Defining Forgiveness

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Forgiveness.

Through processing how to authentically achieve this, I became so stuck on the definition I had in my head, I all but decided there were some people I could never forgive!

I knew I had to change my definition.

It’s easy for me to forgive someone when they’ve owned their responsibility,  changed their behavior and are not repeating the same patterns and ceased to harm.

It’s also easy for me to forgive when I can understand that something in someone is broken.

And to be honest, it’s easy for me to forgive when what they have done reflects my own past indiscretions.

If I am guilty of having once caused the same harm to another, I have empathy which goes a long way to my original definition of forgiving.

Or perhaps, if I’m really being honest – forgiving those who have perpetrated a wrong doing that I have been guilty of – affords me some measure of  absolution for my own behavior.

And that is wrong.

Not being a religious person, I can’t turn to theological definitions or procedure when it comes to forgiveness.  I can be open to their ideas of course, many truths are universal and have a common thread in a variety of cultures and religious teachings.

But here I thought I couldn’t begin the process of forgiveness until I felt completely ready to pardon the person who had harmed me – and I don’t do things in half measures.

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I love, detest, work and forgive with my whole heart, body and soul – or not at all.

This is not an easy topic – so I reached out to some friends for their thoughts and definitions, I said ‘There’s no right answers’.

I also asked, is forgiveness Selfish or Selfless?  And so the sharing began to flow.

I’ll use only their first names – but here is a sampling of responses:

 

Scot: there is nothing selfish about authentic forgiveness. It is needed for personal happiness. As long as we struggle with attachment to things, emotional responses, memories or make decisions based from an attachment based place we are not exhibiting authentic forgiveness. And that is selfish. Because of the attachment to self or ego if you prefer.

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Selina: I’ve stopped forgiving , it is like giving that person an extra bullet and say here its ok try again :)) in my mind I eliminate them from my thoughts other words their are deceased, now it takes the most dirtiest despicable low life conniving ugly person to make me cut them out of my life but I have run across a couple of them but I now feel relieved I cut ties and saved me the stress:)))

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Haley: You find compassion for others for being human and flawed, and you forgive them. In return, you can more easily and often do the same for yourself….and in doing so- let go of all those nasty “shoulds”, both for yourself and for others, that drive us all insane.

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Ann: Forgiveness is a gift. Given for the satisfaction of giving, inspiring, sharing. It is not selfish however it is given in most part for self fulfillment. One cannot be fully sure of how the gift will be received and or appreciated…..that falls to the recipient. If I apologize to you for whatever reason and you spit back at me I still, if genuinely given, have the pleasure of doing what was right for me. If you embrace my apology well then even better. Forgiveness is a gift…..intended for the pleasure of both giver and receiver. If it does not work out it is still a gift. Kinda like the Christmas gift from great Aunt Edna of a box of jello. She knows you love jello and it makes her happy to think of you enjoying that fun delicious treat.

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Jennifer: God forgives us, so we should forgive others.

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Alyce: My take on forgiveness, you can be hurt really badly by someone- but a time comes when we no longer wish them ill or mentally wish for retaliation etc. We don’t need to go out of our way to befriend them or spend time with them, but we are free from wishing harm to come to them, we wish them well in their world.

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I love that everyone spoke from their heart.

I cherish diversity – and while I agreed with parts of all of their opinions,  I still wasn’t finding that one thing that clicked in my heart and summed things up for me until I read this:

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That I can do!

The fact is, that when we are harmed, damage occurs.

That saying: ‘You don’t drink poison and expect your enemy to die’ rings true, we do have to let go and move beyond our pain – we are only hurting ourselves further and stunting our growth if we sit in our pain.

It’s certainly not exacting revenge on the perpetrator, in fact, it maintains their power.

I then thought of the saying and took it to another level –  most people don’t purposely drink the poison.

Those with scars stemming from suffering forced upon them are in fact victims – having had something toxic poured into them without consent.

What happens after it’s inside you?

That is entirely up to you.

You can remain a victim, or you can begin to heal.

You may not have a way to heal the physical damage or erase the memories of the taste of the posion in your mouth.

It may take time until the sensation of the hand that wielded the metaphorical or literal weapon or the smells/sounds/sense memories burned into your subconscious during the offense begin to fade.

But out it must come if there is to be any chance!

There are labels on poisonous household liquids – ‘if swallowed, do not induce vomiting’.  The reason for that is that it can do more harm to come into contact with your fragile insides once more.

Debilitating pain from injury and abuse are just as toxic, but MUST be purged.

Coming back up is bound to be painful – but necessary.

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I had the great honor of speaking to someone yesterday who is, for me, the epitome of forgiveness.  Mrs. Eva Mozes Kor.

I reached out to her for wisdom – this is a woman who is strong, independent, funny, kind and oh so wise.

She is a twin survivor of Dr. Mengele’s experiments at Auschwitz.

Even at such a tender age, she was determined to live through her ordeal.  She was orphaned, suffered unimaginably at the hands of Mengele and teetered between life and death – determined to survive to save herself and her sister.

Then years later … she forgave the Nazis.

Where does that strength come from???

I needed to know.

I wanted to speak with this amazing woman for any advice she might have about life in general.

I was to call her at 1:00 O’Clock – all day I glanced at the clock and when it was time, all I could do was stare at the phone.

The moment I heard her voice say my name, all nerves washed away.

Her first question to me: “Do you want to be free?”

Yes.  Yes I wanted to be free.

I had no intention of interviewing her – of mentioning our chat here.  I only wanted, as a woman, and student of life,  to soak up lessons she could pass on to me.

But after our long conversation, I was fixated on ‘forgiveness’, knew I must write about the topic and sent her a message asking if I could include some of her words in this piece.

Her response was an enthusiastic yes.

“My Dear Amanda,

Forgiveness is my mission, my passion and my salvation from a life of victim hood.  Once I discovered this simple idea, which is free and everybody can afford it.  I am willing to climb to a mountain top and yell at the top of my voice; Forgive your worst enemy, and forgive everybody who has hurt you, it will heal your soul and set you free.  Forgiveness is an act of self liberation, self-healing and self empowerment.  Anger is a seed for war, forgiveness is a seed for peace.  So, Amanda, by all means help me sow those seeds for peace into this troubled world.”

And so I shall.

I share with you what her answer was to my question: So then what is the difference between acceptance and forgiveness?

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She went on to say that the perpetrators need not even know they have been forgiven.  You are taking your power back in the simple act of forgiving.

She gave me an assignment, which I will be doing.  And now that I have a better understanding, and new definition of forgiveness, I feel I will get it all out and succeed.

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The last thoughts I have on this topic are these.

If you cannot find it in your heart to authentically forgive another – forgive yourself.

Forgive yourself for being in fear, for not feeling strong enough to release the pain.

We are only human after all.

When the time is right – it will happen.

This is another thing Eva shared with me – it does take time!

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I laughed, as I did a lot during our conversation and  said: “Will I really have to twirl on a hill?  It’s really hot outside.”

And to laugh – and to seek answers and to want to learn and grow is a great way to begin to process forgiveness.

 

 

Foie Gras Children and Slender Men

I have always been an avid reader.

I would lose myself in book after book when I was a child. They fed my soul, took me places even my dreams could not conjure.

I absorbed every word – they painted vivid, breathtaking, amazing and sometimes frightening pictures for me.

I was rewarded with a rich vocabulary and a very intense imagination.

I drew pictures of the characters, dressed up like some of the protagonists, reenacted scenes with my dolls and my stuffed animals …

But never, ever did I confuse them with reality.

Having said that, of course, I learned from Aesop – I knew enough to summarize that his fables were teaching me things that I could and probably should be applying to ‘real life’.

But I didn’t expect that if I happened across a white rabbit and followed him, that I would be transported to another world.

I didn’t believe that there was a porridge pot that would produce endless amounts of the oats.

I knew magic beans, glass slippers and talking toads lived only in the pages of my books.

Even the fictional stories with real people, and real possibilities I knew to be entertainment. Enid Blyton’s Famous Five series was among my favorites when I was little.

 

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No adult supervision, friends, lighthouses, ginger beer, cream buns, adventure AND a dog?! I was in!!!

But not really.  I knew how to separate a fictional adventure that a fictional person was having – from reality.

We have that capability to make amazing mud pies – and the sensibility not to eat them.

(Ok, to be fair, I have tried dirt.)

We dressed up like royalty,  but didn’t expect a carriage to pull up and whisk us away to our castle when playtime ended.

We had sword fights with sticks and shot people with our fingers – and not once did it seem like a good idea to take that play to the next level.

So what’s changed?

 

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Not the movies.  We had A Clockwork Orange – Night of The Living Dead.

(And is it just me or does Nosferatu resemble Slender Man?)

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It’s certainly not the bad guys – they’ve always been.  Always will be.

And as for stories and monsters – they’ve always been there too.

The Grimm brothers offered our version of ‘creepy pasta’ type tales.

What’s changed?

In my opinion, copious amounts of unmonitored and uncensored access to it!

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The past couple of days, an internet horror meme named Slender Man has been in the news, blamed for an attempted murder by two 12-year-old girls.

Slender Man is responsible for an untold amount of jump scares – but attempted murder?

 

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Too often the blame falls to video games, horror movies and even music for today’s violence.

I do not agree with this.

I blame instant access to age inappropriate material.

Instant access to graphic images.

I blame the decrease of services for the mentally ill.

I blame the constant barrage of  ‘negative news’ desensitizing those already mentally fragile.  News stations vying for viewers via shock value.

And finally, yes, I blame ‘the parents’.

That’s such a broad accusation isn’t it??

I usually cringe when I hear it – so please know I shuddered when I typed it.

But I do hold parents responsible in general, because the internet is not going away!

If we don’t want our children becoming world-wide webbed foie gras geese – we have to monitor what’s feeding their developing minds!!!

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When I was raising my son, I put limits on what he was exposed to.

By no means was I ever a perfect mother, far from it, but I do think I did a lot of things right.

I knew what he was doing, who he was doing it with and where he was as much as I could.

I was a working mom, I couldn’t possibly know everything or be there every moment.

The computer was in a family area – he did not have one in his room.

I checked the search history and monitored what he was looking at as best I could.

He was read to and encouraged to read.

We talked.  We still do.  No topic was or is off-limits.

He was not allowed to play with toy guns when he was very little – I didn’t think pretending to shoot someone was funny.

Of course, he still pretended with sticks or his fingers – and that was fine, but I was not contributing to it – that was the point I needed to make.

He was taught that guns were to be taken seriously and respected.

Nic was not allowed to play any video games I did not believe he was mentally and emotionally ready for.

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Oh sure, I knew he was playing the games I wouldn’t allow in the house when spending the night at a friends.

Let him have that fleeting feeling he was getting away with something.

Every kid needs that too.

Because the lesson had already sunk in, the games were deemed inappropriate by the person raising him. He knew it.  You certainly don’t think you’re ‘getting away’ with doing the right thing.

Horror movies – nope. Graphic unneccesary violence – nope. Nudity? Sure, in measure.

I have a more European take on that having been raised in the UK.

In England, growing up, I would turn the dial past some boring old sex scene to find a show that interested me. Nudity and sex was natural – violence was edited.

Every child is curious of course, and it breaks my heart that probably my sons first sighting of a naked woman was on some porn site and not a boob shot in a movie or the full Monty in the center of a secreted Playboy.

It’s the total opposite here in the States.

God forbid you see a nipple, but a beheading? A fatal car crash? A slaughtered village full of people? “Put that on a loop!!”

If my son committed a horrific crime, would I hold a single genre responsible it?

No.

I would know that something was broken inside of him, or hadn’t grown properly to begin with.

I would know that he was not possessing that ability to filter fantasy or intense information in a healthy way.

And I would know that I, as his parent, obviously did not provide him with the adequate amount of discipline or tools he needed.

A Darker Shade of Derek

Although I’m not going to spoil any details of Season 2 for those of you who have not yet had your Netflix marathon, now would be the time for this:

 Spoiler Alert!

I watched Season 1 unable to move from my perfect vantage point of Broad Hill. (Not to be confused with Broadmoor.  I grew up listening to that test  siren in England – you did not want to be outside if those residents should happen to take themselves on an outing.)

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I was beyond excited for Season 2 of Derek.

I was in love with all the characters and missed them!

I had never seen anything quite like Derek – which did not fail to make me laugh AND cry in each and every well written episode.

(And yes, you shall need a box of tissues for Season 2 – I can tell you that.)

I became so smitten with the show that I then launched into a marathon of “An Idiot Abroad” to tide me over.

Then the big day arrived.

May 30th, 2014.

All of Season 2 available on Netflix.

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I got comfy on the couch, as did my son who I managed to get hooked during the first marathon.

Pressed ‘Play’.

And was in stitches after the spider incident. (Alright, so that’s a tiny spoiler – or, actually, not so tiny *shudder*.)

What then happened as the first episode progressed, was me experiencing a desperate need to love Season 2 so very much that I kept smiling even while my mind was thinking, ‘Okay, what is going on here?’

What was wrong with Dougie’s wig??  Why the almost immediate exit?  Where was my closure????  (Ok, another spoiler – but that’s the last one I promise – and it’s not a big secret.)

I had to google.  WHY oh why was my Karl Pilkington abruptly and unceremoniously abandoning Broad Hill???

I found this quote by Mr. Gervais.

If you saw him in the first series, [he was] sweating [with nerves],” Gervais explained. “He couldn’t really act with other people, ‘cos he was so nervous. I honestly didn’t know whether to hug him or put him down!”

Ok.  I’d heard that before.

But, there couldn’t have been a real goodbye?

Dougie went through a lot more crap in Season 1 that should have had him running for the hills.

Then this information:

Though Pilkington only shot two days on Derek series two, Gervais argued that the character of Dougie “wasn’t really integral” to the show.

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Not integral to the show???

Dougie was the moral compass of that show as far as this fan is concerned!

Yes, of course there’s Hannah, but as one of the ‘in crowd’ Dougie was the balance!

He said what we couldn’t.  Rolled eyes we couldn’t at the likes of Kev or some idiot insensitive resident relative or Council member.

And most importantly, he tempered Kev and Derek!

Which brings me to Kev.  I happen to love him too – but while Derek the show got darker, Kev’s antics in Season 2 went beyond the pale.

Except for a tender moment in a tie – his character was just … sad.  Sad and as usual, very horny.

Over the top.

And this is the opinion of a girl who couldn’t wait for the next installment of Kev’s Christmas Crackers videos on Youtube!

Here’s an example.

So you see – I’m not a prude.

I googled again – to see if there was anything more on Karl’s departure.

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Well Karl, you not only got away with it – you made the character your own.

And for the record, ‘putting’ yourself in a situation and getting wound up by it’ is actually acting.

There are plenty of A listers that can’t do an Irish accent – or an English one *cough* Kevin Costner, Drew Barrymore *cough*

And you’re lucky you can remember that s***.

And we were lucky you could too.

And we miss you.

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We’ll end on a high note shall we?

If you are EVER feeling down – watch this.  Watch it over, and over, and over.

 

Ricky’s laugh is so very contagious … and peeking behind the curtains of Season 1 is oh so satisfying.

I truly hope there will be a Season 3 – and if so – PLEASE please please may Dougie be in charge of those curtains again????

 

 

Gently into water

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The thing is … lately I feel like I’ve been ‘wrapping things up’.

Letting those who mean something to me know it.

Giving back treasured memories of the past to the people they belong to.

My writing has not been good lately.

I know it.

My positive attitude has taken a turn.

I know this too.

I know it – and don’t have the energy to change it.

I’ve reached emotional, physical and mental exhaustion.

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Someone received an arrangement at work a couple of weeks ago – and I became caretaker.

The vase was bursting with vibrant color and fresh cut blooms.

As they faded and withered, I removed them.

One by one.

I kept doing this – refusing to throw them all out because some part of the whole had passed on.

It came down to one stemless flower this past week.

I found the smallest container I could, and placed it gently in the water.

I couldn’t find it in my heart to throw it out while it still had some life in it.

While it still looked so beautiful.

It wasn’t finished.

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Contrary to this, I found my pen writing the most obscene sentence in my own diary last week.

That I had been having fleeting thoughts of death.

Mine.

Thinking that perhaps all that I was here to do had been done – and all that I hoped for might never be.

Perhaps not meant to be.

And that ink bled out onto the page with such rawness and so bravely – that I allowed the pen to finish the sentence.

And I’m not ashamed.

Because thinking of things does not make them so.

And because allowing myself to admit something so dark, even to the pages of a book no one will read – shocked me necessarily.

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I find the smallest light I can find – and gently place myself in it.

I give my soul water – salty – and shed when I am alone.

I continue to share my memories with those who made them with me.

I don’t stop telling people how important they are – how loved.

And I steady myself for what the future might hold – and know that I’m strong.

 

 

 

The first 12 of 45

I fell asleep last night wondering if musicians get goosebumps or tear up when they play their best songs live.  I thought this after getting goosebumps and tearing up to this.

Comfortably Numb, live.

I drifted off to sleep having been wished ‘Happy Birthday’ from 3 countries in which I was already born – and with David Gilmore and Roger Waters echoing in my head.

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9:30 p.m. I hear my son coughing violently in the kitchen – then:

Nic: “Don’t mind me – just choking”

Me: “Obviously you’re breathing”

Nic: “ha ha. Don’t rush out to check on me or anything”

Me: “K.”

Nic: “That’s my mom!” (as if he’s got a crowd he’s informing of this. “That’s my mom ladies and gentlemen”)

I smile and close my eyes.

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10:30 p.m. Eyes back open. My son is church mousing around in the kitchen, the house shakes. He has inherited my delicate elephant stomp.

12:04 a.m. Awoke from a dream involving two special friends from the past and a mystery man – we’d gone on a crazy roller coaster and then to a Depeche Mode concert. Ended up on stage and of course, I was taking photos.

2:00 a.m. Butters stands beside my bed, breathing on me. I try to ignore her.

2:30 a.m. Butters stands closer – breathing more heavily. I get up, let dog out and leave front door open for the dog and any and all serial killers to have easier access to me while I returned to bed.

4:00 a.m. Seriously??? Dog is nowhere to be seen, so what the hell has roused me this time????

5:00 a.m. Peer at clock with gritty, tired eyes … too tired to roll them in anguish

5:30 a.m. I give up.

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Didn’t have that ‘it’s my birthday’ feeling as I scooted out of bed and wobbled to the bathroom.

I always at least have that ‘it’s my birthday’ feeling first thing in the morning (well, on birthday mornings anyway, not every morning obviously)

I guess 45 is the cut off for that pink frosted feeling.

Son sleeping, dog still outside.

I microwave a cup of yesterdays coffee, because I’m too lazy and uncoordinated to make a new pot.

Shower cap in hand, towel at the ready, I sit and wait for my alarm, because I have no clue how to turn it off prematurely.

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6:00 a.m. Shower. I ponder while I’m in there.

Why do men have the best razors??

Seriously, considering the skin footage we women have to shave compared to men – shouldn’t ours be cutting edge? (No pun intended) and don’t give me that ‘But men have to shave their delicate angled faces’ crap, because you know as well as I do that women shave a hell of a lot more ‘delicate’ places and we have curves and angles too!

I will only buy mens razors.

7:10 a.m Dressed – still sipping my microwaved coffee – my mum calls and sings at me from the dog park.

7:20 a.m. I’m milling about the house now … always ready early – always restless.

I spy a banana in the fruit bowl that looks like a duck. I think perhaps it was bored, in there all alone – and decided to morph in order to have some fun.

I decide I like that banana instantly.

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I give Butters two of her biscuits and then proceed to tip two vitamins in my hand and pop them in my mouth – along with dog biscuit crumbs.

Nice one.

*sigh* I’ll count that as breakfast.

7:35 a.m. I decide to plant a kiss on my sleeping sons cheek – he’s shirtless in bed with a sunburn

Me: “Hey naked … I’m outta here”

Him: ….

(I’m sure he’s got ‘Happy Birthday’ planned to exit his mouth later.)

Out the door I go.

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I hope for a really amazing song in the car – no luck. I end up pretending to know the words to a new Shakira song and sing out of key.

7:45 a.m. Arrive at work.

I unlock the door … notice the ‘Happy Birthday’ sign place above my desk has fallen off of the wall. I put it back up after I disable the buildings alarm. Then I wonder if that’s self-appreciating or just helpful. Decide it doesn’t matter, my OCD needs that sign back up where it was.

There is a birthday card on my keyboard.

A little while later, another card heads my way in the hands of my sweet friend Ruth. A tiny ribboned box perches atop it.

The card cracks me up.

This is it:

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The little box opens to reveal a teeny tiny necklace. This friend knows me well. I love ‘little’. I love delicate. I love the necklace and she stands behind me and puts it on.

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Friend: “Now we’re married.”

I’m thinking I could do a lot worse. She’s amazing. And she knows my humor and taste.

We would be bound to have a long and successful union – except she’s still madly in love with her husband.

The broker comes through the door with the most adorable tulips – and yes, they’re for me.

I’m feeling spoiled – and it’s only 9:15 a.m

 

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10:48 a.m. Finally got a Happy Birthday from my son.

He has accompanied his girlfriend to the dentist and the following instant messages ensued:

Him: I just saw a turtle wet a fallen flower

Him: *Eat

Me: It would have been funnier if it HAD wetted it

Him: Lol, well the flower just fell from a nude into the water, and the turtle ate it and went underwater, So I guess he did. Lol

Me: Nude??

Him: Bush*

Me: I don’t even want to know why your ipad confuses ‘bush’ with ‘nude’ lmao

Him: lol, oh no.

Him: Happy birthday by the way

Me: Finally

 

We have the strangest conversations. I hope he doesn’t eat the duck banana before I can point it out to him.

Yeah sure, I could show him a photo – but it’s so much better to meet a duck banana in the flesh … peel?

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My boss takes me to lunch from 11:30 a.m. to 1:00 p.m.  We sit outside and chat.  The view is gorgeous.  I enjoy her company.  We shared a room on a business trip to Phoenix a while ago – and over 8 hours in the car together.  I like her. That’s the true test you know, a long car ride and sharing a room successfully.

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I have the Mahi-Mahi wrap with wasabi and soy – SO good.

First meal of my 45th year, other than that dog biscuit crumb I had for breakfast.

You know, I never thought I’d make it to 30, let alone 40 … and now I’m half way to 90 for crying out loud!

And 90 is doable. Considering my little and delicate nannie just celebrated 91.

If I wore her on a necklace, close to my clavicle, she might see 101.

Home now,  my parents have just left – and wouldn’t you know it?  A pink frosted thing came with them.

I’m too full and too tired to eat any of it – but after the first 12, I did catch a glimpse of that ‘it’s my birthday’ feeling.

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