Deleteriously Delicious

 

( Courtesy of the definitive Gospel of Vocabulary i.e....according to Webster.

Thanks, Merriam.)

 

I love this word.

I've always LOVED this word.

It's like a verbal cookie for me.

You know the kind....sweet, with just enough chips?

 

Deleterious.

Spelled with just the right number of mildly harsh consonants

ordered in such a way that,

when spoken with accent applied to the correct syllable

the whole word just kind of launches out of the throat

exiting the mouth in a marvelously definitive and lovely way.

It's a good, good word.

 

Post-it note to my brain:

Use this fine word more often.

~

I stood on the edge of Thursday
looking ahead to this weekend
with some trepidation.
Life stuff.
Work stuff.
The panorama was just too overwhelming.
I wasn't sure how I was going to do it all.

Friday the sun was out so bright
the sky was so blue
there just seemed to be every possibility
somehow
some way
I'd get it all done.

Treating myself for being such a brave girl at the dentist yesterday
I squeezed my little race car (Saturn. ha!)
into the drive-up and pondered
the Starbucks possibilities.
A late-bloomer to coffee and pretty much a creature of habit.
I like it dark, dark, dark and bitingly flavorful.
With a messa cream and sugar.
True coffee-addicts would say that's not coffee.
To each his own, folks. Leave me to my beans.

On special days, I hit the Starbucks drive-through.
On ordinary days I'm much too stingy to expend 1/3 of my daily calorie budget on a cup of coffee.
Too poor to afford the cost, too. But today I thought.....let's just dive all-in for the weekend, shall we?
Let's try something new.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh BABY!!!!!!!!!!
My boots are dancin' now, for sure!!!

Chestnut Praline Latte.
Deeeeee-RISHUS!!!!!

Here is how I described it to my Facebook crew:

Driving along, minding my own sweet biz when....out of the drivethru window I am unexpectedly and deliciously assaulted by the most arresting burst of flavors! Soooo just close your eyes and imagine a happy little chestnut rolling its chubby, roasted self around on your tongue, when all of a sudden a team of wild little pralines arrive from seemingly nowhere and explode in your throat. And imagine too, that the lovely young man with the bright red (very festive) gauge things in both his ears is the best listener ever, and actually DID make your Chestnut Praline Latte extra extra H O T. Heaven.
 Lovely sips of heaven!!!

Got it?
My new favorite Starbucks beverage, for sure.
Now, full disclosure so we don't all run off half-crazy

 Indeed.

Sip with caution.
But....on that occasion quite-special
do sip.
Ohhhh yes, yes, yes! Do sip!

So.
Enough digression.
Back to the subject of favorite words
and the point of this entire rabbit trail
of verbal meandering.

"Facts in hand, of the deleterious results rabid consumption of her
new favorite coffee beverage would have on her fitness, health and teensy tiny little wallet,
Debbie allowed herself but one Starbucks beverage per week, as a
less-nutritional but highly satisfying substitute for breakfast."

Sorry, eggs.

 

 

And yet.....MORE Miles to Go Before I Sleep

 

If I've got somewhere to go

someplace to be

I don't mind 4:00 AM.

 

I'm a morning gal

so I can pop up out of bed in the wee-est of the hours

for a purpose.

 

Notsomuch a fan of the waking-up-in-the-wee-hours thing

if the only purpose it serves is to find me

staring across my room into the dark

ruminating on every little thing troubling me of late.

 

Life.

Money, kids, health, future, prayers, wishes, regrets, guilt, love, faith

purpose, friends, enemies and whether my car will get me through the winter.

They're all stacked up

with a thousand of their pesky little trouble friends

right over there in the corner of my bedroom

where no one can see

unless it's 4:00 AM.

 

Yesterday was one of those mornings.

Helllllllllllllllllllllllo 4:00 AM.

Yep, it's me again.

 

But yesterday there was kind of a reason.

I had a dental appointment scheduled at 8 AM.

Root canal.

Eeks.

 

(Feel free to envision the cozy chair, the needle coming towards my mouth,

the sound of the drill, the vibrating of my jaw......

yeahhhhhh, all manner of fun things.)

 

 

You'd think so, anyway.

Right?

 

Well.

The root canal.....seriously.

It was nothin'. PIECE. OF. CAKE.

I almost fell asleep

although the whole vibrating jaw thing....

NO pain, mind you....but couldn't quite drift off.

Almost, though.

Almost.

 

Face still numb, an hour after the dentist I

found my favorite, all-time best friend boots.

I thought I'd lost them in one of my many recent moves.

Nope.

The lost are found.
The feet are happy.

And speaking of feet................

Uhhh, yeahhhhh.
Only the best movie EVer!!
Found my Happy Feet DVD in the same perchance
dive into the storage unit that revealed my sweet boots.

So. Despite the fact it started early....wayyyy too early.
Despite the fact a dentist was sticking a needle into my jaw at
zero-eight hundred thirty.

The day had earmarks of unfolding into something lovely.
As long as I would keep my eyes open to notice.

Love days like that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Through Strangers Eyes

We had an exercise in Mrs. Hildreth's class

High school English. Junior year.

Once each semester she would pass out little scraps of paper.

On the scraps she had written the names of other students

with whom we'd shared class for the past months.

Our assignment was to make observations about

the person whose name was written on the scrap.

She collected the notes.

And passed them back out to us.

The first time she explained what we were going to do

I got sick to my stomach.

I didn't want to stay in class.

I was gripped with this irrational fear

all the same, very real to me

and I almost approached her desk to ask for

permission to leave class.

I was distressed at the thought of how I would handle

the hurtful things I might read

in my classmates comments.

I imagined myself sitting at my desk, unfolding and reading the comments

trying to act nonchalant

all the while dying inside

wanting to cry.

I should have had more faith in my classmates.

And more faith in me.

"Sweet"

"Likes to make people laugh"

"I think you're probably shy but you still aren't afraid to speak up"

"Good writer. I like it when you read your work out loud."

Seriously??

Were they really talking about me?

Who wrote these nice things, I wondered?

I had no clue anyone in class felt these nice things about me.

I read the notes scribbled on those little scraps of paper once and tucked them deep into my purse.

Over the coming weeks, I read them over and over.

Is that really me? Am I really those things?

The comments put a smile on my face

and confidence in my toolbox.

Even the smallest compliments are like pebbles dropped in a body of water.

There is no measuring the extent to which the ripples may multiply

goodness into the heart of someone

who might feel like just another faded flower on the wallpaper.

Behind the Curtain

I wonder

if we knew how differently people truly felt

from the way we guessed

just by looking at their windows from the outside

would we feel less alone 

 because we'd realize

they're just like us

after all

Random Thoughts and a Sharpie

Don't Make Me Fly

 

If you've got an hour or so I could list

all the reasons I don't care if I ever got on another airplane.

It's a long list.

Long.

 

I'm not afraid to fly.

Not at all.

My dad retired from the airlines after a 35 year career. I took full

advantage of my free-pass privileges over many, many years time.

I went places. I saw things.

I ate great food.

 

Later, I traveled on business.

Went lots more places. Saw lots more things.

Ate lots more great food.

 

I was privileged to experience so many, many things as a result of all the travel.

I lived in absolute wonder each and every time my plane touched

down in a new city and I looked out the window of a rental car or a cab

or a hotel limousine and thought to myself

"Wow. I can't believe I'm here."

 

I met people.

I took pictures.

I journaled memories; a thousand memories.

 

And now I'm done with it.

One day as I was sitting in an airport lounge, waiting for yet another flight home,

 I noticed the bottom seams around the edges of my suitcase

were worn and the zipper was a little wonky. I can't begin to guess how many

miles I'd rolled that thing through airports, carrying everything I needed for the coming days.

 

Well.

I sat there and stared at the suitcase for the longest time.

It was clear, I'd have to replace it.

Or quit flying around.

So I quit.

I was tired of it.

Time was, so often, of the essence.

Now it isn't.

I want to see lots of things.

But I want to see them from the view down here on the ground.

I love road trips.

 

There are a couple things I do miss, though.

A couple things I love about flying.

The first thing I love: the people I met.

 

Yep, I am that annoying person that sits next to you on the plane and strikes up a conversation.

Relax, man. I'm NOT the annoying person who persists after you've politely

made it clear you want to...nap. Or read. Or just stare out the window.

I'm really, really polite.

 

I'm also a bit of a screaming kid whisperer.

 

Yep.

I used to sit in the airport lounge, waiting to board my flight, watching for moms

traveling alone with kids. That's tough duty and I've put in the required hours over the years;

I raised kids; I flew with my kids lots of times.

I've got my Mom in the Airport Badge and I'm not afraid to use it.

I'd spot the moms and if they had a screamer on their hands

I'd try and work my way to a spot beside them and help them with the babies.

 

Flying isn't a whole lot of fun when you're a little kid.

Air pressure hurts your ears and makes you cry.

The space is crowded.

The noises are funny.

People are weird.

There's nothing to eat but those dang Cheerio's your mom poured into a Ziploc

bag and when you throw them all over the plane, people look at you funny.

 

Yep, I'd sit next to those kids and engage them with my ability to draw kittens and bunnies

and dinosaurs. Or I'd invite them to play a game of connect the dots. Or sing about ducks.

Or let them play with my car keys. I was flying with my beloved little 3-year old granddaughter
one time when the plane had a service call and we sat at the gate, buckled into our seats
for five hours. FIVE hours. With a 3-year old and no food.
We played connect the dots.
Like, forever.
She was happy as could be.
(Did I mention it was five hours?)
Yep. I'm that good.

 

So I just like to step in and help a weary mama out.

Maybe it's weird, but I always thought it was fun to turn a little
scrunchy frown upside down. And it was fun to make the children happy, too!

 

There is one other thing I really, really loved about flying.

I loved how I would get up in the wee hours of the morning

and it'd be raining and gloomy and even as the morning

progressed there was nothing but a grey, drizzly world to behold.

We'd all file onto the plane

after taking the last final sips from our Styrofoam cups of lukewarm coffee,

buckle into our respective seats,

lean back, close our eyes and pretend to sleep until takeoff.

 

Some days it took five minutes.

Some days it took less.

I always looked out the window during takeoff.

Outside the window is where the magic happens.

 

Up, up, up we would climb

with that funny sound and pressure kind of thing that you feel

when a big airplane is working it's way up to a cruising altitude.

We'd disappear into the clouds, fighting our way through layer upon layer

of cumulus whatever-us, still climbing.

And then....all of a sudden the nose of the plane would break through

with the rest of us back in the cheap seats close behind

and in a moments time we were cruising in brilliant sunlight.

bright and ever-present in a way the earlier darkness

suggested just wasn't possible.
In the dark, wee hours, it felt like the layers of darkness

would just last forever, yknow? Like maybe God had played some cruel trick

and stolen it from the sky.

 

Nope.

Not at all.

We broke through, leaving the dismal clouds and cheerless weather below us,
 cast off like a heavy blanket to the earth's floor.

 

I loved those moments.

I savored those moments as some of the best ever.

My breathing deepened.

I had to squint because the light, in contrast to the somber shroud
we'd left behind was just so intense. 

Like rebirth.

It was so wondrous.

So amazing.

So real.

 

That's something I miss about flying.

But I carry the beauty of those breakthroughs with me.

And sometimes the memories of how darkness always, always, always 

is overcome by the light

 comfort me as I wait for my own sun to shine again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Small Acts of Love and Kindness

 

CHRISTMAS HAPPY DANCE!!!!!!!

TWO WORDS: 

NEW KNEE FOR CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ok, well.

That's actually four words.

I'm trying to contain myself but the excitement is pretty dang overwhelming.

I need two new ones, have needed them for a long, long time.

So....finally getting everything lined up and approved for the first one in four weeks is very, very exciting. Very exciting. Sooooooo exciting!!!!!!

(Should I be this giddy over a guy taking a saw and hammer

to the bones in my leg?)

Uhhhhh.....YEAH!!!!!!!!

NEW KNEE!!!!!

I am GETTING A NEW KNEE FOR CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!YEA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sliding on the Ice

 

My best friend uses a phrase I've favored above many

since the day I first heard her say it

 

"Sometimes you've just gotta take down your pants and slide on the ice.

 

Perspective:

She was young when she said it. We both were.

In our thirties. (Yes, thirty-something's....that's young.)

We were young moms. We were living our lives in such a way as to keep every

hair on the heads of our children in place

and a smile on every face.

 

House-frau weary of laundering that one damn Strawberry Shortcake t-shirt

fifty three times in a single summer

two years after it even FIT anyone in the house

we conspired some small

mischief.

Just because.

 

I don't remember what we did.

I'm pretty sure it would have embarrassed our parents

mortified our Sunday School teachers

shamed our children

and caused our husbands to look at eachother and say

....hey, did you see Star Trek last night and how 'bout them Yankees.

 

Doesn't matter.

The only moment I recall from the entire episode of presumed

misadventure was her rolling her eyes, looking out the window

and shaking her head in captive resignation.

"Ok. I'm in,"

Why not?

 

 

Slide, we did.

Babysitters meters ticking, no doubt
to nurture our inner runaways for the night.

 

 

Earlier this week I bought this sweet little platform cart.

I can pile all manner of this and that upon it's non-slippy surface

and conveniently push it all to a destination

be it down the driveway

through hallways

or, in this case

from my car to the lower level of a church building

without breaking my back and without so much as losing a thing in the transport process.

 

I love logistics.

This cart and I are going to do great things together.

 

 

So there we stood, my newest buddy and I.

A car filled-to-sunroof, now unburdened of goods portaged into the church

in short order. The evenings mission accomplished. Time to go home.

 

But........

Behold.

Moonlit night.

Just a sliver off full.

Autumn's chill in the air.

Standing next to my beloved cart.

On a blacktop parking lot with a smooth, even surface

sloping dramatically to the South

seemingly off into oblivion

Or at least beyond the radius of the nearest street lights.

 

It's a parking lot that shoots off in roller-coaster style

into a big, hilly neighborhood.

Really hilly.

 

My hands are on the cart.

Big hill.

Dark.

Quiet.

 

 

 

I stood there for the longest time, pondering the opportunity.

I thought too, about a conversation I'd had recently with a dear one.

 

"I've ALWAYS wanted to..........." I said to him, and then I went on to relate a

fantasy of misadventure I've dreamed of for the longest time, which may or may not

involve some....minor, very minor.....criminal trespass and

depending on the success or failure of the operation,

may involve police and possible inconveniences

like squad cars and ugly pajamas (I look ghastly in orange) and...well, you get the picture.

 

I expected him to laugh, of course

because it was a pretty funny plan I explained to him

But he didn't.

He jumped on it.

And of course I knew he was kidding.

But the enthusiasm with which he grabbed hold and stepped up to join me on

my train of misguided thinking for a few minutes

to entertain the entire ridiculous scenario

even going so far as to suggest mapping out reconnaissance

for strategic success of the mission.......well.

 it just gave me the biggest thrill ever

It was so much fun. I laughed like I haven't laughed in the longest time.

 

In my heart and mind I was runaway mom with the night off again.

Headed for fun, dashing through the snow

laughing all the way. Like sliding on the ice with our pants down.

 

Last night I stood near the top of that big, long hill

with my hand on the cart.  Why the hell not?
What's the worst that could happen?

Just point it downhill

throw caution to the wind

hop on

and go for the ride.

 

 

Did she?

Or didn't she?

Did she? Or didn't she?

 

No one is more disappointed than me but.....I didn't.

Would I have likely hurt my older-than-back-then self?

Yeahhhh, probably. My hopper doesn't hop quite like it did when I was thirty.

Would I have been able to stop the cart before it reached the Gulf of Mexico?

Probably not. So what? I know enough street Spanish to get along.

 

Mature reason and physical reality won the argument. 

A few years back, in a moment of gleeful abandon over a

moment of supreme accomplishment

I took a (literal) flying leap off the top step of a bus

onto a similar blacktop parking lot which, at the time,

was coated with a layer of ice.

 

Would I do it again?

Yeah, actually I would, even though I ended up in surgery.

I love, and have ever-since held dear the written notes of my

orthopedic surgeon to inform my family doctor of his diagnosis: 

that  my knee needed everything but repainting and pinstriping as a result of that joyous moment:

"Surgery is scheduled for...so and so....and I'll be doing such and such.....and lastly, I would certainly recommend Debbie not be jumping out of buses anymore no matter how happy she is."

 

Man, he got that right. I WAS happy.

I was HELL YES I WOULD DO IT AGAIN HAPPY.

I'm just not so sure how much more gleeful abandon and raucous happiness

my shredded knees can take at this point.

 

That's ok. It was good to feel that kind of happy again.

Even if just for a moment.

When I slid on the ice with my best friend, I was happy.

When conspiring over a ridiculous notion, I was happy.

Standing there at the top of the hill last night, hand on the cart

I was really, really happy.

 

 

True. Some things are best left to the crazy, young runaway moms.

My older and wiser self assured me, parking lot surfing may very well be one of them.

I suppose midnight stealth operations may be another.

 

One of the gifts of age is knowing which rolling trips to take

which recon missions to make

and when to just head home

delighted to be laughing

and really, really happy.

 

Happy because we even considered it in the first place.

 

 

What is an Allen Wrench?

 

Here is the glamorous side of selling goods as a vendor at market shows.

I spent most of the day in my garage

unpacking huge boxes

trying not to rip my hands up on the big staples

and stuff like that.

 

Todays challenge:

assemble a cart I bought that will make it easier to haul all my

stuff in and out of the shows I work.

The cart required.....

duh-duh-duh duuhhhhhhhhhhhh...

assembly.

 

Oh frights.

It was hard enough to coax the thing out of the crate.

And it's not light, that's for sure.

600 pound product capacity

But the wheels had to be attached.

 

Nooooo problem.

I used to show custom furniture at market and trade shows around

the country. I'm not afraid of having to assemble a thing or two.

 

But anyone who knows me knows

the absence of fear doesn't necessarily mean

the presence of skill.

So I ask myself around...noonish.

What is an allen wrench?

I think I need one. I sense I need one.

I'm not positive but I know I need something and isn't an allen

wrench one of those little tool deals with a cuppy thing on the end

so it sort of hugs the screw instead of poke it

like a flat screwdriver or a Philips. (Phillips?)

 

As it turns out....no.

I guess what I needed was a socket.

Still need.

Is there just one size?

Can I just buy the one size?

What if I never buy it and don't tighten down the

screw things?

 

I forged ahead with the tools at hand:

grill tongs, Bic lighter and spatula.

 

Between now and next week what I have to haul

huge boxes full of stuff on the thing

I'll figure it out.

And tighten those little thingies.

With that thingie.

 

Later I re-stocked my supply of magnets

to go with the steel magnet board photo frames I sell.

Fun. Pretty.

Maybe I'm just a weeeee bit loopy from the glue....

 

And here's one of the finished frames, fussed up with ribbon

and some fun little paw magnets

for doggie peoples:

 

Click here to check out handcrafted Metal Art & Home Decor pieces

 

You can order these rusted, steel photo magnet boards and lots

of other cool rusty stuff....if you're into that sorta thang.....on my Esty site.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Miles to go Before I Sleep

I've got so much to do today

so much I don't even want to look at it...

it just feels too overwhelming.

 

 

Mornings like this I remember back to a Christmas Eve.

Living alone. Working long hours.

I was expected at a holiday party with my family

where I would be giving handmade fleece blankets

to each one of the little kids at the party.

 

8 AM the morning of the party.

Food not cooked.

No clean clothes.

And three of the blankets remained to be created.

 

I remember lying in bed, staring out the window at the snow

wondering if nature might whip up a blizzard to save me from

the overwhelming burden of to-do's that day.

 

No blizzard.

I was up by 8.

Looked in the mirror

pulled up my socks and said to my cat

"We got this."

 

And we did.

Made all three blankets, cooked the food, washed my clothes

and left the house in plenty of time to enjoy the party.

Wrapped all those blankets up as presents, too.

I was a wild woman with scissors and ribbon flying that day.

 

Today's road is longer.

The work is harder.

I'm older.

My knees are creakier

and betray me just when I need them most.

 

But my son said..

Of course I'll help, mom.

And the sun is shining.

I prayed and just asked God to help me figure out how to get it all done.

And I've had my coffee.

 

No sweat, girl.

"We got this."

 



Am I Okay Today?

The right friend, at the right time.

You know how it is when you're on a wavelength with someone.

Maybe you don't see them very often.

Maybe you only talk to them twice a year.

 

 

You realize, somewhere along the way

you're tuned in to one another

When you need someone with just their idea of fun

just their style of conversation

just their willingness to listen

and not bury you in advice

they appear.

 

 

I've got a friend like that.

She's someone I've known since we were just kids.

We know a whole mess of people in common

but we rarely ever talk about them.

 

I love that we have that days-gone-by foundation

but we're all about now.

What's going on?

What's making you happy this week?

Who's making you crazy?

How are the kids?

Tell me how I can pray for you.

 

I called her this week to see if she could skip work and road trip with me.

Short trip: four hours one way, four hours back.

Eight hours of yakkity-yak in the car?

Ohhh HELL yeah.

 

It was the perfect day.

Took care of the travel business at hand.

Caught up on family, friends, ups and downs and this and that

victories and heartaches and the few people who just can't help but

chew on our very last nerve.

 

All the while watching an autumn sky.

Kind of grey. Full of clouds

hanging above trees, now barren of leaves

and spread over mile after mile of farm fields, mid-harvest.

 

We were in the general neighborhood

so we stopped to decorate her parents graves for the winter.

We both lost our folks recently

our season of life, I guess.

The burdens of worry

the fear of the unknown

the feeling like an orphan

We know those things.

 

When you've known someone since you were young enough

to be crying over a high school boyfriend in a football stadium bathroom

and you've weathered the mutual storms of the

sorts of tragedies life dishes out in

some semblance of equal measure

there is a depth to the friendship that is both

comforting and strengthening.

 

Thanks for hitting the road with me, my friend.

For letting me unravel the threads of my life for a while

My edges feel smoother after we talk.

You remind me what is important.

You encourage me.

And love me.

Even though you know I am just

a little crazy and more than a little

off-center.

 

You remind me

we've all got problems.

We've all got fears.

We all wonder.

Roller Coaster of Life

It's short, you know.

Life, I mean.

It's short.

We get to choose our seat on the roller coaster.

Where are you sitting?

Back row:

Zip your purse up so your money doesn't fall out on the hills.

Next row up:

Proper ladies always make sure they line up

and do that thing of which the neighbors would approve.

Second row from front:

Should we? I mean...it looks like fun.

Could we? What would happen if we just let go....

and then there's the front row.....

The front row.

That's the HELL YES row.

Just Me and the Boy

Chuck and I know the days of our autumn road trips are

winding down. Once the snow starts to fly

once the driveway is all slushed up

we'll probably stick closer to home.

But last weekend unrolled two glorious days of

mild weather that begged for a wander.

Let's hit the road, Deb. 

I can't resist those eyes.

Or the ears.

Or the nose.

Or the happy little dance he does in the kitchen when I say,

"Shall we go for a ride?"

That's some serious tail-shakin' right there.

(I think mine shook a little, too)

The goal this weekend was to find a place

A) away from traffic

B) resplendent with the joys of nature

C) with no people around

D) and only the most remote of possibilities that a buck or doe might jump

from the brush and suggest a long, exhaustive chase.

The afternoon mission was to see how my boy behaves when

unclipped from the leash and given a bit of freedom.

He lived on a farm for years and years,

free to roam about at will.

The woodland critters feared him.

The neighboring hogs paced in the lot when his

sweetest of furry selfs showed up to cruise the

fence perimeter to make sure all was well.

Six months after swapping the open range for a carpeted living room with a

fireplace and a fenced back yard, we'd yet to test his wanderlust in an

unconfined space.

We just had to see how it might go, in the perfect

and perfectly safe....place.

We found it.

Just a wee little pond.

A few turns this way, a few turns that.

Down a bit of a gravel road.

Surrounded by pine trees.

And he was a total champ.

Sniffin' the wind here, watering a tree there.

As is his instinctive way, he found a fenceline and dutifully

took a long stroll the full length of it, just checking to make sure

everything and everyone he cared about inside of it

~ that would be me ~

was safe.

Yep, that's my sweet boy.

And look what we found!

The most lovely pine cones.

I pulled up the hem of my t-shirt to basket them up

against me and hauled a whole pile of 'em back to the car.

What to do with them.....

I haven't a clue.

I'll figure something out.

Meanwhile, aren't they fine?

They make me think of winter when I look at them today.

Before too long, when the snow begins to fall

I'll look at them again and they'll remind me of a beautiful autumn day

when the sky was blue,

the wind whispered through tall pine trees

and I spent a perfectly lovely afternoon with

the sweetest of boys.



Hashing Out the Night

As I drove home this evening, I was hashing over a bit of a situation from hours earlier.

I was neck-deep in a nest of people tonight at work

when I got blindsided by a very young mom

who appeared to be angry.

 

 I haven't been in the neighborhood for five decades without

developing a bit of radar for this sort of thing.

The flushing of her cheeks and the

throbbing vein in her forehead: definite clues.

Definite.

I'm thinking: whoa, she's mad.

 

Since it is my job to parade a welcoming flag of peace and harmony amongst the

wandering folks at my place of employment

I approached her with my usual smile and hello

and nice comments to the kids with her.

 

In retrospect

I think this probably just made her madder.

 

There seems to be nothing that makes someone with a serious mad on,

angrier than someone who sneezes glitter and farts rainbows.

I am that annoying unicorn.

Guilty as charged.

So.
Duly annoyed, she planted her feet

in stance to express herself with a full complement of language, spirited verbal suggestions and threats. Her face became visibly red.

 

Another bad sign.

But I'm up to the challenge. I've been in customer service work for a long
long while. Bring it, cowgirl, I think. I'm all ears and I'm a great listener.

Especially with mad people.

I know sometimes....most of the time.....

mad people just need to get it out.

And pretty soon it's over.

 

Gosh. And it was all going so good, too. So good.

She was expressing and feeling pretty darn wonderful about it.

Threatening to make herself known to people who mattered.

(Pointedly, not me.) and to people who cared about her concerns.
(Again, apparently not me.)

She went on long enough she downright boiled herself into a sweet, syrupy sarcasm

that dripped from each of her carefully chosen words.
I hate sarcasm. But it was her big thing and I just kept on smiling.
I actually thought the whole smiling strategy was a good one
but......hmmmm. I guess it wasn't.

I guess it kind of annoyed her.

 

Quite unexpectedly, this enraged bit of an imp reached over and grabbed my arm.
Grabbed. My. Arm.
Yep. Grabbed it.

 

Uh-oh.

UHHHHHHHH-freaking-OHHHHHHHHHHHH.

 This is the part where the world stops spinning and everyone else
in the room stops breathing.

 

I turned my head to look down at her hand

where she was grabbing my arm. And then I looked back up at her.

 She must know a thing or two about body language.

Pacifist I may be, she was about to lose her right arm.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

And then she let go.

She backed off.

I invited her into my office.

We chatted and reached a state of détente.

And then someone brought me a tiny cup of ice cream

and said they thought I needed chocolate hug.

Nice people always win.
Nicer people always bring them ice cream. 

How I do love a story with a happy ending.

 

 

Dirt and Worms

Today's struggle lives in the employee break room of the children's gym where I work.

Specifically, in the refrigerator where everyone tucks their lunch.

And beverages.

And leftover snacks from the 100-kid Halloween/Slumber Party

held here last weekend.

 

 

Is this a bowl full of delicious goodness just begging

to be eaten or what?

 

Look closer.

It's chocolate pudding, smushed-up oreo cookies

and a few randomly creepy gummy worms

to make the whole mess scream "dirt".

 

Awwww, c'mon.....close your eyes, click your heels and repeat after me:

"There's no place like Kindergarten, there's no place like Kindergarten....."

Got it now???

 

Whatever.

To ME it screams chocolate coma.

And it's been wayyyyyy too long since I've been in one. 

 

So I'd like to thank the little munchkins whom, for whatever reason

refused their chocolatey treats at the party.

Because the result was a nice little herd of

party pudding cups.

 

Just dying to be eaten.

 

And no, I didn't.

But I wrestled that chocolate temptation

ALL

DAYYYYYY

LONNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGG

 

Tonight we celebrate the victory over creepy dessert.

With yogurt.

No worms.

 

 

Dawn

I try and start every morning off with something that feeds my spirit.

Just seems like it's the best way for me to step out the front door

on the correct foot and face my day.

Sometimes it's reading from a little book.

Jesus Calling by Sarah Young.

Sometimes it's just a flip open in the pages of my Bible.

I find a spot and I ask God to say something to me through the words.

I read. And I carry those words with me through my day.

And sometimes I take a little more time and I settle in

and listen to one of the messages from some pastors whom never

fail to reach me with their messages and gift of speaking.

Check them out.

Click Here to Check Out Hope Online ~ My Favorite!

They are doing a series of messages right now called "The Jesus Tour"

Great stuff. Just click the link above and look to the right for a list by clicking on "Jesus Tour." I especially LOVE Jeremy Johnson's message "View from a Sycamore Tree". 

I find myself listening just about every morning recently.
And look forward each week to celebrating the faith in my heart
and the love of Jesus, who wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to himself as his very own with all the good people at Lutheran Church of Hope.



Canteen

Her Own Glass

Because what the world really, truly needs.....is another cat video.

 



Yeah, I drank out of it first.

That's where she got the idea.

 

But no....I didn't drink out of it AFTER her.

 

 

That would be just a little weird.

Mirror, MIrror

 

I know some great mirrors.

I used to travel frequently on business and I very quickly learned the mirrors in Marriott property hotel bathrooms were simply the best friends a gal could ever have.

I think it was the combination of the lights and the wall color.

Maybe it was some kind of Marriott magic.

Whatever it was, I felt like a million bucks when I left my room each morning.

 

But that's a rare occurrence.

 

 

Because mirrors are usually just plain mean.

I avoid looking in them.

This, I'll admit, results in some interesting hair styling adventures.

Don't care.

Don't like mirrors.

 

Although I have a couple favorites.

My friend Jane has a mirror in her hallway, directly across from her bathroom door.

When one exits the ladies room, opening the door to step into the hallway,

one is greeted with a full-length presentation of oneself

and THAT mirror, I'm telling you what,

that's a best friend kinda mirror!

 

It's awesome!

Don't care what you felt like walking in there,

don't care what you feel like walking out,

don't care what you're wearing,

what day of the week it is, either.....

that mirror makes everyone look a long-legged

20 pounds thinner and gurrrrrrrrrrl if that don't make ya wanna

whippity-flip and spit, I don't know what does!

 

It, honest to goodness, is the best fahhhh-reakin' mirror in the world.

The. Best. I've walked in that bathroom I don't know how many times....

just so I can walk out again. And again.

And I actually look at me.

And smile!

 

Which I don't usually do.

 

I think I'm like lots of women.

Mirrors? I just don't like them.

 

I know it's what we have inside that matters.

I know substance and inner beauty are the most important thing.

Still, it's nice for those of us who spend most days feeling extraordinarily ordinary

to look in a friendly mirror, twirl a little princess-spin and

think, "Who on earth wouldn't want to kiss me right this very minute!"

 

It's good to feel just a little bit royal every now and then.

 

Hard to Beat a Good Turkey Joke

I know it's only the 1st but I can't help myself............

 

 

Baaaaahaaaaaaaaaa!!!!

 

It's a Choice

 

 

 

There are so many things which are out of our control in life.

I'm looking out the window right now, watching leaves literally fall

from the maple trees out front. Falling. In fall. Cool.

I like fall.

 

Life often pushes us around to the point we feel like those leaves.

Hanging on, doing our best to be brilliant and functional

even though the wind is blowing hard and we know

we just know

in a really short time

the gust of finality is going to rush along the spiny branch to which we cling

and send us drifting to the ground.

 

And that's where we differ from the leaves of autumn.

Once on the ground, the life drains from them.

Their extremities curl

Their brilliance fades

And they lie there

waiting for someone to rake them up and

decide their fate.

 

The wind will blow.

We'll fall.

But we get to choose what happens once we hit the ground.

 

Me?

I choose to get back up

dust off a bit

take a good look around at every good thing

and smile.

 

Good days ahead.

Even if it's not today.

There are always

always

good, good days ahead.