Daily Goal

January 23, 2011 – How much does it take?

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The infamous “they” say that everyone has their price. I know that they are referring to money generally, but what about the side of it that is not monetarily generated? How much does it take to reach a person’s limit?

How many times can someone listen to nails screeching on a chalkboard before summarily ripping the offending nails out one-by-one?

Where would the line in the neighborhood sandbox be drawn over a wee-small yapperocious dog? Or much too bright motion activated backyard floodlights glaring in a bedroom?

What would be the final backbreaking straw in a self-sabotaging mind war between much-to-available unhealthy eats and its close ally in lack-of-motivation to exercise versus fitting into the cute jeans and having more energy from generating more energy?

When I find that straw – provided it is not covered in chocolate or something and I don’t eat it – I’ll let you know.

Not that you asked, but I’m going to keep look for that freaking straw in my haystack anyway.

 

January 21, 2011 – “These are the Days of Our Lives”

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“Like sands through the hourglass, these are the days of our lives.”

My life is not a soap opera, and I don’t watch them on TV. (Anymore.)

I was thinking about the opening of Days of Our Lives and how I have either watched or been aware of that show since I was an infant asleep in my mom’s arms when she didn’t want to get up to change the channel and disturb me. (Yes, back when there was no little device called a “remote.”)

I grew up watching this show and watched it faithfully until college. Strayed away for a long while, and then got temporarily re-hooked when on both of my maternity leaves and again when out for my surgery a few years ago. I’m pretty sure my early listening to MacDonald Carey may be at the root of my love of gentle, buttery-smooth voices.

It’s like a favorite old t-shirt that is still in the dresser even though it should have been let go long ago. It could still technically fit but only ever gets worn when picking through the sand grains one by one. Or old friends who are not far away yet the lives in our days keep the hourglass from ever making room for time.

Not sure where this reflection is taking me but I woke up this morning with a similarly themed song in my head – “On and On and On” by Wilco.

Take the jump with me as my heart just did with my brain:

It’s coming up on year since my Nana died. She loved Days of Our Lives. I live on and she lives in me.

It’s hard to believe nearly 365 days have slid through the hourglass of my life. Some whiffed by, others had to be stuffed through with a sledgehammer and some still I won’t let officially go from my grasp for fear of either losing them forever or losing myself once they are released.

Grief is a beast all by itself. Once multiplied with other sorrows and complicated by life’s triumphs, it becomes nearly insurmountable. Unless it can be shared and excised and, thereby accomplishing the one thing grief hates the most: survival.

“On and on and on, we’ll be together, yea.”

 

January 20, 2011 – Short life of fish

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The life of a fish can be very short. Especially those purchased at chain pet stores and looked after by working moms who can barely remember to shave their legs, take something out of the freezer for dinner, or return DVDs ontime let alone clean and feed tiny fish tucked away under the clutter of elementary age wonderment and dirty socks.

I am sure there are fish out there who are able to withstand the elements of hurricanes and typhoons and tsunamis or the occasional over-feed and cloudy tank, but lately, the only ones I have come across tend to stroke out if the water gets too cold or someone forgets to feed them on a regular basis.

The good news for those fish is that whatever burst of emotion their passing can bring up for the owner fades within some small proportionate amount of time to the length of their life.

Except for the nagging guilt of the actual care-taker which tucks itself away underneath layers of algae and soggy fish pellets only to erupt forth at an unplanned, unannounced and definitely unceremonious time.