LOVE THURSDAY

I'd like to think that Michael knows when I say things like "stolen your heart" I'm saying them almost sarcastically (Amy, I still say starcastic in my head). Those kind of words are reserved for greeting cards and movies. If I'm saying them, it's a tongue and cheek thing, but sometimes we still pass these silly love notes back and forth. I've been thinking of this because I am currently working on something that I might be submitting somewhere and I'm kind of telling pieces of that story. Though the idea of actually submitting my writing somewhere makes me ill. I've already decided that it's not going to be accepted. I'm just not good at writing acceptable material. It's like hearing yourself singing in the shower and thinking that you sound awesome. In fact you decide that you're shower singing is so amazing, you take it on the road and audition for American Idol. Then  J Lo asks you if you have any concept of tone and key and tune. The blog is my shower. I guess you could say that by working on something I don't plan on posting here, I've now taken my amazing shower concert to the local bar for open mic night. 

The important thing is that I'm working on something and that something has me thinking about love letters. As much as I'd like to proclaim that I am not a romantic person, I am slightly romantic. That scene in Parks And Rec at the end of episode eight, season four where Leslie realizes that she can't be without Ben, makes my insides squishy every time I watch it. Michael building a chicken coop is a very romantic thing to do. It's also a little bit romantic when he eats something with quinoa or farro. These things are acts of romance, but I think of all the different acts of romance, the surprising with flowers, the making of a gift with your own two hands, it is the simple love letter that gets to me the most. There's an antique shop that we go to every once in a while. One of the booths of antiques and trinkets contains a box full of old postcards. You can buy them for a dime a piece. I will stand there for hours sifting through the cards and reading the backs. Occasionally I come across the love letter postcards. I always think of buying them and preserving them in some way. Like the letter I found from Dad to Mom in their newly wed days. It's something about that hand written declaration. 

My first thought was to say "people just don't do that any more." Love letters have become a thing of the past, but then I re-read that little bit of text above. The love letter has become more than just a few handwritten words on a postcard or a carefully folded sheet in a stamped envelope. Today's love letters come to us via emails and text. They're in our Instagram pictures and Facebook statuses. They are the notes I see from teenage nieces and nephews declaring their love for their most recent boyfriend or girlfriend and the notes left to a spouse in celebration of a birthday or anniversary. The love letter has come out of it's envelope for the whole world to see. Some may argue that this whole public declaration of love is too public. Does everyone really need to how much you love someone?  When I see them in my facebook feed, they make me smile. It makes me overjoyed to see my friends and family so happy that they are willing to tell everyone about the person who is making them happy in that moment. It's just like reading through those postcards in the antique store. So yeah, maybe everyone really does need to know how much you love that person. 

Love and joy are just as contagious as anger and hatefulness. If were up to me, I'd say fill up all of those social media places with declarations of love. It leaves less room for the gross. Happy Love Thursday!

LOVE THURSDAY

He bought a book on chickens. #365

"He bought a book on chickens. #365"

Michael has become a man obsessed with building. Weeks back he declared that he needed a good work bench in the basement, a space to work on while he built a chicken coop. He did some online research, bought a couple of doors and some wood from the ReStore, and got to work. He built himself a real nice work bench with shelves and a light. I was super impressed. I mean it is STURDY and SOLID and he built it all by himself with out any previous building stuff knowledge. After the work bench, he started talking about chicken coop plans. One day he had a clear idea in his head exactly how he planned to build the coop and the next day he'd be second guessing that plan and start all over. Finally, he declared that he needed a book. So we went to the bookstore. Unfortunately he didn't find a book about building plans for chicken coops, but he did end up buying a book about chickens, which he has been reading diligently. 

I have said for years that I've wanted chickens. I even put it on my Life List (#22). Even though this is something I want, I've done very little research on the subject of chickens. I know that Rhode Island Reds are friendly and good egg layers and that's probably the kind we'll be getting. I know that I will name them Madeline, Marguerite, and Marianne (my chickens are French or at least speak in a French accent). I know that I will love them and squeeze them, but I have not bothered myself with  the details of housing, feeding, and general care of said chickens. Maybe I believed that all chicken knowledge would just magically be implanted into my brain once I was holding one of my very own chickens. Isn't that what experienced mothers tell first time moms? Babies. Chickens. Same thing right? 

I haven't planned beyond just getting chickens because deep down, I never really believed that I would ever actually have chickens of my very own in my back yard. It was just a dream like a lot of things on my Life List (I need to refurbish that list). It was like a beautiful piece of made up in my head fiction. I would be out working in the garden with Madeline, Marguerite and Marianne pecking and gently clucking around me. Occasionally one or all three would snuggle up at my sides and I would take a break from my work to bask in the sun and the warmth of their feathers. The garden would be lush and beautiful with vegetables and we'd eat everything we grew. In a quiche made with eggs from our beautiful three hens. La-de-fucking-da. It was like believing in a fairy tale while knowing that fairy tales don't come true. Except sometimes they do. 

I'm already cringing over the words I'm going to type next. Michael is the one making that fairy tale piece of fiction in my head come true. The queso is about to get real thick, but seriously, Michael has dived head first into the chicken project. He's taken the time to learn all the little details and to read the books. He's putting the effort and thought into building the chicken coop. HE'S BUILDING A CHICKEN COOP.  And he's done it all with enthusiasm. He's excited about building the coop and excited about getting the chickens. His excitement is contagious and I love him for it. 

Happy Love Thursday. 

LOVE THURSDAY

Today is one of those days where I've spent a lot of time thinking about what I'd write for a Love Thursday entry. Usually when I'm stumped, I go scroll through images hoping to find inspiration in the daily pictures I take. The easy choice for today would be the picture I took of my scooter this week. The weather has been lovely here and Michael and I have both ridden our scooters to work multiple days this week. Signs of Spring. I expect to see the tulips popping up out of the ground any day now. All of those are easy topics of love and I could probably use a little bit of easy this week. My days at work have been full and at times, slightly hectic. All of us are adjusting to the time change and you can feel the tension in the air from missing an hour or two of sleep. 

While my days have been complicated, my evenings have been simple. The menu for the week consisted of familiar dishes with simple ingredients and preparations. There might be an episode of House of Cards or some other show we've saved on the DVR that we decide to watch while eating dinner. Then we put the leash on Josephine and we tug her up the street. Sometimes she pulls. There was an incident the other day with a goose that required some holding. Geese are terrifying. We make it about two blocks before Josephine plops down and says "If you're not going to let me bite on every single leaf, I'm not walking any further." So we go home and play tug-of-war with the new toy fox. Michael and I may spend a few more quiet moments on the couch before we get ready for bed.  I don't even open my laptop. 

Samatva is Sanskrit for balance. There was a time when I taught people that their yoga practice should balance your daily life. That in fact, every aspect of your practice should be about balance. I don't mean the standing on one foot kind of balancing. I'm talking about whole body balancing. Back bends countered with child's pose. Boat pose countered with table top. You get the idea. I always talked about how eventually you find that your practice walks right off the mat and just becomes an extension of your daily life. It's the day you realize you're standing in Tadasana while in the check-out line at the grocery store. Even though I know all of this to be true, I am still surprised when I see it happening in my own daily life. This week has been a perfect example of samatva. It's quite possible that this is true for most weeks. I just had my eyes open to it this week. 

Happy Love Thursday.

LOVE THURSDAY

Cup-o-tea.

"Cup-o-tea."

I have been a coffee girl since I was very little. I found that if I was sitting in my highchair, I could hop up and down and scoot the highchair around the kitchen. I managed to pour scalding hot coffee down the front of my body twice. Look. This was 1977. The terms "baby proofing" hadn't been invented yet. I sat on a box in Dad's truck so I could see out the window or make it easier to be thrown out the window. Take your pick. After the second attempt to "fix" myself a cup of coffee, Mom started fixing me a sippy cup of mostly milk, a little sugar and little coffee. Not every day. It was always a treat, but by the time I was sixteen I was making my own mugs of joe. At first there was cream and sugar. Then just sugar. Now just black. I have been spoiled over the years with really good coffee made by experienced barristas and I've had what could only be described as sludge from gas stations. 

I enjoy a cup of coffee in the mornings and on weekends I may enjoy more than a cup, but it's never been a must have beverage or an all times of the day thing for me. I remember how Chris would brew a pot of coffee and drink on it all day. He'd still be sipping a cup late into the night. I don't know how he did it. I could drink a baby sized can of Coke at one o'clock in the afternoon and still struggle with going to sleep at bedtime. But again, I don't drink coffee for a buzz. I drink it because I enjoy it. And while coffee is my go-to hot morning drink, tea is my afternoon drink. Every day around three in the afternoon, one of the guys in the office will say "Tea Time!" We will grab our cups and mugs and walk down to the cafeteria discussing science or baseball. Though it is declared that it is tea time, I am the only one that gets a hot tea. Jeff will get an iced tea while Jay usually goes for an espresso. I traded in my morning cup of coffee for tea when Mom and I where in Ireland. There was the occasional cafe au lait but most mornings I found that the tea kettle was easier to manage than the coffee pot. Less complicated. Michael is a tea drinker. He thought there were some teas he preferred to others until he found out he had been brewing those teas at the wrong temperature. I realized that tea is more complicated than I had originally thought.  

The thing that I like best about both of these is there is a ritual to their production. Beans must be properly ground, fine or course depending on the brew method and there are so many brew methods. Drip. Pressed. Pour Over. Vac Pot. Stove top peculator. I actually have one of those. I never use it. Black teas are brewed at higher temperatures than white teas. The amount of time you leave the tea to steep is important. If you leave green tea to steep too long, it gets bitter. Even if you are not the one making the tea or coffee, there is a ritual to drinking it. The way you hold the mug. The time of day you choose to sit down and drink it. It may be a moment of quiet reflection or surrounded with people and discussion. It falls into the same category of why everyone gravitates to a kitchen during a party. Comfort. It is comforting.  

Here's to comfort on this day, especially to those who are snowed in or wish they were snowed in. Happy Love Thursday.

LOVE THURSDAY

World's largest coal shovel. #365

"World's largest coal shovel. #365"

When I was a kid, my parents dragged me all over the south and western United States in a camp trailer. Dad wasn't the one to stop much for man-made roadside attractions, but we saw every cave and strange rock formation between Mississippi and Colorado. He was more of a nature-made roadside attraction guy. I can remember one weekend trip where Dad stopped the car and made me get out of the trailer so I could see a live armadillo. I was fifteen and it was the first time I'd seen a living breathing armadillo. Up until then I'd only ever seen them as roadkill. But Dad wasn't the type to stop and see the world's largest rubber band ball.

I, on the other hand, am a sucker for all things like the world's largest rubber band ball.  I paid a dollar once to see the oldest cypress tree in America. I wasn't even remotely disappointed when it turned out to not really be a living tree anymore because a weak earlier it had been struck by lightening. Sometimes I could convince Dad that we had to stop at something. For instance Aquarena Springs , home of Ralph the Swimming Pig. Steph was with us for that one. We did a glass bottom boat tour of the springs. Apparently, perch look a lot like piranha. At least enough that someone thought that this was the perfect location for filming the horror flick Piranha. I usually went with Randy and Katrina and J when they'd take J down to boy scout camp every summer. We always stopped at the Heavner Runestone and it was my favorite thing. It should be of no surprise that during our tour of the Dakotas, we stopped to see the World's Largest Buffalo and ride a giant Jackeloupe. 

The Cabbage spent this last weekend with Randy and Katrina and we met them in Joplin on Sunday to retrieve her and take her back to her mom's. We had some time to kill as we drove north on the highway. Michael looked up some roadside attractions on his phone and we both agreed that we had to see the World's Largest Coal Shovel! The giant morel mushroom can be seen from the highway. The coal shovel was off the beaten path a bit. Lordy, it was so cold, but we all got out of the car to inspect the giant shovel any way. I told the Cabbage "get in there so I can get a picture." She happily obliged. I thought maybe once inside the shovel, it wouldn't be so cold. The wind still managed to nip at our fingers and noses. Water had formed frozen puddles in the corners, trapping acorns and leaves. We didn't investigate the shovel for long. I didn't even read the panel next to it that told the story of the shovel. 

We've got a trip planned in June. We'll be meeting friends in Alabama for a week on the beach, our first vacation with the Cabbage. I've done very little research on area activities for where we will actually be staying. Instead I've been looking at the map and planning roadside attraction stops. I can see a whole photo album of the Cabbage standing next to the world's oldest shoe or the world's largest soup spoon. I see there's a giant fork in Springfield and a giant chicken statue on a car in Alabama. I'm sure it won't take much convincing to get Michael to stop at the scrap metal sports statues. Wait! I just discovered the Parachute Inn and Restaurant. This may have to happen. 

Hello. My name is Cindy Maddera and I am addicted to kooky roadside attractions. 

Happy Love Thursday!

LOVE THURSDAY

I wanted to punch Tuesday in the face. I'm not going to sugar coat or pretend like I didn't get ragey. I got ragey. It started with getting my windshield replaced. A rock hit my windshield back in December. I've been watching a crack slowly creep it's way from one side of the windshield to the other, right at eye level. Every time I'd get in my car for the last two months, I've had a nice little knot settle in the pit of my stomach and I could swear that I could hear the glass cracking. Finally tax money came in and I scheduled the glass repair company to come to my workplace to replace the windshield. I received a call just a few minutes before that scheduled time from the glass place asking me if I could bring my car into the shop. Like right now. So I drove twenty minutes, waited for about forty five minutes for them to replace the windshield, argued over the price because they had tried to charge me the fee for coming to me, and drove twenty minutes back to work.

Once back at my desk, I was greeted with an email from the realty company that I was going through to rent a condo for our vacation in June. The realtor, Kylee, said that the unit I had already put a down payment on was no longer available, but they had this other unit for $66.60 more. The more I thought about this, the angrier I got. I could take that other unit and pay a little bit more. I mean $66.60 isn't a huge price jump, but now I was distrustful of this company. I could clearly see an email coming to me next month saying "hey...that unit you booked for $66.60 more than the unit you first booked is no longer available. But here's another unit for $200 more!" So I immediately went into must-fix-vacation mode and started looking into other options. I made some inquiries and I'm still waiting to hear back, but by golly! I am not paying more money for that condo! 

Then things at work got irritating and I spent an hour waiting for tech support to call me back, which they never did. And because I'd left work in the middle of the day to get my windshield replaced, I had to stay a little later at work. I sat at my desk and stewed in silence. Tuesday had just made me the angriest of angries. Finally, I made my way home. I walked in the front door and Michael and Josephine where on the couch. Josephine's head popped up and Michael looked at her and asked "who's that, Josephine?". Her little nub of a tail started wagging and my heart lifted a little. I told Michael about all the things of the day with Josephine tucked under my arm. Then I kissed Michael and we made jambalaya and spent the evening on the couch with the dog. At one point I looked at Michael, Josephine chewing on her stuffed turtle between us, and I said "this makes everything better." And it did. 

I am not a person that comes home raging about the little inconveniences of my day. When I do, it's nice to come home to someone who can listen with empathy. And when I apologized for being gripey, Michael said "It's OK. Not every day can be rainbows and lollipops." Playing a round of fetch with Josephine didn't hurt either. No. Not every day can be rainbows and lollipops, but it certainly can end with rainbows and lollipops. The next morning I got in my car and looked clearly through the front windshield without a knot in my gut. I also had plan for how to fix our vacation and have emailed Kylee to request a refund on my deposit. I erased Tuesday with a better Wednesday. 

Happy Love Thursday. May this day be better than yesterday and yesterday better than the day before.

LOVE THURSDAY

This today. The first ride of the year. And then I nearly dropped my phone. #365

"This today. The first ride of the year. And then I nearly dropped my phone. #365"

I know that it is still winter. In fact many parts of the country are dealing with the harsh reality of winter as I sit here. There was a story on NPR the other morning about snow plow drivers in New Hampshire being sleep deprived. Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow even though the day was cloudy and decided that we would indeed have six more weeks of winter. I have no idea what's keeping the people in the East coast from going postal on Punxsutawney Phil other than immobilization from mountains of snow. I still suspect that Punxsutawney Phil better watch his back. 

The Midwest on the other hand, is experiencing it's warmest winter to date. We have days where the high is just above freezing followed by days of Spring like temperatures. Last Wednesday it snowed about two to three inches. By Saturday the highs where in the sixties and most of the snow was melted. It's been doing this kind of thing for weeks now. One day it's twenty seven degrees outside and the next day it's seventy.  I was used to this kind of thing living in Oklahoma, but I'm a little surprised by it here in KCMO. Sunday was one of those days where the temperatures reached seventy. I had had family in town on Saturday so chores like grocery shopping and laundry got put off to Sunday. As I stood in the kitchen washing dishes, I looked out into the backyard filled with sunlight. I could see our sad garden boxes full of leaves and left over plants that I never got around to pulling up. When Michael walked in to the kitchen I looked at him and said "I'm going to clean out the garden beds today." And that's what I did. Josephine helped me gather leaves and pull out plants and weeds. I still need to turn the beds and mix in some new dirt, but we should be ready to start planting in the Spring. 

While I cleaned out the gardens, Michael started working on his work table in the basement. He reached a point where he needed to go to the hardware store and suggested that we both go and take the scooters. That trip to the hardware store turned into a two hour excursion. Of course when we started the scooters, both were sitting on empty. This meant travelling over to the gas station on State Line because we know they have ethanol free gas. I needed to drop by work for something, so we took the scenic route through the country club area and past Loose Park. The park was full of people walking and jogging and just taking advantage of the weather. Once we got to work, we decided we were hungry and this took us on another scenic route that took us by the hardware store and Chipotle. We finished the ride with a trip to Trader Joe's because there were a couple of things I had missed earlier when I was there for groceries. 

That first scooter ride after months and months of not being able to ride is always sweetest. This is the time of year when the weather begins to tease us with the possibility of Spring. So when those seventy degree days pop up there is no better way to celebrate than by turning a mundane errand into a two hour jaunt on scooters. It's something to savor. It's a moment of joy to look back on when the next day is below thirty. It's a promise that eventually winter will end and every day will be a scooter day. 

You guys getting hit with all that snow? I promise, Spring will be here before you know it. Here's to hope and here's to a lovely Love Thursday.

LOVE THURSDAY

Winter weather advisory.

"Winter weather advisory."

I have had this screen open all day, but I've been consumed with other tasks and unable to put any thought into a Love Thursday post. I always try to write these entries the day before. So, as I sit here typing this, it is really Wednesday. It started snowing here around noon and has progressed from teeny tiny flakes to medium fat flakes. The city was turned completely white in less than an hour. I am currently watching the traffic outside. At 3:30 pm the cars are already bumper to bumper. Everyone is moving at a snail's pace. 

There's a large flock of starlings swooping around in all of this weather too. They showed up around here last Friday. By late afternoon, they have migrated to my side of the building.  I watch them all settle into one tree. It seems like as soon as they are all settled they are up again, swooping this way and that. They make their own cloud and their black bodies contrast sharply against the white sky. I watch them floating this way and that and it makes me want to dance with them. I see myself swaying and moving my arms around like some hippy child at Coachella. I am reminded of that line in Forest Gump. "Dear Lord, make me a bird so I can fly far far away." They are my reminder to move freely. 

It's cold and miserable outside, yet these birds twist and turn and float with ease as if there is no such thing as uncomfortable temperatures. A lesson I have yet to learn. I mentioned the possibility of yoga classes being cancelled to Talaura and she said maybe they'd move class outside and we'd use our mats as sleds. My mat would make a terrible sled, but I did suddenly want to go sledding. Maybe I am learning that lesson if I'm willing to entertain the idea of zipping down a hill on piece of plastic. Those birds are my new meditation for surviving winter. 

LOVE THURSDAY

A while back, sometime between Christmas and the New Year, there was a day where the temperatures were tolerable outside, but the sky was overcast. A dirty white blanket rested over the city. I took a break from my work to walk over to the Kauffman Memorial Gardens with my camera. The day seemed to be lacking in color what with leafless trees and the brown grass of winter. So I set my camera to black and white thinking that this would be a good exercise in photography. Except as I crossed the street to get to the gardens, I looked up to see these trees at the entrance covered in bright red berries. The trees lined the stone wall of the garden and like all the other trees, these guys were devoid of leaves. All the starkness of the cold stone wall and the dead winter ground made the berries seem more than red.

They were a surprise. I had set my expectations to see black and white. I wasn't even going to try to see colors that day. I knew that there were still Christmas decorations up and there was a lovely wreath on one side of the wall, but because of the overcast sky it all just seemed dull. The tinsel and ribbons had faded and I didn't really give much of a glance to it. I was looking for shadows and contrast and the hold outs of Christmas decor just didn't catch my eye. Yet here were these bright red berries. Enticing. Looking easily like something to be plucked and eaten, though I'm sure they are not to be eaten by humans any way. 

A recent MRI study by the University College of London found that  "happiness depends not on how well things are going but whether things are going better or worse than expected." When I stepped outside that day with my camera, I had very low expectations. The day was dreary and flat. The lighting was not ideal. I just wanted to be outside for a bit and taking my camera for a walkabout seemed as good as an excuse as any even if I was sure that I would not be taking any frame worthy photos. But when I turned to cross the street and saw the pop of red, my heart lifted. There is a happiness movement that has swept the country. I have fallen for it myself with my own daily happiness project. There is such a push to be happy and if you try all kinds of activities and you're still not happy, here's a pill that will make you happy. I think there are times we look and try too hard. Instead of being happy, why not just be? Let the happy find you for change. Let the happy surprise you. 

Happy Love Thursday.

LOVE THURSDAY

Thief

elephant_soap's photo on Instagram

I've talked about how Michael and I have this awkward dance we do around each other in the kitchen.The kitchen is small. There's some timing that has to happen when one of us moves from the stove to the fridge or chopping block to the sink. I think I'm a little bit smoother at dancing around him than he is around me. I'm used to cooking in a kitchen full of cooks. He is used to being the only cook and I think He's just now getting used to sharing a kitchen with someone else who cooks. There is one kitchen dance that we have perfected though. The dance of a dozen enchiladas. It's kind of like the dance of the seven veils but with out the veils because that would be a fire hazard in the kitchen. Also, I think any form of stripping in the kitchen when CRISCO is melting in a skillet is probably dangerous. But enchiladas are our tango. 

Michael usually chops the onion and anything else that needs chopping. I think I scare him when I use knives. He does a good job of not telling me to stop what I'm doing, but just walks away so he doesn't have to witness the potential chopping off of a digit. I cook all the things he's chopped in ghee and spices. Enchilada filling varies from black beans and sweet potatoes to mushrooms and black beans. Black beans are probably always an ingredient. Once the enchilada filling is cooked and slightly cooled, Michael dredges the corn tortillas in hot oil. Just enough to soften them. Then he passes them over to me where I fill them with enchilada filling and cheese and then roll them up. This is our assembly line and it runs so smoothly that I think at times we could do this for a living. We could have our own enchilada food truck and call ourselves Team Enchilada. 

We don't cook together often. Mostly because we tend to get in each other's way. Thanksgiving was more challenging just because of the shear amount of food that we were preparing in a tiny kitchen. Toes are inevitably stepped on when we are both in the kitchen. But something magical happens when we make enchiladas together. Suddenly we turn into this well oiled machine and we move in unison, swaying to our own tune. It's pretty impressive to watch and be a part of all at the same time. 

Go Team Enchilada! And Happy Love Thursday.

LOVE THURSDAY

I got to looking back through my archives and realized that the last Love Thursday entry I did was December 11, 2014. Almost exactly a month ago. I thought it had been a while since I had typed out "LOVE THURSDAY" in a title bar and glancing through those December entries I can see that I was in no mood or state of mine to pull some cheery lovey dovey post out of my brain (ass). Between December 11th and now there have been a lot of sad posts and some really boring posts. I've lost four pounds. I've been on my mat and off my mat and back on my mat. It has been sixty degrees outside. It has been ten degrees outside. Currently it is eight degrees and everything is covered in a dusting of snow that fell days ago, but it's been too cold for any of it to melt. I traveled the whole state of Oklahoma on a solo Christmas tour. I've cleaned out my closet and a whole filing drawer. I've looked at puppies (one of which will be coming home with us at the end of this month). I have walked 128,576 steps. I have also watched all of American Horror Story's Coven and Season seven of Sons of Anarchy.  

To be honest, I'm not so sure I am yet in the right mindset to write a Love Thursday. I was thinking this as I sat down to write, even though I've also spent a lot of time in the last few weeks inside my own head. This is the first full week of the New Year. The first full week of getting back into routines with normal bedtimes, usual work hours and scheduled gym time. It had crossed my mind to drop Love Thursdays from the usual routine, but I have come to realize that these entries are part of that routine. It's like sitting down with a cup a coffee on a Sunday to watch CBS Sunday morning. There are so many times I sit down to write an entry for Thursday and I have nothing, but something always comes to me while I'm typing things out. 

It all comes down to intention. Why do I write these entries? Why do I write? Do I just write this entry now out of habit? I've decided that the answer to that last one is "no". Each Love Thursday entry is planting the seed for good things to grow. When I feel I have nothing for these posts, I am forced to find something. I am forced to dig deep and see the good things that are not only in my life, but surround my life. And it inspires me to find more. So here is to a New Year of good, a New Year of love, and a New Year of Love Thursdays. 

Happy Day!

LOVE THURSDAY

Toe pick

elephant_soap's photo on Instagram

The day is cold and overcast. It is the kind of day that is best spent curled up in a nest of pillows and blankets, a mug of hot cocoa within easy arms reach and a good book. This is really what I'd like to do today. I've just started Cheryl Strayed's Wild and after slugging through the first chapter dealing with the death of her mom, I'm ready to move on to the hiking the trail part. That first chapter was a hard read. Her mom's cancer was the kill you fast kind like Chris's. I just want to read on to the grueling part of her slugging her way along the Pacific Crest Trail with zero previous hiking experience. Instead, I get up and go to work. It is the day of our department Christmas party. We are going ice-skating, which is the opposite of the snuggled laziness that I would have liked. 

I know I have been ice-skating at least once or twice. It seems like something that I would have done in a church activity. Yet it's something that happened so long ago, I don't remember if I was any good at it. Ask me about roller skating. I was a roller skating princess with my own skates and pink pomp-poms on those skates. I could do the limbo and the Hokie-pokie (that's what it's all about). I could skate forwards and backwards and figure eights. Every Tuesday night was dollar night for American Airlines kids and that's where we all went and skated to Debbie Gibson, Tiffany, Michael Jackson, and Cindi Lauper. Sometimes the DJ would toss in some disco, but mostly it was everything you can remember from the 80s. If it wasn't Tuesday, I'd be at the roller rink for some kid's birthday party or yet another church outing. Those Southern Baptists may not be into dancing, but we could out activity any dance party. If it wasn't the roller rink, we all ended up at Crystal's Pizza Place. The pizza and spaghetti were good. Mom loved the salad bar. Dad loved listening to the live entertainment from Hank The Bear. I loved playing skee-ball and watching the Three Stooges in the little theater. All of those places are gone now. I think there was a fire at Crystal's and they decided to take the insurance money and run. The roller rink is now a carpet store. 

I was good at roller skating. I was unsure of how I'd be at ice-skating. Earlier, when we discussed the idea of going ice-skating, someone in our group said "Of course you'll do fine Cindy. Of all of us in the group, you'll probably pick it up the fastest." This is their assumption of me, that I am nimble from years of yoga and have the balancing skills of a cat. Well it's true that years of yoga has made me bendy and I've always had mad balancing skills. I'm not sure if this qualifies me as a natural for the ice and as I carefully hobbled my way towards the ice rink I was feeling pretty positive that I lacked all qualities needed for ice skating. A wave of insecurity and fear flooded me. I am at an age where if I fall, I could really really hurt myself. I could break a hip. Things don't heal back as quickly or as easily as they did ten or twenty years ago. I am no spring chicken. I clung to the wall as I took my first tentative steps onto the ice and I knew I'd be clinging to that wall for the entire outing. I looked up and saw others from my group, ones who had gone on and on about how horrible they were going to be on the ice, setting off right out onto the rink without a glance at the wall. They just stepped out. No fear. And then I thought "WAIT A MINUTE!" I am that no fear girl. I am the cliff diver. I am the daredevil speed demon on a scooter. I am the one that says "Yes! Let's do this!" What the fuck was I doing clinging to this stupid railing?!?!

And so, I let go. 

Happy Love Thursday.

LOVE THURSDAY

Officially domestically partnered.

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Sometimes Michael will refer to me as his wife. One night last week, we were on our way home from somewhere (I can't remember now) and it had gotten dark by the time we'd reached the Country Club area. I started to ooh and awe over Christmas lights and Michael made a last minute left hand turn into a neighborhood. The Christmas lights were sparse. We ended up winding through the neighborhood looking for Christmas lights and at some point Michael yelled "Come on people! I'm trying to show my wife some Christmas lights here!" It throws me for a bit of a loop every time I hear him call me "wife." 

It flows easier from his lips than the word "husband" flows from mine. I don't know why this is. Tiffany said last week that she thought I was just shy about romance. I think she may be right. That or I'm just no good telling not quite the truth. I stammer over what to call Michael. "Boyfriend" was never a good term of endearment. It is the kind of word that connects my mouth with my eyes because as it drops from my tongue, my eyes roll up, over and back down. Such a juvenile word. "Partner" or "Domestic Partner" confuses people. I see it on their faces when I say it. Yet, "husband" just doesn't come to the top of the list for me. Labels are the worst. He's Michael, my Michael, and he really is officially my domestic partner. 

Last Wednesday, the two of us went over to city hall to file official Domestic Partnership papers. There was a lot that we had to take care of that day. Michael needed to pay his personal property taxes and renew his tag. The simplest (and cheapest) task by far was signing our names on a piece of paper and then watching the city clerk emboss it with an official seal. That's really all there is to it. We didn't make a big announcement. In fact, I don't think I even mentioned it to my family when they were here. Michael and I both decided that when or if the day comes when we decide that we actually need to be married, we'd probably do it the same way. Quietly sneak off to the courthouse and then post a picture of the marriage license on Instagram. We'd take turns casually mentioning that we got married. I'm all for elopement, though I think I'd want to wear a pretty new dress or something. 

THANKFUL LOVE THURSDAY

Us

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I just got sent to my room to write this entry. I had mentioned last night that I hadn't written anything for today and figured I would let it go this week, but apparently Michael grew tired of me standing in the dining room looking for something to do. So he sent me here. Very soon, in just a short hour or so, this house will be full. The kitchen is already warm from the oven as Michael is preparing the turkey he so excited about. For now, though, it is quiet. The Cabbage is still in her pajamas watching My Little Pony and I'm sitting here in my bed writing this post. 

As I stood in the bathroom getting ready this morning, a prayer song came to me. It's one we all know. "We gather together to ask the Lord's blessing..." I may not be a religious person but that doesn't mean I am irreverent. All across this nation people are gathering today to eat a lot of food, to watch parades and football. Plenty are even putting together their game plan for grabbing Holiday deals on Black Friday. Even with all of that going on, I am sure everyone of us will take a moment, one simple quiet moment, to give thanks. 

Today, I am grateful for my past. I am thankful for the love and life I had with Chris, the stupid silly moments I had with J and the simple crazy adventures I had with my Dad. I am thankful for all of the moments I was blessed to share with them. 

Today, I am grateful for my present. I am thankful for the love and life I have with Michael and the added bonus of the Cabbage. Two for the price of one. We filled out paper work yesterday for domestic partnership. Michael is slowly easing me into marriage. I am thankful for my family who could be with us today to share in our joy. 

Today I am thankful for my future. I have no way of knowing what's ahead. There are hopes and dreams, a feeling that more good things are to come. Of course there will be more loss. That is inevitable, but pain is always mixed with joy. Again, two for the price of one. There is something I do know, because often past, present and future sit together in one plane. The future holds more love, joy, silly moments and crazy adventures. 

I send peace and love to all today. Have a wonderfully Thankful Love Thursday.

LOVE THURSDAY

This picture makes me laugh and laugh

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Last week I took Michael's record player to a local record store for repairs. Actually, it was just one repair. It needed the needle cartridge replaced and then the arm had to be balanced. Michael's record player has been out of commission for some time now. I've heard him lament about not getting to listen to his records and how he needs to get that thing repaired soon. I was trying to come up with an idea for his birthday and getting the record player fixed sounded like the best idea. Until the record store called me to say that my $75 repair was looking like an over $300 repair. I guess when they plugged it in, the turntable would not turn. I looked around at the record players they had in the shop thinking that maybe I'd surprise Michael with a new one, but turns out that vintage equals expensive. I gathered up the old record player and went home to tell Michael the bad news and that I suck at birthday presents.

Michael did not believe the record store guy and immediately plugged in his record player. Low and behold the turn table started turning and I am an idiot. We both went back to the record store and one needle cartridge and new Pete Seager album later, Michael had his birthday present. He was so excited that he pulled all of his records off the shelf and organized them by genre and alphabet. We have sung along to Pete's Little Boxes a dozen times and had a dance party to Michael Jackson's Thriller. Michael is so excited about being able to play records at Thanksgiving. 

When I was little, I had those Disney records that had the picture of the movie printed into them. The soundtrack for Lady and the Tramp had the image of Lady and Tramp eating spaghetti. I also had Mickey Mouse Disco which featured Donald Duck singing Macho Duck to the tune of Macho Man. I had a lot of Disney soundtracks and spent a lot of hours singing along to Chem-chem cheminee and the Ugly Bug Ball. I did aerobics with Strawberry Shortcake on her jazzercise album. I would listen to my Mom's collection of forty fives. I would set my smurfs on the turntable at night in hopes they would come alive (something my Grandmother told me). 

It was watching Michael sort through his records that pulled all of these memories to the front part of my brain. Dusted the cobwebs off and made think "Oh yeah...I used to listen to records all the time." Lordy! The show tunes I would sing. I did not realize that the simple gift of fixing Michael's record player would bring me as much joy as it has brought to him. His enthusiasm for playing records at Thanksgiving is contagious. 

Michael has been slightly grumbly about turning a year closer to forty. He doesn't like the idea of getting old which I find slightly ironic because he likes old things. Record players, classic country, folk tunes. Every time he mentions that he is aging, I reply "isn't it great!" I'm excited about being the little old lady doing macrame in the retirement home. He complains about the amount of white showing up in his beard and I tell him that it is beautiful. More importantly though, I want to remind him that every year you survive is a year worth celebrating. Every year he has brought something to my life worth celebrating. Here's to many more years worth celebrating.

Happy Love Thursday.

LOVE THURSDAY

I am not an alcohol connoisseur. The times I've been required to or handed a shot of alcohol to down, I usually can get about half of it down before gagging. There's just something about the smell and the burn of it that turned me off. I do like the occasional cocktail but more often than not I will sit down with a glass of wine or a bottle of a good micro-brewed beer. Over the weekend, we drove over to New Haven to tour the Pinckney Bend Distillery. When I hear the word "distillery", I think of whiskey. Whiskey is not really my thing (see above) but learning about the process of making whiskey sounded interesting and I knew Michael would really enjoy it too. Neither of us didn't really know what to expect, but I don't think Michael and I expected to become quite so enamored by Pinckney Bend. 

For a measly five bucks, they start you off with a tasting of their various products (in a commemorative glass!). The first thing you taste is their vodka followed by their two whiskeys and then ending with their gin. They offer some cranberry juice to those who do not enjoy sipping vodka on the rocks and they make their own tonic to go in the gin. They ask that you taste a sip before mixing in a mixer just to appreciate the taste. If you're me, you take that sip and then make that cartoon gasping sound. There were two exceptions to this: the rye whiskey and the gin. Don't get me wrong. I wasn't all totally turned into a straight up whiskey on the rocks gal. I still winced at the sting of the drink, but for the first time I suddenly understood how people could actually sip this stuff straight up. I could actually taste all the flavors they were talking about, the caramel sweetness and the bite of rye. The first thing I noticed about the gin, was the smell. It smelled of juniper and chamomile and when mixed with their hibiscus tonic, made the most refreshing drink. We bought a bottle of gin that day. I had no idea I was gin drinker.

As enjoyable as the tasting was, it pales in comparison to how entertaining it was to hear these young men talk about their product and describe the process of distilling. There was excitement in their voices as they talked about the unique flavors in each liquor. There was pride in the way they poured their drinks. They were humble about how they did everything from bottling, corking and labeling all by hand. They don't do all of those things by hand to be trendy. They do it because they have to, but these guys love it. They love their job. They may be a small operation, but they are a small operation with a huge heart (and one amazing mustache). 

I think when many of us graduated from college or grad school, we figured we'd end up working some job or another. Many of us would end up with jobs just for the sake of having a job. It's not often you hear someone talk about their work and express joy, particularly in corporate America. Occasionally, though, you run across someone who has figured it out. They have found a way to make a living while doing something they love. I saw this in the chef for Port Fonda when I interviewed him. That was back when Port Fonda was a food trailer and Chris and I had the privilege of sitting in the trailer while the chef, Patrick Ryan, cooked us a meal and talked about creating good food with good ingredients. The guys working at Pinkney Bend speak the same language. There is joy and passion in the things they do. When I meet these people, I always say "Yes! This is what it's all about!" 

Maybe it has something to do with my inner hippy girl or my liberal arts background. I don't know. But I am always over joyed for those people I meet who have found that thing, that magic of creating something they can be proud of and use to pay the bills. This to me is the true example of the American can-do attitude. So today, for Love Thursday, I raise my glass to to those of you who have found a way to make your joy and passion work for you. 

LOVE THURSDAY

Trouble. Here it comes.

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I have told all of you the story of when Randy and Katrina lived in a trailer behind Mom and Dad's house when I was really little and how Katrina would watch me slide down the slide over and over and over only because I'd told her to do so. I'm sure I told all of you about how Katrina was instrumental in taking me to my first rock concert. Randy and Katrina took me, Janell and J to see Robert Palmer. The guy dancing next to me danced with a very full glass of beer that ended up all over me. It was totally awesome. I'm not sure if I ever told you about the time Katrina was huge pregnant with J and she was watching me, Janell and our friend Erika. We had to go to the grocery store and all the people there were looking at Katrina with judgy eyes. Janell, Erika and I latched on to Katrina and started calling her "mom." The three of us thought it was hilarious. Katrina did not. 

I collected Strawberry Shortcake when I was a kid and had every single Strawberry Shortcake doll that existed. Every single smelly one. Katrina played a major part in making sure that I had every thing Strawberry Shortcake. Pat Benatar, The Bee Gees, Eric Clapton, Rod Stewart, are all part of the soundtrack to my life introduced to me by Katrina. At one time Randy and Katrina owned a 1967 Ford van that someone had cut the top off of and welded a camper shell onto. It only had two seats and there was a hole rusted out of the floor in the back. I can remember sitting around this hole with Janell and we'd watch the road under us as Randy drove to this place and that. Every once in a while Katrina would yell back "scoot back from the hole!" because one of us had gotten a little too close to the edge. 

My memories do not go far enough back to ever remember Katrina not being a part of my family. Its kind of fuzzy, but I even vaguely remember when she and Randy took Janell and I to see The Jungle Book and that was near the beginning of her relationship with my brother. When I pull up Christmas memories, I see my mom in her apron with a tray of pecan tassies and I see Katrina's hands with her perfectly manicured nails tossing raw oysters in cornmeal before transferring them over to the fry pan. She is ingrained in my life. She is my sister-in-law but in the years I have known her she has played the roll of sister, parental figure, babysitter, cousin, confidant, and friend. 

Yesterday Katrina celebrated a birthday, but in reality we all celebrated her birthday. Because it's not just about her surviving another year. It's about another year (and many more) of having her in my life. Another year of her being my sister, parental figure, cousin, confidant and friend. I left babysitter off the list, because I don't really need that any more. Though, Katrina may disagree with that.

Happy Birthday Katrina! And Happy Love Thursday!

LOVE THURSDAY

Dad's old cigars

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A few weeks ago I got a facebook invite for an event from Terry and with Terry you never really know what you're getting into. This event happened to be for a Voodoo Ceremony honoring Ogue Sen Jak Maja. I only hesitated slightly before clicking to accept the invitation. I know some of you are slapping your foreheads and shaking your heads at why in the world I'd want to go to a Voodoo ceremony of any kind. I think under normal circumstances I would agree with you. Voodoo is some dark a scary juju. I accidentally stumbled into a Voodoo shop in New Orleans once. It was on one of the trips Chris and I took with Todd. We may have been on one end of Bourbon street, but I don't think that's right, more like a street over. There was a record shop that Todd wanted to go into and so we all went in and browsed through the records. At the very back of the shop was a doorway that I thought led to another room of records, but when I passed through the doorway, I realized quickly that this was not a room of more records. It was dark and there was someone sitting behind a counter in one corner. The person just stared at me without ever saying a word or nodding his head. There were bowls of dried alligator feet and chicken feet, a shelf of dolls made from burlap, and walls of candles. That room didn't feel right and I sure as heck didn't feel safe. I turned on my heel and walked straight out of that room, on through the aisles of records and out the front door to gulp some fresh air. 

I saw this voodoo ceremony invite as more of a something spooky to do for Halloween. Most people go to spook-houses for a Halloween thrill. I thought I'd mix it up this year and go to a Voodoo Ceremony instead. Also I have to admit that I was a bit curious and I can tell you that Kansas City voodoo is very tame to that back store voodoo of New Orleans. Our voodoo priestess of the evening is a lively Italian American woman with a thick New Jersey or Pittsburgh accent. She flew in her friend from New Orleans to be the head voodoo priest of the night's ceremony and he was the type of guy that you would never in a million years look at on the street and think "Oh...voodoo priest", more like "oh...choir boy." The venue was in the KC Conjure shop that is far from dark and scary with it's bright yellow walls. The chicken feet are decorated with rhinestones and mardi gras colored feathers. This is not your sacrificing chickens kind of voodoo.

Really...I'm not sure what was going on or why they were performing this ceremony in particular. There were lots of Haitian songs and there was a drum circle. Rum and cigars were placed in the circle as an offering and at one point we were all led to dance around the circle. No one became possessed even though there was a disclaimer about possible possession at the beginning of the ceremony and Terry's dance around the circle was very zombie. Was it all a little bit silly? Well...of course it was. But it was fun. Part of that fun was just spending the evening with Terry and Heather and part of that fun was just being open to experiencing something new. Participation in the ceremony isn't mandated. There were plenty of people watching from the edges of the circle. I knew that I could easily fall into being a watcher from the edge and so I pushed myself a little bit to actively participate. My "ayibobo" ("amen" or "hallelujah") reply to the voodoo priest's "ayibobo" was clear and strong. I swayed with the beat of the drums and I left a handful of old cigars that I'd found in Dad's desk drawer as an offering. I had a beaded shaker shook around me to shake up energy and rum spit at me to ward off bad stuff. When it was all said and done, we headed over to the 303 for drink.

And we laughed and talked and laughed some more. 

Ayibobo

LOVE THURSDAY

The Vicars or team Xander

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Later last week I got a group text inviting all to Terry's for fire pit and sausages and to celebrate the engagement of Bradley and Greg. They 're getting hitched in Seattle next week. The text informed us all that there would be cake and to bring a gag gift. I stewed over what to do about the gift for about a day before finally deciding that I could not do a gag gift. Marriage is a big deal, particularly when you've been denied the right to a legal marriage. Until now. So I decided that I would by them the traditional Target Wedding Gift Card. 

Tucked back into the farthest darkest corner of the engagement and wedding greeting cards at Target, I discovered two choices for Groom and Groom. Later that evening we would all be joking about this and how they'd end up with both of those cards. In fact the choice of engagement cards would be more of a disgruntled joke for some, but I have to admit to being thrilled with the discovery of those two cards. I didn't expect to find ANY cards. Yes, Kansas City is fairly progressive and liberal, but MO as a whole is not. This state is still debating the issue of same sex marriage. This particular Target store sits right on the State Line with very conservative "Christian values" Kansas on one side. There is always a line for the drive through of the Chick-fil-a in the parking lot of this store and I never saw a single protester there when the Chick-fil-a owner was yelling out his anti-homosexual nonsense. It's not that I think that area is the type to throw rocks at homosexuals, but it doesn't really give off an all embracing type of of vibe either.

When I saw those two groom and groom cards, it filled my heart with hope. I could easily envision the day when I would find a whole section full of cards to celebrate this kind of occasion. It's just like that dancing guy video that circulated around years ago. One guy starts dancing and before you know it he has a crowd of people dancing with him. It starts with these two cards and before you know it you will be walking the greeting card isles and wondering why it never had such a selection before. You will be amazed at how stupid and hateful people were back then regarding this fundamental right as an American citizen. You'll push your cart while shaking your head in disbelief that this was never the norm. 

I am so happy for Bradley and Greg. I met Greg on my first AIDS Walk Open and Bradley soon after. I've seen this pair grow from puppy love to best friends and into true life partners. They are a couple and they are deserving of Target Wedding gift cards and "bridal" showers and most importantly a legally binding license. I wish them all the best.

Oh and I completely forgot to take my phone or camera, so there are zero images from that night on my phone. I am not sorry that I spent the evening disconnected from the internet or my lens.

Happy Love Thursday!

LOVE THRUSDAY

Hands

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He tells me that my hands are a barometer and that winter is coming. I am standing in the kitchen putting quinoa and chopped sweet potatoes into the rice cooker while my breakfast cooks in a skillet behind me. He's just peeled himself from his bed and wandered into the kitchen to get a drink of water before jumping in the shower to get ready for work. His hair is sticking out at all angles and his eyes are all squinty. He wraps his arms around my waist and rest his chin on my shoulder as I stir the contents of the rice cooker before placing my hand over his. 

"Winter is coming" He says.

He tells me he knows because the other night, only my finger tips were cold to the touch. Now the cold has moved all the way into the last section of of my fingers. The cold has moved from the distal phalanx, on through the middle phalanx and has settled into the proximal phalanx. He tells me that soon the cold will creep all the way into the palm of my hand. That's when he'll know for sure that winter is here. My hands do not tell fortunes or cast spells, but they tell you the weather. 

Meanwhile he is always radiating heat. The miserly old man inside me refuses to turn the heat on until November. As the evenings grow increasingly colder, I move from my side of the couch to his side. It's the equivalent to placing a hot stone at your side or hot water bottle in your bed. I do my best to avoid touching bare skin with my icy hands, but it's inevitable that this will happen. Depending on the situation that contact will be met with a gasp or yelp. I try to be mindful not to induce a yelp, but sometimes it's unavoidable.

He is always hot and I am always cold. The electric blanket on my bed stopped working last winter, but because I had nothing else, I put it back on the bed when it turned cold. The other night I shivered as I climbed under the covers into my cold bed. Michael said that he loved climbing into cool sheets. I shivered and rolled into a ball letting my roly poly impression reflect my disdain for crawling into a cold bed. He told me to buy a new electric blanket. He is still sleeping under a thin sheet and measly comforter.  

We are a temperature example of the basic rule of magnetism: like poles repel and unlike poles attract. 

Happy Love Thursday.