dar liomsa (in my opinion)

Daily Humor Blog is out!

Unpacking the Christmas ornaments, this weekend, made me think.

It made me think about years gone by, of course. Family traditions, children who grow way too fast, and warm and cozy Christmas memories.

As I reached to the bottom of the last box, I thought of something else.

Way down, beneath last year's crumbled newspaper, was a zipped up plastic bag.

Inside the bag were holiday remains.

The bits and pieces of ornaments and figurines.

They were placed in the bag one year, with the intention of repair.

One packed up holiday led to the next, and there they  sat.

As I held the tiny bag of broken memories, I thought.

I thought about all the projects I had promised to start and never did.

I thought about all the people I have met, their funny stories, and my promise to them that I will put it all in a book someday.

I thought about the plans for projects we make, the ideas and promises we keep In our heads.

When will it ever get done?

I thought about the thousands of digital photos that wait to be scrapbooked. The hours of home video footage that waits to be transferred, the detailed memories of first steps, first tooth, and first haircut that have yet to be documented.

I became overwhelmed, not at the task of decorating my home for the coming holiday.

But by the reminder of how quickly each year passes. Another year has passed and the snowman in the bag remains headless.

I finished assembling the manger scene, and tried  not to beat myself up too much for things left undone.

I comforted myself with the notion that intent is half the battle.

I intend to do all of these things.

I intend to choose a date and time, too.

But first, I will decorate for the next big holiday.

 

 

Merry Thanksgiving! darliomsa.typepad.com daily blog is out!

According to retailers, it's going to be a very merry Thanksgiving this year. With many stores announcing their plans to open doors at midnight on Turkey day. So early, the triptifan will not yet have worn off. Certain family members will still be snoring through their turkey -induced slumber, and you want me to gather my list, check it twice and commence shopping for your one day, come and get it sale?

Call me cynical, call me a traditionalist, there is just something a little skewed about piling one holiday on top of another. Halloween is brazen enough, with its leftovers rotting in the bowl next to the thawing turkey.

A too good to be true,Black Friday deal is the pushy host at the holiday gathering. You know the one, clearing plates before you've sopped up your gravy with your biscuit. A black Friday sale on Thanksgiving day is the loud aunt who announces 'hey everyone how was the turkey?, well digest it, because it's Christmas!' It's not bad enough that Santa hijacks the end of the parade every year. Jingling his bells as he laughs, 'ho, ho , ho move along turkey it's all about me now!'

Yes, so all across this great nation of ours, instead of lazily forcing pumpkin pie into our already stuffed bellies, we will now be plotting our trips to Target and Walmart. Instead of helping mom with the dishes we'll be balancing our checkbooks to see what we can spend, because Christmas is only four weeks away and what better time than a day spent with family to begin a shop til we drop day?

In an effort to keep Thanksgiving sacred and honor its importance, I will break bread with family and resist the urgence of the stores to get out and shop.

Not even the crazy, red jump-suited lady in the Target ads can convince me (although she is a hoot!)

I have found that those incredible, once in a lifetime deals that appear in November, are sure to make a little comeback on what I believe is the best time to shop: the week before Christmas.

In my life, I am rarely a month ahead on any task, so why start now?

Happy, Merry, Holly Jolly Thanksgiving!

 

Penn State's Shame darliomsa.typepad.com Daily Blog is out!

Passing two wrecked cars on the side of the road, made me think.

As the drivers hastily exchanged information, blocking traffic, assessing the damage, no one stopped.

As I passed, I locked eyes with one of them, witnessing the fear and anxiety in his eyes, yet I did nothing. I kept driving, convinced  someone else would surely stop to help.

Is that what happened when that assistant coach witnessed a young boy being raped, years ago, by another Penn State coach? Did that young boy look to him with hopes of help, and watch as he  walked away? Did the young coach  assume someone else would do something? Did he report the crime to someone who should have handled it?

Oaky, not strong enough. The details of this crime are far worse than this car wreck analogy. Far worse.

That child's rape can never be explained in words or understood. The pain he is experiencing now, as a young man, as we all repeatedly rip the bandage off the wound, unimaginable.

We can all say what we would have done. Certain we would have intervened, a motherly instinct raging inside. We vow there definitely would have been blood shed to protect this innocent boy from being further violated.

Albert Einstein once said, "the world is a dangerous place, not because of those who do evil, but because of those who look on and do nothing."

How many of us have looked, and hoped someone else would intervene? It's classic tale of onlookers witnessing a crime yet no one reacts. We all assume someone will else will handle it.

At this point, it doesn't matter that only one man was responsible for raping these young boys, the men involved had knowledge of it.

Knowledge puts them at the scene of the crime.

They knew, and did nothing, or didn't do enough.

 

 

In My Opinion (#darliomsa): Daily Humor Blog is out!

Whenever I am having a bad day, a day that isn't going as planned,  I try to console myself with a warm blanket of positivity. 

I tell myself that things could be worse and wrap it around me. I make myself feel better by rationalizing that I could, very well be that homeless woman living in her car with 10 cats. Except that I am allergic to cats, so I probably wouldn't house them with me in my homeless car, but you get the idea.

The idea being that someone, somewhere almost always is having a day far worse than yours. You must believe that when you catch yourself wallowing in a woe is me bath. Suck it up, get over it, and google a sad news story. You must do what it takes to make yourself feel better.

 You might think that this type of wisdom wasstolen from the pages of a Tony Robbins leaflet. It wasn't. This is my own brilliant self, taking time out from being a hysterically funny blogger to spread the power of positivity. and as always, you're welcome!

In My Opinion: #darliomsa.typepad.com daily blog is out

Women have been blaming men for fathering their illegitimate children since the dawn of time, or at least since the dawn of tabloids.

'Elvis fathered my baby', 'an alien fathered my baby' and now the latest, 'Justin Beiber fathered my baby.'

It's the latest development in celebrity sperm scandals.

It shows that no soul is spared in the 'he said, she said' world where an accusation steals the spotlight before the facts.

Whether you're running for president or most popular teen idol, when you are in the spotlight be prepared for someone else wanting to share it with you.

No matter how bad it makes you, or them, appear.

I stand here, not in judgement. I realize this young woman may very well have birthed the second coming of Beiber. As well, those other women, sadly no longer anonymous, may very well have been harassed by Herman Cain. Depending on the definition of harassed. Depending on the definition of what sex is, which takes us back to the good ol' Clinton days. Ah, the 90's and their scandals.

As a survivor of the televised Clarence Thomas hearings, I implore all those involved, spare us the details. I can assure you, we don't want to  hear about it.

Tasteless indiscretions once shared among co-workers, now splashed on the front page of the newspaper in an attempt to derail someone's campaign, career, or life,  I could totally live without it. Middle aged men delivering inappropriate one- liners, until someone is offended enough to complain. Yet the complaining does not commence until the right opportunity arises, such as a presidential campaign, or a pop tour.

Can't we just go back to slinging dirt on people like whether or not they hired illegal immigrants to clean their pool, or how many years they spent evading taxes. You know, the safe stuff. Stuff I don't mind watching when my children enter the room.

Is that so much to ask?

 

In My Opinion: darliomsa.typepad.com daily blog is out!

Our three, busy children have opted out of weekend sports this fall.

Our friends all wonder what exactly we're doing with our free time.

My answer? we're kickin' it old school.

Our kids spent last weekend riding their bikes through the neighborhood, throwing a football and swinging a wiffle ball bat.

It's a nice break in their over-scheduled little lives.

They're having fun doing things their parents enjoyed as kids.

When their father and I were young, we roamed these same streets.

Raising our kids where we were raised, we have plenty of stories to share.

They've seen the creek where dad used to catch snakes, frogs, and turtles.

We pass the ball field where I played baseball, a short lived career at best.

They've heard us tell of the fun times we had as kids on lazy Saturday afternoons, but didn't quite believe us as we shuffled them to and from their weekend activities retutrning home too tired to do much of anything else.

So this much needed hiatus has shed new light on what it means to be a kid and get outside to play.

Play all day, while Sunday dinner simmers on the stove (thanks to dad).

A warm shower, and some relax time before bed,  while mom does the dishes.

Kickin' it old school, indeed.

In My Opinion: darliomsa.typepad.com daily blog is out!

Today we will vote.

Today, my husband and I will take our children to the voting booths. From behind the curtain you will see more than one set of feet, squished into the tiny area, as the grown ups struggle to cast their ballots. You may also overhear a stern warning to our youngest to not touch that button until mommy is done.

Every year,the kids assist us in this journey whether presidential, primary, local, whatever the case, we vote.

We will vote for our favorite people, the ones who have promised us to figure it out and get us through this mess. Sometimes we choose a person who has done none of that, but simply has no opponents.

Each year, on a chilly day in November, we trudge through crunchy leaves and vote.

We vote, so we can teach our children to be civic minded, to show them the power of democracy and to instill in them the importance of exercising our rights as citizens.

But mostly? We vote, in order to stop the harassing phone calls, mailers, and door knockers.

In My Opinion: darliomsa.typepad.com daily blog is out!

Strange fall weather, power outages, failed celebrity marriages, and pop star paternity tests would have made for a great blogging week.

Always up on the current trends and pop culture, these recent events did not go unnoticed.

I have been crafting my witty stories about them for days.

Sometimes when I spend too long on a topic, mulling it over and editing for hours, it soon becomes yesterday's news snowballed into something new to write about. 

My brain gets backed up, often. When I am  on overload, trying to decide on which story will receive the devotion of my humor and wit, the choice is a difficult one.

When life keeps happening and  ants appear in the dog food bowl leading to a  cleaning spree, I forget to write.

Still, these stories never leave my mind. I trudge through my day, my predictable routine. Waking for work, dropping off and picking up kids, and signing homework. By the end of a busy week, the stories, still rattling around in my brain, beg to be written. I shush them like a crazy person, speaking to the voices in my head. Promising I will get to them soon.

At the end of the week, my husband and I venture out for our weekly date night. Okay this is where I use a little poetic or blog license because as much as I  like it to call it  our weekly date night, it honestly only happens once every three months. Not for lack of trying, but with kids and activities, birthdays, holidays and other commitments it doesn't always get on the schedule.

On a recent date night, standing in a local watering hole, I was distracted again by the stories in my head. They harassed me as I  stood talking to a sad, old man in a knit cap who spoke proudly of  how he lives in a friend's basement and earns 8 dollars an hour. And as I listen, all I can think is how can I not write about this, (in between also thinking, 'this is my date night?')

Reasearch is good. Getting out for a few hours with my husband is even better.

Not living in a basement, alone, I realize is also a blessing.

Everyone has a story and if you take the time to listen to the real ones, you are better for it.

The other stories Kardashian and Beiber-esque have all been told and spun.

It is these real life stories that need to be told.

And if I have to sit in a bar for a few hours on a Friday night to tell them, then that's just what I'll do.