Frog In a Pot...

The boiling frog story is a widespread anecdote describing a frog slowly being boiled alive. The premise is that if a frog is placed in boiling water, it will jump out, but if it is placed in cold water that is slowly heated, it will not perceive the danger and will be cooked to death. The story is often used as a metaphor for the inability of people to react to significant changes that occur gradually

          Today, I have been thinking entirely to much, about the frog in the pot theory. I feel like I am a frog, sitting in a pot, and even as the water warms, I sit.

             I wonder when I realized, the water was getting warmer? I wonder, If I will really sit in this pot, Until I am boiled to death. I wonder, If its possible to jump at anytime, or is there a point in time, when its to hard to move,  if I wait to just before that point, Will I be harmed?I wonder the most, about why the temperature  had to change.
            Truly, that's what this metaphor most represents. The fact, that change, over a long period of time, is hardly recognizable, and can, If not noticed and adjusted to, be dangerous. (Please don't get me wrong dear reader, I have no problem, or fear of change. But the changes in my life, have me wondering, why some things do change, More importantly, why peoples emotions, and feelings change)
             These changes, I didn't notice until now. Here is where I wonder about the damage, and if its to late for me to jump?. If I am smart enough to jump, will it hurt? Will to much damage have been done, for me to ever be the same,  did the change affect me so much, that I will never be the person I was before. Is It possible to continue on, Or is staying in the pot, actually the better option?  Pretending, I don't notice the slowley rising temperature.


                            

Waiting on summer...

                                        I did not take this picture, but I sure would have loved to!
                                                  So, I guess, I stole this photo today!

     I find myself shuffling through this old house, with a chill in my bones. I feel old ( not that I am). I find myself thinking about sun, the sand, and the warmth of both. I find myself wishing the chill that I carry, was the bitter chill of the ocean on a hot summer day. This house groans when its cold, It creaks and complains when the winds blow. I couldn't agree more with the sounds, as they are the very same that echo through me as soon as the days shorten.
     I can almost hear the surf rushing in, I realize, that same sound is made when my doors open, suctioned shut by the bitter damp air, swelling the wood. The house groans again, with it, the dogs shuffle, and I Sigh. They say its only 67 days until summer...I am waiting.

The Should Haves...

This was written, before my Gram passed away, several years ago. I find, that after  all the hub bub from the holidays, I miss her most in this old house. So, I stole this from myself, from another blog from long ago. It is the first thing I have taken today...

 

This picture is from my front porch..kinda fit the mood.

 

The should haves...

As I sit here, and begin typing, Tears fill my eyes. I don't know what to say, or how to say what I do know. Its the strangest feeling ever to know someone you love is not going to live. Its difficult to track their progress into the great oblivion. Its even more difficult, because you start the mourning journey, before death even comes.

You start to wonder how many days you should have...should have spent one more hour, should have said "I love you" one more time. Should have called those many times you thought about it. Should have written the thank you note, should have eaten one more meal, one more hug, one more laugh, one more smile..the should haves pile up. They begin to suffocate you, you get that feeling in your throat. The tight painful one, It gets harder to breath, and your eyes fill with tears. The tears hang on the edge of your eyes, and the world becomes blurry.
The "should haves". The mourning begins.



The small ways you remembered things. Like that I loved chocolate covered cherries. And every Christmas, ...you didn't even buy the right kind, but I ate them any way.
The way you always sent me silly huge piles of tabloid magazines. I only read them so we had something to talk about.
The way you watched nick at night faithfully, and laughed at the same show, night after night.
You over fed the dog. Hes huge, a sausage with legs. The way you always yelled, and threw your fist up in the air when you got yahtzee , then were disappointed to realize you had already crossed it out. You could barely reach the peddles in your car, ..you had to use your tiptoes.
You would never wear socks to "town", Only nylons. Even in 12 degree weather.
The strange collection of Mcdonalds toys you had...you swore , someday, ..they would be worth something. The puzzles..God How you loved Jigsaw puzzles...You hated the phone...
The massive collection of magnets, and coffee cups. Yet you used and rinsed a **** Styrofoam cup. The funky egg lamp.



How do you describe them. How do you tell the world about them, ..share your memories? Its strange, to know some one, who you thought would always be there, thought there was one more day....is just gone...The worst part is, the memories fade...The pain fades...The should haves even fade. Occasionally, a random thing makes you remember....The should haves creep up again, sometimes, if your lucky, its bitter sweet, the memories. The should haves...The days you did have..They are never enough are they?...