Cash gift idea

So, here you are on Christmas Eve and you have that last gift to snag for a young person on your list ... hmmm ... what to do?

Money, my friends.

Cash = freedom, especially for young people. Freedom to save, spend or just blow it. From the pre-teen years on up through their 20s (and beyond, if we're being honest), kids want cash. They just do.

As a gift giver, though, cash is ... eh, boring. It's no fun to give.

... hands a 20 to nephew ... "Here, go buy yourself something real nice."

Blah.

Recently, I was faced with this conundrum myself. My son was participating in a gift exchange among his cousins. He drew his awesome, wonderful 15-year-old male cousin's name. There was a $20 limit on the gift.

"What do you want to get him?" I asked my son.

"Cash. He's going to want cash, Mom."

Boring.

Not liking that answer, we consulted with the parents to really gauge his heart's desire (at the $20 level) and they said the same thing: he wants cash. He will be 16 soon and he is saving for a car and all the things to go with it - like gasoline and fountain drinks from fast food drive-thrus that you actually do the driving through.

Not satisfied with just having one 15-year-old boy hand another 15-year-old boy a crisp 20 (though both 15-year-olds would have been cool with that), I sought help from the highest authority on how to package said 20 with flair: Pinterest.

Pinterest was too hard.

For example, a simple money tree, you know, where you hang singles from the branches? I'd have to hand craft a tree - a freaking tree of sorts - and then you know, hang the money.

Um, no.

There are a lot of people who are far more creative than I with much more time than I. I love, admire and respect you people. But I am not one of you people.

But there was inspiration.

Here's what I came up with. It can be used for any gift-giving occasion: birthdays, holidays, graduation, new home, new job, etc.

It involved the following: A wooden rolling pin ($3 at Walmart), a small cookie sheet ($1 at Dollar Tree), clear packing tape and a 20 dollar bill. And the thought: rolling the dough.

I taped the rolling pin to the cookie sheet with the packing tape so it would not shift or move, typed up a little note and then lightly taped the money using regular Scotch tape.

Here it is:

It fit in a shirt box so I could even wrap it up and he would have something to open.

Detail showing where I used the clear tape to adhere the rolling pin and note. Don't use packing tape to adhere the money; it is lightly taped with regular tape rolled on the back.

"I hope you're rolling in the dough so you can save up for a sweet ride." Get it? ;)

What will a 15-year-old boy do with a wooden rolling pin? No idea. But it made him smile and got him $20 closer to whatever his heart desires this Christmas.

And that is what it's all about, my friends.

Merry Christmas!

PS - The photo at the top of this post is of my son's stocking, so, spoiler alert if you read this, Son: there's $20 in your stocking. You're welcome.

Ready for Christmas

So ... you done with your Christmas shopping yet?

How many times have you been asked that in the last few weeks? Before Thanksgiving it was probably phrased more along the lines of, "So ... have you started your Christmas shopping yet?" but it's been a conversation starter all season in one form or another.

It's a valid question this time of year. Knocking out that gift list is an endeavor, no matter how long - or short - the list. And let's face it, it's crunch time, people. Tick-tock.

Sure, asking about holiday shopping can just be small talk, just like innocuous conversations about the weather or the score of the game last night. The material aspect of the holidays is part of our culture. To ignore it, is to play dumb.

But asking someone a seemingly inoffensive question about his or her shopping progress can also feel like a measuring stick of sorts. It can  reveal more about our celebration than whether or not we scored a sweet parking spot at the mall, how long the checkout line was at Target, or if we'll redeem our Kohl's Cash on slippers for Dad.

It can feel like you're really asking things like:

• How much money do you have to spend?
• How organized are you?
• Do you have a lot of people in your life to buy for?
• Are you loved?
• How much do you care about the people in your life based on the amount you will spend?
• How much spirit do you have?

Those questions don't feel much like Christmas at all, do they?

A simple little question about shopping that I, myself, have asked about 100 times in the last few weeks, can leave some feeling anxious or judged. That's not Christmas at all.

I'm late to the game for this season, but am going to try something more along the lines of, Are you ready for Christmas?

• Are you ready for a fresh start?
• Are you ready for redemption?
• Are you ready for miracles?
• Are you ready to own your life?
• Are you ready to accept peace and love?

Because when it comes down to it, no matter how big the stack of garbage bags filled with torn wrapping paper and broken-down shirt boxes you have sitting curbside for trash pick-up Friday*, Christmas is more than a to-do list to be checked-off; more than a stash of receipts.

The best gifts of Christmas - love, acceptance, attention, friendship - are purchased in full with an open heart, and acts of loving kindness.

* Please recycle!

It's ok

Thanksgiving is gone. Was it ever really here? Seems it was just Halloween and then magically - commercially, at least - Christmas.

Still, there is much for which to be thankful. In fact, I always feel thankful, no matter what the season. When asked to describe myself in one word, I always respond with, "grateful." Thanksgiving is the official holiday of gratitude, but for me, my level of appreciation soars at Christmas.

So, as we make that transition from autumn toward winter, harvest to Advent, Thanksgiving to Christmas - I find myself feeling ... eh, kind of meh about it all.

That's not like me.

I love Christmas. It tickles my heart: the music, the cheery decor and the long, cozy nights. I like the challenge of finding gifts and treats for the special people in my life, and the thrill of making it happen within a reasonable budget. I feel good about sharing with others; reaching out to those who could use a hand.

I anticipate the Christmas season just like a child, counting down the days, savoring the wait. To me, Christmas is all the superficial things like twinkle lights and beautifully wrapped presents and 4,000 versions of Jingle Bell Rock on the radio - and it's also so much more. It becomes a manifestation of my grateful heart, truly a season of renewal and hope.

And as I get ready to flip the calendar to its last page, I find myself feeling ... empty.

Is it ok to not feel excited about the Christmas season yet?

Is it ok to feel that way and not understand why?

Is it ok to go through the motions - decorating, treat making, shopping - in hopes that joy will eventually bubble up and gush forth like it usually does much sooner than now?

Is it ok to be like this?

Yes. It's ok.

No matter what the calendar says, or how many poorly executed Hallmark Channel movies are on constant rotation, or how many tired standards the radio stations play ad nauseam, or how many better-than-Black-Friday sales the retailers push, the truth, for me at least, is that Christmas is a matter of heart.

And it's ok if my heart isn't feeling it yet.

At first, I felt a little worried - what's wrong with me? - that perhaps my lack of Christmas spirit meant a lack of gratitude. It's a slippery slope once we start taking the blessings in our lives for granted. Truth is, there's so much pressure from all around to love, love, love Christmas at the very first available moment. It's the freaking most wonderful time of the year, and that time of the year begins earlier and earlier ... and the weight of getting on board with that can leave a soul feeling hollow.

So I've decided it's ok. It's ok to not have the spirit yet. It's ok to be just be how I am in the moment because I know moments like these will pass.

And there's still time for the spirit to arrive, and it's ok to wait for it to come to me instead of me grasping for it.

Heck, it's not even December yet.

Beautiful

I am beautiful.

Does that sound bold to you? It is a bold thing to say about oneself. For a long time I would never have said it for fear of sounding conceited, egotistical, vain, self-important.

Delusional.

My trepidation doesn't change the fact I am beautiful.

I know mine is not a conventional beauty, the kind reflected in Barbie dolls, fashion mags, music videos or in leading ladies on the screen.

I am unique. Damaged. Vulnerable. Imperfect.

Yet, beautiful.

You might disagree with me and that's ok. What you think of me is really none of my business. You might be appalled at this straight-forward acknowledgement. I don't care.

You might only see the fullness of my face and think, "She's fat."

You're right; I am fat.

I am also tall, funny, intelligent, talented, sarcastic, generous, caring, impatient, over committed ... a lot of working, shifting parts.

None of which detracts from my beauty.

Mine is a life lived fully. I eat a slice of cake on birthdays, have a glass of wine with friends, indulge in Christmas cookies, share meals with my family at holidays, have a beer with my husband on a Friday night. I built this body with every bite, every choice. This body made a family.

It bears scars, visible proof of pain and survival. I am not ashamed of that.

I am beautiful because of it.

While I make the bold statement about my beauty, please understand I do not always feel it; don't always see it. I still have insecurities and some days feel more lovely than others.

Yet that doesn't change the fact that my beauty is true. Every day.

My journey to self-acceptance has been difficult. Maybe I haven't reached it quite yet. There have been many along the way who have sought - and still seek - to convince me that I am somehow inferior on the outside and inside. Those voices can ring quite loudly.

Sometimes the loudest voice has been my own.

More compelling, however, is love and acceptance. You see, my son deserves a mother who is confident and assured. He deserves a positive female role model who doesn't shrink from the challenges of this world, even if those challenges are her own insecurities. He needs to see real women as they are; not as society would have them be.

And I have a husband, a lifelong partner, whose opinion matters and deserves to be respected. He loves me just as I am. He neither wants nor merits a wife who wishes she were living in a different reality than the one we have created together. I don't pine for past youthful perfection or some future envisioned improvement. He gets the here and now, and it is wildly imperfect.

And beautiful.

On the flipside of conceit is how truly humble I feel. Regardless of what anyone thinks - positive or negative - is this ultimate fact: I am a child of God. I am beautiful by his grace and love. It is His voice that rings truer than all.

And it tells me I am beautiful.

It also tells me you are beautiful, too.

I don't even need to see you. Maybe I've never met you. I know in my heart you have beauty from within and without.

You don't need to post selfies in hopes others will validate you. Don't fish for assurances to the contrary when you sheepishly declare, "I'm so fat." Or, "I wish I still looked like I did when I was 28."

Just know it. Accept God's love and grace for you just as you are, right now at this very flawed, ridiculous moment. Live it; feel it.

It is a thing of beauty.

"I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well." - Psalm 129:14

... and then it was November

It's been well over a week since Halloween swept in and out in the whisk of a broom.

There were plenty of treats.

Oreo truffle eyeballs

Choc-dipped pretzel monster fingers

And tricks.

The weather proved to be the biggest trickster of all. There was rain. Then came the cold. Like, I-can't-feel-my-ass cold. Then blow-the-hat-off-a-witch's-head wind.

Then it snowed.

Snowed. In October. For the first time in 21 years.

And then it was November.

And apparently Christmas.

While we're not celebrating Christmas just yet at our house, it's on the radio, on TV and in all the stores already, well ensconced since Halloween or even before. Holiday lights twinkle from neighborhood homes.

Already.

Our garage is full of Halloween décor yet to be processed and put away. We are not even thinking about Christmas yet.

I don't want Christmas to totally slap me in the face the day after Thanksgiving, but this autumn has been fun, hectic and lovely and I am not ready to hand it over to jingling bells just yet.

Besides, it's still November. And we will do November-y things like mulch fallen leaves, put the gardens to bed, buy new long-sleeved shirts for an ever-growing teen, attend all sorts of band and church events, spend time with friends, enjoy the fleeting fall temps ...

And panic.

It's already November ... and Christmas is just a month away.

21 years and then some

 

Last week, my husband and I celebrated our 21st anniversary.

[That's 26 years together - total - in case you're keeping track]

As I mentioned in my last post, I've been busy lately, as has he, and we haven't really spent much time together as a couple.

It's ok; we're ok. After 21 years, we do not have to smother one another in order to know we love one another. It goes without saying, though we do a good job of saying it often.

Still, a girl needs some attention from her best fella from time to time, and an anniversary would seem like a given for date night.

It wasn't.

He had to work. So did I, actually, but our work schedules are opposite shifts. I barely saw him that morning as he came home and I headed out the door. And barely saw him that afternoon as I came home and he headed out the door.

I spent my 21st wedding anniversary on the couch eating Chinese take-out with my teen son.

Not terrible. But not at all romantic.

We don't give much in the way of gifts after all these years - except for last year, our 20th, when he totally surprised me - but in those passing moments last week, however, we did manage to make an impact.

He had a huge bouquet of sunflowers for me. Nearly a week later, their sunny, open faces still make me smile when I see them. Perfect.

He is more difficult to buy for than I am, especially when we agreed to skip gifts for each other anyway. Still, I couldn't let the day pass with some sort of sweet gesture for such a sweet guy.

I put together a little treat for him to take to the office with him, a box full of candy that he likes with the note, For my Sweetie.

In it, I placed bags of candy with handwritten notes:

• Hershey chocolate bars: Something rich ... because we are rich in blessings
• Snickers: Something nutty ... because I'm nuts about you
• Mint M&Ms: Something minty ... because we're so cool
• Dove chocolates: Something smooth ... because we still got it

Yes, that last one was intentionally dorky and it made him chuckle because we are the opposite of smooth. Actually, it was all dorky and made him smile. And tear right into the chocolate as we sat there, abandoning me for the evening in a pile of Snicker wrappers.

Two days later, we were able to get together for an afternoon stroll and dinner. We held hands. We talked about nothing important, just rambling conversation. We smiled at each other, genuinely glad to be together in that moment, for that moment.

And then my son texted, ready to be picked up from his band trip and we were slammed back in parent mode.

That's ok. Sometimes it only takes little time, a little attention to tide you over. Besides, marriage isn't about one special day a year. It's about all 365 days ... x 21, + lots more to come.

[x 26 + lots more to come - total - in case you're keeping track]

A look around

Gosh, it's been awhile since I've been in this space. I've been busy and blogging has not been a priority in this girl's life.

Don't take that personally; I love you.

This fall has been full. My schedule doth overflow. I'm not bragging and I'm not complaining. I'm just busy.

I don't know a single person who, when asked, "So, things been busy?" would answer with anything other than an exasperated affirmation. We tend to fill our time. Being busy - especially for women - is often a brag-y kind of badge of honor: "I'm so busy" = "I'm so important/needed/essential etc." To admit otherwise makes us seem somehow less in a society that constantly compares.

That said, I have no problem admitting I've experienced profound boredom.With that came a heaping portion of depression and loneliness. Idle hands/devil's workshop sort of stuff.

No thanks.

And so I will always appreciate being busy. Even if I feel as though life will swallow me right up at any moment.

Work commitments, pressing deadlines and a lousy construction-laden daily commute swell my weekday calendar. Outside of that, there are community and church volunteer commitments on an almost daily basis.

Plus, lest we forget, I'm a wife and mom. Carving out family time has been a challenge, but we did manage a fall break family vacation to Washington DC.

My son's high school marching band season is in full swing and so we are up early and out late every weekend. My butt is in the bleachers a lot - at home football games on Fridays and at contests almost every Saturday.

I love it. I really do. 

Oh, and I've been sick ... like four-rounds-of-antibiotics sick with various maladies since August.

So there's that.

Low energy and an overwrought schedule have been my challenges this fall. It's hard to stay on track. At times, I wonder if am I veering without noticing, like a sleepy driver behind the wheel.

That's why it's good to hit the brakes and take a look around.

Get your bearings.

Remember where you've been.

See where you are.

Bask in the moment.

Look at the road ahead.

My truth is this: my life is hectic. It is overwhelming.

And it is infinitely blessed.

I took one of the photos in Washington DC of the Washington Monument, and all the rest here in Indiana at a band contest in Greenwood, at Mount Saint Francis, at Perrin Park in Jeffersonville and along the country roads of Floyd County. These are my photos, unedited, no filters, no Instagram.

This is what I see when I stop and take a look around.

Enough

When my son was 5, he came home from a playdate with a perplexed look on his face.

"What's up, buddy?" I asked.

"Mommy, are we poor?"

"Why do you ask that?" Truth is, I already knew exactly why he was asking.

"Well, Such-and-Such* said we are poor because our house is so small and we don't have a flatscreen TV, and we don't have a pool, and we don't have a basement. Is that true?" he asked, those big brown eyes staring up at me intently.

*Not his real name. Also, it was 2004; flatscreens were not as common or inexpensive as they are now.

I wanted to explain socioeconomic class stigma to him. I wanted to talk about those among us who truly face abject poverty without a home, medical care, enough to eat or decent clothes to wear. I wanted to talk about material possessions versus spiritual gifts. I wanted to reveal that external appearances are not always as they seem; happiness does not equal fancy. Poor does not equal bad. Comparing yourself to others is a game with no true winner.

I wanted to express my indignation at having been judged by Such-and-Such, though in reality, that attitude had more than likely trickled down from the adults in his life. It was not much of a leap to assume it was the grown-ups who had expressly or inadvertently deemed our outlet mall wardrobes, little house, domestic vehicles and nonprofit-sector careers somehow lacking; inferior. Their 5-year-old had picked up on that and conveyed it back to my own ... you know, just so my son would know where he belonged.

But looking at my son's sweet face, I could only summon: "Well, he's kinda right."

Now that little nose was scrunched up in a manner that indicated my answer was not making any sense.

"Look, Such-and-Such is right: we don't have all those things. We don't have all that stuff that he and his family have. So to him, I guess we do seem poor. But let me ask you this, kiddo: do you have everything you need? "

"Yep."

"Do you even have some of the things you want?"

"Yep."

"Do you feel loved?"

"Yep."

"Then I guess we have enough, huh?"

"Yep." And he went on his way, satisfied.

That was 10 years ago. We still live in the same little house in an area noted for its affluence. We still drive modest vehicles. We still dress without pretension. We still work hard. We still have bills.

We still have enough.

Enough love.

Enough laughter.

Enough compassion.

Enough friendship.

Enough beauty, inside and out.

Enough to eat and even to share.

Enough to get by and even to save.

Enough to remind us who we are, where we came from and not lose sight of where we are headed.

Our house is clean enough.

Well, mostly.

Our house is happy enough.

We are happy enough.

Perfection is not a goal, nor is the accrual of materials items. That's not enough for us.

"For where your treasure is, so your heart will also be." - Matthew 6:21

I'm happy to report no other kids have been as direct in pointing out the material differences like Such-and-Such was. Sure, those differences are still there and they are obvious, at times. Thankfully, I have somehow managed to raise a teen who isn't particularly materialistic. He is easy going and content. He is happy.

Recently, I picked him up from a friend's house. It was the first time he had been there and as he got into the car and we backed away from the big, beautiful house in the upscale neighborhood - the garage of which would swallow our relatively dinky cottage whole - I said with a wink, "We still have the smallest house. Reigning champions."

And then my son pointed out, "Yeah, but we have everything we need and a lot of things we want."

And that's more than enough.

Still summer

School started here last week.

Yes, last week.

When it was still July.

School ended in June ... and started again in July. They went to school every month this past year.

That's a shift for us here, a shift that began last school year to a "balanced" calendar. School starts earlier, but now includes longer, two-week breaks in the fall, at the traditional winter break and in the spring.

Not everyone in the school district is a fan of this schedule, but we like it. It works for us as a family. My husband and I work year-round and we are better able to take time off together as a family with the breaks spread throughout the year.

My son enjoyed his shortened summer. He packed in all the summertime things a teen should: camping, fishing, swimming, sleeping in, time with friends, movies, cookouts, books, bike rides, running, band camp, a 10-day trip to the beach and a day at an amusement/water park. He took a driver's ed class, got his learner's permit and spent a good deal of time behind the wheel carting his parents around. It was a good summer.

And it still is.

Even though school is in session, it's still summer. Summer didn't come to a screeching halt when the school bus doors swung open.

Summer break is over for the kids here, but summer itself still rages on. And if summer is your season, then there's still time to enjoy the best parts of it, even if doing so requires working around the last bell of the school day.

There's still time for cherry tomatoes from the garden.

There's still time for flowers to bloom.

There's still time for long walks down a winding road with a friend.

There's still time for cooling rain showers.

There's still time for burgers on the grill.

There's still time for a big bowl of syrup-draped ice cream or chunks of sweet watermelon.

There's still time for tales by the campfire or even a picnic.

There's still time for a stroll by the lake or on the golf course.

 There's still time for farms to produce and provide.

There's still time to be carefree..

There's still time for the sun to hover a little longer and bless us with evening light.

There's still time for mosquitos, snakes, ticks, sweaty bras, sun burns on the back of your legs, and dried-up lawns, too ... but I'm aiming for the positive in this post, so I'll downplay all that.

Truth be told, it's been a beautiful summer here. Relatively mild temps, with several evenings spent sleeping with the windows open. That almost never happens here May through August ... unless you like to sleep in a stifling oven in the humid kitchen of hell while being marinated in the sweat of Satan himself.

This year, however, it's been so darn pleasant, it's the first summer in a long time that I haven't wished it away pining for fall to arrive and set me free from the AC prison.

So even though we are back to the familiar rhythm of the school year so soon after the end of the last one, I really can't complain.

Change is coming.

But there's still time to make the most of the season while the season lasts.

The walking dread

Oh gosh! My hands!

I looked at both hands in disbelief.

Contaminated.

My stomach sank. I'd just polished off a breakfast sandwich  ... with my hands ... the contaminated hands. And now it was in me. There was no going back.

Let me explain.

It all started yesterday ...

I was having a bad day. Just awful. A hectic morning was building up to a midday mental meltdown. I was out on my lunch break just wanting to grab a quick bite, but nothing sounded good and everything, everywhere was crowded.

I settled on a soup-and-sandwich kind of place and was in a long and not-moving line when I got a call on my cell. It was of a personal nature and I didn't want to miss the call, so being courteous to those around me, I stepped out of line to take the call. It was disappointing news and I was not happy.

I was also no longer in line.

Approximately 4,000 other people got in line ahead of me.

Approximately.

I decided to take my disappointment and sinking mood elsewhere. As I was backing my car out, another car zoomed passed and almost clipped me. Startled, I decided this was definitely not the place for me.

I was trying to process the news I'd received in the call and also trying to decide lunch. I hadn't been feeling well and was now feeling worse, at least emotionally, and so I wanted to make a food selection that wouldn't ruin my day physically.

I opted for a sandwich shop that was in a gas station near my office. The thing was, everyone else was there too (crazy crowded) and, yet again, my car was nearly bumped by another car with a distracted cell-phone-talking driver.

I ventured across the street to a fast-food grill, hoping for some reasonably healthy fare, but instead was cutoff by another car for a parking spot and nearly rear-ended by another who was also going for the spot. I tried to maneuver out of the way of the way, and was met by another car that was going the wrong way.

It's like cars were falling out of the sky and trying to land on mine in some sort of divine video game.

Also? People were lined up out the door at the restaurant.

I was rattled to the core and considered just going back to the office and eating Twizzlers - you know, the ones with the filling. Yum!

But I was shaky and needed more sustenance than that. So I got out of that cramped parking lot and headed down the parkway toward a chicken place that sells good salads.

The drive-thru line was 10 - yes, 10! - deep and the parking lot packed.

I pulled into a neighboring bank parking lot and cried. I just wept. For my frustration. For my disappointment. For my rattled nerves. For my growling tummy. For the wasted gas. For knowing that if I had just gotten back in line at the first place, I would probably be eating my soup now. I cried.

Once I got my cry out, I wiped the smeared mascara from my now-irritated eyes, and headed back to the gas station sandwich shop near my office. Lunch rush over, the parking lot was clear. There was no counter line. Things were looking up for me.

And then it happened.

My hands were full. I was balancing my bag of food, an open drink, my purse, a handful of dollar bills and coins, all while standing at the drink station trying to get a lid on my soda. The full soda started to slip from my hands and I turned to catch it - and dropped all the coins into the trash.

Seventy-one cents fell out of my hand and into the countertop trash bin. And, with nary a thought, I reached in and picked 60 cents of it back out ... of the trash.

I reached in.

I reached in the trash.

I reached in the trash in a fast food restaurant.

I reached in the trash in a fast food restaurant in a gas station.

And then I realized what I'd done.

Oh gosh, I reached in the trash in a fast food restaurant in a gas station!

Horrified and completely baffled by why I didn't just donate 71 cents to the landfill, I shuffled everything to my clean left hand and hit the door. I managed to get in the car and basically just drop everything into its rightful place while retrieving the hand sanitizer from the console.

I popped the sanitizer's lid, aimed for my right hand ... and the lid shot off, dumping the entire container all over me - my slacks, my blouse and thankfully, my right hand.

Back at the office, I washed my hands - more than once - and finally settled at my desk to eat. I was shaking with hunger. With my very first bite, I took out a chunk of the inside of my mouth.

Not a pinch to the cheek. It was a flesh-spittng chunk.

I was hungry, with mascara-smeared red eyes, a bloody mouth, and covered in antibacterial goo. Add my hazmat hand to that, and I could have been a zombie from The Walking Dead mindlessly ambling about the office.

My afternoon got better. I recovered from my disappointment, pulled myself together and drove home unscathed.

... And then today ....

In the back-to-school rush of the morning today (yes, we started school already yesterday), I stopped off for a quick breakfast via drive-thru. My total was $2.60. Hey, what do you know ... exact change in the console.

Exact change.

From the trash.

From the trash in a fast food restaurant.

From the trash in a fast food restaurant in a gas station yesterday.

And now the change had traveled ... from the trash ... to my hand ... to the console ... to my hand again this morning ... and without thinking about it until it was too late ... to my food ... to my mouth this morning.

Hey - I'm ok.

Despite my freak-out this morning at the realization that I had not entirely escaped my rotten luck of the previous day, I got through today just fine without triggering a zombie plague.

Some days are like that and we all dread them. It seems like the universe is out to get us at every turn. But we gotta walk through the messy days, past the dread. Just when we think we've conquered our demons, they rise back at us to take another turn.

We have to face our challenges and get our hands dirty - in the parking lot, in the trash bin, in our own minds. Avoidance just drags out our worries, distracts us, makes us linger on the negative, keeps us from focusing on the right things.

[And wastes a lot of time and gas during our lunch break.]

Just remember, life's ick isn't the end of the world. Shake it off. Wash it off - literally - if you have to. 

Eventually, a fresh start awaits.