Maybe Forever

We have an old metal storage building out in the back. It's actually the trailer from a semi and when we moved here, it will filled to the brim with trash. In typical Roy-style, it is now clean and organized with gardening tools hanging on its walls. But behind this storage building? It's a wreck.

I don't think I can adequately describe what this area looked like. It has a tree growing wild back there with limbs intertwined and interspersed with bushes that are scattered and woven together in a heap that grows almost as tall as the building itself. And in this web of brush are two large barrels, barbed wire, old fencing, trash. It was overwhelming to look at it.

Where does one begin?

Yesterday Roy got home early and so he went to town on that pile. That boy? He knows how to work. And so by the time I got home, we walked together to see his progress. He pointed out the spot he has designed for our fire pit which he plans to build in the next couple of weeks. He has already been gathering his supplies and intends to buy the bricks this weekend. We passed the heap of tree branches that Roy spent hours and hours pruning off trees while Jace and I dragged them to the back and piled them up into a stack that reaches far over our heads. And then we turned the corner to see this barren space behind the storage building that used to be that overwhelming brush pile.

Except for the sprawling, wild tree and one lone blue barrel, it was all gone. Hauled out.

"What's up with the barrel?" I asked.

Roy explained that it is filled with some form of liquid and he just isn't sure what to do with it quite yet. I am sure he will figure it out in record time.

Roy does not know the art of procrastination. I, however, am an expert. I have tried to educate him, help him out a little in that department, but he is a poor student and set in his ways of getting things done.

It's a problem.

Further behind the shed, we have an entire acre of brush and intertwined trees and vines growing in disarray. As I looked at this spot that Roy cleared out in an afternoon, the thought came to me that he may very well determine to clear out this acre next. Any sort of disorder goes against the grain for Roy and he just can't help but dig in and create order from chaos. It is deeply engrained in his nature.

(I don't have this problem either.)

And so, as we stood there, looking at this empty space, I realized that I am not interested in clearing out that acre behind the house. I rather like this unruly habitat. It grows wild and free and tangled. That means no yard work, no fertilizing, no mowing.

That means more me time. You know...hanging on my porch, lazily throwing the ball for Piper and gazing out at the sinking sun; watching another episode of Game of Thrones; reading the next book on my "Fiction to Read" list...you get the idea.

And so, I cautiously approached the subject: We aren't in any hurry to clear the back acre, right?

"I have other things on my list first," Roy said.

I nodded in appreciation. "I'm thinking that back acre can wait for retirement," I said, heading back to the house. I didn't give him a chance to respond.

And if he did, the wind whisked his response away.

The sun is rising now and the shades are open on my window. As I peak outside, I can see the back acre in the distance. It looks a bit haunting this morning as it is hazy out. But nevertheless, I like the view.

I vote to keep it this way for a few more years.

Maybe forever.

Worth the Sacrifice

Yesterday was the Groundbreaking ceremony at the University for our new nursing/administration building that is slated to be finished by the fall of 2018. I was in charge of the refreshments.

And so, Missy (one of the girls who works in our office) and I headed over to the rain-soaked meadow to set up. We hauled bottled water and huge tins of cookies shaped like shovels lying in a pile of dirt (crushed oreos) with a few sprigs of grass sprinkled throughout (fennel). And then we set up tables and wrestled tablecloths against the unruly wind.

It was a quick ceremony and before the hour was up, we were packing it all back into my car and heading back to the office. As we walked inside those doors, Dean said, "That was a great event. It takes a team."

Sure enough. It takes a team.

I am so grateful for my Advancement team. They are good peeps. We work hard and fast and we have pulled off a crazy number of events for our short time together.

I also visited the doctor yesterday. His name is Dr. McDavid Mahaffey and he is sincerely the best doctor I have ever had. He genuinely cares for his patients and works to get to know them, to provide options, to treat the patient. He asked about Jace, and he cracked some goofy jokes. Normally I hate going to the doctor. It's one of those -- let's get out of there as quickly as possible -- duties. But I don't ever mind going to Dr. Mahaffey' office because his entire staff makes the experience pleasant. They're friendly, kind people. I love their team.

This week I have touched base with several friends across the country -- friends who are so dear to my heart. Precious people. I skyped with Tammy for a minute. We rarely talk, honestly. But when we do, it's golden. Sweet Kayla sent me an email out of the blue so we caught up and that was all kinds of fabulous. Raylene and I talked on the phone for quite some time and she is a great encourager when it comes to living a healthy life. Raylene and I go way back and she always makes my heart happy. And last night before I went to bed, Jacque sent a text to see how I am doing. That girl? She saves my world.

Everyone should have my team of friends. They light up my life.

Recently I was talking to one of my dearest friends -- we shall call her Sara -- who is in a quandary in her life. She no longer feels at home in her community and life has become a struggle. However, she has a major complication that holds her back from moving to the place near her family that is beckoning. Furthermore, the thought of moving is daunting.

I feel her pain. Deeply. It wasn't too long ago I was in her shoes and looking at the future created so much angst.

But now my life is filled with so much goodness, so much happiness. And so I encouraged her -- just take one step at a time. Just do the next thing. Start with step one...and don't think about step 87. Just step one.

Because really...when we are surrounded by our team? Life is a beautiful thing.

And it is worth every sacrifice to get there.

Raising Roy

 Jace has decided that he wants a Golden Retriever.

Here is the thing with Jace. He is just a tad obsessive. So when he wants something? He wants something. He dreams it, breathes it, talks it, researches it, lives it, thinks it, talks it...

You get the idea.

It is a hair-bit exhausting.

And so, he has comprised all kinds of promises in order to "earn" this Golden Retriever: he will take 100% care of the pets for one year; he will get all A's and B's; I will never receive another negative remark about his behavior in school; he will take Piper on a 30 minute daily walk...

And the list continues.

Now let me say, I am just as much a sap about puppies as the next person. Who doesn't love a puppy? And really...who doesn't love a Golden Retriever puppy?

But I happen to have owned a few dogs in my lifetime and, frankly, they are a lot of work. And I also happen to know that even if Jace were to hold true on all of these lofty promises, he is outta here in less than five years. So who gets stuck with the Golden at that time?

You're lookin' at it.

And so, I just continually sigh heavily when Jace broaches the subject. He is undaunted. He shows me pictures and researches breeders and available puppies in the area, giving me a constant update.

He even friended my friend Tammy on Facebook because she is a proud owner of a Golden. He is hoping to see some pictures roll around on her "wall."

Jace doesn't have school today, so I am sure he will fill the hours with scheming and researching. Meanwhile, I will be preparing for our Groundbreaking ceremony for our new nursing building as I am in charge of the refreshments: bottled water and cookies shaped like shovels.

While I am working, he will plaster me with texts that divulge his new ideas, new promises, new discoveries.

And I will patiently respond minus the heavy sighs because he won't be able to hear them.

I was an easy child to raise. Roy? Not so much.

I don't understand why I have to pay for his raising. Somehow it just doesn't seem fair.

Filled to the Brim

When Savana was a mere 8 months old, we moved to Albuquerque. Previously, we lived in Loma Linda, CA near my sister Lori and her husband (at the time) Gary, which was all kinds of fabulous. However, we worked in the public school system and, as our first three years were spent at Campion--an SDA boarding school--we longed for the idealism a boarding school offers. We had good friends, Debbie and Carlos, who worked at Sandia View in ABQ and they told us of an opening for a pe teacher. Roy and I mulled over the idea of applying for that job but we were so torn: we loved living near Lori and Gary. But we missed the perks of boarding academy. We missed the lifestyle, the mission, the living and loving and working all rolled into one.

And so, we applied for the job and stopped by for an interview on our way to visit my parents in Oklahoma. They called us on our way back to say -- We Want You! and so, we loaded up and moved on a hot July day. Hugging my sister goodbye in her Loma Linda driveway will forever be etched in my mind.

But our heads were filled with idealism and hope and excitement and starry-eyed dreams as we headed off for red skies and desert mountains. We moved into a cozy home there on campus and immediately met Estee and Ruth--two incoming freshmen who had been best friends since the early days of elementary.

And we fell in love with those girls.

Estee was one of four kids raised by totally deaf parents. Her story was fascinating and she had a wisdom beyond her years. She also had ringlet curly hair and one time for a banquet, I ironed it straight. With an iron and an ironing board.

Ruth came from a close-knit family with strict parents who adored her. Ruth was a loyal, sweet girl who wormed her way into our hearts effortlessly.

They both babysat Savana and she adored them. Estee spent time teaching Savana how to speak in sign language before that was even a "thing" that parents did with their babies. Savana knew cat, dog, mama, daddy...I can't remember them all now but Estee used to patiently work with her and I can still see Savana's chubby little hands creating those words while her big blue eyes looked up at Estee's.

Estee and Ruth spent evenings and weekends at our home and we stayed up for hours giggling and talking and dreaming together. I was practically a child myself -- only 25 years old -- and I loved those girls. They were with us through my pregnancy with Darian and her first few months of life, helping me navigate motherhood with two as they willingly changed diapers, soothed fussing babies, and helped me juggle. Those girls lit up my world.

And then, two years later, the powers-that-be closed the school. Roy and I were devastated. We loved Sandia View, loved the terrain, the weather, the mountains. Our faculty and student body were close knit as we were a small bunch -- less than 50 kids (thus the reason they closed). We worked hard and played hard and loved loved loved. Those two years will forever be engrained as two of our best as we made lifelong friends and memories and so much goodness from our time there.

But hands down the best thing that came out of ABQ?

Estee and Ruth.

Ruth helped us pack up our home, even slept on our floor our last couple of days there when the beds were undone so that she could spend every last moment with us before we headed to Wisconsin. We begged Estee to move with us as we feared for her future a bit. Ruth was headed to boarding school in another state, but Estee's future was a bit more precarious. She had fallen in love and she saw stars while we saw struggle. But of course, she was only 16 at the time and we were like overprotective parents, stepping in when we should have stepped back.

Thanks for being our guinea pig, Estee Marie. I was a better mom to my teens because of you.

In those early days of Wisconsin, Ruth came to visit a couple of times. She did our heart good as she was one of our kids. And then she grew up and married and now has four kids of her own.

But Estee? We lost contact.

And then one day out of the blue she came to visit us when we lived in Missouri. My girls were teenagers and of course Jace was just a little guy running the hallways when she stepped into our home for the first time in over 10 years.

And it was like no time had gone by. The connection was instant with all of us. My girls fell in love with her immediately. It was Estee all grown up -- but still Estee Marie. That same girl we loved at 14 with that silly little giggle and that wisdom beyond her years and those ringlet curls.

When Savana got married, Estee flew out and coordinated the wedding for her.

She was a life saver.

And she is now a regular part of our life--stuck with us. We will never let her go.

I host alumni events around the country, flying out monthly to a new location. Today I am flying to Albuquerque and staying with Estee Marie. I am joining her family in celebrating her birthday and meeting her two adult children that I already love because I know who they are. I am throwing my arms around Ruth's babies and I am going to be 25 again, surrounded by these two girls that will forever have my heart.

Life is filled with blue jeans and beetles and sunsets and candles and laundry and packing lunches and Netflix.

And then there's the people--the people in our lives that bring it all home, that make us laugh, that fill it up to the brim.

Today? Well, today my heart will be overflowing with life's goodness.

And I can't wait.

Making the World a Better Place

I met Dr. Durrant a couple of weeks ago when I visited her home to pick up some papers that she had for me. For Alumni Weekend, we award several of our alums and this year, Dr. Durrant is one of our honorees. As we do write-ups for the honorees, Dr. Durrant called to see if I could come by and pick up her paperwork for the write-up.

Why, of course I can!

And so I headed over to her house late in the morning for what I assumed would be a quick, five minute visit. I mean, how long does it take to get a few papers, right?

"Come in, Dear," she said as I walked through the door that day. "Please, sit down. What can I get for you. Are you hungry? Would you like a muffin? A candy bar? How about some juice. Orange or grape. It's organic."

She wouldn't take no for an answer and so, I accepted the orange juice and had a seat at her table. She wanted to explain the paperwork to me to make sure I understood everything she had written. And so, I sat there, stunned, as she walked me through her life. Born in Egypt and raised in a Catholic home, Dr. Durrant kept me fascinated with her stories of how she eventually ended up in Texas back in the '70's after receiving her doctorate in Nursing Education. Southwestern asked her to build a nursing program from the ground up, and so, Dr. Durrant applied for a private grant of $790,000. Her application was accepted and she began the laborious process of creating a nursing program, presented it to the state and proceeded to teach and oversee the program that she herself built. During many of her years here, 100% of the nursing students passed their boards. She told me of how her husband teased her one evening when she returned home late from work: "Do I know you?" He asked.

"You must take a candy bar," Dr. Durrant insisted as I left well over an hour later. She picked up an Almond Joy. "Here, Honey, take this," she said, tucking it into my purse. "It has almonds and chocolate. You'll like it."

Yesterday I headed back over to Dr. Durrant's home because she wanted a copy of the paperwork she gave me. It reflected hours of her time as she tediously wrote the title of articles she published, positions she held, charitable work she participated in.

"Come in, Dear," she said as I knocked on the door. "I am cooking muffins. I am so sorry that my house is a mess. Please excuse my house. I wish I had time to make it look neater for you."

(Let me just say, her house was spotless.)

"Please, sit down. What can I get for you? Are you hungry? Would you like a muffin? A candy bar? How about some juice..."

And so, once again she poured me a glass of orange juice while she busily made her muffins and talked a mile a minute. She told me how she is making the muffins for the shut-ins that she visits weekly. This particular day she was also taking two friends to lunch in Cleburne. And every Tuesday she hosts Game Day at her home with a circle of friends who get together to play Rumikub or Golf.

Now let me just say, Dr. Durrant is 89 years old.

Please, God...please let me be like Dr. Durrant when I am 89 years old.

While her muffins were baking in the oven, we sat together in her living room and chatted. She asked about me, what my life is like, about my children, do I like my job...she listened with soft eyes while I explained what brought me to Texas and what my husband does now for a career.

"Oh Honey, God brought you here. God is leading in your life. I am so glad that when God says go, you follow. That's the way to live, Dear," she said.

The timer went off and Dr. Durrant got up to pull her muffins from the oven. I sat on her couch and looked out her back window at the barren yard, the tree arching up to the sky. It reminded me of time, as it always does -- how leaves come and go, how the wind blows and yet those trees bend towards the sky, their limbs ever upward.

When Dr. Durrant came back, she told me how she recently lost her best friend of over 40 years: Eva Sicher. She told me the story of how she learned of Eva's death, at how she threw down the phone and screamed when she heard the news, at how still her heart hurts from missing her friend.

When I was young, I mistakenly thought that older people accepted the death of their spouses or their close friends with complacency. It's the circle of life, for pete's sake.

I know better now. As time creeps up on me, death becomes more commonplace. And yet... I now realize that one is never prepared for the loss of a loved one. Not really.

"Take a muffin, Dear," Dr. Durrant said as I finally got up to leave.

"Dr. Durrant," I laughed. "You are going to make me fatter!"

"Oh, look at you -- going here, going there, going here, going there. You need energy for all of that going! Now here--take a muffin," she insisted, tucking one into my purse.

When I got back to the office, an email from Dr. Durrant was in my Inbox. She had a program from Union College that she wanted to share with me. And at the end of her email, she wrote, "Love you."

Sometimes people come into our lives that make us stop for a minute. If I had to write a list of all of my accomplishments, it would be a short one. (Sometimes I think I enjoy playing cards and watching sunsets from my porch far more than I should.)

But Dr. Durrant? She is that tall tree, arching upwards. The winds may blow but she keeps standing, keeps reaching.

Love you too, Dr. Durrant.

You make this world a better place.