¬†An assignment for writing class (in other words, I don’t usually define myself in the third person).

Julie is 50 years old. She was happy to hear the instructor refer to a demographic as 25 to 54; it made her feel better to be part of a group that includes 25 year olds.

Julie is a mom, a daughter, an employee, a writer, a walker of dogs, a lover of pop songs, a gym rat, and a couch potato.

Julie is funny, selfish, kind, creative, moody, optimistic, outgoing, and introverted. She is concerned about social justice, global warming and Justin Bieber’s tattoos.

She spends too much time worrying about whether her baseboards are clean, or if her kids are wearing wrinkled shirts. She spends too little time worrying about the floors, or cleaning out her refrigerator.

She spends too little time in the woods, and, according to her dog, too little time with her dog.

She spends too much time outside, and, according to her cats, too much time with her dog.

Julie has room in her heart for her cats and her dogs, her kids and her mom, but will never find a space to appreciate the bliss of clean cabinets, or drawers that make sense.

This is Julie in October 2017, on a Tuesday night, writing for a Communications class.

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I remember when I first started writing my blog and began my relationship with Facebook, I’d post vignettes about snow days, dancing the kitchen, swim meets, football games, bedtime rituals, and photographs of first days, holidays, days I had the phone close and the lighting was right.

Then life got more complicated. My children, who had been the focus of my world, who were still the focus of my world, didn’t really want me to talk about them anymore with the world.
I did anyway. I mean, cold turkey?

Lately, I’ve been pretty quiet.

Life is hard right now, glorious, exhausting, magnificent, heartbreaking.

And, then there’s the politics piece. No matter what side you’re on, most of us are carrying around a lot of rage, with a healthy side of fear.

No one expected we’d end up here. It’s the coldest war, inside our own country.

So lately, when I update my status,
I tell everyone to-
Look at the moon,
Listen to this song,
Check out what this guy had to say-(third grade drop out story, google it),
Read my friend’s book.

I am not the only one sitting on the front stoop,
looking up,
barefoot and reverent.
Even though the only sound is the breeze, an occasional car sliding by, and Sophie’s sigh.
Others have taken a moment to watch the night sky;
I have company.

When I sing along to a song in an off key soprano,
I am singing along with the writer, the singer, and everyone else,
Whose been swept up, for a moment or three,
Inside the melody and bass guitar.

On the late afternoons,
while I immerse myself in a novel,
or weep when I hear an old man’s tale of his father,
I have company.

I’d like to be here
for those that need more than the
moon or a pop song
To get thru the night
And say
Thank you for keeping me company.