Come On And Dance

On any given day, if you asked me what my favorite thing to do is, do you know what I would say?

Well, I would probably ramble off at least three or five things, but one of them would definitely be listening to live music. The only thing that makes listening to live music better, is listening to it outside. At a music festival, or amphitheater, with the fresh air, and the stars... it really doesn't get much better than that.

Call me a redneck, call me a hippie, call me a dork... but I'm all about the Steve Miller Band! Every year they come to the OKC Zoo Amphitheater, and this year since I'm living here, I'm going. Of all the live music I've heard, and in all the venues, it's probably one of my favorites, and it's going to be a great show. Joe Cocker is playing too.

I wish I'd seen this show in '95

I'm putting my big girl pants on, and going by myself. Every person I know is married, everyone is in a relationship, but me. There is no one for me to go with, and I'm okay with that.

I don't need a date to shake my tail feathers. It's going to be so much fun, I cannot wait!

However, if you know any cute single guys, who like to drink cold beer and listen to live music and dance... will you please give them my number? Thanks.

The Nuts Story

I’m the chick who always puts her foot in her mouth. Sometimes I open my mouth, and the wrong words just come flying out. It’s a tricky gig being me, my brain and mouth just don’t operate on the same frequency sometimes. Fortunately, I’ve been blessed with a wicked sense of humor, and the ability to laugh louder at myself than all the people around me. But, needless to say, it can be very embarrassing.

Case in point:

Years ago, when I was just starting out in the insurance world, I was hired to work for Mr. Brown. Mr. Brown was a very proper, very conservative, very southern gentleman. He was, if nothing else, steadfast in his convictions. He never swore, he never told a dirty joke, he never said anything even remotely inappropriate. I made concentrated efforts to be as ladylike as possible. Which isn’t always easy for me to do, much to my own chagrin.

One morning Mr. Brown asked me to call an insured and break the bad news about his denied claim. Said insured was known to be the meanest, most hateful, insured ever to walk the planet. I knew that it would be a hard call to make, dreaded it, and put it off… while I worked up the courage. I got busy doing other things while working up the courage though, and kinda forgot about it.

After lunch, Mr. Brown came to me and asked how the call went. I’m not a good liar, and making excuses is a stupid thing to do, so I decided to just be honest.

I wanted to say that I didn’t have the ‘nerve’ to call because I was scared, but in the same split second that I started talking, decided I wanted to say that I didn’t have the ‘guts’. The first part of ‘nerve’ got mixed with the last part of ‘guts’… and ‘I don’t have the nuts!’ is what came out of my mouth.

Mr. Brown stood there, like a tree, he was in both shock and awe. I was instantaniously mortified. I tried not to laugh. I tried to explain. Mr. Brown called me into his office and told me not use that kind of language. He asked me to get him some coffee, and said he would make the call. I sat there trying not to laugh as the insured screamed every vulgar word in the book at Mr. Brown. When he got off the phone, he was spent, and said it was good that I didn’t call, because a lady didn’t need to hear that kind of language.

Good thing I didn’t hear those filthy words. My virgin ears couldn’t take it.

Blooming Again

I have to talk about how good life is these days. I can't bottle it up, and don't want to.

If you've known me a while, you know that the last year of my life has been kinda crummy. I've been happy, but not really happy. I have been a bit bitter about having to move away from the place I love so much. I have been a teensy bit bruised from my last relationship(s). I've lost a job that I adored. I've had to learn to just be me, and to just be with me, and to be really okay with that. I've had to crawl from the bottom, for the second time, and start over... in the middle of a place that I hated having to be. If that sounds heavy, you can't even imagine.

But, lately, everything has been a lot better. I mean really, really better. I am so happy on the inside, I'm bubbling over with bliss. It's not just springtime in the air, it feels like springtime on the inside of me again. It's like the bleak winter is over, and all the seeds of hope, and faith, and love that I have been planting are finally beginning to bloom. I'm happier than I have been in years, and it's the most amazing feeling.

My job is fantastic! Even though I'm in a totally new field, I'm doing a pretty good job. I absolutely adore my bosses, and my associates. They are so patient with me, and kind, and funny. They are also the smartest people I have ever met in my life. I'm amazed every single day, it's humbling that I was hired to work with them. That they think I can do this, that makes me remember how smart I am, and that feels really good.

I have remembered how much I love being a Mother. I think I forgot somewhere along the way, in the middle of things being really hard. When I was barely keeping us afloat. I was so focused on keeping us from sinking that I forgot to enjoy them. I remember now.

I've been spending time with my friends. I have the best friends in the world, by the way. (this means YOU)

Really, honestly, truly, for the first time in years, I feel peace. Peace is an amazing feeling.

God is awesome! And that's what's up.

Our Trip to the Museum's Gore Fest

We went to see the Our Body: The Universe Within exhibit at the science museum. I would like to tell you that it was indeed fascinating, yet also the most grotesque experience of my life.

If you haven't seen it, you should, but heed my caution, it might freak you out. I don't know if it was the body that had been sliced into two inch strips, stretched out in a 15ft box that did it... or maybe it was seeing the fetal specimens... or maybe it was the body that was holding it's own skin on a coat hanger that did it, but let's just say I had some nightmares.

Jackson was mesmerized, he got an anatomy lesson, that's for sure. Especially when we came across the female and male sexual organ display... there was a torso of a woman, and lets just say that half of it was complete with hair and all, and the other half was no skin and just organs and veins. Poor guy, I'm not sure he's ever seen a va-jay-jay before, I hope he's not scarred for life. Noah didn't know exactly what to think, and I didn't let him see most of it.

Fortunately, the rest of the museum was a great experience, and I took some pictures.

This is the Shadow Box, you stand against this wall, a bright light flashes, and leaves your shadow on the wall. My camera flash didn't even mess it up.

A great day at the museum. The Gore Fest, as I call it, was really incredible. Anyone with a weak constitution should be warned though, you might go into gag reflex.

Happy

"When you stand in that sliver of space that is completely and utterly you, then will you be truly awesome, wonderful, magnificent." - Joseph Riggio

Don't Mess With Texas Bluebonnets

Jackson, age 4, in the bluebonnets.

I lived in Waco, Texas once... I really have lived almost everywhere.

This is the time of year when bluebonnets start popping up all over the place, and it's beautiful.

From what I understand, the state actually scatters the seeds, so you see them next to almost every road, and especially along the highways. If you've ever seen them, in all their glory, then you know that it's unforgettable.

Every decent, raised right, upstanding Texas citizen who's worth their salt, takes pictures of their kids in the bluebonnets.

And, it doesn't really matter where they find the prettiest patch, they will risk life and limb for these annual photo ops. I remember seeing families, dressed in Sunday best, sitting in highway medians, posing for their professional photographer.

Those Texans are hardcore bluebonnet zealots, don't mess with 'em.

Have you ever seen the bluebonnets?

A Good Sunday

I went to visit my grandpa this afternoon at the nursing home. He's pretty sound mentally, he just can't get around like he used to. I am trying to get into the habit of visiting him there now, but I haven't been good about it because it scares me seeing him there. I hate that he is there. He knows it too. He knows me better than anyone.

I walked into his room, and sat down in a chair. He sat up in his bed, and muted Gunsmoke.

He said 'that's some purse you've got there,' matter-0f-factly.

That took me off guard, and I laughed. I'm pretty sure he has never commented on one of my (fabulous) handbags before.

It was a nice little ice breaker, even though it's awful that there needed to be one. I came to cry on his shoulder, and he knew it before I even started talking.

He told me about how, at one of the churches he pastored, on Mother's Day they would have all the mother's come up... and they would weigh their purses. Which ever woman was carrying the heaviest purse would get a prize of some kind. A cute idea I think, better than making the oldest mom stand up. Once at a church I was going to, I got a carnation for being the youngest mom... that was sweet.

I told him that I do, indeed, have way too much stuff in my purse... and he said it was luggage. I said that it was pretty luggage, and he laughed and asked to feel how heavy it was. I handed it to him, he held it with his weathered hand, said 'ooooh-weeee', and pretended that it was dragging him to the floor. I laughed some more.

I wondered what the prize was for carrying the heaviest purse, but I forgot to ask.

I started thinking about all the stuff in my purse. I immediately thought of the things in there that I probably wouldn't want him to see... because every girl carries secrets in her bag.

After we talked for a while, he said that he can tell that I am carrying too much. Not just in my purse. He said he understands the weight of my life, and the weight of everything that has happened to me, has caused me to be weary. I cried. I cried big fat tears. I walked over and sat next to him, he put his arm around me, and I cried loud, little girl like sobs. I cried because he understood.

He told me that I needed to stop carrying it, and give it to God, because He would carry for me. I have known that I could do that my whole life, but I forget so often. I tried to remember the last time I had a heart-to-heart with God, and gave it all to Him. It's been longer than I care to admit.

Papa prayed for me, and I cried more. I asked God to forgive me for some things, and I asked Him to take some stuff away from me, and I cried. Papa spoke blessings and grace and favor over me, and I cried some more. He sang to me, and I cried more.

When all was said and done, he told me to look in the mirror. I looked at him oddly I guess, and he said that color and life was returning back to my complexion. He told me that the cares of life get stored on our faces, and our faces tell the tales our mouths keep secret. Much like my pretty luggage, obviously crammed full of too much stuff that I lug around dutifully.

I looked in the mirror, and could see what he meant. I had surrendered it all to God, and my face was brighter. The weight had been lifted, and I could see it. My tears had washed my face clean, and there was peace in my complexion again.

Wearing his shoes, 1980

Full Circle

I'm stumbling over this, and I haven't even started trying to write what I want to say. Sometimes I don't know where to begin. This photo of my boys was taken in April 2004. Noah was just three months old, and Jackson was four.

This was the first portrait made of them together. I remember going to Sears, hoping that it would go well... that Noah wouldn't cry, and that Jackson would smile nicely... I was really surprised because this was the first time Noah had smiled on camera too. I was proud of Jackson for holding Noah so well. As far as portrait experiences go, it couldn't have turned out better.

Little did I know that sweet Spring day, that just three weeks later, their Dad would leave us.

Three weeks after this picture was taken I became a single Mom. Life changed in the matter of a moment.

Of course, I look at these precious babies and still can't understand how a Father could walk away from something so perfect and lovely. I will never understand that.

This year, this next month, is feeling like a milestone... and I don't exactly know why. It's probably a culmination of several things.

The age that Jackson is in this picture is the age that Noah is now. Noah has only known life with me, and sporadic visits with his Dad, who is much more like a novelty than a Father. Jackson's life has been divided into two equal parts... the first being in a home with Mommy and Daddy, and the second being with just Mommy, and missing Daddy.

Me, I'm four years into singlemotherhood. I never planned it to be this way. I don't feel like crying though, I feel like rejoicing. We have made it. I have survived. My boys have survived. We have moved out of a life that is only about surviving, into a life that is being lived... and that is remarkable.

I hardly ever think about what my life was then. I hardly ever think about how hard it was anymore. I hardly remember that I was married for six years. Each step into the future is one step away from that... and I embrace the future now like never before.

I'm not grieving, but I am stricken with some sort of awareness right now. It's like I need to be paying attention to something, but I don't know what it is. I know that it's about time, and change, and growth, and healing... but that's not all of it.

Something about the number '4' is pressing into my consciousness too, and I don't know why.

What I am sure of, however, is that I'm supposed to be 'dealing' with this right now. I know that dealing with it is really more about preparing me, and that's a good thing. Sometime soon, I know that I am supposed to write about my divorce, how it happened, and why... I've never written about it. But, just like all the other posts I've labored over that I felt I couldn't do, shouldn't do, and didn't want to do... I know that it's going to bring a sense of completion and resolve. I'm going to do it, I don't know who really wants to read it... and it won't be pretty, or entertaining, but I need to do it, for me.

I also need to get my boys to the portrait studio again, as this is the only 'professional' picture of them together that I've ever had made. Shame on me. I'm doing that next week.

What to write, what to write?

Well, I haven't posted anything since Monday... and so much has happened.

So much to say.

So, so much.

But, only a few things could possible mean more to me tonight than this fact;

Tonight is a BRAND NEW episode of The Office!!

Seriously, I've been waiting for this day.... FOREVER!!!

I'm giddy. I'm beside myself. I'm over the moon!

I will tell you about all of my camera adventures next time. Thanks for your condolences... it's all good now, it's fixed... but, what an ordeal. Phew!

Now... I'm off to catch up with some of my associates.

The Shot That Broke My New Camera

In a tragic turn of events, somehow this precious shot of the 'pee pee dance' managed to break my new camera.

I have no idea what happened... it just froze up, and then it was dead. It's still frozen, and dead. I charged the battery all night, so I know it's not that. I took the battery out, blew on it, put it back... nada. The lens is out, and it's supposed to be in.

I'm so bummed out! I didn't keep my receipt. I don't know what to do. And, I could cry.

It Isn't What it is

"It is what it is" - This coin phrase gets passed around for everything these days, and I'm over it.

To me, saying 'it is what it is' is just a cop out. It's an excuse. To me, it isn't what it is, it's what you make it.

Don't I have a hand in anything, or am I just floating along... drifting with the current. Can a coin phrase buy me out of taking responsibility? Even if it could, I guess I am not the type of person who would cash in on it.

What does 'it is what it is' mean anyway? Maybe I'm missing the point. But, whenever I hear it, it's like listening to finger nails scratch a chalk board.

I want to shake the person who says it and say 'It's what you make it!!'

That's empowering! Take control, make it what you want it to be. That's what I subscribe to. 'If it is to be, it is up to me'... that's a good one too.