Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Here There & Everywhere

June 6, 2009

Dear Friends,

I wanted to write once again to let you know why I’ve been missing in action.

For one, I have really been pursuing my photography – learning and shooting and playing with software. I also have a craft show coming up this summer for which I am madly making jewelry so I have enough stock to display.  That being said, it doesn’t leave much time for me to blog right now since I’m also working.  However I will be lurking and be back again later on this summer, and also continue to post my photos as I have already started to do.

Best to all,

Psych

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There’s More to Lupus Than You Know

May 15, 2009

Susan Boyle Lyrics to Song

April 23, 2009

First, I had not seen the Susan Boyle performance. I saw it on my friend Sanity Found’s blog today. I was so blown away and moved that I had to go and look up the lyrics so I could savor every one of them. I was not disappointed. The song comes from Les Miserables:

 

There was a time when men were kind
When their voices were soft
And their words inviting
There was a time when love was blind
And the world was a song
And the song was exciting
There was a time
Then it all went wrong

I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high
And life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving
Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung, no wine untasted

But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
And they turn your dream to shame

He slept a summer by my side
He filled my days with endless wonder
He took my childhood in his stride
But he was gone when autumn came

And still I dream he’ll come to me
That we will live the years together
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather

I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I’m living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed the dream I dreamed.

6 Things That Make Me Happy

April 17, 2009

I was tagged by leakelley with this Pass on the Glee Torch of Happiness.

The rules are that the recipient is to list six things that make him/her happy before subsequently passing forward the glee to others. (ok, so a meme by any other name smells as sweet…)

1. Wind, seeing it in the trees and feeling it on my body

2. Helping people as a therapist

3. Pastry stuffed with real whipped cream

4. Watching tv all snuggy in bed with my husband

5. My cats

6. Making  jewelry

So I pass this on to:

1. Viv

2. Madame Monet

3. goldenamber

4. VanessaLeigh

5. Cordie

6. lwayswright


Blogs much better than Facebook

March 7, 2009

I admit I’ve only been fooling around with it since yesterday, but I’m convinced that those youngsters have made it purposely confusing in order to keep out parents and  poor old boomers like me who find it increasingly difficult to multitask. 

Well that’s ok, everyone deserves a place of their own. This is mine.

Lupus Advocacy Day March 3

February 27, 2009

The Lupus Foundation of America is going to the Capitol to urge Congress to fund research for lupus. We have not had a new FDA approved drug in 50 years!!!! Half a century! How old were you 50 years ago? Were you even born yet? How SAD is that for those of us with this devastating disease?

Please help us from the comfort of home. All you have to do is use your lap top. Click here to learn how.

Thank you….and please….pass the word…

I’ll Be Back Soon

February 21, 2009

Dear Friends,

I’m sorry  I vanished with no explanation after my last post.  It was in no way related to the subject matter, though I can see how anyone might think so. I got a lot of comments and didn’t reply to any of them. Rude on my part, so sorry! I’ve been processing all your thoughtful insights, support, and ways of looking at it, and will be replying in the next week or so. I so appreciate that everyone took the time to respond and will respond back to every one of of you.

In my outer world, I’m immersed in preparing for a craft show next weekend where I will for the first time  be showing and hopefully selling my jewelry. I don’t expect to make a lot of money on such a thing, but it is an art to me so it would be like exhibiting my paintings for sale. Also fun is that I will be doing it with my sister, who does fabric collage art – also showing it for the first time. I have enlisted my beautiful daughter to come out and model for me, so it will be a fun family weekend as well.

Anyway, I did want to check in and let you know I’m alive and well!

Hugs to all and talk to you soon,

Psych

Protected: Final Words

January 24, 2009

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Psychscribe New Year’s Quote 2009

January 1, 2009

heros-journey3

 

“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you have imagined.”  Henry David Thoreau

Writer’s Block? Why?

December 28, 2008

concrete_block1I’ve been laying on my bed with my laptop for the last 20 minutes, which have felt like an hour..I want to write a post today, but my mind keeps going blank..I tried to write yesterday but the same thing happened. Part of it, I guess, is I keep wanting to doze…a lupus flare, of course, after the holiday fun/chaos at our house this year…everything I think of writing about seems too much…too heavy…or I keep editing it before anything ever gets written..so i’m just going to do stream of consciousness and see what happens…

My mother… 78 years old…for once I enjoyed her, felt the bond, it was as it should be all the time, wish it could be so, too much bad history, too much inner conflict for me…the kids, with their whole lives ahead of them, most of mine behind me, one newly married, the other newly engaged, the next generation getting ready to take center stage in our family life…well good, I hope somebody gets a bigger house because ours was too small to hold everyone comfortably this year, i remember when my parents did it all, way back when…and all of us young adults went to their house for the most wonderful Christmas Eve…my dad cooking the linguini with clams, and then the lobster tails, the traditional Italian Christmas Eve dinner…afterwards the extravagant exchange of presents,  each of us opening one at a time, my father reserving the right to open all of his last, then he died of cancer at age 52, diagnosed and told on his last Christmas Eve, a tragedy i cannot write about even 25 years later, but i do, i must, because how can i not wonder how different our lives would all be now, my mother over the years became a recluse, my son would have been in business with him, making lots of money,  rather than struggling to keep his head above water now…oh my, the head is falling forward again, the need to doze so apparent to me now for what it is, a block to painful feelings still locked away, to things i don’t want to think about…

And so I’ll stop writing now, because I don’t want to think about my dad anymore,  because it hurts, and I miss him so…

Is this what all writer’s block is about? A block to exactly what  needs to be thought about, felt, written about? 

We are all writers here. What do you think?

The Gift of the Magi- By O’Henry

December 20, 2008

This is another lovely story about the true meaning of Christmas.

 

The Gift of the Magi

By O. Henry

One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one’s cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas. There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad. In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name “Mr. James Dillingham Young.” The “Dillingham” had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called “Jim” and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good. Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag.     

She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn’t go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling–something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.

There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art. Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length. Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim’s gold watch that had been his father’s and his grandfather’s. The other was Della’s hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty’s jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

So now Della’s beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet. On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.Where she stopped the sign read: “Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds.” One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the “Sofronie.” “Will you buy my hair?” asked Della. “I buy hair,” said Madame. “Take yer hat off and let’s have a sight at the looks of it. “Down rippled the brown cascade. “Twenty dollars,” said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand. “Give it to me quick,” said Della.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim’s present. She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation–as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim’s. It was like him. Quietness and value–the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends–a mammoth task.Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically. “If Jim doesn’t kill me,” she said to herself, “before he takes a second look at me, he’ll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do–oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?” At 7 o’clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops. Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: “Please God, make him think I am still pretty.

“The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two–and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves. Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face. Della wriggled off the table and went for him. “Jim, darling,” she cried, “don’t look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn’t have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It’ll grow out again–you won’t mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!’ Jim, and let’s be happy. You don’t know what a nice– what a beautiful, nice gift I’ve got for you.””You’ve cut off your hair?” asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor. “Cut it off and sold it,” said Della. “Don’t you like me just as well, anyhow? I’m me without my hair, ain’t I?” Jim looked about the room curiously. “You say your hair is gone?” he said, with an air almost of idiocy. “You needn’t look for it,” said Della. “It’s sold, I tell you–sold and gone, too. It’s Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered,” she went on with sudden serious sweetness, “but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?”

Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year–what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table. “Don’t make any mistake, Dell,” he said, “about me. I don’t think there’s anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you’ll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first.”

White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat. For there lay The Combs–the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims–just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: “My hair grows so fast, Jim!” And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, “Oh, oh!” Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit. “Isn’t it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You’ll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it.” Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled. “Dell,” said he, “let’s put our Christmas presents away and keep ’em a while. They’re too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on.

“The magi, as you know, were wise men–wonderfully wise men–who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus

December 20, 2008

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Its always nice to read this famous letter- to remind us of the magic of Christmas and what its all about. I am touched every time I read it. Hope you will be too.

 

Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus

“Editorial Page, New York Sun, 1897

We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:

Dear Editor,

I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, “If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.” Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

 

Virginia O’Hanlon

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except what they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The external light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished. 

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world. 

You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding. 

 

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.”

 

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!!!! 


Psychscribe Quote # 46

December 5, 2008

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“Imagination is more important than knowledge”….A. Einstein


P.S. I don’t know who is the artist of this awesome image. I found it in my huge selection of saved photos.  If I downloaded something from your blog, please tell me and I will give proper credit. Thx.

 

Well it turns out that this image was downloaded from the site of one of my best buddies, AmberMoon, LOL! So anyway, if you want creativity or inspiration, you really should visit her site.


Even White Girls Get the Blues

December 3, 2008

That title has nothing to do with my post. Its just a play on words of an old book called Even Cowgirls Get the Blues. I don’t know…that’s just where my brain went… Anyway, what I really wanted to mention as a P.S. to the Calling All Racial Minorities post about needing more money for lupus research is this:

 I specified minorities because that’s the majority of people who get it. But not all. I, for one, am Italian American.  My neighbor who has it is a platinum haired Norwegian American.  Just want to say that all the rest of us need to be heard too.

The end.

Cross

November 25, 2008

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My Son is Engaged!

November 15, 2008

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Photo copyright Jupiter Images 2008.


He officially proposed yesterday, after he took Mom and his sister ring shopping with him. I am so happy he has found a girl who really loves him, and better yet, laughs at all his jokes. (This is very important to a guy like my son) .

What a creative proposal he came up with. He pulled over to the side of the road – a rainy night – and told her he thought they had a flat tire. She totally disagreed with him that it felt like they had a flat.  He pretended to find one in the rear, and got her to come out and look at it, obviously acting all annoyed at the situation. When she got out of the car he was on his knee, in the rain and mud, with the ring box in his hand!

This is the first girl who he has seemed truly happy with, which of course makes his mom so happy (he’s 33 for goodness sake!). She’s shy, lovely, and this is not her original country. She was born in Ecuador, which is very cool. 

Well, that’s my announcement for the day 🙂 Other that when it rains it pours…my daughter just got married on Sept. 19th!

Am I “addicted” to the Internet?

November 10, 2008

I just read the psychology news brief in my sidebar:  Chinese Issue First Definition of Internet Addiction.  “Symptoms of addiction included yearning to get back online, mental or physical distress, irritation and difficulty concentrating or sleeping.  The definition, based on a study of more than 1,300 problematic computer users, classifies as addicts those who spend at least six hours online a day and have shown at least one symptom in the past three months.”

Who? Me? Do nights count? Well….I’ve never counted how many hours a day I spend online.  But its a lot. I blog, read others’ blogs, go online for news, weather, telephone numbers, to shop, bid on my ebay beads, and find out lots of other information or research that interests me. I also email lots of friends, and belong to various professional listservs that I read to stay current in my field. The internet has replaced magazines as a source of leisure reading, and most of the major newspapers are now online.

I definitely get irritated when I can’t get at my computer when I want to, and I sometimes yearn to get back to it when I’m in a boring social situation. I doubt its 6 hours a day, but maybe I’m  in denial. Maybe my family will shock me with a group intervention. Though I don’t know where they’d find time since they’re all online too…

What amazes me about this news article is that they were able to tear the people away from their computers and into psychiatric units.  Unless…ew…they were taken involuntarily?

What do you think of this definition? And where do you fall according to these guidelines?

Psychscribe Quote #45

November 8, 2008

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C. FreeFoto.com 2008    


“There is nothing in a caterpillar that tells you it’s going to be a butterfly.” Buckminster Fuller

 

Baby Laughing at Wii

November 7, 2008

Ok, this may be a sign of my obsession with wanting a grandchild, but I ask you….can you watch this and NOT laugh just hearing him? I hope this brings a smile, or a laugh, to you today.

 

Charlie Bit My Finger – Again!

November 1, 2008

Having a bad day? Try watching this 🙂

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Great Parenting DVD

October 29, 2008

A couple I’m working with blew me away with a DVD they have of a pediatrician who teaches mirroring to young parents. Mirroring is literally just that, imitating the communication of the child so that he or she feels you’re speaking their language. The toddler then  feels understood, and cooperative.  He is Dr. Harvey Karp – the DVD is The Happiest Toddler on the Block.

Among other things he teaches mirroring of facial expressions, body language and sounds. His basic tenet is don’t talk to toddlers like they’re little adults because they’re not; their language skills are far more primal.  You have to literally  get down to their level. He also has another one, The Happiest Baby on the Block which I have not yet reviewed.

The results looked startlingly effective to ward off and/or stop tantrums.  His website is www.thehappiestbaby.com. I can tell you one thing for sure. When my kids present me with grandchildren, this will be one of the first gifts I give them.

Here he is in action:

 

To Be or Not to Be a Hero

October 24, 2008

Someone recently brought up what I thought was an interesting perspective on being a hero. We all wonder what we would do to save a stranger. Would we jump in front of a Mack truck to push a child out of harm’s way? Would we step into a vicious group attack on a single person in a rescue effort? I think we all hope our finest instinct would propel us toward risking our lives for the sake of another human being. Our highest selves. There is no thought in such a situation. One acts. 

But here’s the thing that was called to my attention. If you save the life of another human being by losing your own, then that person’s  family is spared the trauma and loss of the death of their loved one, but the hero’s family suffers it instead. The hero trades his/her life for the life of the original victim…Is that fair to the hero’s family?

I don’t know where I’m going with this… Any thoughts, anyone?

The Present for You

October 17, 2008

 

Here is a present for you:

Focus solely on the present below, thinking of nothing else but the image of that present…the colors….the shapes…focus for as long as you can…and then, when you’re ready, open the present and see what you find…

 

 

In  doing this exercise you are already practicing being present…experiencing peace and release from worries about tomorrow.

What did you find when you opened your present?

Lupus Facts

October 15, 2008

From the Alliance for Lupus Research:

Facts on Lupus:

  • Lupus hits hardest one of our nation’s most medically-underserved populations.
  • While the disease also affects men and children, 90% of all those diagnosed are women in their childbearing years.
  • Women of African-American descent are two-thirds more likely to be diagnosed with lupus.
  • Also particularly vulnerable are women of Hispanic, Asian, and Pacific Islander descent.
  • Lupus costs the nation over $100 billion a year in direct and indirect medical costs.
  • The number of Americans currently affected by lupus is estimated at 1.4 million.

*All statistics from U.S. Department of Health and Human Services.

My Daughter’s Wedding & The Notebook

October 9, 2008

Oh, what a wedding it was! Everything and more than we’d dreamed of since she was five, when I caught her in our yard literally kissing frogs because, “I have to find my prince, Mommy.” She apparently squeezed one frog so ardently that she frantically presented it to me because she…well….she couldn’t wake it up.

I raised my princess to be strong, assertive, and independent. She did not need Prince Charming to save her or rescue her, but she did find a Prince Charming who is fairy tale handsome, protective, nurturing, kind, strong, gentle, and  generous.  (And yes, also an alpha male!)

Oh, what beautiful babies they will make!

They’re twenty eight, have been together for seven years, and lived together for the past two. So her new husband already felt like family, it seemed to me. Yet witnessing for them as they signed their marriage license, and watching them go through the ritual in the church, somehow made me love him differently. Because now he IS family. He will be the father of my grandchildren. He will take care of me when I’m old, if I should need it. He’s that kind of man, a good man. And so is his family. Our tiny family, long since dwindled from what it once was,  has  somehow been blessed with in-laws who have already absorbed us into their tribe. We have long yearned for this void to be filled. 

They looked gorgeous. They looked madly in love, even after all this time.  They never left each other’s side but ate and danced and laughed the night away. Their song was “I Could Not Ask for More”  by Ed McCain.   But I found this one on YouTube sung by a female vocalist, with video clips from The Notebook, my daughter’s and my all time favorite romantic movie. The lovers here remind me of my new newlyweds:

 

 

I truly could not ask for more.