I'm Working On It

My open letter to Mike Singletary, the new coach of the San Francisco 49er's:

I watched you play for the Bears and perform in the Superbowl shuffle (priceless by the way) and just this weekend I watched you return some dignity to the NFL.

Thank you.

Thank you for illustrating to the rest of the league what it means to be a coach and what it means to lead. For far too long coaches and owners have stepped aside and let the "marquee" players do anything and everything they wanted. For even longer coaches and owners have looked the other way when players gets into trouble off the field.

I have a feeling that all stops with you. Your sentencing Davis to the locker room was just the medicine football needs.

No more sharpies and ocho cinco, no more hiring bodyguards to keep your player's nose clean and no more catering. It is a sight of beauty to know at least 1 football team has someone coaching with the cajones to stand up and say no matter what talent you have, no matter how great you may be, YOU are not above US (team).

I hope the rest of the league follows your lead and forces players to act like men. We need a many more Singletary's to get the job done, but you Sir, are a hell of a start.

I voted and I am done.

I can take no more of the political ads, the radio spots, and the news media. I can take no more. The system, in my opinion is no longer who is the best. It is instead this contorted, bloated mess, where the really great people have no interest in dragging themselves, with bloodied knuckle across the finish line. The sad thing, we need someone like that, someone who is in strictly for the guts, no glory. Many would say we already have that person and to them I say "Aren't you glad you live in America?"

I voted and I am done.

I believe I would like to RUN AWAY. Well, actually, I know I would like to run away. No longer be the person is charge of remembering EVERYTHING, answering phones, filing, smiling, doign the dishes, paying bills, feeding the dog, saying "No I can take care of that." so on and so on and so and so on and--- you get the idea.

My friends tell me I should take an extended holiday, relax a bit, not worry about EVERYTHING. I agree with them on EVERY level, EVERY level. However, what my friends fail to realize, is I CAN'T.

Not the i can't in the sense that I can't/won't let go (while that certainly plays a part) I can't because if I am not doing the work, who will? There is no money to have anyone else do my jobs. I can not afford to hire 1 person to answer phones and file, so I can do the billing, releases, data entry, checkbook reconciliation, accounting, federal and state filings and etc. etc. etc. There is no money and I can not afford it.

There I said it. It pains me to no end to admit not only can I NOT DO IT ALL, but I have also FAILED to ensure there is an avenue to pay someone else to do it.

Pains me beyond all recognition to admit it, and I struggle everyday to make sure this does not become a validation that I am a failure and I CANNOT DO anything.

If I worked for anyone other than myself I would have no problem hanging a sign and saying see you in a month and a half (I haven't had a vacation of any appreciable time in 3 years), because it would be someone else's problem to get my job done and someone else would have clearly done what I have failed to do... succeed.

Lord, how self loathing...... gotta find a way to get this done and I will I just wish I wouldn't exile myself off in space. I have to be willing to accept help before some will show up.

A life in PROGRESS

My day:

1. wake up late (6:25 am) because I love my snooze button and the ability it gives every day, to make to the world wait just a bit longer.

2. Feed small horse aka BadDog who drools into my shoe

3. Get to work (7:10 am) YES!!!! cough, snort, GOOD to be here4. Get a call (8:30 am) to head to Cancer Gramps - he needs someone with him

5. On way to Cancer gramps, I pass a school zone. Remarkable only because I always thought 15 was WAY T O O S L O W except that today two small children run out in front of me after leaping from their mother's car in a manner that makes me wonder if it was on fire, and promptly disappear from my vision. The disappear UNDER MY FRONT END. Frantic, I'm halfway out of the truck before my seat belt almost hangs me to death and then I see the Mom literally pulling her kids up by the arms and yelling she was "So Sorry" to me out of one side of her mouth and yelling at her children for running into traffic out of the other. I breathed an acres worth of relief. They were fine. I may have had a heart attack, but they were good.

6. Arrive at Cancer Gramps to see him looking the best he has in weeks, only to hear he feels like "shit" and last night hospice nurse wasn't sure how long he had. Oh and the reverend/priest/spiritual person hospice sends out was HIGH. I call my Mom to double check and she states he rev wasn't even there last night. I ask Cancer Gramps what kind of drugs the dear old rev had and whether or not he thought the rev would let us score some. I figure, what the hell he's not sure what happened anyways and insisting he's wrong just increases his anxiety so might as well go with the flow. I do ask if he's had a whacky pill though.

7. After a rousing game of why the Price is Right is on and Cancer Gramps stating he just wants "this all to be over." (and my heart broke). What the hell do you say? He is dying. I can't imagine the awfulness of knowing something in your own body is robbing you of life. CancerGramps takes a nap and I let him know while he's napping I have run an errand. I head to the bank to be told, they "are out of money" ! Huh?! what, say again?! come again. My response is "this is a bank, right?" They are not amused-more on this later.

8. Return to Cancer Gramps, he wants to vote and pay bills!!! Yeah!!!! He's up coherent, ready to rock! Tried to get him to go for a ride in his convertible since it was 85 outside, but no dice.

9. Dad gets to Cancer Gramps, looking amazingly refreshed from his meeting. I ask how was it? He says - great. I said really? He says, yep. I say you lost it huh? He says -"Yep and it was beautiful. “He has this grin on his face much like a kid who knows they were wrong but enjoyed being wrong way too much.

I do love construction though, the land where it is perfectly acceptable to yell, the words “I’m gonna kick your f***ing ass and I'll take your partner's ass on too, just cause he's bugging to hell out of me."

And even after that's all said, people keep right on working.10. head back to work

11. Call Mom whose at Cancer gramps now with Boodha, ask if they would like me to bring dinner over. I get a list, as follows, for El Pollo Loco - 2 breasts (I reminded mom she had two of her own, she wasn't thrilled) 2 legs, mexican rice, veggies, $1 salad with lite dressing. Ordinarily not a problem, except the Crazy Chicken I go to apparently thought it would be a good idea to have the person who spoke either the least or the most english (I'm sure which one) on the drive through window. I can't even begin to tell you what I got but none of it resembled what I supposed to get.

BTW my new philosophy for drive thru's is to say my order really fast and almost unintelligible because even if you say "I would like a #2, no onions and a regular coke, thank you that's all." extremely clearly, slowly and completely intelligible, you still get asked, at a bare minimum "would you like to large size that" and "what was your drink again" and then they repeat it back and it ends up a #4 with extra onions and an iced tea

12. Almost hit a man in the street while heading to Cancer Gramps. Why was he in the street you may be asking yourself? Because he was riding a bicycle while drunk and fell off and into the street, directly in front of me.

13 After almost having my second heart attack of the day, I roll my window down and ask if he's alright, he's response was he was hoping I'd hit him. God give me the strength to make it through.

14. Eat at Cancer Gramps, who has anxiety attack. 2 pills and a pain patch later he's up and moving around, even ate a Popsicle. Dad got home from his game (in his spare time, lol, he coaches football) and then the dam showed some cracks.15 Cancer Gramps reiterated he wanted "this" to be over and he needed to make some decisions. He said he needed to figure out where he was going. The rest of us are trying to figure out the hell he's talking about so I ask where he wanted to go.

He said he had to go somewhere to die.

He says we can't and shouldn't be there every minute but he needs somebody. My heart broke for the second time that day and we all tried to reassure him we are here for him and will care for him. He did the MAN CRY as I call it, the lips and chin quiver and they do everything to not actually cry which is so much harder to watch. I had to excuse myself to the bathroom and silently cry in the corner careful not to take too long so no one would know what I was doing.

16. Cancer Gramps, wants us to make sure at his service (which he said previously he didn't want) we tell "the guy" Gramps was a good man. What guy gramps? The priest, "make sure he knows I was a good man, a man's man." Gramps is a catholic and catholics NEVER refer to a priest as "that guy". I say to grandpa "I'm going to tell him you're a pain in the ass."

There's a story here: When Cancer gramps first got his cancer all over diagnosis, he and I went to lunch and he said two things 1. At least I don't have brain cancer and I said no I suppose on the continuum of things, that's a plus and 2. I don't want to be a burden at which point I told him he will most certainly not be burden, but he will most certainly be a pain in the ass. Gramps got a kick out of that as did the nurses, docs, tech, radiation people, ct people etc. that he has told since then.

17. Gramps says again he was a good Man, remembers his daughter's memorial service is this weekend more lips and chin quivering

18. "You know, no one's any better than me," says Gramps. I say- "no gramps they're not and I remember you telling me "no one's any better than me, but I'm sure as hell no better than anybody else either." He says, "Your damned right."

19. We go over questions for hospice people

20. Boodha boy kicks the ancient dog for being in "his" space. That was really fun. The dog was not harmed. My brother has that thing where animals and I mean, dogs, cats, horses- stay WAY WAY WAY away from him. They do this with no prompting, he puts of the "I can't stand animals thing."

21. I head out and gramps says maybe he'd go for ride tomorrow. I kiss him on the cheek and tell him I love him and I'll see him tomorrow. I have never heard grandpa say the word "goodbye." ever. If you're on the phone he just hangs up when he's done or maybe will say "see ya later," maybe. If you're at his house and are leaving he just says "yep, gotta get to it."

He didn't say goodbye.

I was thankful.

Quick question:

If two people only have "conversations" through Facebook/texting/myspace, and these "conversations" are one liners, does that person have a right to comment on a) an impending death in the family and b) the fact that I haven't made a phone call?

Just curious.

To the ASS HAT who rode my ass ALL THE WAY TO WORK this morning.

You sir, are an ASS HAT, of the 1st class variety.

It's a two lane road, double lined the whole way, there are no passing places, there's not even a place to pull off on the side of the road because on the infinite wisdom of Nevada Depart of Trans the best way to solve a traffic problem is to MAKE IT WORSE.

I was not trying to be annoying; there was no place for me to go. The cars ahead of me braked, so I did what most of civilized society does and choose to brake also. Your Sir, Mr. ASS HAT, chose instead to get as close to my bumper as is humanly possible without hitting me. You then proceeded to wait far enough back, while traffic was inching forward, to make sure I noticed your displeasure. Waiving your arms, yelling out the window, honking etc.

YOU.ARE.AN.ASS.HAT.

you then took your dirty jersey loving ASS HAT cancer stick and sucked on it for awhile and then turned your ASS HAT, hat sideways looking like a true DB, placed your morning jewelry on and then blared your ASS HAT music louder than is necessary at 6:30 am.

I'm talking the kind of loud where people 800 blocks down the road can feel the bass. And I know you love dirty jersey because you front license plate holder says "I [heart] Dirty Jersey, and I got a good look it when I turned on my review camera cause I didn't think your ASS HAT self would be that much of an ASS HAT and be so close to my bumper.

Then came the TRAIN. MR. ASS HAT, you are a retard, seriously. THERE WAS NO PLACE TO GO, THERE WAS A TRAIN. AND YOU ARE AN ASS HAT. Did I mention there was a train? I couldn't go around, nor could the dumbass NDOT workers, or the 5 other cars ahead of me.

ASS HAT.

Why, Sir ASS HAT, were your surprised when I exited my vehicle and politely inquired about your health? I simply want to "check and make sure you were feeling alright, as you seem to be having great difficulty this morning." You, Mr. ASS HAT, stated your felt fine. I then "suggest you see a Dr. to remove your ASS HAT because no one who felt fine could be that much of a moronic ASS HAT. Sir there is a train, no one can go anywhere. Please stop being such an ASS HAT and good day to you sir."

As I walked back my vehicle, I realized while you sir are an ASS HAT, I may be a bit off myself. Who in the hell does something like that at 6:30 in the morning in stopped traffic?

That would be me, your friendly
ASS HAT interventionist.

Last night I had a migraine from hell and I mean hell, by the time I decided to pack it in for the evening I was crying it hurt so badly. I'm someone who doesn't regularly cry either.

I am the person who laughed in the movie theater during Titanic when the chick says to jack, "I'll never let go." and promptly drops his ass in the water. To me, it was ironic and funny as hell, to others in the theater it was as if they had lost a child. Although, the men in the theatre laughed with me until their wives/girlfriends poked them in the ribs. Any way...

So I had just gotten myself halfway comfortable, pre tears, in a recliner and my husband had taken BadDog for a run. Next thing I know my husband comes in frantic- BadDog had gone after a coyote and was gone. My response was, "on the leash he got away?" " No, I didn't have him on the leash." "Huh, we can always get a new one."

My husband was not pleased. He asked if I wasn't at least a little concerned and I responded that "no not really, I told you to always have his ass on a leash, he loves to chase things and if you took him out without one, and he doesn't come back, we can get a new dog." Now my husband was ...pissed would be the appropriate word.

See I love the dog, but he is a dog, and I don't have that attachment of my dog is my kid.

Plus, this dog is not really a dog, I mean; he is in the sense that is his species, but he's much more horse like. 120 pounds and 32 inches tall (think 7 year old kids tall). He's a Rhodesian ridgeback, aka the lion dog. People see him and either think he is the most beautiful dog in the world or they reenact Darryl Hannah in Steel Magnolia's -slow southern drawl with the emphasis on dog "What kind of dog is that?" Then people ask "How do you shave his hair to make the mohawk?" I want to say "people if you think I have the time or the effort in me to shave this dog's hair into a perfect mohawk and make the hair in the mohawk grow the opposite direction of the rest of his hair, you are sadly mistaken." But I don't, I smile politely and say, "That’s specific to his breed; he's born with it, like maybelline."

So my husband now throws a phone at me - in case someone calls on the dog (cough) - and heads out in the wild blue yonder to find BadDog. He has the truck halfway out of the garage and Baddog was at the door, with a look that said, "Hey we going to the park? I like the park. Do you have any food, I like food."

So my husband was annoyed at me, BadDog curled up next to me, my head is pounding like there's a 4 inch midget with a jackhammer having fun behind my left temple and eye.

My husband looks at BadDog and says

"Traitor, she doesn't even care if you never come home."

BadDog farts and I head to bed.

Please stop with the "he said.....", "No that's incorrect I said", "My opponent...." crap.

Enough of the high school games, in case you guys haven't noticed there is a country to run here.

I want to know the how of each proposal. How is it going to be funded, how is it going to be administered, is it taking place of another program, are programs going to be eliminated? And I don't want to hear "we are taking a look at all options." I want to know HOW. I want specifics.

The public is doing far more with far less and I expect our politicians should also. Politicians in theory work for US, yet WE do not treat them like employees. If an employee came to me and said I see a problem with our health care and I want to A) give it to MOST people for free or B) I want to give SOME employees stipends to cover costs. My very next questions would be 1) Why some and not all? 2) How does this affect us fiscally? 3) How does it get done? 4) Whose going to do it? and 5) Who decides whose eligible or not?

We no longer have the luxury in this country of giving money away and wasting it on programs that are not effective. Through entitlement programs, lax standards and the feel good mentality we have created a large % of people who believe they have little to no personal responsibility and are entitled to whatever they feel they want.

This last bailout (I am not even going to pretend I am smart enough to understand the in's and out's of it) simply reinforced the idea that people should grab as much money as they can, screwing people over in the process if needed and then someone else will come over and fix your problem.

I'm not saying I have the answer to any of the questions I posed above but I believe, as a nation, we each have the responsibility to, at the very least, ask the questions. And Damn it I am sick and tired of the he said, no he said, no I really said, no he's a flipper, no he's a war hero, no he likes terrorists.

For God sake, can we please get some ANSWERS!!!

In reviewing my posts I've realized to get the full effect why I seem angry/despondent/fazed beyond all belief, I need to explain a few things.

Boodha, god love this man child, has seizures and is mentally disabled (challenged, retarded, intellectually disabled whatever the current buzz word is.) He was left this way due to a virus, same thing that causes west nile, only vegas doesn't have any water and therefore no mosquitoes so they have no idea how he got sick. He still lives with my parents and my Dad or Mom take him to and pick him up from work every day. For variety, or when something heads off the rails, my husband or I will pick him up once a week or so.

Cancer gramps has cancer and is just ending his 1st round of chemo and radiation. His cancer is not the "hey we can more than likely take care of that with some chemo and radiation." His cancer is the kind that goes all over. Lung/ liver/ stomach/ ribs - you get the idea. But in Cancer gramps' words: "hey at least I don't have brain cancer!" Which makes him sound like he's the optimistic sort, Make no mistake, he is most decidedly NOT!!!! His cancer doc now asks him to qualify on a scale of 1 -10 what "shitty" means.

He just spent 3 days in the hospital getting transfusions and the nurses now just pat my Mom on the back and say they are sorry. Not only cause Cancer gramps has cancer, but because HE IS THE WORST PATIENT EVER!!!!

My Mom, Dad, and Boodha have basically been living at Cancer gramps house in shifts. Boodha boy, who deals brilliantly with change (snort, cough) has been struggling along as well as he can. He's only thrown a few fits that entail breaking watches, biting his own arm until it bleeds, throwing shoes, or just a few weekends ago, doing some redesign in Dad's caddy by pulling the review mirror out of the windshield.

Cancer gramps' 14 year old dog is blind/partially deaf, teeth are falling out and has fallen in the pool twice, but we can't put her down because we are almost certain it would push him over the edge as the dog is his only link to his late wife of over 50 years. Plus I thought he was going to commit harry carry (I don't think that's how it's actually spelled) 3 years ago, when the dog got out and went missing for 20 minutes. Cancer Gramps is considering getting an eye done on the dog so she can see, to the tune of $2500. Lord save me if he actually does.

My aunt, cancer gramps daughter and my Father's sister, died in August, within month of getting the same diagnosis Cancer gramps has.

My father and I have our own companies, but we are housed in the same office. His secretary, who was with him for almost 12 years, and whom we treated like family, embezzled 6 figures and we found out 1 1/2 months ago. This crappy, awful, loser of a woman, embezzled money knowing Cancer gramps, who worked in the office 20 hours a week, was dying, my aunt was near death, Boodha boy is.. well...Boodha boy and there are loans to keep the doors open. (cash flow in business sucks!!) My Dad suggested she spend years in confession, I stated she was disgustingly pathetic. Cancer gramps renamed her the Bandit and said I should put her in a back room and jab at her for a while.

So just in case anyone is keeping tabs, my Dad had 2 people (cancer gramps, the bandit) working min 60 hours a week. Now I am filling in for him which means there is 1 person doing 100 hours a week worth of work. It's beginning to wear too. Last week I stated just because I am now the only person in the office with boobs, doesn't mean I am also the only person who knows how to answer the phone, make a copy, send a fax, make coffee, take a message, order anything, put the toilet seat down etc and you bastards are damn lucky I come in here every day. (that last part was in my head, but damnit I meant it)

Thank god I work for myself or I would have been fired. Oh wait I can't be fired cause I own part of the joint. Lovely. Wait on second thought, maybe they could force me out and then...... then what? Oh hell moving on.

We banked a bank that was taken over by the FDIC and everything WAS NOT covered as advertised.

2 companies in our line of work have put the word out they are going to try and put everyone else out of business and have already working hard at it.

My grandmother has advanced Parkinson's disease and even though my mom has 4 other siblings, only she and one brother help out. Grandma Park is home bound and dependant on my Mom and uncle for everything. This has been going on now for almost 10 years. Grandma Park's refuses to move to an assisted living facility and the decision makers listen to her. I told my mom you can't let the person who is dependent on everyone else make that decision, but I was out voted. Grandma Park's is like Edith Bunker, with Parkinson’s and passive aggressive.

My husband and I have been together for 8 years, built our own home last year and needless to say the stress of all the above, plus in laws and outlaws and other things have made things more than a bit strained.

So there you have it, the snap shot of my life.

Cancer gramps has had some doozies lately. There was the albeanos aka people who are Albino. There are any number of inappropriate conversations about "why the hell it's so difficult for a dr. to stay on schedule, I've been back there I know how it works, it's not that difficult to run this place" "that guy is such an asshole." Um... asking his oncologist to marry him, when she's already married and 50 years his junior.

I now bring you the "wacky pill" aka "the wack." Cancer gramps has a bad case of all the following: claustrophobia and allergies to the following: sickness, illness, waiting, sitting, standing, eating, and breathing. He also has battles with surgical tape where he actually threatened to kill the next person to take tape off him, and water.

As you can imagine, these are all items that occur with great frequency during cancer treatment and life. So after the time he begged my mother to hit him with a hammer and then threatened to run out into traffic while waiting for chemo, his doc has recommended something for anxiety.

The wacky pill as he calls it. Hooray for advances in mental health!!! I apologize in advance for my 83 year old Cancer gramps setting mental health back good 20 or 30 years.

Cancer gramps refuses to call the wacky anything other than "the wacky." Not the anti anxiety pill, the calming pill, the name of the drug, nope, just hand him "the wacky."

Because he refuses to call it anything else, (we the family), doctors and nurses, grit our teeth and talk about the wacky.

To be fair the man is 83 years old, his daughter just died of the same disease he has. His dog, the only tactile reminder he has of his wife of 50 some old years, is blind in both eyes, and fell in the pool. The dog then had to be rescued by my grandfather @ 3 in the morning.

I figure let's wack away, hand them out, lord knows we could all use a good chillout.

I figure I'm on a roll here with the Boodha posts so here a goody.

My Mom, Boodha and I had just finished some kind of project or going to the library, or the park, hell I don't really remember I was young. Boodha was lying to my Mom about something and for some reason I think it had to do with food.

We all love food, especially bread, hot doughy slathered in butter... Wait where was I...

He was lying and I told my Mom what he was doing, young tattle tale that I was. She didn't believe me and I continued to insist for what was probably an hour in kid time, she turned to me and calmly said,

"Your brother is retarded, he doesn't know how to lie."

My retort:

"Mom, he's retarded not stupid."

That's right everybody, calling like I see from a young age.

I just really, really, really need something to work.

I thought about my last post and I ended up with tears streaming down my face.

See when Boodha was 2 1/4, I was just 5 and it was Christmas. He had what everyone assumed was an ear infection, when in actuality it was encephalitis. He left our home just before Christmas as my brother and returned sometime in January as my brother, 2.0.

Blind (temporary from the swelling) screaming (who wouldn't be after what he lived through), and like a newborn baby again. His first words when he could speak again were: Shit, god dammit, f**k. In that order, from a 3 year old. Made shopping fun. He learned those words while he was in a coma and would crash; the nurses and docs apparently had quite the vocab.

My world was shattered and I didn't know it was okay to not be okay. Even at 5 I knew I had to be good, because my parents had a whole new set of responsibilities and I couldn't be messing around.

I will swear to my dying day 2 things in life

1. I saw the Easter bunny in my house, sitting on my fireplace loading up the homemade basket I had when I was 7 and my parents were out by the pool washing down something Boodha had puked on.
2. I heard a story somewhere that people who were hit by lighting had miracle recoveries
   So I had a convo with God. I set him up really well for a kid, you know the usual way: I swear I will never never ever ever, I promise I will always always for sure always........ If you just do one of the following three things for me God:
   Take me and make Boodha normal
   Have me get hit with lighting and make him normal
   Hit Boodha boy with some lighting and zap him back to normal

Man to be a kid again

That is how my younger brother, the aforementioned mentally handicapped brother and now to be known as Boodha and/or Boodha Boy (goes way back before phone's were cordless and rainbow bright, pound puppy style), signed in at work.

He works at a center for adults with disabilities and when they sign in or out they have to say who dropped them off and picked them up. As far as security goes I don't know if that's best approach for this population, but I'll save that for another day.

I had dropped him off because my Dad and my Mom were going with my Grandpa to his oncology appointment. Oncology as in my 83 year old grandfather has lung/liver/sure to kill cancer/all over. And I say "my" in front "our" family members, because Boodha doesn't understand "our." Has to do with learning to share and he doesn't share, consequently he'll call me and say "your dad wants to talk to you." If I was a bit more neurotic I might think he knows more then he's letting on to.

Back to my shining moment: My Mom picked Boodha up. She called me and asked if I had walked in with him when I dropped him off. I most certainly didn't as he views this akin to a 12 year old being dropped off at the movies by his mom in a Buick, when he's trying to scam on the honeys.

Then she started to cry and told me what he wrote. "You know where he has to sign in?" Yeah Mom, "he wrote his name and then for who dropped him off....." Mom you there? "He wrote my best sister." then Boodha boy was ready to go and like all moments in our lives, they go on pause because he's ready.

Why it matters that I'm his best sister. Well, pushing aside the fact that win by default (I am also the ONLY sister, as I pointed out to my Mom who then said is there a reason you have to be a smart ass ALL the time?), in my brother's world there are very few people who count. This short list is comprised mainly of family and a few long time family friends.

And just so you know, there is actually a list. It makes weekly appearances on Thursday's and Thursday's only. So if you want to look at the list, check it out see if you rank yet, I hope you have that day open; he's not bringing it out just because you’re available.

He maintains this list with the diligence of a man who..... Hell I don't know... think rain man and k-mart. If you're on the short list you get a call, and be prepared to have a nickname that bears no resemblance to your real name. There's punch and judy, the beer drinker, walking man bill (whose real name is Todd I think), tony baloney and others.

A beautiful part of Boodha being Boodha is when people die, they just die. He just says they're off the list and he needs some white out, literally. That's it, end of story. 1 recent white outer was my Aunt aka On the Go (cancer gramps daughter). She was diagnosed with the same cancers as Cancer Gramps and she passed within a month of that diagnosis.

Boodha did ask why she died and I tried explaining that members of our family who are already in heaven can't be alone forever they need company. He contemplated that, turned to me and said they could have On the Go but they couldn't have Cancer Gramps because he was Boodha's buddy and I needed have a chat with God to clue him in.

I guess that's why I'm the Best Sister; he thinks I can bargain with god.

I would love to take credit for the saying, but my Mom is where I heard first.

I can't place the exact conversation, couldn't even tell you what it was about, but my Mom said, "It is what it is."

The light clicked on for me and those words sank down on me.

In this world, you are where you are.
You life is your life.
It is what it is.
Nothing less nothing more.

It is what it is.

That phrase applies to everything I can ever think and probably most of what I could never imagine.