A Few More I Believes

I believe in holding a coffee cup with two hands.  And I believe in holding a wine glass with one.  

I believe in sitting in the morning sun with myself and a book.  And I believe in sitting in the evening sun with a best friend after she grabs a hat and sunglasses from my car sitting in her driveway.  

I believe in friends.  And I believe in friends sharing everything.    

I believe in learning new things like making homemade pizza completely from scratch.  And I believe in passing on those nuggets of new to others; this time to Karen and her daughter Emma, who is now the sauce making princess. 

I believe in the feeling of home being the favorite.  And I believe in the feeling of a friend's porch having the exact same nostalgia.  

I believe in the changes of the seasons, each one bringing its own ebb and flow.  And I believe in soaking every last bit of one up before jumping to the next.  

He Had to Go Right Now and a Magic Flower

The other night I was sitting out front of my house in a green fold up lawn chair.  I was chasing the sunshine as it dipped behind my roof on the patio side.  So front driveway with green fold up lawn chair it was to still warm my bones in the evening sun while eating grilled zuchinni and onions.  It probably was supper, I'm assuming it was but I never quite know because I've been known to simply graze.  

A plate full of grilled zucchini and onions was in my hands and I was sitting alone, doing my thing enjoying the last bits of the evening.  The neighbor down the way was outside playing tennis with her little boy.  She stood on one side of the street and he stood on the other.  The number one thing I love about my neighborhood is that it's located on a square so things like tennis matches across the street are the norm around here.  

Neighbor kept looking at me.  I kept smiling back.  She kept looking.  I smiled again.  I started to think maybe she thought my choice of food was weird or something.  

All of a sudden her little boy threw down his tennis racket while yelling - and I'm talking yelling, "I GOTTA POOP!!!  I GOTTA POOP RIGHT NOW!!!"  He took off like a jet and I think he was heard for blocks.  

I laughed out loud.  That kind of stuff is like gold to me.   

Neighbor kept looking at me.  By this time I'm thinking, hey neighbor lady who is normally quite nice - I'm not sure why you keep looking at me.  I wasn't just part of the scene that involved the yelling of POOP twice.  

Then, I looked down.  

I was wearing hot pink running socks with my flip flops and blue shorts.   

A little boy who had to poop really really bad and right this second and felt the need to announce it the world made my night.  In turn, I'm kind of thinking the odd neighbor sitting in her driveway in a green fold up lawn chair eating grilled zuchinni and onions while wearing hot pink running socks with flip flops and blue shorts might have made the little boy's mom's night.  

On another note, you can totally pull a flower out of a pot in the fall, as in just give it a solid tug until you think it's all gone and all that's left is dirt.  Then, you can put the pot in your garage for the entirety of the ridiculously cold North Dakota winter.  And then, you can notice in the spring there are green sprig things growing from the dirt.  Finally, you can put the teal pot back on your patio with the notion that maybe those green sprigs will grow while you water it while the sun shines in May and June.  Finally by July, you'll have yourself a real flower on your hands again.  Magic I tell you.  Or maybe it turns out I had picked out a perennial last year for my teal pot instead of just an annual.  Magic or Horticulture 101.  You decide.  

Might Truly be the Best Ever

Last night in my reading of the current book club selection, Cutting for Stone, I came across what truly might be the best ever weaving of words. 

Let me set it up a bit...

The words of the century came in the book after a well known African children's tale was referenced.  A tale about a miserable merchant who hated the fact he had no money and hated the fact he held a lowly job and hated his life so much so that he couldn't even stand the sight of his battered and beaten slippers anymore.  He kept trying to get rid of the ghastly in his eyes slippers but every time he did, more disaster struck.  Catastrophic disaster.  The reference to this made in Cutting for Stone comes when the character named Ghosh is in an Ethiopian prison (Kerchele).  The old jailbird man who tells stories every night while they all try to sleep ends up saying right before they all drifted off - that merchant "might as well build a special room for his slippers.  Why try to lose them?  He'll never escape."  The man then died in his sleep while imprisoned.

Flash forward to Ghosh talking to his son after he is out of prison.  He says while discussing life and its twists and turns, "The old man was right.  The slippers in the story mean that everything you see and do and touch, every seed you sow, or don't sow, becomes part of your destiny..."

And then they came.  What might truly be the best ever string of words.  

"Ghosh sighed, 'I hope one day you see this as clearly as I did in Kerchele.  The key to your happiness is to own your slippers, own who you are, own how you look, own your family, own the talents you have, and own the ones you don't.  If you keep saying your slippers aren't yours, then you'll die searching, you'll die bitter, always feeling you were promised more.  Not only our actions, but also our omissions become our destiny.'"  

Owning the slippers.  Owning the slippers on our feet.  How beautiful.  How perfect.     

What follows now has entirely nothing to do with the aforementioned other than the to say one thing I own about myself is the poor planning of slamming in last minute projects.  Case in point this one, the painting of the two end tables I've had sitting in the garage since last winter when they were on the teacher classifieds as brown 1960 veneer numbers.

I decided they had to be finished before I started my new job.  Had to!  It started like any other painting project of mine.  With an oh I know!  I'll just paint these real quick like today.  Which turned quickly into a you've got to be kidding me?!  This is taking forever and now I have paint all over hell and can this just be done already?  I did push through and finish them - all two coats and a wax job later - and I do indeed rather enjoy how they turned out.  Even if my driveway still has blue speckles of paint all around. 

Back to the slippers and owning your own pair.  I do believe that sentiment and the way it was spoken is the best I've heard to describe successfully wrapping your head around life. 

Lunches Then to Now

There was this one time several years ago, back when I lived in a tiny house in the tiny town I graduated high school, when my little sister came over for lunch.  She would have probably been about a freshman in high school at the time.  In she popped with a, "Hello!  I'm here."  

And I fed her hamburger.

Not as in a cheeseburger or a hamburger on a bun with a nice side or two, but rather just chopped up and cooked hamburger.  That's it.  

That was before my cooker days and we still laugh about it now.  Who feeds someone that and tries to convince them it's a meal?  

This summer, as a soon to be junior in college, my little sister came to my house for lunches when she was working at the bank in the bigger town I now live.  In she popped with a, "Hello!  I'm here."  

And I would do two things.

Number one, comment on her outfit because love a duck, Sister Pister can put together some cuteness.  Number two, feed her a wholesome and homemade meal.  

Never just cooked up bits of hamburger.  

Things change.  I'm grateful I can now call myself a cooker and make a real something out of random ingredients which are mostly usually on hand.  I'm grateful I no longer live in that tiny house, the one I had basically fold myself in half to crawl backwards down the ladder chute to get to the laundry in the old as the hills basement.  

Things don't change.  I'm grateful my little sister still wants to come to my house and spend time with me when she can.

The Makeup Behind It

Sometimes I like an image because of...

who is in it

its colors

my admiration of the activity

what it represents, the feeling behind it

the unexpected element, a shiny earring

My love of the day and the exact moment it was taken...

And sometimes?  Sometimes it's all of the above and the makeup behind it.    

Buttery Paper Towels

One day this summer, right after I was hired for this new job, I had to get fingerprinted.  And apparently in this town, they only fingerprint from 7:00-9:00 pm on Tuesdays and Thursdays at the jail.  I called.  Because it seemed odd to me that they wanted you to come to the jail at night rather than in the morning; I was sure it was a typo.  But no.  They really do have you come at night and it also conveniently happens to be at the very same time that everyone within a fifty mile radius who needs to get a daily breathalyzer and/or other daily check-in comes to the jail.  Let's just say the scene I walked into was that of a movie.  I took a cell phone picture real discreet like as I didn't so discreet like yell, "Who in the heck is in charge of this?  Why would people come to get their fingerprints at the same time as this?!"  

Then, I looked around at all of the stares and I thought to myself.  Self.  Shut it down.  Shut it down now.  No need to be feisty in current company.  

I made it out alive, with black fingertips.  

Previously that evening, I came home to find construction workers and a payloader on my lawn with all kinds of other business occurring simultaneously.  The corner of my lawn, but still.  The lawn!  My yard!  

I might have gone a little yell zone on them as well.  It went something like this.

I'm not crazy.  Yell yell yell.  I mean really, I'm a nice person.  Yell yell yell.  But this is ridiculous!  I swear I'm nice.  Promise.  Yell yell yell.  You will make sure all of those sprinkler heads work because hello?!  Payloader on my yard.  You are on my yard!  Okay so yeah, I mean I know you are just trying to do your job.  Like I said I'm not crazy.  Promise.  But this, all of this (insert flamboyant dramatic hand wave), is a problem.  

Then I went inside and then I went to get fingerprinted at the jail with all the common criminals and then I questioned the sanity of this town yet again. 

All of this is leading somewhere.  

The next day, I was baking cookies.  It was a July morning and I dobbed the paper towel in the butter and greased my cookie sheets and then I smiled to myself because I had this memory of my grandma and her paper towel dabbed in Crisco.  Greasing her pans for buns.  It's amazing, when we do things out of rote, a deep hidden memory of a strong impression.  Grandma's greasy paper towel.  My buttery paper towel.  I am so thankful I had a Grandma Gladys.  A person who gave me so many of those dents in my impressionable self.  

Gladiolas will forever be my favorite flower.  Grandma grew them by the droves in her garden and every late July and early August when they started blooming, she would make bouquet arrangements for church and then stand outside the door and pass the stems out individually after church.  A deep hidden memory of a strong impression.  Forever my favorite flower.  

After the cookies came out of the oven that early July morning, I put some on a plate and brought out to the construction workers who were working in the corner again.  I felt guilty.  Guilty about my rant over them doing their job - even if it was a bit of a careless mode of operation.   I apologized.  They accepted.  They apologized.  I accepted.  They smiled while eating gooey chocolate chip cookies.  I smiled as I walked away.  

I can't help but think my grandma would have smiled at that too.  Deep hidden memories of the model of what my own mode of operation should be.    

Sunday

Today was a good Sunday. 

I ran four miles early and it felt right for the first time in a long while.  I sat in the sun, let it make me sweat even more, and read from my book club book.  I smelled fresh from the dryer laundry.  I made a loop to visit out in the country with some of my favorite people.  I watched my niece mow the yard.  I wrestle hugged my two nephews because they are way too cool for real hugging, but they will wrestle hug me and laugh the best giggles.  I sat with my sister-in-law on their porch and visited while the little wild one went up and down the slide.  I saw yellow leaves, a sign my favorite is just around the corner.  I found a ladder that will work perfect for a quilt rack I've been envisioning in my brother's shop and then power washed it off in my dad's shop and now it is drying in my garage.  I ate so many I lost count pieces of fresh from the oven Momma Debi bread with spun honey, bread I convinced her to make just for me.  I captured one of the best big old trees against the prettiest sky and ditch grass blowing in the breeze.  I watched my sister get on her two year old, not yet broke, horse for the very first time; I love witnessing brave.  I saw a night light with a princess reflection on the ceiling, followed by shrieks of delight from Emma Jean.  I laughed with Danae and Blake because that's just what you do with Danae and Blake. 

And on the way home, I pulled the car over for this. 

Well actually, I had to drive for a ways to find a spot on the highway I could turn around and then drive more to find a spot I could actually pull off of to get this taken care of as it demanded attention.  Made it just in time. 

Just in time before the sun slipped behind the coulee.  Of all the things to regret, a sunset is never one.  

A good Sunday.  Bring on Monday.    

She's a Wild One

I'm baking oatmeal raisin cookies right now and the smell might be enough to make me eat one.  So instead of eating one, I'm going to write one instead.  

Some serious miles were put on over the long holiday 4th of July sparkling weekend, 25 this way bright and early for a parade only to go the 25 back and then add 160 that way for a family picnic and fireworks night.  Then a wake up before the sun to drive the 160 back home so a certain person could work (I felt bad...for a minute).  And then a smarter person than I would have stayed home and possibly relished in having a moment of silence, but instead I packed up some sunscreen and skewer making supplies and hit the road to head 100 miles the other way to find Danae and her people at the lake.  Knowing full well I'd haul that distance back the same night so I could wake up the next morning to drive 59 miles the other way to Sister Pister's rodeo and back home for the afternoon and then to the farm for picnic and fireworks and then back home.  At that point it was Saturday night and I slept. 
 

It was a lot of going, going, and gone with brief thoughts of I should have stayed home and kept things simple. 

But then there was this one moment on the water, right before we were going to head back to the cabin on Friday evening.  "She's a Wild One" by Faith Hill came on over the pontoon radio.  Danae and I sang.  Like sang sang, loudly and without missing a beat while the wind blew gusts across our faces and dried out soaking wet hair.  We had Emma sandwiched between us at that point and she kept looking up at us and laughing.  We were feeling it. 

And right there and then, it made everything worth it.

Earlier that day, I had asked Danae, "So is those whole lake thing working out for you?  Do you get tired of the packing and cooking and hauling and dragging everything and kids being out of their routine?"  Her response came later because we were interrupted with somebody needing something.  Her response came when we were on the boat and her kids were soaking wet from swimming and we were all sun tired.  She looked over at me and said, "I love the lake." 

I do believe it's part of being an adult.  The hauling and planning and cooking and organizing and not really relaxing while doing the vacation-esque thing.  It's part of our jobs.  To have the little people around us experience life. 

Experience going under a wave with their "Auntie" Amy and having their momma have a mild panic attack watching from the sidelines. 

Experience telling stories on the boat while everyone laughs at you.  Those skills come in handy later in life when trying to make new friends in college.

Experience tubing with their dad. 

 

Experience watching their mom and her friend sing so loudly and freely with not a care in the world.  Or not seem to have a care in the world anyway.  That's the key. 

And no, I don't have kids of my own but I sure am around many sets of them in many different settings and I believe in the fun.  The fun which comes from not always making the smart choice about keeping things simple or miles driven. 

The fun which comes from grabbing the baby who really isn't a baby anymore but yet always will be and looking for fish as a distraction from the mommy clingy syndrome. 

The fun which comes from interesting fashion statements like brother's baseball cap and a baby doll's scarf. 

The fun which comes from fires in the evening air. 

The fun which comes from just doing it.  And sleeping later.