My sister reminded me yesterday to look at all kinds of things that are happening around me and to me and to express my gratitude for them. Gratitude has a lot of power, she says.
Where to begin? It's Easter Sunday and I'm sitting on my bed looking out at the vines growing up over my window screens as they blow in the hot Spring wind. The KVET Sunday Gospel show is playing on the digital clock radio that I've had since I was fourteen years old. I have a huge goblet of ice water and my favorite tea cup full of coffee with half and half sitting on my night stand next to a sage scented candle softly burning. For these things, I am grateful.
On any given weekday morning, I give thanks for individually wrapped packages of Chips Ahoy, a big bag of apples and a full container of Goldfish crackers. The lifetime supply of foil that I bought at Sam's is nothing short of Heaven-sent. I tell Daniel I only have 300 or so more school lunches to make for him. I am thankful for PB & J, turkey and sliced cheddar and foot long hoagy bread.
I am ever so thankful for the vibrate feature on my cell phone. Sandra the cat lays next to me on my bed, draped lazily over my charging phone, until a text comes through and sends her leaping up in terror, her crazy green eyes bulging in confusion. She looks at me like I did it! This cat drives me nuts most of the time, but at this particular moment, I am thankful that she is here with me.
Over the past few years I have enjoyed a myriad of changes in my life. Over the past several weeks, I have experienced some fairly dramatic alterations in my everyday existence. A sudden change in employment, which at first induced confusion and fear, rapidly became a refreshing, entertaining and down right comforting adventure. Severance pay from my former employer, the sale of my old RAV4 and my new pay rate has suddenly given me some breathing room in my paycheck to paycheck world. My word of mouth grapevine led to a call from a friend of friend that is interested in buying my place. With gratitude I recall the words "Wealth is not about having money, it's about having options."
I have a fearless spirit for which I am grateful. My fearlessness, while not always a good thing, has allowed me to move foward often not knowing what will come next or how. I live by saying to myself these days, "Go for it. What's the worst that can happen?" I am grateful for courage and for options.
Sunday
Saturday
Yep, Still Funny!
Why is it that the grossest things can make you laugh the hardest? Marie came to the office one afternoon with one of her young grandsons in tow. He had been sick for a couple of days with a stomach bug. She took the morning off to stay with him, but seeing that he was feeling better she brought him to work with her so she didn't use up any more sick leave. Mid-afternoon he was feeling puny again so they took off.
Gary came down to the reception area and I told him that story as I answered the phone. He said "He didn't barf here did he?" (meaning barf in the reception area). I assured him it didn't get to that point and even if it had, Marie would have done what every mom does and would have held out her two cupped hands and caught it before it hit the carpet. Of course, if this happens at home, you call your big family dog over to help clean up. We are by this time laughing with red faces, but Gary kicks it up a notch.
"Ya know, I used to have two big dogs and a cat and I never once had to clean out a litter box." He describes beautifully the way his dogs' ears would perk up at the sound of kitty litter being rearranged and raked and tossed around. The dogs would wait ever so patiently until the kitty emerged from her throne, then race to get the homemade delicacies.
I ask him if they then raced back to him to lick his face and thank him for providing them with their own special little chef. Gary's eyes start to glaze over and I think maybe I'm going to have to hold out my two cupped hands for him at this point. He's laughing, but he's backing away from me out the door into the lobby. Was it something I said? He shakes a finger at me, squints his eyes and groans with a smile and he's gone.
Why is it that everybody has a funny vomit story? Why is it that vomit stories usually come up at the dinner table? The kids and I once heard someone refer to vomit as "lumpy gravy"...so that phrase is pretty much all it takes to set us off at dinner somewhere. One year during the office Thanksgiving pot luck, someone told a vomit story and before it was all said and done we made it a requirement that you had to tell a vomit story before you could sit in our area for lunch. Guess what? Nobody even hesitated...and nobody stopped eating throughout probably fifteen horrifically graphic, sound effect-laden narratives of wet, smelly, projectile hell.
There have been times in my life that I wished I had hazardous waste protective clothing and a wet vac -- goggles, gloves, jumpsuit and a respirator -- now you're talking! With two kids, a weak stomached spouse, two to five cats and a shit-eatin' dog, I sometimes wanted to upchuck myself just to see if anyone would notice. I knew, however, I would have to clean up after myself or get a whole cycle of throw up started again. Here are some facts that I've become aware of over the years:
Gary came down to the reception area and I told him that story as I answered the phone. He said "He didn't barf here did he?" (meaning barf in the reception area). I assured him it didn't get to that point and even if it had, Marie would have done what every mom does and would have held out her two cupped hands and caught it before it hit the carpet. Of course, if this happens at home, you call your big family dog over to help clean up. We are by this time laughing with red faces, but Gary kicks it up a notch.
"Ya know, I used to have two big dogs and a cat and I never once had to clean out a litter box." He describes beautifully the way his dogs' ears would perk up at the sound of kitty litter being rearranged and raked and tossed around. The dogs would wait ever so patiently until the kitty emerged from her throne, then race to get the homemade delicacies.
I ask him if they then raced back to him to lick his face and thank him for providing them with their own special little chef. Gary's eyes start to glaze over and I think maybe I'm going to have to hold out my two cupped hands for him at this point. He's laughing, but he's backing away from me out the door into the lobby. Was it something I said? He shakes a finger at me, squints his eyes and groans with a smile and he's gone.
Why is it that everybody has a funny vomit story? Why is it that vomit stories usually come up at the dinner table? The kids and I once heard someone refer to vomit as "lumpy gravy"...so that phrase is pretty much all it takes to set us off at dinner somewhere. One year during the office Thanksgiving pot luck, someone told a vomit story and before it was all said and done we made it a requirement that you had to tell a vomit story before you could sit in our area for lunch. Guess what? Nobody even hesitated...and nobody stopped eating throughout probably fifteen horrifically graphic, sound effect-laden narratives of wet, smelly, projectile hell.
"Let's just say, there were lime jello shots involved!"But on a serious note, let me just say this...it really really sucks to be the only person in your household with an iron stomach. This trait just means you are the one that gets to clean up every single disgusting pile or puddle that happens. This is reason enough to limit the number of pets and kids you decide to have. It is reason enough to look forward to living alone!
"OH gross!!"
"Really delicious spinach casserole. Y'all should try some."
"And so my buddy made this strange noise then just blew beets down the back of the front seat and down the back of my head! We had to hose out the car before we took him home."
"Ugh ha ha ha ha"
"Did y'all try the creamed corn? Who made that? It's really good"
"We were fishing and he was just chumming the water and lost it. He puked the rest of the trip."
"Ewwww...that's disgusting."
"Can somebody pass me the gravy?"
There have been times in my life that I wished I had hazardous waste protective clothing and a wet vac -- goggles, gloves, jumpsuit and a respirator -- now you're talking! With two kids, a weak stomached spouse, two to five cats and a shit-eatin' dog, I sometimes wanted to upchuck myself just to see if anyone would notice. I knew, however, I would have to clean up after myself or get a whole cycle of throw up started again. Here are some facts that I've become aware of over the years:
- Kids only barf in the middle of the night, and they can always make it to your bedside before they do.
- Cats only barf at night as well so always feed your cat dry food and throw them outside before you go to bed.
- Dogs can have digestive problems at any time given the fact that they eat, well, cat crap, used kleenex, long grass and their own bedding, so always get up quick if your dog is panting or whining, or if he stands up and starts making that hollow, heaving, obviously-about-to-blow sound.
Friday
Wake Up!
My friend made his early morning call to me on Monday and told me about a store he went to on Sunday afternoon. It's a place called Ax Man Surplus. He said it had a strange assortment of things for sale and so I'm picturing something like "Big Lots" because he said they were selling things that he described as close out items. He talks of how there were tiny motors, pulleys, steel ball bearings, boxes and containers of every kind, spy cameras and microphones, and a torpedo dressed as a shark hanging from the ceiling. The buddy he was shopping with was picking up a hodge podge of gear that his students could use on their Rube Goldberg projects at the high school.
I'm giggling sleepily at his descriptions of colorful springs and itty bitty bottles and boxes of cup hooks; of rolls of wire and synthetic pillow stuffing and sugar dispensers; and of light switches, saw blades and bags labelled "build your own baby". I sit up in bed. "Um...What? Did you just say build your own baby?" I think he's just making stuff up to see if I'm still awake (he does that sometimes, but usually he'll start talking about linoleum or the patina on the hinges of his bathroom door until I start laughing). But he continues, "Yea. It was really weird!" Ok, I still don't get it, so I just have to ask "What was in the bag?" "Arms and legs and a body and a head and little shoes. It was so weird, Nancy. One of the bags had a motor of some sort in it too" he says.
I'm not sure whether to laugh or give into the shivers that are running up my spine. I pull the covers up around me and sit in the dark on my bed listening to the coyotes howling, my cat crying and the rooster crowing outside my open window. He says, "Well, I better go start my day Sweetie. I'll call you again later. Go back to sleep for a little while longer." Amazingly, I do -- and I dream of trying on bizarre ski clothes with Anna; I dream of cleaning out a rabbit cage; and I dream of potatoes levitating in a yoga studio.
At this point, I'm not entirely certain that this crazy story wasn't just one long, very strange dream...
I'm giggling sleepily at his descriptions of colorful springs and itty bitty bottles and boxes of cup hooks; of rolls of wire and synthetic pillow stuffing and sugar dispensers; and of light switches, saw blades and bags labelled "build your own baby". I sit up in bed. "Um...What? Did you just say build your own baby?" I think he's just making stuff up to see if I'm still awake (he does that sometimes, but usually he'll start talking about linoleum or the patina on the hinges of his bathroom door until I start laughing). But he continues, "Yea. It was really weird!" Ok, I still don't get it, so I just have to ask "What was in the bag?" "Arms and legs and a body and a head and little shoes. It was so weird, Nancy. One of the bags had a motor of some sort in it too" he says.
I'm not sure whether to laugh or give into the shivers that are running up my spine. I pull the covers up around me and sit in the dark on my bed listening to the coyotes howling, my cat crying and the rooster crowing outside my open window. He says, "Well, I better go start my day Sweetie. I'll call you again later. Go back to sleep for a little while longer." Amazingly, I do -- and I dream of trying on bizarre ski clothes with Anna; I dream of cleaning out a rabbit cage; and I dream of potatoes levitating in a yoga studio.
At this point, I'm not entirely certain that this crazy story wasn't just one long, very strange dream...
Sunday
Who Knew?
Until very early this morning I was unaware that a dirty air filter could render a furnace inoperable. It's hard to believe, I know, but if the filter is full of dirt and grime, the furnace can't pull air efficiently through it and it will just shut down. Now I know.
Until very early this morning, I was completely out of touch with the inner workings of an electric pencil sharpener. Who knew that if the little plastic tab on the tray that holds the shavings breaks off then the sharpener will not turn on? Well, now I know.
Until very early this morning, I had no idea that the air ducts in my house could be harboring as many as three trash bags full of dust and lint. A company can come to my house with an octopus-like vacuum device and suck it all out of there. Good to know.
Until very early this morning I did not know that REI took real impressions of rock faces of popular climbing sites in order to build their in store rock climbing walls. That never even occurred to me, so I am happy to know that.
Until very early this morning I never grasped the fact that if you are on your homemade rock climbing wall in your garage or in your basement, that you don't have a belayer, so if you fall you will probably get hurt. Ok, actually until recently, I had no idea people had rock climbing walls in their garages and basements, but now I know.
Until very early this morning I had always wondered about those people who have a sort of internal clock. I wondered what happens to them when the time changes. Turns out that they are precisely an hour late and wake up thinking about air filters, air ducts, electric pencil sharpeners and rock climbing walls. Now I know. Very, very good to know.
Until very early this morning, I was completely out of touch with the inner workings of an electric pencil sharpener. Who knew that if the little plastic tab on the tray that holds the shavings breaks off then the sharpener will not turn on? Well, now I know.
Until very early this morning, I had no idea that the air ducts in my house could be harboring as many as three trash bags full of dust and lint. A company can come to my house with an octopus-like vacuum device and suck it all out of there. Good to know.
Until very early this morning I did not know that REI took real impressions of rock faces of popular climbing sites in order to build their in store rock climbing walls. That never even occurred to me, so I am happy to know that.
Until very early this morning I never grasped the fact that if you are on your homemade rock climbing wall in your garage or in your basement, that you don't have a belayer, so if you fall you will probably get hurt. Ok, actually until recently, I had no idea people had rock climbing walls in their garages and basements, but now I know.
Until very early this morning I had always wondered about those people who have a sort of internal clock. I wondered what happens to them when the time changes. Turns out that they are precisely an hour late and wake up thinking about air filters, air ducts, electric pencil sharpeners and rock climbing walls. Now I know. Very, very good to know.
Go Fish!
Texting with Anna today while she and a friend avoid Mardi Gras...
12:52. Anna: My friend Liz and I just got fish.
12:53 Me: Fish? Please explain further.
1:01 Anna: We have 3 goldfish!
1:02 Me: Ok that's cool. Pets. Are they coming home with you tomorrow?
1:04 Anna: Haha, yes, pets. An no Liz and I share them so they are in her room.
1:05 Me: ok. Y'all are funny. Have you named them yet?
1:47 Anna: Yes, Phillip, Westly, Nelson
1:48 Me: That's hysterical!! LMOA
1:51 Anna: I know we saved some Walmart fish...lol
1:52 Me: Animal activists are you?
2:01 Anna: No but all of the beta fish were dead...
2:02 Me: Oh no!
3:09 Anna: Our fish died... :(
3:12 Anna: That was the shortest fish life ever...
3:15 Me: Oh no! Did y'all have a fish bowl?
3:18 Me: Maybe not the shortest fish life. Guppies eat their babies as soon as they hatch!
12:52. Anna: My friend Liz and I just got fish.
12:53 Me: Fish? Please explain further.
1:01 Anna: We have 3 goldfish!
1:02 Me: Ok that's cool. Pets. Are they coming home with you tomorrow?
1:04 Anna: Haha, yes, pets. An no Liz and I share them so they are in her room.
1:05 Me: ok. Y'all are funny. Have you named them yet?
1:47 Anna: Yes, Phillip, Westly, Nelson
1:48 Me: That's hysterical!! LMOA
1:51 Anna: I know we saved some Walmart fish...lol
1:52 Me: Animal activists are you?
2:01 Anna: No but all of the beta fish were dead...
2:02 Me: Oh no!
3:09 Anna: Our fish died... :(
3:12 Anna: That was the shortest fish life ever...
3:15 Me: Oh no! Did y'all have a fish bowl?
3:18 Me: Maybe not the shortest fish life. Guppies eat their babies as soon as they hatch!
Treasures
In memory of Tom Adams
For where your treasure is, there will be your heart also. -- Matthew 6:21
For some unknown reason I feel the need to roll back time to Friday afternoon while Tommy sat with Marie at the front desk sipping iced tea. I have had sort of a bad day and I need a little pick me up. I walk up and the sight of that ol' boy just puts a smile on my face and he quickly makes some wisecrack about how crappy the refrigerators at the office smell and that makes me laugh! Tommy ventured out from the house to go for a haircut. He tells me he likes it high and tight and really, there is nothing that would ever suit him better than that. His head was meant for a crew cut; his attitude was meant for a Marine; and his heart was meant for Marie.
Tommy is endearing in a crusty, redneck, hardass, old coot, butt head sort of way. I don't know why, but his "Grumpy Old Man" vibe somehow works and people are drawn to him. What was it that someone said to Marie recently?..."Yea, I know Tom Adams. He's my cousin. He should be in Huntsville!" Seriously, he's not a criminal, he's just, well, Tommy!! Marie has told me various stories of how her older grandsons mimic Tommy from time to time and it leaves the family in stitches until they are in tears. He has a presence that will endure long after he is gone from this earth.
I have this vision of Marie retired and likely alone someday. She will bolt up out of bed from a sound sleep and start organizing things that might be needed to get someone through their day. She will realize, with a start, that she is organizing and planning and focusing on herself and she will scratch her head and think really hard about what she needs. Marie has never had this freedom, this health, this time, this selfishness and she is puzzled by it. Her girls, her son in laws and her grandkids will come by everyday to see her and will want to do things for her to make her life easier or more pleasant only to find that there is nothing they can do that Marie hasn't already done for herself.
Marie has a heart of gold and knowing her is something I will always treasure.
For where your treasure is, there will be your heart also. -- Matthew 6:21
For some unknown reason I feel the need to roll back time to Friday afternoon while Tommy sat with Marie at the front desk sipping iced tea. I have had sort of a bad day and I need a little pick me up. I walk up and the sight of that ol' boy just puts a smile on my face and he quickly makes some wisecrack about how crappy the refrigerators at the office smell and that makes me laugh! Tommy ventured out from the house to go for a haircut. He tells me he likes it high and tight and really, there is nothing that would ever suit him better than that. His head was meant for a crew cut; his attitude was meant for a Marine; and his heart was meant for Marie.
Tommy is endearing in a crusty, redneck, hardass, old coot, butt head sort of way. I don't know why, but his "Grumpy Old Man" vibe somehow works and people are drawn to him. What was it that someone said to Marie recently?..."Yea, I know Tom Adams. He's my cousin. He should be in Huntsville!" Seriously, he's not a criminal, he's just, well, Tommy!! Marie has told me various stories of how her older grandsons mimic Tommy from time to time and it leaves the family in stitches until they are in tears. He has a presence that will endure long after he is gone from this earth.
I have this vision of Marie retired and likely alone someday. She will bolt up out of bed from a sound sleep and start organizing things that might be needed to get someone through their day. She will realize, with a start, that she is organizing and planning and focusing on herself and she will scratch her head and think really hard about what she needs. Marie has never had this freedom, this health, this time, this selfishness and she is puzzled by it. Her girls, her son in laws and her grandkids will come by everyday to see her and will want to do things for her to make her life easier or more pleasant only to find that there is nothing they can do that Marie hasn't already done for herself.
Marie has a heart of gold and knowing her is something I will always treasure.
Thursday
Oh What a Beautiful Morning
I sit here rocking on the deck listening to the sound of the water spilling over the waterfall in the pool and am annoyed by the sound of the pump and the churning of the compressor at the house next door. What is a beautiful and tranquil looking setting is in fact, anything but that. A walk to the water's edge near the creek brings me ever so much closer to the pump and sound of the wind and the drizzle of leaves falling from the oak trees is masked by motor noises.
In search of peace, I retreat, retracing my steps from my pre-sunrise walk. I find my granite slab that rolls off the side of the road and park myself there. At 5:00 a.m. this morning the only sound was that of my own foot steps and then, in a childlike scary moment, I imagine another set of foot steps following closely behind me and others walking towards me from somewhere in the darkness and I shiver.
The moon is full and passing clouds takes the vision of my surroundings through a slideshow of pitch darkness and the lightest of nights, leaving me unsure and somewhat unsteady in the moving shadows. I would like to say that my venturing out into the night was for the sole purpose of enjoying the peacefulness and the full moon, but no, that's not why. The buzz of my silenced cell phone leaves my heart racing as I realize I've finally found enough of a signal so that an anticipated call can finally get through to me.
My friend from the great white north has also taken a walk out into the moonlight in search of a signal. He finds one a short walk from his cabin along a highway teaming with logging trucks. We regale each other about our weekend getaways; mine on a spring-like weekend with twenty-seven amazing women in the Texas Hill Country. He, on the other hand, is on the North Shore of Lake Superior on an annual cross country ski weekend with two of his best friends. I sit in the darkness of the South at 62 degrees. He stands in the darkness of the far North at zero degrees. He pauses my chatter to tell me he hears wolves howling nearby and holds the phone up in hopes that I can hear them. I can't, but I find it quite endearing that he so wanted to share that with me. "Oh my God, Nancy, this is so cool!"
Yesterday, I walked around the area taking pictures and looking for writing inspiration. My first stop was at the rope and log swings across the road from the house. Swings are simply irresistable to me so I plop myself into the "single" swing with my hands full of pen, journal, phone and camera and almost flip over backward and fall out of the swing on my ass. I catch myself just in time and find myself laughing out loud and all alone. I tell my friend that story and he says he would have like to have seen that. He tells me a story I've heard from him before about a rope swing which hung from an enourmous Ponderosa pine at his favorite place on earth in the mountains of Arizona. The story is of a game with the purpose of terrifying a young one or a new friend. The kids would give a turn to the victim on the huge arching swing - get them swinging high and wild, then yell something about a giant monster bird coming at them. Everyone would run screaming and leave the swinger alone and petrified and unable to stop the swing and save himself from certain death.
My weekend has been picture perfect so far, filled with laughter, "super heros", spectacular food, affection and art. His is also off to a glorious start with beautiful yet icey weather, lunch at a beloved eatery on the lake front, a hike through the deep snow and the sighting of two bald eagles. I say, "Oh! I want to do that!" He says, "Yes. I'll bring you here. It's on our list, Sweetie."
Yesterday morning when I was little foggy after the night of wine, boiling hot tub water and crazy yet "spiritual" naked women, I thought it was Thursday when in fact it was Friday. My friend says to me "How much wine did you have exactly?" When I told Lisa about this exchange, she said "Did you tell him just enough wine to time travel!' Last night as Lisa and I were getting into bed we decided to leave the windows open. Lisa says "Lower the blinds just in case the sun comes up tomorrow." My sis has a way with words! She speaks and I just write it all down.
Well, the sun did in fact come up and our weekend ended with 27 brilliant, fun loving, talented and lovely women embraced in a tight circle singing "Oh what a beautiful morning" at the top our lungs. And so it is.
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