Fifty

 

Hi, my name is Brenda and I am fifty years old. 

Midlife. Five freaking decades old.

The thing about turning fifty in pandemic is you have a lot of time to think. Maybe too much time. Fifty is a turning point. A reckoning. Not only was this the year I turned fifty, but it was supposed to be the stepping off point for our youngest—the third of three—and the year my husband and I rediscovered our relationship. After twenty-four years of marriage, far too many moves, and a whole lot of chaos and sacrifice, this was going to be the year the roller coaster levelled out. A return to stability. A year of rediscovery and growth.

Ha.

Hahahaha.

Hahahahahaha!

HA!

Yes, the universe had other plans.

What happened instead was a blessing in very questionable clothing.

Not only did we get to spend a bonus year with our youngest, but we got to see our middlest grow into his own skin while studying and working under our roof. We watched our oldest live up to the challenge of living apart from us as an adult. We had family suppers again. We talked on the phone. We Zoomed. Like so many others we stayed home, looked inward and relearned some family boundaries.

But while we were re-exploring our family we, something else was happening.

Fifty year old me was flailing.

If you follow me on any of my social media pages you’ll have figured out that I spent a big chunk of the past year with my daughter(s) looking out over the edge of the earth from our cottage on Prince Edward Island. Before I go any further, I want to say that I know how lucky I am to have had this refuge, and even more lucky to have the ability and the cross-border approval to get there. I truly, truly wish others could have the same option.

Anyway, in March when the world was going to crap, my daughter and I drove the eighteen hours to our cottage, stopping only for gas on the way, and got across the Confederation Bridge just hours before they shut it down for weeks.

March at our little beach cottage on the Island is about as isolated as it gets. It was just me, my youngest, the foxes and the crows, with a quiet (but lovely) neighbor who kept to herself. There was snow, wind, rain and worry. Worry that I’d made the wrong choice to come there. Worry about my husband and son who were far, far away in a different country in a pandemic. Worry for my other daughter and my parents and family and friends. Worry that someone would judge our American license plates and, in their very real fear, act violently against myself or worse—my daughter.

So much worry.

As a Canadian who has given almost two thirds of my life to my country both in my own uniform and in support of my husband and others in uniform, living there on the edge of the world, as I approached the end of my forties brought on huge crisis of identity.

If I’m not from here…where am I from? What do I want to do with my life? Where is home?

Who am I?

Then one of those days, after a long week of working virtually and dealing with the worry, I started reading Brené Brown’s 10^th Anniversary Edition of The Gifts of Imperfection. In her Preface, she talks about her own reckoning with mid-life. She says:

People may call what happens at midlife “a crisis”, but it’s not. It’s an unraveling—a time when you feel a desperate pull to live the life you want to live, not the one you’re “supposed” to live. The unraveling is a time when you are challenged by the universe to let go of who you think you are supposed to be and to embrace who you are.

I read that sentence and burst into tears.

Really. I’m not kidding. Full on meltdown.

In the silent, hidden way that a mother cries knowing her seventeen-year-old daughter is upstairs doing virtual schoolwork in a pandemic, I sat there and bawled. Ugly-cried. I wanted to yell out loud like Charlie Brown—“That’s IT!” I wanted to call Brené Brown and tell her thank you for putting it so clearly, and for reading my emotional temperature better than I can myself.

I was unraveling. I AM unraveling.

Oh my god, I’ve been living how I’m supposed to be for sooooo long. My hats are my own but I’ve been wearing them because that was what I thought I was supposed to do. No one forced me to wear them. At any time I could have said, no thank you…I don’t think that’s me. But I’ve been wearing them anyway and they are freaking heavy. My shoulders are weary.

And I’m just…tired.

Sitting there in that quiet cottage overlooking the ocean I realized it’s up to me to examine each and every hat I wear. Some of them will stay on my head. Some of them will be put aside, in case I need them again.

And some of them I will unravel, and build something different.

The hat that I am showing you now is one I’ve dusted off now and again, but I realize, after a year of thinking and reading and doing, that I need this hat.

I am a writer. And I need to write. 

I am a creator. And I need to create.

Sometimes my military spouse hat has meant that I have not been true to that need. For some reason in the past, I thought my opinions would be harmful—for my husband’s career, for my family, for me. I was afraid to show my true self because it might be construed the wrong way.

But the thing is, after more than thirty years of serving my beautiful country in the best way I think I can, there are very few people that have that foundation—that reality. And if I’m going to be true to myself, sometimes my opinions will be different. That’s okay.

As long as I’m authentic, and honest and true, I know now that writing—even difficult, controversial writing—is what I need to do.

Unraveling isn’t easy. I’m a knitter and I hate ‘frogging’ something I worked on. It’s painful. And the past few months have been hard for me, and for everyone. They’re still hard.

But the good thing is now I have a ball of yarn to create something beautiful with. 

I’m starting with this blog. It’s been forgotten. As I lost myself under the weight of my hats and life in general, I’ve found that writing is super hard. Finishing my latest manuscript has been a long slog.

So I’m starting here. Just a few words when I can. A few thoughts as I journey forward.

I hope you'll continue to join me here as I do.

Brenda

Book Release! All the Way Home

Adult romance BY KIM MILLS

So a while back (five years ago? Maybe more?) I started following a sassy Canadian soldier's wife (@reccewife) on Twitter. She shot from the hip, and told it like it was, and I liked her style. Her resolution to treat people to dinner while her husband was deployed was intriguing. And her blog posts were poignant and real.

Fast forward a few years, and Kim and I have become virtual friends through several other platforms, including a group of Canadian military bloggers on Facebook. She recently MC'd a national event to mark the 25th Anniversary of Canadian Military Family Services. And her name has been mentioned more than once since I arrived in the US--she had spoken the year before to Canadian military families here in the US National Capitol region.

While managing a busy family, a well-visited blog, speaking engagements and a meaningful life as a military spouse, Kim has written a novel--a Canadian military romance novel, to be exact. And I'm so happy to be able to support her as she releases it to the public today. In her words:

"I wrote this book because I wanted to read a story about average Canadian combat soldiers and the people who loved them during the war in Afghanistan.

I’m hoping that maybe there’s a few others out there who were looking for stories like that, too." 

Kim's bio:

Kim Mills intended to grow up to be a psychologist with a loft apartment and 3 cats. Instead she dropped out of college and married a teenage soldier and had babies. No one ever asks her to speak on career day.

After working and volunteering in Social Services for years, Kim began writing in 2011 on what is now the Canadian military family blog She is Fierce. Somehow, that led her here. No one is more surprised than she is.

You can find Kim with the childhood sweetheart she's been married to for over 15 years, along with her 3 kids and their border collie Trooper, making home wherever the army sends them.

ALL THE WAY HOME is book one of a series of books (The Way Home Series), and today is it's Book Birthday! 

More about the book (from Amazon):

Juliette has been walking through life broken and hurting for years, always relying on her friend Tavish to be there for her when she needs him. As soon as he met her, Tavish knew he would do anything for her, that is, until he enlists in the infantry and leaves town, and possibly Juliette, for good.
Soon the events of 9/11 change everything, and an upcoming deployment to Afghanistan prompts him to reconnect with Juliette 5 years later. Despite the time apart she soon finds herself leaning on him again as their reunion leads to something much more. That’s when tragedy strikes during his deployment, and Tavish comes home shattered. Is Juliette strong enough to offer him the support he has always given her? Will it be enough for both of them to find their way home?

All The Way Home is a Canadian-based military love story, the first in the Way Home series but is a stand-alone with it's own HEA. 

This book is intended for audiences 18+. For those dealing with combat related PTSD, some scenes may be triggering. 


You can purchase ALL THE WAY HOME on Amazon. And find out more about Kim on her blog: She is Fierce which is well worth a read.

Congratulations Kim!

Brenda

Military Monday: The Proof is in the Clematis.

My baby clematis peeking
over the fence

In our family we have a saying--well, several sayings actually--that revolve around postings/PCSs.

"I see someone I know every time I go to the grocery store...it must be time to move."

"I can't go anywhere without running into someone I know...it must be time to move."

"We've almost finished unpacking...it must be time to move."

"The bookcase is just the way I like it...it must be time to move."

"I actually feel comfortable at school...it must be time to move."

"The teachers know who I am...it must be time to move."

You get the idea.

We say these things to torture ourselves, I think. Or to make it easier when the posting message actually comes. A coping mechanism. When you move every 1-3 years, there are some things that you really come to appreciate. The simple fact that your kid's gifts in Math precede them to the next grade. The knowledge that if you needed someone, you'd have more than one person to call. The location of the very best coffeehouse in town. These are things taken for granted in other communities, but in the military community they can be a sign that you've truly settled in a place.

Spring has sprung on Vancouver Island

I love to garden, and one of my dreams is to live in a place long enough to have both an established saucer magnolia, and a full, thriving purple clematis. To date it's never happened.  Even one of the two would be nice, but as always, the magnolia just takes root...and it's time to move.

One of the first things I did last summer was plant a clematis, in hopes it would take root and grow to something fantastic while we were still here. It did well all summer, and I even saw a few blooms before the fall. Throughout our short winter, I watched it, wondering how it would fare.

And now, after a wet and dark winter, spring is here on the pacific coast. Flowers are blooming and birds are singing and last week I noticed that my Clematis plant is not only up, but it's thriving. New shoots are poking out everywhere, and it's grown tall enough to peek over our almost six foot fence.

The clematis is thriving...it must be time to move, right?

Yup. Our posting message came the next day.

And so, the clematis has spoken.  The Dunne family are on the move this summer, this time to the Eastern US.

As much as the upcoming post is exciting, I'll be sad to leave my little clematis plant to fend for itself. Who knows, maybe our next house will have one to take it's place.

And a magnolia too.

Brenda

Like this post? Check out my other posts on 'Posting Phases:Orders, or Season of See-You-Later.

April: The Month of the Military Child

FIVE REASONS MILITARY CHILDREN ARE AWESOME:

About two weeks ago I had the privilege of sitting in a local elementary school, listening to children from 6th to 10th grade give speeches--in French--as part of a nationwide competition, the Concours d'Arts Oratoire, (Oratory Arts Competition). It was the district finals, and my youngest daughter, who started French Immersion in 4th grade, was one of three finalists speaking in the 8th grade group of 'early immersion' kids, kids who started French in kindergarten.

Her speech was on Les Enfants de la Militaire, basically Military Children. She spoke fluently in a language she's only known for four years, with a passion born from life in seven homes in three countries, seven schools, numerous deployments and goodbyes.

Although my French is spotty, I have to say I was so proud to listen to her speak. She answered questions--in fluent French--about what she loved about being a military child, about the Month of the Military Child, and about her reasoning behind her speech.

She won the division. (so proud!!)

And then a week later my husband received a posting message for another cross-continental, cross-border move.

There's no life like it, right?

The fact is, military kids put up with a lot. How many first and second world war children never got to meet their fathers? How many times do military kids have to say goodbye to their bestest of BFF's, because their parent has to go to a new location? Stressors abound in the military lifestyle, and often military kids endure them in silence, because that's just the way life is.

But it's not all bad. In fact, the military life is a pretty fabulous way to grow up. The flower of the military child is a dandelion, and for good reasons. They move, they set up roots, and they flourish wherever they're put. In our family we've

embraced the lifestyle, and it's made all the difference. Being a military child sets kids up for real life.

They're amazing individuals, and here's five reasons why:

1. Military children are resilient.

All of that movement, all of that change, sets kids up well for real life. Your high school friends most likely won't be there to support you through college. And jobs don't necessarily happen where you want them too. Like many things in life, the only way to learn how to adapt to new situations is to experience them--and these children experience many, many new things in their early years.

2. Military children know respect.

In a culture which demands respect, military kids learn the meaning first hand. Yes, there are exceptions to the rule (we've all met that kid), but generally military kids understand that rules are there for a reason.

3. Military children are good workers.

When my husband went away on deployment in 2010, I knew I'd need help with the day to day things or the house would slowly deteriorate around me. I set up a chore chart, with three sets of chores, rotating between the 3 kids each week. Some weeks were a little harder, some easier, but, surprisingly enough, it worked. My kids learned that if they didn't do the dishes one day, the pile would be even bigger the next. Six years later, that chore chart still exists, and although I sometimes have to prompt, they generally sort it out. It's a huge help. And skills they will need for later in life.

4. Military children are independent.

You don't have to be a teenager to know that high schools are social jungles. Walking into a new high school alone, without knowing a soul, is a seriously stressful event. But they do it. Time and again. And next year, it will be a new school, a new job, and a new team in a different place.

5. Military children have global experiences.

One of our favourite parts of being a military family is the opportunities we've had to see new places and experience new cultures. Even within Canada, things are done differently in different parts of the country. Our kids are experienced travellers, and they understand that life does not stop at the high school doors. There is so much more out there and they recognize that they've had many opportunities others don't get to experience... like learning to speak French. Or hanging out with dad at an air show. Or even going to school in a different country.

Do you know a military child? Let them know how much you appreciate their silent support.

Are you a military child? Thank you. Your service behind the scenes makes our world a better place.



Brenda

Throwback Thursday: Chin High and Pushing Through.

The following is cut and pasted from my older blog (This Mom is Overdunne), originally posted five years ago in July of 2010. At the time my hubby was deployed, and I was feeling...well...hard done by. A lot has happened since then,(two moves, many more challenges and successes...) and we've weathered the storms to get to where we are now. 

I have many friends who are in the various stages of deployment, and I wish them all the best as they hold their chins high and push through the difficult days. 

I hope they know that they are loved. 

I hope they know that it will pass. 

And I hope they know how very, very important they are.


Originally posted HERE on July 18, 2010:

Quarrels, Quinte Cups, Conversation Killers (and Queries)

It's been a month and a half that I've been parenting on my own, thanks to the Canadian Armed Forces. The kids and I have gotten into a routine. We've pulled one of the chairs away from the table, so it doesn't seem so empty without dad (pictured, left) there. I work my shortened work week, I taxi the kids to their activities, and I try (unsuccessfully) to keep the house from looking like a complete pig stye. I feed them at least one vegetable a day. We eat out more than once a week. Pretty normal, actually.

According to my handy-dandy Family Deployment Handbook (FDH), I'm right on schedule. I'm in the 'Recovery and Stabilization Phase'. Meaning...I'm not sick? And I'm not so unstable? That the old boat ain't so tipsy? True, the almost-in-labour anxiety has calmed down, and I spend less time sitting in the middle of the bathroom floor sobbing. But I still hate it. Just because I'm not running down our country road screaming obscenities and pulling my hair out doesn't mean I don't think about it. 

The FDH states that by week 6 I should be experiencing "Feelings of increased confidence, independence, competence, freedom, pride, isolation, anxiety and depression". How can you be confident and still be depressed? How can you feel competent and independent, yet have anxiety? Living in deployment-land is full of nasty contradictions. I'm moodier than a PMSing teen deprived of sleep and coffee. One thing's for sure...if Momma's grumpy, everyone's grumpy. I try to be patient. But patience has never been my forte. So the kids are less patient with each other...and then the fights start. I have adopted the 'Mom's having a time out' technique. Rather than blow up at them for blowing up at each other, I lock myself in my bedroom and count to 1000 (10 just doesn't cut it). It works...more or less. The kids go 'Huh?' and stop quarrelling. And I get a precious moment or two by myself.

It bugs me that the little FDH book is so accurate, though. I hate to be pegged. But it's right. Independent? My husband (and parents, and siblings...)will tell you that he didn't have to go away for me to be independent. And now that he's gone, independence has hit full force. Whatever you do, DON'T suggest I can't do something. I'm like a kid with a dare. Two weekends ago the girls were at their first away horse show (One of the Quinte Cup Series)of the season. Two ponies, two girls, my son, saddles, bridles, helmets, show outfits, water, a sun shelter, chairs, food, diabetic supplies (for my youngest) and coffee, all had to be packed into boxes, trucks and trailers for a day long show in the heat. We got up at 4 a.m. to leave. And it went...okay. We got there, the girls showed, and we came home. I did it, with help from others, of course, but I did it. So there, ha ha. Independent me. 

And as to coversation killers... I read a post on Facebook this week that just about hit the nose on the head. I can't find it now (of course) and can't find the author, so forgive me if you wrote it. (And let me know if you did so I can give you credit) but it was along the lines of "14 things to NOT say to a spouse of a deployed soldier". I have great friends, and they generally know how it is with me. But I'd like to paraphrase a few of the points:

1. "I know how you feel." You don't. Heck, I don't even know how I feel most of the time. If your husband has NOT gone away for 6 months and flown in and out of Afghanistan at least once during that time, you don't know how I feel. If you haven't sat beside your diabetic daughter at 3 in the morning praying her sugars come down, you don't know how I feel. Just like I don't know how you're getting through whatever challenge you have in your life right now. My FDH tells me I feel isolated. Darn right. I'm alone in my experiences. I don't generally want to talk about it with anyone, because it kills the conversation dead. 

2. "It could be worse, he could be in..." Gee, thanks. Make me feel even worse than I already feel. Sure, he could be somewhere worse. I'm sure there are a million things that could make my current situation even more stressful. Do I want to think about them right now? NO.

3. "Well at least the kids are older (not babies)" Have you ever had a pre-pubescent daughter? Not fun. Tears at least twice a day. And my kids are old enough to understand where their dad is. They get it. It's on the news every day. Someone killed, someone bombed, funding cuts...I try to turn off the news, and thankfully hubby is not in Afghanistan all of the time, but they hear it. And they think about it. Babies don't. 

I could go on and on, but the negative vibes are making me grumpy, so I'd like to add a change of tone. I want to give you a few things I'd LIKE to hear. Music to the deployed spouse's ear, a balm for my tired soul. 

1. "Here's a gift certificate to the spa. I'll stay at your house and watch your kids." I don't have time to look after myself these days, what with summer (ie kids are home), work and taxiing. I'd love to have a moment alone. And if my kids are home, I have less to worry about than if you took them to...Wonderland or anywhere else far away and less safe. I can't relax if I think there's some danger. And with a diabetic daughter, keeping my diabetes-educated kids together, and keeping them at home means easy access to whatever food, medicine, or equipment she needs. If you offer something like this to a military spouse, though...make sure you follow through. There is nothing worse than looking at a gift certificate on the fridge for six months straight. And I can guarantee they won't ask you about it.

2. "Let me pick up the milk, pizza...(insert food item here)" I could really use help with lunch/supper now and then. I love to cook, but hate to decide WHAT to cook. We live 10 minutes away from even a corner store, so dinner = preplanning. The less I have to do, the better.

3. "You look great." "You're doing great." "You're a super mom." "You're husband is so lucky to have you." "Insert compliment here." What I'm doing is hard. My main cheerleader is gone. My kids complain. A little bit of heartfelt flattery goes a long way. 

And here's one for just me...

4. "I loved your query...please send me your full manuscript!" Sorry, had to say it. My biggest project for the week ahead is to FINALLY send off a couple of queries to agents in hope that one of them will support my book. A wholelotta anxiety over that one, I can tell you! I've spent over a year editing and coddling it since my last misguided attempts(yup, I did EVERYTHING wrong with those first queries). It's time to let go again, and see what happens. Query number one went out today. Wish me luck.

Brenda

Five Reasons Women SHOULD Consider a Career in the Military

There's been a lot of discussion in the Canadian media this past week about sexual misconduct in the military environment. Our Chief of Defence Staff, Gen Tom Lawson commissioned a review of our armed forces in 2014, and the findings were reported in a document released this week here.

It's a pretty harsh report, denoting the military environment as 'hostile' and 'sexualized'.

Funny, I never felt that way in my years of uniformed service. The possibility existed, yes, and there were moments where I felt uncomfortable. But never hostile, and no more so than I'd feel in many other male-dominated environments. Or that I'd felt working at my previous job at Tim Horton's Coffee Shop. Let's just say I had my butt pinched more than once as a waitress. And NEVER as a uniform wearing military woman.

Ask any woman who's walked into a previously men-only board room, or a football pitch, and they'd likely say they felt the same way. And as women continue to work their way up into a 'mans world' this will continue to happen.

Society needs to change, and the military is just one aspect of it.

But.

In spite of all of the issues, the armed forces are a GREAT place for women to work. Especially now. Why?

1. Equal pay for equal rank. Nowhere else are you so clearly eligible for the exact same pay for the same work, no matter what gender. If you are a three year corporal or a two year captain, you make the same pay for the same job. Pay is tightly controlled by a series of rules.

2. You get paid to keep fit. That's right. It's expected that you will exercise. It's part of your job. What other careers allow you time off of work to go to that kettle-bell class?

3. Maternity benefits. In Canada our military women get paid time off of up to a year for maternity benefits. Bonding time with baby is so important. And our armed forces allow women that time.

4. You get to learn to shoot. Or fix trucks. Or drive big machines. Or fly fast airplanes, or run hospitals or save lives. There are so many options. And you can finish your university education with no debt, a job waiting and a decent starting salary. One of my favourite things about completing my degree with the ROTP program was the fact that my books and equipment were also covered. No huge textbook bills to worry about. And I still use my degree that the military paid for. Win-win.

5. Opportunities for advancement. Yes, there are women generals, and colonels, and warrant officers. These opportunities are improving (especially now) and career progression is more and more regulated.


And the best part? This new report will only make things even better, as leadership continues to push for gender equality. For no-tolerance on sexual harassment in the workplace, and for safe, victim-centred reporting processes. Where else in the workforce can you find that?

Not at the coffee shop.


Brenda

Posting Phase Six: Season of See You Later

Today I begin the long Season of See-You-Laters.

I say season, because goodbye doesn't happen all at once (as most frequent-movers know). It's a process. Sometimes painful (my twelve-year-old's bestest, bestest friends EVER), sometimes celebratory (the twit at the end of the road that tried to hit my dog every time he drove by--yeah, wasn't sad to say goodbye to him on that posting...), each goodbye has a story. Some people I'll remember. Some people I won't. Some friends will be life-long, and some I'll never hear from again.

The process starts long before I pull out of my driveway for the final time. We haven't even gone on a house hunting trip and it's already started here. Saying goodbye starts when I realize I'm not going to be in that part of town again, when I look at my calendar and do a double-take at the surprising lack of time before our drive-out date. I start cramming in coffee dates and dinner parties and last minute meet-ups--slowly at first... But each time I see a colleague, a co-worker, a friend... I recognize it might be your last.

Goodbye is hard.

Hence the See-You-Later.

You see, after twenty-plus years of military friendships, it becomes obvious that goodbye is rarely forever. And with today's social media, goodbye is becoming almost unnecessary. I can Facebook with friends I haven't seen in twenty years and tweet with people from ten different postings. And sooner or later, we'll be posted back together again, so why bother with goodbye?

I prefer 'see ya soon', or 'until next time'. Who knows what will happen?

But today is my last day of work at my day job as a physiotherapist at a long term care facility. A job I absolutely love. I've only been there four months, but I wish, for once, I could stay. It's a perfect complement to my writing career, it pays well, and I get to spend time with amazing people...some of whom are nearly a century old.

I hope 'see you later' will be the right call today, while I'm finishing up paperwork and tidying up my space, because I'd love to see some of these elderly ladies again. They have such wonderful stories. Such interesting histories. Sadly, they don't tweet, and they don't Facebook.

I've still got lots of time in this house/posting (thank goodness!) and I've got lots of time to finish my final coffee dates. I'll be back in this area again, so I'll say see-you-later, and I'll hope that our paths cross again.

Brenda


Like Posting Phases? More to come! Check out the first five here:

Posting Phase Five: The Long Wait

Posting Phase Four: The Stash and Dash

Posting Phase Three: Orders!

Posting Phase Two: Closet Clean-out

Posting Phase One: Real Estate Research

On Living in the Moment

As I write this, I'm sitting here on my newly-installed porch swing, looking over my just-constructed flower garden underneath new hanging baskets and beside the veggie garden I planted last weekend. We had this farm (yes, farm) built (yes, built) two and a half years ago. We built a barn, fenced in four paddocks, did all of our own landscaping including raised bed vegetable gardens.

We will be moving across the continent in less than two months. 

I can hear what you're thinking. Flower gardens? Veggies? Porch swings? With two months to go in your house? Why, on God's green earth, would you put yourself through that in a temporary home? 

My friend may have brought up this very point a week or so ago when I was showing off my beautiful porch swing. Also a military spouse, she understands the tentative nature of our existence. She didn't quite imply that I was insane. Okay, maybe a little bit. But she stopped short of giving me the coo-coo swirly finger--hence why we're still friends.

Anyway, my reply to her was this:

Because it makes me happy. 

Incredibly happy. I'm sitting here basking in sunshine and birdsong and writing to you and my heart may just explode from pure bliss. My dog is lying by my feet and I've got an iced coffee and the breeze is blowing the hanging baskets and this moment right now couldn't be more perfect. 

I'm pretty much in heaven.

Yes, we live a chaotic life. Yes, it seems like a huge waste of energy for such a brief period of time. Yes, we'll have to take the bloody swing down in a month and a half and the veggies will more than likely go into someone else's mouth. 

But as Shelby says in Steel Magnolias...I'd rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special. And in the big scheme of things often thirty minutes is all we have in a place like this. So if it takes busting my butt with a trailer load of dirt, or my amazing hubby spending a few hours with a screwdriver and a ladder peering through metal soffit with a flashlight... well, that's what we've got to do. 

Enjoying what you have is up to you. No one else can create your happiness. And as my BFF and I discussed last week, it may take a little elbow grease and a little sweat, but it is sooooo worth it. I would not have it any other way.

Carpe Diem. Seize the day. Live in the moment.

You'll be happy you did. 

Brenda