like pictures in a frame.

I had a tear-invoking memory of Eric this morning.   
Every time I think of him my throat stings, but I can usually contain the tears.
Not this day.
I miss my friend so much.

Grief is a funny thing; how it comes in waves.
I just sat there alone, fanning my face and trying not to ruin my make up.
I just kept telling myself to get it together; it was only 8:15 a.m., and I look like crap with no make-up.

I'm thankful for all the memories,
even though they make my heart hurt sometimes.

I wrote this poem a long time ago, but I think it's fitting for today.
It's about the transition that people, places, and things take into being a memory or sentiment, and not wanting to let go.
The good thing is, we don't have to let go.
We just have to remember.
And remembering just happens to be one of my gifts. 

Oh sweet memories,
how they turn away and change,
or sell for cheap at a second hand store.

Frames on the wall tell all the years contained;
alluding to a life from day to day.

Say it ain't so,
you're going away?
Leaving me with all this change?

I will remember you every time I say goodbye.
It will always be the same,
I'll hear your name and close my eyes tight to bring a sight of you.

Memories, how they fade
like an old photograph in a frame.
Telling a story,
bringing a tear,
showing me beauty,
how I wish you were here.

Follow up.

Because I believe in the value of a good, solid praise report,
I must share that my dream of having an historic home will soon be realized. 
After months of making frequent visits to the historic district, and checking the classifieds for houses, I basically concluded that I was torturing myself because most of the renovated homes weren't in our price range.  I gave up several times and figured we would just stay put.  
However, hope remained springing up in me, and I had a lot of encouragement from my friends to just keep looking and see what happens. 


Once we found this house, which happens to be an awesome deal, I obsessed for about a week.
Feelings of fear were surfacing; fear of not wanting to be disappointed, and not wanting to make the wrong decision.  
With being on a tight budget and being a student, it's scary to change anything and open the door to the unknown.
What if the utility bills are sky high?
What if traffic is an issue?
Will we like the urban lifestyle?
What will I do without a garage?


Once we made a decision to just go for it, I haven't really worried at all.
I've also decided I will not live in fear.  

The house is beautiful, I absolutely love it. 
It's about 800 sq feet bigger than our current home.
It has lots of charm and character. 
It has a front porch and a sweet little entryway. 
The mailman walks across the porch to deliver the mail; I just love that! 
Original hardwood floors and mantles. 
Carlos finally gets a studio that isn't a walk-in closet.
I finally get a bedroom free of gear. (PTL)
Living, dining, kitchen, mudroom, office (studio.)
4 bedrooms, 3 full baths.
It was built in 1912.  


This might sound weird, but I feel like the house needs us.
To fill it with love, to respect its history.
The neighborhood is slowly returning to its original splendor after being run down for a period of time. There is so much potential there, and we get to be a part of that.


It just feels right.

I am so excited!

  

hanging in there.

Well, I had a full circle moment the other day when I cried in math class. 

They weren't happy tears, either.

They were the kind of tears that come when you realize that something will never be easy, and you're just so tired because of it.  

Math, ugh, the bane of my existence.  

I sailed through psychology, humanities, sociology, and human growth & development.

I heard the angels singing in English composition. 

But math is basically a foreign language for me. I just have to drill, drill, drill until it finally sinks in.  

My tear-filled full circle moment, was produced by the sting of a failing grade; something I hadn't experienced in almost 20 years.  I felt that absolutely nothing had changed between then and highschool.

There wasn't any amount of life experience that could change my proficiency, or lack thereof, in (pre)algebra.  

Math doesn't care how many babies you had, how many cupcakes you've frosted with a perfect swirl.  Math doesn't care how bad you want to understand. There's no points for effort.  

I drove home, almost hyperventilating from panic and disappointment. 

I wondered if I have what it takes to finish college and be a nurse. 

But then I realized there's only one way to find out, and it's to proceed.  

Truth is, I don't have a bad grade, (89.5.)

I re-took the quiz and passed.

It's just soooo hard for me to master the units that a good grade doesn't feel like a victory, it's just passage into an even harder unit.  

Getting my math credits is the only thing keeping me from taking Anatomy, micro-biology and Chemistry, and then I can apply for the program.  

OMG, y'all, college at 37 isn't for the faint of heart.