Pride Part 2

For a few years now, I've reposted my blog from 2018 about why I have celebrated pride for decades as an ally. This year, I want to post about celebrating as the parent of a member of the LGTBQ+ community.

My child was born into a home of love and tolerance for the community because we already loved many LGTBQ+ family members and friends. I took my kiddo to family friendly pride events, and made sure that they and all their friends knew that our house was a safe place to be themselves. When my own (grown) child came out, there was already a foundation laid for them to know that they would always be treasured by us. It was still hard. Change is hard for humans (even positive change) because we are creatures of habit and routine. Don't let that discourage you, whether you are a person who is comming out, or a person who loves someone who is. You and your loved ones will bumble through and it will be ok. As in all things, we need to handle each other and ourselves with grace and love. We can never expect anyone (including ourselves) to have every aspect of life figured out. The sooner we let that expectation go, the happier we will all be. Getting to know yourself never stops, so keep going! Don't be afraid to learn more about who you are and who everyone else is. We are here to make life more joyous together!!! Let's celebrate! Love ya'll. Happy Pride month! I'm so very proud of all of you!!!

Almost Happy to See You Again

For over a year I, like so many others have avoided being in close proximity to my family and friends. Many of them are in a high risk group for severe Covid complications and I was desperate to protect them and myself. I was so afraid of losing any of them, particularly after mourning the loss of 6 close family members in the past 4 years. When there is so much death surrounding you, it's hard not to cling harder to the people in your life. So we followed all the recommendations. We kept ourselves out of each other's homes, cars, and arms, despite the misery and awkwardness it caused.

Now we are on the cusp of a major turning point...vaccination! A good portion of my family and friends are partially vaccinated, as am I. The day is looming ever closer when we can hug each other again. I should be overcome with joy, right? And on an intellectual level, I am excited for that sweet day, but I have a confession to make: My emotions are a mess. Because of the deadly nature of this virus, the pure joy that I would normally feel when face to face with those I hold dear has become very complicated by other emotions that are now wrapped up with the joy. There is fear and dread in there. There is uncertainty about the possible variants and sadness over the loss of a year. It's all twisted together with my love and joy like a ball of tangled thread. I don't know what to expect to feel when I start being able to touch people and be close to them. I am not sure it will be the unbridled happiness I imagined a year ago when this began. I believe it will take some time to pull the ends of the threads and untangle the fear and dread and desire to protect my loved ones from the possible disaster that could be the result of my touch. I don't think I'm alone in this. I hope we can all cut ourselves and each other some slack if we don't feel the way we are "supposed" to or how we thought we would. This pandemic has wrapped up the most basic human need for connection in trauma. Let's be patient while we unwind it.

#100YEARS

In 2020, we will celebrate 100 years of women's right to vote in the United States of America. It took almost 100 years for activists and reformers to win this right, and it was not an easy battle. For nearly 100 years now, women have had a voice in our government and in society. We have been, at least on paper, afforded equal rights with men. And yet, every single woman I know has been dismissed many times in her life as "less". Women are often perceived as less believable, less capable, less worthy, and less essential than men. A woman's suffering is often perceived as less important than a man's career or successes. We are shamed, blamed, and dismissed around this country every day, in virtually every setting.

I submit to you that men and women can work together to change this. This is not a Democratic issue or a Republican issue. It is a human issue. In the days and years ahead, we need to cast our votes ONLY for candidates who fully support a society in which all men and all women are valued equally. We must put this as our number one requirement on any candidate, before other policies, not just by lip service, but by actions. Only then will candidates come forth who can be counted on to value all of us. If this issue, equal value of every citizen, is not at the forefront of our minds and reflected in our votes, we will remain a divided society for another 100 years. I believe that there are enough men of integrity, and enough women of courage to change this culture, and by the time we reach that 100th anniversary, we will be on our way to being a society where each human being is valued for their contributions and also expected to conduct themselves respectfully toward each other at all times, regardless of age, sex, race, or economic standing. We owe this to ourselves, and we owe it to our daughters, sisters, granddaughters, mothers, nieces and friends. Not another #100YEARS can go by. The time is now.

September 4th, a birthday

On this day, two of the most beautiful and influential women in my life were born.

The first one I knew was my Nanny. She was a complex woman who wrote everything down. She had notebooks full of to-do lists, funny sayings she wanted to remember, and even outlines for the things she wanted to talk to people on the phone about. She loved to read, and as a result, had one of the most extensive vocabularies around. She loved to be outside working in her garden or flower beds. She had a green thumb like no one else I ever knew. She loved the song "Earth Angel", and she had a wonderful sense of humor with a bit of a goofy streak. She worked very hard and planned her days so that she could take a little nap after lunch even though she was the youngest grandmother I ever knew. But most important, at least to me, she believed I was wonderful. She was my second mother, and one of my dearest friends, and we had our own special world between us. I miss singing happy birthday to her at the park, which was her favorite place to have a party. I miss picking a particularly obscure word and the two of us using it repeatedly throughout the day just for fun. I miss how she used to pinch the people she loved, and how my name sounded when she said it out loud...especially when I was purposefully aggravating her and she threw in my middle name...which incidentally was derived from her name, Linda. I know her love is with me still, but it's hard to be without her every day.

The second lady, who shared this birthday with my Nanny, was Joyce. She was the woman responsible for giving me such a wonderful husband. She had taught her son to be kind to women, and to be gentle and caring. She taught him that women were to be respected and revered, and she even taught him to put the toilet seat down! But more than that, she was a friend to me. She gave me a job for the summer, let me live in her house, and we drove to work together every day, without ever getting tired of each other. (Ok, if she got tired of me, she never said, so I'm just going to assume our feelings were mutual.) We had a lot of laughs, and a few good cries. She loved Tim and she loved me, and she didn't try to interfere with our relationship or with our choices, but always supported us and cheered us on. And when Bre came along, she was a very proud Mimi who always wanted to hear about what she was up to and have a laugh or tell funny stories about times before she was born. I lucked out in the mother-in-law lottery, and I have said so from day one.

The funny thing about these two women, is that they shared a birthday, they shared kids and grandkids, and in recent years, even shared a home. When my Nanny had to have radiation and chemo, Joyce kindly opened a room in her home to her, and they became closer than they'd ever been before even through years of shared family events. I know that time meant a lot to both of them.

So today, just for a moment, I'd think of them having a big old slice of "better than sex cake" together in heaven, along with my uncle Tony who adored them both. Happy Birthday Nanny and Joyce. I love you always.

Pride

Why do I celebrate LGBTQ Pride?

My uncle Tony and I were born into the same rural Southern Baptist household. We lived under the same roof during my childhood, and in my eyes he was magical. He could twirl a baton, throw it in the air soooooooooooo high and catch it behind his back. He didn't have any training of course...boys were not allowed to do those things back then. He listened to the most amazing music...very cutting edge and modern with lots of synth, not the easy listening, country, or talk radio I heard most of the time. He was an incredible dancer and he had an infectious laugh. He made mud pies with me when the weather was right, but his were always fancy. It didn't matter how fancy they were though, we still got into trouble for the mess we made together! ;)

My uncle had BIG dreams...bigger than anyone I ever knew. He was going to go to New York and become a professional dancer. He went to cosmetology school when I was a little girl, and he learned all the fancy braids and he'd spend hours practicing on my hair. I was tender headed, and hated to sit still, but he made me look so pretty, and he was so proud of the skills he was learning, so I'd grin and bear it...or at least bear it. Tony could cook like nobody's business, and every year he popped popcorn right on the stove so we could eat it while watching the Wizard of Oz.

When Tony came out as gay, many of the people he loved, and society at large rejected him, ridiculed him, and severed ties with him. They loved him before he admitted what had been true since he was a little boy, but suddenly, he was unworthy, unlovable, damned. The thing they refused to see is that his coming out didn't change anything about who he had always been. He was one of the most spiritual people I have ever known, despite how hard the church home he grew up in tried to shut the door in his face. He loved God, he loved music, and he loved me (and many others) with all of his heart and soul.

Tony never met a stranger. He was incredibly generous. He had a wicked sense of humor, and he would do anything to help the people he loved. He was both beautiful and flawed. He suffered from anxiety and depression, but he found a way to keep going no matter how roughly life treated him. He found the courage to be bold and brave, and to do many things that he set out to do. He set out to learn a lot of things simply for the thrill of the journey. He accepted others despite their quirks, and often because of them. He taught me so many things about the kind of person I want to be. My uncle Tony was like a brother to me. He was one of the few people I could be utterly myself with and never be judged.

Tony had a brain infection that led to an emergency surgery which left him debilitated for 8 years, so our last years together were often difficult times as my mom, my grandmother, and I cared for him. He passed away in 2016, not long after his birthday, which happens to be during Pride Month.

I miss him every day, and I celebrate Pride in his memory. I celebrate all the progress and greater acceptance that he never got to fully enjoy. I celebrate that little boys can to to twirling school and be in color guard, and try all of the things they enjoy. I celebrate that people who love each other can have a marriage and a family that is recognized by the law and entitles them to the legal benefit of taking care of one another. And I know that these victories are precarious and must be constantly protected and defended. I celebrate Pride for every person who just wants to live their lives loving, laughing, worshiping and learning without being turned away, and their families and friends who love them. I celebrate for Tony, and for my amazing, beautiful friends and family in the LGTBQ community. There's no way I can hide my P R I D E in you! <3

I'd like to believe...

It all started to really unravel a couple of years ago. My uncle/brother/friend was rushed to the hospital. For several days, my family gathered together to tell him we loved him, to tell old funny stories in the waiting room, and ultimately to see him off into the great beyond. I held my grandmother's portable oxygen machine for her so she could hold her baby's hand as he left this world. Four months later, my slightly smaller family gathered at the hospital to tell her goodbye as well. This time, there were fewer stories. She held me in her hospital bed and said my name over and over like a mantra for an hour. This time, I could not stay. Almost exactly one year later, I stood in a hospital once again and promised my mother-in-law that I would take care of her family, hoping that she already knew, because she probably couldn't hear me, and I hugged my husband, her only son, wishing I could somehow make things better, but knowing I could not. Last week we said goodbye to my husband's grandmother, who was a ray of sunshine to everyone she met. I'm writing this, probably not coincidentally, on the 11th anniversary of the death of my brother, Nathan. He was just 24.

In the past few years, new people came into our lives, and some of those really important people left, choosing to step out of our circle for reasons unknown. (Some of them were like family.)

I'd like to believe I'm going to be ok again, that all of us are going to be ok again, but I've come to realize that my definition of ok is just going to have change for now.

Almost

I stood in the aisle at Walgreens, staring at all the pink Mother's Day cards. Some were funny, some emotional, and others musical. I spotted the one with the sweet brown dog on the front and I almost touched it. She would have loved the goofy look on the dog's face. It probably said something funny on the inside. Sometimes I like to get the emotional cards, but this one was perfect. She would need cheering up after all that happened last year. But then...she saw me smile at the card. I know she did. And that is enough.

I love you, Nanny.

Not the Lesser of Two Evils

So, I'm going to get this off my chest because it's been sitting there too long. I am voting for Hillary Clinton. I am not voting for her because she's "the lesser of two evils" or simply because I am appalled by everything Donald Trump stands for. I am voting for her because she has inspired me since the first election I was eligible to vote in. You see, when I was young my family did not vote. They rarely talked about politics because they were just busy making ends meet, and they didn't really believe it made a difference. Well...my 6th grade Civics teacher had something to say about that. She set up a mock election, and I was in charge of campaigning for my chosen candidate. All week, we made posters, and even did a small speech about the candidate we supported, and this lit a fire in me. My candidate lost that classroom election, but I did not lose that fire. I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to change the world.

So, some six years later, it was election time and I was 18 years old. Bill and Hillary Clinton were on the campaign trail, and I heard that they wanted so many of the same things I wanted for my family. I proudly cast my vote for Bill Clinton. And then came Hillary... She was a new kind of First Lady. She was used to contributing and DOING. She was not a trophy wife. She was intelligent and opinionated, and she had a drive to make the world a better place. She started working on healthcare and suddenly everyone was up in arms. "A First LADY should not be involved in such matters", they said. Many people wanted her to just smile and cut ribbons at charity events and be content. Hillary was not that kind of woman, and neither was I. I saw in her the strength and independence I felt. I saw that she could stand up for what she believed in and that she did not back down in the face of all the extreme pressure and criticism. Then came the scandal...and she made up her own mind once again. She decided what to do about her personal life, and she remained steadfast and steady under more pressure and scrutiny than most people could take. And while the country enjoyed some of the best financial times in my lifetime, and some strides toward healthcare were made, she fought these personal battles, and never lost her wits.

After her very difficult time in the White House, she did not do as many would have done and quietly fade from public service. She hit the campaign trail to run for POTUS 8 years ago. I did not vote for her in the primary because I felt that one of her opponents was a little closer to my stance on a couple of issues but it was a tough call. I voted for Joe Biden and I hoped that she would be his Vice Presidential running mate. Well, that didn't work out, but she did serve as Secretary of State and once again endured not just the scrutiny due her office, but also jabs about her clothing, hair, and makeup...something no one in her office had ever endured before...because people love to attack a woman that way and it rarely occurs to anyone to think about what a man wears. Still, she did her job. She built and maintained diplomatic ties in one of the most important offices in the world. And through all the tough times in office she didn't crack.

Now, she's running for president one more time. And I am proud to vote for someone who has always been dedicated to issues that are dear to my heart, especially the issues of children and children in poverty. (For more on that, read It Takes a Village, by Hillary Clinton.) I am proud of her. I am proud that she has continuously struggled to improve the world and stress the fact that it does take a village to raise a child. It takes strong role models and people willing to help. It takes Civics teachers and parents, and yes...even politicians. I want my daughter and my nieces and nephews to see that this woman has what it takes, tries very hard, never gives up, and sacrificed much in order to further the values of family, unity, and equality. I am voting FOR Hillary. I'm with her.

Ponder This...Giving Birth to a Teenager

My daughter is about to leave middle school and embark upon the adventure called high school. In recent days, I've been traveling back in my memory to different parts of her childhood, completely against my will. I try to live in the moment, but I keep having to look through old photos for slide shows, which are nothing more than clever devices meant to make me cry. During these forays into her virtual babyhood, I have come to the realization that having a teenager is VERY similar to having a baby. Now, I'm not talking about having one around the house. I am talking about the ACT of HAVING a baby/teenager. Let me explain.

Before you become a parent, you mentally prepare yourself as best you can with stories, books, and advice from other parents. Before you become the parent of a teen, you do the same. In both cases you think you are getting a pretty good handle on it, and then when the process begins, you realize that only about 4% of what you learned applies to your situation, and your time would have been better spent reading fantasy novels. You spend a lot of time and money buying "stuff" that you will "need" for a baby, such as a crib, and diapers, and little gadgets to put in their room so you can hear them if they need you. You spend a lot of time and money on "stuff" you will "need" for a teenager too. But now it's an Ipad, neon socks (which will not be worn as matching sets), and a smart phone so you can hear them if they need you.

When labor begins, it starts with a pain. This pain is usually centered in your abdomen and radiates out to the other parts. It comes on with little or no warning, and it changes who you are...until a moment later, when the pain disappears as if it never happened. This process of alternating earth-shattering pain and complete lack thereof progresses until the little person inside your body is finally pushed out into the world...the real world, where you can only do so much to protect them from harm besides love them and offer them the shelter of your arms.

When teendom begins, it starts with a pain. This pain centers around your heart and radiates out to all the other parts. It's usually in the form of a rude comment, a friendship breakup that you can't fix, or the fact that your little sweetheart wants to do anything that doesn't involve you. It comes with little or no warning, and it changes who you are...until a moment later, when you are joking and laughing, and your kid gives you a hug, and the pain disappears as if it never happened. This process of mind-numbing pain, and complete lack thereof continues until your child is finally pushed out into the world...THE world....the REAL world...where you can barely do anything to protect them besides love them, and offer them the shelter of your arms.

Ponder This...Naked Graves

It's Memorial Day and I am probably going to get roasted for this blog post. I'm just going to put that out there right now. I have decided to go public with what may be a very unpopular statement. I don't decorate graves. I understand that people like to show their appreciation for our soldiers. I am deeply appreciative of them (and their families) myself. But I do not understand decorating graves. Now, let me just say that I am not bashing people who want to do this. Everyone deals with death differently, and I respect that, so if it fills you with joy or completes you in some way, then by all means don't let me stand in your way, but I have never participated in this ritual, and here is why:

Dead people don't care what their graves look like. I'd rather buy someone living a lovely bouquet with that money than spend it on someone who is probably enjoying more flowers than you can even imagine in Heaven.

A decorated grave can't express what a person meant to me. It simply cannot. Only my private memories and shared memories which involve that person can do that.

Cemeteries are not full of memories, (unless you and the dearly departed used to hang out in cemeteries, in which case I stand corrected), so if I want to remember someone I have lost, that is the last place I would go.

I feel that honoring a person's life should be more than a trip to the cemetery each Memorial Day. Maybe it would be nice to donate the flower cash to a cause, or even a person the departed person would have supported in life.

Two days after Memorial Day, the flowers are blown all over the place, and it all looks a mess, and has to be repeatedly straightened by family/staff, which are the only people who are seeing it anyway. (See my first point.)

So, ponder this...I love people. I have lost people I love. I support our military. I support naked graves.

P.S. If I happen to be wrong about dead people looking at their graves, please don't feel bad if you never decorate mine. In fact, I'd be fine if I didn't even have one. Just remember me when you hear a song I like, or when something makes you think of a great inside joke we shared, and remember I love ya. ;-)

Ponder This....Stand for the Silent

Ugly! Dog! Bitch! Nerd! Slut!



Unusual way to start a blog, isn't it? But, it wasn't an unusual way to start the day...not for me. I grew up in a very small town. I had about 27 classmates, most of whom had been in classes with me since the first grade. You would think with such a small group, we'd all be friends, that we'd have each other's backs, that we would be like a family. That was not my reality. Several of those kids bullied me on a daily basis, starting late in elementary school. One of the favored taunts was to simply bark at me as I walked down the hall. Another was to tell me to "speak English" when I used "big words" I had learned from reading so many books.

For years, I tried mostly to ignore them...That was the advice my mother gave me, and it seemed to be the most effective thing I could do. It did not make them stop, and it did not stop the pain. Intellectually, I knew the words were not true, but that didn't stop the pain either. It wore on me day after day, tainting my days and nights. I could not understand why these kids...people whom I had grown up with, would be so mean to me. It was devastating, and alot of the time I suffered through it alone. Most of the time I was silent, and so were the ones who could have made a difference, because we were not empowered. No one told us that we had a right, and the POWER to end the abuse that a lot of us faced, or at least soften the blows by encouraging each other with kind words and deeds.

I grew up, left that town, and I didn't look back for many years. I had a couple of close friends that I stayed in touch with, but that was it. Not much thought did I give to those years...after all, I had come into my own in the adult world. I was successful, well respected, and liked by most of my adult peers. Not until my own child started approaching her school years, did I re-visit that dark place in the past. I started seeing more and more reports on the news of suicides, and even homicides that were attributed to bullying. It broke my heart. Every time I hear a story about how a child has been hurt inside or out by classmates, and even teachers, I am saddened to my core.

There are many anti-bullying programs in the schools now, because so many children have died as a result of cruelty on the part of their peers. I have seen some of the efforts the schools make...anti-bullying signs in the hallways and the like. I don't think much of them, because they are empty words that don't empower anyone. There is one organization that I have seen recently who seems to have a better approach. It is called Stand for the Silent. It was started by the parents of a boy in Perkins, OK who took his own life recently, after being suspended from school for fighting with a bully. After this father explains the devastation a family feels after a child commits suicide, (a very emotional journey for the entire audience), they give out pledge cards that really make a person think. It is not aimed only at people who are being bullies, it is aimed at ALL people. I strongly believe in the message, and it is my hope that you will pass it on, and even support their mission, ask to have them speak at your school or event. Lives can and MUST be changed, for the sake of all of the children who are being bruised...on the inside or out by bullying.

I Pledge
From this day forward, I promise to respect those around me as well as respect myself. I am somebody, and I can make a difference. I can make another feel loved. I can be the helping hand that leads another back to a path of hope and aspiration. I will not stand silent as others try to spread hatred through my community. Insdead, I pledge to lift up these victims and show them that their life matters. I will be the change, because I am somebody.

There are wristbands you can purchase that say "I am somebody." on them. We bought some as Christmas gifts for kids we believe in, and as a reminder that we are all "somebody" who can make a difference.

Please visit www.standforthesilent.org.

Ponder this...if you don't Stand for the Silent, who will?

Ponder this....RoadTrip Honeymoon Adventure

Eighteen years ago this November, I married the man of my dreams, and we set off on one of the most memorable honeymoon adventures ever.

Yes, our honeymoon was to be a night at a beautiful, upscale honeymoon hotel suite, with room service...and then a 5 hour road trip to my favorite mountain in Arkansas, where my grandparents had paid for a two night stay in a cozy cabin.

We arrived at our posh hotel exhausted from all the festivities, and from staying up late the night before to decorate for the reception. We were ravenous from only having cake since breakfast, and picked the fanciest, most expensive food we could order from room service, and waited for our meal....and waited.....and waited...after an hour, we called to see what the hold up was...and were told it would be up in just a moment. ANOTHER hour later, our food arrived, stone cold.

We gave up on food, but noticed that it was getting rather chilly in the room, and turned up the heat....which promptly failed to come on. A call to guest services, and maintenence was sent up. They had a new guy and were having trouble figuring out how to turn on the heat in that unit. Since it was the end of November, we were really hoping to have a HEATED hotel room, but it was not to be. The heat NEVER came on. No matter, we could just take a hot bath in the fabulous jacuzzi....except that the heat was not on to the water tank either.

The next morning, after battling hypothermia all night, we went to the appartment to have a nice hot shower and thaw out before what was sure to be a magical two days of honeymoon bliss.

We got to the cabin without a glitch in our tiny 10 year old Honda Civic, even though the engine was a more than a little taxed by climbing the mountain. We hiked all over the place in the crisp Autumn air, and took photos of EVERYTHING we saw with my 110 camera. (It mostly all looked like brown blobs in the end.) We planned to dine out at the lodge for our evening meal, and arrived at 7:00 for dinner. The dinning room closed at 6. Our cabin did not have a mircowave, just a mini fridge and a fireplace, so we decided to find something to eat in "town". Tim, against my better judgment (see his blog for more details on how he should pay attention to my better judgement), decides to drive down the far side of the mountain.

We are now lost in a strange rural area where there is an erie smoke/fog in the air. I am not kidding, it looked straight out of a horror flick. The smoke was coming from hundreds of tiny smouldering fires where residents had decided to burn all their fall leaves while it was damp and calm out. We finally found a convenience store...and there are no cafes, or anything else anywhere near us, says the clerk. We grab what supplies we can find and drive back up the mountain. Our first WARM romantic dinner is.......hotdogs and marshmallows, roasted on sticks, over the fire in our cabin. Not gourmet, but somehow very satisfying after a long day of hiking, taking photos, getting lost, and falling more in love.

When it was time to pack up and go back to Oklahoma, we were sorry to leave the mountain, but ready to go start our "regular" life together. We hit the road at a good pace, and were moving along quite nicely, but after a bit we noticed that it was getting cold in the car, but the heater was on...So, we cranked up the heat...and the air came colder still. Then, in a puff of smoke, our Honda's engine died, never to be started again. (Cracked block, blown head gasket.) We were two hundred miles from home. There were no cell phones. I honestly do not remember how we called a tow truck, but what I do remember was sitting between my new husband and "Greasy Bob", the tow truck driver, all the way home from my honeymoon.

That's my story...it's full of ridiculousness, just like a lot of the rest of my life. But, it's also one of the best stories I ever get to tell. :0)

The cozy cabin, and the Honda that died

Mel in a cave

Tim holding up a massive rock

Ponder This... Pit Delivery

I just had to share a little story with you. I have been anxiously awaiting my E-town magazine this month, because my friend Eric, of FollowEric.com has written an article in it. This morning, I see a new mail carrier bringing my mail about 6 hours earlier than usual, and after he threw my magazine into the mailbox, I had to hastily chase him down to give him my outgoing mail. This is where it gets gross....

I see that my E-town magazine is here!...only now I don't want to touch it. This is because I have just noticed that the edges and the spine are WET and curling up, and some of the ink is running. It is BONE dry weather this morning, so my mind flashes back to the mail carrier....carrying my magazine....in his armpit!!! I know it is hot, and believe me, I respect the U.S. mail service for their hard and unpleasant work in this weather, but sweaty pit mail is just too much!

At my own personal peril, I plan to go ahead and read the article I was anticipating, after this thing dries off and I have located some disposable gloves. I expect the writing to be excellent, but I'm afraid this magazine stinks. ;0/ Boo. Postal Worker, boo. I appreciate the delivery...without the pits.

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Ponder This...The Older I Get

A friend of mine just celebrated his upcoming birthday with a blogathon, and the topic is Most Memorable Birthday. Begging his pardon for not being able to attend, I hope I'm not too late to chime in.

My most memorable birthday was my 30th. Many people dread this milestone, and some even get downright depressed about it. I had looked forward to it for years. You see, I spent most of my youth wanting to be taken seriously. I didn't want people to think I was foolish or frivolous because of my age (or for any other reason, frankly). But I had made up my mind that when I turned 30, people would see me as a grown up, as someone who had it all together, and I couldn't wait to get to that magical place in my life.

Then something ridiculous happened. The moment I started to believe people would finally validate my decisions and my life because I was "grown", I started running around like a kid. I completely stopped caring what people thought of my decisions, and what they thought about ME in general. I discovered that I had this really playful and whimsical side that I had been keeping mostly secret from the world, lest they think me a fool. But I was not about to keep it inside any longer. I went with my best friend from high school and did Glamour shots JUST FOR FUN. (Makeovers are hysterical if you get them with the right friend/s.) I started watching Harry Potter movies, and then became completely obsessed with the books. I started listening to music written ABOUT the characters, and went to concerts with other HP fans. I went to theme parks, and let myself be just as excited and wide eyed as my daughter. I made friends of all ages to share common interests with. To put it bluntly...I stopped being a stick-in-the-mud.

My 30's have been THE BEST TIME OF MY LIFE, and I wouldn't go back for anything. I've found that the older I get, the more youthful my spirit feels...even if my aching back doesn't. ;0)

Ponder This...The Most Powerful Weapon for Good AND Evil

My fellow blogger and new friend, Ben wrote a great blog about the most powerful weapon in the world, in which he discusses the tongue and it's power to wound and heal others. (You should read it here: http://www.benbtl.com/2011/06/most-powerful-weapon-in-world.html) I would like to expand on that and talk about the tongue, and what it can do to YOU.

Did you know that our words about ourselves create our truth? Let me give you an example: I know people who say out loud that they are worthless (or insert any other derogatory phrase such as stupid). Somehow, they usually manage to produce very little of worth in their lives, and also VALUE very little in their lives, be it relationships or material possesions. They don't take care of things, and so they are usually in some kind of stressful mess. They have created a grim reality with harmful words.

Now, let me give you another example: I know people who say out loud that they are blessed. These people go through pain, loss, and hard times, but they always seem to come out ok. They tend to have all their needs met, and they value and care for people they are close to, and take care of the material things they have. By saying they are blessed, they are bringing about this reality in their daily lives.

I think it is easier for most people to build others up with kind words than to build themselves up. But it's important to remember that we can't have others lean on us unless we have a strong footing. God did not create his children "worthless". He created us in His image, and he wants us to be blessed and to fulfill all the potential he created in us. So, the next time you start to think, or even worse, to SAY something evil against yourself, stop! Use the most powerful weapon you have for GOOD, so that you can build up yourself, AND be a strong support for others against evil.

Ponder This...Involuntary Shimmying

Most of my blogs so far have been on more of a serious note, but I'm going to lighten the mood for a bit with a frivolous topic...pedicures. For Mother's Day I received a gift certificate for a pedi and a massage, and I decided to do the pedi first. I should tell you that I have never had a pedi in my life. In fact, I have not had paint on my toenails in roughly 12 years. Though I consider myself a fashionable person, I am a pretty low mantainence kind of girl. My nails grow nicely, and I don't really mess with them other than to shine them up with coconut oil now and then.

So, on to the "experience". I arrive at the spa (Be Renued), and I'm greeted by a nice girl who appears to be 14, and is wearing shorts and cowboy boots. (I really don't understand this trend, but that is for another blog.) My pedicureist (is that a word?) leads me to a chair where I put my feet into a heavenly warm bubbly tub. She's got to go get something, so she hastily explains the chair remote to me, switches it "on" and disappears. Now this chair starts massaging my back, and it feels pretty nice. I'm starting to really relax, when suddenly, the chair starts the shihatsu portion of the massage. I am forced into the most violent involuntary shimmy you can imagine. I mean, parts that should not ever be moving are about to shake OFF! Aside from being slightly embarassing, it is a little too much on my back, then it calms down again, but not for long... I text a friend and tell her that I am in the midst of involuntary shimmying, and in her helpful wisdom, she texts back, "Go with it.". What choice do I have? I'm alone and I'm pushing every button on the remote, most of which actually cause the shimmy to INCREASE in strength. Finally, the timer stops the machine and I am not about to restart it.

Now comes the real foot action. The lady doing my pedi is really cute and sweet, and not a glamourpuss. She's very pleasant, and she buffs my feet with some kind of loofah on steroids. It doesn't hurt, but there were a couple of times where I nearly peed because it TICKLED. I should tell you that I am actually NOT ticklish, so this was quite unexpected. Next, she starts yanking my cuticles, or pushing them back, or whatever they do. This is uncomfortable, and makes me think of POWs, but she's not actually hurting me, so we press on. Now she grabs some green and gritty goo (I'm sure the proper name is exfoliant), and rubs it on my lower legs and feet, and we rinse it off in the heavenly warm tub. Nice, and barely even awkward having a stranger rub my legs and feet, since she's so friendly and professional.

Now to the polish. My favorite color is purple, so I picked an irridecent lilac shade, and she applied it with amazing speed and accuracy. I did not watch the process because I was too busy looking at a magazine (Elle), which turned out to be an entire book of nothing but advertisements featuring 14 year old girls in shorts and cowboy boots. Finally, we reach the end of the pedi and I look down at my feet...only they are NOT my feet. My feet look natural and pleasantly inconspicuous. The feet I am looking at are screaming, "LOOK AT MEEEEE! I'M PURPLE AND FLASHY!". I politely ignore them, thinking maybe they won't be so loud the next time I look. When I get home, my daughter immediately pronounces that they look like ogre toes. I think she was trying to kindly tell me that the look isn't "me". I take a glance at them and I have to agree. A few hours pass, and my feet are starting to showboat just a little less. My daughter tells me that they'll be ok..it's growing on her. I'm still not sure what I think.

I've decided to leave the polish on for a few days, and when it starts to chip, I'll remove it and go back to my coconut oil...but I may shimmy just a little for fun. ;0)

Ponder This...Frozen in Time

For those of you who read my blog post, "Not-so-instant Gratification", you know that I've been hankering to dig out my old school "film" camera. Well, I did it! I saved the first roll for last weekend, and took some shots of my hubby, my kiddo, and some of my friends during the Blog-a-thon. It was a lot of fun! That camera had not been turned on in over 7 years. The zoom was even a little "sticky" from sitting closed for so long! The first thing anyone did after they took a photo with it was look to see how the photo turned out, which of course was not going to happen. You see, whatever happens when you click that shutter is permanent. ALL of the action, the good, the bad, and the occasional closed eye shot, are going to live on forever...frozen in time.

For all the shots I'm posting, visit: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1748676078363.2087484.1282664827&l=897d0e68ad

Ponder This...Things I've learned from the blogathon.

So, this blogathon has been a lot of fun for me. Part of that is due to the fact that I have seen some of my best friends as a result of this gathering. Another part is due to meeting new people. Here are some things I've learned so far

1. It is best to meet a "Burleigh boy" by having some sort of extremely awkward comment to start it off. (Anyone can make said comment.)

2. Art can make people uncomfortable. (Only those who were there can really know what I mean.)

3. Smoothies are a great pick-me-up for tired bloggers. Also, tired bloggers make lots of really funny expressions while drinking them.

4. It's hard to keep your facts straight after you've been up for more than 17 hours.

More to come.... :0)

Ponder This...Why Blog?

There may be as many reasons to blog as there are people who do it. Many people blog because they have an area of interest that they love to discuss with like-minded enthusiasts, such as gadgets, couponing, music, etc. Others use blogging as a way to break into the writing business, or to tell funny stories. There are those who seek to help others who are "in the same boat" with a disease or condition. These are all great reasons to blog.

My reason is something entirely different. I love language. I like the way it can be made to flow on a page, or off the tounge. I have always wished that I had great talent in fictional writing, and I always read great fiction with amazement and a tinge of jealousy. But, I know that's not my bag. What I do have is a near constant inner dialogue about everyday issues. I've secretly been blogging for years...it was just inside my head, where you couldn't see it. If I happened to be with someone, they probably ended up hearing it, but more often than not, that delicious flow of words stayed right in my brain.

Recently, a couple of my friends told me about their blogs, and I started reading them. I realized that this was exactly what I needed...a place to put my "musings"...a home for all that "writing" that had been going on for so many years already. So, here it is, for the whole world to see, though I suspect only about a handful will ever read it. :0) Why blog? Well, that's for YOU to decide.

Ponder This....Attention, Please!

How long has it been since you paid attention? Now, I'm not talking about merely looking at what you are doing, I mean really staying absolutely in the moment, and taking in everything.

I was driving down Rupe yesterday, with about a hundred things buzzing in my head, and it suddenly hit me that I rarely ever think about or do one thing at one time. Most often, my hands are busy with one thing, and my mind is busy with the next things on the to-do list. That means that many times I am missing out on a lot of what is REALLY going on. Ever have a converstation with your mind half on the TV show you're watching? How about while you are driving? Can you make eye contact with the other person? Can you really engage yourself in what is happening?

There are so many things that demand our attention on a daily basis, like people, gadgets, work, entertainment, food, pets...the list goes on and on. Of all these, what is the MOST important to you? I have decided that people, and people I love in particular, are the most important. Many times they are only getting a tiny piece of my attention when we are together, because of all the other things distracting me. So, I'm going to make a mindful effort to give my FULL attention to people more often. That may mean we have to turn off the TV for a few minutes, or that I need to park the car before I hear how your day went. I think I want to look you in the eyes when you're talking to me, and really listen, instead of just hearing. After all, attention pleases all of us. :0)