A Perfect Day

Yesterday? My birthday?

It was a perfect day.

I don't think it could have been any more perfect actually.

For starters, the people I work with in the Advancement Office took me out to at to a restaurant in Cleburne called Pastafina's. It's similar to an Olive Garden and it was delicious. We all laughed and talked and stuffed ourselves silly and just had a lovely time.

And then we came back to the office.

Around 2:00, Dean (our development director) came in and said, Could you come into the Work Room for a minute?

And there they all were...again...with a beautiful birthday cake. Vanilla. My favorite. And ice cream that proclaimed itself "homemade" on the label.

And though nothing says homemade like my dad's homemade ice cream, it was delicious.

Meanwhile, Roy sent me a text telling me to steer clear of supper. I asked him what that meant other than don't eat and he said, If I told you, I'd have to kill you. Admittedly I was a wee bit concerned as my stomach was already feeling the bulge just from lunch, not to mention the cake.

When I got home from work, Jace came out of his room and handed me a homemade card that he had carefully created. Now can I just say, Jace doesn't carefully create anything? His writing is typically sloppy, slanted, and brief. But this card was filled with legible, heartfelt sentiments. Roy told me later that Jace called and asked if we had any special paper.

This card? I will treasure it forever.

Throughout the day, Savana called five different times to sing "Happy Birthday" to me at the top of her lungs and then followed that raucous version with a top ten list so that, by the end of the day, she'd proclaimed 50 things she loves or appreciates about me.

Now let me just say, I love words. I could just float away on a bubble singing opera-style when you tell me how wonderful I am.

Ridiculous, I know...but kind words turn me into a giggling schoolgirl.

And of course Darian called and texted and posted on my wall...she's a thoughtful one.

When Roy got home from work, he walked into the door, his arms laden with gifts. This boy knows that I love Mexican food, and so he got me kitchen aids for creating a Mexican dinner: a tortilla maker, a tortilla warmer, colorful little bowls, etc.

It was perfect.

That boy...

And then we loaded up in the car and headed towards Cleburne, parked at our go-to Mexican restaurant, and went inside to a room filled with my amazing family and beautiful friends. Tami and Chas brought black balloons and dice that will help me make decisions about how to spend my time: nap, gripe, complain, etc...

I shall use those every day.

Gina and Eric gave me a lovely throw that is so fuzzy and warm, and Tami and Lloyd gave me a rosemary tree that is so fragrant and adorable.

The kids were there--Court and Cass and Ciara and Love and Josh and Jess -- and laughter was there and love was there and gosh it was fun and amazing and perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

When we got home? My precious friend--the YMP one--sent me a message with 50 reasons she loves me.

50 reasons! But I noticed that she repeated a couple, so I told her...and she sent 2 more.

How amazing is that.

That's a friend right there.

And another one of my precious friends wrote happy birthday on my wall and I replied with...where is my email?...because we are email buddies. She emails me regularly and I eat up every word like I'm starving (and clearly I'm not), and so, because she is such a kind, beautiful soul, she sent me a long, newsy email and I loved every word.

And you know...I love words so...between the email and the 50 reasons message?

 # a perfect way to end a perfect day.

So, today?

Today I feel so loved and so grateful and so like turning 50 wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Today I feel like 50 just may rock my world.

From the Inside Out

Today is my birthday.

Today I turn the big 5.0.

What??

How did this happen??

Savana asked me how it feels to be 50, and I told her, it feels just like it did when I was 12. And I imagine it will feel pretty much the same if I make 87.

Funny how that happens.

Funny how we are still just the inside looking out. Hopefully we gain a little something in our heads so that we become a bit wiser, a bit kinder, and gain a bit more perspective as the years roll by. But when it comes to just feeling like me...well, I still just feel like me.

Every morning Savana and I talk via FaceTime. She calls right around 6:45 am and we chat away until probably 7:15 or so and she fills me in on all of the goings on in her life. Yesterday when she called, we discussed the fact that when someone is not directly in front of your face, it's like they don't even exist at all. So when we pass people on the streets, it's almost like they are put there as scenery and then when they disappear from sight, it's like they just vanished into thin air, never to be thought of again.

Now of course I realize that people do, in fact, exist outside of me. But I think that this perspective of only seeing what is directly in front of me from the inside out is why it is so darned easy to have this "me" mentality and forget that a world exists outside of myself. Being selfish is natural simply because we are just ourselves, just one person.

I remember thinking about this when I was 7 or 8 years old. I had this sweet little friend named Kim and I just loved her. I loved her so much that I wanted to be her, and I often thought, what does it feel like to be you? I would watch her and try to sit exactly like her, holds my hands just like she held her hands, so that I could figure out how to feel like Kim, be like Kim...I used wonder what she did when she got home--how did she spend her time? What was she talking about? I found all of that quite fascinating and could spend a considerable amount of time thinking about it.

I was a weird child.

Yesterday a video was spiraling through Facebook of a teacher in Aleppo who uploaded his last goodbye to the world. Things have gotten really bad there and he isn't sure he will survive all of the upheaval. Ordinary citizens, including children, are being executed on the spot in the streets. And so, he talked about how he hopes that people will not forget Aleppo, that he has lost faith in the United Nations and their empty promises, that despite it all he still believes in the beauty of life.

It was a stunning, tragic video. He wasn't that old--maybe in his 30's, and after I watched it, I couldn't help but think...here I am in my living room with decorative pillows thrown haphazardly on my couch, with lamps glowing, with my dog curled up on the loveseat, with my legs propped up by the recliner...

...and this man from Aleppo is huddled in a concrete building facing what is very likely the end of his life.

...and children are being slaughtered on the streets.

It is a sobering reality.

Of course, life has always been like that--through the ages. We suffer; we eat; we love; we play; we laugh; we cry; we live; we die. And the sun keeps shining and the moon keeps rising and time passes. Day after day.

And all the while, I just feel like me. I just see what's in front of me, from the inside out.

Yesterday Jace spent the evening with the Lewis family. I picked him up at 9:00 and as soon as he opened the car door, he said, "Mom! Did you know that we are going to run out of clean water on our planet by the year 2025? I have been researching how we are running out the very things we need to exist on this planet. We may have to move to Mars and I'm not even kidding! I love earth. I don't want to leave earth!"

(My son is a weird kid too.)

And so, I explained to Jace that there is lot on the Internet that encourages fear-based living. We talked about how we, as a people, must learn to be wiser, to be kinder, to be resourceful with our planet, to be minimalists and consider the future rather than being wasteful and selfish with our resources. That we need to educate ourselves and then take steps to be better.

"Well," he said, "do you think we're getting better?"

"I do, Jace," I said. "I do think we're becoming more aware of the world in which we live."

We discussed how one person making simple changes isn't much; but when one person makes simple changes, and then another makes simple changes, and so on...well, those simple changes become huge and just like that the world is changed.

And I believe that. I believe we are getting wiser, kinder, more aware. I am not a fear-based person and I don't think that our society is getting worse as the years roll by. In fact, I'd say we've come a good pace since those Roman gladiator days. We've made progress since the days of the Wild Wild West. I believe in our youth who are learning to see through kinder eyes and will work to improve our planet rather than exploit it.

And so, even though we are all just on the inside looking out, maybe our vision is getting a bit clearer. I shall hope so...

And meanwhile, I think I'll eat a piece of birthday cake.

Here's to 50.

And hopefully many more.

Together

Honestly, sometimes I feel like I am living in a Norman Rockwell painting.

Last night was the annual Christmas Parade here in Keene. Our alumni board puts up a float every year, and so this year, of course, I was a part of the whole shebang. The City of Keene hosts a contest to see who has the best float and so we were all scheduled to arrive at 3:00 to throw our float together as judging commenced at 5:30.

And so, I arrived at the gym parking lot to begin the big setup at 3:00 sharp...but only two of my board members were present. Someone had dropped off the trailer that had the makeshift Mizpah gate on it and so Larry and I heaved and hoed to get the gate in its proper place...only to realize that we had the wrong sized trailer. And so, Larry made a call to Dennis, one of our other board members, who said he would be there as soon as possible with the correct sized trailer.

Now let me just say, it was cold outside. Of course, I have acclimated to Keene weather rather nicely. Sometimes, I will say to Jace once I've stepped foot outside...Oh my word, Jace! It's freezing out here! And he'll roll his eyes and say, Mom. It's 75 degrees.

But this was no 75 degree weather. It was cloudy, windy, and at least 50. And so, as there was nothing we could do until the trailer arrived, we all went back to our separate vehicles to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Finally, around 5:15 or so, just before the judging was scheduled to begin, Dennis arrived with the proper trailer. By this time, we had several of our board members present. Many of them are strapping big boys -- well over 6 foot tall, strong, capable men. And so, once that trailer arrived? That went to WORK and I just stood back and watched, amazed. They flipped that gate over to the proper trailer, threw those hay bales in one mighty swoop, strung the lights in nothing flat, and had that float ready to go in less than 15 minutes. It was a sight to behold!

Others had been there working on their floats for hours, and so, it was quite comical when the judges came by and presented us with the first place trophy for Best Float! The trophy was large and obnoxious but we proudly stood it on a hay bale for the world to see.

And then the parade began. We were towards the back of the line and so we all sat on our hay bales, holding bags of candy and began the trek down the street, around the block, and then down Old Betsy, the main thoroughfare through Keene. People lined the streets like they were coming out for New York City's Macy's Thanksgiving Parade. Honestly--I couldn't help but just chuckle to myself the whole way. Little kids scrambled and fought over thrown peppermint balls like they had never seen candy before. People, dressed in coats and scarves, and some huddled in blankets, waved and shouted Merry Christmas!...as well all drove by. Some people shouted, "Hey Vonda!" To me and I threw them their very own peppermint ball as a reward.

And then? Just like that? It was over. We parked back in the gym parking lot and once again those big strapping men went to work, dismantling that float in about five minutes while I hurried to keep up by simply throwing our Christmas hats in a box.

In the midst of our moment of mass destruction, a big boom lit up the sky as fireworks  were displayed over our very own Keene pond. And that is how I drove home, stopping momentarily to watch the show and smile to myself.

I love small town living where a community comes out to celebrate together. Somehow? I just think this is how life is meant to be lived.

One for all and all for one.

Together...

...even when that means huddling in the cold to watch average floats roll down the street and cheer like it's the best thing since sliced bread...

Because maybe, in fact, it is.

My Very Best Christmas Friend

I have had a difficult time getting into the holiday spirit this year. Normally Christmas is my absolute favorite time of year. I love the Christmas carols, the holiday jingles, the lights, cozy breads, and Oklahoma family. Typically my tree is laden with gifts by now and Jace spends hours arranging and rearranging, counting how many are for him.

This year? Not one single gift is under the tree. It is December 2 and I'm still contemplating what to buy for who.

I think it's the weather.

It's difficult to be in the holiday spirit when it's 65 degrees outside. I was talking to a friend of mine the other day who moved here from Vermont; she said it takes three years to adjust to a warm Christmas.

In the meantime, I will go through the regular Christmas motions in hopes that it jumpstarts me into gear.

We always put our tree up immediately following Thanksgiving. And so, last week Roy, Darian and I headed into town to purchase a tree. On the way there, we decided to get a fake tree as we are all tired of the hassle of the real ones.

I think I am getting old.

We settled on one we all agreed was beautiful and that we will enjoy for years to come. And then we came home, dragged out all of the ornaments and lights and house decorations and went to work.

This week our student workers filled the office hallways with Christmas decor. It's quite festive there. And this weekend? We have our Christmas parade down the main thoroughfare of Keene. Our Alumni office has a float and we will spend a few hours decorating it on Sunday before displaying it in all of its glory that evening in the parade. It will be a fun day and I'm looking forward to throwing candy to all the kids lining the road while wearing my Christmas stocking hat.

Time is marching on and December 25 is approaching quickly, whether my heart feels that holiday spirit or not. And that's a good thing. Savana and Guerin are coming to visit for a whole 8 days.

Eight days!

Of course, we will spend a few of those days in Oklahoma, celebrating with the people I love the most in this world. Savana says she isn't ready to give up on an Oklahoma Christmas quite yet and so she convinced Guerin to spend Thanksgiving with his family and Christmas with ours. Of course, they (they being the Willliams family) are a close knit bunch as well, so it wouldn't surprise me if S and G alternate Christmas each year. But for now, Oklahoma is in Savana's blood as well.

That's a beautiful thing.

Thankfully today is Friday--my favorite day of the week. Friday means a half day at work--off at noon. It means long evenings filled with reading and journaling and hot baths. It means Roy and I contemplating how we are going to spend the next two days of freedom that are spread before us like a banquet.

And this particular Friday? Well, I do believe I shall spend some time with Amazon, my very best Christmas friend.

Average Like Us

I am a cat lover. When I am old and frail, I will be one of those old people who is surrounded by more cats than they can count. My dad recognized my love for cats at an early age and by the time I was about ten years old, he gave me my very own cat to love. I named him Pepsi and I adored him. From then on, I have never been without a cat in my life.

For several years now I have wanted a Maine Coon kitten. Those cats? They are amazing. They are huge and fluffy and have some interesting characteristics that liken them to a dog. For instance, they play fetch and they aren't territorial like most cats. But after searching for several weeks, I couldn't find any kittens locally that are less than $1000.

One. Thousand. Dollars.

That's funny.

And so, I told Jace that getting a kitten is out of the picture because I am simply not paying that kind of money for a cat--specialty or not. Well, Jace happens to be an animal lover. That boy...the sun rises and sets in animals. He wants everything he sees. Recently he told me he wanted a ferret. I told him that's just fine with me ... as long as he doesn't live at home.

When Jace was about ten years old he was desperate for a hamster--one of those dwarf hamsters that is fuzzy and cute. And so, we bought all of the stuff and set the cage up in his room. I taught him how to clean the cage and how to play with the hamster because it was not too friendly and liked to bite. But of course, Jace was scared of it--and rightfully so--and so I was the one who worked with the hamster day after day...and then Jace was none too fond of cleaning that cage and so his room would stink...and hamsters are fragile creatures and so unfortunately we went through a couple of them...

So by the time the third hamster came around and Jace's room stunk and getting him to clean the cage was an act of congress, I finally said...

ENOUGH.

We gave the cute little fuzzy hamster and all of his toys and food and cage to one of Jace's little friends whose mom happened to be a sucker as well...and that was the end of our hamster run or any other pets outside of the dog or cat realm for forever.

Anyway, as I talked about a Maine Coon far too much and Jace's heart was set on a kitten, we began the kitten search. Now let me say, I am picky. I like long haired, fluffy male cats that grow up to be rather large. And those kinds of kittens aren't easy to find. But Jace? He just likes a kitten...that is the only requirement.

And so, we are the proud owners of a six week old female, orange tabby kitten. She doesn't have a particularly pretty face and I seriously doubt she will be large or fluffy. But she is ours and she is precious. She's a lover and can't seem to get enough attention. We are all fans...well, most of us.

Our other cat Sparti doesn't seem to share the love.

But for now this little girl is the star of the show. We all gather around and watch her drink her milk as she is so small she doesn't care much for anything else. We play with her for hours with a feather, and we sit, immobilized, while she naps on our laps.

Despite the fact she is glaringly average (kind of like the rest of us--so she fits right in...), we love her.

Welcome to the family, Sadie.

My Perfect Sort of Day

I love the holidays.

I have the entire week off and so this morning I am hanging in my living room, a candle glowing beside me, and the world is dark outside my patio door. This is my normal routine; however, this time I have no agenda that will propel me out of this chair in the next few minutes to prepare for a regular workday. I can stay here as long as I like.

Yesterday, this questionnaire that one is supposed to have one's spouse answer the questions circled through Facebook. We were driving into town so I asked Roy these questions and one of them was, What is something I love to do?

His answer? Get up really early in the morning to sit in a chair and do nothing.

Pretty much.

And so here I am, early in the morning, sitting in a chair, "doing nothing" and loving it.

As this week is Thanksgiving, we are headed to my sister Jessie's home in Norman, Oklahoma on Thursday. It will be one of those quick trips as we will just go for the day, but I am so excited for it. A couple of weeks ago, Jessie sent out a group text so we could figure out the menu. I quickly scanned it for the word "noodles" because a Thanksgiving in our family without homemade noodles...well, it wouldn't be Thanksgiving at all.

Through the years, we've spent many Thanksgivings apart from my family in Oklahoma. However, no matter where we have been, we've made homemade noodles. If we join friends at their homes? I bring noodles.

I remember when I was a kid and talking to my friends about typical holiday fare, I would ask them if they had homemade noodles as part of their holiday meal. After several friends looked at me quizzically, resulting in an explanation of what that even is, I realized that this tradition is unique to our family. I'm not sure how it got started--or even when it got started. Clearly it is a dish with German roots but beyond that, I have no idea how the tradition began.

Last night as I was perusing Facebook, I saw that one of my friends posted a picture of their 7 foot kitchen island loaded with homemade noodles spread out and drying. "Ready for Thanksgiving!" The photo boasted.

I was shocked.

 What? Who is this??

I quickly scrolled back up to see who posted the photo only to realize?...

...It was my cousin Steven.

Of course.

Meanwhile, I have three days spread out before me to delight in before our cherished Thanksgiving arrives. I intend to read some, watch Netflix some, play games some, and journal some. It is cooler these days so I am hoping to light a fire in the fireplace and listen to its crackle as I make dinner in the kitchen. My mom is visiting, and of course Darian is home; we will enjoy some fun meals around the table together.

It's getting light out now. The sun is beginning to rise and a brand new day is spread before me like a blank canvas. And I am still sitting here doing nothing.

My perfect sort of day.

And So It Goes...

Jace is sick.

No really.

Jace is sick.

He was sick about 3 weeks ago and so I took him to the doctor who prescribed antibiotics and sent him home.

Done.

But he has had this hacking cough that has refused to go away and has gotten progressively worse. And so, on Tuesday, as he was too sick to go to school...again...I called the doctor's office to say, "So look. My son has a low grade fever and is coughing like a maniac and is feeling sick...I don't need to bring him in, right? It's viral?"

But of course, she said--Bring him in.

And so I did.

Pneumonia.

Jace has pneumonia. And so, once again the doctor sent him home with a plethora of drugs and a pat on the back as he walked out the door.

This kid...he gets everything. If it's going around? He's like a magnet. And so, I've spent the past 3 days juggling work and Jace. My job is such that it's impossible to really take a day off. We are an event-driven office and events are always just around the corner. So, a phone call here, popping in for lunch, a text there...that's about all Jace gets. But other than a few moments of...Gosh, Mom, I wish you were home...he's secluded in his bedroom, huddled under his covers, lights off. Occasionally I can coerce him into coming into the living room and talking to me...but it rarely lasts more than 5 minutes before he is dragging himself and his covers back to bed.

This whole Jace sickness? It reminds me a lot of our nation. Our nation is sick right now--utterly divided. I just sit around shaking my head. And my opinion is, it wouldn't have mattered who won. If Hillary won, Trump supporters would be throwing fits all across the nation. We've been throwing fits for 200 years now. It's what we do--every single election. Maybe this one is a hair-bit more prone to drama...but maybe not.

Thank God we have the freedom to have an opinion, the freedom to care, the freedom to have a voice.

Thank God for the freedom to protest, and the freedom to rejoice.

And so, rather than getting involved in all of the drama, I will just continue to sit back and shake my head.

It's what I do.

And thank God I have the freedom to do that.

Meanwhile, the sun will still come up each morning. Jace will get a little better each day, hopefully, and before long, he will be hoisting his backpack over his shoulder and heading out the door for school. I will wave to him as he slams the car door at the school's entrance, "Have a great day, Jace!" And he will mumble "love you" back at me.

And I will smile. Because that's my boy.

And meanwhile the sun will continue to rise each day and Christmas will come and go, and 2017 will arrive in all its glory.

And so it goes...and so it goes...

And most likely another four years will pass and we will have the opportunity to do this again.
And once again there will be protestors in the street and I will be shaking my head.

And so it goes...

What To Do With Kim

Yesterday I was heading into the work room at the office when I practically ran smack into this beautiful, young girl whom I had never seen before, her hands cupped around a can of Dr. Pepper and a plastic cup filled with pub mix.

"Excuse me!" She said with a smile, her sad eyes crinkling, and then she walked on through the door and into the hallway. But her deep voice surprised me, made me step back a little, made me question...wait. Is she a girl?

My initial thought was that she was a new girl on the cleaning crew that came to our office periodically to spruce things up. But about that time, Tami said in a hushed tone, "Vonda, come into my office!" And she proceeded to tell me then how this girl, Kim, came up to her when she was just outside of the office, pleading for help. Apparently her roommate kicked her out and she simply had nowhere to go.

18 years old and nowhere to go.

What to do?

Clarissa immediately went to work trying to find a homeless shelter where we could take her for the night and hopefully help her figure out the next step. However, we quickly learned that the only shelter around was full and not accepting anymore stragglers until the next day.

It was cold outside--rainy and gray. Perfect weather for Kim's predicament.

And so, with the shelter a no-go, we decided to pool our money and rent a motel room for Kim.

During the in-between moments, we discussed what to do: should Tami take her alone to the motel? What if she pulled a knife? She seemed absolutely harmless--petite and beautiful and sad.

But one never knows...

We finally came to the decision to send Kim with Tristan and Clarissa as both Tami and I had a 6:00 appointment that was work-related and we couldn't miss. And so, Tami called the motel to reserve a room for Kim...

But this too was a dead end: they would not accept Kim unless she had ID.

She did not.

At this point, it was after 5:00. I had to run home and check on Jace who was sick and alone and had been that way all day. My day had been a frenzy--filled with one thing after another--and I never found a moment to slip out of the office and check on him.

Tami had to run home and let her dogs out as they had been alone in the house for almost 12 hours at this point, and she had to go into Fort Worth to meet family for dinner after our 6:00 appointment.

But what are we going to do with Kim?

Kim sat alone in the hallway of the office, smiling up at us with those beautiful eyes and freshly pinked lips from the lipstick she kept putting on as we whisked around trying to figure out how to solve her dilemma on a cold rainy evening with nowhere for her to go.

And then I had to leave. "Good luck, Kim" I said, feeling utterly ridiculous and helpless and having absolutely no words.

"Thanks," she replied, looking up at me, her holds folded neatly in her lap.

And I walked away into the dark night, leaving my friends to pick up the pieces alone.

I quickly ran home, checked on Jace, made sure he was alive and breathing, and then ran back to the Hopps Museum so that I could quickly set it up for a 6:00 meeting that was happening shortly. It wasn't long after I arrived that Tami arrived as well, and she gave me a quick update:

It turns out that Kim's mom is the one who kicked her out. Kim? She's actually Alex. And Alex came out and told her mom that she identifies as a girl and her name is Kim. Kim's mom was none too pleased with this news and told her to go, never come back.

But as Kim's reality crushed in on her sitting alone in the hallway of our office, she called her mom and pleaded for her to allow Kim to come home.

And she did.

I have no idea what transpired last night for Kim and her mom. Most likely? I never will. But my heart hurts for both of them. My heart hurts for a mom whose dreams for her son are held hostage in a reality she refuses to accept. My heart hurts for Kim who isn't comfortable in the body she was born in.

And I can't help but wonder: what would we have done if her mom had not come by and picked up her "wayward" child?

What would we have done with Kim?

What is the world going to do with Kim?

Sad, beautiful Kim...

What Then

This past week I flew out early Thursday morning to Washington, DC to host an alumni event that same evening. It was a quick trip filled with weaving in and out of traffic, getting a rental car, navigating my way in unknown, traffic-filled territory to a motel and then a restaurant nestled in the midst of wall to wall concrete, and then back again to the airport the next morning for a flight home.

It was fast and furious, but it was fun.

The event was spectacular. The people who attended were fun-loving, chatty peeps that made it all easy. And the icing on top is that the food was divine. So, other than my opening speech which was a major flop if ever I've flopped at an opening speech before, it was all good. I'm not sure what happened with the opening speech thing. I'll blame it on the weather (which was perfect, I might add). But it was a forgiving crowd and they didn't blink at my lack of ability to find simple words or the fact that I stumbled and repeated myself, or that I forgot to say many things that I was supposed to say.

That's ok. Next time I'll be on my A-game.

Hopefully.

I will say, the fall colors were spectacular and the crisp air was good for my soul. Ah--I do love fall. I'll have to adjust to Texas fall...which really isn't much of a fall at all...and do my best to schedule events on the east coast during this time of year so that I can get my fix.

But here is the thing that stands out the most from my trip:

Because it was such new territory and I had to return the rental car which included catching a shuttle to the airport, I gave myself far too much time for hanging at the airport. After it was all said and done, I had a whopping three hours for simply reading and perusing and such. Honestly, I don't mind at all. I'm a simple sort of girl and boredom just isn't my style. I can read, hang with a crossword, or just live in the midst of my head with the best of them.  

Anyway, as I was hanging there, this guy joined the crowd. Now this guy? He looked normal. He was probably in his late 40's, early 50's, dressed decently, and fairly nice looking. But he was loud and obnoxious and inappropriate. At first, I watched him with a skeptical eye: what is your problem? But as time passed, I realized that he most likely wasn't "all there." I'm not exactly sure what that meant: was he high on something? Or was he just, you know...affected in some way? But clearly there was a problem.

Fairly quickly another middle aged man interacted with this guy--we'll call him Charlie--and so Charlie sidled up to this guy and I began to wonder if they were somehow connected. Traveling together. Friends. Charlie immediately lay down on the floor where this other guy was sitting and occasionally Charlie would blurt out something. For instance, one time he overheard a lady say, "What did you say?" And so he very loudly said, "What did you say?"

He did that sort of thing. Over and over.

Eventually, we were called to board the plane and so everyone got in line, including this guy that Charlie deemed his friend. And that's when we all realized that, in fact, they were not connected. The guy got in line and Charlie was left lying on the ground. He immediately got up when he realized he had been deserted and, by this time, the line had grown exponentially and he found himself separated from his friend. "SIR!" He yelled.

The guy stared straight ahead.

"Sir!" He yelled again.

The guy continued to stare straight ahead.

And then Charlie got frantic: "Sir! Sir! Sir! SIRRRRRRRR!"

But the guy didn't budge, gave no indication that he even heard Charlie. And so finally, dejected, Charlie tucked his head and went to the back of the line to wait his turn to get on the plane.

We all, myself included, stared straight ahead and pretended that Charlie didn't exist.

And that's what has stuck with me since this all transpired.

Because, what about if we did acknowledge Charlie? What about if we did befriend him, accept him, encourage him to come along side us and get on the plane together?

What then.

What about, if instead of sneering at his inappropriate comments, we simply brushed them aside as harmless and talked to him? Treated him as one of us?

What then.

What about if, rather than acting as strangers, we acted as friends, all in this world together, all a piece of humanity joining hands and traversing its ruggedness in a united fashion rather than as islands, separate and alone.

What then.

Sometimes I tire of judgment. I tire of the polarization this country is experiencing in the wake of the election. And sometimes I tire of the fact that I am on this train wholeheartedly. The things I see that make me weary? It's in me too.

There must be a better way.

There must be a way this side of heaven that embraces everyone, that makes everyone feel included and important.

And if we all wrapped our thoughts around that, made the first step in letting go of judgment and embracing someone who isn't like us...

Well...

What then.

Playing Nice

Yesterday Roy actually got home on time from work. That is a rarity these days as his ability to leave is often dependent on whether or not heavy equipment can do its job. Things break down, or they have to wait on other companies' arrival...blah blah...and so his ability to get home by 5:00 is more often than not affected. It's all good--he "makes bank" when those things happen.

Anyway, I had to take Jace to Burleson and so Roy got home in time to play chauffeur. Now here is the thing with me: I am always happy for Roy to drive and then to tell him how to drive. Not too long ago Roy and I went out to eat with Tami and Chas. We always let the boys sit in the front seat as they talk a mile a minute (truthfully, Roy talks a mile a minute an Chas laughs at pretty much everything he says...) and Tami and I sit in the back and have our own conversation. For whatever reason on this particular trip, Roy decided to play me as Chas' backseat driver:

Don't you see those brake lights? This makes me crazy! Everyone else puts on the brakes and you put on the gas! (...throwing his hands up for effect and turning in his seat so that he can look at Chas in bewilderment...)

or...

Chas! Slow down! You're gonna get a ticket!

Naturally he was overly dramatic and made me look far more obnoxious than I am (absolutely--most definitely)...but it was funny nonetheless.

Anyway, as we were riding to Burleson (because that is what this whole thing is about), Roy got a phone call from a guy named Robby who is one of his supervisors from work.

"Hey, Roy--just checking on you. Making sure everything was good today. You know, you can always call me. I'm here for you, buddy. Even if I'm home--I only live ten minutes from the job site and I'll be there. Just call."

"Wow," I said, once Roy hung up. "Is he always like that?"

"Everyone is like that," Roy said. "That's why I love my job. Those people? They know how to play nice."

We are, of course, in the midst of this crazy election. I. Am. Dumbfounded. Like, seriously...it just makes me shake my head a little and consider not voting. I've always been a proponent of voting--one most take one's civil duty seriously and participate in what is one's right and one's responsibility as a citizen of this country. So for me to consider not voting? That's huge. I vote. Always.

And the truth is, I will vote this time as well.

But here is the thing:

People are crazy!

I am baffled at Facebook, at people's rants, at people's lack of tolerance. We are not playing nice in this election. It is like the candidates' lack of decency in many respects has given license to the public to just let it all hang out. We are bludgeoning each other with spiteful words.

Yesterday I hosted a luncheon in the cafeteria for women who are willing to volunteer at the university. All of these women are retired and give of their time just because...they're nice like that.

Recently we were coming home from Burleson. It was pitch black outside and as we rounded the corner on Old Betsy, we noticed a huge truck parked in the middle of the road, blocking traffic. Come to find out, a tiny kitten had made its way out into the middle of the highway and hunkered down, frightened. Seeing the kitten, this big guy blocked traffic while two teen boys rescued the kitten and took it home.

Recently I took Jace to the doctor--just a general practitioner. But this guy? He treats the patient as an individual. He got to know Jace, spent time with him, talked to him about who he is...and this doctor is treating Jace as Jace needs to be treated rather than by a book.

Human decency is still alive and well.

Sometimes I think we forget what life is about and we get muddled up in the drama.

Sometimes we just need to remember that life is a whole lot better when we all play nice.

Pumpkin Spice Creamer

Yesterday I went to Sam's Club. I haven't been to Sam's Club since we lived in North Carolina. In Asheville, groceries were so overpriced that we shopped Sam's Club weekly as they have beautiful produce and buying in bulk cut our grocery bill.

Anyway, my purpose for being there was work-related. I am providing lunch today for a girls' bible study that meets weekly and I am also providing supper tomorrow evening for my Alumni Board. And so, I needed to pick up a few things for those events.

As I strolled the aisles, I couldn't help but pick up a few personal items as well that I can't always find at HEB--where I shop for groceries. For instance? Olive Garden salad dressing. When Roy came home and saw those bottles on the counter, his eyes lit up as he is a fan and we've gone months without it.

Secondly? Pumpkin spice creamer.

Let me just say, I love pumpkin spice creamer. It's amazing with chai tea, oatmeal, and coffee. Mm. It lights my world.

I have missed you, pumpkin spice creamer.

The Queen of Chit Chat

I love personality tests. I'm not sure why, but they are one of my favorite things. And the thing is? They always end with the same diagnosis: I am what I am.

One of the questions that I encounter on these tests is how I feel in a crowd: do I seek out people I don't know, or do I seek those I do know. I always struggle with that question as, honestly, I am rarely in a crowd of people I don't know. I have envisioned myself as one of those who can talk to anyone; it doesn't matter whether I know them or not.

And then last night happened.

And I remembered.

Last night we had a Scholarship Dessert Reception for students who have been recipients of scholarships. The students and the donors came so that they could become acquainted and the donors could recognize what a difference their generosity makes in the lives of young people. The Advancement Team (of which I am a part of) was supposed to mill around and chat with the donors to make them feel welcome.

Easy peazy.

My first "stop" was with a guy from a motorcycle club. I thought--this will be easy. We can connect over motorcycles and the beautiful terrain of North Carolina and such.

And we did--we talked about Tail of the Dragon, and the Blue Ridge...we laughed for a minute about the wind in our face and the freedom one feels on the back of a bike.

And then things got awkward because...I really didn't know where to go from there! He looked at me expectantly...but I was at a loss. And so, I made up an excuse that escapes me at the moment and headed off for another victim of small talk.

The next guy that I spoke with was even harder for me as he was simply in a 3 piece suit and we had nothing to connect over.

And then I saw him: Chas. He was standing in the corner of the room, laughing with a co-worker. I quickly excused myself from yet another awkward conversation and planted myself beside Chas. "Ah--it's so good to see you! I don't have to make small talk with you!"

"Yeah," he laughed. "That's why I married Tami. She can talk forever and it takes the pressure off of me."

And that's when I remembered. I had a flashback of my childhood and sitting in the living room of my grandparents' home. Tami and Lori talked a mile a minute with them while I sat in a chair quietly and listened. I can remember thinking to myself, how is it they can talk about nothing for so long?? And then after awhile, I would sneak away and head upstairs to my pen and my paper where I created a world I much preferred over the one that actually existed.

The art of chit chat escaped me at a tender age.

When it comes to parties? I seek out those I know. That's my comfort zone. From here on, I will always know the answer to that question.

I am not the queen of chit chat.

My Civic Duty

So this past week I did my civic duty: Jury duty.

And to be quite honest, after it was all over and done, I felt like I had just walked straight into the middle of the book To Kill a Mockingbird.

This is how it went down:

I arrived at the city hall here in Keene at 5:55 p.m. Monday evening. A large crowd had gathered on the lawn in front of city hall so I knew I was in the right place. Earlier, I had asked people if Keene actually had a court, and especially a court that required jurors from time to time. Nobody had ever heard of such a thing...clearly they were all misinformed.

I hung there on the lawn with several other people from Keene for the next hour. Occasionally a girl ran out to tell us not to be discouraged--we would be called in soon enough. It was 94 degrees, and most of us were standing there in the heat without water. But...you know--no worries.

I noticed that one of the men was elderly and struggling to stay upright and so eventually I knocked on the door to see if I could get him a chair. I could see lots of people in the foyer of the building--just hanging there in the air conditioning, chatting it up and such. They looked at the door, talked quietly amongst themselves and then looked at the door again: should we answer it? should we not??

I knocked again.

Finally they took a chance that I wasn't a cold blooded killer and barely opened the door enough to just see my face through the crack: Can I help you?

"Umm...yeah--there's an elderly gentleman out here who needs a chair??"

And there are 50 of us that need some water maybe?

Anyway, they quickly obliged my request for a chair and as I offered it to the gentleman, he shouted, "Hallelujah" to the rooftops.

No. He really did.

And then we all waited some more.

Finally they called out 12 names...and I was one of them. And so they took us back to this little room in the back where we could see the judge, and an attorney, and an older man who was the defendant. The attorney explained that we had been summoned as jurors for the defendant who was contesting a traffic ticket. It was our job to determine whether he was guilty.

And then we were dismissed to wait again while they decided which 6 of us 12 would serve on the jury.

And so, we all shuffled out through a narrow hall and into a tiny waiting room that held a total of 4 chairs, where we huddled together and waited yet again...

And lucky me. I was one of the six.

So, back to the tiny courtroom I went. The defendant was probably in his late 60's, maybe even early 70's, and he was from the Good Ole Boys Club. You know...he had on his boots, his hat, his button down shirt, and his blue jeans.

The policeman was there as well.

And the video that showed the actual stop.

And so, the policeman told his story. It seemed like a basic traffic stop--nothing interesting nor exciting.

And then the defendant had his turn.

He began to tell his story, to attempt to find holes in the policeman's story, to prove all kinds of things that made me cock my head a bit...

He rearranged the room to show where certain cars were, where the policeman was ... (even though we had already seen the video)...

And then he questioned the policeman, and threw in a few accusations...

And finally, the attorney had enough, stood up, and shouted in frustration, "I. Declare. A. Mistrial!!"

He said it a few times, motioned with his hands for us to leave, apologized for wasting our time...and then shooed us out the door.

We dutifully left.

Stunned.

When we got back outside where we originally started from, I looked at one of the other jurors who had the privilege of serving with me, and said, "What was that all about??"

She just laughed and shook her head.

And then the defendant came out, his chest puffed out like he had just won the world championship, and he declared, "See? I was winning! That's why it was declared a mistrial! Because I was winning and they won't let me win!" He laughed uproariously while the girl hanging on his arm smiled up at him proudly.

He looked directly at me and said, "Don't you think I would have won?"

And I just stood there.

And then I didn't. I quickly turned around, headed to my car, and drove home.

I might have looked in my rear view mirror a couple of times to make sure he wasn't following me.

And I might have checked my phone to make sure that I wasn't In a time warp and that it was, in fact, 2016.

Texas.

Who knew?

Shelling Peas

Yesterday was a long, slow day--one of those days that seems to go on forever, when one looks at the clock, thinking, "It's probably 5:00 by now!"...yet it's only 2. It was one of those kinds of days.

Those rarely happen anymore. It got me to thinking about what life used to be for adults before this new age happened--back when my grandma was alive. I can remember hanging out on the front porch of my Grandma Helen's country home and shelling peas, or sorting apricots that were picked from the tree out back and the afternoons seemed to lazily wind on and on. We sat out there for hours, my grandma sipping iced tea, and chatted about the weather, about the wheat crop, about the horses.

Grandma Helen lived way out in the country and we had to traverse dirt roads for miles to get to her house. Grandpa's health was failing most of my childhood years until his death when I was in high school; I only have one memory of him walking and that was when I was about 3 or 4 years old and I rode with him in the pickup down a country road, while one of his thoroughbreds ran beside us. Grandpa loved the race track and he and Grandma often had a horse they were training. During the summers, they would head off for Denver where they rented a bungalow and spent their days on the track. For our family vacations, we joined them for a week or so and I spent my afternoons walking the aisles of the barns and checking out the various horses behind stall doors.

Those were fun days.

People knew how to be present back then. They knew how to sit with their thoughts and let them brew for a bit rather than stuffing them down via email or texting or games on smart phones.

People knew how to be quiet.

Savana introduced me to a YouTube video recently called From the Amazon to the Garden State. It's about a man who researched the people of the Amazon and so he lived with them for awhile in order to really get a grasp on their culture. These people are far removed from our modern day ways as they live off the land and their lives are ones of simplicity and tradition. Anyway, this man fell in love with a girl from the Amazon and brought her home to New Jersey where together they had 3 children. I won't ruin the story in case anyone wants to watch this YouTube video. It's fascinating and thought provoking...but the one statement I took from the video is when this Amazon girl comes to America and notes how people pass strangers in the street with no acknowledgement, how people run to and fro, constantly busy...and she said, "People weren't made to live this way."

I have often wondered about that actually. It seems our lives are artificial: artificial air as we live in manufactured heat or manufactured cold; artificial light; artificial houses built of brick. And yet, knowledge has expanded greatly with our artificial lives.

I am not complaining. I'm happy with air conditioning and a comfortable home that keeps me safe from the elements. I love driving to see my parents and arriving in a matter of hours though they are hundreds of miles away. Our modern conveniences make life grand in many respects. But sometimes I wonder if we've lost our ability to enjoy life because we spend so much time filling it.

And so yesterday as I hung in my living room and the hours seemed to be passing slowly by, my first thought was, What should I do? I need to fill this time with something...

And that stopped me in my tracks.

I changed course and decided not to fill my time but, rather, to just sit with it for awhile, to be quiet for a minute, to just be.

And it made me wonder, did people's lives of yesteryear seem to last longer? Maybe their years were shorter in number, but longer in quality, in time well-spent.

Maybe their days were filled with moments lived rather than moments squandered.

Maybe I need to -
 ...put down my phone and look up.

Maybe I need to shell more peas on the front porch and talk about the weather.

Nail Proof

Twice a year Keene has Trash Pick Up Day. This isn't the normal once a week gig where they empty the trash cans. This is the Bring Whatever Junk You Have to the Curb and We Will Dispose of It day.

Out behind our house is a large tin building that could be used for storage. We recently figured out that this tin building is actually the trailer to a semi minus the wheels and minus a back door. Then someone built a front to it, added some electricity, and there you go--a storage shed. Roy hates the front addition and intends to tear it down someday because it looks a bit tacky. But there was a problem with the trailer part of the shed, and that problem is this:

It was stockpiled with JUNK. And I do mean junk. It was just left there by one of the two previous owners--no idea who, and it really doesn't matter--but it was more than Roy could stand. All of that junk weighed on him. And so, when he heard about this Bring Whatever Junk You Have...day, he determined that he would use it to his gain and get rid of it all.

Which sounds great.

However, Roy has been working from morning 'til night with his job--literally. He leaves by 5:20 every morning and has not been getting home before 8:00. Once he is trained, life will slow down a bit but in the meantime, he is a busy boy. And so, by the time Roy pulled in Monday night (and the trash pick up was Tuesday), it was pitch black outside.

As we live outside of town, we have no street lights to guide the way; it's pure country out here. But of course, Roy was not deterred and so the three of us (Jace included) with flashlight in hand gingerly walked out to that tin building and scoped out the massive amounts of junk inside. And then we got to work.

While Roy worked the trailer, Jace and I stood outside with large black trash bags and stuffed what Roy threw out into the bags. It was hard work and it was disgusting. We all kept one eye open for a slithering rattlesnake or a scurrying mouse but, sigh of relief, it never happened. I'm not sure why as the inside of that trailer was a haven for such critters.

Anyway, Roy worked at lightning speeds and Jace and I struggled to keep up with him; and then it happened. Roy let out a yell and suddenly stopped, pulling up his foot.

"A nail just went through my foot," he said.

"You're kidding me," I replied, panicking a bit.

"I'm not kidding. I need your help."

And so, with Jace on one side and me on the other, we managed to help Roy hobble to his workshop where he sat down on a bucket and held up his work boot for me to inspect.

Sure enough.

I could see the head of a nail securely fastened to the bottom of his boot.

It was evident that Roy was managing the pain as he breathed purposefully in through his nose, out through his mouth, in a determined, repetitive fashion.

He instructed me where to find the pliers and then, after I brought them to him, he inched out the nail just a wee bit--enough to be able to grab it with the pliers.

"On my count, pull it out," he said. "Pull it straight out."

For the record? I am an English major. I like books, writing, candles, and sunsets.

I do not like blood, wounds, or nails in feet. Medical stuff makes me nauseous. One time, Roy had a procedure done on his back and, being the supportive wife that I am, I hung in the room while the doctor cut on Roy's back.

And I went down.

I sat down in time so that my head didn't flop on the floor...but nonetheless...it sent me over the edge.

If you are having a medical emergency, I am not your girl.

And so, this nail in Roy's foot? It took everything in my being to stay in that shop, pliers in my hand, reaching for the nail, grabbing it, and then pulling. Straight out.

I would have preferred running straight out.

But I didn't.

I am the hero in this story.

I got the nail out, leaving a hole in Roy's foot. And we have no idea the last time he had a tetanus shot.

Great.

But no matter.

Because Roy is Roy? We went back out to that tin building and Roy went back to work. I yelled, and I complained, and I grumbled about the stupidity of it all as I was convinced Roy would get another nail in his foot...but he was determined. 35 very large black trash bags later, the tin building was empty and we threw as many of those bags into the little red pickup--and several on top of it--as was physically possible and drove them to the front of the house where we dumped them by the curb...

And then repeat.

Yesterday Roy went to work and mid-afternoon he sent me a text telling me how yet another nail plunged through his other boot while he was at work. This one, however, missed his foot.

Clearly Roy needs new boots.

I sent a text to Dr. Bob, our Doctor friend from North Carolina, asking for his thoughts on the matter, and he said, "Woman, get your husband a tetanus shot! Lockjaw might be good for you but not for him!"

Yeah. He's nice like that.

And so, after a bit of research, I learned that CVS provides immunizations, including tetanus shots, and so on the way home from work, Roy stopped by.

Meanwhile...

Roy's fellow inspectors told him about some boots that are nail-proof. I think we'll check those out.

Worth It

My cat is happy I am home. He is sitting on my lap and kneading my belly because it is squishy and he likes that.

Great.

I am home from an incredible weekend in Oklahoma--the home that forever holds my heart. When Roy and I first got married, I was so excited to begin our adventure in Colorado with the grandeur of the Rockies; in our later years, I adored Wisconsin; North Carolina was awe-inspiring. But? There is no place like home. On our way back yesterday, Tami said, "I would enjoy living in the mountains of North Carolina with its perfect weather."

I just smiled. Because I know...she wouldn't last long. She would be just like me--pining for the plains, longing for wide open sky and pickup trucks with trailers behind.

Our trip home was a fast one. We left at 1:00 Friday afternoon, stopping along the way to meet my precious Auntie Buggsy (Hi Muggs) whom I haven't seen in a few years, but now she only lives about an hour away. And then we zipped on to little Tommy-Town (Thomas), home to the Bulldogs and country roads with potholes to dodge and two big dips in the center of town with a "DIP" side beside them. Back in the day, Tami used to say to me, "Look, Vonda--they have a welcome sign for you!"

And back in the day, it made me angry and I would cross my arms, sullen.

Because I was 8.

My mom made scrumptious potato soup because she asked me what I wanted for supper and that is one of the dishes that is just so Mom. She used to tell me stories about how when she was growing up, the kids would pile in after milking the cows and Grandma would have a large pot of potato soup simmering on the stove. Clearly potato soup spelled home for Mom as well.

After we ate, we all (Mom, my sisters, and me) headed for the track up at the school and walked circles while gazing at the sky. The sun had gone down by the time we got there, leaving streaks of gold and hues of pink, and a large cloud loomed above us, creating a conversation piece as lightning sparked inside: What is the deal with that cloud?

It was a perfect evening.

I spent Saturday with Dad and Jo. They were part of their church "garage sale" and so I hung quite a lot with Dad on an ugly gold couch that probably haled from the '70's, as he joked and teased with passersby. He has a good buddy named Eddie Royalty that has been his friend since time began and Eddie and his wife Dorothy were there most of the time as well. They left occasionally to pop some popcorn that was passed out free of charge to those who came to the "garage sale." As we sat there on that ugly couch, Eddie reminded me of how when I was a little kid in elementary school, we would play dodge ball and I would hang in the very back corner for the entire game rather than getting up there in the front and participating.

No surprise there.

I was probably thinking, I would rather be reading a book...

Yeah. I was one of those.

After the garage sale, we headed to Clinton which is about 20 miles away or so for lunch and then the County Fair so that Jo could pick up all of her first place (and a few Champion) submissions. Jo is a master at crafting--her work is second to none. She and Laurie Worth would have a grand time chatting it up and comparing their pristine artwork that leaves me baffled. Because no matter how I try, my crafting looks like a kindergartner put it together.

Every single time.

While we were at the County Fair, a few ladies from Seiling, the little town where I grew up, walked in and we chatted with them for a bit. I haven't seen them since I was literally ten years old so that was fun and crazy and left me shaking my head at where does the time go.

Jo and I made cinnamon rolls that afternoon--24 large, gooey, pecan-filled rolls that burst in the oven. We smathered them with icing and then we all divulged ourselves, savoring every bite. And then felt miserable afterwards because that is just what we do.

We had a bit of excitement later in the afternoon when Dad, rifle in hand, went out on the four wheeler to shoot a road runner that was after the baby bunnies. Jo loves her bunnies that hop in her yard--that is more like park than a yard--and she guards them like a hawk. But Dad didn't have any success as the road runner hid behind the edge of the house and watched Dad ride slowly by; then the road runner took off the opposite direction when it was safe.

I watched it all from the window.

But that road runner better be careful. I'm betting his days are numbered.

Around 7, Tami and Lori came over and the house was filled with chatter and laughter and the smell of cinnamon...

It was perfect.

And when we hugged Jo and Dad goodbye, Dad said, "So. Was it worth it?"

Over that 24 hour period, I watched a king cab pickup truck hauling a beat up cattle trailer down the road.

I saw children playing in the street, their feet filthy, without a care in the world.

Cows lazily picked up their heads from grazing and watched as we drove on in the car.

I stood on the land that has been home to my family since 1927.

I ate at the table with my amazing mom on her best dishes.

I sat on Dad and Jo's couch, watching tv, and chatted with my precious Dad and Jo about nothing and everything.

I gazed at fields newly plowed from sewing seeds for next year's wheat crop.

Yes, Dad.

It was worth it.

One Day at a Time

We are having an Open House for the Advancement Department this next week and so yesterday, we all converged in the Work Room of our department and went to work. It was a mess. And so, we all rolled up our sleeves and heaved and hoed and pushed and pulled and rearranged.

Tami's husband Lloyd is an architect and he drafted a new layout for the room that would make the most of the space. We added a modern tv stand for our large flatscreen that will be used for videos and such that are always in production with the marketing team. We discussed this large space on the wall that will be used for keeping track of all of our events and projects.

It was constant motion and discussion and laughter and sweat. But three hours later, we had a brand new room that is energizing, exciting.

In the midst of all of that chaos, Janelle came by loaded down with Dr. Pepper from Sonic Happy Hour. She whisked in, passed out styrofoam cups filled to the brim, and whisked out! But she was a delight--and we were all delighted. Love that girl.

And so, it was a productive day. I didn't get one thing accomplished that I had on my list, but no matter. Today is another day...

I intended to go to Hobby Lobby yesterday evening after work and get a few things for my office. It's in need of a little pick-me-up. You know...a plant in the windowsill, some frames scattered around, maybe a clock...And so, in the middle of the day I sent Roy a text to let him know and of course, he wanted to join. But there was a catch: endless shrimp at Red Lobster is in session.

When I got home from work, Jace immediately came out to join me and proceeded to tell me what a great day he had at school. He has a crush on a little girl that is, admittedly, adorable, and so he informed me that life is looking up.

Oh boy. Here we go...

And then Roy got home (a tad late as he hit traffic) and we took off for Red Lobster. We had an adorable little waitress named Mari that just graduated from college with her Journalism/Communication degree. She is living at home and said that she loves home, no big desire to leave any day soon...but she is preparing her resume and hoping to work for a small news company one day and work her way up to the Big Leagues.

I think she'll make it.

One of these days we'll turn on Good Morning America--or something of that caliber--and there will be Mari -- that beautiful smile radiating, informing the world in her infectious way. And we'll say, "Hey! She was our waitress at Red Lobster that one day! Remember?"

But most likely we won't remember.

Because we're both bad about that sort of thing.

Anyway...

We hit Hobby Lobby at exactly 8:01.

They closed at 8:00.

So the very reason that we initially went to Burleson?

Well...

And so, we drove back home, Roy talking a mile a minute about all of his work stories.

He is happy.

We were home before 9:00 and we both fell into bed and were sound asleep before 9:30.

Yesterday was just a day--a regular, normal, nothing out of the ordinary day.

This morning the alarm rang at 4:30 and Roy bounded out of bed. I sluggishly followed him about 15 minutes later to pack his lunch and send him off with a bowl of cantaloupe and toast.

Another regular day is on its way.

Well, hopefully...

Because one never knows when life will change in the blink of an eye.

One never knows when an unforeseen phone call or event will throw life off kilter and catapult us in an entirely different direction.

And so...for all of the regular days? The days that glide by with nothing spectacular, nothing really to talk about?

Or write about?

We have to commit to being present, to enjoying the moment, to soaking it all in...

We have to commit to living...

...one day at a time.

Imperfectly Perfect

Last night I took a bath--a long hot bath with lots of bubbles.

I love baths. It is in those quiet moments of reflection when it is only me and bubbles and water up to my neck that the light comes in. Some of my greatest truths present themselves and I am able to leave the bathroom a bit more settled in my heart than I entered.

And so, last night as I soaked for a bit, I thought about how life has come full circle, and I thought about how all of my posts appear like life is just perfect.

And of course...nothing is ever perfect.

I despise that actually--the appearance of perfection, making others feel inferior in comparison. One time this past spring when Jace was in soccer, I got to know one of the other moms and I just really liked her. Her name was Tami and she had two older kids--very similar to me. One time when we were talking she told me how both of her older kids struggled. Her son was on the streets and her daughter had just moved with her boyfriend to Colorado because marijuana was legal. And then she asked me about my older kids. I felt embarrassed reporting on mine in comparison. Her heart was torn as she wrestled with self-blame for her children's struggles. And so, as I briefly told her about my own adult children, who appeared so successful in comparison, I assured her that they are all just kids, finding their way. That the outside appearance may look good, but when it comes to our hearts, we are all just people doing the best we can.

Recently I ran into a mom of kids that we actually taught several years ago. This mom and her husband had an air of perfection that they groomed in a carefully guarded manner. I haven't seen these two people in well over 15 years and so much has happened to their kids since we taught them. One is in prison for life and the other is experiencing some major struggles. Their air of perfection is broken and as I spoke with this mom, her guard down, we connected in a very real way about the pain of life and yet, it's joys in the midst of heartache.

Recently I read a book that talked about how we don't connect with people when we share our successes and our joys nearly so much as when we share our pain and our struggles. And that hit me with its truth. We all like to know that we aren't in this alone, that when others go home at the end of the day, they don't necessarily always go home to light and laughter and dazzling sunshine. Struggles define us and struggles keep us connected at their very core.

Last night I participated in one of those Facebook "games" that tells you who you are at your core based on posts and such. I play those games all of the time but very rarely post them because they seem to be a "beg" for a compliment. But this particular game--or whatever it is called--seemed to be spot-on as the message that it claimed I stand for is experiencing life in all of the good and in all of the bad. And I was impressed. Because truly, that is what I want to do--that is what I strive for--to truly live life each day, whether life is good or life is painful. Because I believe that the only way to get to true happiness is to experience true sorrow when painful experiences come our way. And so, I posted it. I thought it would be a way to share with others so that they, too, could participate and see what core message they give out to the Facebook world. However, a friend of mine commented and said, "Go Vonda!" And I realized that the message I was putting out into the world is that I am "all that and a box of chocolates." And so, I immediately took down the post.

Life is never perfect. But I believe life is beautiful and tragic and painful and joy-filled--and sometimes all of that in one day. We are all doing the best that we can and sometimes our best may not be what others perceive our best should be.

But? What others think is really none of our business.

What is important is that we make each day count, that we live our best life, that we watch sunsets, we laugh with friends, we celebrate people, we cry when our hearts are hurting, we create traditions, we eat good food, we strive for balance...

...that we are authentic.

...that we are part of the greater good.

...that we do the best we can, one day at a time...

...imperfectly perfect.

Letting Go

Yesterday I mowed.

Mowing around here is a big deal because the yard is huge. And there are lots of trees with big roots that one has to maneuver. And so, I made wide circles around the places that looked a bit treacherous and left them for Roy which, of course, made mowing quite enjoyable! No navigating...just around and around, watching the circle get smaller and smaller...

I love mowing--always have. I don't even mind pushing a mower. There is something satisfying about a clean shaven yard, the earthy smell of grass wafting up, the backdrop of blue sky.

Once I "finished" the back portion, Roy took over and I headed over to the track to meet Tami so that we could get in our 3 miles. She was a tad late arriving and so I walked the path alone for a bit--just Piper and me--walking a 3/4 mile track that has a large loop followed by a smaller one. We used to walk the roads but the sun sets earlier now and it's pitch black by the time we're done. And so, we've opted for a safer setting.

As I walked the loops--enjoying a bit of "me" time--I thought about a phone conversation I had earlier in the day. On September 16 I am hosting an event in Orlando for SWAU Alumni and we recently sent out invitations. One of our alumni received the invitation and called to RSVP.

And then she said, "Do they have any job openings in Texas for teachers?"

The question took me by surprise, made me shake my head a bit. "Do you mean in the Adventist system?" I asked.

"Yes, I am wanting to relocate and was hoping I could find a job there as a teacher."

"Oh!" I said. "I would recommend checking the NAD website as they list their job openings there."

She assured me that she has checked it several times but nothing is listed currently.

And so I said, "I totally understand your position. I was there a few months ago. So I am just going to make a suggestion. Tell God the desire of your heart, and then let go."

We talked a bit more about it, and then she said, "I am so encouraged. Thank you."

It was one of those conversations that doesn't happen very often--one of those off the cuff connections that one doesn't see coming. And truly, I am normally not so bold, especially with someone whom I don't know. And I am not patting myself on the shoulder, like -- look at me saying just the right thing.

Because normally?

Normally I stumble.

Normally I have no words.

Normally I have no answers.

But the past year has taught me...again...that stress about one's future is a waste of energy.

That the desires of our heart do not go unnoticed.

That we must keep our hearts open for opportunity--

    Our eyes open for those uncanny coincidences...

And then let go...

The New Regular

I forgot what regular felt like.

We lived in the midst of anxiety and the "unknown" and boxes for months. That restless feeling inside my heart became the norm. I took lots of deep breaths, closed my eyes, and thought...it's going to be okay...a few million times a day.

And now it is.

It's okay.

Now I have a living room with magical Internet and all boxes are absent. I still don't have things hung on the walls but it feels like home. My table is set up and we actually eat on it far more than we did in North Carolina. The cat door is back but this time it's minus the "ladder" on the outside as the window sits low to the ground so the cats can easily go in and out without help. That's a good thing as I always called that ladder our little piece of trailer trash.

Tami and I have established a walking routine. We took a hiatus for a short while when we moved from the rental to this home but we are back at it again. We meet at 8:00 which used to be just fine--we still made it home before sunset. But now the sun is heading down when we meet at the track and it's black as midnight when we're done.

Clearly fall is just around the corner. Ah--I love fall. I simply can't wait.

And yet? I can...because I don't want to rush my days. I don't want to rush my life.

I was talking to a friend recently whose son just left for a year overseas as a missionary. She said, "I wish I could just snap my fingers and this year would be over and he would be back. But? I really don't because I can't afford to miss a year."

I know what she means.

Roy has been working 'round the clock on the house. His to-do list appears endless and he is feeling the pressure as he starts his job this coming week.

Everything in my life over the past seven months has fallen into place in perfect timing.

When we knew we would be leaving North Carolina, I shared with one of my good friends that  all of the unknowns were stressful, that they kept me up at night. And she said, You don't need to worry. It will fall into place without your stress. Life is moving you forward and you just need to sit back and watch it happen.

Oh my, how right she was.

I stand amazed.

And now I just get to live the regular.

I still love driving down our road, seeing our house at the dead-end. That feeling still rises in my chest every single time...I can't believe it's mine.

I never imagined it possible that my sister would be my walking partner, my neighbor...and now she is.

Texas sunsets.

Jace's laughter with friends coming and going.

A fireplace that now sits empty but soon will be alive with dancing flames and crackling wood.

Surround sound in my living room.

Students chatting in my office.

Co-workers who have already become friends.

Brene' Brown every morning as the candle in the burnt orange ceramic vase flickers.

No Stone Left Unturned

When we began the process of figuring out where we were moving, I sent up a silent plea: Please let there be a neighbor Jace's age that can hang at our house, that Jace can hang at his house, that will offer friendship and laughter...

And then we moved to Keene. When we were at the rental, I scanned the neighborhood for boys in the 14 year old range with no success. And then when we moved to our new home, I assumed the same: no neighborhood boys close by. The neighbors next to us have small grandchildren that must visit fairly regularly as a plastic car that a child sits in and pushes with their feet hangs on the porch. The people across the street live in a home that sits back  a ways from the road and we have never seen them so I assumed they don't have kids either. But? Keene is a small community. If one has a bike, one can ride across town in a matter of minutes. Jace just needed to make some Keene friends and all would be well.

Last night Roy burned trash...again...as he does every night now that we've begun the "moving in" process. And so, I pulled up the bench that hangs out in front of his shop and sat with him while he kept the fire burning. The sky is everywhere out there in the back by the shop and one can't help but just look up. And so I did. It was a quiet evening and the smoke from the fire lazily curled up to the sky as Roy and I talked about everything and yet nothing at all.

The truth of it is, I should have been inside unpacking boxes. I should have been straightening up the mantel over the fireplace and finding a more appropriate home for that really cool owl I purchased from Pier One and the old fashioned phone and the bowl with stripes that I painted at Claying Around and the unopened box that sits up there that I still don't know what's inside. In the past, I have shifted into beast-mode when it comes to unpacking my house. "Two weeks" from start to pictures hung on the wall has always been the flashing goal in my mind that I determinedly hit. But this time? Well, this time an 8-5 job beckons every morning and by evening, I'm toast. And so, last night I unpacked only one box and then headed outside.

I had something on my mind that I wanted to contemplate, something that made me stop in awe. And here is why...

When I got home from work yesterday, Jace ran outside to meet me. "Mom," he said as I got out of the car.

I heard his voice but wasn't sure where his voice was coming from and so I peeked through the fence into the backyard. Roy was mowing out back so I assumed he was there too.

"Mom," he said again. And this time I turned, saw him standing on the sidewalk towards the front of the house.

I couldn't help but laugh at myself. Sometimes, I make me wonder...

"Guess what," Jace said.

"What."

"That house across the street?" Jace pointed to the house that sits back a bit from the road--the one that houses a family we've really never seen. "I made a friend today at school and he lives right there. And Mom, guess what. We're a lot alike."

I just stood there, speechless.

Because honestly, I have no words. Everything...everything...that I prayed for has fallen into place.

No stone has been left unturned.

In October 2016? I made a silent plea.

And now I am living the answer.

Where the Heart Is

We are officially moved into our new home. This past Friday, Roy spent several hours with the help of four muscled-boys and a 40 foot U-Haul bringing loads from the rental to our new home. They are only about 3 miles apart; however, one has to traverse several stop signs and 20 mph speed limits each jaunt, making the distance feel much further than it actually is.

Meanwhile, while the guys loaded up the house one truck-full at a time, I worked on the "lived in" part of the house: the bathrooms, the closets, the kitchen. We had only unpacked essentials and so Roy and I decided that would be the game plan rather than officially "re-boxing" everything for the boys to load. I had about 5 smaller boxes that I loaded up, hauled out to the trunk of the car, drove to our new home, popped the truck, carried in those boxes, and unloaded them in the appropriate place.

Repeat. A few hundred times.

We started at 9:30 in the morning (as that is when we got back with the U-Haul) and finished well past sundown. Three of the boys stopped around 7:00 that evening, but one of them--Sean-- stayed until the bitter end. Sean was "our kid" for four years at Sunnydale and that is one loyal boy. Roy is "Coach" to him, and Sean would go to the ends of the earth to help him. He's that sort of guy and we are so grateful.

It was a long, hard day. And when we finally laid out heads down on our mattress that night, Roy sighed and said, "It sure feels good to be horizontal."

(That's his infamous line after a hard day's work.)

And so, we have spent the weekend unpacking and organizing and rearranging and shifting and considering. We have gotten up early and gone to bed late. Roy's "to-do" list is monstrous. My educated guess is that it will take him approximately 22.5 years to accomplish it all; however, he says it will all be done by Christmas.

All bets are on; I'll probably lose.

We've turned into country folk. We have two burn barrels with metal grates over them out in the back by the shop that Roy has burning most of the day as otherwise we have too much trash for our big blue trash cans that the city picks up every Tuesday. And when I sit on the back porch in my rocking chair? I look out at property that is mine and I watch the sky ablaze with shades of gold and pink and hues of blue that make me gaze in wonder. Though our house is on the edge of town, once you pull into the driveway, you feel like you're in the middle of nowhere.

It's quiet. It's cozy.

It's home.

The Rat Race

We were supposed to close on our house this coming Monday.

...and then it became Wednesday...

...and now? Well, who knows.

Here is the fact of the matter in Texas: the housing market is hot. As a result? Appraisals are backed up a forever and so people aren't able to close when they are scheduled to close.

We are caught up in that rat race.

I am not a lover of the rat race. It makes me think of city living and 5:00 traffic and buildings that reach to the sky. The term "rat race" reminds me of apartments and concrete and 3 piece suits. I am more of an open sky sort of girl. I like things simple. I like country roads and small town post offices and one stop light that blinks in the middle of town.

When Roy and I were chasing dreams, I envisioned moving to Alaska. That sounded like a piece of heaven to me simply because it was remote and visions of crisply fallen snow twinkled in my mind. But then we moved to California instead. And that's where we experienced the rat race firsthand as we lived in the heart of Loma Linda where borders blend with San Bernardino on one side and Redlands on the other. We drove the I-10 freeway daily and practically hugged our neighbors on all sides when we exited the car. But of course my sister Lori and her family lived there as well as Jacque and so life was filled with good things such as family and deep friendships and lots of laughter in the midst of tears as that was where Ciara was born. But our California adventure was fleeting as we pulled up stakes after a mere three years and headed for the red skies of New Mexico.

But that's another story.

Sometimes I feel frantic when I think about the fact that we should be moving into our home on Monday and yet we're not. Rage threatens to bubble deep in my chest at the annoyance of it all.

Moving is not for the feint of heart. To be honest, I am ready to be settled. I have had enough of this moving adventure. It is a rat race and I am over it. That's the truth. I am ready ...
   ,,,for an unpacked house
   ...for a kitchen where I can find my glass bowls so that I can provide grapes for the alumni board on our monthly Thursday meeting
   ...for flickering candles on Friday nights
   ...for a bed that has decorative pillows on it rather than just a haphazardly thrown sheet as Texas nights are warm
   ,,,for the view out my kitchen window at the house we are buying
   ...for hanging on my back porch in the rocking chairs we purchased at Target several years ago that are still going strong
   ...for my television hanging in the living room that I rarely watch but nonetheless it's there for the taking
   ...for pictures on my wall that cause me to pause and smile.

I have dreams of normal living.

Just yesterday Jace and I had a conversation about his school day. It's a bit longer here in Texas than it was in North Carolina. He gets out at 3:40 rather than 3:15 and he was bemoaning that fact to me. "Jace," I said, exasperated after going 'round and 'round with him over this issue, "you can't control it, so just accept it!"

"I don't even know what that means," he huffed.

"Just let it go," I said. "You know, look at it differently because there's nothing you can do about it. Choose happiness over misery."

Sometimes I give great advice to my kids. But when I need to apply it to myself? I just want to tell me to shut up. (My kids might agree...)

Because here's the thing: I can't control the closing of our house. I have zero ability to knock on the appraiser's door and demand the report that is holding us up.

Right now my cats are chasing a hair band. They are having the time of their lives throwing it up in the air, batting at it, and then nabbing it as though their lives depend on it...utterly carefree. They are totally unaware that their lives are about ready to change once again because they are living in the moment. Folks? My cats know how to live in joy.

And so, I am taking a deep breath this morning. I am focusing on the fact that it is Friday and an entire weekend with Darian stretches before me before she heads off to Southern. We are going to head to the duck pond this evening and feed the ducks stale bread while they quack at us and follow us around like we are heroes. And most likely Chas, Tami and their kids will join us while we walk the pond's perimeter, talking and laughing the entire way. We will stop and gaze up at the sky as it unfolds around us in a dazzling display of grandeur.

I can't control the future. But I can control how I handle the present. And so, today I am committing to...

...taking a deep breath
...basking in the wonders of my life
...finding joy in the midst of the rat race.

Falling Like Rain

It is early Monday morning and I have a crazy week in front of me:

This afternoon? We are hosting an alumni photo shoot from 4-6; at 6:30, we are taking the Alumni board members to dinner at Olive Garden.

Tomorrow is my anniversary. 29 years. Though I will work all day, I will spend the evening celebrating with my best friend who has my heart forever.

Wednesday I am flying out with my boss and good friend Tami Condon to ASI in Phoenix where we will man a booth together until Sunday when we will fly home. Over the course of that event, we are hosting an Alumni get-together at Old Spaghetti Factory. Here's hoping that it's attended by more than just me.

My life has catapulted into busy.

Sometimes I have to stop and pinch myself. Is this for real? I stand amazed that, first of all, I'm even here, and secondly, how I got here. I feel like I've watched miracles fall like rain around me.

One time, a few months ago, Jacque said to me, "If our eyes were open, we'd see miracles every day."

I was skeptical.

Not anymore.

One of these days I will write it all down, outline the miracles that have happened to get us where we are today. Sometimes, especially in the evenings, I grow frustrated with the fact that we are still living in the midst of boxes. No--really. Our house is very unpacked with the exception of the kitchen which is functional (at best). But then I have to stop myself, and remember that this is only temporary; that the life I envisioned a year ago is just around the bend. And that is enough for me to snap out of it, to find that sense of calm deep inside of myself...

The journey is almost over.

One piece of our miracle story started 44 years ago when a man dropped two little girls, ages 3 and 5, on the doorstep of Roy's parents' home. He was a friend of a friend and he claimed that he and his wife were having marital struggles and they needed someone to just watch their little girls for a couple of days. Would they be willing?

And of course Madeline and Floyd said they would be happy to keep those baby girls and so they swooped them up in their arms and carried them inside, wide eyed and fearful. And then they loved them. They cleaned them up, brushed their hair, took them to town and bought them toys and clothes, and 2 days turned to 2 weeks turned to 2 months and just kept on turning. This was, of course, in the days before computers and Madeline and Floyd had no idea where these little girls came from. All they knew is that they had been deserted and they loved them as their own.

But one day, 18 months later, a police officer knocked on their door and explained how the father of these little girls had kidnapped them from their mom and then fled to Mexico, leaving them abandoned at a home where there was no way for the mom to find them. And so, Gina and Lisa were taken away from Floyd and Madeline and the security and love that these little girls had blossomed in and gave them back to their mom who lived in Dallas. But Floyd and Madeline weren't willing to let them go so easily as these girls had wound their way into their hearts. So from then on, Gina and Lisa were flown down to Port Isabel every summer, every Christmas, every vacation. They were an integral part of the family.

When I first met Roy back in 1987, he introduced me to his sisters, Gina and Lisa--all grown up by this time, of course. Gina and I are about the same age and she has a heart of gold.

When Madeline found out she had cancer, Roy and I immediately flew down to see her. At the same time, Gina and her husband Eric drove down so that Gina could spend time with her during her last days. A few days later, Roy and I flew home. But Gina? She was there until the very end.

When Roy and I found out we were moving to Keene, I called Gina as she lives about half an hour away from Keene to let her know we were moving back. Just as we were hanging up, Gina said, "Does Roy have a job?"

And I explained that he would be subcontracting for Home Depot and Lowe's. She said, "Well, if he's interested in being a highway inspector, let me know. Eric's company is hiring and Eric could at least get him an interview."

And so I sent a resume and a few days after we arrived in Keene, Roy had an interview with Lamb Star.

And now, though Roy doesn't have an official starting date, Roy will be a highway inspector, making more money and and having more benefits than he did after 30 years of teaching. They will even give him a truck and everything that goes with that, as well as other perks.

We have a brand new life.

About a year ago or so, I sat in my living room in North Carolina and I prayed that God would bring us home. It wasn't that life was bad in North Carolina...it was just that I missed my family; I missed home. After 29 years of a boarding school campus, I was ready for normalcy. I craved my own home; I was ready for a change. I had no idea how that would  or even could happen...but it was the prayer of my heart and it housed my deepest desire.

And now? Well now I stand amazed.

Now I am watching miracles fall like rain around me.

Grateful

This weekend was my first alumni event:

Oklahoma Campmeeting at Wewoka Woods.

I grew up on the campgrounds of Wewoka Woods. Some of my best memories took place on that land. I played the role of girls' counselor and worked bathrooms at camp meetings for more summers than I can count...

 ...riding horses,
 ...zipping over trails on the 4-wheeler,
 ...lazily riding in a canoe on the lake,
 ...lying on my back on the dam, gazing up at a million flickering stars overhead at night.

As we turned into the entrance of camp on Friday evening, it was like a kaleidoscope of emotion and memories rose up to greet me and that reminiscent feeling of anticipation blossomed in my chest.

 ...oh yeah...I remember you...

Camp hasn't changed much. The lodge got a makeover but the inside is still the same. I didn't see anyone I knew that is my age. All of my friends that are still in Oklahoma have moved on in their lives and Oklahoma Campmeeting is no longer a priority. I missed them.

I missed Jeff and Mark with all of their obnoxious comments and infectious laughter.

I missed Julie and her stories of her latest escapades.

I missed Tricia and her mom, Beverly, and reminiscing about the ridiculous things I did and said when I was in high school.

But I did see some of the teachers from Parkview, where I attended high school. And I saw Alfreda, a precious little lady whom I worked with my senior year at the ABC. Occasionally, she would say, "Vonda, why don't you go to Braum's and get both of us a malt? My treat." And off I would go, delighted.

And I saw Lavelle, the cutest little lady, and her husband Keith. These two played a key role in my life when I was a teen--I adored them and they took good care of me.

Both of my sisters and my mom were at Campmeeting. In fact, we stayed in a motel together on Friday night.

And we laughed. A lot.

On Saturday afternoon, Tami Condon and I rolled up our sleeves and served watermelon to a crowd of about 300. We had others who were helping, of course, but by the time we were finished, we were sticky and sweaty and laughing and grateful.

   Grateful to be alive.

   Grateful for a job that is all about service.

   Grateful for being surrounded by such happy faces, by joy.

Afterwards, we headed off into the sunset for Keene. The ride home wasn't quite as boisterous as the ride to Campmeeting. I drove and Tami C. sat in the passenger seat, a captive audience to my many questions. Tami heralds from Andrews University where she changed the game of Alumni Director, building a program that had little alumni involvement to one that is thriving and alive. To be working with such an incredible girl? Ah. My heart is full.

And so, my first event was a raging success. Not because I did anything spectacular--as I really just showed up. But...

...seeing people I love
...meeting new people whom I will see again next summer
...working side by side with a girl who is my friend
...living in the midst of this moment of joy

Pretty much? That's what life is about.

I'm not sure how I got so lucky to be where I am in life right now. But one thing I am sure of and that is this:

I am grateful.

“i thank You God for most this amazing” by e.e. cummings

June 1, 2009 by Jane Beal

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any–lifted from the no
of all nothing–human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

e.e. cummings
1894-1962

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