Maybe it's not really a cult. But they've definitely gone over to the dark side.
They've started listening to country music.
How this happened suddenly, right smack in the midst of their 50s, I do not know but I'm going to blame it on my brother and his move to Nashville.
Mom was actually trying to lure me into the cult by way of a song about ticks. Now, I don't like the great outdoors anyway. I certainly don't know what she was thinking trying to get me interested by way of a parasite.
I'm sure both my folks think I'm being snobbish for not liking country music and I have a sneaking suspicion that's what my sister-in-law thinks as well. She cannot fathom a person from WV who doesn't like country music. Well, pay attention as I set the record straight.
I can appreciate many genres of music and there is some country music I DO like. I love Willie Nelson's Red Headed Stranger album and also "The Ballad of Pancho and Lefty." There's something so wistful and melancholy about it, though I'll admit that I'd rather hear my father-in-law play and sing it.
I love Dolly Parton's "She's an Eagle," Sawyer Brown's "The Long Walk," "You're the One" by Dwight Yokum, "Anymore" by Travis Tritt, and most anything by the Dixie Chicks. Those girls have flair. And guts. But all those songs are deeply, deeply emotionally satisfying.
Patsy Cline's "Crazy" and "Walkin' After Midnight" are in permanent rotation in my singing-in-the-shower ouvre along with some Shania Twain and that one awesome song off the Pulp Fiction soundtrack called "Love is a Red Dress" by someone I forget. And which might not actually be a country song either, now that I think of it.
Johnny Cash is fabulous too, though I'll admit to loving his latter day covers of rock songs like "Hurt" much more than "A Boy Named Sue."
There are good songs in any genre if you care to look, or listen, for them. Though I'd gladly pummel Toby Keith to a pulp and then stomp his stupid hat for good measure. I'd even confess to being a big snob if liking country music means you must like Toby Keith. I hate that guy.
And it looks like that ends whatever goodwill I might have had today for the genre of country music. I know it's a highly debatable topic. Feel free to add your own thoughts!
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Monday, July 23, 2007
Thank God for Dental Insurance
The boy has been up to his normal tricks. Actually, no tricks at all this time. He just spent the other day playing outside in the 100 + degree heat without drinking enough water and without coming in for lunch. When his grandparents took him out shopping he persuaded them to drop him off in Radio Shack at which point he walked in, blacked out and fainted, falling over a tv and breaking his two front teeth.
I don't actually have ANYTHING to say about this except it's weird how guys can't seem to keep their front teeth. My brother, my dad, my husband, HIS dad, my grandfather, my cousin and I'm sure many, many more have broken those specific body parts. What is that? Inner ear problem maybe? Whatever it is, I'm here to shill for Dental Insurance. It's a MUST. Without it this little incident would have ended up costing us thousands. Not to mention Kevin doing his very best Spike impersonation in the dentist's chair wouldn't have been nearly as funny for either of us.
So now his teeth are beautifully bonded and only waiting to see if they are going to die and need root canal work or hang on for dear life and NOT need to be crowned in a few years. I'm hanging on to the insurance either way.
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be 13 year old boys. Cowboys would be safer all around, I think.
I don't actually have ANYTHING to say about this except it's weird how guys can't seem to keep their front teeth. My brother, my dad, my husband, HIS dad, my grandfather, my cousin and I'm sure many, many more have broken those specific body parts. What is that? Inner ear problem maybe? Whatever it is, I'm here to shill for Dental Insurance. It's a MUST. Without it this little incident would have ended up costing us thousands. Not to mention Kevin doing his very best Spike impersonation in the dentist's chair wouldn't have been nearly as funny for either of us.
So now his teeth are beautifully bonded and only waiting to see if they are going to die and need root canal work or hang on for dear life and NOT need to be crowned in a few years. I'm hanging on to the insurance either way.
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be 13 year old boys. Cowboys would be safer all around, I think.
Finally Out of the Closet
No, I'm not gay. I'm literally out of my closet.
I disappeared into the closet late yesterday afternoon and then again this morning, weeding out old clothes, pulling out the items "stored" there never to be used again. I now have a huge pile for Goodwill collection, and I'm considering putting Rich's Viagra t-shirt in since he's gone for a few days and won't miss it right away. That t-shirt was a joke gift for him but he loves to wear it. He says it's his softest shirt. Insert your own joke here.
After I'd terrorized the closet, I still had energy to burn so I started in on the vanity. Drawers of jewelry and make-up and hair products, oh my! You know how you come across make-up that you don't use and wonder why you bought it in the first place? This happened today and now I have on two different eyeliners and two different eyeshadows (none of which GO together), eyebrow pencil that looked good when I was blonde, and a lovely dark red wine lipstick which was the only piece I chose to keep.
So today has been cleansing, revitalizing even. Of course, what I'm really doing is stalling before I get to work on a deposition I have to type. I'd rather be working on the book, but bills come first, right?
(If someone can offer me a good excuse why I should work on the book before the paying job, I'd be grateful!!!)
I disappeared into the closet late yesterday afternoon and then again this morning, weeding out old clothes, pulling out the items "stored" there never to be used again. I now have a huge pile for Goodwill collection, and I'm considering putting Rich's Viagra t-shirt in since he's gone for a few days and won't miss it right away. That t-shirt was a joke gift for him but he loves to wear it. He says it's his softest shirt. Insert your own joke here.
After I'd terrorized the closet, I still had energy to burn so I started in on the vanity. Drawers of jewelry and make-up and hair products, oh my! You know how you come across make-up that you don't use and wonder why you bought it in the first place? This happened today and now I have on two different eyeliners and two different eyeshadows (none of which GO together), eyebrow pencil that looked good when I was blonde, and a lovely dark red wine lipstick which was the only piece I chose to keep.
So today has been cleansing, revitalizing even. Of course, what I'm really doing is stalling before I get to work on a deposition I have to type. I'd rather be working on the book, but bills come first, right?
(If someone can offer me a good excuse why I should work on the book before the paying job, I'd be grateful!!!)
Girl Power
I have a few teenage girls as friends so I receive all those goofy bulletins they send out daily. Lately, though, I've seen a rash of badly written dreck that exists only to frighten girls into staying away from risky behavior. I want to summarize a few brief pieces of advice for those girls from a grown woman who managed to live through just about all stupid behavior imaginable.
First, trust me when I tell you that thirteen is too young for sex. I waited considerably longer than that and was still disappointed in it for a long, long time. It isn't going to be any good until you're older anyway, so wait.
If your boyfriend hits you, attempts to rape you, says nasty things about you, or otherwise threatens or makes your life miserable, YOU DON'T WANT HIM. He is not the "love of your life" and he won't change for you. Tell your father and let him deal with the scumsucker. Your dad will be thrilled to run off a bad boyfriend for you.
If you ever end up pregnant, suicide is not the answer. Go look at the pictures of my darling baby boy and the happy smiles on our faces. You can get through it too and one day you will be happier than you suspect right now.
As a matter of fact, pregnant or not, horrible boyfriend or not, life-threatening depression or not, your life is going to be so much better ten and twenty years from now that you will not take all the money in the world at that time to go back and repeat the teenage years you're living right now.
Can't get rid of the depression or the lingering feeling that you have no idea who you are or who you want to be? All of us who are older have been there. It gets better. In the meantime, take your education seriously. Learn all you can learn and read all the books you can get your hands on. One day you will not have enough time to either learn or read all that interests you. Sign up for a martial arts class and learn how to kick bad-boy butt. This will see you well through college and give your self-esteem quite a boost too. Stop trying to attract the attention of any random male and focus on getting to know the ones who really interest YOU.
Most of all just get through the next few years and try to hang on to your sense of humor. You'll come out okay on the other side of twenty.
Oh, and don't wear blue eyeshadow. You definitely will regret that later.
First, trust me when I tell you that thirteen is too young for sex. I waited considerably longer than that and was still disappointed in it for a long, long time. It isn't going to be any good until you're older anyway, so wait.
If your boyfriend hits you, attempts to rape you, says nasty things about you, or otherwise threatens or makes your life miserable, YOU DON'T WANT HIM. He is not the "love of your life" and he won't change for you. Tell your father and let him deal with the scumsucker. Your dad will be thrilled to run off a bad boyfriend for you.
If you ever end up pregnant, suicide is not the answer. Go look at the pictures of my darling baby boy and the happy smiles on our faces. You can get through it too and one day you will be happier than you suspect right now.
As a matter of fact, pregnant or not, horrible boyfriend or not, life-threatening depression or not, your life is going to be so much better ten and twenty years from now that you will not take all the money in the world at that time to go back and repeat the teenage years you're living right now.
Can't get rid of the depression or the lingering feeling that you have no idea who you are or who you want to be? All of us who are older have been there. It gets better. In the meantime, take your education seriously. Learn all you can learn and read all the books you can get your hands on. One day you will not have enough time to either learn or read all that interests you. Sign up for a martial arts class and learn how to kick bad-boy butt. This will see you well through college and give your self-esteem quite a boost too. Stop trying to attract the attention of any random male and focus on getting to know the ones who really interest YOU.
Most of all just get through the next few years and try to hang on to your sense of humor. You'll come out okay on the other side of twenty.
Oh, and don't wear blue eyeshadow. You definitely will regret that later.
You Call This a Field Trip?
I slept in yesterday morning. Because day before yesterday I chaperoned a field trip. When I was a kid, our end of year field trip was a day at the roller rink in the next town over. This was a whole different thing entirely. The entire 8th grade, track three went on charter buses over to Beaufort, NC (BOW-fort, in case you were wondering) and we all had lunch at a seafood restaurant on the shoreline.
After lunch, we went on a chartered speedboat and took off out into the deep water.
We then drove (boated?) over to a deserted island where there were puportedly wild horses. I didn't see any wild horses but I'd never before received field trip instructions that included the following guidelines: "Do not provoke the wild horses." and "Dodge all charging wild horses." I'm not kidding. I rolled laughing when I saw that and immediately charged the battery in my camera. But, no wild horses to be seen this time on that lovely deserted island.
The boat docked on the island and the kids were taught a brief lesson on how to dedge for marine life and then turned loose to try it for themselves.
After which, everyone loaded back onto the boat and we headed for deep water.
They got to fish from the sides of the boat. Lines were tangled and there were lots of squeals when people caught fish, but they had a blast.
It may have been a day chaperoning a hundred kids but doing that on a boat on a gorgeous day in the middle of the week was sheer wonderful. Who knew all of that was a mere two and a half hours away? I think I'm going to be looking up vacation houses in Beaufort.
Who's with me?
After lunch, we went on a chartered speedboat and took off out into the deep water.
We then drove (boated?) over to a deserted island where there were puportedly wild horses. I didn't see any wild horses but I'd never before received field trip instructions that included the following guidelines: "Do not provoke the wild horses." and "Dodge all charging wild horses." I'm not kidding. I rolled laughing when I saw that and immediately charged the battery in my camera. But, no wild horses to be seen this time on that lovely deserted island.
The boat docked on the island and the kids were taught a brief lesson on how to dedge for marine life and then turned loose to try it for themselves.
After which, everyone loaded back onto the boat and we headed for deep water.
They got to fish from the sides of the boat. Lines were tangled and there were lots of squeals when people caught fish, but they had a blast.
It may have been a day chaperoning a hundred kids but doing that on a boat on a gorgeous day in the middle of the week was sheer wonderful. Who knew all of that was a mere two and a half hours away? I think I'm going to be looking up vacation houses in Beaufort.
Who's with me?
The New Desperate Demographic
I've been thinking about this topic for a while now. Ever since I noticed the phenomenon, really. It's odd to me and I'd love to know how all of you view it.
Since I've been on MySpace, a relatively brief time thus far, I've met lots of new friends and caught up with many old friends. Some of those old friends are men. The interesting phenomenon is that when I was nineteen and twenty, these guys were older than I was. Two to five years older. Now that I'm in my mid-thirties, according to their MySpace pages, they are that much YOUNGER than I am.
Out of common courtesy I won't name names, but isn't it interesting that men in their mid to late thirties are now pretending to be so much younger? I've noticed no women doing the same, though I'm sure some women, somewhere are, but several of the men have. And when I've asked them about it directly, simply out of good-natured curiosity, to a number they have not answered.
Women use anti-aging products, or, as the new and wonderful Dove campaign puts it, PRO-aging products, and we color our hair, attempt to trim our figures and wear flattering clothing in an effort to always look our best. (In public at least, right? I'm not about to cop to dressing to impress in my own home.) But I cannot think of a women I know who actively lies about her age or even tries to hide it. Women of my mother's generation, yes. (Sorry, Mom. I'll point out now that my mother has never done this, to my knowledge. She is naturally beautiful and always will be.) I know of a few women who held onto their 39th year clear up until their 50th.
I can't help but wonder if the men who lie about their ages do it for any reason other than vanity. I'm assuming, since I'm friends with some of these people, that they have no nefarious intentions. But in the same way that women of a certain age have begun embracing their abilities and attributes, have the men of that same age regressed in their confidence in themselves?
The sad thing is, I know these guys. I know they've accomplished things for themselves, I know they are intelligent and interesting people who have friends and a place in the world. Some are married, some are single and happily dating. In short, they are in the same playing field as all of my women friends. So what is making that difference?
I find it more impressive when people look their best, behave wisely, and continuously progress in their personal accomplishments. I have to believe there is no better feeling than success in your own chosen arena and that success shines from your face (probably knocking ten years off your appearance!)
Comment freely. I'm fascinated!
Since I've been on MySpace, a relatively brief time thus far, I've met lots of new friends and caught up with many old friends. Some of those old friends are men. The interesting phenomenon is that when I was nineteen and twenty, these guys were older than I was. Two to five years older. Now that I'm in my mid-thirties, according to their MySpace pages, they are that much YOUNGER than I am.
Out of common courtesy I won't name names, but isn't it interesting that men in their mid to late thirties are now pretending to be so much younger? I've noticed no women doing the same, though I'm sure some women, somewhere are, but several of the men have. And when I've asked them about it directly, simply out of good-natured curiosity, to a number they have not answered.
Women use anti-aging products, or, as the new and wonderful Dove campaign puts it, PRO-aging products, and we color our hair, attempt to trim our figures and wear flattering clothing in an effort to always look our best. (In public at least, right? I'm not about to cop to dressing to impress in my own home.) But I cannot think of a women I know who actively lies about her age or even tries to hide it. Women of my mother's generation, yes. (Sorry, Mom. I'll point out now that my mother has never done this, to my knowledge. She is naturally beautiful and always will be.) I know of a few women who held onto their 39th year clear up until their 50th.
I can't help but wonder if the men who lie about their ages do it for any reason other than vanity. I'm assuming, since I'm friends with some of these people, that they have no nefarious intentions. But in the same way that women of a certain age have begun embracing their abilities and attributes, have the men of that same age regressed in their confidence in themselves?
The sad thing is, I know these guys. I know they've accomplished things for themselves, I know they are intelligent and interesting people who have friends and a place in the world. Some are married, some are single and happily dating. In short, they are in the same playing field as all of my women friends. So what is making that difference?
I find it more impressive when people look their best, behave wisely, and continuously progress in their personal accomplishments. I have to believe there is no better feeling than success in your own chosen arena and that success shines from your face (probably knocking ten years off your appearance!)
Comment freely. I'm fascinated!
Desperation is the Mother of Reinvention
I've been talking with a friend of mine, someone I knew a long time ago, someone who wouldn't know me at all right now if not for MySpace. Because I'm not the person I was fourteen years ago. And if you think about it, not many of us are, are we?
Fourteen years ago I didn't understand a lot about what makes life really hum along with positive energy. Basically I was putting a lot of effort into my eyeliner and the height of my bangs. I was careful not to show too much when climbing up on top of the bar to dance at one in the morning and I was very selective in the men that I dated. I ranked them by their preferred instrument and the length of their hair. Not really, but it kind of looks that way in retrospect.
When that life of dreams was rudely awakened by a newborn baby, I had to reinvent myself. So I became a travel agent, dressed in suits every day, and drove downtown to work in a corporate daytime environment. After a couple years of that, I reinvented into a married woman then later became a homemaker and now, most recently, a writer who tries to keep up with her kid's activities and wants like hell to support her husband to pay him back for the ecstasy of not having to work outside the home anymore.
Gone are the rooster bangs and the black minis. Gone is my wonderful convertible from my early-Mom days. Gone is the daily gossip over the coffeemaker in the break room. But on the other hand, I'm not missing the pantyhose from the corporate world and I'll never again have to tug to keep my knee-high boots in place while dancing on a bar. I don't miss the late nights or the too-early mornings and I'll never miss the sound of a sound of a zillion phones ringing when the airlines started a fare war.
Every reinvention has brought me happiness and for that I'm lucky, I know. Not everyone gets to reinvent in an upwardly mobile manner. Some people reinvented into post-career-college-bound thirty-somethings or into cancer survivors (
) or discovered that our last incarnation into teaching wasn't the best and reinvented into cosmetic saleswomen.
Isn't that the best benefit of life, though? Everyone's road may be different but no matter where you are on it right now, you're further along than you used to be. And even if the only thing you're gaining is wisdom, I'm betting your life feels a lot more valuable the further down the road you make it.
Life is all about the journey, not the destination. After all, the destination is death. Why get in a hurry?
Fourteen years ago I didn't understand a lot about what makes life really hum along with positive energy. Basically I was putting a lot of effort into my eyeliner and the height of my bangs. I was careful not to show too much when climbing up on top of the bar to dance at one in the morning and I was very selective in the men that I dated. I ranked them by their preferred instrument and the length of their hair. Not really, but it kind of looks that way in retrospect.
When that life of dreams was rudely awakened by a newborn baby, I had to reinvent myself. So I became a travel agent, dressed in suits every day, and drove downtown to work in a corporate daytime environment. After a couple years of that, I reinvented into a married woman then later became a homemaker and now, most recently, a writer who tries to keep up with her kid's activities and wants like hell to support her husband to pay him back for the ecstasy of not having to work outside the home anymore.
Gone are the rooster bangs and the black minis. Gone is my wonderful convertible from my early-Mom days. Gone is the daily gossip over the coffeemaker in the break room. But on the other hand, I'm not missing the pantyhose from the corporate world and I'll never again have to tug to keep my knee-high boots in place while dancing on a bar. I don't miss the late nights or the too-early mornings and I'll never miss the sound of a sound of a zillion phones ringing when the airlines started a fare war.
Every reinvention has brought me happiness and for that I'm lucky, I know. Not everyone gets to reinvent in an upwardly mobile manner. Some people reinvented into post-career-college-bound thirty-somethings or into cancer survivors (
) or discovered that our last incarnation into teaching wasn't the best and reinvented into cosmetic saleswomen. Isn't that the best benefit of life, though? Everyone's road may be different but no matter where you are on it right now, you're further along than you used to be. And even if the only thing you're gaining is wisdom, I'm betting your life feels a lot more valuable the further down the road you make it.
Life is all about the journey, not the destination. After all, the destination is death. Why get in a hurry?
The One Person who REALLY knows Who I am
Yesterday I posted a picture in my profile of Rich and me waaaaay back in 1994 when we were newly dating. I love that picture. Rich is poking me in my ribs which is why my mouth is wide open laughing and he looks sneaky with the sparkly eyes.
But it got me thinking about how wonderful dating was. Think back with me to the beginning of a long relationship. Remember how exciting it was to find out new things about this person you were attracted to? My strongest jolting memory was when I realized that Rich picked up his own socks AND was literate. Very literate. Much more so than his quiet, long-haired, beer-drinking goofball exterior might imply. I was thrilled and I can remember at that moment falling a little bit in love with him.
And there are many memories like that from way back in the beginning. That night we listened to a new CD over and over, hearing every nuance and not talking, just listening, being fascinated. The different flavors of kisses in various emotional states. Serious discussions about moral dillemas, politics, friends, music, religion, travel, books, work, our past loves, our views of the future. Those times were magic. I'm sure you all have these kinds of memories, be they long ago or recent.
This October is our tenth anniversary and I've been in a reflective mood. I keep realizing that it takes years to fully fall in love with a person. Because you have to know someone to love them, to really love them, faults and all. And I don't care if you are an open, communicative person, it takes years to really know someone and to really allow someone to know you.
Do we ever think to tell someone when we begin to date that when you act angry and you're crying, the best way to calm you down is to stroke your hair and tell you to breathe? Because you aren't mad, you're scared. Or that when you are saying you want to control a situation you'd actually be much happier if someone else took control and just allowed you to sleep for awhile? These are the things we find out after years of being married to a person. Why? Because they are things we don't even know about ourselves. They are things a spouse observes and learns after years of trial and error, after years of ridiculous fights that go nowhere about nothing just because instead of stroking your hair and telling you to breathe, he simply took his pillow and slept on the couch because he thought you were mad at him when instead you were simply afraid he didn't love you enough to handle the fight and his sleeping on the couch made that fear worse.
Trust issues. Vulnerability. Anger. Fear. Sadness. It takes years to know how to recognize these things in your partner and then years after that to know how best to handle them. How to help them out of their crazy tree and how to let them know when it's time to help you out of yours.
I think Rich learned within a few short years that I like to talk through things. I don't believe in keeping quiet if I have a grievance and it freaks me out to think that someone might be holding something stuipd I've done against me instead of confronting me with it and letting me apologize and make things right. He said once that sometimes he wished I'd just hit him when I'm upset instead of talking him to death as it would take less time. But that's not me. It's a tremendous blessing to be able to share thoughts and fears and bad dreams and good news with a person who knows how you really feel about each and every one of them.
After a few years of marriage, the pictures taken of us together are looking more and more similar to that first one taken when we didn't really know each other at all. The wide, happy smiles of today are even more precious than those first exhillarating months just because they're real and open and fully cognizant of how far we've come, how happy we can be, and how much more life ahead we have together.
It's a sappy topic for today and plenty self-congratulatory as well, but I don't care. My sweetheart is coming home from Puerto Rico tomorrow and I'm happy. Reflections of a hard-won happiness should always be celebrated. To all of you, celebrate your own happiness in whatever form it takes. And have a wonderful weekend!
But it got me thinking about how wonderful dating was. Think back with me to the beginning of a long relationship. Remember how exciting it was to find out new things about this person you were attracted to? My strongest jolting memory was when I realized that Rich picked up his own socks AND was literate. Very literate. Much more so than his quiet, long-haired, beer-drinking goofball exterior might imply. I was thrilled and I can remember at that moment falling a little bit in love with him.
And there are many memories like that from way back in the beginning. That night we listened to a new CD over and over, hearing every nuance and not talking, just listening, being fascinated. The different flavors of kisses in various emotional states. Serious discussions about moral dillemas, politics, friends, music, religion, travel, books, work, our past loves, our views of the future. Those times were magic. I'm sure you all have these kinds of memories, be they long ago or recent.
This October is our tenth anniversary and I've been in a reflective mood. I keep realizing that it takes years to fully fall in love with a person. Because you have to know someone to love them, to really love them, faults and all. And I don't care if you are an open, communicative person, it takes years to really know someone and to really allow someone to know you.
Do we ever think to tell someone when we begin to date that when you act angry and you're crying, the best way to calm you down is to stroke your hair and tell you to breathe? Because you aren't mad, you're scared. Or that when you are saying you want to control a situation you'd actually be much happier if someone else took control and just allowed you to sleep for awhile? These are the things we find out after years of being married to a person. Why? Because they are things we don't even know about ourselves. They are things a spouse observes and learns after years of trial and error, after years of ridiculous fights that go nowhere about nothing just because instead of stroking your hair and telling you to breathe, he simply took his pillow and slept on the couch because he thought you were mad at him when instead you were simply afraid he didn't love you enough to handle the fight and his sleeping on the couch made that fear worse.
Trust issues. Vulnerability. Anger. Fear. Sadness. It takes years to know how to recognize these things in your partner and then years after that to know how best to handle them. How to help them out of their crazy tree and how to let them know when it's time to help you out of yours.
I think Rich learned within a few short years that I like to talk through things. I don't believe in keeping quiet if I have a grievance and it freaks me out to think that someone might be holding something stuipd I've done against me instead of confronting me with it and letting me apologize and make things right. He said once that sometimes he wished I'd just hit him when I'm upset instead of talking him to death as it would take less time. But that's not me. It's a tremendous blessing to be able to share thoughts and fears and bad dreams and good news with a person who knows how you really feel about each and every one of them.
After a few years of marriage, the pictures taken of us together are looking more and more similar to that first one taken when we didn't really know each other at all. The wide, happy smiles of today are even more precious than those first exhillarating months just because they're real and open and fully cognizant of how far we've come, how happy we can be, and how much more life ahead we have together.
It's a sappy topic for today and plenty self-congratulatory as well, but I don't care. My sweetheart is coming home from Puerto Rico tomorrow and I'm happy. Reflections of a hard-won happiness should always be celebrated. To all of you, celebrate your own happiness in whatever form it takes. And have a wonderful weekend!
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