Seventh Grade Mug

So there's this spot in my house which happens to perfectly align with the rising sun filtering through my sliding glass door.  It's the kind of spot which makes me want to wake up with the sun to stand in it with my slept in ponytail still atop my head. 

It's the kind of spot which beckons me to sit and feel the warmth of the early sun on my toes.  

It's the kind of spot which makes me whip out the mug I've had since the seventh grade and drink my coffee slow and easy; without any noise besides my own thoughts.  

It's the kind of spot which allows for the noticing of each slow step the sun makes on its way up in the sky as it creeps up from the toes.  

It's the kind of spot which makes me hope everyone has a Kim Anderson mug from the nineties and a sun matching place to sip from that reminder of the past. 

So there's this spot in my house.  It's a spot which makes starting the day a rejuvenating, more than enjoyable experience.  The only problem with the spot?  Leaving it.   


It's Been Awhile...Hasn't It?

It's been awhile since I've let the random thoughts which roll through this head of mine flood out.  So here goes nothing.  

I received a text message early one morning last week from my sister-in-law.  It was a picture of four different bottles of wine with this, "Which one should I start chilling for tonight?"  I almost answered with an, "All of them" but refrained.  Dear Sil, thank you for getting me.   

Karen started a new rendition of the song Red Solo Cup which involves saying a person's name to the tune followed by "You are so pretty!"  I wish you could hear it because it's just peachy.  So now I find myself singing it to everyone I come in contact with.  "Mrs. Nelson...Mrs. Nelson...You are Soooo Pretty!"  It really brightens up the moment.  I sang it in the middle of Target while shopping with Danae.  She loved it.  I know it.  Spreading the pretty love.  All about people feeling pretty.  Really, boys don't mind it either.  I sing it to them too.

My town is getting with it I tell you.  Our Sbucks now is a proud carrier of the Trenta size.  This means the unsweetened iced green tea afternoon now lasts even longer.  I haven't dared go for the iced black coffee in the big T as I'm not sure what kind of a human I'd be after.

I watched a baseball game.  Kind of.  I'm trying to learn the rules for talking during a game.  Like you can talk when the players are in the dug out and getting their business organized.  That's acceptable talk time.  But when they throw the pitch, that is not acceptable talk time.  And in any case of an instant replay, forget about it.  However, in between pitches, a few thoughts may be verbalized.  I figure maybe in a couple years, I'll have it all figured out.

A first grade student stopped me mid-lesson last week and said, "You're beautiful."  The rest of that day was just fine indeed.  

I carried air tanks to the water truck the other night.  One in each hand.  While Momma Debi held the hoses behind me.  We resembled a horse and buggy.  With me being the horse.  Dad-o couldn't help but laugh as we rounded the corner.  Of course I had to add in some sound effects to really bring it out.

My brother and sister-in-law and I did a little hopping on Saturday evening.  To an establishment.  For wine and water.  I'll let you figure out who we made have the water.  I can't remember the last time the three of us were together without distractions.  The stuff of gold I tell you.  What wasn't the stuff of gold was getting an upset tummy while still at the establishment.  Too much information?  Probably.  But I like to keep it real.  Gold mixed in with yucky.  That's what life is all about.

Last night, I went out for an early dinner with Danae and her three little poptarts.  While she and I were paying the bill and clearing the debris, this came out of her mouth, "No you may not pick your sister's nose for her."  Followed by, "But Mommy, I won't eat it." 

Muscle Pump class at the YMCA.  I'm a big fan.  I'm not as big of a fan while we are doing lunges around the entire parking lot or while I am lifting a weight above my head for the thirty-fourth time, but I sure do love it when it's over.  Here's where I best admit, I kind of love it while it's going on too.  It brings out the competitive nature in me.  "Oh you think I'm going to drop this plank?  No way.  Not until you do."

Hard boiled eggs.  They smell but they sure are good.

On Tuesday, I wore a long flowy skirt for the first time since probably the first grade.  I was hesitant about buying the striped number.  So much so I went through the check out, handed back the skirt, and then came back through the check out to actually purchase the skirt.  Brittany was real impressed with my decision making skills.  She gave me the final push to go get the skirt already and I'm so glad she did.  Now, I think I shall wear a long flowy skirt every day this summer.

That shopping experience happened on Saturday in Bismarck at a store called Kohl's.  A store my town does not have.  A store I have a love hate relationship with.  A few of us who work together made the early morning trip down for a morning at the spa, a lovely lunch, and a quick afternoon shop shop shop.  It was a perfect day filled with refueling relaxing treatments, a beyond delicious lunch, slight retail therapy, and random conversation; it's amazing to have coworkers who also happen to be friends.

I'll end all of this by saying...

I could totally live off of fresh bread, oil to dip it in, and cheese.  Like totally.  For sure.  And in a perfect world wine to go with it all.  It always comes back to the wine.

One more thing.

I would like a facial every week please.

One one more thing.  

I'm not scared of the number thirteen.


I Get By With a Little Help From a Friend

I'll Take Instead

I'll take the being ridiculous on the side of a gravel road with my little sister kind of sunset any day. Who needs to wonder about living by the beach when you have an old fence, the climbing tree you've known forever, and shiny things? Not this girl.

I'll take this kind of random Monday evening participation in the sinking of the sun. 

I'll take being gritty from dirt drying along with the after run sweat and I'll take my sister being just as frazzled with her after ride wind blown locks.   

I'll take noticing reflections in water and sunglasses. Two shiny things. A double win.

I'll take my sister being her ever entertaining self.

I'll take freckles on my face. 

I'll take the making of memories with my sister. 

I'll take a bug stained windshield.

Most of all, I'll take being happy and content where I am. 


Root Pulling Maybe

There's this pull I'm feeling recently.  The pull to do some root changing and wing spanning; to leave this place of always been home to find a new definition of home.  I think about all the cities there are and all the varying landscapes and different skies and I feel I need to go get some.  

And then there is the idea of having new places to frequent.  Markets which have an abundance of real food.  Restaurants who serve the kinds of concoctions which live now only in my head.  Stores not of the chain variety.  Thriving downtowns with arrays of culture.  Museums to use my feet to find.  

It's all very appealing to me; this idea of finding somewhere fresh to call mine.  

But then what I think about is this.  

If I don't have the people I love around me, will all of those positive draws have any shine left.  Because if you don't have someone to text a "meet me at the beach in fifteen for wine and sunset" is there a draw to living next to the coast?  And if you don't have your family to celebrate reasons to go out with, will the unique restaurants' seats even have you in them?  

I don't know the answer.  These are things I think about often.  

To move.  To stay.  What really matters?  People?  Places?  Things?  Ideas?  

I do know this.  I want to make sure I do everything in this life I am meant to do.  I want to experience and see and do and jump in and wrap up and breathe in all there is to offer.  I'm sure it's why these thoughts go through my head.  Am I where I need to be to get done what I'm supposed to get done?

Then late yesterday afternoon, I found myself driving to the farm after a parts pick up for Dad-o; receiving the call I haven't in quite some time, "Will you go get parts?  Purple nozzles for the sprayer.  Make sure they are purple."  I used to love the opportunity to be the part runner.  Because it meant being behind the wheel, the radio playing, sunglasses wearing, drinking a pop, and getting a break from the work.  Growing up, it was literally a jump who could get the parts.  The freedom of driving while escaping the hot sun and dirt was a win we all wanted our hands on.  Now I don't have to concern myself with the break from the physical work or drinking the pop, but the sunglasses and radio?  They still happened.

It was almost as if that trip to that farm with the John Deere bag of purple sprayer nozzels sitting next to me carried with it a hidden agenda. 

All notions of pulling up roots to move left me last night as my feet had gravel crunching under them with wide open fields as the view and the wind, there's always the wind, blowing at my back.  And then my front on the way home, always home even though I no longer live there, but we'll pretend that part didn't happen.  Seriously, with every step it was as if I was getting the affirmation I apparently have been craving lately.

You are alright.  You are doing just fine.  This life of yours is more than you could hope for right now so keep reveling in without the pondering.  Simply keep living it.      

I meandered back into the yard after a cool down walk with a song flowing in my ear and was greeted by Sister Pister who was putting away her barrel horse after a strenuous workout.  Once I saw her feeding her old horse, the one who saved her from fear and the one who is chubby and needs a special diet, I knew it even more.

Home.  This dirt is my home.

Laying in the grass with sweat pouring off me with the sounds of machinery filling my ears while the sun started it's slithering decent behind the trees brought me all the way back.

Roots firmly planted.

For now at least.

I actually said out loud to my mom and sister as we were walking around the yard, "I forget that sometimes I need to do this.  To be here."

To smell the air. 

To see the sky. 

Turns out, I need it for these roots of mine. 


Parking Lot Reminder

There was this night last week when I raced through a parking lot.  In the cold windy dark air.  And the person I was racing, who shall remain nameless to save face, was feeling a bit over confident and started running backward as if to show off a bit.  Then the person bit the dust.  Fell to the ground in a rolling ball of skidding sounds with bursts of yelling.  Followed by some more yelling.  Which caused me to stop in my tracks and put my hands on my knees to laugh.  The kind of belly laugh that only happens when something is really funny.  After a quick check to make sure said person was not hurt person, we ran back to the car.  Letting the wind over fill our lungs and feeling the smiles growing broader on our faces and yelling taunts out to the sky.

If you haven't raced in a parking lot in the cold windy night air lately, go do it.  

Because, a few minutes later, as I sat with my legs folded underneath me in the backseat of the car listening to the two knuckleheads in the front seat rehashing the whole experience, "Did you hear me honk for you?" there was a perma-grin on my face and I was full.  Full of the good life.   

A six minute race in a parking lot can remind you to be alive.  To live loudly and to throw caution to the wind and tie up your shoes and do some racing.  I'm going to bet it also reminded the person who shall remain nameless to save face that falling down is not always such a bad thing.  Nothing a little dusting off and getting up and laughing at yourself can't fix.  

And along with the whole throw caution to the wind and do some living is the concept of letting yourself be excited.  As excited as a newly turned two year old getting his own riding toy from Papa and Nana.  Little Man's face says it all.