The Little Things

I have, after all this time, decided that I like this blog; I think I'll keep it. Several times the mouse has been but one click away from deleting it; all my mindless ramblings, rantings, and logs of life. (That was rather poetic, wasn't it?) Yes, you shall stay, My Little Blog; for now, anyways.

The marathon is this Saturday. I'm trying to keep myself on a tight leash, not let my mind think about it too much lest I become overwhelmed with regret, discouragement and disappointment: I won't be running in it. Stupid knees. Stupid 12th pregnancy. Stupid me. The stupid knees belong to me, hence they are on my body. The stupid pregnancy lost belongs to me, as my body has decided to revolt without my permissions. The stupid me pretty much sums it all up. Stupid me and no marathon.

You just can't give a dog a big, fat, juicy bone then, once he's slobbered all over it, guarded it, and invested gnawing time on it, take it away. That's very much how a goal oriented person is when you give them a big, fat, juicy, goal then take it away. Now I am a dog without a bone. Not that I don't have other bones, it's just that I want the one I can't have; naturally.

Humans are so fickle.

I was thinking about connections; relationships, to be exact. Remember Mr. Rogers and the "Who are the people in your neighborhood" song? Well, unlike most American's, I make it a point to know the people in my neighborhood. There's good ol' David, who's anxiously getting himself a Philippino bride in a matter of days. Oh, how he's enchanted with her, thanks to an "Over 60" chat room and highspeed internet. He's been busy, trying to get his house all cleaned for her. I often wonder, "just what is he feeling?"

I wonder if she's going to take his money and run. That's what his last wife did, and he still hasn't recovered from that. I know David is very excited for her to meet me, as he is (if I'm reading his unspoken words correctly) counting on my kindness to keep her afloat until she finds friends of her own. What is the proper way to sweetly say, "Listen lady, you mess with little ol' David and you're gonna have me to deal with...you hurt him, take his hard earned money, or break his fragile heart, and I'll (flex, snap, pop) be paying you a little visit, ya hear..."? I've been told I'm creative, so perhaps I'll think of a nifty little way to put that nicely.

Then there's Melissa, who's taken up smoking after her divorce, whose roommate (after the X moved out) just witnessed her X-finance shoot himself (suicide) in the head. I'll be collecting her mail, overseeing the mowing of her lawn, and watching over her place while she's away all summer. I've lived next to her for three years now, and yet we're both private enough that we know each other without really knowing each other.

And let's not forget Andy. Andy who spent most of his day off yesterday working on his lawn. Seeing how badly he'd like to be married and start a family, how he has to work to pay for his home, then work to maintain his home, I realize just how much a man needs a good woman. It must be very hard, and very lonely, for a man to work hard all day at work, come home to an empty house, have to cook himself a meal, do his laundry, clean his house, take care of his lawn, pay the bills, grocery shop, find matching socks, and clean underwear. It is not good for man to be alone.

I'm not a feminist, but I do think that women fare better alone than men do. Women have the frame of mind to put something in the crockpot before leaving for work, and to start the laundry as soon as they get home, so they can fold it before bedtime. They multi-task getting their hair, shopping and bill paying done, and they pay the neighbor kid to mow their lawn. Since a man's not doing the laundry, they always have matching socks and clean underwear (of which they own more than just a few pair--without holes, I might add).

...Speaking of underwear for a minute, I do have to say that I have a pet peeve when it comes to men's underwear: whitey tighties. I despise them. Why not blue? Or red? Even purple, if you feel up to it, but why white? I refuse to buy whitey tighties when it comes to purchasing men's underwear. I think I prefer black or charcoal gray the most. And why hang onto underwear that has holes in it? Is this a form of air conditioning? Do you not notice the holes? This, I truley do not understnad. Anyway...

So, as I visit with Andy, I am glad to give him company and a warm meal every now and again. It makes me smile when he calls with a question (What should I use to clean my laminate floors? What plant should I plant by my front door? Where should I put my couch; hang my pictures? Can I use margarine instead of butter?), and ends the conversation with, "Thanks Mom."

Relationships. Isn't that the crux of what life is about?

I dare say it is.

Relationships are as little as waving at a car that goes by, or as big as convincing a man not to set himself on fire; they're as little as kissing a scratched knee or as big as being the Rock for a friend at the end of themselves.

We all come to the end of ourselves at some point, and we all sit atop a mountain peak at some point. Who is there to share these moments with? Who is there when you fall? Who is there when you're at the top? If you are the most blessed of people, then you will find the same crowd around you at both places.

Big things come and go, people come and go, but relationships stay with us, whether good or bad, painful or pleasant. I think, perhaps, that life is not so much about the big events, but the power of the smaller moments. Several small moments make one big event. Life is like a marathon; to run it well, you must not forsake the training.

Yes, life is lived in the little things.