Going Uphill...

One day my dad told me a story about being sent down to the field by his mother (my Nan) to deliver a message that it was time to come in for supper.  The message was being sent to his father (my Papaw Ashlock) who'd been out there most of the day walking behind a mule and plow to break up dirt for planting.

Daddy said he was about ten years old, tired, hungry and anxious to get back to the house after he told Papaw what he was supposed to know.  He watched Papaw unhook his mule from the plow and he saw an opportunity to climb on the bay and ride back to the house rather than walk uphill.  

So, thinking it a right smart idea, Daddy hopped on the mule's bare back.  Then immediately the mule turned and began to move straight toward home.  Daddy had no harness, reins or means to direct the mule.  But, it steadily walked the distance right through their yard into the barn where a corn crib was affixed to the wall.  My dad jumped off the bay when it began to eat and went to report to Nan that he had completed his chore.

Papaw arrived a while later to the kitchen and asked Daddy how he got to the house so fast.  When my father explained he'd ridden the plow mule up, Papaw said "that mule ain't broke to ride", meaning no one had been on the back of the mule until that night. Daddy said Papaw remarked the mule knew it had to walk uphill and was probably too tired to disagree about the matter.  As far as my dad could recall, however, no one ever did try to ride downhill on a morning when the mule was freshly rested.  

I guess we all get so tired some days we just want to go to the barn and it doesn't matter if we need to carry a few extra pounds uphill to get there.  So, if the work day is done, we are just going to the barn because we can and we feel fulfilled in our work.  Sometimes we have to carry extra weight for the good of the cause.  And, so we do.

My Aunt Margrhea spoke of how Papaw would sit tearfully in his chair after he reached the age he could no longer get up and go to work....each morning.  I always joked about how he just didn't want to be inside with Nan.  He was the sweetest man.  He'd walk downhill to work, knowing he'd be exhausted on the way back, probably sometimes exhausted on the way down but he went.  Maybe he found peace in doing what he knew how to do and maybe it was just a matter of routine.  I wish I could ask him about that now.  I also wish I could tell him how much I loved his company.

Perhaps I am outdated in my upbringing but I believe what we should strive for is peace of mind in life and I realize that looks different to every person.  My father was definitely his father's son in wanting to provide as best he could for his family.  He went to work with the flu, a broken bone, whatever...and he passed that on.  He'd hold court at the dinner table and say "Show up early and stay late!", "Work smarter not harder!" and other things that reminded us to be valued at our jobs.  But my strongest motivation was a desire to make my parents proud of the person I was turning out to be, work or otherwise.  And, I was mighty glad sweet Papaw had my school picture in his wallet right up until the end.  I hope that means he was proud of me too.

My gosh....I went uphill, off the trail and back on, during this thought-unlike the mule which was actually pretty smart.  

Forty Shades Of Green

St. Patrick's Day is one of my favorite non-major holidays!  I don't know if it's because of my eye color or because I liked pinching people who forget to wear green...but I like it.  I've been asking myself this question for a few days.  Why do I love this idea of  little green men hunting for pots of gold at the end of rainbows?  I've never even found a four-leaf clover.🍀🌈🍀

Tonight, in the car, I played Johnny Cash's song about Ireland - "Forty Shades of Green".  It can't be categorized as an Irish song; still, it's just the perfect St. Patrick's Day song for me.  But that's not the main reason I love that one.  In the last years, Dad told me that was one of his most favorite Johnny Cash songs.  I couldn't remember hearing it before.  So, we did what we did.  We dug out the vinyl, plugged in the record player with an extension cord running over Mom's kitchen table, and we listened to it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iEWEyRQHia8

I only had to hear it one time to decide I liked that one too.  It painted a picture of the different greens of crop varieties in fields, the emerald sea and so on....but it also expresses deep longing to be able to do and see again things one has already done or seen.

When I heard it play in the car today, I wasn't in the car.  I was back in my parents' kitchen.  We had coffee.  My Dad was sitting at the end of the table wearing a blue and white shirt.  My Mom was looking at Elvis records.  I can remember a lot of detail about that day but very much longed to do and see that again for real.

Earlier in the week, I watched a treasure hunting show on TV and I longed to hear my Dad tell about the different home places he had been around with his little shovel and metal detector.  I longed to walk those river bottoms with him looking for cool rocks.  Dad would point out blue grass, rye grass, and all the types of  wildflowers.  It was fun to look for treasure as a kid.  Now I know the treasure is the memory.

After the Razorbacks beat Kansas tonight, I had the urge to pick up my phone and call to discuss highlights of the game.  That happens even more during football season.  I  actually long to do that again on a regular basis.  But, I feel so lucky to have a chance to call my mom and chat.  We share some of those treasured memories together.

It might be true that Johnny Cash wrote this song in the 1950's after he visited Ireland and knew he wanted to return again since he loved it, as he was actually able to do.  And it might also be true that he likened what he saw to memories of working the land with his parents in Arkansas to get the crops in and out.  Further, it might be true that when my Dad heard this song, he recalled farming with his family.  Maybe he reflected on the exhausting days of tilling, sowing, harvesting with but a cold biscuit for lunch.  Even possibly, both these men respected the hard but honest work the farmers in Ireland were doing and were curious how that compared to walking behind a mule and plow in the Delta.  Kindred spirits are in all sorts of places.

I have a shamrock necklace my father handed me sometime in the late 1980's.   I think that's why St. Patrick's Day is my favorite.  And, I play Forty Shades Of Green sometimes to evoke the memory of an important time for me.

And just because you've done something awesome once, doesn't mean experiencing it again wouldn't bring you joy.  Trust me on this....I have a longer list every year.  Like the kind of event that might bring a tear to your eye, the tiny opportunity you'd pay lots of money for, conversations you want to have again even though you know how they end.  Such gorgeous sights to see, in forty shades of green or in an old vinyl record just spinning round and round.  If you live your best without creating regret, it's sweet to imagine the possibility to experience again the many things you've seen and done...💚💚💚

And, it may not be your style of music, but I've pasted the words if you are curious:

💚"Forty Shades Of Green"🍀

I close my eyes and picture
The emerald of the sea
From the fishing boats at Dingle
To the shores of Donaghadee

I miss the river Shannon
And the folks at Skibbereen
The moorlands and the meddle
With their forty shades of green

But most of all I miss a girl
In Tipperary town
And most of all I miss her lips
As soft as eiderdown

Again I want to see and do
The things we've done and seen
Where the breeze is sweet as Shalimar
And there's forty shades of green
(Green, green, forty shades of green)

I wish that I could spend an hour
At Dublin's churching surf
I'd love to watch the farmers
Drain the bogs and spade the turf

To see again the thatching
Of the straw the women glean
I'd walk from Cork to Larne to see
The forty shades of green

But most of all I miss a girl
In Tipperary town
And most of all I miss her lips
As soft as eiderdown

Again I want to see and do
The things we've done and seen
Where the breeze is sweet as Shalimar
And there's forty shades of green

Source: Musixmatch

Songwriters: Johnny R. Cash

Who Brings Out The Best & The Worst....

Greetings....Got my COVID booster shot and it was not super fun-like going to breakfast with my cousin or hearing some live music with my friends.  But, I got vaxxed up against COVID this week nonetheless before the holidays begin.

To celebrate my accomplishment, I decided to crack open a bottle of wine we brought home from vacation in St. Augustine.  (I guess transporting wine is legal????)  So, tonight as I was having a nice glass of Vinters White, I was thinking about what a nice day it had been.

Here's why:

1.  Had coffee with my granddaughter 

2.  Went to lunch with a best friend

3.  Made dinner with my partner

4.  Settled in with wine and the dog baby

Now, what all this has in common was really obvious to me upon quick reflection.  These are things that bring out the best in me (gives me joy and purpose) as well as the worst in me (shows my flaws and ways I fail) without any pretense. 

My family looks for me to offer my best, but when I am at my worst, they still recognize me.  My dear friends know when I am at my best and as trusted confidants and supporters they've seen me low.  My partner always brings out the best or worst in me because we're fire and ice yet we  prioritize our relationship.  Wine and the dog just are along for the ride without even making any assessments.  All are cheering for me to be happy, thriving and well.  I am always cheering for them to be happy, thriving and well.  Wine, um,  it's just cheering.... (wink**)

Is it my personality type or not?  Why do I even ponder such ideas?  Who knows...but these four things represent a great day to me, playing off my generally introverted/mildly-extroverted-at-times nature.  I sincerely wish for all of you to have safe spaces to shine at your best and be encouraged at your worst.  And, I hope you make time for yourself as we launch into the holidays next week.  

It's going to be another challenging winter and I know some of my best and worst days are coming.  We all have 'em in life.  One is needed in order to identify the other.  I plan to make time for my own mental health, cherishing my best days until I meet one of my worst days; then I will punt to that fourth agenda item above and repeat the list again.  

P.S. "Miss you Dad"...

Little Bit of Lot

Decades ago, this little section of land was deeded to my father upon the death of a relative.  It's been a topic of discussion at the dinner table many different times and quick to encourage four letter words to rise to the surface.  I think it's cursed ground.  I know of no happiness whatsoever associated with this property.  It belonged to an evil person and several people who at one time tried to take it by force or have accidentally thought they owned it but legally didn't.  I have no idea of how much fruitless work's been done there.   It's cost me hundreds of dollars in the last year for maintenance and I still did a rather poor job of keeping it up.  

Until this summer, it truly was contentiously unmanageable and now that it isn't, a whole new issue has developed for the little lot, in the little town where fewer people want to live anymore.  A friend who is like family did a lot of equipment work to bring the earth back to light.  But this can't be the end...else I fall in line with all those before me.  Should it be further developed?  I am thinking about building a duplex there and finally using the land for something more than holding the world together before we all get tossed into the lake of fire.  It's a little bit of an idea for a little bit of a lot, one worth little but always a lot of trouble.  

This photo shows the one beautiful tree left from where a large one used to stand before a local businessman (now deceased) who wanted the land had it cleared away in an effort to entice my dad to sell....boy, nobody could force Billy Dale to do anything - but the worst possible approach was to apply pressure.  He was like me, like most of us: isn't that why marketing was born?  To make a person think your idea is necessary,  it's their wish, fits into their plan, makes their dream come true.  Even now after so many years and knowing the history, my DNA might get in the way....so, I wonder, if I am dreaming about being a slum lord or just wanting to do something different before I die and come back to haunt the place.  Which by the way, might not be long if I don't figure out how to get past this spot,  or pay the property tax.

 

Walking 2020 Out To The Woods...

 

Wow….it’s been over a year since I approached the art of blogging.  I suppose it’s still an art.  I suppose anything is still possible in this year 2020.  There’s a couple of days left for any sort of pandemonium thing to happen, like the arrival of little green men on Earth, an invasion of giant locusts across the midwestern part of the United States or those elusive flying pigs I’ve always heard about around the ole coffee pot in the break room.

Perhaps it’s acceptable to say I have been distracted by the events of the incredible heart-slamming 2020.  Among them, more than one tragedy and loss in our family/community this year, a global pandemic, an unprecedented number of tropical storms, forced virtual learning for the grandchildren, massive corruptive governmental drama, and some slight personal health issues in the household.  But, while we wait for the Covid-19 vaccine, we have been graced with local curbside pickup within a 50 mile radius and that’s kept us safer than we would have been and out of the aisles for which we will never be able to personally thank the exact essential workers responsible.

I was talking to my friend today about her adventures in hiking beautiful destinations across the Natural State this year as a safe way to recreate during the pandemic.  It got me thinking about my love for nature and how that is so deeply rooted in taking walks with my father, way back when I was a little girl.  But, even now, when it’s warm enough (and not too windy), Fred and I get out and meander around the farm just to enjoy the fresh air in Arkansas.   

There’s something about feeling my feet on a familiar dirt path...it’s indescribable.  It’s not just comfortable.  It’s comforting.  It’s necessary.  It’s needed.  Physically.  Mentally. Emotionally. Definitely in 2020 more than ever.  I shared some meaningful walks with my granddaughters this fall also, making memories with them and discovering the varieties of trees growing along the property.  Hickory, sassafras, pine, elm, pecan, dogwood, oaks (and all those cedars I hate).  They’re pretty peaceful.  And quiet.  And calm.

If I let myself,  I can imagine distinct discussions with my father about events of this wonky year.   Like, what he would think about the way the coronavirus is raging across the world and particularly in America.   Although I would be so fearful of him catching Covid-19 if he were here, as a child born in the 1930’s, I know he lived through hardships I can’t even comprehend.  He would have something to say, if I asked him.

There's a lot I'd like to ask his advice about....like the time I threatened to murder someone this year. He wouldn't have advised that or would he have? I wish we could visit about Yellowstone (all 3 seasons) and 2020 football, the abysmal years our favorite teams had and what the ideas would be for improvement.  Probably we would decide to hope next year will be better.  One of us is a bit of a fair weather fan, and it is me.

I’d love to debate the current status of politics with my dad, as in many years before.  We wouldn’t agree but we’d cover two or three hours late at night without even taking a break. I think we would still both say the governmental system remains far too wasteful and our veterans deserve more respect.  Those things were always constant.  2020 would not be any different.  I’d say the same stuff, he’d say the same stuff and we’d neither be swayed.  I voted.  He wouldn’t have, but he would know all the issues in and out.

It’s fair to "guess-timate" that my Daddy would still ask me if I was moving back each time I came over to visit in the year 2020, and if I wanted to, he and Mom would let me.   I really don’t think anything could happen to change that any year…..even one as weird as this one was…...in my daddy’s lifetime.  And, to know your family loves you, that you can go home….well, that has continued to be something that keeps me going every single day.

One thing I’d really love to ask my Daddy about isn’t about current events so much as it is about a memory I have.  As we have watched all the news coverage of the horrific fires in California (and Colorado, etc.) this year, I have recalled climbing a fire tower when I was tiny with Daddy and looking WAY down to the ground below.  My Mom looked like a toothpick and Daddy and I were laughing at her because she didn’t climb up with us.  I think nowadays it’s somewhat illegal to set foot on the Arkansas Forestry Service fire watchtowers but in the early seventies maybe it wasn’t (or was).  I wish I could hear his version of that story right this moment.  I’ve heard Mom tell it recently.  I wish even more we could climb that tower in 2020!!!!

The last few years of my father’s life were not healthy ones.  He didn’t have the ability to walk the land like he did when I was learning to appreciate trees in our beautiful State of Arkansas.  But, he instilled the importance of that in me early on.  I understand why he would retreat to the woods and be lost out there sometimes for hours.  Even before 2020, it was a retreat from everyday craziness for him.  

It still means so much to me to get outside even occasionally and walk.  This year has been tough, but a little common sense and some good old-fashioned willpower is about to see me through 2020….along with a steady diet of Bill Ashlock’s philosophy of “just walk awhile and think about it”.  I’m gonna finish walking this year out.

I am making no new year’s resolution.  I haven’t done that for a while now.  I just aspire to live every day as it presents itself with the opportunity to do something purposeful, helpful or meaningful.  I have given up on trying to be perfect or likeable.  I can be happy just trying to see out of both eyes and occasionally writing a blog post about wandering the woods instead.  That was one of the first lessons I learned from Daddy….”Life isn’t going to be fair.  People aren’t going to be fair.  But, trees….trees are pretty quiet and peaceful.”  

Goodbye, 2020.  May 2021 be better for the people I hold most dear in my heart, the people they hold most dear in their heart, and so on and so on…..until the whole world is a better place for us all. 

Ban The Holiday Season...A Bad Idea Saved By Fred

Walking uphill to explore Baker Creek Seed Company.  This was our last family trip, the original five of us. 
Dad didn't really feel like going but he did it for us.  That's the example I remember so fondly. 
You do things for your people.

Cancel it all this year, I said adamantly weeks ago. I don't want to do anything for the holidays. No turkey, no Christmas tree, no presents. No cleaning up before and after. But, Fred knows that I really would never abandon family tradition. I just needed a reminder of how important the family is...and that life goes on. So needless to say, with Fred's insistence, we're having some holiday festivities soon!
Next week as our families celebrate Thanksgiving, I will dig my father's plaid shirt out from the closet and wear it all weekend. And, I will feel lost. I will sit and stare at the blue cotton fabric. And, I will feel loved. I will tinker with the buttons and snap in and out of holiday seasons when we were all still together. Then I will tell myself how lucky I am to have such awesome family members.
By request from people I love, and to show my immense affection for them, I will bake. And bake, And bake. Peanut Butter Pie, Brandy Pecan Pie, Rum Cake, Chocolate Pie....and I am so excited to learn of a local source for fresh farm eggs again. It's the secret to a really good tasting pie or quiche. And I will drink lots of strong coffee because I am my father's daughter.
When the kids laugh and run through the house, I will know it was the right thing to do. And, I will remember Daddy was always with his family first and foremost. He expected us to go on with everything---gathering to be thankful...So we will gather together because it is a way to show our love for each other.
As the plates are loaded in the dishwasher and all the serving bowls are put away, I will feel content and walk out on the porch or patio to get some fresh air and look up to the sky. And, I will hope my work was perceived as given from the heart and in honor of family.
Holidays are just different now. I'm even more eccentric that before. I need to feed everyone pie just in case it's the last time I get to do it. I need to hug them before they travel home. In amongst the uncertainty of life, my holiday armor (in form of a faded blue, button-down, plaid shirt) gives me courage necessary for Thanksgiving. Courage to talk about my dad to people who also miss him, to laugh about things he might say were he here, and to not be sad on a day there's too many things for the 'blessings we have received this year' list.
Now, back to Fred. He is a wonderful spouse who can see when I am sinking and will do something to turn around the situation before I fall off into oblivion. For example, since he wanted a Christmas tree, he went to all the trouble of getting the tree down from the attic storage. Yesterday he picked up a new tree topper with beautiful snowflake patterns. Today he brought home fresh mistletoe & we have a few holiday decorations out already to make the home look festive.(Probably all we're going to do!) I may not be trying to ban the holidays anymore - but I am definitely cutting way back on the extras.
If there's a morale to this story, it's to embrace what you are feeling and find a way to use it for fuel to power the success/solution. Daddy didn't coin the phrase but he used to often say "Work smarter, not harder." And he seldom gave up on solving anything. He was always thinking, building strategy, posing solutions to problems I hadn't even thought about yet. So, I am rocking the 2019 holidays by leveraging my emotion into courage and reflection. Those things are going to lead me to all the right feels, to cook and enjoy time with family; some memories are sure to be made! Perhaps my tiny little heart will grow a bit more (Ref;Grinch) and my broken heart will heal some too, especially if that mistletoe works.
Happy Holidays....Merry Christmas to everyone and if you have any suggestions, please feel free to share. I know I am not the only one who feels sort of like this sometimes when it comes to managing grief.

Sinister Snapshot

Halloween is approaching....it sort of goes by unrecognized at our house.  We have no little children to dress up and carve pumpkins with.  Costumed kids do not knock on our door for candy (because we live in the middle of nowhere).   Even our grandkids are no-shows because we are out of the way.  So, we buy our favorite sweet treats (just in case - yeah, we say - as we wouldn't want to send a youngster away with a can of ravioli) and then we proceed to eat all this candy while watching evening news after supper meal.

I enjoy how some of my adult friends spend time developing elaborate costumes.  One year we did get invited to a fun Halloween party and we spray-painted old cardboard to make Hershey bar costumes.  Needless to say, we did not win any prizes for effort or creativity.  I don't think I ever really enjoyed dressing up for Halloween.  I have a hard enough time just dressing up to be me.  When I was a girl, of course the thing was to wear those hard plastic masks that were extremely hot and uncomfortable.  I know they had to be unsafe and are probably now outlawed for various reasons, including the fact that children couldn't breathe or see where they were going while wearing one.

But, if you enjoy the season, you may be especially pleased at the resurgence of scary movies during the month of October.  TV stations are playing all the Stephen King classics, seventy-five Nightmare on Elm Street sequels, Children of the Corn, the 'Halloween' namesake films and more...Which brings me to the purpose of posting this photograph from the 70's.  I have tried to recall the situation and cannot.  But I am certain it's me pictured here in flannel pajamas and Mom has just taken my hair down from those pink plastic foam rollers so probably we were about to go to church or something.  It's obviously cool out, the trees have dropped their leaves so I suppose fall was over and if this was like every other day, we were doing chores - which included tending to our farm animals outside.  All very innocent stuff right!

For some reason though, my brother thinks I look like a possessed child from a horror film in this photograph.   I admit the sky is gray, the smile is a little sinister (but hey, have you met me?) and of course innocence is often a good disguise, and one of my arms looks longer than the other which might be a freaky thing in itself.  What you can't see in the photo is the bloody ax behind me and those five neighbor children running down the driveway screaming for rescue.  Just kidding.  There were only 4 frightened neighbor children at that point.

Really, it's just a snapshot that somehow caught my brother's attention one day when we were looking at old pictures.  We have laughed about it a thousand times and I hope and pray we all live long enough to laugh about it another thousand more....and as long as my brother minds his manners, maybe he will survive my wrath.   On the other hand, mess with either one of my brothers and the body count is sure to rise.  (Cue the evil witch laughter)👿👿👿👿👿👿👿👿👿👿😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈Be safe on Halloween.  Watch out for the little ones.  Their parents also still need chocolate too.

Transverse Sinus Vein....Yes, You Have This

Inside a person's skull resides a transverse sinus vein.  There's lots of veins above the neck.  It's sort of like winding roads, curving and circling around up and down a mountain.  It serves a purpose just like a road to transport something from place to place.  It's important.  It sort of keeps a body alive.  The transverse sinus vein inside my head is blocked; the blood isn't traveling through as it should.  Not in breakneck Manic Monday speed.  Not in normal everyday average speed.  Not even slow in Sunday-afternoon-driver speed.  Blocked.  Not right.  The surgery I had in April last year worked for a while but now my neurologist says I'm "back to square one".

The transverse is the horizontal one going sort of left to right on this diagram here.  I have a titanium stent already in the right side which helped for about a year.  But, now it's not enough to keep me going.  My MRI shows both right and left sides are blocked.  Reason unknown.  Probably forever unknown.

So, in early October when people begin to travel the winding roads of beautiful Arkansas to look at fall leaves and pretty valleys, I will be checking into the hospital in Little Rock to have some repair work on the brain.  I'm not looking forward to it but if I don't do it, I won't be looking at anything.  It's so simple-yet when I break it down, I don't really feel any better about the options.  And, I'm confident Arkansas has some of the best medical care available.

For the next few weeks or months, you will find me to be disorganized and unprepared.   Very little housekeeping will be taking place.  The dog needs a bath.  Our cars are dirty.  I am having trouble seeing, hearing, speaking and even sleeping.   I am not enjoying social events or wearing the latest fall fashion.  If I love you, you know it.  If I don't, now is not the time to whine or ask for a favor.  I have even less patience than usual.   Hopefully, post-surgery, all will regulate back to normal again...until then, I can't tolerate much bright light, rude behavior, shrill noises, blatant arrogance or spicy food. (Actually, that's probably going to stay the same...but I guess that's okay.)

Happy Fall in Arkansas-Take time to enjoy the season with people you like to be around.  If you don't like to be around certain people, there's no better time than now to go your own way.  And, may the winding road you choose to travel not be blocked, like my transverse sinus vein!   If it is, don't give up on getting where you want to go. 

The River Vs. The Ray-Bans

At the risk of revealing my old age, I remember when Ray-Ban sunglasses made the stage.  To have Ray-Ban's in your possession really made you something.  The right people wore them - Tom Cruise in Risky Business, Don Henley in the Boys of Summer video on MTV, and as usual, all the cool kids had them.  "I wear my sunglasses at night....." wasn't written about no-name brand mirrored UV protection, kids.

Of course, this was not a particular lucrative time of my life.  I worked part-time to pay my room and board and was blessed with a kind-hearted roommate.  Said roommate's car was usually fueled and available for emergency transport.   It was an adequately challenging and character-building situation but not financially-rewarding.  No way I was buying luxurious Ray-Ban sunglasses.  I couldn't even afford the truck stop knock-offs but if I had a 'bucket list' back then, other than basic survival from day to day, becoming the owner of Ray-Ban's was on it.

Life rolled on and college ended and I suppose several dozen pairs of plastic, non-descript types of sunglasses came in and out of my life, like lots of other things.  Many times I stopped at the kiosks in shopping malls to peruse the Ray-Bans.  I picked up a few pairs and delicately placed them back on the display case.  I watched the styles evolve for more than a decade.  I noticed the brilliant ads in fashion magazines and I admit envy on occasion.  Still, I continued wearing my discount store eye protection and wondering how much cooler I would be if I could only afford 'real sunglasses'.

And then, I ended up in New Orleans for a work training.  I was finally earning more than $3.25 an hour so I caved to the pressure and arrived back to Arkansas with a standard, though somewhat old style, pair of authentic Ray-Ban sunglasses with the little white writing on the lens.  And all was right with the world.  For about two weeks.

Until float trip time on Spring River.  And, I knew better.  (This is still the hardest part.)  I most definitely knew better.

Summers in Arkansas are wonderful.  It's hot and sunny and respite comes from water. And icy cold beverages.  Many days I've spent in or around Spring River.  Camping, cooking, swimming, just living...this particular summer I was living cooler simply because I had Ray-Ban's.  Somewhere there may be a photograph (if I'm lucky, that would be the only evidence to prove this blog story) taken during those couple weeks when I was so cool.  You know, before the float trip.  Before Spring River took my treasure.

As I recall, our group put in our float gear about ten in the morning with about a three hour downward on the river to take out, just like we'd done all our lives.  I know there's millions of things at the bottom of the river.  I grew up watching things sink.  Only this Saturday, what sunk was my new sunglasses.  And my overgrown ego.

Our day was usual - laughs and fun.  Always was.  When we reached the deepest part of the river journey, my Ray-Ban's jumped off my face into the mirky wet.  I instinctively jumped down after them.  Not frantic but determined.  Until I realized I was about to drown.  I had to decide my life was worth more than my treasure.  My life became my treasure.  My Ray-Ban's may or may not have been heading back to New Orleans via the Mighty Mississippi.  Either way, they were gone.  My cool-ness was over.  I let the river take it, metaphorically speaking.

So, I returned to the un-cool life of discount store eyewear.  I never even got to experience buyer's remorse, rather I went directly to anger for wasting my hard-earned money on something I didn't take care of.  Thankfully, I was smart enough to choose wisely more than not since then.  Lots of invaluable things have come and gone, washed to the bottom never to be seen again.  I have to tell myself I'm not the only pirate on the water some days.  But, life takes a toll and we worry less about 'cool' and magically that's when we become what we wondered if we could be.

These days, I need glasses to assist my vision.  I have readers for detail work.  I wear glasses for driving.  My eyes are very sensitive to light so I do have sunglasses and sometimes wear them at times other people might find odd.  I don't really care.  My treasure is my vision.

This summer, after saving up, yes, I am the proud owner of new Wayfarers with progressive lenses (no bi-focals for this old cool lady).  Tortoise-shell frames and mirrored lens - just in case someone wants to see themselves in me.  Classic Ray-Ban case to keep them safe when they're not on my face.

And you can be assured, these Ray-Bans will not be hitting Spring River anytime soon.  I left treasure there in exchange for lessons learned and time traded for many sweet memories of growing up.

By the way, 90's fashion trends are back.  The river is still running the same direction and I have had a wonderful life!

The Moon, The Mood, The Melody Except In Opera!

Full moon tonight.  I always think about my friend Judy (miss her lots since she left Earth in May) and how we used to predict what crazy things certain people would do whenever the moon was about to be full.  We would joke about how the full moon was like a spotlight coming through our windows at night, keeping us wide awake to ponder all the things that stress people in daily life.  I remember her vivacious laugh and her empowering hugs so well - but I sure would like to have had one of each today, and a little conversation about nature's spotlight tonight.

My mood is dark, despite the bright round light in the sky.  I am not feeling well and I am doing what I do...I am crawling into my shell for a while.  I take off my make-up and I put clean sheets on my bed and I look deep inside for whatever that stuff is that pulls my willpower back in gear.  I am so lucky my husband supports and helps, rarely complaining about the undeniable truth that I am a terrible housewife.  T-E-R-R-I-B-L-E!  He's there for me to lean on and I do.  My whole family is always there for me.  And, my boss is terrific, compassionate and kind.  Not to mention, I have that friend who gets it...what a treasure!

I feel tremendously inadequate at this point in almost every way.  Work, family, friends, chores and even simple things like driving my own car.  It's been a strange year.   I miss my dad so very much (since he left the Earth in February) but he taught me a lesson through his strength as he handled his last few challenges. I can think about how my mom did everything in her power for Daddy and it was an amazingly beautiful gesture of love, faith and devotion...Somewhere, those qualities are in my genes...and to wake them, I turn to a familiar comforting melody.

Music has healing properties.   Certain melodies lift my spirits and sometimes song lyrics say just what I have to hear.  The melodies are better than medicine for me.  I don't care whether you believe it or not.  If you don't agree, I would suggest exploring other music.  Message me for some inspiring suggestions.  When I get to the top of this latest mountain in my path, I will send you some eclectic selections for healing.  All but opera; there's no melody in opera!

This too shall pass, such as the moon will fade.  There are so many good things in my life still to enjoy, even though some of them are just memories and melodies.

Make Up My $@%M Mind

Around the house, I am known for my 'waffling' skills.  And, I'm not talking about making breakfast.  I wrestle with decisions and weigh the pros and cons back and forth, upwards and down.  I'm not particularly dumb nor am I overly bright.  But I waffle with making choices sometimes.  In my quest to become more self-aware, I have been trying to get to the crux of this habit.

I think I've found the reason and it's not what I thought it was.  I have learned over the years that I need to rush to admit my mistakes and my faults.  If I can take ownership before someone else can claim these things and use them as ammunition against me, then I am in blissful self-preservation mode.  So it's not a matter of pride.  And, I long ago realized the value of just committing to something and dealing with shortcomings as needed.

However, if I purposely and maliciously made a choice that adversely affected someone I love, it would bring to life one of my worst fears.   I see constant instances where people act without consideration of the impact their choices may have on others.  Addicts (alcohol, gambling, shopping, drugs) drain family resources, employees collect paychecks and let their colleagues do the brunt of the work, parents neglect their children.  Pick what you find to be uncaring and crude in our culture.  Add them to my list.

I think I think too much....and when I do that, I have a track record of doing stuff I don't really want to do just for the benefit to someone important to me.  It's my gesture of love and devotion.   And those are the kinds of decisions I want to make easily and without the waffle issue.   I'm getting too old to waste time worrying about this.

I'm going to start shucking the stuff that doesn't feel comfortable...Those painful but expected rituals like buying a gift for the neighbor's fifth wedding shower.  The obligatory greeting to the person you know has stabbed you in the back but your friend says they're nice.  Sugar-coating the severity of someone's hurtful actions just to make them feel better about themselves.

So, I shall decide to not be so indecisive.  Is that too selfish for a middle-aged gal with eccentric tendencies toward being anti-social and needing way too many shoes?  I'm making up my mind..."I really don't care where we eat on date night honey", and I mean it!

Hundreds of Helpers

In this day and age of technology coupled with social media, it's remarkable how our communication channels work.  This afternoon I was sitting at the kitchen table talking to my mother as I sent a text to my brothers in just a quick second.  I find communication important in all walks of life.  It's easy now and there's no excuse not to do it....Then I digressed back to earlier days when I lurked near the single telephone hanging by the front door of our home, just in case someone called.  Especially in the summertime when I hoped one of my friends from school would call to break up the boredom.

Also in those days, it wasn't possible to communicate with someone automatically like I did today as soon as I wanted to.  In 1982, it might have required a bit of patience if a neighbor was already occupying that one line the four households 'shared'.  I smiled to myself and  consciously thought about how great my life has been and how good youth flies by.  I wished for simpler times like those were....no telemarketers, no spam (other than that meatlike stuff in a can), no cyber-bullying, no Facebook posts about whatever it is I am trying to ignore....

Later today when I logged on to catch up on my email and Facebook notices, I was overwhelmed.  Absolutely overwhelmed....HUNDREDS OF MESSAGES and NOTES from friends offering condolences, kind words,  and thoughtful reflections about the tremendous loss of my father this month.  I made an effort to acknowledge each one because every single one was so meaningful to me.  Some were from people I haven't seen in months, years, eons.  Others were written in states I may never get to again but where people care about my sorrow.

Social media can be dark, evil and mean but so can people.  But it doesn't have to be.  It can also be such a positive tool to help a fellow human, one who chooses to grieve publicly,  in times of sadness.  And, it's right at the fingertips.  It's like being a wizard with the superpower to make a difference, to brighten someone's day, to acknowledge a beautiful sunrise - all the while right where you are sitting comfortably in pajamas and fuzzy socks (and the pointy wizard hat if you do).

Thank you.  My sincerest thank you, to all the hundreds of helpers.  You know who you are and you mean the world to me.  Lots of nice things have been said about my father's character.  I've heard some fun stories about my Dad from people who knew him in a different way than I did.   Some things made me laugh; others brought a tear to my eye.  I needed both.  Much love to my online friends.  💑   I appreciate your social media gestures...Keep waving the magic wand, my beloved hundreds of helpers.

Wheelchair No More

When I learned some five years ago that my father had cancer, I didn't cry.  I agreed completely with his plan of treatment (no surgery) and all of us sort of went back to our normal way of doing things.

As the disease progressed, I began to see him in pain.  I saw my mother trying every possible thing to help Daddy.  I didn't cry about it or say much.  Although I did cry out to God above....I asked for that pain to be transferred to me.  I was willing to make a deal, strike a bargain, whatever it took to relieve my parents from what they were facing.

I told a friend about my prayer.  I think I can handle it if I know it matters.  She said 'it doesn't work that way'....and I knew she was right but I continued to pray that my Daddy wouldn't hurt.  He was so good and gentle to the world.  I went through a stage where I compared his illness to people beating the drills of cancer.  But my friend again said 'it doesn't work that way'.  And she was right.   Some things I just don't understand.

Finally, I realized I could not will a change, control the process or make a bargain that would matter.  I began to try to spend as much time as I could making memories.   Memories that I know are getting me through from day to day.

The last time I took Daddy to the doctor at Five Rivers, I had a good plan.  I backed the car up right by the sidewalk and went inside the medical building, got a rickety wheelchair and rushed out to get him.  We were at a slight incline but after a few minutes we were loaded up and ready to head toward the doctor's office.  I wheeled the chair around from the car and turned a corner upward to the door. And then it happened....

That rickety wheelchair (which I hope has now been disposed of) came apart.  At least, the handle grip came off the handle.  I was left standing on the sidewalk holding only the plastic handle and my Daddy was rolling downhill fast into the concrete jungle.  I yelled "Daddy, stop".  He chuckled back "I can't" as he skidded sideways out of control.  I threw myself between him and the car to cushion the crash and luckily a man came out and saved us because he saw our plight....we've laughed about that so much.  I can only imagine the look on my face...Daddy wasn't angry, he didn't show fear (if he had any), and after that we got our own wheelchair for future use.  Well, wheelchair no more.

As I talked to Mom on the phone tonight, we agreed that it's indeed a good thing the man we love so deeply doesn't need a wheelchair anymore.  He never deserved that horrible illness that settled in his strong, capable body.  Some things I just don't understand.

Now in grief, I can cry when I want to and sometimes when I don't want to.  I am unsure how it helps me other than to clean my tear ducts.  It's true my heart has part of my father in it.  But, it also has part of my mother there too.   There's a section up high in there, a shelf perhaps, where she will always be on a pedestal for her loving attention to my dad.  Many people would have abandoned the cause, would have said it was too hard, but not Mom.  Some things I just don't understand.  Like love that never gives up and how those damn Chinese wheelchairs come apart at the least opportune times.

Dating @ Wal-Mart on Friday

This morning I brought my Daddy's parakeets home with me from Muddy Lane.  I hope to find a good home for them (so if you're reading this and would like to adopt two sweet little birds, message me) where they will be enjoyment to someone.  Daddy kept them about two feet away from his recliner and he really did enjoy watching them and listening to them chirp a bit.  Although, I'm fairly sure he couldn't hear them much.  The TV was always up too loud...

On my way home, I had to dash into Wal-Mart for some bird seed, Fritos and bananas.  I ended up adding some Reeses candy, a pineapple, gum and a 12-pack of beer.  I avoid Wal-Mart in protest because I don't think they pay their employees enough - but sometimes I realize I can't be so spiteful to the point that I totally inconvenience myself.

So, I'm waiting in a long checkout line and the sweet little manager directs me to Line #2 for quicker service.  I head that way and see a very small woman wearing dark sunglasses finalizing her transaction.  Right behind her is a regular-looking guy with a frozen pizza and two other things.  I'm feeling good about the situation.  Gotta get out of here as soon as humanly possible.

But, the situation was weird.   Small woman only appeared to be finishing her transaction.  She has longer fingernails than I've ever seen and is getting cash back from her credit card.  She doesn't like the bills the cashier gave her so she decides to switch twenty dollar bills for fives....all the while talking with regular-looking guy who says something like this:
"I'm actually from New York.  I'm a professional logger.  But I like Arkansas because you can buy a house for $5000.  I'm looking for a lady friend but these Southern women down here are just hard to get along with.....I'd like to have a woman to spend my money on....yeah, I'm about to go to probate court because my Dad just died and I'm getting $4.3 million now.  You'd think that would help me get a nice lady.  But, I guess I'll have to go back to New York to find a good woman."

Small lady says "I'm originally from New York" and finally walks away with professional logger....the  cashier tells me the woman comes into the store often enough to be known for calling the employees 'dumb hicks' and usually claims to be from Florida.

Dating at Wal-Mart might be about as effective as FarmersOnly.com but I'm standing in line with my less-than-20-items wishing these people would take their chit chat and go anywhere but in my way.  I guess I live in my own little world too much.  I had two little birds in my Tahoe that I needed to get back to!

My mother often says that it takes all kinds of people to make the world go 'round.  And that's her way of explaining situations like my weird experience at Wal-Mart.  I have always admired how she loved her job as a door greeter at the Pocahontas Wal-Mart.  She really did look forward to standing at the entrance to the store and welcoming people for hours on end.  To me, that would be pure torture.  (I'm one of those Southern girls that's just hard to get along with although regular-looking guy had no idea how I was biting my tongue.)  To Mom, it was natural.  She loves people.

I think I'll stick with the birds.  The smaller of the two is green and yellow.  The other's blue mostly.  Actually, I'm a little blue myself.

Birds of a Feather Flock Together on Muddy Lane

Going through the process of planning a funeral probably varies from family to family.  As we sat doing just that last week, I imagined disagreeing, arguing, fighting and other escalations by people who'd sat in the chair I was sitting in.  Meanwhile back in reality, my mother had no hesitation about the fact that my father did not want to be embalmed.  It was in her words, 'the last thing I can give him that I know he wanted' so neither of my brothers or I had cause to disagree, to argue, to fight or to engage in other escalations.  We had zero reason to do that because we stick together.

The pastor who officiated Daddy's service is my mother's friend and church leader.  He genuinely cares about her and came to talk to her in person about the funeral.  He offered support.  He prayed with her.  He asked us if we wanted him to mention anything about our Dad.

One thing I could think of:  Daddy loves birds.   Always has.  He raised all kinds.  Quail, ducks, wild turkeys, parakeets and parrots...peacocks most recently.  Dad fed the wild birds as a staple and enjoyed that so.  He cared for sick birds with gentle determination.  It was his way to marvel at the beauty of nature.  But perhaps his favorite bird of all was the rotisserie chicken we would carry home from Sams Club.

Driving to the cemetery Friday, we noticed a pair of Canadian geese feeding along a pond bank in a field where I remember riding around to 'count cows' with Dad.  The pastor mentioned seeing some wild turkey flocked adjacent to the cemetery as he made his way down Muddy Lane.  A neighbor brought some food and she raved about how they love when Dad's peacocks visit their yard.  Birds...birds....birds.

I can remember lots of bird-related lessons.  More than I could ever write on a blog.  A bird caused Daddy and me to have that talk about life and death.  He recalled his mother sending him out to catch a fat barnyard hen when family came to visit so she could prepare a 'good meal'.  Another bird story reminds me of how Dad would doctor up sick animals, creatively trying something that might solve the problem.  The two of us actually performed a 'surgery' on a juvenile turkey one afternoon with needle and thread.

One of the major qualities of my character involves a bird.  A killdeer.  When I was probably in third or fourth grade, Dad found a killdeer nest in the pasture by our home.  He took me out to see it and we had a long discussion about how that particular species of bird nests on the ground unlike the robin in the tree or the bluebird in the box.  He explained how the mother bird attempted to lure us away from her nest when we approached.  (Look it up if you don't know how that works...it's amazing.)  Anyway, I saw the tiny eggs and while walking back to the house he told me not to go back and disturb the bird.  I said I wouldn't.

The next day after school, I couldn't wait to go look at the bird eggs.  I went out into the field and walked and walked but my elementary brain couldn't remember the exact spot.   I watched the mother bird's ritual but she did not succeed.  I kept looking. And then it so happened that my foot located the bird nest. I stepped on the eggs and they broke.  I ran back home and felt terrible but said nothing to my mother.

Later that night when Dad asked me if I'd been to see the killdeer nest, I lied.  He asked me again.  Again, I lied.  He said nothing more but slowly stood up and unbuckled his belt.  And I got it.  A spanking.  The last one I've had up to this point.  And, then Daddy said "I'm not punishing you for the bird nest.  I know you didn't mean to do that.  I am whipping your butt for lying. You have to take responsibility if you do something wrong.  And you don't lie."

You see, a bird story....one of the most influential lessons of my entire life.  If you know me at all, there may have been (or will be) a time when I say something to you that you do not like.  I may give you an answer that you find unpleasant.  But it will not be a lie.   I can sugar-coat with the best but I value the truth more than being fake.   And I owe that to my father's way of teaching right from wrong.  And to a killdeer bird that randomly built her nest one summer near my home.

After retirement, Daddy enjoyed birding as a hobby.  Oh, how we have laughed about him hunting for an ivory-billed woodpecker when that story came out in the news.  He would sit out and watch all the wild birds fly in for sunflower seeds.  He had conversations with his parrots.  He'd sneak around and follow turkey hens and the peahens to find where they were nesting in the spring.  It was a challenge he enjoyed because the hens were secretive and he'd anticipate the hatching of the chicks for each mother bird.  It often took him several days to find the location, but he would stay determined in his searching because he wanted to keep an eye on each nest.

Daddy also applied that same gentle determination to love for his people.   He kept an eye on us.  He was undeterred in his ways - a simple life in the nest, a cheerful disposition to handle the changes of the weather and a firm appreciation for loyalty to the flock.  I now realize that my family like is a flock of birds.  We are going to stick together and take care of the Momma Bird.  I love you Mom!  Everything's gonna be just fine.  Your sons are remarkable for they have their father's ways.  Your baby birds didn't fly too far.  They're right on Muddy Lane!

Subliminal Hearts & Twinkle Lights on Valentine's Day: To Daddy 2018

Is subliminal a word?  My brain is so scattered that I truly don't know.  My mind is mush.  My life is different than I've ever known it to be.   Oh, and my heart...not just heavy.  It's gone.

As I write, it is unseasonably warm for February (77 degrees Fahrenheit) in Arkansas.  Wind howls this afternoon.  So, I build upon the load of worry.  I anticipate the weather forecast section of local news.  Will it rain on my Daddy's grave before we get him in it?  Will it storm at the service tomorrow?  Are people going to be uncomfortable?  Gale force winds perhaps? Will we all be wrapped in the velvet from the funeral home tent somewhat like Scarlett O'Hara when she fashioned a green dress out of parlor room curtains?  The humor is helpful momentarily but the sad returns.

Oh, my heart.....where are you?
When are you coming back?
There's an empty space in my chest.
You can't stay with Daddy because I need my heart back to go on.
I need a heart to live and laugh.
My heart makes me love and share.
I want to go whole-heartedly like always, like Daddy said to do.
Strive for peace of mind, with all your heart, he said.

Will it take a force of nature, a storm of sorts, to position my heart back in place so I can breathe and do? Time to get back on track.  Oh, my heart....where are you?

My sweet uncle pointed out to me today that my father was historically considerate of others, and I know for a fact he was  - to the point of his very own inconvenience at times.   For example, when he gave haircuts on Saturday nights to a Vietnam Veteran who'd been shunned by the 'town barber' for drinking.  When he got up all sleepy-eyed in the middle of the night to rub my little tummy if it hurt.  Maybe, when he offered a warm welcome at the front door to a convicted felon who needed a bit of hope to move forward.

Or  perhaps when he wore this silly party hat for his grand-daughter's birthday party?  Or the time he stuffed a billy goat in the trunk of his car to save it from being hurt on the highway.  Said goat politely hopped out of the Impala and ate my mother's rose bush then proceeded to destroy several articles of clothing crisply drying on the line.  This was because of his heart....the very heart that stopped beating inside his body on Tuesday.

I believe my heart skipped a beat at that same time and I am no longer synchronized with what I know I have to do.  My heart will not beat as before; it simply will not.   I have attempted to will it so.  I have tried meditation, medication, massive amounts of caffeine and denial.  You see, when Daddy had to go, he put me in charge of a different heartbeat.  As always, with his last act, he challenged me to have a better heart.  I have to adjust myself whether by jolt of  thunder and lightening at a grave or jolt of realization that what is happening is very real and true.  If the storm is literal, or only living in my heart, I know I can bear the shock if I square my shoulders and walk with the storm for a minute.  My dad went right into the storm with heart.  I have to go inside and find it.  I shall learn from him still.

My current heartbeat won't sustain.  It jerks from time to time with a shrill pain of loss.  It slows down and wants to just crumble.  Then, it feels a hopeful tug from joyful memories and laughter, simple smiles and glances. The clanking sound of the spoon stirring a dab of sugar in the coffee cup.  My sweet Daddy only needed a slightest dab of sugar.  Karla avoids it these days on purpose.  But, she does know she can't go on at this pace.  Her family needs her heart to sync back up to her peace of mind.

The heart ...being such a fragile and critical thing, tender yet strong, essential yet unseen and damaged can still beat.  Elsewise, we would not know love and loss.  My father's heart knew.  Mine will too.  I have to follow the twinkle in his eye, the light from his love, the familiar beat of his heart.

Daddy, I'm getting there.  I realize you protected my heart so much with your own for 51 years.  I believe I can get that new rhythm lined out.  And, I think my tiny insignificant heart has been touched by so much love and respect for  your gigantic and wonderful heart!  I love you Daddy....I do still feel the love from your heart.  I hear you say my name.  I can see right into your eyes.  And, when I focus, I understand your message.  We will keep it about the 'heart'.  No need for more words.  Subliminal all the way.  Rain or shine,  we will honor your life from now on.

So, when is my heart coming back?  When I recall your laugh.  If I think of your favorite songs.  Every time I choose not to care what someone else thinks of me.  Encouraging honesty and integrity where I can.   Whenever I remember your groovy straight silver hair.  Sharing stories of good days with my family.  By telling of your deeds and your gentle way of living.  Maybe when the twinkle lights come on, my heart can blink itself back to where we can beat on subliminal time.  Lucky for me, my brothers are in charge of the twinkle lights!  They learned how to be real men from you Daddy...

Mean and Green - Jealous Again

Remember 'green with envy'?...one of those old catch phrases that implicates a beautiful color as something other than naturally wonderful.  Green should remind us of springtime pastures, tree frogs and crisp sugar snap peas.  Green should not connect us to a bitter angry feeling about someone because they have something we don't or because they are someone we are not.  Green is about growing, thriving, new sprouts. 💚

I was talking with a friend about jealous behavior this week.  It's laughable at times when people display that green tint of jealousy.  But, at other times, it's infuriating.  Jealous envy is destructive in every way.   It's downright mean.  There's nothing good about feeling negative toward someone because they have done something you haven't or can do something you can't.

A long time ago I learned a valuable lesson about this....and it was presented to me because I worked in a building where offices were made of modular walls-the kind of walls that didn't reach to the ceiling therefore affording little to no privacy.  One of my coworkers was possibly less than diligent about staying busy.  Another coworker was extremely diligent about monitoring the other's lack of productivity.  It was not a fun situation for me to say the least.  It began to grate on my nerves until finally, this conversation happened:

Coworker (whispering) - Doesn't it just drive you crazy that Joe Bob talks on the phone all the time instead of working?  He does this every day and nobody seems to care.
Me - I don't think I'm responsible for what Joe Bob is doing.
Coworker - Well, we have to pick up the slack.
Me (not whispering) - I'm pretty busy minding my own business over here.  But apparently, you aren't getting that much work done either if you have so much free time to watch him all day long.
Coworker - Well.... (huffy face, back turned, walked away)

Now, what I hadn't said at the time was that yes indeed, I had noticed what was going on but I didn't find it worthwhile in any way to compare myself to my coworkers.  And, I realized then how everyone has their own definition of what hard work means and mine was the only one I had to live up to....what a valuable lesson that still guides me to this day.

I feel the same way about success.  It's highly personal.  If it's not, it won't feel good.  Maybe there's a possibility that envy, jealousy and bitterness will come into play.  Then, who's really successful and who's really not minding their own dang business?

There will always be lesser and greater situations.  Always.  But, what a waste of energy to compare.   It makes sense to me to applaud those who excel in certain ways and encourage those who struggle in others.  We all get a turn to be kind and helpful or to be jealous and bitter.  That's within our control every single day.  The rest may be up to fate...I don't know.  But I don't want unhappiness in my heart because someone has something or someone that I can't say I have conquered.   Only I can define my success and I choose to be happy for people who have what they have.  (That doesn't lessen my chances of a good life.)   I choose to be hopeful for the people who need hope.  I try to avoid green envy with the ugly greedy head and nasty attitude.

And the moral to this little story is that Joe Bob seems blissfully successful these days and Coworker Complainer is probably jealous again somewhere whispering but has fallen completely off my radar.   I don't have time for that in my life....

I'm no role model or standard measurement for anything short of a graying old lady with a smart mouth and a sassy frame of mind.  I admit I have fallen into the jealousy trap a few times; I know what it feels like to crawl back up to level ground.  So, truthfully, if you're defining my worth by the car I drive or the size of my bank account, you might be better than me.  But, if you compare my worth by the love in my heart for my people, be careful there.  It might be hard to match me in that category.

To each, his own.  And, that's why being jealous is such a waste of good green!🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸

Life's Little Irony At A Funeral

Today was filled with irony....it was so thick I could've cut it with a knife.  Elephants in the room...

So many of my fellow classmates and friends gathered today to show support for the family of Jeff Witt as he was laid to rest.  There's no doubt he was loved.  But, I saw tons of ironic things and not just people interacting but situations also.

It's impossible to explain without long drawn out stories but here are a few quick examples:

1.  It was cold, but the sun was so bright and sparkly.  Totally misleading...
2.  I'd worked a lot to get my accompaniment music downloaded for a song at the service.  I said several times yesterday that I would not give up...I would not be defeated.  I lost that one.  My music didn't play as planned.  I gathered up my pride and did what I could.  Jeffrey would've laughed about it.  I know he would've.  It wasn't about me.
3.  People who were unkind were kind.  I hope that trend continues.
4.  My multitude of shared hugs are engraved in my memory.  It was honestly a happy time to see friends I haven't seen in years.   But, incredibly, I remain sad.  I didn't want to leave those embraces.
5.  Friends drove many, many miles to honor their relationships.  Mark came from Florida, Randy from Texas, Cindy from Pocola and so on.  Yet, people two blocks away didn't darken the door.  We all deal with loss in our own way.  And, that's okay.
6.  A family member thanked me!  Me....I didn't do anything.  It was me who needed to be thankful.  And, I am thankful.  And, I am heartbroken.
7.  My friend who loves the warm climate is working mostly now in the North.  He deserves a beach.  He deserves the tropical relaxation of the beach STAT.  Hell of a good guy.  One of my favorite people on Planet Earth.
8.  My mother baked a cake for the meal her church was preparing for the family.  She used two farm fresh eggs from a dozen she'd been saving for me.  I'm amazed how her love motivates her.  And, I have only ten eggs now to put away in my fridge.  That's sharing!
9.  All the funeral talk about heaven made me very acutely aware of my own mortality.  I don't think I fear death as much as I do losing those I hold dear in my heart.
10.  Perhaps the most ironic of all is that I don't really like people.  But today, people sustained me.  People banned together for a common purpose and helped each other.  Why can't it be so simple for me every day?  Um, I'm a Leo.  I'm a product of my own devices.

Some things in this world just don't make sense.  Say what you need to say whether it will be popular or not.  Tell people if you love them.  If you don't, just pretend they're not in the room.  Take the opportunity to go back into glorious things of the past even though you are ever-presently trapped in the current situation.

Irony can be quite simple or vastly complex.  It can go unnoticed.  But, it might provide answers to some of the things in our world that doesn't make sense.   Break out the butter knife and slice into the irony if you dare.  Either way, love is real.  People are too.  My friends are still the same people and I love them for the same reasons I always did.  The ironic thing is perhaps I am changed.  It's taken me a lot of years to pretend someone isn't really in the room.  Maybe I'm the elephant...

My friend Jeffrey got his angel wings this week...

Way back in 1984, the faculty at Sloan-Hendrix High School honored me and my classmate Jeff by choosing us as Mr. and Miss SHHS.  I looked at the yearbook my mom keeps in the file cabinet back in October and snapped this photo of a photo on a page (using my new iPad).  I hadn't looked at the yearbooks in a long, long time....

I was shocked (and still am when I think about it) that I was chosen for this honor.  I didn't think I was motivated to meet the expectations of 'success'.  Nothing about me was special or represented the kind of student with potential for leadership or civic duty.   I was a big Miss Nobody.

But, I wasn't surprised Jeffrey was chosen.  He was kind to everyone, played basketball, helped work at his family's business and still had time to build things in shop class.  I did think my friend was going to be successful in life....and frankly, I expected we would live forever at that point.

Anyway, this trip down memory lane last fall was a chance for me to reflect on whether or not I had turned out okay.  I found a poem I'd written about graduating and the yearbook adviser was kind enough to suggest it be printed.  I laughed at some of the pictures of what our hair looked like in the 80's and fashion (such as it was).

How was I to know that in 3 short months, my lifelong friend would be getting his angel wings??!!  Needless to say, when I heard about his passing on Tuesday, I went searching through the hundreds of digital photos to look at this one.  And, I kept looking at it over and over.  And, I cried all day long and some too since then.

Jeffrey Allen Witt was important to me.  We didn't see each other a lot but I have no doubt he knew how much I loved him.   We had lots of fun growing up, being teenagers, and recently just telling stories and talking about life.   Our paths went different ways and I don't honestly even know all the trials he went through.   In 2017, over thirty years since graduation from high school, we had reconnected.   Few card games on Fridays, couple of road trips searching for drivers' licenses, and some times I worried about him even.  When I talked to him last week, he said he felt kinda bad but then put a positive spin on the conversation, probably just for my benefit.

Jeff inspired me this past year especially with his faith, his willingness to forgive and his compassion for other people.  He literally was the guy who would give away the shirt on his back.  I know for a fact he's done that.  I know he gave cash to people who looked distraught, when he really didn't have much to share.  I know he loved his kids with all his heart.  He loved his little terrier.  He cared about my family too just like his own.  Fine humor allowed him to laugh at the irony of life.

I will never forget you Jeffrey.  Thank you for the gifts of your time and respect.  That makes me feel like I lived up to the expectation of Miss SHHS.  I'm selfishly sad that should I text you to check in and say "I love you friend", there would be no response - but I'm so proud for you.  Heaven's where you can sit again with your Mom and help her watch over things.  Don't be up there carpentering mansions 24/7.   Save up a few 'religion jokes' for me, enjoy those angel wings...
And, P.S. Your Christmas present is still in the back seat of my Tahoe.

Clean Sheet Day

While Congress is ramming major tax reform through with some self-imposed urgency, yet even while the bill is still somewhat handwritten in part, I am giving up on the news for the more important issue of Clean Sheet Day.
Yes, I can't remember how long it's been since I changed the sheets on the beds.  That's too long!  I have read a bit about the different types of sheets and that thread count isn't necessarily the only indicator of a nice comfortable sheet.
One must also consider the type of cotton (sateen for example is softer but less durable than percale in most cases).  Then there's flannel or cotton jersey or silk? Color or print?  Maybe just plain white, which coincidentally is a popular choice; thus, the namesake for White Sales at stores peddling home goods.
My clean sheets consist of eight-year old solid copper cotton percale, an ivory quilt circa 2008, the green tartan electric blanket and as many different pillow cases as pillows (5 to be exact).
Clearly, my bedding makes about as much sense as what the Senate and House has been doing with  their half-assed organization of legislation that will impact basically every American in some way.  Allegations of bullying, even sexual harassment, against leaders are swirling.  The White House is constantly under suspicion because everyone there is related or have had something to do with Michael Flynn.
At least I have inventoried my sheet collection and I know I have two too many sets of full size sheets and need to order a new set of king size.  Also, as a bonus, I found a brand new set of ivory queen size sheets in the packaging...
Nobody else is affected by the linens on my bed.   My dirty laundry is my own. Therein, the difference.  And now, I've that made my bed so I'll go lie in it....may our elected officials do the same.

Thanksgiving Night - Anxiety Revisited

Welp, the holiday anxiety continues.....but first, let me tell you the good news!

This morning my husband prepared a terrific breakfast buffet for us, including a cantaloupe (Kim and Judy-you know this is a big deal)....we ate and enjoyed conversation with the kids.  Then we rushed over to the Ashlock place.  We rush because we are Rushes. And because we were late....for lunch.  🍗Absolutely amazing turkey, homemade rolls, mega desserts 🍰🍮and all kinds of other dishes to enjoy.  Mom invited a friend who had just moved to town and didn't have anyone to share Thanksgiving with.  Rock on Mom!  You're the best.  You always show the spirit of giving and helping others....that kind of example I still need even in my 'golden years'.

My anxiety was escalated by the busy schedule of the day and the fact that I knew my sweet potato casserole wasn't quite as good as in previous years.  The Sweet Tater King who sells produce in town gave us a bum box of spuds.  Hey, I can only work with what I've got.... 🍠  These need a few more weeks to do whatever sweet potatoes do to be less harder than rocks.

Further, we were  absolutely late; I regularly chew people out for that or bitch behind their backs so my husband says.  So, being late made me spastic to the point that I had to apologize profusely to everyone even remotely involved.  It was like eating crow....thankfully, I'd had a light breakfast.

The sun was gorgeous, the company was more nourishing that all the terrific food.  I have stepped on my scale to weigh before bed.  Either it's aware of my volatile state of mind or the battery is dying.  My weight now (after breakfast, mid-morning crow and a nice lunch)  is still  just barely below the limit I keep for my personal BMI rating.  Dang Body Mass Index.  Sends a girl to bed without her supper....

So many years I have lived without knowing this holiday anxiety was nagging at me.  Now that I have discovered it's here, I'm trying to find out why and face it down.  Does anybody know the Grinch personally?  I'd like a consultation from him for suggestions on growing my heart?  Comment here or message me direct on facebook, Twitter or Instagram.

Eve of Thanksgiving

Today I hopped up and made coffee☕ to anxiously await the arrival of my granddaughters Annie and Emma.  Since school break began today, and since their parents had to work, I was able to spend the day with two sweet girls.  They are adventurous and fun.  Smart and sassy.  Sarcasm is strong with the young one :)

We shopped a bit and met up for lunch with GranDad after a lengthy discussion about the attributes of sushi. 🍣  And, we stopped by the park and made friends with a chubby dog.  The dog must be a local park pet....she even would climb up the steps to the slide with the girls.
We ate a pineapple🍍, yes all of it.  We baked a rum spice cake and watched a few cartoons while we finished some laundry.  Nothing special but yet again-everything special.

After they went home, it was time to prep for Thanksgiving meal.  I didn't want to do it....I thought of every excuse I could; I even took an hour long nap.  So I had to step back and ask: Why am I not looking forward to Thanksgiving tomorrow?  Is it because today was so good?  Maybe I'm worried my house isn't clean enough?  Whatever will I wear? 👚👢👖 Did I put too much rum in that cake?

I have Thanksgiving anxiety.....it has nothing to do with being thankful.  I know how to do that.  I'm probably ungrateful at times but overall I know I have a wonderful life.  When things aren't going my way, I can always find something to be thankful for.💓 Every single day.

My daddy says "From the day you're born until you ride in a hearse, nothing's so bad that it couldn't be worse."  He says that a lot more nowadays than he used to.  There's the source of my Thanksgiving anxiety.  It doesn't matter what I wear or what I baked.🍲  I just want to see my family together.  I want to make memories with people I love. 

On Thanksgiving Eve, I am so very thankful for my family.  I feel fortunate that we've had so many holidays all together.  I need to dump this 'anxiety' and stop worrying about the 'hearse'.  Being with family makes me glad to be alive....Annie and Emma especially.  I miss them after we have a day of quality time.⌚

Lucky for me, they'll be back in less than 12 hours!!!

One Size Fits All?

Ever been shopping at a store or online and find those leggings or a tunic you just have to have?
You flip through the display or click online to see if this item is available in your size, only to find that dreaded "One Size Fits All" tag!

Excuse me, but one size does not fit all.  It never has and it never will.  The very idea of that concept implies laziness and narrow-minded thinking.  I've thought about this a lot.  It bugs me.  It bothers me.  It is disturbing to me.  Maybe because I'm not a tiny size two Barbie.  But, those leggings will not reasonably fit someone who needs a larger piece of fabric to cover their butt. 

Maybe the fashion industry is catering to society, where people feel embarrassed to shop for something bigger than Size SMALL.  Some clothing brands actually make items larger than average and put the SMALL tag on them, just to make buyers feel good about themselves.  I do believe it's a marketing gimmick to sell stuff. 

The fact remains, one size does not fit all.  Why would we want to all be the same anyway?  Who cares what the label says....unless it says One Size Fits All.  I don't like that.