There are people and there are angels...

Did you know that angels have a sense of humor, that they eat the last piece of chocolate cake-when no one else can-and notice puns like 'Dr. Hooks towing services'...they look just like you and I. But if you scratch the surface...they shine.
Scratch ordinary people's surface and usually all the things one tries to keep hidden seep out and bubble up like oil-which is great if your looking for money but not so important if your looking for character-more often than not people will show their earthly selves. But angels are made of something completely different.
I once read a book called 'gold fears no fire'. And i think that angels are made of something like that, when fire consumes everything in someone's life, while all the rest of us shrivel up and die or just keep whining...they somehow grow bright. The earthly skin they wear covers their light while my facade usually breaks only to show my dark.
What does it feel like to be in an angels presence? This feeling, if you could catch it or bottle it up, if you could define it...everyone would buy it-well there is that oil in me bubbling up again...
Angels
when you find one, you'll know.
Don't go around scratching people now, that is not at all what I am trying to get across here. But do look, for that irrepressible smile, or a glance that speaks a thousand languages, and if you want it bad enough, the best place to go...is where fire makes gold...cause thats where angels shine the brightest.

For Oma and Opa G.

Words I don't always say...

This is the best week of my life.

The other day i watched
A Father take his son to the bathroom. A grandma go on a bike ride with her grandie. A daughter-in-law prepare a feast for her entire family of in-laws. A father referee a botchie ball match. A little girl bring me a peice of her pancake, then she brought me gum, and finally some jewlery she had made. My nephew glare at me and hold that look for an entire afternoon-everytime he looked my way.
I listened to
A grandson tell his grandpa, "I love you times infinity superfast." Two uncles share their thoughts on the ways of the world, cousins talk about work and catheters, school and Germany.
"Auntie Mia, can you wake up my dad and ask him if you can warm up the pancakes...then go warm them up for me?" (no, I will not wake up your dad!)
Tonight has been full of "Who am I" the game of the week pretty much. And jokes about farting, and laughter and even singing; now i think finally there is silence. And me, in front of the computer trying to put into words how much my family means to me...

I think my sis and bro are home...time for some games...and yes, I do believe my nephew is still glaring at me in his sleep.

Professional Nose Picker

Back in the day, when I lived in a jungle, when i didn't wear clothes (kidding, always have, probs always will...) me and the sib used to joke that we wanted to grow up to be professional nose pickers...we liked picking our own noses, we lived in a place where manners might have been a bit sparce, or at least a different etiquette was observed, so it seemed to us like a good idea...

ironically, I now find myself actually picking other peoples noses and getting paid for it. I do alot of other things too. But I always get a mental check when i find myself actually digging for gold for other people...I am reminded that I once aspired to do this, that life is not very polite at times, and more and more, that snot is everybodies problem.

Somebody has got to do it.

Pick me.

Not Your Average Bear

Sometimes I am not the quickest.

Things take time to sink in

I might just be the last one laughing at the joke, but always the loudest once I do

but lately I finally connected why i am so obsessed with birth order...It's kinda annoying that I am such a birth order freak, for instance the fact that I have to point out that both my sisters married third borns, so did some cousins...I also go into how personality is affected by birth order, but usually end up by somehow mentioning that third borns are probably the most complex, amazing, insightful children...and now to the reason that took so long for me to figure out... it's my nickname.

yang ketiga....literally translated to number 3...

when my dad was learning a new language he decided to call me bungsu, or youngest...makes sense, I was the baby of the family for a time, then BAM my bro came a long and I was no longer bungsu...his creative alternative became my life long obsession...to prove that number 3 is probably the sweetest sound most people will ever hear being hollered at them...to know that just because your title changes your birth order never will....I will always be...

yang ketiga

ahhhhhhhhh sometimes when i have these revelations I am so proud of myself, for finding the reason behind things...seeing how little things can become such big deals to people, my Dad probably never thought that his 'quick fix' alternative to my nickname would stick around so long, or make me the annoying birth order master that i am...

just because firstborns are the stars, second borns are so quick, third borns have their own special charm, just you wait, maybe keep waiting a bit more, still more...third borns will get to ya.

Hands

I think this is about the time, around the right day...

I remember going to Rick Down's funeral and hearing his son-in-law's tribute...kinda weird that I would remember it, I am sure that I have forgotten so many important things in my life, but I'll never forget his speech...he said he'd miss Rick's hands, he talked about monumental moments like his very first handshake where there was so much riding on Rick's hands, then when he asked to marry Rick's daughter and the handshake and hug that followed, but then he admitted that it was the little things, all the stuff Rick did and how he showed his love for others using his hands...at the time I think I kinda thought-who is this guy-he is obsessed with his father-in-laws hands, not really I was actually crying by the end of his speech...afterwards I remembered something you said, how you said the first thing you noticed about Grandpa was his voice, and his beautiful hands...his hands that made music, conducted choirs, and pinched his grandchildren (Tris). You loved grandpa's hands...maybe hands are secretly a bit of a thing for our family too...I for one always noticed yours...they weren't what you'd call pretty, you always mourned your nails, they had those lines in them maybe cause your hands worked alot, they were not soft, but they weren't hard either, they were just right. I always thought they were the best hands ever...your hands were so talented, maybe they didn't make the world around them sing, but they sure helped in the food department, and the gift giving, hand written cards and the love pats...oh those love pats:) so I guess, now, after remembering that speech for so long, I finally get it. I miss the things you did to show me love, but mostly, I miss your hands.

PS Last time I visited Grandpa I looked at his hands, they are still as beautiful as they always were...actually I think I inherited his amazing hands...minus the singing part of course:)