Laughter

Eyes crinkle.

Tears shine.

Cheeks swell.

Hearty chuckles.

Throaty laughs.

Happiness comes.

Goes.

Ebbs.

Flows.

But laughter.

Somehow.

Remains.

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Where Can We Go?

It's the guns.

A shopping mall.

It's the guns.

Kids playing hide and seek.

It's the guns.

Ringing the wrong doorbell.

It's the guns.

Turning around in someone's driveway.

And again. 

One neighbor asking another to consider their sleeping baby.

Still.

Playing basketball in our own yard.

Yet again.

Accidentally opening the door to a car that isn't ours.

Every.

The grocery store.

Single.

Our schools.

Time.

Churches. Synagogues. Mosques.

It's the guns.

Where can we go?

Is anywhere safe?

What's the possibility of someone we love not returning home?

How can we do anything anymore while living in this fear our elected officials do nothing about? 

The heart breaks. 

But anger prevails. 

Vote them out.

We. Must.

Vote them out. 

Because it's the guns.

Always. The. Guns. 

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It's me. Hi.

Some days we look at ourselves and recognize all of the changes in our faces. We see things others don't see. 

The number of times I've been told *you haven't changed a bit* ... I laugh and laugh and ... whew. 

But it's okay. It's okay to see changes.

 
It's okay to see the crows' feet. The laugh lines (I know they're supposedly the same thing, but still!). The forehead wrinkles (WTH with these, y'all? Is it just me?) (See also, is it time for bangs? Because I'm terrified of those!). The neck hairs (Guys. Not chin hairs, NECK. Nobody warned me about these!).

 
It's okay to need to lift your glasses up high on your head and pull your phone closer so you can read what's in front of you. It's okay to have them sit completely on the tip of your nose so you can try to look over them. And it's okay to do those same movements when you're wearing your contact lenses and think - oh, shit, well that's not great.

 
It's okay to wonder if your hair is growing more slowly, turning different shades on you. Maybe even feeling like the texture is changing (personally, I'm noticing more waves, like back when I was a teenager!).

It's okay to fight night sweats and wonder why you're wearing different pajamas every damned night. And why your skin feels softer, rougher, tighter, squishier.

I see more of my mother and father in me every day (I love you, Momma!) and treasure every crinkle and every smile that reminds me of who I come from.

We're allowed to age. We want to, even.

However gracefully or not; however happily or not; however difficult it may seem on any given day. The changes in our body, our minds, make us who we are.

 
I hope you're feeling good as you are. I hope you can see the joy others see in your smile. That they (we!) hear in your laugh. The heart we see in your tears.

 
I hope you find strength in the acceptance of others and it enables you to accept yourself.

 
It can be a battle, but I'm hopeful that for many of us it becomes more of the norm.

 

As for me, I remind myself that 50 can be fun and fabulous (it's not my birthday, I am approaching 50-1/2!). It can be tough and achy. And it can be all those things at once.

 
But it's where I am these days. 

And I'm going to work at enjoying as many moments as possible. Each day, night, all of the laughter, tears, breaths.

All of them.

 
It's me. Hi.

 
I'm actually *not* the problem.

And neither are you. 

 
{If you don't get that we need to talk!}

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I Will Always Remember

Always so much to say, and never enough, never the perfect words. All these years later my eyes still fill with tears. 

I hear the voices of the people I love, reacting to my telling them I was safe, or learning that they were. Me telling their loved ones for them. 

I hear yelling in the street as we left our offices. 

I remember the smell as soon as we stepped outside.

I see the bluest of skies and hear the sirens before I knew.

I remember the shoes I wore that brought me across nearly an entire city. 

The hug goodbye with a friend as we went our separate ways after walking together for hours.

I hear the silence. And then the sound of the subways running again.

I feel my body collapsing into bed as I looked out my window at a skyline forever changed.

We'll never forget. We'll always remember. Those lost. Those who gave of themselves to save others. 

May those who lost their lives that day, and in the days and years after, be remembered always. May their memories forever be a blessing. 💗

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Barking at the Moon, Tracy Beckerman

                                                        * all Amazon links are affiliate links*

Let me start by sharing that I have known Tracy Beckerman since June of 2012. 

While that doesn't remotely sound possible when I do the math in my head, I popped over to check my Lost In Suburbia review and realize, oh. Yep. It is true.

The fortune of meeting Tracy and getting to know her over the years has blessed me with her incredible sense of humor. 

And when you pick up your copy (or Kindle/iPad/eReader of some sort) of Barking at the Moon, you'll know exactly what I mean.

Barking at the Moon is the tale of Tracy's first family dog, Riley. 

*Disclaimer: a copy of this book was provided to me to facilitate my review. All opinions are my own.

Riley was adorable. Riley was mischievous. Riley was the sweetest and goodest boi.

GAH. Look at his face. Y'all, I am quite certain I adore this dog. 

Riley had a taste for socks and underwear, and, of course, most anything he could get ahold of. It also sounds like he quite often had what I refer to as the zoomies, and was just cute enough to get away with all of it. 

What I love about Tracy, and her writing, is how real she keeps things. 

So while we get to experience her introduction to dog-parenting, we also get a lot of human parenting experiences in the mix. And fish-parenting. Chinchilla-parenting. Lizard-parenting. Or is it considered grandparenting if the pet is your child's? I honestly don't know. I'm the fur-baby mama to all the pets in my home at the moment. 

Pick up a copy of Barking at the Moon and you'll find yourself laughing, screaming (lizards eat bugs, y'all - don't ask - just read), and crying a bit, as well. 

I know there's often a saying people share, that we don't deserve dogs. 

I don't know that I agree, because most people I know love their dogs so very much and truly do deserve to be loved as much in return. But I do understand that sometimes the amount of heart they have - many people are just not worthy of that kind of love. /shrug/ It's a harsh truth, but it's still a truth. 

Tracy and her family deserved sweet Riley. 

They also deserved the love and heart of the dog that joined their family later on, just as sweet and cute and special. Meet Monty, seen below with a copy of Tracy's book about his predecessor.  

Now, what you really want to know is how you can get your hands on a copy - right? 

Barking at the Moon has been marked down over at Amazon, and you can get the Kindle version of the book for just $2.99 for the entire month of January. 

$2.99 is a STEAL. 

So go on and grab yourself a copy. And if you prefer to hold your books in your hand so you can fall asleep while reading without dropping an electronic device on your face [come on, I can't be the only one!], you can buy that there, too, by clicking the link below: 

Barking at the Moon: A Story of Life, Love, and Kibble: paperback

And get to know sweet Riley. I promise you'll be glad you did. 

Find out more about my incredible friend Tracy and her other books over at:

tracybeckerman.com

And for more snippets of entertainment and great photos, head on over to tracyinmidlife on Instagram. Be sure and tell her I sent you!

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