Perspective

"I had some dreams. . .
They were clouds in my coffee." - Carly Simon



It's all a matter of perspective. The fluffy grey-whiteness of the lumpy cloud faces gave them a surreal 3-D quality this morning. They were beautiful and made me smile. So much for rainy days. . .now Mondays, that's another story.

It's all a matter of perspective. We reached the turn before the library and she let go of my hand. She looked up at me with the face of a five-year-old and the eyes of an old soul and said, "I can make it from here." The lump is still in my throat to think about it. We've been preparing her to be independent, but did it have to happen so soon????

It's all a matter of perspective. My viewing of the lunar eclipse was unfortunately eclipsed by my viewing of my inner eyelids. My day started at two thirty AM. . . and what IS it with 2:30, anyway. . . oh, my, it's the NUMBER 23!! AHHHHHH! - you have to see the movie to get it. . .

So, where was I?

Oh, yeah, my day started at 2:30 with an apparently very slow text message from my son, "Can you call and wake me up at 7? Thanks!" It is a bad thing to program onesself to begin thinking immediately upon waking because it precludes an ability to resume slumber after such situations. I sang the entire "Purple Rain" album to myself while I listened to the distant thunder. "Never gonna let the elevator break us down. . .oh no! Let's go! Let's go crazy!" I love that album!

It's all a matter of perspective. I eventually dozed off, only to wake at six with the feeling I had missed something - the eclipse. Oh well, there will be another one like it in 2000 years. My daughter is neither a morning person nor dependent on me to wake her up, so I had time to slurp a cup while they replayed it on the news. "Time to go, Mom!" and it was off to brave the high school parking lot (duhn duhn duhn. . .)

Back home at seven-oh-five to find the baby still in bed. Of course, she is used to ten minutes of kisses and singing to wake up and we NEVER forego the important stuff like that! So I nuked her some pancakes, convinced her that the school lunch sounded good, whacked at her head with the "soft brush" and I'm still in my husband's camo t-shirt - no wonder she wanted to walk herself to class!

Back home at eight-oh-five and the "Get up, Buddy"s commence. . . he'll drag in at 8:45 knowing he's to begin working at nine and knowing that I'll insist he take a shower first. . .but if I go now, I can get a shower first!

It's all a matter of perspective.

Have fun.