LOVE THURSDAY

When new people walk into my home, the first thing they notice is my Wonder Woman painting. It is always met with an "Oh, Wow!" or a "that is so awesome". Every time, I always say "thank you" and "My friend, Jen Tucker, painted that". Sometimes I tag on that she painted it for me, but she really didn't. She started that piece on her own without any probing from me. Michael said once that he would have never pegged me for being really into Wonder Woman. I never really went out of my way to collect Wonder Woman comics or other paraphernalia. But just like many women my age, I grew up wearing Wonder Woman underoos and spinning around and looking up to a woman who just happened to be a superhero. Women could and can be superheros. I was part of that generation of girls that got to grow up watching Linda Carter portraying a smart powerful woman in show about a smart powerful woman. In fact, Michael says that when he looks at that painting he doesn't so much see Wonder Woman as he sees Power. I couldn't agree more. It is a very powerful painting, but the painting represents so much more to me than power. I know that when Jen started to work on that painting, she was coming off a long stretch of not painting. I think she had forgotten for a brief moment that she is an artist. When she started revealing images of her progress on Wonder Woman, you could tell right away that Jen was back. It's like she woke up that morning and yelled "HEY! I'm an ARTIST!". You could see that her painting was going to be amazing before it really became amazing. You could see that this artist was/is passionate about art and painting is her true work. And, in fact, when you talk to Jen about art, her art or any art in particular, you look at this person and you get it. You say to yourself "now, this is an artist". You will say that because you can feel the joy and love radiating from her has she talks. The same is true for her partner. Turayis has found her own art in her writing and her cookbooks. The same passion and love for these topics are no less than Jen's. Over the weekend both of them were able to come up to KCMO to attend Spectrum Fantastic Art Live. This was their second time to attend the conference and even though their schedule was super duper packed with amazing informative seminars and presentations, they made time to have dinner with Michael and I. We sat there and listened and absorbed their enthusiasm as they went on and on about all the great things they'd experienced at the conference. Both of them were already talking about how they were going to use their new found knowledge for the next thing. I love that they could come and experience and be part of a conference that just feeds the fire for them, that inspires them to keep on doing these things that they love.

It brings me joy to see them find their passion. Really this is true when I see that in anyone, but it's particularly true when I see it happen for those I love. One the things that was so great about those Click and Clack of motorcycle guys was that you could see that they truly loved what they were doing. They loved their little shop and chatting with the people that came through their door. Michael is constantly telling me that he could make more money if he moved to public school. I never really encourage it because I see the way he talks about the classes he's taught that day or baseball practice. He loves what he's doing and I think it means more to him that his work is with under privileged kids. But I see the joy when he talks about his work. Just like I see the joy when the Jens talk of their work and those guys in the motorcycle shop. And it's this joy and passion that I want to applaud today. Today I'm celebrating the joy in doing your true work. Because just look what comes from doing the things we love.

Happiest of Love Thursdays.

LOVE THURSDAY

The window in my office space looks out towards the Plaza. I also have a lovely view of the loading docks and the garage for the grounds' crew. Sometimes I'll look out the window and see a giant pile of mulch that's been recently delivered other days it might be soil or bits of cut up tree limbs. On Tuesday, there was a pile of tulip stalks and bulbs. I could see a few of our employees picking through the stalks and collecting bulbs. Jeff walked passed the window around this time and said "you're going down there aren't you?". I waived him off, said that I didn't need those bulbs or even had a clue as to what I'd do with them. But I continued to linger by the window, staring wistfully at the pile of discarded tulips. Katrina and I were texting back and forth when I asked "Do I need those bulbs?" and Katrina replied "yes!". This was seconded by Talaura saying "GO GET THEM!". So I found a box and headed down to the loading docks. By the time I had made up my mind to go get some of those bulbs, the crowd had dispersed. I was all by myself out there, picking through the stems and bulbs. I had no idea what I was doing or even how to choose. It was just stems and bulbs. The blooms where all gone, so I really didn't know what I was getting. I don't know what it was about sorting through the discarded tulips. The warm humid morning? The stillness? This quiet moment to myself gathering hope? I don't know, but I was moved and filled with joy. I had no idea this would make me so happy. My mom carries a shovel with her in her van (to quickly dispose of bodies) so that when she sees an interesting plant on the side of a road she can pull over and dig it up to plant at home. When she first told me this, I just shook my head. Except now here I am doing practically the same thing. OK Mom. I get it. I get the appeal.

The box of bulbs are still sitting on my desk. We've had scooter weather up until today, so I haven't been able to cart my box home. My cubicle has an earthy smell from the dirt that still clings to the bulbs and roots. I am excited about the possibility of what is inside that box. I know that there will be tall purple tulips, medium pink ones and short white blooms because that's what we had in the beds here. I just don't know which bulb is which. When they pop up out of the ground they will be a surprise of color and heights. It's like planting Christmas presents, not knowing what's inside the wrapped boxes. And this? This has filled my heart with joy this week.

Happy Love Thursday!

LOVE THURSDAY

Saturday morning, I carried two memorial flags in the Kansas City AIDS Walk. I figured since I had joined Terry's Memorial Team this year that I would end up helping in some way with the memorial flags. Families and friends who have lost loved ones due to AIDS can carry a flag bearing the name of that person. The flags are either purchased by the family member or sponsored through donation. Some times circumstances arise where a family member can not be there to carry a sponsored flag. That's where volunteers like me step in to make sure those flags get carried. Last year I ended up carrying flags commemorating years. This was my first time carrying a flag with a name on it and as I stepped up to the stage, I realized that no one had stepped forward to claim the flag next to me. So I picked that one up too. Here's how the whole flag procession works. The memorial flags are lined up on stage. After the mayor talks, the family members and volunteers go up on stage and stand behind their flag. Then, as someone sings a memorial song, the flag bearers walk down from the stage, through the crowd of walkers to the street where we wait for the start of the walk. Then the mayor and the flag bearers lead the walk to the JC Nichols Memorial fountain where we then spread out along the sidewalk so that walkers can pass by the memorial flags. I have to say that there was something really poignant in carrying one of these flags with an actual name on it. This was a person. Someone's son, brother, grandson, nephew. He was loved. And he was a victim to this awful disease. A girl walked past me while I stood with my flags at the fountain. She looked up at one of the flags and then gasped "that's my uncle!". She then asked me if she could hold the flag for a while. She didn't know about the memorial flags. She didn't know that she could honor her uncle in this way. I told her who to contact so she could be involved with the memorial flags next year.

So often we do these charity walks because we're raising awareness for a particular disease or disorder. We want to help fund research for better treatments. I know that's a big reason for why I walk and raise money. The intent is on making the future better. It's easy to forget that many of the people walk to remember. Sure, they want to see better treatments and even a cure, but the real reason they walk is to remember that loved one they lost. The AIDS Walk is filled with mothers who have lost their son or daughter, sisters who have lost brothers, and husbands and wives who have lost spouses. Before I left for the day, Terry took a minute to remind me of how awesome I am (roll eyes). He said "You didn't have to get up so early and deal with the rain to do this, but you did." He's wrong. I did have to be there. I had to be there to carry that flag so that girl could find her uncle. I had to be there to carry those flags so that it was clear that the men and women memorialized on them were, are, and will always be loved.

Again, I cannot thank you enough for your donations. Your generosity humbles me. Happy, happy Love Thursday.

LOVE THURSDAY

Katrina sent the Cabbage an Easter bucket filled with a bubble wand, side walk chalk, a sock monkey and the Dog Walker Barbie. Dog Walker Barbie comes with a dog that you can feed teeny tiny cookies to and it poops teeny tiny poop pellets. Needless to say that the Cabbage has had more interest in the dog than the Barbie. We now know that only the poop pellets can go into the opening for poop. Cookie pellets get stuck. Also Barbie is wearing some ridiculous high heeled wedge shoes for walking a dog. Saturday morning after we'd all eaten breakfast, the Cabbage picked up the chalk and said "Can I play with this?". I looked at my empty coffee mug and said "let me refill this". Michael looked at me and asked if I was sure. After all, we were still in our pajamas. I shrugged and said "Why not?". So out to the front drive we went where we spent the morning coloring the driveway and (me) drinking coffee in our pajamas. These are the days I have been waiting for, days where the sun has warmed the morning enough to be outside without a coat or jacket or socks or even shoes. All winter long we've spent most weekends tucked inside 750 square feet of space. We have resembled our ancestral cave people, huddled together on the floor with Barbies or around the TV (modern day fire). There were some days where I'm pretty sure the Cabbage spent half of the day on the iPad. Venturing out required thirty minutes of preparation time just to make sure everyone was bundled properly, hardly worth it for a trip to the grocery store. Even if TJ's has stickers. But finally, on Saturday, we had a weekend where there was no rain. It was not windy or cold. No sweaters or socks where required. In fact, we spent the whole day outside. We packed up some toys and snacks and headed to the park. There was lounging on a blanket and many rides down the big curly-q slide. We walked to the other side of the park to see the geese and we ate carrots and broccoli and cherry tomatoes and string cheese. There was even the construction of a sand castle in the sand pit. The only downside is the crazy sunburn I ended up with (Michael fell asleep in the sun and barely turned pink, meanwhile the back of neck has started to peel).

I love that we are finally into the season where the outside can be our living room. We can spread out and chase bubbles around the yard. We can poke at the things sprouting in the garden. Every time the Cabbage went out to check on the "pwants" (we're working on our Ls), she came back in with a surprise for me. "Now close your eyes really tight" and when I'd open them I'd exclaim "it's a dandelion!". Then she would say "no, it's a bandelion". Then we'd spend the next five minutes correcting each other, but it didn't even matter because she could go outside and pick as many "bandelions" as she wanted to. I'd rather have a million dandelions littered around the house than seeing her zoned out in front of the iPad. So here's to mornings coloring on sidewalks and days spent in a park. Happy Love Thursday!

LOVE THURSDAY OR THANKFUL FRIDAY

Michael and I have been two ships passing in the night lately. There was the weekend before last when I went out of town without him and then last weekend he was out of town without me. During the week there have been after school meetings and baseball practice and baseball games. Last night was a double header and Michael didn't get home until after eight. We had about half an hour to recap our days to each other before Michael put me to bed. He always tucks me in. I'm not even sure how we started this. It's not like I'm the type of gal that needs to be doted on, but there's something to this nightly ritual we have developed. Last night Michael looked at me and said "I just want to thank you for being you. At least you are authentic in your weirdness." This almost sounds like an insult, but I know that his meaning is love. He had just spent the weekend with a various bunch of people. One woman never stopped talking and blessed her room with candles and crystals. He said she was weird for the sake of a show. Attention grabber. But, I also know that he thinks I'm a complete weirdo. I am part science nerd girl and hippy. I understand the microbiology behind viruses and infections and believe in the holistic healing power of Ayurveda and yoga. I will read total trashy silly fiction and follow it up with a classic Jane Eyre or Austin. I have been known to break out in show tunes and sing out my answers to questions. I think you should eat fresh fruit every day and that many foods from cans and boxes are poison. I believe in evolution and a higher power God like figure. I write more words than I speak. Do these things make me a weird? I don't think so. I think that's because I've surrounded myself with people that live their lives as authentically weird as I do. We just see ourselves as "normal". The truth is, just like there's no such thing as perfect, there's no such thing as normal. We are all weird in our own way. I think "weird" is what we've turned to to describe something different than what we're used to.

We hear a lot of talk about being our authentic selves. Honestly, I've never really thought about it until Brene Brown's The Gift of Imperfection and that only made me aware of the times I hadn't been my authentic self. There have been two times in my life where I have not lived as my authentic self. It should be of no surprise that one of those times was during my high school years when I tried a little too desperately to fit in with some crowd, any crowd really. Bits of my authentic self often leaked out and got me into trouble (I got hate mail once from my church youth group). The other time was after graduate school. I'm not really sure what was happening then. That transition from being in school (since kindergarten) to grown up land threw me. I struggled with finding myself and my footing again. Both of those times I can tell you that I was miserable. It doesn't feel good to live an unauthentic life. It's hard. Like physically demanding kind of hard. Being your authentic self is easy. Oh my God, it's so easy!

I was slightly thrown by Michael's compliment. It just seems so natural to be my authentically weird self, but what he was really thanking me for was being authentic. It was good of him to remind me that this is something we should appreciate more. It dawned on me that not all of us have had the luxury of being around and with people who allow us to be our authentic selves with out judgement. I don't think people realize this but authenticity is kind of like learning to ride a bicycle. There's really no way to tell someone how to ride a bicycle that first time. It's a feeling and a motion you have to just figure out on your own, but when you do get it, you're a bike riding fiend. You can ride all over town and back. There may be a few tumbles here and there, but from the moment you figure out how to pedal and balance that bike, you never forget it. Every time you get back on a bicycle, you know exactly what to do.

I started this post for my Love Thursday entry, but realized about half way through that it really falls under a Thankful Friday category. I'm thankful that I've, for the most part, been able to easily be my authentic self. I'm thankful for the people in my life that allow this of me with out judgement. I am thankful for the wisdom to not give a shit about those who do judge it. Really...that's the best part of it. The most freeing part. So, here's to being our authentically weird selves. We're pretty awesome. Happy Love Thursday and a fabulous Thankful Friday!

LOVE THURSDAY

I usually know that Spring is serious about sticking around when I see the tulip trees bloom. I know that shortly after the trees bloom, the tulips will bloom. This is my favorite thing about Spring here. The tulips bloom and stay bright and happy for weeks. This is because the tulip tends to thrive in places that have long, cool Springs and since it's been known to snow in May around here (crossing fingers that last year was a fluke), Kansas City is a good place for growing tulips. I was thrilled to see the little red buds of the first round of tulips pop up in the drive at work. Hand me a bouquet of roses, and I will politely say "thank you". Offer me an arrangement of wild flowers and I will proclaim an energetic "how lovely!". You great me with a bunch of tulips and you will own me. The word for tulip in Farsi, Bulgarian, Turkish and Arabic is lale. It's spelled with the same letters as those for Allah and is a holy symbol. You'll see tulips on tiles in mosques and temples. Tulip bulbs would become so coveted in the 1600 that they would be used as currency. One bulb would even sell for the equivalent of 10 to 11 million dollars today. There is just something so simple, yet incredibly complicated about that delicate bloom. The artistry and science that goes into creating all the varieties and colors is outstanding. And the tulip serves no other purpose than to be pretty. We don't eat them. They don't have any medicinal purposes. They exist only for their beauty.

All of my gardening efforts usually go into growing vegetables. When I plan out the season, I never plan for ornamentals. But I would make an exception for tulips. That house we considered buying had a grassy median in the center of the circle of the drive. I knew that if we bought that house, I would fill that spot with all the varieties of tulip bulbs I could get my hands on. Some day I will have a tulip spot, just not at that space. My mother had beds of irises as her signature flower. Mine will be tulips.

For now, I will enjoy the ones that are popping up around the city. I may even tip toe through them. Happy Love Thursday.

LOVE THURSDAY

John Morgan and I spent an independent study together my freshman year, building benches and chairs to place around campus. I didn't know what to make of this man that I had already deemed "old". What was he? 50 something? Now not so much, but at nineteen, he already seemed old. Seasoned is the better word for it. There was a guy I had liked during the Fall semester, Alex. I thought he'd liked me too, but he passed me over for someone else. Alex ended up in the same independent study class, but with a new interest in me. He was the one that pulled me in on the bench building part of the project. John, Alex, and me. We'd hang out in the back of the little purple theater. I would get frustrated because Alex never let me do anything but hold nails. Also, I was tired of his new interest in me. I didn't really want it any more. John played interference between us. He let me do more than hold nails. He gave me a hammer. He taught me how to use a drill. For every nail or screw that went in wonky, John would say "It's OK, It's rustic." "It's rustic" would become the project motto and end up on our t-shirts. Some of you know that I used to sing. My voice helped pay for undergrad and all I had to do was enroll in choir or some sort of music class every semester. Easy money for someone who lacked the self esteem and ambition to be more than a background voice. Those early college years (to be honest more than those early college years) were a constant battle for me and my body. I was not comfortable in my own skin and wore clothes that reflected this. I signed up for a musical theater scenes class because I loved musicals and thought it would be fun. I knew I'd be stuck over to one side, tucked in a choir and that all the main parts would go to the music majors. Instead I ended up being cast as the stripper who did it with finesse from Gypsy. The song was You Gotta Get A Gimmick. I had to sing while attempting to make ballet look sexy in a humorous way. This was not an easy role for someone not comfortable in their own skin. Even the idea of showing a bare elbow was too scandalous for me, but during our first performance, I twirled and bumped my hips, doing my best to "do it with finesse". John was in the audience during our first performance. For the rest of my time at USAO, I'd be walking down a hallway and from somewhere behind me I'd hear his low creeper voice. "Take it off. Take it all off."

John Morgan taught me how to use a drill and build a bench. He told the most vulgar stories I've ever heard in my entire life. He was at times the most ridiculous person and from the stories he shared, I can only imagine the crazy amazing life he had. He taught me that you are never too old. For anything. To go back to school. To laugh. To be silly. To love. Every day is the adventure. Here's to John's next adventure. You'll be missed down here, but between you and Chris, I'm sure you'll keep the afterlife in stitches.

LOVE THURSDAY

Sometimes in the mornings when I've finished getting ready, I crawl into bed with Michael. He's a snooze button pusher. I know I've got five minutes, at least, of his snooze time. Most times he's on his stomach. So when I climb in, I just curl up next to him. If he's on his side, we'll spoon, my back to his chest. I wait to feel his arm snake around my waste. I anticipate that feeling. Except it never happens. Instead he places his hand on my hip. He has told me that this is his favorite part of my body. There's something about that space that is, for the most part covered by the sides of my underwear, that he finds attractive. He feels this way about that area in general. He says it's the part you never really see. Meaning that movies and some cable TV shows are bound to show a woman's bare breasts or her backside, but usually that spot on the hip is a side thought, hidden by lacy underwear. The media has been telling men what is attractive for years. Women too. Men like petite girls with very large breast, a tiny waste, and long slim legs. Barbie. We are beginning to see a slight trend to move away from this, but not really in terms of sexual attraction. Pornography and even romance novels depict the lead character as buxom and lithe. The sexual attraction is linked to breast size. If you're a woman who has been gifted large breast, you've endured numerous ogelings and probably countless cat calls. I have even put up with my fair share of men talking to my boobs instead of my face. The images displayed in the media of what they think we should find sexy are not a reality. The reality of sexy has little to do with appearance and more about the kindness and generosity towards your partner.

I think what is charming about Michael's hip attraction is that it almost seems old fashion. I mean, his reasoning for his attraction is that it's an are of skin that is rarely seen. It's an area of the hip that is covered with cloth. It's not the usual body part that we've been told to find sexy. There was a time when the sight of a woman's ankle was the thing to put men in a tither or an ungloved hand sent him over the edge. The ankle and wrist are small simple places on the body and at the time, an area of the skin rarely seen. There's something romantic about that. There are areas of my body that make me cringe, a bit of a fat roll here or there. Please don't touch or pat my belly. But if I angle my body a certain way, I will say that there's something slightly attractive about my hip and the slope it takes as it leads into my thigh. It is a spot that doesn't make me cringe when touched. There's something to be said about the confidence that builds. I've always heard that confident women are sexy. I noticed that when I was taking a daily selfie for a 365 day project that I saw things about my body that were not as bad as I had imagined. I grew more confident in my self image. I defined what made me sexy, attractive, vulnerable and beautiful. It's been a long time since I've gone out of my way to take those kinds of pictures of myself. It may be time for me to redefine what makes me all of those things. Just maybe not with pictures.

For now, I will take those moments of snooze time and delight in the weight of his hand resting on my hip and the knowledge that he finds me attractive. Happy Love Thursday.

LOVE THURSDAY

This is my third attempt to write something for Love Thursday. Every attempt just looked like the same words I've been typing for every entry since the beginning of the year. All of that looks something like this: I need Spring now, Spring is almost here, No more snow. You get the idea. I seem to have a short term memory where this season is concerned and my impatience is showing. Saturday afternoon, when I'd returned from eye exams and grocery shopping, the weather was so beautiful that I took my yoga mat outside to the backyard. The ground was lumpy under my mat and the occasional breeze was a challenge to my balance, but the sun was warm on my face. As I stood in vriksasana, I made eye contact with a robin perched on my fence, his head nodding his approval. Then I took my practice off my mat and into the garden, turning the soil and pulling out the dead remains of last season's herbs. I even threw some seeds into the freshly turned soil. By the time I headed back inside I was pleasantly sun kissed, sweaty, and covered in dirt. Michael returned home from a meeting and talked me into riding the scooters to the grocery store for cotton candy milk. I didn't need too much convincing. It was a short but blissful time out buzzing around on our scooters. It was the best Spring tease day we've had yet. The next morning we woke up to a fresh layer of snow on the ground.

My first instinct is to write about the sinking feeling in my chest at the sight of the snow, to rave on and on about the fickleness of the seasons, and thus repeating myself by writing yet another entry about willing Spring. But then it dawns on me that I am missing the big picture. I am actually missing more than the big picture. My Saturday had been filled with things that I love: sunshine, yoga, gardening, scooter rides, Michael. I would say cotton candy milk too, but the grocery was sold out. We settled for root beer milk which is delicious in it's own right. It's just not possible for every day to be that full of the things you love. I wouldn't say that they are rare moments, but our day to day is usually filled with the tasks of being grownups. Jobs and chores and kids. These are the things that take up most of our time and not necessarily in a bad way. Some of us enjoy our jobs and I actually like cleaning the house (I find it soothing). It's just that those things leave little time for the other things that we enjoy doing. There's just not enough time, sunshine or snow, for every single thing.

That's what Saturday was about. It was my day for all the other things. Sure the beautiful weather helped, but I wouldn't have given myself the time for digging in the dirt during the week. I wouldn't have said yes to a scooter ride when I knew I still had chores to be done before bedtime. I wouldn't have allowed myself a whole glass of root beer milk. The lesson I need to always remember is that the transition between Winter and Spring is just like every day life but on a grander scale. Soak up the sun for the flip days of snow, the same way we should relish in the days we are able to fill with the things we love.

Happy Love Thursday!

LOVE THURSDAY

I don't know if you guys have heard, but apparently it's baseball season. At least that's what Michael keeps telling me. He says that baseball season starts with Spring training and we've already fast forwarded our way through a game of Royals vs Diamondbacks(?). There's more in the DVR queue. That's how Michael watches a game on TV. He records it and then fast forwards until something exciting happens. I have no idea how he'd handle an actual at the stadium game. One thing I've noticed about him is that he has a hard time sitting still. When we rent a movie at the house you should be prepared for pauses and breaks. It took us two days to get through The Wolf of Wall Street (it is a really long movie). It surprises me that of all the sports, baseball is Michael's most favorite thing. He says that baseball is a metaphor for life. Most of the time it's really boring and then something exciting happens and then everything goes back to boring until the next exciting thing. Any way...the man loves baseball. There are stacks of baseball cards on his desk and boxes of them stored in the house. The first thing he set up for the DVR to record just happened to be baseball. Recently, because baseball season has begun, the word "baseball" has fallen out of Michael's mouth about as frequently as the phrase "I love you". That may be an exaggeration (or not). He has mentioned to me a few times how great it would be if he could coach high school baseball. He knows a lot about the game, just not how to coach it. Last week he found out that he wouldn't be coaching cross country track in the Fall. He was not disappointed by the news, but did use the opportunity to ask the athletic director about assisting the baseball coach. The baseball coach has an assistant, but did not turn down Michael's offer to help. A couple of days a week, Michael will be hanging out with the baseball team, helping the coach and assistant coach and learning how to coach baseball.

Tuesday, Michael came home after his first practice with the team and he was just like a little kid. The first thing he wanted to do was show me what he'd learned and how he taught a kid to throw a baseball and this and that and baseball and and and. He was just so dang happy. It really was the cutest thing. Michael usually puts me to bed in the evenings. He's a night owl (yeah...), but that evening his eyes were drooping as we lounged on the couch. Sometime around 8:30 he looked at me and said "I want to go to bed now. Can I go to bed now?". He was all tuckered out from his big day of baseball. I am apathetic when it comes to sports. I just don't really care. I may watch a little college football (go Pokes!) or pay a tiny bit of attention to college basketball (again..go Pokes!), but that's just because I've got college pride (go Pokes!). Michael's enthusiasm for the game, though, is a little contagious. I just love seeing how happy it makes him. I am 100% supportive of his decision to get some coaching experience because it's something that I know he will really enjoy doing. How could I not support something that brings him so much joy.

Here's to supporting each others' passions. Happy Love Thursday!

LOVE THURSDAY

It is early on this particular Saturday morning as I drive down my street, heading to the grocery store. The day is gray and cold. The latest cold front has moved in on top of us, but has yet to start dropping the promised snow. As I drive, I notice how dingy and rundown this street looks. This is a high poverty area. There are people walking down the side walk or street at all hours of the night. On this morning, a man walks towards the bus stop carrying his hands behind his back as if they are ready for handcuffs. I wonder if the way he is carrying himself is a reflection of how he feels about the job he's heading to. We are on the end of Troost that contains rows and rows of rundown apartment buildings. Section 8 housing. There's an abandoned school on the right. When the weather's nice, you'll see a group of ladies walking the worn out track. All of this happens a few blocks from my house. This is where I feel at home. This area is familiar to me and reminds me of places I've lived before, but Michael shakes his head. "This is not a good neighborhood" said as the police helicopter circles. Yet, I am not bothered and secretly I don't think he is either. He mentioned recently that we could just renovate my house to fit us. There's plenty of room to expand into the backyard, though there's not enough space for a two car garage. We agreed that at the end of it all, we still couldn't make my house into the list of things we both wanted. There is a strong possibility that this will be year for paying off credit card debt. Next year will be the year of saving for a down payment. This conversation about staying in my house for longer than expected made my heart sink a bit. I had geared myself up for a new house, a new backyard garden, a new kitchen. Things I'm still getting, just not right this minute. Things I will have to be patient for. But I am also relieved.

This house has served me well. Yes, it's tiny. Michael stretched the other evening and almost took out the ceiling fan. But there's a routine that I've built up around this house. There's a path from my house to the grocery store. I enjoy the thumping base of the cars that cruise down the street or that kid that struts down the sidewalk, rapping a tune as he goes. To look at me, I am the least likely to live in a neighborhood like mine. Girls like me should gravitate to condominiums in "safe" neighborhoods (I was asked so many times if I planned on staying here after Chris died). I have made this my home and my neighborhood. I painted these walls and hung those pictures. I paid for the washer and dryer in the basement. I have made friends with the man up the street that grows buckets of dahlias every year. I know this neighborhood.

So, I will plant seeds in my old garden this Spring along with the onion and garlic bulbs mom sent home with me. Happy Love Thursday.

LOVE THURSDAY

I realize I never told you about our Valentine's Day. Michael took me to Buca Di Beppo, a family style (and popular) Italian restaurant. We ended up having to wait for twenty minutes in an incredibly packed lobby for our table. Buca Di Beppo had anticipated the Valentine crowd by adding small tables into the nooks and crannies of the restaurant. As a result, Michael and I were crammed between two other couples at a rickety little table with an electronic candle that I kept bumping with my hand and flinching because I thought I was going to burn myself. Michael had just gotten a new phone and we were discussing photography apps. While I was explaining the different ones I love to use, I noticed the woman on Michael's left aptly listening. Her mouth was slightly open and she even nodded her head at some of the things I was saying. I almost asked her if she wanted to take notes, but then I got self conscious and stopped talking because what do I know about photography apps. Except that I use them every damn day. The couple that sat on the other side of us appeared to be a young punk/hipster couple. They sported multiple piercings and unisex hairstyles. The boy was just old enough to order alcohol and had asked for a shot of Limoncello with their dessert. We could hear the conversation between the two as they waited for their dessert. She was complaining about his drinking. He said he was just going to have that one drink. Then she talked about how much she loves him. She's never loved any one like she's loved him. He asked her if she was staying over that night and she replied that she wasn't sure because she had to be at work early the next day. This prompted Michael to mumble under his breath "and we all know what that means...sorry dude." It was totally the weirdest bi-polar conversation and it made Michael and I chuckle. This was followed by some weird awkward scene involving returned Limoncello and the restaurant manager. They were not having the best of evenings.

If you ask Michael about our evening, he will tell you that it was the worst meal. I will agree that the food was lackluster at best, but I would not say that the evening went poorly. At one point I began to notice that we were probably the oldest couple in the room. We were surrounded by high school sweethearts and college boyfriend/girlfriend couples. It was just like Bread Sticks from Glee with less jazz hands. This is an experience I completely missed out on in my high school days. I was always single on Valentine's Day until Chris and by then the novelty of Valentine's Day had worn off on both of us. Michael gave me that high school Valentine's Day that I'd missed out on. Now he may not see that on a positive note, but I can assure you that I found the whole thing charming. There was a sweetness to the idea of it that had nothing to do with the two glasses of wine I consumed. It was like "hey! this is what regular folks do!". If you're one of those people who have lived on the outside of normal for as long as I have, you'll understand. Quaint may be the word to describe it. Like roller skating.

Michael has made reservations for us at a little bistro near the house for Friday night. It was his idea. It came to him while we planned this week's menu. Part of me thinks he did it as part of a Valentine's do-over but another part of me thinks otherwise. Michael is just good at setting up date nights. I just never think or plan ahead for things that require reservations and honestly my brain shuts down on Fridays around 5 pm. If left up to my own devices on a Friday evening, I'm eating a sleeve of crackers for dinner. Michael makes sure that doesn't happen any more. It's not always fancy night out, but there is real food involved. It not so much that he takes care OF me as much as he takes care FOR me. There's a difference.

Happy Love Thursday!

LOVE THURSDAY

Five years does not seem like much, but when you are little, five years older seems much older. Of course when you are little all years seem so much older than your current year. When you are little you can never even fathom the idea that you will ever be as old as your mom or dad. When you are the last kid left in the house, just about to start your freshman year in high school and your sister has graduated and moved out of the house, five years seems like a pretty huge separation. But there was a time in our childhood where that gap in our age difference didn't seem so great. I was old enough to color and ride bikes and Janell hadn't yet reached those moody teenage girl years. We played in the sprinkler together. We climbed pasture fences to go fishing in local ponds. We rode our bikes all over the place and for the most part got along fairly well. I'm sure there were a few arguments here and there, but nothing that didn't end in laughter, like the time Janell threw a raw egg at me. There was a time I was Janell's secret keeper and she was my protector from school bus bullies. Actually...nothing's really changed. I am still Janell's secret keeper, just as I'm sure she'd still protect me from bullies. I was blessed with two sisters really. Katrina has done her fair share of protecting me from bullies and I believe I've been her secret keeper a time or two. She also took us to see The Jungle Book when Janell and I were that iffy sit through a whole movie age and always passed her worn out platform shoes our way to use as dress up shoes. She was the one you called to come pick you up from someplace when you didn't want mom to know you had been at that someplace. Even though she fell out of a different womb, the sister bond between us is no less than the sister bond between Janell and I. I know we would go to battle for each other and fight to the death.

When Talaura and I were looking at projects for this month's Donors Choose, we thought we should do something in honor of Misti's Meme. Meme passed away while attending her sister's memorial service over the weekend. Talaura found this project for Mrs. Silberkleit's class. She wants to buy Ramona Quimby, Age 8 for her class. Talaura and I both remember how the Ramona books dealt with sisters, being sisters and the special bond between sisters. So, we both agreed that this would be a nice way to honor's Misti's Meme. It is a common link that all of us (Meme, Misti, Talaura, and I) share. Those of you out there that also have a sister bond can understand just how special it is.

So today for Love Thursday I am honoring that sister bond. Tell your sister or sisters that they are important to you and that you love them.

LOVE THURSDAY

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. Before this was Valentine's Day, The Roman's celebrated Lupercalia the 13-15th of February. Men sacrificed a goat and a dog and then whipped women with the hides of the animals they'd just sacrificed. It's said that many young women lined up for their beatings because they believed it would make them fertile. They also had a matchmaking lottery where young men drew the names of women from a jar and then had sex with that woman for the duration of the festival. There was lots of drunken nakedness. Not unlike the Valentine's Day celebrated today. I kid. It's totally not like Lupercalia. Feb 14th was eventually turned into Saint Valentine's Day by the Catholics in honor of two men named Valentine executed by Emperor Claudius II. Chaucer and Shakespeare would add to the romance of the day with their work and people would start making cards and tokens to give to their lovers. Hallmark would take over in 1913 and forever change this day into candy hearts, roses and cards. I have never been one to really get into the idea of Valentine's Day. I can also guarantee to you that I would never be up for the activities of Lupercalia. I may enjoy the occasional smack on the ass, but I draw the line at being beaten with the hide of a recently sacrificed dog (or goat). Every time Chris and I made some sort of romantic attempt at this holiday we ended up grumbling over crowded restaurants. After January and February birthdays and an anniversary around the corner in March, it all just seemed like too much work for that particular day. We just kind of gave up on Valentine's Day and over time, I just simply ignored it.

Michael has plans for us on Valentine's Day. He's made reservations at a fancy restaurant on the Plaza. He's hinted at flowers. I really don't know much because he's being secretive. I do know the restaurant we're going to only because he said he'd tell me if I guessed correctly. That was easy enough. I just opened the website for the restaurants on the Plaza and made my way through the list. I said "you're not taking me here are you?" "Do you want to go there?". I replied "no" and his face totally changed into that "oh crap!" face, and that's how I knew that was the restaurant. I was kidding. I do like the place. He's picking me up from work and driving me all date like and everything. Ladies, whatever will I wear? No, seriously. What do I wear?

Ever since he told me that he had plans for us on Valentine's Day, I have been slightly fretting about what I am supposed to do, how I'm supposed to be. I am in uncharted territory here and every time I've asked him what I need to do he says "nothing". It's infuriating and a little bit intoxicating at the same time. Oh romance. I have such a love/hate relationship with you. But I can't seem to keep those butterflies from flitting about in my stomach or feeling like a sap. As much as I hate to admit this, I love the romance that Michael brings into this relationship. I think maybe it appeals to me because he doesn't do it in an over the top, rot your teeth with the sweetness of it, kind of way. His romantic gestures are sneaky at times and often I don't realize that I've fallen for one of them until the next day.

So...here's to falling for the romance on this Love Thursday.

LOVE THURSDAY

I started writing up today's post, talking about snow days and Chris's birthday, but I just deleted the whole thing. It's been depressing as fuck around here lately. I don't want to devote another entry to complaints about the weather or this lingering cough or the 10 inches of snow that Michael and I had to remove from the driveway. Instead, let's all dream of warm weather vacations. I've been reading Carl Hiaasen's latest book, Lucky You. His books always take place in Florida and though I would not really put Florida on my list of tropical vacations, the crazy romps through the Florida jungles seem slightly appealing. I also can't help but feel like I should be reading this book from a lounge chair, beachside, with a frilly umbrella drink. I will admit that I've been in a bit of a reading lull lately. It's been some time since I've gotten pulled into a book. This is unlike me. I used to be an avid reader, devouring books like they were nachos. These days I'm impressed with myself if I make it through a magazine. It's nice to be plowing through a book again.

I remember Sundays when Mom and I would spend all day in bed with a book. Dad would bring us breakfast in bed. We wouldn't go to church. We'd both just be laying around in our own beds reading. I'd finish multiple books in one day. I remember summers when I was little, where I'd fold up a sandwich, some water and a stack of books into a big blanket. I'd haul it all out into the pasture, hunker down near the blackberry patch and spend the whole day out there, just reading. I remember asking Santa for books and requesting specific books for birthday gifts. I didn't buy toys. I bought books. Every once in a while, we'd go out to lunch after Sunday service. Sometimes we'd go to the Black-Eyed-Pea. There was a Walden Books right next door. I'd finish eating as quick as I could and then go to the book store to wait for every one else to finish eating. I'd just sit on the floor in one section of the store, reading a book. The real treat was occasionally I was allowed to buy that book.

Books are vacations for your brain. I'd almost forgotten that. So...what are you guys reading these days?

Happy Love Thursday!

LOVE THURSDAY

The other day, while resting in savasana, my mind wandered to what usually happens when Talaura and I are in the same room together and all the laughing at ridiculous that takes place. This reminded me of the bread sandwich story and before I knew it I was giggling in savasana. I know I've never told the bread sandwich story. I'm not even really sure I can do it justice. The bread sandwich incident happened during our Gentlemen of the Road camping experience and will always be funny. After the first night of music, we went back to the tents. It was late and we were slightly drunk and hungry. I went into mom mode and started making all of us veggie sandwiches. Talaura ran into a friend from high school and went with her to her tent to chat, so I wrapped up Talaura's sandwich in a paper towel and set the sandwich in her chair. I ate my sandwich and went to bed. The next morning Talaura tells me how she came back to our campsite and knew that I had made her a sandwich, but she didn't know where I had left it for her. For some reason she thought I'd put the sandwich back in the bread sack. So, she pulled out the top two pieces of bread and started munching away, completely expecting there to be hummus and veggie stuff in between. Except there's not and Talaura is all "What the Hell kind of sandwich is this?!?". She eats several bites of dry grainy bread thinking that this is the worse sandwich she's ever eaten until she goes to sit in her chair and that's when she finds the real sandwich. By the time Talaura got to this part of the story, I could not breath. I was laughing so hard I had to lay on the ground. But it doesn't end there. That bread sandwich would stay with us for the rest of the weekend, because for whatever reason, Talaura stuck those two half eaten pieces of bread into her purse. At the end of the weekend, as we were packing up to leave, Talaura was rummaging around in her purse and she pulls out the bread sandwich and hands it back to me. By now the bread sandwich was beyond dry and mostly flat and it was the most hilarious thing I'd ever seen.

Most of you out there are probably reading about the bread sandwich, shaking your heads and going "I don't get it." I told you that putting it down on paper just cannot do that story justice. To this day though, just seeing the type of bread I used to make that sandwich can throw me into a fit of laughter. One of us only has to say the words "bread sandwich" and I'm done in. And I am completely in love with the simplicity of this.

Happy Love Thursday!

LOVE THURSDAY

One of the funniest moments that happened while Mom and I were in Ireland, happened on the beach in Inch. As we walked out onto the sand, close to the water, we passed various bits of art work left behind by previous visitors. People had drawn their own graffiti into the sand. Most of them were we were here type messages, but there were pictures as well. I lost track of mom while I was taking pictures of the bay and the sand. When I turned around, I saw her looking down at one picture in particular. She looked up at me, perplexed, and asked "Is it a cow?" I looked down at the image she had been studying and choked on laughter. There, carefully etched into the sand, was a giant penis. "No mom" I said. "It's a penis". I tell this story today because yesterday was mom's birthday and I thought she could use a laugh. Mom has taught me many things in life. She taught me how to ride a bike, use a sewing machine and bake cookies. I have to say, it's kind of nice to be able to teach her a thing or two even if it is graffiti penises. I love that we got to experience that trip to Ireland together. My favorite thing of that trip was every time I panned to her with the video camera and how dang cute and happy she looked. I want that for her every day.

Mom, I hope your day was grand yesterday and full of wonderful things. I hope that you retain all of those great memories that we made last year. I hope that you took time for yourself. I hope that you took time to be happy for yourself. Happiest of Birthdays to you and a very Happy Love Thursday!

LOVE THURSDAY

I know the road to Talahina Oklahoma well. Chris's favorite place to camp was at Billy Creek, located about sixteen miles east of Talahina. We drove that winding road many times with the car packed full of camp gear and Hooper trying not to barf in the back seat (poor car sick pup). Chris was usually the one driving which left me to managing the snacks and the map. I spent a lot of time just staring out the window and pointing out odd things along the road. It is a surreal experience making that drive now. The drive to Talahina is no longer for camping, but for visiting dad and the route is so familiar now that I don't need a map. There's a ruin of house on the side of the road that winds it's way around the Kiamichi Mountains towards Talahina. I remember passing it so many times. Every time I'd come up with a new story about it, like how it was a pony express station or a road side tavern for the wagon trains. On one of those trips to visit dad, I mentioned this to mom. I told her how I wish I knew it's story. On that trip, mom told me about meeting a woman a long time ago when Randy was still little. They'd gone camping and these people camped next to them. The woman was a retired teacher and had written a book about her life. She started her teaching carrier in a one room school house somewhere out in the open plains of Texas. Cowboys would come from miles around to see her because they'd heard that there was an eligible young lady in the area. One day she got so fed up with men coming to her school house just to look at her that she dressed herself up as ugly as possible. The cowboy that came to see her that day was the man she ended up marrying. She told mom about how they'd pull up a post to lay the fence down so they could drive their wagon over to some ranch party or another. I'd never heard this story before and was floored by it.

The last time we went to see Dad, I asked to stop at the little rock house to take pictures. I was hoping that maybe there was a plaque or a sign buried around the base of the structure. Michael and I got out of the car and he followed me as I circled around the house. We'd made it to the back side of the house and we were just about to head back to the car when we heard "you guys interested in that old building?". We turned around to see an older man watching us through the thickest pair of glasses I'd ever seen. He was dressed in camo pants that were held in place on his thin frame with the help of thick red suspenders over an off white thermal shirt. His little round head sported one of those hunting caps with a bill and ear flaps. He reminded me of a Muppet and I had to force myself from lifting the camera to capture his face. "Yes." I replied. "I want to know this building's story." He told us that during the depression the Civilian Conservation Corp came out to do some work. They built a pavilion across the street. I'd never even noticed that before. The man said that they built this building first. They used it as a jail for wayward CCC men. He thought that the upstairs was used as the cell part but couldn't figure out how they got people up there. And that was it. That's all he had to say about it. We thanked him and then got back in the car. I regretted that I didn't get his picture. I knew that by asking his permission it would change things, so I let it go and allowed myself to be content with just the story.

Happy Love Thursday.

LOVE THURSDAY

I think there's a common misconception that because I am the widow in this relationship with Michael that I have some sort of upper hand or a laissez faire attitude towards this relationship. It would be easy to think that I lack insecurities. This is not necessarily true. Saturday, we attended a retirement party for a family member. The ex wife was also present with the Cabbage and I got to spend some time hanging out with her. She and Michael get along and work together to make things good for the Cabbage. There was a moment when the three of us were standing there and the ex was telling us this really funny story and we were all laughing and I suddenly felt that twinge of self doubt. I mean, she's nice and funny and possibly more entertaining than I am. Michael has said to me before that when he said his marriage vows, he'd meant them. He doesn't break promises. So, if she hadn't left, he'd still be sticking it out with her. When Chris and I were just beginning our relationship, he said something to me that I never forgot. We were in his dorm room and he was showing me his Nerf gun collection (I know). He was telling me about how he and a group of people would sneak into Davis Hall at night and have Nerf gun wars. One of those people was Jen Tucker. Chris said "You know Jen Tucker right? If she didn't have a boyfriend, I'd totally be with her right now." At the time I was completely taken aback by that statement. In my ears, I heard "I would rather be with her, but you're OK as second best". That's totally not what Chris was saying and later on we would laugh about that conversation, but it shows you two things. First thing, just because Chris and I had a good life together doesn't mean that there weren't moments when I didn't feel insecure in that relationship. No, I didn't have a choice in his leaving, but I never would have had a choice in his leaving. When Chris got sick, I approached his illness like I was going into battle. I was determined to find some miracle cure to fix him. If Chris had come to me and said that he was leaving, I would have approached the situation in the same way. I would have been determined to find a way to make him stay. Insecurities can exist even in a "perfect" marriage. Secondly, the words we use to communicate to each other matter and they mean different things to different people.

What Chris was really saying at that time was "Yeah, I really liked Jen, but now we're just friends and that's all we'll ever be". My fault in all of this was not being brave enough to ask for clarity. It takes a certain amount of bravery to admit that you are insecure about certain things. Though some of you may see me as fearless, there are aspects of my life where I am not so brave. It's one thing for me to write about vulnerable topics here. In fact it's almost easy to write that I am sad, happy, anxious, point to the pain here. To me that's not being so brave or vulnerable. The bravery comes in the ability to actually voice those insecurities. So much of what I write here are things that I fear saying out loud. There's a difference between the judgmental eyes of reading comprehension and judgmental ears with a different kind of listening skills. At least there is to me. There's also something terrifying in admitting that it would more than sting for Michael to walk away from this relationship (though I have been assured that this is just not a possibility). It would be more than bruised pride. The bravery comes in asking those questions and admitting to that person that you too feel some self doubt. Because they have their own insecurities. Michael and I were talking about bigger houses and he said "do I take up too much space in your tiny house?". I replied "you take up enough space", and there's a part of me that does not want to admit that this is true. There is a vulnerability in admitting that he takes up enough space because of the implication of the emptiness he would leave behind.

He kisses me with intention before leaving for work in the mornings and calls me Lois because I can't form a complete sentence. I am his plucky reporter.

Happy Love Thursday.

LOVE THURSDAY

Sometimes when I'm out of ideas for a Love Thursday entry, I scroll through my pictures on Flickr or Instagram for inspiration. This time of year, Flickr usually invites people to share one photo to their "Your Best Shot of 2013" group, so I'd already been looking over some of the photos I've taken this past year for my contribution to the group. Of course it goes without saying that the Ireland trip takes center stage in my great photos of this year. There was one photo from that trip that turned out better than I expected and is my favorite of all the photos from this year.

I chose this photo as my best shot to add to the Flickr group. I've done so many cemetery posts here. By now you know that I have a thing for old headstones. There's a common theme in my Ireland photos. I took pictures of flowers, churches or tombstones. The thing that captured my interest for this picture was not necessarily the headstone, but what had been left in remembrance for the person buried here. The cemetery is in Inch on the Dingle Peninsula and sits facing the bay. It's surrounded by a stone fence, the kind that you see scattered all over the Irish country side. When you step off the gravel path that separates the cemetery from the road, you step into spongy earth. The ground is soft and green. On that day you could tell that someone had tried to mow a few paths into the cemetery. Most of the ground cover looked like mint but were prickly like thistle and the air smelled like herbal tea and the sea. I felt those smells enter my clothes as I crouched to take this picture.

The jar had been there for some time. It was cracked on the back side and the plastic flowers were faded. I wanted to know the story behind this memorial. Any one can leave plastic flowers. Any one can leave a bottle of the departed's favorite booze. The grave site for that famous golfer in the Oakland cemetery in Atlanta was covered with golf balls. You would expect a lover to leave behind something with romantic symbolism. Instead, someone has left behind a jar containing a small plastic saint and plastic aquarium like foliage. I assume that the saint is Saint Patrick given the name on the headstone and that, well, Ireland, but the little dog at the feet of the statue makes me think differently. There are a bazillion different saints for a bazillion different reasons. The easiest choice for this guy is Saint Patrick. The other thing about this little memorial is where it was placed. It's not sitting on or directly next to the headstone, but placed towards the center of the actual grave. I don't know if this is meant to protect the grave or to protect the outside from what is in the grave (I've been watching season 2 of American Horror Story). Either way, there is something that pulled me to this particular spot and when I sat down to edit this picture, I really didn't have to do much to it. The picture was meant to be, just as the jar was meant to be placed near the center of the grave.

Happy Love Thursday.