You Call It Hero Worship. I Say, "And...So?"

Today, 74 years ago, the first man to hold my heart and never let go came into this world. 

He taught me to read as easily as I breathe, to seek and question knowledge, to see wonder in the ordinary and made it absolutely impossible to not share his love for all things Disney and "Muffets." 

I thank him for stepping in and hearing my daily download and ending it with "I love you, honey" for more than two years now; for giving the best, safest, loving, tightest(!) hugs a girl could ask for; and for always being my hero, in uniform or not. 

I love you, Daddy. 

Happy birthday.

One Heart Boston

Great idea. Great design.

Awesome cause.

Find this great merch & more at One Heart Boston. 

All proceeds benefit One Fund Boston,

set up to help families most affected.

For more information on One Fund Boston, or to donate directly, go here. Like, now. (Really)

And Your Patience, As Well

Miss me much? (breathe, breathe, breathe) I'm ba-a-a-a-ack.

Here we go again ...

From Me to Me

©2012 ccw/halfglasistan

Because I'm just that awesome.

Yeah.

Dream a Little Dream of We

So. I just posted last week that I do not often dream about Jamie. More to the point, I shared that if I do, I prefer the nightmares. Ghoulish as that may seem, my reasoning was that at least when I woke up from a bad dream in which my Mr. J was dead, it was no different than my reality — and easier to let go. The happy dreams? The ones in which he was still alive, we were happy and life was as it once was? Those I dreaded. To wake up from those was infinitely more painful, as I was reminded upon waking that nothing is the same. Reminded twofold, in fact, as I'm faced with the painful reality every morning when I awaken.

Until this past Saturday. I don't know why I was so drowsy. No drugs. No drink. No illness. No particular reason to be exhausted. Nonetheless, I found myself sleeping off and on all day long. I don't mean a snooze here and there. I mean a two-hour nap, a half-hour to an hour waking, then another two- or three-hour nap. Odder still? Every time I drifted off, I fell into REM sleep.

And Jamie was there. Waiting for me every time. I can't tell you what the plot of each — or any — dream was. Just that I was there, Jamie was there and it seemed blessedly normal. And I didn't feel sad when I awoke. I felt grateful.

Grateful because I'd not experienced this unconscious series of dates with my darling since his physical being left me. Grateful because his metaphysical self had chosen to spend the day with me in such a way that I could see, feel and smell him. And interact with him.

Don't misunderstand. I have felt his presence. But it's been ethereal. This? These Saturday afternoon drowsing dates with my deceased husband felt earthly and otherworldly at the same time. And I didn't awaken crying and with a tightening of my heart, a rapid pulse and short breaths.

No. I awoke — each time — calm, smiling and one time laughing.

And instead of self-pity that this is the only time this has happened, and — quite possibly — may be the only time it ever does, I will not mourn its absence.

Rather, I will rejoice in its happening. And if it happens again, I will praise it for the blessing it is.

Well. Thank You, Captain Obvious.

Above is a Christmas gift from my sisters.

In case you can't clearly read below "Middle Sister" (Yes. Me.), here's a closer look:

Yes. Yes it does say "drama queen." (Yes. Also me.)

However, you also must have noticed the disparity in fashion:

Yes. Yes, also me.
In fact, I am currently watching bowl games while sporting a chic little trench (um, grey yoga pants and black t-shirt), a classic black handbag (er, my iPhone in my pocket) and my hair in a chic twist on top of my head (uh, a ponytail contained by a Goody(TM) elastic) and pumps and Jackie O. sunglasses (no, really; that's the truth ... it's tres fetch).

I'm also holding a glass of the clever California vintage above. Oh, yes. And sipping it. Today's still officially a holiday, so daydrinking isn't quite as risque. But still ... there's a little thrill. 

So Happy New Year's and chin-chin, my friends. May the coming year bring us all much more laughter, fewer tears and more love than you can possibly imagine.


Oh -- and plenty of high heels, comfy clothes, ponytails and tiaras, relaxing beverages and a diva attitude. All at once. Whenever you want.


Why the hell not?


Cheers, my dears.


(BTW, as far as accuracy in labeling goes, yes, my little sister does have bigger boobs than my older sister. Just in case you were wondering.)

A Thousand Words — And Then Some

It's not our intention to only post on holidays, despite the fact that the merry-merry header went up today, and we haven't been heard from since 'round Halloween.

Really.

No. It's simply that we've been speechless. 

Really. 

There is much truth to the the cliche "a picture's worth a thousand words," because I have been trying to come up with the proper ones to accompany the following images since November 1. Yes, All Saints Day, another day of observation, and from 2010 on here in Halfglassistan, Mr. J. Celebration Day, as well.

The images that follow are posted in no particular order, have not been edited, altered or enhanced in any way, and are all ©2011 caryn bowen/halfglassistan. The only common denominator, to me, is that they make my heart swell every time I look at them. But every time — every time — I see something different and different words and ideas come to mind. And none of them seem worthy of what my eyes see and my heart feels.

So I'm just going to stay out of the conversation and let them speak to you, too.

I hope as many — or more— words came to you, too.

Back Home Again In Indiana

I do love me some gritty city:

[picture the El platform with folks bundled up in hats, boots, coats, gloves and scarves. I'd actually post the pic I had to take to capture the 40-something degree weather on May 26, but I can't actually figure out how to do it yet on this itty-bitty iPhone. Quite frankly, I'm amazed I've figured this much out. The bundled up pix are not of me. Oh, no. I was wearing khaki capris, an adorable little cardigan and open-toed flats. I'll choose cute over comfort every time. I did throw on a windbreaker (um, stylish...not stupid.) but I promptly checked it upon my arrival at the Art Institute.]

And some not-gritty city:

[picture the green patina of the iconic lions standing guard over some of the world's greatest masterpieces. And, my favorite place in which to lose myself. Beyond them, picture pot after pot after pot of brightly bloooming flowers following the same line of perspective as the just-lit spherical streetlamps.]

But today? Today I may as well be in a whole other world: Northwest Indiana. Imagine, if you'd like, steel mills and small-town life. I don't see any of that. Well, I do, but not right now and not in my heart when I depart the Calumet Region. Today I see a rolling pasture, a red barn, flowers and the rich green leaves of hardwood trees. In. Every. Direction. I. Look.

And I see this, too:

[picture the majestic Leo, a Palomino whose blond mane is whipping through the wind as he comes in to nuzzle my neck. And the petite Scarlett, who shyly comes over for a carrot only after Alpha Horse has had enough and decides that, yeah, this little solid black mare with a tiny white star on her forehead can have a snack, too.]

I hope you can picture it, because it's pretty freakin' awesome. And who knows when the hell I'll figure out how to load pix through this portal?

Oh, and Jen Lancaster? I told you I wasn't a stalker. I know there's no way in hell I'll see you in Indiana.

(Not)Wordless Magical-Mystery-Flower Wednesday

©2011 ccw/halfglassistan

So. As if enough signs from the universe haven't already been telling me to get my glass in gear (I'm talking about you, @altgeldshrugged at your PHX signing. Stay tuned. I've got something coming with your name all over it.) — this popped up. 


Mr. J bought random plantings because he liked how they looked at Lowe's, and then subsequently in the yard. Never paid attention to whether they were annuals or perennials. No particular planning or coordination. What mattered was a funky shape and an unusual color. The leaves on this what-appears-to-be-some-kind-of-lily are what attracted Mr. J to the above bloom. That and the hot pink ombre petals.


In the five summers since it was planted, it hasn't returned every year. Just a couple of times. Thus, the name we gave it. This is my first summer without the magical Mr. J, yet the flower is out in full force.


Mystery? I don't think so.


Thanks to CVZ, the Governor of Jennsylvania and the amazing Mr. J for the kick in the glass. I needed it.

F & F, Redux*

*AKA in which we revive the "Flashback Friday: Because I'm Lazy And I Like Alliteration" device. Although this has little to do with laziness and all to do with love. (Like how I slipped that one in there?)


From April 2, 2010
"Of Faith And Friendliness"

Here in Halfglassistan, we welcome all.

Love whomever you want to love. Believe in whatever you'd like to believe.

We do. Love and believe, that is. We love to acknowledge it. We don't debate it. That would kinda-sorta go against the whole"love-and-believe-who-and-what-you-want" thing we've got going here. Don't you think?

In fact, we don't talk much about what we believe. It's not that we don't care. It's just that it's ours. Just like your beliefs are yours. And if we go throwing them around and putting them up for discussion, that kinda-sorta negates the whole "no-debate" thing. Don't you think?

And I'm not looking to change that today. But, for all of the arbitrary and capricious days of observance I've declared here in Halfglassistan, today is one that transcends all of my varied and overlapping worlds.

Today is Good Friday. And, as I've acknowledged before, there are times when the best construction of words to express what is in my heart already exists.

This is one of those times:

I believe in one God, the Father, the Almighty, the maker of heaven and earth, of all that is seen and unseen.

I believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ, the only Son of God, eternally begotten of the Father, God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, one in Being with the Father.

Through him all things were made.

For us and for our salvation, he came down from heaven: by the power of the Holy Spirit he was born of the Virgin Mary, and became man.

For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate; he suffered, died, and was buried.

On the third day he rose again in fulfillment of the Scriptures; he ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father. He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead, and his kingdom will have no end.

I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life, who proceeds from the Father and the Son. With the Father and the Son he is worshiped and glorified. He has spoken through the Prophets.

I believe in one holy catholic and apostolic church. I acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins. I look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come.

That's just me.

Love whomever you want to love. Believe in whatever you'd like to believe.

Here in Halfglassistan, we welcome all.

Amen.

Validation. Free With Egg Rolls. (aka Step Five)

Inside today's fortune cookies, in order of opening:

All progress occurs because 

people dare to be different.

If you always do what you've 

always done, you'll always get 

what you've always gotten.

What's that?

No. No, I am not in the habit of making life decisions* based on the contents of my fortune cookies. But to get a little unexpected wink from the universe and a life-lesson reinforcement — and wrapped in cookies, to boot? That's just, well, what passes for awesome these days in Halfglassistan.

*(keep tuning in)

Hmm? What's that, again? 

How long am I gonna keep up this "Step #"-thing?

I'll let you know when I know.

"the only true fortune cookie you'll ever get" 

(c)2002-2010 natalie dee 

Cat Con's Show Tune Applicability Axiom (aka Step 4.5 and/or "So Change Your Dream")

"There is no life situation to which a show tune (or tunes) does not apply. Find one, two, 10 or 20 and sing them. Loudly. Repeatedly." — Cat Con's Show Tune Applicability Axiom

"What do you mean, amend that to add 'Sing well'? Are you implying that I don't sing well? (Insert withering eye-roll here) Really?" — Cat Con, when approached by a quickly retreating editorial board.

What we're singing most lately is I Dreamed A Dream from Les Miserables.

Applicable? Check.

Belt-it-out-loud-able? Check.

Tear-inducing? Abso-freakin'-lutely.

Able to get through it four or more times during traffic-jammed commute without tears? Finally.

Able to do the above without giving a thought as to what anyone around us thinks? Puh-lease. Give us a hard one.

Able to do all of the above and appreciate both its apparent applicability and simultaneous lack of same? Check.

"I dreamed a dream in times gone by

When hope was high and life worth living

I dreamed that love would never die

I dreamed that God would be forgiving.

Then I was young and unafraid

And dreams were made and used and wasted

There was no ransom to be paid

No song unsung, no wine untasted.

But the tigers come at night

With their voices soft as thunder

As they tear your hope apart

As they turn your dream to shame.

And still I dreamed he'd come for me

That we would live the years together

But there are dreams that cannot be

And there are storms we cannot weather —

I had a dream my life would be

So different from this hell I'm living

So different now from what it seemed ...

Now life has killed the dream I dreamed."

So Cat Con and I do what we always do. When we're challenged. When we're confused. When we're sad. When we're happy. When we're wondering. And especially when we're figuring it all out.

Like now.

We sing.

©1980 CLAUD-MICHEL SCHOENBURG (MUSIC); ALAIN BOUBLIL (LYRICS); HERBERT KRETZMER (ENGLISH TRANSLATION FROM FRENCH) Any errors are wholly mine and, by no means, any responsibilty of Cat Con's.

So Make The Freakin' Most of It (aka Step Four)

"it's called the circle of life, folks" 

(c)2002-2010 natalie dee 

Step Three

"Twenty years from now you will be 

more disappointed by 

the things you didn't do 

than the ones you did do. 

So throw off the bowlines. 

Catch the trade winds in your sails. 

Explore. Dream. Discover." 

— mark twain

("and never forget you may not have 20 years to wait" — cat con)

Step 2 and a Half

©2010 workisnotajob

(uh-huh)

Step Two

©2010 workisnotajob

(more to come)

Step One

(stay tuned)

Team Wedding

©1999 ccw/halfglassistan

The 11th anniversary of the Wedding Wedding, and the 13th anniversary of the day I fell in love with Mr. J are quickly approaching.

Snapped somewhere in that magic hour between a Friday as boyfriend and girlfriend and the Saturday in which we'd become husband and wife, that picture above is one of my favorites.

I look at our faces and see so much love and all of the hope and promise of a future stretching before us. And now, I still can look at that picture and see the very same thing.

If I had the chance to do it all again — I'd always choose to do it all again.

Because what Mr. J told me so many years ago has always held true.

We've lived on love, baby. We've lived on love.

3 Girls + 4 Days - 25 Years = Priceless

CVZ 1985

CVZ 2010

SPG 1985

SPG 2010

CCW 1985

CCW 2010

SQUEEUNION 2010

(more to come)

Squeeunion

SQUEE

verb to express delight; noun term of endearment for one who squees; usage: "She squee'd when she realized she'd see her squees soon." Frequently adapted to form new words, as in squeeunion

Yeah. Call me cheesy. Call me silly. Call me goofy and girltastic.


I don't care. 'Cause you're right — on all counts — and you can also call me happy. And excited. And grateful beyond belief.


Tomorrow, Halfglassistan is hosting the inaugural Squeeunion.


Yeah. That's right. You can now call me what I'm currently (um, okay, always) calling myself: All. Kinds. Of. Awesome.


Over the past year, there have been few things that I could count on unconditionally, so those things on which I could rely became very precious. One of those things was a little red dot. Day after day, week after week, month after month, very little in Halfglassistan was certain.

(Kinda the whole point of founding this little land of mine. If you're new in this parts, I recommend starting here and taking a look around. I promise that for every anxiety expressed, there's equal or greater happiness to be found.) 


That little red dot, though, was a constant. A simple indicator that a message was waiting became so much more. A reconnection of three high school friends quickly evolved into a sisterhood whose story was being written in Facebook message threads. Seemingly random subject lines give no clue to the content within. We write of our pasts and our presents, of laughter and love, of tears and triumphs — and most importantly — how all of those have become intertwined.


Tomorrow after months of virtual hugs and hand-holding — and 25 years since the three of us have shared oxygen — my sweet SPG and CVZ are arriving in Halfglassistan.


Let the squeeing begin.