Play On

I had a smattering of thought towards creating a blog for our family where he and I could post tidbits of our daily life, collections, musings, and what-nots.  Too self congratulatory, he said.  I agree, although it's pretty much what I do here.  I used to keep a notebook in my purse; I had always kept a diary which has proved to be pretty haunting and disturbing in most cases.  Keeping a book in my purse meant that I would write when I was pissed off or unduly sad.  The blog keeps me from telling the whole truth, which would inevitably embarrasses me in the end or even days later.  I kept a journal when I visited Disney World with my aunt and my cousins during high school.  Every entry was about how hot it was and just how sweaty I got.  It was a good trip, I think.  At least I'll always remember it was hot in Florida.

Five days a week I sit at a desk and I work.  I am unfulfilled and stifled, he is too, you are as well (probably - admit it).  I am undoubtedly pessimistic at times and self reflective and self absorbed ... and I really like reading personal blogs, comment threads, finding your Flickr stream, snooping on Facebook and wishing my life looked as good on the screen as yours does.  And hey, my life looks alright on this screen.  The journals, the diary with the lock easily broken into, the moleskines they help me stop and take note, albeit of some unnecessary negative things, but if I'm not recounting these days I am just rolling through them in my pessimistic way, overlooking the good and missing the point of things.

And so, here is one thing I did this weekend, which may lead me to remember the other great things I did this weekend that I may have put aside and let get eaten up by the monotony of this Tuesday.

Hey Betsy, remember when you napped on the couch while the kids watched Shelley Duvall's Rockin' Rhyme?  Saturday you got the house all clean and it felt really good, then you hung out with friends in your awesome kitchen, in the beautiful home you and your husband have made. On Sunday, you  guys went to the Peddler's Mall in town and bought your brother and his fiance their first ever piece of furniture, the cutest yellow formica table and four chairs. You saw your niece and nephew and you missed them, realized you don't see them enough and they are growing up. Then you brought home this kitchen stool/seat that had been in your parents' garage for a few years. You bought it at the Peddler's Mall and never had a place to put it. Now you do. The seat was busted, so you covered it with a place mat.  Funny story about the place mat: Kale picked a few "grab bags" wrapped as presents at the Peddler's Mall at Christmas time (wow, you guys love the Peddler's Mall).  When they were opened, you were surprised to find a box of past-date saltines and 100 calorie popcorn bags. How disappointing.  Later, Genevieve broke open the boxes and there inside were two gifts wrapped in patterned place mats - Brandy's self titled cd and a praise song compilation.  What a Christmas miracle!

So, we had a great weekend. I brought this stool home and covered it, which full-circled a good memory about Christmas, made me realize our love for the Peddler's Mall, and brings up all kinds of good.

If not here, where?  If not now, when?  When am I going to stop dawdling and get on with the good?