Wonder

On our way home to Oklahoma over Christmas, we drove through a downpour. It was stressful as it was one of those relentless rains where one can barely see the road despite the windshield wipers madly swiping back and forth on the highest setting, and, to top it off, it was black as midnight. Roy and I talked in low tones as he stared straight ahead, utterly concentrating on the road. Finally, it let up a bit and the tension in the car eased as we all settled in for several more hours of riding before stopping for the night. We were just on the outskirts of Nashville when we saw a myriad of flashing lights on all sides. What's going on? I asked. And then, as our vision came into focus, we realized there had been a wreck and car parts were scattered endlessly; mangled cars were everywhere. Suddenly a policeman appeared on our left, standing by the side of the road with a flashlight, waving it frantically up and down. Slow down! he yelled, and so, obediently, Roy stepped on the brake and got into line behind a car that, too, had slowed to dodge the wreckage. Darian was watching behind when she noticed headlights coming up on us unawares. I don't remember if she warned us that we were about to get hit as it happened so fast, but suddenly we heard the crash of metal on metal, felt the car jolt forward suddenly...We've been hit! But then, the driver, clearly seeing our car at this point, jerked his wheel to avoid us  and plunged into the side of the car parallel with us, adding three more vehicles to the wreckage.

"Everybody okay?" Roy asked, as he pulled over to the side of the road, our car now joining a throng of other disabled travelers.

Though we definitely felt the jolt, it wasn't enough to bring harm to any of us and so, we breathed a collective prayer: Thank you... as we looked around through the darkness at the carnage. It seemed impossible that someone didn't lose their life in the midst of such devastation. Vehicles were everywhere, scattered about as though a child had picked up a handful of toy cars and tossed them in the air, letting them land at will. 

And then the waiting game began. Shortly after we pulled over to the side, a policeman ran our direction, a long flashlight in hand. He pointed it towards us, its light blinding, as he frantically yelled, "Everybody okay in there?", waiting just long enough to hear a resounding, "Yeah--we're fine!" before running on to the next vehicle. 

After our incident, they blocked the highway and as we looked behind us, we could see a stream of endless headlights fading into the blackness. It was about 8:30 p.m. and the waiting game had just begun.

Eventually fire trucks and wreckers arrived and they began the task of loading up vehicles that looked more like a mass of mangled metal than a vehicle. We watched a man drive out of a field on our right where he had been catapulted off the highway, and park his jeep just ahead of us. He was on his cell phone, complaining to someone about how he was just a college student, he couldn't afford to fix his car. What am I going to do?

What are you going to do? Be thankful you're alive!

Finally, a woman in uniform headed our way and told us the story. Someone had been heading east on a westbound freeway and had a head-on collision which sparked a pileup of vehicles. Our little wreck involved three more vehicles. And then she said--

And this is truly a Christmas miracle because every single person is able to walk away. I don't consider myself a religious person, but this has to be the handiwork of God.

It was about midnight before they finally gave us permission to drive on. Out of those eleven disabled vehicles that were stranded on the side of the road, we were the only ones that drove away. Granted, we had a mangled bumper and the side of our car looked like someone had come along and squeezed it just so. But regardless, we could drive.

We drove on in wonder--not that we were the only car able to drive as I have a difficult time thinking God works that way...I am no more special than the next person...but rather that all of the passengers in an eleven car pileup managed to walk away unharmed.

That was our Christmas miracle.

Lawn Mowers and Baby Clothes

Last night Roy and I went to Sears and bought a lawn mower. One of those mowers with four wheels and a seat. We've never owned a riding lawn mower before. In recent summers past, Jace and I work the push mowers while Roy wields the weed eater. Sometimes, that's been disastrous--Roy and the weedeater--as he has tumbled down the large hill in front of our house, weedeater in tow. It's done a number on his legs before, but thankfully, that's about as bad as it got.

Anyway, Roy is tired, and so we ventured out and bought a certified riding lawn mower. In typical Roy-fashion, he has spent the past several weeks researching which ones are best. I've stayed out of this loop as my knowledge of lawn mowers is pretty much bottom of the barrel, and frankly, I'd like it to stay that way. And so, he has scoured the Internet, discussed the different options available with me (can't say that my listening skills during those conversations were on point), and swung by Lowes and Home Depot 3.57 million times to talk to the employees there about their riders (look at me saying riders instead of riding lawn mowers as though I actually know the lingo). He asked them when and if they are going on sale, which ones would be the most effective on hilly property, did they believe that John Deere were, in fact, the preferred brand, and on and on it goes. He threw in questions about the engines and transmissions and very boring other things but I couldn't conjure those up if I had to. Yeah. That's how boring those questions were.

Anyway, that has been my life for the past several weeks. Seriously. Not even kidding.

But on Monday, Roy said, "I've figured out which lawn mower I'm going to get and it's on sale at Sears."

And so, poor Lowes and Home Depot lost out on our business, and last night after gymnastics, Roy and I headed over to Sears to seal the deal. I hung around just long enough to know that the salesman was going to honor the deal on the Internet and here's why: Roy would simply nod and say okay. If the salesman said, "Nope. Can't do that", Roy would whip out his checkbook and seal the deal. No argument. He hates anything that has to do with dickering about money and would just rather pay a little extra if it meant peace.

Not I said the fly.

I have no problem going head to head about those issues--making an absolute fool of myself for the purpose of saving a dollar. Everybody in my family runs, hiding their heads in shame, when I go on a financial rampage. Usually, I will admit, this occurs on the phone with voices rather than faces. I find it much easier to give them a piece of my mind when I don't have to look at them. But thankfully for all involved this particular salesman was accommodating, and even with a smile, and so I headed off into the glorious sunset known as the mall.

I didn't get very far.

Just downstairs was a sale on baby clothes. Recently, there was a baby shower for one of my friends at work--Keenan--and I missed it. And so, I stopped and purused these tiny little ruffly outfits and jammies and socks and itty bitty shoes. Oh my word! I picked out one, then two, then put one back, picked out another, put the other back, picked out yet another, and the cycle continued...until I finally settled on two absolutely precious outfits with mix and match pieces. I envisioned that my three adorables used to fit into such tiny things, and got lost in the moment, remembering. And then I headed back upstairs, taking the escalator by twos as I was hoping that Roy hadn't quite finished with the purchase and I could throw them in at the last second.

As I walked up, these two outfits in tow, Roy looked at me, surprise on his face. And then, as he was surrounded by several salesmen and loves a good laugh, he said, "Is there something you need to tell me?"

With promises of delivery on Monday, we left Sears proud owners of a new riding lawn mower, two super cute baby outfits, and two tools thats usefulness escapes me. Roy started to explain to me what they do, but just as he got started with the whole I just threw away two identical tools that my dad gave me and so ... I looked up at the wall--the same wall that I had purused earlier that displayed a variety of baby clothes: spring-y jumpers with bursting flowers and smiling giraffes and vibrant colors.

How adorable....why didn't I look at those more closely? Those might be cuter than what I purchased...

Because, you see, that is the difference between Roy and me. Roy researches and looks and ponders and asks questions and takes his time...and then makes a confident decision.

I, on the other hand, rush in with gusto, swoop down on whatever catches my fancy, purchase it, and then wonder about it later.

But that's okay. Keenan's little girl will look adorable in these little outfits. I hope he takes a picture and shows her to me, all dressed up in her frilly best, or all comfy cozy in her snuggly jammies--as I couldn't decide which I preferred so I got them both.

So for now, we are the proud owners of a riding lawn mower. We don't have it in our hands quite yet but it's coming. Roy has figured out exactly where to park it, and now he will begin the process of looking for the perfect cover--as it must be covered from the elements and there is no room in the garage. And this fall? Well, this fall we will purchase a bagger for it so that he can bag up the leaves as he has dreamed about such a contraption since moving here. And so, the lawn mower saga shall continue for awhile...but at least, for now, we will not be talking to the Home Depot and Lowes salesmen for awhile...

...at least not about lawn mowers.

A Cinderella Story

It has been a great weekend. Darian came home Friday afternoon, bringing along my sweet nephew Jared. Roy and I were at Sam's Club as I needed a few things that turned into an entire basket as that's how we roll. As we were in the freezer section, Roy got a phone call and he dashed away, throwing "I need to take this" over his shoulder. I thought nothing of it until he came back, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

"Who was that?"

"Wrong number," he replied, a big ole sloppy grin covering his face from ear to ear.

"You're lying."

He looked offended. "Why do you say that?"

"Because clearly you're lying. Why are you grinning like that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

And then, about two seconds later, I see Darian running through the store in an attempt to surprise me and catch me from behind. (Turns out she called Roy to get her through the door as one needs a membership card.)

I love happy endings.

And then, yesterday after church we dashed home to throw together a picnic. Savana spent all day Friday preparing this delicious feast: hotdog spread on croissants, the most amazing guacemole in the world with tortilla chips, potato salad, carrot sticks, clemintines, these delicious specialty cookies that were exquisite (macaroons), and brownie bites. And then? She packed little baggies of chopped onions and such for the sandwiches.

I love her.

Roy fired up the motorcycle and we led the way as Guerin drove our car and Savana, Darian, Jace, and Jare rode along. It is the first time I've ridden with Roy on the motorcycle since probably October when winter hit with a cold blast and we parked the bike safe and sound inside the garage. But yesterday was beautiful and though the mountains are brown and still bear the signs of winter's rampage, they left me filled with wonder as we drove along the winding road.

We found the perfect spot to picnic and everyone grabbed a box from the trunk and up we went, hiking to a table in a clearing. It was so relaxing--everybody happy and chatty and laughing about everything and nothing. We took our time, ate more than we should, and then just hung there for awhile, enjoying the moment.

The intention was to go further up the mountain and hike to some waterfalls, but Roy was ready to call it a day. Darian wanted to ride back with him on the motorcycle as I think she loves it as much as I do, and so we all cast in the towel and headed down together.

So much for an afternoon of hiking...but unfortunately, that seems to be the way we roll, too.

We were home by 4;30 and we all went our separates ways--crashing on beds for the next two hours. Ah. Bliss.

And then last night, Roy and I took all of the kids to see Cinderella at the theater. Oh my word. It is an amazing movie. Well cast. Great moral to the story. Feel good ending. What's not to love?

The resounding theme is Always have courage; always be kind.

Before we left for the movie, Jace campaigned to stay home with my nephew Jared. You don't want to go, right, Jared? Let's stay home and play games together. Who wants to see a chick flick?

Jared said, I'll go.

As we were walking out of the theater, I said, "So did you like it, Jace?"

Begrudgingly, he replied, "Yeah...it was pretty good."

And that, my friends, is a rave review from Jace.

But the thing is, Cinderella wins. Despite the fact she has lost her parents, she strives to be kind though treated with disdain and contempt. She continues to rise above. She struggles to only say nice words. And then, of course, she gets the prince and the perfect life in the castle.

Now I'm not saying that we all get life in the castle because we're kind and we have courage. Clearly that isn't the case most of the time. But what a different world we would live in if we all watched our words and strived to find the best in others. How beautiful life could be on earth if our motto was Always be kind.

I am so looking forward to today. I'm walking with Erin in about thirty minutes at the park. We'll talk a mile a minute and keep up a pace that leaves us both huffing a bit...or at least me.  And then? This afteroon I'm making a lasagna dinner for the kids.

Some time this evening a longlost friend of mine named Jan whom I haven't heard from in probably twenty years or so is coming to visit--staying for two nights. Jan and I can just talk forever and ever and ever so I know great conversations are in store for me.

Ah--I love that.

And so today? Well today I'm looking forward. Spring is in the air and it won't be long before the trees are lit with bursting leaves and vibrant greens. The mountains, now dim and gray, will come alive with color. Darian will come home from school for a whole six weeks before heading off to camp and so I will, at least for a bit, have the luxury of all of my kids under this roof. I can pretend that this is how life will be forever and ever and ever...

...even if it won't.

But I won't think about that. Not yet anyway.

For today? I'm just going to do my best to Always have courage. Always be kind.

That, at least, is how I want to roll...

Solitaire

I grew up playing cards. When I was seven years old, I sat at Grandma's feet and she taught me the art of solitaire. Oh, I loved playing solitaire hour after hour after hour. Initially, I would play a hand and give the cards to Dad who would shuffle for me as my hands were too small to manipulate the cards. But by the time I was about ten years old, I learned to shuffle effectively. And then when I was about twelve or so, my cousin and I played a game together, and she could do the bridge after each shuffle. Oh my word! How did you do that? I asked, astounded. And so, she did her best to teach me. And being a bit obsessive in the world of cards, I practiced and practiced...and it wasn't long before the bridge was a natural part of the shuffle.

Over time, I learned several different forms of solitaire, and so, when life was slow and there wasn't much to do, I'd grab a deck of cards, find a corner, and play away. I had a progression of games that I worked my way through: 7 pile solitaire, the pyramid, the clock game, one hand solitaire, the color game...I'm sure those aren't the actual names of those games, but those were my titles. Over and over and over again. I could entertain myself for hours.

And then there was Rook. On Saturday nights, friends would come over to my grandparents' home and they would circle around the table for a raucous game of Rook. Because the world of cards fascinated me, I would pull up a chair beside my dad and watch him play, study his game plan, ask him questions about why he did what he did. I don't remember ever being taught to play Rook--it's almost like I was born knowing the rules to that game.

My grandpa used to say You're going to wind up in Vegas someday, Vonda.

Recently, I found out about a Rook tournament that was being hosted at my friend Erin Miller's home. That would be fun, I thought. I mean--I'm genuinely not a great Rook player in terms of being cut-throat. But I know the rules of the game. I get how to win a hand and I can shuffle. I'm not so hot at bidding--I lack confidence, I think. But that's never stopped me from playing. And so, I told Erin I would be there and Jace and I happily headed to her home, excited to meet new people and play cards with someone other than myself--or my family.

I was immediately teamed up with Ed and we sat down to play against Vito and Tony--two men who appeared more competitive than I had anticipated. If you're not having fun, Erin told me just before I sat down, let me know and we'll switch someone in for you. I know how to play but this group is too competitive for me.

I should have heeded her warning.

As I really didn't know any of these men, I only bid 50 on the first hand. A low bid is probably about 120...but I was nervous. I knew I didn't want to carry the lead. Ed looked at me: That's all you're bidding? You're not telling me anything about your hand! You didn't give me any information!

Wait. I didn't give him any information with my bid? I've played Room for years with my dad as partner, and I often don't bid. Dad never cares. He just bids away, takes the lead, and away we go into winning history. My bid matters?

After we played the first round, Tony said, Why did you play ___? That was the wrong move. Your partner was looking for points. Why didn't you play points?

I stammered. I laughed nervously. I didn't know I was supposed to play points because our competition played after me. They could have taken it--I wasn't going to gamble that they wouldn't.

Clearly I should have gambled.

On the next round, I gambled. And Ed looked at me with this look of What are you doing???????

Ok. I shouldn't have gambled.

It was my turn to shuffle. Vito handed me the deck and with a look of  Does this girl even know what a deck of cards is??, asked, "Do you know how to shuffle?"

I sighed. Yes, Vito. I know how to shuffle.

After I shuffled a solid 8 times, I began to deal out the cards. Tony had gotten up for a glass of water and as he sat back down and saw me dealing, he said, outraged, "Did you shuffle them enough?"

I looked up to answer that yes, in fact, I shuffled them 8 times and a perfect number of shuffles is, in fact, 7, so I am an overachiever, thank you very much, when he held up his hand and said, "Please. Don't talk while you're dealing."

Clearly they were unimpressed with my ability to play cards.

After I had dealt out the cards, Tony asked Vito, "Did she even let you cut the deck?"

"No, she didn't," Vito said, matter of factly.

And that threw me over the edge. Before anyone could argue, I swooped up those cards and manipulated them back into a deck and began to quickly shuffle and then set them down in front of Vito with a sounding smack. "Cut it," I demanded.

"Don't ever do that again!" Tony cried. "You never redeal!"

And now? I am fighting the tears. Thankfully I had a cup of ice cold water in front of me so that I could swallow that lump that was growing in my throat. Clearly this was out of my league. I looked around frantically for Erin. Rescue me!" I whispered, my eyes wild.

We played one more hand, and again the men chastised my moves, admonished my choices. I kept drinking water--swallowing hard--to keep those tears at bay. They will not break me!

And just as we finished the third round, an older couple knocked on the door: Myron. I've never met Myron before, but he was my knight in shining armor. He was my savior in that moment. Myron! Please!! Come play for me!! This game is yours!

Without even giving him a chance to agree, I stood up and offered him my chair. Tony and Vito and Ed all thrust their hands out for me to shake them. We're glad you joined us, Vonda! I laughed, shook their hands, and noted to myself They are just as happy to get rid of me as I am to get rid of them.

And then, Erin and I sought refuge in a corner in her bedroom where we talked and laughed and talked some more.

It was a perfect end to my evening. It was just what I needed.

I talked to my dad the next day on the phone. Dad is an avid Rook player. He plays weekly--maybe more--at the coffee shop near his home. "Dad," I asked, "when you're playing Rook with your buddies, does it matter what your partner bids? Does that let you know whether you should take the bid?"

"Yeah," he said, laughing. "That's important."

Hm.

Clearly, I need to stick to Solitaire.

Getting Out of the Way

I am restless.

On Thursday, Darian flew to Bolivia. She is worlds away from me and if she needed me, it would take a crazy amount of effort for me to join her. Her last few days were frantic as she finished up homework and babysat and packed. As a result? I hardly heard from her until she sat at the airport, waiting to board a plane that would whisk her away from me. For ten days.

But here's the kicker. If she likes what she sees, she will once again board a plane that will whisk her away for almost a year. Away to Bolivia. Away to a land that doesn't have the luxuries we endure. Translation: no daily Internet. I will have to adjust to weekly (if I'm lucky) emails. No more long skyping sessions. No more surprise weekends where she pops in unexpected.

And really. When it comes to whether she likes it or not, what's not to like? If one knows Darian, one knows she will love it. She will be at an orphanage with abandoned children. Darian loves children. She happily drops everything to get down on bended knee, eye to eye, and totally absorb their world--giggling and tickling and talking and soothing and playing. And so, when she sees these little faces that look up at her with lonely eyes, her heart will be captured and that will be that.

The world needs Darian--my sweet, tender daughter who only sees the good in others.

I need her too.

I want her to live with me forever.

And then let's talk about Savana. She, too, boarded a plane yesterday--bound for Southern California. She is vacationing for a little over 7 days. But I know in the deepest part of me that I won't hear from her. She is off to bigger and better things. And this vacation is just a foretaste of what is to come.She is planning and dreaming and living for that moment when she moves out of my house and into a new one that is her very own. And really, that's not so far away.

Please don't go.

The dreams of my girls leave me empty, restless. They leave me crying inside, begging them to stay with me forever.

But of course...

I well remember when I got married and Roy whisked me away from my home in Oklahoma where it was just my mom and me to a whole new world in Colorado. I was in love with my man, in love with my future, in love with life. But when I called Mom? I could hear the sadness in her voice as she dealt with the reality that her baby had moved away.

Empty nest syndrome.

And now it's my turn. I will have to adjust to this new reality that doesn't necessarily include hearing about every moment of my girls' days. I will have to become accustomed to silence other than the chatter of my own thoughts.  I can't quite wrap my thoughts around it.

And really--I still have time. They haven't left yet. But I know it's coming. I know that I need to start preparing so that I'm not left flat on my back as though the wind has been knocked out of me.

When I first started working at my job, I didn't have a cubicle. And so, I settled into a corner desk that is built into the room and when someone enters the second floor, they are able to see me as soon as they step out of the elevator. It isn't such a bad thing, really, as I have become acquainted with many social workers and know several by name. Sometimes we chat about our days and such. I've made friends by dwelling in a corner desk. But I've longed for a cubicle. I've longed for my own space where I can have a bit of privacy, a place to hang photos of my family, a space to call home. A few months ago, they freed up a cubicle and I was told that it would be mine. Excited, I spent far too much time staring at that cubicle longingly, envisioning how I would decorate it, imagining myself there. 

And then one day? A name was hung on the wall of the cubicle and that name wasn't mine. A man moved in and stole my dream. Deflated, I gave up and reconciled myself to the reality that the corner desk was mine forever.

And then this past week a lady came up whom I don't know and asked, "I'm so sorry to ask this question, but what is your name?"

"Vonda Seals??" I replied, hesitantly.

"Okay--I just need to make sure that you are who I thought you were. You're getting a cubicle on this row right here," she said, pointing to the row adjacent to where I was sitting. And then, she left, just that fast.

I'm actually getting a cubicle? I thought. But Buncombe County is home to many many employees. Nothing happens fast at Buncombe County. And so, I figured maybe by summer.

But then on Thursday, I got an email: I am officially moving to a cubicle on Tuesday morning at 10:00. It will be a bit of a fiasco as I am one of probably hundreds of employees shifting around the Department. But that's okay. My supervisor made it official when she brought me a box so that I can pack up my stuff. Sadly, most of my stuff is in the snacks department: granola and pretzels and crackers.

But I am back to dreaming. I am back to looking at Pinterest for ideas to how to organize my cubicle tastefully.

But here's the thing: I'm not much of a decorator. My cubicle? It will probably just be functional, utilitarian.

But a girl can always dream.

And that's exactly what my girls are doing. They're dreaming. They're chasing.

And who am I to get in their way.

Looking Forward

My neck is killing me.

Usually, when my neck hurts, it's a sign I'm stressed. But this time, I think it's a sign I slept weird last night. I really can't turn my head. I can just look straight ahead.

Maybe that's not such a bad thing.

I dreamed last night this person was criticizing my parenting. Believe me. There is plenty to criticize. After she finished telling me everything I do wrong, I looked at her and said, "You know the girl who raised Savana and Darian? They're both doing well in life. Jace has the same mom. Sometimes laughter is better than screaming. Chances are, he'll be just fine."

Such wisdom in my dreams. 

When my girls were little, I was far too concerned with their behavior. Now don't get me wrong. I was by no means a drill sergeant type of mom. But I wish I had let go just a bit more. I wish I'd laughed more and not been so uptight about the little things.

I certainly don't have that problem with Jace. Maybe I need a bit more of that problem.

Recently, Savana complained to her dad that Jace gets by with so much more than she ever did at his age. Roy looked at her and said, "Savana? We're tired."

One should not be a parent of a young child when one is old.

Oh well. Regardless, he'll grow up. It's what they do. And chances are, he'll be just fine too.

When I was a teacher, life was divided into segments of time. I always had mini-goals to look forward to: spring break then home show then summer summer summer with all of its bounty then presession then school starting then fall break then Thanksgiving then Christmas then the beginning of second semester....'Round and 'tound it went. Year after year after year.

But when one works a job outside of the educational system, every day is the same. Every day, regardless of the season, one gets up for work. There are no fall breaks. Long days of summer vanish into work days. But I am noticing that my focus is shifting as I become accustomed to this new way of life. My life of work and play are no longer entrenched as one; rather, I have two distinct lives. I own my life now and it is what I choose to make it to be. Rather than everything centering around school and a school schedule, everything centers around whatever I choose.

Ah. It's refreshing.

A couple of weeks ago, Roy and I sat down with a calendar and made plans for summer: a one week vacation in Florida on the beach and a quick trip to Texas/Oklahoma to see family and a motorcycle trip while Jace is at camp. We penciled in the dates, booked the flights, booked the condo. And now? Now we just look forward. Eyes straight ahead.

That's how I want to spend my life. I want to look forward--not backwards with regret. Not around me at others for the sake of criticizing. I want my life to burst with joy and contentment and life.

Straight ahead. Moving forward. And with this neck? Well, that shouldn't be too difficult...at least today.