Honestly, sometimes you just never know where life will lead you.

My husband (who I miss so much!) has accepted a position overseas. I miss him like crazy! I can either see him twice a year or Annie and I can move. And just for the record- Annie is not happy with either situation.

Anyway, I will keep you posted on all of that. But it’s a big, long process. I will describe it for you in bits and pieces and either make it really attractive to you or make you want to head for the hills. We will just have to wait and see.

Yesterday, I had to have a physical, blood work, eye and ear testing and a ton of vaccinations. 6 shots. And one oral vaccine. Let’s just say there is not a lot of shoulder shrugging going on today.

The nurse, who was preparing and sterilizing my upper arms with cotton swabs for the upcoming shots, said, “Let’s just get some alcohol over here.” She continued,”Just one small drinky before we get started.” I laughed out loud.

I just wondered, “Why, oh why, can’t we have humor wherever we go?”

I really like this quote by Frederick Douglass because I don’t think there’s anything truer. Or more important.

One night we were watching television and my husband muttered,”There are a lot of bad people out there.” This was after hearing all sorts of horrible things. Rape. Missing kids and missing women. Murder. Abuse. Torture. And that was on our nightly news!

Human beings have not changed since their creation. There are good eggs and bad eggs. Although it does seem that the bad eggs are multiplying at an astonishing speed!

But I’m not really writing about the actual crimes or the horrors humans inflict on each other. Sadly, those will continue. What disturbs me are those folks that have witnessed or have knowledge of a crime against a child and don’t report it.

The abuse cover up that took place within the Catholic Church was not unique to them. We read about similar stories of scandalous sweeping under the rug in different institutions. From those in power.

And to me, that’s worse than the actual abuse. Seriously. Because the perpetrator is sick and he can’t help his twisted self. I mean that’s the truth, right? He can’t stop on his own. So we, as a society, have to stop him and prevent serial crime.

The one(s) who knows about it and does nothing? Puts an institution and job before the child? To protect an institution from embarrassment, humiliation and liability?

In the end it’s more than embarrassed, humiliated and liable. It’s criminal. With a vaporized trust. The blind trust that people- especially our young ones- would be protected. They allowed the continued racking up of victims.

When did it become okay to put our children last? We will never be able to fix all the broken men. But we can build strong children. But only if we put them first.

Fred said that a couple of weeks ago there had been an incident at a local high school. Someone got hold of test answers. A group was involved and they got caught. All were suspended from school for cheating.

There was one boy who was friends with some of these kids. But he didn’t cheat.

His answer, when asked why he didn’t, was ”Because I am a youth leader at my church.”

Fr. says,”Here’s a young guy who takes his role here very seriously. And does the right thing. Wow. He is this parish.”

Now he speaks directly to the young man who is seated in the front row with his mom.

He said,”I am so proud of you. We all are. You are the embodiment of this parish. And I can’t tell you how proud your mom is of you. She is just bursting with pride. I just can’t tell you how much.”

Okay, as a parent, I know there is nothing in the world like hearing that your kid did the right thing. So that was really cool. His mom also totally gets extra points in the parent category because she is a single parent.

I was thinking that our community leaders, politicians, and celebrities would do well to take a page out of this kid’s book. Since strength of character and responsibility seem to be in short supply among them.

Maybe this boy was tempted to cheat. He’s human so that wouldn’t be surprising.

But he did not want to jeopardize his position. So he was strong. I can list ten people this very second that have abused the power of their positions. They were not strong.

It is the example of this young fellow that I want my children to follow. Not a Kardashian or a baseball player. Not a rock star, politician or football coach.

Role models are all around us. Regular people just trying to do the best they can and doing a lot of right in the process. Maybe we forgot about them while being bombarded by these larger than life figures that eventually morph into caricatures of their former selves.

But they really are still out there. Just take a good look around you.

Time oriented folks work at something during a certain period. And can leave an unfinished project at the end of the allotted time.

The task oriented folks want to finish the project regardless of the time. Sometimes the project might be overwhelming so it needs to be broken down into little chunks.

I am in the task oriented camp.

It drives my husband crazy to see piles of dirt that I leave in the corners of each room. I tell him (like I have for the past twenty five years) that it will get finished. I make small piles. I then go around and sweep them up from each room in one fell swoop.  Little chunks. On my own time.

Another example. Still relating to household chores. Maybe I need to just escape this domesticity!

I don’t mind ironing. I throw the pile on the board and start steaming away. But there are always a couple of items I just don’t like ironing. Too arduous. Could be linen, ruffles or pleats.

Should one of them rise to the top I send it right back to the bottom of the pile.

When they are the only ones left I will iron them. Because by that time I have already accomplished a good bit. I’ve also had the experience of the easy to iron garments so I am somewhat fortified before having a go at the not so favorite ironables.

It’s not just household chores. This is my life. I will get to the things that need my attention. Some will require fortification. And I will most likely have to experience some of the pleasant before confronting the not so pleasant. And, without a doubt, I will be breaking it up into little chunks.

Not always an easy task. But I will get it done. Fait accompli.

There’s a lot going on in my life right now. Not necessarily bad. But it will be chock-full of adjustments, challenges and big decisions. I actually should be making some of those decisions right now instead of blogging. But I’m hiding!

Anyway, as a result of this upcoming change I told myself I am going to listen. So I can hear His voice and recognize the signs. That I am doing the right thing.

I’ve always been a big believer in signs and heeding that voice. Some call it intuition. Conscience. Gut instinct. And some say it is God’s voice.

I truly have seen some signs. Really. And I will share them with you in another posting. For now, I want to share this one with you.

Yesterday, I received an email from Jesus. I had to blink and do a double take. I quickly rechecked the sender’s name. Yup, still Jesus.

A fellow named Jesus who will be my point of contact for the next few months. Helping with some of the upcoming transitions.

My husband laughed when I told him. He said it’s even funnier that Jesus was emailing Mary.

So, yeah, I am taking this one as a sign from the big guy. I think He just might be telling me who my point of contact should always be. These next few months and after that. Because He will always help with upcoming transitions.

Anyway, that is what Mary looks like when she is going all spiritual!

Have a great weekend!

Yesterday, I drove Annie to the drugstore. She ran in and I stayed in the car listening to music and talking to my dog like he can answer me back.

To my left is a woman in her car. I glance at her, see lips move and assume, like the rest of the world, she is on a very important phone call that cannot wait until she gets home.

When Annie returned, I put the car in reverse and looked in all directions. And I saw the woman moving her hands. She was pointing to the sign in front of her. A blue and white Handicapped Parking sign.

I immediately put my hand over my heart which started beating very quickly and mouthed, “OH MY GOODNESS! I didn’t see it! I am SO sorry!”

She makes a face at me. The ”whatever” face.

The thing is that I have parked in that very same spot in Walgreen’s many times. And I would never knowingly park in a handicapped spot. So, I look up and while she has that blue sign posted on the pole in front of her there is nothing on the pole in front of mine. It is NOT a designated handicapped parking spot.

So, I pull up to her, because I wanted her to know and I say, ”There’s no sign there.”

She curtly says, “Doesn’t matter. It’s on the ground. The lines.”

So, I went and looked. On her side was a blue line but closest to me was yellow. I told her this. I felt it was important that she knew she was being rude to someone for no reason at all.

She again, very unpleasantly, said, “Yeah, whatever.” And proceeds to make the universal hand gesture for crazy at me! The index finger circling the ear!

I cannot tell you how livid I was at that moment. And if it weren’t for my thirteen year old and my aversion to physical violence I might have gone up to her shiny, powder blue Benz and grabbed her by the perfectly coiffed hair. (Like a younger Joan Rivers if she never dyed her hair blonde and gotten all that God-awful surgery)

The truth is I really felt like it. And that is so not me. Don’t know what overcame me. But the fact that a grown woman was making faces and gestures at me really got to me. I shouldn’t have allowed it but she got to me.

She got the last word in anyway. Of course, I will never know if she realized her error after I left. Or if maybe she will think twice in the future before being impolite. I am thinking probably not.

I should have told myself that maybe she had a hard day, a disability, and deals with parking issues every day. But I couldn’t. I am being honest with you all and presenting the not so perfect Mary. I could have been the bigger person. But, at that moment, I felt like her rudeness shouldn’t be excused, ignored, or overlooked.

It could have been a very pleasant exchange. But she chose to be rude.

And I think that is the biggest disability of all.

One day I filled up the gas tank because it was running on fumes and the bright orange “low fuel” light was begging me for it. No big deal.

When I got home my dad wanted to know how much the gas cost. I threw him a ballpark figure because I can never remember. Even if it was an hour ago. The beauty and danger of a credit card.

A few days after I was back in California an envelope addressed to me arrived. Inside was a check from Dad for the amount of the gasoline. What? I immediately called home to ask why he did that. Mom said that he insisted.

Anyway, that is not even why I am writing this.

I wasn’t surprised that he wanted to give me the money. What surprised me was that I don’t think that I had ever seen my full name in my father’s handwriting. Of course, I know his handwriting. He co-signed my first car loan. Left brief telephone messages on the kitchen table. Signed elementary school report cards.

But almost everything is in Mom’s handwriting. Letters to the grandkids. Checks. Recipes. Christmas cards. Birthday cards. Packages sent. Quick notes.

So I made a copy of the check to save.

I wanted my name written by my father. I know he thinks about me often but I never captured the moment in time-as he was writing out my name. Now, he could have been thinking about why I was wacky enough to let the tank get so low! Or he could have just been thinking that he’s the dad and wants to foot the bill while I am under his roof.

Who knows? I could ask but it doesn’t matter. It just matters that I know he was thinking about me.

I have it in writing. In his own hand.

No, they didn’t go to the park because one of the girls wasn’t allowed.

As she headed upstairs she quietly said, ”Because a girl was kidnapped at that park. By some black guy.”

I asked, “Who told you that?”

She responded, “My friend.”

Okay, how do we explain this one?

So, after I told my husband, we called her down. We wanted to get her thinking on her own with questions like- don’t you think that we would have heard if a child was abducted? On the news? From the school?

She says, “But her dad told her that.”

And this is the hard part. ”Baby, it’s not true. And it’s not right.”

On many levels. When will the black man not be blamed for everything? Why does someone have to cause my child to fear a black man? And, seriously, when was the last time we actually heard of a black man abducting white children?

Shouldn’t we be teaching our children to be cautious of strangers? What happens when we put a color on it? The children are more trusting of the races not mentioned if someone approaches them?

I want them to know the dangers that lurk out there. And if there’s an incident and a description let me have it.

But we don’t need to make them up. Real horrors abound. Just have them read the newspaper.

Our children trust us with the truth. And we are the ones that color their world.

Then he said to me, “Mares, I think I owe you an apology.”

I asked, “What for??” I had such fond memories of him. I couldn’t imagine why he needed to feel sorry.

He replied, “When you decided to get married we gave you a hard time. It was during lunch with the gang. I think you even cried. I’m sorry. We could have been nicer. But it was only because we cared about you. And now, look, you’re married for twenty five years!”

I said, ”Vinny, I don’t even remember that lunch. I do remember some of you giving me a hard time but that was such a long time ago. Please don’t give it another thought.”

But Vinny had never forgotten and felt he needed to apologize. It niggled at him. Enough to mention it twenty five years later.

It’s great that he didn’t forget that lunch. And that I did. I guess that is why we were good friends.

Life is too short and we carry way too much as it is. We don’t need anything extra. No matter how small.

Need to say sorry? Say it. Need to forgive someone? Forgive them. Then let it go. Seriously. And don’t wait twenty five years. Do it today.

My friend told me a story about the Texas town where I had lived for twelve years.

Late one night, a group of young boys (bored because what do you do if it’s not football season?) pulled a few pranks on their neighbors. I can’t remember exactly what. Maybe one thousand plastic forks stuck into someone’s front lawn? Tinseling the trees with toilet paper?

But these fellas had no sooner whooped it up, high fived each other and put the finishing touches on their nocturnal hijinks when word got out. To their mortified mamas. By daybreak they were identified, punished and standing at their victims’ front doors. With the sincerest of apologies dribbling from their mouths.

Because those mamas don’t mess around. And they won’t have anyone else messing around. Especially in their own backyard! Or, as in this particular case, in their own front yard.

I laughed out loud. And sort of felt badly for the kids who really didn’t even get to enjoy the afterglow of their big badness. Not even for a second.

But it also reminded me that while sometimes it is less than desirable for the young folks in the community there is still something really, really special about it.

Those mamas are the same ones that will open up their house to you if you are locked out of yours. And will be attending your birthday and graduation parties. Preparing meals and setting up phone trees if someone is ill. They will be asking about you after you go off to college. Because they really do care.

This had happened while Bin Laden was still on the loose. So I finished our conversation that day with,”And he hasn’t been caught because? Why don’t they just sic those ladies on him? They’d get the job done AND it wouldn’t take decades!”

I meant it. Because I think there is nothing more powerful or determined than middle aged women. And I kinda think they make the world a better place.