Not Too Long or Late!

It’s been a long time… honestly, too long.

2009 was a busy one at our house, just as the case for most everyone else, I imagine.

Nowadays, we have so many options regarding ways to say hello, how are you, I miss you and even I love you yet oftentimes I'm finding the words left unspoken, unwritten.

The options are growing this very minute with ways in which we can choose to communicate with those we value… yet, here I sit counting the days spent without trace of words shared across cups of coffee, airways or otherwise...

Sometimes, weeks on end pass without even a quick line exchanged between myself and very precious people on FaceBook or Twitter.

Too bad, my heart suggests.

It’s a pity to live without sharing the details of the good stuff or regret for the bad. What better way is there to learn than than through an experience shared?

People who need people are the luckiest in the world_ the old song that Barbara sang, says.

Time certainly does fly when we let it_

that same rapidly evaporating time counts, when we make it.

Wishing you a happy and connected, 2010!

With Love,

Joe, Renee,

Mike and Sydney

say hello at...

InspireUart@yahoo.com

shop with us at...

http://www.InspireUart.etsy.com

and if you'd like

stay connect with InspireuUart

on Twitter

Shop Handmade - InspireUart

Shop Handmade - InspireUart

Unedited

Unedited... I'm really going to try, anyhow.

No colors or bold type, or anything.

This past Monday, July thirteenth, marked the thirteenth year celebrating the birth of my third baby, Ryan John.

Ryan was diagnosed with brain cancer when he was thirteen months old and died when he was sixteen months old. Had Ryan lived, I'd currently have the pleasure of three teenagers to call my own.

I guess I still have that pleasure though I'm guessing it's a little easier in that one of my three teenagers happens to live away from home, or in a better home, heaven.

Most of you know this chapter of my life. Most of you were with me when we welcomed Ryan into the world and there when we had to let go, in a way, and say goodbye. If you were there even just for the end, you know what a blessing it was to know Ryan and that even in death, you can understand that even during such a devastating time, it was a blessing to know him.

I only want to share this one thing right now and refrain from going any further.

Through all of this life and death stuff it has become very clear to me that love is eternal.

Love is the mightiest of forces that mankind will ever experience.

Love can withstand anything, just like scripture tells us.

Love even conquers death as when someone you love dies, the love that connects you, lives.

So this is all I have for you - this truth that love is so powerful that even dreaded and feared death cannot destroy it.

If you're thinking that you're not sure about love being able to conquer death in the way that I am meaning, which is to say that love lives on, forever, securely in our heart and mind - in the deepest part of our being, and never ever dies, then I challenge you to let go of everything, invest yourself fully into the celebration of someone else... you know, love them without fear of ever losing them...

and I promise you, they will be with you, through love, forever.

Love is win - win, even in loss.

(Ryan, this is dedicated to you, my 'Scooch Booch' - which is what I called you because of how you scooted across the floor as fast as you could whenever you heard the pantry door open or heard the sound of Grandpa's voice. I'm thinking there must be a huge pantry in heaven and that Grandpa is standing by it, holding the door open for you to gather all that you'd like.)

If Walls Could Whisper

Hello, it's me.

It's been a while since I last took a minute to share some thoughts. I'm honestly a little ticked at myself for allowing this latest massive wordless gap but I'll spare you the rambling list of excuses as to why it has been so long.

On second thought, maybe I should share just one of the reasons, or excuses, depending on how you look at things, that I haven't written.

A few blogs back I said something about a quick thank you email I had written to a woman who has recently had the pleasure of opening our town's first community arts center called, "Gateway Center for the Arts."

Gateway is just a hop, skip and jump from our front door and watching the multimillion dollar facility come to be from nothing but a pile of sand to full blown fabulous has been an exciting journey, to say the least.

A family friend who had gotten to know this ambitious art center building woman sometime last year had invited my family and I to join them for a walkthrough tour of Gateway while it was still under construction. It was quite a treat as we were able to hear and see the inside story before the roof was even in place.

I'll never forget

the tour

because

as we cautiously shuffled across the sandy concrete slabs

our guide described each room in vivid detail, so vivid, in fact, that I could hear

the piano playing smooth jazz in the auditorium and I could see the guests strolling around

the gallery, sipping on sparkling glasses of wine and casually talking 'art'.

I'd been elated to be a part of this intimate little tour.

Let me say that again,

I'd been thrilled - downright, thrilled!

You might think that I was thrilled because I had hopes of my families artwork hanging in the soon to be gallery, being discussed over those sips of wine and tastes of cheese while smooth jazz elegantly plays in the background.

True, I must admit.

Yes, yes, I most certainly had been a little excited for those reasons. After all, nothing is better than creating artwork and seeing people enjoy it as they try to figure out something about what you, the artist, were trying to say with the shapes, the color or composition of the entire scene.

Anyhow, the possibility of our stuff one day hanging in this soon to be gallery

was just a small part of why I had been so excited about our new art center.

Maybe you think that I might have been wanting to get a job there since, as you know via a few postings back, my husband's salary took a significant hit and our health insurance premiums increased by a few hundred dollars per month.

The answer to that one is 'No'.

A potential job at Gateway was not the reason I was so glad to see those walls going up.

Now,

you're probably getting bored

with trying to come up with

reasons why I might be so happy about

an art center being opened nearby

so I'll just stop the storytelling prompting

and

tell it like it is.

I was thrilled to see Gateway Center for the Arts being built because just the fact that our little town had conjured up enough money and interest

in the arts to build a multimillion dollar facility

meant one definite, thing...

Art,

really

matters.

It was no longer only about art in Orlando - it was about art here in

beach bumming, Volusia County... in our very own tiny little city of DeBary!

All of the years of creating and embracing, eating, tasting and literally soaking up everything creative that I could get my hands onto was being affirmed as being something that mattered.

The building was proof.

The building spoke to me...

"Renee, if you do your art thing,

people will eventually 'get it'.

Someday soon, they'll understand

that you haven't been chasing an impossible dream

but fueling a very personal call and purpose."

That tour through the unfinished rooms of Gateway

allowed the walls to whisper...

"You just be yourself and put those ideas down on canvas

- let them work their magic! Believe

that there is a wall with fantastic gallery lighting waiting for your next piece

and when it gets your piece - it will be glad

and you'll be glad...

and the people who walk by the wall and look at the piece will be glad...

and the world will be a better place because

you did what you were put here to do."

Okay, maybe that last part about the world being a better place is me taking liberties and putting words into the mouth of the 'talking walls', but seriously - those unfinished walls spoke volumes to me. If those walls could have spoken aloud I'm sure that they would've, but even without actual words coming forth, those unfinished concrete blocks inspired my world weary, creative soul. My artistic spirit felt refreshed - my passionate energy was renewed.

Now, back to the reason I haven't blogged in such a long time...

Like I had said, I wrote this thank you email to the Gateway Center for the Arts Director (aka lady from the tour) after the grand opening that my family and I attended. I simply felt impressed to share that I appreciated the decade, yes decade, of dedication and commitment that it took for her to get Gateway up and running. I told her how much it meant to me that she was building something that would feed our neighborhood children's creativity for generations to come. I shared that our entire family was just a teensy weensy bit on the artsy side of things and that she could count on us to help out in any way that we could. I told her that I was so thankful that she hadn't given up, that she had been determined to see her vision through to the end.

Long story short, my email touched her heart. She replied saying that she liked my writing and that it meant a great deal to her that I took the time to thank her in the way that I had.

A few exchanges later and she asked that I help out with the Gateway Newsletter.

I said, "Sure".

Joe and I got busy on that and then she thought maybe I could take on serving as the volunteer PR person for Gateway, representing them throughout various venues of the media, etc.

I said, "Sure".

A month or so went by and I found myself answering so many emails, calls, etc, all concerning advertising events happening at Gateway. I became so busy with Gateway PR that I hadn't written a word on this blog or for any of my short stories or articles I'd been working on and definitely not a word on the two young adult novels I'd been outlining before all of the Gateway stuff and,

gasp...

I hadn't picked up a paintbrush, at all!

Truthfully, I had made the time to scratch up a bit of freelance illustration work to help us stay afloat after the salary cut and ridiculously outrageous insurance hike - but still, that was for the sake of the bottom line rather than the pursuit of my own creative endeavors. I was becoming angry with myself because I had recommitted, with my whole heart just this past New Year, , to being the artist that God created me to be and not get off track anymore and follow my dream of truly being, 'me' - crazy little, wordy, artsy, got to paint, got to write, me.

So, we still do the Newsletter and a few DeLeon paintings have hung on those mouthy walls, but I no longer do the PR thing for Gateway, not because I don't want to help or that I can't do it, but because I'm not supposed to, and I know it.

I'm supposed to write these little stories and keep you creative types on board with your own aspirations in the arts. I'm supposed to share with you how incredible it feels for my writing or artwork to get accepted here and there and how it hurts when it's not.

Tonight, I'm working with Joe and the kids painting a huge canvas for my son's school. Mike volunteered to provide a school spirit type poster for a special awards ceremony. Mike's a bit artsy, too, and his school has meant so much to him over this past year that he really wanted to do something special to tell the Principal, Teachers and staff, thank you.

We're painting a lion - it's their mascot.

We're doing it together,

The DeLeon's.

(The Lions)

It'll take all night and we'll likely snap at each other a few times over our differing artistic points of view, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

This is who we are...

so I'm living it,

with pleasure.

******************

I'd love to hear about your rabbit trails or meandering paths that have led you either away from or directly towards who you believe you are supposed to be. Write me - tell me about you.

Our, Not So Bright House

Last week, Bright House repairman number three spent at least that many hours, three plus, at our home trying to find the cause of the repetitive self rebooting routine our cable company owned, state of the art DVR seemed determined to pursue. *Bright House is the cable company which provides our television reception as well as service for our telephone and Internet.

First, visiting repairman number three thought the problem to be a wire/connection issue so he replaced all of those which are so conveniently located behind the large and fragile flat-screen and the long, heavy cabinet on which it resides. Unfortunately, regardless of all of the smart new wires and connectors which were now keeping company with the troop of recently freed dust bunnies, the self rebooting continued.

Next, he'd said it must be our state of the art DVR - so out went the precious DVR box along with all of our favorite shows we had so carefully selected, recorded and saved. You have to understand, it was an especially huge bummer to lose our programs as we were looking forward to piling on the couch and watching every last one of them over the much anticipated long, three day weekend, which was just a measly day or two away. (You've gotta enjoy the three day weekend deals whenever you're so fortunate as to have them come your way, even if all you intend to do is relax and enjoy a little TV time with the family - you just do.)

After the shiny new box that had compromised our weekend was in its place and brand new wires and connectors left the rebooting problem unresolved, repairman number three suggested that the problem must be in the attic.

(I've got to be honest with you, until then, I had no idea that Bright House had anything in our attic.)

Anyhow, was the repetitive self rebooting caused by whatever the heck it is that Bright House keeps in our attic?

Nope.

The problem was in the ground.

Please take note...

One week prior to repairman number three's lengthy service visit,

the following events had occurred:

Since I had noticed BH trucks around Saxon Woods (our subdivision's name) more than usual - my guess was that we were not the only ones with the rebooting issues. When I had originally placed my service call to BH, however, their response was as if our house was the only one experiencing problems as there was not any indication of technical issues at their end.

A day or so later, BH repairman number one came for the first visit regarding our repetitive self rebooting issues. After about an hour of working on our DVR/cable box (no need for a new one, he'd said) and self rebooting being fixed, (or so he'd thought), the repairman shared his conclusion that whatever was causing the rebooting stuff to begin with, must be coming from outside because the work he had done inside was more or less a band-aid rather than a complete solution. He said he'd create a new work order requesting BH to service the 'outside stuff' he'd suspected to be the real culprit, as he himself could not address those issues as 'he was an inside guy', rather than 'an outside guy'.

Fair enough.

A couple of days past, the 'outside guy' came and left, rather quickly as I recall, saying that everything should be working fine, now. (I think our adorably fluffy, tail-wagging dog had scared him.)

Then, just a day or two later, our Internet connection started wigging out!

(Bad problem since I work from home.)

At this point, do you suspect that the self rebooting routine had possibly returned to plague us?

(Wow, you're quick.)

Finally, repairman number three, who had spent three plus hours in nearly every corner of our house and who had eventually dug up our cable stuff in the front yard ... saved the day, my career, sanity and who knows, possibly even my marriage. Yep, that's right, even though he'd started at the wrong end of the problem (inside rather than outside) and wrecked our long weekend as he'd failed to save our precious DVR'd shows by allowing that shiny new DVR to take our old DVR's place, repairman three became my hero. I mean, he'd embodied such dedication, such resolve , not to mention an enormous wealth of technical knowledge.

Though it was most certainly a

horrifyingly, traumatizing hardship,

I'm happy to announce that

my resilient family and I

survived the loss of

two new episodes of

Trust Me, The Mentalist, Damages,

Survivor, CSI, Ugly Betty

and LOST.

How we'll ever catch up and let alone, understand where the heck we are in the

flip-flopping story line of our favorite epic drama series,

LOST,

we may never know.

Do you think that Bright House has a guy to fix that?

"Thanks" ... Dr. Seuss!

"From there to here, from here to there,

funny things are everywhere."

(One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish)

Before gathering the courage to share my news with my ever hopeful and supportive home team, I silently read and reread the letter a few times, carefully refolded it and placed it in it's tattered envelope for safe keeping.

No,

not a glutton for punishment or anything near that, but...

wanted to keep the letter as a reminder,

a token of months of effort

and

lifetime of dreams dared to dream.

Finally, after rehearsing what to say in my head and making myself be ready, on Monday, March 2, I sat at our family dinner table and shared that I had received my very first official rejection letter from the children's publisher to which I had submitted my two hundred and something paged, young adults manuscript, '360, Yours Truly', three months earlier.

When I finally managed to utter the words conveying my heartbreaking defeat, my wonderful son, Mike, reminded me that I had been rejected on none other than the Birthday of Dr. Seuss.

Let me tell you_ with complete transparency, that tiny piece of trivia carried with it a huge amount of priceless encouragement for this 'wanna be published' writer.

In a moment, you'll likely agree as to how valuable Mike's words had been.

Now, ... a quick word about the decision mentioned a minute ago regarding keeping that unfortunate tear stained letter. Maybe you're wondering...

Why keep something that screams

a big fat 'No'

to your dreams?

Well, ... it seems that rejection

has come to many before me

who have not only survived,

but conquered.

Like, say...

Dr. Seuss.

That got me to thinking...

Did you know that it is said that Dr. Seuss was

rejected by publishers

over 100 times?

One hundred times!!!

That got me to thinking a bit more... in the past...

I've possibly handled rejection in a somewhat unhealthy way.

I know, ...right?

I'm sure that you can hardly believe that of me...

I mean, after all, aren't I known to be an...

incredibly strong,

flexible and

resilient creature?

(Hey, I got one little rejection letter - I can still dream, can't I?)

Even so, I must confess that it's true. In the past, rejection defeated me. The sad part is that

it didn't have to, but, ... I allowed it!

(Now, do you see

how terribly large

those well meaning though misguided

'buts' can be?)

There... it's out!

Yes,

it's sad but true.

In the past, ... rejection ... defeated ... me.

For example, did you know that I am a teacher, songwriter, vocalist, visual artist and aspiring children's author? Really, I am. (Until recently, it may have been difficult to notice.)

Really, though.

Accepted, approved, received or not,

I am, or so I believe that I am!

Except, of course, when

I'm allowing myself to wallow

in the sea of self doubt

that so often accompanies,

... rejection.

Here's a little tidbit of reality that I've often tried to ignore...

Creativity is

filled with situations

that pose the

practically inevitable possibility of

...rejection!

(GO FIGURE!)

Truth be told then,

I should be familiar with rejection,

at ease with the often critical and merciless judgement of others

and practically able to...

leap small art institutes,

museums and music directors...

in a single bound...

:o)

(Unfortunately for me, however, not so much.)

Lucky for me, though,

people can change

and changing,

I am.

No more tears, no more hiding.

No more quitting, no more running.

No more blaming, no more denial...

(ouch)

no more

doing anything other than,

that's right...

trying, again!

So,

I celebrate that I received

my first official rejection letter from a major publisher

on none other than

the Birthday

of our beloved Dr. Seuss!

As a matter of fact...

I, Renee DeLeon,

by the power made possible by

a lifetime endurance of multiple rounds of

heart ripping rejection_

after of which

I have picked myself up_

dusted myself off_

and tried, tried, again...

hereby formally

invite you...

to celebrate my rejection!

That's right_

celebrate!

Hey, if I am so blessed as to be able to follow in

even a few of his creative footsteps,

that leaves

only ninety-nine rejections

left to go!!!

(Laughter,

or so they say,

is the best medicine.)

Thanks to the determination and perseverance of Dr. Seuss to NOT allow repeated rejection to decide his contribution to the literary world and unfathomable numbers of precious young readers, I celebrate my own rejection and count it as a means to strengthen my creative abilities, passion, ambitious dreams and own determination to continue to try, try and try, again.

Thing One and

Thing Two and

Horton Hears a Who,

could Dr. Seuss

have imagined

the incredible good

his own life's work

would do?

I think,

somehow,

he did!

:o)

:o)

:o)

f

Real Simple’s Life Lessons Essay Contest (My Entry)

Best of everything to the gal who won - even though it wasn't me. :o)

Be sure to read her winning story contribution in the April Issue of Real Simple Magazine. In the meantime, here's the story that I submitted to the contest. I thought you might enjoy this blast from my past, that, by the way, really happened.

(My Entry)

On the best day ever, I was the mother of two children under the age of four.

I know what you’re thinking, “She’s crazy, or, not another lengthy, touchy, feely, warm and fuzzy story about the joys and woes of parenting!” Well, yes and no. I mean, you are partially right. While there have obviously been numerous joys and woes along the way, I’m sharing just one incredible day of our journey.

It was on this day that I learned that baby number three would be arriving sometime around the Fourth of July the following summer. As it goes with many autumn days in the northwestern Chicago suburbs, you could sense winter approaching. Blue skies had been replaced for gray and it was definitely a bit brisk outside. Since I hadn’t felt all that great to begin with, the short but chilly trip to the corner drugstore toting my just turned four year old son, Michael and his sixteen month old baby sister, Sydney, was proving to be about all this Momma could handle.

There was no real need to make that frantic call to my OB/GYN or even complete the frenzied hike to the drugstore, for that matter. I tried to talk myself out of the idea of bothering to buy that quick test in a box. I knew good and well what that little pink stick was going to say before I even started. Seriously, after having gone through the queasy and sluggish start of the day type of feeling two times before, I had a pretty good idea of what my incredibly fatigued and increasingly nauseous body was trying to tell me. Still, to market, we went. I guess I had to see it with my own eyes to believe it.

The not so quick trip had left us a bit cranky. After a bite of lunch and a naptime story, Michael and Sydney were ready for a nap. I could have used a nap myself but that little box on the bathroom counter was calling my name. It didn’t take more than a few seconds to read the result. I, mother of two under the age of four, was officially pregnant with my third. As expected as the outcome should have been, I briefly considered saving the stick as evidence to share the news with my husband, Joe.

Like any woman with even half a complete hormonal thought, I felt both elated and bewildered at the same time. As I pondered the various ways to share the news with Joe, who despite our recent careless romps was no more anticipating this turn of events than I had been, I carefully resisted the temptation to call my Mom and Sister for a practice run of sharing the big news. Understandably, given his hands-on involvement in the situation, Joe might not have appreciated being the third person in the know. That being said, I immediately threw myself into creating the perfect dinner. Nothing takes my mind off of worries and drains nervous energy like cooking something wonderful in the kitchen.

So there I was, up to my eyeballs in pasta, a big, fresh salad, warm bread, complete with homemade sauce accompanied by a lovely wine, for him. On past occasions, that old saying about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach had proven itself quite true. Maybe it had actually been the too much of a good thing food coma that sets in and dulls the senses. Whatever it was, it had worked before and it was worth a shot.

The ringing phone startled me out of my intense dinner preparation and back into the reality of sleeping children who still needed about twenty more minutes of uninterrupted napping. I did the lightening fast dive for the phone and caught it after barely a full ring when I received the news we’d been waiting to hear for the past three weeks. We had qualified for the loan to purchase our first home.

I had to sit down for a second to soak it in and then squealed in excitement and gratitude. We’d been renting up until that point and we had been hoping, praying and saving so that we would finally qualify for a loan to purchase a home based on one income. It hadn’t been easy, but we had been managing to make ends meet and had finally gathered enough funds for a small down payment.

Wow, what a day! Now I was looking at a genuine twofer! A twofer is when you get two for the price of one and the news for this day was definitely a twofer! I had to wait to tell Joe because, by this point in the workday, he’d be on his way home and I had no way of reaching him. This was back in the early nineties when everyone didn’t have cell phones to deliver the, “I can’t wait to tell him news” like we do today. As you might imagine, it was now even harder to resist the urge to call my Mom and Sis.

Overwhelmed with joy I began to think of all of the times we had scrimped and saved in order to get to this point. We had lived so financially conservative and it was finally paying off. All of those times we had eaten in and rented movies rather than paying a sitter and dining out. The way too many tuna casseroles and hot dogs on the grill. The countless nights of tortillas and eggs for dinner. (Hey, it’s actually really good – you should try it.)

I was now in awe about this baby, too. As I’ve suggested, it wasn’t like we had been planning to add to the family at that point, or ever, for that matter. Honestly, though, I had always had a feeling that there would be three children for us. Now the timing seemed nearly magical. After all, a combo is usually the best deal on the menu and we were all about finding the best deal.

My thoughts raced as I tried to decide which big news I should share with Joe first. I finished making dinner and went ahead and fed the kids as it seemed that Joe was running a bit later than usual. I was tidying up the kitchen when he walked through our back door.

Michael raced to his Dad and with Sydney on my hip, we shared our usual hellos. Once hugs and kisses were exchanged, Joe could see on my face that I had a few things I’d been waiting to share. Likewise, Joe looked like some things were on his mind, too. We both started talking and before we knew it we had plates overflowing with changes for our growing family.

Joe had been given the news that day that the company he worked for would be relocating to Colorado and that he was invited to transfer. Unbelievable, right? We were having a new baby, approved for a loan to buy our very first house and being offered the chance to move to a new state. A twofer was one thing. I mean, at least twofer is an actual word. I don’t believe that the word three-fer even exists in the English language.

Again, my mind was racing and my hormones were surging. I imagine that my insides looked like the waves of the ocean before a hurricane hits.

(You will understand my reasons for that reference in a minute.) My feelings were all over the map. I thought of everything I’ve ever heard regarding the number three. Good things happen in three’s. There’s a three point shot in basketball and a triple play in baseball as well as third base, where I’d obviously passed on more than one or two occasions. In poker you can play three of a kind and in football there’s the three point field goal. There’s the triple threat of an amazingly qualified or talented person and the buy one get two free deals at the grocery store. Oh, remember that Commodores song, “Three Times a Lady”? If it involved the number three, this soon to be mother of three was doing the math.

Joe and I fell to our seats at the table where our overflowing plates of perfect pasta grew cold. Who could eat? In one day, the world had opened up in ways we would never have imagined just hours earlier. What a difference a day makes.

We ended up staying in the area and Joe found a new job. We moved into our brand new, three-bedroom home at twenty-three Ridge Court. Our beautiful third child, Ryan John, was born and officially joined our family on July thirteenth.

One more thing, in 2003, we moved to Florida. The very next year, our town was hit by three out of four hurricanes. No kidding. All I can say is that at least those three hurricanes happened on three different days.

Certain Uncertainty

It certainly isn't hard to find uncertainty these days.

As a matter of fact, everywhere you look there are reminders of just how 'uncertain a time' we are living.

In our neighborhood, homes are currently selling for considerably less than their appraised value of a only year ago. So, how much is our home currently worth? Just how much equity do we have today and how soon can we buy a bigger house to fill with more stuff that we don't really need? Of this, I'm not certain.

Regarding my own family, like so many others, we've recently experienced a salary reduction and watched as coworkers have lost their jobs entirely. In my extended family, I have three brothers who are each self employed and work is scarce. What might our career and financial futures look like? Of this, I'm not certain.

Yesterday afternoon, I stopped for gas at Seven Eleven and paid $1.98 a gallon. As I drove my daughter to school this morning, I saw that the Shell station had regular unleaded for $1.89. (You should know that the previously mentioned Seven Eleven and the Shell station are less than a half a mile apart.) So, I ponder, how much will the next tank of gas cost me?

A few weeks back the price of gas was lower than I'd seen in years. Last week the price seemed to be rapidly climbing back up and was going for just over $2.00 per gallon - I had thought for sure that the little breather from the high prices of gas had drawn to a close. I recall quickly filling up my tank before the price potentially climbed even higher. I guess I was wrong.

Now the price of gas has dropped by nine cents, overnight.

How much will it cost me to fill up my tank this Friday? I'm just not sure.

With all of this uncertainty, a certain (sorry) amount of unrest is expected, and with unrest, anxiety rises and we human types sometimes get a little nervous. You know, we begin taking cautious measures in attempt to grasp at least a thread of some kind of sense of security. We begin to make little changes that we can control, like say, spend less on food by preparing meals at home rather than dining out, brown bagging lunch, carpooling and spending less on our extravagant excessive expensive everyday indulgences like say, our daily

$4 - buck, afternoon coffee.

I believe that I absolutely have to encourage all of us, however, by noting that while we must certainly adjust our spending to fit our declining incomes, at the same time,

we certainly have to keep marching forward, keeping our eyes on the prize and

dreaming the 'American Dream' of hope and prosperity, that is,

if we ever expect to return to, ...the good old days.

You know, the good old days... when home prices were actually more than what was paid for the home five years earlier and all of the ridiculously expensive, name dropping handbags and lavish weekend shenanigans were no brain-er conversation starters around the old water cooler.

Ah, the good old days... when over paying for a fancy purse meant that you were one of the lucky ones who didn't have to worry about how much you spent on a silly purse that you'd end up tossing onto the closet shelf to collect dust within just a few short weeks as you made room on your hip for the newest and most glamorous, overpriced handbag.

Yes, it looks as if ... those ... good old days ... are gone.

Old bag, new bag or no new handbag, we certainly must keep marching on.

Our marching forward is what keeps our world, as we know and love it, in motion.

When we stop marching, we stop needing marching shoes... in other words,

we all stop spending and

our prosperous world stops turning.

When we, the people, stop spending, we all stop earning.

It's really that simple. It's like this:

If I don't purchase new marching shoes, the store where I shop for shoes needs to have fewer employees and buy less merchandise from their suppliers. Suppliers, in turn, have to cut back on the number of employees to make the shoes as well as cut back on the amount of materials they purchase from which to make the shoes. Leather, vinyl, canvas and other shoe type material manufacturers then have to cut back on their supply purchases and now those new shoes that I didn't purchase has affected the farmer and his family, because they are the ones who raise the cow that supplies the hide that provides the leather.

You get the idea.

See what I'm saying?

We simply must keep marching forward.

It's true, due to the salary reduction that I mentioned earlier, my family currently has less income from which to budget expenses like new marching shoes or even an extra tank of gas necessary to make that family getaway to go 'budget friendly' camping.

But make no mistake, this American family is marching forward, full steam ahead, not looking back and expecting a better day to come, tomorrow.

If not tomorrow, then the next day.

If not then,

soon, and hopefully,

in the nick of time

and certainly,

...soon enough.

Until then, we're still going camping - though maybe we'll camp a little closer to home. Regarding new shoes, I should start saving up my pennies and consider buying some new hiking boots rather than another pair of cute sandals, and I'm thinking I'll be using the hiking boots for more than just the next camping trip. These new financially accountable and credit-less roads could prove to be a little rough and tough on the stylishly french pedicured, tootsies. So, off with the sandals and on with the boots.

Oh, ... I'll be paying cash for the new hiking boots - no overpriced credit purchase for this

desperately trying to be positive and happy, :o) camper.

I've learned my lesson, finally, and the funny thing about it is that if I'm honest, I'm reminded of how I lived life when I was a young, struggling to make ends meet college student as well as a period a few years back when my family and I had excessive medical bills that nearly ate us alive...

Back in those days, I bought new hiking boots when I could afford to pay cash for them, or else I borrowed some boots from a friend. Back then, I got out of the house for a little 'break' by stepping outside and chit chatting with a dear neighbor or two instead of making a $5 to $10 date to meet and greet at the trendy corner coffee shop.

We can do this. We can live on what we have rather than what we wish to have or think we should have.

We're Americans.

We created our own country, for crying out loud,

we can certainly do this.

*******

Hey, do you have any money saving activities or meals that you honestly enjoy? Seriously. Let's help each other out and toss around some budget defying food and fun... American Style.

Come on - help out a fellow financial crisis survivor - I know you have some great ideas. Together, we can do this.

Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Someday...

Well, as you can see, my someday never came, or maybe it came and went without me realizing it had arrived.  Whatever the case, while I did go and look for the book that I mentioned in the previous blog, which I will tell you about in just a line or two down, I never did get outside to walk Bear-bear on that chilly February day last week.  Remember, it was cooold outside.

Putting off what I need to do 

until tomorrow 

is not a 

new occurrence 

for me.  

I know you thought better of me than that, right?  Okay, maybe not, especially if you REALLY know me, but still.  I'd like to think better of myself but the truth is hard to ignore when all of your 'somedays' seem to be passing you by as if they are on a jet plane and you are in a rowboat without a paddle.

Now, onto an easier thing for me to talk about, about that book...

It's called, "The Best Year of Your Life", written by Debbie Ford, a #1 New York Time's bestselling author.

I'm mentioning this book because my husband and I read the book last year and  frequently find ourselves looking back to it for encouragement and guidance  as we are trying so hard to strive toward the life that we've  hoped to live for what seems to be like, well, ...forever.

I'm sharing this sensitive info because I believe I've connected a dot or two that is actually going to make some sense of these goals and lists, dreams and aspirations we creative types, and most other types, too, carry somewhere in our minds whether spoken or not.

If you read my second post to this blog, you'll recall that I challenged you to write down a list of things that you want out of life, not out of this year, but how you want things to turn out as a result of living out your entire life.  In the next blog, I shared something about following up each item that you listed as something that you want out of life with an action or plan to accomplish how you think you can get to that place where you're living that thing that you listed as something that you want out of life.

Now, I've recognized what I believe to be a critical/pivotal final step.  

• Name something that you really want out of life...
• Decide what you must do in order to get there...
• Name how you expect to feel when you actually accomplish that thing that you truly want out of life
  

Call me simple but that was HUGE for me.

Debbie Ford is the instigator I must credit for this third step as she addresses the issue of someday and other fantasy based living.  

Yep, you heard me, someday is a fantasy.  

Someday is 'out there' somewhere, and you never actually find it because it is never actually there-there, it is somewhere, sometime, somehow... you get the picture.

Since someday isn't really accountable, all we actually have is now.

So, she suggest that when you identify a goal (that thing that you want out of life from that list that you wrote), take yourself to a place in your thinking and focus on the feeling that you believe you will feel when you accomplish that goal. Here's an example:

Say, you've acknowledged that you want to do something in life that will make you famous.  It's quite possible that what you are looking for in that pursuit of fame is more than just being recognized on the bus or at the grocery store. Maybe  being famous will give you a sense of feeling 'known' for who you are and what you can do.  

So, you want to become famous because you will feel known, loved and appreciated for what you can do and who you believe that you truly are.  

Guess what, you can be known, loved, appreciated  for what you can do and who you believe that you truly are, today, right now. 

Sure, if you work towards that goal of being famous you will be known by millions for all of those qualities,  but if you want, you can enjoy the feeling you expect to enjoy someday, when you become famous, now, right this very moment.

If you'd like to experience those feelings that you expect to feel when you become famous, figure  out what you can do in your daily life to create those very same desired feelings.  That's right - the ball is in your court, right now, not someday, now.

Maybe you can share more of yourself with the people close to you so that they will appreciate who you are even more and will possibly even tell you how special you are and how much you mean to them.  If you want to be  a famous chef, for example, you can cook for your friends and leave them smiling ear to ear every time you get the chance to cook for them.  If they're anything like me, they're going to tell you what an incredibly wonderful cook that you are, right then and there, and you will feel recognized, immediately, for you effort and accomplished cooking.  (Side note - if you're hanging around people that won't say a single kind word to you after you've poured your heart and soul into a meal that they've just devoured, find some new people to cook for, people that deserve the fruit of your generous labor.  Seriously.)

On a personal note... 

One way I can think of to create those feelings I would expect to feel when I become officially recognized for my painting, writing or inspirational speaking is to practice all of those creative ventures, everyday, in every venue that I can possibly reach.  

(Be nice, I'm sharing my heart here.)

I made myself attempt to complete a manuscript for a novel, remember?  That was a goal of mine for a long time  (years and years) that I never even completely attempted until I required myself to take the time to write  a little bit everyday until I finished an entire story.   

Guess what, finishing wasn't that big of a thrill, as a matter of fact, I was sort of let down.  I was done.  I had no real reason to write everyday so I saw the completion of the manuscript as an ending of being able to do something that I loved doing.  I had packed up the pages, dropped them at the post office - my end of the bargain had been fulfilled.  Now, the novel being or not being was up to somebody else.  There was nothing left for me to write... until this blog...  :o)

Then a few days ago a simple thank you email turned into an opportunity to write a monthly newsletter for a local center for the arts.  Sure, not glamorous, but it's an avenue to contribute something by using a gift I've been given.  

Undeniably, fulfilling.

The feeling I really wish to accomplish through my creative ventures is the feeling of having expressed my ideas and knowing that I've done all that I can to get my ideas out of my head and onto the pages or onto the canvas, etc., all the while hoping to encourage, motivate or inspire the next person.    

Being a famous writer or artist is not the real desire for me - it's the perk. Doing what I enjoy doing and knowing that I have used my creative abilities to the fullest is what makes my heart sing.

So, my question to you is this...

On that list of things that you want out of life followed by how you think you need to go about accomplishing those things, what feeling are you expecting to experience when you accomplish those things that you've identified as being what you really want out of life?

I realize this is a little on the touchy feel-y side of things but, write me and tell me because I want to join efforts with you.  

After all, I told you mine, it's only fair that you tell me yours.