Nine times out of ten, I often curse the length of my commute. On average, the trip takes about 22 minutes. Granted I am only driving from outside Adair to Langley. There is minimal traffic. We don’t really have a rush hour. (It is one of the few advantages of living in the country.)
My dad is currently living in the San Francisco area and his commute is not measure in miles but in time. Chances are he is probably driving the same number of miles but it takes him twice the time because of the traffic.
My main complaint about my commute revolves around the amount I have to spend in gas. Still, I think it is good to have that therapeutic time to myself. When I am on my home from work—especially when I have had a bad day—I enjoy using the time to decompress before I see my family. I use the time to listen to whatever song I want and whatever volume I want. But there are times when I just shut the music off and take some time for my introspective thoughts.
It’s times like this—the quiet times when the outside world doesn’t exist—that I think about my mom. For those new to the blog, my Mom passed away shortly after Christmas in 2005 after experiencing nagging pain in October and officially being diagnosed with cancer in mid-November of the same year. Take a second to think about that timeframe. She went from being healthy as a horse to gone in under six month.
Despite being over a year and a half since her passing, I think about her all the time. The last movie we ever watched together was Batman Begins, so now that I am seeing sneak peek shots of The Dark Knight, I think about her.
I’ve really come to like the music group Breaking Benjamin. I hear some of their songs like Until the End and You. I firmly believe is the saying, “Greater indeed are pleasures that are shared.” There are times when I think about my mom wondering, “Would see like this song?” “Would she have liked this movie?”It is strange but I think about my mom the most when I find things that I like and I can no longer share them with her. My mom was only 56 years old when she died. Don’t smoke, kiddos. Learn from her mistake.
My dad is currently living in the San Francisco area and his commute is not measure in miles but in time. Chances are he is probably driving the same number of miles but it takes him twice the time because of the traffic.
My main complaint about my commute revolves around the amount I have to spend in gas. Still, I think it is good to have that therapeutic time to myself. When I am on my home from work—especially when I have had a bad day—I enjoy using the time to decompress before I see my family. I use the time to listen to whatever song I want and whatever volume I want. But there are times when I just shut the music off and take some time for my introspective thoughts.
It’s times like this—the quiet times when the outside world doesn’t exist—that I think about my mom. For those new to the blog, my Mom passed away shortly after Christmas in 2005 after experiencing nagging pain in October and officially being diagnosed with cancer in mid-November of the same year. Take a second to think about that timeframe. She went from being healthy as a horse to gone in under six month.
Despite being over a year and a half since her passing, I think about her all the time. The last movie we ever watched together was Batman Begins, so now that I am seeing sneak peek shots of The Dark Knight, I think about her.
I’ve really come to like the music group Breaking Benjamin. I hear some of their songs like Until the End and You. I firmly believe is the saying, “Greater indeed are pleasures that are shared.” There are times when I think about my mom wondering, “Would see like this song?” “Would she have liked this movie?”It is strange but I think about my mom the most when I find things that I like and I can no longer share them with her. My mom was only 56 years old when she died. Don’t smoke, kiddos. Learn from her mistake.
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