Just for Tonight

We are officially home from a whirlwind trip to Oklahoma. It's always faster than I want it to be but this year was exceptionally fast. We arrived Wednesday evening and Dad informed me as I was walking through the door that an Oklahoma blizzard was heading their way. And so, in order to avoid the storm that promised record-setting conditions, we left early Saturday morning rather than Sunday morning as planned.

Yep. That makes for 2 entire days in Oklahoma after 1100 miles of driving one way.

That's dedication.

That's a whole lot of driving and sitting and watching the miles roll by.

But no matter. I was home. And even though it was fleeting, it was worth it.

Stories of cattle and wheat. 

Sunsets that make me stand in awe at a painted sky against an endless horizon.

My stepmom's cooking that  reinforces how I don't, in fact, have any self-control.

My mom who personifies kindness and contentment and joy at having her kids all in one place. Truly she's the most precious person I know.

My dad my dad my dad. He has my heart like none other.

When I am home, so many childhood memories come flooding in and I find myself transplanted back to my younger self...the me who delivered iced tea in a quart jar as Dad rode the tractor in the blazing hot sun; the me who drove the pickup down dirt roads, dust swirling up behind me; the me who rode Snip, our gentle but stubborn horse, for hours while daydreaming my life away and creating stories that I would bring to life on paper while lying on my bed at home.

I could go on forever with all of the snapshots that run through my mind like a kaleidoscope of memories, tumbling one on top of the other.

I love Oklahoma. But even more, I love home. It signifies the best of times, the worst of times, family, belonging, struggles and triumphs, laughter, tears, promise.

And then when I hug everyone goodbye, the tears flow. I just can't help it. In fact, just thinking about saying goodbye when I am there makes me well up with emotion. But, of course, my regular life calls and so, I pack my bags and pack up my memories, compartmentalizing them back where they belong so that I can head back to my every day normal.

We arrived home this afternoon (Sunday) at about 4:00. We drove hard yesterday as we were being chased by a storm far bigger than we cared to challenge and made it safely to Nashville. But today? Well, we found ourselves tired of the hurry and took our time leaving the motel. We were all restless and the hours rolled by in mainly silence as we were each busy in our own private worlds.

After we pulled into the driveway, we kicked into gear: unpacked the car, unpacked our suitcases, vacuumed, swept the floor and wiped down the countertops, squared away our finances, bought and put away groceries. Roy even managed to change the brakes on the car so that we are ahead of the game once our week officially kicks into gear bright and early tomorrow.

But I am not really home here in North Carolina--not quite yet. I know I will be soon as life will take hold and yank me back to the present. But for now my thoughts are with those back home who are snowed in, who are sitting in a dark living room lit by candlelight while playing Rumikube, who are dining on taco soup and cornbread--perfect fare for a cold wintry night.

For tonight, I will allow myself the luxury of being a small town Oklahoma girl.

Just for tonight.

Hope is a Four Letter Word

I am hopeful about so many things.

I am hopeful that I will see Darian again.
I am hopeful that Jace will find acceptance and happiness.
I am hopeful that we will, someday, buy a house.
I am hopeful that Savana will have a beautiful wedding that is perfect for her and Guerin.

I am hopeful that I will be around to watch the sunset this evening.
I am hopeful that this too shall pass.
I am hopeful that winter will someday turn to spring to summer to fall and winter again.

I am hopeful that our nation will rise from the ashes.
I am hopeful that Luke will find his way.
I am hopeful that grief will turn to joy.

This week I have learned something that has changed my world and that is this: sometimes we have to recognize that we aren't from the cookie cutter mold and we have to take steps accordingly. Sometimes nobody is wrong. Sometimes we have to stop squeezing and prodding in order to fit.

Sometimes we simply have to stop fighting and find a new way.

Last night I coerced Tammy into coming home with me to see my house. Lots of changes have occurred this week and my living room looks brand new. It's a much needed change...as in it should have happened about six years ago...but that's okay. Kudos, furniture for providing a place for me to sit no matter how worn you appeared!

Anyway, I took Tammy through my house and showed her the different changes I've made, and she oohed and aahed appropriately. She's a great cheerleader. No. I'm serious. She is a G-R-E-A-T cheerleader. It's one of her special gifts. So, you know, I felt like a million bucks. And that's a great way to feel.

But as always happens when we get together, we started talking about our lives and about stuff that doesn't matter and about stuff that does matter. And as she was leaving, she stopped midway down the sidewalk, turned and looked at me through the darkness. And she said:

Hope is a powerful word. It's the most powerful word of the English language. It even surpasses love. It's a reason to wake up in the morning and it's the reason that when times are tough, we can still take one more step.

She's so right.

Hope is a four letter word that turns ashes into promise, devastation into rising, regret into moving forward.

And this morning? I am filled with hope.

Turning Ashes into Beauty

When Roy and I got married, we immediately moved to Campion Academy to a small duplex that was perfect for newlyweds. We had next to nothing to our name as we both came from dorm rooms rather than apartments. In fact, our living room furniture consisted of a couch that my parents had in their early days of marriage, and two burnt orange rocking chairs that were pulled from the dumpster. But? We were young and we simply didn't care. It wasn't much but it was ours.

For bedroom furniture, we had a waterbed that Roy purchased for fifty bucks from a friend. And that's it. No dresser, no nightstand, no anything. Just a bed. But as luck would have it, when we arrived at the duplex that was now our home, an old chest of drawers happened to be in the bedroom. It wasn't much to look at. We had no idea whose it was but as the duplex was totally empty with the exception of this chest of drawers, we assumed it was ours for the taking. And so we did.

28 years later? It's still our dresser. And it has maintained its worn, haggard look through the years. And though that is a popular look these days, it is certainly not becoming with this dresser. It's purely utilitarian. And so over Thanksgiving break, Roy and I were inspired to jazz up some of our furniture: the end tables in our living room, the nightstands in our bedroom, and, of course, and the most overdue, our haggard, worn dresser.

We sanded and sanded some more, and painted, and then painted some more, and then changed out the handles and knobs to a more becoming style, and wa-laa, that haggard piece of furniture was transformed into a trendy chest of drawers that was something to behold. We're really quite proud of ourselves as we've never ventured this direction before, and now Roy and I keep asking ourselves....Really. What took us so long??

From ashes to beauty...

This has been a sobering week. The mass shooting in San Bernardino, California brought home the stark reality that we're not safe in our own homeland. We are sitting ducks to Isis who is located throughout the States in sleeping cells and we never know when or where they will strike. As of late, Isis stories have been rampant around the world as they strive to invoke fear in the hearts of regular people. They have no mercy, no kindness, no compassion. But they do have a mission and thousands have bought into it. That mission? To fulfill their prophecy of taking over the world with ethnic cleansing that will leave only 144,000 so that life can begin again as it's meant, in their minds, to be lived. And these people will go to all lengths to accomplish this mission; their own lives have no meaning.

San Bernardino is close to home. I have two nephews that live there, a plethora of friends, and my heart-friend, Jacque. We lived and taught there for 3 years. I know the highways, the schools, the grocery store. When I talk to Jacque, a brilliant teacher in the San Bernardino district, the fear is palpable.

We are in changing times and we have a problem.

Last night before we went to sleep, Roy and I lay in bed quietly talking for quite awhile, as we often do on Friday nights. It's our catchup time after a busy week of schedules and packed lunches and errands during the moments in between. And I said to Roy, It makes me rethink everything--going to the mall, going out to eat, going to the grocery store. These past couple of days I look for the exits, and stage a plan as I am entering the doors.

I know I am not alone.

But stories of heroism are rising from the ashes. San Bernardino is coming together and standing up #sanbernardinostrong. Families are torn apart and devastation abounds, especially for those families and friends of the 14 lives that were senselessly taken. Those murderers have left carnage and wreckage in their wake. It makes no sense and it's crippling. But the human spirit? It's rising. It is rising from the ashes and it's holding hands and moving onward and upward. The human spirit will not be broken.

Isis numbers somewhere between 20,000-30,000, according to news reports. The world population? 7 billion. Isis operates with terror and fear and force. But they do not make up this world. They don't control our minds. They only have power if we give it to them.

I am not saying that we will not affected by their cruelty; they could very well strike in our own communities.

But when we stop living? They win. When we lose confidence in humanity, they gain victory. Of course we need to be cautious; we need to be aware. That's the reality of 2015 in America. But as for me? My focus will remain that life is to be savored; life is to be lived and enjoyed. Moments are precious diamonds, sometimes  in the midst of ashes.

The lights of my Christmas tree are blinking. It's still dark outside, and the blinking lights are a beautiful contrast to the cold world that is just outside my front window. Savana's wedding dress arrived and we made plans to pick it up today. She will try it on to ensure it fits perfectly, twirling magically in front of the mirror as tears will, most likely, roll down my cheeks as I stare in awe at this precious girl that stands before me. It's amazing to me, really, how she has grown from this chubby, slobbery cherub into this confident, driven woman. And when I see her in that dress, it all floods over me like a storm with conflicting emotion and bursting pride.

Jace has a party this evening--a lock-in--and a birthday party tomorrow that he has looked forward to for weeks. On Monday we have a faculty Christmas party and the food will be delectable; laughter will abound.

It's Christmas time here and for our family, that means anticipation of our own family traditions and traveling to Oklahoma and the joy of being surrounded by those I love the most in this world.

The sun will set, and the sky will blaze with color.

The mountains, bare, will continue to rise towards the sky.

And us? Our nation?  Well, we will rise too. We will find beauty in the ashes.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Growing up, I had a lot of nicknames. My grandpa Nick called me "Womp" because, I guess, when I was really little and didn't get my way, I would throw myself on the floor and cry. Grandpa would chuckle at me and say, "There she goes--womping on the floor again" and thus Womp was born. As I got older, that name grew to Wompolias--certainly not a name to wear like a crown, but my name nonetheless, at least where my grandpa and sister Lori were concerned.

At school? Vonda-Honda vroom vroom. Yeah. I got that a lot.

And my dad called me Ben. Nobody really knows where the name Ben came from as Dad called me Ben from my earliest memories. I have heard a variety of explanations, but the one that stands out is that Dad always wanted a boy and so he called me Ben as I was the last kid, the last child to crush his dream of a son.

Some days, Dad called me "Bender my Friender". That went over really well when I was in 7th grade or so--you know, that age where everybody hates me and everything I do is stupid and... we are all pretty much obsessed with ourselves, thinking that when we walk into a room, everybody stops and stares when the truth is (and you finally recognize this truth when you hit your early to mid 20's--somewhere in there) --...nobody notices. Not really, anyway.

During those early teen years, I can remember being at a basketball game, ready to head for home, surrounded by my teammates, and Dad would say, "Ready to go, Bender my Friender?" and I would cringe. "Daaaad!!!", I would say quietly, so that only he could hear, my eyes widening in that way we all do when we try to get across "The Message." But of course, Dad was undaunted.

Now that I have a 13 year old, I totally get it.

Dad never called me Vonda. In fact, when he did, it sounded strange, like a foreign word that I wasn't quite sure of its meaning. And even when I reached adulthood, married, started having children...Dad still called me Ben. And the truth is, I always  treasured that name. It spoke love to me, it spoke tenderness. It spoke of a connection between Dad and me. When I told others my dad called me Ben, they looked at me with questioning eyes...Why? But no matter. It was my name and, especially as I grew older,  I wore it with pride.

But somewhere over the last few years, my name officially transitioned to Vonda. I'm not sure when it happened, or even why it happened. Maybe it's just the natural progression of how life rolls. But for whatever reason, "Ben" got lost in a sea of years that rolled one on top of the other.  Sometimes, I've wondered about that-- in those moments where I just miss my dad.

Today is Thanksgiving. It's been a perfect kind of day really. The only "dark" spot was missing my sister Tami and her clan and, of course, Darian. But it was just a hiccup year and so, those of us who remained (our four, my nephew Jared, and Fiancé) did a mighty fine job of kicking into gear and helping out in the kitchen, eating more than our fair share of Thanksgiving fare, and ending the day with some raucous games around the dining room table.

But this morning, before I headed downstairs to peel potatoes and throw together a green bean casserole while mixing the dough for the rolls, I picked up my phone and took a minute to draft a text to my dad. I told him I loved him, that of all the dads in the world I'm so glad he's mine. And I am. Oh my word...I so am.

We ate dinner around the table, each of us stating the things that we are most grateful for this year: that we will soon have a son-in-law whom we all so dearly love, that sweet Jare came to visit, that Savana and Guer are almost done with school, that Jace is doing well in school, and the list continues. And then afterwards, as we all suffered from a food coma, we went our separate directions for awhile to have a couple of hours of quiet time.

And somewhere in there, I picked up my phone, noticed I had a text.

A text that was the exclamation point to my day.

A text that warmed my heart, that spoke volumes in just two little words:

"Thanks Ben."                                                

Shades of Gray

Lately Isis has been on the news as they have struck terror around the world with their senseless attacks that decimate lives, families, communities. I am sure we have all wondered where they will strike again. Will it be our nation? our community? our family?

Will it be me?

Not too long ago, someone posted an article on Facebook about this reporter that interviewed young men who had been captured that were part of Isis and were awaiting their own trials that would, undoubtedly, result in their own deaths. These men, for the most part, had wives, a minimum of two young children, and homes. They had families; they knew love and devotion. When asked why they joined Isis and spent their lives murdering innocent people, they responded that they were hungry; Isis offered security. They were scared; Isis offered community. They were splintered and fractured after the US came in and dethroned Hussein; Isis offered belonging. The details didn't matter. What mattered was securing their families and creating peace for their own.

Don't get me wrong. I am not sympathizing with nor supporting Isis. Their brutality is abominable and, in my black or white opinion on this matter, must be wiped out. No compromise, no mercy.

But sometimes, when I look deeper--as in this case of this interview, I am amazed at the humanity of it all. These ruthless killers are devoted to family. Most likely they celebrate holidays, laugh with their children, hug their wives, watch the sunrise in awe.

How can that be?

Their senseless acts are evil, sheer darkness.

But life is filled with shades of gray.

Sometimes I wonder....if we could take all of the hatred and anger and violence in this world and roll it up in a ball, how large would it be? And then if we could take all of the beauty and love and kindness and wonder of this world and roll it up in a ball, how large would IT be? Would they be similar in size? Would the ball of hatred far surpass the ball of love? Or would it be the other way around?

While acts of terror and violence and rage are splashed all over the headlines,  average people walk the streets searching for hurting and helpless animals so that they can rehabilitate them and find them homes. Strangers take in children who are neglected and abused. Some stop and help the elderly or the handicapped load their groceries in their cars.

Some people ...
play in the rain, twirling with joy as raindrops fall on their cheeks,
play music and sing while they cook dinner for their loved ones,
run shelters for the homeless,
visit those in prison,
take a meal to the lonely or the sick,
offer a smile to the stranger they pass on the street,
take time for their aging parents,
offer encouraging words,
read inspiring words,
and some people embrace those who are different than themselves.

In my opinion? The ball made up of love and beauty and kindness is far bigger, far more meaningful.

Often I hear talk about how life has become so dark and that our world is on the verge of destruction. And granted, I do think with all of our nuclear weapons and acts of terror that could strike our water supply and such, we do stand on a precipice. But I don't think, personally, that it is because humanity has become so evil; I think it's because of the power we now hold in our hands. When I consider the days of Rome where stadiums were packed for the purpose of watching gladiators fight to the death...that isn't exactly an rose-colored view of the hearts of mankind.

Life has always been a conflict of love versus hate. I am not convinced that humanity has changed. From the beginning of time we've had the choice...

to choose kindness or choose to bitterness;
to choose to focus on how one has been wronged or to stand in awe at the wonder of a sunset;
to gossip and tear down or to offer words of encouragement and empathy;
to spread good will and community or to ostracize and belittle;
to accept with open arms or to reject simply because we don't understand.

That's Important to Me

When I first got home yesterday, I had many intentions, all involving kicking up my feet and filling up on the things I love: Netlix, journaling, reading, creating. Maybe a cup of hot tea by my side, or a cool glass of water to sip on throughout the evening.

But none of that happened.

As I cuddled up on the couch for  this much anticipated "adventure," I first checked my email, and immediately saw an email from my sister, Tami. She had sent me a link to a blog entitled This Life I Live, written by Rory Feeks about his life with Joey Feeks, his wife of 13 years. They are a well-known country duo in the music world right outside of Nashville.

I was immediately entrenched and started at the very beginning: January 2014, and worked my way through to November, 2015. The blog is gut wrenching, fascinating, real. It's a testimony to a beautiful life filled with simple things, family, love. In case any of you choose to read it yourselves, I won't give anything away. Suffice it to say, it is a tender, heart wrenching testimony, embedded with videos and songs they sing together that bring meaning to the content of the particular blog.

I started around 7:00 and put my iPad away at about 9:30, utterly drenched in life with the Feeks. It stuck with me all night, and all morning on this Veterans Day.

This morning I listened to one of their songs: That's Important to Me. It shows their life on their Tennessee farm where they live simply with no tv, no smart phones, cows, chickens, and their dog. She makes home cooked foods in their kitchen and watches the fireflies in the evening on their swing. It's filled with reminders of what is truly important in this life we live.

And it got me thinking about what's important to me. Sometimes, life turns into such a rat race, each day blurring into the next, and it's easy to get caught up in pointless worries such as others' opinions, others' lives, finances, petty arguments, petty ideas.

Sometimes we all need reminders that life is about love, simplicity, family, meaningful relationships, butterflies, art, a warm home, our pets, bursting flowers, towering mountains, crashing waves.

Sometimes we need to remember that it's more important to give of ourselves to those who are less fortunate than we are, that we are all connected, we are all one, doing the best we can on this planet where life can throw curveballs that are brutal in unspeakable ways.

Recently I was at work early one morning on a dark, cold, rainy day. I went into our little kitchenette that has a window that looks directly out to a little park area, the main street, and the courthouse on the other side. I noticed a growing circle of people huddled around a little woman sitting on a park bench with her head in her hands. It was clear the people surrounding her--all strangers by the looks of things--were concerned. One covered her with his umbrella while another scrambled for her phone. Shortly after, the EMTs arrived and placed her on a gurney, and headed off, sirens wailing.

I noticed the woman had her purse, was dressed in a skirt and jacket, and was clearly out for a day of purpose.

And now? Well, now who knows. Maybe she's fine and home resting from a scare.

But maybe she's not. I'll never know.

But what I do know is that life holds no promises. Each day is a gift and when we focus on the stress and the unfairness of it all and the negative cycles that run rampant through our heads, we trade beauty for cheap living; we trade negativity for joy.

I want to live deliberately, to ease the pain for others, to create more smiles  than frowns. I want to focus on laughter, mashed potatoes, the woven woods right outside my sliding glass door. I need more walks down Holcombe Cove Road where I can't help but look up.

I want to live what's important to me.

Rory's blog

The New Resident

A couple of days ago, I got up at my usual 5:00, headed downstairs, started my chai tea, and then walked into the living room to turn the light on when Ajax bounded through the cat door in the window with a perfectly healthy live mouse in his mouth. Once inside, he set him free on the carpet and began the game of cat and mouse. I stood frozen. But suddenly, I whipped into gear and began screaming and stomping like a crazy lady, yelling, "Ajax, get out! Get out now!" And, wonder of wonders, he did. He scooped up the mouse in his mouth and, clearly wanting to escape my crazy antics, madly dashed back through the cat door and out into the darkness with his prize.

Whew.

I stood there for a just a minute to let my heart slow a bit and then went about my normal routine--letting out Piper, giving him his pill, feeding the "wet" food to the cats, etc.

And then, I headed back into the living room for some "me" time--my absolute favorite time of the day....except, Ajax was back. This time he was peering frantically under the couch, moving his body with whatever was underneath and stretching his paw in hopes of catching it.

Clearly, the mouse was back.

I moved the couch and sure enough--he scurried out from under it and along the edge of the wall while Ajax, tired of his moving target, headed to the kitchen to find some food that didn't take so much work...and he couldn't be persuaded to come back and finish what he started.

Somehow I managed to chase the mouse into Darian's bedroom and closed the door, barricading the closet and the bedroom door with towels. And at 5:15 a.m., I headed upstairs to get Roy to help me get rid of this unwanted little creature.

I wish I had a video of the two of us scrambling after that damn mouse. For the next thirty minutes, we chased it like morons. It would go under the dresser, under the bed, under the hope chest, under under under...while we screamed and swung and chased. At times it even managed to run over my feet--or Roy's-- and we yelled like banshees and jogged in place for a second.

We did this for 30 minutes. Yeah.

T.H.I.R.T.Y. M.I.N.U.T.E.S.

Finally, after barricading all hiding places with towels and such, we had him cornered and there was no escape. We slowly went towards him--each of us with containers, a broom...and just when we were seconds away, inches away, from catching that little sucker....

....he went down the heating vent.

Yep. There's now a healthy, live mouse in our heating system.

Meanwhile, my "quiet" time was over. I headed back upstairs to get ready for work.

While I was at work, I sent a text to Roy: Please take Ajax in the car, drive a few miles down the road, and throw him out the window.

Roy responded: Great idea.

A couple of hours later, Roy sent me a photo of Ajax and Piper curled up together, sleeping contentedly. The caption?  "He found his way back home."

Meanwhile, I will go about my life, living my own definition of normal...but a little piece of me will be ever watchful for a little resident who has total access to every room in our home...

If anyone hears me screaming, or spies me doing a strange sort of dance through my windows....well, you'll know why.