Bursting Wide Open

Friday was the last day of "regular life" at our little office here in Keene. And so, we planned a big bash at Tami Condon's house that evening. We were celebrating several things: first of all, our workers who have kept life moving and interesting in the office; secondly, Clarissa who is moving on in her life to bigger and better things. Clarissa has been my office neighbor since I arrived last July. To say I will miss her would be a ridiculous understatement. We have laughed and chatted it up and whined and laughed some more. She is just a gem. But, she's only 24 years old and on the verge of so much greatness. She's marrying her love in October, starting her Master's in the fall, and just got a real job in her field of psychology. And so, we are sending her off on a great adventure and so excited to see where life takes her.

But gosh I'm selfish right now. I just want her to stay.

The party at Tami's was a raging success. Tami has a large, welcoming home and she opened her arms wide for all of us. It was a grand time. We had over 30 people there, a crazy amount of food, so much laughter, and stories in every corner. Kids were scattered around playing games both inside and out.

It was a good time.

Recently Jace and I were talking about life and emotions and coping -- all of that fun stuff. Jace made the comment that good times are rare and in between, that joy is hard to find.

Of course, his definition of joy is attending a professional basketball game, or hanging out at Six Flags with a couple of buddies. And those kinds of experiences just don't come around every day.

And maybe from a 14 year old perspective, that is joy. Maybe it is.

But of course, I countered his argument.

Joy is hanging on the porch and watching Sadie scale a tree.

Joy is gazing in awe as the sun paints the sky red during its descent.

Joy is a soulful conversation, unexpected kindness, Piper's enthusiasm when you walk through the door.

While I was at the party yesterday, Jace called. The first time I let it go to voicemail as I was busy, but he immediately followed it up with a text: MOM!!!

And so I called him back: what's up?

Raymond left his cat.

About a week ago, Jace's good buddy Raymond moved to Alaska. The night before he left, he called Jace: Do you want my cat?

No.

Well, we're leaving it then.

Jace told me about this conversation the next day, and I asked him -- do you think he'll actually leave it?

Jace didn't think there was a chance. But yesterday evening, he walked across the street to Raymond's house that now sits empty, and there, hanging on the back porch, was the cat, now skinny and desperate for attention after a little more than a week of neglect.

A bit later, I received a notification of a text on my phone, and a picture rose up that Jace sent. It showed two bowls side by side -- one with food, one with water.

"She doesn't want me to leave," Jace texted. "So I'm petting her. Can you make sure Animal Control picks her up tomorrow? I can't stand this."

Joy is...
...when the terms 'fellow employee' and 'friend' are synonyms
...when you've grown to love someone so much that goodbyes are painful
...when your child shows so much compassion that your heart swells up too big for your chest

And sometimes, Jace? Well, sometimes joy breaks our hearts, filling them up to the brim until they burst wide open.

How Lucky We Are

I love Fridays.

In the Advancement Office where I work, we close our doors at noon so I have an entire afternoon to prepare for the weekend. Typically I clean the house but this particular Friday I had an appointment for a massage in Fort Worth.

My friend Shirley is getting her massage therapy license and part of that process includes clinicals -- which translates into, free massages for Shirley's friends!

And so, she called me a few weeks ago to schedule a free massage.

Why of course I'll come in for a massage! That sounds like a beautiful thing!

I eagerly anticipated this day for weeks as it has been quite some time since I had a massage. I can't even remember the last time actually. I think it was when we lived in Missouri. The time before that was when we lived in California. My friend Jacque bought a massage for Roy as a congratulations for job well done on something -- a bike ride maybe?? -- but the lady who was giving the massage was a friend of Jacque's. Jacque brought her over one time before this scheduled massage and this friend had no qualms about showing her interest in Roy. We drove somewhere and she immediately sat herself in the front seat next to Roy, flirting the entire drive, resulting in me sitting in the back, fuming...

And that was it for me. I ended up with the free massage rather than Roy.

Thanks Jacque!

Anyway, a couple of days before this past Friday, the massage school called to give me directions to the school in Fort Worth and to give me some specifics about everything. I wrote down the detailed information -- in an old school manner as the girl failed to give me the actual address...and I failed to ask for it.

So, I left in plenty of time on Friday to arrive for my 12:15 appointment...only to drive and drive and drive...never seeing my exit. Finally, at 12:30, I called Shirley: Where is this exit?

I was given the wrong directions: the girl on the phone said take 20W rather than 20E.

...sigh...

By the time I finally arrived, it was 12:45 and the school informed Shirley that I missed my appointment.

And so I headed home, wallowing in disappointment.

Yesterday evening, Tami and Chas came over. We hung out on our porch, watching the sun go down as hues of reds lit up the sky in a brilliant sunset.

"Let's go check out the property," I said to Tami shortly after Roy and Chas walked over to check out the foundation of the Lewis home that is scheduled to be poured on Monday.

And so we walked out to the back two acres, my half grown kitten Sadie following along like a dog. Those two acres back there are largely overgrown with tall grass, wildflowers, brush, and weeds, but we managed to count nine peach trees, laden with miniature peaches, and a couple of pear trees ready to produce as well. Of course, the fruit won't be salvaged this year as we didn't do any preparatory work on them; but we are hoping to prune them this fall and do some research so that next summer we can dream on the porch, peach juice running down our chins.

And then we walked back to the Lewis home, Sadie chasing a defenseless rabbit for a few seconds until I yelled at her and she actually stopped.

It was probably a coincidence...

We scoped out the Lewis porch and turned north, checking out the view that they will have from their own porch someday soon.

"I really like this property," Tami said. "I like it a lot."

Yeah. Me too.

How lucky we are ...

...to live on our own little piece of paradise, on the outskirts of Keene, in the country where coyotes howl at night, where night is black as midnight and stars burst through the darkness.

... even when frustrations color our days.

...even when disappointments color our vision.

...even when life is complicated and difficult.

How lucky we are.

Waiting for Someday

Roy and I have been burying stones recently. Not large rock kinds of stones but, rather, stepping stones. Roy made a countless number of them when we first moved into our house because he has a deep aversion to mud. So, as it rains on occasion, he decided that he would create enough stepping stones to go from the house to the shop, and from the shop to the storage shed, and from the storage shed to the metal storage shed that houses the lawn mower.

That's a lot of stones.

Burying these stones is a bit of work. All of these stones have been in their calculated position for a few weeks now, but we aren't able to mow over them as they are too high for the lawn mower and the concrete breaks the blade (been there, done that). So here is the process:

Edge around said stone.
Flip stone over and dig out the dirt underneath it in order to set the stone inside.
Flip stone back into hole and check for uneven dirt that causes the stone to wobble.
Even out the dirt by adding dirt in lower spots. (I gave up on this part and gave Roy 100% responsibility for this.)
Add dirt in the cracks to set the stone in place.
Move on to the next stone.

Jace, Roy and I have all worked on these stones but Roy is so darned fast at it that he can put in triple what Jace and I can do together.

It's obnoxious.

And so, Roy and I have now figured out a system that lets us bury the most amount of stones in the least amount of time. We capitalize on his skills and my skills (that word "skills" in this context and in reference to me is a very loose interpretation) and away we go. And in typical Roy and Vonda fashion, we talk a mile a minute because...well, that's just what we do.

Thankfully we are almost done. We have 11 stones left and the yard will be complete.

(Thank. God.)

On Sunday Roy, Jace and I went to Gina and Eric's for Easter. They have quickly become family to us, and we love getting together with them. Their kids work diligently to engage Jace. They talk to him, ask him about his life, take him upstairs to play pool, throw a ball outdoors in their amazing yard, and offer a host of activities that they think he might enjoy. And all of their work has paid off. He has finally let down his guard and actually laughs with them on occasion.

Go Jace.

But really? Go Cali and Ciara and Jared. Those are some great kids.

Anyway, as we were driving there as they live about 30 minutes away, Roy said, "Let's make a list of everything we have done to the house so far."

Originally, I turned up my nose. Nah...let's not.

But after a bit, I decided that was lazy of me (one of my favorite things to be)...and so I pulled out a notebook and began to write as Roy happily rattled off a trail of things we (though it's really "he") have accomplished in the yard: pruning the trees (we have a pile of wood in the back that is rather monstrous), fixing the water pressure, adding stones to the outside faucets...and on and on.

I shall spare you.

But needless to say, the list was long. And as we looked at it, line after line of accomplishments, I couldn't help but be amazed at how far we have come in six months.

And then Roy said, "Let's make a list of everything we want to do to the house."

And so we did: remodel the kitchen, fix the fireplace mantel, and so on.

And again, we ended up with quite a long list. We have discovered that when one owns their own home that includes a bit of property, the list is endless.

But that's okay. It just means we will never stop stretching.

Recently I have been working on a Lifebook. This is a book that is all about goals in 12 areas of life. It's based off of an online class that Jacque found and shared with me, and it is inspiring and fun and thought-provoking. One of the tenants of this class is that we should always be moving forward, becoming better, stretching.

I like that.

I'm not sure how good I am at holding myself accountable. I tend to get inspired and work hard for a minute...and then return to my lazy ways after a bit.

Case in point: If it were up to me? Those stones would be stacked somewhere out of sight, waiting for "someday."

But of course...it isn't up to me.

Roy doesn't believe in someday. Roy believes in get 'er done.

And so this evening, I will be out in the back, edging stones, and then sweeping them off after they are leveled.

Because that's my area of expertise. The sweeping off part.

And sometimes that's what life is about: focusing on what I can do well, even if the only gift I bring to the table is holding a broom.

Because really...there's room enough for everyone in this world.

Even a broom holder.

Same World

"Where can I register?"

I looked up from a table where I was sitting with some visiting alums at a shriveled old man who'd just walked through the doors of the Hopps Museum.

"Right here!" I said cheerfully, hopping up from the table and heading over to the computer so that I could add this gentleman's name to the list of attending alumni for Homecoming weekend and print off a name badge him.

"How are you doing today?" I asked.

He peered up at me with a scowl. "I came here yesterday to register and it wasn't open," he growled.

"Hm...when did you get here?" I asked, smiling at him in hopes of deterring his negativity.

"In the morning," he grumbled.

"Well, we didn't open for registration until noon, but I am happy to register you now!"

But this man wasn't having it. He had a lot on his mind, none of it happy, and he was ready to shed his disdain.

"I hated the banquet last night," he sneered.

The previous evening, we hosted our annual Alumni Banquet and, if I say so myself, we pulled it off flawlessly. Our chef made a beautiful dinner of southern fare, the decor was pristine, and the entertainment was delightful, featuring a 13 year old fiddler named Ridge.

"We had pasta for dinner. Pasta!" He exclaimed. "Pasta isn't southern."

"It was macaroni and cheese," I countered, cocking my head.

"Yeah," he said adamantly. "Pasta. Who ever heard of pasta in Texas."

I just nodded thoughtfully.

"I hated it," he continued. "I won't be back next year."

"I understand," I said as kindly as I could muster. "Sometimes you just gotta do whatcha gotta do."

He grumbled and complained until I handed him badges for him and his wife (poor thing), and then he slowly staggered out the door.

I ran into this poor, sad man several times throughout the weekend. And every time, he had some bitterness for me -- despite my futile attempts to shower him with cheerful smiles and happy eyes.

Sometimes I watched him from the side, wondering, What happened to you, little old man, that made you so miserable? So sad?

On Saturday we had a potluck in the gymnasium of the University for the alumni. The gym was packed with cheerful chatter, tables laden with meatballs, salad, and rolls, and chairs set out in a circular fashion. This potluck is organized like a well-oiled machine by Karen Putnam, one of the matriarchs of Keene. She has organized this event since time began, I am pretty sure. Anyway, once I went through the line, I headed over to sit by my adorable friends, Debbie and Carlos, whom I have known and loved since the early days of college. And sitting there beside them in her wheelchair was Elizabeth.

We went to school with Elizabeth as well...back in the day. Shortly after she graduated, this tall, blonde, gorgeous girl was out in the "field" as a social worker when one of her clients went on a shooting rampage and shot her in the back, leaving her a paraplegic. She lives in Burleson now -- a town about 15 minutes away -- and continues to practice social work while operating her nonprofit for crime victims.

Elizabeth chose the high road.

The other day I was whining about someone who was frustrating me. This girl? She is a sweetheart of a girl -- she really is...

She is also perfectionistic and sometimes that presents as twenty questions instead of one; as anxiety instead of confidence; as deer in the headlights when I need action.

And so I complained.

But yesterday I was scrolling through Instagram, or Facebook...or something of that nature when I came across a quote that said...

"Loving people live in a loving world; hostile people live in a hostile world. Same world."

Sometimes I am petty.

Sometimes I complain.

And sometimes I say -- I'm never going to that banquet again.

But here's the thing:

I can see strength and possibility and courage.

I can see shriveled and hopeless and worthless.

It's all up to me.

Same world.

A New Agenda

Recently Tami and I hit upon the idea that we should plan something out of the ordinary on a monthly basis. We tend to do the same things all of the time: eat together for lunch on Saturday, take long naps on Saturday afternoon, watch a movie in some fashion on Saturday night. Well...let me clarify: Chas and I watch a movie on Saturday night while Tami and Roy sleep.

Unless we go to the theater...

Then only Roy sleeps.

Poor guy. He's tired.

Anyway, our first adventure was Four Day Weekend, an improv comedy team located in Fort Worth, in February. When we initially walked in, Roy wanted to sit in the front row.

No way, I said. They will pick on us and I don't want to be picked on.

But Roy was insistent and so, we sat down. "I've sat on the front row before and they didn't pick on me," the lady sitting next to me assured me.

When the show started, a member of the team came out to greet us and get the audience revved up. He immediately looked at me and said, "What's your name?"

"Vonda," I replied, groaning inside.

I knew it! Here we go....

"Vonda? What kind of name is that? What does it mean??"

"I have no idea!" I replied.

"How did you get that name?" He asked.

And so the conversation continued. I told him I was named after Miss America 1966. He told me I was old as dirt. And then he wanted to know what I do for a living and when I told him I was an alumni director for a small university...oh my word. That got him going like none other. And then he called his team out of about 5 members total and they made up a song about me on the spot.

It. Was. Hilarious.

The entire evening was a raging success and, even though I was picked on, it was pretty darned funny.

For the month of March, my friend Jacque and sister Lori came down and we went to Cleburne State Park for a picnic. That evening, we went to the Plaza Theater in Cleburne to see a live play of Singing in the Rain. It's performed by local talent but one would never know that they aren't professional. So impressive and fun and delightful. The entire day was a hoot.

But the really cool part about that play? They have a drawing at intermission and pull one of the attendee's names out of a hat for two free tickets to the next play. And? I won! (I am thinking I should play the lottery...)

April is just around the corner. It's the guys' turn to plan as Tami and I have taken the lead on the previous two.

Recently Chas said, "Does bowling count as different?"

Roy said, "How about looking at old cars. Does that count?"

Yes it does, we said. Anything but a movie.

Roy mentioned last night that he is thinking we need to hit the hot rod derby in Dallas for the month of April.

Our lives may never be the same.