Dance To The Music

My Love taught me well.

She is a bargain shopper, known for finding expensive, brand-name clothes for dirt cheap.  Her secret is to be persistant.  You have to keep checking for new inventory and you’ll eventually find a bargain.

Which is what I do.  This week, I found a beaut.

I always check the local Goodwill store.  I find they have better quality stuff than other thrift shops.  I always check for books and furniture.  Although I found some top-shelf Titleist and Callaway fairway woods for a combined $15.  Sometimes I can find good household stuff.  But I always take a walk around the store to see if there’s anything unusual.

I did find something unusual on Monday.  A stereo receiver.

I stopped into Goodwill just to have a quick lookaround, with no intention of buying.  But when I saw this Pioneer A/V receiver, I was very surprised.  My first instinct was to grab it before someone else walks off with it.  I mean, for ten bucks,

Yes, a piece of upper-end Pioneer electronics, probably able to pump out 120 watts a side, for ten bucks.  It wasn’t a deal to be ignored.

I bought my previous receiver in 1985.  Some bank decided to give me a Visa card, out of the blue, and I felt compelled to break it in.  My old receiver  served me well over the years, but it needs cleaning, a channel drops every so often, and when you turn up the volume it crackles.  It was annoying and it would’ve been more expensive to have it serviced.  It needed to go

On Tuesday I spent the day yesterday rearranging my “entertainment center”. The “new” receiver allowed me to bring my turntable out of storage, so I could play my LPs.  All my CDs that were in the Man Cave are now displayed.  The vinyl will stay in the Man Cave.  Once everything was rearranged I threw myself a little vinyl party.  Some of the invited guests included Simon and Garfunkel, Sting, and Pretenders.  I know I’ll be hauling out more over the next few days.

 There is something about the sound from a vinyl recording.  I don’t mind the snaps and pops.  They add character. I have always preferred a vinyl LP to a CD.  Often times a CD gets celaned up in the mastering, to the point that it sounds too good.  It loses some of the spatial qualities in the compression.  Vinyl just sounds better.

There was a great deal of excitement.  These recordings were like an elixr, a magical potion to bring out the joy and pleasure of music.  I was like a kid, pulling out records I hadn’t played in years.  I plopped myself down on the couch, pulled out the lyric sheets and sang at the top of my lungs.  It was the best.

Now I plan to give my turntable a good workout.   I can play all my Christmas records:  Nat ‘King’ Cole “The Christmas Song”,  the Motown Christmas LP,  A Phil Spector Christmas,  ”Jingle Bell Jazz”, and a John Fahey (acoustic solo guitar) Christmas album. 

Next comes the tree.

Hold Me Closer, Tiny Dancer

You Are Here

This one’s been rolling around in my brain for most of the weekend.  It’s one of those philosophical questions that reach out and slap you in the face from time to time.  This one comes from a John Grisham novel called “Playing For Pizza”.  More on the plot, but here’s the question:

What am I doing here?

The story concerns a washed-up third-string NFL quarterback, who’s only option is to play in the professional league in Italy.  His world has been completely turned upside-down.  In the process, he begins to learn what life is all about through Italian eyes.  He learns how to live well.

I finished the book in a few hours on Monday and walked away finding something I didn’t expect to find.  I found myself mirroring the main character, and asking myself the same question:

What am I doing here?

My love had sent me a response to some of the posts I had written in these pages.  One of the discoveries she made that we were “very good together but frighteningly stuck”.  What does that mean?  Did it mean our relationship wasn’t progressing the way she hoped?  Did it mean I wasn’t progressing the way she hoped, or was she more concerned about her role?  If we were that good together, it would be a step forward to bring this issue to the table and discuss it as a couple.

My guess is that she was waiting for the shoe to drop.  She had been married twice.  They were short courtships and quick weddings.  Without going into details, both of her ex-’s betrayed her trust and hurt her deeply.  We had two blips on the radar within the context of our relationship.  While most relationships would take the experiences and learn from them, we separated for brief periods.  It’s my guess she did that as a way to reassess the relationship.  They were tow painful periods in our relationship.

Frighteningly stuck?  Can a relationship have those times when it’s necessary to just “be” – taking time and recharging your emotional batteries?  Were we “stuck” in the sense that we weren’t progressing and a couple or as individuals?  Those are valid questions and could very well be applied to My Love and I.

Can you get unstuck?  Is it possible to step back, see the realtiohnshiip for what it is, and make the necessary changes to make the relationshiip vital and interesting?

All questions to be answered at a later time.

These Boots Are Made For Walkin’

Here’s where it all goes down hill.

I have a theory about the post-Halloween weather in the Northeast.  Here on the coast, once the candy has been gobbled up and the costumes put away, the weather seems to take a turn for the worst.

 Rapidly.

My Daughter’s brithday falls in early November.  Ever since she was old enough to have birthday parties, we’ve had Indian Summer-like weather around her birthday, so her parties were always held outdoors.  I never thought leaf diving was a traditional party game, but we turned it into one.

  But after that glorious splash of warmth, the temperature takes a dive and the chill in the air is more than just chilly.  It’s cold, and it’s worse if it rains.  Autumn rain is the worst because it is so cold.  The sole purpose of an autumn rain is to bring down the remaining leaves on the trees.

This has been a good year for wanderlust.  I haven’t acted on the urges yet and I know I should.  Considering all the emotional maelstrom I’ve put myself through, you think I would get away more often.  That would be a correct assumption.  Lately, though, I’ve been questioning this wanderlust.

When does wanderlust and the desire for a change of scenery get misinterpreted for avoiding reality?

There have been plenty of times I’ve wanted to get outta Dodge, but I seem to find excuses not to.  Is it necessary for my wellbeing to hit the road every so often?  Hell, yeah!  So…. WHY NOT?  Good question, gentle reader.  Why do I find reasons NOT to do anything instead of creating solutions to help me achieve my goal? 

That’s two questions- both of them valid and complimentary. 

I say shit or get off the pot.  Just go.  Create possibilities instead of building barriers.

Here are some places I’ve thought about:

1.  My sister’s in Massachusetts.  She and her husband are empty nesters, sort of.  My nephew is at the Massachusetts Police Academy.  My youngest neice is at school in Fitchburg.  Her older sister has two years of college under her belt but, for reasons not yet explained, she opted for coming home and working in her father’s small-town law practice.  I haven’t seen for since the end of May, just before My Love and I parted ways.

2.  My parent’s house…again.  No.  Dad and I had an argument about my financial situation.  He is afraid I’m going to fall through the cracks.  For years he’s been pushing the real estate game on me, put I’m not playing.  Things need to cool down before I drop in again.

3.  No place in particular.  It’s always a good third option.  I’ve thought about driving to Boston, Quebec City,  and New York City.  I’ve thought about pulling out the ol’ Rand McNally, close my eyes and drop the finger at random.  Where the finger goes, the rest of me shall follow.

Would somebody give a good shove to get me started?

Like a Yo-Yo

I am sick and tired of being sick and tired.

When is this roller coaster ride going to end?  Because I’m in the last car and about to lose my lunch.

My heart has been battered, bruised and stomped, and it’s all been self-inflicted.  I feel like I’ve gone ten rounds with Tyson.  It’s all because I can’t get over losing the woman I love.  I can’t just let things go because I let Hope stick its nose in my business.  Hope is preventing me looking at things realistically.  Right now, Hope sucks big time.  I get a whiff of possibility and I  throw any rational thought out the window.

Why can’t I just move forward?  It’s been two steps forward, one step back for what seems like an eternity.  I feel like a rabbit with Turret’s: I have no idea which direction I’m going , I have no control and I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.

It would be so much easier if I could come to terms with the idea that I have been given an opportunity.  There is a woman out there just waiting for me.  Now is not the time or place for me to find her.   I have more work to do.  My heart needs healing. 

I noticed something interesting whilst looking at my post stats.  Whenever I write on the everyday stuff in my life, the numbers are down.  But when I write about my struggles recovering from the breakup with My Love, the numbers go through the roof.  I guess it proves that folks like a good train wreck.  It’s compelling stuff.  Reading about someone else’s love life gone askew somehow makes one’s life much better.  It’s like “The Truman Show”-my life is live and in living color.  Good thing there isn’t a camera following me 24/7.  Here I am, warts and all.  I bleed, cry, laugh,  sing, wonder, ponder, anger, and everything in between.  Some folks offer their support.  They coach me from the sidelines and give me encouragement.  Most of them silently look on.

But, seriously, why are most of you here?  I am here to put my thoughts down so they keep my brain from clogging.  Does what I say have meaning to you?  Is there genuine concern for my wellbeing, or do you just look in from time to time?  Do you read my posts with empathy,  seeing yourself as I chronical my life?  Are you cynical and waiting for the train to derail…again?  Or are you a voyeur, lurking out there in the shadows,  anonymously finding pleasure in the ups and downs of a fellow human being.

As I scan down the list of destinations in my blogroll, I see folks from all over the world dropping in to see what conditon my condition is in.  I want to be able to reach out to you.  Maybe talk to you individually.  ”How are you?  Where are you from?  Why do you return repeatedly to my blog?  Tell me something about yourself.  How’s life in your corner of the world.”  I sometimes wish there was a chat function.  Not some silly space full of misspelled words and cryptic abreviations, but a place where kindred souls and reach out to each other.  How are we all alike?  Are we both looking for the same thing?  Is there something missing, and what do we want to fill the empty spaces with?  One of the reason why I am here is so I can have someone to talk to, albeit a silent and unresponsive listener.  I got tired of talking to myself.  I couldn’t seem to find the answers to the questions I was asking myself. 

Most writers write anonymously.  They don’t give anything away except for some choice bits.  Maybe the names are changed, but the facts are real.  Sometimes it’s all fiction.  For your information, everything in this space is real.  I do give my subjects pseudonyms.

Now, the  crux of this post.  I’ll be honest with you and tell you why I am writing.  It’s the same reason I wanted to be a radio DJ:  I wanted the attention.  How many people have this opportunity?  We all feel we have something important to say, but is anyone really listening?  Do they care about what we’re saying, or do they just nod their head and smile?  Do our opinions matter to them are are we being given lip service?

I realize that, like the televison, if you don’t like what you’re hearing you can change the channel.  If what I’m saying here doesn’t appeal to you then you move on.  If you’re curious enough to keep reading, maybe you read another post or click the “About” tab and find out some more. 

Do you care?  Maybe.  Maybe not.

Why am I saying all this?  Because, up until the point, I have been afraid to say the things I want.  Now I will.

I am hurting.  I hurt because the life I didn’t want was ended, because I was too afraid to do the dirty work myself.  I am hurting because I thought that the one true love that came into my life is no longer there.  I don’t know why she’s not there anymore, but I am having difficulty adjusting to life without her.  And I hurt because I feel like I am going through this difficult time by myself.  I have found my identity through others and am finding it difficult to recognize who I really am.

Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

If anyone wants to step up and make this a two-way exchange, come on down.  We all could use a few good friends, and misery loves company.

I just want somebody to talk with, and who will listen to me.

p.s.  Memo to The Rommate:  I see you’re back.  If all this is more than you wanted to know, why do you come back?

You Go Back, Jack, Do It Again

It’s time for a little soul searching.

I’m not one for regrets.  I would regret my actions if I hurt someone.  But I have come to learn this much:  that the path we choose is the one we are meant to walk.  We make our choices for a reason.  Some selfish, others noble.  But we make choices and learn to live with the consequences.

Take education.  When I made my choice to study broadcasting in college, I did it not only because I found it fascinating, but because I found it easy.  I discovered that I had a talent.  I was personable, not afraid to stand up in front of a large audience, had a sense of humor, and was willing to put myself out there and be someone other than the person I really was.  I was fascinated by the voices I heard and wondered what it would be like if it were me behind the microphone.

My choices in education were based on what I could get away with rather than challenge myself.  I made a career choice of radio rather than apply myself to study business, law, or a number of professions that would’ve netted me a good paycheck at the end of the day.  None of those areas really stirred a passion in me to apply myself and study.  Although I had an inquisitive mind, I lacked the discipline.

And so, gentle reader, you may be wondering what compelled me to write on this subject.  Like many other episodes of self-questioning, it was generated by my father.

My father has discovered late in life that there is alot of money to be made in real estate.  He started with a couple of apartment buildings,  which he parlayed into larger investments.  He now has holdings in Texas, North Carolina and Lousiana.  He ain’t rich but he sure is comfortable.  He is the source of funding for my car repairs.  There’s nothing more embarassing than for a grown man to ask his parent for money.  It is not the first time I have walked this path.  I have asked them for money with the intent to pay them back, but they inevitably retract the offer, turn the loan into a gift and move on.  They don’t do this on purpose.  My father is one of those people who believes that it’s not automatic to offer money to family members in need.  There’s no unsolicitated phone call offering money in a pinch.  He’s a “teach a man to fish” kind of guy.  There are always conditions attached.  How many people do you know who ask a family member for a signed promisary note when accepting a loan?

Long story short, my parents are worried about how I will be able to support myself.  Thus, the suggestion that a possible change in career with better cash flow may be in order.  Herein lies the question:  what’s a guy, on the brink of middle age, do when nothing really interests him?  Or, more accurately, what if he doesn’t want to do something different?  I understand the concern of my parents.  They don’t want me to be homeless, they want me to be happy and able to do things that intrest me and not worry about the cost, and they want me to think about the future.  But that idea never appealed to me.  Not because I’m concerned about the future, but because I’m a rotten planner.  I’m not very good with money, am impulsive, and don’t look too far ahead.  At times, I’m an adult with a child inside, screaming to get out and play.

Peter Pan has always fascinated me.  I can sense the amateur psychologists gearing up for an analysis of my comments.  I’ve always loved the story and it makes me cry to think that Tinker Bell will die unless we believe and clap our hands.  I cannot see the movie “Hook” without welling up, and the Broadway production with Mary Martin (who else?) sends me over the edge.  It’s a beautiful story and it’s always made me curious why I react the way I do.  I suppose there is a child inside me, one who refuses to give in to adult convention and remain carefree, without restrictions or rules or the self-imposed boundaries we put up to satisfy Society.

Whoa, this is getting very deep.

I walk the path of the mainstream but want to leave the path and explore Life on my own terms.  But I often feel burdened by adult obligations.  The concept of finding a good job and make lots of money was never something I strived for.  I live (or try to) within my means but I also don’t want to deny myself.  I realise that I am all over the map and am contradicting myself.  That’s me.  I want to have both feet in each world.  My stream-of-consciousness writing is just this:  I’m trying to get this stuff out, not trying to answer any profound questions about how I should live my life.  Where should I go, what should I do?  Is the path I’ve chosen able to withstand outside pressures? 

Should I be re-examining the direction of my life?

Does anybody really know what time it is?  Does anybody really care?

Down With Old Old Folks At Home

It’s so strange, returning from vacation and feeling like you’ve been absent forever.

I just wanted to do a quickie, but I have some interesting stories to tell over the next few days.  The Jetta continues to perplex me.  I had to postpone the brake work it needed and decided to head downeast anyway.  Funny thing happened when I pulled out of my folks driveway the following day.  I was headed to the Big Chicken Barn to spend a casual afternoon amongst the used books and antiques.  As I made my way down the road, the noise that had been present for so long was gone.  Or at least diminished.  It was one of those too-good-to-be-true moments.  I realise that the work will need to be done, but it was so nice to have a quiet ride for the rest of the trip.

I did enjoy the browsing of book and antique shops.  I found some wonderful oak chests, baker’s cabinets and highboys that would have been a wonderful addition to the house/cottage/condo I do not own…yet.  I also found some very cool Art Deco prints from Acadia.  The artist is contemporary, but the colors and feeling of the work was so retro.  I love Art Deco and Art Nouveaux, but don’t have the budget to pay for the good stuff, so I get the repros when I can.

My Mother is a saint.  A packrat, but a saint nonetheless.  She hoards anything from fabric to dry goods and it drives my Dad crazy. SHe can’t pass up a sale or a bargain, so she stocks up when there are deals to be found. I know he was happier when he saw the four grocery bags with can goods, and the two insulated bags with frozen meats.  I’m set for a long time.  While I was there, Mom fed me with generous portions.  I got my favorites for dinner: meatloaf and mashed potatoes with steamed broccoli, and homemade baked macaroni and cheese.  It was good to be home.

I also was engaged in good conversation with my Dad.  We talked about a variety of subjects from his frustrations with a housebuilding project he was helping with, to the ever-popular Red Sox-Yankee debates we’ve been having for years. Dad is an old-school liberal.  The only bumper sticker he ever applied was one supporting the United Farm Workers.  He even brought us on a protest march.  All this happened while he was in seminary, where he caught the social justice bug.  He is steadfast in his beliefs and loves a good argument.  I think he is the only person I know who openly welcomed Jehovah’s Witnesses into the house, rather than run and hid in a quiet place, waiting for them to go away.  He likes a good argument.

That’s it in a nutshell.  More to come.  I love Acadia and Bar Harbor, and this trip allowed me to revel in it all.

I’m Outta Here

I’m on VACATION!!!!

This is my favorite time of year to get away.  All the tourists have gone home, so I won’t be fighting crowds.  I hope to get some time in on my bike. 

But I could change my mind. 

 I might hit some antique shops or second-hand book barns.  I’ll keep my golf clubs in the car.

Just in case.

There’s always the less-traveled road that sparks my curiosity.  My priority this week is getting some well-deserved R&R.  But it doesn’t mean I won’t be writing.  I’ll be jotting down ideas in my notebook and I’ll return with a full report. 

Maybe in a week.  Maybe longer.

Just Ask The Rock and Roll Doctor’s Advice

You gotta have tunes!

 Ever since college, I have been passionate about music.  Actually, I’ve been passionate about music from my infancy.  My mother used to play Johnny Mathis records while doing housework.  I distinctly being in my playpen and hearing the music. 

Later, I found out she also liked Pat Boone.  I forgave her when I found out she also enjoyed my Jethro Tull records.

My sister once complained to my mother when I said I also wanted a copy of Frampton Comes Alive.  My sister’s argument was there should only be one copy of any album in the house regardless of the own.  I said fine and bought the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack. 

I sang in church choirs  and school chorus.  I didn’t get into rock and roll until my cousins turned me on to The Beatles.  That got me hooked and I started listening to radio.  Later on, I read Rolling Stone and Musician magazines.  I haunted record stores.  I read liner notes religiously. No matter the genre, if I could read up on it, I did. I’d give anything a shot, even if I didn’t like it.  I still don’t understand heavy metal or alot of the modern stuff my daughter listens to.

 Music was in my blood, engrained in my brain, permanently embedded in my heart and soul.

In the sixth grade I got the idea that being a DJ would be a good career choice.   My dad, who was in seminary at the time, was fulfilling his requirements for his bachelors degree in communications.  He has attended the Connecticut School of Broadcasting one summer, which seemed  such a departure for him in my eyes.  I remember him bringing me into the school’s studios in Hartford, and not only showing around the school facilities, he brought me into the studios of Top 40 station WDRC.  I remember seeing the DJ was in a soundproof glass booth, in the middle of a large room.  That was the first exposure to radio.  My second encounter was when my Dad brought me into the studios of Maine Public Broadcasting.  Dad was a co-host of a Broadway music program.  I was attracted to the 18-inch platters of the turntables, the RCA ribbon  microphones and the large control consoles witht their large black knobs.  There was the music library with floor-to-ceiling shelves of LPs and reels of tape recordings. It was then that I discovered that radio was what I wanted to do.  I could be someone that I wasn’t: a smooth talking DJ playing the hottest tunes, so outside the box and nothing like myself.

I was so inspired that I went home and built me own studio.  I taped a microphone from a Radio Shack tape recorder onto a dowel, which I attached to a bookcase next to my desk.  I would use the tape recorder to listen to my “patter”.  On the desk I placed my record player, on which I could play my 45s.  What was cool about this record player was I could put the lever adjusting the speed into a neutral position, allowing me to cue up records and start the music instantly.   I copied the DJ’s from our local stations, was a faithful listener to American Top 40 with Casey Kasem – I even kept track of the week’s countdown by copying the songs as I heard them, and started paying attention to the singers I heard a bit more closely.

My music library was:  Chicago “Saturday In The Park”, Lou Reed “Walk On The Wild Side” (and, no, I had no idea what he was singing about), “Knock Three Times” by Tony Orlando and Dawn, ”Ain’t No Woman Like the One I Got” by the Four Tops, and War “The Cisco Kid”.

Everything was in Hot rotation.

I was a normal kid through high school, listening to Paul McCartney & Wings, The Beatles, Boston, Elton John’s “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” and lots of R&B and soul on radio.  My only regret was I didn’t buy the singles.  Later, as an adult, I started beefing up my collection with CD reissues.

When I did get to college, I made a beeline to the campus radio station, WMEB-FM, hoping to get an airshift.  I soon discovered that this station didn’t play alot of the music I was used to hearing on radio.  They played artists like Talking Heads, The Clash, The Ramones, Elvis Costello, the Jam, along with jazz, folk and world music.  I remember hearing some of these artists on WBCN in Boston (now no longer broadcasting):  Squeeze, Pretenders, B-52’s, Devo, The Cars, U2, as well as some tasteful mainstream album artists.  

I was in heaven.  I couldn’t get enough.  In fact it was the reason why I flunked out of school after my freshman year.  I spent waaayyy too much time at the radio station.

Fast forward about ten years.  I am married, working for a country station and no station within earshot was playing music I liked.  So, I stopped buying music.  This was at a time when MTV was still playing videos, and most of them by interesting bands like The Smiths, XTC, The Police, R.E.M. and Eurythmics.  By that time, I was married with a child.  I lost focus of the things I enjoyed and didn’t pay as much attention to music as I once did.

Fast forward another 16 years.  Here I am, getting back to things I enjoy, and branching out to find new and interesting music.  The public library is a wonderful place to take some chances on bands and artists I was reluctant to inthe past.

This week’s list of new music:  Derek Trucks Brand, Led Zeppelin, Elvis Costello ( I have this album on vinyl) Amy Winehouse, David Grey and Jennifer Warnes (singing songs of songwriter/poet Leonard Cohen).

This is fun again.  I am enjoying branching out and discovering some very cool music.

Now, I need your help, gentle reader.  Give me some suggestions for some new music.  I’ve been getting some great ideas from listening to radio stations in Britain.  But I’d like to know what music you’re passionate about.  What do you think I’d might like?  I’d be curious to find out.

Impossible Things Are Happening Every Day

Possibilities

Yesterday, I attended a 4-hour workshop on “Bringing The Best Out of People”.  I was one of two employees that didn’t have managerial experience.  But what I came away with was some extraordinary insight.  The highlight of the workshop was a short video featuring Ben Zander,  a conductor, educator and composer.  He also is the co-author of “The Art of Possibility”, which I am eager to find a copy.

What I took from that video was the most amazing sense of possibility, that life is about experiencing everything with passion.  We should all be curious about what is out there, to grab onto it and look at the world with a child’s eye, full of wonder.  When I was with My Love, she introduced me to similar ideas.  But what go in the way, at the time, was a lack of money to do things.  I now realize that it isn’t about money, it’s about taking what you have and savour it.

I did two things yesterday that proved to be worthwhile experiences.

The first happened at McDonald’s.  A young woman entered the restaurant at the same time as I did.  Approaching the counter, I gestured that she should go first.  After she ordered, she moved to the side and waited for her order to come up, while I placed my order.  As we both waited, I was struck by the stockings she was wearing.  They were wonderfully colorful, an abstract pattern with pale blues and lime green.  They definitely were eye-catching.

I am always aware of my surroundings.   Too much interesting stuff is going on all at once.  This time, I noticed the stockings, but I took it one step further.  I struck up a conversation with this woman.  Nothing deep, just a comment on her stockings.  She smiled and we talked briefly.

So what does a pair of unusual stockings have to do with possibilities?

I wanted to go outside my box.  Normally I wouldn’t say anything.  Maybe a glance and nothing said.  But this time, I wanted something different.  No, I didn’t want to pick her up.  I just wanted to flirt.  Part of me wanted to see if I could do it. 

I was a self-conscious 19-year old- didn’t have the tools or the experience.

I was an uncertain 22 year old – afraid of rejection or saying something stupid.

But, at 48, still redefining my life, yes I want to flirt.  I want to feel vital.  I knew nothing was going to come from this encounter, but I was willing to take a chance.  Take a risk, knowing there was nothing to lose.

The second event was I shut off my computer.  I have developed a habit of coming home, retreating into the Man Cave, and playing mindless card games, just staring at the screen.  It made my eyes hurt after awhile.

But yesterday, I shut it down.  I put on some music in the living room – Jennifer Warnes’ “Famous Blue Raincoat- The Songs of Leonard Cohen”, and I sat down and began to write on a legal pad.  Just notes, off-the-cuff, in a wonderful stream of consciousness.  Every so often, I’d close my eyes and breathe deeply, enjoying the moment.

It was a small moment that felt big.

Here I was, at home, in sweats, no particular place to go, and loving every minute.

This post is a direct result of my experiences last night.  I want to write.  I want to tell my story, but I don’t want to be restricted by this blog.  Why should I wait for time at the library to write?  Who says I should type in my thoughts?  Put them down on paper.  Broaden the horizon a bit.  Get outside the box.

Discover the possibilities.