Extroverted Introvert

For as extroverted as I am, there are some moments I breathe in deeply the beauty of being alone.  Like through my nostrils so slow, it brings me back to being a human.  One wisp at a time.  

A few Sundays ago on the very first weekend the local pumpkin patch was open, I went by myself.  Drove through S-bucks to grab a black hot coffee and then hit the road to the patch, my heart so happy it was bursting.  Knowing I'd be there on my own, contrasting the family situation for most.  

Knowing time with the air and pumpkins and pretty things and the ability to think reflectively was just what I needed.  

I relish those types of moments.  

Cliche as it may be, there's something special to me about changing seasons and traditions and overall festiveness.  

Fall happens to be my favorite and this time of year with the smells of apples and the pulling of boots on my feet, I become so kitschy and nerdy that I am literally one step away from a leaf embroidered cardigan of sorts. 

But for now, I keep myself off that ledge.  The ledge of being an actual Saturday Night Live skit and instead, I buy Cinderella pumpkins while I'm at the patch alone pulling around my red wagon and drinking my hot coffee.  I'll leave out the part about skipping back to my car.  

That would be a bit skit like.

Not Eggs This Time

Raw honey is pretty too.  Especially when it's sitting on the kitchen windowsill with the morning sunlight pouring through. 

Here's my little latest nugget of revelation, raisins really are much better when they come in the tiny cardboard box.  It's one thing that should not be bought in a bulky bag.  The tiny cardboard box is where it's at.  Chewier.  Tastier.  Just more fun.  I'm a sucker for cute packaging.

When life is really busy, it's important to think about such things as why raisins taste better out of  the tiny cardboard box.  Trust me, it is.    

And now too, I can say "You look better than honey on a windowsill."  Instead of saying, "...better than a peach on a windowsill." 

Revelations I tell you. 



Eggs Again

I pulled out the eggs last Sunday and found a surprise.  His and hers eggs; they struck me as pretty and I was momentarily sidetracked from the French toast mission. 

The little things truly do win me over and remind me to step back and notice.  To take it all in.     

I find when I'm feeling the most fidgety and restless, there are some things that without fail pull me back.  My camera.  The sunlight.  Cooking.  Cleaning.  Reading.  Writing.  A quiet night on the couch with a shared blanket and a movie.  Creating.  Running.  A glass of wine with friends.  Talking to Momma Debi.  Spending moments with my favorite little people.  Being outside.   

Taking pictures of eggs. 

Yeah those things. 

Thank goodness for those things. 

It's a Lucky Lot

Farm life for kids.  If I ever forget how magnificent farm life for kids truly is, give me a little pinch to remind me.  After all, it's how I grew up.  Running free outside, playing in the dirt, making things up as you go, siblings as your friends and your enemies all at the same time, chores after school, chores before school, sunshine on your face until it disappears behind the horizon, suppers in the field, rides in tractors and then driving those very same tractors, dealing with the life cycle of animals (in other words, knowing your pig will eventually be butchered), learning to ride without training wheels on gravel roads, digging in the garden, hanging clothes on the line to dry, responsibilities mixed in with playing and fun. 

Farm life for kids.  

It's a lucky lot.  

I went out to a corn feed and bonfire at Jessie and Brandon's farm one evening for visits in the blowing breeze.  When the kids took to sliding down the dirt hill, I was pulled from talking with forever friends to capture it.

 

It was quintessential farm life for kids.   

 

And you should know, sister is fearless. 
 

She screamed not long after this.  Most at the party thought she was scared as her mom walked toward her.  I knew she was mad.  I could just tell.  She's a fellow spitfire.  When Danae came walking back up with Emma's hand tucked in hers, she mouthed to us, "She's mad at her very mean big brodder." 

 

Mad.  Because her older brother wouldn't share his sled and then told his friend not to share either.  I get that older brother business.

 

I also get the feeling of being free on the farm.  It's fleeting and I hope these kids will look back on these memories with the best of heart squeezes.   

Music and Bees and Lip Gloss of Course

The other morning on the drive to work, I found myself listening to the new Mariah Carey song.  At least I think it's new; there's a strong possibility it's not and I'm just late to the party.  At any rate, listen I did.  It was kind of catchy and it brought me back to the years of standing next to my mom's stack-able Sony stereo in our living room with the brown carpet in the old farm house.  My mom was always and still is on the cutting edge of technology.  For real.  She had that Sony CD player piece in her stack stereo with a tall speaker on each side before they were mainstream.  And she had a Mariah Carey CD.  Along with Dwight Yoakam and Tiffany too.  

If I ever wonder where I get my quirky mix of likes, I shouldn't.  However, I should probably wonder why to this day I cannot hook up any piece of technology.  

That same morning I didn't turn the dial on Mariah Carey, I also ran to Taylor Swift's RED album on shuffle.  Don't judge.  

I thought of Taylor as I finished up with Mariah and it made me feel like what was necessary next was Jim Croce's "I Got a Name" followed by Elton John's "Levon" from my music phone files.  

All this is leading me to say that on that very same day, I arrived home from work to find Punky at my house with Billy.  He was babysitting and I joined in that party real quick. 

I think she was in better care before I took over with sidewalk chalk because it wasn't long after being outside, Punky was stung by her very first bee.  Right on the chinny chin chin.  

I played the here sit on the freezer in the garage and look up at the ceiling to count the butterflies while sticking your tongue out sporadically so your aunt knows you aren't having an allergic reaction to a bee under her care game while holding an ice cube in a dish towel on the sting.  

Then after sufficient wait time and wiping of tears and no swelling of any kind, I pulled out the lip gloss.  That makes everything better.  Every single time. 

Punky totally agrees and would much rather take things into her own hands thank you very much.   

Let me say this.  An after work date with a piggy-tailed little nugget is like the best thing ever.  Chalking up rocks and dancing in the grass beats the bananas out of doing responsible things like laundry.

And guess who was playing as our jam?  None other than Taylor Swift of course.