Lunar Epilogues

How We Roll

2012-02-10T09:51:00.005-06:00

We roll up to the bowling alley, a little late as usual. He gets out of the car ahead of me, his Captain America sweatshirt hood pulled up over his head, his hands deep in his jacket pocketsd, and heads to the side door. I sigh and follow. As soon as he opens the door, we are greeted by a blast of warm air and the sounds of 14 pound bowling balls thumping on the hard wood lanes. We know the drill. We've been here before. He gets the rental shoes, I pick out the balls. We search for our two team mates, easy to find because they are the only black couple on our league, Andre and Pam. She's quiet, intelligent, loves to read and cooks like nobody's business. He's loud, a full-body hugger, gregarious and calls everyone "Big Time." I like that.

Let the games begin. Our team is in last place. We're lousy bowlers. It drives Robert crazy and most rides home after Thursday night bowling are long and silent, except for the sound of his fuming from the passenger seat. My husband promised me three weeks ago to be better. He's stopped trying so hard to be the best bowler ever. And I can see that, I can. He smiles at the better bowlers. He even high-fives them when they get a strike. He puts his arm around me while we watch the other bowlers, kisses my cheek.

This might be okay, I think. Because we're not usually that couple. We stay home and watch movies a lot. We hone in on some new TV show and watch it fanatically until we get sick of it and move on to the next one. We eat take-out chinese in bed, me with my red wine, him, usually sucking down a can of Diet Dr. Pepper. Every now and then he gets crazy and has a drink, Southern Comfort and Diet Coke. Because everything goes better with Coke. Anyone knows that.

So, maybe, just maybe, his sour attitude he had at the beginning of our bowling league adventure was just him learning how to adjust to this new couple and not so much about his competitive angst. This new couple who is beginning to step out of their comfort zone, predictable routines, and try new things. But bowling, right? I know what you're thinking. How mundane. How predictable. How middle-American. Baby steps, people. Baby steps.

First the bowling league, and last week, a cruise to Cozumel, Mexico. Not so boring. Robert even got a little crazier, drank a few Margarita's and smuggled a coconut from Passion Island all the way back to our little house in Louisiana.

It sits on our mantle.

He named it Wilson.

Wilson reminds me that there's a whole, wide world out there and we're going to explore it together...me, Robert and Wilson.

Right after I finish this glass of wine and the leftover shrimp lo-mein and watch a few more episodes of The Big Bang Theory.

Because that's pretty cool, too.

Winter Bliss

2012-01-29T19:31:00.004-06:00

I'm getting a head start on my list for the new year. I turn 47 on Saturday and my husband decided a few months back to take me on a cruise for my birthday! So, on the day I turn 47, we'll be sitting on a dream-like beach in Cozumel, Mexico, drinking something with an umbrella. I hope this is the first of many traveling adventures I'll have with him. I'm leaving the states for the first time, people!

We both really need this. Really. And I'm so grateful to have a husband who cares enough about to me to plan this, just for me. I wonder what it will be like to be separated from my phone? The texts, emails and phone calls? I wonder what it will be like to sit on the deck of a ship, my husband's hand in mine, with just a warm breeze, the smell of the salt in the air, and miles and miles of blue on blue all around us? I wonder what it will be like to be quiet, inside. And I wonder what it will be like to have nothing but the two of us to consider for four days?

I imagine it will be wonderful, beautiful, and the most fun we've had in a long, long time.

What's your favorite vacation? Or your dream vacation?

Inward

2012-01-26T06:31:00.005-06:00

Why is that when you make a decision to make some changes, to be kinder, to be gentler, more patient, the universe decides to throw the most awkward, infuriating situations your way? Or is it that the situations haven't increased but that I'm just hyper-aware of them when they occur? Because it feels like the universe is shining a spotlight on me and I'm standing there, with this sheepish look on my face, muttering, "Damn it, you didn't handle that well at all, Melinda." Maybe it's a little of both.

There's something heavy on my mind, sitting there like a ton of garbage, about someone whom I care about. It isn't my husband or my children, not to worry. I can't, won't, write about it here. Just that it's there. The situation is what it is, but it's confusing to me. Extremely unsettling. It feels like a severing. And I don't know how to handle it but I don't feel like I've done a good job thus far. This was the first glaring spotlight of the week.

The second spotlight involves the ex. He's an alcoholic. He's domineering. He's extremely frustrating. He rants. He's petty. He's selfish. He's the father of my two daughters and he breaks their hearts almost everyday. He doesn't live in the same state, but he calls them a lot and visits. He's also been very financially supportive of them these last six years. He loves them. When he's sober, he's almost normal. They have pleasant conversations where he encourages them, tells them he loves them. The girls and I have a general rule where we don't answer his calls after 6pm because he's probably drunk or on his way. Lately, the time seems to have moved up to 3 or 4pm. My daughter who's away at college, made the mistake of calling him at 8pm and ended up hanging up on him. He called her back 17 times. She didn't answer. She called me, crying, feeling guilty and I soothed her. I decided to call him and ask him to stop. Tried to reason with him. It started out calmly but quickly escalated to the place where I was holding the phone in front of my face and yelling at it, trying to hurl my words directly at him. He never shuts up when he's drinking. He doesn't listen. He's belligerent. He threatens to disappear and to stop helping financially. And then I hung up on him, the old rage and frustration literally running through my veins like an electrical current. My hands were shaking and my heart was pounding. And after I've calmed down, talked to my husband about it, I think "Damn it. You didn't handle that well at all, Melinda." I know better than to try to reason with an alcoholic in the middle of a good drunk. God, do I know that.

I'm human. I realize that my emotions are going to get the best of me sometimes but I really want to get to that place where there's a whole lot less of, "Damn it...you could have handled that better, Melinda."

Onward.

That's What He Said

2012-01-03T09:19:00.004-06:00

This is what I want for the new year.

More adventure, walks, singing, painting, gardening, sex, running, learning, reading, star-gazing, bird-watching, bike-riding, exploring, encouraging, building, smiling, eating, spending time with family and friends, laughing, cooking, seeing, hell, maybe even sewing, loving, rejoicing, writing, bee-keeping, butterfly-catching, growing, traveling.

Sing it, Elvis.

A little end of the year rambling...

2012-01-01T18:38:00.002-06:00

Hats off to 2011! This last year has been a challenging, bittersweet year. We moved into a new house, smaller, more efficient, closer to what we love and away from the violence of the old neighborhood we lived in for 7 years.

I survived my middle daughter going off to college. That was a biggie. She's doing really well and I'm so proud of her!

I survived a major heartbreak as someone I love very much had a big fall and watched as they picked themself up and started over again, even stronger than before.

I've felt myself begin to mellow somewhat as I get older and realize that all of my children will soon be out on their own. The dynamics of my life are changing. I have days when I think that I'll cease to exist when my nest is fully empty and other days when I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I'll survive. That I may even thrive. This is the way it's supposed to be. I'm learning how to let go and that it isn't such a bad thing after all.

My youngest daughter is leaving in August for college and that'll be it. The last of my children leaving the nest. My Mommy job will officially be different. It'll be interesting to see how good I am at letting go then. I could totally do a 360 here and whine like a big baby. We shall see.

And, a little bragging here, I've lost 25 of the pounds that I set out to do about two years ago. Five more to go. That's pretty empowering. A goal almost met. Just saying.

Oh yes, and my hubby signed us up for a bowling league because he wanted us to spend more time together (he does hear me, afterall!) but he absolutely hates it. Because he's really bad at it. And although it's a geriatric league, and most of them have an 175 or better average and are over the age of 65, it's been interesting to say the least.

So this year, this year has it's own challenges ahead but I like this word...reach. I'm adopting it from Beth's blog. I think it's an awesome word and it resonates with my soul and what I feel going into this new year. To reach inside of myself and pull out the best that I can be. I want to be softer, kinder, slower to anger, slower to criticize, more giving. Because I am so very grateful and the best is yet to come.

And oh, yes...my sweet husband, maybe because of the bowling debauchery, is taking me on a cruise the first of February. On my 47th birthday, I'll be sunning like a lazy, lizard on a beach in Cozumel, Mexico. Sweet. He's pretty amazing. Even if he does suck at bowling.

Happy New Year everyone! May 2012 be the best year ever and inspire us all.

May I Help You?

2011-12-17T21:55:00.012-06:00

This Christmas season, I got a second job in the world of retail to help finance Christmas. My husband often takes side-jobs so when I saw an opportunity to help, I jumped at it. It didn't hurt that the job was at my favorite store, World Market. This Friday, December 23rd, is my last day. And strangely enough, even though my feet are numb by the end of a shift, my weekends have been non-existent these past two months, and I've missed my family, I'm extremely grateful for this little job. And I think I will miss it.

Here's why:

Reason No. 1: My full-time job is great but I work from home. I know, I know, most people would love to work from home and I love it, too. But I miss the separation of working outside of the home. I miss leaving at a clearly defined time, clocking in, doing a clearly defined job to the best of my ability, clocking out, and coming home and leaving it behind knowing that I've accomplished something. I'm done. A friend of mind who's in the timber-cutting business said to me once that he couldn't stand sitting at a computer all day or working in a cubicle because at the end of the day, if he doesn't have "a pile of something to point at," he doesn't feel like he's accomplished anything. I can relate to that. At the end of the day, I have a pile of something. I have bagged goods, made a customer laugh, straightened my assigned areas in the store, re-stocked the registers and clocked out.

Reason No. 2: I think too much. I have a daughter who left for college last August, who I worry about, and another leaving next August, who I worry about times a million. I have a grown son who's married with two kids, who I worry about. I have aging parents, whom I adore, who I worry about. And a step-daughter living two states away, who I worry about, too. When I'm at work, my over-analytical brain is occupied. And when I come home, I'm tired and sleep like a baby.

Reason No. 3: And the best thing of all? I get to see what I've looked like in Christmas' past. I'm on the other side of the register. I'm the one who most people don't see. They don't see me because they're busy, overwhelmed and sometimes, resentful. I can see it in their faces when their total shows up on the screen. They sigh, they swipe their card, and furrow their brows as they grab their bags and hurry on to the next store. An obligation. A burden. Another job. Not all of them, mind you, some of them look me in the eye and even take a minute to look at my name-tag and call me by name as they leave. And the ones that don't? I try to treat them the same. I try to remind myself that I don't know their life, their day, where they are and give them a break. I don't always succeed. Sometimes I judge them just like they judge me. But it reminds me to be patient. It reminds me that the next time I'm in a store and there are only two lanes open with lines full of people, I won't be so quick to look at the customer next to me and roll my eyes and mutter something about the lack of service. Maybe there isn't anyone else to call up front. Maybe they're fully staffed. Maybe I can just get over myself and wait for a few minutes because it really isn't the end of the world and I'm not the Queen of the Universe.

Reason No. 4: The connection that comes among people when a group is working hard towards a common goal. At first, I didn't really want to know them because my time there was short but I can't help it...I have. There's Emily, she's only 27, who trained me. In the short time I've worked there, I found out she and her brother were basically abandoned by their parents when they were 16 and 18. They've raised themselves since then, together. She's just a few months away from finishing nursing school. She's got a sharp wit, a great sense of humor and takes food that the store would otherwise throw out because the packaging is damaged, downtown to the homeless community. All by herself. Just because it's the right thing to do. Then there's Crystal, also 27, a single mother who's soon to be married. She's freckle-faced, hard-working and likes to wear a knit cap to work because she doesn't like to mess with her hair. She loves my Sean Connery impression and she also has a great, big heart. There's Kara, who's closest to my age. She has a voice like Janeane Garofalo, sarcastic and dry, works two jobs, and goes to school. She's an Aquarius like me and says the younger kids like to tease her by asking her if she watches "Murder She Wrote" for fun. She and I are the oldest two women in the store. Ancient. Then there's Ann, also a nursing student, a sweet strawberry blond who works her ass off and drops the f-bomb frequently and then quickly says, "Excuse my language". She's also a supervisor and in nursing school but doesn't look a day past 16. There's Alanna, also a supervisor, who may smile at you or look at you like she wants to punch you in the chest, you never know. She's got kind eyes, long curly dark hair, round spectacles and says her time of the month is so bad that the manager keeps track of it so as not to schedule her during those first two days. She's tough but I believe she has a soft side underneath. Something in her eyes. And then there's Porsche, a large, chocolate woman who stands up for all of us. She gripes about a lack of breaks, if need be, saying that her people have always been oppressed and she won't tolerate it any longer. We love her. She gets us those extra fifteen minutes. And she has the biggest smile.

The extra Christmas money has been great, but the experience has been priceless. Who knew?

Merry Christmas everyone. Take a minute to say hello to the people working in the service industry this time of year. Wish them a Merry Christmas and call them by name. You just might make someone's day a little brighter. And in return, your day will become a little brighter, too.

Gratitude

2011-12-02T08:46:00.006-06:00

I've read a couple of fellow bloggers posts about their lack of Christmas spirit. They wonder why they don't love it as much as some people seem to. Interestingly enough, these bloggers have children who have grown up and moved out and that seems to play a big part in their diminishing spirit. I get that, I feel the same way, but I think it's more than that.

It's only December 2nd. There are 23 days left until Christmas and already, as every year, it's been crammed down our throats for the last two weeks. I've been asked by several people in the last week if I have my tree up yet...really? I've barely digested my food from Thanksgiving. The weeks leading up to December 25th are so full of hype and commercial frenzy that by the time the actual day rolls around, we have long been over it. I've found myself rushing the holiday these past few years. "Just get through it," I tell myself. Then I feel guilty for wishing that any days of my life were already past. These are days I will never get back and I'm already wishing them away?

I remember a movie that I watched as a child, The House without a Christmas Tree, about a bitter, lonely widow who didn't want to celebrate Christmas because it reminded him of his wife. He had a change of heart and they went out on Christmas Eve to buy a tree and it was such a celebration! I think that back in the days before the media frenzy of Christmas started, many people put their trees up in the few short days before instead of weeks before. And I believe that the early hype builds a lot of people up for disappointment. It causes us to ask what is wrong with us when nearly every commercial is filled with Christmas lights, new cars in the driveway, and laughing families clearly spending gobs of money and having a blast before it's even Thanksgiving. And don't even get me started on Black Friday, which has become a holiday in itself. Such an ominous name for the day that has become the official kick-off to the Christmas season. I have nothing against a good bargain but their are people out there who treat it like a blood hunt. They have no joy whatsoever in what is supposed to be the spirit of giving and will cut you in a heartbeat for that last five dollar crock-pot.

Don't get caught up in the frenzy that is December. Instead, spend this month, and every month, with gratitude. Live each day and appreciate it for what it is. And for those of us that are lucky enough, look at the 25th as special gift. A day to slow down and love your family and give to others. That's something that we all can do, regardless of our beliefs.

Here's a gift for you. A dear friend passed this on to me and I watch it often. It really puts things into perspective.

Jilted

2011-12-01T07:17:00.004-06:00

It's an odd thing, my relationship with this blog. There have been times I've written here consistently and other times, well, not so much. This may be the longest drought so far but I think I say that every time. It's not that I've fallen off the face of the earth or that I have nothing to say. Ask my husband.

I've been toying with the idea of deleting my blog, which is also something I do from time to time. I'm not sure why but it's almost as if I'm angry with it...it's the same feeling a girl gets when she wants to break up with a boy. I completely ignore him. It isn't that I don't care anymore, only that I don't want to care so I feign indifference. I don't know what to do with you anymore, blog, so I'm giving you the cold shoulder.

A blog is self-serving mostly. It's like an open journal. I get tired of hearing myself talk and writing the word "I", which just occurred in this post 16 times. I wonder if I'm being truthful in what I write because I don't want to offend.

And then I remember that I only have 32 followers and that this blog isn't going to change the world, nor does it strive to. Maybe just my little corner of it. The one that shines a light inwardly, exposing the muck, so that I can clean house. The one that likes to string words together like christmas lights.

I've decided that I still love you, blog.

And I don't want to break up.

Random

2011-10-04T13:54:00.004-05:00

Because I don't have anything that I want to write about at the moment and because I'm sure Diahn would like to visit my blog and see something besides her high school photo....

HERE'S PIE!

AND ME! (In my cartoon, modeling days...)

Happy Birthday, Dino!

2011-08-29T07:37:00.002-05:00

I hope you have the loveliest of birthdays, my dear sweet friend. Wish I could be there to have a beer with you but you know I'm there in spirit. Cheers!

I love you!

(Look how cute you are!!!)

Dog Days

2011-08-20T08:20:00.007-05:00

This Louisiana heat is sapping the life from everything. The trees in my yard are dropping leaves, not because they're turning rich, earthy, fall colors, but because they're dead. I stopped trying to save the lawn by watering it weeks ago. It looks like sad straw. The hum of the ceiling fans is constant. I love that sound. If only I had a screen door that slapped and creaked throughout the day as my family comes and goes, that would be heaven. I try to get my work done earlier in the day because the heat builds, even in our air-conditioned house, throughout the afternoon. It's better to try and move as little as possible into the evening. That kills me. I get restless in the evenings. And irritated when I'm hot. So I find myself talking on the phone a lot to my four girlfriends, alternating so they don't get to tired of hearing my voice, to help pass the time. Everyone in town seems a little irritated. I seem to hear more sirens, see more fender benders, and everytime someone enters a cool building, you usually hear them mutter, "Damn, it's hot," as they wipe their brow. We look at each other and shake our heads in disbelief.

August is like that here. It's a month that starts off slow but quickly speeds up as parents hustle around town getting their kids ready for school with the endless list of school supplies and new school clothes. All in this unrelenting heat. I think it's cruel and poor planning to have the kids start back in the middle of the hottest month. Is the school board trying to crush their spirits? Job well done, idiots. If I could go back in time, I'd work out a way to homeschool my children, I think. Or move to a state that has a great education system run by intelligent people. Is there such a place?

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I recently joined the modern world and bought an iphone. I'm in love. It's such an amazing tool. And one more leap, I purchased the Kindle app and have downloaded a couple of books. This is one, giant leap for Melinda-kind...I've held the belief that the Kindle and the Nook were tools of the anti-christ. My book loving friends and I have railed against their evils! Who will buy the physical books if these devices take over? What will become of the artists who design their covers? And the trees that give their life for the, crisp, white pages? What will we do with the empty spaces on our bookshelves, nightstands, and windowsills if our books are all tucked away in one small, flat, electronic device? And libraries, my God, the libraries! What will become of them and the tiny, eclectic bookstore that I one day want to own?

But as usual, I realize I may have been a bit dramatic. The Kindle and the Nook are not signs of a brave new world, but of a world that is growing in technological bounds. They are signs of a world that will never give up its words and is merely finding a new way to contain and transport them. It means that now I can have both. I may be in the mood to hold the physical book and its weighted pages late at night as I snuggle up in bed near my husband. Or I may be stuck in traffic and be able to pass those useless minutes reading a wonderful book on my iphone. I spend so much of my time waiting. I wait in line at the grocery store, or at a doctor's office, or in the drive-thru at the bank. Those wasted minutes make me uneasy because they represent time that is being stolen from my life. But now, instead of getting angry and irritated, I can slip away with a great book. I can learn or be swept away while I'm waiting on life to move. And not just from one book that's tucked away under the seat, oh no, I have a library of brilliant works at my fingertips.

And that, my friends, is a truly beautiful thing. I can't wait to tell you about the first book I bought and read, but for now,

the weekend is calling...hope you have a great one!

Still Here...

2011-08-16T14:37:00.006-05:00

It's official. I'm one daughter away, one year away, from being an empty nester. Last weekend, we moved Stevey off to college and guess what? I survived. She survived. In fact, she's thriving. And I'm beginning to feel like I'm emerging from a year long brain fog. I can't seem to get enough sleep. I feel like a week of laying in the bed, watching TV, reading and sleeping is called for but that isn't an option. It's time to start preparing my last child for college. I've learned a lot this past year so I'm hoping this time, it won't be as stressful. Sara is a different child and this will be a different experience with her. Not necessarily better, just different.

So, here's Stevey with her roomate...

and a dreamy, sunset view of the campus from her apartment balcony.

Believe it or not, I do have other things going on in my brain that I'd like to write about it.

Patience, grasshopper.

The Summer I Grew Up

2011-07-14T09:28:00.017-05:00

I fall in love a little with every city that I visit. If I could travel more, and one day, I will, my heart will be spread out around the world.

At the beginning of the month, I visited Diahn in Knoxville, Tennessee. Her boys welcomed me with my own, special door.

I am not exaggerating when I say that her children are the politest, kindest, coolest, most well-behaved children that I have ever met. Ever.

And exceptional tennis players, as well. I know because I witnessed their skills first hand. As D said before I watched their match, "So far, you've seen what's on the outside. Tomorrow, you get to see what's on the inside." He was right.

The whole family made me feel so welcomed and spoiled me a little.

The only thing they didn't do for me was have a parade. Maybe next time.

Diahn and I sat outside on her beautiful deck and talked for hours in the evenings, with glasses of wine and bottles of beer in hand. Monty Python movie quotes were rampant.

We made pickles and probably had more fun than two grown women should have making pickles.

And on Saturday morning, we went to the farmer's market where I met Linda...finally! It was like I had known her for years. The whole weekend was lovely and such a nice relaxing, reprieve from the summer of transition.

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At the beginning of this week, my daughter and I visited the LSU campus in Baton Rouge for freshman orientation, where I promptly fell in love with the campus, the old oak trees, and the steamy air. The photo below isn't edited...my lens fogged up before I took the shot.

The oaks on campus are worth millions and some are actually insured with Lloyds of London.

When I got home, I was showing the pictures to my husband and I realized every shot was of a tree. And maybe a street lamp or two. The campus is sprawling and beautiful and fills me with the urge to study and read. I loved college.

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My blog feels stagnant. My writing is very surface these days. This daughter going off to college leaves me feeling like an exposed nerve. I am sad when I hear her walk in the house late at night and realize these are the last few weeks of this place being her home. I am angry with myself when I think of all the missed opportunities of time spent with her and wish I could take back every harsh word that's passed between us. I am overwhelmed with the list of all the things I haven't told her and yet confident that this is how it should be. That she will have to learn these things as she makes her own path. I am reminded of how fleeting life can be. I am reminded of my age, of my parent's age, of how tall my Grandson is becoming. I am fearful of going through this whole process again next year when my youngest child leaves the nest and the house is quiet and empty. How many years have I spent dreaming about the very thing that now terrifies me?

So I cling to the familiar. I cling to my husband. I cling to my family and friends. And I cling to the mundane tasks of my day. I cling to constants. I pray a lot at night as I'm falling asleep. My prayers aren't organized or concise. Instead, they are the ramblings and pleadings of a woman who feels like she is gripping the edge, holding on for dear life. They are the prayers of a child at night, eyes squeezed shut, covers pulled up to the chin, trying to pray away the monsters.

This woman also knows that on the other side of the empty nest, there are new pages to be written. There is a shedding of the skin, in a way. There are big weddings, new son-in-laws and sweet grandchildren on the horizon. There are roads to be traveled and cities that are waiting for me to love them.

But for now, I'm still clinging.

Leaving

2011-07-01T02:23:00.002-05:00

It's 2:23am and I'm having a serious cup of coffee. No messing around. I'm leaving in an hour with my husband to take my stepdaughter home. And then up to Tennessee for a much needed visit with Diahn.

And since it's 2:24am and I'm slightly delirious, I thought I'd share my epiphany with you. The one that I had at 11:30pm when I finally laid down to try and go to sleep. My daughters are out of town so I decided to sleep in Stevey's room last night, to could get away from the noise of the television that my husband sometimes watches until late at night, and that's when it hit me.

She's leaving in five short weeks.

My baby girl is moving out and moving on. And even though she'll come back for holiday breaks and summers, it'll never be the same. Even though I'm so proud of her that I'm practically bursting at the seams, it'll never be the same. I laid there in the dark, breathing in her "Stevey" smell from her pillows, looking around her room at her bulletin board, her paintings and her clutter of clothes scattered around the room, and started to grieve.

And I still can't stop crying.

I'm sure it'll get easier with time. I'd rather get most of it out now than later when I'm helping her unpack at her new apartment. I seriously hate goodbyes. I'd rather stick hot pokers in my eyes than say goodbye. I don't like to get that emotional in front of people and nothing gets me more emotional than saying goodbye. I know, I know...it's not a permanent goodbye.

But to my mother's heart, it sure feels like it.

What's Going On (thank you, Barry White and Marvin Gaye)

2011-06-25T18:54:00.015-05:00

I haven't been blogging so much lately. There are many reasons but mostly, they involve children. Children, children, children. From the age of 18 to 3. It's an interesting age span, for sure. On a daily basis, I deal with everything from college anxiety to helping the three-year-old wipe his bottom after he goes to the bathroom. Of the two, I prefer the bottom wiping. Much easier. And just in case my 18 year-old is reading this, like she does from time to time to time, let me clarify. It's not that I actually prefer the smell of poop over your worries about college, it's just that I miss being able to help you solve your problems so easily. Like wiping your bottom.

And now she'll probably never read again. Sorry, sweetie.

Then there's my youngest daughter, who just went through her one hundred and twenty-ninth cell phone. Let's just say she's done her part to recycle as many phones as she possibly can since I purchased her first one at the age of 14. She's now 17. She's a giver, my Sara, always thinking about others less fortunate than her.

Then there are the two youngest, my five-year old stepdaughter and three-year-old grandson. I won't bore you again. You can read about these two poop-lovers here.

I just used the word poop twice in one post. As a matter of fact, the word poop seems to be the biggest part of my vocabulary these days. I think I need a vacation.

And I will get a short one soon! When the husband and I take Lyann a back home to Alabama next weekend, I get to shoot up to Knoxville and spend a few therapeutic, relaxing, Margarita filled days with Diahn and her sweet family. Where we'll most spend of our warm, late, summer evenings talking about poop. Good times. Good times, indeed.

In the meantime, here's what I've been up to this summer. In between the poop.

We've fed goats and fawns.

Some days, we just chill with our new friend below, Jack. He's so laid back and makes a mean Mint Julep. And he tells the best stories.

And then there's his best friend, Joe. He's kind of quiet. And he has a bad smoker's cough. But every now and then, he lets out a loud laugh and tells a story of his own. Or asks for water.

And then there's these guys...feisty, carnivorous misunderstood guys. They have no respect for personal space and at any given moment they might eat your face, but hey, everyone has their faults, right?

I think they're my new best friends.

Oh yeah, and in between the elaborate stories that Jack tells, and the slightly more interesting, albeit more dangerous, tales of our carnivorous friends, I visit the Shreveport Farmer's Market and buy soothing, comfort items like these....

This is a Thai Basil plant. I realize that the brick entitled "Rosemary" next to the Thai Basil doesn't make sense. In fact, it's quite confusing. When I purchased the plant and the brick, the lady behind the booth asked, "You do realize this is Thai Basil...not Rosemary?"

"Of course," I answered. Nosey woman. Like I use it everyday. I have no clue. I just liked the looks of it.

I'm like a ninja sometimes.

In Over My Head

2011-06-07T09:37:00.006-05:00

I am old. I have forgotten what it's like to take care of a three-year-old and a five-year-old at the same time. Currently, I'm taking care of my step-daughter, 5, and my grandson, 3, during the day, while I'm trying to work. I work from home. They are here, at my home. While I'm trying to work.

I've developed an eye twitch over the last few days.

Generally, they have a "get along" time span of about ten minutes. Ten minutes before someone melts down. Ten minutes before someone gets angry and throws a punch. Ten minutes before the tears start flowing like lava from Mt. Vesuvius.

And they're loud. REALLY LOUD. They have two volumes. Asleep or loud. There is no in between. There is no whisper. When I ask them to use their inside voices, they look at me as if I'm speaking Farsi.

They are redundant. Redundant to the point of obsessive compulsivity. Seriously.

Me: Do you want to watch TV for awhile?

Brian: Yes, I want to watch "Hulk".

Me: Okay, Hulk it is.

Brian: Hulk! I want to watch Hulk! Nanny, can I watch Hulk? (desperately pulling at my shirt sleeve). Hulk! Hulk! Can I watch, Hulk? Hey Nanny, Hulk is what I want to watch. Do you know Hulk? I yike Hulk. So, can I watch him, Hulk?"

And sharing? Please. They wouldn't share a life preserver if they were drowning. Whatever object or toy one of them is playing with, the other wants. Any object. If Lyanna has a hair bow, Brian wants it. Suddenly, he loves hair bows and his very life depends on having it in his tiny, sweaty hands. If Brian is playing with a blade of grass, Lyanna simply must have that specific blade of grass, now. Never mind the millions and millions and millions of blades in the front and back yard, none of those will do. If we had a dog, which thankfully we don't because that would completely send me over the edge, and the two of them found a piece of dog poop, the conversation would go something like this.

Brian: Hey, I found some dog poop!

Lyanna: Can I hold it?

Brian: No! I found it first! It's my dog poop.

Lyanna: BUT I JUST WANT TO HOLD IT!

Brian: NO! GET YOUR OWN DOG POOP! THIS IS MINE!

Lyanna: BUT I WANT THAT DOG POOP! I WAS ABOUT TO PICK IT UP BEFORE YOU DID SO IT'S MY DOG POOP! (Tears begin to flow)

Brian: I SAID NO!!! STOP ASKING ME FOR MY POOP! (a punch is thrown)

Lyanna: (wailing) HE HIT ME! HE HIT ME! HE HIT ME! AND HE WON'T LET ME HAVE THE DOG POOP! WHY DOES HE ALWAYS GET TO PLAY WITH THE DOG POOP AND I NEVER GET TO PLAY WITH IT!

Brian: DOG POOP! DOG POOP! DOG POOP! DOG POOP! DOG POOP!

At which point I'd probably find myself saying something ridiculous like:

"Brian, you get to play with the poop for five minutes and then it's Lyanna's turn. If you two can't share, then the poop is MINE! Capeesh?"

But oh my...their superhero powers of cuteness are matched by none. They slay me every time.

Lately

2011-06-01T08:43:00.010-05:00

This may be the longest time that I've been away from my blog. Life has been a little hectic.

1. We moved.
2. Made three college trips.
3. Stevey graduated from high school.
4. Lyanna is here.

Here's what I've been doing in between.

1. Riding my bike.
2. Reading.
3. Cleaning my yard and getting the beds ready for planting.
4. Grilling.
5. Drinking vanilla coffee.
6. Sipping Shiraz.

Pretty uneventful, and yet, completely full of life's sweetest events.

I'll be back soon...happy summer.

In Between

2011-04-16T20:45:00.008-05:00

So you hunker down,
you dig your heels deep into the soil,
you white-knuckle it,
you smile and wave,
and you breathe while you wait.
You soak up the sun,
you smell the stinkin' flowers,
you mow the lawn,
scrape the waste from the plates,
shower and shave,
and you read.
You read a lot.
You think about what you want to say,
scream, put on a billboard,
while you wait.
You drink wine and talk,
talk, talk, talk.
You talk a lot.
You talk about the high price
of fuel and of groceries,
how busy you are and what
you would do if you weren't...
busy, that is.
But you really want to talk about
Tolstoy, and things we never say,
things we pretend not to notice,
and how you think God isn't
quite so trivial as we make him out to be.
And you want to scream.
You want to see the end times,
would relish a real challenge,
and you want to dance.
You never dance.
Never have.
You pace back and forth at night,
like a cat in a cage, and feel important.
Like you mean something.
You don't.
You live in a circle.
And you wait.
You wait for the next bad thing,
the next emotional tsunami,
the next thing that makes you feel alive.
In the meantime, you Google
and search for coupons,
and smile and wave, boys.
Just smile and wave.
And you know He's there,
somewhere, just out of reach,
so you cling to what is here,
to what you can lay hands on.
You cling.
You cling.

One Stop Poetry, recent winner at the 3rd Annual Shorty Awards, has a great Sunday challenge and this is my contribution. Go and read!

Stay

2011-04-07T08:01:00.005-05:00

I'm reluctant to let you go.
I wonder where I will find my warmth at night.
I'll miss your extra-large t-shirts
and the pungent, smell of your deodorant.
I'll miss the way your lips look when you say "smoke"
and the way your love handles fit my hands.
I'll miss the way you pick your teeth after a big meal with your credit card,
scratch your balls in public,
and clip your toenails in bed.
Oh yes, and your foul smelling feet.
I'll probably miss those most of all, my love.
But I won't miss the way you play with my hair.
Or those sweet, salty, morning kisses.
I won't miss your hand on the small of my back,
or on the curve of my neck,
or resting in the palm of my hand.
I won't miss the way you whisper in my ear
or the way you defend me, and don't worry,
I won't even miss your unconditional love.
No, I won't miss that at all.
Not one little bit.

My Girl

2011-03-31T21:07:00.010-05:00

I spent this last weekend in a foreign land. Panhellenic land. My daughter is headed to college at The University of Alabama in August and she wants to pledge a sorority. I wasn't that type. I've had to expand my horizons and realize that I've been somewhat close-minded. It's too much. She's amazing. In spite of my groaning and moaning about the greek system, she's stayed steady in her convictions. And I have to say, I walked away at the end of the weekend, changed. I walked away convinced that this will be a very good thing for her. I walked away being reminded that my children are individuals and that she, my middle child, is not me. Thank God.

So...Stevey is her name. Before she was born, her father and I debated on names. He wanted a more traditional name but I was leaning towards non-traditional names. Chloe, Zoe and even Scout were my choices. Scout was my first choice but in the end, we agreed on Stevey. Sure, I adore Stevie Nix and Stevie Wonder, but she is not named after these two musical geniuses. I guess you could say they were merely inspirations. It's strange, how a name means so much. I felt intuitively that she needed a strong, unique name without ever having met her. She was born, I nursed her, we spent time getting to know her and it became apparent that she was cautious, somewhat fearful, and so very shy and timid. And we had saddled her with a strange name, a name that would draw attention.

I have watched this girl grow throughout the years. We joke about her younger pictures. In every picture she always looked startled, like someone snuck up behind her and whispered "boo" in her ear. She rarely smiled. She was afraid of the dark, thunderstorms, mad cow disease, and plural possessives. She seemed sad, always. At the age of 10, I would tell her to brush her hair and she would sigh and say, "What's the point? It's just going to get messed up anyway."

But somewhere in middle school, about the time she had her braces removed, she blossomed. She blossomed in spite of her fears and anxiety. And she still has the anxiety, the panic, but she has learned to compensate. She's learned that facing your fears head on is the only way to make them vanish.

She's become the center of her circle of friends. She is responsible, she has goals, and she isn't afraid to pursue her dreams. Well, let me rephrase that, she is afraid but she moves ahead anyway. Courage. She's full of courage. She doesn't think so, but she has it in abundance.

I watched her walked away from me Saturday, after the daughters and parents were separated. I choked. My heart stopped. She was beautiful as she turned around a few times and glanced back, just to make sure I was still there. She was alone. She knew no one. She doubted her herself but still, she moved forward.

I have never been so proud of her in my life. I was never that brave. I'm still not that brave.

Her name is Stevey.

And she's going to move the world.

Dandelion Lessons

2011-03-17T13:23:00.006-05:00

Step 1: Find and pick one fluffy, white dandelion. Smile impishly.

Step 2: Put your lips together and blow...

Happy St. Patrick's Day...why a dandelion? Because the picture wouldn't be nearly as adorable if he were blowing on a shamrock.

Sunday Night

2011-03-13T23:16:00.003-05:00

We're in, people. We finished up the last load today from the old house. I had a moment when I shut the door for the last time but that was it, just a moment. Robert and I sat on the front porch and reminisced for a while before we left. Here's a peek into my new living room. It's coming together slowly. I need more color though! Guitar girl helps, she's over to the left, just out of this shot.
She still makes me so happy.

That's it for now because I'm wiped out. Done. Kaput. Sleepy.

But so very happy and blessed.

Daughter of a Preacher Man

2011-03-07T22:38:00.002-06:00

I'm tired, people. A good tired, but still tired. I just said tired four times in a row, that's how tired I am. Five now. Moving is good. Moving is evil. Moving is...well, moving. And that's what we're doing. Moving. And yes, I know the photo is a repeat but I thought it fit, so here it is again. I guess you could say it moved, from one post to another.

**********************

Speaking of moving, at the end of last year, my father retired from pastoring. My brother took over his role. My Dad was, and still is, an amazing teacher. He's a seeker, an intellect, and an avid reader and researcher. Sometimes his sermons were a bit, shall we say, lengthy. But only because he wanted to make absolutely sure that his thoughts were conveyed to the congregation because he is so passionate about his beliefs.

My brother's style is different. He's more practical, to the point, and then pulls it all together and wraps it up. A great teacher, different style.

What's strange now is that for my whole life, my Dad's been behind the proverbial pulpit. I can't tell you the times he called us out from the pulpit for whispering, passing notes, or sleeping on those cold, hard, wooden pews and drooling on the hymnals that we used for pillows. And now, my Dad sits on the back row with me and whispers, hands out gum, and cuts up. He doesn't sleep or drool...only at home in his recliner.

And I wonder how hard this must be for him. I know he's proud of my brother, I can tell. But at the same time, he's passing the torch. His torch. His domain. His job. And I imagine that he's asking himself, "Who am I now? What is my role? What's my purpose?"

Shakespeare, 2 Henry IV 3.4.283
Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive performance.

Strange indeed. I only hope he knows how amazing he is. I hope that he knows that he's been my rock, my teacher, my father. Always will be. And that he knows his desire to teach will never outlive his performance. That teaching is his essence and has never been a mere performance.

We're all moving here. In more ways than one. Forward.

Winds of Change

2011-03-03T19:00:00.005-06:00

I'm moving this weekend. We finally decided to let this old house go. We can't afford the improvements needed, especially in this economy and housing market. We would lose money hand over fist...money that we don't have. Money that we need for one child, this child, who's going away to college in five short months. Breathe, Melinda, breathe.

And I'm okay with the house thing. Great, actually. We need a change. A fresh wind. A bright patch in a rocky year. There are things I will miss. The red front door. The staircase. The bamboo in the backyard that we fight every year from overtaking the entire yard. The next door neighbors.

This corner.

The cobalt blue kitchen, the black and white bathroom, the possum under my back deck.

The memories. But those, I get to take with me.

What I won't miss is the bass thumping from the stereo across the street. The random gun shots we hear on any given day. The fact that we have to leave our house on New Year's Eve, The Fourth of July, Memorial Day, and Labor Day because it sounds like a war zone with all the fireworks, mixed in with the gunshots. The cats. Oh...my...God...the wild cats. And I won't miss the rats. That's right, I said rats. You'd think with all the cats, but no, we still battle the rats.

I won't miss the broken things. Everything is broken (did somebody say Bob Dylan?)

I plan to take lots of pictures, so I can remember. Because oddly enough, I've lived here longer than any other place and I'm going to miss this house. Seven years. I bought it when I was single, alone with three children, and so lost. It meant a lot to me. Still does. So much has happened here. My son was lost and found. I met and married my sweet husband. My daughters have turned into beautiful, young women. And we found another daughter.

But life is about change. And I'm embracing this change wholeheartedly. I have five more months before Stevey leaves for college and I feel like I have so much to tell her. So many things that I think I've missed. I feel like I need to tuck in corners, cross secrets off the list, give her a manual. I'm not ready for this, but I don't think any mother is ever ready.

I have a lot to say about her over the next several months. She's pretty amazing.

For everything you have missed, you have gained something else, and for everything you gain, you lose something else.

~Ralph Waldo Emerson~

Balance, grasshopper, balance.

Shades of Gray

2011-02-12T20:51:00.017-06:00

When Diahn and I set out to explore Memphis, we went here. This the hotel where Dr. King was assassinated. It's been turned into the National Civil Rights Museum.

There was a protester across the street from the hotel. I learned a new word, gentrification. Like most issues, I think I'm in the middle. It saddens me to see older parts of town abandoned and neglected but I can also see the the opposite view. The view that doesn't want to see poorer residents forced out of an area they call home because they can't afford to live there.

The protester sat their silently, making her presence known with banners and pamphlets. It made me feel guilty, because I'm white. As if I had no right to be there. Then again, maybe the guilt comes from my lack of understanding. I don't understand the struggle of the black race from a personal perspective and I cannot. But I try. Why must the focus always be on our differences? Why must we be so divided? Why can't we look at both sides of the coin and accept that there isn't always a right or wrong answer? Why can't we focus on our similarities instead, in all areas, politics, religion, race, and class? I wanted to say to her, "I've struggled to overcome, too. We are alike in more ways than we are not alike." But I didn't. Instead, I nodded in her direction and took pictures. Like a shallow tourist. Part of the problem instead of the solution.

This area of downtown Memphis is beautiful to me and I am glad that it hasn't been neglected or become an empty shell.

I'm a minority in my neighborhood. And while I can say that I haven't gone out of my way to make friends, neither have my neighbors. Mostly, my family and I get glares as if we don't belong here. That must be the same way they feel when they live in a predominantly white neighborhood.

And as our country becomes even more diversified, it seems we only become more divided instead of united. The fissures show up everywhere, the media, the workplace, the government, our families. Our society even promotes the division through talk shows and talking heads and advertising that tell us we can be better, set apart, smarter, skinnier, richer than all the rest.

Recently the President said this, Do not view everything through the lens of rivalry. It has stayed with me. I realize how many times in a given day, I do exactly that.

And I wonder...will I ever overcome? Can we overcome?

Home of the Blues

2011-02-08T21:18:00.014-06:00

So the Memphis trip has come and gone. Diahn and I had an amazing time. We explored, had a big ass beer, listened to some soulful music, walked and talked, met some colorful people, ate barbecue, eggs and bacon, and then we went our separate ways, back to our families. And that was good. Really good. Going home after a nice break is always good. Because home is our anchor.

But leaving home is good, too. It's good to be reminded that there is a world outside of our walls, our children, our routines and that we're still very much a part of it. That we need to be a part of it in order to grow and stay vibrant. Otherwise, we become stagnant and sometimes, dull.

I have too much to say about my new love, Memphis. This post, however, is about the music...the Blues.

Last Friday, after braving the freakish snowstorm that blanketed the south, we met up at the Memphis airport and headed to the hotel, freshened up, and hurried down to the legendary Beale Street.

In the cold.

In the rain.

With no um-ber-ella...ella...ella...ella...ay, ay, ay, ay.

I've never been to Memphis. Beale Street has been nothing more than a song by Bruce Hornsby. But now, Beale Street has a piece of my heart and soul. It truly is all about the music. And oh my, the music. As luck would have it, our trip was the same weekend as the International Blues Challenge.

Each bar that we went into was like walking into church. There was no loud buzz of conversation, only the music. All eyes were directed at the stage, feet were tapping, eyes were sometimes closed, bodies swaying. It really took us by sweet surprise.

These two gentlemen, known as Mountain Men, won our hearts. They sang a rendition of "We Shall Overcome" that brought tears to my eyes and goosebumps to my spine. You can hear it over at Diahn's blog.

What's so amazing to me is that the one on the harmonica, Barefoot Iano, is from Australia and the one playing guitar and singing, Mr. Mat, is from France. The Blues truly are international.

I was moved and inspired. My soul was stirred by this form of music, born primarily in the Deep South to chase away the "blue devils".

Here a couple of others we heard that night.

Lee Pons

This gentlemen above, I wish I had his name but didn't catch it, was quite inspiring to one particular lady. She danced alone throughout his entire set. I wish I had joined her, but I hadn't had enough libations to muster up my dancing courage. Maybe next year.

But these guys...

They won our hearts.

They are my latest obsession. I came home and bought their CD, Spring Time Coming.

I don't claim to be old
And I have no desire
To get there too soon
But this story must be told

The blues before my time
they tear me down and then
They fill my heart and make me whole
The blues before my time

Most just say it's just a sadness
but they don't really know
that the blues is just a mirror
Of the way we live and how we love

The blues before my time...

If it's crying that I'm needing
I can do it with the blues
Then when I through I'll cry with joy
And put on my dancing shoes

The blues before my time...

I've never been downtrodden
For fault of being black
But those who've gone and left this legacy
It's them I'd like to thank

~Blues before my time~

Jesse

2011-02-02T18:28:00.011-06:00

I watch him as he slices red bell peppers, mushrooms that smell like the earth, and bright, green zucchini. He serves me a cup of coffee, lectures me about the way I drink it, with real sugar and cream. He smiles though, as he lectures.

His wife hasn't made it home from work yet, and he cooks dinner as he does most days. He's easily distracted so I can see it's a little difficult for him to talk with me while he's slicing and preparing, but he never stops listening. I can tell. I know these things. He glances up from his work, wiping his forehead occasionally, and says "Yes?" He's interested in what I have to say.

I can remember a day when he wasn't interested in anyone other than himself. The days when he would look at me, flash that smile, and take money from my purse after I had gone to bed. He had a habit. He was different. He wasn't my son.

And I waited.

And waited.

And prayed.

And screamed.

And I cried for him, often.

And now he is 24, and whole. He prays on his own now.

He prays with his children.

When he smiles, I see his father. And when he laughs, the sun shines. And when he's in his kitchen, slicing summer vegetables for his family, I am bursting.

I am thankful.

I am amazed.

I am whole.

This is my imperfect prose.

Hello, Memphis

2011-01-27T20:37:00.009-06:00

Next week this time, I'll be packing. I'll be feeling like this. Next week, I'll drive to Memphis to meet Diahn for our bi-annual visit. Next week is my birthday. I'll be forty-something. I have a tendency to round-up my age. Might as well be 50. Ask Diahn.

Next week, I will shed my responsibilities for three blissful days and head north, just to be Melinda, with someone who probably knows me better than I know myself.
I will wear my imitation converse sneakers and mismatched colorful scarfs. I will take endless photos of everything I see. I will drive through the great state of Arkansas, alone.

I will sample fabulous Bar-B-Que.

I will listen to The Decemberists, the Dixie Chicks, Mat Kearney and Springsteen along the way and bellow at the top of my lungs.

I will stay awake until nearly dawn, talking, taking in every moment, every smile, every story, drinking fine wine and being silly...downright goofy, really. That's how we roll. We've known each other for so many years. And we're eerily alike. Sisters.

I will explore.

I will bask in the complete and utter beauty of doing whatever I want, whenever I want to. As long as Diahn wants to do whatever I want, whenever I want to. And she will. Because we're like Ike and Mike.

Here's what I will NOT do during those three days:

1. Doctors appointments
2. Ortho appointments
3. Dentist appointments
4. Cleaning
5. Cooking
6. Laundry
7. Sweeping
8. Working
9. Try to reason with teenagers (oxymoron)
10. Worry
11. Pay bills
12. Do dishes
13. Anything else that involves putting anyone and everyone else before myself...is that selfish? Naah...it's just three days.

And FYI...I WILL FIND ELVIS. I'm pretty sure he's still alive.

The Book

2011-01-24T20:17:00.010-06:00

You
read between my lines,
like you're scouring a novel.
Pick apart metaphors,
my sentence structure,
turn my contradictions,
speak the words unspoken.
Deconstruct me,
black ink fading from the page,
wall of words, crumbling.
Leaving me read,
critiqued,
examined,
debunked,
like a dime-store novel.

Slump Lords

2011-01-12T11:33:00.002-06:00

It's winter. Most everyone I know is in a slump. But this pro-active blogger has decided to take matters into her own hands and find a way to emerge! To triumph! To spread some joy! And she's doing it in the best way that I know how...by giving. Go check it out and join in the fun. Thanks, Zelma!

A Winters Slump ~ Red Hot GIVE AWAY!

Therapy in a Bowl

2011-01-10T10:25:00.002-06:00

Ahhhh....crawfish etouffe. For something that looks so disgusting, it sure does warm my soul on a cold, bitchy, winter day. That and a whole day of laying on the couch, watching movies and a nice, warm batch of chocolate chip cookies. My family has been saved from my wrath and all is well with the world.

Unappreciated in Louisiana

2011-01-09T11:00:00.003-06:00

I strive to keep my blog a "complain free" zone. I really do. I want this place to be encouraging and a place to focus on how wonderful I believe life can be. And when I am feeling discontent or blue, I usually disappear for awhile because I feel that if I don't have anything nice to say, I shouldn't say anything at all. I try, people, I really do. If you sense a "but" coming on, you would be correct. Or in this case, a great big...

HOWEVER...

First things first. We are experiencing a wintery mix in Shreveport, Louisiana today. I made the grave mistake of not jumping on the bandwagon and heading out to the grocery store yesterday for bread, milk and flashlight batteries. Apparently, I was the last person in town who didn't purchase my eggs yesterday and they saved this last carton just for me, at Target. Thank the Lord. I don't how I could have survive without these eggs during the frigid hours ahead.
So now the stage is set. I braved the wet, sleety, snowy, windy weather for my family because as usual, there's NOTHING to eat in this house. My teenagers remind me of this frequently. Even after I've spent a small fortune at the store, apparently, there's still NOTHING to eat. Translation: We don't have any cookies, chips, ice cream, frozen pizzas, cereal, chocolate, pizza pockets, carbonated beverages, Little Debbies or the makings of s'mores.

While I'm at the grocery store, I received numerous texts and calls from the "teenagers" requesting the items listed above. Also a call from daughter number 2 requesting that I stop off at the bookstore where she's studying and leave her my debit card so she can fill up her car with gas. Because she's waited until she's on empty. And now her lack of planning constitutes an emergency on my part. Because she's SIXTEEN. And oh my God, Mom, why are you being so unreasonable? I load the groceries into the car, in the cold rain, cursing under my breath the whole time.

By the time I get home, I'm irritated and my husband, who's powers of perception are usually lacking, asks me what's wrong. I unload a month's worth of frustration. In a nutshell, I feel disrespected, overworked, ignored, unappreciated and virtually invisible. I feel like a live-in maid. I feel like a burnt-out Mom and wife. I feel like I want to get in my car and drive miles away for a week, no, a month and take care of no one but myself. I tell him that I would just like a little help around here. I say that it would be nice if he, or the girls would maybe empty the dishwasher sometimes or pick up their clothes or fold some laundry. It's the little things, I tell him, that would make a big difference for me. I'm tired of doing it all, I say. To which he replies,

"Stop doing it," he says.

"Stop doing what?"

"All that you do. Maybe then the girls, and even me, will appreciate you more."

Seriously? What was wrong with my solution? It seems to me, and correct me if you see a flaw in my reasoning, that his solution is the easy, lazy way out. Because he knows that I'm not able to "stop doing it". We would wallow in filth and hunger. And because I care about our home. I basically feel like he's saying that it's my problem. And NO ONE can help me. It's beyond their reach.

Anyone? Advice? Especially from the three or four men who read this blog?

Ties that Bind

2010-12-23T14:45:00.007-06:00

I was talking to Lisa the other day and the subject of blogs came up. We were talking about one of our blogger friends and wondering what was going on in her life. We've never met her in person, or spoken to her on the phone, yet we were talking about her like we knew her and hoping that she is doing all right.

This lead to a discussion about how amazing it is to connect with people through blogging that you would never have the opportunity to meet. That's the reason we blog. To connect, to encourage, and to receive encouragement. We blog to be reminded that we are all tied together in this immense world.

One of our mutual favorite bloggers is Brian. He writes prolifically, honestly and beautifully. And he leaves encouraging, warm comments...as if he feels everything we're writing. He pays the utmost attention. This is no small feat considering he has about a million followers.

Recently, I've been a dry well and I wrote about that on my last post. Brian left a comment, said he's going through something similar. I went back to his blog and read what I've missed the past of week and found this piece. And it reminded me of the poem below. It's one I wrote twenty years ago during a very dark period of my life. Brian's takes place in a coffee shop and mine takes place in a bar. Brian mentions Charles Bukowski and at the time I wrote mine, I was reading everything I could get my hands on by Bukowski. If you've ever read any of his work, you'll see it in my piece. I was trying to imitate his style and it reeks of Bukowski...absolutely reeks. And though the two pieces are different, they are similar. Especially that one line about fitting. You'll recognize it if you read them both. And immediately, I was reminded about how we all search for that connection. I was reminded that even in this big, sometimes sad, world, we are all looking for some place to fit. A place to belong.

I was lucky enough to have it published in the Marr's Field Journal, an undergraduate literary journal published by The University of Alabama. I say lucky because it's horrible. My creative writing teachers tore it apart and I've tried to rework it a few times, with no success. And here it is, twenty years later, somehow tied in a mysterious way to a piece written by someone I've never met. Maybe it's just me, but I think the connection is pretty cool. And maybe I'm the only one that sees the connection and that's just fine. It got me writing again. Thanks, Brian and Lisa.

Crazy for you, baby

Back in my tequila drinking days, I knew a lot of insane people
who used to hang out at a bar I know.
They are the best people to be with because they're honest.
They don't know any better.
One guy named Glen was from New Jersey and a manic depressive.
He used to cry like a baby everyday while sitting on his bar stool.
He was good at suffering.
He had a friend named Mike who used to be a psychiatrist at Bryce Hospital.
Mike was fired for being aggressive with his aggressive patients.
He was good at beating the shit out of people.
Glen and Mike would sit there everyday, on those same puke green bar stools in
that nasty, smelly bar, and disagree.
That's what they did - that's where they fit.
Glen hated the south and Mike would tell him to shut up and go away.
Said if he couldn't handle eccentric southern bullshit, he should go back to Jersey,
and that's when Glen would start to cry.
The drunker they got, the better they got so I bought them tequila and we drank it straight.
None of that salt and lime bullshit.
It was smooth and hard going down.
One afternoon, after too many shots and a round of Jeopardy which
included a category on Jewish history, Glen started to cry again.
He couldn't stop so I took him home.
His apartment was empty except for his depression which smelled like something dead.
He told me about his girlfriend, who he had driven crazy, and I said,
"No big deal, we all drive the ones we love a little crazy."
He said, "No, she's really crazy.
She wears a straight jacket like a security blanket.
She eats nails like candy.
She feeds one me."
Insane.

Scattered, but still here

2010-12-16T06:06:00.009-06:00

Every now and then, I run out of words. I don't know how this happens, or why. It's as if I've completely forgotten how to write, how to string a sentence together or even, how to spell. I'm amazed at the people who crank out a poem or a thoughtful post almost everyday. I lurk in the shadows, silent, and read.

But I know the longer I go without writing here, the more foreign it becomes. My thoughts are scattered, though, and so is this post.

Remember when I mentioned Panting with a Twist? I had a great time and this is the result.

See the sweet girl on the left? That's my daughter, Stevey. She just turned 18. Eighteen. 10 + 8. Two years less than 20. She's going to college in eight months. I have so many mixed emotions about that, I can't even begin to write about them yet.

This guy is one of my most favorite people on the planet, my grandson, little Brian. We had a scare a couple of weeks ago when he was pretty sick with Kawasaki Disease. He was in the hospital for four days. He's fine now. Great, actually. I have amazing friends and family who prayed for him. In this photo, we're at Barnes and Nobles. We go there often and he asks me to buy him every book in the children's section. It's hard to resist that little face, people. He rarely leaves empty handed.

My three favorite girls, daughters Stevey and Sara, on the left and right, and granddaughter, Makaila in the center. This was two nights ago at Makaila's first Christmas program. She was in the center of the stage, dancing up a storm to "Happy Birthday, Jesus". Not really a dance song, but she made it her own. We all had to fight back the tears. She was beautiful.

Let's see...what else? I'm still riding my bike every Saturday. I'm getting stronger, lasting longer before I keel over and pass out. This coming Saturday should be challenging because it's supposed to be wicked cold.

Christmas is in 8 days. I haven't bought one thing yet. I planned on getting it all done the week after Thanksgiving but life got in the way. I think I self-sabotage early Christmas shopping every year because I secretly like the hustle and bustle of last minute shopping. Or maybe I'm just a procrastinator. Which I am.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to watch Polar Express for the umpteenth time with B. He loves that movie, and so do I.

Merry Christmas!

Hey, hey it's the monkeys!

2010-11-21T10:30:00.010-06:00

Nearly every Saturday morning for the last eight weeks, I've been on a bike ride with a couple of guys from the band at church. It's been a Saturday ritual with them for about a year now. They don't ride in the streets, though, smooth blacktop roads and few inclines. No, they ride on the nature paths that wind through the woods down by the river or on the six mile trail that's winds around Chimp Haven. You read that right, Chimp Haven. It's a very cool place that provides homes for chimpanzees that have been retired from the medical research field, entertainment industry, or chimps that have been kept as pets but are no longer wanted. The guys I ride with, Ryan and Greg, refer to it fondly as the Monkey Farm. Yesterday was my first day to ride the trail at the Monkey Farm. It kicked my butt. Five and a half miles on a narrow, winding, hilly, root-infested trail. I think I almost died.

The guys have been very patient, stopping with me when I need a moment to catch my breath, or I don't know, just to make sure my legs are still there because I haven't been able to feel them for the last five minutes. During these breaks, the conversations are the highlights of the ride. Yesterday, during one of these breaks, we could hear the chimps loudly screaming in the distance. It was actually kind of scary, they didn't sound happy. Greg said sometimes that sound makes him keep riding when he feels like he can't pedal another inch, must less four more miles. He imagines one of them crashing through the woods chasing him.

Me: This place isn't open to the public, right, like a zoo?

Ryan: No, it's a sanctuary for burned-out chimps, basically.

Me: Wow, that's pretty cool.

Ryan: I think once a month they let the public in to look around around and see the monkeys. Last time that happened, we had to leave and ride somewhere else. You couldn't even get in here because of the line of cars.

Me: I'll have to check it out the next time they open. I'd love to see what they're doing here.

Greg: (somberly staring off into the trees) I don't like to look at monkeys.

(pause...Ryan and I look at each other questioningly, and then at Greg)

Ryan: Did you have a traumatic experience with a monkey or something, Greg?

Me: Really, I mean, who doesn't like to look at monkeys?

Greg: They just make me uncomfortable. Seems like they should be wearing pants. It just ain't right.

(Ryan and I, looking at Greg like he's insane)

Me: Pants?

Greg: Yeah. Or maybe overalls.

Ryan: Or a three piece suit?

Greg: Nah, that would be strange.

Me: Right.

Ryan: Yep.

I love Saturday morning bike rides. You just can't buy this kind of entertainment.

Maybe I'm a Slacker

2010-11-19T11:55:00.007-06:00

Today, I had an unexpected break from watching my grandson. I'm having one of those rare days when I'm completely alone. I crave these days but I find when I have them, I'm lost. When everyone leaves and the house is empty, I stand in the middle of the living room and absorb the silence. Then I start to think about all the possibilities that lie before me and my free day! Free! I can do anything I want! My first thought involves Starbucks, a comfy chair and a book. Then I think maybe I deserve something new and consider going to Target or TJ Maxx in search of a new top that will make me look like Gwyneth Paltrow. Or maybe I'll work on my novel (snicker) for a while or write some more angst-ridden poetry. Maybe I'll call Diahn. Or Lisa. Or Troy. Or hey, why not visit a museum or go for a bike ride?

Instead, this is what I've done the entire morning.

1. Decide to eat some Blueberry Muffin Oatmeal @ 9:30am. Make more coffee to go with the oatmeal because I've only had three cups. More.
2. Check my blog for new comments which leads me down a rabbit trail of blogs I've never read before for at least two hours.
3. 11:30am, decide I need to re-watch last night's Glee episode which oddly enough, featured Gwyneth Paltrow. She rocked.
4. Need a good snack with Glee, so I finish off a bag of Zapp's Potato Chips (Mesquite Bar-B-Q).
5. Channel surf for a while and end up watching the last half hour of The Wedding Singer.
6. Do an intense google search which asks the question "How many movies have Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore starred in together? (Answer: Two, plus she had a small bit part of the swedish receptionist in Big Daddy)
7. 12:30pm, consider getting dressed in something besides polka-dot pajama pants and old t-shirt and flip-flops.
8. Nah.
9. 12:30 pm, time for lunch, tuna in a pouch and wheat thins. And maybe some Zapp's dill pickle flavor chips. And Chips Ahoy.

Don't worry. Tonight I'm going to Painting with a Twist with a friend so I'll be exposed to some culture. That is, if you consider painting the same picture with a room full of middle-aged women while drinking multiple glasses of red wine, culture. And I do.

Happy Friday.

Wingtip

2010-11-15T11:00:00.010-06:00

In my mind's eye, I see you.
Your head in your hands,
sandwiched between a salesman
and a movie producer.
You are 35 and this is your first time.
What should have been a
great adventure is instead,
a heartache,
a grieving repeated.
A shot of five dollar whiskey
to calm your shaking hands,
the sound of your father's voice,
then the lift...

up

stomach dropping,
ears popping,
and your heart,
stopping.
You can hear him clearly now,
Real men don't fly...
This is not our way, you think.
Better to be behind the wheel,
on the blacktop, window cracked,
your cigarette glowing amber,
and Axle Rose singing about Patience.
You hear his voice again,
your father's, and you start
to strap yourself in,
batten down,
man up.
You start to anyway, until,
you glance out the window,
as the plane breaks through the
storm clouds, into the light,
and you forget.
You lose yourself in a halo of color,
beneath the wingtip of the plane.
It's ghostly, ethereal,
but still you snap a picture with
your fancy phone, hoping to catch it,
and send it to me,
miles away.
Do you see it?
I do.

This is for One Shot Wednesday. A weekly communal writing event. Go, read, enjoy.

For Grandma, Queen of the Piggly Wiggly

2010-11-07T19:13:00.004-06:00

My first reminder that the holidays are quickly approaching is the festive Starbuck's christmas cup. And with the approaching holidays, my thoughts always turn to my Grandmother. She's been gone for a while now and the holidays just aren't the same without her. When we were kids, Grandma was the center of every holiday. Imagine a house, a tiny house at that, with about 12-15 adults, and about 20 kids, all crammed in, all talking loudly, all eating. Did I mention eating? Grandma cooked enough for a small army. And even though we could probably pass for a small army, there was always food leftover. After we ate until we were in induced into a carb-coma, the men and boys usually got together for a game of football down at the local high school. Sometimes my cousins and I went exploring. We had a fondness for the "drainage ditch" down the street from Grandma's, which we were forbidden to explore. It never stopped us. We always got caught. And we always got into trouble. Sometimes, my cousin Troy and I (we were the oldest) would stretch the cord to the rotary telephone into my Grandma's room, lock the door, and make prank phone calls. The old school kind like, "Is your refigerator runnining?" and "Do you have Prince Albert in a can?" At the end of the long, tiring day, Grandma would always let us spend the night, all the cousins. We would stay up all night, climbing over her furniture, playing quicksand. Our feet could never touch the floor as we worked ourselves from one end of the tiny house to the other.

I miss her so much. She was a true Grandma, always trying to feed us and always telling us, each and every one of us, how special we were...how much she loved us. She treated us all equally.

This is a piece that I wrote about her about 20 years ago in my first creative writing class. I wanted to post it here, in her memory. I love you, Grandma. We all miss you.

Queen of the Piggly Wiggly

When Grandma slipped, it happened in slow motion. First her short left leg, clad in white support hose, went out from under her, and then the other. She landed with thud right in the middle of the produce section of Piggly Wiggly. "Oh, Lord!" she said, mashing down her perfectly sprayed, rinsed-brown hair. I thought she was really hurt until she started rocking and moaning, then I knew she was all right. She loved an audience. She told me to find the manager, which I did. He was just a kid, with a middle-aged man aura, like he was put out when you spoke to him. He wore a short, thick moustache that sat on his thin, top lip like a Chihuahua. When we finally got to her, she was still sitting there, dress properly pulled down over her puffy knees, legs straight out in front her, feet pointed towards the ceiling and toes tapping together. There were three of four blue-haired women standing around her, leaning on their carts, listening to her like she was Jesus as she told them the story of how she fell. The nervous, boy/man manager rolled his eyes and cleared his throat and asked, "Are you okay, ma'm?" My Grandma looked up at him and I thought she had never looked so beautiful, sitting there on the green-and-white tiled floor of the Piggly Wiggly with a rainbow of fruits and vegetables surrounding her and I swear I almost told her that, but what I said was, "Get up, Grandma" and that's what she did.

I should have told her how beautiful she was.

Modern Day Selkie

2010-10-27T15:20:00.007-05:00

Sometimes, I want to crawl out of my skin, fold it up neatly, and bury it underneath a stack of winter sweaters in the back of my closet. Then I'd walk right out the front door, down the worn steps, into the night, and steal a car. A red corvette, I think. I'd drive and drive until I found someone with a life. Someone who has purpose, and writes books, and attends dinner parties where everyone listens to her every word, because she is important and she moves the world. I'd visit Italy and Spain. In my new skin, I'd sail around the world. And play guitar. And paint with my feet and speak seven different languages, fluently. I'd climb mountains in Tibet and build cities. And when I was done, I'd drive back to our street, climb our worn steps, and dig my skin out from underneath the sweaters, slip it back on, and climb into bed with you, never missing a note.

This piece is my entry for One Stop Poetry.

Saving Blue Like Jazz

2010-10-25T16:49:00.007-05:00

About six years ago, a friend chased me down after church and handed me a book. He said, "You've got to read this book. It's every conversation we've ever had about Christianity. This guy gets it. We're not the only ones." I trusted him and knew the book must be something special. And it was. That's my copy, up there. It's tattered and torn. It's been underlined, folded, doused in coffee, and wine, cried over, laughed over, taken several road trips, and been passed around to friends and family. I think I even slept on it one night. Not because I wanted to absorb the words during my sleep, but because I fell asleep while reading it late into the night, and rolled over on top of it.

It's hard to sum the book up in one sitting. And also difficult to explain why it's so important to me, and so many other Christians who felt like we were different, on the fringes, missing something. But I'll try because something pretty amazing has happened in the last few weeks concerning the making of the movie that has me buzzing with excitement.

First, why it spoke to me. All my life, I've been raised in the church. My father started pastoring a Christian church when I was 6 years old. As a child, you accept what you're taught with no questions. But as you grow, and begin to think for yourself, most of us question what we've been taught. So many of the ideas that I was fed about Christianity didn't ring true. And my parents, who were great parents by the way, answered in the only way that they had been taught. Still...the questions and thoughts lingered through the years until, finally, I rejected Christianity altogether.

This book came along many, many years later. Even after I had decided to embrace my lost faith and find those answers for myself. After I read the book, I no longer felt like an outcast or a heretic. I felt like God was real. I felt like I wasn't alone. I felt excited and inspired. Here's a few quotes from the book that spoke to me.

"For me, however, there was a mental wall between religion and god, I could walk around inside religion and never, on any emotional level, understand that God was a person, an actual Being with thoughts and feelings and that sort of thing. To me, God was more of an idea. It was something like a slot machine, a set of spinning images that dolled out rewards based on behavior and, perhaps, chance (p. 8)."

"I felt a long way from the pre-me, the pawn-Christian who was a Republican because my family was Republican, not because I had prayed and asked God to enlighten me about issues concerning the entire world rather than just America (p. 19)."

The book speaks to how self-absorbed we are. I don't think we realize this. I can only speak for myself. Here's one more thing, a poem by C. S. Lewis, who wrote The Chronicles of Narnia, that was included in the book on the subject of just how narcissistic we humans are.

All this is flashy rhetoric about loving you.
I never had a selfless thought since I was born.
I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through;
I want God, you, all friends, merely to serve my turn.

Peace, reassurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek,
I cannot crawl one inch inside my proper skin,
I talk of love - a scholar's parrot may talk Greek -
But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin.

Those are the beginning thoughts in the book that lead to a truth I can identify with...a truth that rings loud and clear. The rest, well, you'll have to read for yourself, if you feel so inclined.

And now the second part, the reason that I'm so buzzed with excitement.

Donald Miller, the author of the book, was approached by two guys, Steve Taylor and Ben Pearson, about writing a screenplay adapted from the book. Steve Taylor is an ex-rocker, turned director, to my understanding, and Ben, well, I'm not really sure what his story is but he seems really cool. He seems like a guy I'd like to get to know. And the reason I know that is because another book was born from the screenplay writing experience entitled, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. Which, in my humble opinion, is one of the best books ever written about changing your life when you feel it isn't telling a good story. Both of these books are humorous, great storytelling and very insightful. And, I hate this word because it's become so trendy in recent years, but they are both very real. No high-brow religious talk or hiding behind tradition and fears. Just honest, in your face, inspiring, intellectual, relevant reading. Both books ask the hard questions. And whether you're a believer or not, they are great stories. They deserve to be told.

Anyway, the screenplay for Blue Like Jazz has been in the works for a few years now and recently, Donald Miller announced on his blog, September 16th, that the project was dead for lack of funding. Then, lo and behold, two guys in Nashville, who believed in the book, started a campaign to raise the money so the movie could be made. In less than 6 weeks, the word has spread, and the fans of the book have come together to raise an astonishing 341,394.00 dollars as of a few minutes ago. The deadline is midnight tonight. The goal was 125,000. Wow.

Shooting of the film starts this week in Nashville, Tennessee.

I'm inspired. If a group of ragamuffin, beat-up, confused, Christians can come together for this, what else could we do?

If you're intested, there's a link on my sidebar so you can follow along with me on the progression of the movie. And if you want a great read for the upcoming winter months, pick up the book. I think you'll like it.

Linger

2010-10-22T20:06:00.004-05:00

It's Friday, and the days before
are fading, bleeding,
into the background.
I'm peeling jumbo shrimp at the kitchen sink,
listening to John Lennon,
and he sings, he speaks.
He prophecies.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
We are both old enough
to see the lie - and yet...
you sneak in behind me,
slip your arounds around my waist,
lean in, and ask,
"wanna dance?"
And we do.
Clumsily, but holding on tight,
the smell of the sea in the air,
and you, shirtless, in sagging Levi's,
smelling like workdays and honeysuckle.
It's just a moment, but still,
it's everything,
a perfect circle,
a beautifully, orchestrated two-step,
in our broken kitchen,
with the sagging, popcorn-speckled ceiling,
and plump, jumbo shrimp,
in the sink.
Resting.

One Shot Wednesday: Tuesday Night

2010-10-19T19:22:00.004-05:00

So I'm reading Roethke and I'm wondering,
how did he do it? How did he turn weeding
a garden into a grieving, death celebration?
And I'm thinking that I'll never be able
to do that, at least not with nature,
and you,
you drag in, with that familiar scowl on your face.
You've just read a poem that I wrote
and you want to know why it doesn't rhyme.
You say it's definitely not poetry.
Definitely.
A dreamer, you say. Not well read, you say.
It's all bullshit anyway and how much does it pay?
Keep trying, you say, try reading James Michener,
and did you know that Jimmy Buffet writes poetry, too?
You're waiting for an answer.
I don't give one away.
You turn, dragging your withered, right leg behind you,
and I know that you will pause,
just for dramatic effect,
before you slam the door.

This post is my first contribution to One Shot Wednesday, a weekly communal writing event. And a confession: it's an older poem but I'm testing the waters. I'm slowly warming back up to my poetry writing and looking for some critical feedback.

Lack

2010-10-03T08:35:00.006-05:00

A lack of oil means
lack of flame.
A lack of flame means
lack of spark.
A lack of spark means
lack of touch.
Winter is hiding behind
our bedroom door,
her cold draft seeping into
your fingers and toes.
And I can feel you
folding inward,
like a card table,
a box-top,
tucking your heart
away from me
until spring

This piece is for Magpie 34.

Flying

2010-09-18T10:15:00.003-05:00

I went for a bike ride this morning. The kind of bike ride I used to go on as a kid. The kind that trails through the shady, damp woods. Breathe in dirt and moss. The kind that makes my heart race and my senses open wide. Makes my face bright, beet red. Up and down sandy, trails, crunching dead leaves under rubber tires. Over makeshift bridges, covered with carpet (someone really cares about this secret place ~~) My t-shirt sticks to my back, drenched. My breathing labored, like Darth Vadar. At first my muscles sleep, refusing to help me. But by the middle of the ride, they decide to wake up, to stretch, to fill. They remember.

I am reminded of that feeling of play. I remember the exhiliration of soaring, of abandon, of sweating. I feel my muscles move, my skin breathe, my bones creak. For the first time in years, my mind is quiet. It doesn't utter a sound, a rancid thought, a complaint.

My heart flew and now, of course, it wants to fly again and again.

Heaven

2010-09-11T10:32:00.007-05:00

Last night, I attended the Centenary Book Bazaar just blocks from my house. I look forward to it all year long. It's my Christmas, my New Years, my very special day. Imagine a colossal dome filled with thousands of books. Imagine the smell of old paper filling the air. Imagine the prices are anywhere from .25 cents to 4.00. Imagine the chattering and camaraderie between fellow book lovers. Imagine the canvas bags, totes and strange storage devices.

Here's mine before the sale.
It's not my design. Crystal, my book fair partner, is responsible for designing the deepest, widest, easiest to maneuver shopping cart. This is a laundry basket, zip tied to a rolly thingy. I suppose it was handy before they started making luggage with wheels (the rolly thingy, not the laundry basket). We got quite a few comments on it. I could tell people were jealous. Maybe next year we can sell them.

I love the conversation. These are things overheard or spoken directly to me.

My wife and I got stuck at the grocery store on the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving

I don't really need this copy of Wuthering Heights, but I can't resist.

What is this place anyway? Why are all these people here, oh my god, there's like so many books

You ran over my toe with the rolling laundry basket, lady

I drove up here from New Orleans just for this sale. I'm not sure yet if was worth it.

This last one was from a woman that was ahead of me in the checkout line. She had eight large bags filled with books. I bet she had at least 200 books. I felt like an amateur, a lightweight. She admired my laundry basket and I asked her how she managed to move around with eight bags of heavy books. All she said was, "it wasn't easy." I was intrigued but I could tell that she wasn't about to give up her secret. She was committed.

This is my loot, my booty, my haul and plunder.

I'm storing them up for winter.

August Break is Over

2010-09-07T07:29:00.006-05:00

It's been a long month but a good one. August was bursting, ripe. We had a lovely vacation in Townsend, Tennessee with the family. We fished, swam and played in the river. We played loud, silly card games and ate well. We explored nature and the touristy side of things, Gatlinburg. I came home rested and content.

I've never been to Gatlinburg before and after an hour or so in the busy, mountain town, realized this name was prevalent.

They even had signs advertising an Ogle Dog, a famous foot long corn dog. Later on in the day, we stumbled upon an old school house in the Great Smoky Mountain National Park. Next to the school house, was a graveyard. I walked through, reading the tombstones and saw quite a few graves marked with the same name.

Martha Jane Huskey Ogle, and her family, were the first settlers in 1807 in what is now known as Gatlinburg. She moved her entire family there because it was her dying husband's last wish. He had traveled there and fell in love with the area, calling it the "land of paradise." Upon his return home to gather his family for the move, he grew very sick with malaria and died before he could return.

The story fascinated me. I have been thinking about Mary Ogle for a while now. Can you imagine how strong she must have been? What must it have been like to move an entire clan of family from Georgia to Tennessee in 1807? My family complained on a 12 hour car trip to Tennessee in air conditioned cars filled with things to do and snacks. I can't imagine moving that same family in covered wagons with all of our belongings to the remote mountains of Tennessee. I would love to have the chance to talk to Mary Ogle. I bet she has some incredible stories to tell. I wonder how she would feel about having a foot-long corn dog named after her family.

------------------------------------------

And on another note, fall is in the air. It makes me want to climb into my bed and sleep. It's strange, when I was younger, I hated the summer and lived for fall and winter. Something has shifted. I feel as if I'm grieving the end of summer. I dread the coming months of cold and endless skies of gray.

Somebody has a birthday!

2010-08-28T07:46:00.006-05:00

Today is Diahn's birthday! My grandson calls her "John"...he says "I yike John."

We all yike John.

We yike her because:

1. she's smart, jeopardy smart
2. she's giving
3. she's funny, monty python funny
4. she's so purty
5. she's ever so tall, and who doesn't yike tall people?
6. she's a talented, creative artist and shares her art
7. she's UBER smart...seriously
8. she's compassionate
9. she can sing like a nightingale
10. she's a great listener
12. she's lights up a room and makes everything fun
13. she has a magical unicorn toe
14. she's my best friend and sister

She's so special to me that she gets a Top Fourteen list.

And I really, really yike her.

Happy Birthday, dear John.

August Break: Yellow

2010-08-24T06:42:00.003-05:00

August Break: Bliss

2010-08-20T07:30:00.002-05:00

August Break: Flower Power

2010-08-17T06:43:00.002-05:00

August Break: Broken Barn

2010-08-15T08:40:00.005-05:00

August Break: Parthenon Replica, Nashville, TN

2010-08-14T09:33:00.003-05:00

August Break: Little Greenbriar School House

2010-08-13T08:17:00.004-05:00

August Break: Graveyard in the Smokies

2010-08-11T09:59:00.004-05:00

August Break: Little River and Candy Self-Portrait

2010-08-09T08:20:00.003-05:00

August Break: I'ma bout to eat me a dumb tourist

2010-08-08T18:45:00.003-05:00

August Break: River gazers

2010-08-05T08:15:00.003-05:00

August Break: Looking for bigfoot and butterflies

2010-08-04T00:17:00.004-05:00

August Break: Morning Mist

2010-08-03T10:42:00.002-05:00

Makaila

2010-08-01T20:52:00.002-05:00

August Break, too...

2010-07-29T15:48:00.004-05:00

Lately, I feel tired. Tired of laundry, half-eaten sandwiches, lousy stains, sweeping, answering the phone, toilet brushes, answering questions, asking questions, my job, looking at the calendar, watching the clock, weighing in, running around, and brushing my hair.

I'm craving silence. Maybe because I so rarely get to experience it. So, I'm following Mark's example and taking a break for the entire month of August from posting wordy blogs. I'm all dried up. I'll just be posting a picture a day, hopefully. Take the badge from the sidebar if you want to play along. I think it's a perfect idea, set in the perfect month. And tomorrow starts my blissful, long awaited vacation.

Talk to you in September!

Time to Get out of Dodge

2010-07-22T21:26:00.007-05:00

The seeking is going well. I'm really being encouraged by the new book I'm reading, Eat Pray Love, and it arrived in my life just in time. I LOVE this book. It makes me happy. It feels like me. It's just like God to send me such inspiration when all my worlds are colliding. It feels like he's speaking just to me. Like this woman's amazing success and lovely, life-changing experiences, and best-selling novel, were just for me. Imagine that. Thank you.

Here's some pieces of my worlds colliding:

My baby girl. She has her license. Gulp. That's the last of them. And to top it all off, she's the one who's most like me. Which means, she's the one who's pulling away from me with everything she's got. And then some. Just like I did.

My other baby....my sweet, Grandson. He just had surgery. Well, actually, this is a post-surgery picture with my Mom. He's such a trooper. And SHE has amazing humming skills...just ask Diahn and Lisa. They've seen, and heard, first-hand demonstrations of the amazing, hypnotic, somewhat shrill, humming skills of my mother. Anyway, the surgery has been looming over our heads for weeks now but it's over, with a good report.

Whew. He's fine. Another gigantic, thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Really, thank you.

BUT, by the end of the week, after a very long year, my family will be piled high in two vehicles, headed out of town. And I do mean ALL of us, including my son, his wife and both grandchildren. On the way, we're stopping to pick up our stepdaughter. She lives in north Alabama so, in spite of my post a while back about heading to the coast to support the limping tourist industry in the wake of the spill, we decided to head to the Smoky Mountains. It didn't make sense to drive practically all the way to Tennessee to pick her up, and then head all the way down to the coast, with three small children, and then drive her all the way back home at the end. As much as I want to go there, logistically and financially, we couldn't make it happen. Next year though. Oh, how I miss the Gulf.

But she'll be there waiting when I'm able to return.

In the meantime, I get to spend an entire week, uninterrupted, with my family in a riverside cabin. Sweet. And included in that sweet family, is Diahn and her crew. We're stopping to spend the night with her and her family in Knoxville, and then she'll head up to the mountains during the week to hang out and, BONUS, tube down the Little River. For whatever reason, she and I are SO excited about this particular adventure. Everyone else, not so much.

The girls and I are going to Nashville one day so if anyone knows of some cool places to check out, let me know.

It's been five years since I've taken a vacation so maybe I'm a little too excited, but what the hell! Bring it on! Bring on the long drive and the cramped living quarters! Bring on the hot tub and the sounds of the river, right outside my window. Bring on the long, lazy evenings of Monopoly and sitting outside on the deck, telling stories. Bring on the bickering little ones, and the complaining teenagers and planning meals for 9 people, three times a day. Bring on coming home to a depleted bank account, but a heart full of memories and cherished days.

I've had a couple of friends (you know who you are) who have pointed out that I'm bearing a slight resemblance to Chevy Chase in Vacation. I concur. Guess we won't be going to Wally World. And so much for teaching my girls how to whittle. And the giant ball of twine. And the world's largest frying pan.

Kids these days. They just don't know a good time when it slaps them in the face.

Maybe some crocheting classes while we're there...hmmm.

Seeker

2010-07-15T19:33:00.006-05:00

I heard a story once about a woman who was seeking guidance from a wise, spiritual guru. She traveled many miles to find this man sitting on a hillside. Exhausted, she flopped down beside him and begin to gush about her frustrations and how she couldn't seem to find any balance or peace in her life. After a few moments, a fly landed on her nose and she started flailing around, hands swatting her face, spewing expletives, but the fly never budged. She finally gave up and wailed, "What can you teach me? Please tell me something, anything, that will help me make sense of my screwed up life!" The wise, old man looked at her calmly and answered, "Be the fly."

I want to be the fly. I want to find that calm, peaceful center in the midst of this chaotic world. I'm not complaining about my life because life is what it is. I have two beautiful, chaotic, angst-ridden teenager daughters, an older son who's coming into his own, finally, a sweet three-year-old grandson who's learning quickly how to master the art of temper-tantrum throwing, a boss who can be somewhat intense and an old house that we're working on, little by little. I also have a kind, warm husband who works hard to provide for us and a supportive, loving family and amazing friends. So what's the big deal? The big deal is that I don't want to be swayed anymore by the chaos of life. I don't want my mood or self-worth to revolve around whether or not my daughters are happy. That in itself is exhausting, for crying out loud, they're teenagers! Their moods, desires and needs are all over the chart. I can't keep up, as well I shouldn't. They're just being who they are supposed to be. So is my temper-tantrum throwing grandson and my intense boss and my old, somewhat charming house.

The problem is simple. It's one I face from time to time as I'm sure everyone else does, and it lies in my stale spiritual life. I'm a Christian, have been for a very long time. My father has been a pastor since I was 6 years old. And sometimes, the Christian world tends to look at God, in my humble opinion, through very narrow eyes. They often tend to box God in to what they're comfortable with, a God who is like them. And while I do believe we are created in his image, the image that we conjure up is often very limited, very tame, very pragmatic. I believe God is beyond our comprehension, magnificent, untamable and beautiful beyond anything that we've ever imagined. I lose sight of that. I falter. I grow bored with the image of him that I've been taught and always struggle to see more of him. That takes discipline, something that I lack. Ask my parents.

So I have to seek Him. And seeking him for me starts with broadneing my vision of him. And the only way that I know how to do that is to read. But not the Bible, anything but the Bible. Blasphemous, I know, but true. I have read the Bible through a few times in my life, and while it is a source of inspiration, it is also the place that all of my childhood fears and questions and strange teachings reside. When I feel like this, they are all I see and I can't penetrate through that veil. So I decided to rattle the cage, to plunge the depths, to use the inquiring mind that God gave me and challenge my vision of who He is. And I'm pretty sure he's okay with that, even encourages that.

I'm starting with Eat Pray Love. So far, it's wonderful. It's stirring things inside of me that need to be stirred. It's challenging the way that I see Him and reminding me of his beauty. And of the beauty that he created, here in this world, for us to enjoy. And it's reminding me that spiritual growth has a structured, methodical, consistent path and not a chaotic, free-for-all, lackadaisical, circle. And it's reminding me of His love.

So, for the umpteenth time in my life, I'm seeking.

I really want to learn how to be that fly.

Magpie 22: Irony for a Tomato Hater

2010-07-13T19:12:00.008-05:00

If you were a fruit, you'd be a tomato. Not a store bought tomato, the ones that come from sterile greenhouses and facilities. No, not those impostors. They reek of florescent lighting

and chemicals. They have the consistency of Styrofoam and they taste like a lie. You are not a lie. You are fresh from the garden, your skin taut and split, unable to contain your sweet core. You smell of black dirt and sun. You are summer, all long days and evening symphonies of cicadas and crickets. And I can never get my fill of you, can never find enough ways to devour you.

Big Baby

2010-06-30T07:49:00.008-05:00

cur·mudg·eon

[ker-muhj-uhn] –noun

a bad-tempered, difficult, cantankerous person.

I owe an apology to my sister-in-laws and cousin. We all read the Twilight series, along with our daughters, and last night was our second bi-annual trip to the midnight opening of one of the movies, Eclipse. It's a tradition now. We grab a quick bite to eat across the street at the ever popular, elegantly named Fudruckers, and then commence to standing in line for about three hours with crazed, fans of all ages. And I do mean all ages. And I do mean crazed.

My sister-in-law, Lisa, heads up the event. She used to be a teacher and she has four children so she has an incredible knack for organizing and herding large groups of crazed people. My other sister-in-law, Cheryl, and my cousin, Tonia are the other parts of the Twilight posse, along with all five of our daughters, ranging in ages from 11 to 20. It's a rare occasion that all the girls get together for something that we all have read. No, let me rephrase that...there's never been an occasion where all of us girls get together for a series of books that we all have read. Never. I would stand in line for a showing of To Kill a Mockingbird on the big screen, but the teenagers, not so much. Common ground with our daughters is a beautiful thing, even if it is a story about a vampire and his bleeding-heart family, teenage love, and shirtless, muscle-bound, shapeshifters.

But as Lisa pointed out last night, ever so sweetly I might add, I wasn't in the best of moods. See the above definition. In my defense, it was raining. And on a weeknight, I'm normally in bed by 10, asleep by 11 at the latest. Okay, that doesn't even sound like a good excuse now that I'm writing it. But I was wet! And tired! And just like a baby would do in that situation, I whined. I'm sorry, ladies. Next time, if you'll have me, I promise to enjoy myself. And not to sing anymore TV theme songs...especially the theme to Good Times.

Full Circle Shadow

2010-06-27T08:43:00.010-05:00

My grandson loves to sneak my old camera and try his hand at photography. Maybe one day, I'll find pictures of something other than himself. But until then, I find these sweet, little nuggets when I download pictures to my laptop. Makes me smile from ear to ear.

I kind of like these two. So much so, that I've decided they're worthy of Shadow Shot Sunday. These were taken in our backyard, in his bamboo jungle. It's where he goes to hide. And apparently, sometimes, he goes on adventurous photo shoots.

I just absolutely love this kid.

A couple of days ago, my daughter and I took him to see Toy Story 3. He loves the first two movies. In fact, that's a huge understatement. He wears a cowboy hat most of the time, has various Woody and Buzz dolls and characters. He recites lines from both movies. He's been in love with Woody since he was 18 months. He's almost 3 now.

On the way to the movie, he decided to wear TWO cowboy hats, in honor of this glorious event.

I was a little worried that he would be a little squirmy. An hour and a half is a long time for a two-year old to sit still. He was mesmerized. He barely moved, except to shift Buzz or Woody on his lap so they could get a better view. And occasionally, he would look up at me with that beautiful, little crooked smile and whisper, "Nana...it's Woody!"

The whole experience was so precious, almost surreal. I used to watch Toy Story movies with my son. And Brian looks a lot like him when he was this age. And here we were again, me a little older, with my sidekick, cheering Woody on.

Life doesn't get any better than this.

The Spirit of the Gulf

2010-06-09T08:03:00.004-05:00

As the oil seeps into the coast, the realization of what this means is also seeping in. For me, it was a little selfish at first. My family and I were planning to vacation in Orange Beach, Alabama this summer. It is the first vacation that we've taken in four years. After the news of the spill, we were still hopeful, even if it was somewhat naive. Maybe the media had blown things out of proportion, you know how the media is, right? Maybe we could move up the date from August to June, before things got too ugly.

Then I began to see the images of the devastation to the coast of my home state, Louisiana. Heartbreaking is a word that I hear and read over and over again to describe those images. And still, truthfully, it's easy to see them and feel angered and frustrated, but also somewhat detached. After all, we live in the northern part of the state, we're practically Texans. No one claims us. We’re too far north to claim the word cajun and too much Louisiana to be Texans. But it's still my home. I’ve lived here for 36 years. The gulf is the only waters that I've known, besides the lakes and bayous Most people who live in the southeast live for summer vacations near that warm, blue water. Not so much now.

And then, Dan, a blogger friend in Miami, was invited to participate in The Spirit of the Gulf challenge. He did it beautifully! He was inspired by other bloggers, and in return, he passed it on. You can see that inspiration at Diahn and Mark's blogs, just to name a couple. While we're all angered and frustrated by the spill, so close to home, so near to the devastation of Katrina, the spirit of the challenge is to celebrate the strength of those warm waters, and the people who make their homes and livelihoods near those waters. This past weekend, Jimmy Buffet did just that in Pensacola Beach, Florida. Now, I'm not a parrothead, but if you live near the gulf, you know Jimmy Buffet. Not personally, of course, but you won't hit a resturant or bar on the coast without hearing his music. He encouraged people to come on down! Don't take on a "sky is falling" mentality! He said the people of Florida are "tough people" and have survived much, and that we should "batten down the hatches". And yes, it's true that he's about to open a multi-million dollar resort in Pensacola so maybe his speech isn't completely altruistic, but still. He's a Floridian, I think his words ring true. I think he means them. They speak to the spirit of the gulf. They speak to the spirit of the American people.

And while this disaster is devastating, there's no denying that, if we can't do anything to change it, why not turn that frustration into something positive? Why not send some positive energy to our gulf friends of the land and sea?

Back to our vacation...we've been waiting it out, watching the news, hoping we could still go to the sugar sands of Orange Beach. But this past week, we've all started to think we should head to the mountains! Just like everyone else I know who's cancelled their gulf vacations. Who wants to see that kind of tragedy? If the beauty is soiled, why go there? But now? I'm thinking maybe we should go. Like my sweet husband says, "So, the beaches aren't so beautiful, we'll find a place with a pool." Spoken like a true optimistic. And why not? My one little family isn't going to save the coast, but if everyone stays away, it only makes things worse. Why not go and do what we can by showing our support? Why not go and talk to the locals and let them know that we're not abandoning them? Why not go and see if while we're there, there's something that we can do, no matter how small, to help? Why not let my children see the devastation that man can cause, but also, the restoring power of nature? Why not.

So, here's a poem. It's an older poem that I've reworked slightly. I'm not sure it works for this occasion but it's my offering for the Spirit of the Gulf challenge.

Take this mess from my plate,
give me silence.
Take back your cell phones,
your e-mail, texts and twitters.

Take back your SUV's,
drinking fuel like Coca-Cola,
and your colorful, sleek mini-vans.
that seat your family of four.

Take back your toilet paper in bulk,
paper or plastic, and your super centers,
selling underwear and roasted chickens
under the same, expansive, blue roof,
little old ladies in the produce aisle

pushing the latest frozen, quick easy meal.

Take back your talking heads, your status quo,
lying politicians, your analysis of any given
situation at any given time and the word,
stress,
the excuse for everything that ails you.

Take back your road rage, your syndromes
and little pink pills that make you numb.
Take back your self-centered teenagers,
taught the world revolves around them,
building massive bombs with Leggos.

Take this mess from my plate,
give me milk and honey.
Give me long, lazy days on a gulf beach,

toes snuggled into the warm, sugary, sand,

the mesmerizing, rhythm of the surf
as it spills onto the land.

Give me food for my soul and keep your toys,
I don't want to play.
Let me know who wins.

New Traditions and Old Friends

2010-05-30T19:57:00.019-05:00

Sigh. Diahn was here for a few days this week and we had a wonderful time. It's the second annual Mudbug Madness visit. It's now officially a tradition, you know. We had plenty of crawfish dishes, sultry nights and of course, lots of conversation. And Mark, I would be remiss if I didn't tell you that my recipe for crawfish etouffee does NOT, I repeat, NOT involve cream of mushroom soup. Nope. No sir. Or peppers, or shrimp. But that's okay, I forgive you, my vegetarian, yankee friend.

The first night she arrived, Wednesday, she went to band practice with me and then we sat up way, way, way too late, talking and catching up. Thursday night, we headed out to a local, quaint establishment, the Olive St. Bistro, for wine and a nice meal with three of my closest friends. The meal was lovely in spite of our young, pretentious waiter. I'll let Diahn tell you about him...and she will, trust.

Friday, we headed to Jefferson, Texas, where we browsed through antique shops, walked around downtown, had a delicious lunch at a very cool place, Glory Dayz. Diahn took plenty of photos which she'll be posting soon. The highlight for me was an hour long Turning Basin Bayou Tour. Our guide told us the boats were purchased from Six Flags, an old river ride. He was awesome. We learned a lot about the history of Jefferson and how it evolved, via steamboats and the civil war. He told us about local mammoth snapping turtles, mayhaw jelly and snakes. And most importantly, because it's such a small tourist town, he told us colorful details about the locals. The ride was peaceful and lazy, complete with a little southern gossip. I'm going back soon. Can't wait to take a ride on the Ghost Train! Before the ride starts, there's a campfire at the depot, complete with ghost stories...how cool is that? There's a part of me that couldn't stand to live too far away from a nice, sized city with bookstores, Starbucks and museums. But there's another part of me that could really get used to living in a a small town like this. A place where you can take a stroll downtown, and have a slice of pie and a cup of coffee and catch up on all that's going on with the locals. A place where you can always catch a game of checkers at the general store.

Here's a few pictures. I miss you already, Dino.

The restaurant, Glory Dayz. We fell in love with the colorful chairs. The green ones have the Dr. Pepper logo.

This is the courtyard...

Cool, blue truck, parked in front of the general store.

This sign was in the doorway of the general store.

Dino, about to open a bottle of whoop ass...

Here's the cottage where we bought the tickets for the boat tour.

Ahh...the lazy, peaceful boat tour.

Our amazing tour guide and guests...

Happy Memorial Day everyone. Enjoy your family and friends and remember those who fought, and are still fighting, for our way of life...and for our amazing, beautiful, eclectic country.

Magpie 15

2010-05-24T20:25:00.004-05:00

You can take my five loaves

and two fish, and multiply them,

that’s simple enough.

Or you can attend my wedding,

and with one touch, turn well water

into sweet, red wine.

You can cast out my demons,

one by one,

and send them into innocent swine.

Hold my hand, as we step out onto

the turbulent waves of the sea,

stare me in the eye,

and ask me if I believe.

Or how about this,

raise my son's father from the dead,

and while you’re at it,

my Grandmother, too.

And even then,

I wonder,

would I be any closer

to understanding

the way that you love me?

If faith comes by hearing,

speak louder.

If seeing is believing,

show me.

Go here to see more wonderful, eclectic magpies...you'll be glad you did. I was.

The End of a New Beginning

2010-05-23T08:44:00.012-05:00

I'm going to wrap this up now, dear friends. Again with the surprise, I bet you're thinking. I wanted to share this significant event in our lives with you and what I've learned, but it's time to move on. There's magpies to write! And a sweet friend traveling a long way to visit with me this week!

I watched "Parenthood" last week and there's a scene where an older aunt compares marriage to a roller coaster. She says that the first time she rode one, she felt frightened, sick, and exhilarated all at the same time. Some people love the roller coaster, said said, but some people choose the merry-go-round, where there are no surprises, no twists or turns, no speed. She said she always liked the roller coaster. What a perfect metaphor for life and marriage and family. It rings of truth.

When we got the call from his ex about his daughter, I heard a ticking sound as we were being pulled up the track of the roller coaster to a mammoth hill. I was consumed with fear. And the fear was simply this...I was afraid that this man whom I had built a life with the past four years, the man who had been a father to my children, a grandfather to our grandson, would leave. You see, Robert's always wanted child of his own. I can't have any more children, but I've given him mine and he's embraced them as his own. But I was so afraid that the pull he would feel for his daughter, his biological daughter, would be so strong that all of us, would eventually fade away. That we would began to seem less important, less real. Now granted, this realization didn't come to me immediately, the fear was too thick for me to see through to the crux of the matter. But some great friends helped me to see through the fog. And I learned that I didn't trust for this love to last, not that I didn't trust Rob, but I didn't trust or feel that I deserved this kind of love. Abandonment issues, remember? Replacing that lie with the truth became easier, once I identified the lie. Over time.

And Rob? He handled this like he handles everything else, with forgiveness and patience and grace. Instead of being angry that he had missed so much of his daughter's life, he chose to forgive and move on. He taught me that I had some people that I needed to forgive as well. I thought I had. Turns out, not so much. That bad energy was still hanging around.

In less than three weeks, we had the results of the DNA test and were on our way to Alabama to meet her for the first time. She was prepared for the visit, she hadn't known anyone as Daddy her whole life, and was more than ready to meet him. The first thing she said to him after she wrapped her arms around his neck was, "Daddy, I've missed you so much." I could have dropped to the floor and melted into an emotional Lifetime movie mess after that. My husband was overwhelmed, he was instantly in love, happy, and frightened, too. How would this work? How would he spend time with her, while she lived two states away? How would he get to know her? How would he show her he loved her?

But you know what? The bond was instant. See the picture above? That's pretty much where she stayed the entire weekend, in his arms. He asked me once if I thought she was too big to be held and I told him he could hold her as long as he wanted, he had missed so many years. He smiled. I love to watch him as he watches her. I can see him trying to memorize every curve of her face, every freckle, everything that he has yet to learn about her. And I'm so honored that I get to be a part of her life from the beginning, at least as we know it, that I get to be there for the both of them, just as he's been there for me and mine.

We took her to the aquarium in Chattanooga, a gorgeous fun place. My youngest daughter came along on the trip, anxious to meet her new stepsister. Our oldest daughter had to work so she stayed home. But their support was amazing! Before we left town, our oldest told Rob that he shouldn't worry, that he would make a great father, because he already was a great father.

Above is Lyanna, the little cutie, and below is Sara, our other little cutie, in the butterfly room. She and Lyanna hit it off amazingly well.

He loved holding her. It was the sweetest thing I have ever seen in my life.

Since then, she's been to visit us. It was a wonderful visit and we're planning another visit with her in about a week. He talks to her almost every night on the phone, reads her stories, as much as her four and a half year old attention span will allow. We're still learning, still trying to figure this out, but it will all work out. Things are only as complicated as you allow them to be, right? And it's not complicated to love this child, to enfold her into our lives.

Here's what I've learned:

1. The heart is ever expanding.
2. Forgiveness is a choice and so incredibly freeing.
3. Trust. Go out on a limb and trust that all is working out as it should. Because it always does.
4. My marriage is stronger than ever. My family has been strengthened by this lovely, new addition.
5. Embrace the curve balls...they turn into home-runs.
6. Family isn't always defined in traditional, biological terms. It is defined and shaped by love, encouragement and acceptance.
7. I have an amazing group of friends who know me, call me out when I need it, and still love me.
8. Never, never, never get too comfortable. Because change is inevitable and it's only through change that we grow. And who wants to be stagnant? Boring. I hate the merry-go-round!

So, that's it...for now.

Thanks for listening.

The Middle

2010-05-15T09:24:00.008-05:00

Onward from the wedding...continuing with the surprise. We honeymooned in San Antonio, Texas. That in itself was an adventure. Just as we were pulling into the city limits, the transmission went out in my truck, affectionately known as, the Rover. I had always wanted a Land Rover and we bought a beat-up used one the year before. Actually, Robert surprised me with the Rover, knowing how much I wanted one, hating the mechanical complications that he knew would come along with the purchase.

This is a tiny picture of me, in the hills of Tennessee, with the Rover, tearing up some terrain.

Not really...that's what the Rover looked like, but that's not me. That's why the picture is so tiny. I'm not computer saavy enough to enlarge stolen photos. BUT...it could have been me. One day. You never know. Whimper.

But I digress, the honeymoon was wonderful. We decided to stay, with our broken down truck, and finish out the week. It was easy to do since we stayed on the River Walk and could walk anywhere we wanted. Jazz clubs, boat rides down the river walk, souvenir shops, delicious cuisine, and a band from Peruvia that played everyday, at the main entrance. Who knew we both loved peruvian music?

My cousin drove to San Antonio at the end of the week to give us, me, Rob and the Rover, a six hour drive back to reality. And this is where I will start to give you the Reader's Digest version of the next four years, leading up to the great surprise. Seriously. I can't go on like this for six more months, pilfering little bits and pieces of those years, hear and there.

1. Rover got fixed and lasted for a couple of years, until I had an accident that totaled it. Whimper. I now drive a Malibu Maxx....yeah, baby! Did I mention it has satellite radio?
2. Son and girlfriend, complete with a five month old little girl, moved in merely months after we were married.
3. Youngest daughter, only 12 at the time, proclaimed that she hated us both.
4. Son and girlfriend proceeded down a very dark, Jerry Springer-like road for another year, moving in and out of our home.
5. Son and girlfriend became pregnant with my sweet grandson, little B.
6. Son and girlfriend got married in the backyard of my best friends home, neither one of them remember the nuptials. It was a horribly, sad wedding.
7. Grandson was born!
8. Son and new daughter-in-law moved back in, with now a 1 and 1/2 year old little girl and a newborn.
9. More Jerry Springer episodes ensued...many, many episodes.
10. Son and daughter-in-law left grandson with us at the age of 6 months for us to raise....just until they got back on their feet. It took awhile...he was with us full time for almost two years.
11. My Grandmother died.
12. Daughters grew into young womanhood, one started driving.
13. The youngest daughter hated me less, with only sporadic episodes of typical teenage hatred, while the oldest daughter blossomed.
14. Our boss, my husband and I work for the same man, drove us nearly to the brink of insanity.
15. Our old house, 75 years old, continued to deteriorate around our ears.
16. And really, the last 6 happened during the whole Jerry Springer episodes. More than once during those couple of years, my husband bailed my son out of jail in the middle of the night. And more than once, he went looking for our grandson when they disappeared with him. And more than once, he was reminded that he assumed a tremendous responsibility when he married me, and my brood. Yet, he stayed and never complained.
17. We struggled financially...who doesn't?
18. We adjusted to new married life, in the midst of all the chaos. Me, with my years of baggage and abandonment issues and anger. Him, with his years of baggage and abandonment issues and passive-aggressive ways.
19. My parents aged. My father became very ill, we thought we might lose him. He recovered.
20. We struggled financially.
21. My son and daughter-in-law finally got their lives together and started becoming the parents Little B deserved.
22. Daughters began emerging from teenage angst and became bearable functioning, human beings.
23. Started understanding my boss! Finally.
24. Started remodeling on the house! Finally.
25. Started getting a little ahead with our finances! Finally.
26. Worked through some past baggage issues with my passive aggressive, sweet husband.
26. Found out hubby has a daughter he never knew about from PREVIOUS relationship...wait? WHAT?

What the heck? I can tell you now, things are fine. But I can also tell you, it wasn't easy at first, folks. Because apparently I hadn't completely worked through number 26 like I thought. I was side-swiped! Ambushed! Bamboozled! We both were.

So...what have I learned? Oy-vey. I'm too tired to go into it now. But I will sum it up for you in my next post. It's all good...don't worry.

And here is a pretty picture of a flower to hold you over until I muster up the courage to tell you...the rest of the story. Rest in peace, Paul Harvey.

Ahhh, the Iris...pretty, isn't it?

Magpie #13

2010-05-11T09:53:00.004-05:00

An eye for an eye, is what he always said.
Revenge was the only religion he embraced.
But what he never saw was that he took
without reason, without prompts.
He took like a greedy child in a candy store,
fists full of Red Hots and Butterscotch discs,
with feverish, darting eyes, looking over
his shoulder left and right.
Always fearful, he took what he thought
he may need for an imagined apocalypse.
You never know, he always said.
So, he sits on his stockpile of bitterness,
his stockpile of bodies and plucked eyeballs
and guards his heart,
thinking he might need it one day,
in case of an emergency.

For more Magpie tales, go here, or click on the magpie image on the sidebar.

I'll continue my surprise story this week, for those of you who are following my very, slow, slow story. I'm still processing!

Magpie, #12

2010-05-02T21:32:00.007-05:00

Because her memories are carried by the breeze, sometimes floating within her range of reason, sometimes fluttering weightlessly to the floor, she carries the paperweight in her pocket to keep them in place a little while longer. Because two weeks ago, her daughter promised her she would come by and help her write down her memories before they disappeared from the page. Because she feels the need for something solid, something to tether her here in this place for a little while longer, she carries this paperweight in her pocket.

This is something new for me, click on the sidebar, Magpie Tales, if you're interested in participating or just want to check it out. It's so awesome!

March 25, 2006

2010-04-29T11:11:00.025-05:00

So, picking up from my last blog, I need to continue the story. I want to continue the story. If you know me, you may also know that sometimes I start a blog series and never finish. I'm working on being consistent. Just for you.

So..where were we? Oh yes, the wedding. It was beautiful. It was the wedding I always wanted. I married very young the first time, a mere 18, and we were married in his parents living room. The second time, by a justice of the peace. But this time, I was older and with more financial stability and wanted to be married near the water, with white folding chairs, and a dress that I picked out, something different, and a rockin' band, and dancing and good food and good wine and all my friends and family! And that's exactly what it was.

With a lot of help from this best friend extraordinaire, Crystal, who played two roles...that of the wedding planner and my maid of honor.

The weather was absolutely perfect. The sky was indigo blue, the water, calm and sparkling. And me? I was a mess. When I was a child, I was painfully shy. So much so that I think it probably bordered on a disorder. I've overcome so much of that, but still in moments where I'm the center of attention, my stomach flips and flops and begins to scream, "GET US OUT HERE OR I SWEAR, I'M GOING TO START PROJECTILE VOMITING AND IT WON'T BE PRETTY!" To which I reply, "Is it ever pretty?"

But just when I thought my stomach was going to show me just how un-pretty it could be, as I got to the end of the aisle, my eyes rested on this handsome gentlemen and my nerves settled.

This is my Dad and preacher extraordinaire.

He wrote a wedding ceremony tailored just for us. He's a deep thinker, a wonderful writer and knows the power of words. Because he knows me, he printed out a copy of said ceremony on beautiful parchment paper as a keepsake. I still read it from time to time. Dad is my rock. He also married me and my first love, Brian. Tragically, six years later, he also had the difficult task of preaching Brian's funeral. He's stood with me at many crossroads in my life.

This is my son, Jesse. He gave me away. The look on his face is that of a young man who's trying to show the world that he's an adult. And the look on my face? Well, this is about the time my stomach started taunting me.

These two little women are my daughters, Stevey and Sara. Stevey was nervous, too. She inherited my introverted ways and Sara loved that she got to wear little heels. They were my bridesmaids. They were so sweet that day.

And this guy on the left His name is Nate. He was the best man and comic relief.

When my father got to the place in the ceremony where he states, "You may now kiss your bride", instead of turning to me, Robert turned to the right and looked at Nate. Nate turned to Jesse and held out his hand. Jesse reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a canister of Binaca and gave it to Nate. Nate then turned to Robert and administered two quick, blasts of Binaca. All of this was done in the most solemn, Tony Soprano sort of way.

This is my mother with my father. Isn't she beautiful?

She's a wonderful mother who has put up with a lot from me over the years, especially my young adult years. She cried one whole summer when Brian and I were drifting around Florida, living in a stolen U-Haul tent, partying, with no way to be reached. She didn't often understand me, but she has always been my biggest fan. I truly believe that her motherly prayers are the only reason that I'm still around, seriously. I've done some reckless things in my life.

And guess who else was there? Sister-in-law and artist extraordinaire, Diahn.

She drove all the way from Knoxville, Tennessee. She's amazing and has known me for so long. Almost 30 years to be exact. Geez, that makes us sound old! We had sort of drifted apart over the years and the wedding marked the awakening of our very special friendship. She gets me and encourages my creative side.

This is my step mother-in-law, Elaine. She's Robert's stepmom and baker extraordinaire.

She made our cake and drove it here all the way from Alabama. She pieced it together in a hotel room the morning of the wedding. It was exquisite and one year later, when we took the top of the cake out of the freezer to celebrate our anniversary, it was still as moist and to- die-for as it was on that day.

My only regret is that I didn't dance with my husband. I don't dance. I can't dance. Well, I could but its rather embarrassing, but still, I wish that I had. I wish that I had been able to overcome my inhibitions and wrap my arms around this handsome guy and dance like no one was watching.

These days though, we dance in the kitchen while dinner cooks. Sometimes he gets brave and dips me and he never drops me, which is nice, considering the tile floor would probably crack my skull wide open.

But there was dancing! A little anyway.

This is Crystal, on the left, cutting a rug. She has no inhibitions when it comes to dancing. I love that about her. Actually, she has no inhibitions about anything. She's brave and generous and has sat up with me so many nights, listening me to ramble on and on, when I was a single mother. And I've done the same for her, when she became a single mom again. She gets me, too. Now she's married which you can read about here. It's a really cool, romantic story.

Here are a few more pictures of the day. This is Robert and some of his family. From left to right, Gabe, his stepbrother, Mary, his youngest sister, Bill, his cousin, Laura, his older sister, and Kristie, his cousin.

And this is my sweet husband shoving cake in my face. Oh, how he couldn't wait for this moment. He comes from a family of food fighters. Sometimes when we get together for holidays, he and his sisters still go at it.

But I forgave him. How could I not?

On the left, in the white jacket, my dear sweet Grandmother. She passed away two years ago. You can read about her here and here. I still miss her.

And here we are, the wedding party, with my son playing his usual goofy role. Look at those smiles.

As the sun was going down on the lake, we got together for our first family portrait.

This little family has grown since then but when I look back at that day, at this picture, and think about what has transpired in these last four years, I want to go back and find that nervous woman, the one with the screaming stomach, and tell her to relax. I want to tell her that she finally has something that is coming together, that enfolds her, that she can trust.

A wonderful circle of family and friends, all who played such an intricate part in this day.

And a love extraordinaire.

Interlude

2010-04-21T11:04:00.007-05:00

I haven't forgotten my last blog which promised more of our story, however, I've been a little tied up...

with these little monkey people...

Monkey #1

Monkey #2

If you've been following my blog, you know that in the last two months, we've acquired a new addition to our meshed family by the name of Lyanna, otherwise known as Monkey #1. This week, she came to stay with us for a few days. We are all having a great time and she's such a cool little girl...full of imagination and questions.

So, although I have lots to say, taking care of a two year old and a four year old, while trying to work from home, has me a little, like I said, tied up.

I knew I shouldn't have let them play with that rope.

Shadow and Driftwood

2010-04-11T08:54:00.003-05:00

Haven't played this in a while but it's Shadow Shot Sunday and here's my contribution. I took this photo at DeSoto Falls near Mentone, Alabama on a glorious Saturday. This particular Saturday marked the beginning of a new chapter in my life, which you can read about here, if you're so inclined.

Happy Sunday!

It's In His Kiss

2010-04-10T10:36:00.008-05:00

If you're following along, a month ago, my husband and I found out he has a four and a half year old daughter that he never knew about. It's been a whirlwind month of emotions and life lessons for us both. So I decided to share this journey with my friends, starting with mine and Robert's beginning. I'm not sure how this will all flesh out here on my blog but for now, here is the continuation of how, or should I say, when, we fell in love. You should read this post so you can follow the trail.

So where did I leave off? Oh, yes...my heart beating a little faster when Robert came around. It was true. Although at first, I tried to deny it. I was sort of involved in a long distance relationship that wasn't right for me. I wanted that one to be right. I was tired of being alone and long distance guy was really nothing more than a dear friend who I tried to make fit the bill. He wasn't here though and gave no indication of moving here. And Robert was here. All the time. Our friendship grew. We spent a lot of time together. He was always at my house, helping with the day to day chores, taking me and the kids out to dinner or the movies, cleaning out my garage. Gradually, his heart was being healed and so was mine. It's strange, but our friends and co-workers seemed to know we were dating before we did. When they would ask, and they often did, we told them we were just friends. "You spend every spare minute together!" they'd say, "You're dating."

"No we're not! He's just a friend. He sees me as just a friend, too."

"Whatever. Let me know when you two figure it out."

The thing is, I had been praying for awhile about finding Mr. Right. This was my prayer:

Dear God, I'm so tired of being alone. I'm ready to find someone, the right guy. You also know that my track record sucks. I'm not even sure that I know what real love looks like. So when you send this guy, please don't let me miss him. You know what I need better than I do so send me the guy of my heart.

Long distance guy was not the guy of my heart and that was becoming very apparent to me. One day, I was on yet another difficult job and called Robert to ask for help. Once again, he was there in a flash, with a smile and a wink. I told him the problem was at the control panel, located in the laundry room, and as he squeezed past me in the tiny hallway, he lightly placed his hand on the small of my back, and immediately my stomach was full of butterflies.

I stopped what I was doing and turned and look at him as he breezed into the laundry room.

"What the heck?" I thought, "what was that?"

He brushed by me again, on his way out to his truck to grab a tool, and there they were again. Unmistakable. Big, flapping, butterflies!

Later, he walked me to my truck when the job was finished.

"Thanks for coming to my rescue again," I said.

"No problem," he answered with a smile. "Dinner later?"

"Sure, " I answered, "see you at the house."

He smiled his sweet smile and gave me a wink before shutting the door for me. And all the way home, I had this goofy grin on my face. And every time I thought of his hand on my back, the butterflies were back in full force.

"Okay, God. Help me here. I'm losing it! He can't be the one! You gotta help me! He's ten years younger than me, he loves video games, he doesn't like to read, he's a complete and total slob! We have nothing in common! HE'S ONLY 12 YEARS OLDER THAN MY SON!"

I argued with myself for a couple of months. Our friends continued to ask questions and smile knowingly while we denied. We were so tentative. We said little things sometimes, testing the waters, I guess. Once we were talking about a job I had managed to finish alone and Robert asked me how I managed to figure it out.

"I'm just special, I guess" I bragged.

"You're pretty special all right," he said.

He said little things like that all the time. Things that kind of made me wonder. But neither of us would make a move. It was such a sweet time of friendship and getting to know each other. And wondering.

And then on the day before Mother's Day, 2005, I couldn't deny my feelings any longer. It was a Saturday, another long work day for me, and Robert had finished up his job early. He would usually come help me finish mine, but on this day, he said he had some things to do. I was a little hurt but couldn't deny him a life. After all, he was there for me all the time. Maybe he had met someone. Maybe he wanted to spend some time with his friends. Maybe he was getting tired of me. I was wrong. He called me and told me not to bother picking up the girls, he had already done so, and they would meet me at the house. When I arrived, he and the girls lead me out back to the deck, where he was building me a privacy fence! I had mentioned only once that I wanted one. He still does things like that to this day. He's amazing at surprises. And there on the patio table, was a big box, wrapped in yellow paper and a card. I was overwhelmed. The girls were jumping up and down, begging me to open it. I sat down to open the box and as I tore the paper away, I saw the word Roomba. I looked up at Robert and started to cry. I had been a mother for 17 years and never had I had such a special mother's day. Or mother's day eve, actually.

"A Roomba? That's a pretty expensive gift...you shouldn't have, " I said.

"Well, I did it anyway. It's from the girls," he said. The girls nodded emphatically.

"The girls?"

"Yep, it was their idea," he said, "and I agreed. Seems like every time I turn around, you're sweeping the floors. This way, maybe you'll have more time to spend with the kids. And me," he said. His blue eyes met mine. Something was different there.

We all went out to dinner and spent hours watching Roomba do her job. He's a gadget freak and secretly, I think he enjoyed the robot more than I did. We named the robot Priscilla, after one of our favorite movies, The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Dessert. It had been such a very long time since anyone had made me feel so special. As the evening came to an end, I walked him to the front door. I was so thankful for his friendship and told him so. I thanked him for a wonderful day and for my new robot friend, Priscilla. He smiled as he stood in front me. We looked at each other for a minute or so...I really wanted him to kiss me but I was afraid to make a move. Finally, he said, "Um...you can give me a hug if you want to." Not quite what I was hoping for but, I hugged him. I fit perfectly into his arms. I felt safe. He held me for a good two or three minutes and when we parted, he reached over and tucked my hair behind my ear and told me goodnight. After he left, I turned off the porch light, locked the door and rested my head against the wall. Sigh. Why didn't he kiss me? Maybe he really does only want to be friends. I felt like such an idiot.

Later, as I climbed into bed, my phone rang. I jumped out of bed and raced through the house to the kitchen...it was him!

"Hello?"

"Hey, were you asleep?" he asked.

"No, not yet. Everything okay?"

"I think so. I'm not sure though," he said. There was a short pause, he took a deep breath and asked, "Did I just miss something?"

"Maybe," I answered, "what are you referring to?"

"Um...did you want me to kiss you at the front door? Be...be...before I left?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I'm such an idiot. I wasn't sure! Oh my God, you wanted me to kiss you and I told you you could hug me? I'm such a dork. I sat in the car for five minutes pounding my head against the steering wheel! I wanted to come back inside but I...I...I... wasn't sure...I'm not very good at picking up signals..." his voice trailed away. He stutters a little when he's nervous. That was the first time I heard it in his voice. I've come to love that stutter.

"Really? Well, the next time a woman gazes into your eyes for more than 10 seconds, looks down and then looks back up with her head slightly tilted to the side and a slight smile, and moves in mere inches from your face, you should kiss her. If you want to, that is."

"I want to."

And the next night, he did.

******************************************

Two months later, he proposed. I freaked. I told him I had to think about it and ruined the perfect proposal. As a matter of fact, the only real proposal that I had ever had. One month later, I asked him to ask me again and I accepted. We were married on March 25, 2006.

Up next, the first few years, a lost and found son, a grandson moves in, teenage daughters and learning to love.

Mahna Mahna

2010-03-31T07:55:00.012-05:00

If you're wondering why this video is here, it's because I promised to tell you the story of how my husband and I, Robert, met and fell in love in my last blog. You need to read that blog to understand the blogs to come or they won't connect. This song, sung by Mahna Mahna and the Snowths, is part of that story. Why? Because it's our song. Some couples have silly love songs...we have Manha Mahna.

When I met Robert, I was a single mother of three children and had recently purchased my first home. I was so proud of my little place but it was difficult making ends meet. At that time, a friend of mine owned a home security company and was losing one of his best technicians. I knew the pay was good and asked him if I could give it a shot. He agreed. He said it'd be sweet to have a chick tech. You have to know the guy. Picture a cross between Keanu Reeves in Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure and Sean Penn from Fast Times at Ridgemont High, but with glasses and a good business sense. The tech who was leaving was Robert. He was moving back to Alabama to settle down with a woman he'd been chasing for awhile. She said she was ready to commit. She wasn't. He was back three months later.

During the two weeks he trained me, we got to know each other. He taught me a lot about how to drill holes with a six and twelve foot bit and how to crawl into the tiniest of attics and pull wire. He talked about his girlfriend and his hometown and I told him all about my kids and my life. When you're together at least 10 hours a day, a friendship starts to develop. I knew then that he was one of the sweetest guys I had ever met. On his last day in town, we had lunch at a local restaurant, I wished him well and he said he'd miss working with me. I hated to see him leave.

The next three months, I worked mostly alone. The job was physically demanding, challenging and extremely frustrating some days. Most techs could finish a basic job in three hours, it usually took me twice the time. But still, I was proud of myself that I could install and program a security system from start to finish. I got a charge out of knocking on customer's doors and seeing the confused look on their faces. Most would ask where my help was. I'd pull out my flex bits and drill and my best Clint Eastwood squint and say, "It's just me, ma'm." I don't blame them. I'd be a little nervous too if I saw a 5'6" woman coming into my house with a drill.

One day I walked into the office and there he sat. My old friend, Robert. He looked tired and sad and gave me a weak smile.

"Didn't work out," he said, "mind if I work with you?"

I was sad for him but glad to see him back. He was the best tech I had ever seen and I had missed his friendship. Over the next few weeks, we grew closer as friends. We talked about any and everything. He would come over to my house and fix things and hang out, eat dinner with me and the kids, help with homework, watch movies. One of the things we discovered we had in common was our fondness for The Muppet Show, especially the Mahna Mahna song. He'd call me and sing "Mahna Mahna..." and I'd reply, "Do do, do do do..."

Like I said, the job was physically demanding and mentally challenging. Many days, I wanted to quit. Valentine's Day 2005 was one of those days. I had an installation in a big house, lots of doors and extras. I explained to the nice couple where I'd put the equipment and jumped right into the job. Once I got all the holes drilled, it was just a matter of attaching wire to the glow rods and pushing them up into the attic. Then the fun part started. I'd climb into the attic with a flashlight and a pull-rod and start the hunt. The rods that the wires attach to glow when the light hits them, making it somewhat easier to find the wires. The wires for sirens and motion detectors, components that were to be placed in the middle of the house, were easy to find. But doors and windows, that was another story. They were at the edges of the house, drilled through the top plate, where the edge of the roof meets the outside walls of the house. Sometimes I could barely see the tip of the glow rod, if I were lucky. Then I would have to crawl as far as I could toward the wire, lay out flat on a rafter, and stretch out my pull-rod and hook the wire. Usually, insulation was in my face and my head was squeezed between two rafters. This time was no exception.

On top of the usual difficulty, this attic was full of boxes. Another obstacle. Boxes full of Christmas decorations, family mementos and who knows what else. I had been up there for awhile and had most of my wire pulled. But there was one wire, one door, that I saved for last. I knew it was going to be difficult. I had to move boxes, lay on some, crawl for awhile before I finally saw the tiniest tip of the glow rod above the laundry room door. Eureka. I finally hooked it, started pulling with a big grin on my face and then, it stopped...it was hung. I laid there for a minute, sweating. Did I mention that it was May in Louisiana and hot as hell in that attic? It was. I couldn't let go and I couldn't go back. It had taken me too long to get there! No! I was desperate. I pulled out my cell phone and called the customer.

"Hello?" said the sweet customer lady.

"Mrs. Smith? This is Melinda...I'm in the attic and I have a problem. Could you help me out?"

"Well, I guess so, if I can. What can I do?"

"If you could go to the laundry room door for me and see if the bag of wire is tangled up, I would really appreciate it."

"Of course, dear. Just give me a minute."

Plod, plod, walk, walk, doors opening and then finally,

"Oh dear. It's quite tangled up down here."

"Mrs. Smith...do you think you could untangle it? I've got the wire and really need to pull it through."

Pause, pause, pause, grunt, grunt.

"Melinda? I'm afraid that I can't untangle it on this end. I think you're going to have to let go and come down here and do it again."

Sob, sob, sob.

"No...I can't let go, Mrs. Smith. You don't understand."

"I understand dear, but there's no way around it. You have to let it go. I'm going to pull it back out now."

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!" I screamed, as the pull-rod slipped from my sweaty hands.

I laid there for a minute or two and silently cried. Finally, I crawled back out to the center of the attic, went back down, and packed up my truck. I quit, I thought. I can't do this. Who am I kidding? An image of my kids and my mortgage deed flashed in my mind. And then I thought about this sweet couple who were depending on me to make their home secure. I unpacked my truck and re-ran the wire. I could not for the life of me hook that wire again. I tried for half an hour and finally, exhausted and somewhat hysterical, I crawled back to the center of the attic again and called Robert. He answered immediately and told me he was on his way out of town for a job but would stop by and help.

I sat there in that hot attic. I refused to come down again. I sat, and cried, and sweated and talked to myself, twisting a piece of broken wire around my finger. Fifteen minutes later, I heard someone coming up the attic stairs and saw a head pop up and heard,

"Mahna mahna..."

I couldn't reply. Robert stood there for a minute, looking around while his eyes adjusted to the dark.

"Mahna mahna?"

"Do, do...oh, hell I'm over here," I answered between sobs.

He made his way over to me, reached out and brushed a tear from my cheek, and said, "Are you crying?"

"Maaayyyybeee," I wailed.

"There's no crying in the attic. Didn't anyone tell you that? What's wrong? We can fix it."

A mere fifteen minutes later, all the wires were pulled and we were hooking up the equipment inside the nice, cool, air conditioned house. Later that day, the sweet lady who owned the house, sent us home with a plate of heart-shaped Valentine's Day cookies and told us what a great job we did. Robert smiled and winked at me as we loaded up my truck. He went off to do his job and that evening, he showed up at my house with a bottle of wine and two bright red boxes of chocolates for my little girls.

It was on that day, that my heart began to beat a little faster whenever Robert was around.

********************

This is taking a little longer to tell than I thought so next time, I'll finish the story of how we fell in love. Stay tuned, it involves Mother's Day, a Roomba and a missed opportunity.

Surprise

2010-03-30T10:27:00.005-05:00

One phone call. That's all it takes to change a life. On March 4th, my husband I received such a phone call.

Robert and I have been married for four years just this past March 25th. A year and half before we were married, he broke up with his ex-girlfriend. We just found out that he has a daughter with this ex-girlfriend. The little girl is four and a half years old. He never knew. We drove across three states this weekend to meet her. Her name is Lyanna (pronounced Lee Anna).

There are, of course, many layers to this story. I want to tell it well so I'm going to break it down into parts. There are things that I've learned about myself and my husband in three short weeks. Amazing things and some painful things, too. These past three weeks have been a rollercoaster of emotions. But at the end of the ride, is our new daughter. Isn't she beautiful?

I think the first part I'll tell you is how Robert and I met and fell in love. It's an awesome story that involves broken hearts, attics, The Muppet Show and a Roomba.

Boy meets girl

2010-03-15T07:07:00.005-05:00

Imagine an ordinary couple twenty-five years ago. They were high school sweethearts and so in love. They dated for about a year when the boy's family moved across the river. Those were the days before teenagers had cell phones and the internet to keep in touch. So after awhile, the river divided them, and they lost touch, their lives moving in different directions.

They never forgot each other though. Whenever the girl talked about the boy later in life, her eyes would sparkle and she stared off into her memory with great affection. The girl went through two sad marriages and a lot of heartache during those years. She began to think she would always be alone. The boy also went through difficult relationships and fought in a war. He was scarred emotionally, as well as physically, from battle. And all through those years, the two loved and lost, raised children, and wondered about each other, with only the river separating them.

One day, through the wonder of modern technology, they found each other again. They only talked at first, tentatively, quietly. Each one thought the other sounded exactly the same as they had all those years ago. The dialogue between them felt familiar, safe and easy. Soon they decided to meet for a date at a place on the river. He stood leaning over the balcony, wondering how he should pose, trying to be casual and aloof and of course, cool. He was hoping that she would see the boy she loved 25 years ago. She went to her friend's house before the date, had a glass of wine, smoothed her clothes and tried to catch her breath. She was hoping that he would see the girl he loved 25 years ago.

As she walked up behind him, he turned to face her and guess what? They both saw the boy and girl and the man and the woman and knew they were still in love...just like that...as if the years and the river had never divided them.

And twenty-five years and six months later, this boy and girl finally married each other and lived happily (mostly) ever after.

Congratulations my dear, dear friend. I wish you a lifetime of happiness and love.

Hope

2010-03-14T18:14:00.007-05:00

I love this photo. This is my cool niece and my youngest daughter. The little guy in my niece's hand is her dear, departed...er, um, gecko? Giant lizard? Iguana? I have no idea what it is but I know that she loved it, this ugly reptile, because she's cool like that. But sadly, the little guy didn't survive the move they recently made from Texas to Louisiana. RIP, Jasmine.

What I love about this picture is the girls' faces. So full of joy and well, goofiness. Just hangin' out...with a lizard...posing. And having fun. With a lizard. That's all. Because when you're young, you do that. You find joy in the moment. You find joy in almost everything because you see joy. You are joy, embodied.

We lose that as adults. Oh, sure we might grab a moment here and there but it's quickly put to rest because responsibility calls. Laundry, dinner, grocery shopping, repairs, you name it, we have to get it done right now. And with good reason because if we don't, tomorrow's work load will be twice as heavy. Sadly though, most of the time when I do get everything done for the day that I've set out to do, then I'm too tired to rest. I know that sounds insane but I mean rest in the way the Bible talks about rest. Rest as in, to savor. To soak it all in and know that things are good. That it is well with my soul. Rest, as in, peace.

That's why I love, adore, and anxiously await spring. I am reminded to rest. Those beautiful buds, the extra daylight, the warmth, the singing birds that come home again! The promise that's reflected in nature all around us that all things are renewed. That life ends and begins everyday. And with that, the hope that we, too, are renewed. The hope that we end, and begin life, in many ways, during our days here on earth. The promise that every dark, cold, dreary winter will end and a new season will begin. And that yes, there will be also be constants in all of this change...that tree in the backyard may look different at times, but it's still there. Still my tree. Naked in the winter, but fully dressed in glorious color in the spring.

So, bring on the changes. Let life bring what it will. My family is my constant. Even though they are always growing, ending, but also beginning, they are what keeps me grounded.

It's spring. And I don't understand how the whole world isn't outside screaming, "It's SPRING!" in one thunderous, joyful voice. But then again, I think they are.

Can you hear it?

On fish and weight loss

2010-03-02T14:05:00.007-06:00

This is what I eat, everyday, sometimes twice a day. I eat a lot of fish. I started to eat more healthful a couple of months ago with the primary goal to lose at least 30 pounds. Why, you may ask? I had an epiphany while showering in a glass shower. In this particular shower, the vanity mirror cruelly resides in front of the glass shower. (You know who you are, cruel shower people!) Now it's one thing to view yourself in front of your own mirror, at the right angle, while sucking and tucking in every ounce of body fat. It's quite another to catch a glimpse of yourself, naked and soapy, with nothing tucked or sucked in, completely unguarded.

I literally gasped.

I wondered who the hell that woman was in the shower with me! I whirled around, razor in hand, ready to attack, only to realize that sad woman was me. Epiphany complete.

Two months later, I'm proud and happy to report that I've lost 13 of those pounds so far. Only 17 more to go with a time goal of July 31st. Nice and slow. Well, slow at least.

Along the way, I've discovered a few things that I didn't really have in mind when I started and because I have nothing else to blog about and I know you're dying to here them, here they are. For some of you who already live healthy lifestyles, the list below will only inspire "duh" in your thoughts. To those I say, give me a break. I've always been a late bloomer.

1. I love fish. It's easy, light and tasty. And lots of variety. I may turn into a fish one of these
days. Don't try and stop me. The Incredible Mrs. Limpet. I love this movie and just
found out they're re-making it with Johnny Depp as Mr. Limpet. From Don Knotts to
Johnny Depp? Bonus.

2. I love green veggies...fresh green veggies. When I was a kid, all the vegetables that we ate
came out of aluminum cans and were cooked for at least an hour in bacon grease and lots
of salt. Like the bacon grease didn't have enough sodium. Who knew you could drizzle
olive oil on ANYTHING and sautee it with garlic and it would taste amazing? Not me.

3. Cardio workouts have become my mood stabilizer. Seriously...it really does help with the
crazies. Some days I really have to make myself go to the gym because my mood
absolutely sucks but always after I'm done, I'm a happy camper.

4. I don't get that 2-4 pm afternoon slump. For a while it was all I could do to stay vertical
between those hours. Not so much these days.

All in all, I'd say number 3 is the most beneficial. And the most surprising. Which makes it easier for me to climb onto that treadmill during the week, knowing that I'm saving my family from likely death and and a mention in some cheesy Lifetime series, which I won't name here, but it rhymes with flapped!

Sunday

2010-02-28T08:19:00.004-06:00

Finally, the sun came out at the end of the week and I found some shadows. Go here for more shadow shots from all over the world.

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And look what else I found.

She's coming. Sweet lady spring.

When Worlds Collide

2010-02-25T21:23:00.005-06:00

If chocolate were an olympic competitor, I feel pretty confident that this little guy would be fighting for the gold.

Bacon. Chocolate. Together. Hello?

Guy: "Hey! You got bacon in my chocolate!"

Gal: "No, you got chocolate in my bacon!"

(In unison): "Wow! This is delicious!" (accompanied by huge, goofy smiles)

But wait....don't underestimate this humble contender. He's less showy than the bacon bar but performs with simple elegance and consistency (or should I say excellence).

It's possible that I have way too much time on my hands.

Tear Down the Walls

2010-02-20T20:57:00.006-06:00

I live in an old neighborhood on the wrong side of the tracks. That phrase, wrong side of the tracks, annoys me because what's wrong for one is right for someone else, but you get the idea. I bought the home after my divorce. I was single, raising three children on my own, when I got approved for financing. I was ecstatic. I was only approved for a small amount which lead me to Highland. Old homes and diverse culture. I found this little house that I could afford and that was perfect for my family. I loved it...still do. It was picture perfect when I moved in but over the past 6 years, it's really started to fall apart. The house was built in 1947. We've finally started to fix it up this past week, which you'll read about in a bit.

What gets me though is that my girls are embarassed at times of where we live. Most of their friends live in nice neighborhoods on the right side of the tracks. Their friends drive Range Rovers and Hummers and have golf courses in their backyards. The girls tell me that most of their friends' parents won't let their kids come over to our house because of where we live. How ignorant. They don't even know me. I mean really? Have we become that shallow? That close minded? That judgmental?

As I write this, I realize I'm just as guilty sometimes. About a year ago, my husband installed an alarm system in a house a few blocks from here. The couple had recently moved here from California and were remodeling an old, two-story house. One day, Robert came home and told me he was going to help them on his Saturdays off, with the remodeling. Now, Robert does a lot of side work in addition to his 9 to 5, so my first response was, "Great. Extra money!" He just kind of looked at me sheepishly and said, "I'm not doing it for money. I just want to help, they're really nice people. And when I get ready to start the work on our house, Andre (the husband) says he'll help me." I'll be honest, Robert is way more trusting and giving than I am and I thought that he would spend all of his free Saturdays working for nothing, and then when the time came, he'd be working on our house all alone. I said nothing, though.

I was wrong.

This is what has been happening at my house the last couple of weeks.

This is Andre and Robert. Working side by side on this old house.

This is Larry. He's a friend of Andre's who just came along to help. We've never even met him. He just came because Andre told him they could use an extra hand.

At the end of the day, the guys came inside and we had a meal together around the dining room table of crawfish etouffee, hushpuppies and sweet tea. And I felt so blessed. I felt like a part of something important. I felt connected to this life. I felt like this day, these friends, this old house, this meal, was what it's all about. It's why we're here.

And just like that, my faith and hope in people and community has been restored.

Opposite Day

2010-02-16T20:53:00.006-06:00

At 5:30 this afternoon, I was still wearing these...

Hot, right? These hideous polka-dot pajama pants have gotten me through two winters.

I changed into these beauties 10 minutes before my husband got home so as not to look like a total loser.

I'm going to sleep in them. Then I'm going to wake up and put my polka-dot pajama pants back on.

What? I'm washing them, geez.

I think I've lost my mojo again.

My People Perish for Lack of Knowledge

2010-02-11T21:15:00.006-06:00

I love my state...really, I do. See previous post. However, (you knew that was coming, right?) my people don't know how to act when you throw a little snow and sleet into their daily lives. If you need proof of their complete lack of snow sensibility, go here.

Granted, they come by it honestly here in the south. We don't see a lot of the fluffy white stuff here. But come on? Seriously? It's FLUFFY and WHITE and we only get a few inches of it at a time. How dangerous can it be for us? Usually, it melts as it hits the ground. The way people act around here, you'd think we were a region full of crack-heads and the stuff falling from the sky is, well, um, crack.

For one thing, people drive like maniacs. And that one I haven't figured out yet. I'm not sure if they're just giddy from the crack, I mean, er, um, snow, or if they're trying to get home before the roof caves in from the weight of the snow. At any rate, suddenly little blue-haired ladies start to drive like Mad Maxx on his way to the Thunderdome. No doubt, on their way to the store to buy milk, bread and eggs. Maybe some batteries.

And then you have the local media. The weatherpeople here just eat this up, which only adds to the frenzy. In their defense, I suppose they get so weary of reporting the usual 100 degree record breaking temps and the record breaking rain that they almost wet themselves when something new comes along. Who can blame them?

But mention a hurricane? Now you're talkin' party, people! We've even named a drink after that bad boy! If you've been to New Orleans, I'm sure you've become acquainted with that lovely, fruity, liquorous concoction and probably felt like you'd been through a hurricane the next morning after drinking a few.

And tornados? Please. We eat those for breakfast. Some of my fondest Easter memories involve a beautiful, sweet, easter-egg hunt followed by my entire family piling into a bathtub while waiting for the "funnel cloud" to pass over...get it? Passover? I love it when an unexpected pun just falls into my lap.

At any rate, here is a poorly lit photo (blame the blizzard) of what happened here today. You might have noticed that the snow is falling on the bamboo that threatens to take over my back yard. NOTE: While there are many different varities of bamboo, about half of the species tends to thrive in tropical climates. Which perhaps explains the behavior of my people when this strange, fluffy white substance makes an appearance. Snow and tropical climate do not mix. Or maybe my people are just idiots. I forget.

Who dat?

Dat be snow, my people.

Deep breath.

I know, just let me gloat this one time...

2010-02-07T21:18:00.003-06:00

Okay. I'm out. Most of the bloggers that I read or know of don't usually write about sports. For the most part, we're into the creative and contemplative side of life.

HOWEVER....

The New Orleans Saints have won the Super Bowl and I have to talk about it, being from and living in the great state of Louisiana. And not only that, it was a great game. Did you see that 2 point conversion? Amazing. I grew up in a house before Cable TV. What that meant for me was that from September until the end of January, we watched football. All weekend long. There was no History channel, no Discovery channel, no Bravo.

My brothers and I played football in the streets of our neighborhood. I was one of the only girls who played. And I was good. I had to be. With two brothers, you learned to be competitive or you became a "wuss". I was not a wuss. I played football, flipped fences, and crawfished with the best of them.

And for years, we watched the Saints lose. Still, we stuck with them, for the most part. Sometimes, it was embarrasing, but Louisiana still had our hearts. Come on, give us a break. We don't have much! Swamps, alligators, cajun food, crawfish and the worst politics and schools in the country. Still, we had our pride and our passion. And that's one thing I can say for most lifelong residents of the boot state, we have passion.

So...even though my intellectual side hates this phrase and doesn't ever want to hear it again, my competivive side has to say it, just once...

WHO DAT? YEAH, BABY!!!!

Flower Power

2010-02-06T20:54:00.005-06:00

In honor of Spring.

I'm back in the game...Shadow Shot Sunday, that is. Go here for more wonderful shadow shots from around the world.

One of my indulgences and simple pleasures is to buy fresh flowers for my dining room table every week. It's something I do all year long but in the winter, it really becomes a highlight. Pickings are slim in the winter, but the lovely tulips above are making an appearance.

And these flowers were a treat from myself for my birthday!

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And now for a something completely different. I'm watching The English Patient. It's a movie that I've never seen all the way through. I have a friend who talks about it often. It's her favorite movie of all time. Now I can see why.

Happy Sunday.

Heart Song

2010-02-04T09:05:00.003-06:00

Sometimes I hear a song that has a particular arrangement of chords, poetic verses and such a soul-stirring harmony that it moves me to tears every time I listen to it. Know what I mean? A song that causes your heart to swell with emotion...one that almost causes a physical ache just because of the sheer, haunting beauty of the melody?

This is one of those songs for me.

It's called "Begin" and it's by The Wailin' Jennys. I first heard the song in an incredible indie film called The Cake Eaters. Awesome movie, really. Beautifully written and directed. And the soundtrack is amazing.

Enjoy.

The Butterfly Post

2010-02-01T21:19:00.004-06:00

I've been working on priming the pump but it isn't working. Maybe I just need to relax. Let the blog be what it be. And the writing. It's not like I'm going to solve the world's problems here, right?

It's supposed to be my retreat. A place to be myself. And right now, myself is tired. I'm well and not in the poor house. I'm healthier physically and on my way to a thinner me. I'd say the weight loss is all about health but I'd be lying. Vanity, mostly.

My son, whom I haven't written about in a while, is wonderful. There, I said it. I've been afraid to talk about his success for fear of eating my words...again. But it's not good to live in fear and so I won't. As if I believe that I could jinx who he's become by merely speaking of it? What am I, a suspicious voodoo queen? Not I. Some of his story is in past blogs and that's where it should stay. He and his lovely wife have a new life. And I have a new friend in my son. And my daughter-in-law. He's becoming the man I always imagined he would be and she, the woman I always wanted for him.

Look how happy they are. Seriously. What a transformation. If you only knew.

I still worry about my girls. Two teenage girls, 17 and 15. So much pressure out there. So many shallow messages. But even if they take wrong turns, cause me sleepless nights and veer off track for awhile, I can look at my son and know that I've done a pretty good job as a mother, in spite of my shortcomings. And that gives me hope.

So why this need lately to wrap myself in a cocoon? I don't know. Maybe I'll emerge in the spring with bright, beautiful, orange-yellow-red wings with a wing span the size of Texas.

Now that makes me smile. I wish I could paint that picture.

See? That's why I blog. Because it always reminds me that life is beautiful. And so do all of you.

Priming the Pump

2010-01-25T22:11:00.004-06:00

Just because he's so stinkin' cute. And because he loves cowboys and I love that he loves cowboys.

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Ever felt like you had so much to say, and yet, nothing at all to say? That's where I am, right now.

You know what that means! Time for RANDOM POST! Maybe it'll work something loose in my stagnant brain.

I love tulips.
I loved the movie "District 9".
I've lost 10 lbs. (you know that's going near the top of the list!)
That might explain why my brain is stagnant.
I may be starving.
My birthday is in February, ten days from Valentine's Day.
I don't like Valentine's Day.
Restless lately.
Matthew Broderick will be in town this weekend promoting his new indie film, Wonderful World.
I love Matthew Broderick but not at the price of $75.00 per ticket.
The movie has received bad reviews from the critics.
Ask me if I care.
My thoughts in this random list have become more streamlined.
I'm going to the beach this summer.
I will blossom at the beach.
I want to try a mandala.
I want to grow a vegetable garden this summer.
I want to travel to Italy.
I want to travel to Ireland.
I want to travel.
I wish I were a florist.
I need something good, no, I need something great to read.
I like Tilapia.
I love shrimp.
I love scallops.
I'm hungry (see above)
I have been published in a college newspaper, a college literary journal and in a local magazine.
That sucks.
I thought I'd be richer by this age.
I love poetry.
I hate the Kindle
I'm sleepy.
Finally.

That's it. Pretty shallow list now that I'm looking at it. And very self-centered.

Insightful.

Mirror

2010-01-13T21:18:00.004-06:00

This is the reverse view of this photo. Minus the color. DePalmas is a pretty cool place, just wish we could have stayed long enough to taste the food. I love Italian. Instead, Diahn and I had a c0uple of glasses of wine and beer. She had beer, I had wine. We used to drink beer together but now, beer tends to give me a headache and I think wine does the same thing to her.

These days, it's a little more of an effort to stay awake past 11:00pm, but in our day, my friends, we used to drink some beer. And tequila. Or "to-kill-ya", we used to call it.

There are many, many, many, many sad tales that I could repeat here but what would be the point? Those days are gone, and with good reason. Who can survive Bloody Mary's, Screwdrivers and Mimosas on game days at 9:00 in the morning, followed by rowdy football games, beer, more beer, shots of tequila, more shots of tequila, pathetic games of Cricket, nasty hot wings, more beer, more tequila, and then a nice little cry at the end of the bar? All in one day.

Diahn moved around the bar like the geology major that she is, surveying the land, the peaks and valleys, the fissures and the solid ground. Guys loved her. Even stupid guys. Once a guy asked her what her major was and when she sighed, "Geology," with a totally bored look on her face, the idiot said, "Wow. So you, like, study the weather and shit?" I kid you not. I don't think she even cracked a smile. "Yep," she said.

My stories are not so cool. I once was asked my name by a cute, young frat boy and just as I opened my mouth to speak, I hurled all over his feet. To-kill-ya. Bad news, folks. Really bad. Uncool, was I.

These days, we're much more grown-up about our drinking. The kids are tucked into bed, phone calls are made, our bellys are full with good food before we start the party. And the parties these days consist of a few drinks and deep, heart-felt, philosophical conversations. No hurling allowed. And definitely, no frat boys.

Cheers, Diahn.

Circle

2010-01-10T21:24:00.009-06:00

This is where I spent the last four days. My in-laws house in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Better known as The Wildwoods. I was there in the beginning when they built this wonderful place. It was a long time ago, another life. I was married to Diahn's brother, Brian. He died in 1989 in a motorcycle accident. They are still my family. Diahn, a sister, Carmen and Ray, still my mother-in-law and father-in-law. Their younger daughter, Kristen, still like a little sister.

Everyone pitched in when they were building. Even Jesse, mine and Brian's son, worked the land. He loved this place. Most of his childhood was spent out in the woods and land around the house, collecting sticks, burning brush in his cowboy boots. Helping Papa Ray.

Now, at least once a year, Diahn and I meet up here to visit. This is the room where I slept. The pink room, Carmen calls it. When I visit, I feel like I'm at a bed and breakfast.

Recognize the paintings? They're originals. By the famous artist, Diahn Ott. I love the pink room. Good sleepin'. Peaceful.

This is said famous artist and her mother, Carmen.

It's funny, no matter where I go, or how much time passes, they will always be my family. And when I go there, I am reminded that Brian lives on. He lives on in the faces of his beautiful sisters and his Mom and Dad. He lives on in their memories. I can even see him in his nieces and nephews. He lives on in who they are, who they've become. He lives on in our son, Jesse and our grandson, Little Brian. In the music. In the woods. In all he loved.

And I don't want to be sad about his death anymore. I want to celebrate his life. He certainly did. He loved life. I hear his voice when Jesse speaks, I hear his laugh when Little Brian laughs. I see his love of music in both of them.

And I feel blessed that he was here, that I was his wife, that he forever changed my life, that he brought me into this family that I will always claim as my own.

And that he carries on.

Chillin'

2010-01-05T21:44:00.004-06:00

I'm due for a random post, right? I think so.

This is a picture of the growing stack of books on my night stand.

This time of year, I can't seem to stick with anything. So much for New Year's resolutions! I don't make them...anymore. And if I did, one of them would be to start at the top of this stack and plow through every book that I've started in the last six months. But I'm not. I started another one today.

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I love my blog friends. This place has been such a wonderful expansion of my life. I love watching each of you as you post throughout the year. One of my favorite things to do on walks through neighborhoods is to look into open windows and imagine. Who lives there? What are they like? What did they cook for supper? Are they happy? Are they lonely? Do they play piano? When I walk through my blog neighborhood, I get to do this just that. And I learn so much from you guys. Thank you so much for putting yourselves out there and sharing a piece of your life. I love looking into your windows.

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This is has been a cold, early winter for swamp land. Seriously. Wicked cold.

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I love my husband. I want to remind myself of that this year. And that he loves me. And that we're perfect for each other. Because we are. After four years of marriage, I'm starting to do that thing that we women do where we analyze every single thing our man says and does. He doesn't analyze. He just is who he is. And looks at me like I'm crazy when I start to ask him if he finds me attractive, fat, skinny, neurotic, smart, funny...I don't want to see that look in his eye anymore. Get a grip, woman! Let it be.

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I can't wait to see Dino this weekend. I miss her. T-town, here we come.

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Spring is just around the corner, my friends. Tonight, I grilled burgers and hot dogs and fresh veggies on the grill in 30 degree weather, just to remind myself that warmer, longer days are coming again.

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Thankful.