Ever since I moved to Seattle, I’ve sort of felt as if my heart has come to reside outside of my ribcage. Vulnerable. Exposed. Sensitive. It’s kind of a crazy feeling. I need to develop a thicker skin.

I’ve just been through so much in the past couple years. I’ve given up so much, sacrificed so much. I’ve taken some insane risks, some of which have paid off, and some of which have blown up in my face.

But on a positive note, this has caused me to appreciate all the good in life so much more deeply. When I think of my friends and loved ones, near and far and old and new, I often well up with tears of joy. A good sunrise can take my breath away. I can be walking down the street and suddenly it hits me how lucky I am to be where I am, and I have to stop dead in my tracks for a second and gather myself.

In essence, I’ve become a sentimental old fool. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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 [nos-tuhmey-nee-uh, –meyn-yuh]
1. intense homesickness; an irresistible compulsion to return home.

Two blog entries in a row about words. What can I say? I love words. That’s why I’m a blogger.

This one strikes a particular chord with me because I have recently moved 3000 miles across the country. But am I homesick? Not really. To be homesick you have to first feel like you had a home, and I haven’t really had that feeling in many years.

There is a related word, though.


 [no-stal-juh, -jee-uh, nuh-] 
1. a wistful desire to return in thought or in fact to former time in one’s life.

Do I feel nostalgia? Definitely. I miss Popeye’s Chicken, sunshine, manatee, and friends (not necessarily in that order). I miss being a home owner once upon a time. I miss good tomatoes and knowing my way around without using a GPS. I miss driving past places that spark memories within me.

Fond memories I have. A longing to go back, I don’t. Go back to what? There’s nothing to go back to. So I guess I’m not a Nostomaniac. I’m just a sentimental old fool.  🙂


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Here I Am

When I was a little kid, my self-esteem was so low that I actually thought that when I was out of people’s sight, I no longer existed for them. Kind of like my own personal Schrödinger’s cat thought experiment, I had to be observed to be sure I was actually alive.

Needless to say with age I have become more grounded in reality and more confident, but to this day when someone does something nice for me outside of my presence, it never fails to bring happy tears to my eyes, sentimental fool that I am. It could be something as simple as picking me up something that I like at the grocery store even though I haven’t asked for it, or “I saw this help wanted ad and thought you might be perfect for it.” Anything that implies that someone was thinking of me when I wasn’t there…that’s very precious to me.

I guess the moral of this story is that everybody wants to be appreciated and remembered and acknowledged, so I try to do that for others as often as I can.


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They Like Me! They Really, Really Like Me!

Everybody teases Sally Fields for having said that, but I totally get it.


Today, one of my recent blog entries, , is being printed as the back page editorial in Folio Weekly, which is Jacksonville, Florida’s alternative newspaper. It’s the forth or fifth time they’ve printed something of mine, but it’s always a rush to see my name in print.

All my life people have told me I should be a writer, but I just never seem to have the drive to follow through with it. I’ve done freelance editing and transcribing and writing, but I’ve yet to get paid for a creative submission, something of my very own. Probably because I’ve never submitted anything for pay. Yeah, I’m sure that has a lot to do with it. The Folio articles are all freebies.

You see, I hate rejection. At the risk of setting the Women’s Movement back about 50 years, I don’t know how men do it, honestly. If I had to ask someone out and they said no, I’d be sucking my thumb in the fetal position for about a week. If I were a guy, I’d have been a 40 year old virgin, I’m sure. Conquering this fear of rejection thing is one of the items I would put on my list of new year’s resolutions, if I were the resolution type. Maybe the lack of follow through thing would be on that list, too, if I would only get around to it.

But as usual, I digress.

Perhaps I’m feeling overly sentimental because I’m still sick as a dog, but I guess this is just my way of saying (as I look down and draw lines in the dirt with the toe of my Chuck Taylors)…thanks for reading my blog. It really does mean a lot to me.