Who doesn’t love to laugh? Five Minute Friday

There are nine people who I believe actually get my sense of humor. Yes, I counted prior to starting these five minutes and those 30 seconds will not be included. Not sorry.

The interesting thing is only one I see daily. The rest are essentially long distance. But it’s the kind of distance that takes a split second to cross. They’ve always been in exactly the same place they always were. There. No need to question.

These people make me feel good. No matter what. And who doesn’t just love these kind of people so hard?

We can start a conversation down in the dumps, talking about something very seriously wrong about life, about us, about someone we care deeply about, and then something makes us laugh or one of us says something, usually inappropriate considering the context of the conversation but soothing nonetheless and somehow it feels perfectly right. Again.

Laughter, aside from the random, funny stuff we all see on the internet or the unexpected events during the usual course of life and for me, comes from comfort. Am I comfortable enough with this person to be vulnerable, quirky and oftentimes irreverent?  Are they comfortable enough with me to let their words flow without judgement? This is the magic place where uninhibited laughter happens. Those are the times I laugh the hardest.

There are nine of you.

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This was a Stream of Consciousness Friday post. It's the Week 3, of the old school blogging, prompt for the Finish the Sentence Friday writing community co-hosted by Kenya Johnson right here and Kristi Campbell of Finding Ninee. This week we set a timer and wrote for 5 minutes on the optional prompt "Laughter".

Hoping today, while still early, is filled with a few funny moments. Not sure my class in American Art History this afternoon will spawn any giggles, but you never know, right? Here’s to hoping for the unexpected. Cheers!

Goodbye My Dear Henry: Five Minute Stream of Consciousness

What struck me instantly were his gorgeous eyes. I am a complete and utter sucker for blue eyes, and I fell in love quick and hard. You know how girls sometimes do when a new boy shows up at school, mysterious and all.

He was the new kid in the place, and he had a way about him. He was light and funny and fluttery. His vivacious personality was hard to miss.

One thing we did not have in common is he liked peas and I do not.

He was my Henry, a pet name I gave him, and he came to the aquarium the same winter week I did. That was more than three years ago.

It wasn’t until I couldn’t find him in his usual spot to hand feed him his peas yesterday, I shouted over the microphone, "Has anyone seen my Henry?" that I learned he passed away last week. Poor boy. Was he a boy? I don't even know.

And though they promised another would replace him in the not too distant future, it will never be the same.

Most of them have green eyes…

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Thanks to my friend Kenya for letting me know that there is another opportunity for linking to a stream of consciousness writing community over at her place! This is probably my favorite way to write. Five minutes, quick and dirty! And on a Friday!!!

A Programming Break Stream of Consciousness

It’s been an exceedingly long time since I have had a weekend evening to myself. Tonight’s the night.

I just paused the last episode of “This is Us”, which I missed due to underwater vacationing, (Do you watch it, too? I cry absolutely every episode thinking, “These people really love each other.”), so I could yell this from the mountaintop.

“I HAVE THE WHOLE FREAKING EVENING TO MYSELF!!!”

[When you are an empty-nester, you have precious little time away from your spouse, and particularly on the weekend. It’s all good and fine. I miss him when he’s gone. But occasionally, just sometimes, you need a reprieve from the Love Train, control of the remote, and a break from male-oriented or compromised entertainment choices. ] 

Here’s what I intend to do:

1. Push “Play” to restart “This is Us”. I am about halfway through.
2. Pour a glass of wine.
3. Watch the first two episodes of “Girls”. It’s the final season!
4. Order a sausage and onion topped with lightly dressed arugula pizza.
5. Pour another glass of wine.
6. Eat half a pizza.
7. Watch the first two episodes of “Big Little Lies”. Is it good? I am intrigued by the cast and it is one Liane Moriarty book I have not read.
8. Walk the dog.
9. Bedtime routine.
10. Snuggle up in bed with Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders. I am meeting him next Thursday and I really want to have it finished by then.
11. Lights out. Should be after midnight by then.

Yes, I understand this all sounds like a snoozefest. I am boring. At least some of the time. Did you not know this?

Have a wonderful Friday night however you are spending it!!!

Hey, Hey! Holy Mackerel!!" (Stream of Consciousness Chicago Style)

I live in this city. Chicago, that is. Home to the often frustrated sports fan. It is pure insanity right now. Not sure we have seen the likes of this since…certainly not when the Bears went to the Super Bowl even.  Or The Rolling Stones came to Soldier Field.

This stuff is right here! At least for the next three games. The Ferris wheel has the Cubs logo in its center. The majority of the people seen walking around have on some sort of Cubs gear. There is a vibrancy I have yet to see since maybe the Presidential rally for Obama or maybe ever. Lollapalooza doesn’t hold a candle to this enthusiasm. Out-of-town fans fill every street corner. Traffic is almost at a standstill. 

I live about three blocks from the iconic and original Billy Goat Tavern on Lower Michigan, which is part of the old, drippy, underbelly of Chicago that always looks like nighttime, but the burgers are good. The place was famous before the Blues Brothers stopped in. Fans were taking pictures just now out front. 

I ran an errand past Harry Caray’s old Italian steak joint. Again, people taking pictures of the restaurant’s sign and a Clydesdale horse hanging out on the sidewalk. What does a Clydesdale and the Cubs have in common? Beats me!

I have been a life-long Cubs fan. Those of you who know how old I am can attest to it being a long time. 

When I was growing up, our parents, who did not have a lot of discretionary income, took me and my little brother to one game a season. We seemed to have the same seats along the third base line just behind the Cub’s dugout. We would get there early (more bang for our buck, I’m guessing) to watch batting practice, warmups and, with any luck, inch our way up to the railing to get some autographs on our score sheets we faithfully kept all game (Dad was a stickler for accuracy!). We binged on hot dogs, ice cream and peanuts. And so it went every year.

I lucked out in college by living in the same house as the daughter of one of the team’s VPs. We would travel up from Normal, Illinois at the beginning of April to watch Opening Day at Wrigley under usually freezing and wet conditions. Beer solved that problem.

Last year, we went to five or six games. This year, we had tickets for twelve. It has been a good year for all of us who have been waiting.

It’s a crazy day that will only get crazier. Tomorrow will be worse, better, worse. Every errand has taken me longer, but every person I have encountered is in a festive mood. How awesome is that? 

And that’s just down here. Up north about 2.5 miles, the neighborhood called Wrigleyville will be an entirely different story. It will be truly insane.

Our guys just need to bring their bats tonight.

Holy Cow!

Holding the line: Stream of Consciousness Writing for 10/7/2015

Some sort of Jazz is playing. My phone is on the speaker setting because I have been on hold now for maybe 30 minutes. Not sure though. I know I started at “You are caller number 8.” I am now caller number 2. Each time they update my caller status, they change the music. I think this is to distract me, or maybe to make it seem like time is passing faster. It is not passing faster. It is actually moving slower. You know when you get hyper aware of something? I am starting to get the tinniest bit annoyed. Now Smooth is playing by Santana, and I have always liked this song. I’m swaying a little in my seat. Feeling some groove coming on. I am playfully distracted now. But they haven’t updated my caller status in a while now that I am thinking about it. Maybe I'm number 1 caller and I don’t even know it. I kind of don’t care. So maybe their distraction tactic is working. I sort of feel panicky because any moment I am going to have to stop writing and pick up the phone real quick and engage the government. I kind of don’t want to do that now. I am no longer in the mood. But I have waited for 34 minutes so I should. If they ever pick up. The worst thing that could happen right now is my call gets dropped. I am now the number 1 caller in line. It’s kind of exciting. I am next for something. I am just trying to streamline my entry into the United States and I seem to be roadblocked. Do you sometimes forget passwords to all the things you have to have passwords for? I do. I even wrote it down and everything, which I feel is pretty good for me. Now it’s not right. What? And I am locked out of the government system. That’s why I am holding the line. I am still caller number 1. What in the world have the last 8 callers been talking about for the 39 minutes? I don’t think I want to know. I gotta go. I finally got a human on the line…

A Long Overdue Stream of Consciousness of Things Being Worth the Moment

I sat down in the middle of this day because I have been longing to write. For a very long time. I have been restless for a while. Opportunities have not existed for writing in particular, and neither has a means. Until now, that is.

I need to change some things. I am not completely sure exactly what that means, or I mean, or who, or what, will get changed. Just things. I have minimized my material life for now. That's been a big eye opener. It's other things, though, that are causing this lack of clarity. The only thing I am sure of is things need changing.

These thoughts didn't just spring into my head today. They didn't start the day before yesterday either. Maybe I merely acknowledged them then as a far too early, obnoxious light peeked through the slats of my not completely closed shutters. The red numbers on the digital clock read 6:38. That number is typically obscene to me unless it has a p.m. after it. I muttered, “Dammit! Who didn’t shut these completely?” Wow! Was I quick to blame “someone else” for this rude disturbance, or what? That is until I remembered. It was me. I didn't. I went to bed alone, and the sheets were still cold on the other side. (Maybe that had something to do with it, too.) 

But I do know what rises about that time on the westernmost edge of the Eastern Standard Time Zone. I hadn’t seen it in far too long, and I knew instantly I missed it. So I walked across the room, opened up the shutters, and let its orange glow bath me through my bedroom window. It was sweeping, and magical, and strong. Vibrantly casting itself like a huge fishing net across the lake from north to south. It was warm and friendly. It had been far too long.

And I started thinking.

I see more summer sunsets than most anyone I know. And while they are beautiful, and peaceful, and the perfect way to bid a day, good or bad or mediocre, goodbye, I don’t say hello to it hardly ever. I used to. I remember loving it.

So I thought further. 

Just standing there.

Maybe it is time to start changing some patterns. Maybe see a few more of those moments that begin days. Feel the newness. Maybe change a few other things, cycles, habits while I am at it.

I had ten minutes of time to myself just now and the impulse to get some words out of my head and onto the page was far too strong to ignore. It may not seem like I have written much here. It is a start, though. It is important to me.

I miss writing. I miss stream of consciousness writing. I miss my words on paper. I miss writing purely for me.

P.S. I wrote a very emotional, difficult, and probably hurtful (sort of) poem a few days back. It's not really about anyone. I know I've said that before. That my writing wasn't about someone or something in particular. But writing is always motivated by something or someone, is it not? It is about friendship. It is general. These are some of the most potentially hurtful (I've just used that word twice in a few sentences) words I have ever strung together in my life. I have certainly never said these words before, or written regarding (a) friendship. Why did I write them or it? I think, for now, they or it will remain like those letters you write when you are trying to get something off your chest, but then you never send them. It's probably one of those. Maybe.

The Kid's Are In The House: Day One

Not me!

I wrote a post. It was a ten minute-ish, stream of consciousness, kind of post. I thought it was pretty good considering the limited time I had to write it. 

It was about a quiet start to my Saturday, a house full of kids (one girl, six boys, two mine, five not) and Dunkin' Donuts. It was sweet and light just like the morning I was having since they sleep in so late. 

It was about the joys of having college kids home for the Thanksgiving holiday and the inherent, yet lovely, commotion that tags along. The crazy hours, the revolving door of friends in and out and in and out. Even the sibling bickering sounded like a refreshing change to my normally quiet routine.

And in the very few seconds I took my eye off the ball amidst the chaos of having seven college kids in the house, I managed to cut (but not paste) and delete the post I wrote without saving it.

So I put on my happy, smiling, “nice” mommy face even though I’m frustrated as hell right now. I began writing again. And this post is nothing like the post I wrote before but it's all I can do right now.

It's only day one.

It could end up being a long nine days…

Striking The Deal, Making It Happen

Five Minute Friday is stream of consciousness writing hosted over here.

The word today was WIDE and we write for five minutes and post what we got without editing (much or at all). I really like writing this way especially on a busy day.

GO CUBS (Sorry Gal, they stink. I’m only going for food and beverage!)

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There was a time in my life that I loved to strike them! And I was good at it believe it or not. It was actually my job to negotiate and close “the deal”. It’s how I made money, my living!

I am a long way gone from those days but every now and then I am called on to do the deed and especially when it’s for my own benefit. I must admit I’m not as comfortable as I once was.

I’ve been car shopping this week because my car is not one I’d wish to hang on to beyond its warranty, which is virtually up, and it’s sort of a lemon.  

Tonight I got all the pricing and trade in values, all the info I needed to make my decision between two cars and tomorrow, I need to make the call and negotiate the final deal. There’s a problem though. The gap between what I’d like to pay and what they would like me to pay is WIDE.

It’s not my favorite thing to do anymore but I’ll do it.

My husband’s working. He knows I can fully handle it. He trusts me to do a decent job with the price AND he hopes I’ll walk away if I’m not feeling it.

Uggggghhhh!

It’s just not my favorite thing to do anymore but I’ll do it. (I know I said it twice…)

It used to give me a rush.

Now, it makes me uncomfortable. Don’t’ know why. Maybe Eric will feel sorry for me and give me what I'm asking...

Wish me luck!

Maybe tomorrow night I’ll be smelling a new leather interior instead of  one that smells like stinky dog.