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Lost And…Still Lost

You can chase a dream that seems so out of reach,

And you know it may not ever come your way.

Dream it anyway.

I love this song by Martina McBride. And I get the sentiment behind this verse, I really do. But the problem with chasing a dream is that even if you attain it, it won’t turn out to be the idyllic thing you thought it would be.

And that hurts. Sometimes, it hurts a lot.

In this recent post about three random things going on in my life, I talk about how excited B was to get his first micro-drone. After getting the hang of the remote and feeling like he had the drone under control, he started playing with it outside.

He  had an immense amount of fun with it…for three days. Then, the other day, it was a bit windy and he was trying to see how high he could get it to fly. J cautioned him to bring it down. B didn’t.

You can guess the end of the story.

A few minutes later, he ran into the house near tears. “I was flying the drone and the wind took it and I didn’t see where it went!”

For those readers who don’t know, I should tell you that we live in the middle of a forested mountain. With lots of pines and cedars holding out lots of needle-covered branches just waiting to capture micro-drones.

J and I went out to help B look for it. Along the way, B yelled, “I hate myself!” while beating himself on the leg and head.

I don’t know where he could have picked up that nasty habit. It’s not like we have a perimenopausal woman in the house whose mental stability was questionable once in a while before she started increasing her magnesium dosage.

Anyway, at one point he started crying, and came to me for a hug. You know when an eleven-year-old boy does that, he’s upset.

We kept looking in the places that seemed reasonable to look given his estimation of how far it had gone. I looked even further. Back inside the house, B lashed out at me, telling me he wanted his money back. He had paid for the toy himself, making the loss even more painful.

He also demanded (no asking politely when he’s angry) several times that we replace it. He didn’t have a lot of money saved up, and the $21 this toy cost took a chunk out of his savings.

A little while later, J and I canvassed the woods, weeds, and brush pile further. All to no avail.

I couldn’t help the maternal told-you-so that rose up inside me, so I reminded B that I had advised against asking for or buying flying remote control devices because of all the trees. When he finally calmed down, he conceded that he should have asked for a ground RC vehicle for his birthday rather than the big drone, and wished he hadn’t bought the micro-drone.

The thing about chasing dreams is that sometimes they can bring huge disappointments. But if we don’t go after them, how will we grow into our potential? Learn to tweak our desires?

Learning to deal with disappointment is a part of life. Finding disappointment at the end of a dream is a particularly hard pill to swallow, but if we recognize that it doesn’t mean the end of the road, but a sign pointing us in a better direction for us, then it’s all good.


Hurting, Healing, And Husbands

The day before yesterday, I said some things to J that I later regretted. Basically, I implied that he’s lazy and my life sucks because of it. Key word here being “implied”; as much as I’ve been tempted over the years, I haven’t ever actually called him the “L” word.

(A side note: my primary temperament is choleric, his is phlegmatic, and cholerics are, on their bad days, notorious for believing phlegmatics – laid back people – are lazy. So it ain’t just me.)

Once in a while, crap like that tries to come out of my mouth. And once in a while, it succeeds. Then I feel terrible a few minutes later, and have to apologize to my husband who will then feel down for the rest of the day.

I do it because I’m afraid. They say that anger is a secondary emotion, and usually when I get angry it’s because I’m trying to hide a fear. My long-standing fear is that life won’t work out according to my ideals, and I will therefore be miserable.

Yeah, I know: “How’s that working out for ya?”

Lately, another fear has coiled around this one, the fear of not having enough time. Four months away from turning forty-eight, I have officially had my first menopausally-induced skipping of a period. Experiencing the disrupting symptoms of perimenopause has been enough to make me feel my age, to realize that I’m not going to live on this earth forever. But this recent development has made the fact even clearer.

It’s crazy, because I believe in heaven and I know it will be a much better place than here. But something inside me drives me to get done what I want to do as quickly as possible, because I will feel like a failure if I die before I get those critical tasks, goals, and dreams completed.

Uh-huh, “Welcome to everybody’s world, Em. Get a grip.”

I’m trying. In the meantime, I hope you understand why I can be such a bitch to my precious husband sometimes.

You’ve got mail!

So that was two days ago. Yesterday, both of us barely having recovered from my outburst from the day before, we were blindsided by a completely unexpected birth announcement that arrived in the mail.

It ripped open a wound in my soul I had thought was finally beginning to heal.

The announcement was from our twenty-ish niece. J’s brother’s daughter.

Get that? We were never told that our niece was pregnant!

I told J that it was official, his family has disowned us.

Now I need to back up to 2014, when they invited us down to their place for Thanksgiving. Long story short, number one, my SIL and I have always had a strained relationship. She doesn’t like me and I don’t like her. Every holiday, we played at being friendly to each other “for the sake of the family.”

Number two, while we were there either she or my BIL asked us where we were going to church. My honest reply was, “The Lord has led us out of the institutional church.” I felt my face heat as I said it, knowing what the reaction was going to be. In fact, we had been holding back that secret for the past three years because we both knew the announcement would bring an explosion.

“That’s not biblical!” SIL exclaimed.

I barely remember what happened between then and the time we left. She was all upset and doing her best to hide it, sure that we were on our way to hell.

They never invited us to another holiday get-together (not that I’m complaining). They never invited us to the new mommy’s high school graduation (which stung). Never informed us of anything else important going on with them or with our nieces.

We had become the black sheep, and were therefore to be disowned (ever notice how Christians are often the worst ones about following Jesus’ edict not to judge?). God forbid we come near their children and contaminate them with our evil ideas about Jesus coming to set us free, and about how He Himself hated religion.

So when that birth announcement came out of the blue…

Okay, so I’m sure her parents were totally ashamed that she wasn’t married when it happened. She might have been too, because of what she’s been taught. But we’re talking about a brother of one of her parents (J) for goodness’ sake! Seriously, you’re not going to tell your own brother that your daughter is pregnant?

No. Not if you’ve been disowned. (If I bet, I’d bet that our getting the announcement was our niece’s idea, not my SIL’s.)


Both of us were still reeling a bit from my sorry lack of self-control the day before, and when this piece of mail came, it stabbed in the gut. I had more than my fair share of words to say, and I said them. J stood by silently and nursed his wound without verbalizing his pain.

A little before supper time, I was so tired I had to lie down. J asked to join me. He needed a snuggle with me to feel better, he said.

So we snuggled together. Kissed some. Talked about our feelings.

And we both started to feel better. We both remembered, once again, that if we have nobody else we have each other.

A fact I need to keep in mind the next time I want to make J the brunt of my fear-based anger. It makes no sense to hurt the very one whose love and support you need to make it through the stings and wounds that life brings.


Baby Steps And A New Toy


This morning, I am this close to finishing my novel. So close I can almost taste it. I began the last chapter last night, wrote some more of it this morning. After this last chapter will be the epilogue, and the first draft will be finished!

I am so close. So eager to complete this project. Most days while I’m eating my breakfast smoothie, I write. So you would think that as soon as I’m ready to eat, I would grab my NEO2 with reckless abandon and furiously work on finishing my novel.

But I don’t. Instead, I find myself sitting down with my Kindle, reading (listening, really; I always use text-to-speech). For about five minutes. At which point I realize that I am not working on my novel.

I think it was a subconscious thing. I’ve written the rest of it in my head, so I’m done, right?

Baby steps.

An alternative to, “Are we there yet?”

B’s latest obsession is remote control gadgets. He’s been devouring videos on channels devoted to the topic, and was so excited to receive a quadcopter for his birthday.

The problem with it is, it’s too noisy (and really, for our house, too big) to fly inside, and it doesn’t work outside if it’s too windy. Turns out, the season being autumn, we’ve had a lot of windy days since his birthday.

Long story short, B had watched a video about a micro-drone, and decided to use his own money to buy it himself. It’s arrival was scheduled to happen some time yesterday. He woke up asking us to check the tracking. Then when we did – and told him nothing he didn’t already know – he started asking, “What time will it be here?”

And he asked it over and over and over again. Once when I told him it may not be here until evening, he asked, “When’s evening? Is it evening yet?”

It did, indeed, arrive in the evening. Just before supper. Plenty of time for him to play with it before bed. Hooray! Because he had threatened to play with it even if UPS didn’t show until his bedtime (which it used to always do and sometimes still does).

No longer tolerating

I don’t know what’s going on with me, but for days I’ve been in a “nesting” mood. Whatever can be decluttered has been decluttered. As I’ve been decluttering, I’ve realized that we’ve been tolerating quite the junky look in our house.

I will soon write a long blog post dedicated to this topic. Long story short, when we moved here I wanted to spend as little money as possible on our new house, to use whatever we already had in the way of furniture.

As a result, some areas of the house look junky. I don’t want our house to look like the storage shed, I want it to look like nice. Easy on the eyes.

I have some ideas, and I will keep you updated on the changes I make in case they inspire you to make your own home more beautiful. The ideas I have, however, depend on J doing some building for me. And since he’s in the middle of building our vertical strawberry garden, which I need him to finish soon, I have to wait on my ideas.

So today, I took a baby step. There was an ugly brown stain on the lace curtain covering the short bookcases in the middle of our great room. Not a big stain, but ugly.

I decided I’ve been tolerating it for too long.

So I soaked it in some diluted 30% hydrogen peroxide.

And now, here’s what it looks like:

Stain gone!

And a baby step toward creating a more beautiful home.


New Novel! 99 Cents For Limited Time!

Ready for a fun and clean romance? Been sitting on the edge of the your seat waiting for a new novel by Emily Josephine?

Then I have good news for you! I just published the first book in my “Rock Star Husband” series, Tony’s Rose, and for a limited time (about two weeks) I have it priced at ninety-nine cents. Download it here:


And please, please, PRETTY PLEASE – if you like the story, give it a review when you finish. TIA!

Again, the novel is available here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077CM7RVF



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