Is This Thing On?

A Poem About Snow

Why?

Well. Obviously.

Because I love it!!!!!

We should be home.

Walking down the gravel.

Holding hands.

Listening to the flakes

as they land on the

brittle remnants

of last summers shade.

Second best though

is to be tucked in

safely

behind a big window

where I can watch it

fall

and fall

and fall

just as silently

just as beautifully

on the ground

out there in the cold.

Thank you God

for the beauty

of snow.

I Think I Know Who My Friends Are

Bambi Dance

Full disclosure.

Lest one

be led

to assume

the weekend-past

to which I referred

in my last post

was one

long and amazing 

celebratory 

moment 

after

another

absent 

of challenges.

Hmm. Nope.

Not the case.

"Would you care to dance?"

Pretty sure

that's what a swashbuckling and handsome

young buck

of some considerable girth

was saying

from the side of the road

when first

we spotted him.

Alas.

He was an impatient sort.

Perhaps a little heady.

The guy

never waited

for the answer

instead

made the unfortunate

and fatal decision

of

stepping out in front

of our car

presumably

ready to doe-si-doe

(Arrr arr arrrr)

as we moseyed past

at ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

round about's

50 miles an hour.

Give or take.

Spotting him

hitting him

and watching him

tumble

ass over antler

all happened

within the blink of an eye.

Literally.

One minute 

he's delivering the roadside invite.

Next minute

he's 

taking a breather

in the ditch.

Well.

Not exactly a breather.

Pretty sure

he was having his very first

face to face chat

with Jesus

and nodding a quick hello

to my departed loved ones.

He left a few parts

on the concrete 

dance floor.

And

as it turned out

a few reminders

on the front end 

of our car.

Ouch.

Take that

old yet faithful

little Saturn

who now sports

a tuft of woodland fur

as hood ornament.

Complaints??

None.

Not a one.

I feel sorry for Bambi.

I do.

But one only has

to Google

"Deer Car Wrecks"

to pop up

nightmarish images

of what

COULD HAVE HAPPENED.

And didn't.

I'm so thankful.

I am so grateful.

We kept it on the road.

No one hurt.

Gotta get a new car.

Oh well.

Life goes on.

Music For the Soul

Some nights

just bless the socks

right offa ya.

Such was Sunday.

And our thanks to 

the beautiful

and gracious

Plumb

for an evening of

soul-sweet

music from the heart.

What a voice!

Powerful

powerful

voice 

out of a little lady

who is also

a great 

storyteller.

Enjoy! 

Traveling with
Plumb's Exhale Tour
was another young lady
whose lyrics
carved deep
into my heart
as she sang from
her keyboard.

Christa Wells.
Love her voice.
Love the way she weaves
her messages
with notes
and expression
just so gentle.
So lovely.

Again.....enjoy!

Another band
from New Zealand
got everyone's
heart pumping
and feet stomping.
They were fun!
Thanks
Rapture Ruckus!!!
That's us
ohhh
about four rows back
hootin' and hollerin'
for the selfie.

I must be older than
I like to admit.
I couldn't understand
a word
of the rap
lyrics.
But I think
the kids
did.
And that's
plenty good enough
for me.

It was a crazy-fun
beautiful night.
From sitting under the flagpole
yakkin
before the show
to the Meet and Greet
and running into old friends
with new stories.
We got lost in the music.
That's the best kind of night.
Just a
beautiful
beautiful
praise-filled
music-filled
night.

I Was Supposed to Have a Better Weekend

I was supposed to be raking leaves this weekend.

   

I was planning to pull out my work gloves

and the rolls of big

garbage sacks

and we'd fill them

until we were tired enough

that 

around noon

we'd break for lunch

and I'd whip

up some sandwiches

that we'd eat on the deck

with the dogs

at our feet

begging

as usual

for the scraps.

They'd get 

scraps.

It was always

part of the deal

when we ate dinner

on the deck.

I was supposed to 

eat breakfast at the Legion

this weekend.

The works.

As usual.

Eggs and biscuits

and gravy

and bacon and toast

and sausage

and coffee

from some weird

stoneware

mug

that said

Earlham Savings Bank

on the side.

We'd get interrupted

five times in our morning conversation

by the coffee refill lady

doing her volunteer 

best

to make sure

we were caffeinated

and smiling

when we walked

out of the building

with toothpicks

in our teeth.

I was supposed to buy

marshmallows

for the campfire

this weekend.

Up there on the hill

where my Chuck sleeps

we were supposed to

light a fire

as the evening grew cooler

and the sun set behind the hill.

I had blankets 

in the studio

just for nights like this.

We'd need them

this weekend.

They say

we'll have frost.

I was supposed

to sing this weekend.

In the car.

On our road trip

on the way to

no where in particular.

With CD's.

Or songs

out of the blue.

That's what you do when

you're hanging with someone

you wear

wrapped around you like

a favorite sweater.

Comfortable.
Warm.

Safe.

The one you'd 

never part with.

Not ever.

I was supposed to 

pull my old sweatshirt 

out of the bottom drawer 

this weekend.

For our walk.

Down the gravel road

with the dogs.

We were

supposed to hear the sound

of neighbors

laughing

and enjoying the weekend.

We were supposed to 

look at the moon

and maybe

even wish upon a star.

We were

supposed to fall asleep

halfway into

The Hobbit

this weekend.

After I'd stolen

the best bite

from your toast.

After we'd laughed

remembering

the back-up noise

you made

every time Chuck

threw it into reverse

and left the bedside

to find his favorite spot for the night.

And I was supposed

to wake up

this weekend

with

my happy head

buried

in the clouds

and the planets

and the stars

just after it got light.

I was supposed to

have a better weekend

than this one.

One

I'd spend

lots of time

wondering

just how on earth

I got so

lucky.

Sunshine and Smiles

They parked us just a

short stroll

or should I say

march

from the

firing range.

So it was

all morning long

as we heated the chili

iced the

Monster and Gatorade

and arranged

buckets of 

cheese and sour cream

and hot peppers

we did so

to the echo of

gunfire.

Loud

continual

gunfire.

They actually

posted us just a

short few yards

from the weapons trailer

where lines of

soldiers

were checking out guns

for their assigned practice.

We felt very

very secure.

It was a

gloriously sunny afternoon

of

Walking Tacos

in fun little Doritos bags

and steaming bowls of chili

piled high with cheese.

When all was said and done

lots of uniformed hero's

had been served

and many lunches happily devoured.

It was an afternoon

of grateful smiles.

"Thank you, Ma'am"

"Thank you so much, Ma'am"

"Much appreciated, Ma'am."

(Marry me. Any one of you.

Right this minute!)

Long live 

good manners

that could make 

a one-room schoolhouse

teacher cry.

We served dozens

of men and women in uniform

all through the lovely afternoon.

(And those who look like almost-men, too.....

seriously....how old AM I??? Some of those

younger gentlemen looked like they

haven't started shaving yet under

the shadow of those

cammo helmets.

Can you enlist

in the Army

when

mom has to

drive you to base

because you're not old enough

for your grown-up license?)

It was a fun, fun day.

And the hungry ones

were just so darned appreciative.

Especially this one.

This is my lifelong

brother from another mother

and fellow student

who led our study team

through countless

grad school battles.

This soldier led my buddy 

and I through

class after class

and we always

emerged victorious.

Even though

every now and then

the enemy lurked

very near.

(Like standing next to the table

at Panera. Ohhhh...sorry. 

Private hahaha.)

Anyway.

I know I can always and forever

count on him

for anything

at a moment's notice

through thick and thin.

That's his beautiful wife

and holder of the home front

behind me.

Along with a very fun friend

I just met through our volunteer duty

on a gorgeous

autumn day. 

As the afternoon

wrapped up

and I headed for home

I found a little souvenir

lying in the gravel

by my car.

I guess if you're

spending the day with

Habitat for Humanity

it's pretty reasonable to assume

you might drop a nail or two.

If you're

working in a beauty salon

you might lose track of a bobby pin or two.

So yeah

I get it.

Oops. 

The Cherokee and Me

So there you are

in the middle

of no where

or maybe

fifteen miles further

down the road from it.

And the transmission

goes CLUNK

and your heart goes

DANG

and if you're lucky

you'll find a 

place to stop

where you can

buy a bag of peanuts

and a coffee.

Because you're going to spend

the rest of the night

tucked away in your cabin

wondering

how the heck

am I ever

going to get home.

And then along

comes a smile

and a hug

and a ride

back to

where you belong

and

just for a moment

you think everything

just might be ok.

Wonder Woman

And then there are the days

you think

you can do

just about anything.

Anything.

Like a superhero.

Run faster than a speeding bullet.

Throw down

with more power

than a locomotive.

Leap tall buildings.

In a single bound,

Even

replicate Red Lobster's

Cheddar Bay Biscuit recipe

with two scoops of Bisquick

an egg 

and a handful of 

grated cheese

leftover 

from 

football Friday's

pizza.

Anything.

They're superwoman days.

You're 

feelin' it

and 

dealin' it.

No matter 

what kind of day it is

my prayer

is this.

God

please just keep me real.

Not fake.

No pretending to be something I'm not.

Not smoothed over

pumped up

and ironed out.

Let the memories

of laughter

line up

around my

eyes

and years 

of grins and giggles

pucker the flesh around my mouth.

Let my light shine

from a place

deep within

and

bright enough

to make the path clear

for someone

who might be struggling

to see

where to place

their feet.

When it comes time

for someone to wonder

let them see

beyond a shadow

of any doubt at all.

Make it

clear to them.

She's not really a superhero.

Or an angel.

She is who she is.

Out of Glitter

Magic Amazing Parking Lot Moments

Last night I pulled into the old bread store on my way home from work

An elderly man was standing in the middle of the parking lot, waving me past him as he stood with a couple grocery bags in his hands.

I smiled, waved back and as I got out of my car

walked over to thank him and just say hello.

He was very thin, wearing ragged pants, a heavy sweater

and a big grin as I walked up to him and smiled back.

He was chattering away ~ really animated ~ and I realized he wasn't speaking English.

I caught a word here and there

but between his accent and the language thing

I just kept grinning and saying nice, generic things like

....I see you're collecting pop cans

and isn't it a beautiful evening

clueless to what he was saying back.

I believe I understood the word "money" as he pointed to his pop cans

and I think he tried to show me he collected ball caps

because he had a couple of them in his other bag.

He just kept grinning and chattering and grinning and chattering

and odd as it may seem

I just got the idea he was thanking me

And really, the only thing I could think of that he might thank me for

was not running over him in the parking lot.

I just grinned, gave his hand a little squeeze and turned to walk into the store.

Right then, he grabbed my hand and looked up at me, grinned wayyyyyy big again

and he leaned over and he gave me a sweet little slow and very soft kiss on my cheek.

It about made me cry.

It was just so sweet and so honest and so spontaneous from such an open and generous heart.

I was hoping he understood as I hugged him and said

....ohhh thank you, that is so nice of you, thank you so much.

He looked at me like this shy little kid

this wrinkled old fellow with silver stubble all over his cheeks

and he took his hand and he pointed to his cheek.

He wanted me to kiss him on the cheek.

  I laughed out loud.

Thinking.

Are you kidding? I'm standing in the middle of this parking lot with someone I have never ever met

who just kissed me on the cheek and I have no idea if he's saying

 "Thank you, I'm going to follow you home and kill you" or what

and he gestures so sweetly and so gently, wanting me to kiss him on the cheek.

Well, of course, I did

I kissed him right on his scratchy little sun-wrinkled cheek

with its smattering of whiskers and if I do say so myself

he acted like I just made his day

I can't really be sure.

But I can tell you one thing.

He made mine.

I walked into the old bread store

bought my two cheap loaves

 and when I came out. He was gone.

Magic, amazing moments in this life.

They are just everywhere.

Never Too Careful

You can never

be too careful.

Even Satan quotes scripture.

Never Too Old

Nope.

Never too old to learn 

something new.

Like how to fuss around

with an IPhone

and it's amazing

photo and video capabilities.

Keep in mind

if you will

while I have hair of the

mouse variety

notsomuch grey

notsomuch blonde

just something

painfully

in between.

I'm old.

I'm just not quite

THIS old....

although

I find the outfit

in this Ansel Adams

to be 

slightly mysterious

and altogether

fetching.

Nope.

My first camera looked like this

with film

that looked like this

and you had to be 

really really careful

when rolling it

onto the spool

that you didn't pull it out too far

or you'd

expose it to the light

and ruin your

first couple

of pictures.

So.

For one

such a this gal

who fell in love

with photography

at the ripe old age

of seven-ish

in all it's

black and white glory

the marvelous glories

of her

complicated

exasperating

mystery 

of an IPhone

bespeaks 

of miracles, wonders

and prompts

awe

of the very highest order.

I'm still learning.

The video

is CH OP PI ER

than I had hoped

a little

frenetic

for my vision

and

somehow 

the clips got a wee

widdy-of-a-bit

out of order.

But whatever.

Ron Howard 

had to start somewhere too.

Slow down, Opie

I'm right behind ya, man.....

It's Never Too Late

Children come in all sizes.

Some of them very cleverly disguised

as adults.

Sometimes it's because they have

stuff

to work out

leftover from their

childhood.

Other times

it's because

the excuse

of their sorry childhood

becomes a

habit

and pity

becomes 

a warm blanket

and really

isn't it just easier

to act like a kid

and blame it on someone

or something else

than looking it straight in the eye

and leaving it all behind

and sitting down

finally

at long, long last

at the

grown-up table.

Regardless of pain

or experience

or heartache

or unresolved

indignities

inflicted upon us

when we were young

the truth is

our inner children

have earned the right

and need to be tucked in to rest.

Our little

inner kid

needs the grown-up

to step up

and take over.

These little spirits of our deepest heart

have suffered

long enough.

We need to put our arms around them

assure them

we're grown-up now

and we're going to be okay

on our own

and let them

finally

finally

at very long last

lay down their weary little heads

and be cared for

instead of

forcing them to be

our caretakers.

Growing up is hard.

Especially

if you wait decades

to do it.

Growing up is hard.

But scripture tells us

it's what we are supposed to do.

Growing up is hard.

But no right thing God instructs us to do

is impossible.

We can continue to lie

to get what we want

play with toys that belong to other people

and sneak around

doing naughty things

as if Dad won't notice.

Or we can finally decide

we're ready to put our Cinderella nightie

in a drawer

and close it

for good. 

March of the Moving

The march continues.
My garage-size storage unit
is nearly full.

Some of my stuff is still to arrive
but the mound
is daunting.

The first time I
threw open the door
I just stood there
and despaired
of ever
ever
EVER
having the energy
or the strength
to empty it.

I have to rally.
It isn't going to empty itself.

So I reflect
back on my childhood lessons.

Lest we forget....

....a robin feathering it's nest

has very little time to rest!

And.....

we ALL know.....

 ...just a spoonful of sugar
helps the medicine go down!!!

So.
I shut the garage door.
Went out.
And I got some ice cream.

A practice I highly recommend.
And while we're losing our mind
to a dairy-high
we find renewed strength
to ponder the tasks ahead.

All the appropriate motivational phrases

come to mind.

Said by a fellow of great influence

and literary note

but I'm not sure he ever

had to empty his own

storage unit.

Just saying.

This, of course is a given.

I'm sleeping on a mattress on the floor

with blankets as sheets

rolled up towels

as pillows

and flashlights

to keep me from tripping

as I walk through rooms.

Clearly

the today I locate my sheets

and pillows

and lamps

will improve my tomorrows

in a big, big way.

Oh Lord.

Honest?

That little

I think I can, I think I can

train

is rolling along the tracks of my

weary mind

but I'm really

not sure I can, not sure I can, not sure I can.

Best I can come up with

would be the $180 bucks 

I'm going to save

every month

when that storage unit

is empty.

That's a harvest.

And yet.

I get tired.

My car is only so big.

My legs are only so long.

And I am an old lady.

Confucius got old.

I think he probably

would have said

"Debbie, it's ok to stop.

And rest.

And maybe have a Bailey's on ice.

Because you're worth it."

I really think he would.

Ohhhh SHUT. UP. Sam. 

And indeed, this is true.

I learned it when I was a mail carrier 

lots of years ago.

I would come in off the country route

where I delivered mail to 500

of my closest friends and neighbors

along a 75-mile

mostly gravel

path

and I would crawl into bed

and cry

because I knew 

I had to do it all over again the next day.

But!

What I learned

is that a great nights sleep

is awesome medicine

and I'd awaken before the birds

to hit the ground running

and do it all over

again.

Thus

I know

I can do this.

I can do this, I can do this I can do this.

And eventually
all these crates
will be empty
and there will be light from a lamp
and a bed that is made
with pillows even
and I'll
finally
just maybe
feel like
I have a home.

One step in front of the other, girl.