A Little Piece of Good

Some days are just naturally crappy. And no matter how hard you try, no matter how much you try to convince yourself to get out of your own way, and to find a little piece of good in everything...well sometimes you just need to embrace the sucky-ness of how you're feeling and allow it to happen.  Not all days have to be GREAT days.  But I'm thankful for the opportunity to have ones like this, because it means I'm very much alive.

There's this link being passed around on social media sites about a 96 year old man who entered a song writing contest and they ended up picking him and making his song - which he wrote about his wife of 75 (!!) years (she had recently passed away).  I'm not going to post it here, google it if you don't know what I'm talking about (and if you're my fb friend, I already posted it there...).  I've been seeing this story go around for a few days now, and I finally broke down and watched it tonight.  And yes, I totally cried. What a truly amazing gift.

I'm sure in Fred and Lorraine's 75 years, life wasn't always sunshine and flowers.  I bet they had some memorable blowouts that years later would either make them mad or laugh.  I know not a thing about these two people, except that he wrote a song about her, and a generous company decided to record it.  To be honest, I don't really want to know more about them.  Yet that simple song, the quiet words....touched me.  It was love.

I'm still in a crappy mood.  Tomorrow's a new day.  But I feel like I found that little piece of good for the night.  He loved her.  For 75 years, he loved her.  He said so.  And I believe him.  I believe in Fred.  And I believe in love.

Lorraine, thanks for allowing Fred to love you so deeply.
And Fred, thank you for sharing that love.
We should all be that lucky.

Superheroes.

When I was 5, I had a pair of Wonder Woman under roos that were pretty much the BEST THING EVER.  I should be embarrassed that my parents have pics of me posing in my underwear, total muscle shots, so completely unabashed, but I'm not.  Because don't mess with 5 year old AmyBee.  I was clearly really, truly Wonder Woman, waiting for my invisible jet to arrive, lasso in hand.  Crime fighter, do-gooder.  I am woman, hear me roar.  The 5 year old confidence is beyond fierce.

So how is it possible that at 37, I lost my ability to channel my inner Wonder Woman?  And why is it ok for a 5 year old girl to have killer confidence, yet a grown woman who shows the slightest bit of oomph, gets written off as a b*tch?  There's something wrong with this picture, right?

Tonight I watched my kids play some strange version of Ninja Turtles saving Barbie.  Justin Bieber somehow ended up in there, but don't get in Michelangelo's way, he wasn't having it.  I did my best to not laugh out loud watching them (ok, there may have been silent giggles...) and listening to a 6 year old and a 4 year old reason with each other about what each character should or shouldn't be doing.  Yes, there were plenty of Barbies crying "save me Ninja Turtles, there's some bad guys coming," and a few turtles shouting, "Justin Bieber get out of my way," but mostly it was intense confidence that was going on, as the 6 year old told the 4 year old how brave and smart Barbie was and that SHE would save the Ninja Turtles next.  And how the 4 year old told the 6 year old, "lets make everybody be BEST FRIENDS!"  And Barbie left Justin Bieber in the dream house and rode off in the sunset with some guy in a half shell.

Killer.
Confidence.

I think tomorrow we should all find our inner superhero.  Gonna swing my lasso.  My invisible jet just needs a tune up.  With a little love, and a little time, I'm going to get it flying better than before.

Let's play.

Back In Action!

So maybe I don't always follow through with things even when I say I'm going to.

Maybe I get a little lost along the way and forget.

Or maybe I just need time and space to know that the right things sometimes turn out wrong, and that the wrong things, well...maybe I just need to learn how to turn the wrong things right again.

Here I am, Amy Bee.  Recommitting.
Writing.
For the world to see.
I know, it's not really the world.  I've got like 2 followers and if I'm lucky 4 Facebook friends that read my posts when I remember to link it.  ;)  But I'm recommitting nonetheless.

Last weekend was ONE YEAR since my crazy adventure of "Life in Maine" really truly set in.  No more being surrounded by Italian Catholics for this Jewish girl.  Where's a zeppole when you're having a rough day?  Missing those bakeries...

Instead my normal is now acres of farmland. Rural spaces. Trees and woodlands as far as the eye can see.  Comfort of silence at nighttime filled with crickets, loons, coyotes and G-d knows what else, instead of the sounds of fire trucks and police cars zooming by in tight neighborhoods, with houses all on top of one another.

Community.  Small town.  One-ness.  A city filled with not just the food-iest restaurants I've ever seen, but ones where I don't understand what the hell some of the menu items actually are.  A city filled with hipsters, and hippies, and families, and professionals.  And RUNNERS.  I swear all people do around here is run.  And if any of you are my Facebook friends, you all know I am NOT.  Yet they make me want to.  They make me want to go invest in neon sneakers and a Garmin watch and sign up for every 5K just to be part of the action.  And I just might.  As soon as my broken toe heals....I. Just. Might.

The last year has been an incredibly bumpy ride.  Bumpier than I could have possibly imagined.  But in the midst of the bumpiness, I'm finding me. The one who was lost along the way.   I like Maine.  "The Way Life Should Be."  Hmm.  Maybe they're onto something.

Maybe I didn't find Maine.  Maybe Maine found me.  Or we found each other.  Either way, it's now a place, one year later, that has somehow become home.  I'm still pissed there's been no natural moose sightings.  I will not get over this people....

So here's to year two.  Maybe years three, four, and maybe more.  (yep, just wanted to rhyme there.)  It can't be any harder than year one, right? 
Because I'm going to BEE POSITIVE.
Bring it on year two.
Bring it on Maine.
I've got this.