Oh SNAP!

 If you've ever driven through a small, southern town on a Sunday afternoon, you've probably noticed a porch full of people- families gathered together after church.  Grandchildren are running around, parents are sipping sweet tea, and the youngest is always perched on the lap of the oldest in attendance.  The south is notorious for Sunday gatherings, though I'm sure they're not the only ones.



My grandmother, southern and modest, having her leg shown
after my Papa pulled up her skirt.

In our family, Sundays were always spent at my grandparents' home, either swimming in their pool during the spring and summer months or fighting for the corner spot on the couch in front of the fireplace the rest of the year.  There was always sweet tea, brownies, and chocolate candy despite the fact my grandfather is diabetic.  It was the comfort of being with family, the ease in which we came and went, and the release of stress that occurred when you walked in the door that I cherished most.  The memories are etched in my mind I just wish I had some to hold.


My grandfather, not really a fan of cameras, is hardly in any of the pictures I do have.  Now that I am 2,000+ miles from home and my grandmother has passed, I wish I had more.  Which brings me to the reason I'm writing today:  take pictures.



Like my grandfather, I also hated being in pictures (though I was always about snapping them).  I never like my outfits, hair... basically, I never liked the way I looked.  And so, I always found a reason to leave the room when a camera was around or turn my head right as a picture was being snapped.  That is, until I realized that life is not forever. 

Some time after my grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's (which you can read about here), I realized how important these family relics were.  I made my plea as we gathered for holidays and my grandpa, finally understanding, smiled for at least a few.  By the time we were married, my grandmother barely knew who I was.  I never got a picture of us together with her in my wedding gown (something I will regret forever), but rushed home after our honeymoon to take one in their yard.  Her hair was ruffled, her makeup missing, and her clothes mismatched.  She would've died if she knew what she had looked like-  to me it is one of my most cherished pictures.  She is real and that picture gives me a look in to what I hope will one day be our future-  standing with our grandchildren after they're married. 



With my grandparents celebrating our first week of marriage. 

So now, I beg you, take pictures.  Lots of them. And then... BE IN THEM!  You may not like the way you look, the awkward face you've made, or the lack of perfect hair and make-up.  But, the person taking it loves you the way you are.  And one day, they will be all that's left.  Have them taken by friends, family, and finally- professionally!  One day, you will be happy you did!

 



A Mom Knows Best

I have always given. It normally wasn't much, but it was something. It started when I was young. The picture in my mind is as clear as a photograph.

"Hand me my wallet", my mom said softly as we approached a stop sign off an exit somewhere in Pennsylvania. We had just visited my grandparents and we were making the six hour trip back home. We were tired, we were cranky, and we were hungry. No one really made a move for mom's purse. Again she asked, but this time with a little more demand in her voice. My dad argued and in the end he finally said no. (What my sister and I didn't know was that they weren't arguing over who was going to pay for dinner.)

We approached the stop sign and my mom whipped around, grabbed her purse, and proceeded to grab a handful of cash. She rolled her window down and she handed it to the man with the sign.

I studied the guy; average height and weight, scruffy beard, tired brown eyes. He wore a hat that at some point was probably white and a grey t-shirt. He blessed my mom and we were off.

As we pulled away my parents continued their argument. It was the argument that as I got older I also faced within myself. Can you trust that he's really homeless? Is he going to use the money for good or evil? Why should I help him, what has he done to help himself?

My mom's answer was simple: You don't know. As we ate our McDonald's, mom explained that you don't know how people will use what you give them but you pray that it is for good.

My mom has continued with just that. She is always helping others and donates when she can. She reminds us that it wasn't too long ago when we were also at a point in our lives where we had to reach out and ask for help. And people, not knowing us, gave. Now that we're older and have been blessed with more than enough, she believes in giving as much as she can. And, I do too.

We are our parents, the good and the bad. Luckily, I think I took away far more good from my parents then the bad. So, when people stop to thank me for what I do, I need to also stop and thank my parents. You taught me well. Everything I do is because of you. Thank you!

Dress for Success

 

 

In southern California, anything goes- especially with clothing.  Growing up below the Mason-Dixon line where pearls with polos were always in style and ripped jeans were left for lounging in the home or helping on the farm, I've found myself gawking at nearly every woman that passes me in the grocery store.  These grown, (and I'd like to think educated), women are prancing around in skirts that wouldn't fit most ten year-olds while falling out of their too tiny tops and wobbling on heels that should only be worn in the bedroom or at your local strip joint.  But, that's not all...  they wear these things to work.  Forever 21?  C'mon, who are you kidding with all those wrinkles?!

Now, I'm far from fashionable in my simple jeans, button ups, and pearls and so I understand I don't have much room to talk.  However, I remain true to southern form and keep modestly covered.  I realize that my wardrobe could use a little help and so could three quarters of those lovely locals still wearing their clothes from elementary school which is why I was thrilled when one of our town's best dressed began blogging about southern fashion with a twist.  Written for those that want to add a bit of trend and personal touch to their professional wardrobe, she covers topics from interview attire to the corporate Christmas party.  My personal favorite are her posts on casual Fridays - as we all know in SoCal that's every day.  And she does it with style!

 

So ladies of southern California, I urge beg you to take a moment, browse her posts, and trade the trash for class.  And please... you do NOT need Uggs when it's 60 degrees and you're wearing shorts and a tank top. 

Our First Friendsgiving: A Beautiful Mess

Most of my Thanksgivings have been spent hovering over my dad’s shoulder, “sampling” a bit of everything as it came out of the oven.  (Un)traditionally, he’d prepare seafood in our coastal Carolina vacation home, my mother and sister would watch football, and I’d create whimsical floral centerpieces.  Having celebrated a more traditional Thanksgiving the weekend before with extended family, we’d all welcome the change in scenery, warmer temperatures, and alternative menu.  In our home, this was our tradition and one we looked forward to each year. 

But, times have changed as they always do.  With us in our first holiday season as a married couple and living more than 2,000 miles from where we grew up, we decided to start our own traditions.  Though my husband and I enjoy our time together, the thought of Thanksgiving with just us two, seemed less than ideal, especially since I do not eat leftovers.   As friends began making plans, we decided to offer our home as the backdrop to what would be our first annual Friendsgiving. 

As our friends gathered during the course of the day, I occasionally found myself stepping back and absorbing the laughter that filled our home, the friendly rivalry being exchanged, and the smells of our sides blending together.  After filling our bellies with food inspired by our childhoods and washing it down with wine and whiskey, we crowded on our couches and watched “A Christmas Vacation”.  Some dozed off, others gravitated to the table for a second snack or to begin wrapping up what was left in boxes for later.  With the ending of the movie, came an end to the evening.  While standing in our kitchen, putting the last of the food away, I smiled.  Our first Friendsgiving was a success by the beautiful mess we’d have to clean in the morning.  And in the south, a happy home is one filled with family and at least this family we got to choose.

Jingle Bells and RINGS!

Photo taken by Bethany of BethanyBelle Photography

 

The holidays are upon us which means one thing- ENGAGEMENTS!  And with engagements comes doe-eyed brides suddenly tasked with planning an event of such grand proportions that they find themselves asking, “What did I DO?”  And then…  they start pinning.

 

It wasn’t long ago that my love, down on one knee, asked me to share in his life.  The ring went on, calls were made, and I gleefully began planning.  All conversations transitioned to talks of linens, flowers, and cake.  I planned, (for over a year), drove my mom and friends crazy and nearly lost my mind over which shade of white the men’s shirts should be.  (Yes, there are various shades of white!)  Then the day came, the tornado warnings were announced, our photographer went to the wrong wedding, and our coordinator was nowhere to be found… and we were married.

 It’s been almost two years since we said, “I do” and he exclaimed “Gotcha!” I’ve had plenty of time to reflect on the months of planning that went in to that stormy day and here’s what I learned:

 At the end of the day, you are married before God, family, and friends.

And that is the only detail of the day that matters.

 

I know I can't keep you from planning, pinning, or dreaming, but I hope that as the stress builds and the temptation to lose your temper rises you will remember that.  May you be blessed with years of happiness, loves. 

 

Making Strides

The rain had come in the night before, leaving the ground with puddles; an unusual sight in southern California.  The air was crisp, the streets quiet, and the sun still waiting to rise offered a peaceful beginning to a Sunday morning.  I stood for a moment taking in the white tents and the people scurrying about with flashlights making last minute preparations.  Soon, the park would be painted pink as 25,000 people gathered to walk in honor of those they’ve lost and give hope to the ones still battling.  For some, they would walk for both. 

My team would soon be arriving with bellies full and loaded with caffeine, compliments of the P Family.  It made me grin, thinking of the accomplishments we had made as a team as I checked my phone one last time for our total.  With 12 members on our team, we had raised over $1,400; a significant donation in the fight against breast cancer. 

With blue ribbons, it was easy to spot our team taking cover under a tree as the rain began again.  With husbands, dogs, and tykes in tow, I tried not to cry.  Today was personal.  We were gathered as friends, new and old, to fight something each of us had been touched by in one way or another.  As they marched off to the starting line, I lingered for a moment.  I watched K’s son, bobbing on his dad’s shoulders, and I imagined him at my age and a world with no more breast cancer.  Crazy?  Perhaps.  Hopeful?  Absolutely. 

*This year I made a personal choice to fight breast cancer- for my family, my friends, and for my future.  This event would be the first of two I would participate in with the hope of bringing awareness to the community and raising funds for a cure.  I will be writing a piece on the second part of my journey at a later date.

Flying High

My husband is sweeter than honey - truly.  Each day my life with him is a blessing.  Most girls grow up imagining a life in which they marry their prince charming, few are so lucky.  Of those few, even fewer continue to find themselves being “swept off their feet”.   Since 2008, he’s done just that.  Recently, he literally swept me off my feet and had me “floating” on air.

  

Since arriving in southern California, I’ve made more than one comment on the hot air balloons I see taking off and how wonderful it would be to see both the coast and mountains from the sky at sunset.  We’d chat about it for a minute or two, but I never gave it another thought.  To me, it was like saying I wanted to visit Maine or own an Audi convertible.  Something I would like to do, but never expect to do.  My husband, always wanting to share new experiences with me, tucked my comments away.

Slightly excited about taking off!

Earlier this fall, he surprised me with an afternoon ride up the coast.  We arrived at a small store where I quickly learned we would be taking off after a champagne toast for a tour over the horse farms and orchards of SoCal.  It was an experience of a lifetime; one that will never be forgotten.

As we drifted over southern California’s coastline, I thought about how lucky I was to have him.  I looked at our life and thought… some people really do live happily ever after. 

I've got a bucket, but no list...

Bucket lists are popping up everywhere these days. They're hanging on refrigerators, stuffed in purses, and checked off on blogs. It seems as though everyone has one and if they don't, they've at least considered it. But why?

I started thinking about bucket lists, what they mean and the value they hold, and I couldn't help but wonder if we're so consumed in the ending that we forget to live. Perhaps that's why the bucket list fascinates so many people; knowing the end will eventually come, you prepare by making expansive lists of things you'd like to do, places you'd like to see.

Perhaps it's just me, but lists make me cringe. (Maybe because I'm thinking of the one hanging on my fridge at the moment, detailing everything I must do before this house can be placed on the market.) They're like this evil force, staring me in the face, begging to be marked off and completed. When I think about my dying days, the last thing I'd want to think of is my incomplete list or the far-fetched, lofty ideas I never had a chance to chase. (That trip to Greece, probably never happening.)

So, instead of a bucket list, I'm contemplating just a bucket (and a few sticky notes). As I complete various tasks, visit different places, and enjoy new experiences, I could drop a sticky note in the bucket. At the end, at best, it would be full of things I probably never imagined doing (fixing my leaking toilet on my own -YES!). I could continue to live and as unexpected opportunities take place, log them, and then drop them in the bucket. There's no limitations and no scary list daring me to complete it.

Yes, I think I'll take that bucket... and that sticky note. I just made homemade key lime pie ice cream. Who saw that coming?

Pity Party Parking Only

Today, I felt sorry for myself.  It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, my husband knows the only thing that will pick me up is ice cream, a chick flick, an old hoodie and one of his “come here, sweetheart” hugs.  Luckily, when he came home and saw me in my hoodie, he already knew.  True to form, he came over for one of his amazing hugs, offered to pick up some froyo, and let me continue watching “Say Yes to the Dress”.  After hours at a dealership, finding an issue unresolved, and being overcharged, I was exhausted and decided a “woe is me” attitude was more than fitting for the evening. I hunkered down on the couch, found a chick flick, and suggested he find a buddy or two to have a beer with.  He definitely did not complain.

Tonight’s movie choice- Mrs. Doubtfire.  Actually, it wasn’t much of a choice since it was the only one on tv tonight and it certainly wasn’t the pick-me-up I was hoping for this evening.  It brought up some pretty painful memories and a few tears.  This movie (if I’m not showing my age by now) was first released when I was just a little girl.  I remember seeing it at the drive-in with my sister and father during a summer she and I spent with him in Pennsylvania.  I watched the movie that night lying on one of my grandmother’s quilts, fighting back tears, wondering if my own father ever felt like “Mrs. Doubtfire”; wanting to take back the mistakes he made and whether he’d go as far as “Mrs. Doubtfire” to spend time with us.  Would my dad ever take ownership for his actions, work to repair a broken relationship, and yet always keep us at the center of his life?  I spent that summer and many others, wondering if he’d ever become our own Mrs. Doubtfire.

(The pity party is picking up…)

Shortly after one of the most heart wrenching scenes, I decided to change the channel.  My life, though often like a movie, is not one.  As quickly as I turned off the tv, I changed my attitude.  I can turn on the pity party. I mean, I can really turn it on, but I can also turn it off.  No one decides my attitude other than myself.  So, I can choose to be upset over events I truly have no control over or I can put on my big girl pants, pick myself up off the couch, and realize that my life really isn’t all that bad.  In fact, it’s spectacular.

I sat for hours at a dealership because I am fortunate enough to have my own car.  I was overcharged, but had the means in which to pay the unforeseen bill.  Was I happy about either? Of course not.  But was it really worth an entire evening of pitying myself and missing an evening with my love?  Absolutely not. 

This pity party has officially ended.  Besides, I've run out of ice cream.

Boo, October is Over!

Did you catch Target’s attempt to have us all bypass Halloween and jump straight in to Christmas? I’ll admit it; I have never truly enjoyed Halloween and found the idea tempting to say the least.  I consider digging out the inner guts of a pumpkin to be less than pleasing, dressing up to be exhausting, and the continuous ringing of the doorbell annoying.  Don’t even get me started on pumpkin spice, pumpkin pie, or pumpkin lattes.  I am the official Grinch of Halloween.  That is until I stumbled upon the TomKat studio’s post about Halloween, which spoke to my inner Christmas child. 

My favorite part of Christmas is giving.  And so, when I read Kim’s post on being booed, I knew I could begin looking at Halloween with a heart now three sizes bigger.    I immediately went to work on my own boo projects.

After returning to Target (ironically), I scavenged the dollar section and found these cute pumpkins, whoopee cushions, candy, miniature pumpkins, and a decorating kit.  After putting them together, I printed Kim’s free Boo Printables, and then dropped them off at two unsuspecting neighbors’ homes. Sadly and surprisingly, it didn’t catch on.  Frustrated, I returned to Target, created two more baskets and booed my co-workers.  This caught like wildfire in a rainless summer.  Every morning I walked in to work, heard the office buzzing about the recent “booing” and silently snickered as they tried to pin the person who started it all.  I loved every minute.

So, now that November’s here and Christmas is quickly approaching, I’m definitely in the holiday spirit!  I'll never look at October the same.  Maybe next year, you’ll be booed or start it yourself!



He never asked to move mountains...

          The leaves have turned brilliant shades of orange and yellow, reminding us that fall is here.  The darkness comes earlier and mornings are filled with crisp air.  Summer is gone.  The town, painted orange each weekend, is alive again with fans cheering for their local college- UT.  Soon the first snowflakes will drift to the ground, fires will be burned, and families will gather for the holidays.  Life in Knoxville seems as it always has, months steadily passing.

          But for one family, they stand still as the world outside whirls around them, seasons blurring, and time passing too quickly for them to keep up.  For them, the world stopped in August, the day they heard the words no parents ever want to hear.  Their son, Patrick, was diagnosed with Rhabdomyosarcoma, a rare form of cancer.  It was a moment in time, but one that will never be forgotten; a reminder that our lives are not our own. 

Psalm 34:18 - The Lord is near to the brokenhearted, And saves those who are crushed in spirit.

          Seventeen.  That’s the age in which my cousin was diagnosed with cancer.  A senior in high school, his concerns were no longer about what he would do after the year was over, entertaining thoughts of prom, or avoiding the cops at the Friday night parties after the football games, but instead centered on treatments and blood counts.  His life had changed, but Patrick remained the same.  

“Every day another child, another family, another community is affected by cancer.”

-Anonymous

 

          In the south, God is the biggest part of our life.  So, it didn’t surprise me to see a prayer group forming shortly after his diagnosis.  Planned for an afternoon in the local park, an invitation was sent to prayer warriors across his town.  Still under the weather, Patrick was unable to attend.  I waited impatiently by my computer, refreshing his Facebook page, hoping to catch a glimpse of those coming together to pray for him.  What surprised me was the volume of people as pictures began posting.  His sister, Jessica, wrote of the people who didn’t even know him in attendance and the prayers that were being offered.  Prayers that in time, would make a positive difference throughout his journey. 

“The most wasted of all days is one without laughter.”

-e.e. Cummings

 

          Since August, his sister and mother have both been keeping Facebook pages- highlighting improvements and asking for prayers when needed.  I’ve enjoyed reading comments from family and friends and those I’ve never met and probably never will.  I especially enjoyed this post by his mom:

 

Today has been a better day, Praise God! He had a waffle, another grilled cheese, and then ate 2 pcs of thin crust cheese pizza. Teenagers!

I laughed until I cried when I saw this message and then later a picture of him with a fake mustache.  My husband, unsure of what to say or do, just put his arm around me.  It was the first time since I had heard the news that I had considered that he was a teenager.  I had made comments before, “look at the people you’re bringing to God” and “even my atheist friend said she prayed last night”, but suddenly those comments seemed small and insignificant.  Yes, in the south we are about God, but we are also about people.  And his mother’s comment about teenagers, reminded me that though God is moving mountains through Patrick, the only thing he wants, is to be rid of cancer; to be a teenager. 

          And so, Patrick fights not just the cancer, but the everyday battles of being a teenager.  He argues with his parents, steals kisses from his girlfriend, and finds time to be goofy.  He still dreams as big as he ever has, flirts with the nurses, and makes plans for the future.  He eats greasy pizza, shoots guns with the guys, and drives his car fast.  He doesn’t complain, though he has reason to, but instead remains his sweet, southern self. 

Everyone has their inspiration, mine just fights cancer.

          So, Patrick, I write this for you.  Thank you for reminding me that a dirty house isn’t the end of the world, though I almost always tend to think so; for kick-starting my mornings, as my work is more personal because of you; for sharing your stories however hard they may be, inspiring me to be more; and for just being you, reminding me that in this world that’s all we ever need to be.  I pray for your health, your hope, and your faith.  But mostly, I just pray for you.  We love you!

Patrick's High School shows their support.

Inspire me, Monday

While interviewing for a new job (and possible new career path), I was asked to think about three words that I would use to describe myself.  Certainly, I had done my background research and considered answering with the specific words that would surely secure a position within the company.  I wanted this job.  I needed this job.  I asked for a moment to reflect on the question and in that time several things went through my head.

1- A job does not define who we are, though we tend to think this is true.  It's amazing that after being out of a job for only three months how lost I had felt.  I had associated who I was as a person to my job, losing my identity as I let go of the classroom and packed my bags for the west coast.  The problem is, I hadn't lost who I was. (Hold on and I'll get to that point).
2- I can not be defined by three words. 

As a teacher, I knew to answer the question as it was given.  So, I tossed out three words, three strong words that did infact describe me.  But, I also added something else.

I asked the ladies to entertain the idea that perhaps I could best describe myself through actions, not words.  Looking slightly confused, but intrigued, I continued.  I first began with the story of a cold Christmas in which I had returned with hot cocoa and warm socks for the outdoor cashier at a Home Depot.  I told them of the wine and trash magazines I wrapped up for my neighbor, knowing her husband wouldn't be home for Valentine's Day and I spoke of the funeral I attended for a former student's mother and how upon my arrival, she asked me to sit beside her and hold her hand through the entire thing.  I shared who I was, not what three words boxed me in as.  I shared that who I am is only best described through the things that I do for others, the things I do for myself. 

When I left that interview, I knew I had probably blown my chance.  But, I left knowing, for the first time, that I didn't have to be a teacher anymore.  I just needed to be me.  It was never about the books or the lessons, it was about making a difference.  And I did that- before teaching and well after.  It was always in me and always will be.

So, when people ask me what I do when gathered at my husband's work functions or my charity organization meetings, I'm going to start responding with: "I make a difference".  And I hope, one day, it will inspire others to do the same. 

Oh, sweetie... you went there!

“I volunteer with … to make a positive impact on children without having them.”

The words sliced through the large room, cutting the whispers and side comments being tossed between members of our league.  A smile registered on my face as the sound of applause from various areas began to echo my reaction.  The question was simple, “Why are you a part of this organization?” but returned an answer that few had probably considered; one that for some of us, is true.

 

 

I don’t hide my age (or my wrinkles), but instead wear each year proudly, knowing how blessed I’ve been.  I suppose that’s why those around me have started to ask the ever so popular (and personal) question – When are you having a baby?  I’ve fielded questions and avoided discussions about having children.  In the south, this forward attitude would be considered impolite and rude, but in southern California I’m quickly learning that “anything goes”.  

Yes, roll your eyes if you must, but it’s true.  While I believe your intentions may be sincere (bless your heart), your questions can be painful to answer.  I’ve watched those that have been unable to conceive, even after seeking professional help from a fertility specialist, squirm uncomfortably as they try to give a response while not breaking down in tears.  Others, with no desire to have children, are left feeling like an outcast, as the inquisitive person follows up with wanting to know why further implying they have the right to know. 

I write this while watching my husband out back, swinging his new golf toy, and taking out weeds as he goes.  I consider our life with children, running after them barefooted before they eat the weeds or trample our flowers.  I imagine them with his green eyes and my blonde hair, pudgy legs and dimpled smiles.  I picture a family of four taking on the world.  His next swing brings me back to reality, visions of children are gone, and I’m left watching just my husband.  Unaware that I’m stalking watching him, he continues taking swings and I smile considering how blessed I am.  We are happy.  We are in love.  We are blessed.  We ARE a family.  Though a life with children would be rewarding, so is life without children.

Want to inspire a young person?  Teach or volunteer to coach.   Have an abundance of experience to share?  Mentor a child.  Exceptional baker or Pinterest pinner?  Become a classroom “parent”.  Family and holiday traditions that you’d like to continue?  Be a Big Brother/Big Sister.  You, too, can make a difference in the life of a child without having one yourself.  The possibilities are endless.

So, before you ask others whether they will be starting a family, for most of us, we already feel as though we are. 

Wordless Wednesday

It is not often that I am without something to say, but tonight I'm going to let the pictures do the talking for me.  This is my heaven on earth.  My sanctuary.  My peace.



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All pictures belong to me and can not be copied.

Setting Sun

A setting sun still whispers a promise for tomorrow.

-Jeb Dickerson

 

 

 

 

 

Thirsty Thursday with a Twist

There are few things in life as satisfying as the sugary sweet tea served in the south.  But friendships, I’ve found, are one of them.  With boxes just barely making it off the moving truck, my doorbell rang, interrupting my “woe is me” moment.  Standing before me with a bottle of champagne and two champagne flutes for toasting, a Louisiana lovely welcomed me to the neighborhood.   We spent the evening amongst half-opened boxes, pouring out the champagne and our hearts, creating a friendship that would stretch just down the street and later a few thousand miles away.  Appreciated for her sweet tea and exquisite cooking and loved for her generous hospitality and open faith, I find myself wondering what new neighbor is currently considering themselves blessed.  (And if they’ve met her husband, it’s likely they’re feeling doubly blessed.)  Tonight, I send my toast to the other coast, counting my blessings and the days until we meet again. 

Picture and Recipe "Borrowed" from Louisiana Lovely

 

 

Watermelon-Lime Cocktails

1 seedless watermelon

2 limes
1 teaspoon honey/agave
¼ cup of water

In a blender, purée watermelon. Strain through a fine-mesh sieve into a pitcher. Add water, lime juice, sugar and stir until sugar is dissolved. Chill.

Serve as is with ice, or spiked with rum or tequila. Garnish glasses with lime slices. Sip and repeat.  Best if shared with friends.  J

Frozen Yogurt and a Good Laugh

 

By golly, it’s hotter than hog’s breath in the middle of July and considering it is now October, I’m just not happy about it.  To make matters worse, we don’t have air conditioning.  Southern California has much to offer, but a nicely cooled home isn’t one of them- at least not if you’re within a bike ride or casual stroll to the shore.  Just to bring my core temperature down, I had to indulge in a trip to my favorite frozen yogurt shop for dinner.  (The thought of turning on an oven still makes me sweat.)  And because I knew my neighbors would also be in need of salvation, I dragged them with me.  We updated one another on the latest happenings in our lives, planned for the upcoming holidays, and vowed to do it more often.  We come from different walks of life, each of us having taken a different course, and somehow amidst all that God does in this world, He still found time to bring us together.  Last night we might have just taken on the heat (and won!), but it’s a start.  Who knows what we’ll take on next?

Conventional wisdom says...

"Conventional wisdom says that your 30th birthday is a milestone.  I don't believe this is true.  Every birthday is a milestone.  Each year brings growth, heartache, joy and wisdom.  Believe me, though, when I say the gathering of years go faster and faster.  Don't try to cram too much into each day, or even week.  Most things turn out to be pretty insignificant in the grand scheme of things.  Love your husband, love your family and friends, love your faith and love your country.  These things are what life is intended to be."

 

Love,

Mom

 

 

Last month I celebrated my 30th birthday.  Whew, just saying the number makes me squeal... with delight!  Yes, despite what most people might think, I am thrilled to have reached such a "milestone" in my life.  And, my mother is right.  The years have passed quickly, gaining momentum with each tear, laugh, moment, event, and holiday.  And though the years have started to blur, I hope to never forget these few simple truths I've learned about myself and life.



1- Anyone can make a difference in the life of another.   Be the positive difference.  One day it might just change the world.  Okay, maybe not the whole world, but their world.

2- God provides the things I need; I just have to ask.  In other words, it's okay to admit I can't do life alone.

3- My mom was right... about a lot of things, but mostly that the word "hate" is quite possibly the filthiest word in the English language.  And hearing children say it, makes me cringe.

4- I dance to my own music.  A father-daughter dance doesn't require outdated music, awkward swaying, or excessive tears.  And yes, "Sweet Child o' Mine" by Guns n Roses is absolutely acceptable at a wedding.  Thanks, Dad.

5- Change is inevitable, though not always welcomed.  Some changes are small, creeping up on us and happening before we even realize they've taken place.  Others hit us all at once making us question the foundation on which we stand.  Regardless of the size of impact, change is hard.  We accept what we can and adapt when we can't. 

6-  Know when to end... a fight, a project, an adventure, a friendship.  Actually, this even applies to relationships.  When the excitement is over and you feel exhaustion setting in, pull the plug and call it done!

7- Live fearlessly or at least try.   That means not simply existing from moment to moment, drifting wherever life takes me, but choosing my moments, driving my time, taking some risks, having more fun.

8- Take a leap of faith.  Shortly after we married, I found myself faced with the decision of leaving my career.  The thought of breaking the news to a class of 24 children nearly broke me, but I had made a choice based on faith (and the love of my extremely supportive husband).  Taking a leap requires doing what you think you can't and then never looking back once you jump.  Unless of course, you're taking a peek to see how far you've come.

9-  Glance back at life, but don't stare.  We often hear we should never look back and though I can appreciate one's concern with spending too much time in the past, I believe it's okay to take a glance from time to time. 

10- Be thankful.  “What if you gave someone a gift, and they neglected to thank you for it – would you be likely to give them another? Life is the same way. In order to attract more of the blessings that life has to offer, you must truly appreciate what you already have.” -Ralph Marston  Yup, that pretty much says it all. 

11- Understand that dreams change.  When I was little, I wanted to play professional baseball (for the Yankees).  Shortly after, I realized I lacked what it took to ever become a professional athlete, never mind the fact I was female (Shocker!).  Instead of dismissing my dream, I changed it. I vowed to one day visit Yankee Stadium.  Little did I know, God was already working on making my dreams a reality (no matter how much they had changed throughout the years) and in the summer of 2010, I not only visited, but I was invited to sit in the dugout.  Dreams do come true, just not always in their original forms.

 

12- Never lose your childlike innocence.  All those things that used to make you happy as a kid?  Well, guess what-  they still can!

 



13- Just be you.  Often times I find myself wondering why I don't walk in designer heels, have perfectly pressed blouses from high-end stores, or reach for my check book in my larger than life designer purse with a label the size of Texas which can be recognized a mile away.  But then, I remember that I tend to topple in heels, regardless of the designer, pressed blouses always hang awkwardly, and I can barely find my car keys in my small clutch leading me to believe I'd never find them in a Mary Poppins purse.  My hair's not perfect and my make-up is far from flawless, but I can wear the heck out of some worn-out jeans and cowboy boots!  And you know what?  Those gals with all that glam love me regardless.  My point is... in a world that works so hard to make you just like everyone else... JUST BE YOU!  No one else is more perfect for the job!





Some things never change...

In the south, the only thing that comes before family is God.



For the past several years I have had the pleasure of spending nearly every weekend with my grandparents.  What started as weekly trips to take a dip in their pool, turned in to a lasting tradition where more times than not, I never jumped off the diving board or even dipped my toes in the water.  My time was spent in the living room, curled up on the couch, with my head in my Grandmother's lap while Papa talked of his good deals at Costco, his friends up at the gym, or the neighbor's dog (who also thought he belonged to my grandparents).  Most stories I heard more than once, but remembering my manners, I always asked questions and laughed when I should, never letting on I had heard it before. 

As I entered in to my late 20s, I wondered how many others were as lucky as I; a grandmother who spoke as if I could do no wrong and a Papa who always had brownies or Hershey kisses, a place where I could be carefree and for a few hours each week, forget the world that raised hell around me and instead soak up laughter and love.

 As my grandmother became less and less aware of others, our conversations moved to the sitting room where the sun would spill over her shoulders and cast an angelic glow.  Sinatra would be playing on the record machine and my grandpa would sing what he remembered and hum what he didn't.  Most often, my grandmother would not say anything, but sing, she would.  Her voice, as sweet as honey, nearly brought me to tears every time. 

When she no longer remembered the words to her favorite artists and later when she had trouble piecing together sentences, I'd visit her in her bedroom.  Our conversations were mostly one-sided, but holding my hand, I could hear everything she wasn't saying.  I'd spend the remainder of my time in the living room with my Papa, trying to avoid what we both knew was ahead of us, and instead  recall times that made us both laugh.  Our hugs got stronger and lasted longer as the days began to turn colder. 

In January my Sundays came to an end.  I kissed my grandmother on her forehead and fought back the tears, knowing it would be the last time I saw her.  She smiled and kissed my cheek, something she hadn't done in months.  I breathed her in, trying to remember everything about the moment.  No longer able to keep my composure, I crawled in to bed beside her, and lifted her head to my lap.  I played with her hair like she had done so many times before, told her how beautiful she was, and shakily sang my favorite song.  When it was time for me to go, I thanked her for being the Grandmother every child should have and walked towards the door.  My Papa met me in the hall with a hug, tears streaming down his face, and we exchanged heavy sighs as we both let the impact of the moment hit us. 


A few weeks later, my mother called to tell me what I already knew.  My grandmother, after fighting for the better part of the year, had lost her final battle with Alzheimer's.  She slipped away early in the morning, wrapped in my Papa's arms.  I imagine him, softly stroking her hair, whispering in her ear, and holding on to those final moments.  How sweet her last breaths must have been.  On the flight back to California, I listened to Sinatra, held tight to a picture of my Grandmother, and remembered every Sunday. 


After her death, I reinvented my Sundays with Papa.  No longer able to visit in person, we opted for phone calls and Skype when available.  He still talks of his savings at Costco, the nurses who took care of my Grandmother, and Rocky, the neighbor's dog.  We both talk about Grandmother and how much we miss her, recalling some of the times that make us both smile.  My Sundays are now filled with church, gardening, and work, but I always make time for my Papa.  Some things, never change.  And for that, I am thankful. 

Playing the name game

This past weekend my husband and I opted to ignore our honey-do lists and instead play golf.  The weather was gorgeous and we figured the majority of people would be out celebrating Cinco de Mayo, leaving the course empty.  Much to our surprise, though we were crossing our fingers, we were right. 

After checking in at the pro shop, we found that we would be playing with a single.  Typically, this makes me nervous.  For one, I still consider myself a beginner.  And secondly, most people are less than thrilled to play with a woman.  Hesitant to introduce myself, I waited instead to be introduced.  Luckily, the gentleman had an ever so slight southern twang and I knew I'd be welcomed.  (Maybe he didn't have the southern drawl, but he sure had the handshake of a man from Texas and a smile of one from the Carolinas.)  After listening to him speak, I knew he was a man who commanded respect.  And so, I gave it to him. 

I complimented his swing, applauded his putts and acknowledged his impeccable short game.  However, the biggest compliment I gave all day was in one simple word, "sir"; immediately giving him the respect he deserved.  It wasn't an attempt to play nice or to catch his attention, it was simply the proper thing to do.  Period.


I'm simply amazed that in today's society, something as simple as the words "sir" and "ma'am" have fallen to the wayside.  Then again, so has "please" and "thank you".  I've read the debates, I've seen the arguments and quite frankly, I don't buy them.  Certainly your intentions are good when you propose that you'll use "sir" and "ma'am" to address authoritative figures or those "demanding more respect", but it's less likely to be used if not inserted in daily dialogue.  And beyond that, everyone deserves your respect, not just authoritative figures.  Isn't that what's wrong with the world, a lack of respect?


In the grand scheme of things, I'll take my chances.  At the end of the day, I'd rather be known for being overly formal and highly respectful than not.   I would prefer to have someone say, "that's not necessary" than to assume I lack manners. Yes ma'am, I'll take manners with a side of please and thank you!

Sweetie, just wave

Before my mother left California, I promised to keep several things about me the same:  my passion for others, my love of God, and the southern wave (typically followed by a smile and a nod).  Having grown up in a community where most people knew what you were doing before even you knew yourself, I've always been surrounded by familiar faces.  (Of course, as a teacher, this made it difficult to shop for groceries on a Saturday morning having just rolled out of bed.)  We wave as we drive down our neighborhood streets, speak as we pass each other on walks, and open doors for the elderly, woman, and children.  To put it simply, we communicate.  For me, the wave is the simplest and kindest gesture, letting someone know you acknowledge their presence.  And in our town, you wave back (even if you haven't talked to the person since high school, wish they hadn't moved in beside you, or hate how loud their dog barks come 5am.) It's called being polite.

In my first few months of living here, I have thrown my arm up more times then I can count.  And no, I'm not extending the middle finger when I do.  I've tossed the wave around like it's money on payday, greeting the families walking to school in the morning, saying "hello" to the postman as he stuffs our boxes, and a generous "thanks" to the men who maintain our property.  Surprisingly, very few wave back.  Even fewer acknowledge my attempt to say hello.  And quite frankly, I know they see my wave.  It's obnoxious- my wave, not the people.  Plus, my teacher flab arm is flopping in the wind- you do not miss something like that!  You just can't.

I haven't given up on the people here.  I keep waving, smiling, and nodding.  Eventually, it'll catch on.  And if not, at least I'll give them something to talk about!

Goodbye house, hello home!

With only a suitcase (that came with an outrageous baggage charge due to the slightly larger than life weight) and a binder full of papers, I left the small, southern town I had always known for the California coast (and no job, very few friends, and a house I had never seen).  But, what I found after my 10 hour plane trip, was a friend with two cupcakes and a brand new start at life.  This was it.  I was here. 

The problem with "here" is that I didn't really know where "here" was.  Like I said, I had left my career and my large mortage on the east coast.  I was "here", but where exactly was that?


After nervously signing several documents, I was finally granted the keys to my new life.  Navigating through the city to the hill where my new life would begin, I just kept shaking my head.  I had traded corn fields, jeans and pick-up trucks, for palm trees, bikinis and Benzs.  The vows that had been exchanged nearly 10 months before, had turned my life upside down, brought me to the other side of the country, and had me jumping at the opportunity to recreate myself.  It was like starting college: I was anxious, excited, and utterly scared of failure. 


The Carolina coast had quickly calmed my fears of that first year in college and as I walked through our new home, I once again felt the calm set it.  For just on the other side of our yard, was the most picturesque view of the bay.  The tiny boats kicking up white foam against the baby blue water, took me back to Carolina and I knew whatever God had in store for me, I could handle as long as I stay focused on the horizon. 


I spent the next week finding my way around town with the help of my mom (being sure to locate HomeGoods, a somewhat New York style pizza place, and a yogurt shop- I have priorities).  As items slowly started finding a place in the house, I began to quickly realize how fortunate I was to be "here".  I still didn't have a job and my husband was still a month away from coming home, but I had much to celebrate.  With every box, another wedding gift was opened, a new message read, and a story of the friend who had given it to us told; friends we wouldn't see again for a year, maybe more, and some that now lived just around the corner. 
 

Over the first month, paint was poured (along with wine), new eateries explored, and new friendships made. I said goodbye to my best friend, my mom, while standing in a long security line at the airport after promising to keep my southern ways.  People came and went.  The house felt empty each time another person left and to avoid the emptiness, I poured myself in to unpacking our things.  I waited anxiously for my husband to return, excited for him to see the work I had done to our new house. 


When he finally arrived, I was eager to show him all the perks to our new house-  walk-in closets for both of us, the view of the bay, and the large pine tree that sits in the corner of our yeard reminding me of my roots.  His boots and bags quickly took over the empty office and for once, I smiled at the piles of clothes and dust left laying around.  For the first time, our new house felt like a home. 

I'm still navigating life and trying to find my place "here", but making this a home is a good start.