Saturday, June 28, 2008


What is it about my husband that makes him unable to see that in life there are grey areas? Please don't misunderstand me, I love my husband, so much that sometimes I think it is too much. And he is really a wonderful man.

But, he has this little flaw. Really, it is just a little one. But it drives me absolutely crazy.

Maybe the flaw is in me, but I am a forgiver. I can't help it. That is the way I was built. Call me a glutton for punishment, but I believe that everybody deserves a second chance. Maybe I am a fool. But I understand that people make mistakes, do things that they aren't proud of. Hell, I have done my fair share of stupid. I have, on occassion, done or said something that has caused someone that I care for pain. I have required forgiveness and understanding and I feel as though I should share in kind.

My husband on the other hand, calls me naive. Naive because despite all that life has thrown my way and all I have seen, I believe that people are inherently good. If I didn't believe that, I think that I would struggle through life each day. But because I do believe in the goodness of people, I find that life is worth all of the ups and downs.

Yes, I realize that there are those who would take advantage of me and others like me. People have. I am not stupid. But I think if I spent all of my time worrying about what other people were doing, saying, or thinking I would go crazy. So I chose to continue to believe that people are good. That others would do the same for me if the tables were turned.

Maybe that makes me naive. My husband sure thinks so, thinks that I risk too much by forgiving and giving second chances. That may be true. But even if it is, I would rather be naive and have my heart broken than be cynical and unable to feel at all.

Wednesday, June 4, 2008


When I saw that this months theme for NaBloPoMo was Home I thought to myself, great... again with nothing to write about. But it really made me stop and think about what the word "home" means. In its literal translation it means where you live. But to me that is a house. To me a home is where we feel affection and security, the place where when things are bad you want to be.

Growing up my home was with my grandparents. It was there that I felt free to just be myself. There that I felt loved.

Moving to Indiana didn't just tear me away from family, it took my home away. And it wasn't until a few years ago that I truly felt as though I again had a home. Yes, I always had a house. But it was one where I felt like an outsider, never to fit in.

I think that I tried a lot of things in my youth in the search of home. In search of that place where I was loved unconditionally. It was not until I met the man who would become my husband that I came home. And in finding my husband I learned that home isn't necessarily a place.

We have an apartment and we are happy with it for now, but it isn't home. Home for me is where he is. I feel it when I walk in the door after a bad day and he is there to hold me. I feel it when he walks in every night, kisses me, and hugs me. This is home and there's no place better.