Thoughts on Turning 40…Fear and Change.

I really hate when people say they get me or they understand. They don’t. They don’t understand what I’m going through just like I can’t necessarily understand what they’ve gone through with their life experiences. It is the pivotal differences between sympathy and empathy; neither of which I want. And I desperately don’t want pity. Not about turning 40…that’s a good thing.

It just so happens that I’m turning 40, an epic age, at the exact same time I’m going through a major transition in my life. For those that don’t understand transitions please let me define. I’m not talking about leaving a relationship or quitting a job. While those are perfectly fine transitions, I’m talking about something much, much deeper.

Have you ever been driving around town, running errands, listening but not really listening to the music and all of a sudden you realize you’ve ended up somewhere you never meant to go. Maybe you completely forgot you were on your way to the grocery store. Have you ever sat on the front porch and watched the stars overhead and wandered what your life would be like if it were different. When it is different. There is a great scene in Texasville where Jeff Bridges walks in on his wife, played by Annie Potts, laying on the bed. He asks her what she’s doing and she answers, “thinking”. When he asks what she’s thinking about she explains that women think millions of things in a day and go through millions of changes in a day. Well, I don’t think this is just women…I think all of us go through similar changes. But we perfect our lives in a way that we become accustom to these changes and don’t challenge what we really want in our lives, because, we are too afraid.

In the last week, all of my friends and family have asked me on a pretty consistent basis what I want to do for my birthday and the answer is that I’m not really sure. I’ve never been a party person so I know I don’t want a party. We’ve just spent the last week celebrating Alex’s birthday at numerous birthday dinners, so I don’t really want to go out to dinner. We were supposed to go to Vegas, but have decided to wait when we can spend a little bit more money. I thought about driving to Chicago for the weekend but we were just there for a bachelorette party. I entertained the idea of renting a lakeside cabin and taking the dogs for the weekend but after processing the packing, etc I realized we have a pool here and my dad lives on a lake, so we might as well stay home. Nothing seems right for my birthday.

And then I realized the reasonp.

Celebrating my birthday this year is not a superficial surface passing. Celebrating my birthday this year is the coronation of a major transition in my life. A transition of the mind, body and spirit. I have been very sad and unhappy for some time because I have allowed myself to become someone I don’t really know anymore. And with the exception of Alex and probably two or three other friends, I don’t know that anyone else really knows the real Peter either. I put on a very good act.

The real Peter doesn’t give a fuck…but then again he does. He cares deeply about things that matter and pays very little importance to things that don’t. I’ve spent the last several years caught up in drama and ridiculousness that doesn’t matter. The real Peter tells it like it is and isn’t worried about someone’s reaction because typically, that’s what people have learned to love. The real Peter loves the smallest details in life. The real Peter does not change the radio station for anyone because people used to love his singing to country music. The real Peter loves country music…and folk music, dance music and rap. The real Peter will try almost everything once unless it may risk his life. The real Peter takes his recovery and sobriety very seriously and wouldn’t have put himself in half of the situations he’s put himself in over the last several years. The real Peter respects the sanctity of marriage and has very little respect for those that don’t. The real Peter is very opinionated. The real Peter will smoke a cigarette if he wants to smoke a cigarette…unless you kindly ask him not to smoke. The real Peter is comforted with the safety of a clean home, dogs who love him, a loyal husband and does not care for change. The real Peter is terrified by change, which is why is he so resistant to life transitions…but it’s time.

During the last week, I’ve explained to people that starting on my birthday on Friday, many things will be changing in my life. I think they are a little bewildered and unsure what this may mean and how it will affect them. Let me make this very clear…I’m not moving, leaving Alex and making any drastic changes in my surface life. It is what lies beneath that will change. And as I sit on my front porch late at night, typing at my computer in my garden office, I have outlined the next year of my life. The best year of my life…hopefully.

While talking to my best friend the other day, and I say best because she has been the one constant best in my life for the last 15 years, I asked her what she wished she had known at 40. She explained that she probably wouldn’t have spent as much time with people that wouldn’t matter to her on an intimate level later in life. We also talked about my constant need to explain myself…an art I have learned to master only in the last few years. It is these kinds of changes I will be implementing in my life, along with a laundry list of goals, hopes and dreams I will accomplish!

Please follow me over the next year as I write daily posts and do daily videos about my life and the lessons I learn, on and off the couch. Maybe you’ll learn a few things from me. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll learn a few things from you too…because we’re on borrowed time as it is!

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In the Beginning…

Most of you probably don’t even know how this all began. My mother died four years ago on May 14th, 2008. I had recently separated from my partner of 8 years and left a job of almost 13 years. I was alone. I was numb. I had no direction. The only solace I found was driving down country highways with a pack of cigarettes, a cup of coffee and country music blaring on my radio. I quickly became friends with the 3rd shift employees of gas stations and grocery stores. I came home late and went to sleep with my pup Griffin snuggled at my feet. Day after day I lost clients as I canceled or forgot appointments. Quickly my business declined and my credit card debt grew. While talking to my cousin Caroline one day, she suggested I start a blog for my business to help me get more clients. “You’re a great writer”, she said, “people will be able to relate to you and they’ll want to come see you.”

I had never heard of blogging before and I didn’t really understand much about the internet. I had exited a relationship into a world of Facebook and Myspace. Youtube and dating sites. To say it simply…I was lost. Nothing made sense to me anymore. I couldn’t even figure out how to do my bills online. But I was determined to try.

One night in July, I found myself distracted while driving around and went home early. I sat down at the computer and began my blog which was originally titled Suicide Birds and Seahorses. I started to explain why I was starting the blog. Actually, it might be easier if you read my first entry. Here it is, Suicide Birds and Seahorses July 28th, 2008:

Hmmmm….where should I start…well, I guess at the beginning…I’m not even sure that I understand the purpose of this, but I know eventually it will find me. Let’s start, Halloween, 2007. Unsatisfied, unfulfilled with my life, I sat on the porch in the Smokey Mountains at 2:30 a.m. with a friend discussing that I was nearing 40, and I didn’t feel as if I knew what I was supposed to be doing, or better yet, wasn’t doing what I felt I should be doing anymore, but I didn’t even know what that was I guess. My friend, a very wise, yet unfulfilled 57 year old, sat back, stared right into my eyes and said, “Don’t wait until you’re 57 and you’re husband sits on the couch all day watching CNN news.” It was the moment in Thelma and Louise when Thelma can no longer go back, those words released me. And I could not go back. Within the next few months, I left a seven year relationship, which at times, I am unsure was the correct decision, resigned from a job I had been with for 12 years and began writing a book. And then not one book, but two and now three. Oh, did I mention I’m a recovering addict and as such, I can’t limit myself to any one thing. And then, my mother became extremely ill and was in the hospital until May 14th, when she passed away. And driving away from the hospital that night, Bob Dylan singing “Shelter From the Storm” through my speakers, a bird swooped down and dove directly in front of my car. A suicide bird, I thought. But why would they take such a risk. For the excitement, for the test, the chance that maybe they would make it to the other side and maybe they wouldn’t? Could these small creatures really be that wise. Swallow Sage? And maybe, we were all suicide birds, putting ourselves in risky situations, or taking chances to feel for one small moment that we were truly alive. And that’s how it began for me, through all this crap that has happened, although I’ve always known it served a purpose, I’ve begun my own nosedive in front of cars on the interstate late at night. It started with dedicating one year of my life to living freely, taking chances, going where I wanted to go and not being afraid to meet new people. But now I think, maybe this is the way it’s supposed to be for me. Maybe I’m not supposed to sit like a bird on a wire, waiting for winter to fly south. Maybe, I’m supposed to fly south now, or tomorrow. But nothing makes sense and everything makes sense, all at once. Suddenly. And I don’t question anymore. Or at least I try not to. Haha…I’m not that arrogant. And one thing I know, is that the magic still exists in me, and that is part of my journey, to forever stay four, wading through the creek behind our house, watching the sunlight hit the moss on the rocks, or seven, my mom and I checking out twenty books each at the library, or nine, and still now, believing that somewhere, way down beneath the still waters of St. Barts or off the coast of Tulum, live sea horses who sport bright red top hats and sing Sinatra’s “Fly Me to the Moon”…at least I hope…I hope they do…

Wow! That just made me start crying. Four years later and my life has changed so drastically. I’m in a new relationship and married. I’m living in my mother’s old condo. I have three new dogs. I have a successful practice with clients who love coming to see me and I delight in waiting to see them. I run a full service website with my husband where we interview celebrities and do social reviews. I haven’t finished a book and now I’m writing 10 instead of 3. I still drive around at night. I still get sad. I still miss my mom.

But time goes on.

I can either sit back and be sad all of the time about things I can’t change and continue to be that lost and numb person I was four years ago, or I can ebb and flow with the tides of life and enjoy what comes my way. I prefer the later.

In exactly 10 days I turn 40. I will be posting a journal entry every day on my blog and doing a video for my YouTube channel every day. When I started this project four years ago, I did it for myself. I didn’t care how many views I got or how many people commented on my posts. I did it because I loved to write and I loved to find things to write about. I think I’ve lost some of that passion. Today, I write to inspire, not to be inspired. I need to be inspired again. I need to get back on that old, dusty road and continue my adventure…because we’re on borrowed time as it is!

*I need to ask my readers for a favor! I’m trying to put together some great goals to accomplish in the next year. I’m already determined to finish writing my first book, be in the best shape I’ve ever been, pay off all of my debt and quit smoking. What are some things you think I should do? What are some books you think are important that I read? I’ve come so far in four years and accomplished so much I’d like to prove what can happen in a year. When Adele won Album of the Year at The Grammy’s she talked about the power of just one year and I agree. If I can overcome three major losses and come out on top, so can anyone else. Follow the journey with me…even make your own…because, like my mother always said, we’re on borrowed time as it is!

Please follow me here for my year long journey!
And follow my videos on YouTube HERE!

If you’d like to take a look at my old blog, Suicide Birds and Seahorses, check it out HERE!

I Lost 10 Pounds in 1 Day…Weight Loss Challenge Day 2

In this picture above I am almost 10 pounds heavier than my goal weight…but I think I still look good. Therefore, I’ve realized that it isn’t so much about what I weigh as much as it is about how I feel. I think I’ve decided to call my journey, Passport to Beautiful, in reference to my passport picture from several years ago that I showed in my video yesterday. If you didn’t watch my video yesterday, please watch it here so you can hear about my self challenge So Fat Weight Loss Challenge: Day 1.

Yesterday was hard. Really hard. Although I’ve known it for several years I didn’t realize fully until yesterday how strong my food addiction has become. Being a recovering alcoholic and addict for 17+ years I realized I’m going to attack this the same way I attacked my other addictions in the early days.

Your comments and messages have been so encouraging and inspiring so please keep them coming! And please join me on my journey. Watch today’s video: Lost 10 Pounds in 1 Day and keep the video comments coming as well. In fact…leave me some video responses and join in my journey.

As I said earlier, yesterday was tough as hell for me and I craved food all day long. But today…I feel great. So please watch the video, share it with people and hear about the struggles I went through on Day 1.

I love assignments, especially creative assignments. So…tonight I’m going to make a Passport to Beautiful, a traveling vision board of what I want to look like and what I encompass as beautiful. To me, beauty isn’t just about how you look in a bathing suit or if people envy your body at the gym. To me, beauty is in the laughter you share with others, the dreams you press yourself to achieve, the kind attitude you have in everything you do, having gratitude for everything in your life and the ability to love yourself. Once I’ve overcome my initial weight loss struggles, I will get just as honest about those things I need to change in my life so that I can eventually live the most beautiful life possible. (I don’t have much to complain about…my life is pretty damn good already!) Because we’re on borrowed time as it is!

And thanks for all of the suggestions for the movie Forks Over Knives…I plan to watch it tonight!

Dear Mick; or Waiting on a Friend…

From my previous post you know I’m working on editing my mother’s book. Today, I thought I would throw up some captions of her journals.

December 2007

Dear Mick,
I started writing this book because I was mad I’m a woman, the same age as you, and yet you, as a man in our society, have it differently than me. For centuries women have dealt with this double standard. Well, my dear Mick, it is a new day. I woke up this morning having a real sense of two things. First, the finality and shortness of life. Second, a need to document my feelings before they go away or change to something different. As much as we like to think this won’t happen, it does, just as quick as leaves change color and snow turns the grass white.

These younger women want it all. But they won’t have it a lot of times because men know this truth and won’t allow it. They are afraid to be intellectual, spiritual or caring because that could be misconstrued as “not being fun”. What’s a woman if she isn’t fun? If she seems weak he can be the “knight in shining armor”. If she is equally able to take care of herself and her life, she is too much of a challenge and it will puncture his ego a little. If he wants a co-partner he will have to bow to her demands, sulking, manipulation to not only get her “way”, but to “control” him and keep him in line. That will never work.

How come famous guys my age would date a woman much younger but if we, the older chicks, dated men that age it wouldn't work? Why why don't men your age date women our age? Huh? Why, Mick, why? Do tell.

I'll tell you why. Because we do change. Women like us are no more like younger women. They know it and feed on this truth. But they hide behind diets, face creams and plastic surgery, because they know, one day, they will be like us; the castrated women. We’ve changed. We’ve become something we don’t know anymore because we didn’t document the change and find out where it occurred. But I did. I found the answer to why older men date younger women.

May 1981

I finally came around again to the idea that everyone had their turn to put down on the printed page how they felt. Holden Caufield, Jesus Christ, Anais Nin, Herman Hesse, Bob Dylan and now dammit, it’s my turn. My introspective. I’m 37 and when I first got this idea I was 27. If I’ve learned nothing else I’ve learned I should have put it down and sent it away years ago.

If you want to know where I’m from it’s Indianapolis. And if you think I have a repressed need to be Kurt Vonnegut or Dan Wakefield you’re wrong except that God Bless You Mr. Rosewater is probably one of the best, most to the soul books, I have ever read. In some book Kurt Vonnegut writes, and I’ll remember always, “If nothing else, be kind”. Is this right Kurt?

Anyway, I’m in good writer’s company being from Indianapolis, lest not forget Booth Tarkington. I guess I’ve always written down my thoughts. I remember when I was eight and wrote a silly, little four line poem and kept it for a long time. It makes me somewhat sad to remember that poem. I wonder what ever happened to those four lines.

Summer 1964
(In 1961 at the age of 18 my mother began writing a fictional book which paralleled her own life. She gave birth to a character, Jenny, who lived her exact life, which she commented on in prose.)

Anyone, she felt, could do whatever they wanted. No one else was really concerned. She knew, beyond what everyone had told her, that she could live alone and not need companionship and despite all others’ beliefs, she would have no fear. If she met a certain type of person and was with them for a very long time she would act as they thought desirable. This was not being herself and she knew it. It was really funny people thought of her as a non-stop talker because in reality, she was actually a quiet person. However, around people she hardly knew, she would talk on and on about irrelevancies. She felt she had no other way to cope. If she did not talk to prove herself they would surely think her a dunce.

And now, today, she sat in a friend’s house in the woods, about four miles from campus, drinking a beer at eleven o’clock in the morning. She did not usually drink so early if even that much at night. But today was different and she knew before the day was over she would be drunk. She hated that word too, because she felt herself quite a lady. She did not want to cry. She hardly ever did, but I guess she knew it was better for her health to let it all come out than keep it inside. This was what she always did. There was no one person which she felt so sure of anymore that she would let them know exactly how she really felt and so she kept to herself except on occasion of alcoholism. Then she would say too much and it always came out incoherent and the person being with her was confused by her personality. But this, she felt, was better than sitting and not knowing what the other person felt. It was better than being silent and trying to analyze what the other person wanted to say and felt yet could not.

And the streets were quiet. And alone no one walked that way that day. The music kept getting louder and her feelings were become insurmountable. She had to show emotion. But how could a person who had been brought up in her type of environment be such a stoic human being? She cared about nothing, she wished she did. She cared so little about people and things. Especially things. She felt they were completely unworthy of her observance or feeling. And yet things were nearly perfect. For once, she felt very free, very independent of everyone and had no stipulations.

The One That Got Away…

This wasn’t the blog I was going to write tonight. I had something else completely planned but I got sidetracked. As many of you know, I believe everything happens for a reason and tonight has proven to be no different. Recently I started a YouTube channel called PEMOVISION. Tonight I recorded a video about an old, lost love inspired by the new Katy Perry song The One That Got Away. After recording it, I came home and edited it and posted it. Alex had told me to watch the video for the song, but I hadn’t actually had a chance to look at it yet. I sat down and searched for the video and began watching. I found myself transfixed by the images before me. You see, the video is about an older woman looking back on an old romance in her life.

I guess I related to it because I often feel as if I’m looking back instead of living in the present or looking forward. A lot of people comment on my constant dialogue about aging and think I have a problem getting older. That’s not it at all. I love getting older. I actually love the gray hair, the wisdom and the “I don’t care” attitude that comes with age. I just wish time would stop and we wouldn’t have to get any older, not because I’m afraid of the years. I’m just not ready for it to be over yet. I think my mom dying at such a young age forced some stop watch to begin ticking in my brain. If you have things you want to do, you better do them now. You’re not going to be here forever!

Earlier in the evening, we had a ridiculous fight at dinner which resulted in the two of us screaming at each other over the dog. Threats of break-ups and boundaries drawn were smeared all over the place. We hadn’t had a fight like this in quite some time. Interestingly enough, now writing this, I can’t remember how the fight originated. But, as I watched the video, I wasn’t reminded of my old, lost love, as I was when I heard the song and recorded my own video. This time, I saw Alex and myself, joking, laughing, fighting and loving on the images flashing before me. And I realized…I didn’t want that to ever stop either.

We grow up…maybe too much sometimes. All enjoyment of flight and fancy stops. We don’t have time to finger paint with each other, or watch movies in bed with movie popcorn and melting chocolate on our fingertips. Long car rides and even longer discussions about love and life stop as we have to be at work to clock in or get the kids to soccer practice on time. Time warps us into believing we have to live a certain way. Aging reminds us we’re living that certain way. And yet the clock just keeps on ticking.

I don’t want to live that way. Recently I got on a friend of mine for having her son go to bed so late. She told me she likes having him on her schedule. As soon as I left I realized what a cool mom she is because she makes sure he has everything he needs to grow up and achieve success yet he lives this bohemian lifestyle. He’ll probably be much better off than any of us.

My goal is to stop living by the rules we’re told we have to follow as we get older. I want to finger paint a little bit more. Drink fresh squeezed apple juice. Eat cookies on Christmas Eve with Santa. I want to live the greatest love I’ve ever imagined with my husband. Crazy, stupid love. He’s the one I chose to be with and I don’t ever want him to be the one that got away. And I want to enjoy being 39 years young…because we’re on borrowed time as it is!

Check out the video…you’ll love it!

On Borrowed Time…

“We’re on borrowed time as it is”…As many of you know by now, my mom used to say this to me on an almost daily basis. How true, but I guess I think about it more philosophically than realistically. We are, in fact, on borrowed time. I was really thinking about this last night as I was driving home from work. For some reason I was having a Mom day, which means I can’t get her out of my mind and usually I’m a little bit more fragile than other days. I was thinking about how much I would love to see her just one last time. What I wouldn’t give for a little more time with her. A whole day…an hour…a half an hour. But what would I say? I’ve joked with people for the past three and half years since she’s passed away that if she came back for a day, we would hug and cry and laugh for the first two hours but then we would probably be bitching at each other again. If you knew us together, you know this to be true. We were like Italian alcoholics in recovery, downing coffee and screaming one second and crying and saying ‘I love you’ the next. It was insanity.

I was thinking about how many clients have told me how much they wish they could spend just one more day with a loved one who had passed away. The funny thing is, we never think about this on the days that we DO have time to spend with our loved ones. Honestly, how many days have you spent with your husband, best friend, mother or even your dog where you appreciate every second, every moment of the day. Even just a half an hour where you think to yourself, “I really appreciate this person. I love them so much and I am so present in this moment I am spending with them.” Don’t even think about it because the chances are you’ve haven’t. Most of us can’t conceptualize losing someone until they’re terminally ill or have passed away. It is only in those moments when we say we wish we could have them back to spend precious time. Oh, the things we’d say and do.

Why aren’t we doing those things now?

And further more, we grieve all of those dreams we wish our loved ones would have achieved. Why aren’t we pursing our own dreams on an intense level every day. In the end, we’re the only ones who can make them happen.

My mom had several dreams. She wanted to be a costume designer in Hollywood for epic films like Gone with the Wind. She adored the designer Edith Head who did all of the costumes for the Hitchcock movies and she dreamed of following in her path. She also wanted to be an actress or a writer. I have since found over 30 journals and an entirely completed manuscript. So she was, in fact, a writer. She was just never published. I do have the copy of her rejection letter from Robert Bly, the poet laureate of Minnesota, for his literary magazine. She always believed someday she’d win an Oscar and would talk about how she played the main character in The Bad Seed her freshman year of college at Indiana University. She was really going places. But most of all, she wanted to be a criminal trial attorney, living on a houseboat in San Fransisco harbor. She’d say, “don’t you think I would have made an amazing trial attorney?” And everyone would just stare like she was crazy, imagining Bobbie Monn in court, the judge unable to shut her up or pull her hands from the neck of a rapist…or Republican.

She never accomplished these things. I’m not sure she ever would have even if she lived to be 104. Fear kept her stuck in place. Fear keeps me stuck in place. Fear of success. Fear of failure. Fear of commitment. Fear of the unknown. Maybe it’s just how I’m programmed that throws those walls up in front of me, but I think that fear harnesses my thoughts of “I wish I had one more day” instead of “today I will set out to accomplish everything I dream of and spend the time with the people who mean the most!” I remember while my co-worker’s father was terminally ill she beat herself up because she wasn’t visiting him regularly because of her demanding work schedule. Towards the end a friend told her, “Years from now, you won’t look back on this situation and wish you had worked more.” God…ain’t that the truth!

Take time today to really enjoy the day. Smell the air. Drink some really good coffee. Enjoy the freshness of a glass of water only the way it tastes, icy cold, first thing in the morning. Smile. Dance down the street. Be unafraid. Jam your music and sing at the top of your lungs, even if it’s Do Re Mi from The Sound of Music. No one cares! Have an adult lemonade stand. Start writing that book you always wanted to write. Or start reading the book that has been sitting next to your bed for months. Look up casting agents in Hollywood. Put your pictures up on Model Mayhem. Take some chances. Have great sex with your partner. Do the whip cream and chocolate strawberry’s you’ve been talking about forever. Stay up late watching a scary movie in bed. Tell old memories to friends. Make new ones. Eat lunch somewhere you’ve never eaten before. Eat dinner somewhere you’ve never eaten before. Get a slushy and mix the flavors. Buy a children’s book and read it to your dog. Take a walk. Take a run. Buy a bike! I did…just to ride around the neighborhood and say hi to my neighbors. Enjoy today…because you could be gone tomorrow…or someone you love could be gone tomorrow. We only have a limited amount of days here and no one knows how many.

At the end my mom looked at me and said, It’s not the things you did that you regret. It’s the things you didn’t do.” She was so right! And somewhere up there, I believe, she’s still dancing with an umbrella to Singing in the Rain, kicking at puddles on her front porch, splashing raindrops of dreams and opportunities for all of us down here….just smiling and smiling…because we’re on borrowed time as it is!

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Summer Bucket List…

Every summer I am able to gauge the happiness of the early days of June and the sadness I encounter as the buses begin their autumn ritual in late August, by the opening and closing of my favorite childhood book. Summer by Alice Low and illustrated by Roy McKie follows the adventures of two best friends and their pup through the painted world of watermelon, fireworks, melted ice cream, hay rides, water hose fights and finally…fireflies. Rhyming phrases, beginning with We like the things that summer brings. It brings the sun. It brings the heat, and ending with We stay awake and think of things…the happy things that summer brings, frame the entire book; or a perfect summer.

I’ve always wanted a perfect summer. These days I feel that many adults ruin summer by saying things like, “it goes so fast.” or “before you know it, it’s over.” But as I get older, having no children of my own, I’m unable to pinpoint the exact moment summer begins. Oh sure, everyone knows the summer solstice on June 21st defines the beginning of summer, but I’m talking about the true beginning of summer. That moment when the school doors open for the last time and children come pouncing out, racing home on foot or buses exchanging plans for late nights out and adventures to be had. Since I’m not in school and I have no children, summer begins when it gets warm and I feel inclined to buy my first potted plant at the grocery store and ends when I have to wear a fall coat out to dinner for the first time. But what about the in-between?

We live in a world of bucket lists. What do you want to accomplish before you die? If you could only have three wishes before you die, what would they be? 1000 places to visit before you die. 999 things you have to do before you die. Death, death…death. The great determiner. But bucket lists shouldn’t just be for life…they should be for all fractions of time. Marriage bucket lists. Career bucket lists. Children before they graduate and leave home bucket lists. Summer bucket lists.

Yep! This year I’m making a summer bucket list so that I accomplish all of those things I want to do before frost is on the pumpkin and the kids are screaming Tricks or Treats down the leaf lined streets. This year, I want to make sure I do as much as possible to make this the greatest summer ever! I may not cross off every item on my list, but the more I do, the less I’ll feel sad as I drive past the kids waiting for the school bus.

And you should too! Make a list of all of the things you want to do to make this the greatest summer of all! And then make an Autumn bucket list. And a Christmas bucket list so you don’t feel down, as I often do, at 9pm on Christmas day knowing everything leading up to Christmas is now over.

Nope, not this year. Mom was right! We’re on borrowed time as it is and this could be my last summer. So…what exactly do I want to do????

Ride a country hay ride late at night
See a horror movie double feature at the drive in
Eat watermelon with my bare hands outside with my friends
Make homemade ice cream and come up with crazy flavors
Watch Alfred Hitchcock movies late into the night in bed
Sleep outside in my back yard
Go fishing at night
Go on night swims
Try new fried foods at the State Fair
Go to a small county fair
Run down the Indiana Dunes
Pick wild flowers and put them in vases all over my house
Have a huge sleepover with all of my friends
Have a scavenger hunt
Make wishes on a full moon
Chase shooting stars
Catch butterflies and fireflies…and set them free

And take pictures and video of it all to store the memories…because we’re on borrowed time as it is!