Words for 2011

What is your New Year’s resolution?  I have found that I’m compulsively asking that question of everyone I know.  The problem is that I don’t have one.  After I said about a week ago that I was vowing to make up my bed every morning of 2011 and Mr. Alpha Male laughed me out of the room, I find that I’m not all that resolved about anything.  My only resolution is to keep living everyday and working everyday toward my goals, just as I have done all of 2010.  But, that is nothing new.  So instead of declaring a resolution for the new year, I am choosing to have words to live by for 2011. 

The first words to live by come from my Dad when I was a little girl.  Every time I can recall scraping a knee or bumping an elbow and would crumple to the ground in a ball of crying blonde mush, he would say, “Hurry and get up before you get hurt.”  Not only is this great advice for playing any sport where trampling is an issue, it is great life advice.  We all fall down in some way or another be it job loss, divorce, parenting mishaps, or just day to day foibles.  However, the faster we pick ourselves up and move on, the less hurt will set into our bones. 

The second words to live by come from the guy that taught me in driver training when I was 15.  I have no idea what his name was, but I remember when he said, “Don’t look at the cars, look at the space between them.  Don’t look at where you can’t go, look at where you can go.”  Not only did this get me over my fear of changing lanes, it got me over my fear of changing tracks in life.  This wild journey we are on weaves us onto some of the most unexpected roads and occasionally it leaves us stranded at a truck stop or two.  However, if we look at where we can go the options are limitless.

In 2011 I will continue to get up and look where I can go every day. 

I will continue to live every day to the fullest.

 I will live on faith, love and coffee, just as I have in 2010.

And, on at least a few of the days in 2011, I will make my bed. 

What is your New Year’s resolution?

There'll be Parties for Hosting, Marshmallows for Roasting...

I looked up from my Christmas present wrapping to see my little boy sitting in the middle of a tangled mess of red ribbon.  It was wrapped around his little fingers lying in twists and turns all around him on the floor.  He beamed with happiness at his accomplishment.  While I had been busy measuring and cutting in the floor beside him, he had been busy unwinding an entire spool of ribbon in his lap. 

“Look Mommy, I have tape in one hand and ribbon in the other,” he said quoting his favorite Curious George story. 

Normally this is when my “Oh no, there’s a mess” tendencies kick in, but this time I just laughed.  We were having too much fun wrapping Mr. Alpha Male’s Christmas presents to worry about messes.  I have discovered recently that in trying to meet preholiday work deadlines, getting ready for parties, baking cookies, and buying gifts; I have forgotten to just enjoy the Christmas season.  My nose has either been in my laptop, or I’ve been scurrying around with a mile long to do list.  I have not stopped to enjoy the simple pleasure of laughing while wrapping presents or actually watching a cheesy Christmas movie on tv.  It’s an easy mistake to make, to live for the day at the end of the paper chain and not take the time to enjoy all the little links in between that make up the Christmas season.

“It’s not Christmas.” My little boy utters those words every morning when I go into his room to wake him up for the past week.  And every morning I tell him, “It’s not Christmas day, but it is the Christmas Season.”  The anticipation of Christmas Day is almost too much for any two year old to bare.  The presents, the cookies, the lights, the friends and the family that are all wrapped up into what makes Christmas the most wonderful time of the year.  But are we just counting down the days, or living everyday with the love that this season is built around?

Counting down the days…I can remember as a child making chains of red and green construction paper to symbolize the passing days to Christmas.  I would hang it on the wood paneled wall of the family room by the door to the kitchen.  Unfortunately, I don’t think my daily Christmas reminder ever made it to the big day, as I grew up with two older brothers that liked to jump and rip and tackle.  I’ve been thinking about my little paper chains this year more than ever because I am not only counting down the days to Christmas, but also counting down words left to write until I finish my book.

 I think as we get older we never really lose that sense of wonder involved with looking forward to a big box with a bright red bow under the tree on Christmas morning.  Instead, I think it is only what is wrapped up in those packages that changes over the years.  Is it simply survival of all the shopping, family visits and parties that await us under the tree?  The end of a long difficult journey of writing a book is wrapped up and waiting for me under the tree this year.  And yet, I am making an effort to experience and live everyday of the paper chain that is this beautiful season.  The end of the paper chain will be here before you know it.  What is at the end of your paper chain?  And more importantly, what should be cherished in the small loops of red and green somewhere in the middle?

Merry Christmas!

Tiny Slips of Paper

“Hang on, my checkbook must be in here somewhere,” I told the thickly accented lady on the phone as I dug with one hand through an accumulation of tiny slips of paper.  It never ceases to amaze me how quickly I am able to collect the debris of life inside my purse or how long I am willing to carry it around with me everywhere I go.  When I hung up the phone, I weighed my bag in my hand and became aware of how heavy it had become. 

“That’s it!  I can’t take it anymore,” I told my two year old as he popped another grape in his mouth, perched on a barstool at the kitchen island. 

“That’s it,” he repeated, laughing. 

As I dug into my cleaning project I pulled out handfuls of receipts, grocery lists, to do lists, coupons, business cards, bills, prescriptions, and advertisements, then piled them all on the counter before me.  It was then that I realized, my life could be summed up by these tiny slips of paper.  Where I’ve been, what I’ve bought, what I need to do, what I worry about, it was all there in print in a crumpled pile of paper.   

Which leads me to my question of the day:  Are we living our lives in large murals or on tiny slips of paper?

Life gets distracting, or should I say the necessary paying of bills, going to doctor appointments, going to the grocery store, taking the kids to school, and getting work done part of life gets distracting.  And, it is all too easy to get caught up in the day to day minutia of life and forget to live.  I think life should be about family and friends, sunshine on your face and wind in your hair, laughter and silliness, and enjoying the beauty of the world around us.  As I put away all of life’s litter and prepared my purse to receive more tomorrow, I made a vow to live in large murals.  I will never get back this afternoon I spent with my little boy building towers and eating cookies, for this afternoon only happens once.  I will give my family hugs and tell them how much I love them.  I will make time to go for a walk.  I will call an old friend and laugh at something she says.  I will take a chance and be scared over the outcome.  I will go to a party where I don’t know anyone and have the time of my life.  I will try a new hobby, a new food, and a new style of shoes.  I will finish writing my manuscript!

We only have this one chance to live today to the fullest.  Don’t cheat yourself out of the good stuff in life by living your life within the confines of your tiny slips of paper.  What are your large murals?

Invest In Thicker Curtains

My house sits on a quiet cul-de-sac in a neighborhood where the trees are still young and children are everywhere.  Because there are so many families here, we get hundreds of trick-or-treaters every October 31^st.  Last year we didn’t even have time to come inside between groups of children, and ended up leaning against the car with a giant bowl of candy.  So, this year I turned our problem into a party and hosted the first annual Halloween tailgate in my driveway.  We pulled out tables and chairs and I spent most of the day cooking and baking and baking and cooking.  It was shaping up to be an entertaining evening with the neighbors.  But I had no idea at the time just how entertaining it would become.

“Daddy went to the store to buy us fire,” my little 2 year old said, as he popped another piece of candy in his mouth.

Mr. Alpha Male had actually gone up to the Lowes with our next door neighbor to buy a fire pit because we were all freezing.  But, he got it right enough for a 2 year old, so I agreed.  And, soon the men were back from their manly errand, the fire pit was set up, and we were warming our fingers and toes, while the scent of wood smoke filled the cool night air.  It was the middle of the third bottle of wine and well after the children had collectively crashed from their sugar rushes and been tucked into bed.  Baby monitors and wine bottles covered the nearby table as the parents took a break at the end of a long day.  I had just taken a bite of warm buffalo chicken dip and was crunching the last of the chip left in my hand when I happened to look up and see something through the window of the house just around the bend from ours.  I took another sip of wine and wondered if I had already had too much and my imagination was running away with me.  The conversation and laughter continued to swirl around me, but I wasn’t listening to it anymore.  I had just seen my most prudish of neighbors, the ones that hardly ever leave the church and never socialize with the rest of us heathens, in the middle of a sexual act.  What sexual act?  Details, give us details, you may be screaming at your computer screen right now.  Well, since you asked…

The thin film of the living room window sheers hid nothing as she took him fully in her mouth; the silhouette of her head sliding up and down his shaft, as she moved with slow deliberate action.  He tensed then reached for her, clearly needing to feel connected to her, to the moment.  The living room light behind them illuminated their every movement as he ran his hands through her long hair, gripping, pulling.  Her pace increased and so did the size of my eyes; I elbowed my next door neighbor and quickly all conversation around the fire pit died as everyone turned and watched.  They readjusted their position and she straddled him.  His hands skimmed the outsides of her breasts as he ran them down to hold her waist and guide her into a wild rhythm of heart beats.  It was the rhythm of passion, the rhythm of sin.  They clung to one another as they reached for that peak just out of grasp.  She arched her back as he thrust into her once, twice, then she collapsed on him in a tangle of spent lust and satisfaction.  They left the room together and their house grew dark for the night.  

“Do you think he’ll come outside for a cigarette,” Mr. Alpha Male asked me.  Our Halloween tailgate party continued on into the early morning, but the evening’s unexpected entertainment was obviously over. 

Will I ever be able to say hello to my neighbor with a straight face again? 

Evil Men Never Wear Black Hats

You may think I live on the pages of a book where you can shut me into darkness.  Or, do you think I live on the movie screen where you can simply close your eyes and I will disappear?  No.  Villains are everywhere. You may think you are safe from us in real life, but that is where we thrive, we villains, as we feed on the goodness and hard work of those around us.  Slowly slipping, sneaking, some might say into your life.  At work you do business with me and are forced to endure my torture every day.  Yet, I wear no black hat to signify where my loyalties lie.  At friendly social gatherings, I lurk in the crowd waiting for the chance to carry out my evil plot.  Yet, I have no sinister laugh to signal those that I meet to tell them who I am.  When I finally find you, caught off guard, in a dark alley, with no one to hear your screams, I will not stop to explain my motivation in killing you.  With a flick of this blade you’ll be dead.  Can you feel it? The cold steel of the knife is pressed against your throat, and you thought I was fiction. 

In real life I have freedom.  I look like your friend, the one that smiles to your face just before you feel the blade piercing into your back.  I’m your co-worker that takes credit for your work and spreads rumors about you while you’re at home sick.  I sued you for thousands of dollars you didn’t have, just to line my pockets with your money.  When you came to me with a problem I took advantage of you. I could pay you what I owe you, but I want to vacation instead.  I bullied your child and there was nothing you could do about it.   And then, I lured your loved one away from you to steal a small sliver of your happiness.  But, you’re not happy now are you?  And the best part is you never saw it coming.  You never saw the trap I set for you.  You never saw it, because I look like you, I look like me.  Can you feel life slip from your grasp as I tell you what I’ve done?  Can you taste the thick metallic feel of blood in your mouth?  You trusted me and now you’re dead. 

Happy Halloween!

Hug Your Skeleton

Why won’t you talk to me?  I may not be able to help, but I can listen.  And, I want to support you through this.  These are the frustrated ramblings of someone who is horribly flawed just like you and loves you anyway….

What did the doctors tell you?  Are you going to be alright?   I need to know.  I love you, please talk to me. 

How bad is it?  Are you going to loose the house? I need to know.  I love you, please talk to me.

You’ve never told anyone?  How did you survive that alone?  I love you, please talk to me.

You have imperfections in your life too don’t you?  I know I do.  Are there issues at work in your life that you try desperately to keep swept under the rug, so your friends won’t know how bad things really are at home?  Whether it’s unhappy relationships, bad news from the doctor, or bill collectors calling, you are not alone. Or, is there something in your past that you’re not very proud of doing?  None of us are perfect.  We all have them, lurking in corners, hidden under feigned perfection and self righteousness.  Skeletons.  So, if we all have them, why are we so ashamed of them?  Why can’t we talk about them?  I’m bringing out my skeletons and dusting them off for Halloween this year.  After all, how can we grow and appreciate our own crooked paths that brought us to where we are today without showing our skeletons some love.  Through all of our experiences, the good and the bad, we are reshaped and molded everyday into the people we will become.    And, it’s the adversity in life that strengthens our resolve to become something more than our circumstances, and makes us grow. 

Most of you know that I am writing a novel.  How interesting would my characters be if they did everything right all the time and had never made a bad decision?  Nobody would read that book.  It’s the struggle to claw your way back from the edge of disaster that makes you beautiful.  That’s what people want to see, want to read about, want to be a part of.  It’s the overcoming part of it all that makes you interesting, so embrace it! 

Overcoming illness

Overcoming debt

Overcoming bad decisions

Overcoming depression

If we had no skeletons, the success wouldn’t be nearly so sweet.  So, bring ‘em out, dust ‘em off and let’s talk about it; because, without your skeletons you wouldn’t be here.  Have you hugged your skeleton today? 

The Love List

I love to crawl into the warm Him shaped indention in the sheets in the early morning after he leaves for work.  That last 20 minutes is the best sleep I get all night.

I love it when he inserts my name into songs while he sings along with the radio in the car, off key and loud.  It makes me smile.

I love to listen to him read to our son at night, patiently reading the same Curious George story over and over and over.

I love that the first time he told me he loved me was by accident at the end of a phone call; and he still ends every phone call that way.

I love that we’ve broken each other’s hearts into a million pieces and mended them back again, stronger than before.

I love that he orders for me when we eat out, not because he’s controlling, but because he knows me that well.

I love that he does dirty, ugly things every day that he doesn’t want to do; but he does them anyway for the survival of our family.

I love it when he bakes bread in the middle of the night because he felt like eating some bread; and brings me some bread because he thought I might like eating some bread too.

I love that he dreams with me and supports me in my dreams, no matter how crazy they may sound.

I love to be held in his powerful arms, it makes me feel small, and fragile, and stronger than I am alone.

I love that he always offers to say the blessing before a nice meal, and he taught our son to say “Amen.”

I love it when he plays with my hair when I can’t sleep, while I talk nonstop and he pretends to listen.

I love to watch him chop fire wood, sweat glistening off thick muscles, wood splintering into the air, sunlight glinting off the smooth steel of the ax, all while I sip lemonade in the shade.

I love that he obsessively irons his clothes, even when on vacation.  It makes me laugh at my wrinkles.

I love to listen to him talk eloquently and passionately about zombies and politics and society and plans for our back yard makeover.  It reminds me of how intelligent and completely insane he is.

I love that we have entire conversations in movie quotes, and we know exactly what we’re saying.

I love that he took me rock climbing on our first date, even though I barely remember the rock we were climbing, that day will be burned into my memory for the rest of my life.

I love the beautifully ugly cake he baked me for my birthday.  The words on top looked like a child wrote them and I could taste the love he poured into it in every delicious bite.

I love that he never lets me say, “I can’t.”  And when I do, he gives me his half-time pep talk that always involves digging deeper for a larger set of balls, guts and glory. 

And, I love the beautiful future we’re going to have together when we finally run away from all responsibility, live in a thatched roof cottage, and become sheep herders.