life is good

life is good

I rarely have bad days. Most days I'm grateful to be on the planet, grateful for my unbelievably great friends, grateful for my happy family life, just grateful. That's what makes bad days bad for me. The way they hit me in the solar plexus and steal my smile. So, today I'm back in the saddle. It was one of those days; those kind of days I usually have.

Today I

...read a great story by Jack who doesn't want links cuz he's way too popular already

...talked to crazy mom who forgot all about me hanging up on her yesterday

...visited with one of my favorite people who is living in a gorgeous mansion in Milton and we're going swimming there as soon as the heater in her pool is fixed

...drove just under the speed limit all the way back from Boston so I could steal a million glances at Rio while she was sleeping in her carseat. her face flushed, her eyes fluttering, her lips pursed - heaven

...loved the dogs all up

...watched a little television (I watch too much when I'm sad)

...looked at Bear and thought, "Ai, chihuahua he's caliente!"

...enjoyed how a beautiful day looks even more beautiful through my rose glasses (I really do have rose colored glasses. I'll take a picture!)

...made a date with my new mom friend who rocks the planet. she'll get her own post soon :)

...shaped my toenails

...painted the hallway 'hazy lilac'

...found my mofo mojo

Here's the thing...

Here's the thing...

When I was in 7th grade I was madly in love with Alex. He gave me my first hickey and my first real introduction into how much a young heart can swell at the sight of another person. It ended, as those things do, but it ended well. We stayed very close all through high school. He went to college in Michigan and a couple of years I flew out there to make the drive home with him. We'd go through Canada and make an adventure of it. One year I was living in Florida and he and his frat brothers drove a Winnebago down to Fort Lauderdale and I drove up from Palm Beach to see him. There were drunk boys passed out all over that thing. It was one of the funnest weekends ever.

The Thursday before he died in a silly little car crash, he asked me if I thought I was reaching my potential doing hair. I told him 'Probably not but I'm making a boatload of cash' and we kinda laughed at that. But then he told me how much he respected my brain. Nice way to end things, I guess.

I think he was supposed to rule the world at some point. Awesome guy. The kind of guy that stays with you, twelve years after he left. That kind of guy.

I really do think of him often. I honestly believe that he visits me in my dreams. We've gone skiing, gone out to eat and last night I helped him brainstorm on an environmental situation. Evidently he's an environmental attorney in heaven. Really nice penthouse apartment in a highrise, too. White dog. But anyway.

Here's the thing. I've often thought of writing to his mother. Just to tell her that he's still alive in me. I wouldn't tell her about our visits, just that I continue to have a place in my heart for him.

Should I?