My daughter will be crossing into that dreaded realm of teenagehood in less than a month. Like every parent, I’m dumbfounded at how fast these years have gone, hope that I’ve done everything I can to prepare her for these difficult years ahead, and wonder how long it will be before I consider eating my young.
But seriously, it’s moments like earlier this week when my Sweetpea smooched my cheek on her way through the living room, unsolicited I might add, or when she still lets me tuck her into bed with Teddy and Smith, that I catch my breath with the wonder that she’s here at all.
Don’t you hate it when you get sucked into a juicy story and for whatever reason you don’t get to finish it? It might be a movie, an “accidental” eavesdropped conversation or an article in your dentist’s waiting room. You’re left thinking, I wonder what happened?
Don’t forget—no one else sees the world you do, so no one else can tell the stories that you have to tell.
The story I tell is about the stuff that’s in our Brinks lockbox, the loss of my grandmother and how a life change made me realize the importance of not letting those people important to me “slip through my fingers like water poured from a cold glass on a nightstand.”
What or who have you let slip through your fingers and what, if anything, have you done about it? Have you experienced any major life realizations or shifts, and how did you react—did you fight the new knowledge or did you embrace it? What “ridiculous, useless crap” do you keep?
This thing that’s caused me to switch blogging gears started out as a twisted idea for a tweet. And if you haven’t seen the season finale of “24: Live Another Day,” here comes a…
!!! SPOILER ALERT !!!
News of the downed Malaysia Flight 17 broke a few days after the season finale of “24: Live Another Day.” The final scene of that episode showed the main character, Jack Bauer (played by Kiefer Sutherland), flying off in a helicopter to the waiting arms of Mother Russia, who was about to go all revenge-crazy on his “terrorist” ass.
I won’t even say what my tweet idea was. I’m sure some douchebag already made the same connection and tweeted my thoughts. The good news is at least my filter is still intact, even if it took my husband’s foresight to kick it into gear with “Bad idea, honey.”
So, I’ve spent the last few days watching the nearly 24-hour coverage like a lot of other people. But instead of waiting for information about who did it, what “it” really was and what we’re going to do about it (because of course we always have to do something), I waited for something else.
I waited to see which U.S. media outlet would talk about our own “tragic and regrettable accident” (as it was referred to in a report from the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff) back on July 3, 1988. That was the day the USS Vincennes shot down Iranian Airbus Flight 655 while it was on its way to Dubai, flying in its own airspace, over its own territorial waters in the Persian Gulf, on its usual flight path.