When I was a girl I wanted to be fabulous. I would put my mom's big, big sunglasses on and hike up some thigh-high stockings. I'd clop around in shoes that were hideously large for me and I'd press my arm to my forehead in mock despair (somehow, in my four year old mind that's what fabulous people did). I wanted to be an actress or a model, or some other sophisticated thing.
Tagging other bloggers is hard -either they've already been tagged, or they still haven't done the last thing I tagged with (ahem).
I find these blogs fabulous, for their honesty and introspection and for what they share with the rest of us:
- The Junky's Wife
- Margaux Meade at Love in the Time of Addiction
- Cat at Wait.What?
- And, Misery Marketing, because I think he could use some fabulous.
Here are a few things that make life good:
- Paper and Zoe, my two boy-cats. I feel about my cats the way other people feel about their kids. I can't stop looking at them. I'm amazed by their toes and their whiskers and the way their faces change when they look at me. They swarm around me when I'm sick, they cuddle with me when I'm cold, and when I'm working on a project they come sit at my feet and watch me (when they're not climbing on top of the project to "help"). I adore them, and I'm pretty sure they adore me too.
- Orange Spice Black Tea. If god has a scent, I imagine that's what it is.
- The view from my office. This week, it's snow. In the Fall I see red and golden leaves drifting slowly to the ground; Spring brings new, green leaves, slowly unfolding to the promise of sun and wind and rain. In the Summer the bright world mocks my indoor-ness and taunts me with sexy running girls in short shorts and tank tops. If it's dark I simply see myself reflected back at me. At any given moment of any day, I can turn and look outside my window and feel grounded. I came to this job from an industrial part of town; my office used to be on the second floor of the parts manufacturing plant for the trucking company I work for. I could look out my window and see tractor-trailer combos lining the street in gridlock traffic. I could see the shiny new models of trucks with their glossy paint jobs, and dusty trailers, and tired plant workers, and our nicely-dressed executives walking to the coffee shoppe across the street. When my office moved to this remote, suburban, tree-lined street I really hated it. There are no horns, no gridlock traffic, no shiny new tractors. No exhaust, anywhere. I've grown to love it, somehow, and the view from my window flips a switch in my head and removes all turmoil.
- Ajahn Brahm. I can listen to any random pod-cast and he will say something that resonates with me, something that addresses exactly how I feel at that moment. His talks give me clarity and serenity, and it makes everything make sense. Sometimes I disagree with what he has to say, and that gives me clarity as well, because it forces me to examine why I don't agree with him. When he talks about the inevitability of death, he giggles. I've never known anyone else who giggled at death and it tickles me to pieces whenever he does it.