Don't Let The Front Door Hit You On The Way Out

Apparently facebook thought they were doing me a favor by organizing my "big moments" and a few assorted pictures into a collage deemed "My Year In Review" or something like that. I'm assuming that they took the pictures and/or updates with the most likes and/or comments to make a quick scroll to showcase my year.

As if facebook knows me.

Sure, they got a few things right... those things that I care to post to facebook anyway. My kids. My dad. The discovery of my lost wedding album. After scoffing at what took about fifteen seconds to view, I thought,

Is that all this year was?

So I danced across a few virtual stepping stones and peeked at my blog. Thirty entries for the entire year. The least I've posted since I began blogging around 2010. I've come to acknowledge that my year is not about what all was posted, but everything that was not.

Or something like that.

I have cried more this year than I knew was possible (and believe me, I am a crier). I've witnessed things that I still see practically every night when I close my eyes. I've driven more miles, stared at more walls, and prayed more prayers this year than any other year... of that I am certain.

Where does all that leave me?

In my opinion, stronger.

And more glad than ever to slam the door on 2014.

Not to forget,
but to move forward.

Wisdom found on facebook. Who knew?

So long, year. Hello, blank page.

Suffocating Santa

Normally the unveiling of the Santa under the tree would be a momentous occasion for our family. A cause for a phone call made for the sole purpose of taunting his former owner. A sight that would officially ring in the Christmas season for this particular household. Today, or yesterday if we want to be exact, his rosy cheeks only made me cry.

I still cannot believe my father is gone. When the call came back in May with the devastating news that a mass had been discovered and even when the depressing pathology report was later read aloud, I distinctly remember thinking,

At least we'll have Christmas.

I never expected to say good-bye as autumn was just beginning.

I mourn my father every day. A few weeks ago, I dreamed about him for the first time since he's been gone. In that dream, he appeared similar to how he looked as his days on earth came to an end. He was thinner and his hair was cropped short, but he wore no glasses and he was by no means weak. He sat on the end of a couch by two men I did not know and patted his knee for me to sit on his lap. As I sat on my father's lap, he wrapped a blanket around me and simply said, "Tell me about your day." I talked and talked until the sound of my alarm shattered what had been an absolutely perfect dream. I found myself angry and resentful all over again.

I loved my dad.

We talked almost every day. It's rather difficult to go from that to...

Nothing.

The Santa that sits under the tree belonged to my parents' household. I'm not quite sure how I inherited him, but inherit him I did and for years my household has enjoyed having him under our many Christmas trees. Always, always I would call my dad the moment Santa was in place and we usually played the game of "how did he end up there?" It was just one of those family jokes. This year, however, there was no laughing. When we began unpacking Christmas totes yesterday, I was caught off guard when those rosy cheeks and mushed beard peeked out at me. To be honest, I plunked him back inside a plastic bag so fast that if Santa had been real, he would have stood zero chance of surviving his oxygen-deprived environment. My heart sank as the reality of this Christmas set in harder than a block of concrete sinking the sweetest of dreams. I even entertained the thought of "not this year, Santa." As far as I was concerned, that plastic bag could be his tomb for at least another year.

But then the tree was up.

The husband trimmed it perfectly.
The youngest decorated it beautifully.
The cats sniffed it appropriately.

Only one thing, one item, one memory was missing.

I know people say to remember the memories. I know my mom has heard that saying often. I know there's a lot of truth to that and I do believe that time has a way of healing all wounds, but for now just bear with me.

My heart breaks when I look at that Santa and yet I firmly believe he is right where he needs to be. My dad wouldn't have it any other way. Tears fall down my cheeks, though, as I write this and inside... well, inside there is that dull ache that threatens to shut me down completely.

Until I look at that tree.

Full of ornaments. Full of lights. Full of hope.

Loaded with memories.

Especially the one tucked underneath the branches.




Breathe, Santa.
Breathe deep.

Memories Don't Cost A Dime

Antique shopping has a way of knocking the wind out of me. Maybe I think too much. Maybe I over think everything. Whatever it may be, I am a thinker and all that thinking can bring me down, or at the very least, cause me to spend an entire afternoon thinking about life.

I cannot help myself.

I look at wedding gowns tossed casually over chairs and think about the girl who wore that gown at some point in time. The pride. The hope. The heartache? My own wedding gown is tucked away sealed inside a box at my mom's house. Will it one day take up space in some dusty back corner of a downtown shop with no one near to tell the story of the day that dress made a walk down the aisle? You see, I don't see so much the fabric left behind... I see the dream that it enveloped.

My dad and me.

I look at military uniforms and ribbons and medals... some preserved under a glass case and others collecting the silky trails of a rogue spider spinning its web. Their stories of courage and dedication lost to the ages. I long to hear the tales behind each worn name tag. These were sons, daughters, husbands, and wives. These were lives lived. How do such treasured items make their way into the hands of strangers? Is there no family left?

I look at paintings and see the soul sitting just behind the eyes. I browse through books and think about the people who turned the pages. I tinker with kitchen gadgets and relive memories of my grandma. I spend an hour and a half sifting through the memories of other people and walk out without buying a thing.

Taxing on the mind.
Easy on the wallet.

Happy Antiquing.

For Love Of Country

I'm a little ashamed of myself.

How in the world have I been blogging this long and yet not have one entry on Veterans Day?

Memorial Day. Check.
Independence Day. Check.
Labor Day. Check.

Heck, I've even got a well-written entry (I am my biggest fan, after all) on what I like to call "It Stinks To Be Single Day." Birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas... covered. Anniversaries? Been there.

But Veterans Day?

Shockingly silent.

I have got to be missing something.

Even so, allow me to share with you my thoughts on tomorrow. I am so looking forward to it. Not only do I get to watch a parade that will take place right outside my classroom window, but I also get to kick off first period with a invigorating lesson on the signing of the Declaration of Independence. In my world, life in middle school doesn't get much better than that.

Veterans Day.

Armistice Day.

November 11, 1918.

The eleventh day of the eleventh month at the eleventh hour.

The day the world would record as the end of "the war to end all wars."

As history has taught us, however, the decades would tick by and we would come to accept that, in fact, The Great War was not the war to end all wars. As a result, our country would shift the focus of Armistice Day to a day of honoring the veterans of America for "their patriotism, love of country, and willingness to serve and sacrifice for the common good."

I especially appreciate that part about love of country. Why else would the citizens of a nation voluntarily (setting aside the mandatory draft, of course) raise their right hand and swear an oath to support and defend the Constitution of the United States? Medical benefits and a decent pension plan can only account for so much of that dedication, you know.

At any rate, by all means, thank a vet tomorrow and every day.

And if you're in the neighborhood, swing by my class around 8:05 in the morning. I'll be the one up front singing the praises of the patriots and trying my best to help a room full of teenagers appreciate the risk that fifty-six men took when they dipped their quills to the inkwell and signed a document so profound it ignited a riot in New York City that ultimately destroyed a nearby statue of King George III (which interestingly enough, would later be melted down and molded into over 40,000 musket balls for the American army).

You gotta love history.




*quoted material courtesy of http://www.va.gov/opa/vetsday/vetdayhistory.asp

Unraveling

When my dad passed away, I spent a lot of time thinking about vapor and smoke and life drifting away. Now that six weeks have slipped by, I find myself thinking less about life being gone and more about life being inescapable.

If my life were made of thread, then I would surely be unraveling.

Hard News To Take

With the exception of dry cleaning yet to be dropped off, today I finally put away the rest of my stuff from my unexpected, mid-September trip home. I even cleaned the house. Really cleaned.

Stranger things have happened.

My father is gone. While this may not be news to my friends and family, it will be news to the virtual world of blogging and those virtual friends who have become a part of my life. I have avoided making this world-wide-web announcement simply because the act of putting it to print makes it that much more real.

As if the obituary sitting beside me is not real enough.

A day or two before I packed my bag to head home, I asked the husband how in the world I was suppose to prepare for life without my dad. He had no words because, after all, there are no words to make such a devastating reality bearable. He simply held me tight and told me I was the strongest person he knew.

Which is so not true.

Alongside my mom and only brother, I spent eleven days with my dad before he gave up the fight and set his compass north toward heaven. Those eleven days were the hardest, sweetest, and most confusing days of my life. I watched a man who had always been larger than life to me succumb to the bitter disease known as cancer. Only four months he lasted from the day of the diagnosis.

Four months.

And that's all I can say about that.

Cornerstones of my dad's resting place. Always Mr. Big in our hearts.

It's hard enough finding the courage to write.

Baby steps.

Surrender That Ship!

Well, we're gonna go ahead and knock a few things out of the way. I've got a stack of school work and lesson plans and bills to work my way through and anyone who properly knows me understands that the key to procrastination is taking care of things now that could be taken care of later.

Or something like that.

To even stand a chance of getting around to what really needs to be accomplished today, I must first take some virtual time to think about one of my new favorite quotes. Consider this,

When I meet a wind I cannot fight,

I can do naught but set my sails

To let it take me where it will.

That is taken from a book I've been reading called The Rose Garden. It's not a bad read, but I won't give it my full recommendation until I finish it. If it ends in a way that makes me want to throw my nook across the room, well... it will fall short from getting my five stars. That particular quote, however, caught my attention and made me pause what I was reading the other night to write it down. In the last thirty-six hours or so, I've been thinking about the truth and wisdom steeped in those words.

How many times have I fought that wind? How many times have I grown weary from struggling with the sails and fighting the current and cursing the direction it is taking me? How many times have I given up the fight, exhausted, after coming to the conclusion that there really is no fighting that kind of wind. The course before me has been set and no matter how hard I may try to steer it the other way, I only end up losing time and energy and find myself right back to that original course.

If that makes any sense at all.

Today I am thankful for the course that has been set especially for me. This thought brings to mind Psalm 139:16 (The Message):

Like an open book,

 You watched me grow from conception to birth;

All the stages of my life were spread out before You,

The days of my life prepared before
 I had even lived one day.

God has answered my prayers more than once in the midst of strong winds in which I have no control. He steers the ship with His very breath even while I doubt His direction. Without Him, I would have surely perished already by my own hand. No, that is not a suicidal thought... it's a factual statement. My ways and my thoughts and my plans would have already been my own demise. Do you get that? We were never meant to survive on our own. We were meant to follow the plans of a perfect Creator.

So anyway.

That's what has been on my mind and now that my peace has been said, I can move on to those other things like presentations and state standards and electric payments.

Then again,

It might not be a bad time to mop the kitchen floor.

Awkward Silence

I went to bed last night around midnight only to stare at the ceiling for the next five hours. During that time, I (mentally) wrote a (brilliant) blog post entitled Everything I Can Do You Can Do Better. It had just the right amount of humor mixed with just the right amount of truth to let you, the reader, know that I, like you, grow weary of people who always have done the exact same thing you have done, just with a little more drama involved.

It truly is exhausting.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on which side of the fence you sit on), I was not motivated in the least to actually get out of bed to put my thoughts to print. Instead, I perfected the grammar, tweaked a few punch lines, and rolled over while congratulating myself on a job well done. As the darkness of the room took on the gray tones of dawn, I drifted off to sleep only to dream about tornadoes and death for the second night in a row.

It's been tough around here, people.


(this is where the awkward silence comes in)


I honestly have nothing else to say.
Nothing inspirational. Nothing witty.

It'll hit me around three in the morning.


Except for this,


For my thoughts are not your thoughts, 
Neither are your ways My ways, says the Lord.

For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
So are My ways higher than your ways
And My thoughts higher than your thoughts.

For as the rain and snow come down from the heavens,
And return not there again, but water the earth
And make it bring forth and sprout...

So shall My word be that goes forth out of My mouth:
It shall not return to Me void (without producing any effect)
But it shall accomplish that which I please and purpose
And it shall prosper in the thing for which I sent it.

Isaiah 55: 8-11



I love it when He gets the last word. =)

Storm Chaser

Today I will make my fourth road trip in four days. I am not kidding when I say I'm a little tired of my beloved little car. I actually let it sit quietly for three solid days last week and stayed put in the house with the pajama-and-no-make-up kinda look. Afterall, I had just put a little over two thousand miles on it for the month of June alone. July is not looking much different... I might be relieved when school starts up again. If nothing else, my gas tank (wallet!) can take a breather.

All this traveling. All those highways and interstates and lonesome little towns miles off the nearest exit. I may very well have memorized every Starbucks with easy on-and-off access on both sides of the Mississippi. I've seen accidents and broke-down cars and highway patrols with their flashing lights. I've maneuvered the madness of the big cities and scoffed at the ignorance of the GPS.

And, boy, have I been through some storms.

Rain I can handle. Torrential downpours, I cannot.

High wind.
Thunder.
Lightning.

The screeching of a tornado siren?

Sheesh. I've dealt with it all in the last month on the road. This last time, just a few days ago, had me praying my usual on-the-road-in-the-middle-of-a-downpour kind of prayer:

Lord, break these clouds up. Split the storm in half. Calm the wind.

He can do that, right?

But here's the deal, He has rarely done that... for me anyway. I mean, seriously. Why can't He just pull the plug on the lightning cord and put the funnel cloud back in its pen? I know He can do it. I've reminded Him of this on several occasions. Even the other day, when my nerves were shot and my eyes blurry from focusing on the yellow line when I could see absolutely nothing else on a southeastern interstate in the middle of the afternoon and going a whopping fifteen miles per hour...

Come on, Lord. Is this necessary?

It was when I finally saw blue sky and sunshine before me and looked in my rearview mirror to see the dark and stormy clouds behind me that He spoke to my heart,

I did not take the storm away from you, but I did bring you through it.

Well, I can't argue with that. These storms in life... they threaten to tear us down, to choke the very life from us, to ultimately stop the work that God has begun. We've all been through 'em. We'll all go through 'em. Storms are a part of this life both in the natural and spiritual world in which we live. But if these storms have taught me anything, it is the very fact that I am still standing.

And so are you.

Hang on to the One who will outlast every storm. No, He doesn't always stop them. More times than naught it seems He lets them play out until the very last roar of thunder dwindles down to a faint whimper in the sky. And yes, there is no hiding the devastation that is sometimes left behind. Storms have a way of tearing things up and leaving us with the clean up, kinda like the tantrum of a two-year old in the middle of the Walmart candy aisle (extreme example, I know, but I've got visions of reality tv in my head that will never go away).

God is good even when our circumstances are not, and yes, my dear girl...  He does have a plan. Even when it makes no sense, there is something greater unfolding. For now, though,  I've got to gas up that tank and hit the road again, but you can bet on one thing,

I'll be checking that forecast. =)





For He [God] Himself has said,
I will not in any way
Fail you nor give you up nor leave you without support.
I will not, I will not, I will not in any degree
Leave you helpless nor forsake you nor let down.

-last part of Hebrews 13:5, Amplified

1992

Psst...

It's late and I'm tired and this particular post tends to bounce all over the place. Good luck. =)

The year was 1992.

My hair was short. My glasses big. My dreams way out there.

I was freshly arrived at my new duty station and ready to show the parents my new world. My grandma even made the trip to see me and my new digs. Thinking back on it now, there was no way in h-e-double-hockey-stick that I even remotely had a clue what I was doing, but hey... in my mind I was on top of the world.

Or, in the case of this picture, on top of a mountain.

I am not entirely sure what month this picture was taken. It had to have been late summer or early fall. What is for certain is that in less than a year after this Kodak moment was captured, my last name would be changed and my dad would no longer be the only man in my life. For the time being, however, he was the man and probably the one I most wanted to impress. In some ways, that has not changed one bit.

Father's Day was yesterday and in my usual way of doing most things, I thought about life and family and what it all means. My dad has been diagnosed with a dirty word in a dirty stage that I refuse to talk about too much at this point in time. I don't like it one bit. I especially don't like how time has suddenly become an issue. It frustrates me and my comforting habit of always watching a clock.

Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.

As if tock is even a word.

At any rate, I was thinking about my dad yesterday and scrolling through pictures of us together. There's not a lot, but enough to make me smile. Strangely enough, I don't have many pictures of my mom and me. Why is that moms are usually not in the picture? And selfies don't count, by the way. Posting a zillion pics of you with your kid using a minimum of two filters to get the right look of "you" does not fool any of us into thinking that picture is all about your kid--

But I digress (as usual).

My dad has always cheered me on. In a scrap album tucked away in a cedar chest is a card that he sent to me following the trip in which this picture was taken. Among other things, it simply says, "I'm proud of you." He still says that often and I gotta admit, I never grow tired of hearing it. If anything, our recent turn of events has just made me appreciate it all the more.

I always knew I had a good dad.
I always knew I was fortunate.

May the ticking of the clock always remind us to cherish yesterday and anticipate tomorrow. May we never grow weary of spending time with the ones we love. And may mountain-top memories always remind us that if even for a brief moment in time, we really were on top of the world.

Or something like that.

Happy Belated Father's Day to the men who make dreams seem possible. Even if we never reach them, they're the ones who always believed we could.

Yappers Not Allowed

My last post a few weeks ago was about change.

This one is all about reality.

My current view includes a steady rain falling outside. Even though I am on a third floor, I am eye-level with a roof and the raindrop landing in puddles on tar paper (what it reminds me of, anyway) is a bleak and boring sight. My brother sits in front of me diligently working a sudoko puzzle book- he taps his forehead with his pen every now and then thinking through the numbers. My mom left a bit ago with the daughter in tow. My dad naps quietly in a bed only to be rudely awakened every now and then by the LOUD lady across the hall.

If you're gonna skype, woman, at least shut the door and turn your mouth down a notch.

Seriously, a hospital is no place to rest. The employees are louder than the patients (with the exception of skype-lady across the way). They joke in the hallways about their weekend antics and trade recipes while the rest of us try to accept the new reality that has just slammed into our otherwise quiet lives. Okay... maybe they aren't that annoying. I may be mixing up those voices in my head with the other loudmouths in the cafeteria earlier.

And right on cue, there stands two yappers outside the doorway opening and shutting empty cabinets like a reformed hoarder wondering where all their stuff went.

Sheesh. How did we end up here? A month ago we were preparing to graduate the youngest son and anticipating an upcoming visit from the parents. Now our days are filled with depressing doctor reports and googled statistics and a man who just doesn't feel good.

I suppose I'm just too occupied to be bothered by constant talking that goes absolutely nowhere. Even now, there are stories I could tell from my whirlwind drive home. Stories that include creepy, steel bridges and tornadic thunderstorms, but, really... all of that just seems so fruitless.

Kinda like the lady across the hall worrying about her neighbor's fence.

Yapping gets us nowhere, people.

Changes

This week has been a reminder that things don't always stay as they should be... Tragedy happens. Young people get sick. Discouraging doctor reports are read.

And change must take place.

After going through a week with other people and their troubles on my mind, I was hit head-on with troubles of my own. I experienced a moment yesterday where other things I have heard people say and other things I have read came to life in a miserable kind of way:

I heard the words, but couldn't wrap my mind around them.

I felt numb.

It felt like they were talking about someone else.

It took a good hour and a half of functioning in the real world just to come home and have a major breakdown in front of the two youngest. Sitting on the hearth of a stone fireplace with the middle beside me and the youngest before me, the reality of the newest change in our life settled in with a resounding thud. 

I spent the rest of the day in-between tears and somewhat in a daze. I prayed, got angry, and walked away. As the sun began to set and reality refused to change, I found myself reaching out to others, determined not to continue to drown in the sea of discouragement. Sleeping soundly, I woke up to the reminder that this new day would not begin like the previous. In fact, no one day would be entirely the same. Challenges are ahead. Pain is sure to lie in wait. My longing to go home will be ever the more stronger.

And yet, for all my anger at the Lord yesterday, His Word never fails. He does not lie. HE does not change. His plan is just simply a whole lot different than mine.

Forget the former things. Do not dwell on the past.

See, I am doing a new thing!

Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?

I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.

Isaiah 43: 18-19

If you believe in prayer, please pray for our family. If you're not a praying person, stick with me and watch what happens. God's about to do a new thing and transform the people I love most.

I have to think that. 

I have to believe it.

It's the only way I can handle change.

Grown Up Babies

Most days I think my blogging days are over. I'm really out of things to say and after all, even the best stories can only be repeated so many times.

But then,

There comes a day when you follow a u-haul trailer across a state line and watch your oldest unpack in what is now his own place. You fight back tears as you hang his clothes in his new closet and place his favorite cereal bowls in his new cabinets and cover his fridge with stuff from your own fridge just so he'll feel at home. You sneak a family picture onto his dresser and watch as his dad gives him a Bible and wonder how in the world a kid can survive on so little in the kitchen cabinets.

So you find the local Wal-Mart and spend one hundred and sixty dollars of what you really can't spend just so he'll have a month's supply of ramen noodles and Totino pizzas. You buy him a broom and soap and a door mat. You think of things like ice cube trays and plastic pitchers and Country Time Lemonade. You put a brand new dish drain on the counter and fold a dish rag over the sink. You hang a curtain over the door window and make mental notes of how many other curtains he will need for the rest of the house.

When the sun sets and you know it's time to leave, you check the locks on his front door a dozen times and walk through each room taking just one more look. You wish you had brought a sleeping bag and a nightgown all the while knowing the next day would be just as hard. You stand on his driveway while his dad shakes his hand, commends him on becoming a man and being on his own, and prays a blessing over his home.

And you let the tears fall.

This whole parenting thing... we raise them up just to watch them leave and wonder where in the world the time went.

I wouldn't trade that time for all the ramen noodles in the world.

Singing With Travis Tritt

Tonight I had the unique pleasure of being sandwiched in a back seat between my two grown sons while the youngest rode shot gun with her daddy behind the wheel. As I sat in the middle trying not to squish my physically fit boys with my not-so-physically fit body, I couldn't help but think of all the years that have gone by. Driving down a curvy road with the windows down, the two up front bickered playfully (?) back and forth about the song selection until they finally settled on a tune. They turned it up and we sang it out and for a moment, all seemed right with the world. As the next song came on, I looked at one boy who can never ride for long without falling asleep, thought about another boy who will be leaving home in a couple of weeks, and couldn't help but notice the smile on a girl's face because she had the front seat.

I'd chalk that up to a great day.

Ode To The Silent People*

Silence is often misunderstood,

 but never misquoted.

I saw this quote on a church marquee today as the youngest and I were driving and thought to myself, "Truer words have never been spoken." I feel like I've been misunderstood most of my life. People often don't quite know how to take someone who is...

QUIET.

So, for all you talkative people, let me fill you in on the quiet people and what we are thinking most of the time,

"While you are busy TALKING just to hear yourself TALK, we are the ones stuck LISTENING wishing you would just SHUT UP."

Yeah. I just wanted to see what it would feel like to put those words to print.

Gotta say, it felt pretty darn good.

All joking aside, however, don't be so quick to knock the quiet people. We're not snobbish or stand-offish or whatever-ish you might try to label us with on any given day. Sometimes, and there really are those times, we would LIKE to say something, but feel like it would be rude to interrupt or turn the attention on ourselves. Sometimes, and there are many a time, we actually do TRY to say something and you run us over with your own words like we didn't even say anything at all and, for the record, there's nothing worse for a quiet person than to finally work up the nerve to say something only to not be heard at all.

But anyway. Quiet people listen. You talking people evidently need that. So really, when you look at it that way, together we make the world go 'round. Besides, sooner or later you always end up asking us what we think...

And for those thirty seconds, we shine. =)



*not the true definition of an ode, I know, but I like how it sounds. 

Yep. It's A Goat.

I don't often post pictures of the young'uns for a variety of obvious reasons, but sometimes a picture says so much more than the so-called thousand words. Especially in the life of teenage daughters.

She is so sweet. So moody. So much like me. And she's growing up way too fast. The clock never stops when you wish it would.

Of the many things in my life that I do not regret, being a stay-at-home mom surviving on one income, hamburger helper, and antenna tv ranks right up there at the top. It's not for everyone, I know, and there were spurts of temp work sprinkled in those years that were necessary for one reason or another. But now that the kids are practically grown and I work full time and suppers at the dinner table are becoming more and more rare, I've come to appreciate- truly appreciate, the laughter.

Which is why I love this picture so much.

To hear my kids laugh is one thing, maybe the very thing, I would miss the most if my sense of hearing ever faded.

The sound of a voice can be comforting.

The song of a bird can be reassuring.

But the sound of laughter?

Pure inspiration.

We really should laugh more.

I Put The Hilarious In The Knock-Knock

Mrs. Angela, tell me a joke to make me laugh.

Tough challenge from a kid giving you a dead-serious glare, but a kid-kinda-challenge is my line of work. I'm up for anything to break up the monotony of a work day.

First attempt.

Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Isaiah.
Isaiah who?
Isaiah (I say a) prayer every morning.

Nothing. Notta. Smile not found.

Second attempt.

Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Banana.
Banana who?

(repeat a gazillion times)

Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Orange.
Orange who?
Orange (like aren't ya) glad I didn't say banana?

Score! Success. Huge smile combined with a you-are-kinda-crazy look.

Ahhh. Just the response I was expecting.

Hey, I'm a big hit when the audience is seven and under. =)

Resurrecting A Dead Horse

Our conversation at dinner earlier tonight went something like this,

I know this ship has sailed and I know I said I would stop saying it, but I'm gonna say it out loud because I'm thinking it anyway and I just want to hear the words, breathlessly said I.

The husband looked at me, the all-knowing look in his eye. He held my hand, took a deep breath, and gave me the green light. Go ahead and say it.

I want to go home.

Now, if you're new to this little blog corner of the world, this might be a new story line for you. If you've been around since the beginning or even midway, it's a concept similar to beating the proverbial dead horse. Even so, the heart wants what the heart wants.

I miss my mom and dad and our little white house. I miss walking to the post office and hanging clothes on the line and cutting fresh lilacs from the bush out back. I miss my old school and my teaching friends and chapel every morning.

Oh, I've accepted the fact that we are where we are and unless it's the mighty hand of God that moves us, we're pretty much anchored where we're at. My dad used the expression often in the beginning, There's another nail in the coffin. I have my own version, There's another hole in the boat. I honestly don't know what keeps us here other than the sheer determination to make something good out of what seems to have been a not-so-good idea.

Well, that and those three kids of ours. I remember three or four years ago when we were seriously considering packing it all in when one of them said, We went through a big move once; please don't do that to us again (emphasis on the please). It's hard to argue with the logic of a child. Besides, I am reminded on a regular basis of a prayer that was prayed almost seven years ago when I stood in a circle of friends on the very last morning before I followed a moving truck south:

This move may have nothing to do with you or [the husband]; it may have everything to do with geographical location and placing your children where they need to be for what God has purposed for their lives...

... or something like that. And if one thing can be said, it is that those kids have thrived. I may not agree with or understand most things in life, but I cannot argue with that. In fact, we have said many times that if it were not for the kids, we would not have held out this long. I guess we figure that we brought 'em into this world,  the least we can do is give them a running start.

Besides, I don't think my old cat could take another move. The last one about did him in. It's no lie to say that he sees a pet carrier and hides. I think I've been traumatized... that's nothing compared to the stress my kitty endured.

And on that note, I'm officially out of anything inspiring to say (not that this was necessarily inspiring to begin with, I know) and I know that I know that I have been blessed with some great friends right where I am. That I would not change for the world. I do get homesick, though, and especially on a Saturday. Again, those who have been around know this. Those who haven't... well, welcome to my world.

I miss my mom.

And The Greatest Mom Award Goes To...

My mom, of course. =)

I think I have blogged about my mom every year, more than a few times and on many occasions, but especially when her birthday rolls around. I mean, really, can you ever say enough about your mom? I know I can't. She is truly one of the nicest people I know. She'll deny that and say things like, "Oh, if you only knew," but that's what I love about her. Even if she doesn't like you, chances are you won't catch onto it. I've seen her mad a few times. I've seen her disappointed now and then. When I think about her, though, I don't think of any one of those traits.

She's just my mom.

She loved me through what I can only imagine were truly terrible two's.
She loved me through all the awkwardness of those horrible teenage years.
She loved me through heartbreaks and those ridiculous high school proms.

She wrote me letter upon letter when I was in basic training. She advised me on the high cost of phone bills. She never questioned me when I called her one day just to say, "He's the one."

I could go on and on and achieve the kleenex level of writing in just a few more lines, but suffice to say, she has been there for every moment of my life.

Thanks, Mom.

And Happy St. Patrick's Day Birthday.

Life's Too Short To Use A Dull Pencil

That thought occurred to me today when I was reaching for a... well, a pencil.

I love pencils. Real pencils. Dixon Ticonderoga pencils. I've got an assortment of pencils in a wide selection of colors in varying stages of pencil life (some at the two-sharpening stage; some at the twenty-sharpening stage with little life left to live). I'm also a big fan of erasers- the colorful kind that go on the end of a pencil, but we'll save that entertaining story for another day.

I know. You really can't wait.

So anyway, I reached for a pencil and started to do my thing when I found the result was not quite what I wanted (and really, all I was doing was recording a lunch count, but I'm a big believer in doing everything with pride). I set that one aside and reached for another pencil that sported a nice, sharp tip. With a sigh of satisfaction as the first few strokes of the lead (okay, graphite) were made, a rather unique thought popped into my head. So unique, at least to me, that I grabbed my handy pad of post-it notes and jotted it down. All day long that same note stared me in the face.

Life's too short to use a dull pencil.

Maybe it's the same thing. Maybe it's totally off. But as my day was winding down and the minutes ticked away to the four o'clock hour and I stared at that post-it note before me, Proverbs 27:17 scrolled through my head. I thought about the sharp lead (graphite!) of my pencils and how clean and crisp of a line they leave behind. I thought about the dull lead (you get the idea) of my other pencils and the fuzzy and unremarkable lines that are left in their wake.

And I'll stop here to say if you haven't used a pencil in a long time, take a ride on the wild side and try it old school style. You might need a little refresher course and a detour from the electronic life to catch up with where I'm going.

"As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another."

Or check out the Amplified version:

"Iron sharpens iron; so a man sharpens the countenance of his friend [to show rage or worthy purpose].

What kind of relationships do you have? Are they the kind that sharpen your faith, or are they the kind that dull your senses to things of the Lord? Does your anger leave a scowl on the faces of those around you? Do people breathe a sigh of relief when you leave the room, or do you leave behind something worthy, something to think about, something purposeful?

I know some of you think I put entirely too much stock into the tip of a pencil. I wouldn't argue with you there. But I will challenge you with this one last thought,

I'd much rather be a sharp point than a dull one.

How about you?

Buck Up, America

I read things under the cloak of fair journalism that infuriate me.

Alleged this and alleged that. Small-town drama and small-minded gossip. People with nothing better to do than to sport a hidden recorder and stir up trouble... all while being a faithful church member, I'm sure.

I've had it with bitter people. Not just there, but here, too. Miserable people looking to make other people miserable. I mean really, where does it all end? Does a bad childhood give us a license to be a jerk? Does a bad marriage automatically result in a people-are-crap attitude?

And yes, I'll stop with that last less-than-polite remark.

Hollywood feeds us lies and people line up to buy tickets. Politicians promise us lies and people cast votes to bury us all. Religion spoons out enough lies in disguise to choke even the sincere.

I've been misled by movie stars.
Lied to by the government.
Disappointed in the church.

Who hasn't?

Buck up, America. Have each other's backs for once. Make small town living a place others would want to live. Give us a city life that doesn't make us paranoid from watching the nightly local news. Stand up for moral attitudes in the movie theaters and flush that other garbage down the proverbial toilet. Do what the Good Book says instead of just bashing each other over the head with it.

And for goodness sake, if you're gonna wear a recorder and attempt to incite a riot, well... don't. Take that negative energy and go fight evil or something. At the very least, bake a cake for your enemy (but no arsenic allowed).

Play nice, people.

That Darn Lost Hour...

...actually turned out to be a good thing.

In the last hour of daylight, the kids (plus two) headed outside.

Outside.

I heard strange conversations that involved the tossing of the football. The sound of go-cart (yerf cart, I mean) filled the evening hours. I even heard something akin to laughter. After a dreary, unusually cold winter, it might as well have been the angels singing.

Has spring truly sprung?

A pic from a year or two ago, but the youngest did do some planting today.

I'm Okay With That

There are times when the stars must truly be aligned.

For instance,

The weather is seventy-four and sunny.
The brownie I am eating has walnuts.
The husband is the one practice driving with the daughter.

Now before I get in serious trouble, let me clarify that last statement. The daughter, the youngest, is no doubt a reasonably good driver. I have no reason to believe otherwise. But after being the one doing all the practice driving with the other two, this mom is tired and weary of gripping the arm rests and trying to put my foot through the imaginary passenger side brake that does not exist. Besides, she has made it very clear that she prefers her dad anyway.

"He doesn't stress me out the way you do, Mom."

Hey, I feel your pain, sister. I am all too happy to take up space on my front porch swing right now in the seventy-four degree sunshine while I eat brownies full of walnuts and drink coffee sweetened perfectly. This is my kinda life.

Granted, I should be taking the wet clothes out of the washer or folding the whites from last week or doing something else household related. I should be working on school stuff or tax stuff or something else moneywise related. I should be doing a lot of things.

But it is Sunday. The Lord's day. The day before Monday.

I'm tired of letting the gloom of a Monday ruin the glory of a Sunday. I've spent far too many Sunday afternoon hours steeped in depression about the end of the weekend and the beginning of the work week. My new theory is that the weekend really doesn't end until I let my head hit the pillow on Sunday night. If that means I cram a little extra work stuff into the waning hours of a Sunday evening, so be it. Of course, it's easy to think that way when there's no football to watch. It's all about priorities.

So for now, I think I will stretch out on this swing and watch a cloudless sky.

I really am okay with that.

Teenagers Rule On The Lame Definition (at least none of us have the energy to argue that fact)...

I asked the youngest if it was too early to post a wedding photo (our anniversary is in March) as my new profile pic on facebook to which she responded with a resounding, "Yes!"

This is why I have teenage children.

I mean, really. They keep me up to date on the proper uses of "lol".
Only GROWN-UPS capitalize the blasted thing, in case you're wondering.

They let me know when things are lame or overused or just plain dumb.

For example, I thought "swag" was hip forever until I was informed just tonight that it will be dreadfully out of style by 2016.

The husband and I sat with the youngest tonight at dinner and laughed and laughed and laughed. I remember when it was just he and I (him and me?) with the oldest. Now those were some days. Neither one of us had a clue, but boy, was he ever a good daddy. Now those days of our babies being babies are just memories. We're surrounded by young adults with fresh ideas and just enough tradition thrown in to keep us all sane.

We don't change much around our house except for a little shuffling here and there. Kids at work. Kids at home. The husband always busy. A mom always on the couch. Cats roam. Cats sniff. Cats meow.

And you thought you were dropping in for a little inspiration.

Only one thing is for certain.
Only one thing is for sure.
Only one thing never changes.

Except  for me and coffee, of course...

The Lord knew exactly what He had in mind when he took a southern boy and mid-western girl and sparked a fire. We've missed the mark in so many ways, but we've hit it straight on in so many others.

And for the record, I don't think it's at all too early to post the wedding pic, but I'll trust the powers that be on this one.

Lord knows I don't need another lecture on that one.

Ice, Earthquakes, And A Wake-Up Call

Okay.

So I live in a part of the country where people tend to panic at the first sight of a snowflake. Flurries are breaking news and schools shut down at the mere mention of possible icy roads. We've got our quirks, that's for sure. As someone who grew up in the Midwest, I have often found great humor at the sight of southern belles wearing their fur-lined boots in sixty-degree weather. I have shook my head more than once at the sheer panic that breaks out when the phrase "wintry mix"' enters the forecast.

I gotta say, I'm not laughing anymore.

We got hit hard with an ice storm earlier in the week that still has thousands of people without power. I've seen tornado damage on more than once occasion; what I have seen driving around the last few days rivals that same sort of devastation, let me tell you. No, there are no empty foundations or mile-wide paths of destruction... just trees down everywhere. Hundred-year old trees, beautiful live oak trees, majestic pine trees... broken, splintered, snapped. Piled up alongside the roads, in the roads, precariously perched on rooftops.

I have seen convoys of electric trucks from at least four different states. I was stopped in traffic by the Air National Guard as they removed a huge tree from the road. I've seen random citizens direct traffic at the many stoplights that are still not functioning.

And to top it all off, we experienced an earthquake last night. Not severe enough to do any kind of damage, but just so you know, in case you've never felt the earth shake, a 4.1 will rattle the walls as it rumbles beneath you. Very eerie, indeed.

I ventured out today only to discover gasoline is virtually non-existent on my side of the river. I felt lucky to find a package of chicken at Walmart. It really does make you stop and think...

We have been so blessed in our part of the world. We truly are a pampered, spoiled people. Now I'm not saying we're not grateful or ignorant of what we have; but my goodness, how fortunate we are! I was whining earlier in the week at the lack of electricity to power up my Keurig. Now I'm just thankful to have electricity.

Nothing like getting your perspective changed.

Good Morning! Now Can I Go Back To Bed?

Maybe it was the coffee I had at four in the afternoon.
Or the chocolate milk I had at nine in the evening.

The melatonin I took at ten certainly did no good.

I have been up the entire, blessed night. Not a wink of sleep. None. Zero. Zilch. I absolutely hate it when this happens. I am most definitely a sleep person. I go to bed early. I sleep late when I can. I nap as often as an opportunity will present itself. Back in the days of the classroom, I've been known to close the door, hit the light, and stretch on the floor behind my desk. Sleep is a priority to me. I know the health benefits. I think better. I probably look better.

So when I can't sleep, my entire world threatens to crumble.

I am not my grandma. She would be up cleaning or canning or doing something when sleep would flee. I am not my daughter. She would have already had a quilt block finished or embroidered a pillow or something of creative value. That is so not me. All I can do is bemoan the fact that I cannot sleep to no one other than myself.

I was going to get up at three and work on school work, but my eyes did not appreciate the light. I started a fire and envisioned myself sleeping on the couch like I often do with the cats by my side. The cats loved it, but the flickering of flames in an otherwise dark house did not do well even with my eyes shut. I am evidently just too darn picky.

So here I sit, twelve minutes away from my weekly alarm breaking the silence. I am trying to stay positive because the youngest mentioned to me after my last blog post that I have been getting rather depressing. I don't know what to tell you, girl. Sometimes that is just how this momma gets. Even so, I have been picking up my bible more and thinking about the goodness of the Lord.

For He is good... even on the nights I cannot sleep.

Here's to another Monday. And coffee. I should be on my third cup by nine.

Do Demons Chase You?

Okay, so not the most encouraging title, but I wonder if it got your attention. It really is a question, by the way. I don't throw things out there just to watch it wither. But anyway...

Another week down. I had a few comments on my previous post from last week that caused me to look back to see,

Just exactly what did I write?

I do tend to ramble on at times, although if you've been with me since the beginning you can recognize that my ramblings have become more spaced out over the years. I figure you can only ramble on about any one thing so many times. Even I grow weary of the thoughts in my head.

We managed to gather the family around the table twice this past week. A remarkable feat considering nobody seems to be in the same place at the same time. The youngest surprised me mid-week with a clean house and folded laundry. In fact, it was a pretty decent week until I got hit over the head with a two-by-four of aggravation. It started Wednesday night and ran for a straight twenty-four hours. In the wee hours of Friday morning as a debilitating headache began to overtake any chance of reasonable functioning, I found myself asking the Lord a lot of whys and whens, questions in which He rarely answers me. As my eyes finally closed, I wondered where my bible was as demons and ghosts chased me through my dreams.

Hey, I'm just here to make you feel better about yourself, remember?

This life is a funny thing. I make a few steps forward only to be tossed back about ten. I fill my head with stories I could write only to never put them to paper- and please, do not encourage me here. There may come a time, but now is not the time...

Unless I figure out a really good pen name and a way to cover my virtual tracks. Stranger things have happened.





P.S. Love you, Mom. Praying you feel better soon. =)

Winter Blues

My one chance to sleep in this week and I'm wide awake. I'm stressed from the work week, stressed from the decision to start graduate school, and stressed about the cats needing food and litter this week. Thank goodness I picked up some awesome coffee creamer the other night. The thought of it was the one thing that motivated me this morning.

We had a winter blast in our neck of the woods this past week. In fact, three days later, there are still random patches of snow on the ground where the sun doesn't shine. I've said it before and I'll say it again, the cold is one thing I do not miss about my beloved home. I think the snow is pretty as it's falling and when it has completely covered the ground- stumps and all, it truly is a sight to behold. After that, though, I'm done with it. Bring on the sunshine and flip flops, please.

A rare picture of my childhood sled with actual snow in the background.

Maybe it's this cold weather that has me down. I certainly do function better when I can sit on my front porch with the sun streaming down. The forecast shows nothing but clouds for the next few days. Football is practically over. I've not started any good books lately, and now I've got papers to write. Our family rarely sits at the table together anymore.

I'm in desperate need of a visit home.

Even so,

The sun will shine. March Madness is coming.
I have a ton of unread books. Papers I can handle.

Dinner at the table I can demand.

Spring Break is the perfect opportunity to drive.



We just gotta make it through February.

Why Is My Hair Orange?

I decided that today was as good as day as any to color away my gray. Once upon a time, you couldn't find my natural color in a bottle; nowadays there's a couple that are pretty darn close. Me being me, however, I thought we'd take it a notch or two darker (don't tell my dad). I sit here now... hair completely saturated, scalp burning slightly, stench in the air.

Oh, to be a female.

On the plus side, I have at least fifteen uninterrupted minutes to sit on the edge of my bed and peck out a few rambling thoughts. Trust me, nobody wants to see me parade through the house right now. It's better we keep this side of womanhood hidden from the innocent. Besides, the husband will brave the elements soon enough to make sure I have not dribbled any hair color on the tile while looking at me in amused wonder.

Oh, to be a male.

I've been thinking about the children a lot lately and wondering if I have done all I could do to prepare them for life. I've become something of a slacker in my midlife; I'm only hoping I was as dedicated as I like to pretend I was when I was younger. The middle reminded me the other day of how I use to always tell them their words had power- that's biblical, you know- and the oldest reminded all of us of how I used two plants as a lesson to them. No kidding here... the one we spoke "life" to flourished and the poor sap we spoke "death" to did not stand a chance. Funny how I don't remember that, but they do. Time has an odd way of picking and choosing memories.

At any rate, here all three of them stand just itching to fly the nest. I don't take it personally, I take it pridefully. Wait. Does that sound right? What I mean to say is I know they're not counting the hours to get away from me (I hope); I know they are counting the hours to try it on their own and in that, I take great pride.

But boy, will I miss those little people.

Did I rock them enough? Did I provide enough milk and cookies? Did I sing them enough songs, color with them enough, read to them enough? Did my good words outweigh the bad thoughts? Did I provide enough hugs? Enough band aids? Enough amusement? I know I was hard on them at times- I was their teacher for a while, you know. I also know reinforcements were called in from the father on more than one occasion. In case you haven't figured it out, parenting does take two. I don't ever want them to think they can tackle that life event on their own.

Good Lord, have we done enough?
Thank goodness they are HIS anyway.

With that in mind, what do I have to fear?
Except an empty lap. An empty table. An empty bed.

Sheesh. If this is what happens when I time the color on my hair, maybe I would be better of to stick with the gray... and now I'm making myself laugh.

It must be the fumes.

Brace For Impact

Earlier today I read a facebook comment directed at me from a former student and I'm not ashamed to admit, it hit me hard. No, it wasn't bad or mean or sarcastic, just a simple note that warmed my heart and turned it to mush. After taking a moment to compose myself in the bathroom (hey, who doesn't utilize that quiet space?), I asked the Lord for forgiveness for my self-centeredness of late and thanked Him for the people He has put in my life.

My grandma. We all know that.
My mom and dad. I couldn't ask for better.
My brother. The husband. The three ducklings.

My fourth-grade teacher. She's the reason I wanted to teach.
My high school friends. The reasons I survived a small town.

The drill instructor in basic training who yelled at me in the midst of a rather difficult obstacle course. That yelling is what made me mad enough to fuel a successful finish.

Neighbors, past and present. Friends, old and new. Family, far and near.

I gotta tell you, though, as crazy as it may seem, it's those younger ones who have impacted me the most. The third and fourth graders who let me play cowboy songs to teach them states and capitals. Fifth and sixth graders who let me sing silly songs to teach them verbs and prepositions. Seventh and eighth graders who rolled their eyes (but couldn't help but smile) when I would act like a fool to teach them complex diagrams.

The kids I've had the privilege of seeing graduate.
My own kids who I've had the privilege to teach.

I'm telling you right now, I've had it good. No matter what the future may hold, the people who have impacted me have made the journey thus far pretty darn sweet. I think if we could all grasp that and hold onto it, our influence on the world around us would make more of a bang.

Imagine the impact that would be.

Being A Life Coach Is NOT On My Resume

A new calendar is on the fridge. It's a Gary Patterson... we do the same cat theme practically every year. Can't risk shaking things up too much.

The youngest asked me earlier if I do New Year's resolutions.

The answer?

Nope. Notta. Not worth the pressure.

I'd like to lose weight. I'd like to read more. I'd like to watch more basketball. I'd like to be a better wife, mother, friend. I'd like to read my bible more, pray more, give more. I'd like to be nicer, friendlier, happier. More optimistic. Less negativity. Cook more, clean more, walk more. 

A whole lotta MORE.

But you know what? I am who I am and to be perfectly honest, no one has ever accused me of having too much ambition. Let's face it, here I sit on this computer, in a recliner, the Wisconsin/South Carolina football game winding down. I have floors to clean, fans to dust, and papers to sort.

And most likely none of it will happen.

Oh, I have tackled laundry like a champ and managed to declutter my dresser, but other than that, my cleaning spree is about to come to an end. I'm in the midst of a good series on Netflix so even though reading is a passion of mine, the book has literally been put on a shelf for now. Papa John's did the cooking today. My bible has yet to be opened.

No wonder I don't do resolutions.

Nevertheless...

Happy New Year!

I'm all for new beginnings, even if I don't make promises to myself that I could never keep. Don't think of it as low expectations... think of it as a reality that I refuse to deny. I'll get where I'm going, one Gary Patterson calendar at a time.