Let It Go

I discovered something yesterday ... something really, really big. Though I truly hate to admit it, I feel that in the spirit of being open, honest, real and transparent, I must, even though it will completely decimate my non-girly, detest all things frilly, bow tie-loving image. Yesterday, I discovered that even a tough gal such as myself can learn some pretty gigantic life lessons from ... oh, how it pains me to admit this ... from ... oh, gosh, I will never hear the end of this ... I learned a gigantic life lesson from a princess. Go ahead, laugh it up all you want, but yesterday a princess in a Disney movie taught me a big old huge lesson about the devastating effects of fear and isolation, and the far-reaching, life-restoring power of love.

Though I've heard the song "Let It Go" many times, it wasn't until I was stretched out on a couch snuggling my precious little granddaughter as we watched Frozen that the words of the song really hit me ... words about not letting people in and not letting them see ... words about concealing rather than feeling ... words about a kingdom of isolation ... words about letting go of the past and embracing the future. Yep, I learned a big old huge lesson from that Disney princess yesterday ,,, a big old huge lesson indeed.

                                                              "Let It Go"

The snow glows white on the mountain tonight
Not a footprint to be seen
A kingdom of isolation,
And it looks like I'm the queen.

The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside
Couldn't keep it in, heaven knows I tried!

Don't let them in, don't let them see
Be the good girl you always have to be
Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know
Well, now they know!

Let it go, let it go
Can't hold it back anymore
Let it go, let it go
Turn away and slam the door!

I don't care
What they're going to say
Let the storm rage on,
The cold never bothered me anyway!

It's funny how some distance
Makes everything seem small
And the fears that once controlled me
Can't get to me at all!

It's time to see what I can do
To test the limits and break through
No right, no wrong, no rules for me I'm free!

Let it go, let it go
I am one with the wind and sky
Let it go, let it go
You'll never see me cry!

Here I stand
And here I'll stay
Let the storm rage on!

My power flurries through the air into the ground
My soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around
And one thought crystallizes like an icy blast
I'm never going back,
The past is in the past!

Let it go, let it go
And I'll rise like the break of dawn
Let it go, let it go
That perfect girl is gone!

Here I stand
In the light of day
Let the storm rage on,
The cold never bothered me anyway!

You 'Member, Ghee?

For as much as I consider myself to be in pretty decent physical shape for a mid-50s gal, this morning I discovered that there are muscles in my body which have quite possibly never been used before. I knew the moment I rolled over in bed that today was going to be a heavy-duty Advil kind of day ... every single solitary muscle in my body, both used and unused, screamed out to take the day off from any form of movement or exertion. Slowly creeping out of bed and heading toward the shower, I said to myself, "Being a Ghee is not for sissies ... at least being the kind of Ghee I am determined to be isn't for sissies anyway." A long hot shower followed by the precious voice of my little Boo saying, "Ghee? You weady to play wif Boo now?" put my aching muscles in their place and got me pumped for a full day of Boo time as Matt and Becca readied themselves to go to Calgary for the day to take care of Amelie's citizenship paperwork.

I had planned to take Boo for a bus ride to her favorite bookstore this morning followed by lunch at a cute little restaurant, just the two of us. But the poor little gal had a very upset tummy through the night last night, so we had to dial our outing back to a short walk to a local pet shop followed by a stop at a specialty grocer for some Honey Bunny crackers and bottled water. On the way to the stores, we sang songs and talked about flowers and birds, and we counted houses and watched the train go in the tunnel on one side of the road and come out on the other. We saw an ambulance and a school bus and lots and lots of cars. I kept stopping to check on her in the stroller until she finally said, "Ghee, you need a stop stopping and walk faster." Have I mentioned how much I love her?

It was when we were walking back home that Coraline said, "Ghee, you 'member we are going to watch Frozen after Boo goes night-night. You 'member, Ghee?" Tears filled my eyes as I realized the significance of what my sweet granddaughter was asking me ... she was asking me if I remembered I had made a promise to her the day I arrived that she and I would watch Frozen together on the day her mom and dad went to Calgary ... my granddaughter was holding me accountable to honor the promise I had made to her earlier in the week. With her innocent and adorable question, "You 'member, Ghee?" Coraline taught me a gigantic lesson about how important my words can truly be to someone else ... especially when that someone else is my granddaughter.

So ... 'member when I said I might not blog much while I'm in Canada? I'm keeping a list of all my ideas and wonderful stories that are blog-worthy, and I'll post as I have time or when I return to Kansas. Until then, 'member this, friends ... there is no better cure on earth for a case of the blues or the uns or the funks than love. 'Member that, friends ... 'member that for the rest of your lives.

Here I Sit

If you think my fear of storms is irrational or that my fear of flying is crazy or my fear of grass should cause me to be locked up (really it's sinkholes I'm afraid of rather than the actual grass itself, however, most sinkholes happen in grassy areas, hence my fear of grass is actually quite legitimate and perhaps even ... dare I say it ... scientifically based) ... wait a sec ... where was I going with this? Oh, yeah ... if you think all my fears make me seem like I'm a few fries short of a Happy Meal, then it's a really, really, really good thing you've never been at my house when I'm getting ready to go on a trip. Yep, I'll admit it ... my behavior in the days leading up to me traveling could easily reside in the over-the-top crazy person category. I make myself even crazier than I already am with all the things I feel I must do before I head out of town ... things like shampoo the carpet, make an encyclopedia-worthy list of instructions for the young fellows who stay at my house to care for my dogs, mow the yard, clean the garage, completely freak out about leaving my dogs, clean parts of the house I haven't cleaned since I last traveled, pack and re-pack and pack at least a dozen more times, worry myself sick about getting on the airplane ... you get the idea ... I take insanity to a whole new level when it comes time for me to take a trip.

I'm finally heading up to Canada to snuggle my newest granddaughter and engage in some super serious playtime with a certain little two-year-old. On top of being in my normal full-blown pre-trip crazy land, rather than pay the exorbitant shipping costs to send Christmas presents in a couple of months, I'm taking all their presents with me in my luggage which means my pack and re-pack and pack at least a dozen more times sort of resembles ... well ... Santa on crack is probably the closest analogy that comes even remotely close to giving you a vague idea as to how seriously crazy my pre-trip behavior really is. I spent most of Saturday working on things inside the house since it was like a bazillion degrees outside with humidity in the gazillion percent range, and Sunday was yard work day since a cold front moved through and made for a completely beautiful day. Yesterday was total freak-out day ... worked until 2, came home and finished all the rest of the things on my list of 5,329 things to get done before I leave, told my dogs how much I'm going to miss them (5,214 of the things to get done before I leave), and finally crawled into bed at 1:45 ... yep, that means I'm flying today on 4 hours worth of sleep.

Now here I sit at the airport waiting to board my first plane of the day ... sweaty palms, churning gut, nervous twitches, I've peed like 18 times already ... have I ever mentioned before how much I'm terrified of flying? But if I survive, in about 6 hours, I'll be meeting little Amelie and getting tackled by sweet Coraline. I can't think of very many people other than my kiddos and grandgirls I'd get on two planes in one day to go see ... well ... except Ellen, I guess. I'm not sure how much I'll post over the next couple of weeks ... depends on how exhausted I am from a ton of Ghee-ing. And how many funny stories I have to tell ... or sweet stories ... oh, heck, we all know I'm probably going to post a few times while I'm in Canada.

It's time to get on the plane ... I need to breathe ... breathe ... I can do this ... there are babies waiting for me!!!

The Un Cure

Hopefully, at least a few of you are as old as I am and remember when 7-UP first launched its now famous tag line, "The Uncola," in 1967. I'm not sure which is more impressive, the fact that I can actually remember quite a few things from my 9th year of life or that The Uncola ad campaign set 7-UP apart from its competitors and created a counter culture that symbolized being true to yourself and challenging the status quo ... okay, okay ... the impact of The Uncola campaign is definitely more impressive than the stuff I can remember from when I was a kid.

I had a bad day on Friday ... a really, really bad day ... one of those days when I felt lower than a snake's belly in a wagon rut. All morning, I tried to pull myself out of the funk I was in, and the harder I tried to pull myself up, the deeper I sank. Ever see one of those old movies where someone gets stuck in quicksand? Hmmm ... I wonder why there doesn't seem to be quicksand in movies anymore ... now that I think about it, I can't remember when I've seen a scene where someone gets swallowed by quicksand. But back to what I was saying ... sometimes when I get in a funk, I feel like I'm in quicksand ... the more I struggle and fight to get out of the funk, the faster I get sucked down inside of it. Not that I've ever been in quicksand, mind you, so I really have no clue what it feels like ... unless you count when I stood in the sand at the beach and the waves would go back out and suck my feet down into the sand. I guess that is sort of like being in quicksand, and it's a completely helpless feeling, like I'm stuck and I can't get out. And Friday was most definitely a quicksand kind of day ... most, most definitely.

As is often the case with many of my super sad, snake's belly in a wagon rut, quicksand kind of days, I feel very "un." Unloved, unhappy, unneeded, unacknowledged, unwanted, unappreciated, untrusted, unnecessary, unsafe, unimportant, unnoticed, unable, unacceptable, unworthy, undeserving, unsociable, unqualified, unremarkable, unliked, unjoined, unconnected ... you understand ... on those bad days, I feel very "un." I came home from work, took Ollie for a walk, played with Julie and went to bed, hoping and praying that when I woke up the next morning, my worse than usual case of the "uns" would be gone. Unfortunately, however, my normal weekend blues only served to ratchet my "un" feelings up to a whole new level with the arrival of Saturday morning. I have no doubt whatsoever that had I not had an appointment I couldn't miss, I would have spent a good part of my Saturday in bed with the covers pulled over my head. Trust me ... those "uns" can be really, really, really unfun all the way around.

It was as I was doing yard work this afternoon that a thought came charging into my brain ... I am in desperate need of an "un" cure. I need to feel needed and loved and safe and able and worthy and appreciated and all the other opposites of the "uns" I've been feeling. And the best "un" cure I know of is a little gal who thinks the sun rose and set in her Ghee ... a little gal who doesn't give a rip about all the other stuff and just knows that she loves her Ghee ... a little gal with a new baby sister who hasn't met her Ghee yet. I'm pretty darned sure that the "un" cure I so desperately need is to spend some time in the northland with my precious little granddaughters Coraline and Amelie. So, even though I dread, dread, dread getting on the airplane, in a couple of days, I'll be heading to Canada to soak in some baby and toddler time ... and to give two really tired parents some much-needed help and support.

The "un" cure ... maybe the secret ingredient to that cure is simple ... maybe the secret ingredient is love.

Rulers and Droolers

I have no idea how many trips I've made back home to Tennessee in the 26 years since I moved away, but I absolutely know that some of those trips I will never ever forget. Like the final month of my sweet Daddy's life ... I will forever remember that trip. Sitting by his bed in the hospital, holding his hand, reading to him ... though he didn't recognize me and probably didn't even know I or anyone else was there with him, I wouldn't trade that month I had with Daddy for anything. Thankfully, my three kiddos made the trip with me ... kids have a way of bringing light into the darkest of nights. I remember one evening when my niece and I took all the kids to see the movie Homeward Bound ... a cute and fun film about two dogs and a cat who set out on the grandest of all adventures to find their way back home. For months after seeing the movie, my kids repeated one certain line from the film over and over and over again ... "Cats rule and dogs drool!" And of course, they put their own spins on the line ... "Boys rule and girls drool!" or "Girls rule and boys drool!" Sometimes I really miss those days, you know ... sometimes I really, really do ... the days of my three kiddos going at each other over who was the ruler and who was the drooler.

I've thought a lot about the "Cats rule and dogs drool" line since yesterday when a friend told me something her daughter had shared with her that had happened on her bus ride home from school ... something that involved another variation of the rulers and droolers line. My friend recounted the story of a kid who, in her daughter's words, is "so funny and cool and everybody loves him" ... a kid who announced loudly on the bus, "Gays rule and straights drool!" As she talked about the acceptance the other kids have for the kiddo who made the announcement, her eyes sparkled with delight when she said, "Isn't that awesome, Terrie? My kids don't care that their friend is gay ... to them, he's just a cool kid who is their friend. To them, him being gay is no big deal ... it doesn't matter to them at all." And when she told me about the lighthearted banter as to whether straights or gays were indeed the ones who rule, I was seriously concerned that her heart was going to pop right out of her chest from all the love and pride she has for her children.

Now before some of you pound me with messages ... and yes, you know exactly what kind of messages I mean ... I'd like you to consider something. What that young man said on the bus is about so much more than him being not only aware but accepting of his sexuality ... it's about so very, very much more. It's about my friend building the kind of relationship with her daughter that allows her to be comfortable in talking with her mom about any subject. It's about the fact that not one kid on that bus made fun of the young man or demonstrated any shred of hate or judgment toward him. It's about him having the confidence and bravery and courage to be himself in front of his friends, his family and the world.

I'd like to leave you with a thought this evening ... actually it's a question rather than a thought, I suppose. For those of you who were immediately shaking your heads in disgust when you read what the young man said (and trust me, I know that some of you were and still are), would you have had the same reaction if his words had been, "Being dead rules and being gay drools"? And for those of you who are now shaking your heads and saying that's a ridiculous question, let me tell you once again that I receive emails on a daily basis from kids and adults alike telling me how hard it is for them to overcome the thought that dying would be better than being gay.

The truth is that a lot of us could surely learn some things from all the kids who were on the bus that day ... like how to be kind and generous, how to love unconditionally, how to see hearts first and foremost, how to be honest and open and real and transparent and love ourselves as the people God created us to be. Go ahead and ponder on this post for a while ... go ahead and ponder on it for a good long while because the truth ... well ... the truth is that it deserves a good long pondering ... a good long pondering indeed.

If Tomorrow Never Comes

Don't even think about giving me a hard time about the following confession ... sometimes when I can't sleep, I watch old clips of The X Factor or American Idol on YouTube. I love the heartfelt stories about some of the folks who make their way to those shows with the hope of becoming famous and changing not only their lives but the lives of their families as well. People like a guy from Kentucky who was a farmer and a chicken catcher and went on to win the contest ... a guy who came on the stage for his audition wearing well-worn clothing and a backwards ball cap and carrying a guitar. The judges were obviously not impressed by the man's appearance, and even less impressed by his strong Southern drawl as he answered their questions. But ... then ... he ... began ... to ... sing ... and the judges and everyone else in the auditorium were impressed. They were more than impressed ... they were completely blown away. I had some heavy stuff on my mind last night as I watched the clip of Kevin Skinner singing "If Tomorrow Never Comes," and it only took a few seconds for the tears to start rolling down my cheeks.

I don't think it's coincidence that I happened upon Kevin's audition on YouTube last night, especially considering the conversation I had with a sweet friend earlier in the evening. We talked for a couple of hours ... the son of someone she is very close to committed suicide a few weeks ago. My heart broke for her and everyone who knew and loved the young man as she talked about the weeks leading up to his death ... about how withdrawn he had become, how he had isolated himself from his family and friends, about the depression that engulfed him. She couldn't see my heart pounding within my chest as I listened ... I know that behavior ... I know those feelings ... I know that darkness ... I know that behavior all too well. I know what depression can do to a person's mind ... how it can rob someone of the will to live ... how it can convince someone that dying is the only way to end the pain.

This morning after logging into my computer at work, I immediately searched Spotify for the song "If Tomorrow Never Comes." As I listened to the words of the song ... really listened to the words ... I was struck by the significance of the meaning contained within them. If tomorrow never comes, will the people I love know how much I love them? If I go to bed tonight and don't wake tomorrow morning, will the legacy I leave behind be love? We get so caught up in the busyness of life ... deadlines and schedules and meetings and rules ... we get so caught up in the tyranny of the urgent, and we assume there will always be a tomorrow. But the truth is that one day, there won't be ... for every single person alive, one day tomorrow won't come.

My daughter-in-law called me this evening ... I always love those random, unexpected calls from my children. We talked for about an hour until Matt insisted it was his turn to talk, and though he couldn't see me, I got a huge smile on my face when his first words were, "Hey, Mom, do you have any room in your suitcase?" I asked what he wanted me to bring, and I smiled broadly at his answer. After assuring me that he and Becca won't care if I wear the same shirt every day for the nine days I'm visiting, I agreed to pare down my clothing selection in order to have room to accommodate his request. Both Becca and Matt said they're excited for me to arrive, and C.J. is beside herself now that it's only a week until "Ghee come to Boo's house." As we ended our call, I said what I say every time I say goodbye to any of my kiddos ... "I love you." I decided many, many years ago that when I end a phone call or visit with my children, the last words they will always hear me say are "I love you." If tomorrow never comes, I want them to know to the very core of their being just how much I loved them. I hope I live my life that way with every person I know ... if tomorrow never comes, I hope they know how much I loved them.

If tomorrow never comes ... will they know how much you loved them?

What's Your Cup Size?

Being a single mom to two sons meant that sometimes I had to deal with things that made me ... well ... ummm ... that made me a bit uncomfortable to say the least. Like when one of them had a tick in a spot on his body that no mother wants to see once her son becomes a teenager. Or when I had to explain the birds and the bees to them ... oh, that was not fun at all for me and it was even less fun for my sons. Sometimes, however, those really uncomfortable situations ended up becoming funny and timeless memories with my two now all grown-up boys. One of my favorites of all time involves shopping for cups ... not the kind you drink out of, but the kind boys wear to protect themselves when they're playing sports. I will never ever forget taking my sons shopping for their first cups, nor will I forget their answers when I asked what size they thought they needed. Considering how alike the two of them are in many ways, it probably shouldn't have surprised me when they both immediately answered in the deepest voices they could muster, "Extra large!" Go ahead ... laugh out loud ... especially if you're the mother of a son or sons ... you know every male child on the planet has given the same reply when asked what size cup he needed. Of course they have.

There is a common, recurring theme in many of the emails I receive ... a common, recurring theme that hurts my heart each time I read it. It makes my heart ache for the people who write to me, but it also hurts my heart because I know exactly how they feel. I understand how they feel because I have felt it so many times myself ... because I still feel it sometimes even now. Doubting your worth or value ... wondering if you're really helping anyone ... contemplating whether or not you make a positive difference in the lives of those who know you ... questioning your reason for living. I've learned over the last couple of years that when I'm in that place ... that doubting, wondering, contemplating, questioning place ... that's when someone always seems to say just the right words at just the right time to cause me to remember that my journey is way, way, way more about other people than it is about me. It will forever strike me as odd that it's when I'm at my lowest point that someone steps up and reaches for my heart and takes my hand and helps me find my way. And before you even think it, my friend ... I know what you're shouting at the screen as you read ... that what I should have written is "It will forever strike me as God ..." I know, my friend ... I know.

A couple of weeks ago, a friend asked me for some parenting advice concerning something her oldest child was struggling with ... that's right, believe or not, she asked me for advice. And get this ... she's known me for many years, so she knows exactly how completely crazy and irrational I can be, and she still trusted me enough to ask me for advice about raising her kids. After chatting for a while, she hugged me and thanked me for sharing my opinion as to how I thought she could best handle the situation with her kiddo. Neither of us had mentioned the conversation since that day ... until last Thursday when she responded to an email I had sent her with some pictures of my granddaughters.

"Thank you so much for your kind words and encouragement to be a mom. As you know it's a tough and thankless job but I love the encouragement you give me and I want you to know you fill my cup. You as a person are someone I love spending time with and hearing your words of wisdom :) and I'm sad when you're down because you have so, so much to give."

My friend had no way of knowing how very much I needed to read her words last week ... she had no idea I was smack dab in the middle of one of those doubting, wondering, contemplating, questioning places. She had no way of knowing how very much I needed to read her words exactly when I read them ... just the right words at just the right time. See, friends, here's the thing ... the size of my cup doesn't make one bit of difference at all, not even one slight hint of a difference. What makes a difference is whether or not I'm filling the cups of others ... what makes a difference isn't what I'm receiving but rather what I'm giving. No matter what size cup I have, it's how much I pour out of it and into the cups of others that matters. Funny thing is the more I care about filling the cups of others, the less I worry about my own cup being empty. That's a pretty big lesson, eh? The more I care about other people, the less I worry about me ... that's a really, really, really big lesson. The more I care about others, the less I worry about me ... that's a really, really, really big lesson, friends ... a really big lesson indeed.

  

This One's For You, Elizabeth

Today is one of those days that means something to me ... a day that means a whole heck of a lot to me. Funny thing is that until a couple of years ago, I didn't even know today existed. The truth is I never really gave much thought to suicide prevention, and I certainly had no idea that in 2003 today, September 10th, was designated as World Suicide Prevention Day. I didn't know that each year, every 40 seconds someone commits suicide ... that's a little more than 1 million people every year. I didn't know that more people die from suicide than by homicide and war combined. I didn't know that studies have shown attempted suicide numbers to be 15 to 20 percent higher than the number of completed suicides. I didn't know that suicide rates among LGBT youth are six times higher than that of the general population. I'm ashamed to say I didn't know any of those things until I was there myself ... until I was the one with the pills in my hand ... until I was the one who wanted to die.

I've been thinking about this evening's post for a while, and I had a bunch of eloquent and heartfelt things I planned to write. But then I got an email ... an email from a young girl named Elizabeth. Some of you will remember her ... I know I will never forget her. Elizabeth was one of the first people to write me after we launched our Ears Wide Open? video, and the words of her note haunted me for months. 

"I'm 13 years old and all I want to do is die because I'm not normal like my friends. My uncle sent me this video. I have a gun and bullets and all I want to do is die. Do you think maybe it will get better for me too."

I would wake up at night wondering what her name was ... wondering if she was still alive ... wondering why she had chosen to write to me. But then several months later, I got an email from her mom telling me her daughter's name was Elizabeth ... telling me about the progress Elizabeth was making ... telling me that Elizabeth was not just alive but that she was thriving. Her mom attached a photo of Elizabeth to that initial email, and I wept when I saw it ... that original heart-wrenching note from a 13-year-old girl suddenly had a name and a face. As I close this evening, it seems more than fitting to share part of the note I received from Elizabeth today. 

"Hello Terrie its Elizabeth. I know mom wrote to you last week but she said I could write today because it’s the special no more suicide day for everyone. I am doing good and liking school and have two real friends now. After I wrote you that first time about having a gun after I saw your note cards video my mom and dad got me changed to a different school. I still get teased some about being fat but its not as bad at the new school and now I have two friends."

Love each other, friends ... love each other and take care of each other and cherish every moment you have with each other. And Elizabeth ... you go, girl ... you rock my socks off ... you go, girl ... you go!

To You For You

The official high temperature in Kansas City today was 97 degrees, and the weather dudes are saying that the high on Friday will struggle to reach 60. There's a big old Canadian cold front on the march through the Midwest ... a cold front that is slamming into hot humid air and you know what that means ... yep, stormy weather. And just in case you're a new reader or a long-time reader who's forgotten, I hate, hate, hate stormy weather. I've heard it said that one of the best ways to learn what is going on in a person's mind at any given moment is to look at the tabs they have open on their Internet browser. You can bet your last penny that the other tab I've got open right now is the local weather radar ... so far, the storms are staying north of KC, and I'm praying they stay away so I can get some desperately needed sleep tonight. And even more, I'm praying for the safety of the folks in the towns that are experiencing some fierce storms as I type.

I was channel surfing after watching the local news (actually, I was trying to find one of those creepy 24/7 weather channels so I could be even more freaked out about the possibility of the storms making it to my neighborhood), and I stumbled upon a program where Oprah Winfrey was being interviewed. I've always wondered how anyone could not like Oprah ... talk about a rags to riches story in its truest form, and good for her for not only overcoming seemingly insurmountable odds just to survive but to follow her dreams and go on to become one of the most famous women on the planet. If you don't know her back story, you should take some time to read about where she came from and what she lived through when she was young ... grab some tissues when you do because hers is not an easy story to read. I don't agree with some of her beliefs, but I do have a tremendous amount of respect for her as a person ... a person who managed to make it through things that would have caused a ton of us to throw in the towel and say, "I give up."

You know she must have said something pretty profound to cause me to abandon my quest for a round-the-clock weather channel and watch the interview ... something amazingly, heart-touchingly, bring tears to my eyes profound. She was talking about things happening for a reason and how the things we go through in life aren't random or coincidental but rather part of a master plan. That's not profound to me ... I've heard those words or some derivation of them my whole life. It was the following words she spoke that got to me ... made me stop ... engaged me to listen ... forced me to pause and deeply consider the truth contained within her words. In fact, there's so much power in Oprah's words that I'm going to close with them ... read them several times ... let them get to you ... make you stop ... engage you to listen ... force you to pause and deeply consider the truth contained within them.  

"Everything we go through ... everything that happens to us is for us ... not one experience in life, good or bad, is wasted. What happens to us is for us ... to learn, to understand, to grow. Everything that happens to you is for you ... nothing is wasted."

Eaten Alive

I dare say that every single parent of every single toddler on earth has at some point helplessly watched while said toddler took a hard fall or crashed into a door or walked off the side of a porch or swallowed a dog treat or shoved a grape up their nose. If you're a parent, you've been there ... you're right there with them and you just can't get to them quickly enough to keep them from getting hurt. Toddlers are a unique breed, you know ... they are fearless ... they are quick ... they are sneaky ... and most important, they are a million times smarter than the rest of us. There's no other feeling on earth quite like the helplessness a parent feels when they are within arm's reach of their toddler and just can't quite grab them before they get hurt. I remember it well ... that feeling of seeing one of my little ones heading right for danger and not being able to do one thing to stop them from the injury I knew was about to happen.

Last Monday, Matt and Becca were within inches of my granddaughter C.J. when she went running across the room intending to jump onto a pile of pillows ... something, I might add, that she's probably done a thousand times before. Instead of landing in the pillows, however, C.J. went flying over the top of the pillows and crashed nose first into the basement wall ... suffice it to say that her nose wasn't broken, but she does sort of look a bit like Rocky Balboa after one of his more difficult title matches. When we Skyped on Saturday, she showed me her nose and told me in vivid detail about her visit to the doctor who looked up her nose with a "wight" and how brave she was. Bless her little heart, to add insult to injury, Saturday morning at the market she got stung by "da bundlebee, Ghee ... no bundlebee stinged me on my cheek right here." Again I say, bless her sweet little heart ... my poor baby girl had a rough week. Little does she know that her nose mishap and the bundlebee incident were every bit as painful for her mom and dad as they were for her ... and then some. 

It was barely light by the time Ollie and I got home from our walk this evening, which means the days are getting shorter and it won't be long until I'll be driving home from work each evening in the dark. Though I didn't notice it while I was walking, when I sat down on the couch once I got home, it only took a moment for me to realize that something was most definitely not right with my legs. From my knees down, my legs were itching and burning like crazy ... no, seriously ... they were itching and burning like they were on fire. Me being the highly rational person that I am, I immediately grabbed a flashlight and headed into the bathroom to check out what most definitely had to be some sort of zombie mutated infection that had attacked my legs while I walked on the trail ... because of course I had unknowingly stepped into a puddle of zombie ooze as I walked. What? Isn't that what you would think if you had been walking outside and came home and your legs were itching and burning? Don't lie ... of course you would ... every intelligent, rational, sane person on the planet would think that zombies and their ooze had to be to blame.

It turns out that I may possibly have jumped to the wrong conclusion about the zombies' role in my leg discomfort ... unless ... wait a sec ... I bet those stupid zombies somehow infested the hoard of mosquitoes that had obviously feasted upon my legs as I walked. Yep, upon further flashlight-aided inspection, I discovered about a thousand mosquito bites on my legs ... well ... those 11 bites felt like a thousand anyway. I'm sure you'll be glad to know, however, that a good dousing with clear fingernail polish did wonders for the itching and burning. Just in case, though, I think I may activate my anti-zombies that take over the bodies of mosquitoes alarm system before I turn in for the night ... you can never be too cautious when it comes to mosquito-inhabited zombies ... duh.

So what in the world do my mosquito bites have to do with my intro about my little C.J.? Sometimes stuff just happens to us that is outside of our control ... sometimes that stuff happens even when you've got people watching over you. Sometimes you're running too fast and you misjudge the distance and you crash into the wall and bonk your nose. Sometimes you get stung by the bundlebees or bitten by the mosquitoes, and you never saw them coming and probably couldn't have stopped them even if you had. We're all going to fall, and we're all going to get stung and bitten ... the secret is in not letting the walls and the bugs win. C.J. didn't stay on the floor after her encounter with the wall, and I didn't try to ignore the bites on my legs. My baby girl got up and let her mom and dad hold her and help her ... I applied clear fingernail polish to every single bite to soothe the itching and stop the burning. 

See here's the thing, friends ... the huge lesson for me (and maybe some of you as well) is that there will always be walls, and there will always be bundlebees and mosquitoes in life, and there will be times when I crash nose-first and get eaten alive. But ... but ... but ... I have to get up when I fall ... I have to let the people who love me help me to heal ... I have to trust that the swelling and pain will leave the stings, and the itching and burning will subside on the bites. Funny how so very many things come back to that trust thing, eh? Funny ... funny indeed.

Run True, Run Deep

Saturday evening television in Mom and Dad's house when I was growing up consisted of three shows ... every single solitary week unless programming happened to be interrupted for some reason or something drastically life-altering was going on. Lawrence Welk, Hee Haw and The Grand Ole Opry ... every single solitary Saturday evening meant Mom sitting on the couch, Dad settled in his recliner and me stretched out on a giant pillow on the floor watching those three shows. Though I tried my best to feign disinterest in the musical leanings of my parents, the truth is I actually enjoyed the programs way more than I would have ever admitted ... in fact, to this day I remember the names of many of the performers and even some of their songs and routines. Even though a lot of the singers, dancers and comedians had great talent, only one was bigger than life to me ... only one remains one of my all-time favorite performers ... the one and only Dolly Parton. I'm sure I'm not the only gal who grew up idolizing Dolly ... after all, she was born and raised in a little Tennessee mountain town and truly went from rags to riches. Dolly taught my generation of Southern girls not to ever give up on our dreams ... she was sort of like our real-life Tennessee fairy tale come true.

Perhaps it was my encounter a couple of mornings ago with the Lamborghini driven by the Dolly lookalike that's caused me to have Dolly on my mind, which in turn has made me think a lot about my dad ... Daddy sure did love him some Dolly. One of the biggest regrets I have is that I never took Daddy to see her perform at The Grand Ole Opry. He always talked about how much he wanted to go, and I let the busyness of my life and the selfishness of my youth keep me from doing for my dad what I now would stop or give everything to be able to do for him. Believe it or not, it wasn't Dolly's enormously big blonde hair or her even bigger boobs that garnered my dad's admiration (though I'm sure those didn't hurt her standing with him in the least!), it was her story that captured Daddy's heart. I can remember him saying time and time again as we watched her on television, "Lookie there, Sam ... there's a woman who didn't listen to all them folks who told her she could never be who she knew down deep she was born to be ... there's a woman who followed her heart and look at her now. You always be true to yourself, Sam, even when everybody says you can't ... always be true to yourself and don't listen to nobody who tells you not to be." I had absolutely no idea back then just how wise and profound my dad's words were ... I had absolutely no idea.

It feels like fall here in Kansas City today ... the air is cool and crisp, and the skies are bluer than blue ... without question, my favorite time of the year. Ollie and I went for a long walk really early this morning ... early enough that we watched the sun rise from the horizon and fill the sky. It was probably no coincidence that when I turned on my iPod the first singer who appeared on the shuffle was Dolly. And it was also probably no coincidence that the particular song that began to play was a song about not judging a person by his or her appearance ... a song about seeing the person beneath the clothing or the hair ... a song about being true to oneself. The first time I heard the song a year or two ago, I cried like a baby as the words charged into my heart like a lion chasing its prey. The words seared themselves into my mind because I understood them ... I understood them with every fiber of my being ... I understood them because I live them every single day of my life. 

This morning as I breathed in the fresh morning air and walked in cadence with my sweet little hound dog, some different words to Dolly's "Backwoods Barbie" song began to flow into my mind as quickly as the tears began to flow from my eyes. Something tells me Dolly wouldn't mind my rendition of her song, and something tells me my dad wouldn't either ... something tells me Dolly and Daddy wouldn't mind at all.

Backwoods Tomboy

I grew up tough and boyish, just a simple country girl.

I wanted to be pretty more than anything in the world,

Like Dolly or the models in the Penney's catalog.

From rags to wishes in my dreams, I could have it all.

I'm just a backwoods tomboy, with my Converse and short hair.

Don't be fooled by thinkin' that the goods are not all there.

Don't let these backwards ball caps lead you to believe that

I'm as shallow as I look 'cause I run true and deep.

I've always been misunderstood because of how I look.

Don't judge me by the cover 'cause I'm a real good book.

So read into it what you will, but see me as I am.

The way I look is just this country girl's idea of glam.

I'm just a backwoods tomboy in suspenders and bow ties.

I might look artificial, but where it counts I'm real.

And I'm all spiffed up and hopin' for a chance to prove my worth,

Cause even backwoods tomboys get their feelings hurt.

I'm just a backwoods tomboy, with my Converse and short hair.

Don't be fooled by thinkin' that the goods are not all there.

Yes, I can see where I could be misjudged upon first glance;

But even backwoods tomboys deserve a second chance.

I'm just a backwoods tomboy just asking for a chance,

Just a backwoods tomboy.

Apples to Oranges

In the town I grew up in, there was a bar called The Sports Page ... I'm quite sure many of my Tennessee friends remember it. It was tucked back a bit off of Brainerd Road, and if I remember correctly, I think it was owned by the same fellow who owned The Playboy Club. Ahhh ... The Playboy Club ... I never went there, but everybody in town talked about The Playboy Club and the stuff that happened inside that building. But I digress ... back to The Sports Page bar. On the weekends, there would be tons of high school and college students cruising around the parking lot ... no, really ... we would drive around and around and around the parking lot until the wee hours of the morning. And all that cruising was for one simple reason ... flirting. Yep, The Sports Page parking lot was the place to go if you wanted to do some serious flirting ... and I do mean serious flirting.

I'm sure some people met their soul mates in that parking lot all those years ago and went on to get married, have a couple of kids and live happily ever after. But alas, as goes the story of my life, there was no soul mate to be found for me at the number one teen hookup spot in Chattanooga. The only connection I ever made in The Sports Page bar parking lot was with a car ... but oh what a car it was ... a red Ferrari just like the one Tom Selleck drove in the television show Magnum P.I. I ended up becoming good friends with the young man who drove the car, not like a dating friend, just a good friend. I'm pretty sure the most incredible night of my life up to that point was the night he let me drive his car ... that's right, I drove my friend's red Ferrari around The Sports Page bar parking lot, and I was cooler than cool as I did.

On my morning commute today, I saw something I've never seen before ... well, at least I've never seen what I saw this morning on an interstate anyway ... a jet black Lamborghini driven by a woman who looked an awful lot like Dolly Parton. In a split second, I heard myself saying out loud, "Gosh, I'd give anything to have a car like that ... I bet everyone would like me if I had a car like that." I've thought all day about my almost instantaneous leap from being more than content and happy with my cute silver Subaru (I actually really do love my Subie) to being consumed with envy and desire for the sleek black Lamborghini. I went way down that path way too quickly, and before I knew it, I was feeling pretty darned lousy about myself because I know I'll never own a Lamborghini or a big fancy house or be one of the rich, famous, beautiful people. And the thing is ... until I saw that gorgeous blonde driving that super hot car this morning, I didn't even want any of those things.

It's so easy to measure ourselves against other people ... and it's even easier to beat ourselves up after we do. The truth is there will always be someone smarter, prettier, richer ... there will always be someone. Comparing ourselves to one another is ... well ... it's just stupid. We need to learn to appreciate our differences and to understand our individual strengths and weaknesses. Comparing ourselves to each other is like comparing apples to oranges ... both are fruits, but two totally different fruits ... different flavors, different textures, different skins, different vitamins, but both beneficial in its own unique way. Wanting to have all the things an apple has when I'm an orange, or believing I'll never be as good or worthy as an orange when I'm an apple, is only going to make me one unhappy piece of fruit.

Apples to oranges? Maybe apples should just be happy being apples and oranges should be happy being oranges ... and maybe, just maybe, all us people should stop comparing people to people and just be happy being who we are.

A Hard Act to Follow

One of the best summers I had as a teen was the summer I played on a softball team that didn't lose a game all season and then went on to win not just one tournament but four. Every player on that team was a good player, and every player was good at everything ... hitting, fielding, running ... we were just flat-out, downright good softball players. But as is true of most things in life, there was one gal on our team who was better than good ... she was fantastic, especially when it came to batting. There was always a groan from the whichever one of us whose name was listed on the lineup to bat after her ... the pressure of stepping up to the plate after her was overwhelming. At the very least, she always got on base, and most of the time she sent the ball sailing way, way, way over the fence for a home run. Yep, not one of us wanted to bat after her because it was hard to follow greatness. Even though we were all good players, we all knew she was better than good ... we all knew she was great.

Both times I've collaborated with my two guest writers who joined with me to write my previous post, "Only the Beginning," I've been amazed and astounded by the way the pieces go together like a hand in a glove. I write my part first and send it along to the two of them, and they then write their parts independently of one another and send them to me. It shouldn't have surprised me this time around, I suppose, but when I first read their words for our latest post, I was completely taken aback by the wonder of the way all of our thoughts and ideas fit together. Ask any writer and he or she will tell you that's pretty unusual ... three different people with three different writing styles ... more often than not, I have a hard enough time just putting my own thoughts into cohesive sentences. I've barely made a dent in all the emails that have come in over the last few days about our joint post, but of the ones I've read thus far, there is one recurring message ... the words of my friends are touching people deeply.

If you haven't read "Only the Beginning," you should. And then you should share it with someone who needs to read it. Thank you to my friends who joined me in writing ... you gals are better than good, you're great. You're a hard act to follow for sure.