Pity Party

I'm throwing myself a pity party right now.  I guess it is due to the overwhelming feelings burying me under.  I have a pan of brownies baking, the ones with peanut butter cups baked in.  Perhaps a whole pan will help me feel a little better.  Or give me a stomach-ache.  We'll see which happens first.  I'm betting on the stomach-ache.

Life has been very chaotic summer, and back to school time has only stretched limited time even thinner.  I think I need a day to clean.  My house is a tornado recovery zone, one that could be considered a federal disaster area. There just isn't any desire, nor much time to dedicate to the amount of work it will take to get it on track.

How do we do it?  How do we think we can handle it all, mothering, work, extra-curricular activities, school, and church?  I'm not sure anyone can.  Something always falls into the neglected category, and more often than not, it is my house.

Anyone want to invent a cleaning robot, or better yet, know the number of a good cleaning fairy?

Let the Games Begin!

On Saturday we spent time at the Highland Games, where Ab competed for the very first time in Highland Dance.  I am so very proud of her, because she did spectacularly well for her very first time! 

All of the tears and gnashing of teeth finally paid off with her dancing to three of the four dances in her category.  She hasn't learned the fourth yet, but hopefully soon!

She was beaming with pride and accomplishement as she was awarded a first place medal in the Scottish Lilt, her favorite dance.  There were only three girls in her age catagory, but to be honest, she did pretty well considering they were 15 and 16 years old!

Now, to the costume.  It was amazing.  Thanks to Daniel, his mom Aneta, and his sister Becky, they were able to outfit her in style.  Take a look at the vest!



 So, we got the patterns a little late and had to rush to make everything.  Unfortunately, the vest pattern was sent in the wrong size, and Daniel and Becky learned how to alter a pattern.  Two days of intense sewing and trying to get everything fitted correctly, six muslin mock-ups latter, that was the fantastic result.  I think she was one of the best dressed, but I'm biased that way!



We spent six hours in the sun, and basked in the whole experience.  I think her smile is worth it in the end:

A First and Third!  Way to Go!!!

Yesterday was a bad day....

I’m putting this out there.  I really don’t care that it can be chalked up to an embarrassing moment, but really, one is having a bad day, when around 6:00 pm, I finally realize, I’ve worn my underwear inside out all day.  Yes, all day. 

*Image from Google*

A Bit of an Obsession

I have a new obsession....Pinterest.  Just take a look:

My dream library..in my home.  Yes a dream.

I want to make these.  Right. Now.

Umm, Duh.  Of course it is.

Much better than my yellow ones in Uruguay

I've spent far too much time pinning and pining over pictures of darling things.  Things to make.  Things to dream on.  This that are beautiful.  Things that are disturbing (although I don't see too many of those). I've been having a blast adding to my boards, a plethora of items to make and create.  Pure eye candy.

Commitments

A couple of weeks ago, as we drove home from dance, Abbie and I had a long talk about commitments and the decisions she is making now, that will affect the rest of her life.

Dance has been a spot of contention among us.  I want her to dance, something I always dreamed about doing, but either never felt coordinated enough to pursue, or confident enough to attempt.  Abbie on the other hand, talks as though she wants to dance, and enjoys her lessons.  Practicing is something entirely different.  She abhors the structured time and I wonder if the fight is worth it.

She told me she was committed to dancing in a competition this summer.  I am a bit concerned, because to be ready, practicing will play an enormous role in the achievement of this commitment.  Will she make choices to attain her goal?  At this point, I hope and pray that she does.  Not just for my sake of seeing her in kilt and ghillies, dancing a lovely fling, but because at the same time she talked about the other commitments she has made in her life.

Abbie knows my expectations of her.  She knows good behavior from bad, and knows her limits.   I can't take all the credit.  She is an extraordinary child and has a good head on her shoulders.  Many family members and friends have made choices and she sees the consequences.  That right there is a teacher of some import.

From the time she was small, I would joke with her father, "Abbie won't date until she is 30!"  Partly for my own sanity, as well as to tease her.  She has taken up the mantra and committed not to date until she is 16, nor to have a boyfriend until then.  She spoke of these things lightly and I wasn't sure how they had sunk in, until a conversation we had, just last week.

There is a boy.  In her class at school, who told her she was looking pretty cute.  Oh my.  I'm not ready for this.  She asked me what she could tell him if he asked her to be his girlfriend.  All I had to say, "What are your commitments, Ab?"  She recited them, and asked me how to tell him nicely, they could just be friends.  I won't pretend that the conversation will not get harder as the years go on, but for now, I'm glad she knows what being committed to something means.

Her list is long.  I don't mind.  Every commitment is a good one, and one that will enable her to have a life that both she and I pray for.  She will not be burdened by undue hardships such as substance abuse, pre-marital sex and those consequences, or irrevocable body piercings or other bodily markings.  She will grow up and be mature and ready for the opportunities that come her way, unencumbered with the baggage these choices could bestow upon her.

I'm sure there will be times when these commitments will be tested and tried.  Boundaries will be pushed, but the choices have already been made.  There will never be the need to make them again if she sticks with what she had already decided.

Some Photos I Love

A couple of weeks ago, the Young Women's group decided to head out to the bird refuge that is just a couple of miles down the road from my house.  The weather was perfectly sunny, the evening cool, and it was just nice enough to avoid the rabid mosquitos that frequent the wetlands.  I was attempting to take some cool pictures, and tried to focus on some depth of field shots.  It was a blast as I walked through the different areas.  The birds are just now coming back for the summer months, so no fabulous bird pics.

I was enthralled with the scene.  Dead, decaying foliage, gray from the winter, with shoots of green peeking through, as if to say, "I'll triumph over winter bleakness yet!"

It felt good to stretch my legs and feel the wind on my cheeks.  Of course, the girls were rambunctious and their laughter carried on the breeze.

As a family, we have taken time to walk the boardwalk around the sanctuary.  Various birds call to each other and the buzzing of grasshoppers and bees, as well as my nemesis the mosquito, join the chorus.  It is nature and as such, to be enjoyed.

Climbing Aboard My Soapbox

Photo from Google Images

I normally do not get involved with these types of issues…you know, the ones that make headlines.  I figure there are enough people willing to sling the mud back and forth, that I keep my opinions to myself, and share only with those when asked.  Don’t get me wrong, I cast my ballot with the best of you, and will even speak out when necessary when morality and human rights are violated.  The fact that four unarmed employees were able to take down an armed individual, and were let go by the company they were protecting, makes me angry and I need to do something, something for me.

There has been quite a bit of media attention since the firing of four Wal-Mart employees in Layton, UT the past few days.  I only live a hop, skip, and a jump from this particular store, and have shopped there frequently due to the locality and convenience of it.  It’s easy to jump in the car, and in one minute I can shop for a gallon of milk that is reasonably priced.  Today, that stops.

I no longer feel safe to go there.  A man held a gun against the back of an employee, less than a mile from my home.  The store fired this employee and others who helped disarm the man.  How am I to feel when the store advocates that nothing be done?  The man could have been left alone, as Wal-Mart’s policy seems to suggest, to brandish his weapon on any shopper in the store.   Apparently, the safety of the company’s customers and employees is farther down the priority list than they state.  It angers me.

I am lucky I have a husband that can protect me and my children by his own training and demeanor, but not everyone has that luxury.  Regardless of your view, or mine on gun rights, it angers me to know that I am no longer safe in a store so close to home.  No, the gunman should not have had access to a weapon, but the fact is he would have found some way to access one.  He was caught in the act of committing a crime, and decided to brandish his weapon to get away.  To keep us safe, four employees took him down, keeping him away from customers until police could arrive and arrest him.

I read another article today in the paper.  Another employee was fired from a different location for protecting another employee from her abusive husband, WHO WAS ABUSING HER IN THE STORE!!!  In front of customers!  So apparently, the employees of this chain are such a disposable commodity, their personal safety in the workplace is of so little value, everyone should stand back and watch crimes being committed against them.  I think not.

I feel that these employees are heroes.  They protected the consumers, the employees, and the public at large.  If the store is so “concerned” why not start a training program on how to disarm gunmen, or deal with abusive spouses?  Better yet, why not have those they just fired, teach the program?  They seem to have it under control.

I will no longer be shopping at the store less than a mile from my home.  I will gladly make the drive across town to a competitor, pay higher prices, and embrace the inconvenience of it.  I won’t spend my hard earned dollars at a place where the safety of employees and customers is rewarded with job loss.   I know this isn’t the answer to solve the problem, but for my own peace of mind, it is what I need to do.  Off my soapbox now.  Phew.  Thanks for listening to my rant. :)

I can only hope Phill is right....

I love this movie.  It cracks me up, every time I see it.  Living the day, over and over again is hilarious.  Of course this is a testament to my age and what I loved during my earlier years.

Speaking of Groundhog Day, I am thrilled to note that Punxsutawney Phill didn't see his terrifying shadow, and spring should be just around the corner.  Can you guess why?  The weather here has been interesting at the least. Either we are socked in with an inversion one could choke on, or snow and sleet line the roads.  Of course the past couple of days have been clear and bright.  Notice I didn't say warm?  This morning I woke to the temperature being a balmy -1 degrees outside.  Now, this I would expect in North Dakota, Alaska, and parts of the frozen tundra, but in a desert such as Utah?  Yep, and we were warmer than a lot of other places.

This is not weather I'd like to repeat for the next while.  I can't imagine living this day over and over again, especially due to the frozen extremities (toes) I seem to be sporting.  Terrifying.

Spring is just around the corner.  I am looking forward to those days when birds will nest in my back yard, and the grass perks up from it's wintery slumber.  I can't wait for the daffodils.  Nothing says spring to me than bunches of daffodils trumpeting in the season.

Stay warm!  I plan to snuggle in my bed and hope today doesn't repeat itself tomorrow!

Thanks to Google Images for the picture!

Just Plow Through

The weather has been pretty nice the past few days with the sun shining and skies clear.  That is, until this morning.  After getting to work, it dumped about three to four inches.  I've been watching the grounds crew try to keep up with onslaught, plowing the sidewalks again and again.  I think the walk that passes my by my office window had plows at least seven times this morning.  They are extra diligent today, and I started to think about plowing through.

I live in perpetual state of guilt and stress.  It may be my type-a personality, or genetics.  It could be environmental, or self-inflicted.  Truth be told, it is probably a combination of each of those factors.  Such as my lot in life is, I worry about every little thing, and in the end, make myself guilty and sick over things outside my control.

Case in point: I've wanted to sit down and write the story that keeps running through my head.  I've brainstormed, I've simmered, I've jotted down notes, but nothing seems to take shape.  So, I am mad at myself, because it is a dream, a desire, and a wish.  I have notebooks with scribbles, a blog of entries, but when it comes down to it, nothing substantial.  So, starts the guilt.  I must not want it enough.  If I did, I would just write and get it done.  Then, the other guilt starts.  So, how do I find time, working full time?  Being a lackluster mom on most days, how do I carve some writing time?  After a long day, who wants to write?  I can barely keep my eyes open by 9:30 pm, so over and over the excuses and guilt, and sickness takes over.

Yesterday seemed to be a tipping point for me.  I've been trudging along, trying to keep it together for a lot of those who depend on me.  I knew if I fell apart, I would feel guilty about it later, for causing stress to those I love.  I was feeling alone, unappreciated, and unloved.  Not true in any way shape or form, but when one is in a funk, feelings and reality don't line up very well.  Plowing through was the furthest thing from my mind.

Watching the plows make the various passes across the sidewalks, it was like a light went off in my head.  Why aren't I plowing through, time after time, no matter how much snow accumulates?  It made me feel like a dunce that I need something to hit me over the head to get me to realize that I can do it if I just plow through.

I wrote today.  I got almost 1000 words down.  I'm sure it is crap, but it's a start.  If I just plow through, I will make some progress.  If I just plow through, I can get back to the happy person I should be everyday.  If I just plow through, I may see the cement!

Thanks so Google Images for the photo!

A Bee in my Bonnet

This past week I've had several "bee in my bonnet" episodes.  It started with painting both of the bedrooms my children use.  First, they had to be shoveled out and fumigated.  I don't know how two young children can create so much garbage!  Of course the majority of it was paper.  I think our elementary school has single-handedly killed off a forest with the number of notes that come home.  But, after several days of sleeping in the family room, Abbie and Nigel have finally returned to their bedrooms.  Of course cleaner and better painted than before.  I am thrilled with how the rooms turned out, and both children are excited to have a sense of "owness" that wasn't there before.  I will not make too much of a commentary as to the wall of the bedrooms before.  Everyone has an individual style and I can't judge, but only say it wasn't mine.  I just feel badly about taking so long to get around to doing the job.

"Before" pictures only--will have "after" pictures later.

Next up, my sister-in-law Becky and I had a sewing weekend.  We accomplished quite a bit and completed 7 rag quilts with four more designed and ready to be sewn.  We make a pretty good team as she designs and I sew.  Hopefully she can sell them and we can get more done soon!

Lastly, today I decided it was time to change up the ol' blog.  I tried my hand at designing a header and what-not.  I'm not sure I like it, but thought it was time for a change.  Perhaps it is just a learning experience that will morph into something else in time.

So much has happened over the past few weeks, as we rush to and fro, that time seems to drift between cracks in my sanity.  The next thing I will know, the school year will be done, summer time activities will be in full swing, and I will be wondering where January went.  At least one thing is for certain, I accomplished quite a bit during the month, even if my dishes don't get done!

In which I've been a horrible blogger...

Merry Christmas!  I haven't been much of a blogger of late.  I wish it were due to the fact I'm scribbling away at an amazing manuscript, but I can't say that in the slightest.  It has truly been a lack of motivation on my part, and for that I must apologize.  Perhaps a new resolution in the coming weeks will help?  I doubt it, but one can hope!

We had an amazing and quiet Holiday this year.  Abbie was sick all of Christmas Eve, and with that, we didn't do all of our traditional Christmas observances.  Yes, we did get out our little "Christmas" dishes, but where she wasn't able to keep anything down, only Daniel and Nigel participated.  We did read the Christmas story from Luke 2, as always, but Abbie was in bed by 6:30, so it was a little earlier and quieter than normal.

Luckily the sickness passed and Christmas morning brought smiles, and joy to our household.  Here are some pictures of our day, along with a few from earlier in the week with a family party and Christmas recital.  I post more to Facebook, but this is just a sampling.

As the year winds to a quick close, I am sure we will start pondering New Year's resolutions, (something I hate!) and I vow to write more.  I have a quandary that I have been mulling over, and putting words down may make it the decision for me.  May you and yours have a marvelous continuation of the Holiday season!  All our love to our family and friends!

It's Snowing

It is snowing today, although it did start out as rain.  I think that fall is turning into winter quickly, and I'm not sure I'm ready.  We did get Nige a new coat over the weekend, as he is growing by leaps and bounds.  Just in the nick of time, I'd say.  I've been watching the flakes fall outside my office window, with my space heater cranked up to dry my tootsies.

While we are embarking on the Holiday season of Thanks and Giving, I thought I would share our Halloween memories from this year. Another wet day, but it was fun nonetheless.  My Indy and mad scientist had a blast, until they were too wet to keep going.

Nigel as Indiana Jones

They are getting too big!

All the ratting and spraying of her hair was a chore.  It was awesome for about 20 minutes though.

Abbie and her science experiment and Nige freaking out about a possible explosion.

As we continue in our crazy, out of control life, my days flow into one another, and before I know it, Christmas will have come and gone.  Oh to slow the hands of the clock and enjoy the moments before they are gone forever.

It's Unlawful to Feed Alligators

The best sign of the trip!

There are days when something will spur a memory.  It could be a smell, a sight, an address, a song.  The list goes on and on.  Perhaps it is the sight of a burnished autumn leaf, gently falling to the ground against the brilliant blue of the sky that takes you back to time when piles of leaves beckoned to be jumped in.

It hit me today as I opened a fax at work.  It came from Fort Benning in Georgia and I was suddenly transported back to a trip my family took in September of 2007.  It was the first plane ride for my youngest, and probably the first my daughter will remember.  The air was humid, hot, and we were tired from the red eye.  Something as small as the address on a fax cover sheet had the power to bring back delightful memories and twinges of sadness for me, of a trip we took years ago.

This is Nigel's reaction when the plane started to take off!

Abbie is old hat at this!

There is a certain smell, chemical in nature that hits me occasionally reminding me of time spent in cold concrete houses, space heaters, and thick wool sweaters. The smell comes from propane tanks, and though here, more than a decade later, I rarely smell it in my everyday existence, I will find my memories taking me to a mildewed heaven where I learned more about myself than at any other time in my life.  I will taste ravioli and white sauce, a milenesa breaded to perfection and my soul years for those dear friends I have lost touch with over the years, all because of a smell.

A song from the late ‘80s, early 90’s will strike discord in my heart.  It reminds me of times when choices and associations weren’t always the best and I wonder how I made it through largely unscathed.  Other songs bring with them nights of giggles, shopping cart races, band trips, and newspaper parties.

When Daniel and I married, the reception center was interested in a sensory experience.  Fresh flowers adorned the tables, with lavender and tiny orchids to evoke a scent that would remind those in attendance of our nuptials when those scents wafted to their noses in the months that followed.  I don’t know how well it worked for those well wishers, but for me, I see lavender and I smile.  I want to grow bushes of lavender in my yard because it reminds me of love, or at least the day when I felt as though I could burst with it.

We are a sensory people.  We like to touch, smell, taste, hear.  The sight of freshly fallen snow and the aching quiet that seems to echo along the street are sensations I look forward to ever winter.  The twinkle of Christmas lights against the black night, or orange gourds and autumnal leaves are sure signs of an impending holiday.  Add to that, the scent of freshly baked pumpkin pie, or the steam rising off a batch of rolls, and my stomach starts to grumble at the thought of a Thanksgiving feast to match all my wildest fantasies.

My children take after their father.  They are touchy people, snuggling, kissing, hugging, touching.  They aren’t quite as happy as they could be unless they are touching someone.  Last night, my little guy came into my room, crawled in bed with me and stuck his cold feet on my legs.  When I asked why he wasn’t ensconced in his own bed, I could hear the smile in his voice as he replied, “You’re warmer!”  I became a mommy sandwich for a bit, touched on both sides and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Where would we be without our sensory memories?  I am sure I would forget a few of those friends, or moments in my life if there weren’t something there to job me to a certain place and time.  Perhaps tomorrow, I will see the address of someone who will transport me back to Uruguay, or a candle that will indeed spark the holiday season in my heart.  I can’t wait!

Change and the Bathroom Stall

We are creatures of habit and comfort.  It all began so long ago when your favorite blanket was in the wash and your mother handed you a substitute.  It didnít go over very well.  It wasn't the same, and so you weren't satisfied.  Thus began the path of abhorrence to change.

When I was in college, I had an English instructor that had us do an exercise to purposely change up something in our lives.  She talked about how we would always go to the same bathroom stall in a building, because it was comfortable.  She challenged us to go into a different one to see how we felt.  At the time, it seemed like an exercise in futility, as I had never noticed if I frequented one stall over another in the ancient building.

I don't remember the writing assignment that followed, but for some very odd reason, I remember always using the second stall to the left when I was in that building.  Every. Single. Time.  It was as if, by sheer mention of it, I suddenly became aware of a habit that I didn't know I had.  It was comical, as I tried to use a different stall.  It seemed wrong, almost as if I were cheating on the one that I had used up to that point.

Why all this talk of public restrooms?  Last week at work we had a speaker come for a customer service seminar.  In our discussion, she talked about change and how change can throw us all for a loop, but it is essential to change our perspective of how things really are.  She drove to work once, and didn't remember the drive.  At. All.  Scary to think of it that way!  She was terrified to think of relying on muscle memory to get her to her destination.  She drove home a different way, to change things up, and make herself be aware of her surroundings.  She looked at things with a different perspective.  It brought to mind the public restroom experiment I had participated in while attending college.  Did she feel as though she cheated on her normal route?  Probably at first, but the sheer essence of change of habit caused her to view things around her in a new way.

I thought of this again today, as I walked to the restroom in my building.  I seem to always favor the first stall, though the second one will do if the first one is occupied.  How did I become so complacent?  I think it's time to change things up.  After all, I don't think I've cheated on my bathroom stall for a while.

*Thanks to Google for the image*

A Bit of Spewage (Yes, I do know that really isn't a word!)

spew/spyo͞o/Verb

1. Expel large quantities of (something) rapidly and forcibly.

2. Be poured or forced out in large quantities: "oil spewed out of the damaged tanker". 

(Courtesy of Dictionary.com)

Tonight I am going to spew.  Oh, I'm not sure how large the quantity of words will be, but I'm furiously and rapidly typing on my keyboard.  My poor keys are suffering from the force, and I take a quite moment to apologize.  There is so much going through my head right now, that I want to get it all down, but inevitably, I will have to go to bed, so I will be forced to settle for the ramblings I can put down.

Image from Google

1. Yesterday as I was walking across the parking lot, a kid (there is no other way to describe him) had some pretty harsh music pumping, enough to deaden the eardrums of the next county.  Of course, he has the right to play whatever music he wants, even laden with vulgar and disturbing imagery, not to mention the crude and morally questionable lyrics.  I say, hurray for the right to listen to this trash.  On the other hand, I hold umbrage with having my ears assaulted with such filth.  When did it become okay for the rights of others to infringe of my rights of silence and solace?

2.  Speaking of music, I have a new musical crush.  Daniel and I watched "Dan in Real Life" last weekend.  I was completely enthralled with the movie, but especially the music.  I took a quick trip to Amazon and purchased the soundtrack.  It has been lovely balm to my ears listening to Sondre Lerche.  Give him a try, and while your at it, if you haven't seen the movie, it was a good one.  (That is saying a lot, because I'm not a movie person!)

3. Work has been absolutely chaotic this past week.  Communication nightmares with employees and putting out fires that seem to crop up at every turn.  I've made myself sick with worry and my poor immune system defeated me and I ended up with a cold that won't go away.  Why is it when you can't take time off, you seem to need it the most?

4.  My dear daughter is starting to suffer the effects of pre-teen hormonal tendencies.  Tonight she screamed at me when I asked her to practice.  In fact, her words were, "I'm sorry I'm not perfect!"  Um, isn't that the whole reason we practice?  Because we aren't?  It's a lesson that I hope she is learning, and that I'm teaching in a way she will understand.  We are clashing and at odds as to what is acceptable at school, home, and everywhere in between.  I'm told this stage can come and go quickly, but then again, it can last until she is thirty.  I'm sure I never caused my own mother this much anguish! (Said very sarcastically, because she is thrilled I have a daughter.  Just. Like. Me.)

5.  My house is a total and utter disaster.  I'm not saying this in a, "oops, you caught me with the dishes in the sink!" way, but "Holy cow, what category was that tornado that hit your house?!" kind of way.  We have been on the go for days now, with only scant time for household chores.  Everything has fallen behind.  I am now going to be the mean mom and suck all the fun out of a Saturday to see if we can even come close to making some sense to all the clutter and debris.  It's gross.  I promise.  Don't come by.

Image from Shoe.com

6.  I had a lot of compliments on my shoes today.  I know, that is completely vain and self-absorbed.  To be honest, today I needed it.  When things seem to spiral out of control in my life, I do like to do it in a nice pair of heels.  I found a steal a couple of weeks ago at DSW, a burgundy pair of heels, patent leather.  They are adorable.  Of course, Daniel thinks I'm a bit much, wearing them with a yellow sweater, but hey, it's all about the attitude.

7. I went almost two weeks without talking to my mom.  Yes, horrifying, I know.  With as busy as we all are, it seems as though time slips away before we know it.  She called yesterday and we caught up on everyone's illnesses and gave updates on school for the kids, and so forth.  I realized that I haven't had a play date with my own mom for some time. I think that is next on the agenda after cleaning the house, some quality mom time.  I think I'll bring Ab along for the ride.  I can use some time playing with her as well.  Perhaps we'll go crazy and paint our nails.  Black.  Cool.

Image from Google

8. Last night I spent time basking in the sweet stanzas of a poet in my neighborhood.  She read us a few poems, talked about them, and read some of her own creations.  It was a pleasure and so uplifting.  Even Ab and Nige got into it.  I'm not a poet, but I may have to dabble in it and feel a creative muse take flight.  What is so interesting is that while at work today, I read a couple of poems for a class.  An amazing coincidence?  No, but perhaps a nudge from above to explore a new writing medium and stretch myself a little?  

9.  I truly believe that the Lord puts people in our lives to better us.  Do you have a teacher or a friend that has said something that just touched you in a way that changed you for the better, from that moment on?  Or perhaps a confidante that pulled out your sadness from the depths of your soul and left you feeling lighter, more liberated and ready to face the world?  It is something I've been pondering on.  As I look back on the people who have said or done something that influenced me, I wonder who I would be without them in my life.

10.  Ab is drying her hair in my bathroom right now.  She is singing Taylor Swift songs at the top of her lungs.  It seems like our encounter of an hour ago never took place.  To me she is perfect.  She is one of those who have made me into who I am today.  She made me a mother.  Ah, Love Story.  For some reason, this is one of her favorites.  She is a romantic like me.  I wonder what her dreams and visions will be and where they will take her.  Wow.  What a ride.

Finding the Right Size

Last year I bought a very cute pair of running/walking shoes so I could be better shod in my attempts at physical fitness.  The gray and pink complimented each other and I felt like I was ready for my successful endeavors.  Sad to say, my good intentions did not translate into actual walking and running.  You see, every time I wore the darn shoes, my right foot would go numb.  I tried loosening the laces, but it still happened every single time.

This past Wednesday was the final straw.  Along with the youth group in my church, we walked/ran a 5K for one of our weeknight activities.  The weather was superb.  It was nice and cool, the sun just starting its decent, illuminating the mountains in golden hues.  Everyone was laughing, having a superb time.  I on the other hand, was at the tail end of the pack, hobbling along, in my shoes, with a numb right foot.  I finally gave up at mile 1.5, and headed back to the church to finish up the day.  It was rather upsetting that so many of the ‘kids’ were able to leave me in the dust, even my very own children with shorter legs than I have.

On Saturday, Dan and I went to a running store and I was fit with new shoes.  I had to walk barefoot, so the salesperson could observe my natural gait, and then shoe after shoe was tried, until I have a pair that met my needs.  Apparently, I need a lot of support.  The thing that really shocked me from my experience was the fact I had been wearing the wrong size of running shoes all my life, really, 1 ½ sizes too small.  No wonder my right foot was going numb.

According to the shoe expert, our feet swell and spread when we walk and run.  That really shouldn’t surprise me.  As my feet were expanding whilst on the treadmill, the nerves in my feet didn’t have anywhere to expand, hence the numb feeling.  After being fitted with the appropriate shoe, it was like walking on air.
I went to the gym this morning and walked a quick two miles on the treadmill.  What a difference my equipment made!  It was a drastic difference than my workouts in the past.  It was actually enjoyable as I felt the stability of good support, and it made the ‘chore’ all that more bearable.

Of course I have to draw some sort of analogy to my writing!  I have an amazing husband who supports a wild dream I have to write.  I have people who constantly check in on my progress, and don’t seem to mind when I tell them I am no where closer to a completed story than I was the last time they asked.  I have a lot of support.  Much like my new shoes, I am one who needs a lot of support here.

Now for a stretch, but I am going to try to get it to come together, I hope.  For a long time, I’ve been wearing shoes that were too small for my feet.  Am I doing the same thing to myself in writing?  Is the story I want to tell something that is making me numb because it isn’t coming together the way I’d like?  Or is it that I need to find the right ‘fit’ of my characters in order for writing to be an enjoyable experience?  I’m not sure yet, but I’ll let you know when I find out.  Of course, if my cute husband reads this, I can say I just need better equipment, you know, a new computer….Um, not sure he’d buy that one. :)

Thanks to Google for the image of the Saucony shoe!

My Journey to 20/20

I finally made it!!!  I have been wishing, hoping, and dreaming of the day when I could have LASIK done and would come out with perfect vision.  That day was last Thursday, and as of today, I am still thrilled beyond measure at how things have turned out.  Here is a brief pictorial of my day...Caution, I'm throwing one of the gross eye pics.  Avert your eyes now if you have a queasy stomach!

A terrible picture, but it is the last one with glasses!!  Can you tell I'm nervous?

The nurse washing my eyes with Beta-dyne. She also started the numbing drops then.

All ready for surgery!!!

CAUTION!!  GROSS EYE PICTURE BELOW!

Freaky eye picture!

Right after surgery.  I was 'photo-phobic' and couldn't handle the light at all.  I would have liked to nestle myself in a dark cocoon of blankets and shut all the blinds.

My Stevie Wonder glasses and the nurse that put the plastic eye shields on.  She was super nice even though I was starting to get cranky due to the light sensitivity.

This could have been so much better, if I hadn't been so ornery!  Here I am donating my Vera Wang, bling-ed out glasses. Oh well, I now have the vision, and don't need the posh specs anymore!

My dear sweet Daniel put up with the eye drops every half hour and my crankiness over the light.  One that wore off, I have been in blissful heaven with my vision at almost 20/15!!!  Thanks to the Moran Eye Center and all they did for me!  Dr. Mifflin rocked it and did a fantastic job.  There is a reason he is world renowned!  I can see!  I can see!  I can see!

Country Roots and Urban Dreams

Below you will find my essay, entered into Segullah's essay contest last December.  While I haven't pulled it out to work on since my rejection letter (something I'm still quite proud of by the way), I can see where improvements should have been made.  I left it as is though, because in just a few short weeks, we will begin our pilgrimage again and I wanted to share.  It seemed like the perfect time to post my thoughts about my urban dreams that never seem to quite mesh with those country roots.

About an hour north of my own idyllic neighborhood lies a town time has forgotten. Main street still sports the same facades as were popular in 1950, the street signs faded to a burnished patina of long forgotten maintenance. Here, the clerk at the grocery store knows everyone's name, as well as their parents, siblings and any offspring they may have. She chats about local gossip while ringing up the food and sundries; she is the hub of all things social there. Every year, at the end of August, my small family makes the pilgrimage to our own Mecca, to visit this town and it's attractions for the night. Without fail, we all flock to the place where we all began, cousins and grandparents, sisters and brothers.

Cousins at the County Fair

My children have become accustomed to our yearly tradition, retracing small town roots. As we round a bend in the road, and the cow smell seeps it's way into the air vents of our vehicle, they chorus complaints of the stench, all the while giggling with anticipation, for our destination is just a few miles away. Once there, cousins will converge upon each other and the intricately choreographed dance of the County Fair will begin.

We're not considered locals...although perhaps we could claim it by a grandfather clause, but we act as if we are, wether from expectation or experience. Pulling into the fairgrounds, the dust thick in the air, wafting around us, we find a spot to make a quick exit, knowing how difficult the end of the night will be. Stepping from the car, the dust still lingering in the air, I take a deep breath, and know I have come to a place where my roots began.

My mother grew up in this small town. Her own father, one of the local school teachers in a time where children were bussed from small farming communities to town for school. She and her sisters couldn't wait to leave what could be considered a stifling atmosphere, to see the world from a different perspective. Now, so many years later, she too returns, along with her own children and grandchildren, basking in the joy of small town roots.

Nigel touching the calves

Although early afternoon is the best time to arrive, we know we must reserve a spot as soon as possible for the rodeo. The old blankets, used every year, for this one activity are pulled from the trunks and back seats. Worn denim on the back, with polyester blocks on front, ties with bright red yarn, it is our rodeo quilt, the one to save our spot on the aluminum bleachers. The grandstand hums with activity as we spread out the blankets, adding an extra few feet, because another family member is bound to show up and need a seat. The routine has been played out by many generations now, and we follow blindly, doing the same, year after year, but it never grows old.

I didn't grow up in a small town. I was more urban than rural. I didn't thin the beets for my summer job, nor did I walk to the five and dime store as my mother did. My youth consisted of trips to the mall for school clothes, close neighbor friends with whom I spent lazy summer days. I could walk to the library, a few blocks away, and never had to milk a cow for chores. My upbringing didn't consist of 4-H meetings, yet I still feel as though I belong in this small town. It is where many of my ancestors chose to settle, farm, raise families.

The Rodeo Burger

We continue our choreography of dance across the fairway. Each step I take, puffs of dust surround my shoes, coating them a light brown. In and out of aisles, between carnival rides, holding the hand of own daughter, we make our way to the spot I yearn for throughout the year. Fresh hamburgers, garden tomatoes, onions, pickles, the works. A rodeo burger. Wrapped in white paper, I handle the hamburgers with reverence as we walk to the galvanized steel tables where fresh-from-the-field tomatoes are sliced thick and juicy. A bucket of pickles and fresh onions, laid out in old Tupperware, hold spoons and forks for anyone to use. The sneeze guard is splattered with mustard and ketchup, and flies spin around our heads. It is heaven, as we observe the standard rituals of those that came before me.

I remember being a small child and loading my own hamburger with pickles, my grandfather watching me. Now my father watches my own children, helping them as their arms aren't quite long enough to reach their condiments. The cycle of roots is perpetuated again, as I will do the same in years to come.

Weston and his ribbon

The tempo increases as we breeze through the exhibit halls. Vendors, tout their wares, some homemade; the local funeral parlor offering a drawing for a free casket, the fire department and it's taffy. We make our way with the hordes of others, to get a glimpse of a blue ribbon painting, the rows and rows of bottled fruit and preserves, each with a paper placard noting the flavor, town, and name of the entrant. Best in show, a huge white ribbon sits pinned to a crocheted afghan, multicolored and perfect in every way. 4-H displays are scrutinized and fingered, cousins show off ribbons. I breath a sigh of contentment and feel at home here, wishing I had something to enter, a ribbon of my own. Then I remind myself of my own dreams, and realize a ribbon is a small price to pay for seeing both worlds.

Poking the goat

My own little ones lament their own lack of ribbons on pigs, bunnies, and little lambs. I try to explain that our dreams are different than what life here would bring us. It does little to console them, but they scamper off to poke the goat with straw and listen to the clucking sounds of the chickens. I watch from a short distance and grow nostalgic, my children are growing up away from the innocence of this place.

As evening approaches, and all the stalls have been visited, each child is given a ticket or two for the coveted carnival ride. Around and around on the merry-go-round, the joints creaking as it makes the turns. For some reason it is the best in the world, with it's chipped paint and tacky horses. Each child races along on their very own steed, swearing to beat the others to the finish line.

We hear the announcer in the distance, starting to warm up for the rodeo. Sticky hands, rosy cheeks, cotton candy rimmed mouths walk towards the voice, kicking up dust behind. I hold the hand of my husband, who fell into this tradition by nature of marriage, just like my own father did, and we smile, knowing we are making memories to last a lifetime.

The calves are roped, wrestled. The little ones have ridden their way to fame and fortune on the back of a wooly sheep. We have screamed until we have no voice as we watched the cowboy, with only a gloved hand, keep himself atop of a bucking bull. Noses are cold, from the cool summer night air, as we make our way, sleeping children on our shoulders, to our car. Making our getaway until next summer, we wait in the long line of cars, leaving behind the dusty fields. The taillights seem to leave a trail, away from my country roots, toward my urban dreams.