Checking in with your mortality.

I suppose if I looked back upon my life I have seen and done more than a lot my age.  I have never been ungrateful for that and yet am often concerned that I am not showing enough gratitude.

So what makes me special?  What makes me think people will want to read my blog...or even the book I am writing?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.  I am just a girl who loves to write and if someone happens to relate or find comfort in my words than kudos to me for making at least one person feel better or smile.

Isn't that what we all want?  To find a purpose?

Bombings in our country make us all think about our mortality and if we are really living happily and why the hell we are even here.  Well, they do that to me.  I hate that I have several in my lifetime to look back upon... and realize my reaction to them.  Especially ones that hit close to home - for me Boston.  Bean town.  I was born right outside of Boston, in Lynn, and Boston happens to be my favorite city in the whole big wide world.  Vegas is a close second, perhaps someday I will even fulfill my desire to be a showgirl there, but Boston takes the cake.  When I say Boston - childhood memories fly through my mind.

Fenway franks.  They taste as good as they are bad for you, I am sure.  They are just part (paht) of the experience though.

I know the feeling of pride too, though.  I have been the wife of a sailor, returning from a deployment on a Nuclear Destroyer.  That just sounds bad ass doesn't it?  Nuclear Destroyer.  It may have carried some planes too.  Jets, I don't know Navy lingo.  Well that's not true, I cuss like a sailor.  Effin A.  CVN 65, the USS Enterprise.  She was huge.  HUGE.  Wait, was it an aircraft carrier?  It had nuclear shit on it though.  Digging myself into a realm of brilliance, aren't I?  The American pride that runs through you is amazing.  I know this to be true because I hated my then husband at the time.  So for me to have that much emotion running through me - it must've been something.  It's that American pride that leaves us all to soon after a tragedy, when we get back to our normal daily lives.  It ... is ... steadfast living, our 'normal' lives.  Pride isn't a part of most until we see people who could be us, just everyday Joe's getting blown up.  Losing limbs.  Forever scarred.  Gone.  And then quickly we get back to our lives.  And forget about theirs.

Now being married to a Paramedic/Fire Fighter I am reminded of it each shift he leaves for work.  I admire him and the work he does.  And since I am being honest, I guess I don't let him know that often enough.  Or maybe I do and he just doesn't care.  I don't know.  Life's a challenge to figure out.  That's likely the problem, I am trying to figure it out.  There's nothing to find, no hidden world of happiness.  Suck it up and just live.

Forever remembering American pride. It ain't easy.

I have been in all 50 states except 5 of them.  I have seen a lot.  I have experienced a lot.  When I was in my early to mid twenties my mom would say "Judas Priest Angela, you've done more than most 45 year olds I know."  Now that I myself am almost 45 I can only hope that she would say "Judas Priest Angela, you've done more than most 70 year olds I know."

 By the way, those would be said with a wicked Maine accent.

 Wicked.

Isn't wicked a fantastic word?  So descriptive...like...wicked descriptive.