Blue Night

I'm feeling a little blue tonight.

Sad.

Disappointed in myself.

Due consideration was given as to whether I should even blog about my state of mind. I do not want to freak anyone out. Don't want my husband to start thinking he's doing anything wrong; that I'm unhappy.

One of the ironic things about ongoing battles with depression is that when you are doing okay, you have to constantly reassure those that love you that you are happy, content.

I've spent the last few days coming to terms with where I am in my life and as Tori use to say when she was three, "I am not very happy!"

When I see people doing really well in different careers I've always allowed myself some slack. They didn't have the obstacles I had, the set backs. They didn't marry early. Didn't have children so young. Didn't, didn't, didn't . . .

I reconnected recently with my best friend from my teen years. He started the same place I did. Had the same family issues. Had to do everything the hard way. And you know what, he made it. He has an amazing job doing something he loved doing back them, working with planes. There were no short cuts for him. It took years (and years) of hard work, training, and climbing the ladder to get where he is today.

I've vaguely been aware of my sister-in-law going back to college - sorry Nan, if it doesn't have to do with my kids, it's vague in my world. But it didn't really impact me until this week when she was posting photos of her graduation on facebook that she's finished. I've been saying for years I am to old to go to college now. (I'm pretty sure Nan is older than I am.)

Tonight I've come to the conclusion that where I started from, and my age, are not what's been holding me back. They are not the reasons I've never made more of myself. They've just been my crutches.

Which leaves me looking at the culprit in the reflection of my monitor.

There's no excuse. I have not accomplished the things I wanted to be because of my own actions. My own weaknesses. My own fears.

I think that realization deserves a few tears.

And tomorrow, a kick in the ass.

Thirteen Years Equals . . .

Today, Steve and I have been married thirteen years.

I've spent part of the day, like most married couples who remember their anniversary, thinking over the years we've spent together. The good times, and the bad.

But the real shocker for me came when I realized this is the longest relationship I've ever had - outside of the family I was born into. Even my marriage to the girls father only lasted ten years. Holy crap! I've been married thirteen years.

Then I started thinking of things as they relate to numbers.

During our marriage, Steve and I have:

• Held eight jobs


• Opened two businesses


• Welcomed nine new children into our family


• Participated in the raising of three children


• Buried eight loved ones


• Had two people close to us diagnosed with cancer


• And, lived in three different homes.

And according to the Internet, in the last thirteen years, Steve and I together have consumed.

• 4,160 pounds of sugar


• 6,500 pounds of meat

Best of all, thirteen years equals 4,745 days that I've had someone to share my life with. The good and the bad.

The Rabbitless Fair

Saturday was my youngest brother, Paul's, birthday. My sister and I met up in Killeen and took him to lunch. The three of us had such a good time we were in no hurry to part ways.

That was when Paul suggested we attend the Rabbit Fair that was going on in a nearby town. He'd seen signs around, but never been to the fair. We all jumped (or slowly waddled) to his vehicle and headed out. Once we got within five miles of the fair the traffic was stop and go. It literally took us half an hour to make that last five miles.

We passed the time by joking about what the Rabbit Fair would entail. Would it be like the Goat Cookoff where we all grew up? No real goats per say - just goat to eat, goat crafts, etc. Would there be rabbit to eat? Would someone be selling lucky rabbits feet? (By the way, has the validity of their luckiness ever been questioned by anyone but me? They weren't very lucky for the rabbit.)

Or, would there be rabbits every where. Maybe a rabbit race? Maybe a fenced off area with greased rabbits for kids to try to grab? Maybe we could all buy fake rabbit ears to wear or take our photo behind a cut out of faceless rabbits.

When we finally paid for admission and made our way to the fair it was confusing. There was the standard carnival - I'm pretty sure it was the EXACT carnival that was in Austin for the rodeo a few weeks back. There was food; but all normal; hotdogs, funnel cake, cotton candy. There were crafts boothes, but they were so generic they could have been at any fair.

I finally spied the chamber of commerce booth and asked the attendant if there were any rabbits anywhere.

"Well, not at the fair.
There are a few over at the exhibit hall.
Just exit the park and cross the main road."

We did, and there were a dozen rabbits in tiny cages for sale. Unaffiliated, of coarse, with the Rabbit Fair.

Going To Seed

Twenty-four hours ago, this was the most beautiful rose I'd ever seen in my life. Several times I caught myself just standing near the arrangement entralled.

Steve brought the dozen rose buds for Mother's day and they were gorgeous then. Pale yellow with a light pink blush on the tips of each petal. Each day that passed they would open more and more. And I enjoyed them. But yesterday . . .

There was just something magical about them. Maybe it was the knowledge their days were numbered. Or, the fact they were open as wide as possible - no mystery or fault lay hidden.

Today, their gone.

I couldn't help but be reminded of one of my favorite quotes from Calendar Girls, a movie that came out in 2003.

"The flowers of Yorkshire
are like the women of Yorkshire.
Every stage of their growth has its own beauty,
but the last phase is always the most glorious.

Then very quickly they all go to seed."

The Bug

It's been a tough week for me.

Having Will sick seriously depleted the time I had to spend on sewing or filling orders. And every time I would try to work on either, he'd climb into my lap and demand attention. Sometimes with in 2-3 minutes of when I started a new project. He just wanted me to sit and hold him.

On Tuesday I stumbled across an ad for part-time employment from home formatting documents. Nothing would work out better for me. But a resume and portfolio are required to apply. I've spent 2-3 hours each night since trying to find any copy of my resume; which I haven't had to use in over six years. I checked the contents of boxes of CDs, diskettes, and backups. No go. Today I started taking boxes out of the attic and searching for an old hard copy. No go.

I finally managed to finish Bella's crib set last night; only two weeks later than I had planned. When I went to pack it up for shipping I turned the dust ruffle (which I bought) over and noticed half the ties are torn loose. I took it out of the box to fix and will send her the rest of the items.

I've also meant to mail Bonnet the first baby dress she ever wore, nearly 24 years ago. I have it in a sealed plastic bag in the attic. After months of forgetting it, I found it tonight and brought it down to send her for Bella. I took it out of the bag and all the elastic had disintegrated. I'll have to repair it before it's of any use.

Our mail person comes between 2-4 in the afternoon. Yesterday, with Will in school for the first day this week, I spent hours preparing packages to ship and put in our mail box. I walked out at 11:00 and he'd already been by. So I had to drive into town to the PO to drop them off as they're prestamped with the date they ship.

Oh, I know. None of it is big shit. I'm not dying, being tortured, or covered in millions of paper cuts (and then dipped in alcohol). It's all small stuff. But my world is small.

They say that some days you are the windshield and some days you are the bug.

This week I've been the bug.

Harris Lester Collins

This isn't so much an actual post on my blog as a place to store my photo of my biological father. This is the only photo I have of him, and it's a scanned image my half-brother, Harris' son, sent me via email years ago.

I thought it was lost forever, but found it tonight while sorting a bunch of old diskettes out.

I'm not sure at what point the photo was taken. Immediately following boot camp Harris shipped off to Vietnam and died three months later.

I've already lived twice the life span of my father.

Tonight, that brings tears to my eyes.

Photos of Unknown Origin

The summer after Steve and I got married, nearly 13 years ago, we took the girls and drove up North to visit family for vacation. The girls and I had never been out of Texas and the three weeks we spent driving up to North Dakota and then over to Montana before heading home were memorable. In more than one way.

I bought both girls cheap little cameras and all three of us snapped photos like crazy the entire time we were on the road. When we got home we had 26 rolls of film to develop - yes, this was before digital cameras. After picking up the photos, we set down and went through them, reliving every moment. Except for the four or five photos right smack in the middle of a roll that none of us were there for.

All those strange photos were of a small Mexican family sitting next to the pool at a hotel. Two girls and one rather young, small-boned, male. And the man was grinning to beat all and holding a frilly pink parasol.

We can only assume the camera was left on a table near the pool, then remembered later - after it had been violated.

And until today, that was my one experience with photos of unknown origins. When I went to download some photos this evening I was a little surprised to find eighteen different photos of Darth Vader among them.

At least this time I have a pretty good idea who the culprit is.