Borders for Hoaders

We all hold onto things with special meaning. I am a very sentimental person. I keep a lot of things that loved ones and friends have given me over the years. I keep them because they have value, sentimental worth.

I am very clean. A clean freak is the best way to describe me. I like things in their place and perfect. I get this from my mother. She’s clean to a fault. You could eat off her bathroom floor and it would be just fine. Like mother, like daughter. I have followed in her footsteps.

I love throwing out things that I no longer need. I get a high from sorting through my clothes each season. I have a big black trash bag and I just toss the clothes that I haven’t worn in while into the big black hole. I make room in my closet for new and I give the older, but still nice things to charity.

Clutter equals chaos. I feel like I can’t breathe when there is clutter in my life. Not just with material things but with all things. I am over the clutter. I will never be a minimalist, but I can dream about it. My fifty pairs of jeans are holding me back from being simple. Trust me, I will never be simple.

I don’t watch much television, but the other night I was flicking through the channels and I came across “Hoarders.” This show is so horrific yet fascinating. People are being buried alive in their own homes. Their minds are being tortured while they live amongst clutter and trash.

And by trash, I mean trash. Their homes are covered in paper bags, empty food boxes, food scraps, animal feces that they can’t get to, clothes, dishes, videotapes, dirty tissues, and etc. Its plain filthy. It should be illegal.

I know they have a mental disorder and it’s a sickness but there are some things that I can tolerate and pity and some I cannot. While watching this disgusting way of life I find myself glued to the television. It’s like a train wreck and you must watch.

I cry every single time they show a child living in the landfill’s they must call home. I cry because they can’t help themselves and they certainly can’t take charge and be the parent.

I have declared some of the people just plain lazy. There’s always an episode with a person that I just don’t sympathize for or understand their reasoning for living in squalor.

I’m not mean. I have compassion. I am a bleeding heart. But, this is where I draw the line.

What is the difference between living with a physically abusive parent and being a hoarder? Not much. Either way you are harming your children, physically and mentally.

For God sake’s these children don’t have beds to sleep in because their guardian chose to cover the whole house in garbage. They sleep on the couch with three other people and trash sits along side them from the floor to the ceiling. They have an eight inch walk way to maneuver through the house.

How do they shower, get clean, and get dressed? How do they eat? Imagine you brought home take out Chinese and when you were done you threw it on the floor and it stayed there for twenty years. No way. No fortune cookie is giving that household hope.

This is sad. But, it’s also abuse. When children are laying on the floor covered with trash and they are breathing in animal droppings that are an inch away from their mouths and noses, it’s time to stop the insanity.

The best part is when the victim says, “I never should have let it get this way.” You think? The first year should have been a wake up call to someone. It shouldn’t take ten to twenty years to see this monumental problem.

If they can’t stop themselves the government should stop them. Make them get help; take their children until they can maintain a livable, healthy environment. Do something instead of just filming it and making money while we all sit watching with our jaws to the floor.

It should be illegal. It should be stopped just like we try to stop child abuse. Abusers don’t mean to beat their children all the time. They claim they are mental too. So again, why is this any better?

The children go to school embarrassed, dirty, hungry, and unhealthy. They have the weight of the world on their shoulders, literally!!! They are being abused. No way around it.

I pity anyone that is suffering from a mental disorder, but those of us not suffering should not let this continue. It’s our duty to help each other. I can’t stand when people say, “Mind your business and don’t get involved.”
Nope. Never. I don’t live that way. I certainly don’t agree with that in all circumstances.

Get involved. Hoarders are not just hoarding material things; they are hoarding bad feelings inside. They are locked up within themselves. I understand.

You wouldn’t want a child watching their parents snorting cocaine, performing lewd acts, or hitting each other. They shouldn’t live with violence and they shouldn’t live in trash.

I wonder what the right thing to do with these children is and how we can help them. Taking them from their parents seems mean to some people, but is it?

The parents can’t love them because they don’t love themselves properly. Something has to give.

Watch the show and see for yourself. The children are bitter, angry, and sick. Can you blame them?

While their parents are hoarding meaningless material things the children are hoarding and harboring some serious resentment and issues that will last a lifetime.

These hoarders need some borders, not just a one time clean up so they can start all over again. Their children and themselves should be all they are saving.

"Don't ask me what I do, Ask me who I am."

I love social events. Weddings, charities, anniversaries, fundraisers, and every function in between are usually fun for me. I love putting on my best dress and sliding the shadow over my eyelids while puckering up for some lip gloss. I feel so shiny and pretty.

As I walk into the room filled with people all in black, and the occasional pop of color worn by the person with lots of guts and glory I can’t help but smirk and say to myself, “Here we go…it’s time for the show!”

First stop: Coat check. Second stop: Powder room for one more glance at yourself. Third stop: Greeting the party’s host. Fourth stop: The bar if you drink. Fifth stop: The hors d oeuvres. Sixth stop: The loudest person in the place in your face. Seventh stop: Finding your friends. Eighth stop: Finding your seat. Ninth stop: Mingling. Tenth stop: Answering all the questions that are being fired your way, which apparently defines you as a person in just less than five minutes.

So, my eleventh stop is always the dance floor. I don’t mind the interrogation by inquiring minds that want to know. I do mind that people feel they can judge someone on what they do for a living. If you’re dancing you can avoid the firing squad.

You know the drill.

It’s always the same questions: What’s your name?

That’s a must have but I swear one night I’m going to use a stripper name, Sultry Season, and see how long people can keep a straight face. I’d love to see their reactions and see if I get taken seriously.

Next question: Where do you live?

Would you like my exact address so you can stalk me? Are you sending me a Christmas card? This is where they are trying to figure out what social tier I fit into.

The Third and best question: What do you do, Janine?

Now, here is where I would love to say some wild and crazy things. I want tell people, “If I tell you I would have to kill you.” But, that is played out. I would like to say, “I am a clown in the circus, or I’m a pool hustler, no a loan shark. I’m a regular everyday Bonnie and Clyde. Or, I’m a professional ping pong champion.” I really just want to say, “Would you like my bank account number so you can check my savings?”

But, I never do any of the above. I answer all the boring mundane questions like a good little girl does and carry on with regular mundane conversation. I give into society and the norms. I give in and let them place their judgment upon me. I let them classify me.

I tell people that I’m a television guest host and I sell products for a living. I also make hoagies for my family businesses when I’m not on TV. I give them all the dirt that they want so they can file me into one of their many categories.

I’d like to think I am in the “A” file for Awesome, but maybe that’s not the case in their opinion. I really don’t care what file they put me in. It could be “I” for Idiot and I still don’t care. I know one thing, if I used my above answers to the most boring questions in the world I would be put into the “F” file for FABULOUSLY FANTASTIC & FUNNY!

I do care that in five minutes people believe they can judge a person. I will never understand how the small minded people of the world operate.

I don’t care what you do as long as you treat me right and are an honest, caring, moral person. You could be a doctor or lawyer, actress or model, a plumber or electrician, you could be the CEO of a fortune five hundred company or the person working the front desk of the same company…I don’t care what you do.

I’m not impressed with the business you make your business. I’m impressed with the things you do in your life that mean something to you.

I sell products on television and I love my job. But, I am so much more than that person you see on TV. I write and it’s my passion. I’m a deep thinker. I’m a decorator. I’m a good daughter and friend. I’m my grandparent’s favorite grand-daughter because I call them every night and check in on them all the time. I’m the apple of my parent’s eyes. I’m a sucker for children. I’m a strong minded opinionated, independent woman with something to say, always. I’m someone’s shoulder to lean on and ears to listen. I’m a shrink for my friend’s when they need advice. I’m a nurse to care for my loved ones. I’m a teacher. I’m a singer and dancer. I’m a person. I am me.

The guy in the crowd that you just shrugged off because he was a trash collector is great. He’s a comedian that keeps his friends laughing. He’s a single father that raises his kids and never complains. He’s the best dressed guy at the wedding. He’s always smiling and helping others. He’s more than you think.

The woman that is sitting there with her Cartier watch and her huge diamond ring may appear to be the richest woman in the room. She’s dressed to impress but has not won over her own family. She’s greedy and self indulgent. She was more worried about tennis lessons, tea time, and everything superficial than her family. Her children hate her and won’t even speak to her. Her bank account is full but her heart is empty.

Then, there’s that man that looks a bit disheveled. He’s wearing pants that are a little too tight. His hair is a mess and he’s walking around aimlessly. Nobody is talking to him. But, he doesn’t care. Ya, that guy he’s been working ninety hour weeks trying to come up with the cure for cancer. And, you thought he was nobody. Pray you never need his services.

You don’t know anyone after five minutes. You don’t even know yourself sometimes so how can you label everyone else by their name, address, or career? You simply CANNOT.

If you want to know the definition of the person, ask their family and friends. They will tell you all you need to know.

Maybe you can skip the small talk and the pretentious bologna in the beginning of the night and ask what matters. And, sometimes if you don’t ask any questions after the introduction people just start to talk. No pressure and no gun to their heads to feel perfect.

Or, you could simply ask the person questions that count. Not questions that count the person’s worth in your eyes.

This is not the “Never judge a book by its cover” lesson. This is the “You can’t read the first chapter and know the end of the story” lesson.

And, in case you are wondering what category I put the five minute interviewers under I will tell you. They get mentally filed under “P” for pretentious.

I’d rather be on the dance floor with the person who collects trash and having a blast, than the person who tries to collect information about me so they can talk trash.

Oh and just so you know. While Mr. or Ms. Pretentious is gathering the facts about me, I’ve already filed them under “L” for loser.

The Instant Gratification Generation

The Instant Gratification Generation


WORK: Noun, adjective, verb: to labor hard hours and get paid to do it; to be proud of your accomplishments, earn your place, earn your stuff, learn to appreciate things more; to build character and personality.

This is definitely not Webster’s definition of the word, “work.”

It’s mine and those around me who have the same motivation and determination in life.

I’ve been working since I was tall enough to reach the cash register at the family business. I was taking phone orders at our hoagie shops as soon as I could say, “Hello Furillo’s, Can I take your order? I may not have been so eager to do it after the newness wore off but I still had to do it.

I was by all standards spoiled. I had everything I wanted and most of it was from my parents until I was a teenager. After that I was on my own to buy named brand clothes that cost way too much for my mother to rationalize.

The best part about it…I was perfectly happy to hand over my hard owned dollars for some Z. Cavaricci jeans in the eighth grade while other kids were still sporting their Levi’s I was onto bigger and better. But, it came with a price. Lots of teenage social sacrafice.

Working meant missing some Saturday morning high school football games and some weekend nights out with my rowdy friends. I was too busy making cheese steaks, filling ketchup bottles, doing a hundred dishes, and mingling with the customers.

I still played sports, got good grades, and managed to be social; maybe too social if you asked my parents. The phone never stopped ringing. Between my brother and me we gathered quite a bit of friends over the years. My dad used to tell me I should work for Bell Telephone since I was always on it or had one in my hand.

At our family business I learned the best lessons in life. I learned to deal with all walks of life. It was customer service at it’s finest. I had to take orders and make sure your food was right and let me tell you, people are crazy over their food. I promise.

I learned how to really appreciate those M.C. Hammer pants and those gold charms I wore around my neck on my charm holder. I also learned how to save that money I was earning.

My parents always said, “You are nothing without good credit.” They were right, again.

Working at a young age definitely fills your schedule makes you more organized because you become great at time management. To all the parents who don’t want their kids working during high school and college I say you are wrong…all wrong.

You can get good grades and work. Your child isn’t working a forty hour week in high school. In college you make your classes fall around your schedule. There is no excuse for our future generations. I guess some parents want their children to leech onto them forever.

And, that famous line, “Let kids be kids,” is only going to ruin them and they will never grow up.

Nothing bothers me more than seeing kids want, want, want and not work for any of there wants. They are so spaced out on cyberspace that they do not have social skills today.

When I go to the store and some computer taught teen is checking me out I am lucky if they actually tell me the total, usually they expect me to look at the computer screen for my balance. They don’t say, ‘Thank you,” or “Have a good day.”

Say something!! Tell me to drop dead or go to hell let me know that you have some social skills and that you can actually mutter some words to another human being!

I didn’t have a car when I turned sixteen and got my license. Not a new one, not even a used one. My father wasn’t having that either. He bought a used car that I was allowed to drive after school. He wasn’t cheap he was just making sure his daughter didn’t have too much freedom.

I didn’t want to buy one because clothes were more important to me.

At sixteen you don’t need to be behind the wheel all the time. You definitely don’t need your own wheels either. It’s too much power for kids.

Today we see shows where kids are getting BMW’s and Mercedes on their sweet sixteen birthdays. That is insane. I don’t care if you are a millionaire; you’re setting the wrong example. What will your children aspire to when they are already in the lap of mommy and daddy’s luxury?

Nobody eats with their families anymore. Dinner at our house meant dinner with all of us. Most nights my dad worked until ten o’clock, but the rest of us sat down together and ate our HOME COOKED meals. No fast food or eating in the car.

We’re family and my parents kept it that way.

A child doesn’t need a cell phone or any other technologically advanced electronic device in the first grade! Come on people. I hear so many people say that it’s for safety reasons. By all means if your child is in first grade and not with you or someone you deem fit to watch them or safe, then we have a bigger issue than them owning a phone at age six.

Kids don’t run around outside playing tag or any other games. There’s no bike riding, no fishing trips, or go cart races. Everyone is afraid to let their kids get hurt. We made it alive and never wore helmets and stayed outside until the street lights came on. We turned out just fine.

We used our imagination. Today’s instant gratification generation thinks everything is boring unless they have a computer screen in front of their faces.

If your kids want material things that are in excess let them work for it. Young kids should be doing chores around the house. Teenagers should be stocking the supermarket shelves or working at any number of fast food chains with “We’re Hiring” signs.

This generation wants to become an overnight sensation because they have the venue to do it. The internet is making life fast forward.

Nobody wants to work and get to the top. They just want to start at the top. No, they EXPECT the top spot.

What are we fueling this generation’s minds with? Why are we letting them down?

When we were young our parents were scared of the internet and computers. And, when Elvis took over the country he was poison too.

I realize that every generation faces adversity. The unknown is always scary and unpredictable. I’m not saying you should skip on the internet, just use it less. Don’t let your kids miss out on life. Not cyber life, real life.

Make your kids value a dollar. Teach them to value the people around them. Working will lead them to gratification, it may not be instant but it will be more gratifying if they have to earn things. And, not just material things, abstract too.

I worked since I was very, very young and will never regret it. My parents gave me wings and I took off.

There’s going to be plenty of rejection coming to our future generations and if we “yes” them to death, they will never know how to deal with the “no’s.” We aren’t doing kids any favors or justice by buying their love, trust, or adulation. We are losing their respect.

When kids are telling adults what to do it’s time to take action and get our heads out of the clouds. Two working parents isn’t the problem. Our laziness is the issue. Life is hard but your kids need you more than they need the computer and television that has become their babysitter, teachers, and mentors.

Both of my parents worked. I worked. My brother worked. My whole family, cousins, aunts, and uncles worked at young ages.

Maybe it’s in our blood. Maybe it should be in yours. Working is a good thing. Your kids will appreciate your decision to make them work in the end and they will learn a lesson and appreciate it for themselves.

I learned a very important lesson in life. I went to four years of college and learned more in my working years than in the classroom.

Education is key but working is learning too. I wouldn’t change a thing. I feel gratified when I can say I worked for all of this that I own and nobody can take it away from me. It’s mine.

I respect myself and others. But, if you don’t work for it you don’t deserve it. Stop the instant gratification generation from ruining themselves.

My Nana and Poppop are eighty-six years old. Nana retired a year ago and still volunteers at the hospital. She’s not a candy striper, she actually files and does work in the office. She has a computer and knows more about it than I do.

My Poppop still works at our family business. He runs around like he’s forty. All they have ever known is work and it keeps them young and up to date.

A devil’s workshop is an idle mind. That’s why they are constantly in drive.

If eighty year old something’s can still work why are we teaching our kids they deserve a free ride?

I do not have kids yet, but I was a kid. I know the difference between wrong and right. I had a family full of great examples. I idolized my parents not celebrities. I know things are changing and it’s not for the better.

Fasten your seatbelts America, it’s going to be a bumpy, long, selfish ride in the fast lane we call “life.”

When the instant gratification generation learns that they are disposable and their cries for help have run out they are going to fall to their knees because they never learned to stand on their own two feet.

And, like every generation, the spoiled, computerized kids of the future will place blame on their parents and our generation. And, will we really be able to say, “It’s not our fault?”

I think not, but at least it’s my own original thought and not a computer generated answer. God Bless the children and more importantly, their parents.

“People Watching…Addiction or Hobby?”

I don’t smoke, drink, do drugs, gamble, or have any other popular addictions. I used to enjoy a day of shopping much more than I do these days. I love chocolate, cheese, and bread of any kind. I do love my music too. I never really do anything to the extreme, do anything that breaks the bank, or that’s unhealthy.

I’m human so I know that I must do something too much, or something that I can’t control. There’s no way I beat the odds. Oh yes, I think way too much. It’s good and bad and gets me into trouble sometimes. I run my mouth here and there and always tell people what’s on my mind. My theory: take me or leave me, love me or hate me.

But, even this is not my hang up.

I have discovered what my true addiction is. I hereby declare myself a PEOPLE WATCHER! I’m sick about it. I’m really into it, can’t control it and sometimes I don’t even want to curb it.

I love to dine out. It’s the best place to watch all the people around you. You can hear conversations that are so personal and juicy. You can get so close in some of these Italian restaurants I frequent that you are practically sitting on each others laps. It’s too close for comfort for some people, even me. How dare you come into my personal bubble, but how dare you block me out of yours?

I sit there and my company will be trying to engage in conversation with me, but I am already too deep into the fight that the woman at the third table over is having with her lover. She’s accusing him of cheating and I am on his side by the main course and frankly, if I were him I would be ditching her and her dramatics by desert.

I love to see what everyone’s wearing and how they did their hair for the evening. I can’t take my eyes off the walls and I look at the décor. It’s safe to say I am VERY aware of my surroundings. My parent’s always told me to check out the scene everywhere I went. I’m sure I am making them proud.

Dinner out is a great place for me to get a hit or a high. But, the mall or out shopping anywhere is sometimes even better. The sights are too good for me to ignore.

I always have something or someone to feast my eyes upon. It could be an outfit that is just all wrong or doesn’t fit because it’s five sizes too small for the woman trying to squeeze her buttocks into it. Or, it’s a parent screaming at her children while she’s barely paying attention to the little rascals as they play tag and run into the knee caps of every shopper out there.

I sometimes sit and eat a slice of pizza and people watch as everyone takes main stage for me without even knowing it.

I do believe this started when I was a kid. I’m placing the blame on my mom. It’s her fault because she is the same way.

We are not sitting on our thrones placing judgment on common folks and being cruel. We simply can’t help ourselves from staring at strangers.

People watching really is a bad habit, or bad addiction. I can’t stop myself. I have had friends and family call me out on it and get mad at me because they think I am not paying attention to them and I am neglecting their company.

Well, that just irks me because I will have you all know that I can MUTLITASK! I get it done. I am listening to my companion and taking mental notes of the two side tables, front, and back ones too.

The other night I was out and right behind me sat a lovely young couple and the girl’s mother and father. It was obviously the first meeting for the young man and his girlfriend’s parents.

They were so annoyingly proper with their speech and it was such a show. I couldn’t see their faces because they were behind me, but I still got the entire evening agenda and a lot of laughs.

They even got my company’s attention and my boyfriend started speaking like an English man all night long. We had such a fun time and we all wanted a spot of tea after our dinner. Mummy and Daddy must have been so pleased with their little darling and her suitor. I was laughing so hard by the time we called it a night! Cheerio!

I didn’t know if I should be horrified with myself or happy that I have the ability to help others tune in and be just as nosey or rude as I am sometimes.

Either way, you know you all do it too. You might not get so deep into like I do, but you do it. It’s human nature. We watch, we listen, and we do.

Why do you think Facebook is so popular? It’s complete voyeurism and most of us are addicted to it.

I wish I would have come clean with my addiction many years ago because maybe, just maybe I would be sitting atop the 25 billion dollar throne of the Facebook Empire.

Instead, I people watch everywhere I go. I’m not making any money but I’m not losing any either. If I had to ditch my addiction I would be bored to tears. But, if I had to pick a hobby I do believe this is one to watch. And, fortunately for me, watching is what I seem to do best with my time.

"I am Somebody"

We face enough challenges in our life. We certainly don’t need anymore hate crimes, violence, or deaths due to the inability to accept others and their differences.

Being an adolescent is hard. It’s even harder to be a teenager. Those are the years where you don’t even know yourself, yet others feel the need to bestow judgment upon you. These are the cruel facts of life.

It’s our job as a compassionate society to help not hurt each other. Why is it ok for people to think they can publicly humiliate and torture others just because they are different?

Why are we sitting in America today and talking about the death of another homosexual male that took his own life because his personal life was put on the internet as a prank by his college roommate? What gives someone the right to spread hate? To breed ignorance? And, why would others celebrate in the demise of another human being?

I say it’s a sick world we are living in. Is the internet the core of our destruction? No. We are.

The minds of our youth need to change and we need to help make them realize their mistakes. Hopefully, we accept others and the challenges we all face. Hopefully, it won’t be too late for the next victim of bullying.

I am somebody. You are somebody. We all must recognize this.

Children with physical and mental challenges deal with it everyday. They are teased, picked on, bullied, and beat up by their peers. They are tortured souls.

Teach your children that it’s not right to pick on or place judgment on others.

Who do we think we are? Why should we LEARN to tolerate others? What gives us the right not to?

I actually hate the words tolerate, and tolerance. That means to put up with. What are we putting up with it when it’s not even our own lives? Where does this superior feeling come from within people?

Worry about your own life and let others live theirs. We stand in the way of ourselves when we think we are better than someone else. The person sitting next you holds a hundred secrets in their head. It’s not your business.

Teach your children that they are somebody. Love them for their differences even if it’s hard for you to accept as a parent.

Help them say I am somebody when they don’t have the power, strength, or ability to say it for themselves.

Bullies are the most insecure people out there. They find ways to hurt everyone else when they are hurting worse than the rest of us.

I am somebody. Say it out loud. Say it for yourself, for your friends, for your family, for the kids that are bullied, and say it even for the bullies who can’t find inner peace.

We are all different. But, we are all somebody. Accept not tolerate. Love not hate.

I am somebody. I am somebody. I am somebody. Say it loud and say it proud. Say it for the people who never had the chance to say it.

Say it so that somebody NEVER thinks they are a nobody.

Where do we go from here?

Recently I had an MRI done and my whole body had to fit into the coffin like x-ray machine. I am claustrophobic by nature and it was not a pleasant experience to say the least. I had to squeeze the little panic ball the nurse left in my hand a few times. I was anxiety ridden and not so sure I was going to be able to keep my cool for forty-five long minutes.

I made it through and went about the rest of my day. But, I couldn't shake the feelings of death and I just kept wondering what happens to us when we die. I was certain that when I pass on from this life that I never want to be put in a coffin and buried. I have been thinking about this ever since.

When I was a child I remember Sunday night Alfred Hitchcock movies. I will never forget the one where a man was buried alive. That frightened me to the core and stayed with me until this day.

I hate to sound morbid, but it’s a fact of life that we all must leave this earth one day. We come in alone and go out alone. Death is the one experience we cannot escape. Not even if you are Walt Disney and decide to freeze your body.

So, the hours after my freakishly terrifying, thought provoking x-ray I phoned a few family members to let them know if something should happen to me I never want to be buried in the ground.

“How the hell will you know, Janine? And, I won’t be here to do anything about it because you are going to live a long life.” My father’s reply.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Janine! Knock it off.” My mother’s words.

Then there was good ole Nana’s, “Honey, I am going to be cremated, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

None of their comments truly soothed my soul. “Dad, I want us all to go out the same way. I want to make sure we are all together again one day.”

“And how do you know I won’t know what’s going on when I’m dead. Nobody ever came back to tell us what happens next??”

“Mom, it’s part of life and I want you to listen to me when I talk about reality no matter how hard it is.”

“Nana, I’m not so sure what I want but the thought of being in the ground in a coffin is terrifying to me whether I am aware of it or not.”

I am not sure where we go from here, none of us are. I have faith in God. I can’t imagine that we never see our families again or forget who they are and what they were to us. I shiver at the thought that we just die and nothing happens after that.

I have always been spiritual and always thought that we go to Heaven and even if we don’t float on a cloud then maybe we just reunite with friends and family.

“Maybe we are dreaming right now. This thing we call life could be a dream.” I don’t know, dad. Not sure.

“I think we go to another planet.” My brother chimed in.

Maybe we fall asleep and go into dream mode and have happy dreams if we are in Heaven and nightmares if we are in Hell. I think I think too much sometimes. But, something really bothers me about not knowing where we go from here.

I can say with conviction that we will be in the kingdom of the Lord, but do I believe it with conviction? Do you?

I know that I am a believer in blind faith and I always look for signs from above. I believe in ghosts and guardian angels. I believe there is more. It’s the getting to the more and the being alone that scares me. The road trip to the unknown is what makes me wonder.

I do know that without a doubt I will be living life to the fullest. I will not be frightened by life and living.

Since the MRI and all of my deep thinking a few people I know have sadly passed away in this short time.

There’s this song that keeps popping up on the radio while I’m driving called “If I die young.”

The woman singing wants to be buried in satin, put on a bed of roses, and left to sink in the river at dawn while she’s sent away with the words of a love song.

Again, I think.

I’ve been touched by a spirit or two recently in my life. I’m in touch with a higher being. I know there is more after this life or this dream or this planet.

I know, I believe, and I pray.

Right now I am going to focus on all the things I do know for certain. I am going to live life, feel life, touch life, and see life.

Where do we go from here?

I don’t know. None of us know.

I will be thinking until God calls for me. I must admit that I would much rather be thinking than knowing.

I’ve been told hundreds of times in my life that I am an old soul. I do believe that about myself.

I have been here before. No doubt about it. And, that gives me hope.

Maybe that’s the only thing I should focus on, maybe that’s the only thing God wants me to know at this time.

Amen to that.