Laughing Dog

I just got this hysterical link from a friend and I feel like this dog. Read it here, be sure to click the little double arrows on the right. Copy and paste your favorite parts into a comment! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA Good times, good times.

Crossroads

Do you ever hear a little voice in your head? Mine talks to me all the time. One of my little voice's favorite things to do, is to recite the last few lines of The Road Not Taken, these lines:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

This then, in turn, reminds me of a beautiful song by Eric Clapton called Let it Grow.

Standing at the crossroads
trying to read the signs
To tell me which way I should
go to find the answer
And all the time I know

Plant your love and let it grow.

Let it grow
let it grow

Let it blossom
let it flow

In the sun
the rain
the snow

Love is lovely
let it grow.

Looking for a reason
to check out of my mind

Playing hard to get a
friend that I can count on

When there's nothing left to show
Plant yout love and let it grow.

The train signal picture brought memories of crossroads in my life flooding forward. I hope the picture coupled with the verse and song will remind you of times when you have stood at a crossroads and tried to figure out which way you should go. Eventually, you just pick one and go. Slowly at first, maybe, or zealous. The speed with which you travel is not as important as the fact that you chose and started. Choices can be debilitating for some. Immobility can seem like the only neutral choice. To sit and think and ponder is seductive. Read the signs. Make a choice. Walk a road. You can always double back and try something new. There is time for mistakes. If you always picture a crossroads as a train crossing, it will be a good reminder to keep moving. If you don't, you'll get hit by a train.

Feet Under the Stall

I hate public restrooms. I don't use them, as a rule. I have no problem with home and work, but that's where I draw the line. This picture reminded me of that uncomfortable feeling I get when I walk into a public restroom and have to almost squat on the floor to see if there are feet under the stall.

Fast approaching is the time when Elena will no longer be in diapers. I was a nanny for years, and I remember, in a not at all fond way, the mad dashes to the bathroom. I used to encourage the use of nature, as opposed to a restroom any day of the week. I mean, what's better than being all alone, under a big sky, doing your business? I'll tell you this - that is definitely how humans were made to relieve themselves.

Walking into a public restroom is practically a clausterphobic experience for me. Here, come along with me as we enter a bathroom at the mall...The cold steel handle of the door feels greasy, too many hands have eaten at the food court and then made their germy way to the bathroom. If I am wearing long sleeves, I will most definitely cover my hand with my sleeve to enter the chamber. Upon opening the door, strangely humid, hot air wafts toward me, carrying the mixed fragrance of minty lime disinfectant, urine, chlorine, and feces. It's a wretched smell. I have to bend down to see if there are feet under the stalls and sometimes even queue up to wait for the priveledge of getting some communicable disease from a public commode. I am attempting to pee as fast as I can while hovering above the toliet seat (as my germ-conscious mother taught me). I am surrounded by a syphony of sounds: elevator music, a mother talking to her child about wiping, a diaper being changed, water rushing, toliets flushing, and worst of all, other peoples' bodily functions.

I hate public restrooms. It makes me so much happier when I can remember to do my business before I leave home. However, if I am going to go to a public restroom, I am always hoping, being ever the optimist, that I will see no feet under the stall.

Danger Danger

My mother and father had friends when I was little and they had a baby named Casey. Instead of saying the word "no" repeatedly to Casey, they tried to teach her the concept of danger. My parents said they were reminded of Lost in Space. Danger, Will Robinson! Danger! Now, the question I have is this: which is more scarring to a child? The repeated use of "no" to establish boundaries or the depiction of the world as dangerous?

I chose this topic to go with this picture because of the inherent danger of a tractor. Recently, on our baby board, it has been a source of debate. Would you let your toddler ride a tractor with their dad or grandpa (or mother, for that matter!)? I say, let 'em ride. I fondly remember riding on my grandfather's lap. The smell of leaded gasoline and fresh cut lawn piercing my nostrils. The heat off the engine made me all sweaty and then dust and bits of grass would stick to me and make me gritty. It was dirty business, but I felt like a queen. It was a highlight of grandparent trips. Sure, it was dangerous, but well worth it for the memory.

I hope Elena will ride the tractor with my father, her grandfather, and form similar memories. I hope she will ride atop his lap proudly. I hope she doesn't fear danger of any sort, but is able to be brave. I won't be surprised, however, if my openness to let her try new things, backfires and she is less apt to. Life is funny that way.

Ode to Sunny Bunny - A Good Dog

Oh, Miss Sunny Bunny, you are so dear
To your family and all who come near.

You're the kind of dog to crack a big smile,
When you haven't seen us for a little awhile.

You're the kind of dog to never peep
While your owners are fast asleep.

But, if trouble starts to brew,
You, sweet Sunny, will come through.

You'll sound the alarm and wake us all up
You'll play the role of strong, guarding pup.

You're a sweet old girl and good, good friend
To your family who'll love you til the end.

God bless you Sunny!