“Look at me! Look at me! Look at me now! It is fun to have fun, but you have to know how.”
February is a month for hearts, flowers, and of course … groundhogs. Yes, you can be certain that everywhere you go until around the 15th of this month, the world will be awash with heart-shaped everything, and a whole lot of red and pink. Count on it.
Something I know how to do very well is spin my wheels. I’ve analyzed it every-which-way, and I think I finally figured out why I can get stuck or fail at a goal, or a New Year’s Resolution, for that matter.
I can’t lie … I’ve never been much of a “mustache girl.” When I was a kid, I had a Ken doll. “Mod-haired Ken” they called him. He came with removable, reconfigurable facial hair. He became an increasingly bad character, the more facial hair I applied to him. Sporting a full beard and ‘stache, he was straight up Evil Ken. Kind of ironic that I have been with a bearded man for over a decade. The heart wants what it wants.
A new puppy! They are pretty irresistible – they have that puppy breath, which is why thousands of people visit animal shelters every day, and leave with a brand new, cuddly best buddy. There is no sweeter happy ending.
In the matter of a month, Baton Rouge, LA – the place where I grew up – went from a city divided, to a city, quite literally, under water.
This May, I celebrated 25 years working in my primary profession – TV news. If I were to host a “silver jubilee” event to celebrate this multiple-of-five career milestone, and shared that TV news was the last thing I ever thought I’d be doing when I grew up, someone in attendance might say, “It must be where you are supposed to be.”
Turning 40 years old is such a significant milestone. For us humans, it roughly marks our “mid-life” point, which should naturally run about an 80-ish-year course. Reading glasses, shrinking clothes – er, expanding waistlines, gray hair, lost car keys, odd aches and pains. If you haven’t already done so, have I sold you on turning 40 yet?
For all of the things that seem to be going wrong in the world, there is one thing that is very right: When the chips are down, Americans are there to lend a hand.
Eight years ago this month, my husband Rick and I were married in Key West, Florida. The ceremony was small – just my husband, his best man, my mother, my matron of honor and me … and a half dozen or so drunks who happened to be passed out on the beach nearby.
