LOVE THURSDAY

Trolley Track Trail and I don't care

"Trolley Track Trail and I don't care"

Here is what I have learned while riding my bike to work every day. Riding your bike takes longer than driving a car or riding the scooter. At first this was the most vexing thing to me. It would consume every section of my brain. I was going to be "late" to work. I was never going to get home. I was working way too hard to get up that hill. This was made worse by being on an uncomfortable bike. My butt kept sliding to far forward on the seat and my wrist hurt from the angle of the handles. Since the bike frame was too small, I wasn't getting a full extension with my legs and this made pedaling twice as hard.

I thought this would be solved with the new bike, that I wouldn't worry about time because this bike is more comfortable, but the ride home, up all of those hills, wasn't any easier. There was also still this needling thought that I wasn't moving fast enough. The cars just zoomed by, sometimes dangerously fast and more than too close for comfort. This didn't help the constant nagging feeling that I was moving too slow either. I had chosen the shortest route, traveling up and down Troost. It's 3.2 miles from home to work if I take this street. Troost is a busy street and evening rush hour traffic was harrowing. Often times I would ride on the sidewalks even though this isn't really any safer. Riding a bike down Troost at five o'clock is like trying to meditate in a room full of twenty screaming toddlers while balancing knives on your finger tips and a platter of hot lava on your head. 

Michael kept telling me that I should jot over to the Trolley Track Trail. At least for the ride home. I wasn't convinced that this would be any better. It just seemed too far out of the way. It added 1.4 miles to my trip. But he told me it was a good trail. It's flat and I'd only have one hill to contend with and that one really isn't as bad as any of those on Troost. So for my ride home on Wednesday, I made my over to the trail and had the most pleasant ride home from work on the bicycle since I started this whole bike to work thing. I never felt like I was working too hard to make distance. I didn't feel the need to keep up with cars. I just pedaled along. The trail is mostly shaded so I didn't feel like I was being baked and it only took me about five minutes longer to get home. 

I'll still take Troost in the mornings to get to work. I leave early enough in the mornings that traffic isn't too bad and it's mostly all down hill. The Trolley Track Trail is my new route home. Sure it might be slightly out of the way, but it's definitely a more pleasant ride. It's easier to just be present on my bike and really see the joy in riding a bicycle. When Michael saw the bike I wanted and saw me on it he said "all I see is country girl." Well...it's true. I grew up riding a bike in the country. There was no rush to get any where. We just went off with no real destination in mind. There were no cars zooming dangerously by. A lot of the appeal of riding the trail is that it's very similar to taking those back country roads. But also it is a reminder that sometimes the best path isn't always the most direct path. 

Here's to taking the long way home. Happy Love Thursday!

LOVE THURSDAY

Tic-tac-toe

"Tic-tac-toe"

Earlier this week I had a work related dinner and I ended up sitting across the table from one of the guys that works in our office, but not in our department. We were talking about cars and I  mentioned that I had finally bought a new car just a few years ago. I said that after Chris passed away, my old car just didn't seem safe. Brian, the guy sitting across from me, knew a little of my story, but he didn't know the whole story. So he asked me about Chris and I found myself telling the story of how Chris died for the third time in the last two days. My first thought was "holy goats! how can I still be telling this story?!?" I mean, come on. The whole me being a widow is so passe. My second thought was "man, this story has gotten really easy to tell."

When I was telling Brian this story, I could hear myself explaining Chris's illness and death in such a matter of fact way, like this is no big deal. People go to bed with Food Borne Hep A and wake up with inoperable tumors on their livers all the time. Except I could see Brian turning slightly red as tears began to well up in his eyes. In that moment I knew exactly what he was thinking. He had done the math. We're about the same age. I was married to Chris for almost fifteen years, the same length of time Brian and his wife have been married. He's thinking that this story could easily be his story. I looked directly at him and said "I have zero regrets. I cannot look back at a day with Chris where we did not laugh. We were happy and yes it sucks, but it is an unchangeable and unfixable event. I had a choice. I could give up on my life too or I could honor Chris's memory by truly living my life now. And then I met Michael. I fell in love and I am happy. Every moment matters."

I said those things to Brian for a couple of reasons. First of all, it's the honest to gods' truth. Every single word of it. In between times when life has been punching me in the face, I have had (still have) some beautiful, hilarious, happy moments over flowing with love.  My life has worked out in a very yin/yang sort of way.  Also, the poor man was on the verge of a melt down. He had not been prepared for the full impact of my story.  I was making an attempt to calmly and rationally extinguish that melt down. Maybe it was a little bit on the cliche side to say that every moment matters, but at the very least Brian went home to his wife and told her how much he appreciated the life they share. Without it being an anniversary or a birthday or some other holiday. 

I've said it before that I can not tell a story of how I came to this place without mentioning Chris. Terry pointed out Saturday night as we hugged for the millionth time while I was trying to leave the party, that all of this is because of Chris. The good parts and the bad parts. For a while there, I had to tell that story and end it with "it sucks, but I'm fine." Now I can tell that tale and tie it up with "I fell in love. I am happy." 

LOVE THURSDAY

Not ripe

"Not ripe"

A storm swept through on Tuesday. It rained most of the day and at some point during that evening the sky turned that odd yellow color that tends to precede something bad. Nothing bad happened. No tornadoes or hail or high winds. Just regular old thunder and lightening. By Wednesday morning all of that weather had cleared off and I was able to ride my bike to work. Except Wednesday morning was challenging. The cat knocked over his food bowl and the food had to be swept up before Josephine could eat it. Josephine has eaten the cat's food enough to throw it all back up in neat little piles on the floor. So sweeping up this mornings spill was important. I was indecisive about what shirt to wear and ended up changing clothes three times. Josephine had to be yelled at for jumping up on top of the chicken run and running back and forth, terrorizing the chickens. 

Finally, I was out the door and on my way. And it was awful. That first hill up 77th to Troost was the worst thing ever. I got to the top of that hill and thought it was probably going to take me an hour to get to work. It was excruciating, but I made it to work. I made it to work with my cranky pants tied on really tight and I just sort of sat at my desk stewing in it. I was not the only one. I could hear the grumbles from others. Someone spilled their coffee. This person was late. That person didn't do what they were supposed to have done. We had all been hit with the Wednesday cranks. When I went out for my morning loop with my cup of coffee in hand, my first instinct was to grumble about the chill in the air as the door shut behind me. I did not have a sweater and the wind had a definite bite to it. Then I thought "wait. the wind has a definite bite it." 

That storm that swept through left behind cool temperatures and a breeze that suggested of apple picking, bonfires and football games. I am not quite ready for summer to end, but a break from the summer heat is nice and I know that this all that this is. A break from the heat. Temperatures are supposed to warm back up over the weekend. It is a hint of things to come though. I've noticed something about seasons around here. They don't show up all of a sudden and declare that Winter is over or Fall is here. I guess some would say that Mother Nature is a bit of a tease. You've just endured months of freezing temps, so here's a day of Spring like temperatures to remind you that there is warmth and sunshine coming eventually. Then the next day it will snow and you will have to shovel your driveway. When you are a warm weather girl, this can be really annoying, but now I see it as less teasing and more slow adjustments. Mother Nature likes to ease you into the changes ahead. It's like she's reminding you that all those things that you like you to do in the next season are coming. 

Today's weather was a reminder that apple picking and bonfires are coming. Soon we will be breaking out sweaters and carving pumpkins. We will be oohing and awing over the beautiful leaves with their bright reds and yellows. I know I'm not ready for any of that, but I look forward to doing all of those things. When I thought of all of this, I got a little less cranky. My bike ride home that evening was not easy (uphill all the way), but I didn't care. I was in no hurry, no chance of being late for anything. I savored the ride home just like I plan on savoring these last few days of summer.

Happy Love Thursday!

LOVE THURSDAY

Last week, I was catching up on all of the things with Todd. We hadn't seen each other in probably two years. In the first five minutes of seeing each other, we couldn't stop hugging or just looking at each other's faces. It was kind of ridiculous. We all went to dinner. I even dragged Sean with us and after dinner we walked up to the Apple Store (I had forgotten my charger for my laptop). As we walked, Todd asked me about Michael and how things were going. He said by all appearances, it looked like things were going well. I sighed and told Todd that I wanted to complain, but there's nothing really to complain about. I found myself begrudgingly admitting that things were good. Things ARE good. 

A few months back, a neighborhood garage sale turned into a "hey! look at that house for sale!" and we started peaking in through windows of some great old houses. At one point Michael said that I could just sell my house so we could buy one of these homes. I waffled. I waffled a lot and I even said that selling my house was a really big commitment. It was the wrong thing to say. Because I didn't follow that up with the right words, the words I really meant. What I should have said was that selling my house was committing to believing that I would never need a small space to live because Michael left in some way. My house is my escape hatch for that day when Michael A) grows tired me or B) dies. Except, I didn't say any of that. I left it at "big commitment" because I am a jerk and a fraidy cat. I let Michael fill in the blanks of what "big commitment" meant. And let's face it. We are all prone to fill in blanks with the worst case scenario.  Any way, we left it at that and neither of us said any thing more on the subject. It just sort of got filed away with things to mule over.  Or stew over.

The day Michael finished the chicken coop, I told him that if he asked me, I'd marry him. I may not always say the words that I should say, but I don't say anything I don't mean. It's a pretty big deal if I of all people admit that "yes I will marry you." The problem is that I don't want to admit to things being good. In the back of my crazy brain there is an idea that if I admit to being happy or things being good, something will happen to end all of that. Did I mention I am a fraidy cat? I don't understand how I can be so fearless in so many aspects of my life. I am the girl willing to jump out of the airplane or off that cliff, yet I am not emotionally fearless. My science brains tells me that people are unreliable without meaning to be unreliable. Which is true. People are just like pets. You get attached and love them and then they die. This is expected if you have a dog. They get less years on the planet. Humans have who knows how many years on the planet. Humans are the ultimate unknown. 

Except...I am attached to Michael. So even if he were to go away tomorrow, I'd be hurt. I've already jumped out that airplane and been emotionally brave enough to let this relationship happen at all. I think that's the part of it that I need to remember. I've already done the scary part. I've already been fearless. Michael is starting graduate school this Fall. There are chickens in the backyard. We have this really crazy dog and this weirdo cat. This morning I had to tell Josephine to please stop dragging the cat across the floor by his ear. They're the best of friends. We eat tomatoes and squash that we grew ourselves. We kiss each other goodbye in the mornings and are happy to see each other at the end of a long day. I'm just going to straight up say it. I'm the most fearless girl you've ever met. And things are good.

Happy Love Thursday!

LOVE THURSDAY

I was on the fence about taking my Nikon with me to New York. Up until the day before I was leaving, I still didn't know. There is a section of gmail chat between me and Talaura that goes something like this.

• Me: I'm not bringing my Nikon. I am bringing my Nikon. 
• Talaura: Oh for the love of Pete, Woman!

It's possible Talaura didn't actually say "for the love of pete", but we both agreed that I would bring my Nikon. I just wouldn't carry it with me on conference days. This seemed like a reasonable solution. Also it would give me incentive to get it out and use it. If I'm going to lug that thing all the way to New York City, I better use it. And I did. Sunday morning Sarge was very patient with me as we walked through Ft. Tryon park and I kept stopping to take this or that picture. I used it all day on Monday while I walked the Highline and all through Chinatown. Sometimes I'd have the strap of my Nikon looped around my neck and my iPhone tucked into my bra strap, at the ready to shoot with either weapon of choice. 

I knew there were pictures I was taking that would turn out great and I knew that there were some in the bunch that would just be mediocre. There were times I was frustrated with lighting and times I was frustrated by the limitations of my current lens. I really need to replace the lens on my Nikon. Then there where moments where I spent time on setting up a particular shot knowing that this was going to be a great picture. Like the one I took while standing in the middle of the street. In New York City's Chinatown. "Get in the car Cindy." Really, when I'm taking pictures with the Nikon, I don't know if the images are going to turn out to be keepers. Yes it s a DSLR, but the screen on the back is too small to tell me much other than if the image is too bright or too dark. So in a way it's still kind of like working with a film camera. I'm not really sure about what I'm going to get until I get the pictures loaded onto my computer for editing. 

That picture above is one of the ones I took in Chinatown. I remember being rushed in taking it. So I am surprised that it turned out the way it did. It is one of my favorite shots taken that day. I think this is because there is so much going on in the picture. The man behind the window is busy stirring trays of food. The cars reflected in the window are zooming down the street. The lights are streaky, giving the whole image an appearance of motion. This picture is motion. Then if you look closely, you can see my reflection in the window. Me and the roasted birds are the only things still in this picture. My gangling arms are holding the camera to my eye with my elbows jutting out at dangerous angles. It took me several minutes to even recognize myself in this picture.  I am dressed as the teenage version of me.  Shorts, t-shirt, sandals. Even my hair is the same, though you can't really tell that here. I don't cringe at this reflection. In fact I think "You are totally rockin' that R2-D2 t-shirt, Cindy." Age shmage. 

Happy Love Thursday!

LOVE THURSDAY

Something about a solitary morning

"Something about a solitary morning"

I keep having to remind myself that today is Tuesday and I'm writing this post early because I'll be on a plane all day on Thursday. All signs point to this really being Wednesday. My Wednesday meal got bumped to Tuesday because Michael is taking the Cabbage to her gymnastics class. This also means that I have the house to myself and will get some packing done. I usually don't start packing until the night before a trip. Not because I'm a procrastinator, but because I want to be sure to have all clothing possibilities. The pants I wore Monday will be washed just in case I want them for Friday. That kind of thing. When I sat down to write an entry for Love Thursday, I thought about just leaving it and putting up a "gone fishing" sign. An evening to myself changed my mind.

On Saturday mornings I tend to get up earlier than everyone in the house. Sometimes I go grocery shopping or to yoga. If I go grocery shopping I stop in at Coffee Girls for an Americano and a bagel. I think I've talked about this here before. It used to be my little secret. When asked I would say I just stopped for a bagel. I never said that I sit with my journal and linger over my cup of coffee while savoring that bagel. It seemed like something that I should not admit to, like it would hurt others' feelings because I was off on my own. A few Saturdays back, Michael and I had plans to kayak out at a local lake. We were also in the middle of a cleansing diet and needed someplace that would be open early with an appropriate breakfast. I mentioned that Coffee Girls offers smoothies and juices, so that's where we headed. While we waited for smoothies, I told Michael that this is where I go to get my Saturday bagel and the following week when it came time to do grocery shopping Michael said "You want to go with out me? You could get a bagel." Suddenly, my solitary morning rituals seemed a thing I no longer needed to keep secret.

During that time between Chris and Michael, I got comfortable being alone. I learned to be still and confident while eating at a table for one. I was relaxed in my solidarity. I enjoyed being an observer. Those quiet Saturday mornings are my reminder, my lesson in being alone so I don't forget. That Saturday, I sat at the bar that faces the east windows. The sun was glaring through the window, but I wanted to sit in the light. The guy with the laptop who is always there had set up his office at the large square table behind me. His journal was open and I peeked a glance at it over my shoulder. It was filled with sketches. I watched a young couple walk by pushing a toddler in a stroller. I watched an older couple walk by in the other direction walking their dog. I inhaled the scent of good coffee and I felt the sun warm on my face. I rolled my shoulders down my back and lifted my heart to the sun and completely surrendered to being alone. 

Today for Love Thursday, we celebrate moments of solitude. See you guys next week!

LOVE THURSDAY

Cindy Maddera on Instagram: "Scooters"

"Scooters"

Our weekend was a one of scooters and fireworks. After dropping the Cabbage off with her mom on Friday, Michael and I traded the car for the scooters and zipped down to the Boulevard for tacos. Saturday we decided to make a picnic and scooter over to Long View Lake for their fireworks extravaganza. The ride home that night was like driving through the Apocalypse with neighborhood fireworks going off all around us. A heavy sulfurous haze settled over the roads and as Michael crested one hill, he almost ran over a guy who was in the process of lighting a firework in the middle of the street. I wonder how long I have to live here before I will get used to fireworks in the neighborhoods and city limits. I don't think it's legal, but no one seems to care too much. Sunday, we rode the scooters back out to the Long View Lake area to get our hairs cut and then to find lunch. Except it was more like lupper because by the time we got there is was three o'clock. 

Friday, as I followed Michael up State Line, I couldn't stop thinking about when Michael bought his scooter. I was in Chicago for BlogHer '13. He sent me a text telling me he was scooter shopping and I had a mild panic attack. Because I knew that he wasn't just buying a scooter. At the time I wanted to say "Dude, don't". Don't buy the scooter. Don't fall for me. Do not get remotely serious about this relationship. His buying the scooter was the equivalent of presenting me a diamond ring while kneeling. I would have none of that, thank you very much. Of course, Michael did a great job of playing it off, like buying the scooter was no big thing. He said if we didn't work out, he'd still have the scooter. Except, I knew better and I did my best to ignore the giant diamond ring in the room or garage and just go with it. Like riding a scooter.

Now whenever we get ready to go somewhere, the question is "Do we take the scooters?" The answer, unless the outing involves a large bag of groceries or the Cabbage, is usually a resounding "yes". There was joy in riding the scooter alone, those weekends when I'd head out into the city to hunt up something new. But it's better with two. Michael always manages to find the longest way to get someplace. He is the winner of stretching out the ride, making the most of the day. Which is his way. He's good at pushing me outside my comfort zone. I don't think I tell him this often enough. So while we munched on chips and fresh guacamole, I told him what I had been thinking about during our ride. I no longer ignore the giant diamond ring that sits in the garage. I just accept it for what it is. 

Years of scooter riding adventures.

Happy Love Thursday!

LOVE THURSDAY

Hubcap reflection of me and @birdpony in the International Towing and Recovery Museum and Hall of Fame. #365

"Hubcap reflection of me and @birdpony in the International Towing and Recovery Museum and Hall of Fame. #365"

Chad knows about number sixty one on my Life List (I really need to update that thing) and was really happy about it because it meant that he finally had someone to go with to the International Towing and Recovery Hall of Fame and Museum.  Yup. This is a thing. It's not just a museum. It's a HALL OF FAME and museum. Jess, Michael and the Cabbage were uninterested and said they'd wait it out in the car. Michael said I couldn't come out until I knew exactly how someone got inducted into the Hall of Fame. It was the first thing I asked the man at the counter as we purchased our tickets. To be considered for the Hall of Fame, you must have been part of the towing and recovery industry for at least twenty years, active in your community, and "over all good guy". Chad added "or good gal?" and the man said "Oh yes. Or good gal. we have women inductees all the time." Towing and Recovery is an equal opportunity industry.

First, we watched a short movie that talked about the museum and showed us all the tow trucks we were going to see. Then we went and looked at tow trucks. We saw old tow trucks, big tow trucks, small tow trucks and even the World's Fastest tow truck. It's a small museum, but we made the most of it by taking all kinds of pictures. Some of the trucks had velvet rope fences around them so you couldn't get up too close. Unless you knock them down, like Chad did. He was taking a picture of one tow truck and I was half paying attention to him when I heard this loud thunk. I looked over and he had backed himself into one of the velvet ropes and knocked over  one of the poles the rope was hooked to. That was enough to make me start giggling, but Chad had to take it one step further because as he went to set the pole back up, he inadvertently pulled another one down like a domino chain reaction.  Now that little bit of slap stick put me on the floor gasping for air. There was a little old lady who witnessed the whole thing. She also started laughing. A really great ending would be "and that's how Chad and I got kicked out of the International Towing and Recovery Hall of Fame and Museum." Except that didn't happen. We did probably laugh more than any visitor has ever laughed in that museum. 

That's the thing with Chad. Whenever the two of us are together, we are laughing. Even if we are crying about something like when we left Chris's ashes with General Bushrod R. Johnson. Chad said some lovely words that made us both start crying and I followed it up with "I'm going to put Chris under the General's nose. You think that's OK?" Which totally set us off with snotty laughter. There are two people in my life that have this affect on me and he is one of them. Talaura is the other one. Just have her scroll through her pictures of her and Sarge, the ones where she says "this is where I'm telling him a joke. And this is his reaction to that joke." That's enough. I can't even. So when I'm around either one of these two, I soak it up. I laugh until my sides hurt and tears leak out my eyes. Laugh until I am gasping for breath and rolling on the floor. It is the best exercise. For all things. 

Happy Love Thursday.

LOVE THURSDAY: THE SURF AND TURF EDITION

At this point I'm not sure if he's teaching this yoga class or I am.

"At this point I'm not sure if he's teaching this yoga class or I am."

My whole life I've been a water baby. Maybe a past life version of me was an actual mermaid. Or a river otter. A river otter sounds more likely than a mermaid. Any way. I don't remember ever hesitating around water. When I was six or seven, my parents took me and my sister to Hawaii. I was too young to make a whole lot of memories, but there are a few that stand out in my brain. I remember feeding my McDonald's cookies to goldfish. I remember finding the HUGE snail in the Polynesian Center. I remember the parrot in the mall who gave me one of his tail feathers. And I remember the ocean. I remember barreling into that water, no life vest or floaties and no fear. I remember finding a broken piece of styrofoam and using it to ride the waves over and over again.  Me and the ocean were like the bestest of buddies. Except you wouldn't really know this about me now because I'm hardly around water these days. I do not have easy access to a swimming pool or a lake. I loathe the idea of putting on a swimsuit and crowds bother me. Going to the public pool takes the amount of effort that I'd rather just reserve for my yoga mat.

While we were in Orange Beach, every morning I'd wake up around six and by six thirty, you could find me on the beach, getting sand on my yoga mat. My soundtrack was the waves crashing on the beach and my teacher was a blue heron. He was there every morning in the same spot, waiting for yoga students to show up on the beach. I'd end my practice by walking down until the water and waves covered my feet. Then I'd spend some time just walking around the shoreline, my feet in the water as I combed the area for shells. If I had been thinking clearly I would have worn my swimsuit for those mornings so that when I finished my sun salutations, I could just dive in to the ocean.

But this was something I didn't do because every day was a red flag day with dangerous rip tides. The waves tumbled the Cabbage more than she was willing to be tumbled. Most of our beach time was spent chasing crabs and digging our toes into the sand. There were many good things about our trip to the ocean. We ate a different sea creature for every meal. We bought oysters and shucked them ourselves. We got to spend time with Tiffany, Tom and Allison. We had quiet nights with a cool ocean breeze on the balcony. All of the things that are lovely about beach vacations, we had it. But for me the best part was that day we spent on the bay side in the Perdido Bay National Seashore. 

Here on this beach, every shell that we picked up contained a hermit crab. We built a sand castle. Tiffany and I walked up the beach to a secluded spot to leave some of Chris's ashes. We practically had the beach all to ourselves. The water was calm and the Cabbage didn't feel the need to cling to someone for stability. The most wonderful part was swimming out into the calm waters. I would swim out so far that when I'd let my legs relax down, I wouldn't be able to feel the sand under my feet. There would be nothing but cool emptiness beneath me. I would stay here treading water and imagine that I was in the deepest of oceans. Then I would lean back and float, staring up at the blue sky and white puffy clouds. Perdido Bay is near Pensicola and the Navel Air Base. Home of the Blue Angels. I would watch the sky looking for those fighter jets, but only ever seeing the generic training plane fly over. 

This is where I remembered that I am as graceful in the water as I am on my yoga mat. My movements were as fluid as my surroundings, my body lithe and strong. This is where I remembered that I am a water baby, a mermaid, an otter. In the calm cool waters of Perdido Bay, I remembered that I am beautiful. 

Happy Love Thursday.

LOVE THURSDAY

Michael caught a fish he could eat in one bite

"Michael caught a fish he could eat in one bite"

Two years ago yesterday, I sat outside Bella Napoli's waiting for Michael to show up for our first date. I was early. I am always early. Any way, I sat on a bench texting with Chad to kill the time when suddenly the very last thing I wanted to do in the whole world was meet this man for dinner. I sat there and thought "I could just leave. I could leave and he'd never know the difference." I sent a text to Chad that read "I think I've made a terrible mistake.", but Michael showed up before Chad could reply. Suddenly, there he was introducing himself and I had no other choice but to reach out and shake his hand in greeting. Yes. I shook his hand in that "hello pleased to meet you" kind of way. Then we had a nice dinner followed by a walk around the neighborhood. He kissed me with my scooter helmet half on my head before we parted ways. 

That was just two years ago. If I think about it too hard I fall into a time warp of how has it only been two years and it's only been two years. Then my brain explodes over how it's even possible that so much and so little has happened in my almost forty years of life. Just a few days ago a bubble of grief welled up inside me so fast, all I could do was just sit down and cry. Which I did. I'm getting baggies of ashes together for traveling. That's become the summer thing. Pack Chris up and leave him somewhere. Dingle Peninsula. Statue of Liberty. Mount Rushmore. This summer it will be the beach, some where in Chattanooga, and Portland. It's the Portland trip that conjures the most ghosts. And this explains the bubble. This was followed up with a grin over something Michael texted that day (he hates the word "texted"). My life has become a great big mish mesh  of deep grief and blinding joy. I am not complaining. Even though there are times when it all is a bit too sharp and bright. 

Monday night, Michael stood in the kitchen doorway as I washed dishes from dinner. He said he was going to the gas station and then asked if I needed ice cream. I thought about this for a minute and what ice cream choices I'd have from the gas station. "Maybe an ice cream sandwich or a Klondike Bar, because they're the same thing." There was a pause as Michael looked at me and then he said "Klondike Bars and Ice cream sandwiches are not the same thing." So then we debated the differences for five minutes where I was sure that a Klondike Bar was an ice cream sandwich and Michael was like "no way it is totally not an ice cream sandwich." Finally Michael said "I'm bringing you back a Klondike Bar." And you guys? It turns out I have never in my life eaten a Klondike Bar before now. My whole life I've been eating ice cream sandwiches thinking they were just like Klondike Bars. I thought Mom just got the box of generic ice cream sandwiches because it was cheaper than getting the name brand fancy Klondike Bars. No. It's because Dad liked ice cream sandwiches, not vanilla ice cream coated in delicious hard shell chocolate. 

Michael's the one who insists I get that T-shirt with R2D2 on the front and that sundress that reminds us both of the 4th of July. He is always amazed that I am so smart, yet I still buy chairs that are too big for the space intended and I cannot open a package of any sorts. He stops when I hesitate and waits until I'm ready whether it be for taking a picture or writing something down. I feel like he's been part of my life for more than two years and I don't mean that in a negative way. He's made it easy to lose track of the quantity of time and only notice the quality of time. 

And he knows the difference between an ice cream sandwich and a Klondike Bar.  Happy Love Thursday!

LOVE THURSDAY

Folk art!

"Folk art!"

Last week or the week before last (something like that), Mom called me up and said that she was coming to visit. She was very business like on the phone. "I am coming to visit. I will be there Friday and I can get a hotel room if you need me too." She was so serious about it that I worried a bit that she had something to tell me that she couldn't tell me over the phone. Like I'm adopted or I ate my twin sister in the womb. The reality was that Mom was just tired of her surroundings and wanted to see our faces. This was great news to me because I was supposed to be at a softball game at 6:30 AM Saturday morning and there was no way I'd get Michael up at that time to go with. I knew that I could drag Mom and she'd be a great cheerleader. Then the game got moved to Sunday because of weather, so we decided to go to the Nelson instead. 

The Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art has a Folk Art in America exhibit that's running right now and I really wanted to see it. The thing was, I was the only one exited to see it and I just haven't had the time to say "hey! I'm going to the museum by myself!" I knew this exhibit would be right up Mom's alley and was really happy our game got canceled so I could drag her to it. If you were planning a trip to New York and asked me what I'd recommend seeing while there, I would suggest two things. First the Ellis Island Museum with the guided headphones (free) tour is amazing. Ah-Ma-ZING! You will laugh and cry as you here true stories from people who passed through Ellis Island in search of a better life in America. Do this. Secondly, I strongly recommend the American Folk Art Museum. Not only is this museum filled with delightful exhibits, it is small(ish) which makes it feel more intimate and personal. New York City is full of big museums and the city itself is just BIG. There are times that aspect of New York can seems overwhelming. The first time I walked by the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I thought "No way!" That place is huge and contains a lot of eye candy. You have to be prepared to give a museum like that most of a day and then some. The AFAM is a charming and wonderful oasis in the middle of a big city, but it also holds an art collection that is pure and tangible. 

My sister-in-law had a framed print of Girl in Red Dress with Cat and Dog hanging on a wall in her home. I grew up staring at that painting and noticing all the little details. I never grew tired of it. There are parts to it that seem so flat and then sections like the girl's fingers and arms that have a roundness to them. When I was small, I even believed that girl was Katrina as a young girl. The actual painting itself lives in the AFAM in New York. I squealed in delight when I saw it. Besides the portraiture, American Folk Art includes pieces like quilts of calico, braided rugs made from plastic bread bags, ducks carved from wood and painted to look real. In fact the exhibit at the Nelson was full of intricately carved wooden figures and furniture. There was a wonderful carousel elephant that I desperately wanted to liberate from the museum. 

American Folk Art is one of my favorite genres of art. It is the art of everyman and is a true example of the melting pot that is America. I feel a sense of great pride for our country when I'm looking at this kind of art because it is such an expression of American creativity and ingenuity, but yet you can see aspects of other cultures in the art. This is and was the land of opportunity. Most of this artwork comes from self-taught individuals, people like you and me. We are all American Folk Artists in some way or form. Thousands of years from now, we'll have Pinterest Art Displays of the 21st Century. Mom and I studied all the details of the portraits in this exhibit. We both reached out fingers to hover close to some of the wood carvings because we wanted to touch them so badly. We marveled at the details and vibrant colors. And we declared it an afternoon well spent.  

Happy Love Thursday!

LOVE THURSDAY

Clipped wings.

"Clipped wings."

Michael and I have been discussing clipping the chickens' wings for some time, but both of us have been really kind of scared of the idea of doing it. Contrary to popular belief, chickens can fly. I mean, they can't fly far and I would say that they can't fly too high, but someone told me about coming home to a chicken on their roof once. So they can at least fly up as high as a house. We've been leery of letting the chickens roam the yard for fear of one them flying up over a fence and into danger. We've seen them literally fly out of their coop in the mornings. We needed to clip some wings.

Monday evening, after a day of bike riding, I suggested that we clean out the coop and maybe clip some wings. The weather has been just like everyone else's here in the Midwest, rainy and damp and soggy. We've only been able to do the minimum required maintenance for the chickens. Finally we had a nice warm evening between rain storms to pull everything out and give it all a good scrub. We also decided that this would be a good time to clip wings. First, we watched a YouTube video on how to clip wings. They made it look really simple and not traumatic at all and we looked at each other and said "we can totally do this!" And we did this in four easy steps. 

Step 1: Catch the chicken. The chickens do not come when they are called and pretty much turn and run the other way when they see your hand coming into the coop. Michael designed the coop so that the back end opens completely. This allows us easy access for cleaning and the (one day) collection of eggs. This is also a way to let the chickens out to wander and peck around the yard. We used this to our advantage by waiting at the ready for one of the chickens as they tried to hop out the door. Dorothy was the only one who didn't make it all the way out of the coop before being captured. The other three had a grand time being chased around the swamp of our backyard. 

Step 2: Hold the chicken. When you first catch the chicken, there is a moment of struggle where the chicken tries to get away. Flapping of wings and squawking sounds. Marguerite, Matilda, and Dorothy calm down relatively quickly once they are held snug against my body. Foghorn wants none of it. She squawked and flapped like she was being caught for dinner. We spent a few extra minutes reassuring her that no one was going to eat her.

Step 3: Cut the wings. More specifically, you cut the flight wings on the left. We used kitchen shears because Michael said "they're made to cut chicken." I held the bird tucked up against me with on hand and covered their eyes with my other hand so they couldn't see what was happening, while Michael very carefully cut the flight feathers. I think it's important to make soothing cooing sounds to your chicken while this happens even though it doesn't hurt them to cut these wings. It's like clipping your toenails. 

Step 4: Release the chicken! This really isn't a step. I just thought this whole process needed a bit more dramatic flair. It sounds a lot like "Release the Kraken!" It also sounds like once the chicken is free and no longer has flight wings on her left wing, she might do something silly. Like flap around in half flight in a circle. This does not happen. Once the chicken is placed on the ground, she just goes about her business of pecking around the yard. This is exactly just what we let them do while we cleaned out their coop. 

When all of the wings had been clipped, Michael declared that we were farmers, which made me smile. Later on that evening after we'd cleaned ourselves up from chasing chickens in the mud, I sat outside watching them with Josephine. I heard them making real honest to God grown-up chickens sounds with clucks and buk-coks and everything. I imagined that they were talking to each other. I said as much to Michael and he said that they were probably discussing their new haircuts. "Y'all, just what do ya think of my new do?" That would be Matilda. She's bold and Southern and the only chicken that wants to have anything to do with Josephine.  "Es tres chic. I would know, since I was ze first to have it." Marguerite, of course, speaks with a French accent. She is still the smallest of the four, but has turned into a very pretty little petite chicken.  I suspect that Foghorn is our Rosalind Russell Auntie Mame with her penchant for drama, wile Dorothy is more Charlene Frazier. She's a bit silly. I've seen her bump her head a few times.  We have an interesting cast of characters in our backyard. 

I long for the days when things dry out enough to have the chickens out more. I'd like to get Josephine used to the idea of sharing the backyard with them without her trying to play with them to death or eat them. I saw the first firefly of the season a few evenings ago and it gave me hope that dryer days are coming. Soon there will be lazy warm Saturday evenings spent lounging in the hammock with a dog under my feet and chickens pecking around the yard. 

Happy Love Thursday!

LOVE THURSDAY

Scooters and ice cream.

"Scooters and ice cream."

I had a goodbye gathering for a coworker to go to on Monday after work which left Michael in charge of dinner. He'd picked out some lentil/poached egg dish that I could tell he regretted because I received a text shortly after I got to the bar that asked "Bela Napoli's?" I'm sure I've mentioned Bela Napoli's here before. Their pizzas are $5 on Mondays and their pizzas are the closest thing you'll get to actual Italy. I took my friend Jen here when she visited. Jen used to stay with her grandma in Italy ever summer. She ordered a pasta dish the night we went to Bela Napoli's and she looked at me with wide surprised eyes after her first bite and said "This tastes like Nona's!" I feel like that's a pretty good endorsement and on Monday nights, particularly when the weather is nice enough to sit outside, Bela Napoli's is the place to be. It was the place I always suggested when I was on the dating scene because, though the company may end up to be not ideal, I was sure to get a good meal. 

This is where I met Michael for our first date. I thought about that when he texted me about eating there that evening. Dates and time kind of blur together, but I had a vague idea that we were creeping up on an anniversary of sorts. June 10th. Almost two years ago. Monday night, as we sat eating our pizza, Michael said something about taking a trip to Italy. We have plans to tighten up the budget and maybe do Dave Ramsey's program when we get back from vacation. Our spending has gotten out of hand. Our reward for paying off all our credit cards is to save money for a trip to Italy. That night Michael said "I think we should each just have our own backpack and that we should rent scooters to ride all over Italy." He didn't know that this was a thing on my Life List, that I wanted to ride scooters all over Italy. I looked away and out the window when he said it. I don't know why, but I didn't want him to see how this idea made me so happy. Then he spent the rest of the evening trying to read my mind.  

All I could think in that moment was how dang happy I was. I was so happy that I thought I'd burst into a million bubbles. Ridiculously happy. Filled to the brim happy. And it made me pause. When I'm looking for a certain photo in my Flickr archives, I hardly ever go back to the time before Chris died because I can see in those pictures just how happy we were together and I can't take it. We were Bonnie and Clyde, Desi and Lucy, Abbott and Costello.  I remember that first summer in Kansas City and how I blubbered all over Brene Brown about how happy we were and we were, or at least I was, unbelievably happy then. I am tentative to let myself be that happy again for so many reasons. It's not fair for me to be this happy. I am not deserving of such happiness. I want to tell Chris that I'm sorry for being so happy even though he's not here. I want to tell Chris I am not sorry for being so happy despite the fact that he is not here. I am slightly terrified of being ridiculously happy. Look what happened the last time. We have all of these self help books dealing with happiness and finding happiness, but nothing about having your happiness and owning it.

Be prepared for disappointment. How many of us heard this and heard it often growing up? Your life will be a series of mediocre moments with mediocre events. You will go to school. You will get a job, probably a house and a family and you will be happy enough; emphasis on enough. We are programmed to believe that there is contentment and somewhat happiness, but nothing more. And when we do find that there is more, that  more than happy enough is possible, we don't have a clue as to how to handle it. No one told us to be prepared for overwhelming joy and happiness. No one warned you that there would be times when joy would flow into you so fast that it will squeeze your heart until tears leak out your eyes. Only spiritual gurus experience such overwhelming joy and happiness, not the regular every person. In fact, the God I was raised on wouldn't want me to ever have that kind of happiness. It is decadent and sinful. 

Life is filled with disappointment and since I was prepared so thoroughly for it, disappointments have become the mediocre event. I've got them. I know how they work. I know loss and pain and heartache. Those are easy. A piece of fucking cake. I can say goodbye, shed a few tears and move on better than anyone.  At one point I thought I did happiness pretty well too. It took some time to get there. I had to practice to be mindful of those moments, but eventually I thought I could relish in those moments of bliss. I could look around and exclaim "Holy Goats! Look how stupid happy we are!!!" with out blinking an eye. I didn't learn how to do that early enough in life and I'm still in class learning. That shattering end to the last ridiculously happy moment shook my confidence. So if you were to have asked me a few months ago, even a few days ago if I was happy, my reply would have been "I'm happy enough." even though it is a diminished answer of the truth. 

If you were to ask me today if I am happy, my reply would be "Yes. Yes, I am ridiculously happy."

LOVE THURSDAY

Her favorite spot

"Her favorite spot"

The other day, I was scrolling though my Instagram feed looking for a particular picture for another entry when I scrolled past some pictures of Josephine when we first got her. Holy cow, I can't believe how tiny she was! I also can't believe how little I've talked about her here. I've gushed a lot about the chickens, but poor Josephine has only been a side note. She's definitely not a side note in our daily lives. I don't know why I haven't taken time out to go on and on about her here. Maybe because she's family? I don't talk about my loved ones too much here. I tend to limit those stories out of respect for their privacy. It could be that Josephine has been subconsciously put into the same category. 

Josephine is now six months old and with the exception of a few I'm-so-happy-to-see-you-I'm-going-to-pee moments, she is completely potty trained. Last night we started being more vigilant in training her to meet house guests. I've been a little lax about the whole obedience training thing mostly because it's been too difficult to shift her focus from OH MY GOD LET'S PLAY to I AM TOTALLY PAYING ATTENTION TO YOU AND THAT TREAT. She knows sit and down really well. She comes when we call her most of the time. Sometimes barking at the neighbor dogs distracts her. She likes to get in the last word. She wants to be petted while she bites on you, but she's learned to do the whole soft bite thing and she's lost most of those needle sharp baby teeth. I've taken to giving her the cardboard toilet paper insert to chew on and I finally gave in and let her have the forest ranger doll we brought back for The Cabbage from our Dakotas trip. Of all the stuffed animal/dolls in the basket, the girl forester ranger doll was the one that Josephine kept stealing. She showed a thousand times more interest in that doll than the Cabbage ever did, so I finally said "fine. she's your's." The next week the Cabbage said "What happened to my forest ranger doll?" Any way. Josephine loves that doll and carries her every where. 

Josephine is the kind of dog that seems to always be on a mission. She runs with purpose to one room and may come trotting out with one of her toys or some bit of paper in her mouth. The other day she had a pecan, shell in all, in her mouth. I don't even know. She has a pigs ear she's been chewing on for weeks. Sometimes she thinks that I need to chew on it too because she'll place it on my lap while I'm sitting on the couch and then nudge it with her nose as if to say "go ahead...it's really good." She will be gone doing whatever outside on her own for twenty minutes or more and then come running inside like a bullet and then jump all over you like she wants to tell about this totally amazing thing that just happened outside. I'm sure whatever she has to say has something to do with the chickens. She wants so badly to get inside the coop with them and the only one that seems interested in this idea is Matilda. Matilda will walk up to the screen so that she can be beak to nose with Josephine. 

Josephine has a way of holding her mouth that reminds me of Pepaw. I know this sounds really strange, but Pepaw had a certain set of his jaw. I don't know if it was because of his dentures or what. Sometimes I see my mom holding that same jaw set. I definitely see it in my Aunt Martha. Josephine does it too. In fact, one day she was sitting there just looking at me with her mouth set like Pepaw's. I cocked my head to one side and tentatively asked "Pepaw?" She didn't respond to that name, but I do wonder sometimes if Pepaw has been reincarnated as a miniature Schnauzer named Josephine. 

The best thing about Josephine is that it appears she has grown to love us as much as we love her. I can tell by the way she wags her little nub of a tail and the way she sighs with contentment when she rests her head on my feet. 

Mess face. #365

"Mess face. #365"

Happy Love Thursday.

LOVE THURSDAY

Hammock time. #365

"Hammock time. #365"

I have been pining for a swing or hammock like sanctuary in the backyard for ages. A few weeks ago we were in IKEA buying some picture frames and bins for chicken things. We were on our way towards the checkout line when we passed a lovely hammock and hammock stand and I skidded to a halt. Michael looked at me and said "If you can look me in the eye and tell me you would hang out in that hammock today, we'll get it." It was pouring buckets outside. The backyard was a swamp. He knew I couldn't say that I would and he also knew that we couldn't really afford it. Even at IKEA prices. So I pulled out my best moody teenager and slumped my shoulders and dragged my feet as we continued on to checkout. Michael left me there pouting while he went to rescue Smaland from the Cabbage. 

On Saturday, we were in Home Depot getting things to build a fence around the garden and tomato cages. They have all the outdoor furniture right there when you walk in the door and I walked right straight over to all of it. Every thing was just too much of an expense, but then I saw some cloth hammocks on a shelf. They were only $20. I looked at Michael and asked "Do you think you could find a way to hang this between the clothes line pole and that tree in the back corner of the yard?" He replied with "Sure I can!" So we bought some rope and a couple of carabiners and on Sunday, Michael earned his knot tying merit badge. Later that day you could find me lounging in my new hammock. 

I took a magazine, a notebook and a small pillow out and stretched out with the intention of actually reading that magazine. Instead I was soon lulled into semi consciousnesses by the sound of the wind rustling the leaves and the gentle sway of the hammock. The giant oak trees where in the process of shedding their long straggling flowers. The yard is coated with them and they stick to Josephine like Velcro. Yet, it was still pretty to watch as the strands drifted down from the tall limbs of the massive trees. Nature's confetti. If I turned my head to one side, I could see the chickens pecking around in their run with Josephine lounging in the shade of their nesting box. Josephine has claimed one of two spots on this particular day. If she's not guarding the chickens from under the nesting box, she's chewing on a stick near my feet under the hammock. 

And for a moment, I don't think about getting up and folding clothes or washing the dishes from breakfast. I don't get antsy about being still for too long or that I'm being lazy and should get up and do some chore or another. I let myself surrender to the curves of the hammock. I watch the clouds swirl in the sky and I listen for noise. The only noise I hear though are the sounds of the occasionally passing car, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the bounce of a ball as the neighborhood kids put together a basket ball game. I can hear the chickens and I can hear other birds. Mostly I listen to the stillness. After about five minutes  of being in the hammock, I am completely at peace and I think, or maybe even say out loud, "this is the best thing."

I'm getting Michael new tires for his bicycle for Father's Day. It's something we've been talking about for some time now. The other day he asked me what I wanted for Mother's Day, which I still feel odd about. I said "I got a hammock." and really, I'm good with that. Michael said that I can't retro fit a gift. Maybe I should tell him that I just want time to be in the hammock. Time can be a gift. Now I'm singing "Time in a Bottle", but changing the lyrics to "time in a hammock". It's true that there really never seems to be enough time to do the things I want to do. Time in my own little hammock sanctuary though, would probably make a really good gift. In fact it might even be the kind of gift we could all benefit from. 

Here's to time spent in your own kind of hammock on this lovely Love Thursday.

LOVE THURSDAY

In a past life, I was a magician's assistant. This was in the late 1800s in England, but we traveled all over to perform our act. The Magician had developed this amazing trick where he'd inject black ink under his skin and then, as I stood next to him, a black tree would start growing out of the tops of my feet and then twist and grow all around and up my body. It really was a great trick and of course other magicians wanted to know how the trick was done. 

The Magician carried everything in one of those traveling trunks. The trunk was unique because from the outside it looked like a regular trunk, but the inside was bigger. There was enough space to carry all of our things and a little sitting area where I could sit and read. It was very cozy and comfortable which was important because I'd often ride in the trunk when we traveled to save money on train tickets. Once inside the trunk, no one knew I was in there. This is where I was one evening after a show. I was sitting comfortably in the trunk, reading a book. The Magician had gone out for the evening. I thought I would have a nice quiet evening to myself until I heard the sounds of someone rummaging around our room. I quickly blew out my candlelight that I had been using to read with just in case the trunk leaked out any light and sat as quietly and still as possible. 

Suddenly the trunk lid popped open and I felt a hand grip my upper arm and yank me out of my cozy little spot in the trunk. The man shook me and demanded I tell him where the plans for our famous trick was kept. I told him over and over that I couldn't. You see, there were no plans. The Magician had never written it down and in fact really only knew how half of the trick worked. I knew the other half, but not the Magician's half. This was how we'd managed to keep it a secret all this time. Incensed, the man gathered up all the papers he could find in our room and trunk. Then he grabbed a length of rope, bound my wrists and threw me back into the trunk. His plan was to dump me and the trunk into the river. I could feel the trunk being dragged down the hall and bounce down some stairs. Then I could feel the rattle of being dragged across cobble stones. 

I screamed as I felt the trunk falling and then landing in the cold water below. The trunk started to take in water quickly. I frantically started looking around for a way to get out or something to cut the rope binding my wrists. One of the great things about being a magician's assistant is that you learn escape tricks. This was how I managed to wriggle my hands free of the rope, but when I shoved on the lid of the trunk to get out, the lid wouldn't budge. By now, water had almost completely filled the trunk and I barely had space to keep my nose out of the water. I took one last gulp of air, dived to the bottom of the trunk and then torpedoed myself at the trunk lid.  But just as I was about to hit the lid, it popped open and there was the Magician. He had been on his way home and just crossing the bridge when he saw a man shoving a familiar looking trunk over the ledge and into the water. The Magician grabbed my wrist and headed towards the surface, where we broke through the water gasping for air.

OK, maybe this didn't really happen in a past life, but is exactly what happened in a dream I had the other night.  Dreams can be scary. They can be weird and make very little sense. Dreams can be insightful, helping to solve a problem you've pondering. They can inspire us to do something great.  But for today, for Love Thursday, I'm honoring those dreams that spark the imagination. Because I believe that great things can grow from that spark.

Happy Love Thursday!

LOVE THURSDAY

Chickies chickies chickies

"Chickies chickies chickies"

Wednesday morning I stood at the kitchen sink, looking out the window into the backyard while I washed my dishes from breakfast. I could see Josephine running around, chasing the birds who had made the mistake of landing in our yard. Then I looked over at the chicken coop just in time to see the chickens walk down the ramp one at a time and into their run to peck around the grass in the morning sun. And I sighed with contentment. Now I realize that the topic of the chickens and all things chickens is going to grow old fairly quickly. Just stay with me for now. The chickens are like a shiny new penny and right now in this moment I am transfixed with that shiny shiny penny.  I promise that, in time, my entries will return to non-chicken entries all the dang time. This is a Love Thursday entry though, so today I'm gushing about the chickens. 

Many years ago I decided that I wanted chickens. I don't even know how the idea got into my head. I wanted chickens in my backyard and I wanted to live in a city that was cool with all of that. It became something that I wanted so much, that I put it on my Life List. I knew nothing of chickens. We may have lived in rural Oklahoma, but we never raised any kind of farm animals. I just assumed that chickens would be the best ever animal to have in your backyard. It wasn't even about the eggs. Sure fresh eggs are great (or will be), but that was never the selling factor for getting chickens. I just thought chickens would be the most zen creature to have hanging around, which doesn't make sense because of all the chirp chirp chirp and cheep cheep cheep. Also, I have a vivid memory of being hustled into the home of one of the ladies mom would leave me with sometimes when I was little. I was bundled under Mom's coat, head and all, while she steered me to the door because these people had the most terrifying rooster. I am not even kidding. This rooster gave me nightmares. I loved that woman dearly. Patsy Stenson. She painted china, like old school painted china, and she was everything you would have thought Mrs Santa Clause was, but that rooster was the most awful. 

The chickens are the exact opposite of the most awful. In fact they are like having a community of Buddhist monks living in my backyard. I go out and meditate with the chickens on a daily basis. As soon as I start talking to our girls, Josephine steps up and places herself between me and the chicken coop and I have to scratch her back while I talk to our chickens. This is exactly what I was doing Tuesday evening when Michael came home. He walked out to the backyard without stopping to change out of his work clothes, to see me crouched down next to the coop cooing to the chickens and petting the dog. This weekend Michael is building a door to the run so I can actually crawl in there with them. He realized quickly that it wasn't enough to just be able to open the back of the roosting area and we need to be able to sit inside the run with them. The chickens bring a peace and calm to everything. They are more than I ever even expected. I am surprised by their different personalities. I am dazzled by their ever changing feathers. I am soothed by their constant chatter. 

I just love them, which makes them perfect for Love Thursday.

LOVE THURSDAY

Waiting

"Waiting"

It's been kind of a heavy week around here. The injustices of the world and ignorance of others has me feeling as though I've had an anchor tied to my feet and I've been dropped into the nearest deep body of water. I worry for those girls taken a year ago. I worry for the countless other young women whose lives are in danger of the same fate as those girls. I worry about the implications of Hilary Clinton's announcement and next year's elections. I worry about the HIV epidemic that's happening in Indiana with 95 confirmed new cases in just this month alone. I worry about what's happening in Yemen. I worry about this peace deal with Iran. I worry about the water in the basement. I worry about the chickens quickly outgrowing their current box. I worry about bills and debt. I suppose I worry about the same things many people worry about on a daily basis. Basically, I worry.  

My whole life I have been a worrier. The death of bees, the baby seals, the rhino population are all things that keep me up at night. I worry about the great big stuff and I worry about the teeny tiny stuff. Most of the time, I have it all under control. I am concerned about the big things, the giant global issues, but they don't keep me up at night. I am concerned about the little things too, but I don't fret over them. This week though, for some reason, I have felt all of the things. Each one a stone stacked on top of one another and I'm balancing them on my head. This is when I become overwhelmed with my insignificance and lack of power to do anything. 

Then I remember the ant. The average size of an ant is less then the size of a normal paperclip, yet they can carry up to three times their weight. One tiny ant makes up a large community of ants and they all work together for the good of the colony. After I think about the ant, I think of the snow flake. One snow flake sits with millions of other snow flakes to cover the ground with a blanket of snow. Next, I think of the ocean. One drop of salt water. One blade of grass to make up a field. One cell to work with millions of cells to form a human body. The ant, the snow flake, the drop of water, the blade of grass, and the one cell, each of these things on their own are insignificant, but look what they can do when they are combined together. 

Finally, I am reminded of the seed. The seed needs the nutrients in soil, it needs water and the warmth of the sun, but once these requirements are met it only takes one tiny root hair to start the process of growing into something amazing. As of yesterday, I have raised $275 for the Kansas City AIDS Walk thanks to your generous donations. Some may say that this is a very small amount, but I would disagree. That $275 makes up the $114,208.58 that the Kansas City AIDS Walk Foundation has raised so far. So, you see, each one of us is an ant, a snow flake,a drop of water. Each one of us is a seed. 

Here's to growing into something amazing and here's to a worry free Love Thursday!

LOVE THURSDAY

Twirling tulips

"Twirling tulips"

Remember how I woke up with that song in my head and I couldn't figure out what the song was? Yesterday, I sat down at my desk and started singing "dreeahhmin', dreamin' is free" and I had a complete Ah Ha! moment. It was Blondie, not the Go-Go's, singing in my head. Dreaming is free y'all, not breathing. Though breathing could also be free. I'll tell you what was happening while that song was playing in my head. I was dreaming. I was in a convertible with the top down and a chic scarf on my head. We were on a road trip and that's the song that was playing on the radio. So I woke up with an urge to chew some bubble gum and bye some new sunglasses all while snapping my fingers to the tune of Dreaming. 

April stems from the Latin word aperire, which means 'to open'. All of the tulips that had seemed to be opening up one by one around here are now all open and in full bloom, all of them saying "Hello!" to April and the landscape has taken on that dreamy Monet look. Because in a very cliche way, April began with showers. The pastel pinks and the vibrant greens are viewed through a layer of mist, making it all look like one big watercolor painting. The crazy awful dreams of March have been replaced with lazy daydreams while staring out the open window. Are you beginning to sense a theme? April is the month to open everything up. 

I feel like I've been closed up all winter. I have the tendency to shut myself off from the cold and from the dark memories of the past. My shoulders feel hunched, my chest concave from crawling inward and curling into a ball. Yet, I've noticed that rolling myself out of that ball has been more difficult than usual. It has left me prickly and annoyed and lacking patience. Patience. That's the piece that seems to be the triangle supporting the teeter totter of life. Those tulips didn't just pop out of the ground and pop open. They pushed their way slowly up through the dirt and then rested in buds for weeks before finally opening up. I should be like the tulips and have more patience. 

Last night all of us went down to see the chickens. Michael lifted the Cabbage up so she could stand on the table and look down into the bin at the (rapidly growing) chicks. After we talked and petted each one, the Cabbage's mom said "OK, let's get going." and plucked her off the table. The Cabbage started begging for one more look as soon as her feet hit the basement floor. She whined and begged as we all made our way towards the basement stairs. Finally I gave in. I lifted her up and said "OK, I'm going to count to five and then we are done looking at the chickens." I slowly counted to five, the Cabbage counting along with me as she dangled her hand in the box. When we got to five, I lifted her off the table without any complaining or whining. All it took was just a few more seconds of patience.

Today I will be open to being more patient with those around me. Today I will be open to being more patient with myself. Happy Love Thursday.

LOVE THURSDAY

Delicate #365

"Delicate #365"

The Carpenter's Christmas Waltz has been running in a loop in my head these days. Yes, I know it's a Christmas song and Karen's singing about frosted window pains, candles, candy canes and Santa being on his way with lots of goodies on his sleigh. It's the second chorus of that song that I keep humming. "It's that time of year when the world falls in love." In fact, that's the only line of the song that just seems to be set on perpetual repeat in my brain. This sounds like a particularly annoying ear worm situation, but I am not in the least bothered by it.

When I stepped outside yesterday to walk across to the other building for yoga class, I almost started skipping. Most of the tulips in the circle drive have bloomed into a lovely circle of pinks, yellows, orange and whites. The sun was on my face and the breeze lifted up the tiny petals from the Bradford Pair tree blossoms so that the swirled around in that magical way you only see in cartoons. You see, it really is that time of year when the world falls in love. 

I had about half an entry going already before I erased it all and started again. It was about how much I love the chickens (of course). I've always been attracted to those gardens with the bubbling fountains. I really like the little garden fountain that has the chimes floating around that ding when they occasionally bump into each other. There have been moments while walking through such a garden where I have felt myself be truly still. The chickens have become my babbling chiming fountain. They bring to me the same kind of peace and calm. The chickens are an easy Love Thursday entry, but then there was that moment yesterday when I stepped outside. I remembered that every season has that moment when the world falls in love. 

In the winter there is the magic of that first falling snow flake. The Fall brings the beauty of the changing leaves and all the trees are painted red and gold. Summer is that first cannon ball into the pool. Spring is special. It is the season of beginnings. New tulips. New leaves on the trees. It is the start of the cycle of things, the beginning of the loop of seasonal change. I wrote recently about the first day of Spring and not having any energy for it. I realize now that I'm like those tulips in the circle drive. It started out with one bloom. For many days that one tulip stood alone, but one by one more started to open up. It just took time. Things are clicking into place like a giant Rude Goldberg machine. Seeds for this year have been sorted. The new garden boxes have arrived. There are chickens in our basement. And Karen Caprenter is singing about the world falling in love. 

Happy Love Thursday!