48 and Dreaming

On Friday, Savana got engaged. She and Guerin went on a hike up in the mountains and, once they were near the top and had stopped for a bit, Guer got down on one knee and asked her to be his bride. It was simple and sweet, minus all of the glam and flair of engagements these days as couples seem to be pulling out all of the stops. And yet, that moment was no less life-changing, heartfelt, sweet. It was perfect. And then, of course, they came home, bursting with smiles and hugs and excitement.

I can't say I was surprised as they have dated well over three years and they both graduate in May 2016. If I was surprised about anything, it was that it took this long to happen!

But their engagement has sparked a lot of reminiscing on Roy's and my part. Even last night we were discussing how so very young I was when I said I do. Engaged at 19 (yeah, soak that in for a minute), I well remember walking on clouds as the idea of sailing off into the sunset with this guy I had by my side sounded like nothing short of blissful. I was full of stars of and dreams and magic. But if a 19 year old came to me today and told me they were getting married and oh my word I am so excited and yay!!! for me?? Well, I would probably give them one of those patronizing smiles, and a pat on the back, and think to myself, "Oh, honey...you're so young. You don't know even know yourself yet, much less what you want in a partner!"

But it worked for me. We hit 28 years in August and so clearly we've managed to survive all of the daily grinds that marriage seems to bring. Four kids later, 7 places to call home, 3 dogs total, 6 cats, a closet jammed with photo albums, and a bulging shelf of journals chronicle our history. We've hit a rhythm as we know each other like the backs of our hands, working in unison without saying a word, reading each other's thoughts just because we know. There is a beauty in a relationship that has weathered the years and I'm grateful for what we have.

Sometimes I think about the fact that I am living my 19 year old self's dream. You know--how young girls fantasize of life as a wife, a mom, a career, a home? That life. I am the wife, the mom. I have a career, a home. But I'm not so sure that mine is a fantasy world as one dreams it will be. It's just a world, a normal day to day world filled with the normals of most lives. Because, really, that's just how life is for most of us. It's just regular living filled with some monumental moments that stand out...but typically, years can go by, blending into each other like sunrises and sunsets until they all seem the same.

On Sunday morning after all of the fanfare and congratulations were over from the news of their engagement, Savana and I hung on the couch in the living room and talked for quite some time. And Savana said, "I know I am engaged now, but I still feel the same. I don't feel any different."

And I couldn't help but laugh. "Yep," I said, "and that's how it will be when you get married too. You will still feel the same. You'll just feel like you with a piece of paper in your hand."

Because that's how life rolls. Sometimes I'm just that 19 year old girl looking forward and dreaming of how life is going to unfold...but when those dreams arrive, most likely? Well, most likely I'll still just be me--folding the laundry and painting my nails shades of red and wishing I had thicker hair with unruly curls and blogging about the good ole' days when I was 48 and dreaming.

Heading Up the Stairs

Yesterday Jace was playing in the backyard when Roy and I drove up from somewhere, though I can't remember where. Anyway, he ran around the corner and said, "There's a huge black snake in our yard." So of course, Roy and I quickly ran back to see it. But it was gone. We looked around for a minute, checked out the bushes and peered down the hill, and then gave it up as a lost cause and headed back towards the front yard. Just as I neared the house, I noticed something black poking out from a piece of siding on the side of the house. "There it is," I said, grabbing a stick and poking at it, much to Roy's dismay.

"Leave it alone," he said.

But curiousity got the best of me and I kept tugging at it with my stick, trying to get it to slide out from behind the siding. It wasn't budging. It kept curling back up as I pulled its tail out with the stick until, finally, Roy, a bit exasperated, asked me to please give the snake a break already and leave it alone.

One time when I was about 8 years old, my grandpa sent me to the cellar for a jar of green beans. The cellar was out behind the house in a separate building. It had cracked concrete steps leading down to a cold, dark room filled with cobwebs and shelves lined with canned goods my grandma had canned over a hot stove during the Oklahoma summers. Grandpa stood up at the top of the steps, just outside, and gave me directions regarding exactly where I could find these green beans. But first, of course, I had to gingerly walk down the stairs and find the string that was attached to the switch that turned on the light when I yanked it just so. That part took me a minute as it was pitch black down in that cellar but finally, I managed to get the single light bulb to glow, waited a minute for my eyes to adjust, and then peered around at this dusty, dank room that wasn't much bigger than me. And as I looked around at the jars surrounding me, I noticed something slithering.

"Grandpa?" I said calmly, "there's a snake in here." And then I headed back up the stairs towards the light.

I am not a fan of snakes. They don't exactly leave me screaming like a little girl but I certainly wouldn't want one as a pet. Snakes and I? We don't connect. They remind me of darkness or things that slither in murky places. Recently we were peering into the "basement" of our house (which is a very poor excuse for a basement...we actually refer to it as the "Jeffrey Dahmer" room, if that means anything) and we saw this large -- very large -- snakeskin that had been shed. The thought that a snake the size of its shed skin resided underneath my house is not exactly an idea that I choose to consider too deeply. I'm not sure I could sleep at night.

I have a friend who is currently battling for her life. Diagnosed with stage 3 lung cancer, her outlook appears bleak.

Some of those I love the most in this world are struggling with conflicts that threaten to  rob them of the joy they so richly deserve.

Sometimes my own thoughts run wild, slithering through my mind and keeping me up at night.

Questions. Doubts. Insecurities. Struggles.

Surrounded by cobwebs.

Deep dark places...

And all we can do is head back up the stairs towards the light.

My Rainbow

Recently, I stumbled upon the 12 signs of inner peace. They are as follows:

A tendency to think and act deliberately, rather than from fears based on past experiences.

An unmistakable ability to enjoy each moment.

A loss of interest in judging others.

A loss of interest in judging self.

A loss of interest in conflict.

A loss of interest in interpreting the actions of others.

A loss of the ability to worry.

Frequent, overwhelming episodes of appreciation.

Contented feelings of connectedness with others and nature.

Frequent bouts of smiling.

An increased susceptibility to the love extended by others, as well as the uncontrollable urge to extend it.

An increasing tendency to allow things to unfold, rather than resisting and manipulating.

I consider myself a peaceful person. I don't think that I go looking for conflict, that I try to stir up trouble, that I am unhappy. But when I read this list? I realize that I have a long way to go. I cannot say with total confidence that I have mastered a single one of these items. Not one.

But I am inspired. I am inspired to chase this rainbow, to confront who I really am and let go of the things that conspire against peace in my heart. I want bouts of smiling uncontrollably. I want to stop resisting and start accepting without manipulation. I want appreciation to well up within my chest and bubble out to all whom I encounter. I want to get out of my head and stop interpreting the actions and words of others because, really, they have nothing to do with me and everything to do with them.

This person that has this kind of inner peace? Wow. He/She is my hero.

This list?

That's my rainbow.

Guardian of Kindness

Yesterday I went to a funeral.

Savana's boyfriend, Guerin, lost his grandpa a couple of weeks ago, and they had the service yesterday. I've never met the man, but after hearing about him, I feel I have missed out on something special.

Mr. Williams received a purple heart from President Eisenhower. I don't really know what happened, but I do know that is a rare and beautiful thing. About four people stood up to pay tribute to this man who made such a difference in their lives. And then Spencer, Guer's brother, sang while he played the piano-- I Will Rise. And that was it for me. It was beautiful, soul-stirring, powerful.

Ah--it makes me cry just thinking about it.

But this man whom I never met? He reminded me of how important it is be kind--because that is exactly what he was. He made everyone feel as though they were important; he thought the best of others; he didn't gossip or demean; he never raised his voice; he loved.

The director of the assisted facility where Mr. Williams lived said, "The sadness we feel in our hearts today is the price we pay for loving someone. But I can't imagine this world without Mr. Williams. I miss him."

I've known people who are guardians of the right way. They are exacting, wielding a large stick as they go about their lives pointing out what is wrong in the lives of others--lots of let's pray for them statements and posting quotes that pose as sermons in order to convict others of their sinful ways.

And then there are guardians of their offspring--helicopter parents who refuse to let their kids out of their sight, who protect their children from experiences that help kids learn how to be responsible for their actions and survive in this world.

There are guardians of a cause--health, animals, dogma...

And then there are guardians of kindness. Mr. Williams? He was a guardian of kindness.

Yesterday was registration here at MPA and they always serve a free lunch. Jace and I headed over to the cafeteria at the same time as Gary, one of our neighbors. I ended up sitting at the table with him and he was telling me an experience he had with a student as he is a professor at a nearby university. Anyway, the student made a really rude comment to Gary that was demeaning and utterly unnecessary. Of course, I'm sure it didn't affect Gary personally as this comment came from a kid rather than a peer, but we talked about the fact that we don't get "mean".
But, sometimes? Well, sometimes I'm mean. Sometimes I don't think the best of others. I don't strive to find the good but, rather, nurse my wounds and feed my own negative perceptions. Sometimes I share too much that really doesn't need to be shared.

But this morning I am inspired by a man who lived a life built on the importance of relationships, who strived to be kind no matter the cost to himself, who loved freely and unabashedly.

When my life on this earth is over, my greatest hope is that someone will stand at that podium and say, "We are sad today because that is the cost of love. Vonda was so kind and I can't imagine this life without her. I will miss her."

I want to be a Guardian of Kindness.

Bring It

Today is Registration, the official beginning of school here at MPA. I have all of the veggies chopped and waiting patiently on the kitchen counter so that as soon as Roy is ten minutes away from being ready, I can throw an omelet together and have it waiting for him when he comes downstairs this morning.

(Cue She's a Good Wife theme song...)

But my day is filled with all kinds of things to accomplish, none of which include MPA registration. I am walking with Erin this morning, buying groceries, attending a funeral, making a casserole for the family, washing some clothes because my mom is gone and not doing my laundry anymore ...

(Cue I am So Sad and Please Come Back theme songs)

...and, if time allows, cleaning this wretched house.

Jace is still sleeping. It's his last day of summer so I'll let him sleep as long as he chooses. Typically, I'm not a fan of sleeping until all hours of the day...but sometimes I have mercy. Today will be one of those days.

As today is ...well, today and all that registration encompasses, we decided to make yesterday a last day celebration around here. We had a special "last" lunch together, laughing and chatting the whole way through. Mexican themed. MPA held a staff luncheon that Roy mentioned, but from what he said, it didn't sound like it was a big deal, or that it was something that all of the staff would be attending.

As it turns out? We were one of three families that didn't attend. And? It was Mexican themed.

Yeah. Go us.

That happened.

So I feel terribly that we chose our own gig over the staff's...

(Cue We are Fails...)

...but it's too late now and truly we did have a great lunch (though chatting it up with those we share a campus with is always a barrel of fun). And then we went for a 3 mile walk--Roy, Jace and I--and took turns listing our goals for this school year--at least until Christmas. And then when we got home, Roy typed them up so we can print them out and hang them on our fridge. We listed all kinds of things we hope to accomplish--you know, the whole living purposefully bit and not letting life pass us by. Even Jace got in on the gig

(Cue We Are On It theme song.)

Last night we ordered pizza from Pizza Hut, and even got a box of their gooey brownies, Savana popped popcorn, and then we watched McFarland, USA. If anyone hasn't seen that movie? You absolutely should. It's a winner. Inspiring. And a true story. And? I'm pretty sure there isn't a single bad scene in the whole thing. We all loved it, as we sat in the man cave crunching away, our eyes glued on the screen.

It was an almost perfect day.

And so, the lazy days of summer are officially over. The temperatures around here are gradually cooling off as the highs have been in the low 80's recently. Fall is in the air. And I am sensing a new beginning: new teachers, new students, new goals. I am excited and ready to see what this year brings.

Theme Song??

Bring It.

Names Matter

My mom left on Wednesday afternoon, just before I got off work. It has been the most amazing almost-two weeks of my life. My word! Mom is 80 years old but one would never know it. I'm so thankful for her sacrificial spirit and willingness to come here solely for the purpose of easing my life. Mom is a trouper. I miss her so much already. Every afternoon, when I walked in from a day at work, she would be folding my laundry, the kitchen sparkled, and Jace had been well-entertained. It was a good reminder of how Mom lived with us for two years when we had Ciara. We got along perfectly--and that is a beautiful thing. A rarity really--that your mom can live with you for an extended period of time with relatively no issues after you reach adulthood and are married. My mom? She's a jewel.

It feels like fall around here. The morning air is crisp when I let Piper out--more like late September than mid-August. It makes me hungry for autumn: leaves that glow hues of brown and orange, sweatshirts, and marshmallows over a fire.

Yesterday was early registration her at MPA. When I got home from work, I headed down to the school to say hello to Roy and see how things were faring. I felt a bit nervous, to be honest. Would it ruffle my feathers a bit as I wasn't involved? as I wouldn't be welcoming kids with open arms and the familiarity that comes with teaching students in a classroom? But this time around, it didn't phase me. I do believe I have fully transitioned from the world of education to my life as it is today. It's interesting what a year will do.

As I was walking down to the school, I was called over to the gazebo by one of my girls whom I taught her freshman year: Sam. I walked over and chatted with her for a moment, asked about her summer and such. She was sitting by a young kid that looked like an incoming freshman and so I asked him, "Are you going to be a freshman?"

He kind of laughed and shook his head no.

"Sophomore?" I asked.

Still shook his head.

Sam said, "Mrs. Seals, he was here last year. He's going to be a junior."

"Oh!" I laughed. "I'm not around much--I don't think I've met you."

"No--you've met me," he countered. "I'm Nathaniel and I was actually at your house once because Coach showed me his man cave."

Great.

I hope that isn't a sign that I'll get Alzheimer's one day.

Maybe I need to subscribe to that website that has activities for the brain.

Maybe I need to be more aware, more present, when I am introduced to others. I think I live in my head too much. This conversation with Nathaniel? It was a reminder that people come first, that names matter, that if they remember me and I don't remember them...well, that is a problem.

One time when I was a junior in college, I took a writing class. I had this professor who was an atheist, actually, and loved to make fun of Christianity and the devil and such. Anyway, he was a critical grader and I just couldn't get anything above a B+ on any of the papers I submitted to him. We had to write an essay a week, if I remember correctly, and we went through the whole writing process with each one, including researching to back our opinions and then group evaluations. I never gained his approval. But one day, towards the end of the semester, I was in the student lounge when this professor walked in and saw me standing by myself near a corner, waiting for a class to start. He immediately came over to me and said, "I loved your essay."

"You did?" I asked, incredulous.

"Yes! It was incredible! I loved your stance on your position, your reasoning, the way it flowed together. It was flawless. In fact, I think you need to send it in for publication."

"No way." My jaw dropped. I couldn't believe it! Finally--he actually acknowledged something I had written! I was flying high.

And then he patted me on the back and said, "Well, you have a great day, Sarah. I'll see you in class."

And everything collapsed in that moment. Because Sarah? She was a tall blonde student who sat next to me in class.

Clearly my professor didn't see me.

This year here at the academy I'm going to be helping in the dorm with worships. I'm excited about that, actually. I hope to be relevant, to share words that bring hope and comfort and peace.

I am going to focus on seeing these kids, each one--each one as a gift, as a person who matters.

I want to know their names.

Carolina Wrens

A few weeks ago, I noticed that a bird has built her nest in our hanging flower pot that's beside our front door. Every time I would peek in at her, she would quickly fly away and chirp at me from a nearby tree. Concerned she would be scared away for good, I tried to be a little more careful about my spying habits and stopped checking on her so much. Watering the flowers proved a delicate process as I didn't want to disturb the nest.

A little over a week ago or so, my mom, Karen--our neighbor--and I were hanging on the swing in our front yard when we noticed a crazy amount of chirping coming from the flower pot. I dashed over to check things out and sure enough--three tiny babies with their mouths wide open were letting the world know that they were hungry.

Mom, Jace and I kept a constant watch on this little brood and loved sitting out on the swing, spying their parents bring them bugs and other such bird delectables. As the days progressed and the chicks got bigger, they would actually come out of the nest to the edge of the flower pot when the mama bird called, snatching their meal from her mouth.

Sparti was particularly interested in all of the goings on in the little flower pot. He would sit on the front step, his tail twitching, eyes wide, and watch with eager anticipation. We all feared the worst when these adorable little guys decided to try out their wings.

One evening while Jace was watching mama feed her babies, sitting quietly on the step, he noticed something black saunter quietly up the driveway. He assumed it was Ike, a neighbor's large dog that sometimes visits, and so continued his peaceful watch. And then he looked again...and came dashing inside: "There's a bear in our yard!" And sure enough. A very large bear decided our yard looked like good feeding grounds and took his time inspecting the garbage can and such. Roy opened the front door to get a picture and Piper shot off like a rocket, assuming he's a lion rather than a 25 pound cockapoo. But clearly the bear decided he wasn't taking his chances because he shot out of the yard and up a tree while Roy and I screamed our heads off until Piper, assuming he'd done a job well-done of protecting his territory, proudly headed back home, his head held high.

Yah.

Anyway...I began to research so that I would know when we could expect these little guys to learn the art of flying, and soon learned that we had a family of Carolina wrens. I learned so many interesting facts about these little birds such as they mate for life, and it only takes a whopping 14 days from the time the babies hatch until they leave the nest for good. 14 days! But they hang with the parents for another four weeks as they work on their flying skills and the parents teach them how to search for food.

Yesterday it was pretty clear that these little guys were ready to fly. We scooped up Sparti and Ajax, locked the cat door and deemed them indoor cats for the day. Roy and I headed out to Sam's Club and while I was there, walking the aisles and scooping up cat food and bananas and such, my phone rang: "One of the little birds flew the nest!" Mom said, excitedly. And then she told me in detail how she and Jace watched from the step while one of the fledglings dropped down into the flower bed below him and then haltingly flew under the golf cart while mama bird called nearby.

We went school shopping yesterday. School shopping ranks as a favorite activity during the month of August. Who doesn't love picking out mechanical pencils and shiny new notebooks and a backpack with pockets and zippers for all of those dreams of organization that support the I am absolutely going to be a Straight A Student this year mantra. Jace very carefully checked out all of the different supplies. "No Mom--that protractor is purple. Purple is for girls....I don't like that notebook. This one's better...I think I want that narrow ruled paper this year..." It's quite a long process but one we all enjoy and so he took his time, walking the aisles, choosing what he deemed the very best.

I probably spend far more on school supplies than is necessary--always have...I think it's the piece of me that will always love school and I live vicariously through my kids when it comes time to buy for the new school year.

Anyway, once we'd crossed every item off the list and placed it snuggly in the basket, we headed for the back of Walmart and found some decorations for our fish tank, which was looking awfully dim and sad.

Not anymore!

And then we came home, hungry and anxious to arrive so that we could skype with Darian who was not so patiently waiting (in Bolivia) our arrival as she, after two weeks of no contact, finally had Internet.

And can I just say, it was so good to see her face? to hear her stories? to know that she's safe and sound and loving life?

Ah.

However...

The little nest was empty. All of the fledgings had flown the coop. Our yard was silent. No more Carolina wrens hopping from bush to tree to porch railing to flower pot to feed the babies. No more evening porch swing viewing sessions. No more wren songs and trills and calls.

Jace said to me last night, "Oh Mom, I miss those babies. I miss the Carolina wrens."

Me too, Jace.

Me too.

And We're Off!!

Tomorrow is our anniversary, marking 28 years. And so, today we are heading out on the motorcycle for Dillard, Georgia to The Dillard House where we will dine at their family-style restaurant, walk their trails, soak in their hot tub, marvel at the scenery, and spend the night in their bed and breakfast that's on site.

We're excited.

They also have horseback riding. The other day, Roy was telling me that he has never been on the back of a horse.

Are you kidding me? I can't imagine! I grew up with horses--two of them, to be exact, and they were as common to us kids as our dog. One of them, Red, was supposedly a thoroughbred in his day. I don't know if that's actually true, but he could run with the wind--sleek and smooth. The other horse, Snip, was quite the opposite. He was shorter than Red, rounder than Red, and hated anything that had to do with running. In fact, he was always "smellin' the barn" and doing his best to head back that direction in hopes that whoever was on his back would kindly get off, thank you very much, so that he could back to grazing. But he was such a good horse and he served us well for many, many years. In fact, I was well into adulthood when he passed. Some of my favorite childhood memories include riding the trails down by the creek with Dad, him on Red, me on Snip. Or riding behind one of my sisters. Or just riding by myself along country dirt roads, listening to the bobwhites calling and dreaming my life away, as I often did back then.

But I seriously doubt we venture on the back of a horse. I've never been too fond of trail riding in those conditions with horses that must tire of the drudgery of the same old thing day after day.

We picked up Mom yesterday as she is hanging with us for a couple of weeks. It was so good to see her and we chattered the whole way back from Knoxville which is almost a two hour drive. The sun was setting and the moon was rising as we headed home. And just as we came around a corner we all looked up at the same time to see a full moon lighting up the sky, so big and round and breathtaking. Full moons always stop me in my tracks for a minute, make me gaze in wonder. I love the order of the sky and how the sun and the moon work together to keep track of time, the months, the changing seasons.

And so, in just a few minutes we'll be taking off. One of my absolute favorite things in life is riding on the bike behind Roy, watching the road go by underneath me and admiring nature's handiwork on all sides. We keep talking about selling it as bikes are dangerous and when one ventures out on it, one never knows...but neither of us have the heart to sell. Not yet anyway. We keep saying, "Just one more ride...one more trip."

Our helmets are sitting side by side on the couch, waiting patiently. We have those little speakers mounted inside of them so we can chat as we ride along. It's a beautiful thing.

So here's to a great weekend! And here's to another year of marriage and friendship and family and holiday cheer and full moons and adventures.

Cheers!