"I Feel Sorry For Their Mother"

Like the rest of the country, I'm sure, the topic over coffee every morning at work as we've started our day these last 4 days has been about the heartless bombing at The Boston Marathon.  The televisions in the breakroom and the patient waiting area have been tuned in to CNN and the remotes have not moved from their respective locations since Sunday afternoon.

This morning the staff was all aflutter over the news that one of the two most wanted had been killed and the second was being hunted.  There were no real mixed emotions among us; all were thrilled that progress was being made and, quite honestly, that one had met with death and the other would more than likely follow suit.  The consensus was "YES!", "shoot 'em in the street!", "rip their limbs from their bodies!".

I made my way back to my work station when Eric passed by.  He said to me, "Have you heard all the news, the updates?"  I said, " I have and I'm glad they're closing in on this."  Eric said, "I feel sorry for their mother."

I looked him dead in the eye and said, "What did you say?"  He said, "Can you imagine how their mom must feel?  I'm sure she didn't raise them to be killers, terrorists.  And now she's left to deal with the aftermath of what they've done.  And she has to face her family and friends.  I feel bad for her."

I don't know Eric very well but this is what I know for sure:

1)  Every morning, he comes over and pauses long enough to give me a genuine "good morning";
2)  Every monring, he says "let's have a good day";
3)  Every Monday morning, he approaches me, places his freezing cold hand on my shoulder and says "happy Monday";
4)  Every Friday morning, he says "happy Friday";
5)  Eric eats pizza for lunch at least once every week; always 3 slices, 3 very large slices;
6)  I am jealous of the fact that Eric can eat pizza every week and it doesn't go to his hips...or his waist...or his tricep area...
7)  Eric does not own a car but, instead, uses Metro or walks to where ever he wants to go;
8)  Eric loves my baking.  He is disappointed when he comes in on a Monday and there are no treats.  He tells me so;
9)  Eric will be sad when my assignment here is over and I'm no longer baking for my new friends;
10)  I will miss Eric when it it's time for me to leave.

I don't know Eric's Mama, either.  But if I ever have the opportunity to chat with her, I'm going to tell her what a sweet son she has.   

Heat

It's toasty outside now.

I'm finally warm.

I'm happy it's hot and I'm warm.

I don't like being cold.

Being cold doesn't make me happy.

I don't like being unhappy.

I'm one of the some who like it hot.

Dr. Seuss' got nothing on me!

The End.

Mondays After The Beach Are Hard

It's Monday, April 1. 

I love it when a new month starts on a Monday.  It makes it easier for me to count.  It does.  Think about it. 

I think we'd all agree that Mondays, in general, are difficult for those of us who do the Monday thru Friday thing.  It means setting and hearing that dreadful alarm clock after sweet silence for two days.  It means feet to floor when you aren't REALLY ready yet.  It means routine, going through the motions.

But a Monday after being at the beach...well, that's just wrong.  It's sad, really.  It's AWFUL!!

I had a fabulous weekend.  I always do when I spend it at the beach.  It's true what they say, " a rainy day at the beach is better than a sunny day anywhere else"! 

I was down there to run The Spartyka 5K for the Wounded Warriors program.  We had a ball!!  I smoked it and no one got to know that because they didn't have age group awards.  I was deflated.  I am CERTAIN that I would've placed because I'm sure I was one of the older ones running!  Most of the group were the young military families ranging between 20 and 35 years old.  My Little One, however, high fived me and told me I rocked and that made me happy!

I also had the opportunity to meet face-to-face with the realtor who is working hard to help me make a small purchase there at the beach.  I will live in a cardboard box, as long as it has water, heating and air, if it gets me to the beach!  Mr. Scott was a pleasure to meet.  We've been talking and emailing for months and it was finally nice to put a face with the name and voice!  I am trusting him explicitly to make my dream come true!  And I trust he has my back.  Needless to say, I'm working on a shoestring to make this happen which is limiting my choices greatly - which equates to potential shaddy neighborhoods.  He told me flat out Saturday that he will not entertain a property for me that he wouldn't have his wife or sisters live in.  He knows I'll be by myself and he's looking out for my safety.  He's told me I simply need to be patient and we'll find somthing that meets all of my requirements and needs.  I've let him borrow my cape, even though it's for rockin' women and it may be a little small for him.  He appreciates the gesture.

My Wee One and I spent the afternoon and early evening walking her in-laws' dog on the beach.  BK Mineer was NOT happy.  That's a story for another post.  As I strolled, I was vascilating between complete contentment and utter sadness.  I was exactly where I wanted to be yet knew that in a few short hours, I'd be leaving - again...

My desire to be at the beach, to be closer to "the kids" is not new.  I've had a longing, a yearning for years.  I even cautiously mentioned it to my soon-to-be ex-husband years ago who responded immediately with "no".  So to know that, more than likely before Christmas, I will be living at the beach, is beyond mind blowing and utterly satisfying!  The Kids have lived there for about 8 years now.  During that time, I've grown to love the area, the lifestyle it offers, the people, the food, the laid-back attitude, the fit friendly mind set, the ocean...  I want to make this chapter of my life there.

But in the mean time, I have to settle for weekend trips every now and then.

Which makes Monday mornings especially difficult.