Blog Posts by Monika Basile

Second chances.

I have been thinking about them a lot lately after a recent conversation with someone close to me.

I could generalize that statement and say we are all deserving of second chances. However much I believe that to be true, I don't want to generalize that phrase at all. Second chances are not a generality but a personal decision and a personal grace.

We all screw up. All of the time. I would use stronger language because that statement warrants it, but I know my publisher hates profanity so I will refrain. We all make huge, giant, gargantuan whoppers of mistakes. We all hurt people and disappoint people and do damage in some way. So how do we choose who should get a second chance or a third or a hundredth?

I have been called naïve, stupid and blind in my lifetime simply because I am a firm believer that people can change, that someone can be sorry. I have had people tell me, "You are setting yourself up for heartache." Or "How can you believe that so and

Any given weekend in Monikaville U.S.A….

10:00 p.m.

I go to bed. I know that's early but I have to work in the morning. I turn the T.V. on. Something funny. I have to go to sleep laughing or I don't sleep at all.

10:02 p.m.

"Mom?"

"What?"

"Are you sleeping?"

"Of course not I have only been in bed two minutes."

"Can Sarah and I make snow cones?" I think about that before answering. The ice shaver is obnoxiously loud. Can I handle that right now? Okay it will only be going for ten minutes before they get bored.

10:49 p.m.

My pillow is over my head. The ice shaver continues to grind. I hear glass breaking and cringe. "You're cleaning that up."

"Am not."

"Quit yelling! You'll wake mom up."

I walk down the stairs, "I'm already up and why did you make so many snow cones?"

"We were trying to see how many we could make with all the ice in the ice maker."

"I've had enough. Get away from this kitchen before you cut yourself. I have

On Love and Play-Doh

When I was a little girl, it was much easier to weed out potential mates. There were certain things, ideas, and situations that would knock someone out of the ball park in moments. There would be no wasting of time, no meandering over what the right thing was-no unending thoughts of "well everything is perfect but something just isn't right but it could change, improve, or go away". I seemed to be so much smarter as a little girl than the grown up woman I have become. And I realize, I need to go back to my beginnings and relearn it all again with grown up eyes but still retain the little girl common sense.

In the first grade I had a boyfriend. His name was Raymond and I adored him. He had four older brothers and a Dalmatian dog; he had a huge house that had stairs which was something I found most impressive. In Raymond's house there were always two different flavors of Kool-Aide to choose from and your choice of Oreo's, Chips A-Hoy or Nutter Butters. He