"You are too blunt!"
    My mother's words still come to mind all these years later.  Not sure how old I was at the time but I remember her telling me my words hit too hard.
Brash, candid, plain spoken. not one to bite my tongue.   That was, is and has always been, my way.
My mother didn't like my propensity for putting it all out there, she still doesn't. 
I speak my mind in the most open, up front, honest way possible.  
It wasn't always popular and home and it's even less so at work or mixed company. I remember when I'd get in trouble as a kid, I'd  tell my parents exactly what I did wrong. Many times they praised me for my honesty, but sometimes punishment came with praise.

At work when a co-worker is obviously passive aggressive, I am compelled to call it what it is.
Does that make me active aggressive?
Maybe.
I just know that I've never been one to dance around the elephant in the room. I can't ignore the fact the the Emperor is running around town butt naked.  I can look at that and be silent.
I guess for me, the first part of taking action is dealing with the issue or problem in front of me.  If I grab it and take hold of it , then I can find a solution. At least my mind thinks so.  Of course that's not how life works.   Talking bluntly about a problem or an issues doesn't make it magically disappear.  
Gently pointing out a co-worker's crappy behavior seldom fixes the issues or ushers in office harmony.
I guess it  just makes me feel like I'm working toward a solution.
I would rather look it in the eye than sweep it under the rug.
So I'm blunt, brash, unequivocal, so be it.  It unburdens me to put it out there, to handle it now.
It makes me feel a free somehow to acknowledge it. To shine a light on it. It takes the power away from it and gives a little to me. I am in control, I see the problem for what it is and am not afraid to 
say so. 
As I grow older I'm learning that being blunt is okay as long as I remember compassion. In this case C comes before B.  My desire to lay it all on the line should not tear others down.  So I'll still be bold and blunt but I'll temper it with kindness, gentleness.  C should always comes before B.

  September 22, 2014
    THIS IS WHAT I KNOW:
Don't let your feelings dictate your actions. It will get better. 
Surround yourself with people who are kinder, smarter or more successful than you.  Do something difficult. Being weird, its not necessarily a bad thing.  Convential wisdom is seldome wise.  
It's okay to let go of what you have in order to get what you want.
Do what you know is right even when it 's uncomfortable. People are stupid, selfish, and cruel. People are kinds, self  sacrificing and loving.
Kids are so worth it.  Marriage is a gift.  Be a friend, manners matter. There is a God and he did send his Son to earth to die for humans. The Devil is real.
Family is everything. 
Everyone can contribute, everyone matters.
Petty, bigoted, ignorant, ugly people come in all shapes, colors and sizes.
A family needs a Father and a Mother. The Bible is the road map for life.
There is a heaven and there is a hell. Little girls learn how to be a woman from watching their Mommas, little boys learn how to be Daddys from watching their Fathers.  
Sex should not be treated like a casual exchange between to people whose parts fit together.
Sometimes older is better and more is less.
Seek peace. It's okay to be different 

The human mind is one of God's most mysterious creations. I believe there are Angels all around us. There is great evil in the world.  In the end, goodness and light win. Life is ugly and hard and cruel. Life is good.

Time cannot be stopped. 

Prayer changes things.

September 21, 2014

  Sleepiness flirted with me all day.  
A by product of my fitful night.  
Premenopausal tossing and turning at night, interrupted by midnight, 2am and 430am bathroom runs. 
Dreams I cannot recall, that still linger on the edge of my mind.  Gentle snoring that pulls me back from the brink of sweet oblivion.  I awaken myself only to drift back to that place, Half awake, half sleep,  but falling into the welcome blackness.
Then a sound reaches deep into the inky depths and pulls me back. Part music, part machine, it is my iPhone telling me it's time to let go of my sweet slumber. It is time to open my eyes to the light.   It is time to return to the land of sunshine and green things. It is 7:45am.   It Sunday and the day awaits. 

    I hear the rain falling on the pavement outside, like a million tiny beads landing on glass. It's muted, soothing, comforting.  This is suddenly the best part of my day. Here, at home in my pajamas. With a fourth of a bacon cheeseburger and a few stalks of steamed broccoli spears in my belly, I am slightly sleepy but not quite ready to lie down.
Parts of my day still swirl around in my head. The sweet chocolately taste of the grande white mocha that shot adrenaline and courage through my veins at work this morning. The irritation that a colleague's incomplete work adds to my own inbox.
The creeping anxiety that slithers toward me as the clock inches toward my 5pm deadline.
It's all there, parts of my day playing in vignettes
in my mind.
I remember the drive home, the beautifully angry sky competing with the road ahead for my attention.
The stop into the boisterous, aromatic restaurant for my bagged and ready to go dinner.
The voices of friday night diners, clash with bad music and blaring sports channels,  I'm glad to be taking my meal home.
Home, where an old leather couch,  cable free TV and 3 sweet souls wait for me.  It is the light of the end of the tunnel that has been this day, 
Now I am here, clad in pj's and contentment.

Friday night is here at long last. 

   I'm assessing my Life,  I write Life with a capital "L" because I think one's days on this earth should be important enough to capitalize.  There is a question that keeps floating around my mind. "What do I do well?" I'm 53 years old  and that question has never been as important to me as it is now. They say everyone has a talent, a particular skill set, things they are good at. Tracy is an artist, Cassidy can play the Ukelele, Connor excels at gaming.  As I take stock of my 50 something year old self, I ask, what is my gift? What do I offer to the world as proof that I "got the goods".
What are my "mad skills?     I like taking pictures with my iPhone.  I get a charge out of using that little thing to capture of moment of beauty, a painted sky, or a flower bloomed to perfection.
I like writing, letting my thoughts spill out of my mind through my hands. I like a good book, losing myself is the 1960's South, or going along with Miss Marple as she ponders who killed the Contessa between sips of tea.  I like these things but is that the same as being "good" at them?
I don't know. Do I need someone to give me some sort of stamp of approval?   Is there a Talent Inspector who approves of our creations and declares us good enough to be labeled " good at, fill in the blank? "
Okay, I'm being absurd, but one wonders. 
I wonder.  The question still lingers, "what am I good at?"  I still can't answer it with 100 percent certainty.  So I guess I'll keep writing, photographing,  and reading until  the answers come.   I'll  do other things as well,  travel, garden, try running a 10K.  I may not be able to answer the "talent" question right now,  but I am enjoying the doing. learning, and trying.   Right now that's enough.  

 What possessed me to do it?  What propelled me to walk into my boss's office, close the door, and in effect, quit my job?
"I can't do this...
"But I have to do this" The voices in my head debated about it all morning.  My faith  was in an epic wrestling match with my sense of self preservation and fear. Faith won out.  I had been at WSAV for three years, I produced the 5pm Newscast. When I started I was scared silly, I felt like a child with a paint brush and an empty canvas who is told to paint a masterpiece.  My job was to paint one every day.   
So I painted, I put words on my computer screen. Just the facts, give them the facts, nothing fancy.  I wrote the news of the day The shootings, the bank robberies, what City Council did that day. I wrote about every aspect of Savannah that our cameras captured. 
In my mind I wasn't just writing, I was talking to people about people.  I was telling Savannah's stories.  
That's  was how I did it. That's what kept it interesting. I was creating something new every day.
 Now three years later, I feel like I've hit the ceiling at WSAV.
I can go no further there, nor do I want to.
Television news writing puts you in a box, there are restrictions, rules, lines you can't cross. I'm ready to cross some lines, I'm ready to get out of the box.   So, I talked about it with God. I said I'm ready for something else. what do you have for me?  Two days later my boss called me into this office to offer me another contract. "We'd like you to stay on another year, just sign on the dotted line."
That small voice, you know is Wisdom, whispered,  "you don't want that. "
So I didn't. so I quit. Now I'm looking, hunting for the door with my name on it.  I'm searching for my next chapter.  I'm filled with an anticipation that makes me smile.  I feel like I am on the brink of something very good, it's a feeling I haven't had in a long, long time.
I may have to leave WSAV before I find my next challenge.   If they hire my replacement before I get out the door, I'll pack up and leave without a place to go to. That doesn't bother me. 

I'm okay with that. I'm ready for the next big thing in my life. It's out there waiting for me to come claim it.    

August 28th, 2014
   
    Father, I want to thank you.  I want to look at my life with fresh eyes.  Sometimes it seems so same ole, same ole to me. I see the everyday, the mundane, the monotony.  I know there is more, I know my vision is clouded, by familiarity, by my flesh, but a lack of insight. Sometimes I don't see the thousand little blessings that make up a Monday. 
I miss the little gems of life you give me from your unending supply.  I don't see the tiny victories because I'm focused on  the flotsam and jetsome of the day.   I feel defeated and deflated because my eyes are on the ground. I feel like I haven't achieved anything because I see only the ordinary, not the extraordinary.  
It's not true, my vision is obscured, but the truth is still there. When I look for it, I find it. 
The truth is, everyday is good, everyday is another step on the magnificent journey.    Everyday is a blessing.  The blessings come in many forms.
One day it's a gorgeous blue sky on the way to work, the next, it's making a co-worker laugh or feel better about something.   It's writing a script i'm really proud to put my name on.
It's keeping my mouth shut when I want to let loose on someone and shut them down.  

It's getting a heart text from my Husband or knowing my children are safe at school surrounded by friends and teachers who care.  
It's knowing my Mom and sisters are a phone call away and will come if I need them.

There is treasure all around me, blessings and victories dot my day.   Father help me to see them, and have a grateful heart.  Help me to see the extraordinary in the everyday.  Help me to see 
the truth of my life. Help me to celebrate my ordinary days because they are a gift from you.

September 2, 2014

   This is my birthday month, September is one of my favorites for that and many other reasons.
September is burnt orange, and yellow mums, and candy apple red. 
When I was a  young girl  it was The approach of the Coastal Empire Fair and new school clothes.
It was trying to wear pants and sweaters made for a chill on days still ripe with Summer's heat and humidity.
 September is football Sunday.  September is anticipation, waiting for the first tinge of frosty morning air, waiting for the first mention of The Holidays while pretending to frown on those who talk about Christmas a full two months before Halloween arrives.  
September is brown and golden, thoughts of Thanksgiving. 
September is family and fixing the house up for Fall and Holiday entertaining.
September is time to put away the languid, lazy, days of Summer.
September is harvest time,  renewal time, 
time to feather the nest for the coming Winter. 
September is golden rod and sky that particular shade of blue that tells you it's the ninth month and not the sixth.
September is days getting imperceptibly shorter, nights stretching out inch by inch.
September is hope, for a great Fall, for a happy Holiday season, for a gentle Winter. 
September is my favorite because is holds possibilities.
September is my special month, September is me.