A Week in Review

Hello all. I have to apologize up front. Today's edition of A Week in Review will be a little dull. "How is that different from the others?" you ask. "Shut up." is my answer.

Not much has happened this week. I feel like a writer on a weekly TV program who simply cannot come up with a script. I think that's what happened to the writers on "Grey's Anatomy" every week after the third season, which is why I stopped watching.

Junkie
I have become addicted to blogs and posts and my computer. When I was on vacation, I had a hard time not being able to log on every day to read your blogs and to check mine for comments. What is it about getting comments that is such a high? I guess they validate the blog. I want to know that someone is reading, and I love knowing what you think about you see here. Are all bloggers so needy? Do you all check 15 times a day for the comment that feels like a little pat on the head? I hope so. If not then it's just me, and I might need therapy. How long before the first blog addicts rehab opens?

Texting
I don't text. And I don't get why it's so popular. But, today is my brother Barry's birthday, so I sent him a "Happy Birthday" text and told him that he's pretty much awesome. It took about 10 minutes to punch out. Did you know that you can put punctuation into a text message? I learned that today. Barry sent me a message back saying, "Thank you. I don't recognize your number. Who is this?" Nice. I wrote, "It's Angie. I'm your sister. We grew up together, which makes me a good judge of your awesomeness." He admitted that he's an idiot (his word, not mine) and said that he'd save my number this time. That, ladies and gentlemen, is the longest text conversation I've ever had. A special thanks to all who've helped come so far.

Why so soon?
We started getting Christmas stuff at the store weeks ago. I'm just disgusted by it. I can't look at the nativities without getting a little bit angry. Honestly, we couldn't even get through September this year! And it's not just a few Christmas things on a table in a corner. We have entire Christmas sections set up throughout the store. This goes against everything I believe in. I swore years ago that I wasn't going to touch Christmas until after Thanksgiving, which by the way is a wonderful holiday that deserves full recognition. But now I feel pressured to buy what I see and like because come Halloween all of the good Christmas stuff will have sold out. I am a tortured soul. The worst of it is that come Halloween, I will be sick of Christmas, and that really sucks all of the magic out of the holidays.

Barry
It is my brother's birthday. I love, love, love all of my siblings, but I have a special place in my heart for Barry. Being a single girl, I really depend on the family I grew up with to fill that family role that we all need so much. Barry, Melody and the girls have done that for me in a wonderful way. It's always been understood that I am welcome in their home. I go for Sunday dinners, most holidays, I've even sat in on visits from the Home Teachers. I've told them that when planning their food storage they should count me as another mouth to feed, and they just nod like, "Yeah, we've already got that covered."

I've really loved my time with them. They've taken care of me and have shared their family with me for all of these years, and I am more grateful than I can say.

I think I'll close with a poem I read this week. I guess it doesn't have much to do with anything else in this post, other than that I like it. The feeling here is bittersweet, and really lovely.

Now
by Greg Watson

I told you once when we were young that
we would someday meet again.
Now, the years flown past, the letters
unwritten, I am not so certain.

It is autumn. There are toothaches hidden
in this wind, there are those determined
to bring forth winter at any cost.
I am resigned to dark blonde shadows

at stoplights, lost in the roadmaps of leaves
which point in every direction at once.
But I am wearing the shirt you stitched
two separate lifetimes ago. It is old

and falling to ash, yet every button blooms
the flowers of your design. I think of this
and I am happy, to have kissed
your mouth with the force of language,
to have spoken your name at all.


Thanks, as always, for your continued greatness.
You are loved.