Hakuna Matata...

Every now and then he gives me a glimpse of long ago.

Growing up has hardened the exterior and even some of the interior of him. Not because he's had it rough, but because life lessons whittle away at the innocence and wonder of childhood.

He used to be such an open book.

Now his softest and most snuggly parts are tucked far, far away.

I miss my little boy.

I didn't realize how much I missed him until he surprisingly agreed to see The Lion King with me.

It was one of his favorite movies of all time. I'm not exagerating when I say this, but I have no idea how many times I saw this movie because we watched it so often. He was only an infant when they had the theatrical release, so we had only ever seen it on our television.

We got the tickets and entered the darkened theatre.

I sat down and watched him dart to the other side of the room away from me.

All I could do was laugh. He was embarrassed to sit with his own mother, yet he was willing to see a children's movie. Oh well. I'm too uncool to ever understand his version of cool.

The movie was bigger than life. More colorful than real life. Certainly more musical that real life.

In a darkened theatre, I was able to watch him watch the movie. I was delighted to see his eyes light up and his smile become wide and genuine.

In the darkened theatre I saw my little boy again.

Just for a moment.

Just for a moment I saw his little face running up to me with his blanket in one hand and The Lion King VHS tape in the other hand, with him yelling, "Mama, beebee king."

I could smell the sweet scent of "child" on him and just wanted to snuggle into his neck and hear him giggle.

The movie ran its course and I enjoyed it for the 11 millionth time in my life.

My boy thanked me with a hug and kiss - which lately has been few and far between.

Was the $33 spent on matinee tickets worth it?

Yes it was.

Life goes on, just as it should...

The voice on the other end of the phone line was a welcomed sound to my ears.

We had been out of touch since this entire thing went down.

I gave her space, hoping she understood my reasoning.

She did.

In a time in her life when everybody wanted a piece of her, she appreciated what little I could offer - breathing room.

I wasn't sure how to talk to her.

Somber? Soft? Concerned? Sad?

I didn't want to offend.

Then she made a comment about the circus that has become her life.

I couldn't help it.

I laughed. I tried to muffle myself, but the laugh got out before I could stop it.

You're not supposed to laugh when you are in mourning, right?

And then she laughed.

I heard the tension slipping from her voice just as I felt it leave my body.

She thanked me for a moment of levity because she needed it. Nobody around her understood her humor and was glad that I absolutely did.

You can count on me for inappropriate timing.

We talked and laughed. And, for the first time in a week, she said she felt normal.

She admitted that she wasn't going to be the same ever again. And I agreed with her. None of us will be.

And then she said, "I'd rather have 23 years of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing."

She knew what she lost but would continue to carry on.

I admire her strength and courage to put on a brave face and tackle this head on because I don't know if I'd be as tough as she has been.

Joe...

You're never quite prepared.

At least that's what I've found.

Even when you're waiting for it, you're still somewhat surprised.

The message is never easy to deliver. No matter how you try to soften the blow, it still comes out the worst thing you've ever had to tell a person.

Because you know, once you've said it out loud, it becomes real.

It's no better being on the other side.

You can't quite understand for a moment and then the horror of it all wraps it's arms around you and won't let go.

I know this because I've been the messenger and the recipient.

It's awful on either end.

I don't care if you believe in the great beyond. I don't care if you don't. I don't care if you believe in reincarnation or different plains or master plans or life lessons learned.

The end result is the same.

They're gone and I'm left crying.

Death sucks.

Everybody's Got Their Something...

My face to the sky
Dreaming about just how high
I could go and I'll know
When I finally get there

Taking of my glasses
Sun pokes through my lashes
And somehow I know
There's a time for every star to shine

Everybody got their something
Everybody got their something
Make you smile like an itty bitty child

People keeping score
Say better hurry up and get yours
Cause somebody else get your spot
Before you even dropped

Seek and you shall find
Everything in my own sweet time
I'll take my chances
With what I believe is only mine

Busy holding on
So the roof don't fly
Keep you from moving on
So get it right
Turn the tide over
Like a love song
Like a butterfly
Believe if you hand it over
You'll come out all right

Everybody got their something
Everybody got their something
Make you smile like an itty bitty child

Illuminate the silly things
Shed some light on all that's wrong
Everybody need it sometime
Sometimes the only thing you got
Is what makes you feel like
You're something else altogether
You have everything don't need
Another reason to be something
I've been on a ride
And caught up in the landslide
But I'm gonna spread my wings and fly...

Everybody got their something
Everybody got their something
Make you smile like an itty bitty child

There's a time for every star
There's a time for every star...

~Nikki Costa

ps - it got stuck in my head this morning

Chocolate never did this to me...

As I circle the large table, my fingers trail behind me on the edge.

My eyes take in the festive treats.

Oh, how I love pot-luck lunches.

I spot a green goopy bowl of stuff. Next to that is some sort of macaroni thing. At the far end I see my contribution (3 dips guacamole, spinach, and onion/pepper) and notice somebody has already helped themselves.

Sandwich trays, fried chicken, fruit and veggies, and various salads temp me. Not to mention the dessert table.

My only problem is an allergy to garlic that has become legendary.

I try and sniff out the appealing items and am cautious.

While I wish I could just take a bit of everything, I know I can't. Garlic lurks behind every Tupperware lid.

I settle on a sandwich and pasta salad with a side of fruit. Not as much fun as, say, that platter of nachos, but I should be alright.

Not long after my meal, I feel the familiar cramps and my face contorts in pain.

I played Russian roulette with the pot-luck lunch and found the bullet.

Damn garlic. It tastes so good but is literally killing me.