one is going to rock me and pat my back. or 2. I will curl on the couch and NOT be able to fall asleep which in my sleep deprived state will convince my cloudy, non-neuron connecting brain that I have somehow forgotten how to sleep. Therefore, the paranoia of not sleeping will keep me from sleeping! (I think this may be turning into a bigger catastrophe than the time I read the directions wrong on my estrogen --- but seriously, if I'm old enough for estrogen don't you think someone might figure out that I might be old enough to have difficulty reading print meant for an ant colony?} Oh, I'm digressing aren't I? Would you like to know why I can't sleep? Because I'm dumb... I don't learn from previous mistakes... more correctly, I forget them. Every March, my students ask me what I'm going to do over Spring Break. I think they think I'm jealous that they are going skiing or to Disneyland or Cancun. But every year I just smile sweetly and respond, "I'm going to sleep." And thus the curse of Karma commences (I love a good alliteration that requires very little effort on my part.) Friday night -- I couldn't sleep because I was so excited it was Spring Break and I was going to get to sleep! Saturday night - okay - I don't even remember Saturday night because my days and nights are as one now. I think I was home. Ohhhhh yes, my son's box springs broke so I gave him mine. So now my bed is a mattress on the floor like some poor hippie college kid who took the mattress off someone's curb.... Don't judge me. Anyway, I can't roll over to get up because well that's just floor. it's not like I can swing my leg over a six inch side of a mattress. So I figured the least embarrassing (in case I have a peeping tom) and easiest way to get up, is to lie on my stomach with my feet toward the end of the bed and do a sorta of backward scorpion crawl until I hit floor with my toes and then kind of stick my booty up and walk my hands in -- I pretend it is yoga so I don't have to feel bad about not exercising. To be honest, my boobs are not fond of this method and are petitioning that I look into other options. So since getting off my mattress (I refuse to call it a bed) is pretty much an Olympic sport now, my bladder decided it would be fun to have to pee every half hour to an hour. I bet cumulatively I scorpion crawled a mile on Saturday night. Last night? Oh, sorry, I can't tell you about last night....I've taken an oath of secrecy (but not celibacy -- hubba hubba.... Just kidding! Or am I?) I'm tired, so tired. Where is Mr. Sandman? That's a good song. "Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream, make him the cutest I've ever seen." Am I rambling? Do I care? Maybe I'm asleep, dreaming about blogging about not being able to sleep! That would be the berries! I don't think so though, because I don't think even I would care about typos in a dream. Do you think it would be too weird to have some elective surgery like my appendix out so I could have that amazing mask put on me and be told to count back from 100 and not even get the question of why out of my mouth before I'm in a drug induced sleep? Hmmmm. that may have to wait, I haven't met my deductible this year. But then again: money or sleep? It is a close toss up. Well, come to think of it, I have neither so they both suck or are essential - I've confused myself again. Borrowing an AK47 to shoot the sheep, Audra (I MISTYPED MY NAME - TWICE! What the frek?) |
| Don't take it personal? Positively, one of the stupidest phrases used. First of all, it isn't even correct grammar which immediately makes me squirm - Don't take it personally! Personally being an adverb modifying how or in this case how not to 'take' it. Follows an action verb - all the clues are there. Anyway, besides grammatically-challenged, the very act of versing it is going to make me take it personally. I mean, you are speaking to me about something that was said or done to me (aka a person). How should I take it? All she said was she didn't like that color on you. Don't take it personal. Hmmmm. . . How should I take it? As a personal offense to the color? Perhaps a verbal attack on a particular color of our blessed spectrum of shades? Umm. . . and she did add the words 'on you'. So, I basically ruin that color? That's a lot of power to have, way too much responsibility. Besides, personally I think it was a bitchy thing to say. Unless of course, I asked - which I wouldn't. Or if she was my colorist - which I can't even fathom having. Anyway, enough of that. Am I the only one that has people in my life that I daily want to say 'Do you realize you really just said that aloud?" Well, there is one particular person that wins the prize for this in my life - I work with her, so it's not like I choose to see her everyday. Here are a few examples: (Upon hearing I was getting married - both my fiance' and I have been married before) "Oh, so you are the consolation bride." Lunchroom: "How can you eat cheese all the time? Don't you know it will stop you up?" (Seriously, no one has asked about my b.m.'s since my obsessive grandmother when i was about 4.) "Were you running late this morning? I mean did you have time to assess that blouse and skirt combination?" "Being a single mom must be sort of freeing. . . and saves money come to think of it - only 2 mouths to feed. You are so lucky." I could go on but I'm getting the urge to punch someone and I'm the only one here so that would be somewhat counterproductive. Bottom line: If you don't want me to take it personally - think before you speak or say something wonderful about me - I'll take that personally too. Personally, I love to write, Audra |
| I could tell you about . . . Coughing so violently from bronchitis while driving that i peed my pants and puked on myself. Or getting my hand stuck in a vending machine Begging strangers for 10 cents Or even the healing power of crushed ice and orange jello I could tell you about.... A miniscule Christmas tree whose spirit engulfs the room About praying from the truest place that words elude you but your Spirit is comforted Or even losing a 100 dollar bill and not even caring though bills are stacked high Or being the strong one in a situation where you are usually the weak one Or i could tell you about liza . . . Well actually no i couldnt But what i want to share is... the feeling of holding your best friend's hand softly while he sleeps... resisting the urge to hold on tightly. The realization that you are at a beginning point of your life at a stage you thought the rest would just be coasting. I feel his heartbeat in the crease between his thumb and finger. It matches the pulse in his neck. His eyes are closed finally in restful sleep yet it feels like hes watching to make sure I understand life is still amazing and new. He smiles ... no he grins as if discovering a secret in his sleep. It became so clear to me that before me lay my past, present, and future all in one unbelievable person. I love you, Bruce. Merry Christmas. Audra |
| Do me a favor, please. Come on, please - humor me - it's an audio thing. I'm pretending to have an interactive blog. Okay so here's the big favor: Read the following sentence out loud: What do I have to give? So how did you read it? Were you asking 'How much were you supposed to give? or "What talents do you have to contribute?" I think the emphasis is the word 'have' that changes it but it's kind of a pace thing too. I got this from a sermon at church - so I guess I'm guilty of stealing from my preacher. What do I have to give to make up for that? While the question itself is interesting to me - it is more the emphasis and interpretation that has been tickling my remaining brain cells. It's similar to the glass half-full vs. half-empty thing . . . but not really. Depending on how you say it is compelling to me. One way you are on the defensive because you feel as if you are losing part of yourself or possibly possessions, and in the other instance you are looking for something you have worth giving and contributing. It made me reflect personally. Do I put a wall up to keep a distance from others and what they might want? or Do I look within myself to see what I have to offer that would be worth taking the wall down brick by brick? Okay, so that was me just pretending to be deep and philosophical. Gosh, no wonder I hated my Philosophy class in college. On a lighter note, we had an assembly on 'sexting' today at the middle school. Tons of fun....needed I know and completely support, but you try getting kids back focused when they are thinking about one of the following: 1. Oh crap, is that picture mom posted on Facebook of me when I was two and mostly covered in bubbles in the bathtub going to make her have to register as a sex offender. 2. He he he . . . They said naked picture in the assembly. 3. They just don't realize how in love Johnny and I are. He would never show someone our conversations or pictures. 4. Holy hat - I'm screwed. Of course, it didn't help much that this assembly was after Home Ec where we were sewing and I made the mistake of saying . . . Watch what you are doing. You don't want to go in the wrong hole. You see anything you say to middle schoolers can be taken, well, as having to do with sex or poop. But you know, you just have to kind of go with it. Eventually you start thinking like them which can make family dinners during the holidays awkward. I mean there you sit, 45 years old, finally at the grown up table and you burst out laughing when your brother says: Let's just eat. You can never count on Becky (his wife) to do anything on time. It seems like I've spent my life waiting for her to come, and it's always at least 10 minutes later than I thought it would be. Pass me turkey. I've been craving some dark meat. Your parents and siblings look at you like your insane, but your nephews think you are pretty damn cool and welcome you back to the kid table. So there you have it. . . philosophy and dirty talk all in one blog. Keeping my reputation up, Audra |
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