Who We Are….

It’s funny the things we remember, and the things we don’t. It’s funny how two people, experiencing the same thing, remember the experience differently. I remember  the time that my brother and I went out on the lake in Dad’s john boat, to go fishing, and Jacob kept taking us underneath the piers….because, he said, that that’s where the fish were, and we needed to sneak up on them. I am pretty sure, though it was really  just to get a rise out of me. I was terrified of spiders….and guess what is underneath fishing piers…..you got it……  pretty much solid spider webs, with spiders , hiding in the webs, just waiting to jump out and attack you!!!  After the third or fourth pier, I finally got so mad, I jumped out of the boat, and into the lake, (it was only about knee-deep) trespassed through some one’s yard, to get to the street, and furiously marched home, only to meet my dad on the way. I thought he would be my ally and go tell my brother to quit antagonizing me. But Nope….. I was the one who got in trouble for disrupting the neighborhood. I should have known better, and was told to leave my brother alone and let him do his thing. (I think we both remember that pretty much the same. Only difference is, he still thinks it’s funny, and while I can laugh about it now, I definitely would not want to relive the experience.

To be fair, there was a time when I was nine and he was five, and we were on vacation in rural Tomahawk. It was a place in the north woods of Wisconsin, where people had little trailers, or camper trailers, even little cabins.  We had a camper trailer, and were secluded from the others.  We mostly stayed to ourselves, but there was one family up there, that my family had gotten quite close to over the years, so dad, always made it a point to walk over and visit with them. Jake, and I being the only young children, would tire of the visit quickly, so dad would let us go fish from their pier. I guess the fish must not have been biting, because I was bored, and wanted to go swimming.  Dad kept on talking to the Hopsickers for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably really only like  fifteen minutes, or so. Finally I thought of a plan to get in the water.  I talked my brother into hanging upside down at the end of the pier by his knees.  I am not quite sure of how I convinced him to do this, but it probably wasn’t that hard. I figured the only way for him to get out of that position, would be for him to drop into the water. And because he was the younger of us, and the spoiled one, who never got in trouble for anything, I figured if he got in the water first, then either dad would finally come on, and take us out to the sandbar so we could go swimming, and if not, I could jump in too, with the excuse that “He did it first!”  Things, however did not go, quite as planned. In my 42-year-old mind, I cannot even picture how he was able to get into the hanging upside down from his knees position, from the pier. I don’t know how he didn’t just fall into the river backwards….but he didn’t.  It was so funny to seeing him hanging there, his head only a foot or so above the water,  that I couldn’t help but start laughing. Jacob, did not think it was funny at all, and realized he was stuck, and started screaming, “DAD, DAD, DAD.” Over and over. At this point I  realized I should probably run for help. I’ll never forget the look on my dad’s face as he came running, the Hopsicker bunch right behind him. It was a look both of relief, and “What the heck is going on here?!!”  Jacob was still screaming “DAD, DAD, DAD” And dad shouted for him to just let go. Jake argued that he couldn’t, explaining that he would drown. Dad hollered back that the water was only two feet deep, but Jacob would not let go, until dad got out to the pier, and somehow pulled him up. I just knew I was going to get it, but I don’t think Dad ever even asked questions. He just figured Jacob was being a boy, and left it at that, because I never did get into trouble for my contribution to the predicament.  Once my brother’s feet were firmly on the ground, he recovered quickly. We all started laughing  at the hilarity of the situation, we told the Hopsickers good bye, and started walking back to our campsite, Dad in the middle, and Jake and I on either side of him. Dad would step sideways, and bump into one of us, sending us reeling sideways  and we would come running and bump, sideways  back into him, sending him reeling into the other one of us, if he didn’t step out of the way, in time. We did this all the way back to camp, where we left our poles, put on our life jackets, got in the john boat…..(the same one fore mentioned) and Dad rowed us out to the sandbar, tied a rope to each of us, and let us swim.

Just as my brother can laugh at this story now, I am sure, just as I would not like to relive the fishing under the piers, literally, experience, I am sure he has never again in his life desired to hang upside down from a pier, by his knees.

None of us has had a perfect storybook life. We are imperfect people, living in an imperfect world. Our childhoods, as well as our adult lives, are made up of many stories. It is how we choose to remember those stories, that make us who we are today. I am not suggesting, we change the stories, rewriting them how we would have liked to have experienced them, but rather, there is good and bad in every story. If you stay stuck on the bad, you will become a bitter and angry person, who allows yourself to become imprisoned in a victimized mentality. That mentality will keep you from experiencing  lasting peace and joy, and even love. You may have moments of happiness, when something seems to go your way, but as soon as something goes wrong, you will likely revert to the victim who blames everything and everyone for their unhappiness.  Likewise, if we focus only on the good , and minimize the bad, excuse it, or completely ignore it. This is no better, because that is essentially living in denial, and when we live in denial, we do not grow from our experiences, and we miss the chance to overcome. Therefore we accept what was not good, as normal, and are then destined to repeat the same behaviour and mistakes, that we would have the courage and the wisdom to change, for the better, if we acknowledged that which was good as good, and that which was not good, as not good. We all have stories that we can look back and laugh about, and we all have stories that still hurt. And that’s okay. The WHOLE of those stories, is who we truly are.

 

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Calling Grandma

I am probably the worst person for keeping in touch. It’s not that I don’t think and care of others, I just have a tendency to get comfortably lost in my own little world, and time slips away, and before I know it, days have become week, weeks months, and you know how it goes. Since my grandmother has moved into a nursing home, I’ve been trying to make it a point to call her at least once a week. This is something I should have done before, but there is something about the word nursing home that helps put time, or the lack thereof into perspective.

My grandfather used to come down and visit us at least once a year, sometimes twice. Each time he would stay for two weeks. In that two-week time frame, he would tell the same three or four stories, over and over and over. It was hard not to become impatient. I would think, “Grandpa, you have lived how many years, and four stories is all you can remember?” Of course, I would never say that to him.  The next time he came, he would have three or four different ones to tell, and it would be the same routine.  And then he died. And what I wouldn’t give to have him come visit once again, to see his short little Michaels’ legs barely reaching the end of the recliner, his pant legs, rolled several times into thick cuffs, around his ankles, and to watch his eyebrows spasm, as he told the same stories to me again and again. But that wont happen. Thankfully, though, I do have memories of his stories, but only of the ones he told again and again and again. Sadly, though, even those are foggy to me.

I  am very blessed to still have my grandma, and I love visiting with her. While she doesn’t tell stories, like my grandpa did, she likes to talk about memories that she and I have shared. We talk about the laughs we’ve shared, and even times that weren’t so funny at the time, but we laugh about now, like the time she yelled out the kitchen window, when I was about ten, and was hanging clothes on the line for the first time, and wasn’t doing as quickly as someone who had a clue as to what they were doing.  I was just about in tears, because I couldn’t get the crease in grandpa’s dress pants to line up, and all of a sudden, I hear this snotty voice say, through the kitchen window, “YOU’LL NEVER GET A JOB!!!  YOU’LL HAVE TO GO DOWN SOUTH IF YOU EVER WANT TO GET A JOB!” That hurt my feelings, and made me mad. I didn’t like my grandma much during those years.  But you know what?  Three weeks after I graduated from high school, I moved down south, and I’ve never had any trouble finding or keeping a job. In fact, I’ve been blessed with a wonderful job working for the USPS.  We laugh about it now. And it really is funny in hindsight. Especially when she was living down here with my mother for a while, and wanted so badly to go back to her home in Wisconsin. I would tell her that it was all her fault, that she was here, had she not told me I’d have to come down here and get a job, then Mom wouldn’t have followed me down here, and you wouldn’t be here either. So. I explained, the joke was all on her. And of course she would remember that day, long ago, and laugh.

We also talk about “our late night bedroom talks.”  I moved in with my mom and step-dad, when I started high school.  Not long after, she moved in.  Remember, I didn’t like her that much at the time, and was not looking forward to her moving in. But it did not take long for us to bond, and it is one of the most wonderful blessings I ever could have had. I would sneak into her room after my mom and step-dad were asleep, and we would sit up for hours, her sitting at one end of the bed, and me at the other, or she would be sitting on a chair in the walk in closet, while I sat on the floor, and we would just talk and talk and talk. I felt understood, and listened to. Grandma would share stories of when she was dating my grandpa, and I would share stories, about the guy who was a regular where I worked, who I had a major crush on.  She would give me advice, that didn’t feel like advice, like always make sure you pay more attention to the ladies than to the men. Especially if they are with the men. “But grandma, the men pay more attention to me than the ladies do.” I explained, to which she told me that was natural, and that was why I needed to pay more attention to the ladies.

When grandma came down here to live with mom, I was so happy. And when her kids all went in together to send her to Graceland, and I got nominated to be the one to take her, I was so looking forward to it.  The day we left, she was poking along, and wanted to stop and eat lunch before we ever got out of Jackson.  I told her that if we didn’t hurry up, Elvis would be dead by the time we got there. Sure enough, he was. But we never had more fun than any other two people in the history of visitors to Graceland.  We stayed at Heartbreak Hotel. Above each of our beds, was a large picture of Elvis. Grandma was in the bathroom getting ready to go to dinner, and I hollered and told her Elvis had come to see us.  she just laughed and said, “Yeah right.”  I climbed up on her bed…..the cuter picture of him was above her bed….and I took a selfie, way before selfies were cool….maybe before selfie was even a word, of Elvis and me.  She finally came out of the bathroom and I told her, sure enough, she had missed him, and I showed her the picture of Elvis and me on the LCD screen on my camera.

We caught the shuttle bus, and it let us out caddy corner to BB Kings, on Beale street. We walked several blocks, to the restraint where we had supper, enjoying the lights and the beauty of the Cinderella style horse-drawn carriages. Because it took so long for her to walk, we ate a bit quicker than we needed to, just to make sure we would not miss the shuttle bus back to the hotel.  We made it back with plenty of time to spare, so we sat on the corner,  I on the steps of a building, and grandma, on her walker seat, and we waited.  Grandma made the comment about us working the street corner, and what a sight we must be….with her and her walker.  We were laughing when a man came from around the corner, and asked us if we had any money on us. I told him that I never carried cash. He asked if I was sure I didn’t even have a quarter.  At that time, a patrol car pulled up, and asked if he could help us. I explained we were waiting for the shuttle bus, and he said that it ought to be there in just a few minutes, and then God bless him, he sat in his car, and looked out for two sitting ducks, who couldn’t even make a living working the street corner if we tried.  Instead of someone offering to pay us, we got asked if we had any money.  We still laugh about that.

The next day, we got up and went to Graceland. It was so much fun to be with grandma, because I knew how much she was enjoying herself, and what a treat it was for her to be there. It didn’t trouble me at all how slow grandma moved from one place to the next, I just loved that she was getting to enjoy her time there. I did not rush her, or even try to hurry her along the least.  I just enjoyed being with her at her pace. It broke my heart when she was not able to climb the stairs to tour the Lisa Marie. I offered to stay down with her, but she told me to go up there and see it for her too, so I could take pictures, and tell her all about it. And when I went up there my bare leg, accidentally brushed against the end of his  bed, and I couldn’t wait to tell grandma when I got back down to her!  How many people have touched Elvis’ bed with their bare leg????  Even if it was just my calf.  We were like two school girls with a crush on the same guy.  We had so much fun.

So now when I talk to grandma, she always brings these same memories up, and often several times in the same conversation. But I don’t mind.  I am so thankful that we have these memories to share, and that they mean so much to her. I miss getting to see her, but am thankful we live in the era of the telephone, with low long distance rates, because every time we talk, an hour can easily go by. When I hint that I should probably go, she often will start a new conversation, letting me know that she is not ready to go, and if I don’t just need to go, I am happy to talk to her a little longer, even if we are only repeating the things that we’ve already said. And when we do finally have to hang up, she tells me over and over how much she loves me, and how much she loves all of the laughs that we have shared.  It’s almost like every time we say good-bye, she is saying it, as though it may be the last time we will get to say good-bye.  I figure grandma has quite a bit of time left, but it is always good to be prepared. And if it’s reassuring her to reassure me, then I am blessed and thankful for her reassurance. And it always feels good to hear that you are loved.

 

I have a choice.

On May the 11th I was involved in a vehicle collision. I was driving down a gravel road, when a car came flying around a blind curve. He saw me, and panicked, hitting his brakes. This threw him out of control, although I’m not sure that he would have remained in control, even had he not held down his brakes, at the rate of speed he was going. It is completely reasonable to believe he would have fishtail-ed, and who knows if he could have corrected it, while remaining on the road. At any rate, He hit his brakes, throwing his car sideways, I had slowed to what I guess was approximately 20 mph, and  got over as far to the right as I could. A small bank prevented me from leaving the road. Still, his car kept coming sideways, (driver’s side) straight at me. I saw him grasping the steering wheel with both hands, trying to retake control of his vehicle, which was about as possible at this time, as it would have been to control a vehicle sliding, at a high rate of speed, on a sheet of ice. He was lined up perfectly with the front of my jeep, and was so close that I knew we were not going to avoid colliding. I cried out “Oh Jesus, we are going to hit, and I’m not wearing my shoulder belt!” I closed my eyes, and prayed, “Please God help us!” And then there was the sound of metal being crushed, and glass breaking. I held on to my steering wheel, with arms locked, and stood up on my brake pedal, while the force of my vehicle being thrown back and then forward and to the left, as he hit and bounced off me. When I closed my eyes, his vehicle miraculously slid so that the rear door,  and rear quarter panel of his car, struck the front drivers quarter of my jeep, and not his driver’s door,  spinning him 180 degrees, bouncing him of from my front quarter panel, leaving him facing the rear quarter panel of my jeep. Thankfully his vehicle stopped, just before striking mine again. I could no longer see him, and the sound of glass shattering falling, and landing, outlasted the sound of metal crunching. It was the last thing I head, before hearing silence.

That first instance of silence, I prayed, “Oh my God, please don’t let him be dead!” I got out and was so thankful to see movement, and then to hear him holler out, “Oh my  gosh, are you alright?  I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” Over and over again. At that point my maternal instincts took over.  Here was a boy, my kids’ age. He could have just as easily been mine. He was understandably very shaken up. His driver’s door would not open, and his knee was hurting. He was not wearing a shirt, but, praise God, he was wearing a seatbelt. He had seatbelt burn, on his left collarbone, and shoulder, and it also appeared to be bruising. I called for help, and tried to calm him down. He climbed out of his drivers window, and as he walked around looking at our vehicles, he began to calm down. In the meantime my neck started to ache and to burn like it was on fire, and my head began to hurt, badly. We went to the hospital where we were both checked out, and released. His family was so kind, and he was too, all of them coming to check on me before he left. My head continued to throb and my neck continued to burn, finally after a series of tests, the doctor gave me a shot of demerol, which under any other circumstances, would have knocked me out cold, but for whatever reason, did nothing to relieve my pain, or my headache.

I came home, and dealt with a headache that would put any migraine to shame, for the next two days. My body continues to have spasms, a week and a half later, but they are beginning to be less intense. My middle back, while still in pain, has loosened up quite a bit in the last couple of days. I still suffer with excruciating pain in my lower back at times, bringing me to tears, like when I try to get into Terry’s car. My neck aches continually, and wakes me up in the night. I am happy that my range of motion, seems to improved some in the last day or so, but even that seems to more discomfort. I am not complaining, am only stating facts.

People ask if I am angry with the driver of the other vehicle. I have moments, but they do not last long. I do however get angry with my own son, even though he was not involved, but simply because he thinks driving erratically is a joke. I tell him over and over again, what can happen, and it makes no difference to him whatsoever. And now here I sit, the innocent victim who ended up on the wrong side of someone’s erratic driving. I know the poor kid was furious, and hurt, after finding out that his girlfriend had been cheating on him, but here I am, paying for that. I have missed a week and a half of work so far.  I have not been able to do many of the things that I love, and things that need to be done, like cut grass. I can’t go anywhere, unless I have someone to drive me, because of the meds that I am having to take, just to keep my muscles from going spasmodic. I have to find a replacement vehicle, which is not easy at all. I can’t do simple house work, for more than a few minutes at a time with out aching. And most of all, I was so looking forward to spending a couple of days in Gatlinburg with my son, at the end of his pre-deployment leave. I was so thankful that I was going to have the opportunity to drive him back to base, and now, I don’t know that I will have the time left, to take off work, or that my body will be physically able to spend 28 hours in a car. So yes, I am mad. And I am sad.  I am frustrated, not so much at the boy who was driving, but at the entire situation.

I am also thankful. I am thankful for any one of the random things that slowed me down that day, and kept me from meeting that car in the middle of the curve, head-on . Or further down that road, in another curve.  I am thankful that he hit me at the angle he hit. I am thankful, that he hit me, and spun around, which kept his car from shooting across the road, and head on straight into a very large tree.  I am thankful that he was wearing his seatbelt, and that his dad had strongly instilled that in him. There is no doubt in my mind that it saved his life.  I am glad that I did not end up with broken bones, and neither did he. I am thankful for a mother who came over and fixed me breakfast the next morning, even if she did chuckle because when she said she would fix me anything I wanted, all I requested was a bagel with cream cheese. I am thankful that she came by to check on me, and to make sure I ate with my meds, so I would not get sick.  I am thankful for a daughter who has helped out so much, doing extra chores, and chaffering me around. Even for a massage. I am thankful for a husband who encourages me to listen to the doctor, and take it slow.  I was raised old school, tough it out and push your way through it, which when I told the doctor that I felt like a bum, by taking it easy, and wouldn’t the other way be better, he convinced my that old school is not always the best way, or the right way, and that if I wanted to heal properly I would lay around and rest, and let my body heal, while doing the exercises  I have been doing in physical therapy.   There are so many things to be thankful for, lots of them, I may not even realize for years to come, until one day when I am looking back.

So, I have a choice. I can focus on the good, or the bad. But really, what choice is there?  When I consider all the good that I have to be thankful for, how can I even linger for a moment on bad.  And yet I do.  Not in a poor me way, but I do find myself becoming anxious, when I think of trying to find a replacement vehicle, or when I wonder how much longer it will be until my body is completely healed, and will it completely heal, or will there be effects that remain for the remainder of my life?

I know God is in control, and I know His grace is sufficient, and I find the anxiety  taking control, I just need to stop, and continually remind myself of this.

I have a choice.

On May the 11th I was involved in a vehicle collision. I was driving down a gravel road, when a car came flying around a blind curve. He saw me, and panicked, hitting his brakes. This threw him out of control, although I’m not sure that he would have remained in control, even had he not held down his brakes, at the rate of speed he was going. It is completely reasonable to believe he would have fishtail-ed, and who knows if he could have corrected it, while remaining on the road. At any rate, He hit his brakes, throwing his car sideways, I had slowed to what I guess was approximately 20 mph, and  got over as far to the right as I could. A small bank prevented me from leaving the road. Still, his car kept coming sideways, (driver’s side) straight at me. I saw him grasping the steering wheel with both hands, trying to retake control of his vehicle, which was about as possible at this time, as it would have been to control a vehicle sliding, at a high rate of speed, on a sheet of ice. He was lined up perfectly with the front of my jeep, and was so close that I knew we were not going to avoid colliding. I cried out “Oh Jesus, we are going to hit, and I’m not wearing my shoulder belt!” I closed my eyes, and prayed, “Please God help us!” And then there was the sound of metal being crushed, and glass breaking. I held on to my steering wheel, with arms locked, and stood up on my brake pedal, while the force of my vehicle being thrown back and then forward and to the left, as he hit and bounced off me. When I closed my eyes, his vehicle miraculously slid so that the rear door,  and rear quarter panel of his car, struck the front drivers quarter of my jeep, and not his driver’s door,  spinning him 180 degrees, bouncing him of from my front quarter panel, leaving him facing the rear quarter panel of my jeep. Thankfully his vehicle stopped, just before striking mine again. I could no longer see him, and the sound of glass shattering falling, and landing, outlasted the sound of metal crunching. It was the last thing I head, before hearing silence.

That first instance of silence, I prayed, “Oh my God, please don’t let him be dead!” I got out and was so thankful to see movement, and then to hear him holler out, “Oh my  gosh, are you alright?  I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” Over and over again. At that point my maternal instincts took over.  Here was a boy, my kids’ age. He could have just as easily been mine. He was understandably very shaken up. His driver’s door would not open, and his knee was hurting. He was not wearing a shirt, but, praise God, he was wearing a seatbelt. He had seatbelt burn, on his left collarbone, and shoulder, and it also appeared to be bruising. I called for help, and tried to calm him down. He climbed out of his drivers window, and as he walked around looking at our vehicles, he began to calm down. In the meantime my neck started to ache and to burn like it was on fire, and my head began to hurt, badly. We went to the hospital where we were both checked out, and released. His family was so kind, and he was too, all of them coming to check on me before he left. My head continued to throb and my neck continued to burn, finally after a series of tests, the doctor gave me a shot of demerol, which under any other circumstances, would have knocked me out cold, but for whatever reason, did nothing to relieve my pain, or my headache.

I came home, and dealt with a headache that would put any migraine to shame, for the next two days. My body continues to have spasms, a week and a half later, but they are beginning to be less intense. My middle back, while still in pain, has loosened up quite a bit in the last couple of days. I still suffer with excruciating pain in my lower back at times, bringing me to tears, like when I try to get into Terry’s car. My neck aches continually, and wakes me up in the night. I am happy that my range of motion, seems to improved some in the last day or so, but even that seems to more discomfort. I am not complaining, am only stating facts.

People ask if I am angry with the driver of the other vehicle. I have moments, but they do not last long. I do however get angry with my own son, even though he was not involved, but simply because he thinks driving erratically is a joke. I tell him over and over again, what can happen, and it makes no difference to him whatsoever. And now here I sit, the innocent victim who ended up on the wrong side of someone’s erratic driving. I know the poor kid was furious, and hurt, after finding out that his girlfriend had been cheating on him, but here I am, paying for that. I have missed a week and a half of work so far.  I have not been able to do many of the things that I love, and things that need to be done, like cut grass. I can’t go anywhere, unless I have someone to drive me, because of the meds that I am having to take, just to keep my muscles from going spasmodic. I have to find a replacement vehicle, which is not easy at all. I can’t do simple house work, for more than a few minutes at a time with out aching. And most of all, I was so looking forward to spending a couple of days in Gatlinburg with my son, at the end of his pre-deployment leave. I was so thankful that I was going to have the opportunity to drive him back to base, and now, I don’t know that I will have the time left, to take off work, or that my body will be physically able to spend 28 hours in a car. So yes, I am mad. And I am sad.  I am frustrated, not so much at the boy who was driving, but at the entire situation.

I am also thankful. I am thankful for any one of the random things that slowed me down that day, and kept me from meeting that car in the middle of the curve, head-on . Or further down that road, in another curve.  I am thankful that he hit me at the angle he hit. I am thankful, that he hit me, and spun around, which kept his car from shooting across the road, and head on straight into a very large tree.  I am thankful that he was wearing his seatbelt, and that his dad had strongly instilled that in him. There is no doubt in my mind that it saved his life.  I am glad that I did not end up with broken bones, and neither did he. I am thankful for a mother who came over and fixed me breakfast the next morning, even if she did chuckle because when she said she would fix me anything I wanted, all I requested was a bagel with cream cheese. I am thankful that she came by to check on me, and to make sure I ate with my meds, so I would not get sick.  I am thankful for a daughter who has helped out so much, doing extra chores, and chaffering me around. Even for a massage. I am thankful for a husband who encourages me to listen to the doctor, and take it slow.  I was raised old school, tough it out and push your way through it, which when I told the doctor that I felt like a bum, by taking it easy, and wouldn’t the other way be better, he convinced my that old school is not always the best way, or the right way, and that if I wanted to heal properly I would lay around and rest, and let my body heal, while doing the exercises  I have been doing in physical therapy.   There are so many things to be thankful for, lots of them, I may not even realize for years to come, until one day when I am looking back.

So, I have a choice. I can focus on the good, or the bad. But really, what choice is there?  When I consider all the good that I have to be thankful for, how can I even linger for a moment on bad.  And yet I do.  Not in a poor me way, but I do find myself becoming anxious, when I think of trying to find a replacement vehicle, or when I wonder how much longer it will be until my body is completely healed, and will it completely heal, or will there be effects that remain for the remainder of my life?

I know God is in control, and I know His grace is sufficient, and I find the anxiety  taking control, I just need to stop, and continually remind myself of this.

Chapter One

I love to write. It is how I process my ever wandering thoughts. So many people see, hear, or feel  something, and that’s all the deeper it goes with them.  They  move on, and let it go, and think no more of it. I cannot imagine what it would be to have that kind of mind. I wonder what they think about. For real. I was not wired that way.  I see something, and I wonder why, or how.  I hear song lyrics, and I wonder what they really meant to the person who wrote them. I emotionally feel something, and I wonder why.  I love to study behavior, and wonder why people behave the way they do.  I wonder why I behave the way I do.  I wonder why I wonder about things, that so many people never stop to think about.

So, I am going to try this blogging thing. Please bear with me, as I am new to this, and am learning as I go along. Likely, if you come back, or chose to follow my blog, you will find random topics, that have been weighing heavy on my mind or heart, and I have just come here, to process, or write, my way through them.