Freshman Granddaughter's First Day at a new School

So anyways, I went up to the teacher, and said Hi, I'm new, and like he said, Hi, sit over there behind Cory. And so, anyways, he's so hot, and like, 5 guys in the class said hi to me.
So anyways, one guy kept looking at me, and we kept like, looking at each other, and there are just so many hot guys in school.
So anyways, I went to my second period class, and it was like so full of hot guys, and anyways, 5 guys said hi, and one girl, so anyways, I sat down, then went to my next class.
The teacher asked for a volunteer to take me to the library, and one guy, he was sooooo hot, put his hand up, and then the teacher said to wait while she did a math problem on the board. Then she asked again for someone to take me to the library, and like 5 guys and one girl raised their hands, and the teacher chose the girl to go with me.
So anyways, I went to choir, and had a long talk with the teacher, and like, we figured out I needed to be in a more advanced choir class, and like, I went to my counselor, and had to wait, then went back to class. So anyways, there was a really hot guy in that class and he likes me, cause I can tell by his looks.
So, like anyways, my last class has 5 other girls with my first name in it, and one girl with the same last name and same middle name, but she spells her middle name differently. So anyways, the teacher asked me what I want to be called, and I said I didn't care, and anyways, because I need a different choir class, I might have to change my science class too, and the science teacher would really like that!
So anyways...........

Return of Old Friends

Early cold snap over, the warm (60 degrees) weather has come back, for the brief tease of heat before the chill of winter. The plants are hitting a short second growth spurt, and I was surprised by the return of our old friends the Ladybugs. These Ladybugs show up in the window of our master bathroom every spring. There are usually 12-15 of them, they crawl around the window sill, up and down the window, and occasionally fly around the room as I stay quietly seated.

These beautiful little beings have never shown themselves in this false spring before, so I was pleasantly surprised to see the three mixed up Ladybugs. Somehow their inner clock has also steered them wrong, tricking them into showing their pretty backs.

The Ladybugs only hang out in this one window; and I'm sure there is a nest of them, or hive, or whatever it is that their home is called, inside our southern facing wall. No harm, I hope, so I'm not about to find out, I enjoy my old friends, however brief their visit.

Waiting for the Storm

Waiting for the Storm, not to pass, but to arrive. I love storms, and I am lucky enough to be at the Oregon coast  for a few days. Hubby is attending a work/play weekend, and I am writing.

So far, after only a few hours, I have composed two poems, and tightened up a short story for submission. So far so good.
So far, I'm having a great time.

So far, no storm. The weather men said we would be getting the tail end of a monsoon - heavy rain, and up to 50 mile an hour winds. My kind of day.

I love storms, there is something soothing in the wildness, the reminder that not everything is under my control, that there are still things that can impress me. The thrashing and violence of a good storm gives me a pleasure of unleashed energy, awakens the latent feral me.

Growing up in the Phoenix area of Arizona, I experienced nature at her wildest. Haboobs, mile high walls of dust rolling  toward town like an errant ocean wave, lightening so bright we almost needed sunglasses. The monsoon season began right around the Fourth of July and brought rain. Rain so dense you were blinded. Rain so fast and furious you would be standing in a four inch deep puddle in just one minute. Rain, pelting  bare arms, stinging bare thighs as we played in the street during these brief but awesome downpours.

As kids, we never ran for cover, never ran inside to get out of the rain. We reveled in nature at its finest, reveled in the unleashed madness of Mother Nature.

I now live in the State of Washington, a very wet place, it rains a lot where we are. However, most of the time it is a gentle rain, lasting all day and still not reaching the four inch mark. I miss the startling flashes of lightning, the heart felt, window shaking claps of thunder.

Rain is not just rain, a storm in the Pacific Northwest is so different from the Arizona storms that can invoke thoughts of an anguished Mother Nature, of someone toying with us; mere humans, thinking we have control.

Money, Money Everywhere

Ok, so you have a bunch of money - $20,000, $42,000. What do you do with it? Put it in a brown paper bag? Stow it in your backpack?

It seems so. Lately there have been many findings of  miss-managed money. Thankfully, the finders have been honest, and turned the money over to authorities, who, hopefully find the owners. My question to the owners -             

                        WHAT WERE YOU THINKING????????????????????

Not only are you dumb enough to put your money in a backpack, or paper bag, but you forget it! Please explain to me just how that happens.

Enough of dumb people doing stupid things, maybe life is much easier if you don't have too much money.

Cracking the Code

Scientists have cracked the code (or so they say) of dolphin speak.

There are some things that should remain a mystery, what dolphins say, what dogs think, and why women are the way we are.

With all the really important things scientists need to figure out, why are they spending probably billions of dollars on trying to figure out what dolphins squeaks and noises mean? What do we then do with that information? Why is it relevant?

I'd much rather see this money spent on medical research, unless the scientists figure the dolphins can tell us how to cure cancer!

Let's leave dolphin speak alone, keep at least one mystery alive.

Modesty Out the Window

"I'm just going to move the jacket off your shoulder."

The mammogram tech says as she's smashing my breast in an evil looking vice - it is supposed to be a thing of good, but no way is something that painful a good thing!

So, am I supposed to be embarrassed by my naked shoulder and not my bare boob? Any modesty is left in the car when getting a mammogram, "Scoot to your left, closer, hand here, relax." Hahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Relax? Sure. I wonder if the tech gets the same instructions when she is on my side of the machine?

Mammograms really aren't as painful as they once were; and I don't have to hold my breath as long either, and I've finally figured out how to not have to hold my breath on an exhale. I've counted the clicks emitting from the machine, and breathe accordingly.

Once a year, I do my due diligence and have my boobies smooshed, photographed, and examined. One would think they'd at least buy me a drink.

Sad and Alone

Clem, the peachick from last year, is sad and alone.

George, the peacock with a magnificent tail, was trapped, and eaten, probably by a coyote. Gertrude, Clem's mother, is, we hope, sitting on a nest of eggs. She showed up for food every day, late in the afternoon, would then disappear until the next meal time.

Clem, not used to being alone runs around the yard, back and forth between the Christmas trees searching for Mother. After a week of Gertrude coming for an evening meal, she stopped showing up for dinner. That means she is sitting on eggs, and should only be gone for about 2 weeks. One week has passed, and poor, poor Clem, is still anxiously running around, cawing when he goes to bed, and is making everyone here at home miserable with his miserableness.

This week can not go quickly enough, and I look forward to seeing Gertrude with some chicks soon. Clem, I'm sure will be even happier than I will be, and by this time next week, I hope to have some good news.

I Hate Step Children

No, it is not what you think!

I don't hate step children, I hate the use of the words. Either they are your kids or not. They can be your children, grandchildren, etc. without being yours by blood.

So many times I hear "That's my step-grandchild", "That's my son's stepdaughter" "He is my daughter's stepson".

It doesn't matter!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Does the speaker love the child any less because they are not blood? If not, then why say it? Why single out a child, make them feel different because they were not born into your family. They should feel special because they were chosen.

I already had a child when I married my husband. He never used the word "step", and eagerly legally adopted my son. We are family, no matter what our blood says. We love each other, fight, makeup, and will always be family.

Every year Websters Dictionary adds words to their book. Let's get them to delete stepchild, stepson, stepdaughter, step-mom, step-dad, etc. Wouldn't that be wonderful?

All Atwitter

Why do birds chirp and sing so fervently predawn? Are they sharing the nights escapades?  "Hey Jay! Did you see the hot chick I hooked up with?" "Yeah, I'm just getting back to my nest now!" "Robin! You won't believe who flew by my place last night!"

Are they sharing dreams? Dreams of catching the big worm that got away the day before? Dreams of being wooed by the colorfully outfitted guy from one tree over? Dreams of building a nest and having eggs with someone they love?

Singing fills the dark skies, and continues well into dawn, then settles down to a "howdy do", a "nice to see you again", as the day brightens and warms. Slower, easier chirping accompanies the day, "I finally got that fat old worm!", or "Why don't you come over to a new puddle I found for an afternoon treat?", and the comic "How about that dropping I splatted all over the just cleaned car!"

Floating on air currents high above are the hawks, eagles, and ever present, obnoxious crows. The hawk screeches his greeting, or warning "Good day. I can float up here just as long as you can hide under the tree.", while the crows caw, delivering fly-by's of long forgotten food stuffs left by sated scavengers. "Blackie, that's my rotten carcass, you stay away. I mean it!"

Less enthusiastic by evening, birds chirp, whistle, and sing their nightly plans; "Maybe she'll let me see her nest tonight.", "Will he think my feathers are truly pretty?". They settle down, catch fitful sleep with ears open to the ever present dangers that lurk in the dark; a hungry owl, a coyote looking for an appetizer. Mates trade off watching hatchlings, hoping to see at least one baby learn to fly and soar on their own.

People are so different, a morning "harumph", and "Where's my coffee?" is the usual morning banter, then a quick "Have a good day dear", and silence til school is over, "How did you do on your test?" "Okay, I guess."

Dinner conversation is a battle between the want to know's and the I don't want you to know's;
"What did you do today?" "Nuthin'!" ...... chew, swallow, chew, swallow. "Got homework, g'night." Then a repeat of the "harumph" and coffee, and a silent day all over again.

Communication between people isn't easy, maybe we should take a stab at the bird form of chatting, being chipper, and happy, singing instead of grousing, sharing instead of silence.

 

Pressure

The pressure is now starting to build.

Telling friends and family about any project helps goad the projector on, to complete, to be accountable. Well, I am now very accountable to not only friends and family, but to hopeful investors in my Dear Mother, book project.

I have utilized Kickstarter.com, and put my long thought about project out for the world to see, and maybe garner the much needed funds to help complete this, what I think, is an awesome book.

My book is comprised of letters written by adoptees, to their biological mothers. Mothers they have never met. I am sure there will be lots of thank you letters, but equally important are the how could you letters, the I hate you letters, and any letter that allows the adoptee to express their emotions to someone they have never met, and probably will never meet.

I was adopted, taken home from the hospital by my adoptive parents. I had a wonderful life, never did meet my bio-mother or bio-father. I did however want to thank her for putting me up for adoption. Couldn't, so I figured there might be others wanting to do the same thing. The idea was launched.

Now I need letters, and photos, and lots of time. Some money too.

Please check out the project, even if you don't want to invest, just to support it.

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/850444810/dear-mother-letters-from-adoptees-to-biological-mo

So, the pressure is on to get this project written, completed, and published. YIKES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What an eventful day! An entire day of writing, talking about writing, then writing some more. The Cedar Creek Writers hold a one day retreat once every 3 months. One of our member's hosts, we all bring snack foods - no time for a real meal - we must write, and then we each find a cozy nook to sit and create. We share goals for the day, what we hope to accomplish, then get to it.

We take an exercise break several times during the day, and of course, we snack to our hearts content. We do get a lot of writing accomplished, reach and often surpass our goals for the day.

I love it! One member takes one day a month as a personal writing retreat day, I must do that. However, the call of my washer, dryer, and unfinished projects at home tend to be too strong, but I will try. Book 2 of poetry, here I come.

The Creative Ride - The Art of Creation, and Inspiring Creativity

I was asked to deliver a speech on creativity, this is the result.

I wondered what I could write about creativity?

Well, I waited, and waited, and never got hit with divine inspiration.  I played some inspiring music, nothing, played some funky steel drum music, nothing. I turned

everything off, stared at my computer screen, and tried to think creatively. Nothing, nada, zero, zilch - Oh wait! How many ways can I way zero? Side tracked procrastination!  I walked away.

I thought about it for a few days, what gets me in a creative groove? What is creativity? How do I get into the creative mood when I'm in a rut? What, how, why? I wasn't sure,

I thought about it some more. Plain old procrastination. Then I just kept getting all these ideas and didn't know exactly where to go, was it too much or too little, the plight of the artist!

My father was an artist, an art history teacher,  and an art critic, and when I was 12, my family went to Europe, touring museums and churches, seeing in real life what my father taught. A wonderful experience. I was given the opportunity to see the works of

some of the most creative people in history and the world, and I think if I were to make that same visit today I would end up staying there for a very long time - hoping creative inspiration would rain down upon me.

Being creative, especially in the arts is truly a gift. It screams at you - paint me, write me, do something unusual with me. You see a leaf and turn it into a pattern on a vase. A phrase catches your ear and you turn it into a love poem.

You see the perfect color of green and it fills your mind all those wonderful things you could paint!  When you're creative, you get the seed of an idea and run rampant with it.

Creativity - Taking the seed that drops into your brain, and turning from something  you see in your mind, into a creation others can see, feel, hear, taste.

The dictionary says creativity refers to the phenomenon whereby something new is created which has some kind of subjective value (such as a joke, a literary work, a painting, a song,  etc). The key word here is subjective; cows make cow pies - that is creating something. A rancher takes those cow pies, puts lacquer on them and sells them as goofy ashtray's, and other objects 'd art, creating something.

A very creative rancher, however I wouldn't pay a dime for that "art". Subjective - as creative people know, is a word we despise.  Not everyone is going to like what we create, and as terrible as that sounds, and as hard as that is to accept, we shouldn't expect to make everyone happy with our creations.

We all hear about right and left brain thinking. Artists - whether painters, sculptors, writers, musicians, etc. are right brainers, the imagination side.

Not everyone is creative, or imaginative. The non-creative person sees color. The creative person sees a rainbow, a palette from which they can begin to create.

I said not everyone is creative, and that really isn't true. I think everyone has a little creativity in them - some use left brain impulses to create, math, logic, scientific creations. Left brainers are creative, just not artistically creative.

I have a very dear friend who is both a right and left brained creationist- she is an artist, a writer, using her right brain for wonderful creations. However she also is a science whiz, has taught that subject and others,  and she speaks several languages - using her left brain for all of that. She incorporates her science and math into her art. She has the ability to utilize both sides of her brain to their utmost abilities. I think she is brilliant!

Imagine you are in a room with no windows and no door. You only have a table and a mirror. How do you get out?

            The person lacking creative imagination, or a left brain thinker would probably say, wait until someone comes along to get you out, or that they wouldn't put themselves in that position to begin with.

            The right brain creative person looks into the mirror to see what they saw, take the saw, cut the table in half. Two halves make a hole, put the hole on the wall and climb out.

We feed our bodies food for nourishment -  we read the Bible to nourish our souls. what do we do to nourish creativity? Feed your mind, stimulate the neuro responders, or whatever it is that does its magic that gets your creative juices flowing.

 What exactly is creativity? That is a tough one. We it all around us, in art, music, books. that is the final product of being creative. Somehow, an idea pops into your head and won't let go. It might even dig up long forgotten seeds of other ideas.

It roots around in your right brain - the imagination side, it maybe takes a tour of your left brain for statistics and facts on how to accomplish your creation, then sidles on back to the right side to complete the composition.

 Inspiring creativity.

Inspire those seeds so they grow. How?  The most important thing to inspire creativity, is you must know yourself.

I am a very tactile person, I love textures, running my hands thru glass beads, playing with fabrics. I love color and surround myself with all kinds of art, the art that you create, helps me create. I love sound, and have many different cd's - inspirational, creational, meditational, and every other kind of tional there is. I know what I need to push myself into the creative groove.

When I'm in the groove, I can physically feel it. My body gets amped, I get jittery, and can't wait to write.

What is it that excites you, surround yourself with it, let the stimuli get your right brain into high gear.

I have been asked, what do you do when you want to write and don't know where to begin. Just write. Don't edit yourself as you go - there is plenty of time for that later. As a poet, I don't pay any attention to writing rules, I do what I want, how I want, and it usually comes out just fine. Now, writing a story there are a few rules to follow. For the most part I don't follow the rules,  I have no idea what a subordinate clause is - and I really don't care. I write.

Just paint, sculpt.  Don't pay attention to what the rules are. If Picasso had  followed traditional rules, he probably wouldn't have become famous. He threw the rules out his crooked window, and did what he wanted, what felt good. He pleased himself.

Don't paint to make someone else happy. Do what pleases you.

How do you get into the creative groove? What do you do?

Visit web sites that interest you, read blogs. Look into a genre you don't normally utilize - if you usually use oils, try water colors.  Immerse yourself in your craft. Surf the web and find new and interesting sites

Surround yourself with other creative people. Talk about your art. The more you talk about it, the more excited you get. Those seeds start growing, and before you know it, you're on track to creating something new.

 Talking about your work holds you accountable. It is easy to dismiss an idea if it is only in your mind. If you share it, someone else will know about it, and ask about your progress.

Writers need to read, a lot. Artists should visit museums, art galleries, a lot. Maybe you'll walk away inspired, I can do better than that! It is important to know what you like.

Know what excites you. Know what kind of music gets your creative juices flowing, those seed growing.

 Is there a perfume you loved as a child? Does that scent remind you of happy times? Does it create visions of something you would like to paint or write about? Surround yourself with it.

It is equally important to know what you don't like.

Know what turns you off,  if you don't need any of that . Do you need quiet? No stimulus?

Know what you need, and know that it may change

Some days I have the stereo cranked up to raise the roof, other days the house is so quiet I can hear the siding expand and contract as the sun moves across the sky. I'm in my groove. I know what I need to be there.

In a rut? Create something, anything. Try a new medium. Get out of your comfort zone.

 I'll pull out an idea starter book and write. It may be terrible, but I write. It may be forced, and I may never be happy with it. I may use one or two words out of hundreds for something later on, or I may toss it all out. I'm still creating, it might be bad, kind of like the cow pie ashtrays, but I'm creating.

As an artist, you know that those seeds may strike at any time. You may get a surge of creativity in the middle of the night.

In public it can arrive on the wings of an overheard conversation, or it can hit you up-side the head with a vision so strong you are overwhelmed. You just have to stop what you're doing, paint, write, create!

Always have pen and paper at hand, pencil and sketch pad. have your camera ready. Grab the seed. You can always tend to it later, you don't want to lose it.

How many times have you had a brilliant idea, not written it down, and were sorry later?

My family and friends accept my quirks of stopping in the middle of a sentence to write something down. I'm a junkie, instead of needing that dope fix, I need to write.  We need to create.

I hope I succeeded in my goal of helping to inspire creativity.

I'll leave you with a seed -

When you are creative there are no mistakes. Just embellishment opportunities!

Grab those opportunities. Stir up your passion, claim the untapped creations awaiting you.

Email Shmemail

I ordered something from whateveritis.com, once. That was a big mistake. I received a thank you for setting up an account with us email. I received a thank you for placing an order email seconds later. I received an email that told me they would email me when my order was shipping. A few days later, I was blessed with an email telling me my order number, and a tracking number for my shipment, although it had not been shipped just yet. A day or two later, I once again opened my email to find another whateveritis.com piece of correspondence. This time, I received my order number, my tracking number, and confirmation of shipment. About a week later, I received one more email stating I should have received my package by now (I had), and they hope I was enjoying my product (hadn't used it yet).

Then the merchandising emails began. Now, I know this is their advertising, and someone, someday may buy something else from them, but it isn't going to be me.

No longer wishing to subscribe to whateveritis.com email lists, I scroll down to the bottom of the page to find the unsubscribe line, and click on the words "if you wish to unsubscribe from future mailings, click here". Done, new window opens, and tells me to please enter my email address. Done, now, another window opens asking me if I want to unsubscribe to only whateveritis.com emails, or all related emails. I check the all box. Then a window opens to tell me I am now unsubscribed from any future emails, however, this will take up to a week, and I may still get emails already scheduled to be sent during that time. I get that, although why they can get me on their list in seconds and not off in seconds is beyond me.

I check my emails later in that same day, and lo and behold, there is an email from whatevwritis.com. "This email has been sent to you to let you know that you, or someone has removed your email address from our email list. If you did not do this, or wish to continue receiving emails from us, please click here, and you will be directed to your account settings page where you can reset your email preferences."

Delete, delete, delete!

Bad Texting = Stroke?

Ok. The latest sign of having a stroke is incoherent texting. Really!

My kids already laugh at my misplaced letters, wrong words, and  sometimes they just have no idea what I'm trying to say. I readily admit, my fingers are too fat to hit those little keys. So they get- I lobe you's, see you latwes, and other nonsensical messages. Now, they need to figure out if I'm having a stroke, or just being a poor texter; what a terrible burden to place on text recipients.

February and Spring

I grew up in Tempe, AZ. Spring always came right on time - the middle of February! Valentines Day tradition was to drive over to Alameda Street and see the beautiful cherry blossoms in all their pink and white finery. This was spring, whether or not Mother Nature agreed. 

After I got married, and moved to norther California, spring seemed to come along at the pace of a snail, sometimes not appearing until April. February! That is when spring should be. I longed for the cold days to be over, for the trees to sprout green, and flowers to begin budding. I suppose I was a little home sick at first, but still craved that Feb. spring. 

A few years later, we moved again, to southwest Washington State. A beautiful area, one with 4 real seasons; not just hot and warm (winter), and a week of blossoming cherry trees. Fall, an almost new concept to me was welcomed, colors so vibrant they take my breath away. Winter, also a new concept, held new experiences such as the front door to the house getting iced over and snow drifts baring exit out the back door. There is no escape! Summer varies here, hot, wet and cold, wet and hot, or just plain wet, or dry. Never can predict it, weather just happens. 

I still look for spring in February, and while our trees are not even beginning to bud, the daffodils and crocuses are peaking out of the ground, and budding, waiting for warmer weather to pop open and say spring is on the way. 

February in the Pacific Northwest usually includes a false spring - a week maybe more of warm weather, right around the middle of the month. The master bath in our home has 2 outside walls, a large southern facing wall and a shorter western wall. Both get the majority of sun shine, making the room a hot house in the summer, but prime breading temperature for our resident lady bugs to hatch, or what ever it is they do during this false spring. Look out Valentines Day, the lady bugs are on the loose.

Our Valentines Day cherry blossoms have been replaced by Valentines Day lady bugs. My body still thinks spring should be in the middle of February when I'm ready for warmer days, but I'll take the short break of warmth that we do get, and eagerly wait for the lady bugs to show their red and orange capes, welcoming an early spring.

The Elusive Beast

They leave their marks everywhere. In the house, the car, the shop.
Bits of themselves, left for me to clean up, when I see them.
Dregs of something hanging in corners, up in the far reaches of
my cathedral ceilings. It takes a ladder to capture these things.
Things left by Things I have never seen. These elusive beasts
create havoc when visitors approach. Did they leave a gift
I will be ashamed of if my guests spot it? Did they trail after
me as I cleaned, and leave their mark?
I have yet to see one, I don't think anyone ever has.
This beast is more scarce than Big Foot, the Loch Ness Monster
and Area 51 sightings all wrapped up into one.
No color, size, or shape can be given this beast. While
everyone sees what is left behind, no one sees the Thing.
This Thing called a cob, that leaves cobwebs. I live with
the elusive beast as best I can.

I don't know what I was thinking! A blog. Who has time for a blog? Certainly not me, I don't even have time for the laundry, and that is important stuff. I think everyone who starts a blog has the best intentions of keeping it up to date. Keeping things new and interesting. Well, live isn't always new and interesting.

I can only imagine a reality show of my life. Hmmm, up in the morning, check email, sit thinking about what to write, maybe write, fix tea, lunch, plan dinner. Laundry - if I remember, oh yeah! Blog. Dinner and bed.
Not all fun and games, I do not believe the "reality" shows are real, in fact I know they are not. Who lives like that? Who has time for all the junk that goes on in their lives, and have time for a life?

So, I will never be on a reality show, and I might be able to keep up with a blog. First things first however, time for some laundry.

Lost Money

I am poor. Due to my laziness - not opening my email, I have passed by many the opportunity to become a millionaire, billionaire, or other aire. I have neglected people who have made me their heir, avoided FBI, CIA, executives and others who are trying to reach me. Very cold hearted I know, but tough noogies!

In the deepest recesses of my too black heart, I know I am doing the right thing. I only wish they would just send me the money!

Rainbows

Imagine 1,000 years ago. A rain storm has passed, you go outside, and look towards the clouds - will there be more? The sun is just beginning to shed its cloud cover, billowing clouds are parting, and color! You are stunned, there are colors in the sky. Colors you see in flowers, trees, and dyes in your clothing. How are they in the sky? Why are they there? Is this an omen? Something to be feared?

What an awesome sight, your first rainbow. You may never know what it is, may never see another one. Do you dare tell anyone what you have seen? They probably would not believe that colors float in the sky.

In the Pacific Northwest, there is a lot of rain - that should mean a lot of rainbows, but you have to be outside for that fleeting moment when the rare sun break and moist air are in sync.

After waiting out a heavy rain at the store, I headed home, thinking about putting the food away. I rounded a corner and a beautiful, bright, rainbow met me. The colors were some of the deepest, brightest, most vibrant I have ever seen. The rainbow seemed to be ending in my neighborhood, and as I turned onto our street, the rainbow end hovered just over our house.

Now, I know that it is all just a matter of where you are, the closer you get to a rainbow, the farther away it goes, so that elusive pot of gold is never found. However, the pot of gold at the end of that rainbow was truly my treasure - my home and my family.