I am home from a whirlwind trip to Oklahoma. We arrived at my parents' homes on Wednesday evening and left Saturday evening--the fastest three days of my life. Those days were filled with family and cousins and great food and laughter and silly games and just incredible fun with the people I love the most in this world. Being in Oklahoma? It's like my soul just heaves a big sigh of happiness. Rolling plains and farm land and cattle and wide open fields with deserted pickups spell home like none other in my mind.
On Friday morning, I asked Dad to take me to the Moore Place. And so, we loaded up in his pickup and two of my nephews plus my girls all tagged along. We drove over to check on dad's cattle first and he noted that one of his cows had a baby the previous night. We watched it toddle after its mama, so precious and new and sweet. And then we drove on down country roads that wind for several miles through the farm lands of Oklahoma. Dad took us by the spot that used to house the home my grandma grew up in, and then we passed the old schoolhouse where my dad went to school for twelve years. Not much is left there other than a brick wall that juts up as a lonely reminder of what used to be. Several miles later, we arrived at the Moore Place.
The Moore Place was the land my great grandparents owned on my mom's side. It is 240 acres of grass and a moss-covered pond and a winding creek that symbolizes home in my mind. My childhood was spent on this land--roaming the creek bottoms, watching my dad herd cattle on Snip, our stubborn horse that served us well for many years, riding with my dad in the combine, and riding the flatbed behind the tractor as my sisters threw up bales of hay. I learned to drive on those country roads and I well-remember clenching that steering wheel as tightly as I could, driving down the road, the dust flying up behind me, a whopping twenty miles per hour as Dad laughed beside me. Are we ever going to get home? Speed up a little!
Dad turned into the Moore Place and crossed a cattleguard, drove on a trail that has grown deep from years of use. The land is deserted currently--nothing but endless grass waving in the wind. We drove up to the top of a hill, turned around, and slowly began inching our way back to the main road. "Had enough?" Dad said.
Never, Dad. I can never get enough of home.
We rode back to my dad's home that is nestled on the land that he grew up on. I find that baffling really--how much life that flows through my bloodline has lived out their lives where I now trod. I need to ask my dad how that land where he lives came into the family as I don't know the story of its origin. But I do know that my dad was born there and if my memory serves me correctly, my grandpa grew up there. It is 240 acres of farmland with a highway that stretches in front of it and endless prairie on all sides. I remember as a young girl thinking other states were so much prettier than Oklahoma. We didn't have majestic mountains, emerald green, rolling waves and sandy beaches. We only had miles and miles of red dirt and wind that blew a gale. But now? Well, now it is breathtaking. Now I see the waving wheat fields and grazing cattle that have miles of pasture to roam with babies toddling after, and friendly farmers who wave because you just might be a neighbor and sunsets that paint the sky.
I am thankful that my kids, too, relish their childhood memories on that land. Someday they will treasure it as I do as it will spell home to them as well. And someday I won't be here--I will just be a memory...and then...well, eventually, I won't even be that. But land? Land lasts forever. Land brings security and family and a commonality to those who gather there. Land brings memories and stories and history and tradition. It is what binds a family
As we drove away, heading for North Carolina, on Saturday evening, I just soaked in the sights, breathed it in so that I could hold that picture in my mind through the months until I'm back to visit.
Don't get me wrong. I am happy where I live. When we drove over the mountain pass on our way to Asheville on Sunday morning, I couldn't help but smile at the reality that I was back in the place I now call home. But no matter where I am, no matter how old I am--
Down deep? I am just a small town, Oklahoma girl.
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
Friday, December 19, 2014
The Very Best Gift of All
I love Christmastime. Have I said this a million times? Probably so. But it is the time of year that just fills me up (yeah--it feels me up in a way it shouldn't too): twinkling lights and ornaments on trees and cozy sweaters and steaming hot chocolate and blustery weather and my dad's fudge that is so delectable that no other fudge compares so why bother, and Oklahoma and family and the list just goes on and and on and on.
I remember as a little girl that all of my great-aunts came to visit their mom (my great grandmother) who lived about 20 miles away from us. And so, every Christmas we would load up and go visit them. In my memory, we went several times during their stay--but that could be wrong as I was just a young girl at the time. But oh how I loved my aunts. The house rang with laughter and hugs and they always took such a personal interest in me--asking questions and making me feel so loved.
Christmas time, back in the day, was all about celebrating with our immediate family and our extended family and it was simply magical.
Even now, as a 48 year old adult, we still go home for Christmas. It's quite a trek--over 1000 miles--and this year my time is limited as I only have have a total of 5 days since I am not taking time off. But skipping Oklahoma? Not an option. And so, this coming Tuesday the 5 of us will squeeze into our car and head out at 3:00 p.m. when I get off work for a whirlwind trip to the land that will always spell home in my book. We haven't quite figured out yet if we are going to "motel" it along the way as we are toying with the idea of driving all night. But we're not particularly good at that sort of thing so...we'll see, I guess.
Yesterday when I was at work I had to run over to the Courthouse and there on the second floor was a tree that rose up so majestically, covered in lights and glistening bulbs. I just stopped for a minute and took it all in. Breathtaking.
This coming Sunday is our family Christmas Day. We never celebrate on the actual Christmas Day as we are rarely, if ever, home. So we try to make the day extra special: we cook something we wouldn't normally cook, watch a Christmas movie or go to one in the theater, drive around and look at Christmas lights, and then, of course, open gifts. And when we open gifts, we take turns by going around in a circle so that we can make the "magic" last. This aspect of our family Christmas is especially hard on Jace. He wants to just tear into every last gift as quickly as possible.
When I was a kid, that's exactly what we did. I remember sitting on the floor, lining up all of my gifts from big to small, and then carefully choosing which gift I would open. I tried to save what I considered the best gift for last, making it last as long as possible.
This past Monday was our staff Christmas party. One of the traditions of that party is to take a gift for your child to open. We bought Jace a basketball hoop that hangs on a door and has an inflatable basketball that comes with it. Jace has gone through a million of these but we've always bought really cheap ones that are cardboard and flimsy and last about a minute. This one was only fifteen bucks but it is made to last and so, we figured it would make the perfect staff party gift. Jace, however, has hit a very self-conscious stage of life and so when I picked it up, he looked at me quizzically. "Is that going to embarrass me?"
I laughed. "Jace! Why would I give you something that would embarrass you? I think you'll like it!"
He wasn't convinced. "I'm worried, Mom. I don't think I want to open that one."
"I think you do, Jace--but if you don't want to, that's fine. You don't have to take anything at all."
And so he reached under the tree and picked up small package that he thought looked much more presentable and much less embarrassing: "Here. Let's take this one."
And I laughed. I tried really hard to not laugh too hard as I didn't want to give anything away. But what he didn't know is that he was trying to trade his basketball hoop for a package of underwear! And so, I said, "Believe me, Jace--you'd much prefer this gift to that one."
And so, we headed out the door for the party bearing the basketball hoop and a very skeptical Jace.
After we had stuffed ourselves silly with a scrumptious Italian dinner, the kids took off to do their thing and open their gifts. Shortly after, Jace came running over to where I was sitting. "Thanks for the basketball hoop, Mom! I love it! It was the perfect gift!"
When I am home for Christmas, my parents' homes will ring with laughter and love and the joy of being with the people I love the very best in this world. The Oklahoma wind will blow as I ride with my dad to the Moore Place to check on the cattle. We will play Rook at my dad's and eat cheese and crackers that my sister Jessie and her family always brings. We will cram into my mother's living room and the kids (who are more young adult now than kids) will make up the silliest of games to play that will have the walls shaking with hilarity. We will tell stories and go to church on Christmas Eve, all scooting into a pew and spilling into the next as there are too many of us for just one. And I will look around and my heart will swell with the wonder of being with these incredible people who have my heart.
Going home for Christmas? It's the perfect gift: the very best gift of all.
I remember as a little girl that all of my great-aunts came to visit their mom (my great grandmother) who lived about 20 miles away from us. And so, every Christmas we would load up and go visit them. In my memory, we went several times during their stay--but that could be wrong as I was just a young girl at the time. But oh how I loved my aunts. The house rang with laughter and hugs and they always took such a personal interest in me--asking questions and making me feel so loved.
Christmas time, back in the day, was all about celebrating with our immediate family and our extended family and it was simply magical.
Even now, as a 48 year old adult, we still go home for Christmas. It's quite a trek--over 1000 miles--and this year my time is limited as I only have have a total of 5 days since I am not taking time off. But skipping Oklahoma? Not an option. And so, this coming Tuesday the 5 of us will squeeze into our car and head out at 3:00 p.m. when I get off work for a whirlwind trip to the land that will always spell home in my book. We haven't quite figured out yet if we are going to "motel" it along the way as we are toying with the idea of driving all night. But we're not particularly good at that sort of thing so...we'll see, I guess.
Yesterday when I was at work I had to run over to the Courthouse and there on the second floor was a tree that rose up so majestically, covered in lights and glistening bulbs. I just stopped for a minute and took it all in. Breathtaking.
This coming Sunday is our family Christmas Day. We never celebrate on the actual Christmas Day as we are rarely, if ever, home. So we try to make the day extra special: we cook something we wouldn't normally cook, watch a Christmas movie or go to one in the theater, drive around and look at Christmas lights, and then, of course, open gifts. And when we open gifts, we take turns by going around in a circle so that we can make the "magic" last. This aspect of our family Christmas is especially hard on Jace. He wants to just tear into every last gift as quickly as possible.
When I was a kid, that's exactly what we did. I remember sitting on the floor, lining up all of my gifts from big to small, and then carefully choosing which gift I would open. I tried to save what I considered the best gift for last, making it last as long as possible.
This past Monday was our staff Christmas party. One of the traditions of that party is to take a gift for your child to open. We bought Jace a basketball hoop that hangs on a door and has an inflatable basketball that comes with it. Jace has gone through a million of these but we've always bought really cheap ones that are cardboard and flimsy and last about a minute. This one was only fifteen bucks but it is made to last and so, we figured it would make the perfect staff party gift. Jace, however, has hit a very self-conscious stage of life and so when I picked it up, he looked at me quizzically. "Is that going to embarrass me?"
I laughed. "Jace! Why would I give you something that would embarrass you? I think you'll like it!"
He wasn't convinced. "I'm worried, Mom. I don't think I want to open that one."
"I think you do, Jace--but if you don't want to, that's fine. You don't have to take anything at all."
And so he reached under the tree and picked up small package that he thought looked much more presentable and much less embarrassing: "Here. Let's take this one."
And I laughed. I tried really hard to not laugh too hard as I didn't want to give anything away. But what he didn't know is that he was trying to trade his basketball hoop for a package of underwear! And so, I said, "Believe me, Jace--you'd much prefer this gift to that one."
And so, we headed out the door for the party bearing the basketball hoop and a very skeptical Jace.
After we had stuffed ourselves silly with a scrumptious Italian dinner, the kids took off to do their thing and open their gifts. Shortly after, Jace came running over to where I was sitting. "Thanks for the basketball hoop, Mom! I love it! It was the perfect gift!"
When I am home for Christmas, my parents' homes will ring with laughter and love and the joy of being with the people I love the very best in this world. The Oklahoma wind will blow as I ride with my dad to the Moore Place to check on the cattle. We will play Rook at my dad's and eat cheese and crackers that my sister Jessie and her family always brings. We will cram into my mother's living room and the kids (who are more young adult now than kids) will make up the silliest of games to play that will have the walls shaking with hilarity. We will tell stories and go to church on Christmas Eve, all scooting into a pew and spilling into the next as there are too many of us for just one. And I will look around and my heart will swell with the wonder of being with these incredible people who have my heart.
Going home for Christmas? It's the perfect gift: the very best gift of all.
Sunday, November 30, 2014
No Words
I first met Lauren when we lived and taught at Wisconsin Academy several years ago. Her sister, Jamie, was one of my girls as she was my newspaper editor, and so, when Lauren came her sophomore year, I loved her from the start. She had a laugh that echoed through the halls and we could all hear her coming before she ever entered the door of my classroom. She had this long gorgeous red hair and a smile that lit up her face.
I'm not sure when it happened but at some point during that year, she fell in love with Brian Kessen, the son of my best friend. Brian was a senior and he and Justin Minnick teased Lauren unmercifiully. And she laughed. She laughed and she laughed and she loved and she danced her way through her years at W. A., making us all fall in love with her with her strength and determination and boldness to conquer her world.
And then of course, Lauren graduated and took off for Andrews University. But on occasion, she would come back to visit and she always came to my apartment there in the boys' dorm to say hello. We would talk for hours, laughing. The main subject of our conversation? Brian. She was so in-love with him. She and Brian hung together in groups and though she wanted to think he was interested, he never took the bait. And so, at times she dated other guys, but one eye was always looking to see if Brian's head was turned her direction. One time, she begged me to call Brian to see if there was any hope. Please let there be a glimmer of hope. And so, I did. It was out of my comfort zone as I felt like I was treading on territory where I didn't belong, but I made that phone call as her eyes pleaded desperately with me and I just couldn't resist. I talked with Brian for quite awhile, searched his voice for a sliver of interest and hung up the phone, defeated.
But a couple of years later, Roy and I drove up to Wisconsin, as we'd moved by then, to attend her fairy tale wedding. She was so gorgeous that day, all dressed in white splendor and glowing with joy as she spoke her vows to the love of her life. Afterwards, Brian whisked her away to Loma Linda where he attended medical school and she taught in the San Bernardino school district.
My sister, Lori, lived near Loma Linda at the time, and so one year when we visited, I called Lauren to see if we could get together. We met on the beach and had a bonfire, ate supper together, and she played with Jace, who was just a little guy at the time, out there near the waves, teaching him how to surf. And then one afternoon I visited them in their little house there on the outskirts of Loma Linda. Lauren gave me the grand tour and she had it decorated like home--so Lauren. We talked for quite awhile--about teaching (as she, too, was an English teacher) and life and marriage and dreams. And it was somewhere in that visit that we realized that she taught for a guy named Steve Perlot--the same principal I had taught for so many years ago when I taught for the San Bernardino school district.
How uncanny is that?
We ended our time together by heading over for some frozen yogurt. It was a beautiful summer evening and my family joined us, so we sat outside, eating yogurt and laughing and talking nonstop. And then we hugged goodbye with promises of keeping in touch. I watched her and Brian walk away, holding hands and talking as Lauren looked up at him with those eyes of adoration and I couldn't help but feel so proud of these two who were such great kids and doing so well as life rose up to meet them with nothing short of promise.
As the years sped by, Brian graduated from med school and they headed to Illinois for him to complete his residency. Lauren was pregnant with Ben by then and we lost contact as we all were, of course, busy with our own adult lives. But Dee kept me updated with pictures and stories: Lauren is such an amazing mom... I am so proud of her...she wants to go back to school and get her Master's...
And then one day Lauren and I managed to Skype together. She introduced me to Ben and we chatted it up as though no time had passed since we'd last seen each other. Without question, Lauren was one of those friends where life just picks up where you left it and conversation never lags.
I talked to Dee a few weeks ago. She filled me in on how Brian, Lauren and Ben had recently visited for their annual autumn get-together in Door County. She shared pictures of Lauren, seven months pregnant with their baby girl, and then we watched a video of Ben as Lauren's laughter rang through the air in the background. Clearly they had the world by the tail as they had just moved to Minneapolis, bought their dream house, and were conquering their dreams one by one.
Until, as I write this, one week ago today...
Because a week ago today? Lauren tragically passed away while giving birth to their beautiful little girl, Leah Marie.
Since I've heard the news, I've felt as though I live in a haze, as though the world is filled with undertones of gray. It is as though my heart is beating her name and, even though I am surrounded by so much to be thankful for in my life, I can't quite wrap my thoughts around the reality that life will never be the same; that a light has gone out and our world is a littler darker for it.
And here is the thing. We all know our days are numbered. Life is no guarantee. But when death strikes one who is so vibrant and in the prime of life, who still has so much living to do...well, there are simply no words.
I am left with no words to describe the utter sadness I feel for Brian, for Ben, for little Leah, for Pam and Mark and Ron and Diane and Jamie and Dee and Bob and Michael. For the sadness I feel even for myself--though this isn't my story.
For the past several days, people have been posting memories and anecdotes on Facebook in honor of Lauren. Clearly she has touched the lives of many as they have shared their own tears and heartache. And as I've read these beautiful tributes, I've grappled to find just the right words to express my own piece of sadness in the whole of this devastation. And I am left with no words. How does one voice such tragedy? such loss?
Lauren left behind a legacy through her loved ones, her friends, and our memories:
Beautiful Ben with his spark for life and laughter.
Precious Leah with that dark hair who will grow up with her mother's genes and will create her own little slice of greatness. How could it be otherwise?
A husband who will rise up and meet this challenge with courage and and determination.
Her laughter that echoes in my mind at the mention of her name.
And so much more.
So much, much more.
Rest in peace, our beautiful, amazing Lauren.
I'm not sure when it happened but at some point during that year, she fell in love with Brian Kessen, the son of my best friend. Brian was a senior and he and Justin Minnick teased Lauren unmercifiully. And she laughed. She laughed and she laughed and she loved and she danced her way through her years at W. A., making us all fall in love with her with her strength and determination and boldness to conquer her world.
And then of course, Lauren graduated and took off for Andrews University. But on occasion, she would come back to visit and she always came to my apartment there in the boys' dorm to say hello. We would talk for hours, laughing. The main subject of our conversation? Brian. She was so in-love with him. She and Brian hung together in groups and though she wanted to think he was interested, he never took the bait. And so, at times she dated other guys, but one eye was always looking to see if Brian's head was turned her direction. One time, she begged me to call Brian to see if there was any hope. Please let there be a glimmer of hope. And so, I did. It was out of my comfort zone as I felt like I was treading on territory where I didn't belong, but I made that phone call as her eyes pleaded desperately with me and I just couldn't resist. I talked with Brian for quite awhile, searched his voice for a sliver of interest and hung up the phone, defeated.
But a couple of years later, Roy and I drove up to Wisconsin, as we'd moved by then, to attend her fairy tale wedding. She was so gorgeous that day, all dressed in white splendor and glowing with joy as she spoke her vows to the love of her life. Afterwards, Brian whisked her away to Loma Linda where he attended medical school and she taught in the San Bernardino school district.
My sister, Lori, lived near Loma Linda at the time, and so one year when we visited, I called Lauren to see if we could get together. We met on the beach and had a bonfire, ate supper together, and she played with Jace, who was just a little guy at the time, out there near the waves, teaching him how to surf. And then one afternoon I visited them in their little house there on the outskirts of Loma Linda. Lauren gave me the grand tour and she had it decorated like home--so Lauren. We talked for quite awhile--about teaching (as she, too, was an English teacher) and life and marriage and dreams. And it was somewhere in that visit that we realized that she taught for a guy named Steve Perlot--the same principal I had taught for so many years ago when I taught for the San Bernardino school district.
How uncanny is that?
We ended our time together by heading over for some frozen yogurt. It was a beautiful summer evening and my family joined us, so we sat outside, eating yogurt and laughing and talking nonstop. And then we hugged goodbye with promises of keeping in touch. I watched her and Brian walk away, holding hands and talking as Lauren looked up at him with those eyes of adoration and I couldn't help but feel so proud of these two who were such great kids and doing so well as life rose up to meet them with nothing short of promise.
As the years sped by, Brian graduated from med school and they headed to Illinois for him to complete his residency. Lauren was pregnant with Ben by then and we lost contact as we all were, of course, busy with our own adult lives. But Dee kept me updated with pictures and stories: Lauren is such an amazing mom... I am so proud of her...she wants to go back to school and get her Master's...
And then one day Lauren and I managed to Skype together. She introduced me to Ben and we chatted it up as though no time had passed since we'd last seen each other. Without question, Lauren was one of those friends where life just picks up where you left it and conversation never lags.
I talked to Dee a few weeks ago. She filled me in on how Brian, Lauren and Ben had recently visited for their annual autumn get-together in Door County. She shared pictures of Lauren, seven months pregnant with their baby girl, and then we watched a video of Ben as Lauren's laughter rang through the air in the background. Clearly they had the world by the tail as they had just moved to Minneapolis, bought their dream house, and were conquering their dreams one by one.
Until, as I write this, one week ago today...
Because a week ago today? Lauren tragically passed away while giving birth to their beautiful little girl, Leah Marie.
Since I've heard the news, I've felt as though I live in a haze, as though the world is filled with undertones of gray. It is as though my heart is beating her name and, even though I am surrounded by so much to be thankful for in my life, I can't quite wrap my thoughts around the reality that life will never be the same; that a light has gone out and our world is a littler darker for it.
And here is the thing. We all know our days are numbered. Life is no guarantee. But when death strikes one who is so vibrant and in the prime of life, who still has so much living to do...well, there are simply no words.
I am left with no words to describe the utter sadness I feel for Brian, for Ben, for little Leah, for Pam and Mark and Ron and Diane and Jamie and Dee and Bob and Michael. For the sadness I feel even for myself--though this isn't my story.
For the past several days, people have been posting memories and anecdotes on Facebook in honor of Lauren. Clearly she has touched the lives of many as they have shared their own tears and heartache. And as I've read these beautiful tributes, I've grappled to find just the right words to express my own piece of sadness in the whole of this devastation. And I am left with no words. How does one voice such tragedy? such loss?
Lauren left behind a legacy through her loved ones, her friends, and our memories:
Beautiful Ben with his spark for life and laughter.
Precious Leah with that dark hair who will grow up with her mother's genes and will create her own little slice of greatness. How could it be otherwise?
A husband who will rise up and meet this challenge with courage and and determination.
Her laughter that echoes in my mind at the mention of her name.
And so much more.
So much, much more.
Rest in peace, our beautiful, amazing Lauren.
Friday, November 21, 2014
Just Around the Bend
This evening Darian and my Lewis nephews are piling in for a whole eight days of absolute goodness. And on Sunday, my cute sister, her cute husband, my very cute nieces, and my cute mom are piling in for a whole six days of laughter and games and cooking and chaos and movies and talking and family and shopping and eating and fun.
Ah--I love the holiday season.
Jace, too, is excited. Christmas is, of course, his favorite holiday, and Thanksgiving follows up as a close second. He told me that recently and I was shocked. Really, Jace? Why?
Because the Lewis family always comes and we always have such good food and lots of desserts. What's not to love?
I must say--I agree.
Of course, this year is a bit different than ever before as I have to work through Wednesday. I am hoping the days fly -- and, as they almost always do, I'm not too terribly concerned. But I am sure that I will have lots of times throughout my day of thinking I wonder what they're doing right about now. But I'll be sure to give plenty of admonishments that they not have too much fun or talk about anything interesting until I get home.
That'll work.
The week after Thanksgiving we'll put up our tree. I haven't quite figured out how I'm going to rearrange our living room to make room for it yet as we've recently added another chair down here that is complicating the situation. And I was hoping to have some presents to pile under the tree already but...well, I don't. Surprise! But the thing is, I don't have a Christmas tree skirt. I always use a red makeshift blanket which is, of course, rather redneck of me, but by the time you pile on some presents, nobody knows the difference! Before Christmas, I'm always too cheap to shell out the bucks to buy one. And after Christmas? I always forget.
Yeah. I'm amazing like that.
And so here we are, Christmas #28, and we still don't have a Christmas tree skirt.
That's just one skeleton in my closet. I have a couple more, but I'll keep those to myself.
So today will begin the preparation. I already made a list for Roy so that he can go grocery shopping. And on Sunday, we'll go on a huge shopping spree in anticipation of the week that will include Walmart and Sam's Club. I typically avoid Walmart these days but for occasions such as this where I will have to pile my cart high, well...I figure braving the long lines and the people that make me question what is happening to the human race...kind of mean, I know...is worth it. And then Sunday evening we'll all head over to the caf for the MPA Thanksgiving feast which is always delectable and the event that heralds the actual beginning of the holiday season.
I wrote down our menu for Thanksgiving while I was riding in the car the other day. It's a typical American menu that includes what most people have with the exception of homemade noodles. Homemade noodles were part of our holiday fare every year when I grew up. I assumed everybody had noodles on Thanksgiving and Christmas Day until I married. You're making noodles for Thanksgiving? What's that? But I can't imagine the holidays without them. They're a staple--just like a Christmas tree and Jingle Bells and snow. Every Wednesday night, I roll them out, cut them into noodles, lay them out on cookie sheets, and let them dry overnight in anticipation of cooking them up in a veggie-broth the next day that turns into a noodle gravy that we slather over mashed potatoes. Mmmm....so good. And every year I think I should make these more often because they are that good. But? I never do. And most likely I never will. It would be kind of like eating pumpkin pie in June. Who does that?
So this morning I do believe I will find Christmas music to play on my way to work. I will dream dreams of family and fudge and card games as all of that holiday goodness is just around the bend.
Ah--I love the holiday season.
Jace, too, is excited. Christmas is, of course, his favorite holiday, and Thanksgiving follows up as a close second. He told me that recently and I was shocked. Really, Jace? Why?
Because the Lewis family always comes and we always have such good food and lots of desserts. What's not to love?
I must say--I agree.
Of course, this year is a bit different than ever before as I have to work through Wednesday. I am hoping the days fly -- and, as they almost always do, I'm not too terribly concerned. But I am sure that I will have lots of times throughout my day of thinking I wonder what they're doing right about now. But I'll be sure to give plenty of admonishments that they not have too much fun or talk about anything interesting until I get home.
That'll work.
The week after Thanksgiving we'll put up our tree. I haven't quite figured out how I'm going to rearrange our living room to make room for it yet as we've recently added another chair down here that is complicating the situation. And I was hoping to have some presents to pile under the tree already but...well, I don't. Surprise! But the thing is, I don't have a Christmas tree skirt. I always use a red makeshift blanket which is, of course, rather redneck of me, but by the time you pile on some presents, nobody knows the difference! Before Christmas, I'm always too cheap to shell out the bucks to buy one. And after Christmas? I always forget.
Yeah. I'm amazing like that.
And so here we are, Christmas #28, and we still don't have a Christmas tree skirt.
That's just one skeleton in my closet. I have a couple more, but I'll keep those to myself.
So today will begin the preparation. I already made a list for Roy so that he can go grocery shopping. And on Sunday, we'll go on a huge shopping spree in anticipation of the week that will include Walmart and Sam's Club. I typically avoid Walmart these days but for occasions such as this where I will have to pile my cart high, well...I figure braving the long lines and the people that make me question what is happening to the human race...kind of mean, I know...is worth it. And then Sunday evening we'll all head over to the caf for the MPA Thanksgiving feast which is always delectable and the event that heralds the actual beginning of the holiday season.
I wrote down our menu for Thanksgiving while I was riding in the car the other day. It's a typical American menu that includes what most people have with the exception of homemade noodles. Homemade noodles were part of our holiday fare every year when I grew up. I assumed everybody had noodles on Thanksgiving and Christmas Day until I married. You're making noodles for Thanksgiving? What's that? But I can't imagine the holidays without them. They're a staple--just like a Christmas tree and Jingle Bells and snow. Every Wednesday night, I roll them out, cut them into noodles, lay them out on cookie sheets, and let them dry overnight in anticipation of cooking them up in a veggie-broth the next day that turns into a noodle gravy that we slather over mashed potatoes. Mmmm....so good. And every year I think I should make these more often because they are that good. But? I never do. And most likely I never will. It would be kind of like eating pumpkin pie in June. Who does that?
So this morning I do believe I will find Christmas music to play on my way to work. I will dream dreams of family and fudge and card games as all of that holiday goodness is just around the bend.
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
The Stuff of Dreams
It is icy outside. A dusty covering of snow has blanketed our yard and I have to traverse these treacherous roads in order to get to work. This is one of those times when I kind of wish Buncombe County Department of Social Services followed the Buncombe County school schedule: two hour delay. And no worries! You don't have to make up the extra two hours.
Ah--the stuff dreams are made of.
So last night I headed over to the girls' dorm to lead out in a small group study as their regular leader is gone and so I filled in. It's been awhile since I have been in front of a group of teens and I fell right back into that routine as though I've never been out of it. It felt good actually and reminded me that I need to be more diligent about being involved.
Sometimes I struggle with that word: involved.
When we lived in California, my sister Lori told me that the only reason I'm fairly organized is because it gives me more time to sit. Sadly? It's true. I love "activities" that involve sitting--writing on my iPad, reading, watching a series from Netflix, or simply chatting it up with a good friend. But if the house is a mess or there are dishes to be done...well, I can't sit and do my thing with any sense of peace. And so, I get things done so that I can have lots and lots of "me" time. Mmm.
But, of course, all of that "me" time detracts from being involved in ways that benefit others. And though I can't say that I'm "chomping at the bit" to get out there and become a volunteer for a nonprofit organization or lead out in worships in the dorms or a host of other possibilities, well...I will acknowledge that there is a slight chance that I need to be a bit more selfless in the area of involved.
As a teacher, one is constantly involved. The job demands it. I've never been in a position in my entire life where I had two distinct lives: professional; personal. Even as a child, my dad was superintendent of the school in the small town in which I grew up and so we were constantly involved in school activities: attending football games and basketball tournaments and chili suppers for the purpose of raising money and school plays and the list continues. But now? Well, I am finding myself with these long evenings that stretch before me and when there are school activities, I have the option of attending rather than the obligation.
It's refreshing.
But sometimes it leaves me feeling like just maybe I need to find a niche somewhere and make a difference. "Sitting" is a beautiful thing--no doubt about that.
But action for the sake of others? That is what life is about. That is truly the stuff that dreams are made of.
Ah--the stuff dreams are made of.
So last night I headed over to the girls' dorm to lead out in a small group study as their regular leader is gone and so I filled in. It's been awhile since I have been in front of a group of teens and I fell right back into that routine as though I've never been out of it. It felt good actually and reminded me that I need to be more diligent about being involved.
Sometimes I struggle with that word: involved.
When we lived in California, my sister Lori told me that the only reason I'm fairly organized is because it gives me more time to sit. Sadly? It's true. I love "activities" that involve sitting--writing on my iPad, reading, watching a series from Netflix, or simply chatting it up with a good friend. But if the house is a mess or there are dishes to be done...well, I can't sit and do my thing with any sense of peace. And so, I get things done so that I can have lots and lots of "me" time. Mmm.
But, of course, all of that "me" time detracts from being involved in ways that benefit others. And though I can't say that I'm "chomping at the bit" to get out there and become a volunteer for a nonprofit organization or lead out in worships in the dorms or a host of other possibilities, well...I will acknowledge that there is a slight chance that I need to be a bit more selfless in the area of involved.
As a teacher, one is constantly involved. The job demands it. I've never been in a position in my entire life where I had two distinct lives: professional; personal. Even as a child, my dad was superintendent of the school in the small town in which I grew up and so we were constantly involved in school activities: attending football games and basketball tournaments and chili suppers for the purpose of raising money and school plays and the list continues. But now? Well, I am finding myself with these long evenings that stretch before me and when there are school activities, I have the option of attending rather than the obligation.
It's refreshing.
But sometimes it leaves me feeling like just maybe I need to find a niche somewhere and make a difference. "Sitting" is a beautiful thing--no doubt about that.
But action for the sake of others? That is what life is about. That is truly the stuff that dreams are made of.
Sunday, November 16, 2014
Time to Shine
Roy left this past Wednesday for Acrofest, taking his team and the bus and a truck filled with mats and other gymnastics-type paraphernalia. Jace and I drove down Friday evening after I got home from work, joining my sister at her friend's home there in Collegedale. Her friend, Dana, has this sprawling home on a gorgeous piece of property less than a mile from the Southern University gym, and she lets her company inhabit the entire downstairs section of the home, complete with two full bathrooms and four bedrooms filled with king-sized beds. It was fabulous.
Before I arrived, I picked up Roy from the gym so that he could spend a couple of hours with us as he was staying in the dorm (though it wasn't required). As soon as I walked in and saw my very own personal room with this king-sized bed, I ran back out to the car and said, "Roy! You have to stay here! We have our own room!"
He shook his head. "Nah--I'll stay at the dorm. You'll enjoy the time with your sister."
And then he walked in.
"Nevermind. I'll stay."
And so, Roy and Jace (and his buddy Harrison) and Darian and Tami all piled into Dana's home and we stayed up way too late talking and eating, as Dana left out snacks and juice, and all in all had a fabulous time.
Saturday evening was the Acrofest event, complete with about 30 performing teams from all over the Midwest and eastern part of the USA. But the highlight for me? Seeing so many friends from Texas and Missouri and Wisconsin. One beautiful thing about living in so many different places is all of the friends I've made over the years. It's a little bit like comin' home seeing so many that are so dear to my heart.
But the part that just fills me up in ways I can't explain is seeing kids that I've taught over the years who suddenly grew up--became men and women who now support families and are pursuing their own dreams, forging their own way. It is a whole lot of crazy and it makes my head spin. And honestly, it makes me burst with pride a bit--though I can't really claim any part in their successes. It's just that when I taught, back in the day, I looked out at kids filled with sheer potential. And so to look at them now, grown up and beautiful in so many ways, well...I just want to squeeze them and say I knew you had it in you.
One of my kids is a guy who is now an English teacher and he is brilliant at it. He lives his life with passion, and it doesn't take long in a conversation to realize that this boy was born to teach, to make a difference one student at a time. He student taught under me and we had the most amazing time as we bounced ideas off of each other and laughed and cried our way through the semester. (Well, I cried as I'd just found out I was pregnant with Jace and as the girls were 8 and 10, this new reality sent me reeling.)
But Nick is just one of many that I caught up with. I could go on and on and on: Kelly and Bretlyn and Sean and Frankie and Jon and JiHon and Chris and Anthony and Shawnda...
I'm sure you get the idea.
By the time I got home this afternoon, I was exhausted. After two nights in a row of staying up far too late talking and so many different emotions and such, well...I just needed a little time to hang on the couch and soak up a little Parenthood. And so that's exactly what I did. That show is a whole lot of goodness and there are only 5 more episodes. Sigh. Anyway, there is this part towards the end of the show when Crosby is talking to his wife Jasmine and he is feeling badly as his business is floundering, and she has taken a part-time job as a filing clerk to help ends meet. And so, he is telling her that he wants more for her, that he doesn't want her to have to work this measly job. And she looks at him and says, "It's okay, Crosby. It's just for a little while. Things will change soon and I'll get to live my own dream. Everybody has their time to shine."
Life is a journey. Sometimes, our lights are dim as we grope around in the dark, desperately searching for the right path while we stub our toes and flounder. But then, the shadows lift and we find ourselves filled to the brim with so much light and love and joy.
This weekend at Southern? It was kids pouring their hearts out on those mats and my friends being a support system and my past students who are now in throes of adulthood and chasing their own dreams coming to be a part and coaches who inspire.
This weekend at Southern? It was a whole lot of shining.
This weekend at Southern? It was kids pouring their hearts out on those mats and my friends being a support system and my past students who are now in throes of adulthood and chasing their own dreams coming to be a part and coaches who inspire.
This weekend at Southern? It was a whole lot of shining.
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
The Life in your Years
Brittany Maynard has taken the Internet by storm. It seems lately I've seen her face every time I am on Facebook or glancing through Google news. And every time I see her, I feel such utter sadness.
What is it like to only be 29 and facing the end of your life?
I watched an interview with her this morning as I sat in my rocking chair and sipped on chai and contemplated the deeper meaning of life and other such things that I do at 5:00 a. m. And as I listened to her talk? I was amazed at her courage, at her willingness to stand for something in her darkest hour, at her ability to love her husband enough to encourage him to find a new love and start a family filled with the laughter of children.
Brittany Maynard, in my book, is a hero.
She is no longer with us, of course, as on Saturday, November 1, she swallowed a cocktail of pills that ended her life so that she would not be a burden to her family; so that she would not suffer. I recognize that her act is controversial and that many are outraged at her decision. But honestly? I admire it. I think she had the right to choose the best path for her. Not everyone would choose the same, of course. Many would opt to let life take its natural course; let come what may. And that's okay, too. We're all different and we all have, in my book, the right to choose what's best for oneself. Or, at least we should. Don't judge until you have walked a mile in her shoes. I'm interested to see how Brittany Maynard's final act influences our ability as a nation to choose one's right to die with dignity.
I've been reading a book lately that talks about the beauty of life. This author discusses how we have more laughter than tears; more successes than failures; more good times than bad. I've found his book inspiring, thought-provoking. Sometimes his words leave me staring off into space for a moment, contemplating one of this thoughts. I have been one of those people that says Life can be so difficult. And truly--it can. Brittany Maynard, for example, died at 29. That's difficult. That's tragic for those she left behind--the only child of her mother; the love of her husband's life.
But clearly Brittany's life was filled with love and laughter and good times before her fatal diagnosis--and honestly, even after her diagnosis. And when I think back at my own life, I remember so much laughter and so much love that it fills me to the brim. Even the dark times were tinged with moments of unity and inspiration.
This morning as I drove to work, I noted the towering trees on the winding road that leads from the academy --vibrant oranges and reds and deep, deep yellows. This afternoon as we girls went for our daily walk, the air crisp, I thought I am so lucky to be alive, to be here in Asheville, to know these girls whom I work with, to be me.
I came home from work this afternoon and Roy and I headed to vote because we are a free nation and we have the luxury of choosing our leaders. Once home I made dinner for Jace because I have a stocked pantry and lack for nothing. I talked to Darian for awhile and laughed with Jace as he shared a story from his day.
Sometimes I get lost in the mire of day to day living and it takes a Brittany Maynard to bring it home that life is meant to be enjoyed. She died in her late twenties and yet? She had the wisdom to recognize that life is a gift. Cherish every moment.
We are born to dream, to live life in abundance, to think outside of ourselves, to be generous with our time and our resources, to love.
And that's what life is about--whether you die at 29 or 92.
It isn't about the years of your life. It's about the life in your years.
RIP, Brittany Maynard.
What is it like to only be 29 and facing the end of your life?
I watched an interview with her this morning as I sat in my rocking chair and sipped on chai and contemplated the deeper meaning of life and other such things that I do at 5:00 a. m. And as I listened to her talk? I was amazed at her courage, at her willingness to stand for something in her darkest hour, at her ability to love her husband enough to encourage him to find a new love and start a family filled with the laughter of children.
Brittany Maynard, in my book, is a hero.
She is no longer with us, of course, as on Saturday, November 1, she swallowed a cocktail of pills that ended her life so that she would not be a burden to her family; so that she would not suffer. I recognize that her act is controversial and that many are outraged at her decision. But honestly? I admire it. I think she had the right to choose the best path for her. Not everyone would choose the same, of course. Many would opt to let life take its natural course; let come what may. And that's okay, too. We're all different and we all have, in my book, the right to choose what's best for oneself. Or, at least we should. Don't judge until you have walked a mile in her shoes. I'm interested to see how Brittany Maynard's final act influences our ability as a nation to choose one's right to die with dignity.
I've been reading a book lately that talks about the beauty of life. This author discusses how we have more laughter than tears; more successes than failures; more good times than bad. I've found his book inspiring, thought-provoking. Sometimes his words leave me staring off into space for a moment, contemplating one of this thoughts. I have been one of those people that says Life can be so difficult. And truly--it can. Brittany Maynard, for example, died at 29. That's difficult. That's tragic for those she left behind--the only child of her mother; the love of her husband's life.
But clearly Brittany's life was filled with love and laughter and good times before her fatal diagnosis--and honestly, even after her diagnosis. And when I think back at my own life, I remember so much laughter and so much love that it fills me to the brim. Even the dark times were tinged with moments of unity and inspiration.
This morning as I drove to work, I noted the towering trees on the winding road that leads from the academy --vibrant oranges and reds and deep, deep yellows. This afternoon as we girls went for our daily walk, the air crisp, I thought I am so lucky to be alive, to be here in Asheville, to know these girls whom I work with, to be me.
I came home from work this afternoon and Roy and I headed to vote because we are a free nation and we have the luxury of choosing our leaders. Once home I made dinner for Jace because I have a stocked pantry and lack for nothing. I talked to Darian for awhile and laughed with Jace as he shared a story from his day.
Sometimes I get lost in the mire of day to day living and it takes a Brittany Maynard to bring it home that life is meant to be enjoyed. She died in her late twenties and yet? She had the wisdom to recognize that life is a gift. Cherish every moment.
We are born to dream, to live life in abundance, to think outside of ourselves, to be generous with our time and our resources, to love.
And that's what life is about--whether you die at 29 or 92.
It isn't about the years of your life. It's about the life in your years.
RIP, Brittany Maynard.
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
Back to It
I was flat on my back with a 103 degree temp and the inability to function for 4 days. Tuesday saw a hint of relief after I took the second dose of antibiotic. And today, Wednesday, I actually ventured to work. It felt good to get back into the routine of normal life after several days of staring at the backs of my eyelids as I couldn't handle much beyond that. I can't remember being that sick in a very long time. And? I hope I'm not that sick again for a very, very, very long time. Thankfully, Roy is a great nurse. Sometimes I think he missed his calling. And thankfully, Jace is mildly independent so he fared for himself for the most part. I think he ate a lot of salad with Olive Garden dressing. (I'm just hoping that salad tipped the scale over dressing but all bets are off.) I'm not sure what else he scrounged out of the refrigerator--but clearly he is still alive so I guess he isn't too much worse for the wear.
I did stumble downstairs one time to make myself a cup of tea but I never drank it once I got it back upstairs. I fell asleep before I had the chance. And Roy convinced me to take some of this cough medicine he has that makes one fall asleep and sleep like a brick for several hours. And so? I did--even though I was already sleeping like a brick. But of course, sleeping even more like a brick sounded fabulous at the time so I took a swig...and then found myself drifting off to sleep, falling off of a bridge, and kicking myself awake. Or...drifting off to sleep, running into a wall, and kicking myself awake. Over and over again--falling asleep only to rudely awaken myself due to a collision.
That, my friends, is why we don't share others' medications.
On Monday, I rolled out of bed mid-afternoon so that I could stumble out the door, slide myself into the car, and ride to the clinic that is downtown and across from where I work. We dodged voters with signs and pleas to please vote for ----"My wife is sick, Ma'am--we're here for a clinic, not to vote"--and I managed to stumble across the road to the door that led inside where I, after what felt an eternity, managed to drop into the heavenly bliss of a straightback chair, lean my head back against a wall, and close my eyes into that heavenly sanctuary of darkness. For just a moment. Until the nurse shattered the stillness and called my name and, again, I stumbled back to my feet and clinched my teeth against the swirling madness.
Okay--maybe swirling madness is a tad bit dramatic. But still--you get the idea. It was miserable.
By late Monday afternoon? Life had split apart at the seams: piles of laundry, dishes sprawled on a counter that apparently hadn't seen a dishcloth in days, a floor that hadn't seen in a vacuum cleaner in awhile...the saga continues. No doubt about it. My allotted time to be sick had run its course. Roy is a great nurse. He can even do that "wife" thing quite well. But housekeeping? Not his strong suit. (And that's ok--I'm not complaining. He does more than his share and keeps my part of the load light in comparison.)
And so by late Tuesday, I managed to pull myself up by my bootstraps--(fancy name for antibiotics), and throw a few loads of laundry in the washing machine. I wiped down the counter tops and even ran the vacuum. What's with all of those ladybugs? I'm so over them. I swept the floors and packed lunches and pulled life together as we women do when life has fallen down around us--even if it's from our own making (or lack thereof--whatever the case may be)--and even when we're running temperatures. And then I sank into bed and prayed desperately that Wednesday would bring a normal temperature as...well, frankly, I am out of sick days with the County.
And thankfully, my wish came true.
I am back in the land of the living:
back to grocery lists
and Sam's Club
and rushed mornings getting out of the house so I can beat the schoolbus
and the blustery winds of autumn
and early morning tea
and bike-a-thons and soccer games
and ball with Piper
and packed lunches
and...oh my goodness...
Who has time to be sick when there's just so much living to do?
I did stumble downstairs one time to make myself a cup of tea but I never drank it once I got it back upstairs. I fell asleep before I had the chance. And Roy convinced me to take some of this cough medicine he has that makes one fall asleep and sleep like a brick for several hours. And so? I did--even though I was already sleeping like a brick. But of course, sleeping even more like a brick sounded fabulous at the time so I took a swig...and then found myself drifting off to sleep, falling off of a bridge, and kicking myself awake. Or...drifting off to sleep, running into a wall, and kicking myself awake. Over and over again--falling asleep only to rudely awaken myself due to a collision.
That, my friends, is why we don't share others' medications.
On Monday, I rolled out of bed mid-afternoon so that I could stumble out the door, slide myself into the car, and ride to the clinic that is downtown and across from where I work. We dodged voters with signs and pleas to please vote for ----"My wife is sick, Ma'am--we're here for a clinic, not to vote"--and I managed to stumble across the road to the door that led inside where I, after what felt an eternity, managed to drop into the heavenly bliss of a straightback chair, lean my head back against a wall, and close my eyes into that heavenly sanctuary of darkness. For just a moment. Until the nurse shattered the stillness and called my name and, again, I stumbled back to my feet and clinched my teeth against the swirling madness.
Okay--maybe swirling madness is a tad bit dramatic. But still--you get the idea. It was miserable.
By late Monday afternoon? Life had split apart at the seams: piles of laundry, dishes sprawled on a counter that apparently hadn't seen a dishcloth in days, a floor that hadn't seen in a vacuum cleaner in awhile...the saga continues. No doubt about it. My allotted time to be sick had run its course. Roy is a great nurse. He can even do that "wife" thing quite well. But housekeeping? Not his strong suit. (And that's ok--I'm not complaining. He does more than his share and keeps my part of the load light in comparison.)
And so by late Tuesday, I managed to pull myself up by my bootstraps--(fancy name for antibiotics), and throw a few loads of laundry in the washing machine. I wiped down the counter tops and even ran the vacuum. What's with all of those ladybugs? I'm so over them. I swept the floors and packed lunches and pulled life together as we women do when life has fallen down around us--even if it's from our own making (or lack thereof--whatever the case may be)--and even when we're running temperatures. And then I sank into bed and prayed desperately that Wednesday would bring a normal temperature as...well, frankly, I am out of sick days with the County.
And thankfully, my wish came true.
I am back in the land of the living:
back to grocery lists
and Sam's Club
and rushed mornings getting out of the house so I can beat the schoolbus
and the blustery winds of autumn
and early morning tea
and bike-a-thons and soccer games
and ball with Piper
and packed lunches
and...oh my goodness...
Who has time to be sick when there's just so much living to do?
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Free to be Me
I have been seeing a lifecoach for the past three weeks; today marked our fourth meeting. On our first meeting, she (Michele) told me that I need to figure out who I am. She, for example, is a guide. And so, my assignment was to define myself in a single word.
Ok--that may sound easy...but I found that rather baffling. Who am I? And so the search began. I scoured the internet for single word descriptors. That proved helpful--I narrowed the field quite a bit.
I am a counselor, I decided. When I was in my senior year of college after 5 years of undergrad, (getting married slowed me down a tad) I met a girl whose major was Guidance Counseling. "Wait--what is that?" I asked. And when she told me, I knew that was what I wanted to do. But? I had just spent the past five years in school; you could not pay me enough to spend any more time pursuing a different degree. And so, off I went with a degree in English in hand to conquer the world of education. I'll get my master's in guidance counseling when the time is right, I figured. And of course, we all know how that goes. During my first year of teaching, I found out I was pregnant and the rest is history.
I still don't have my Master's in counseling.
And so, week two I met with Michele, armed with my new descriptor: I am a counselor!
That's great! she said. I'm so proud of you! You seem so confident, so self-assured!
Ah--job well-done. I know my who.
And then, she told me I needed to figure out what I bring to the table with my who.
How do people perceive you? How do you want them to perceive you?
And so, back I went to google. Google and I? We're buddies. Pretty much best friends. And so I began to make a list of qualities in a counselor and how I can see myself in that role. I met again with Michele, armed with my new array of how. And again, she was impressed with my insight, with my dogged determination to figure out who am I. This time, she sent me home to figure out how all of that fits into the workplace in a single sentence.
And so, I came home and began researching exactly what a counselor does. And that's when I began to question: am I really a counselor? I am not interested in hearing people's problems so much. I'm not a life coach, a guide. I'm not all about the office with the low lights and the waterfall contraptions and the tan couch.
And then it hit me: I am a teacher. Doggone it--I just can't get away from it. I was raised in education. My parents are educators. My husband is an educator. I taught for well over twenty years and thrived in that profession. I am a teacher.
And so today I went back to Michele and, with a shrug, I said I am a teacher.
I just can't escape it, no matter how I try.
And she said, "I thought you were a counselor!"
"Me too." (Shrug)
"Well then, tell me what you have taught."
"English."
"And what did you like about teaching English?"
"Well, I liked teaching literature, but my gift in the classroom was teaching writing. I loved teaching writing."
And so I began to explain how writing brings power. It empowers. It changes people and cities and countries and churches. Writing speaks love and brings connection. It unites and creates acceptance. Writing changes the world, one sentence at a time.
I explained to her how, at the tender age of 7 years old, I sat at our dining room table, pencil in hand, and created stories about the Christmas cards that hung on our wall during the holiday season. When I was a young girl in the throes of insecurity, I escaped the madness by diving in headlong to the lives of the characters whom I breathed life into on paper. I filled notebooks with stories that bulged and gave birth to another until they spilled out of the boxes that housed them. It was as though the world did not contain enough pages to fill with the words that burned within me--I simply could not write fast enough.
"And then I had children," I said. And writing took a backseat to highchairs and squabbles and flying out the door to teach and laundry and vacuuming and grading papers and cooking dinner and grocery shopping and exhausted blank stares at a tv screen at the end of the day only to wake up and do the same the very next day...and the next...and the next...and the next.
And then Michele grinned.
"I do believe you have your who," she said.
It was so simple really. It was there all the time; I just didn't see it. And now that I know? Ah--such freedom it brings! I no longer have to stress about the fact that I never know what to cook when company comes over for dinner. Why? Because I am a writer! I am not a cook!
I no longer have to worry myself with the fact that, though I love to knit, it never goes well for me. Why? Because I am a writer! I am not a knitter!
I no longer have to worry about the fact that I don't do shopping or large crowds of people or boisterous parties filled with silly games. Why? Because I am a writer who craves peace and bursting flowers and quiet moments filled with the ones I love.
Figuring out my who? It's liberating. It's a beautiful thing really--I am seeing my world through completely new eyes. I am empowered! No more grading or pretending or striving to be the things I'm not.
Let the writing begin.
Ok--that may sound easy...but I found that rather baffling. Who am I? And so the search began. I scoured the internet for single word descriptors. That proved helpful--I narrowed the field quite a bit.
I am a counselor, I decided. When I was in my senior year of college after 5 years of undergrad, (getting married slowed me down a tad) I met a girl whose major was Guidance Counseling. "Wait--what is that?" I asked. And when she told me, I knew that was what I wanted to do. But? I had just spent the past five years in school; you could not pay me enough to spend any more time pursuing a different degree. And so, off I went with a degree in English in hand to conquer the world of education. I'll get my master's in guidance counseling when the time is right, I figured. And of course, we all know how that goes. During my first year of teaching, I found out I was pregnant and the rest is history.
I still don't have my Master's in counseling.
And so, week two I met with Michele, armed with my new descriptor: I am a counselor!
That's great! she said. I'm so proud of you! You seem so confident, so self-assured!
Ah--job well-done. I know my who.
And then, she told me I needed to figure out what I bring to the table with my who.
How do people perceive you? How do you want them to perceive you?
And so, back I went to google. Google and I? We're buddies. Pretty much best friends. And so I began to make a list of qualities in a counselor and how I can see myself in that role. I met again with Michele, armed with my new array of how. And again, she was impressed with my insight, with my dogged determination to figure out who am I. This time, she sent me home to figure out how all of that fits into the workplace in a single sentence.
And so, I came home and began researching exactly what a counselor does. And that's when I began to question: am I really a counselor? I am not interested in hearing people's problems so much. I'm not a life coach, a guide. I'm not all about the office with the low lights and the waterfall contraptions and the tan couch.
And then it hit me: I am a teacher. Doggone it--I just can't get away from it. I was raised in education. My parents are educators. My husband is an educator. I taught for well over twenty years and thrived in that profession. I am a teacher.
And so today I went back to Michele and, with a shrug, I said I am a teacher.
I just can't escape it, no matter how I try.
And she said, "I thought you were a counselor!"
"Me too." (Shrug)
"Well then, tell me what you have taught."
"English."
"And what did you like about teaching English?"
"Well, I liked teaching literature, but my gift in the classroom was teaching writing. I loved teaching writing."
And so I began to explain how writing brings power. It empowers. It changes people and cities and countries and churches. Writing speaks love and brings connection. It unites and creates acceptance. Writing changes the world, one sentence at a time.
I explained to her how, at the tender age of 7 years old, I sat at our dining room table, pencil in hand, and created stories about the Christmas cards that hung on our wall during the holiday season. When I was a young girl in the throes of insecurity, I escaped the madness by diving in headlong to the lives of the characters whom I breathed life into on paper. I filled notebooks with stories that bulged and gave birth to another until they spilled out of the boxes that housed them. It was as though the world did not contain enough pages to fill with the words that burned within me--I simply could not write fast enough.
"And then I had children," I said. And writing took a backseat to highchairs and squabbles and flying out the door to teach and laundry and vacuuming and grading papers and cooking dinner and grocery shopping and exhausted blank stares at a tv screen at the end of the day only to wake up and do the same the very next day...and the next...and the next...and the next.
And then Michele grinned.
"I do believe you have your who," she said.
It was so simple really. It was there all the time; I just didn't see it. And now that I know? Ah--such freedom it brings! I no longer have to stress about the fact that I never know what to cook when company comes over for dinner. Why? Because I am a writer! I am not a cook!
I no longer have to worry myself with the fact that, though I love to knit, it never goes well for me. Why? Because I am a writer! I am not a knitter!
I no longer have to worry about the fact that I don't do shopping or large crowds of people or boisterous parties filled with silly games. Why? Because I am a writer who craves peace and bursting flowers and quiet moments filled with the ones I love.
Figuring out my who? It's liberating. It's a beautiful thing really--I am seeing my world through completely new eyes. I am empowered! No more grading or pretending or striving to be the things I'm not.
Let the writing begin.
Saturday, October 18, 2014
It's Time to Get Up
My two nephews and my son are sprawled downstairs on the living room floor, exhausted from a, most likely, late night of laughter and fun. My girls are both in their respective rooms--one sleeping and one awake as Savana gets up before the break of dawn on a daily basis. As I look out the window, I can see splashes of orange and red as the leaves are turning at a brisk rate.
So much beauty in my life. So much to relish.
This week has flown by at an alarming rate. I'm not sure what happened but time absolutely got away from me as each day merged into the other without boundary. That seems to be happening more and more these days.
This week I've thought a lot about dreams--what are my dreams? What do I want in my life? If I could have anything at all, what would it be?
Oh, the possibilities!
I would own a comfortable-sized home on an acre or two of land that had a shop for Roy to play in and a view that took my breath away when I sat on the back porch with my cup of chai and a book that spelled home.
I would have a new wardrobe.
I would be active in the community in some fashion--help with a nonprofit organization or be part of a local reading circle...
I would plan more getaways--just 3 days or so--to escape the normalcy of life and see different places, have time to just breathe the air of a different setting.
I would go home to Oklahoma more to see my parents (all 3 of them) who have my heart and whom I adore in ways they could never fully know.
I would go hiking more up in the mountains so that I could actually watch the sun set--or the sun rise.
I would go on more picnics because picnics are lighthearted and fun and, somehow, make me feel free.
I would explore more. We live in an explorer's haven--so much to see and do within a short drive from here.
My life coach told me this week that I am just too damned logical. I have a difficult time getting out of my head and dreaming.
Her words took me back. I am? Her words made me cock my head a bit. They stung actually--just a bit. But as I took a step back, I realized how spot-on she was. I am too logical. I spend way too much time killing dreams with practicality.
Jace is only 12 and he needs his mother--I don't have time to be involved or gone chasing my own dreams in the evenings. I need to be with my son...We need to save money! We shouldn't spend it frivolously on trips or clothes--I have plenty of clothes! Hiking takes gas--gas is so expensive! We need to save save save.
And the practicality continues.
I work with a guy named Keenan Lake. Most likely that name means nothing to most people in my circle, but to some people, that name means everything. I met Keenan when I first started working for the county but never really knew who he was until earlier this past week. Keenan is one of those guys who never meets a stranger and from the start, he joked with me about my driving (as he thinks I almost killed him in the parking lot but whatever because I didn't...I swear I saw him despite what he says) and tells me I need to do some work and learn how to type and that sort of thing. But for whatever reason, he sat down on the corner of my desk and just started chatting with me about life this past week. Turns out, Keenan's dad was a Harlem Globetrotter who taught his son to dream and to dream big. Keenan grew up on the basketball court and played college ball and then pro ball for awhile overseas. When he came back to Asheville, he got a job working for the county and one day, a lady walked by and said, "Hey, Keenan. Would you like to be a social worker?" He said, "Never thought about that but I suppose I could give it a try." And so, this boy with a degree in sports medicine became a social worker and saw the need for male role models in the lives of boys ages 12-19. And so? He started a nonprofit, built it up year by year until now he has a full-fledged organization, complete with a newsletter and activities and volunteers that is making an overwhelming difference in the lives of underprivileged kids. He even wrote a book.
Keenan knows how to dream.
When I look back at my list, it makes me laugh. Most everything is manageable. Most everything there is an opportunity that I could have if I would merely get up.
And so, this week? I'm going to build. I'm going to make plans.
I'm going to get up.
So much beauty in my life. So much to relish.
This week has flown by at an alarming rate. I'm not sure what happened but time absolutely got away from me as each day merged into the other without boundary. That seems to be happening more and more these days.
This week I've thought a lot about dreams--what are my dreams? What do I want in my life? If I could have anything at all, what would it be?
Oh, the possibilities!
I would own a comfortable-sized home on an acre or two of land that had a shop for Roy to play in and a view that took my breath away when I sat on the back porch with my cup of chai and a book that spelled home.
I would have a new wardrobe.
I would be active in the community in some fashion--help with a nonprofit organization or be part of a local reading circle...
I would plan more getaways--just 3 days or so--to escape the normalcy of life and see different places, have time to just breathe the air of a different setting.
I would go home to Oklahoma more to see my parents (all 3 of them) who have my heart and whom I adore in ways they could never fully know.
I would go hiking more up in the mountains so that I could actually watch the sun set--or the sun rise.
I would go on more picnics because picnics are lighthearted and fun and, somehow, make me feel free.
I would explore more. We live in an explorer's haven--so much to see and do within a short drive from here.
My life coach told me this week that I am just too damned logical. I have a difficult time getting out of my head and dreaming.
Her words took me back. I am? Her words made me cock my head a bit. They stung actually--just a bit. But as I took a step back, I realized how spot-on she was. I am too logical. I spend way too much time killing dreams with practicality.
Jace is only 12 and he needs his mother--I don't have time to be involved or gone chasing my own dreams in the evenings. I need to be with my son...We need to save money! We shouldn't spend it frivolously on trips or clothes--I have plenty of clothes! Hiking takes gas--gas is so expensive! We need to save save save.
And the practicality continues.
I work with a guy named Keenan Lake. Most likely that name means nothing to most people in my circle, but to some people, that name means everything. I met Keenan when I first started working for the county but never really knew who he was until earlier this past week. Keenan is one of those guys who never meets a stranger and from the start, he joked with me about my driving (as he thinks I almost killed him in the parking lot but whatever because I didn't...I swear I saw him despite what he says) and tells me I need to do some work and learn how to type and that sort of thing. But for whatever reason, he sat down on the corner of my desk and just started chatting with me about life this past week. Turns out, Keenan's dad was a Harlem Globetrotter who taught his son to dream and to dream big. Keenan grew up on the basketball court and played college ball and then pro ball for awhile overseas. When he came back to Asheville, he got a job working for the county and one day, a lady walked by and said, "Hey, Keenan. Would you like to be a social worker?" He said, "Never thought about that but I suppose I could give it a try." And so, this boy with a degree in sports medicine became a social worker and saw the need for male role models in the lives of boys ages 12-19. And so? He started a nonprofit, built it up year by year until now he has a full-fledged organization, complete with a newsletter and activities and volunteers that is making an overwhelming difference in the lives of underprivileged kids. He even wrote a book.
Keenan knows how to dream.
When I look back at my list, it makes me laugh. Most everything is manageable. Most everything there is an opportunity that I could have if I would merely get up.
And so, this week? I'm going to build. I'm going to make plans.
I'm going to get up.
Sunday, October 12, 2014
Fully Alive
It is cold outside. Fall has officially arrived as I sit in this chair, bundled in my fuzzy robe with a cup of chai at my side. Savana is in the kitchen, whipping up some sort of "savory" oatmeal that she is really excited about (but sounds really awful). She is singing to herself and I can hear something sizzling in the pan as she busily goes about her business.
Yesterday we snagged Harrison and he and Jace played the day away. Oh my those two have a good time together, giggling and talking and playing the entire day away when they get together. Harrison wasn't able to go back to APCS this year and I know Jace has missed his good buddy. They are still sleeping soundly but I know the minute they get up, Jace will say, "Mom, I am so sad that Harrison has to go home tonight. I hope tonight never gets here."
And I will say, "Just enjoy every minute, Jace. And another day will come when Harrison will visit again. Don't waste today being sad that it will end."
Mindfulness.
It seems to be the buzz word as of late. Recently I went to one of the Lunch & Learns at work and the presenter talked about its importance when we eat--being aware of each bite rather than shoveling it in as quickly as possible so that we can move on to the next before the first bite is even chewed.
But mindfulness goes beyond that to learning to live in the present as well. Taking each moment as it comes and enjoying it to its fullest potential. Getting out of one's head and into the now.
It's so easy to live in one's head...or at least it is for me. Sometimes, and this is embarrassing, but sometimes I ask a question and then forget to listen to the answer. Then later? I wonder that same question but, of course, I don't dare ask and give myself away.
I believe, though, that learning to live in the present, to find the joy in the moment, is a key to living a happy life.
Taking deep breaths
Listening to music
Prayer
Laughter
Engaging in each moment; being present; feeling alive.
Yesterday was an amazing day. I can't count how many times I said to Roy: Today is glorious. And it was. Nothing spectacular happened but I made a point of doing things that I love: I went to church at Foster and was completely engrossed in the music; I made lunch and then dined with some of the people I love the most in this world--all of us squeezed around the table and talking nonstop; Roy and I went on a long motorcycle ride on the winding roads up the mountain...and then back down again; we lazed around for a bit in the man cave; Roy and I walked the track together and then went for a long golf cart ride, stopping along the way to chat with different people. And then before I went to bed? I watched a few episodes of my latest series on my iPad. It was a day filled with goodness.
A perfect day.
But now? Well now it's a memory and a new day lies before me. And it's up to me to make the most of it, to be fully present--fully alive.
Yesterday we snagged Harrison and he and Jace played the day away. Oh my those two have a good time together, giggling and talking and playing the entire day away when they get together. Harrison wasn't able to go back to APCS this year and I know Jace has missed his good buddy. They are still sleeping soundly but I know the minute they get up, Jace will say, "Mom, I am so sad that Harrison has to go home tonight. I hope tonight never gets here."
And I will say, "Just enjoy every minute, Jace. And another day will come when Harrison will visit again. Don't waste today being sad that it will end."
Mindfulness.
It seems to be the buzz word as of late. Recently I went to one of the Lunch & Learns at work and the presenter talked about its importance when we eat--being aware of each bite rather than shoveling it in as quickly as possible so that we can move on to the next before the first bite is even chewed.
But mindfulness goes beyond that to learning to live in the present as well. Taking each moment as it comes and enjoying it to its fullest potential. Getting out of one's head and into the now.
It's so easy to live in one's head...or at least it is for me. Sometimes, and this is embarrassing, but sometimes I ask a question and then forget to listen to the answer. Then later? I wonder that same question but, of course, I don't dare ask and give myself away.
I believe, though, that learning to live in the present, to find the joy in the moment, is a key to living a happy life.
Taking deep breaths
Listening to music
Prayer
Laughter
Engaging in each moment; being present; feeling alive.
Yesterday was an amazing day. I can't count how many times I said to Roy: Today is glorious. And it was. Nothing spectacular happened but I made a point of doing things that I love: I went to church at Foster and was completely engrossed in the music; I made lunch and then dined with some of the people I love the most in this world--all of us squeezed around the table and talking nonstop; Roy and I went on a long motorcycle ride on the winding roads up the mountain...and then back down again; we lazed around for a bit in the man cave; Roy and I walked the track together and then went for a long golf cart ride, stopping along the way to chat with different people. And then before I went to bed? I watched a few episodes of my latest series on my iPad. It was a day filled with goodness.
A perfect day.
But now? Well now it's a memory and a new day lies before me. And it's up to me to make the most of it, to be fully present--fully alive.
Needing More
It is a perfect kind of morning. It is raining out, it is still dark, and a fire is roaring in the stove. Ok--it's fake but still...that's the best kind. And to top that off, Roy and Savana went to Sam's on Friday to stock up on essentials and came home with this pumpkin spice creamer. Oh my word it makes the best chai tea. And so? I have a cup of that sitting beside me. Mmmm...
On Friday, Roy, Jace and I were coming home from Asheville after picking up Harrison so he could spend the weekend with us, and Roy looked over at me and said, "I think I'm getting sick."
I said, "You're fine, Roy. If you have a tickle in your throat, you think you're getting sick."
Yeah. I'm really sympathetic like that.
Once we got home, I got busy getting ready for our faculty family kids who were coming over after vespers for hot chocolate and caramel apples and popcorn. Thankfully, Savana had already done most of the work as the house was clean and she was busily chopping apples when I walked in. (Thanks, girlie.) Anyway, in the midst of all of my busy-ness, I ran upstairs for who knows why, and there was Roy, huddled on the couch with a blanket, shivering, and looking as red as a beet.
102 degree fever.
Wife of the Year Award.
That's me.
Oops.
That seems to be a classic Vonda move. One time when Darian was about 5 years old, we went traipsing through the woods and she was lagging behind. "Come on, Darian! Keep up!" I nagged. Over and over and over again, frustrated. At one point, I grabbed her hand and pulled her along as I was tired of stopping the group to wait for her. And then when we finally got home that evening, it dawned on me Is she sick? And so I took her temperature: 103.
Mother of the Year Award.
Clearly recognizing when my family is sick is not my strong suit.
I was raised in a family where we never went to the doctor, and we never stayed home from school unless we were running a temperature--and that's not referring to a low grade temp, mind you. We just barreled through until we got to the other side because, well, in time we'd be just fine. And we always were. And so? Well--that mentality resulted in me. Thanks, Mom. We'll blame you.
Yesterday I watched this video about this guy who did an experiment with 4 people who were very sick: one had cancer, one had Krohn's disease, one had depression and suffered from alcoholism, and the fourth had diabetes. He talked about how he had done research on our antibiotics and healing medicines and realized that they all came from the rain forest. And yet? We've only done research on a whopping 1% of the medicinal plants that are found in the rain forest. So this guy visited the Amazon and talked to a medicine man who comes from a long legacy of medicine men in his family--and he's the only one left. This group of people live in a totally primitive setting in huts built in or in the midst of trees. And yet? They're joyful; happy. Their lives are filled with wonder and they don't long for all of the modern comforts that we enjoy.
Anyway, this guy takes these 4 people down for 30 days to see this medicine man and live a primitive life away from all of our modern comforts...and they are all healed. They are forced to deal with emotional issues as this medicine man works with them, using different plants and concoctions that he gleans from the earth. It is amazing to behold.
I remember my sister telling me about a friend of hers who went to the Amazon as a student missionary. In the beginning, she cried for weeks because she was so homesick and her life catapulted from craziness and business to ... nothing. The people had no time constraints and no crazy schedules to adhere to. She lived in a hut built in the trees. But after awhile, she learned the beauty of that lifestyle and when her year was over, she came back to the States only to find herself depressed and desperate for the Amazon. And so? She went back for another year.
Our schools often take mission trips to various parts of the earth--Belize and Africa and the Philippines--places that don't have the privilege of our luxury. And the one thing that everyone notes is that these people are joyful. Despite their lack, they live abundantly.
It makes me think that we need to find a way to get back to our roots. Technology is fabulous. The comforts that we enjoy here in the States are second to none. And yet? Clearly we are missing a piece of the puzzle. We have strayed from the bounty we were originally intended to have and chosen a different kind of bounty--and found our souls empty because of it.
I love my life. I have no reason to complain. But I want to step back and find some simplicity. I want to marvel at nature more. I want to surround myself with laughter and friendship and family...more. I want to dine on simple foods more.
I need a lot less of first world problems...and a lot more of primitive.
On Friday, Roy, Jace and I were coming home from Asheville after picking up Harrison so he could spend the weekend with us, and Roy looked over at me and said, "I think I'm getting sick."
I said, "You're fine, Roy. If you have a tickle in your throat, you think you're getting sick."
Yeah. I'm really sympathetic like that.
Once we got home, I got busy getting ready for our faculty family kids who were coming over after vespers for hot chocolate and caramel apples and popcorn. Thankfully, Savana had already done most of the work as the house was clean and she was busily chopping apples when I walked in. (Thanks, girlie.) Anyway, in the midst of all of my busy-ness, I ran upstairs for who knows why, and there was Roy, huddled on the couch with a blanket, shivering, and looking as red as a beet.
102 degree fever.
Wife of the Year Award.
That's me.
Oops.
That seems to be a classic Vonda move. One time when Darian was about 5 years old, we went traipsing through the woods and she was lagging behind. "Come on, Darian! Keep up!" I nagged. Over and over and over again, frustrated. At one point, I grabbed her hand and pulled her along as I was tired of stopping the group to wait for her. And then when we finally got home that evening, it dawned on me Is she sick? And so I took her temperature: 103.
Mother of the Year Award.
Clearly recognizing when my family is sick is not my strong suit.
I was raised in a family where we never went to the doctor, and we never stayed home from school unless we were running a temperature--and that's not referring to a low grade temp, mind you. We just barreled through until we got to the other side because, well, in time we'd be just fine. And we always were. And so? Well--that mentality resulted in me. Thanks, Mom. We'll blame you.
Yesterday I watched this video about this guy who did an experiment with 4 people who were very sick: one had cancer, one had Krohn's disease, one had depression and suffered from alcoholism, and the fourth had diabetes. He talked about how he had done research on our antibiotics and healing medicines and realized that they all came from the rain forest. And yet? We've only done research on a whopping 1% of the medicinal plants that are found in the rain forest. So this guy visited the Amazon and talked to a medicine man who comes from a long legacy of medicine men in his family--and he's the only one left. This group of people live in a totally primitive setting in huts built in or in the midst of trees. And yet? They're joyful; happy. Their lives are filled with wonder and they don't long for all of the modern comforts that we enjoy.
Anyway, this guy takes these 4 people down for 30 days to see this medicine man and live a primitive life away from all of our modern comforts...and they are all healed. They are forced to deal with emotional issues as this medicine man works with them, using different plants and concoctions that he gleans from the earth. It is amazing to behold.
I remember my sister telling me about a friend of hers who went to the Amazon as a student missionary. In the beginning, she cried for weeks because she was so homesick and her life catapulted from craziness and business to ... nothing. The people had no time constraints and no crazy schedules to adhere to. She lived in a hut built in the trees. But after awhile, she learned the beauty of that lifestyle and when her year was over, she came back to the States only to find herself depressed and desperate for the Amazon. And so? She went back for another year.
Our schools often take mission trips to various parts of the earth--Belize and Africa and the Philippines--places that don't have the privilege of our luxury. And the one thing that everyone notes is that these people are joyful. Despite their lack, they live abundantly.
It makes me think that we need to find a way to get back to our roots. Technology is fabulous. The comforts that we enjoy here in the States are second to none. And yet? Clearly we are missing a piece of the puzzle. We have strayed from the bounty we were originally intended to have and chosen a different kind of bounty--and found our souls empty because of it.
I love my life. I have no reason to complain. But I want to step back and find some simplicity. I want to marvel at nature more. I want to surround myself with laughter and friendship and family...more. I want to dine on simple foods more.
I need a lot less of first world problems...and a lot more of primitive.
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
That's How It Came to Be
This past weekend was Parent Weekend at our school. That translates into a whole lot of fun out on the field Saturday night. It was freezing outside and so I bundled from head to toe: scarf, heavy coat, gloves--the works. I sent Jace and Harrison, who was visiting, ahead of me and they, too, were dressed for an evening out in frigid temperatures. (Well, frigid as far as North Carolina is concerned--maybe not Wisconsin. Or Alaska.) So as I am huddled around a fire talking to a group of people, I look out at the field to find Jace who was playing soccer. And there he was--running like a crazy boy...in shorts and a t-shirt. I did a doubletake: what? I know I sent him out here dressed like he has a mother!
Awhile later, he saw me huddled over the fire and ran up to me, shivering: "Hey, Mom. Harrison and I are going home now."
"Jace! You're going to be sick!"
"No, I won't. When I got cold, I stood by a fire for a minute."
And that's how it came to be that Sunday morning Jace woke up with a raging cough and a fever. Yesterday morning (Monday), he wasn't any better and so, I headed for work and asked if I could work through my lunch hour so that I could head home an hour earlier. And that is how it came to be that yesterday afternoon I was home by 3:30 for a very long evening inside while rain poured down outside and Jace lay on the couch soaking up all of my attention. He had all of his supplies on the floor by the couch where he lay: a glass of water, crackers, kleenex, the remote control (he is definitely of the male species), and a book.
I hung out with him for a couple of hours. We watched tv, I cooked for him and I brought him water when his glass was empty. But after awhile, he decided he was tired and went to the bedroom to sleep for a few. And that's when I got the bright idea to cook.
Somewhere in the midst of hanging with Jace, Savana sent me a text saying she was going to make a red lentil curry soup when she got home for her lunches this week. Send me the recipe--I'll make it, and so she did. And so I went to the kitchen and chopped carrots and celery and onion and threw them into the pot. And while that was sauteing, I got the bright idea to make a casserole for my lunches. It's a casserole from my childhood that spells comfort to me--made with Rotel tomatoes and corn tortillas. Mmm...And since nobody in my family likes it but Roy and me, I figured I would have my lunches for the week prepared as well.
And then Roy came home.
That smells good. What are you cooking?
And that's how it came to be when I pulled the casserole out of the oven, Roy ate a whopping serving of it. And then I packed a bowl for myself for my lunch today, leaving just enough for Roy's lunch.
Oh well.
So hopefully today Jace will feel better and be ready to head back to school. Hopefully today my electric "gas" stove will come in...
And that's how it will come to be that this evening you will find me in the living room, soaking up the warmth of a "fire" while I lazily hang in my glider and watch Netflix, sipping from a tall glass of water, rather than cooking in a kitchen...
Because one night of cooking per week is plenty enough for me.
Awhile later, he saw me huddled over the fire and ran up to me, shivering: "Hey, Mom. Harrison and I are going home now."
"Jace! You're going to be sick!"
"No, I won't. When I got cold, I stood by a fire for a minute."
And that's how it came to be that Sunday morning Jace woke up with a raging cough and a fever. Yesterday morning (Monday), he wasn't any better and so, I headed for work and asked if I could work through my lunch hour so that I could head home an hour earlier. And that is how it came to be that yesterday afternoon I was home by 3:30 for a very long evening inside while rain poured down outside and Jace lay on the couch soaking up all of my attention. He had all of his supplies on the floor by the couch where he lay: a glass of water, crackers, kleenex, the remote control (he is definitely of the male species), and a book.
I hung out with him for a couple of hours. We watched tv, I cooked for him and I brought him water when his glass was empty. But after awhile, he decided he was tired and went to the bedroom to sleep for a few. And that's when I got the bright idea to cook.
Somewhere in the midst of hanging with Jace, Savana sent me a text saying she was going to make a red lentil curry soup when she got home for her lunches this week. Send me the recipe--I'll make it, and so she did. And so I went to the kitchen and chopped carrots and celery and onion and threw them into the pot. And while that was sauteing, I got the bright idea to make a casserole for my lunches. It's a casserole from my childhood that spells comfort to me--made with Rotel tomatoes and corn tortillas. Mmm...And since nobody in my family likes it but Roy and me, I figured I would have my lunches for the week prepared as well.
And then Roy came home.
That smells good. What are you cooking?
And that's how it came to be when I pulled the casserole out of the oven, Roy ate a whopping serving of it. And then I packed a bowl for myself for my lunch today, leaving just enough for Roy's lunch.
Oh well.
So hopefully today Jace will feel better and be ready to head back to school. Hopefully today my electric "gas" stove will come in...
And that's how it will come to be that this evening you will find me in the living room, soaking up the warmth of a "fire" while I lazily hang in my glider and watch Netflix, sipping from a tall glass of water, rather than cooking in a kitchen...
Because one night of cooking per week is plenty enough for me.
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Thankful Indeed
A challenge is sweeping over Facebook at the moment: 5 days of thankfulness. So here's my thankfulness list:
1. My job. How many times can I say this? I love my job. I love getting up in the mornings and heading to work. Time flies while I am there. I love my co-workers--all of them. I even love Mondays. And the paycheck? Fabulous.
2. Seasons. I am so excited that it's fall--changing leaves and brisk weather and sweatshirts and cozy fires and toasty drinks...Honestly, I get excited at the beginning of each season but by its end, I am weary and ready for the next one. But that doesn't ring true with Autumn. I don't think I ever tire of its bounty. If anything, it is fleeting.
3. Today. Because Roy is meeting me for lunch and I absolutely love it when he comes and spends that hour with me. Ah. And? I have this professional counseling gig that is offered by the County and so it's free for 5 weeks and I am participating and I have absolutely no idea what it's all about but I met the girl who is the counselor and she's spot-on amazing and so I just can't wait to participate. Yeah. Today is going to be a great day.
4. Opportunity. I think life is filled with opportunity. A wealth of information is at the tip of our fingers. We can learn new skills and educate ourselves and dream and make life is beautiful as we choose. And I love that. That's not to say that life isn't challenging or difficult because sometimes it leaves us barely hanging on. But despite it all, life is a gift and each day brings its own unique bounty.
5. A good ink pen. One of those ink pens that glides when it writes. I have a few favorites around the house and I cherish them. Kind of selfish with them really. Like when i see someone using one of my pens, I always think...Hm. Hope they don't snag my pen.
6. Paint. I love how paint can bring home to a room. A couple of summers ago Roy and I painted the kitchen, dining room and living room of this house and wow did it make a difference. It brings a whole new feel to a room, and I think that's a pretty remarkable thing.
7. My plants. They just make me so happy. I have this little guy that sits next to me (Thanks, Tammy) and it's blooming these amazing little purple flowers. So beautiful. Every day when I sit in this chair I check it out:Are you blooming? Yep. You are. And it makes me smile. Every time.
8. Technology. Oh my word I love technology!! Ipads and cell phones and the Internet and gadgets and computers and Netflix and Hulu and Youtube and the list continues. So much fun. So much knowledge. So much opportunity. So much challenge to be disciplined!
9. My husband and my kids and my sisters and my parents (all 3 of them) and my God and my pets and my heart-friends and my close friends and my friends.
Thankful indeed.
Monday, September 29, 2014
Post-Birthday Celebrations
Birthday celebrations are behind me and a whole new work week is in front of me.
It was a great weekend.
Darian and Jared came home Friday night and we celebrated Darian's birthday with chicken pot pie (minus chicken plus "vegetarian" chicken) and cheesecake (a "cheater' recipe that doesn't have a lick of cream cheese) with strawberries. And since, of course, I forgot to buy candles--and I threw away the #8 candle I used on Savana's cake...well, we happened upon a little fake candle that has this tiny flickering light and operates on a battery. But it was fun and we took lots of pictures and laughed a lot and just enjoyed the fact that Darian turned 20 and she was home and Jare was home and we were all gathered around the table together.
Sunday was Roy's birthday and so I made a Dutch apple pie that really was as good as the reviews said. Roy bar-b-qued burgers and I made potato salad that always reminds me of my Aunt Lois as it's her recipe and it's, at least to us, the best potato salad ever. We were going to take the whole clan out to a movie as the grand finale but...everybody between the ages of 19-22 had to study and so Roy and I opted for Walmart instead. We rarely shop Walmart these days but...there are some things that one can purchase there that are so much cheaper than Food Lion. So off we went for a birthday celebration a.k.a. grocery shopping. But it was genuinely fun and relaxed and it took us an unusually long time.
By the time we finally pulled into the driveway, Drew was at the house as he'd come over with Guerin and so they helped us haul everything in one load. Shortly thereafter, Darian and Jared loaded up and away they went, waving until they drove around the bend.
I hate it when they leave, Mom, Jace said. But he wouldn't have had to say a word because his face said it all.
Last night, just before Darian left I was sitting on the living room floor folding clothes and I looked up at Darian who was standing next to me and said, "Next year? We are simplifying birthdays. I think we'll just combine all three into one celebration."
She laughed. "Right, Mom. I was just telling Rachell how you always say we're going to simplify and we never do. Next year won't be any different."
And she's probably right.
And that's okay...because soon enough, all of these birthday celebrations will just be memories, pictures in a "birthdays" album on my computer. Before too long these girls are going to fly the coop, leaving me picking up the phone for a birthday conversation and saying I'm so sorry I didn't mail a card! as mailing cards is definitely not my strong point despite my good intentions. And then I'll smile at Roy and say Remember when we had to cram all of those birthday celebrations together? Gosh those were fun days...
And so, most likely I'll continue the tradition, one year at a time, for as long as I can, until time does its thing and leaves me smiling wistfully...Those were the days.
And most likely? I won't have to say a word because my face will say it all.
It was a great weekend.
Darian and Jared came home Friday night and we celebrated Darian's birthday with chicken pot pie (minus chicken plus "vegetarian" chicken) and cheesecake (a "cheater' recipe that doesn't have a lick of cream cheese) with strawberries. And since, of course, I forgot to buy candles--and I threw away the #8 candle I used on Savana's cake...well, we happened upon a little fake candle that has this tiny flickering light and operates on a battery. But it was fun and we took lots of pictures and laughed a lot and just enjoyed the fact that Darian turned 20 and she was home and Jare was home and we were all gathered around the table together.
Sunday was Roy's birthday and so I made a Dutch apple pie that really was as good as the reviews said. Roy bar-b-qued burgers and I made potato salad that always reminds me of my Aunt Lois as it's her recipe and it's, at least to us, the best potato salad ever. We were going to take the whole clan out to a movie as the grand finale but...everybody between the ages of 19-22 had to study and so Roy and I opted for Walmart instead. We rarely shop Walmart these days but...there are some things that one can purchase there that are so much cheaper than Food Lion. So off we went for a birthday celebration a.k.a. grocery shopping. But it was genuinely fun and relaxed and it took us an unusually long time.
By the time we finally pulled into the driveway, Drew was at the house as he'd come over with Guerin and so they helped us haul everything in one load. Shortly thereafter, Darian and Jared loaded up and away they went, waving until they drove around the bend.
I hate it when they leave, Mom, Jace said. But he wouldn't have had to say a word because his face said it all.
Last night, just before Darian left I was sitting on the living room floor folding clothes and I looked up at Darian who was standing next to me and said, "Next year? We are simplifying birthdays. I think we'll just combine all three into one celebration."
She laughed. "Right, Mom. I was just telling Rachell how you always say we're going to simplify and we never do. Next year won't be any different."
And she's probably right.
And that's okay...because soon enough, all of these birthday celebrations will just be memories, pictures in a "birthdays" album on my computer. Before too long these girls are going to fly the coop, leaving me picking up the phone for a birthday conversation and saying I'm so sorry I didn't mail a card! as mailing cards is definitely not my strong point despite my good intentions. And then I'll smile at Roy and say Remember when we had to cram all of those birthday celebrations together? Gosh those were fun days...
And so, most likely I'll continue the tradition, one year at a time, for as long as I can, until time does its thing and leaves me smiling wistfully...Those were the days.
And most likely? I won't have to say a word because my face will say it all.
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Believe It
This past Sunday Roy and I went shopping for an electric "gas" stove. (Roy always shakes his head when I call it that, proclaming that it isn't a gas stove. I say--but it looks like a gas stove! He says--it's just a stove. But? This is my blog so I get to call it what I want.)
When we first moved here, one of the things I absolutely loved about this house is that it had an actual gas stove. There is a gas tank behind the house--it's quite old and delapidated but it's a tank--and I could not wait to fire it up once winter hit. And so, as soon as the days began to get a little chilly in the mornings, I called the gas company and they came out and filled the tank. I enjoyed about one weeks' worth of flickering fires emanating coziness and warmth in my living room and then? Well suddenly that was that. I couldn't get it to fire up for the life of me.
Frustrated, I asked Roy to come help me and he tried...and tried...and said, It's out of gas.
That's impossible!
But he was right. The tank had a leak and so, the school agreed to fill the tank after the company came out and fixed the leak. Once again, we had the ability to create that perfect picture of the adorable family you see in magazines gathered around the gas stove: mom is knitting and the kids are lying on the floor with books in hand while Dad has his feet propped, reading the newspaper and the cat is curled up with a smile on its face.
Yeah.
Pretty much that's us.
Believe it.
And so I happily went about my mornings once again. As soon as I got up, I turned the gas stove on and it warmed up our living room in no time as I contentedly went about my early morning routine...for one week.
And then? The gas stove went out.
And this time we learned that the gas tank was just plain defective. It had leaked again. And so, frustrated and annoyed, we hung up our hats on the idea that we got to be the perfect family snuggled around the gas stove. Clearly it wasn't going to happen.
Our weather is just beginning to get a little cool in the mornings. Fall is in the air. It's time to switch out short-sleeved shirts for sweaters and sandals for boots. Caramel apples and simmering soups and colorful scarves are headed our way. And so, I said to Roy on a whim this past weekend, Let's get an electric gas stove so we can be that perfect family!
Because all it takes is a cozy fire in the livingroom, you know.
And of course, Roy is always game for a shopping adventure if it doesn't involve clothing. And so off we went. But tragically, Home Depot hasn't received their shipment yet. Christmas trees and Christmas decorations line their aisles. (Christmas season seems to be getting earlier and earlier these days.) But their "seasonal" items haven't, otherwise, quite transitioned to the fall/winter items.
And so we left empty handed.
But that's okay. I've taken the measurements. As soon as that shipment comes in, I'll be there like white on rice. I have dreams to fulfill.
Because this is what my days are going to look like this winter:
I will be knitting on the same bag I've been attempting to finish since last winter (Laurie! I need help!!) while Roy reads his Pontiac magazine with his feet propped up and my kids are lazily lying on the floor reading their books quietly without arguing while Sparti and Bax are curled up around the fire, contented smiles on their faces.
Believe it.
When we first moved here, one of the things I absolutely loved about this house is that it had an actual gas stove. There is a gas tank behind the house--it's quite old and delapidated but it's a tank--and I could not wait to fire it up once winter hit. And so, as soon as the days began to get a little chilly in the mornings, I called the gas company and they came out and filled the tank. I enjoyed about one weeks' worth of flickering fires emanating coziness and warmth in my living room and then? Well suddenly that was that. I couldn't get it to fire up for the life of me.
Frustrated, I asked Roy to come help me and he tried...and tried...and said, It's out of gas.
That's impossible!
But he was right. The tank had a leak and so, the school agreed to fill the tank after the company came out and fixed the leak. Once again, we had the ability to create that perfect picture of the adorable family you see in magazines gathered around the gas stove: mom is knitting and the kids are lying on the floor with books in hand while Dad has his feet propped, reading the newspaper and the cat is curled up with a smile on its face.
Yeah.
Pretty much that's us.
Believe it.
And so I happily went about my mornings once again. As soon as I got up, I turned the gas stove on and it warmed up our living room in no time as I contentedly went about my early morning routine...for one week.
And then? The gas stove went out.
And this time we learned that the gas tank was just plain defective. It had leaked again. And so, frustrated and annoyed, we hung up our hats on the idea that we got to be the perfect family snuggled around the gas stove. Clearly it wasn't going to happen.
Our weather is just beginning to get a little cool in the mornings. Fall is in the air. It's time to switch out short-sleeved shirts for sweaters and sandals for boots. Caramel apples and simmering soups and colorful scarves are headed our way. And so, I said to Roy on a whim this past weekend, Let's get an electric gas stove so we can be that perfect family!
Because all it takes is a cozy fire in the livingroom, you know.
And of course, Roy is always game for a shopping adventure if it doesn't involve clothing. And so off we went. But tragically, Home Depot hasn't received their shipment yet. Christmas trees and Christmas decorations line their aisles. (Christmas season seems to be getting earlier and earlier these days.) But their "seasonal" items haven't, otherwise, quite transitioned to the fall/winter items.
And so we left empty handed.
But that's okay. I've taken the measurements. As soon as that shipment comes in, I'll be there like white on rice. I have dreams to fulfill.
Because this is what my days are going to look like this winter:
I will be knitting on the same bag I've been attempting to finish since last winter (Laurie! I need help!!) while Roy reads his Pontiac magazine with his feet propped up and my kids are lazily lying on the floor reading their books quietly without arguing while Sparti and Bax are curled up around the fire, contented smiles on their faces.
Believe it.
Friday, September 19, 2014
Celebration Seals' Style
September is the month of birthdays. Savana was born on the 18th, Darian on the 26th, and Roy on the 28th. By the time Roy's birthday rolls around? We're all tired of celebrating and out of money so he gets a happy birthday! with a slap on the back and we call it a day. Ok, it's not really that bad. But he definitely gets the short end of the stick.
Savana has been celebrating her birthday all week, complaining But it's my birthday! anytime she doesn't want to do something. For instance, if I say, "Hey, could you help me empty the dishwasher?"
But it's my birthday!
Do you think you could water those plants outside?
But it's my birthday!
That sort of thing.
It's really cute.
And so, Tuesday was deemed Shop for Savana's birthday day. Roy picked me up at work and we headed straight for Target as they tend to have a little of everything and the main thing on Savana's list was a straightener. And then we headed to the grocery store so that I could make her a lemon cake and a Thai curry dinner. So by the time we got home and I whipped up a homemade birthday cake, my day was at an end and I gladly sank into bed.
Yesterday I walked in the door and went straight to the kitchen to get started on dinner. Savana had done some shopping as well and created these beautiful raw spring rolls (I'm really not sure what they are called) but they were absolutely delicious served with a sweet and sour sauce. Guerin joined us and we had a traditional birthday dinner Seals' style. The only thing missing was Darian. We considered setting a plate at the end of the table and taking a picture of it in her honor, texting it to her with the words The only thing missing is you.
But we were starving because...
Roy spent the entire day working on his trans am as the door was difficult to close. And so he took the entire door off and fixed it. He's weird like that. Who takes off the door of the car? Anyway, he was so frantic to get it done that he skipped lunch.
Roy. Skipped. Lunch.
Breathe that in for a minute. Roy never skips a meal. In fact, one of his catch phrases is I can't eat pancakes for supper because that's breakfast food and then I'd have to eat two more meals to finish up the day. Skipping meals is not in the vocabulary.
Meanwhile, while he's skipping lunch, I'm sitting at work anticipating his arrival because he's on break and so I just know he's going to show up even though he told me not to count on it and so I keep checking my phone, expecting to see the classic text from him: Here. But actually it would look more like this: lkasoikhe3kj. Because he hates texting and doesn't want to take the time to spell out the word on his phone that is older than the hills.
And that's because every time it's his turn for a new phone one of us is frantic for it and so he happily gives it to us but now he has a grudge and holds it over our heads, especially if someone dares to make a comment that his phone is a bit...out of date.
I digress.
Savana hadn't eaten all day either in anticipation of the big birthday dinner so she was cranky as all get-out by this time. And Jace? Well, he'd forgotten his lunch. Every morning I pack his lunch and stick it in his backpack but this particular morning I left it in plain sight on the table, expecting that he would figure out that he needed to stick it in his backpack. And of course, I reminded him as I headed out the door. But he didn't listen, obviously, shockingly, and so his lunchbox remained on the table and Jace went to school without it.
How much longer, Mom? No, seriously. How much longer?
So the thought of postponing dinner for even thirty seconds for the sake of taking a picture to send to Darian was out of the question. And so, we all just looked at that empty chair for a quick moment, thought tenderly of her, and then dived in.
While we were eating, Jace said, "Why can't Darian come home? She could just tell her teacher that it's her sister's birthday."
He was dead serious.
"Professors aren't that understanding, Jace."
"Well, I don't know why," he said, clearly disgusted.
After we'd consumed way more food than we should have, we did a quick clean-up as that's my rule: clean kitchen before dessert. And then? Time for dessert. And in typical me-style? I'd forgotten to buy candles.
When do I not forget the candles?
And so, I scrounged through the bottom drawer where I keep odds and ends in search of a candle, any candle, please let there be a candle as what's a birthday without a candle? And there, underneath the Saran Wrap, was a number eight candle, complete with a few years' worth of dusty accumulation.
But it was a candle.
And so I precariously propped it on top of the cake, lit it, and we all sang a quick happy birthday to you...while Savana basked in all of that attention before making a very very long wish for pete's sake is she ever going to blow out that candle?? It's going to start dripping!
And then, while she dined on lemon cake topped with fresh strawberries, she opened her gifts in a verrrryyyy eternal fashion, careful to tear the tape just so so that the paper isn't torn in the process. And seriously, why? It just gets tossed in the trash. But that's what she does. Every single time.
So a million pictures later, the gifts were opened, the kitchen was cleaned, and we all headed out the door for Best Buy as Roy needed speakers for the trans am.
And that is why, by the time we finally got home at 9:00 yesterday evening, I toppled into bed, exhausted from the day's festivities.
And that is also why, after we repeat all of the above for Darian, Roy gets the short end of that stick.
Because seriously, folks...after two days of celebration Seals' style, I just don't have any energy for more.
Savana has been celebrating her birthday all week, complaining But it's my birthday! anytime she doesn't want to do something. For instance, if I say, "Hey, could you help me empty the dishwasher?"
But it's my birthday!
Do you think you could water those plants outside?
But it's my birthday!
That sort of thing.
It's really cute.
And so, Tuesday was deemed Shop for Savana's birthday day. Roy picked me up at work and we headed straight for Target as they tend to have a little of everything and the main thing on Savana's list was a straightener. And then we headed to the grocery store so that I could make her a lemon cake and a Thai curry dinner. So by the time we got home and I whipped up a homemade birthday cake, my day was at an end and I gladly sank into bed.
Yesterday I walked in the door and went straight to the kitchen to get started on dinner. Savana had done some shopping as well and created these beautiful raw spring rolls (I'm really not sure what they are called) but they were absolutely delicious served with a sweet and sour sauce. Guerin joined us and we had a traditional birthday dinner Seals' style. The only thing missing was Darian. We considered setting a plate at the end of the table and taking a picture of it in her honor, texting it to her with the words The only thing missing is you.
But we were starving because...
Roy spent the entire day working on his trans am as the door was difficult to close. And so he took the entire door off and fixed it. He's weird like that. Who takes off the door of the car? Anyway, he was so frantic to get it done that he skipped lunch.
Roy. Skipped. Lunch.
Breathe that in for a minute. Roy never skips a meal. In fact, one of his catch phrases is I can't eat pancakes for supper because that's breakfast food and then I'd have to eat two more meals to finish up the day. Skipping meals is not in the vocabulary.
Meanwhile, while he's skipping lunch, I'm sitting at work anticipating his arrival because he's on break and so I just know he's going to show up even though he told me not to count on it and so I keep checking my phone, expecting to see the classic text from him: Here. But actually it would look more like this: lkasoikhe3kj. Because he hates texting and doesn't want to take the time to spell out the word on his phone that is older than the hills.
And that's because every time it's his turn for a new phone one of us is frantic for it and so he happily gives it to us but now he has a grudge and holds it over our heads, especially if someone dares to make a comment that his phone is a bit...out of date.
I digress.
Savana hadn't eaten all day either in anticipation of the big birthday dinner so she was cranky as all get-out by this time. And Jace? Well, he'd forgotten his lunch. Every morning I pack his lunch and stick it in his backpack but this particular morning I left it in plain sight on the table, expecting that he would figure out that he needed to stick it in his backpack. And of course, I reminded him as I headed out the door. But he didn't listen, obviously, shockingly, and so his lunchbox remained on the table and Jace went to school without it.
How much longer, Mom? No, seriously. How much longer?
So the thought of postponing dinner for even thirty seconds for the sake of taking a picture to send to Darian was out of the question. And so, we all just looked at that empty chair for a quick moment, thought tenderly of her, and then dived in.
While we were eating, Jace said, "Why can't Darian come home? She could just tell her teacher that it's her sister's birthday."
He was dead serious.
"Professors aren't that understanding, Jace."
"Well, I don't know why," he said, clearly disgusted.
After we'd consumed way more food than we should have, we did a quick clean-up as that's my rule: clean kitchen before dessert. And then? Time for dessert. And in typical me-style? I'd forgotten to buy candles.
When do I not forget the candles?
And so, I scrounged through the bottom drawer where I keep odds and ends in search of a candle, any candle, please let there be a candle as what's a birthday without a candle? And there, underneath the Saran Wrap, was a number eight candle, complete with a few years' worth of dusty accumulation.
But it was a candle.
And so I precariously propped it on top of the cake, lit it, and we all sang a quick happy birthday to you...while Savana basked in all of that attention before making a very very long wish for pete's sake is she ever going to blow out that candle?? It's going to start dripping!
And then, while she dined on lemon cake topped with fresh strawberries, she opened her gifts in a verrrryyyy eternal fashion, careful to tear the tape just so so that the paper isn't torn in the process. And seriously, why? It just gets tossed in the trash. But that's what she does. Every single time.
So a million pictures later, the gifts were opened, the kitchen was cleaned, and we all headed out the door for Best Buy as Roy needed speakers for the trans am.
And that is why, by the time we finally got home at 9:00 yesterday evening, I toppled into bed, exhausted from the day's festivities.
And that is also why, after we repeat all of the above for Darian, Roy gets the short end of that stick.
Because seriously, folks...after two days of celebration Seals' style, I just don't have any energy for more.
Thursday, September 18, 2014
Digging Deep
When Jared and Darian were home a couple of weekends ago, they wanted to watch a movie on Saturday night. We'd already spent a couple of hours playing Clue and it was getting close to 10:00 and so, as we sat in the living room perusing titles, I looked anxiously at the clock and said, "How about an episode of Friday Night Lights?" I really don't have the ability to stay up late these days and I figured there was no way I was going to stay awake for an entire movie.
Jared shrugged and said he'd give it a try but, honestly, I wasn't too hopeful he would like it as it's a drama. Anyway, I went to bed after one episode and he and Darian sat on the couch and watched a second while I headed for bed. And that was the end of that.
Last night I got a text from Jared: Thanks a lot, Aunt Vonda. You gave alcohol to an alcoholic.
Accompanying the words was a picture of the first season's titles of Friday Night Lights and his current episode was highlighted. And Jare? Well, he'd clearly watched at least half of the first season--maybe more.
Oops. Sorry about that, Jare.
We all have our vices.
...Soda movies coffee cell phone games Facebook Youtube workaholic gossip anger junk food ...
The list continues.
Sometimes it's easy to focus on the vices of others, or even the vices of ourselves and become fixated on those things. Or? It's easy to just become consumed and let those vices take over our lives. Piper is a prime example of a vice taking over his life. He's consumed with a tennis ball. The weird thing is, our dog Sam was consumed with tennis balls too. He'd go absolutely nuts over them. One time I got the bright idea of filling a bag with tennis balls and then dumping them all at once in our yard. Oh my word he went crazy, scrambling around the yard and picking one up, spying another, trying to fit it into his mouth as well, dropping both and heading for yet another...round and round and round. He was the prime example of hysteria. Piper isn't quite there yet, but nevertheless, he's a little bit nuts when it comes to tennis balls.
I have plenty of vices, frankly. I can easily become consumed with my cell phone, allowing it to entertain me for hours. And potato chips and dip? Don't even get me started.
I used to condemn myself for those sorts of things--my thoughts filled with angry accusations of why can't you get it together.
But I've realized, in my old age, that life is, in my opinion, more of a journey than a catalogue of black and white. When we look back at our lives, it's a road map filled with mountaintops and valleys...and then smooth sailing highways. It is a culmination of experiences that brings wisdom and empathy for others and a worldview that becomes more defined the older we get. And hopefully, hopefully, that worldview just gets kinder and kinder along the way.
And so, dear sweet Jared, it's all about finding some balance in one's life. Sometimes we just have to take a deep breath, dig deep, and make the choice that makes one's life better in that moment, recognizing that it isn't so much about being bad or good...it's about creating a future that is bright and welcoming.
And you, my nephew, are well on your way.
I used to condemn myself for those sorts of things--my thoughts filled with angry accusations of why can't you get it together.
But I've realized, in my old age, that life is, in my opinion, more of a journey than a catalogue of black and white. When we look back at our lives, it's a road map filled with mountaintops and valleys...and then smooth sailing highways. It is a culmination of experiences that brings wisdom and empathy for others and a worldview that becomes more defined the older we get. And hopefully, hopefully, that worldview just gets kinder and kinder along the way.
And so, dear sweet Jared, it's all about finding some balance in one's life. Sometimes we just have to take a deep breath, dig deep, and make the choice that makes one's life better in that moment, recognizing that it isn't so much about being bad or good...it's about creating a future that is bright and welcoming.
And you, my nephew, are well on your way.
Monday, September 15, 2014
The Bucket List
Yesterday we got up at the crack of dawn, not the norm for a Sunday, and I made breakfast burritos and packed lunches for everyone so we could head out the door at promptly 8:30. Savana helped Guerin with trash (as he works on a trash crew) and as soon as they got home, they showered and stuffed themselves as quickly as is humanly possible.
We left a little before 9:00. Pretty good for the Seals'.
We arrived at the racetracks in Charlotte a little before 11:00. I have never attended the drag races before so this was a first for me. I had absolutely no idea what to expect. But, this was on Roy's bucket list so we bought the tickets a few weeks ago and have anticipated the "big day" for quite awhile now.
It was incredible. Oh my word we had fun.To say it is loud is an understatement. Thankfully, Roy came prepared and had ear plugs for all of us. We watched those cars race and we laughed and cheered and stood up to see who got across that line first for several hours. But then, sadly, just before the finals, gray clouds started to gather above us and then the rain began. The event was cancelled around 4:00 and so we threw our jackets over our heads and perused the booths in the big lot in front of the stadium as none of us were quite ready to head out just yet.
On the way home, Roy said, I've crossed more things off of my bucket list in the past six months than I have total for the past ten years.
I love the idea of a bucket list. I have one, too--sitting over in a small notebook on the bookshelf here in the living room. I used to have one on my laptop that was quite extensive. I added to it on a regular basis...but then my laptop crashed, taking all of my saved documents with it. So I started a new one, hard copy style.
About an hour away is this 4-hour-zipline experience that looks phenomenal...
--a professional sporting event
--a symphony
--swimming with dolphins
--flying in a hot air balloon
--visiting Alaska
--writing a book...
Living with purpose. Diving into life headlong.
It's time to let go and see what life has to offer as, really, that's what life is all about.
We left a little before 9:00. Pretty good for the Seals'.
We arrived at the racetracks in Charlotte a little before 11:00. I have never attended the drag races before so this was a first for me. I had absolutely no idea what to expect. But, this was on Roy's bucket list so we bought the tickets a few weeks ago and have anticipated the "big day" for quite awhile now.
It was incredible. Oh my word we had fun.To say it is loud is an understatement. Thankfully, Roy came prepared and had ear plugs for all of us. We watched those cars race and we laughed and cheered and stood up to see who got across that line first for several hours. But then, sadly, just before the finals, gray clouds started to gather above us and then the rain began. The event was cancelled around 4:00 and so we threw our jackets over our heads and perused the booths in the big lot in front of the stadium as none of us were quite ready to head out just yet.
On the way home, Roy said, I've crossed more things off of my bucket list in the past six months than I have total for the past ten years.
I love the idea of a bucket list. I have one, too--sitting over in a small notebook on the bookshelf here in the living room. I used to have one on my laptop that was quite extensive. I added to it on a regular basis...but then my laptop crashed, taking all of my saved documents with it. So I started a new one, hard copy style.
About an hour away is this 4-hour-zipline experience that looks phenomenal...
--a professional sporting event
--a symphony
--swimming with dolphins
--flying in a hot air balloon
--visiting Alaska
--writing a book...
Living with purpose. Diving into life headlong.
It's time to let go and see what life has to offer as, really, that's what life is all about.
Saturday, September 13, 2014
Changing Seasons
Last night we got the real McCoy thunderstorm. Thunder rattled the house and lightning lit up the sky and rain pummelled down. Jace and I sat in the living room together and just grinned at each other.
It's a perfect Friday night, Mom.
Sure is, Jace.
Yesterday as my co-workers and I took our walk around downtown Asheville, we noted how autumn is in the air. The trees are beginning to turn just a bit and the air has a briskness to it that it didn't have before. My word, I love fall. Sweatshirts and lit up gas stoves and chili with cornbread and the promise of the holiday season just around the corner. What's not to love?
This morning in my Inbox was an email from University of Phoenix. It was a bonified email--not an advertisement--and the person that sent it was asking if I had any continuing ed needs. A couple of years ago, I took some classes for my ELL certification. And so I sent her a quick reply, stating that I now work for the government and won't be in need of those types of credits--at least not anytime soon. And maybe...not ever.
Thursday nights Roy has caf duty which translates into a free meal for the family. I love Thursday nights as it gives me an opportunity to talk to staff and students and eat free food that I didn't have to cook and walk away without washing dishes. It's a beautiful thing. And so this past Thursday I ended up sitting at a table with Kara whom I taught Freshman English a couple of years ago. Kara is adorable--I've loved her from the start. We had a bit of a rocky beginning but once we got past the first week...oh my...she is a gem. Originally when I sat down at her table, it was alive with chatter and laughter as several of us squeezed together while we ate smothered burritos that were, I must say, divine. And then everyone started leaving one by one until it was just the two of us sitting across from each other.
"So what's your job?" Kara asked.
I gave her a really brief explanation that makes my job sound like the most boring job on the planet, and then she said, "So do you like it better than teaching?" And she looked at me with those big brown eyes that melt my heart.
"It's not that, Kara. I just needed a full-time position."
"Yeah. I understand," she said, blessing me with her gorgeous smile. Kara is a beauty.
This morning when I sent the email back to the rep from the University of Phoenix, I considered briefly sending her the email address for the person that took my place as I know that she's interested in getting her ELL certification now. But then I thought better of it as, really, it's not my place.
Life is all about change. Changing weather; changing careers; changing seasons. Days blend together, not one the same as the other, and yet, little by little, subtley, each creates a different shade. I just read an article the other day--something that came in my email--about how the key to a successful life is learning to deal well with change. Change is force that, like gravity, is always present.
Every morning when I get in my car and drive off this campus at 7:00 a.m., I can't help but smile to myself. How blessed I am indeed. I love my job; I love where life has taken me and where I'm headed. There was a time when I couldn't imagine not being a teacher. It's what I went to school to be. I loved it, I lived it. It stole my heart.
But now?
Well, now I am no longer a teacher. But life is still ablaze with beauty. It's just a different sort of beauty.
It looks like today is going to be a beautiful day. The sun hasn't completely woken up the sky yet but it's getting there. The crickets are chirping and my flowers and plants are bursting with color from the rain. When I look out my sliding glass doors, I can still see the lush foliage that, soon enough, will be traded for the baren dead of winter.
The seasons are changing, and I, for one, can't wait to wear my Fish Creek sweatshirt and sit outside on my porch, roasting marshmallows over an open fire.
It's a perfect Friday night, Mom.
Sure is, Jace.
Yesterday as my co-workers and I took our walk around downtown Asheville, we noted how autumn is in the air. The trees are beginning to turn just a bit and the air has a briskness to it that it didn't have before. My word, I love fall. Sweatshirts and lit up gas stoves and chili with cornbread and the promise of the holiday season just around the corner. What's not to love?
This morning in my Inbox was an email from University of Phoenix. It was a bonified email--not an advertisement--and the person that sent it was asking if I had any continuing ed needs. A couple of years ago, I took some classes for my ELL certification. And so I sent her a quick reply, stating that I now work for the government and won't be in need of those types of credits--at least not anytime soon. And maybe...not ever.
Thursday nights Roy has caf duty which translates into a free meal for the family. I love Thursday nights as it gives me an opportunity to talk to staff and students and eat free food that I didn't have to cook and walk away without washing dishes. It's a beautiful thing. And so this past Thursday I ended up sitting at a table with Kara whom I taught Freshman English a couple of years ago. Kara is adorable--I've loved her from the start. We had a bit of a rocky beginning but once we got past the first week...oh my...she is a gem. Originally when I sat down at her table, it was alive with chatter and laughter as several of us squeezed together while we ate smothered burritos that were, I must say, divine. And then everyone started leaving one by one until it was just the two of us sitting across from each other.
"So what's your job?" Kara asked.
I gave her a really brief explanation that makes my job sound like the most boring job on the planet, and then she said, "So do you like it better than teaching?" And she looked at me with those big brown eyes that melt my heart.
"It's not that, Kara. I just needed a full-time position."
"Yeah. I understand," she said, blessing me with her gorgeous smile. Kara is a beauty.
This morning when I sent the email back to the rep from the University of Phoenix, I considered briefly sending her the email address for the person that took my place as I know that she's interested in getting her ELL certification now. But then I thought better of it as, really, it's not my place.
Life is all about change. Changing weather; changing careers; changing seasons. Days blend together, not one the same as the other, and yet, little by little, subtley, each creates a different shade. I just read an article the other day--something that came in my email--about how the key to a successful life is learning to deal well with change. Change is force that, like gravity, is always present.
Every morning when I get in my car and drive off this campus at 7:00 a.m., I can't help but smile to myself. How blessed I am indeed. I love my job; I love where life has taken me and where I'm headed. There was a time when I couldn't imagine not being a teacher. It's what I went to school to be. I loved it, I lived it. It stole my heart.
But now?
Well, now I am no longer a teacher. But life is still ablaze with beauty. It's just a different sort of beauty.
It looks like today is going to be a beautiful day. The sun hasn't completely woken up the sky yet but it's getting there. The crickets are chirping and my flowers and plants are bursting with color from the rain. When I look out my sliding glass doors, I can still see the lush foliage that, soon enough, will be traded for the baren dead of winter.
The seasons are changing, and I, for one, can't wait to wear my Fish Creek sweatshirt and sit outside on my porch, roasting marshmallows over an open fire.
Thursday, September 11, 2014
The Simple Life
After work today I went to Sam's Club--swung by quickly as it's a hop, skip and jump off the freeway. I needed two things. Literally. Cat food and dishwasher soap.
And that's what I got...plus some raspberries (they were only two bucks!) and some croissants (they'll make the best sandwiches for all of the packed lunches at our house!) and some fresh mixed veggies (Roy loves these) and some fruit popsicles (At least they're semi-healthy...) and ... well, you get the idea. By the time I headed out the door with my overstuffed grocery cart, I'd clearly crammed in far more than two items.
So as I drove home, I contemplated the fact that my cupboards are already bursting and yet...I now have to fit in even more stuff. Once I finally pulled into the driveway, a little over ten hours after leaving it, I called Jace and together we hauled in all of the goods. He was, of course, starving, and so I threw the freezer items in the freezer and then juggled all of the boxes on the countertops so that I could quickly throw together homemade tomato sauce and fresh ravioli that I'd picked up at Sam's on the last trip there. For the next fifteen minutes, I emptied the dishwasher and rearranged the refrigerator and made a list of things I placed in the freezer and sorted through mail and threw away papers that have sat on the kitchen table for far too long and strained the ravioli and dished up a plate Jace! It's ready! and thought about sending him off to eat by himself since the table was such a disaster and then, on second thought, decided to join him because, of course, that's what good mothers do and so, finally, at almost 6:00 Jace and I sat down together, in the living room, on the couch.
Yeah. That's family dinner at the Seals' home.
A few minutes later (as it doesn't take Jace long to consume a plate of ravioli and green beans), I headed back into the kitchen to finish my project. When we first moved here four years ago, we bought a little freezer as we desperately needed one. I'm not sure how we survived so many years with just a refrigerator freezer...but we did. But anyway, it's a disorganized mess. No--really. It's a disorganized mess. No matter how many times I organize it? 24 hours later I can't find a thing. And so, for the who-knows-how-many-times time, I took everything out, stacked it on the dryer, placed all of the frozen fruit together (for Savana's smoothies) and then placed all of the breads together on one side (It's embarrassing how many loaves I found stashed at the bottom) and threw away some stuff that I didn't recognize and...well, my freezer, at least for today, looks a whole lot better. And there's even space for more!
That seems to be the MO around here: more.
And then I finished clearing off the table. I picked up the pens and opened the door of the hutch to place them in the container that holds pens only to realize...there's no room left. Are these pens breeding? When did we get so many pens?
And by the door? About 12 pairs of shoes...
By the gas stove? A stack of polo shirts that Jace has outgrown and some boots that are so trendy and cute but awkwardly sized so nobody wants them and a box of homeschool material that will never get used--at least not at our house--and a bag of stuff for the Wii that never gets used anymore, either.
When we first moved here four years ago, we came from a rather small apartment. The guy who moved us said I've never seen a man with so much stuff or a family of 5 with so little. And it was true. Roy, of course, can fill a truck simply with what he packs into a garage. It looks impressive with all of the shelving and drawers and such. But there is a lot of stuff. Yet we as a family had learned to live with a lot less as we had to in order to fit. And honestly? I loved that apartment. I loved the coziness of it.
Anyway, then we moved into this rather large house--and now? Well, we've moved into it rather nicely.
We need to de-stuff.
Ronald Reagan said, Live simply, love generously, care deeply, speak kindly, leave the rest to God.
I love that quote. I think it's a great mantra to live by. But I think I need to get back to the live simply part. I need to eat more peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, clean out my closets, and haul some boxes to Goodwill.
I need to stick to the list.
And that's what I got...plus some raspberries (they were only two bucks!) and some croissants (they'll make the best sandwiches for all of the packed lunches at our house!) and some fresh mixed veggies (Roy loves these) and some fruit popsicles (At least they're semi-healthy...) and ... well, you get the idea. By the time I headed out the door with my overstuffed grocery cart, I'd clearly crammed in far more than two items.
So as I drove home, I contemplated the fact that my cupboards are already bursting and yet...I now have to fit in even more stuff. Once I finally pulled into the driveway, a little over ten hours after leaving it, I called Jace and together we hauled in all of the goods. He was, of course, starving, and so I threw the freezer items in the freezer and then juggled all of the boxes on the countertops so that I could quickly throw together homemade tomato sauce and fresh ravioli that I'd picked up at Sam's on the last trip there. For the next fifteen minutes, I emptied the dishwasher and rearranged the refrigerator and made a list of things I placed in the freezer and sorted through mail and threw away papers that have sat on the kitchen table for far too long and strained the ravioli and dished up a plate Jace! It's ready! and thought about sending him off to eat by himself since the table was such a disaster and then, on second thought, decided to join him because, of course, that's what good mothers do and so, finally, at almost 6:00 Jace and I sat down together, in the living room, on the couch.
Yeah. That's family dinner at the Seals' home.
A few minutes later (as it doesn't take Jace long to consume a plate of ravioli and green beans), I headed back into the kitchen to finish my project. When we first moved here four years ago, we bought a little freezer as we desperately needed one. I'm not sure how we survived so many years with just a refrigerator freezer...but we did. But anyway, it's a disorganized mess. No--really. It's a disorganized mess. No matter how many times I organize it? 24 hours later I can't find a thing. And so, for the who-knows-how-many-times time, I took everything out, stacked it on the dryer, placed all of the frozen fruit together (for Savana's smoothies) and then placed all of the breads together on one side (It's embarrassing how many loaves I found stashed at the bottom) and threw away some stuff that I didn't recognize and...well, my freezer, at least for today, looks a whole lot better. And there's even space for more!
That seems to be the MO around here: more.
And then I finished clearing off the table. I picked up the pens and opened the door of the hutch to place them in the container that holds pens only to realize...there's no room left. Are these pens breeding? When did we get so many pens?
And by the door? About 12 pairs of shoes...
By the gas stove? A stack of polo shirts that Jace has outgrown and some boots that are so trendy and cute but awkwardly sized so nobody wants them and a box of homeschool material that will never get used--at least not at our house--and a bag of stuff for the Wii that never gets used anymore, either.
When we first moved here four years ago, we came from a rather small apartment. The guy who moved us said I've never seen a man with so much stuff or a family of 5 with so little. And it was true. Roy, of course, can fill a truck simply with what he packs into a garage. It looks impressive with all of the shelving and drawers and such. But there is a lot of stuff. Yet we as a family had learned to live with a lot less as we had to in order to fit. And honestly? I loved that apartment. I loved the coziness of it.
Anyway, then we moved into this rather large house--and now? Well, we've moved into it rather nicely.
We need to de-stuff.
Ronald Reagan said, Live simply, love generously, care deeply, speak kindly, leave the rest to God.
I love that quote. I think it's a great mantra to live by. But I think I need to get back to the live simply part. I need to eat more peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, clean out my closets, and haul some boxes to Goodwill.
I need to stick to the list.
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Simply Amazing
I am almost finished with Friday Night Lights. It's a television drama about a high school football coach and his family who lives in Dillan, Texas and oh my word I love that show. It's so real to me. It has been my almost-nightly escape for several months now as I discovered it early this past summer as my sister Lori told me I should watch it.
She was right.
But now I only have two episodes left so I'm not sure how I'm going to handle not having Tim Riggins and Tammy Taylor in my living room every night before I head to bed. They've been such good company.
I am amazed at the talents of others. These people can act and make me believe that it is all for real. And the producer of the show? He's the same guy who produces Parenthood, another favorite of mine. I definitely plan to find out what he is producing next so that I can follow it from the start. He has, in my opinion, a unique way of creating a show that makes it stand out from the rest.
Yesterday at lunch we had this Lunch & Learn that I attended with two of my co-workers. Buncombe County has a health incentive that runs for six months and during the course of six months, one has to accumulate 150 points in order to earn an additional lump sum of money at the end of that time period. One of the ways to earn money is to attend Lunch & Learns. Anyway, yesterday's topic was Emotional Spending which, really, isn't my problem. We've lived on a tight budget for so many years that I've never given myself the freedom to engage in retail therapy so much. But Emotional Eating? I got that one down. It's my gift. Anyway, at one point during the seminar, the lady who was leading out passed out magazines and had us find advertisements that clicked with us. I ended up with a Popular Mechanics magazine--not exactly my magazine of choice--and so I began to peruse it, checking out colorful ads of oil for cars and Goodyear tires and men's running shoes.
Nothing tempted me.
But then I saw this really cool watch that had all kinds of fancy gadgets and had a good looking man wearing it and climbing some rugged cliffs.
Ah. Success.
I could buy that for Roy and he will be my James Bond.
I looked over at Heather, my co-worker, who also had a Popular Mechanics and whattayaknow...she had settled on the same ad! Clearly she's not a lover of Motorola or Goodyear either.
And then the lady began to talk about how these companies have become so sly in their advertising methods. They know exactly what to do to appeal to us, even unconsciously, so that we spend our hard-earned pennies on their products.
And again I thought people are so intelligent, so capable. How in the world did they figure that out? And of course it's a bit conniving and manipulative. I get that. But still, the intelligence behind it all is astounding.
We have so much capability at our fingertips. We are only as limited as we think we are. That, to me, is one of the beautiful aspects of teenagers. They are bursting with dreams and possibility. But one doesn't have to be 17 to dream. We all have gifts to share with the world, and if we take the time to figure out what we want, well...it is just a matter of giving it all we've got and making our dreams reality.
My stepmom, Jo, is a phenomenal gardener. When she and Dad visited a couple of summers ago, one of our favorite things to do in the evening was ride around campus in our golfcart checking out all of the flowers and trees and such. She knew absolutely every one of them. Who knows that stuff?? Jo. And if you are ever were lucky enough to see their home, you would know from the moment you looked at it that she has a gift for creating a piece of paradise in her little corner. She has taken the barren, red dirt of windy Oklahoma and turned it into a slice of heaven...despite the heat and wind and dust. It's beautiful.
I am a firm believer in dreaming big, in imagination, in the pursuit of our own definition of amazing. Life is too short to do otherwise.
This past weekend, I was telling Jared how I love being mindless for a bit of time each day--sitting blankly in front of the television and letting it entertain me. He looked at me curiously and said, "Why?"
I simply laughed.
He's right. All those hours wasted on mindlessness could culminate into something grand if I chose. And maybe, when I finish this last episode of Friday Night Lights I'll spend some some time pursuing one of my own dreams that I have tucked away in the corner of my imagination.
Maybe it'll even turn out to be simply amazing.
She was right.
But now I only have two episodes left so I'm not sure how I'm going to handle not having Tim Riggins and Tammy Taylor in my living room every night before I head to bed. They've been such good company.
I am amazed at the talents of others. These people can act and make me believe that it is all for real. And the producer of the show? He's the same guy who produces Parenthood, another favorite of mine. I definitely plan to find out what he is producing next so that I can follow it from the start. He has, in my opinion, a unique way of creating a show that makes it stand out from the rest.
Yesterday at lunch we had this Lunch & Learn that I attended with two of my co-workers. Buncombe County has a health incentive that runs for six months and during the course of six months, one has to accumulate 150 points in order to earn an additional lump sum of money at the end of that time period. One of the ways to earn money is to attend Lunch & Learns. Anyway, yesterday's topic was Emotional Spending which, really, isn't my problem. We've lived on a tight budget for so many years that I've never given myself the freedom to engage in retail therapy so much. But Emotional Eating? I got that one down. It's my gift. Anyway, at one point during the seminar, the lady who was leading out passed out magazines and had us find advertisements that clicked with us. I ended up with a Popular Mechanics magazine--not exactly my magazine of choice--and so I began to peruse it, checking out colorful ads of oil for cars and Goodyear tires and men's running shoes.
Nothing tempted me.
But then I saw this really cool watch that had all kinds of fancy gadgets and had a good looking man wearing it and climbing some rugged cliffs.
Ah. Success.
I could buy that for Roy and he will be my James Bond.
I looked over at Heather, my co-worker, who also had a Popular Mechanics and whattayaknow...she had settled on the same ad! Clearly she's not a lover of Motorola or Goodyear either.
And then the lady began to talk about how these companies have become so sly in their advertising methods. They know exactly what to do to appeal to us, even unconsciously, so that we spend our hard-earned pennies on their products.
And again I thought people are so intelligent, so capable. How in the world did they figure that out? And of course it's a bit conniving and manipulative. I get that. But still, the intelligence behind it all is astounding.
We have so much capability at our fingertips. We are only as limited as we think we are. That, to me, is one of the beautiful aspects of teenagers. They are bursting with dreams and possibility. But one doesn't have to be 17 to dream. We all have gifts to share with the world, and if we take the time to figure out what we want, well...it is just a matter of giving it all we've got and making our dreams reality.
My stepmom, Jo, is a phenomenal gardener. When she and Dad visited a couple of summers ago, one of our favorite things to do in the evening was ride around campus in our golfcart checking out all of the flowers and trees and such. She knew absolutely every one of them. Who knows that stuff?? Jo. And if you are ever were lucky enough to see their home, you would know from the moment you looked at it that she has a gift for creating a piece of paradise in her little corner. She has taken the barren, red dirt of windy Oklahoma and turned it into a slice of heaven...despite the heat and wind and dust. It's beautiful.
I am a firm believer in dreaming big, in imagination, in the pursuit of our own definition of amazing. Life is too short to do otherwise.
This past weekend, I was telling Jared how I love being mindless for a bit of time each day--sitting blankly in front of the television and letting it entertain me. He looked at me curiously and said, "Why?"
I simply laughed.
He's right. All those hours wasted on mindlessness could culminate into something grand if I chose. And maybe, when I finish this last episode of Friday Night Lights I'll spend some some time pursuing one of my own dreams that I have tucked away in the corner of my imagination.
Maybe it'll even turn out to be simply amazing.
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