Anticipation

One of my very dearest, most loyal friends--Sue--was supposed to be here at my home with me as of last night. But instead she's stuck in Atlanta in an airport that is on gridlock because of a winter storm that blasted the city, leaving thousands stranded in their cars on highways with jackknifed semis and freezing temperatures.

She's flying home today as soon as she can find a plane that is heading north. Poor girl.

Poor me.

I was so looking forward to nonstop talking and pedicures and some amazing meals as Sue is simply a divine cook. But alas...I will have to wait another year.

Good friends make the world go 'round. I met Sue our very first year in Wisconsin back in '95. We were moving into our home and she pulled into our driveway. Hey! You're new here! Looks like we could be friends and we really need friends right now! And so began a friendship that has lasted almost 19 years now. She has come to visit twice since we've moved to North Carolina, whisking in with stories and a listening ear and barrels of fun. I am always sad to see her go...and always excited to see her come back.

That's one of life's most precious gifts: anticipation for good times to come.

I was thinking about that this morning actually--how much I am looking forward to events happening in the spring: Roy's homeshow (a yearly fave), Savana's graduation from Southern, and then blessed summer with all of its bounty. The promise of good times ahead give us so much to be thankful for and look forward to and help us stay focused on the positive.

I know there are so many people struggling in my own neighborhood right now. I was talking to one of them this morning and she told me that she is so stressed she is having difficulty eating and sleeping.

Poor thing. That is a whole lot of miserable.

And I've been there. We all have at some point because...well, that's life...and sometimes life is cruel.

So we talked about taking hot baths and reading good books that whisk you away to another land and drinking chai tea with a cozy blanket and spending time with dear friends who get you. Because sometimes life is filled with potholes that we have to crawl out of, our nails filled with grime and grit, and our faces smeared with tar. Those times are never fun, never easy. Those times leave us destitute.

But time passes and has a way of healing all wounds. And if we persevere, we will discover that we are laughing on Super Bowl Sunday; we are making plans again for dinner out with a loved one; we are looking forward.

Sue's being stranded in Atlanta hasn't left me flat on my back of course; but it does make me sad. But I have much to be grateful for today. It's break here at the academy with its promise of lazy mornings and a couple of long days that stretch before us to be filled with our own sort of bounty. Savana is coming home and I am going to continue knitting my scarf. I am in the midst of a great book and I'm sure Roy and I will find time to squeeze in one meal out, just the two of us.

And hopefully, one of these days, Sue will return, bringing new recipes to try and her laughter and all of those affirmations she always gives. So until then, I will keep looking forward, keep trudging along, filled with anticipation for good times that are just around the corner.

Snow Day

It's a white world outside. We got blasted with a snowstorm yesterday--endless white falling down. Only an inch was predicted but it just kept falling and falling and falling. The roads were slick and snow-covered, yet we had to traverse it a few times. Yesterday was my first day at my new part-time job, of course, so I braved the roads to work and back. And then Roy dropped Piper off at the vet's earlier and so we had to make the dangerous trek back to get him.

Just as we were pulling out of campus onto the main road, Roy's cell rang; it was Jason, our maintenance director here at the academy: I'm not sure where you're going but the roads are terrible! If at all possible, you should stay home!

But of course...it wasn't possible, so off we went, the three of us braving icy roads and North Carolina drivers. Frankly, I'm not sure what's worse. We did just fine until we got to the road that leads to the vet's. The road has a sharp curve followed by a steep incline. Roy stopped at the bottom, all of us looking up skeptically, as there was no traffic at that moment. And then? We were off, Roy determinedly looking straight ahead, both hands gripping the steering wheel. We got about halfway up...and then our tires began to spin and...down down down we slid, anxiously looking behind us to make sure no cars were coming our direction.

"Why don't you and Jace just walk up the hill and get Piper?" Roy said. And so we did--me walking gingerly up the steep incline, wary of slipping and breaking a hip or hitting my head and knocking myself unconscious while Jace zigzagged and skipped and ran and threw snowballs at me. I love the snow, Mom! This is awesome! Do you think school will be cancelled? Ohh...I hope so! I love snow days! Don't you, Mom? Don't you love this?

"Be careful, Jace. You're going to knock me down!"

We finally made it. Piper was so excited to see us, every part of his body wiggling--one part going north while the other part went south. And of course Jace was just as excited to see Piper, petting him and talking to him as though they'd been parted for weeks rather than just a few hours. Say hi to Piper, Mom! Don't be rude to him! Look how excited he is to see you! Come on, Mom! Say hi!! (He is saying this as I'm talking to the technician about how Piper needs a dental cleaning. I kept waving my hand at him...you know...STOP IT!!!!...as the technician explained the dire hazards of plaque on a dog's teeth.

Okay, so...Can I just say that we had dogs growing and not once did we take them in for dental hygiene? Call us irresponsible dog owners...but I can't remember a single dog getting a tooth absess that resulted in surgery and such due to irresponsible dental care. Who knew dogs got plaque on their teeth? Who knew dogs need their teeth cleaned??

So you need to bring Piper in as soon as possible to get that plaque cleaned off his teeth.

And how much is that going to be?

It's an estimated cost of $220. But you are eligible for a $10 discount since he just had a physical!

I'm thinking Piper is going to take his chances. He'd better start eating some bark or gnawing on rocks--or something that will get that plaque off those teeth. Evidently he needs to be a little more proactive where his dental hygiene is concerned.

Meanwhile, as we're discussing Piper's plaque, I glance out the window and notice that Roy is once again braving the hill. I stop her mid-sentence: That's my husband...And everyone in the room stops whatever they were doing to look out the window and watch, bated breath, as Roy slowly inches upward and then, tires spinning frantically...stops.

Is he going to slide back down???

And then he started again; I could see Roy's utmost concentration as the car began moving up, moving up, slowly...and finally, thankfully,  he pulled into a parking lot  across from the vet's.

Whew.

We all gave a collective sigh as we watched him drive the car to safety.

So would you like to make an appointment to get Piper's teeth cleaned?

"Let me get back with you on that!" I replied, smiling appreciatively. And then I paid the vet bill that was more than I spend on myself medically in a year (not even kidding) without getting Piper's teeth cleaned, and Jace and I headed out the door with Piper in tow.

We made it home without killing anybody or smashing our car to smithereens. Piper bounded inside, thankful to be back home where life is good and the couch is comfortable. We all settled into life on the homefront, everybody doing their own thing. And so the evening passed and the snow fell and now, when I look outside, all that remains of our dangerous trek is a snow-covered world that leaves me gazing in awe at a world of pristine wonder.

Marching On

Roy and I discovered a new green smoothie last night: peanut butter green smoothie. That sounds disgusting but...it was delicious. It tasted just like a peanut butter shake. Mmmm....

Yesterday was a crazy busy day. I start my new part-time job today and it has catapulted my life into overdrive at the school. Trying to get everything done in one day that normally takes me two is just a wee bit of impossible. I'm not sure how I'm going to pull this off. And now I have to pack a lunch two days each week. What am I going to take? A bowl of soup? A sandwich? Is there ice over there in the office?

And I just realized a minute ago that I forgot to grade for Sycamore last night. Sycamore Academy is an online homeschool program that my sisters own and I am the English/History teacher. Since the school is up for accreditation this spring, my sisters have all of these writing jobs they want me to do for them...and so I need to complete at least one task each evening.

Oops.

I am behind. And I haven't even started yet.

I should be stressed off the charts. I should be biting my nails and sweating things a bit. But I'm really not. I've had four years of fairly stress free living so I'm ready for busy. I'm ready for juggling and to-do lists and schedules that burst. I am the most productive when I am swamped.

So other than a few frustrations regarding my school job...I'm good to go. Of course, after a week of this I just might be biting my nails and sweating things a LOT.

If I stop posting? You'll know why.

When we lived at Sunnydale I taught 9-12 English. I was the sole English teacher: 100 students every single day. And Jace was young and so I felt it was important that I was home by 3:30 when he got home from school so that I could have the evening with him. So my time in the office? It was a whole lot of productive. I didn't waste a second: planning and organizing and entering grades and grading and teaching and home for a quick lunch then off to do it again that afternoon. And then when I got home, we played house parents to 40 dorm boys. We had them in our living room at least once a week, and I would cook for them: celebrating birthdays or celebrating the end of the week or just celebrating. My living room was so small but we would all scrunch in there together--kids everywhere.

I loved every second of it. I probably could have been a dean's wife forever. So fun.

And so when we moved here, my life went from a whirlwind of crazy to ... a standstill. I didn't know what to do with myself anymore. Rather than being in the midst of a dorm with kids everywhere, we now lived in a house up on a hill that was isolated from teenagehood. Before, I would look out my window to center campus and see 100 kids milling about. If I decided to sit out on my porch, inevitably kids would join me, laughing and filling me in on the details of their lives. But once we moved? Nobody knew me. It was just me at the front door, waving goodbye as Darian and Jace and Roy hustled out to meet their responsibilities, leaving me alone in a silent living room that echoed.

I struggled, desperate to be part and yet...

Of course, it's been four years now and I have adjusted just fine. I have zero desire to live in a dorm again. Those were great days and I am thankful for the memories and the friendships I gained over those fourteen years of deaning. But I'm done now. It's someone else's turn. I've adjusted to Friday nights of just us and quiet evenings that don't involve someone frantically knocking on our door. I'm quite content to live a quiet life in a house up on a hill that is set apart of the bustle of a campus.

But I am ready to be involved in something. I am ready to balance and accomplish. I love that feeling of job well done. I love productivity.

So though I am already behind the 8-ball, that's okay. I'll figure it out. I'll strategize my game plan and do whatever I need to do to get on top of things and stay there. At least for awhile...

And then in a week or two, I'll  say...

Give me my life back! I want quiet days on the couch watching Parenthood and eating popcorn! I want walls that echo and mornings that stretch before me like an endless highway! 

I want yesterday!...as time marches on towards tomorrow.

Dreaming

Recently I was talking to a friend of mine who is my age. She lamented that she feels so old--everything hurts. When I look at her life, I see so many good things; I see so much opportunity. And yet I know she struggles with depression--as so many people do.

And that makes me so sad.

This morning I read a quote that said this: Do you see the Universe as friendly? Or do you see the Universe as hostile?

And that quote made me stop and think: how do I see the world in which I live? Because the way we see it changes everything. It's a paradigm shift actually: we either view life as filled with sadness and difficulty and struggle...or we view life as a time for opportunity and laughter and giving. Of course, life is both--no doubt about it. And there are times in life when we all struggle, when we are flat on our backs.

But the question is, what do we do when we've had the wind knocked out of us. Do we roll over in despair? or do we struggle to get back up and chase our dreams? How much are we really willing to sacrifice when it comes to living the life we want?

For the first time in my life I have vision for my future. I have goals I want to attain, mountains I want to climb. But getting there? It's going to be a piece of work. And honestly...I'm scared. Sometimes my fear keeps me up at night, staring at a ceiling I can't see. Other times, I am filled with anticipation. It's a mixed bag of emotions, and at times, I am tempted to quit. It's just too hard; I like my comfortable life.

But I know in the deepest part of me that I will plow through, one step at a time...because this vision that I have? It is powerful.

And I want it.

I used to believe that God has this ultimate will for my life and that it's up to me to discover it. I don't believe that anymore. I do believe that God gives us dreams and then we are empowered to live those dreams. Life aligns in powerful ways sometimes, leaving us shaking our heads and telling others about the remarkable events that have transpired, letting us know that we are on the right path. But at other times?  It isn't that simple. Sometimes vision requires hard work and setbacks and determination and sacrifice.

I believe we live in a friendly universe. I believe we are all born to laugh and watch the sun rise as awe bursts within our chests. Regardless of whether I live in a third-world country or a country filled with technological advances, people are people are people. Everybody smiles; everybody craves love. And really--that's what life is about. It isn't about how much money I have or my social status. It's about finding satisfaction and contentment in the simple things of life that require neither.

I am sad for my friend who feels old and yet...she isn't. Life is far too short to stop dreaming, no matter your age. And if you find that you no longer have dreams? Well, that means that it's time to do whatever it takes to discover them. I heard not long ago that when we feel discouraged and a lack of motivation, it is time to ask ourselves questions to discover what we want out of life. Dreams are important. They bring passion and fulfillment in their wake. They give rise to purpose, power. And so...here I am, one step in front of the other, focused straight ahead...

dreaming.

Welcoming the Laughter

I am all the ages I've ever been. -Anne Lamott

Once in awhile I stumble upon a quote that makes me stop, cock my head a bit, and mull it over. I have written so many times about how, no matter the age, I still feel like me. But I think this quote nails it: it defines the wisdom that we gain through the years; it incapsulates our experiences and pains and joys and life-lessons all together into a solitary sentence.

I like Anne Lamott. I don't know much about her really--only that she is often featured on Oprah and shares experiences and thoughts that I appreciate. She's a cool lady.

Last night I was up in the mancave when suddenly the wind decided to roar. It was a whole lot of crazy outside. It picked up the the awning that we have staked down, covering the golfcart, and whipped it into the air, somersaulting it a time or two until it landed upside down by the side of the house. Jace came running upstairs from the living room: Mom! What's going on?!!

A bit later, the wind nabbed it again. I could hear it banging against the toolshed we have by the side of the garage, but it was so pitch black outside that I couldn't quite grasp what was going on. But when things came to a halt, I went outside to look. There lay the awning, peacefully on its top, legs sticking up like a beached spider. About the same time, Roy was closing up shop in the gym, so together we folded up the awning and lay it by the side of the house until we can put it back in its rightful place.

Once we came back inside where it is warm and cozy, I couldn't help but smile as I remembered the time we spent Christmas in California with my sister Lori. I don't remember if Tami and her family were there that particular year. The kids were little--I don't think I had Jace yet. It was chilly outside as it was, of course, December, so a fire blazed in the fireplace. Gary, my brother-in-law at the time, emptied the ashes from the fireplace into a trashcan, stuffed all of the Christmas wrapping on top, then shoved the lid down over the whole concoction. Then he hauled the trashcan outside by their boat and suburban. That night, pitch black outside, the kids were playing in the den when suddenly Trevor, my nephew, pointed outside and said, "Look at the fire!" to Roy. The problem, however, was that Trevor had a speech impediment at the time so it sounded more like Look at the fy-oo! So if my memory serves me correctly, Roy ignored it.

But it wasn't long before the fire that was now blazing outside from ashes that ignited wrapping paper and spread to the boat got everyone's attention. The guys rushed out in a panic and Roy quickly moved the Suburban as the fire was roaring dangerously close to the gas tank. The fire department was called and it was contained fairly quickly, though the boat was destroyed in the process.

That story has become one of the stories that I've heard Roy tell countless times: So the moral of the story is, don't put your Christmas wrappings in a trashcan with hot ashes from the fireplace and then shove the lid on top!

Of course, on a catastrophic scale our canopy experience doesn't compare to the blazing fire that we experienced that cold Christmas night. It just reminded me of how one moment we are relaxing, enjoying, lazing--minding our own business and living our lives...and the very next second we are in a panic as the unknown beckons and we scramble to preserve life as we know it.

Our lives are comprised of moments that turn into hours that turn into days and then weeks and months and years. And before we know it, we wake up and realize that a lifetime has gone by and we forgot to enjoy it. We've been so busy living that we forgot to live. We get caught up in the day to day monotony, not recognizing that this monotony is what makes life beautiful.

And yet, when the monotony is threatened, when we get a glimpse of what life could be like if our monotony was stripped away, we are suddenly spurred into action, desperate to preserve our normal.

I am all the ages I've ever been.

When I look back over my life, I can easily be overcome with regret: regret for choices I made, regret that I didn't enjoy my children more when they were little, regret that I didn't save more money, regret that I frittered away the years...

And yet...those same times in my life taught me so much. Those years gave me depth and understanding; they gave me friendships and memories that bring laughter...and sometimes tears. They gave me wisdom that I can now share with my own daughters who are welcoming adulthood with open arms.

And I am grateful for all of that.

Sometimes I feel like, in some respects, my life is just beginning. I can focus on what I want as my kids are practically grown. Granted, Jace is only eleven, but his teenage years will fly. And so for the first time in my life I get to think about what I want to do with the rest of my life. That sounds exciting, filled with opportunity and possibility. I am no longer fearful of the future as I was in my early twenties.

The other day, one of my freshmen asked me what I want to be when I grow up. And though the other kids laughed at her question, I didn't find it funny. I answered her seriously: I'm not really sure yet, Janet. I'm thinking seriously about that!

I am grateful that life brings second chances, new beginnings, opportunity for a new normal. And this next phase of my life? I want to seize the day. I want to conquer dreams and live with no regrets. I want to embrace all the years I've ever been while welcoming the future, one day at a time, handling those moments of panic with grace and confidence; embracing the good times and welcoming the laughter.

Choosing Trust

This morning at 6:30 as I sat down to blog, my phone rang. It was Savana.

I talk to Savana every day, but yesterday? It was a crazy day and we didn't manage to touch base. Savana spent a great part of the afternoon holed up in the laundry room of the Southern apartment complex where she lives because there was a bomb threat on campus. A real live bomb threat. Squad cars, a SWAT team, and the FBI swarmed like bees on a hive. The suspect was assumably in the boys' dorm. Doors were busted down; boys thrown to the ground and handcuffed with guns pointed at their heads.

They were all innocent.

When I got the news, I was in my office entering names in a database so that I could print receipts. Savana sent me a text: Mom, there's a bomb threat on campus! They think he's in the boys' dorm!

Shortly after my dearest friend Tammy came in and I watched her go from happy to panic in 1.2 seconds as she realized that her baby was in the boys' dorm with a gunman. Hide in your closet! she told him.

Mom, I'm scared.

It was surreal. We watch these things on the news far too often. But when it happens on the campus where your child lives? That's a whole lot of crazy. That's a whole lot of This could happen to me...and it is.

Thankfully everyone is okay. Thankfully they have two suspects in custody and nobody was hurt. But yesterday was a reality check. It brings into focus how much we trust that those terrifying realities won't happen to us...and yet...

It almost did.

I am grateful this morning for the cold air outside and the heat in my home. I am grateful that my three kids are happy and well. I am grateful for sisters and nieces and parents and nephews and a brother-in-law who all have my heart. I am grateful for crisp fruit and highways that lead to home. I am grateful for books that take me away and technological advances that bring opportunity. I am grateful for my friend Tammy who huddled with me in an office when life came crashing down.

It's so easy to take life for granted--to forget how genuinely blessed we are to live in a free country that offers so many good things. But freedom means everyone is free...which means we have to trust that all those everyones will handle their freedom with respect to others. And sometimes? Well, sometimes they don't. And their lack of respect for themselves causes a whole lot of chaos for others. It's so utterly tragic.

Life is fragile.

So this morning when the phone rang? I was so thankful to hear my daughter's voice on the other end. I am thankful she is coming home today so that she is safe in our home and I don't have to wonder. It's a scary world out there. But regardless we have to choose to live our lives, to chase our dreams, to take it one day at a time...

We have to choose to trust.

Looking Up

This is my last Thursday for a few months of waking up with leisure on my hands.

I got a temporary job working 15 hours a week, so I can work around my Pisgah job. Perfection. It came at just the right moment--fulfills a need we have to pad the bank account a bit. So though I am a bit sad to give up my leisurely Tuesdays and Thursdays, I am excited about new opportunity, getting out of the house, and joining the work force of America in a place that isn't an academy campus.

We'll see how it goes.

Yesterday was a good day. I went to supper in the caf and spent some time talking to those Anderson people. It was fun and it was nice to touch base with them as it's been awhile. And then I came home and did a whole lot of nothing spectacular. My favorite kind of evening.

Earlier in the day, a friend of mine and I were talking. My friend told me a story of how she'd received a letter of criticism and it hurt her deeply.  I won't go into detail as this it isn't my story to tell...but I had her story on my mind all evening.

Recently we had an altercation on our campus that resulted in kids getting innocently involved and a divisive staff--all about an issue that really didn't need to be that big of a deal.

On Sunday we had our SA banquet. The gym was transformed due to hours of dedication and work by a crew who gave selflessly of their time and energy. And though most everyone oohhed and aaahhhed appropriately, there were a few naysayers who made it their mission to criticize and let everyone know how they felt.

So I am just wondering...

Do these people feel they have the right to openly criticize and tear down? Is there some innate need to bring discouragement and pain to others' hearts in such a brazen way? This past week I've spent a lot of time shaking my head in exasperation at the thoughtlessness of others who apparently deem themselves the guardians of the only way.

And then I wonder...

Do these same people ever look at the stars?

Sometimes I get really frustrated with life. And sometimes I have a very strong need to tear down and write letters of disapproval and frustration. Sometimes I want to berate someone for an action that I deem unfair or thoughtless. I tend to think that's human nature. We all see from our own perspective, and we don't take the time, nor have the time honestly, to figure out everyone else's perspective. And so in those moments when I am just ready to burst, I call Tammy--my go-to friend.

And then? I go outside and look at the stars.

Because when I step outside my house and look up, I am amazed at my own insignificance. Suddenly everything goes back into perspective as I recognize how truly small I am. My opinions are simply that: opinions. I am not the final word on the right way.

Nobody is.

We live in a world where everyone has to figure out what is right for them. And what is right for one, may not be right for another. And when we think we have the right to tell someone that their way is wrong, or that the way they are choosing to live their lives goes against our own moral principles--well...

We need to take a moment, step outside, and look up.

The Art of Procrastination

I still have Christmas lights up. The strand above my tv cabinet in the living room depicts falling snowflakes so ... they can stay up for awhile. Maybe I'll take them down in March when spring begins to peak up its head. But on two other walls? I have two strands of colored Christmas lights on green cord...and several sections of lights are burned out.

It's been that way for about a week now. I'm thinking if I write about it, get it out there in the open that my procrastination to take these lights down has hit a ridiculous low, I will find the motivation it takes to actually...you know...take them down.

I have always been a procrastinator. But Roy? He doesn't even begin to know the meaning of the word. If something needs to be done, do it. Now. The earlier the better.

Who does that?

He takes after his mom that way. I've never met his dad so I'm not really sure how he operated in daily life when it comes to the procrastination gene. But his mom? If something needs done, she is on it like white on rice. When we lived in California and had Ciara, she had to take Dilantin--seizure medication--every morning at 10:00. We were told to administer the medication in as timely a manner as possible. Of course, this was in the day well before cell phones with reminders on them and so we simply had to remember. And that isn't exactly my greatest strength. There is this Shel Silverstein poem where he laments that he's lost his head and can't find it. And so, he says, he'll just sit on this rock and rest awhile. The picture reflects him sitting on the rock which is, of course, his head.

That's me.

Anyway, when Madeline would come to visit, I can assure you that Ciara got her Dilantin promptly at 10:00 each morning. Not a minute late, not a minute early.

But that's not all. She would practically wrestle a glass out of our hands if we were drinking a glass of water so that she could wash it. When we were eating lunch, she would ask what we wanted for supper and begin cooking it as soon as the last dish was washed, dried and put away.

It's clear that Roy comes by his motivation to get things done genetically. Lately he's become rather obsessive with the dishes. He can't stand unrinsed dishes in the sink. So every time he passes the sink, if he sees a plate or bowl or even silverware in it, he stops to rinse it and set it neatly on the side. He doesn't actually throw it in the dishwasher, but it does always look like the dishes are neatly arranged on the counter ready to be loaded. For awhile it annoyed me every time I heard the water running and Roy rinsing something. He thinks I'm not keeping up with my job! And then? I figured I should embrace it. If he's happy to take the time to rinse? Well, so am I. So now I just figure...Why worry about this plate that has remnants of dinner on it? Roy will take care of it. I have other things to do! And so off I go to knit or read my latest book ... or whatever else I can think of that I enjoy much more than rinsing dishes. And it isn't long before I hear the water running...

Sometimes I think I should be a bit more motivated; I should fight the inclination to procrastinate. But then I think...eh...I mean really. I'm 47 years old. I've done just fine. Besides, if I wait long enough...

Roy will do it.

Hey, Roy. When are you planning on taking down these Christmas lights?

The Needlework Gene

This morning as I lay in bed thinking about getting up, Roy looked over and said, Each morning when I look at you and realize you're mine? It's like winning the lottery every single day.

I laughed. Out loud. That was a good one.

Yesterday was quite a day. It was busy, filled with work and getting the girls off (though I didn't do much regarding that) and taking and picking up Jace at a friend's, and cooking and ...well, all kinds of business. I worked on my scarf as I'm learning to knit....then ripped out everything that I did as somewhere I dropped a stitch and it seemed to get progressively worse. That's such a me thing. I genuinely love needlework whether it be crocheting or knitting ... but I'm not that great. Everything has holes where it shouldn't or uneven edges; stitches that look like a variety of different stitches when really they are all the same...

Somehow I missed the artsy gene when it comes to that sort of thing. But you gotta give me credit: I keep trying!

When I was born, I was born on my great aunt's birthday: Aunt Lena. And so she started sending me a birthday gift each year. Oh how I loved her gifts. She spared no expense and searched out the latest and greatest for kids my age: a trendy bracelet, a trendy outfit, etc. She picked out the best stuff. But when I was 18 years old, she said she was done (and rightfully so), and from that time on, she called me on my birthday. She passed away about a year ago, but my Aunt Lena? She was somethin' special. She made such a difference in my life.

Anyway, when Roy and I first got married, I decided I wanted to do something really special for Aunt Lena to let her know how much she meant to me. And so, for whatever reason, I purchased a needlework craft. It was a picture of a little girl with a hat on her head walking through a lush garden of flowers, carrying a basket filled with a variety of flowers. It was beautiful; exquisite. Why in the word I thought I could go from being utterly inexperienced to completing this picture that required lots of knowledge of different stitchery and hours of time is beyond me.

It tok me about five years to finish the picture. And by the time I got it done, I'd lost interest in sending it to Aunt Lena. I have no idea why...but at the time I completed it, we lived in California near my sister Lori. I'll take it! she said, and she did. She had it professionally framed and to this day it hangs in her home.

It's beautiful actually--as long as you look at it from a distance.

I've started another needlework since then. I've had it for years now; in fact, it's sitting in my entranceway closet on the top shelf. Everytime I open that door to grab something inside, I see it and think I should finish that.

Every single time.

But? I won't. I'm over it. I'd rather knit a scarf with holes that aren't in the pattern and uneven sides. Unlike Roy, I'm not a perfectionist.

Obviously.

I admire those people who are crafty and everything they touch turns to gold. I don't get it. Laurie Worth is one of those people. How does she know  how to fix dropped stitches without tearing the whole thing out? That baffles me. Why does everything she makes look store bought when mine looks...well...homemade? 

If I told her this, she would say You just need to practice. But I know the truth. I could practice all day long and it would still look homemade.

I don't have the needlework gene. It bypassed me and went straight to Savana. This weekend when she was home, she showed me all of her crafty little things that she has knitted this past two weeks. She made me an infinity scarf that is beautiful; she just has to sew the ends together. It's elegant with its perfectly formed stitches. And now she is working on a blanket comprised of lots of little shapes that she stuffs with filling and then puts them together. They are adorable and creative. I said, So when you drop a stitch, do you know how to fix it? Of course!, she replied, as though that was a ridiculous question.

But that's okay. I'll keep trying. And maybe one of these days I'll have a nine foot scarf completed--comprised of holes that aren't in the pattern and uneven edges.

Maybe I'll give it to my sister.

Changing on a Dime

Life can change on a dime.

We got news on Friday that my mother-in-law, Madeline, soon to turn 82 (or is it 83?), has been having stomach problems. She went to the doctor on Friday who took x-rays, didn't like what he saw, and sent her to a cancer doctor. He ran a cat scan and told her that there is a mass in her pancreas and spots on her liver.

Definitive results will be here January 30. The agonizing waiting game begins.

It's so weird to me how, no matter your age, you still feel like you. Whether you're five years old or 25 or 47, you feel like that same person that you always did. Obviously your paradigms of life shift as you gain wisdom through the years; but regardless, you are just basically you. So whether you're fifteen or 85, you have a desire to live. Death comes as an unwelcome surprise.

I talked to Madeline on the phone for quite some time yesterday. Of course, she may be fine. Maybe the results will come back that the mass is benign and the spots are harmless cysts. That possibility remains and we're all praying for that. But I could hear the fear in her voice as she grapples with the reality that the news may not be good. She has a good life these days. She volunteers at a clinic and a hospital; she is active in her retirement park; she flies to visit her kids and her sister regularly; she has many friends that she eats breakfast with or goes with to the movies. She is active and happy and independent.

I remember when my grandfather got lung cancer. He was only in his 70's and it hit him like a load of bricks: healthy and well one day, practically on his deathbed the next. My grandpa was such a character. He cursed up a storm, smoked cigarettes and didn't have much room for God though he went to church every Sunday. But oh how we all adored Grandpa with his ornery ways that left my grandma frustrated and the rest of us laughing: that's just Grandpa. But then he got his diagnosis and everything changed. He couldn't handle senseless silly chatter. Life is short. Don't waste it!  He became so sweet, telling everyone how much he loved them. He made sure Grandma would be okay once he was gone, suddenly tender. And God? He, for the first time in his life, experienced freedom in his heart and stood up in front of the church and told them so. When he passed on in a stark hospital room, his last actions were to desperately try to kiss my grandma's hand. I need my hat! I'm leavin'.

Life takes on a different shade when death hangs in the balance. Last night we had the school banquet. The kids were all dressed up in their movie fare and the food, of course, was simply divine. The SA worked so hard to transform the gym into a movie theater (It looked ridiculously amazing!) and everybody was laughing and having such a grand time. And I was too--absolutely.

When your parents are in their fifties, sixties, it seems they will live forever. There is little thought that someday they may not be here. But when life passes by and suddenly they are hitting their 80's, well, suddenly things aren't so secure. The fragility of life starts to smack you in the face and one can't help but frantically put on the brakes, begging time to slow down...STOP!! I'm not ready!

Just a little more time please...

I haven't had the heart to ask Roy how he is coping with the news of his mom. Normally we talk about everything under the sun. We talk from the time we get up until we our eyes can't stay open another minute. We've never lacked for conversation and everything is fair game. But this? How does one voice the emotion it stirs in your heart at the thought of being parentless? How do you grapple with the reality that you're next on the chain?

When loss hits, unexpected or expected, perspectives change. We view life through subtle shades that ebb and flow. And yet? The sun keeps rising; people still go to the mall; the radio continues to play our favorite songs; we attend banquets in the gym decorated as a movie theater with our friends, laughing at the table while enjoying good food.

But in the backs of our minds, we know.

Life may never again be the same.

Where's the Play Do?

Last night I made two kinds of soup: vegetable stew and cream of broccoli. Roy bought bread bowls at Panera as the girls were home and he likes to make Friday night a bit special to celebrate their homecoming (and he loves bread bowls). As it turned out, Savana and Guer couldn't join us as they had music practice; they are playing and singing today at church.

Anyway, I made waaaayyyy too much soup. On top of that, my refrigerator is packed as we went to Sam's Club yesterday morning and stocked up. So as I'm looking at the stove with two big kettles brimming, I'm thinking What in the world am I going to do with all this soup?

Around 9:30, Savana and Guer got home; at the same time, Darian had some friends come over: DJ, Austin, Miranda and Sarah. So my dining room was bursting with laughter and kids as Savana and Guerin ate...and then DJ and Austin decided to join.

Before you know it, the broccoli cheese soup was demolished and a heavy dent placed in the vegetable stew. Austin and DJ passed what remained of any bread bowl they could find, regardless of how mutilated it looked, between the two of them until, at last nothing was left. So by the time the kitchen was cleaned and everybody was stuffed, only a medium-sized container of vegetable soup remained.

Perfection.

There is nothing better than a house filled with kids who are laughing and eating and just enjoying each other.

Then this morning when I came downstairs to start my day, there on the table lay a cookie sheet filled with creations out of clay. I want to learn to knit, so yesterday Roy, Jace, Darian and I went to a craft store so that I could get some yarn and such. As Darian browsed the aisles, she found some cheap modeling clay, and it reminded her of all the fun the girls used to have when they were young with that stuff. Dee bought them a book of how to make different figures out of clay and they would spend hours creating. So since she had spent the majority of her day studying, she decided on a whim that she wanted to spend her evening playing...with clay. And so last night these kids must have stayed up creating all kinds of creations that now rest on my dining room table, a tribute to imagination and time laughing with friends.

So really? These kids are just ten year olds in big bodies: Where's the play-do?

I suppose that's all of us in some fashion. I don't play with play-do so much these days; nor do I fashion creatures out of clay. My artistic creations tend to look more like mutilated globs that I have to explain. But I do love to create stories in my head and breathe life into them on paper. I love to settle down with a good book that brings me to another land, far away from my own reality. I love movies and miniature golf and a day at the beach.

So the truth is, we're all just ten year olds in big bodies. We do all of the things that life requires of us. In my case, I cook and clean and do laundry and work at the school and a host of other duties, I suppose. But the truth is, I am just fulfilling my responsibilities so that I can finally  spend time doing what I really love to do:

Where's the play-do?

Stupid Kids

My girls came home last night. They barrelled in with all kinds of chatter and laundry and bustle. Jace heard them first and ran down the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him so that he could engulf them in a bear hug. He does love his sisters. I'm so glad they're back for a long four day weekend.

I hope it lasts forever.

Darian is my foody. She loves for me to cook and then she ooohhhs and aaahhhhs at all of my suggestions:

What's for breakfast, Mom? I have to study really hard. I need a good breakfast. Waffles? That sounds divine. And we'll have soup for supper. How about lasagna for lunch after church? Lasagna??  I can't wait! I love lasagna! And can we have those burrito enchilada things you make some time this weekend? I love those!

Praise God she's slender.

And Savana came home even more petite than she left. She's become such a health nut as of late. She is always searching out new vegan recipes and trying them out. Or she will learn healthy tidbits and share her knowledge with me.

It's simply amazing watching your kids grow up.

And then, of course, Darian and I stayed up way too late talking. It was after midnight when we finally went our separate ways for the night. But of course...it was fun and we laughed a lot as we discussed her dreams and talked about God and so many other various sundry things.

I remember the days when I would come home from college and we three girls would gather in the living room around Mom, laughing and sharing stories and discussing our own hopes and dreams. She told me not too long ago to enjoy every minute of it--that these are such fun days and they pass so quickly.

At the time? I didn't really know how Mom felt. I didn't realize that she treasured those moments as much as I'm sure she did, that she saw the hands of time passing much too quickly as her daughters grew up and started their own journeys away from the security of home.

When I married Roy, Mom was so sad. I well remember her devastation as Roy and I drove away toward the mountains of Colorado, eager to begin married life as we chased our own dreams together. Her sadness baffled me. You should be so happy for me, Mom. This is what I've always wanted!

But now? I get it.

Stupid kids.

Why do they have to grow up when you like them so much?

When Words Fail

It's icy outside. This morning when I opened the door to let Piper out, the front door was covered in ice. Even the roads look icy which is a rare occurrence here in North Carolina. Jace has a two-hour delay, so he gets to enjoy sleeping in a bit before the day hits him and he's off and running.

It's one of those days where I wish I could just stay in jammies all day long and sit at home by the fire. But alas...

I remember when I was a little girl and it actually snowed so much in Oklahoma one year that they closed school. My neighbor, Bob, took us neighborhood kids sledding by tieing a round sled to a rope behind his car. Then we took turns riding on it as he drove the car down snow-covered deserted roads close to our house. It was so much fun, squealing as the sled swayed from side to side.

Who does that??

Maybe that was a common practice back in those days. He'd probably be arrested today.

My sister Tami told me a tragic story yesterday and it stayed on my mind all day. When we were growing up, she had a childhood friend named Tami Smith. I actually remember her as she was beautiful--long black hair and exotic eyes. Her dad and my dad were friends and if I remember correctly, they lived in Seiling and then moved to Cushing--just like us. It was one of those rare coincidences. Anyway, Tami grew up, married and had three boys. But this summer one of her boys committed suicide. There is an article online that has his picture and talks about what an amazing man he was--filled with kindness and love and humor and so many good things. He too had long black hair and exotic eyes. He looked so much like the Tami I remember.

But evidently his death and the break-up of her marriage was more than Tami could handle because she killed herself this week too.

And even though I never met her son and I barely remember Tami--other than the fact she was beautiful--I am so saddened by this story. I am sad to know that two people who were loved and remembered kindly by friends have taken their lives because their own pain was too much to bear. And I am absolutely not criticizing them--not at all. I only feel sad for the destruction and the horror and the pain they must have felt in their hearts.

Recently one of Savana's best friend's sisters committed suicide as well. I was talking to Kirsti--the best friend--about it--and she said, There was a war zone going on in her head. I can't imagine what it must have been like to be her. But she was so sweet...

There is so much pain in life. Some of us have such heavy crosses to bear. And the truth is, we have no idea what goes on behind smiling faces and closed doors. We have no idea whether, when we are talking to a friend, there is a war zone behind veiled eyes.

Sometimes I am baffled at how life shakes down. So much is out of our hands, out of our control.

And yet...

There is so much beauty in life, despite its tragedy, despite its pain.We can still have hope and dreams. We can still look forward to a new day. And I am thankful for that.

But at the same time, I want to be aware; I want to be compassionate, especially toward those who may not have as easy a road to travel as others. Sometimes--lots of times actually, words fail. I don't want to burst in headlong as though I have all of the answers. I don't have any answers actually.

Only questions--lots and lots of questions.

But I do have the ability to refrain from judging. I can keep my mouth shut and offer a sympathetic ear, an act of service, or a warm touch.

I can be a kind presence in the midst of pain that, sometimes, is too much to bear alone.

Cheap Little Fish

Last night Roy didn't have to attend Rec and so we loaded up and headed for the fish store. About a year ago we got a fish tank. Actually, Jace bought it with his Christmas money that he'd received from his grandpa and Grandma Jo. We've had a long history with fish tanks and I will spare the details...but I love them. I find them peaceful; stress-reducing.

When Ciara was several months old, I remember holding her up in front of the fish tank we had in our home there in California and she watched it intently. She pursed her little lips together as if to say Ohhhhh! and her eyes followed the fish. It was adorable.

But anyway, we only had four fish in our tank and it was getting overgrown with algae, so we decided to get an algae eater and a few more fish: guppies. I happen to love guppies as they have pretty tails and pretty colors and best of all, they're cheap! So off we went to the fish store to purchase our prizes.

The girl who helped us was flat-out amazing. She was so cute and knew her stuff and answered our millions of questions. She was so attentive to Jace, letting him pick out whichever fish he wanted in a tank of seemingly hundreds of fish and then she'd take her net and off she'd go, whirling around the water, intently focused on getting just the right one.

I love nice people.

So we bought our four fish (three guppies and an algae-eater), some fish tank supplies, and headed home. When you buy fish, you have to let them float in the water in the bags you brought them home in for several minutes. I'm not sure why, but they always tell you to do that...and so, being the responsible fish owner that I am, I did. And that's where things became rather fascinating to me. The fish that have been in this fish tank, called it home for several months, were curious. They came up to it, checked out the bag, swam around, touched their little faces to it--researched what in the world had just invaded their home.

When we first bought these four fish, they told us they like to swim together so you have to buy more than one. But these guys have never schooled really. They just do their own thing. But as soon as I took the four new fish out of the bags, they all schooled. The guppies stayed together; the other fish got into their little huddle and swam together; and then everybody checked each other out. Are you a friend or foe?

I just found that fascinating. I mean--seriously. They're cheap little fish. They die at a moment's notice. And yet...they have these little personalities. They're curious and understand their environment. They recognize foreign objects. They wonder.

And they're just cheap fish.

Animals are amazing. We become so involved in our own lives that we forget the beauty of nature. There's so much we don't know, don't understand, about the natural world. And yet, when we just take some time to stop and behold it, even something as simple as a fish tank, well...

It's a beautiful thing.

The Better Way

My sister Tami told me awhile ago that she watched this show on Animal Planet regarding animals that were the most ruthless killers. And #1 on the list? Cats. (At least I think it was number one.) They kill just for the thrill of it.

Ew.

The other day Jace informed me that one time not too long ago they rescued a little chipmunk from Sparti. He said it was a piece of work getting that little chipmunk free but they finally managed and it scurried off into the bushes--free at last. Thank God I'm free at last!

Last night I had just brushed my teeth and was going to bed. All of the lights were off in the house as Roy was already in bed and I was the last one up. So as I was walking gingerly down the hallway as I couldn't see anything, I accidentally barely stepped on Sparti's paw. It was so slight and the moment I felt a wee bit of fur underneath my foot, I quickly picked my foot up. But honestly--you would have thought I killed him. He gave out this pathetic little squeal and quickly scurried downstairs as fast as he could. I had turned the light on just in time to see him look back up at me with those eyes that said You're mean.

(I recognize I'm humanizing a cat.)

But honestly I find that comical. Here he is, one of the most ruthless killers on the planet, and yet he throws a fit if he experiences a slight bit of discomfort. I just want to pick him up and say How do you think that chipmunk felt when you sunk your teeth into his neck?

Somehow I just don't think he'd care.

Sometimes I think we are ruthless killers. My other sister Lori said the other day that we all have our own bag of rocks to carry. We don't know how someone's bag of rocks feels on their back. We don't know their burdens, their heartaches and stresses. And we don't know that if we were them, we'd do it any differently.

That, in my opinion, is the great equalizer in life.

Walk a mile in my shoes before you judge me.

I too am guilty of judging others. There are people I simply don't like. They annoy me. I don't get them. But the truth is, that's my problem, not theirs. My annoyance says more about me than it says about them. They are just living their lives, doing the best they can--regardless of my perspection. And if it doesn't make sense to me or their actions don't fit the mold that I think they should, well...that's irrelevant.

It's none of my business. And it's none of their business how I feel. And I guess what I mean by that is...they don't need to know that they annoy me. Because the truth is, who is to say that if I were them, I'd be any different?

I heard one time that when someone rubs us wrong, it's because we see something in them that we have ourselves. One time I decided to see if that were true so I wrote down the qualities of people that annoy me: cocky, self-involved, judgmental, harsh...

Bingo!

I am capable of all of the above. I too do a great job of being self-involved and harsh and judgmental at times. 

I don't think we are called to be everyone's best friend. But I do think we are called to kindness. I think we are far too often vicious killers with our words that tear down and destroy. 

Yesterday I was telling my mom a story about how someone trash-talked a person in my family who is so very dear to me and how hurtful it was. After I hung up the phone, I felt frustrated and angry inside. But then I remembered I can't control how others feel. I can only control me.

And I instantly felt better. 

Ultimately we can't control what others think or say or do. We can only control ourselves. And I don't want to be a cat: only concerned about my own pain. I want to let go of the daggers in my heart and choose a better way. 

I choose kindness.

Traditions

Last night was the basketball tournament at our school where the classes compete against each other in several basketball games until, ultimately, there's a grand winner. In typical fashion, the seniors won. It seems the seniors always win. These games are always so much fun to watch--especially the guys'.  As I was watching them run up and down the court, whizzing the ball past our heads, I was thinking how important it is--how boys simply crave competition. They thrive in that environment; they need it. The girls, of course, aren't nearly so competitive. Darian was a pretty good basketball player; but she'd just as soon hand the ball to the competition as not: Oh! You really want the ball, huh? Okay! Go 'head--here you go! Or if she accidentally knocked someone down, she'd apologize profusely as she helped them back up.

And she's not alone. Lots of girls are that way. We just don't have the I'm gonna kill someone! spirit that guys often do.

But, of course, I digress. My point was, this whole tournament thing is a yearly tradition. And next weekend, in typical fashion, is the SA Banquet. It will be an evening filled with gorgeous dresses and nervous dates and delicious food and all kinds of fun. 

I love traditions. If I had life to live over again and was just beginning my family, I'd be so much more conscientious to build tradition into our lives. Of course, we definitely have some traditions that we enjoy as a family:

We always color Easter eggs on Easter. This past year was the first time that we didn't actually hide them and then try to find them. Jace is outgrowing that, I guess, as he was happy to color them...and then he was done.

We definitely have the Chuck E. Cheese tradition that has provided all kinds of fun on childhood birthdays.

We make homemade noodles every single Thanksgiving--even if we don't stay home. We make them and take them wherever we are going. I'm not sure other families appreciate them as much as we do ... but we like 'em.

Friday suppers have always been a little bit of special in our week. It used to be I would set the table and burn candles while we dined but I don't do that so much anymore. I think I've just gotten lazy. Since we've moved to North Carolina, we often go out on Friday evenings. And of course the girls are gone and that just changes everything. 

We have several Christmas traditions that we all enjoy each year. And the list continues--I'm sure there are other things that we do as the year goes by. 

This past Christmas we were all talking at my dad's to Jessie, my stepsister. She was telling us how every Christmas Eve, they all get a brand new set of pajamas that they open that night. Then they wear them to sleep and all through the next day. They just stay home all Christmas Day in their pajamas, enjoying a special meal and opening gifts and playing games and all of those "just them" things.

What a cool tradition!

Now that we have Pinterest and the Internet, we could probably make a tradition for every single day of the year if we chose. Of course, traditions would lose their appeal and become rather burdensome. But the point is, traditions bring unity to life. They give a sense of family, of togetherness. They bond us throughout the year and let us know that we're in this game together.

So guys need competition; girls don't. But families? They need tradition. It's the glue that holds us together, makes us unique. They give us hope and let us know that life is cyclical, filled with difficulties and yet...

Gosh that was fun! So glad we're going to do this again next year.

A House of Stuff

Last night I skyped with one of my very most favorite, beloved families on the planet: the Lewis clan. We talked for well over an hour and I was able to see five of the six members of that cute fam.

I love skype.

I remember when I was about eleven years old we moved from the small town of Seiling to a larger town called Cushing. I desperately missed my childhood best friend Cindy whom I had grown up with. And though I begged and pleaded, my dad was really cheap and wouldn't let me call her to check in, see how she was doing. We spent part of most every day together for many years and then...nothing.

I missed her so much that I ached inside. She was my best friend. We did everything together.

I remember watching the Jetsons during this time, and they had a form of Skype on the show where they could talk to each other face to face via a form of television. I was so jealous and longed for such an invention in my own life.

And now, thirty some years later, I have it.

Modern technology is amazing.

Anyway, my sister and I were talking about a friend of hers who moves every two years and she has moving down to a science. She only owns quality "stuff", and not much of it, so that she can pack and unpack quickly. It was an inspiring story.

So this morning I was looking around my house--looking at all of my "stuff" and thinking What could I get rid of?

My eyes immediately wandered to a clock that sits on the top shelf of my bookcase. I've had this clock for, I think, 23 years. Dad gave each of us girls a clock one year for Christmas, proclaiming that his gift-purchasing years were now done and he wanted to give us something nice as the last hurrah. So, of course, this clock has a lot of meaning to me. It's delicate, timeless.

But it doesn't work and it hasn't worked for years.

I've moved several times with this clock even though it doesn't work. I just can't part with it.

And then, in my living room, I counted four candles, all of them partially used. In my cabinets in the laundry room I probably have an addition ten to fifteen candles. I'm kind of obsessed with candles actually--love the homey atmosphere they bring to a room. But this house is large and I often forget to burn them. So there they sit.

I've moved boxes of candles every single time we've moved. I can't bear to part with them because...well, I love candles.

In the entryway closet sits a host of scrapbooks that reflect 47 years of life. And there's a large chest in there as well, jam-packed with memorabilia of three growing children: homemade cards they gave me when they were four, schoolwork they completed in child-like scrawl; homemade crafts with "I love you, Mom and Dad!" etched in them.

I never open that chest actually--can't remember the last time I browsed through it really. But still...how does one part with such treasures?

I have more books than I can count: recipe books that hold pictures of foods that look scrumptious and, I swear, I'm going to make those recipes one of these days...even though I haven't for years; story books that I hold dear though I haven't read them for over twenty years; books that are still in plastic wrapping simply because I haven't gotten to them but...someday...

Can one ever have enough books?

I have a hodgepodge of dishes that are dust-covered from lack of use. I have knickknacks and photographs in frames, each bearing its own story.

So when I look around my house at a plethora of "stuff", I am aware that packing this house up would be a monumental task. When we first moved here, we came from an apartment that was about 1200 square feet. Quite small. But this house? It's huge--well over 2000 square feet. And we've grown into it splendidly. We have filled a large living room and a man cave upstairs with all kinds of furniture and pictures and memorabilia. Every inch of this house seems to burst with "stuff."

And sadly? I am attached to it all; each piece bears a story.

Darian brought that home to me as a gift from Puerto Rico when she went there here Senior year; Savana made that for me at Claying Around; I stole that from Roy's office, even though I bought it for him as a gift one year; that was a gift from a very dear friend; that was my dad's favorite book as a child; my mom gave that to me one year for Christmas; those were my girls' favorite movies when they were little; besides, isn't Winnie the Pooh timeless?...

How does one part with one's life?

I heard one time that if you really want to de-clutter your house, you have to invite someone in who doesn't live with you and let them tell you what is "junk" and needs to go. I'm afraid, if I were to do that, it would turn into one big argument, each of us shouting and playing tug-of-war.

Maybe I'm too attached too all of these things in my life. Maybe I need to take a picture of each one, upload it to my blog, tell its story, then kiss it goodbye.

That sounds like a lot of work.

So for now, I will just think about it with a sigh...

Excuse me while I go light a candle.

The Rest of the Story

My very adorable nephew commented on my blog. Can I just say I am grinning from ear to ear that he even took the time to read it?

Wow! Makes my heart melt a little.

But his comment stated that we are all selfish by nature and when we do things for others, we are acting against our inherent nature.

There was a time in my life--probably most of my life actually--where I would have agreed with my adorable nephew about this. I would have said because of the fall in the garden of Eden we now have sinful tendencies and we are incapable of fighting those tendencies on our own. I would have said the world is filled with evil and one doesn't have to look too far to see that. I had a very narrow view, looked at life through binoculars that were tunnel-visioned. And no matter what you said to argue my philosophy, I wouldn't have believed it.

I was right; you were wrong.

But then some things happened in my life that made my world crash a bit. I'll spare the specifics of that story, but because of things I experienced, I had to rethink much of what I thought I knew.

And I am so grateful, so very very grateful, to be where I am now. It has made a world of difference in my life.

But over the course of this journey, I discovered EBT: Emotional Brain Training. My very dear friend Jacque introduced me to it when I was struggling terribly because of a relationship Savana was in with a boy I didn't approve of. Every time Jacque would call I would bemoan this relationship as it tore me apart. I desperately wanted to control my daughter, control her choices, control everything about that situation; and so I would talk about it and think about it and surmise and do all of those things that we parents do when we are highly concerned for our kids. So one time, Jacque said, "Let me do an exercise with you. I think it will help..." And so for the next twenty minutes, she walked me through a basic EBT exercise. And when we were done, I felt like a new person. I was free.

Of course, it didn't last very long. A couple of days later, the angst and worry settled back in and once again my mind was whirling and I was swirling down. And so, Jacque walked me through another EBT exercise to help me get to the root of my problem. And, of course, it was...

CONTROL.

All of my life I considered myself one of the least controlling people ever. I thought that I did a great job of letting people--even my closest loved ones--live their own lives, make their own choices, experience their own disappointments and struggles and joys. But as I talked to Jacque on the phone that second time, I realized that, in fact, I had a deep, inherent need to control. And I didn't just want to control Savana; I wanted to control Roy and Darian and Jace; I wanted to control my universe.

It was eye-opening; it was a game changer.

So Jacque sent me five kits on Emotional Brain Training and over the course of the next year I began to work through those kits--hungry for emotional well-being. They changed my life forever.

And here is what I learned: our brains are created for joy. We are created to think out of the prefrontal cortext of our brains. When we think out of that part of our brains, we experience love and joy and kindness. It's natural for us to be nice because we are so inherently happy.

But the problem is, we become stressed. We experience abuse from others who don't think from their prefrontal cortexes. And so life happens to us. We begin to think from lower parts of our brain; and the lower you go, the more desperate and frantic your thought patterns become. In fact, if you think from the base of your brain, you live in a constant state of panic. Or, if you think from the third part of your brain, you live in a constant state of chaos and anxiety and sadness. And the truth is, we all think from various parts of our brain all of the time due to stressors that happen in our lives. But once you recognize the brain states, you are able to work the program to bring your thinking back to a state of joy more often than not--even when you are hit with devastating circumstances.

Now I am certainly not saying that some people don't need medication. I absolutely believe in chemical imbalances and such; this isn't a cookie cutter solution. But for people who are basically healthy mentally, they are able to live out of the prefrontal cortexas of their brain which translates into a life of joy and kindness--not only for themselves but for others.

And then, to bring this one step further, I discovered tapping, a book written by a guy named Nick Ortner. Tapping builds on the same principle as EBT only it is a much faster solution. The principle of tapping is that our bodies experience a variety of emotions all of the time every day. But when we fail to deal with our emotions, they get "stuck" in our bodies and become stress. We become agiatated and worried, and then, when we fail to express our emotions appropriately and healthfully, they build up in our bodies and cause pain and sickness and anxiety.

And that's where tapping comes in. We have nine pressure points on our bodies. When we tap those pressure points in a rhythmic pattern and express those emotions that we are experiencing, it brings release. And after just one cycle of tapping, you feel an immediate difference. I watched a special that  was released recently on the benefits of tapping. They took nine individuals who were just regular every day people and brought them to a cabin for a four-day retreat. Over those four days, they taught them the art of tapping and helped them work through some of their issues: one struggled with her weight; one mourned the loss of the love of his life who was killed in a car wreck and he was the driver; one was struggling with cancer, etc. By the end of the four day session, each one of those people's lives were changed forever. They'd learned to deal with their emotions; they'd learned to think from their prefrontal cortexes.

They did a follow-up on them six months later, and their lives were still changed. Each one beamed with joy. It was incredible.

And so, my dear precious Jared whom I love so very much, I would have to agree with you that people are inherently selfish when they live from the center of their brains. They are so consumed with themselves that they don't have a choice. But if in fact they live from their prefrontal cortexes, as God designed for them to--in my opinion, they live lives of joy and happiness and kindness...simply because they are so happy themselves.

And for those who don't  know: Savana eventually did break up with that boyfriend I couldn't stand. And now she's dating the love of her life, she's happy as can be, and we're all so proud of her and adore this guy she's chosen.

And that's the rest of the story.

Your turn, Jare.

Gotta Love Sonic

Four mornings ago Roy woke up and said, completely out of the blue, "I'm giving up tea as of today."

Now this may not sound that monumental...but...one of my classic sayings about Roy is that if they ever draw blood from his body, they're going to get tea instead.

When Roy and I started dating, we discovered Sonic. Interestingly enough, the Sonic chain started in Oklahoma, and we discovered it in Edmond--a suburb of Oklahoma City where I grew up. Occasionally we would visit there and get a drink. We quickly learned that we love Sonic ice. It's like little pellets and it's fun to crunch; it keeps your drink ice-cold; and the drinks come in styrofoam cups so they are naturally insulated. All of these factors came together for us and a Sonic tradition was born before we even married.

When we moved to Colorado, a Sonic was a few miles away from the campus where we worked. Though we certainly didn't visit it every day, we probably went weekly, grabbing a two-for-one Sonic burger and half-price drinks. I can still remember bringing home a bulging brown bag, sitting in our living room, and devouring all of that. It was so good.

When we moved to Wisconsin, they didn't have Sonics there, but every time we would go home to Oklahoma, we learned what exit had a Sonic and we planned our trip around it. Every single trip. We indulged ourselves as much as possible on the road because once we hit Wisconsin, that was it.

I always loved Sonic Dr. Pepper as well and it was a vice I enjoyed to the fullest. But when we moved here to North Carolina, I didn't like the way they mixed it. Roy always says I am a connoisseur of Dr. Pepper and he's right. I can tell the difference between a can and a fountain drink, much preferring the latter. But Sonics in the South don't use as much syrup so...it wasn't long after we moved here that I just quit drinking it. (Mom, be proud.)

But not so for Roy. In fact, he discovered tea with cranberry syrup. That added a new dimension to his tea experience and so, almost daily, Roy would go to Sonic and get his tea. And though this sounds like it must be really expensive, he would visit during half-price drinks or use a coupon which makes it significantly cheaper.

In fact, the students here laugh, saying that a Sonic cup is permanently fixed to Roy's hand as usually, when you see him, he has one nearby. Of course, the cup is not always filled with Sonic tea. We also keep tea in the refrigerator at home. And to be fair, sometimes he fills that cup with water as well. He just really likes Sonic cups.

And so, when he woke up and said that he was quitting tea, I laughed.

Riiiiiightttt.....

But he said what he meant and meant what he said: Roy was faithful 100 percent. (Horton Hears a Whoo...)

This past week? Roy often looks like he is going to fall asleep, especially mid-afternoon. And when we pass Sonic in the car, I half-expect him to turn in and order his tea; but he doesn't--eyes straight ahead. A half-used gallon of tea still sits in the refrigerator and as of yet? It hasn't tempted him.

He is on a mission.

They say it takes two weeks to cut the caffeine habit so I guess I should wait before I proudly proclaim that he has conquered and won. But Roy is one determined guy. When he decides to do something? Watch out.

I am proud of him. And it won't be long, I'm thinkin', before his veins are filled with blood instead of tea.

Good job, hon.

A Daily Gift

Yesterday I had a brilliant idea for a blog topic this morning. I tucked it away in my memory, with the full intent of bringing it back out this morning.

Naturally? I can't remember for the life of me what I wanted to write about.

Yesterday school was cancelled for Jace due to subzero temperatures. So Roy and I braved the weather and headed over to pick up Harrison to spend the day so that Jace wouldn't be alone while Roy and I worked. They had a fabulous time doing what boys do who are shut up in a house all day long: playing soccer with a miniature ball, playing games on electronic devices, watching tv, chasing Piper, etc. And then when we drove Harrison back home at 8:00 last night, he fell asleep in the car--a telltale sign that he'd worn himself out. Even Jace crawled into bed of his own accord before 9:00--a rarity in our lives.

What did they do that was so exhausting?

Yesterday I skyped with Dee, a friend who goes way back. Our discussions almost always turn philosophical. We talk about the facts of our lives for a few minutes but then we move on to deeper things. I love our conversations. They always give me so much to think about.

Anyway, we were talking about atheism versus agnosticism. I can wrap my thoughts around someone choosing agnosticism. But atheism? That seems so cold, so heartless, so hopeless. Even if that philosophy were true, I wouldn't want to live it.

In my opinion, regardless of one's philosophy, people are basically kind. I think we were created for kindness, for generosity and love and joy. Of course, you don't have to look too far to see that we have a lot of horror and anger and selfishness that abounds in society. But, that's nothing new. Rome had gladiators, for pity's sake, and the amphitheaters were filled to bursting with people who wanted to watch people fight to the death.

But by the same token, you don't have too look too far to find a lot of kindness in this world as well. Recently Paul Walker died--a famous actor from the Fast and Furious movies. Once he passed away, all of his good deeds came to light--deeds that he worked very hard to keep quiet. He was generous and kind and did his best to ease life for others. And he was a movie star--one of those people that we regulars like to brand self-centered and egotistical.

I was reading yesterday how it's  become a new phenomena for the wealthy to leave grand tips to waiters and waitresses at restaurants. One man just this past week had a waitress that he struck up a conversation with while she waited on his table. She told him that she was saving her money so that she could continue her higher education--she had been a foster child her whole life but was working so hard to create a future for herself. And so he wrote out a check for $6000, paying for an entire year of school plus some extra cash for books and such.

Often we hear stories about people finding bags of cash and turning it in. Recently I read about a lady who found a very expensive wedding ring in the sandbox of a local park. She went to great lengths to find the rightful owner, placing an ad in the newspaper, as the ring was valued at well over $10,000. The owner of the ring happened to see the ad and got her ring back. The two became best of friends.

Sometimes I'll be in traffic and I need to get in a different lane. The person behind me willingly pauses and lets me in. The other day we were at a movie theater and it was bursting with people. There were four of us. Some people were sitting in one of the rows with scattered seats between them and they very happily scooted together so that we could sit down in that row--without us asking--just because they saw our need.

When natural tragedies occur, people come together, pooling their resources for the good of others.

People, in my opinion, are born to laugh, to dream, to enjoy life.

And of course we can find stories of tragedy, stories that reek of utter destruction.

But why focus on those stories when we don't have to look too far to find stories that are magical? that inspire us to be kinder? more giving?

I choose to believe that regardless of one's belief system, we are all just people.

Recently Roy told me that he needed to stop watching the news because it was so depressing. He found himself spiraling into sadness more often than not from the things he witnessed on the screen. I said Stop dwelling on those things! There is plenty of beauty in life!

And I believe that. Look out the window. The sun continues to rise; the mountains still reach in all of their grandeur for the sky; the stars twinkle and amaze us with their brilliance. The crisp air reminds us that we are alive.

Each day is a gift and every person on this planet has the privilege of unwrapping the gift and seeing the beauty inside.

Baby It's Cold Outside

Baby, it's cold outside.

That song has been going through my mind since I first opened the door this morning to let Piper out to do his business. The front door was ice-encrusted and the bitterness of the air massaged my foot before I even opened the door--just from being beside the door. 

It's gonna be a cold one today.

But inside? It's toasty. I'm wrapped up in my fluffy robe with a cup of chai beside me. I have the decorative lights that hang in my living room turned on so that it's not too bright, bringing a sense of coziness to the room. 

It's a little piece of perfect.

I was reading yesterday how people are born with a positive outlook...or not. It isn't something you can teach yourself; it just is. So if a person with a positive outlook got in a car wreck, lost the use of both legs, they would say, "I am so lucky to be alive!"

But if a person with a more Debbie-downer outlook got in that same car wreck and lost the use of both legs, they would say, "Curse the day I got in that car!"

It made me stop and think...which one am I?

The truth is, do we really know ourselves? It's kind of like a walking by a mirror and realizing that our hair is a mess, or that our shoulders are slumped. We don't really know what we look like. We don't really know what we're like from others' perspectives. 

I find that baffling.

How is it that I am me, have always been me, with my feelings and habits and idiosyncrasies and yet...I am still surprised when people tell me their perceptions of me? Still surprised when I learn something new about myself? Like...That's not how I feel on the inside at all! Or...gosh, I didn't know that!

Years ago, when we lived in Wisconsin, I had a friend who didn't really like me. I suppose you would say they weren't really my friend, but the truth is, we socialized together all of the time. From my perspective we were friends; but the friendship wasn't reciprocated. In fact, one time somebody close tho this person told me that the problem was this friend found me intimidating.

Really??

That baffled me. I feel like I am probably the least intimidating person on the planet.

And then the other day I read a blog by a dear friend who claimed she's never felt like she's cool. Yet when I met her, my first thought was  She would never like me; she's too cool. 

So I guess the point is, how do we really know whether we see life from eyes that are upbeat and positive or through shades of blue? What is factual and what is perspective? Where does truth lie in the midst of judgment?

I'm not really sure.

But this is what I do know:

I want eyes that find the good in others.

I want eyes that are filled with compassion and kindness.

I want eyes that, when life deals me a bad hand, find the goodness somewhere, even if I have to look in crevices to find it.

I want eyes that, when I feel misjudged, choose a better way.

Life is short and my journey, if all goes well, is just about half-way over. I find that baffling too. How does life go by so fast? But I still have much to look forward to: milestones to conquer; seasons to enjoy; holidays to experience that leave me filled with wonder; people to meet and stand awestruck at their stories of survival; places to visit; and so much more. The list is endless and it brings excitement to my heart to think of all the possibilities that are in front of me.

Life is what we make it. We aren't powerless--simply pawns in the winds of time that blow us whatever direction fate chooses.

We have choices; we can choose a better way...

Or not.

Baby, it's cold outside.

I could choose to stay inside and dream of summer, wish that winter would get over already.

But instead? I'm going to bundle up. I am going to throw on my hat, my wool coat. I'm going to tie a scarf around my neck and put on my fleece-lined gloves.

I'm going to step outside the comfort of my home.

Regardless of perception, regardless of my messed up hair and unanswered questions about Really...who am I?...

I'm going to embrace life and all that it encompasses.

I'm going to live, eyes wide with wonder.

Storm Rules

Today a huge storm is moving in. It's supposed to be minus two degrees with a minus twenty windchill. The winds are supposed to be forty mile per hour. Ice and snow are in the forecast.

This is North Carolina: land of the mild temperatures all year long.

I'll believe it when I see it.

Call me skeptical, but it seems that every time a powerful storm is predicted, it dies before it gets over the mountain pass. And that's tragic. I love a good storm. Fleece blankets, wool socks, a warm drink, and a great book while the winds howl and the snow swirls spell perfection.

We've lived in places that were home to some amazing storms. In Wisconsin, the thunderstorms raged like no tomorrow--the thunder rattling our apartment, leaving us awestruck. And of course every year there were countless snow storms, often creating blizzard-like conditions. Even Missouri could put on a show with threats of approaching tornadoes that left us watching the skies with bated breath.

And so, though I appreciate the easy temperatures of North Carolina, and I adore the mountainous terrain that brings serenity to my soul, I miss a good storm. I hope that today is everything it is promised to be.

Of course, I also hope that the electricity doesn't go out. And I hope that the roads are clear so that my girls can make it safely back to Southern. And I hope that my car starts so that I can make it to class without my nose hairs freezing or my cheeks blazing red.

So these storms? I love them...but it's rather important that they follow my rules.

Saturday Afternoon Drives

Yesterday we went to lunch with a huge crew. It was so much fun chatting it up and laughing and eating great food at El Que Pasa with a total group of 16 members. And then once we got home, I got busy doing things I needed to do that I'd procrastinated and...my time was up.

One of our favorite Saturday afternoon activities is taking a ride in the car. It's a Saturday tradition that began when Roy and I were dating actually. Of course, the means of transportation has varied over the years. In the early years, we actually rode bicycles around the winding roads of Keene, Texas. There was this quaint little white church hidden back in this little nook that was about seven miles away. We would ride there on Saturday afternoon, take a few moments to gaze at it and just dream for a minute, and then head back.

And then we married and moved to Colorado. Our afternoon drives included Roy's trans-am and the Rocky Mountains. We'd load up and go, leaving all our cares behind in the dust as we blazed the winding highway up to Estes Park. It took our breath away.

In California, we found a back route to a little community nestled in the mountains; its name escapes me but I want to say it was called Apple Valley. I may be making that up. But I well-remember how the busy, crowded streets of California gradually faded into mountainous terrain, narrow streets, and rustic beauty.

No matter where we've lived, we've found a route that becomes our little piece of sanity every Saturday afternoon. We turn on some music and we talk the hour away. It's deeply engrained in our relationship--these Saturday afternoon drives.

But yesterday? I just couldn't go. And so Roy came upstairs and said, "I'm taking the trans am. I'll be back in a bit."

I said, "Maybe you should ask Darian. She may go with you!"

"She won't go," he replied. "She's probably already sound asleep."

"Just ask her. She may surprise you."

And so he did. And being the sweet girl she is, she readily agreed to tag along.

When they got home, Roy came upstairs and pulled up a chair beside me. He was beaming, so happy to have spent an hour talking heart to heart with his daughter. He proceeded to tell me all about their conversation and I could tell that it was exactly what he needed.

Yesterday I emailed a friend of mine who is hurting to ask if I could take her for "coffee" today, just to get away for a bit. (Personally, I can't stand coffee--but that's beside the point.) She readily complied, stating  I really need a friend right now.

Sometimes everyone needs a little time. Everyone, no matter who they are, needs to know that they are loved, cared about; that their burdens matter to someone else.

It's so easy to get caught up in the day to day, in the business of life, that we forget those little touches.

We all need Saturday afternoon drives once in awhile: some time to be heard, some time to have a voice, some time to simply get away.

Eyes Straight Ahead

Tragically, Savana has become an incredible cook.

It's tragic because her cooking decimates all of my New Year's resolutions.

Last night Guerin decided he wanted pizza. So at 8:00, Savana pulled out the Bosch, whipped up a fast pizza dough Mom, this is the best crust in the world! So simple!, created a scrumptious sauce out of a can of tomato sauce, threw on a few toppings and some cheese we scavenged out of the freezer, and fifteen minutes later, she'd created two beautiful pizzas.

I have zero self-control.

Over Christmas I spent quite a bit of time talking to my step-sister Jessie who is one of the most adorable people on the face of the planet. She got sick recently and just knew she was dying of cancer. So she subscribed to the Paleo diet, has lost fifteen pounds, and feels the best she's felt in years. I was inspired.

Until last night.

So today? I'm focused on my future; focused on getting the body back that I've missed since Jace was born; focused on healthy choices. Eyes straight ahead.

That's me.

The Hands of Time

I love hands.

I'm not sure why but hands are one of the first things I notice about a person. And not in a negative way--not at all.

Hands come in so many varieties: model hands, well-manicured hands, working hands, wrinkled hands, chubby hands of toddlers. I find them all fascinating.

When Roy and I started dating, I immediately noticed his hands. Honestly, he has the biggest hands I've ever seen in my life. They are wide and strong and well-formed. It's difficult to find gloves that fit him because they are just so big. And yet, his hands are steady and capable of so many mechanical things. It's always amazed me.

And then there are my hands. I definitely have my Grandpa Elton's hands--my mom's dad. He had the longest, thinnest hands with long fingers--just like mine. I've never really liked my hands as my fingers are knobby and they just aren't very pretty. People often ask, "Do you play the piano? You have such long fingers!" when they look at my hands.

Lately I've noticed that my hands are beginning to look old. It's so weird watching these things happen to my body as age sets in; and yet on the inside I feel exactly as I did as a teenager or young adult. Nothing, really, has changed that much other than the fact I can't go around doing cartwheels or handstands like I used to. I think I would kill myself if I tried.

So when I stop and look at my hands? They always catch me by surprise. Where did those wrinkles come from? Is that the beginning of an age spot?

They still look the same as they did when I was 21. I still have the freckle on the bottom of my middle finger. Yet they are different somehow. They look like the hands of a woman in her mid-40's rather than the hands of a young person.

It's baffles me a bit how age sets in and changes everything. Jace often reminds me that I'm old. Yet? I don't really feel that old. I feel like I have so many things to experience in life that I've barely gotten started. I feel like I still have so much ahead of me.

But my hands are a constant reminder that life is ever-changing. I am temporary--part of the ebb and flow that is here for awhile and then...gone. Yet life continues: the sun will still rise and set each day. Another one's hands will go from being chubby and tiny to sturdy and strong to wrinkled and old.

The cycle will continue.

So my hands? They are a reminder to make each day count. Life is such a gift and it is too short to waste on futile living, hurt feelings, and regrets. We need to spend our time making memories that count, helping others and bettering our little piece of the world one moment at a time.