Till Death Do Us Part...

Without your stuff... you are nothing.  Your stuff is the only tangible proof you ever existed.  As you grow older, you collect more and more stuff.  Once in a while you will come across some poor, brave soul, actually having a garage sale in an attempt to get rid of some of their stuff.  People flock to them.  They want to see what kind of stuff some other person now finds themselves willing to part with.  Although most people fear death, most of us make sure we leave a Last Will and Testament to make sure that someone will take responsibility for our stuff once we're gone.  One way to tell how much a person was loved is to see how their family disposes of their stuff after the funeral.  How can the family bring themselves to sell it at a garage sale or just throw it all away?  The only thing that gives them the courage to make such a decision is the thought, "If we don't sell it, donate it to charity, or throw it out, then it will become part of OUR stuff!"   Thank God for comforting thoughts.

It's not clean till it's CSI clean!

If I were honest with myself I'd have to admit that I watch too much TV.  Most of the shows that I watch DO have some educational value, but you could say that about any TV show today.  I've even learned a few things from watching the Simpsons.  By far, my favorite TV shows are true crime stories.  Forensic Files.  Body Of Evidence.  Cold Case Files.  The System.  Although it's fascinating to watch how the detectives gather scientific evidence with state of the art equipment, how can I justify my interest in such shows?  Will this knowledge help me in my profession?  I'm a nurse, more specifically a nursing supervisor, so unless knowing how to conduct a ballistics test on various fire arms will help me find a nurse to work in the ICU tonight, that's not information I can use.  How about at home?  No matter how much I fantasize, when I dust my living room... it's not for fingerprints.  Socially, I can see where a little forensic knowledge might possibly alienate you.  It's just not polite to 'interrogate' the neighbors, and they DO notice when you're making mental notes on what brand of cigarettes they smoke, what size shoes they wear, and the existence and location of any tattoos they might have.  Looking back on my life experience I realize that I have never been called upon to pick someone out of a line up, describe a suspect to a sketch artist, or even look through any mug shots.  It would be much more rewarding for me to watch a TV program on health issues or home remodeling.  So why do I get such satisfaction knowing that when I'm finished cleaning, if a team of forensic scientists were to come to my house, the only dirt and fibers obtained at MY crime scene would have to be left by the perpetrator himself?  Do I worry that watching all these crime stories might make me paranoid?  Not at all.  I don't think it's asking too much for immediate family members and close friends to provide a small DNA sample for possible future forensic comparison.  Do you?

Who ARE... THEY?

They say it's going to be bitterly cold here in Jersey tonight.  Who are they anyway?  I don't think I've ever actually met one of them before.  If we were to analyze this, we would have to assume that there is more than one, since we always refer to them in the pleural form.  It's never 'he' or 'she' ... always 'they'.  I would also guess that they are young.  Most likely all under the age of thirty, since they seem to have an opinion on just about everything.  If they were employed, married or had children, they wouldn't have time to just go around saying things.  Maybe there aren't as many of them as we think there are.  They just want us to think so.  I know that I'm  not one of them.  No one has ever listened to anything I said before.  Especially my kids.  And yet I have heard all three of them refer to them  many times in the past.  OMG!  Did you read what I just wrote?  'All three of ...THEM!'  Is it possible that MY kids are actually ... THEM?  It does kind of make sense.  Each one of my kids has ALWAYS thought that they knew it ALL since the day they were born.  And I DO have more than one child ...  hence 'THEM.'  Is it possible that my kids really do know everything?   That every word they utter is carefully recorded so it can be repeated whenever necessary?  Is this theory even POSSIBLE?  Am I actually the mother of the chosen few?  Of ... THEM?  The Grand Poobahs behind every fact, speculation, prediction and rumor between Hollywood and Washington, D.C.?  ME?  MY KIDS?

THEM??

Nah.

For all my sisters....

Every time I pass that new Bowflex machine in the living room I feel guilty.  In my mind I can hear my mother's voice saying, "Do you know there are millions of flabby people in other countries that would just LOVE to have an exercise machine like that?"  So today I decided to give it a try.  One wall in front of the Bowflex is mirrored so it's impossible NOT to watch myself.  Hmmm.  I wasn't nearly as coordinated or graceful as I thought I was, but everything always evens out.  I wasn't nearly as thin and firm as I thought I was either.  Which is pretty discouraging since I really didn't imagine myself as the picture of physical fitness in the first place.  Just like all of my past projects, I have more work ahead of me than I thought.  Of course, if I gave up eating Entenmann's Pastries, Tastykakes, and Dunkin' Donuts I would probably get into shape a lot faster.  But... I'm almost 50 years old.  How good should I look anyway?  Do I really want all of my girlfriends to end up hating me?  Do I want to make other women my age feel bad about themselves in comparison?  It will be hard enough on them when they see what great endurance, stamina and flexibility I'll soon have.  How egotistical would it be for me to also become thin, firm and have zero percent body fat as well?  NO!  I am NOT that kind of woman!  I will not cause my Sisters In Menopausal Madness any more misery than they already have!  Today... I am going to stop at Dunkin' Donuts before AND after work!  It's the right thing to do.

A life less extrodinary...

I was absolutely amazed at all the things I learned about some of my fellow Journalers over the weekend.  Many of them posted suprising facts about themselves in their Entries, and then asked their Readers to guess which ones were true.  I was... fascinated.  I thought about joining in the fun, but after a few minutes I realized that there weren't really many things I could write about, that would shock and/or delight MY Readers.  I never worked in a Night Club owned by The Mob like Lanny, from the 'Inside My Head' Journal.  I never kissed a member of any famous rock band, like Monica from 'Whoopie! My Life Is Gonna Be Perfect' did.  My father was never stationed with Elvis Presley in Germany like Sherry's dad from 'The Secret Life Of A Stay At Home Mom'.  I did see a picture he had taken with Roy Rogers at a pigeon race, but somehow, that's not as exciting as Elvis.  And... I've never been given a memento from Mickey Mantle himself, been helped to the Ladies'Room through a crowd by Howard Stern, gotten a Thank You Card from Barbara Walters, ever discussed politics with Bobby Kennedy, or ever, EVER missed an opportunity to have dinner with Mel Gibson like my friend Angela, author of 'My Thoughts' did.  Angela did ALL of those things!  I am not a direct descendant of any royalty, world leader, or celebrity.  I don't hold any records of any kind in any event.  And I've never survived any catastrophe or natural disaster except those that have happened in my own home.  No television commercials or Hollywood movies, either.  I only hope I have a few stories to bore my grandchildren with when they get older.  But I have almost as much fun hearing about other people's adventures as I would if I had them myself.  In the Grand Theater of Life I guess we need both performers and audience members.  So... I'm not only clapping here... I'm standing up.  And to my fellow Journalers and others like them I say... "BRAVO!"

Alien Droppings

I now know there are aliens out there.  I always thought that someday someone would offer proof, but I never thought that someone would be me.  Or that I'd find that proof in my driveway.  Ever since I moved in with Ray I noticed that there were hundreds of little spiked balls laying all over his front lawn.  Ugly, brown, dried up crispy things that are dangerous and annoying.  If you step on one accidentally they roll and cause you to lose your footing, and even frenzied stomping will not crush them.  The spikes will cling to any material they come in contact with.  They especially like socks, slippers, sneakers and bottoms of jeans.  Once attached, they are extremely difficult and painful to remove.  They have no natural enemies, and they don't seem to decay.  Animals won't eat them, even the squirrels won't touch them.  No matter how many times you sweep them up there are always hundreds more in the morning.  I originally thought that they fell from some kind of tree but there are no leaves on the trees in New Jersey now, and there are still hundreds of these spiky balls strewn around.  And... the balls look the same no matter what season it is.  I've never seen such peculiar balls in my entire life and I've walked in woods before and been in my share of Nurseries.  I am even renowned in one of my old neighborhoods for my gardening techniques, but that's another story.  I think that maybe that 'weather station' across the street from my house really ISN'T a weather station afterall.  It could be an Alien Sighting Monitor.  That's why the authorities were out within minutes investigating who planted those shrubs in front of the equipment this past summer.  We were on camera!  The government needed a clear view of the alien crapping ground, which just happened to be my front lawn and driveway.  Things are beginning to make a little more sense now.  Don't you think?

And on the eighth day God went to the gym...

When Ray told me that he was going to use the money that his mother gave him for Christmas to buy something "special" that "both of use could use," and that he was going to "put it in the living room," I figured it could only be one thing.  A set of new living room furniture!  I was both thrilled and excited when he announced that he had "found a brand new one on E-Bay" and that it was "way cheaper than the original price."  All I had to do was to clear out the living room to make room for it while he and a friend drove up to North Jersey to pick it up.  I was so happy that we would finaly have furniture beside the fireplace, even though I was a bit disappointed that he didn't ask me to help him pick it out.  I could just see myself curled up on the couch by a fire, watching the snow fall in the park across the street through our beautiful new window.  When Ray and his friend Tom returned from their trip and opened up the back of the van I realized that it was not a couch or coffee table they were about to unload.  It was a Bowflex Home Gym.  The Ultimate Model.  I was speechless.  Ray was beaming.  It looked so seriously professional that my muscles began to ache just looking at it.  In a word ... it's ... huge.  It takes up half the room.  I have no idea where normal people would put one.  Did I say that it was ... huge?  Ray showed me how it could "fold up for easy storage."  Looked a little like an elephant in a fetal position to me.  He says that he is going to get up early every morning to exercise.  I want to believe him.  But if Ray was any more laid back than he is right now, he'd be dead.  And me?  I think now that we have a Boxflex we can eat a lot more pizza and ice cream.