Rebecca Bryan's Blog, page 2
October 7, 2014
The Browning Homestead
Original cabin shown under stucco
The story began over a century ago. A family on the edge of the frontier. Pioneers with hopes and dreams and a will to begin again. Five generations or more passed through these doors. Dinners were served, three wars were fought, babies were born, deaths and disease crept through the cracks like invisible demons. Multiple families shared a two bedroom cabin. The depression was evident in their stories.Today it comes down.
Someone's dreams of a better life. Someone's memory of a childhood, now long gone: my father on his mother's back as she scrubbed her kitchen floors to a shine. The thousands of meals set at a simple table, prepared by the able and worn hands of a grandmother who could cook like no other. A gentle prayer offered. Cousins playing. Grandma's soft voice beaconing you close. Laughter. So much laughter. And singing. If I listen I can still hear it in the rustling of the apple trees in the grove.
We sift through the rubble for signs of this other life, another time, another world. Looking. Wanting a piece of their souls as only a mortal can. Wishing to know them like they know us. What were they like? Did they struggle like me? Did they rejoice like me? And we learn through the scraps and rubble: Seven layers of pink and blue flowered wallpaper, whitewashed walls against bare logs now rotted by time and termites.
A desire to make their place beautiful. A place of warmth, a refuge from the elements. A place of love and acceptance. A place of God.
interior with drapesSome things are familiar. Others I've never seen before.
original floor (sometime before the thirties they rebuilt the floorLinoleum floors that look like fancy carpet. Dainty trim.
They are gone. All but one.
My dad.
But they remain in our hearts and in our memories. I can hear her voice. The hum of the fridge. The smell of rolls cooking in the oven. My grandma singing. We are connected forever.
We are family. And I know, we are not so different after all.
September 10, 2014
Surprise
My first national commercial. It was a fun day and believe it or not, it was a long day considering the commercial is only 30 seconds. We had rain, sun, clouds, and then more rain. The little girl in the commercial is the real star in this. I am pretty happy with the way it turned out.
June 23, 2014
Our little film
I taught a childrens acting class this past winter and had a blast doing it. I'd never taught kids or anyone before so I didn't know how well it would work, but I found out two things: kids love games, and kids love games. So we played a lot of improv games, I taught them how to speak in front of a camera, gave them some tips on acting and auditioning, and then made a little movie for them to learn from and hopefully also have fun with.
This was my first time directing as well, unless you count my Madonna La Isla Bonita video of 1988, but I'm not counting that. I can tell you that technology has come a LONG way since the days of a VCR and a video recorder. I had to get really creative cutting and splicing using those two devices. Making movies is way cooler these days with all the apps and great computers we have.
So here it is, my kids acting debut titled, Lemonade Stand . Enjoy!
This was my first time directing as well, unless you count my Madonna La Isla Bonita video of 1988, but I'm not counting that. I can tell you that technology has come a LONG way since the days of a VCR and a video recorder. I had to get really creative cutting and splicing using those two devices. Making movies is way cooler these days with all the apps and great computers we have.
So here it is, my kids acting debut titled, Lemonade Stand . Enjoy!
June 18, 2014
Confessions of a Hopeless Pre-pubescent
First off, this post has nothing to do with writing or anything except my sister-in-law sent me the funniest commercial! *Men and boys will not want to read this. Trust me. Stop here.
She sent it to me because I did something similar when I was young. Here's the story:
When I was in fourth grade, ( nine years old) I walked into my room one day and found a medium sized box sitting on my bed. It had a picture of a girl on a beach looking out into the vast ocean, all dreamy-like. Remember this? Anyone? I opened my new gift and found all these boxes with little packages of large sized band aides I assumed were to be used if you ever fell on your head and broke it in half. I was super curious, but I wasn't sure what to do with this new gift. Lucky for me my older--much older--sister was schooled in these things, so when she got home I asked her about it. Now you may be wondering why my mom didn't tell me, but that's the way it was at our house. The box was sitting there and I was left to read the pamphlet. Plus I was number three girl and number five child and I think she didn't want to have 'The talk' again or yet or something. So she gave the job to my sister, who was more than happy to tell me a very short, vague story about some long word called MENSTRUATION.
Apparently, my sister had "started" and my mom decided to get a 'two for one deal' and get me a box for the future. It sounded pretty cool and grown up. I couldn't wait till it was my turn, which I was sure was going to happen any day since I now had all those huge band-aids tucked under my bed. A few weeks later I went to the bathroom. (now we are getting personal, sorry.) I probably wiped a little too hard and there was a little bit of blood on the tissue. (sorry again, but what the heck.) So I told my sister, who squealed and screamed and called her friends, my other sister, my mom, my dad,(Seriously!) my brothers, (gross!) my best friend, my cousins, the old neighbor next door and anyone else she could think of. "Becky started her period!"
After my initial embarrassment wore off I went along with it, got all padded up, and waited for the magic to happen.
It didn't. Happen. At all. Now what was I supposed to do?
I waited some more. Still. nothing. What now? Tell them? No way! I didn't want to admit that it had been a false alarm. Everybody had seemed so excited and surprised, like I was probably the youngest girl to ever start her period, and I didn't want to relinquish that title as I rarely won anything.
And I kinda liked the attention. So I found a solution, because that's what I do.
I spied my sister's lipstick. It was a nice plum color. Just right, I decided, as I painted the pad with Cover Girl's continuous coverage in Passion Plum. My cousins offered me congratulations. My mom sighed, her little girl was all grown up. My sister was giddy. My stomach churned with guilt as I painstakingly covered my tracks just in case someone checked.
I played along for several days. Too long if you were the one using the passion plum on your lips-- unaware of its alternate function. Gross!
Eventually, I couldn't keep up, nor did I want to and the lie played out. I was in fourth grade. I didn't want to deal with that crap every month for the rest of my life. So I came clean and relinquished the box under my bed where it sat for several more years. And thankfully nobody threw me a 'new moon' party. Thanks Mom.
I should have bought my sister new lipstick, but, well, I was nine and funds were scarce. So sue me.
Maybe I should send her some new Passion Plum Cover Girl lipstick. What is the statute of limitations on a thing like this, anyway?
She sent it to me because I did something similar when I was young. Here's the story:
When I was in fourth grade, ( nine years old) I walked into my room one day and found a medium sized box sitting on my bed. It had a picture of a girl on a beach looking out into the vast ocean, all dreamy-like. Remember this? Anyone? I opened my new gift and found all these boxes with little packages of large sized band aides I assumed were to be used if you ever fell on your head and broke it in half. I was super curious, but I wasn't sure what to do with this new gift. Lucky for me my older--much older--sister was schooled in these things, so when she got home I asked her about it. Now you may be wondering why my mom didn't tell me, but that's the way it was at our house. The box was sitting there and I was left to read the pamphlet. Plus I was number three girl and number five child and I think she didn't want to have 'The talk' again or yet or something. So she gave the job to my sister, who was more than happy to tell me a very short, vague story about some long word called MENSTRUATION.
Apparently, my sister had "started" and my mom decided to get a 'two for one deal' and get me a box for the future. It sounded pretty cool and grown up. I couldn't wait till it was my turn, which I was sure was going to happen any day since I now had all those huge band-aids tucked under my bed. A few weeks later I went to the bathroom. (now we are getting personal, sorry.) I probably wiped a little too hard and there was a little bit of blood on the tissue. (sorry again, but what the heck.) So I told my sister, who squealed and screamed and called her friends, my other sister, my mom, my dad,(Seriously!) my brothers, (gross!) my best friend, my cousins, the old neighbor next door and anyone else she could think of. "Becky started her period!"
After my initial embarrassment wore off I went along with it, got all padded up, and waited for the magic to happen.
It didn't. Happen. At all. Now what was I supposed to do?
I waited some more. Still. nothing. What now? Tell them? No way! I didn't want to admit that it had been a false alarm. Everybody had seemed so excited and surprised, like I was probably the youngest girl to ever start her period, and I didn't want to relinquish that title as I rarely won anything.
And I kinda liked the attention. So I found a solution, because that's what I do.
I spied my sister's lipstick. It was a nice plum color. Just right, I decided, as I painted the pad with Cover Girl's continuous coverage in Passion Plum. My cousins offered me congratulations. My mom sighed, her little girl was all grown up. My sister was giddy. My stomach churned with guilt as I painstakingly covered my tracks just in case someone checked.
I played along for several days. Too long if you were the one using the passion plum on your lips-- unaware of its alternate function. Gross!
Eventually, I couldn't keep up, nor did I want to and the lie played out. I was in fourth grade. I didn't want to deal with that crap every month for the rest of my life. So I came clean and relinquished the box under my bed where it sat for several more years. And thankfully nobody threw me a 'new moon' party. Thanks Mom.
I should have bought my sister new lipstick, but, well, I was nine and funds were scarce. So sue me.
Maybe I should send her some new Passion Plum Cover Girl lipstick. What is the statute of limitations on a thing like this, anyway?
June 9, 2014
Ode to Research
Writing=Research=awesomeness
I'm so busy writing my novel that I haven't had time to update my blog. Today I am forcing myself to say hi. So...Hi. How's your summer going? It's going great at our house. Have any fun plans? We have a few that are always subject to change, as life is never dull. Speaking of life, life has changed dramatically since I began writing five years ago. My kids are growing up, they are more independent and two of them have jobs! One will be leaving us in the fall and our number will diminish to four "full-time" children. These days they need me physically less, mentally more. It's a challenge. It's also wonderful. I may get this book finished by the end of the summer. That would be exciting! I'm on page 175, not that I'm counting.
Today I want to talk a bit about the importance of research. I have done more research on this book than on any other novel ever-put together! I find that when you have a prayer in your heart the Lord will bless you in your efforts, even when you are writing a love story. I have had some interesting experiences while writing this manuscript. I wish I could share them now, but I think I better hold on a bit longer. What I will say is that if you are writing a novel do not underestimate the importance of research. True life is often stranger than fiction, and if you dig deep enough there is a story or a certain item that will enliven your current w.i.p., leaving you with something far better than what you could come up with alone. Keep at it, dig until you find that nugget that is waiting for you. I've found a few wonderful gold pieces that not only make my story better, but also teach me something about myself, or life in general. I love writing! So don't forget about me. I'll have something really fun for you to read soon.
Here's the deal, I'll keep writing, and you keep doing what you're doing and we'll all meet later in the fall. Deal? Deal.
I'm so busy writing my novel that I haven't had time to update my blog. Today I am forcing myself to say hi. So...Hi. How's your summer going? It's going great at our house. Have any fun plans? We have a few that are always subject to change, as life is never dull. Speaking of life, life has changed dramatically since I began writing five years ago. My kids are growing up, they are more independent and two of them have jobs! One will be leaving us in the fall and our number will diminish to four "full-time" children. These days they need me physically less, mentally more. It's a challenge. It's also wonderful. I may get this book finished by the end of the summer. That would be exciting! I'm on page 175, not that I'm counting.
Today I want to talk a bit about the importance of research. I have done more research on this book than on any other novel ever-put together! I find that when you have a prayer in your heart the Lord will bless you in your efforts, even when you are writing a love story. I have had some interesting experiences while writing this manuscript. I wish I could share them now, but I think I better hold on a bit longer. What I will say is that if you are writing a novel do not underestimate the importance of research. True life is often stranger than fiction, and if you dig deep enough there is a story or a certain item that will enliven your current w.i.p., leaving you with something far better than what you could come up with alone. Keep at it, dig until you find that nugget that is waiting for you. I've found a few wonderful gold pieces that not only make my story better, but also teach me something about myself, or life in general. I love writing! So don't forget about me. I'll have something really fun for you to read soon.
Here's the deal, I'll keep writing, and you keep doing what you're doing and we'll all meet later in the fall. Deal? Deal.
April 3, 2014
IT'S CELEBRATION DAY!
Two years ago I ventured out on my self-publishing journey with nothing more than determination and a will to dive in without worrying too much about the consequences. (That's the three in me, but we'll save that discussion for another day.)
First, The Sand Bar, came out in March of 2012 and then almost exactly a year later my second novel, Far From Perfect followed. I am really proud of these two books, and really proud of the fact that I pushed myself to do something difficult and uncomfortable.
I remember when I first started writing, I would write a page and then self-edit the heck out of it for fear of what others might think. "What if they think that's what I think or do or say? What if they realize that is something I struggle with, too?" Eventually I stopped doing that. I stopped because I looked at all the books I love and saw that the authors had to do the same thing (be honest,) and I loved them for it. And the ones that were too worried about what others thought usually fell a little flat for me.
So today is a celebration of will, and guts, and the ability to learn, cause I've learned a ton, because if I'd really known how much I didn't know about writing I never would have ventured into the big bad world of fiction. But then again, with that attitude, I never would have had five kids or gotten married, or most anything else I've done that was hard.
So the moral of the story is... Go FOR YOUR DREAMS! If you love something, DO IT! It doesn't matter how old you are or if you got your degree in it, If you love it enough you'll learn how to be successful in it. (Of course, if you want to be a brain surgeon, go to school first!)
Forget about the doubters, the heavy-handers, the negative Nellies, the bottom feeders--those that think you should stick to the script that they have written for you-- they really don't matter. There will be enough supporters, fans, and people cheering you on that all of the other stuff will be simply irrelevant.
Mostly though, I want to thank YOU, my faithful, willing readers! Thanks for taking a chance on me, for ordering/downloading my books and then giving feedback on Goodreads, Barnes and Noble, and Amazon and anywhere else. I appreciate you all!!! I am still amazed how many hits my blog gets, and I'm pleasantly surprised to receive royalty checks for my books in the mail. Who knew!
*As an update, I am busy writing my next novel and am having such a great time at it. I LOVE this story so much and I hope to get it out to the public by the end of the year, but then again, maybe I should just wait until February or March and stay consistent. It's all in my head, but it takes a while to get it written out.
In the mean time, enjoy the song I sing almost every day in my shower. I know you do too!Happy spring faithful readers!
xXoOBecky
First, The Sand Bar, came out in March of 2012 and then almost exactly a year later my second novel, Far From Perfect followed. I am really proud of these two books, and really proud of the fact that I pushed myself to do something difficult and uncomfortable. I remember when I first started writing, I would write a page and then self-edit the heck out of it for fear of what others might think. "What if they think that's what I think or do or say? What if they realize that is something I struggle with, too?" Eventually I stopped doing that. I stopped because I looked at all the books I love and saw that the authors had to do the same thing (be honest,) and I loved them for it. And the ones that were too worried about what others thought usually fell a little flat for me.
So today is a celebration of will, and guts, and the ability to learn, cause I've learned a ton, because if I'd really known how much I didn't know about writing I never would have ventured into the big bad world of fiction. But then again, with that attitude, I never would have had five kids or gotten married, or most anything else I've done that was hard.
So the moral of the story is... Go FOR YOUR DREAMS! If you love something, DO IT! It doesn't matter how old you are or if you got your degree in it, If you love it enough you'll learn how to be successful in it. (Of course, if you want to be a brain surgeon, go to school first!)
Forget about the doubters, the heavy-handers, the negative Nellies, the bottom feeders--those that think you should stick to the script that they have written for you-- they really don't matter. There will be enough supporters, fans, and people cheering you on that all of the other stuff will be simply irrelevant.
Mostly though, I want to thank YOU, my faithful, willing readers! Thanks for taking a chance on me, for ordering/downloading my books and then giving feedback on Goodreads, Barnes and Noble, and Amazon and anywhere else. I appreciate you all!!! I am still amazed how many hits my blog gets, and I'm pleasantly surprised to receive royalty checks for my books in the mail. Who knew!
*As an update, I am busy writing my next novel and am having such a great time at it. I LOVE this story so much and I hope to get it out to the public by the end of the year, but then again, maybe I should just wait until February or March and stay consistent. It's all in my head, but it takes a while to get it written out.
In the mean time, enjoy the song I sing almost every day in my shower. I know you do too!Happy spring faithful readers!
xXoOBecky
February 19, 2014
And Now you know... the rest of the story
Wrap up session
I have a few loose strings I'd like to take care of today. There is nothing more annoying than a story that leaves some important plot points undone like untied shoelaces. It's a recipe for disaster, especially if you're on a bike. Though for me it wasn't shoelaces that caused the unfortunate crash of 1980. It was my protruding bellbottoms that got stuck in the chain of my next door neighbor Mark's bike. I guess I didn't have a bike yet and I remember his sister Leann helping me learn to ride on the road. I believe it ended with severe road rash, but that isn't nearly as bad as what happened to said neighbor, Mark when I dared him to ride his tricycle down their front steps. The blood stain never did fully disappear from the sidewalk after that head injury. For years I cried in my head, "Out damn spot, Out!" But it just wouldn't go away. Poor Mark. I'm not sure if he or his family has ever forgiven me for that one. Wait a minute, I think, by the way Mark kissed me in the playhouse in 1981 that he forgave me after all. Sorry Mark for splashing our secret love affair all over the blogosphere. By the way, any kiss given before sixth grade does not count in my book. I was hot lips Hoolihan up until fifth grade. Then things turned pretty cold.
Back to the subject at hand. I bet you want to know what happened this week when I went to my Jam class. Well, what happened is this. The Silver Sneakers showed up with headbands, warm up suits and sour looks on their faces. We met in the back alley way, circled for a bit while they called us ninimuggins and bumbusus and we danced circles around them while Pink sang out about wanting to start a fight in the background. "We're all gonna get in a fight!"
Actually, it's pretty anti-climatic. My instructor got there way early and talked to the class before her and informed her of the pain and suffering we experience every time they are late, which is most of the time. So they wrapped it up in a timely fashion and got out of there by two after. During my class I watched for the "silver sneakers" to show up. Guess what time some of them show up to wait? Like fifteen minutes early! I am here to tell them that we will NEVER get out early. Not even one minute early. Ever. What are they doing standing out there so eagerly? They got a special chair they have their eye set on?
"I must get the third one from the bottom! The legs are perfectly square to the floor. It doesn't wabble, even a little. Perfectly square, I tell ya! It's a beautiful thing."
So...we still skipped cool down again, for fear of a second showing of Pirañas of Kaysville, but there were no words spoken between any of us. It was unusually quiet as we left and they came in. It's the Jets and the Sharks I tell ya and this story ain't over yet! Just a cool down period. Stay cool boy, real cool. I fear there is more to come...
Wrap up number dos: The musical of all musicals. It's going pretty well. Sorry, another anticlimactic ending. After consistently going up the wrong stairs, in the out and speaking lines to the wrong person, I think I have finally figured it all out. Now that doesn't mean I get my lines perfect every time, but I'm getting there. I'm finding my footing, and man does it feel good. I will add this. I LOVE, that's L-O-V-E being on stage. Something comes alive inside me that has been dormant for a long time. I love it. Did I mention that I love it already?
Speaking of love, I was going to write a segment on a movie I saw recently for Valentines day, but the movie sucked too much to even bother. Like double digits stinkathon. Super disappointing. It had all the right ingredients and then fell flat as a pancake. I'm not going to tell you what the movie was, but I will tell you that it had an all star cast and still bombed. As the saying goes, you can have the best actors in the world, but a bad script is still a bad script! I mean it had everything going for it! Collin Ferrill people! Russell Crowe. Good heavens, they could have had Laurence Olivier and it would have still bombed in the theater. Very disappointing. So, happy Valentines Day to all of you that care about such things.
Enjoy a little jets and sharks on this snowy Wednesday. They make dancing look almost cool!
P.S. Is it bad that I had my kids ride their bikes to school this morning and now it is snowing like crazy? Maybe I should have checked the weather, but I'm a hardcore mom like that. No snow on the ground and it's over twenty-five degrees?
"It's almost spring, get on your bikes and ride like the wind!"
"But mom, it's supposed to..."
"No buts! Get going or you'll be late. And you might want to
take an umbrella...and some snow boots...and don't forget your
mittens...mommy loves you!" Slam!
Happy day!
I have a few loose strings I'd like to take care of today. There is nothing more annoying than a story that leaves some important plot points undone like untied shoelaces. It's a recipe for disaster, especially if you're on a bike. Though for me it wasn't shoelaces that caused the unfortunate crash of 1980. It was my protruding bellbottoms that got stuck in the chain of my next door neighbor Mark's bike. I guess I didn't have a bike yet and I remember his sister Leann helping me learn to ride on the road. I believe it ended with severe road rash, but that isn't nearly as bad as what happened to said neighbor, Mark when I dared him to ride his tricycle down their front steps. The blood stain never did fully disappear from the sidewalk after that head injury. For years I cried in my head, "Out damn spot, Out!" But it just wouldn't go away. Poor Mark. I'm not sure if he or his family has ever forgiven me for that one. Wait a minute, I think, by the way Mark kissed me in the playhouse in 1981 that he forgave me after all. Sorry Mark for splashing our secret love affair all over the blogosphere. By the way, any kiss given before sixth grade does not count in my book. I was hot lips Hoolihan up until fifth grade. Then things turned pretty cold.
Back to the subject at hand. I bet you want to know what happened this week when I went to my Jam class. Well, what happened is this. The Silver Sneakers showed up with headbands, warm up suits and sour looks on their faces. We met in the back alley way, circled for a bit while they called us ninimuggins and bumbusus and we danced circles around them while Pink sang out about wanting to start a fight in the background. "We're all gonna get in a fight!"
Actually, it's pretty anti-climatic. My instructor got there way early and talked to the class before her and informed her of the pain and suffering we experience every time they are late, which is most of the time. So they wrapped it up in a timely fashion and got out of there by two after. During my class I watched for the "silver sneakers" to show up. Guess what time some of them show up to wait? Like fifteen minutes early! I am here to tell them that we will NEVER get out early. Not even one minute early. Ever. What are they doing standing out there so eagerly? They got a special chair they have their eye set on?
"I must get the third one from the bottom! The legs are perfectly square to the floor. It doesn't wabble, even a little. Perfectly square, I tell ya! It's a beautiful thing."
So...we still skipped cool down again, for fear of a second showing of Pirañas of Kaysville, but there were no words spoken between any of us. It was unusually quiet as we left and they came in. It's the Jets and the Sharks I tell ya and this story ain't over yet! Just a cool down period. Stay cool boy, real cool. I fear there is more to come...
Wrap up number dos: The musical of all musicals. It's going pretty well. Sorry, another anticlimactic ending. After consistently going up the wrong stairs, in the out and speaking lines to the wrong person, I think I have finally figured it all out. Now that doesn't mean I get my lines perfect every time, but I'm getting there. I'm finding my footing, and man does it feel good. I will add this. I LOVE, that's L-O-V-E being on stage. Something comes alive inside me that has been dormant for a long time. I love it. Did I mention that I love it already?
Speaking of love, I was going to write a segment on a movie I saw recently for Valentines day, but the movie sucked too much to even bother. Like double digits stinkathon. Super disappointing. It had all the right ingredients and then fell flat as a pancake. I'm not going to tell you what the movie was, but I will tell you that it had an all star cast and still bombed. As the saying goes, you can have the best actors in the world, but a bad script is still a bad script! I mean it had everything going for it! Collin Ferrill people! Russell Crowe. Good heavens, they could have had Laurence Olivier and it would have still bombed in the theater. Very disappointing. So, happy Valentines Day to all of you that care about such things.
Enjoy a little jets and sharks on this snowy Wednesday. They make dancing look almost cool!
P.S. Is it bad that I had my kids ride their bikes to school this morning and now it is snowing like crazy? Maybe I should have checked the weather, but I'm a hardcore mom like that. No snow on the ground and it's over twenty-five degrees?
"It's almost spring, get on your bikes and ride like the wind!"
"But mom, it's supposed to..."
"No buts! Get going or you'll be late. And you might want to
take an umbrella...and some snow boots...and don't forget your
mittens...mommy loves you!" Slam!
Happy day!
February 10, 2014
Three Minutes won't Kill you...then again, you're old, maybe it will.
Dear Old people at the gym,
[image error]
I see you standing outside the room, pacing like old, feeble cheetahs. Your gold wristwatches scream one minute to eleven, and we're still doing our work out. The nerve! This is not the first time we've been a minute or two late, but this time your patience has warn as thin as your hair. You've been pushed around enough. This is the last time you will make it home for your daily chicken noodle soup ten minutes past noon. It's an outrage! Your sallow skin grows warm and almost turns flesh colored. Your breathing accelerates. Your anger mounts. "Let's swarm them!" Someone calls out. Probably the eighty year old woman that can hardly walk wearing her nicest chino slacks and polo blouse. And, are those earrings and pearls? This is a work out, right?
I recognize that your time is precious. Probably more precious than mine. After all, I only have five children that go to three different schools, two businesses, a husband, a dog, a fish, and a hamster and a house and three cars that need tending to. I totally understand your plight. You are nearly dead and there's only four more hours to get your workout in and to your early bird buffet before you call it a day. You're busy, I get it. There's lunch at noon and bingo at two. And who can skip lunch? I can't, can you? Especially when you've got medication to take and your bowels don't work after six pm. I'm nearly there myself, so believe me when I say, I get it. But in having empathy for your shortening time on earth and your OCD type desire to be punctual, can I offer a thought? Just something to consider? I know it may be a generations gap thing, but I might have something to offer you. My thought...
It's only three minutes. Three minutes is all it is. Think about it. Three minutes is how long it takes you to buckle your seat belt, or walk up the stairs at the gym. I know because I usually get stuck behind you. Three minutes is how long it takes you to decide that it's finally safe to turn left. Again, I know because I'm usually behind you as you slowly creep onto the busy road and I have to slam on my brakes to wait for you. You seldom acknowledge me as you roll your giant Cadillac into oncoming traffic. I'm not sure if you even realize that you now have at least a half a dozen cars lined up behind you. And when I have to wait for you to cross the road and watch your little legs toddle to and fro when I'm in a hurry, I have to remind myself that it's only three minutes. And three minutes won't kill anybody. Then again...
One other thing. Perhaps, as wise as you are now that your nearly a centurion, you might realize that being rude will not help you get into heaven any faster, and at your age, I'd like to think that being kind and looking to understand that maybe there was a legitimate reason why we were late, would be your number one goal, seeing as how you will be meeting your maker any day. Swarming a class and yelling at it's participants is shallow and insulting. Unlike a fine wine, class is something that doesn't just come with age. I saw that today. I hope that you still have enough time to find you some. Because you were right about one thing. Time is precious, and yours is running out.
You're welcome, and have a nice day.
[image error]
I see you standing outside the room, pacing like old, feeble cheetahs. Your gold wristwatches scream one minute to eleven, and we're still doing our work out. The nerve! This is not the first time we've been a minute or two late, but this time your patience has warn as thin as your hair. You've been pushed around enough. This is the last time you will make it home for your daily chicken noodle soup ten minutes past noon. It's an outrage! Your sallow skin grows warm and almost turns flesh colored. Your breathing accelerates. Your anger mounts. "Let's swarm them!" Someone calls out. Probably the eighty year old woman that can hardly walk wearing her nicest chino slacks and polo blouse. And, are those earrings and pearls? This is a work out, right?
I recognize that your time is precious. Probably more precious than mine. After all, I only have five children that go to three different schools, two businesses, a husband, a dog, a fish, and a hamster and a house and three cars that need tending to. I totally understand your plight. You are nearly dead and there's only four more hours to get your workout in and to your early bird buffet before you call it a day. You're busy, I get it. There's lunch at noon and bingo at two. And who can skip lunch? I can't, can you? Especially when you've got medication to take and your bowels don't work after six pm. I'm nearly there myself, so believe me when I say, I get it. But in having empathy for your shortening time on earth and your OCD type desire to be punctual, can I offer a thought? Just something to consider? I know it may be a generations gap thing, but I might have something to offer you. My thought...
It's only three minutes. Three minutes is all it is. Think about it. Three minutes is how long it takes you to buckle your seat belt, or walk up the stairs at the gym. I know because I usually get stuck behind you. Three minutes is how long it takes you to decide that it's finally safe to turn left. Again, I know because I'm usually behind you as you slowly creep onto the busy road and I have to slam on my brakes to wait for you. You seldom acknowledge me as you roll your giant Cadillac into oncoming traffic. I'm not sure if you even realize that you now have at least a half a dozen cars lined up behind you. And when I have to wait for you to cross the road and watch your little legs toddle to and fro when I'm in a hurry, I have to remind myself that it's only three minutes. And three minutes won't kill anybody. Then again...
One other thing. Perhaps, as wise as you are now that your nearly a centurion, you might realize that being rude will not help you get into heaven any faster, and at your age, I'd like to think that being kind and looking to understand that maybe there was a legitimate reason why we were late, would be your number one goal, seeing as how you will be meeting your maker any day. Swarming a class and yelling at it's participants is shallow and insulting. Unlike a fine wine, class is something that doesn't just come with age. I saw that today. I hope that you still have enough time to find you some. Because you were right about one thing. Time is precious, and yours is running out.
You're welcome, and have a nice day.
