The BigCityBareFeet Blog

Someone once said “Don’t knock the weather; nine-tenths of the people on earth couldn’t start a conversation if it didn’t change once in a while.” I, however, do not fall in that category. If you ask my Mama, she will be the first to tell you that for me, the power of speech came early. Bald and toothless and less than 2 feet tall, she claims I was already spouting off my opinions on the world at large.

Driving along in the car the other day I casually made a crack at my own expense regarding my often prolific discourse. Boy chuckled loudly and said “You really are QUITE the talker.” 

I turned to him, eyes wide, feigning disdain. 

“Don’t even pretend to act bewildered, babydoll. I’m somehow certain I’m not the first person to have ever mentioned this to you before” he grins. 

My eyes narrow to slits as I attempt to give him my best “you’re in trouble” look that he never really seems to buy. This only seems to make him laugh harder and dig deeper. 

“In fact,” he chuckles “I daresay you’ll even attempt to engage the Grim Reaper in conversation when your time comes and he arrives searchin for you.” He squints his face and raises his voice several octaves adding additional syllables to EVERY word attempting to match my speech pattern: “I just don’t know how you do your job, Mr. Reaper. Is it even possible keep a positive outlook on life when forced to operate daily in such a hostile, negative work environment?” 

The man cracks himself up. 

Truth be told, we are BOTH talkers. (Don’t even pretend to act bewildered, Boy. I’m somehow certain I’m not the first person to have ever mentioned this to you before.) It’s quite the wonder either one of us ever shuts up long enough for the other to get a word in edgewise. 

But let’s face it….there’s talking….and then there’s COMMUNICATING…. 

Boy informed me Sunday morning that he would like to cook dinner for us that evening. He has done so on many occasions and each and every time it’s been quite lovely. Considering many nights I have chips and salsa or a cup of yogurt for dinner because I am too tired to construct anything further, any time someone else offers to cook it’s like winning the lottery.  So even when he informed me up front that this was one of his more “health conscious” meals and that it wouldn’t be the same as other things he made me in the past, I shrugged it off just glad to know I would not be the one standing over the sweaty stove. 

That afternoon we wander the aisles of the International Food Market and I’m so busy absorbing the magnificent variety of insanely strange things for sale there that I scarcely notice the items he is placing in our cart. Had I not been so preoccupied with the octopus flavored potato chips or the fruit that resembled something Atreyu might have snacked on in The NeverEnding Story, I might have realized dinner was shaping up to be…interesting. 

Later that evening I meander into the kitchen drawn by the rhythmic tap of Boy’s knife against the cutting board. I snag a slice of shiny red pepper from his fingers and lean back against the counter munching. I take in the pretty button mushrooms soaking in the sink and the deep green sea of broccoli splayed freshly scrubbed beside it. There are some additional “greens” with which I’m not overly familiar and I internally cringe a bit as I’m not the biggest fan of most things large and terribly leafy. I’d rather be drug naked down a gravel drive behind a pick-up truck than eat anything in the cabbage/collard/turnip families. He is busy gliding a large sharp blade thru a thick shiny block of beige and it dawns on me that it is TOFU. Or at least I correctly assume so given that I have never seen that mess in the wild before. The few encounters I have had with the stuff have all triggered my gag reflex almost immediately. Fear and Shame tickled the length my spine as I pondered what it might be like to vomit in front of Boy for the very first time as that seemed a likely outcome. 

“Is that tofu?” I squeak. 

“Of course,” he says “what else would it be?” 

I fight back the urge to answer Modeling Clay? Goat boogers? Something scraped from the bottom of a deck plank recovered from the Titanic? 

“Dinner will be ready at 7:30″ he smiles. I look at the clock. 26 minutes. Not nearly enough time to get out of the state. Not even long enough to borrow a dog to feed under the table or sew a pocket on the inside of my shirt collar to discreetly tuck things in. I have to face the brutal reality that I am not going to be able to avoid eating this stuff. 

Moments later my nose is met with a sharp acrid smell and I make the mistake of wondering aloud what it is only to have Boy informs me there is vinegar in “the sauce”. 

By the time I begin to set the table my hands feel numb and a sheen of anxious sweat has formed on my forehead. Sitting sweetly across from me, blissfully unaware of the acid reflux rebellion taking formation in my gut, Boy smiles and says “Dig in!” 

I weighed out my options and decided it was likely a better plan to let Boy know ahead of time it was quite possible the evening was about to take a fairly unpleasant turn. 

“Just try it” he says and so, I do. 

He laughs as my face wrinkles and contorts. While texture-wise it was far from ideal, it wasn’t nearly as flavor revolting as Id feared. I managed to take several bites before giving up completely. 

“Well?” he asks 

“Well, it isn’t the worst s%*t I’ve ever eaten!” I say. 

He stares at me solemn-faced, his blue eyes blinking. 

“You wouldn’t want me to LIE would you?” I say, my voice raising. 

“No,” he conceded. “But there is a very LARGE spectrum of communication between lieing and saying it isn’t the worst s%*t you’ve ever eaten!!!” 

I immediately apologize and then we both dissolve into hysterical laughter. Given that Boy possesses a fantastic sense of humor he now refers to that dish as “Notwurst”….and given that he is also a raging smarty pants, every five minutes he claims something I have done or said or made is “not the worst <insert random action here>” he has ever encountered.  

It is also of important note that along with the hyper-healthy dinner he made that evening, Boy made me homemade Crème’ Brule (which just happens to be my favorite) for dessert. Clearly I’m very mistreated. 

If communication really is the art of depositing part of yourself into another person then it’s obvious that even we talkers sometimes still have a lot left to learn. The truth is the kindest word in all the world is the unkind word, unsaid. Even a fish wouldn’t get into trouble if he learned to keep his mouth shut every once in a while. 

“Kind words can be short and easy to speak, but their echoes are truly endless.” ~Mother Theresa

It’s clear my grip on sanity is slipping as I have gone and joined a fancy, schmancy fitness club. I can’t bring myself to call it a gym because to me that word conjures images of large, blandly painted rooms filled with tired treadmills that smell of moldy socks and sweat. And this place is NOTHING of that sort.

There are hot tubs and saunas and swimming pools for both lounging in the sun and serious aquatic training though the enormous rock climbing walls are what drew me in the first place. Right about the moment on the tour we swung through the marbled mahogany locker rooms on our way to the yoga studios I was sold. Anything that exists in the land of fitness they have it. In addition, if you feel like getting a facial or having your hair cut and colored they’ve got you covered. Need a massage or a pedicure? No problem. It is, in short, UTOPIA. I wanted to run home and get my toothbrush and bathing suit and just move right in. 

It’s not exactly in my genetic make-up to spend money monthly on something of this decadent a nature. But the siren song of this joint is hard to resist and before I knew it I was posing for my id photo. They must pipe aerosoled hallucinogens through the a/c ducts because I walked away thinking, I might sell a kidney if that’s what it took to afford a membership. Nikki drank the Kool-aid too so she will be shakin her groove thing right next to me in Zoomba class and snackin’ it up at the poolside cafe. 

Further proof that I have very little functioning grey matter, is the little decision I made a few days ago to let Boy set me up with a weight training routine. The conversation went a little like this: 

Me: I’m joining that new fitness club I told you about. I’m thinking about getting a trainer. 

Boy: Most trainers I have met are idiots with zero working knowledge of exercise regimen and physiology. The only thing they have an aptitude for is flirting. 

Me: I think you’re exaggerating. I’m certain some of them do actually know what they are doing. But their prices are a bit obscene. I have a graduate degree and I save lives for a living and even I don’t make that much an hour! 

Boy: Why don’t you just let me design a routine for you? I am, after all, pretty familiar with it. *Flexes enormous biceps* (Ok, so he didn’t flex his biceps but I couldn’t resist saying he did) 

I thought about this for a good while….and by a good while I mean multiple days. The truth is, Boy is entirely too educated in the realm of all things “work-out”. When I first met him, I found this to be wildly entertaining because his nerdy interior is a direct contrast to his He-Man meathead exterior. He has helped many of his friends, including some females, get the results they were looking for. And clearly he has perfected the technique of manipulating his own body, so why not? 

Sunday afternoon we slid into our gym shorts and headed towards my little slice of fitness heaven on earth. Boy marveled at the high glass ceilings of the reception atrium and the general feeling of opulence the place reverberates with. I’ve never been to his gym before, but I wager it is much like the aforementioned drab, sweaty-sock smelling place. I gave him a brief tour growing excited all over again about how amazing the place is as I pointed out all the amenities to him. While he agreed it is nice, I started to wonder if those hallucinogens they dump down the air shafts are only effective on the frontal lobes of the female population as he didn’t seem nearly as enthralled by the Bikram Yoga and endless acres of plasma TV screens as I had been. 

Boy plants me on an elliptical machine and instructs me to warm up a bit while he peruses the weight lifting equipment and gets his bearings. I happily begin to churn away, legs and arms gliding smoothly back and forth. Here, I am at home. I can crank up my iPod and get lost in the land of cardio. In this state I mentally visualize all the bands of stress that criss-cross my body begin to melt from the heat my muscles radiate. He returns about 10 minutes later just as I’m about to hit my stride and says ominously: “It’s time”. 

We walk to the far back wall of the cavernous room where he introduces me to a torturous looking device known as a Smith Machine that he excitedly tells me will become my new best friend. I eye the contraption warily and wonder just how on earth I am going to learn to love something so ugly that appears to be quite similar in appearance to a little medieval instrument known as THE RACK. About 30 seconds later, I realize that in 2010 this is as closed to actually getting racked as one could ever get. 

I won’t bother with the details of the following 45 minutes because quite frankly, even the parts where I didn’t black out, my memories are a bit hazy. What I can recall though is being soaked in sweat, feeling as though my legs had caught fire internally, and a thick primal driving urge to KILL BOY. 

At some point between sets when I opened my mouth to tell him I felt quite certain if I bent my body in that particular manner one more time I was liable to crash to the floor in a spectacular heap, he looked directly at me and said: “Stop talking and just do it.” 

There was no particular evil tone or hateful glare. It was simply a direct command. While I have been spoken to much more bluntly before by a personal trainer, I have never been spoken to in that manner by Boy. Clearly the man does NOT value his life. He would later tell me that the look that passed over my face was of an animal nature complete with bared teeth and a low hissing snarl. I can’t be entirely sure he is making that up because what happened inside of me in that moment was certainly not a feeling I recognized as anything from the human scale. 

When he finally declared the torture session over, I hobbled past him straight to the women’s locker room without so much as a sideways glance. After rinsing off and lowering my heart rate back to a speed more acceptable by the American Heart Association my vision stopped blurring around the edges and I decided killing him would just mean comprising a way to hide the body and quite frankly I was too tired to even consider such a task. 

Later, after lunch when I was more or less back to normal, he chuckled and revealed he thought for a while there I might have decided to permanently dislike him.  I laughed and told him that while he had come much closer to death today than he ever knew, the exercise endorphins had finally kicked in and I’d remembered that it would be easier to just keep him than to go out and try to find his replacement. 

The following morning he politely sent me a text to inquire about the state of my soreness: 

Boy: How are you feeling today? 

Me: God and I had a chat. We’re pretty certain you’re Satan’s understudy. I’ve arranged for a little fire to fall on your head. 

Boy: Why else do you think I had you do 6 sets of 6 reps with 6 lbs? 

Me: Fire. Brimstone. Brace yourself, Beelzebub Junior. 

Boy: Does it feel like pitchforks in your legs? 

Me: More like demons have taken up residence in my hamstrings and quads. 

Boy: Just wait till tomorrow. 

Wisely he remained in his suburb of Atlanta last night as had he crossed his county line into mine I may have attempted to strip him of his vital organs, sell them on the black market and take my own little “eat-pray-love” journey to three exotic locales. 

Luckily now that he’s written out my routine, he won’t ever need be present for my work-outs and I can resume life in my happy little fitness utopia. Sure, I may curse his name while doing it, but at least he won’t be physically close enough to choke and by the time he is hopefully I’ll have lost the urge. 

Of course, if his advice transforms me into the super-model-me I know lies within, then perhaps he’ll wind up the hero in the end. Otherwise, look for my how-to manual “14 Ways To Kill A Man With A Bar Bell And Make It Look Like An Accident” to hit bookshelves in the very near future.

In truly tragic southern debutante style, I once competed in beauty pageants. Yes, it was more than one, and yes, I’m completely aware of just how fantastically hilarious that sounds.  I’m an extrovert of the highest order so singin’ and dancin’ my way across a stage decked out in sequins and satin was never much of a stretch for me. While i will admit that a few of the girls I once competed against were a few fries short of a Happy Meal, most of us were of a fairly high calibre of smart. I always found it entertaining that because I wore a tiara folks assumed I was brainless. But over time Ive grown to see that asinine thinking of this nature sometimes offers me a distinct advantage. There is little that I enjoy more than someone assuming I’m stupid and seeing their face when they realize a little too late that I’m not. 

I never wore vasiline on my teeth or glued any portion of my attire to my body to keep it from “riding up”, but i did however rock a seriously fabulous mulit-colored sequined jumpsuit and a pair of overalls with puffy-painted ice cream cones on them.

When it was all said and done I walked away with a decent sum of money for my college fund, a few gawdy trophies, and a crown and sash or two; my favorite being the one that says Miss Congeniality. 

It was fun in its own strangely crazy kind of way…kind of like running with the bulls in Spain or wrestling midgets in a kiddie pool filled with ramen noodles…but it was never something I planned on making any sort of quasi-career of or anything. My mother LOVES to drag out pictures and video of my performances which i find mortifying, but more because of my unfortunate hairstyles and attire than anything else. (Did you hear me say MULTI-COLORED SEQUINED JUMPSUIT?)

Last year my Gram decided it was high time someone in the family get back in the game and she signed up for the pageant at her nursing home. She won by a landslide and while the tabloid talk was it was all because she was the only contestant that could glide around the cafeteria unaided by a walker, wheelchair or cane, I’m pretty sure it was mostly because she rocked that red hot, poly-blend JCPenny’s sweater twinset like none other.

She took on her job as the “face of the facility” in earnest, shuffling to the little engagements they lined up for her over the months, lighting candles and shaking hands and such, never once missing anything they asked her to do.

Every time i went to visit and saw her formal portrait in the lobby, tiara and sash prominent against her silver coiffed hair and happy pantsuit, I’d get a big smile on my face.  Lordy, she is a cutie.

A few months ago when home for Mother’s Day I stopped in to see her and learned her reign was nearing an end. The new Miss LifeCare would be crowned within the week and she was preparing to take her final walk. Considering she had taken her duties so seriously, I wondered if she was getting a bit sad about handing over her title and asked her as much. She turned her wrinkled little face up to mine and with that wickedly crooked grin that only she can give said “Of course not. Now I have more time for Bingo!”

And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Wisdom for the ages.

Take it from two former beauty queens: Don’t take anything in Life too seriously; you’ll never get out alive. Take pride in yourself and what you stand for, but realize that everything is cyclical and change is not only inevitable it is often just what you need to free you up for more important things to come.

Bingo.

It’s been ages since Summertime meant months long vacation and freedom to me, but i love the season nonetheless if for no other reason than it is nice to leave work in the evenings and still see daylight. And while it is nearly half over already, last wednesday night was the first time i really felt like summer had arrived.

My friend Nikki and I wandered down to a trendy section of town known as The Virginia-Highlands and while we did have a valid errand in the area, we weren’t in a hurry. After pizza at a well-known, well-loved little joint known as “Everybody’s” we strolled the streets window shopping and eating gelato in the warm night air. It was the first time in weeks that I haven’t felt as though I were rushing to put out a fire and I’d forgotten how nice it can be to just simply relax with no particular set of plans.

In true female friendship fashion, we both rattled on incessantly with a rhythm that took us years to develop but that over time has been perfected. In the days when we were roomates, we could often be found regardless of extreme heat or cold, sitting on the pack porch sharing a bottle of wine, our problems and our thoughts on the world at large. Ive always been a firm believer that friendship of this nature is the best kind of therapy on the globe. When you become comfortable enough with someone that you feel no need to censure your thoughts, you will often be surprised by what a simple conversation with them can reveal about yourself.

In the cozy booth over slices of cheese smothered pizza we sat laughing about her insights on married life thus far. I mean, she’s going on two whole months now, so clearly she’s an expert. Suddenly, without any warning, a question rolled right off my tongue surprising even me because i wasn’t really aware it was rattling around inside until it popped itself right out in that moment.

“How does one tell when something is a red-flag potential deal-breaker in a relationship and not just something that you need to learn to adjust to?”

Knowing me as well as Nikki does, she is aware of what it looks like when my synapses start firing so rapidly that my tounge takes some time to catch up with my brain. She simply sits comfortably in the silence waiting out the crazy process she has grown used to.

“I mean, so he leaves the toilet seat up. You wouldnt think it would be THAT big a deal but then you hear these women who’ve been married 50 years screaming about how that one little habit of his drives them so stark raving mad they want to run him over with the car. How do you know what little things you WILL be able to live with for the next 5 or 6 decades and which ones are things that would actually make you consider capitol murder? Because I’d really love to avoid the jail time” I quip.

“Well, i think what it really boils down to is compromise…and more importantly, the GOOD kind. Its one thing to figure out all the little ways you can bend that allow the other person room to be comfortable, but its entirely different altogether for them to ask you to compromise WHO YOU ARE. Those are the deal-breakers” Nikki says wisely.

She pauses a beat and then whispers: “I know you want the answers all up front, because you don’t wanna invest in something you know is ultimately not going to be a good fit.”

I cant help but grin a bit at how quickly she gets to the heart of what I am really thinking.

She chooses that moment to bring up a well-worn story about a rock climbing excursion that we once took with my brother Kent.

I’d been hangin from a crack for a good 15 minutes and my arms were beginning to tremble. The toes of my climbing shoes were perched on the tiniest bit of slate sticking out from the gorgeous 80 foot wall of rock I was scaling.  No matter how much i searched for that next hand hold i was having difficulty finding one close enough to grasp. Just to my right was a ledge….it was thick and sturdy and beautiful… but it seemed so far away. From the ground many feet below Kent was shouting encouragement and routes he could see with more clarity from his vantage point as the belayer.

“That ledge is RIGHT there, Mo” he cheered “all you have to do is push off with your legs and leap.”

But that would mean letting go of my precious hand hold. Another 5 minutes goes by…

“You can do it, Mo. Just commit to the move. DO IT! COMMIT TO THE MOVE!”

I took a deep breath,  uncurled my fingers, shoved off with my feet and jumped for the ledge. I landed right where I wanted to go with a grace that usually isn’t part of my nature. I was stunned that i had wasted so much time hanging on to such a small handhold struggling not to fall when all i had needed to do was let go and COMMIT TO THE MOVE.

Nikki and I have often used this analogy to spur each other into doing things we know the other one is a little frightened of…and just like it has every other time, the lesson hits home once again.

“My point is, sometimes you just have to commit to the experience, or the friendship, or the job, or the relationship and just let it unfold a while before you will get the answers to some of those questions…..before you will see the red flags….before you will know if it’s a compromise or a compromise of who you are” Nikki chuckles “Its scary, but I got ya harnessed in, girlie. Even if you fall, I wont let ya hit the ground.”

I ponder this a moment and as simple as it is, realize its a very valid point. She’s a smart cookie, that one.

We then of course spend a significant amount of time discussing the finer points of the fashion choices made by the other patrons in our midst, and just what we think should be done to solve the current oil crisis in the Gulf of Mexico. Hey, we are nothing is not versatile.  As the fireflies begin to wink in growing numbers we decided it was time to be gettin ourselves to bed and we slowly amble towards the car.

After dropping Nikki off at her place I drove towards home with the windows down and the wind pouring in. It was late. I was out past my bedtime. On a school night. It was summer.

The moon was beautiful…just a milky sliver in the navy sky…a tiny crescent in a giant pool of endless blue.  It suddenly struck me that the WHOLE moon was right there, I just couldn’t see it. And all because at that particular moment, only a tiny thumbnail was reflecting the sun’s light. It occurred to me that people are like that as well. Sometimes all you see is a small portion of who they really are given what light they are allowing to be reflected into their deepest craters at that given moment. If you wanna see them in their entirety, sometimes all you can do is be patient and wait out a full rotation if you really wanna know every surface, facet, and shape they possess.

As scary as it seems to commit to something or someone when you know not what the outcome might be, it would be a shame to think that you might miss something as beautiful as a full blue moon if you didn’t.

Here’s to the courage to commit to the experience long enough to see all the beautiful phases it might possess. And to friends that not only encourage you to reach for the moon, but will be there to safely catch you should you suddenly find yourself falling back to earth.

On one of my recent blog posts I received an interesting comment from one of my faithful, favorite readers named Martin. He is a fountain of crazy of the very best kind and I’m fairly certain that could Canada find a way to export his sense of humor they’d have enough capital to launch a plan for World domination in no time. I should also state for the record that he is happily married and the father of a young toddler named Sam, who is one of the cutest kiddos in all of time. Even though he is no longer one of the single crowd himself, he brought up something very interesting to ponder for those of us who are.

There was a discussion of relationships and why some people had trouble being successful in them and Martin made the point that maybe deep down it was simply because THEY DIDNT WANT TO BE.

“…women who tell themselves and the world that they want a relationship – that they pine for one in fact – and so they keep having them, despite the fact that all they honestly want is a steady date on Saturday night and company on an occasional walk or trip to Costco. Their relationships keep failing because the relationships never feel as good and comfortable as being single.” 

As bright as I like to consider myself to be THIS was an angle I hadn’t given much thought to before.  And so I decided to do something I haven’t ever really done…I tried to put my own singleness into words. Quite frankly, after writing it all out, I had decided not to blog about it for the time being. I wasn’t really sure what point there would be and by then other fascinating topics had taken over my brain space.

But this morning, something made me change my mind. Someone made an asinine comment to me in a public forum that made me realize that sometimes what seems obvious to YOU isn’t so obvious to others and that maybe it’s worth a second of my time to help educate them . So here they are in all their unedited and nonsensical glory. My thoughts on Singlehood and Myself:

I tend to be more of a serial monogamist than a prolific dater, though I have had my spells wherein I went on a LOT of first and second dates.  I came fairly close to marrying my college sweetheart after nearly 4 years of dating but in the end realized none-to-soon that we had grown into very different people by the time we’d both graduated. Ending that relationship was one of the more difficult things I’ve had to do in this life because even when I knew it wasn’t working, it was intimidating a bit the thought of leaving what had become my comfort zone. Fortunately, after he got over the hurt, he agreed that moving on was really the best idea and we’ve actually maintained a friendship of sorts all these years. In the spirit of total honesty, every single time I see him now I am so overwhelmed with relief that we didn’t marry that it astonishes me.

After college, dating became less appealing as I was living in a small town where the pickin’s were slim, as my Gram likes to say. After four very pivotal years with the same fella I was in need of a good long break anyway. 

 But by the time I hit 30, I started to notice people were getting a little worried. I mean, I was living in the big city by then where single men were everywhere so why hadn’t I DONE something already!?

I’m pretty sure my Mama began to worry something SHE had done had somehow given me a fear of commitment. Because that’s what Mama’s do…worry everything they view as negative about their child’s life to be somehow reflective of some failure they made as a parent when it is so rarely the case. While I did learn from watching my parents marriage that there were a couple things I didn’t want to do in my own, it never soured me on the idea of committing to someone for the rest of my life. And I hope that should I ever have kids, they could learn from my mistakes whatever those may be.  Anything to save the next generation a little bit of heartache or wasted time seems like a good idea to me.

The fact is, the first 2 years I was here I was so insanely busy starting a new life and firmly cementing my medical career that I didn’t have much time for dating. At the time, my status as a “single girl” wasn’t my biggest concern. Shocking I know.  Sure I thought about it from time to time, but it certainly didn’t consume me. It still doesn’t. I can totally blame my fantastic friends for that. I mean, I never feel like I have no one to talk to or hang out with. They are entirely too good at making sure I feel loved and cared about not to mention all the adventurous crazy we get into that keeps my free time to a minimum. If you wanna blame anyone my still being single then I whole-heartedly support blaming them. They are just entirely too good at that whole friendship business.

It’s only been recently, with the invention of MySpace and Face book and the explosion of social networking that I have come face to face with just how SINGLE I am. Face book is addicting and it has sucked away more hours of my life than I care to admit out loud. I began re-connecting with all these old friends from high school and college, playing catch up on where we have all been for the past decade or two.  Suddenly I started to realize that nearly ALL of them were working on their second and third round of children and celebrating milestones like 10 year anniversaries. It really was an eye-opener. I would sit and sift through photos of their families and marvel at the contrast of their lives and mine. Though I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, this made me more than a little uncomfortable.

One night after a session of light internet stalking, I had a good long discussion with myself. (Do NOT judge me; you KNOW you are guilty of it yourself) It was time to ask myself some hard questions. Why did seeing those smiling faces of old friend’s and their new families upset me? Was I jealous? Envious? Covetous in some way perhaps?
What I discovered buried deep was a little on the shocking side.  The REAL reason those photos made me uncomfortable was NOT because I didn’t yet have that for myself…but because of what I imagined those people must be thinking when they looked at MY photos and MY profile and saw that I was still SINGLE.

You see most regular folks in the world see marriage and family as a ticker mark for achievement and success. And I suppose in some ways it is. I couldn’t help but think that all these folks were looking at me and thinking “How sad for her” or “what must be wrong with her that no one has wanted to marry her yet?” I’d have these insane imaginary conversations in my head where my married friends would get together and discuss just what a pitiful mess I must be and how grateful they were their lives didn’t turn out in such a state. As someone that loathes the idea of being pitied, I found myself wanting to rent billboards and internet ad space to tell people all about the fact that HAD indeed been proposed to  MULTIPLE times by REALLY great people but that it was MY IDEA not to get married yet.

 Once when a good friend of mine, who also happens to be a couple years older than I and only recently engaged, announced she was getting married, her old high school friend actually shouted “Oh, THANK GOD!”  As if to indicate they had all been so desperately worried and were so glad to see she wasn’t going to be left out in the cold.

I knew it had reached critical mass when people began offering to fix me up with their one armed butcher or their blind banker. “He’s only 43 and his wife has custody of all 8 of their children so you won’t have to worry about them except every other weekend!” or “He’s a tad on the unattractive side, but the good news is he’s still fertile and his 401k did quite nicely this year!”  I’m not sure how they expected me to get excited about dating a man whose BEST features were his wildly receding hairline and his retirement plan. This could only mean one thing….not only did they pity me, they thought I pitied myself and that worse….I was desperate.
After a lot of soul searching I realized what it boiled down to wasn’t that I was jealous…..it was about my PRIDE. I didn’t want people to think less of me because I was still single. I figured I had a couple choices: Get over it. Or marry the next idiot to ask just so people wouldn’t think I was a loser.
I’ve never really considered myself overly vain. Quite frankly, until this point in my life, I’ve never really had to deal with any sort of public image issue. I was fortunate growing up in that I was always very popular in school and never really faced those sorts of challenges. I’d never experienced what it felt like to be odd or different or left out. It’s a very strange sensation. This was the first time that “just being me” didn’t put me squarely in the middle of the cool kid’s table at lunch. And I have to say, until you are faced with the fact that just being yourself might mean you aren’t part of the mainstream, you have no idea what you are really made of….or what you might do for that matter to stay part of the inner circle.
I’ have to admit it stunned me to realize how much that I abhorred the thought of people thinking I must have made some poor life choices to have ended up nearing my mid-thirties and still being single. I’m telling you, when my younger brother got married 2 years ago, so many people hugged me tight and patted my back and whispered “Don’t worry, it isn’t too late for you” into my ear that I began to think they were all on some sort of sick suicide watch and that they thought I might rush to the top of the hotel at any moment and throw myself from the roof.

I have decided however it is better to be pitied than to go against what feels right for me. I’ll admit I do tend to avoid things like college homecomings or family reunions where the older folks gawk at me and berate me with questions as to why I haven’t been able to nail down a husband when all my cousins a decade younger than me have already managed to do so. I doubt it will ever get easy to stand under that sort of glare and not feel like a circus side-show. I suppose that the fact I feel the need to avoid these places means I’m not COMPLETELY over the whole pride thing, but a girl can only take so much.

I think if more people were honest with themselves for at least a five minute stretch of time, they’d admit they wish they had held out a little longer on making the decision to get hitched. And I imagine that my life of singlehood probably seems appealing in more ways than one though they likely would never admit that out loud. There are some distinct advantages to being single. For starters, I only have to be concerned with MY needs. I can eat dinner at 10pm while standing over the stove. I can watch a marathon of “Gossip Girl” or take 2 hour baths and not worry about using all the hot water. I can have all pink appliances in my kitchen if I want to (yes, I actually do own these and I’m not the least bit ashamed)

I thought a great deal about what Martin said and while I think there likely are many folks out there that fail at relationships simply because deep down they prefer being on their own, I don’t think I fall in that category. At the heart of me, I really and truly do want to find a partner that I love, get married, and one day have a family.

I hate the fact that I have a biological clock and through no control of my own, my viable years of child-bearing are limited. Ask anyone who knows me and they are likely to tell you I was born to be a mama. I love me some kiddos. But, I’ve even come to a place where I’ve wrapped my mind around the idea that no matter how badly I want the experience of carrying a child for 9 months and giving birth to something that is half my gene pool, it’s still not enough to make me concede to pressure of getting married for that reason alone. I’m choosing to embrace the idea that even if I don’t have kids the traditional way, it doesn’t mean I won’t have them at all. Pushing a screaming fetus out of your vagina doesn’t make you any more a mother than adopting a baby or marrying someone who already has children that you love just like your own.

I’ve had the pleasure of being in love before, so I’m familiar with just how grand a feeling it is. It is for that reason, that I’m not going to marry someone unless I’m totally head over heels, otherwise, I would always be wondering if I could have had that feeling again if I had only been more patient. People have given up crowns and kingdoms for that sort of thing so who am I to gripe about having to give up a few more years of my thirties for it?

I will fully admit that I have settled before in relationships. Love is a curiously strong emotion and it’s easier to get lost in than anything else on earth. I know that no one is perfect, but if you know they aren’t perfect FOR YOU, eventually even all those feel good hormones and endorphins aren’t gonna be enough to keep the love alive.

I’ve always had a list of “ideals” I’d like in a partner but because I’m aware there’s no such thing as a perfect relationship, I’m open to compromise. I do however have some things for which I will make no concessions. He needs to be intelligent. Quite frankly, if the joker can’t keep up with me mentally, he is never going to be able turn me on as my biggest hot buttons reside in my cerebral cortex. It’s just how I’m wired. He has to appreciate the funny side of life. I am a sucker for a man that can make me laugh. He has to be kind. I adore an acerbic wit but I don’t take well to people who thrive on confrontation or negativity. I have no hard and fast criteria for “looks” but obviously there must be SOME physical attraction. Unfortunately, you can’t create that. It’s either there or it isn’t.

Quite honestly, I’m finding most men out there have no stinkin clue how to DATE. 
If you are listening out there boys:
LEARN HOW TO FLIRT. Sending me pornographic emails when I barely know you does not count. Nor does discussing the names of our future children on the second date. What I wouldn’t give for a man that understood the idea behind building sexual tension and witty banter. FYI- a steady stream of dorky jokes is NOT witty banter.
LEARN SOME MANNERS. If you meet me for dinner and drink three times as much as I do, order the most expensive thing on the menu and then insist when split the check down the middle when I only had a salad and a diet coke you will win ZERO brownie points. Also, Atlanta is a big city……if we don’t live in the same suburb, YOU should come to MINE. I’m worth the 30 minutes drive, punk.

BE ORIGINAL. I am not going to find myself thinking about you in the middle of the day just because you took me to dinner in a Mazarati or showed up wearing the same outfit Jake Gylenhal was sporting on the cover of this month’s G.Q. Women aren’t idiots and we can tell when you aren’t acting like yourself. We want to get to know the REAL you, not some supped up version of what you think we want.

PAY ATTENTION. You whine all the time about how hard it is to get inside the mind of a female when if you even HALFWAY focused when in our presence you would realize we practically throw informative data at you constantly. For instance, I prefer wildflowers to roses….or a perfect date to me is sitting on the porch swing drinking a bottle of wine and laughing……or I love it when a man wears cologne. I mean, sweet Jesus boys, we practically GIVE YOU the keys to the kingdom if you could just learn to listen and remember.

GROW A PAIR. Women loved to be considered in the decision making process but we do NOT appreciate doing all the work. I told you I like Italian, Thai and Mexican food best so own the information and pick a restaurant on your own occasionally.  DO NOT expect me to kiss you first because you are too afraid of rejection.

I won’t lie and say that sometimes it doesn’t get lonely being on your own. Life is often heavy and sharing the load would be nice. I don’t however plan on hitchin my wagon to someone else’s simply so as to not have to take the trash out every Thursday on my own or have a hand in preparing and providing for my eventual retirement. I’m also aware that with each passing day I gain a new wrinkle here or there, not to mention an additional gray hair. To some folks these sorts of things  mean I’m losing some of my market value, but the kind of relationship I’m looking for is one in which I will be loved and thought of as beautiful for a zillion other reasons besides the fact that I look good in a bikini.  We are all SO much more than just the sum of our individual parts.

I may not always be comfortable with the looks I get from others when they realize I’ve chosen to take the long way around when it come to this issue, but every day I grow more and more comfortable with the idea that it doesn’t matter what they think because only I KNOW what is right for me. If it bothers them, they will just have to figure out a way to get over it. It’s not my job to sort out their crazy for them.  I just wish people saw it a little more as I do sometimes…that being patient isn’t just the smart thing to do…it’s also the BRAVE thing…and only they who are brave are truly free.

The other day while sitting across a table full of fabulous foods so NOT on my diet plan, I had an interesting conversation with my friend Scott. I’d say he is one of my biggest fans but sweet Jesus, does that ever sound dorky…….both for him and for me.

Scott has been a follower of my blog since before I took up residence on my own little piece of interweb real-estate and christened it BigCityBareFeet.  We go back to the days of Blogspot and MySpace when I was just getting my feet wet with the whole idea of broadcasting my thoughts for anyone with an Internet connection and the slightest inclination to read. We tend to see the world from WILDLY different perspectives, Scott and I, (though, I’m betting money he wont agree with that statement) which generates a substantial amount of things for me to think about……and as a result, often a new place  from which to write.

Scott, I learned over lunch that day, has a theory that everyone has what he calls their own personal relationship “Kill Factor”…..meaning that there is something about them: either something they do, or something they believe in, or something they just are, that just KILLS a relationship dead in the water. When asked to explain further he gave me the following examples:

A girl with diabetes. She has no trouble starting a relationship….but inevitably she will eventually have an episode relating to her blood sugar and at the first sign of illness the boy will freak out and run. Diabetes is her relationship Kill Factor.

A guy with an entrepreneurial spirit. He’s a risk taker. He’ll gamble on a new business. He keeps the dream alive and puts everything he has in to it…..and it doesn’t always end in success. Because women are generally interested in men with financial stability this is his relationship Kill Factor.

 “So, basically, if I understand you correctly, you think that relationships tend to end repeatedly for the same reason. This has been true for you personally?” I ask.

He nods in agreement.

I soak this in for a moment, looking out the window and choosing my words carefully.

“I have to say I don’t agree. It seems to me if every single relationship you have ends because you “dress like a total slob” then you either choose to get a wardrobe makeover and stick with it, or stop fishing from a pond where the women have any inclination or opinion regarding the subject of fashion. “(Incidentally, this is NOT Scott’s personal Kill Factor) 

“So you don’t think you have a personal Kill Factor?” He asks “I’ve read nearly everything you’ve ever written and I have to say if it’s in there, it is certainly well hidden, but are you telling me you have no major flaws?”

I laugh out loud.

“I am so riddled with flaws its ridiculous!” I chuckle. “I’ve only ever loved two people down to the very core of my being, but I’ve had many a relationship. While I am still on very amiable terms with all of them, I’m pretty sure if you locked them in a room together they could have a field day listing all the many, many things they found to be wrong with me. You could likely drain the oceans dry before they would find a stopping point.”

In the days following, I gave that conversation a great deal of thought. I analyzed each of my long term relationships and the reasons they ended searching to see if there was a common thread linking to each individual demise.  For the life of me I couldn’t find a connection. So I decided to work backwards from the equation, listing what I consider (or have been told) to be my greatest flaws and trying to see if one of them was present in every scenario. Besides, I read somewhere it would be cathartic and constructive, so why not. Realize I am TOTALLY aware this is only a partial list as the entire thing would fill up the whole of the Internet.

*I’m fiercely independent- meaning I’m more afraid of being let down than I am of doing everything on my own. What it really boils down to, if I am honest, is I don’t trust people not to screw things up, preferring instead to handle most everything myself. (Even though I can screw things up better than most)

*When I’m really tired at the end of the day sometimes and don’t feel like cooking, I will graze on the most random of things in the kitchen for dinner. Crackers, ice cream, 3 bites of leftover chicken. Not only is it unhealthy, it’s also disturbingly unattractive when done while wearing mismatched pajamas and socks. It’s pretty much a glimpse into what I’d be like as a street person.

*Even though I am probably one of the friendliest, most inviting people anyone is likely to ever meet, I don’t let people in….I mean really let them in…..easily, or often at all for that matter. The bad thing is, I am personable and some folks perceive that as intimacy thinking they REALLY know me, when they actually haven’t even brushed past the tip of the iceberg.

*I squeeze the toothpaste tube from the middle.

*I loathe confrontation in all forms and will avoid it at all costs. This means I sometimes keep things to myself that I shouldn’t in an effort not to create an argument. That is a fancy way of saying I sometimes lie about things I think or feel to keep the proverbial boat from rocking. I consider this to be my biggest defect and have been making an attempt to change it. I consider the fact that I can currently even recognize I have this behavior to be a form of progress.

*I’ve been waging a war with my sweet tooth for nigh on to 30 years now. It usually wins hence the reason I will never be as skinny as a super model.

*I am sensitive. I dated someone once who used to say scathing, derogatory and awful things in the heat of the moment that they didn’t really mean and would soon apologize for. Then they’d be puzzled when I couldn’t seem to let them go. Cut me deep and it takes a long time for me to heal.

*I have no idea how to take a quick shower. The minute the steam and hot spray hit my skin I lose track of time and reason. I also have about 15 bottles of shampoos, conditioners, and bath-related-smell-good-stuff in my shower at any given moment. It can get a little crowded.

Wow. Nothing will keep ya humble quite like a few hours spent sorting through your personal imperfections. At the end of the day though, I couldn’t pinpoint any singular shortcoming that had been instrumental in ending even multiple, let alone ALL of my affairs of the heart.

 While I am fully aware that I am highly likely to commit some of the same asinine mistakes in multiple relationships, I don’t buy into the idea that every person carries with them one magic bullet destined to Russian roulette the whole thing if you click across one unlucky chamber. To me that line of thinking sorta lends itself to the idea that relationships just HAPPEN to you, and I don’t think that is the case at all. Sure, sometimes you meet people through what seems like no will or volition of your own…..but a relationship is ACTIVE, meaning you have to PARTICIPATE, otherwise it isn’t a relationship with someone so much as it is just an EXPERIENCE with them.

Some days I almost wish I could believe in Scott’s theory…..wouldnt it be nice if it were as easy as narrowing it all down to one solo act of stupid……that seems much more “fixable” than the sackfull of defects I seem to be draggin around.  I certainly don’t possess a lock on all truth, but id like to think that somewhere out there exists a person whose  inner crazy matches mine so much so that it ceases to seem like crazy and feels a whole lot more like HOME.

Every so often I feel the need to reorganize and restructure. I think its some anal retentive first-born thing….or maybe just the fact that I enjoy starting over from time to time. At any rate, sometime back, while cleaning out an old filing cabinet, I came across a box that has sat unopened for likely 15 years.

Inside were stacks of letters from my crazy awkward teenage years. Because I’m a fairly deliberate creature, I knew I must have placed each of them in there for a reason. At some point in time they represented that which was very important to me.

The majority of them were love letters from the boys of my youth, and to say they were entertaining is an understatement. It soon became apparent that reading through them was going to take some time, so I made a cup of coffee and settled in.

The first bundle (yes, they were sorted and separated according to time frame and author- It appears I have always been ridiculously over-organized) were all written circa 1990 and were from a fella named Todd. His name, for me, instantly conjures the image of a peach fuzz covered jaw line as he was the first boy I ever kissed with facial hair.  Though his voice had only recently dropped an octave and I still had a mouth full of braces, we both somehow felt as though we were qualified to declare it was TRUE LOVE and that we would one day live out our lives in wedded bliss. We decided the year 2000 had a nice ring to it and given that we would be (gasp) in our 20′s by then, we thought it seemed ideal. 7/7/2000. That was supposed to be our day. It was emblazoned across the bottom of every letter right next to a heart containing our initials.  I don’t even know if we bothered to see if that fell on a weekend or if we just thought we would get married on a random Tuesday. It didn’t matter really, because let’s face it, what does when you are in your early teens and smitten to the point of insanity? Needless to say, I did NOT marry Todd. I lost track of him somewhere around the time we both went to college and until that moment I hadn’t thought of him in years, although I’m pretty sure the purple teddy bear he gave me (for a long time, my most prized possession) is probably still in a box in my Mama’s attic.

There was a stack from a boy named Joseph and quite frankly, this poor fella didn’t have the slightest grasp on the English language or anything resembling rules of reasonable grammar. But do you know what I remember most about him? He was the first boy (besides my Daddio and my brothers) who ever held doors open for me.  I had totally forgotten that the poor guy couldn’t spell to save his soul, but his chivalry made a lasting impression. I should also note that this young man gave me a key chain (though neither of us were old enough to drive) that was one half of a broken heart…..he obviously had the other half and when put together they spelled I LOVE YOU. If that doesn’t warm your insides, I don’t know what will, people. That is some serious romance. Incidentally, this key chain still lays in the bottom of my jewelry box in all its tarnished silver-coating chipped glory.

The stack from Andrew was mostly drawings and pages of really bad jokes. Though he had a really sweet sensitive side that never made its way to paper, he was quite funny and probably the first guy to ever really make me laugh on a regular basis. There is a lot to be said for a boy with a sense of humor and after Andrew, well, I have been a lifelong sucker for the funny.

Brent’s stack was all about the poetry….and no, it didn’t ALL rhyme. It seems he had a bit of a writer’s soul within him and frankly, judging from his early work, the potential to be quite good.  Anyone who knew him at that age may have been shocked to learn we often discussed everything from art to history to politics to religion. The first book of poetry I ever owned that wasn’t purchased for required school reading was given to me by Brent and the inscription still moves me : “Poetry is just the evidence of life.  If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.” ~Leonard Cohen.  We may not have been nearly as deep as we liked to think we were at the time, but that was my first real taste of a boy that wasn’t afraid to explore the realm of the intelligent with me and, I’m not gonna lie, it was HOT.

The largest stack by far was from Brian, which makes sense as he was my most serious and longest lasting high school boyfriend.  Brian was your classic All- American boy-next-door type with a slight underlying layer of bad boy…..which in my opinion at the time, was about as perfect as it got.  At some point his folks moved to Florida and we were forced to go long distance which we found more than a little tragic. And quite frankly it really was…I mean this was the world before the internet and unlimited long distance cell phone plans. We did the best we could…..sending letters as often as possible and talking on the phone when we could afford it. I spent my spring break that year at the beach with him and I specifically remember walking barefoot through the surf at night and thinking there was no way life got any better than that. Brian and I actually went on to attend the same university, but by the time he arrived two semesters after me,  I was head over heels for Eric (the boy who would single-handedly change my life the most) and our relationship fell victim to the college-crazed social life.  We remained friendly but since we didn’t travel much in the same circles, we didn’t see each other as often as you would think. We never had an ugly break up scene……in fact, we never had a break up scene at all…..somehow we just drifted from dating long distance to not dating at all and miraculously managed to find our footing on the slippery slope of friendship with what seemed like very little effort. Sometime just before I moved to the big city, Brian moved back to our old hometown. He is quite the successful businessman from what I hear and he occasionally runs into my brother and tells him to tell me hello. While we rarely talk, we are still remotely connected through the magic of face book, so after reading his old letters I decided to send him a note:

Hey B-
So last night I was cleaning out an old filing cabinet and I came across a box full of old letters. I bet I haven’t opened that thing in almost 15 years.

There were all these notes from junior high and high school…..things that had been very important to me at some point…..and included were multiple letters from you circa the early to mid 90′s. They were all written about the time your family moved from Cleveland to Florida and maybe a year or so after that.

Brian, I laughed until I cried. They were so spectacular. First of all, one of
them was all about peer pressure and how NO ONE in Florida was a Christian. I swear, it sounded as though you were being made to live in
the 7th circle of hell right up next to the devil’s throne. It was very after-school-special. Absolutely beautiful.

In one, you mention getting grounded for an eternity because you snuck your parent’s car out.

Of course, most of them were very mushy and cute. One even made me cry it was so honest and sweet.

I simply couldn’t bring myself to throw them away so I tucked them back into their box where they will likely sit for another decade or so.

Anyway, it made me think of you and wonder how you are.

It’s been years since we have really known one another but I wanted to take a minute to tell you that I am grateful you were once a very special part of my life. I hope you’ve found that someone special and that your life is all the things your letters said you’d hoped it would be.

-M

And here is what he said in return:

Dear M-

What a trip down memory lane! It’s amazing how much life has happened since those times. I definitely remember those days and what an impact they had on me. There is certainly something special about that time and the people involved. I think someone builds a really special connection with the person who was around when they were trying to figure out life. There is just nothing that can be traded for those times.

I’m glad you wrote and reminded me about that stuff. It seems like I don’t reminisce about that era much because the people I was closest to then, I’m not in touch with anymore.

I bet those letters are hilarious! That makes me laugh at myself thinking about my dramafied rendition of my “after-school special” difficulties and you reading them We were good kids though, innocent, and full of life, huh? I’m sure one of us could dig up some old pictures from back then. I saw the ones on your site. It would be fun to see some more.

Life is good though. Busy, and rough a lot of times, but God is still good. He tends to be that special someone through life and the ladies . I’m pretty much married to a few businesses and the Lord these days. I don’t take time for too much else. I probably ought to slow down and have a family one of these days though… I’m getting old!!

Thanks again for the memories. I’ll never forget those times. Write me another note next decade when you pull out the old shoebox again

Take Care,

B

I actually ran into Brian on one of my last trips back home for the Holidays, and he absolutely looks exactly the same……maybe the heart sees what it wants to no matter what Time and Life do to ravage the faces and figures of our youth.

That missive-filled container of adolescent romance is just a reminder that my outlook on life and love was fashioned not alone, but with the help of others…..

Even on the days when I find myself entangled in a relationship that reveals it’s not a good fit, it shouldn’t be counted as failure……it’s just one more purple teddy bear…….one more lovely tarnished key chain…..one more well-worn book of poems……one more perfectly flawed love letter all stacked into the alcoves of my heart, where every so often they will make an unexpected appearance and remind me that TRUE LOVE really isn’t JUST about who you end up with, but encompasses those who helped uncover your desires……the ones who showed you who you really are….. and the ones who helped you learn to LOVE YOURSELF along the way.

He was totally blown away. Look at that "O" face!

There are a few things everyone should do at least once in this lifetime…..slow dance with someone that you have a crush on…..eat a warm, ripe peach right off the tree…..rock a baby to sleep…..skinny dip in the ocean….attend a Monster Truck rally…..

I’ve now actually been TWICE which I’m pretty certain means that I’m cooler than you AND that i will likely be ahead of you in line to enter heaven. Don’t complain, I don’t make the rules.

My first ever monster truck excursion was fueled mostly by a desire to witness the jaw dropping feats of redneck fashion coupled with the prospect of seeing some seriously huge tires crush all that lie in their paths. But in recent months, Shepherd, who is the older brother to my godson sweet baby Grant, has developed a love for all things Monster Truck. This is a rather entertaining advancement as neither of his parents are into ANYTHING of the sort. It happened to be on tv one day and his mother came into the room to find his 2 year old little self completely still and mesmerized. From then on its been a full on love affair with Grave Digger, Maximum D,  Blue Thunder and assorted others. Of course the moment they started airing the commercials for the big-tired funfest we knew we had to take him.

I find his fascination with this ten-ton, big-engined world to be so amusing simply because it is clearly his own little personality speaking, completely uninfluenced.  Soon enough he will understand the meaning of peer pressure and the ridiculous idea that you are better off if you like the same things every one else does. It takes many of us half a lifetime to realize its ok to be uniquely ourselves even if it means we aren’t part of the majority…..and sadly some people either never acquire this information or remain too scared to act upon on it.  But for now, Shepherd is in that magical moment where silly things, like the opinions of the masses, don’t sway him one bit.

The first 15 minutes or so, he seemed a little overwhelmed and i worried he might be too young for so much loud noise and action.  To be quite honest, its almost a little much for us grown ups. But soon his little eyes lit up as he managed to process the madness and he became completely enthralled.

“Digger!” he would squeal and beam up at me, Nikki, Mike or his dad.

“MONSTER TRUCKS!” (this was shouted with much growling and a serious crease on his forehead as though he knew what it meant to be tough)

 For the next few hours i spent most of my time watching his little face light up as he watched the diesel-fueled daredevils defy the laws of gravity and reason.

In the car on the ride home as he drifted to sleep in the seat next to me, i looked at his little footie-pajama clad feet and settled back with a warm sense of contentment. There are so many experiences in this world that it would be a shame to miss….and i will be the first to admit that Monster Trucks hold a reasonably high ranking…..but way up there…..right close to the top…..next to things like “fall in love”, “Climb K2″, and ”end world hunger” is this: Dont miss the chance to do something for someone you love that floods them with more joy than their body can almost contain…..I promise, it will be one of the prettiest sites you will ever see.

Another year has come and gone and in its wake lie many memories.

I attended my first ever Monster Truck Rally and my ONLY (sweet Jesus i hope to never go again) Nascar race. I watched a good friend bury his father. I went back to living alone. I was asked to be the Maid of Honor. I met in real life someone from another country that i have been friends with only online for over 6 years. I became a Godmother. I discovered I loathe almost every kind of stinky cheese on the market  but i identified a red wine i will actually drink which in my world means progress. I turned 33. I went to Ruby Falls. I had to have a root canal. I attended the second best concert of my life. I read over 2 dozen books.

This year i have learned that you really cant make someone love you…..all you can do is be someone who can be loved…..and well, then the rest is up to them. Ive learned that your background and circumstances may have influenced who you are, but YOU are ultimately responsible for who you become. Ive learned that no matter how good a friend someone is, they are going to hurt you every once in a while and you have to forgive them for that. Ive learned that just because two people argue it doesn’t mean they don’t love each other and just because they don’t argue it doesn’t mean they do.  Ive learned that the idea of home really has very little to do with where you actually physically reside. Ive learned it is quite possible to love someone completely LONG before you ever actually meet them ( big hugs to new babies Grant, Hattie, and Evie).  Ive learned that pursuing happiness by acquiring material things is like trying to jog to the grocery store on a treadmill: its not gonna happen.

 Fairwell 2009….. while i say good ridance to all the drama you brought like floods, lost jobs, and lost loved ones……i also say Thank You for some moments so precious they could almost break a heart.

Hell0 2010, Ive got big plans for you.

Hattie Mae Humphres entered the world December 21,2009 just a titch after midnight eastern standard time. She is 8lbs 5 oz of absolute fat-cheeked perfection. Hattie is the daughter of my life-long friend, Tamara, and her husband Ellis.

Given my profession, I have seen more than my fair share of deliveries, and each and every time, I walk away shaking my head at the absolute miracle of the whole thing. But I am here to testify, when you love the one lying there in labor, it takes on a whole new dimension of ethereal importance.

We received word Sunday morning from Ellis that it was time,  so we loaded ourselves up in Nikki’s big ride and headed straight for Tennessee. Along the way, we learned that our close friend and member of our posse, Heather, who currently resides in Seattle, was herself in the hospital giving birth. TWO babies in ONE day. I don’t know that i have ever wanted to be in two places at once more in my entire lifetime.

We arrived at the hospital to find Tam moderately uncomfortable but in excellent spirits. Let me tell you folks, it was a party up in labor and delivery room 1. We laughed and joked and sang like we had no sense. We shared stories….some new to add to our collection…..and some well- worn and often told….the kind so familiar we finish each others sentences and know exactly when to pause for the laugh.

It became apparent that Hattie, clearly a girl, seemed insistent on arriving fashionably late and in a manner of her own choosing.

Tamara was AMAZING.  Whoever coined the idea that women are the weaker sex, has obviously never witnessed a female in the throws of ushering a person into the world. If childbirth were left of to the menfolk, the human race would die out in a decade.

 As the day and night wore on, we did what we do best. We drew the circle in TIGHT. When our forces unite, we weave a mighty tight web that I’m almost sure the Devil himself couldn’t break. We cease to be a group of individual females and function as a collective whole……like a giant well-engineered machine we move seamlessly about with a singular purpose. At one point, we took turns running our hands under icy cold water until nearly numb and then placing them on Tam’s feet and legs because it seemed one of the few things to offer some relief. In that moment, i realized with certainty that genetics alone does NOT define sisterhood. We are bound by the double helix of love and life-lived-together and that, ladies and gentleman, is one magical combination that doesn’t give a hoot about actual biology.

At some point we heard that Heather and her husband, Burke, in Seattle had indeed welcomed their daughter healthy and whole into the world and we danced a little jig in honor of sweet, sweet Evie Rose, and all i could think was: “My my my how my cup runneth over.”

In the end, Hattie waded into the waters of life safe and sound, with a head full of dark hair and a face so perfect it makes the Mona Lisa look dull. Small though she may be, she is one of us already…..How do i know?

She’s easily moved to tears…..she loves having her hair washed by someone else….. and she can rock a onesie with some serious personal style.

Do we believe in love at first sight?

ABSOLUTELY.

Somewhere around the middle of December each and every year, I begin to question the sanity of the entire human race.

First we toss out these whopper stories to children like elves, flying reindeer, and Santa right along with the virgin birth of a saviour.

Think about it…..supposedly tiny tight-wearing men run round all year in a work shop making modern days toys from nothing but hunks of wood that are then delivered world-wide in ONE night by a fat man in crushed velvet that sneaks into your house via the chimney. There are Grinches, Scrooges and Snowmen that come to life….. Oh, and, the King of Kings was born in a barn under a giant star.

I don’t know about you, but that seems like a bit much for the brain capacity of the under 8 crowd.  And we wonder why they get squirrelly this time of year. We tend to blame it on too much sugar and the idea that school is soon to be out for two weeks straight but personally, i think its all the crazy we peddle concerning this holiday that does it. I’m still trying to shake out what it all means myself and Ive been at it for 33 Christmases.

On top of all that we can be found lining up to shop at stores at 3 am where we hemorrhage money we really cant afford to buy one another things like neckties that light up, a shoehorn kit, and nutcrackers shaped like Elvis. Does anyone else sense the madness here?

I could use a little of that Peace on Earth right about now, but i guess it will have to wait. I’ve got foot massagers and giant tins of popcorn to buy.

Joy to the crazy World.

I share a birthday with my beloved Gram.  Today i turn a spectacular 33 and she becomes a magnificent 88. Those are some pretty good lookin numbers is you ask me. Every single year of my life without fail she has told me i was the best birthday present she ever received. She daily gives me the gift of love unconditional which seems to me about the best present possible, birthday or otherwise.  I  love her like none other.

 I have to say I don’t feel particularly old at the moment even though today’s youth likely associate the year of my birth with hieroglyphics and cuneiform.  I do notice that my body takes longer to heal than it used to and that every day i become more and more like my mother. But i don’t own stock in any anti- wrinkle cream companies yet so that’s gotta count for something.  At least with advancing age comes a small bit of advancing wisdom.

Lessons I have learned about myself thus far:

*I’m not conventional. Though i aspire to and subscribe to mostly traditional schools of thought, i don’t go about things like anyone else. If there is a long way around, I will find it. Slow and Steady doesn’t just win the race, it offers the best chance to take in some scenery along the way. And man am i a big fan of the scenery.

*I’m a lover NOT a fighter. Though i fiercely protect that which i love, when it comes to all other matters i am as non-confrontational as they come. When people raise their voice to me in anger they immediately become nothing but white noise.  I loathe drama unless its on a stage behind a theater curtain.

*I’m a political misfit. I find all current parties wildly full of bologna and ridiculous. You tell me how it makes any sense to be anti-abortion AND support the death penalty.  Or in what world it seems rational to overspend our way out of debt. I’m waiting for someone to run on the platform of  “Cute Shoes, Free Chocolate and World Peace for All” because that is something i can get behind.

It seems quite obvious to me that there aren’t enough years in a lifetime to learn every lesson human existence has to offer. If we were bright, we would approach the whole thing like a giant co-op. Everyone pooling together that which they have discovered from their own pasts to be used to benefit the present and future of all. My donations thus far would include the following truths:

*Love is a force UNSTOPPABLE. If you were meant to love someone, nothing can stop it from happening no matter how you fight it, deny it, or run from it. Love doesn’t care about your goals, your plans, your religion, your social norms, your upbringing, or anything else it may contradict in your life. Love isn’t bothered with words like appropriate, traditional, or convenient. Love does NOT however, conquer all.  Time, space, and a multitude of human mistakes can thwart its progress at every turn. You cant keep Love from happening, but you can CERTAINLY keep it from succeeding.

*If we’re looking for the source of our troubles, we shouldn’t test people for drugs, we should test them for stupidity, ignorance, greed and love of power. These things will bury even the lucky eventually.

*Bad things do actually happen to good people. How they handle the bad is often what ultimately defines their goodness.

*Paving your own road is intelligent only if nobody has gone exactly where you are going. Why blaze a trail if its possible to walk an already paved path? It just isn’tcost effective or energy efficient.

*Uncertainty is caused by a lack of knowledge,  while Hesitation is the product of fear, and Worry only serves to give small things really large shadows.

*A good laugh, a hot shower, and a long nap can cure almost anything that ails you.

I realize that’s not much in the grand scheme of things, but its my current contribution nonetheless.

Here’s to my Gram and the 88 years worth of lessons she’s passed on and to many more birthdays of my own. I hope that somehow each of them have me looking forward with more clarity of heart and peace of mind than the one before.

I spent some quality time last night my with little man, Shepherd. He is the son of my good friend Stacy and older brother to my godson, sweet baby Grant. He recently turned two and lord have mercy is he entertaining to no end.

For his birthday he received a tent/tunnel contraption that is beyond all measure of cool. Basically it’s two brightly colored nylon tents connected via two long cylindrical nylon tunnels. Obviously it is pint sized, but he insisted i join him inside. Shorty that i am, i fit fine inside the actual tent portion….the tunnels however were a different story. I took one look at the diameter of those things and knew right away it was gonna be a serious squeeze. Shepherd however was NOT taking no for an answer.

Shep: MoMo! C’Mon!

Me:I dont think i can fit, buddy!

Shep: MoMo! C’Mon! NOW!

And so in i went wriggling on my belly like a snake trying to shed its winter skin because when that child looks at me with those wide blue eyes and big goofy grin there is little which i can refuse him and he knows this.

About a foot in it became clear things were even tighter than i had previously judged and i got to thinking  maybe i should turn back. Shepherd CLEARLY did not consider this an option. He would run round behind me and yell PUSH! as he hefted his small body weight against my spinal column and tried to push me further into the tunnel. Then he would run round to the front and attempt to pull me via anything his small hands could get a hold of like my arms or my hair.

The more this continued the more i was laughing. His mom Stacy was on the outside of the tunnel the entire time snorting and laughing at the shenanigans she was witnessing but not once attempting to help my sorry soul.

Shepherd would push and pull and laugh his head off. I was giggling so hard tears were running down my face. All the laughing made my body loose and pliable and before i knew it i had made it from tent #1 thru the tunnel and into tent #2.

Needless to say i didnt attempt any further tunnel travel but the truth is it reminded me that sometimes life is much the same way. We stand facing tight squeezes that seem more than a little confining and impossible….even with good friends there to push and pull us in all the right directions. But if we can somehow manage to see the humor in the madness, we might be able to laugh ourselves limber enough to get to the other side in one piece.

Thanks, little man, for the reminder that in spite of all the restrictions and constrictions life places on a soul, a good giggle can transport you places you never thought you had it in you to reach.

I had the unexepected pleasure of having brunch with my cousin Greg yesterday. He resides in our nation’s capitol and we seldom get the chance for hanging out so when he texted and informed me he was passing thru Atlanta i dropped everything and went to meet him.

Standing side by side we are like opposing fun-house mirrors.  He is staggeringly tall, all angles and elbows, and I’m short and soft and curved. When he wraps his arms around me in a tight hug i find my face almost even with his navel and it makes me giggle.

We sit across from one another, his long legs tucked beneath the bistro table and i stare into a face so similar to that of my brother’s it’s remarkable.  Ive truly only noticed the resemblance in the past few years but my goodness is it there.

Greg is my favorite kind of people. Even if our parents weren’t siblings, I somehow think we’d still have found each other in the world and become friends. He is astonishingly bright….not something i can say of everyone in our mutual gene pool. I love the way his mind works….folding and unfolding thoughts and ideas in a way truly unique to him. They pour out in a rich, broad vocabulary i find wildly appealing. We are like two volumes of the same book written from the point of view of separate characters.

We talked of our parents and our siblings, filling in the gaps since last we met. We discussed our careers and current affairs and the relationships in which we find ourselves entangled. Suddenly the hours had slipped by in a blink and it was time for him to catch his flight back to D.C.

I drove home thankful for little blessings like a few unplanned hours in the presence of someone i love. To me, one of Life’s sweetest pleasures.

Greg is my family and we are connected by the weight of our history.  Our ancestors dwell in the attics of our brains as much as they do in the spiraling chains of dna hidden in every cell of our bodies. All the genius as well as all the madness…..all the benevolent as well as the malicious….the appealing and the repulsive….ALL of it, lies within. For better or worse I am my mother’s daughter and he is his father’s son.

 Sometimes its easy to forget that while we are going about the business of questioning the decisions of our parents, they are busy questioning parents of their own.

Did you know that just before a baby is born, as it passes thru the birth canal, it produces two hormones: adrenaline and noradrenaline. Never again as a human being will your body  produce such high amounts of these two chemicals. Both chemicals help to make the baby’s trip a successful one. The adrenaline opens up the lungs and dries out the bronchi, preparing the baby to breathe in the air environment it will soon encounter. The noradrenaline works to slow the baby’s heartbeat helping them to go without oxygen for a prolonged period as they works their way out of the birth canal and into the world.

The business of being born isn’t easy. Its formidable and intricate and demanding.  And its those final moments….the ones where the baby is under the most pressure….compressed and restrained….struggling with enormous effort to to free itself from the one safe place it has ever known and into the wild world…that it gains what it needs most – the ability to breathe independently.

My family, like all others, comes with its own network of both orchestrated and spontaneous crazy. We have our fair share of heartaches, secrets, and skeletons.   But the truth is, I don’t think families were designed to be flawless in the first place.  It is their imperfections that humanize you, teach you humility, and empower you with the ability to co-exist peacefully with people even when you don’t always agree.   Maybe family is meantto be uncomfortable somtimes….maybe we are meant to disagree…..to feel restricted….to fight….to push and be pushed back.  Because maybe, its only under those extreme circumstances that we undergo the final most important change that will sustain us in the wild world….we gain the ability to breathe independently.

Letter written to my Mama. Posted in honor of her 61st birthday today:

My Mama………makes the BEST fried chicken in the universe. Absolutely. No question. End of story. And incidentally she somehow manages to burn herself EVERY single time.

………..responds to every request posed to her with the same phrase, “I’ll do it for a quarter”. “Hey Mama, will you sew this button on for me?” “Yep, for a quarter!” “Hey Betty, can you give me a ride to the airport?” “Sure thing….for a quarter!” I would go as far as to say if the president of the United States called upon her to perform some top secret duty saying, “Mrs. Holmes, your assistance is needed at the Pentagon. Could you fly to Washington immediately for a briefing?” Betty Jo would look directly at him and say, “For a quarter.”

………..can make anything grow, anywhere, in any soil. Its likely the reason one of my favorite smells on earth is freshly cut grass and i can not help but think of her anytime i see ANYTHING in bloom.

…….is an annointed shopper. The woman can smell a bargain upwind and three states away. Forget coupons. If you wanna save money, shop with Betty Jo.

……..is a GIVER. You wont come to visit her without being fed and you wont leave empty handed. If you even hint that you like something decorating her home she will take it directly off the wall and give it to you. Like that plant? Before you know it, she has dug the sucker up and stuck it in a bucket in your back seat. She delights in sharing with others more than anyone i have ever known.

…..she is warm and kind and quick to laugh. There is, without doubt, NO ONE else like her.

Mama-

Though Im well aware that you had a life well before I came on the scene, its often hard for me to grasp this completely. While you have  worn the label “Mama” for only HALF of YOUR existence, you’ve worn it for ALL of MINE. I sometimes look at old photographs of you that look astonishingly like my own reflection in the mirror and i wonder what you were like then. What were your big dreams? What plans did you have for your life and did they turn out at all like you expected? While i may never know the secrets of your heart back then, what i do know for certain, is you were born to be a mother….more importantly, you were born to be mine.

They say that it takes 6 weeks for you to return to normal after having a baby, but i would wager that from the moment you give birth, “normal” pretty much goes right out the window. I imagine raising a child as precocious as myself was often far more difficult than you let on. I remember clearly the day that i decided it was high time i grew up and became sophisticated. I marched up to you and said “Mama, if you will stop calling me Missy and refer to me as Melissa, I will call you Mother instead of Mama”. I was 7 and this seemed like a pretty good bargain to me. I will never forget how much that made you laugh. This was merely the begining of signs i was one independent and head strong little bugger. And knowing you as i now do, Im certain this was often hard on you. I know very few 3rd graders that rise from bed to the sound of their own personal alarm clock, but you bought me one and let me do just that because that’s what i wanted. This independent streak often meant i would become hellbent on blazing a trail all my own and would come to learn many of Life’s lessons the hard way…..sometimes with great suffering. But the thing is…the suffering….well, THAT part i never did alone…..because YOU were there….and i didnt even have to give you a quarter.

Anyone who has ever thought that motherhood was boring has never ridden in a vehicle operated by a teenager with a learner’s permit. Im fairly certain that was actually the first time i ever heard you swear. I can still see your face in the window the day i got my liscense and Kent and I sped off down the driveway totally alone for the first time. Ive seen that same look several times since……the day i started college…..the day i moved in to my very first apartment……the day I moved to Atlanta. Anyone who thinks that labor and delivery is the hardest part of bringing a child into the world has never had to watch them walk in to school all by themselves for the first time. Its not the all nighters when i was sick or the eternal helping with the homework or even the teenage agnst and attitude that were the hard parts for you…..its been the letting go. But here is the funny thing, Mama. Its kinda like in junior high when I would say “Brian and I are GOING TOGETHER” and you and dad would laugh and say “Just where are you going, you cant drive!” ……i wasnt really GOING anywhere then…..and i havent GONE anywhere now. And i never will….but thanks for being brave enough to let me cutt the strings.

I know you are going to find this hard to believe…..but I am in fact, NOT perfect. And I am slowly begining to see that after 3 complete decades on the planet, I am still a very long way from acheiving any such state. Put it this way, if the Buhdists have it right and reincarnation is the real deal, i’ll be coming back as a free range chicken. HINDsight may indeed be 20/20, but i often feel as though i move FORWARD in step with the legally blind.Many a night, I crawl beneath the covers in wonderment that i survived another day and seriously believing i couldnt make more of a mess of my life if i made it my full time job. But im able to brave morning because I know you are in my corner. Even when i make decisions you diagree with or disapprove of, I know you love me. You’ve supported me even when I do downright crazy things like consider chucking 10 years of medical training to pursue the notion that the soul of a writer lives within me.

Thank you for being my greatest of fans. Thank you for seeing me thru the darkest of moments. Thank you for the nights i know you stood in the gap just for me.

It is my sincere hope that this birthday is just the begining of a whole new chapter in your life…..the best chapter yet. May it see adventures beyond your wildest imaginations and moments that take your breath away completely. May it be filled with all the love your heart can hold and then some.

I love you with all my heart and gizzard.

Its been raining here in the big city for a solid two weeks and I have to tell ya, after a while all that water really starts to wear down a good mood. Its like liquid Armageddon out there.

With only subtle changes in shades of grey between morning and night, the days tend to bleed into one another like a boring record on a bad loop. Even sassy rain boots are no match for the personality plunge this sort of weather inspires.

 Yesterday it went from a watery nuisance to downright hazardous.  The roads began to flood making travel more than a little perilous. The news broadcasts were riddled with images of cars floating down freeways and people being rescued from rooftops. Had i not been seeing it with my own eyes, I’m not certain i ever would have believed that all the steel and concrete of metro Atlanta could be swallowed by a raging deluge.

This terrible photograph was taken right near my office.

Driving home through that madness was sort of like that one time i used an epilady …..painful and more than a little frightening. The 5 mile trip took me just over an hour and I did my fair share of prayin’ as i eased my tiny ride past the tidal pools forming at every intersection. Roads were closed at every turn and i was starting to wonder if there was a route home that wasn’t blocked by downed trees, sparking power lines, or class IV rapids. I kept a tight grip on the steering wheel and with slow deep breaths i focused on the things in this life that bring me comfort: the sound of my Daddio’s voice. The smell of my Mama’s perfume. Big bear hugs from my two goofy brothers. Naps under a worn out blanket my Gram made. My brother’s golden retriever licking my face. Long hot showers with a new bar of Irish Spring soap. Clean sheets right out of the dryer. Hot coffee. Chilled wine. Fuzzy pajamas.

I turned the radio on to a low hum and slid in the first cd my hand swept across in the console. Vienna Teng. Perfection. (Quick side note: if you do not know of the artist of whom i speak, i recommend you check her out IMMEDIATELY as her voice- could it be liquefied- would be sold simultaneously as a cure for cancer AND clean burning fuel. She is just THAT fabulous.)

As the peaceful strains of her crystal clear soprano filled the cabin i inched slowly forward and began to think about Fear and Safety and just how much of our lives are driven by the emotions connected to those two words.

This is where i grew up. Spectacular, isnt it?

My mother has since childhood fostered a fear of water. Determined that her children wouldn’t suffer such a fate she made sure we learned to swim at a drastically early age. I don’t ever remember a time i felt anything but pure joy at the sensation of sinking deep into a pool, a lake or even a backyard creek. I can remember days when i felt more myself buried beneath the wake of the river than i did standing on dry land. I don’t consciously have any memory of a moment in this life when i didn’t know how to swim. Its for this reason that any time i see a child strapped into a pair of water wings that i absolutely cringe. The thought of my arms sucked into the tight grasp of cheap plastic makes everything from my elbows down grow cold and numb. I realize they are useful safety measures for the beginning swimmer but to me they seem cloyingly restrictive and suffocating. The idea of being cinched in to anything in the water does not inspire a feeling of security for me…..anything that restrains my freedom of movement somehow feels cumbersome, confining, and downright dangerous.

I (and i suspect countless others) navigate emotional waters in much the same manner, often preferring to go it alone out in the drowning deep. It may look brave to prefer the excitement of the open water to the relative calm of life tied in at the harbor, but the truth is avoidance can easily masquerade as a sense of adventure. I fear being let down more than i fear doing it all on my own. For some people, myself included, the wide open water isn’t at all the scary part….no, that is where we are most comfortable……the frightening part for us comes in learning to trust the dock.

But that got me to thinking….what if safety didn’t have to mean restriction?   Real ships set sail everyday for the wild blue yonder…..but NOT without an anchor. No Captain worth his salt braves any adventure without something sturdy with which to fetter himself to the floor. 

Maybe the really brave thing to do is to tether yourself to the kind of people that are sturdy enough to keep you grounded but give you enough slack to still be yourself. Perhaps they are the real buried treasure this World is hiding and Life’s greatest adventure is sailing the seas to find them.

Letter to my godson who is 2 whole weeks and one magical day old today:

Dear Grant,

I did something last night that I haven’t done in a very long time. I stopped, sat perfectly still, and watched the sun set.  It rained yesterday with what seemed like unstoppable force and then suddenly just before night fall it ceased. I stood barefoot on the porch, the air thick and fluid, and watched the show. It seems last night she chose to exit demurely with soft edges and whispering shadows. I’m not certain of much, but I am a firm believer that she never sinks the same way twice. Each night it’s a different concert of colors with a tempo and timber unique to each day. Sometimes it’s a mighty blaze that sears clouds and sings of passion. Sometimes it’s a peaceful hum that lingers, suspending Dusk’s arrival and it seems, even Time itself.  

I hope you see many sunsets in your lifetime, BuddyMan. May you never allow Science to reduce their value to simple arithmetic. Don’t let anyone fool you, this World in which we live, though defineable in many ways, is still a wonderful, inscrutable, mystical miracle. That’s the thing with magic…you’ve got to know it’s here, all around us, or it just stays invisible for you.  One of the most tragic things i know about human nature is that many of us tend to put off living. We are all dreaming of some rose garden over the horizon-instead of enjoying the horizon itself and the magical roses blooming right outside our windows today.

 Aim for success, not perfection. Never give up your right to be wrong, because then you will lose the ability to learn new things and move forward. Just remember,Grant, it isn’t what you have in your pocket that makes you thankful but what you have in your heart.  And last night, sweet pea, while watching the sunset, i took an extra special moment to be thankful for the MAGIC that is YOU.

I have a strange directory of chores i find vile and repulsive intrusions to daily living and changing light bulbs and pumping gas are at the top of that list. Its quite possible the first is related to my being ridiculously vertically challenged, but i have no idea why i loathe fueling up my Ford as much as i do. Just a latent strain of crazy in my dna i suppose.

Driving home from work last night, I looked down to see that garrish yellow light indicating i was three miles shy of walking home in the rain. Pretty rainboots or no, this held zero appeal so i angled for the fillin station and coasted to the pump.  I pulled out my wallet, flung open my door and let loose a weary sigh as i stepped out into the misty air.  I started to insert my card only to see a sign declaring the card reader was dysfunctional and could only accept gas account cards.  Plan B it is! I leaned inside the backseat searching for my umbrella and quickly remembered I had lent it to a coworker earlier in the day and had not gotten it back. Blimey! While traipsing thru the rain to purchase gas inside was not my idea of a good time, i figured it certainly beat pushing my car thru rush hour traffic in Roswell so i tucked my head and took off towards the door.

In case you are wondering, medical scrubs arent exactly wet weather friendly and i was soaked from head to toe in less than 3 seconds flat. I caught a glimpse of myself in the glass doorway and noted with chagrin that i pitifully resembled somethin akin to a mouse drowning in a five gallon bucket. Suddenly something to my left flickered in my peripheral vision and i turned to see a little face even sadder than my own.

Wet and weary much like myself he meowed up at me from his perch amongst the soggy bundles of firewood for sale and i felt a fischer form across my heart.  Ive never really been a “cat  person”, generally preferring company of the canine persuasion. But, truth be told, there is little that lives and breathes that doesnt elicit emotion from me…..and if it has fur and appears in need, i am a total GONER.

“Mercy me,” i whispered  ”what are you doing out here alone in the rain, little man?”

He answered back with a pitiful yelp and i felt the aformentioned fischer shift and stretch into a full blown crack inside my chest.

“I’ll be back” i promised as i pulled the door ajar. He looked at me with squinted eyes as if to say “I’m not really sure i have the hope of heart to believe you.”

I shuffled thru the crowd and took up residence in the long line snaking around 2/3 of the store. It was inching forward so slowly i was afraid Time itself might actually be standing still. As a red vest-clad worker brushed past me bearing a load of styrofoam cups to stock the coffee counter, I snagged his sleeve and asked politely, “Do you know the story on that water-logged little kitty outside?”

“He belongs to the folks in the house about 50 yards down” he said pointing towards the back of the store. “He makes his way over here through the field out back at least once a week. We are starting to think they aren’t feeding him often because his visits are getting more frequent. Sheila used to feed him some but she said she couldn’t afford it no more.”

I turn to look at the patron behind me in line as if to convey just how heartbreaking i find this information. He winces conspiratoriallyand shrugs his shoulders in resignation. The line continues slowly sliding forward and each time the door opens to deposit a customer in or out, I hear the sad little cry of the urchin feline. I am only three people away from the cash register when i suddenly can take it no longer and i break out of line and politely ask the clerk where the cat food is located. I snagged 12 cans of the good stuff and a 10 lb bag of dry kitty kibbles before winding back to the red vested clerk and asking if he could point me towards the lovely Sheila. I eventually made it thru her line and up to the counter. She smiles sadly when i mention Little Big Cry wailing away outside. I purchase the cat food and hand it over to Sheila who promises to make sure he doesn’t go hungry anytime in the future.

Walking back outside i stooped down and scratched the little guy behind the ears and smiled. “Chin up, buddy, i told you i was gonna come back” I said as i opened a can of food and chuckled watching him bury his face inside all the way up to his eyebrows.

It wasn’t until i got all the way back to my car that i realized i had forgotten to purchase gas! As i started to turn back towards the store i noticed a piece of paper tucked beneath my windshield. It was a gas station paper towel and penned across the back was this:  Being good is commendable, but only when it is combined with doing good is it useful.

And then i saw him……The man behind me in line that had heard me ask about the plight of lost Little Four Paws….he was driving towards the exit but as he approached me he slowed his car and smiled out the window. “I filled you up, while you were filling him up” he said as he sped off. I cranked my car and sure enough there it was….a full tank of gas that i didn’t have to pump.

Sometimes, when you dig another out of their troubles, you find a place to bury your own.

Good luck, my furry friend. Here’s to full tanks and even fuller bellies now and in the days to come.

Dear Grant-

You are 5 whole, spectacular days old today, and lord have mercy never before has a boy stolen my heart so quickly. I’m pretty much just wingin’ this whole godmother gig since Ive never done it before and someone failed to give me a rule book upon your delivery. It likely wouldn’t have been particularly useful anyway as i never seem to do things quite like anybody else. 

I figure your folks will cover most of the basics…..after all, you aren’t their rough draft. Make sure to thank your older brother for that one day. But being that i am supposed to act as an additional guiding force, i figure there are some essentials we need to discuss. For now we’ll just start with the Top Five. No sense in overwhelming you all at once. Maybe its a little early in the game, but PLAN AHEAD i always say. After all, it wasn’t even raining when Noah built the ark.

1. Getting messy is essential to a happy childhood.Make sure you play in the dirt as often as possible. Should your mother complain when you come inside tracking all manner of debris and filth with you, tell her i told you, “God made dirt and dirt don’t hurt”.  Feel free to eat a little, but don’t overdo it. Its pretty disgusting, but you likely wont take my word for it. Its kinda one of those lessons everyone needs to learn the hard way.

2. Music makes the World go round.  There is nothing else quite like it. Happy, Sad, Angry or Silly there is a song for every emotion. Personally, I find dancing around my room in nothing but my underbritches is the best therapy ever. Thank goodness you aren’t old enough to have that wretched visual or i would have just scarred your young mind for life and you’ve been on the planet less than a week!  I promise, you will never wake up one day and say “I wish i hadn’t wasted so much time listening to all that music”. In time you will find what style suits you best. And God help me, because my love is unconditional, i will still find a way to claim you even if you identify with that noisy racquet known as rap. However, until you develop your own signature soundtrack just remember you can never go wrong with Patsy Cline, Johnny Cash, The Beatles, Elvis, or The Rolling Stones.

3. Your mother is right on this one….It actually IS possible to eat TOO MUCH sugar.I realize this sounds ludicrous and believe me, at first i didn’t buy it either.  If you are in any way related to me, you will have a much higher threshold than most, but i assure you, a limit DOES exist. It will take a tummy ache or two for you to discover yours, but over time you will start to recognize the signs and know when to cut yourself off. Its a delicate balance, sweet pea. Me and chocolate have been doing this dance a long time and i still sometimes let it get the better of me.

4.Kisses are a very viable form of economic currency.I sincerely doubt there is much you couldn’t get out of me in exchange for a kiss or two. The trick is to keep them special. Feel free to blow a few to strangers on the street….you never know, that may be the only one some of them get that day. But if you wanna keep em valuable don’t be tossing em around to just any ole body willie nilly style. Reserve the big ones for a precious few and in case you were wondering your Mama and I should always be on that list.

5.We only get one spin around this planet so bring your A game.Unfortunately it takes most of us 2 or 3 decades to realize how rapidly life passes by, but im hoping you will be a quicker study than most. Take the long way around whenever you can. The back roads often hold the best surprises. Don’t be afraid to try most anything at least once. Sometimes you have to trade in the comfortable for a chance at the divine.  Love with absolute abandon, little man. Because in spite of the possible heartache (and believe me, you’ll encounter your fair share) Love, is the absolute BEST this world has to offer.

I have a feeling we are gonna make quite a team, you and me. Something tells me this little globe on which we live will be forever changed by your addition to it. 

 Saddle up, Cowboy, its gonna be one heck of ride.

Yeehaw.

She must have been 6 years old, this beautiful brown haired, freckled faced image of innocence. Her Mom looked like someone from the Walton’s or a moment captured by Norman Rockwell. It wasnt that she was old fashioned or anything she simply had that look about her that said “Mom”.

It was pouring outside. The kind of rain that gushes over the tops of rain gutters, so much in a hurry to hit the Earth it has no time to flow down the spout. Drains in the nearby parking lot were filled to capacity and some were blocked so that huge puddles laked around parked cars.

 

“Mom, let’s run through the rain,” she said.
“What?” Mom asked.

“Let’s run through the rain!” she repeated.

“No, honey. We’ll wait until it slows down a bit,” Mom replied.

The girl waited about another minute and repeated her statement.

“Mom. Let’s run through the rain. “

“We’ll get soaked if we do,” Mom said.

“No we won’t, Mom. That’s not what you said this morning,” the young girl said as she tugged at her Mom’s arm.

“This morning?  When did I say we could run through the rain and not get wet?”

“Don’t you remember?  When you were talking to Daddy about being poor, you said, “If we can get us through this, we can get us through anything!”

The entire crowd stopped dead silent. I swear you couldn’t hear anything but the rain. We all stood silently. No one moving an inch. Mom paused and thought for a moment about what she would say. Now some would laugh it off or scold her for being silly. Some might even ignore what was said. But this was a moment of affirmation in a young child’s life. A time when innocent trust can be nurtured so that it will bloom into faith.

“Honey, you are absolutely right. Let’s run through the rain. If God let’s us get wet, well maybe we just needed washing, ” Mom said.

Then off they ran. We all stood watching,smiling and laughing as they darted past the cars and yes through the puddles. They held their shopping bags over their heads just in case.

THEY GOT SOAKED.

But they were followed by a few believers who screamed and laughed like children all the way to their cars. Perhaps inspired by their faith and trust. I want to believe that some where down the road in life, that Mom will find herself reflecting back on moments they spent together, captured like pictures in the scrapbook of her cherished memories. Maybe when she watches proudly as her daughter graduates. Or as her Daddy walks her down the aisle on her wedding day. Her smile will tell the world they love each other. But only two people will share that precious moment when they ran through the rain believing that there wasnt anything they couldnt get through.

Sometimes in life it feels as if we are caught in one relentless downpour. The trick is to remember how to splash in the puddles.

And Yes, I ran.
I got wet.

Guess i needed washing.

A very close friend of mine lost his father unexpectedly yesterday. The news sent shockwaves of heartbreak through my being as i imagined the hole his passing will leave in so many lives. 

I turned inside out trying to figure out ways to offer some solice in this time of sorrow. I’m southern, so I knew preparing a casserole was in my near future. Feed the grieving…..it’s just what we do ’round here.  I should note that the number of fat grams a dish contains is directly proportional to the level of comfort it provides so if it calls for a stick and half of butter you can be assured it will give someone somewhere some measure of peace. I believe this may actually be  Sir Isaac Newton’s 4th Law.

So i had the outrageously fattening, warmth-giving sustenance down….Now what?

I thought of that story of the young boy who had an elderly neighbor whose wife had recently passed away. Upon seeing the old man crying, the little boy made his way into the neighbor’s yard, climbed onto his lap and just sat there silently with him. When he returned home, his mother asked what he had said to the old man while he was there on his lap. The boy replied, “Nothing … I just helped him cry.”

Words seem so superfluous in moments like these…..and for a writer like myself that is a very challenging handicap. But as i stood in my friend’s kitchen last night locked tight in a hug and cryin’, i realized that sometimes that really IS enough.

The other afternoon at Target i watched a VERY giddy little girl twirl out the door with her Grandpa who was carrying her first ever Barbie Dream house. You could have lit the whole of the earth for a straight 24 hours with the wattage her smile was emitting. I’m talkin, EXCITEMENT, people. Its a wonder her little mary janes were still touching the ground.

Ahhhh…..Barbie…….how i too once loved thee.

The woman in front of me at the check out counter was eyeing the scene with great disatisfaction. Clucking and buzzing and declaring none too quietly how Barbie and her dream house were solely responsible for the decay of today’s female youth.

Ive always gotten a chuckle out of the idea that simply playing with Barbies has little girls growing up dysfunctional. Sure i thought she was pretty…..but lets face it, even as a kid it seemed pretty obvious to me that an abdominal cavity of those proportions would be hard-pressed to house more than just a small intestine and half a kidney…….and by age 7 i had already become a fan of a little thing called EATING.

For me it all pretty much centered around her wardrobe and styling her long blond hair with my Mama’s curling iron. By the way, said blond hair only ever melted and turned into a waxy mess that smelled like something akin to rotten broccoli mixed with dirty feet, but that just made cutting it off all the more entertaining.

And let’s be honest, Barbie’s “lifestyle” didn’t give any of us unrealistic expectations about our own futures.

Its true, she had a rockin ride. But let’s consider at that age i was also under the impression that by the time i could drive, cars would be rocket propelled and moving about on highways in the sky…..not exactly today’s currently reality yet you don’t see me shaking my fist angrily in the air and shouting violent curses on The Jetsons for deceiving my generation.

And clearly, Ken wasn’t fooling ANYONE. We all knew he was a little lite in his plastic loafers.  With his molded blond side part and ever present neck sweater he was straight up South Beach meets East Hamptons and it was obvious to anyone with a pulse he preferred his double tennis partner over Barbie and her astonishing bra size. Color me Crayola Crazy, but if you found him to be the model of all things perfect and ideal in a heterosexual husband, you may have had some issues only intense therapy could resolve.

And if I’m being honest, while she isn’t the ONLY one, Barbie was the FIRST blond i met that WASNT dumb.

She was a chic that could rock stilettos AND a stethoscope proving brainy could also be beautiful.

Barbie is JUST a DOLL, folks. If your child is using her as some skewed version of a role model perhaps you should worry less about reasons to sue Mattel and spend more time being one yourself.  If you give her someone in reality worth emulating, she wont have need to look to the world of make believe for a guide. Let’s leave the world of plastic play things unrealistically pretty because soon enough she will discover that in real life G.I Joe comes with love handles, a threadbare recliner, back hair, morning breath, and a spaghetti stain down the front of his t-shirt.

This is my friend Mike. Clearly, he is far from normal. He does however make me laugh on a VERY regular basis which pretty much deems him handy to keep around. He is also engaged to Nikki, one of my dearest friends, so its not like i could get rid of him if i wanted to.

Mike is Craig’s List CRAZY. I suppose it appeals to the inner wheeler-dealer in him. He often sends our group of friends emails regarding the seriously wacky things he finds there, especially in the FREE section. In fact, we’ve all taken quite a shine to perusing those adds ourselves in an effort to see who can find the most bizarre.  It’s become highly entertaining. If you ever questioned the intelligence or mental stability of the general population, the Craig’s List FREE section is proof positive this world is full of crazies.

Here are my Top Five Favorite Finds thus far:

1. A 1985 plethysmograph

And what you ask is THAT? The better question, my friends, may be just WHY is someone giving one of these things away to the public?  A plethysmograph is a large medical machine that in laymans terms measures changes in volume within an organ or the whole body. Its used to ascertain the amount of air or blood flow capacity of lungs and limbs. It looks like something straight out of the lab of Frankenstein.

Let’s forget for a moment that this thing weighs somewhere around a zillion pounds and transport would likely require a heavy duty box truck and a team of 6 men…..but its a completely airtight chamber that can suck the breath right out of your lungs with the push of a button. Does this scream SAFTEY HAZARD! to anyone else but me? I’m just saying. I have mental images of some redneck draggin this thing down interstate 75 tied down with bungee cords to a rickety metal trailer because he just know this will make one wicked frame for that additional bathroom he’s been wanting to add on to the double-wide.

2. Stripper Poles-

And yes, one of us actually called the number to see if any were still available. (Someone thought it would make a great prop for Nikki’s upcoming bachelorette party though I’m not sure just what in the world we would have done with the thing) Turns out the feller donating these hot little numbers wasn’t prepared for the overwhelming response his ad would generate. His phone was completely turned off and his voicemail FULL for SEVERAL days.

3. A HALF EMPTY bottle of Nair

That’s right.  A product that routinely sells for under five bucks at your local Walgreens. Either someone has a serious disorder that wont allow them to waste ANYTHING at all, or this is the intro to a very bad horror movie. I’m not sure what one might find if you were actually for some crazy reason compelled to venture out and pick up said bottle of nastiness, but something tells me it WOULDN’T be a sweet little housewife that invites you in from the heat for some sweet tea and cookies. And let’s take it one step further, shall we? Say you manage to get your hands on the stuff…..do you really wanna slather the UNKNOWN chemical contents all over your most sensitive of areas? This just has BAD IDEA written all over it. They make those bottles with tamper proof seals for a reason, people.

4.My X Wifes Coffee Beans

The ad actually read as follows: “I bought some premium coffee beans for my x when we where
 together and have since broke up. So her loss is your gain for the limited price of free. New and never opened, sitting in my freezer for a month. I am going to throw them out by the end of this week if nobody wants them. Local Pick up only please.”

You gotta love it when marital meltdown means free java for the taking.  I’m just wondering, where does giving away caffeinated beverages fall in the grief cycle? Just after Anger and right before Bargaining? Or is it more of a post Acceptance stage?

5. Free Table

How is a free table funny, you ask? Well, this ad pretty much speaks for itself.

“It’s big, heavy, and ugly. You can’t kill it; you can’t even frighten it. It’s 6X3X3 feet tall, with two tiers and three drawers that work. It’s sheet metal and angle iron, welded together with testosterone.  Run a monster truck over it. Tape explosives to it. Launch it a quarter mile with a (big) trebuchet. Play the Anvil Chorus on it with sledgehammers for an hour. It will mock you.  I’m a beaten man. Just get it out of my garage. Bring your friends.”

God Bless the interwebs for giving everyday people with no sense of sanity access to the World at large.

This past weekend my friends Nikki and Stacy and I took a world-wind trip to the wilds of Tennessee to meet up with our Mamas and do a little bargain shopping. There is a little known subculture of closeout stores located in small towns across the southeast that offer its patrons discounts the like of which you can scarcely imagine. From Target to Khols to JCPenny they carry items from nearly every major department store…..most of which can be had for a 10th of their original retail price. You have to know where you are going, what you are looking for, and just what questions to ask because this aint your Grandma’s Kmart, people. It is NOT an excursion for the faint of heart. But if you have what it takes you can save yourself a bundle and have a ton of fun in the process.  

Good thing we brought the Expedition.

We left Atlanta around 8 am on Saturday and returned nearly a full 12 hours later satisfactorily exhausted with a truckload full of treasures.

Just before leaving to return to GA, we headed over to the Amish Farmer’s Market to see about getting some fresh produce.

 If you’ve never been to such a place, my friends, you are missing out.

I don’t know if its their mandatory resolve against all things modern or the incessant prayer, but these folks can crank out some vegetables that are down right works of art. I’m talkin put it on a pedestal and place it under ambient lighting kind of pretty. It is simply delicious.

They are a people that strive to live as unadorned a lifestyle as possible, yet they carve the land into one magnificent portrait of all things beautiful.

I swear to you, the minute you turn off the pavement and head down the long gravel drive there is a distinctly different feel to the air. Perhaps that lies in part to the absence of power lines sizzling above your head, but its almost as if the wind itself seems to whisper a different tune. There is a tangible difference in the atmosphere in a community so totally off the grid.

Because of the advancement of technology in arenas such as smart phones and wi-fi, we the outside civilization RARELY disconnect.  I have become so accustomed to diverting my attention in no less than three directions at all times, that i actually get BORED if my focus becomes singular.  I stay networked and interfaced more hours than is humanly healthy.

But in the Amish world, the only Blackberries with which they are familiar are the deep purple kind used to make my favorite cobbler.

Whenever I’m confronted with some radically simple way of life i have a moment’s hesitation in which i somehow think these folks may be on to something and maybe i should consider giving it a whirl. Then i have visions of outhouses and having to slaughter my own dinner just hours before consuming it and suddenly the moment passes. The prospect of plowing fields at dawn or wearing dresses made of non-processed itchy wool sorta takes the excitement out of barn raisings and eating homemade jam for breakfast everyday. Call me crazy, but I’m quite a fan of indoor plumbing.

Then i had a really good chuckle at the thought that there are likely people out there who think MY WAY of life is simplistic.  I mean, i still drive myself to work every day and cook most of my own meals. I picture them driving past my home and saying things like “Look, honey, she still reads books printed on actual paper! Isnt that cute? Quick, take a picture!”

 Now, if i could just find a way to somehow market that. Wonder if someone in Soho, Tribeca or the Upper East side might want a kitchy photo of me vaccuming my carpets or maybe someone in Beverly Hills would find a video of me pumping my very own gas “just darling”. 

 Im just trying to think outside the box, people, just trying to think outside the box.

There is a lovely little gourmet market close to work that Ive come to frequent fairly regularly. They have the most spectacular produce and once or twice a week i pop in and grab some fresh fruit or veggies for lunch. Its not exactly what you’d call inexpensive, but its worth the cost to avoid fast food chains and frozen dinners. I don’t know about you, but i find those square boxes of precisely rationed freezer-friendly entrees to be just about the most depressingly edible products known to man. For starters, it can practically be stored indefinitely which leads me to wonder just what sort of chemicals its been infused with giving it the ability to withstand Time and nuclear holocaust. Secondly, it NEVER resembles the picture on the happy packaging. I’m in constant wonder that the radical difference doesn’t somehow violate the laws of false advertising. Nothing says “I’VE GIVEN UP ON LIFE!” quite like a slightly grey slab of turkey covered in soy gravy with a side of yellowed peas. Sweet Jesus.

But in my favorite little market where you can buy everything from paella to paprika everything is fantastically fresh and unprocessed. It’s a pretty happening little hang out. In fact, i don’t know that i have ever stopped in and found it not to be swarming with customers. Its mostly a mix of retired geriatric yuppies lookin for things to put thru their Jack LaLanne juicers and Bohemian Beatniks searching for the pesticide free bounty of Mother Earth.  

Which is why i find the parking lot situation so intriguing.  The expanse of pavement is pretty impressive so finding a space available even with the crowds has never been a problem. The far spots are a good 50 yards from the front door and most times, that is where i end up having to park. 

I dont mind really. I have two well-functioning legs and a half decent set of lungs that never mind taking in a little fresh air. I do after all spend the majority of my day stuck beneath the glow of fluorescent bulbs. But on days such as this, when the sky has opened up and let loose a torrent of water that threatens to drown everything in its path, its not exactly as pleasant hike in from the lower 40. As i near the entrance i noticed the entire front third of the parking lot is AS USUAL completely empty. There are of course, the required 15 or so spots for the handicapped and they are filled. But the remaining 80 (and no i am not exaggerating) spaces reserved for Expectant Mothers are as open as the Sahara.

EVERY single row has at least 8 of its first 10 spaces allotted for Expectant Mothers. There are somewhere around a dozen rows in all which means at any given moment nearly a hundred gestating women could find a place to park their grocery getters. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? When was the last time you went in to ANY store that WASNT Babies’R'Us that was populated with almost a 100 pregnant ladies at the same time? Are they giving free Lamaze classes back next to the dairy section or something? Are they prepping for a book signing of “What to Expect When You Are Expecting”? Do they think the entire population of the local labor and delivery ward is likely to descend on them at any moment demanding immediate access to organic carrots and seedless raspberries?

By my calculations the store isles couldn’t accommodate that many occupied uteruses if they vacated the building of every other living soul including the staff and the lobster tank.  And to tell you the truth, I don’t ever remember seeing a single Pregger in there on ANY of my many stops. Please don’t misunderstand me, I’m quite sensitive to the plight of a woman with child. I have three very close friends in that delicate state at this very moment and lord knows, id like to think they are able to find a spot close to the door when they venture out shopping.

But 100 parking spaces? Really? If they ever reached full pregnant parking capacity they would have to hire a full time employee to mop up after all that water breaking. Clean up on Isle Five! If anyone is looking for a good spot to host a La Leche convention, I know where you can find adequate parking. I’m just saying.

She’s an 87 year old beauty pageant winner that still fishes in her spare time. She loves her some Bingo and isnt the least bit afraid to talk smack about how good her game is. She once told me ” Its no big deal, everyone hallucinates every now and then.” She makes wrinkles look GOOD. She loves, Jesus, her family and Milkway Dark Chocolate bars above all else. There is NO ONE on earth quite like her……and Im lucky enough to be her grandaughter.

Im happy to announce i will be adding a new mini-series to this lovely little website called “The Amazing Adventures of Gram the Great”.  It will include stories, antecdotes, general musings and the all around exploits of my beloved Gram. Stay tuned for future episodes!

 Ive spent the past week in the evil throws of a nasty case of bronchitis. Let me tell you folks, moderate lung capacity is under-appreciated. I feel as though Ive been swimming thru a muddy bog with a 20 lb anvil tied to my chest for the past 7 days and pleasant it is NOT.

Overall, I’m a fairly healthy gal, but the closer i advance down the ranks of my 30′s the more i notice the small decline in my bouncebackability. Sweet Jesus, since when did it take THIS long to heal? I can recall in times gone by when waking with a raging fever and barking cough id simply down a multivitamin, three shots of orange juice, and a bowl of chicken noodle and by sundown id be right as rain. Gone are the days when i could save my paid sick leave days at work for a secret beach vacation because now i actually have to use them for *gasp* authentic illness. Ive decided that it simply CAN NOT be because I’m aging…..in fact, I’m opting to blame it on the current global economic crisis and the downfall of middle America. Thank heavens for that trendy little catch-all. 

I will say I find it highly unacceptable that we can find a way to put a man on the moon but we cant seem to create a cough syrup flavor that doesn’t resemble something akin to rotten cherries strained through moldy socks. Good lordy, there is some seriously disgusting stuff on today’s medicine market. Throw is some antibiotics and a reasonably high body temperature and that is one trippy cocktail for psychedelic dreams. Friday night i went for a run wearing a sparkly pink tutu and a necklace made of brussel sprouts. I stopped long enough to share a bowl of candy corn with Bruce Willis while we flew kites off the top of the Pyramids in Egypt. Who needs mushrooms when Nyquil can be purchased for $7.99 at your local Walgreens?

I decided to make the trek to TN for the 4th of July in spite of the fact that i felt like 7 miles of bad road. While the two hour drive home might not have been the wisest choice in my congestion-crazy condition, I’m glad i went. Mama and Daddio fussed and hovered and pampered and spoiled for a solid 48 hours which certainly aided in the recovery process. I find it quite sweet that even as a grown woman nearing my mid thirties, there is still comfort to be found in my Mama running her hand across my forehead every half hour checking for signs of fever……or in the way Daddio makes sure there is always a pink straw in my glass of Sprite or Gatorade.  

Did i mention that Mama made me holiday shaped rice crispy treats? Because nothing says God Bless America like marshmallows and cereal.

I’m happy to report i appear to have turned the corner. The fever has receded and my energy level seems to be climbing a bit, but I will be thankful for the day I fully feel like my little ole’ self again. There really is something to be said for hugs and homemade dinners……if only we could bottle that magic, we could quite possibly rid the world of disease altogether.

Yesterday I witnessed what can only be considered epic redneck romance at its finest.

The office park in which my clinic is located is situated on a tranquil tree lined street a few blocks over from the local hospital.  Its a quiet little community comprised of all manner of health care providers most of whom are in independent practice like myself.

 Everyone is very neighborly and courteous and in the few years I have been in this location we have all lived in peace and harmony. So yesterday when i heard an ungodly commotion rising in the parking lot, i assumed some sort of emergency must have arisen. It isn’t uncommon to find a wailing ambulance or fire truck parked outside because sometimes it becomes necessary to transport a patient to the hospital in rapid fashion. But it soon became apparent this was unlike any of the usual racquet i am accustomed to hearing so i wandered out to see just what the commotion was.

 What filled my vision, will stay with me as long as Im still breathing. It took more than a moment to take it all in, the site was so glorious disturbing. The sweet strains of Poison’s Every Rose has Its Thorn  were assaulting the airwaves at decibels so high it could likely be heard in all of metro Atlanta.  There in the back of an 80′s model pick-up stood a man with a plan and his boom box. It was all very John Cusak and “Say Anything”. Its a classy ride complete with NASCAR decals and a sticker of Calvin urinating on the Obama logo. If that’s not right wing conservatism at its finest i dont know what is.

 He stood atop the rusted tailgate swaying and slurring every lyric at the top of his lungs.  He was dressed in worn out work jeans and….i kid you not…..a tuxedo t-shirt. Clearly, he felt the occasion called for formal wear.

His eyes were closed and he seemed lost in the moment not the least bit aware of his growing audience.  As soon as the song ended it began again without a single beat of silence.  A couple folks approached him and attempted a conversation but he was decidedly in THE ZONE and couldn’t be bothered to explain himself.

Somewhere around verse 2 of the second cycle a young lady bursts out of the office suite which our little Don Juan is facing and pushes thru the crowd. I don’t know her well…..in fact, i really don’t know her at all except to say her name is Sharon and she works for the cleaning company that services most of the offices within the complex. We have exchanged hello’s a time or two but nothing really beyond that.  She’s a rather quiet, unassuming gal that’s always smiling.

“Waylon, just what do you think you are doin?!?!” she shouts.  

Of course his name is Waylon. How could it NOT be. The sound of her voice shocks Redneck Romeo out of his daze and he opens his eyes for the first time since Ive arrived on the scene. He turns the volume down to a manageable level. There’s no turning it off, because God knows this shipwreck of a situation calls for a soundtrack.

“Sharon,” he wails “you know i love you. You know it. So what are you doin runnin’ off to Coweta county with that no good %$#@&* Charlie Ray to play pool? You done went and broke my heart, woman.” 

“How was i supposed to know you even cared WHAT i did, Waylon?” she retorts “I haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays. You only call late at night and you re always too tired to talk. I got tired of waiting around on you to seem interested.”

They neither one seem to mind one iota that this conversation is being played out in front of no less than a dozen people in the middle of a public parking lot on a Wednesday afternoon.

Waylon: Ive been workin’ doubles down in Riverdale. I told you that.  Puttin’ in 15 hour days and then i gotta come home at night to hear about you tangling toenails with that no count like its right as rain on Sunday!

I’m a southerner folks, through and through, and even I’VE never heard “tangling toenails”. Gonna have to add that one to the repertoire.

Sharon: I know i know. You’re workin’ overtime. No doubt to buy some precious new overhead cam for that hunk of junk your standing on . Stupid thing don’t even have air conditioning but it can break the speed of sound.

She kicks the back tire of the old heap and starts to cry. I mean legitimate tears, people. I have a moments hesitation where i think “I shouldn’t be watching this private moment.” But i simply cant seem to tear my gaze away from the carnage in front of me.

Waylon stumbles off the tailgate and over to her side and begins to wipe her tears with his work stained hands.

Waylon: Don’t cry babycakes, you know i cant stand it when you do.

Sharon: Me and Charlie Ray didn’t do nothin’. He’s sweet on me, but i done told him I didn’t feel the same.  I thought you didn’t care anymore is all.

Waylon: But i do care. I care lots.

Sharon: Well, you gotta come around more. Stop workin’ on that stupid old truck of yours and pay me some attention.

Waylon: Ive been too busy workin’ to work on my truck.

Sharon: Well, you sure aint spendin’ all that extra money on your wardrobe. You savin’ for a new trailer or somethin’?

Waylon: Nope. Been savin’ for this.

And that’s when Waylon dropped to one knee. There was an actual audible gasp from the crowd as he pulled a velvet box from the cargo pocket of his Dickies. Sharon’s eyes grow wide and her chin starts to quiver.

Waylon: Will you marry me?

Well said, Waylon, well said.  Straight forward and to the point. After an awkward 3 second pause Sharon smiles and accepts. The crowd of course goes wild as he swoops his new bride-to-be off her feet and kisses the absolute life out of her.

I’d love to tell you they rode off in to the sunset but Waylon’s beloved truck wouldn’t start so they were forced to take the bus. I see matching ankle tattoos and a Walmart gift registry in their near future.

A few hours later walking to my car i noticed someone had taped a sign to the back of Waylon’s relic that read: “LOVE IS THE ONLY GOLD”. I bet old Alfred Lord Tennyson would never have wagered his words would one day be displayed on the side of a gas guzzlin jalopy next to a John Deere bumper sticker boasting “GIT er DONE!”.  Only in Georgia.

The morals of the story include:

*In a pinch, a tailgate and a boom box can set quite a stage.

*When proposing, just because the location isn’t fancy doesn’t mean your outfit shouldn’t be.

*That side- pocket on your Dickies is good for storing more than just your hammer and your snuff.

*Good judgment is no match for true love.

And most importantly……

*EVERY ROSE HAS ITS THORN, BUT EVERY NIGHT HAS ITS DAWN*

Way to Get er Done, Waylon.

My Daddio ….

……is cooler than your dad. I’m sorry, but its simply a fact. The people have voted and the verdict is in. He will try to deny it, but he is quite frankly a rock star. He introduced me to the Beatles and Elvis and the Stones. He taught me to read music and that the volume always sounds better at 10. He can play any instrument under the sun but when he straps on a guitar i think God above even stops to listen.

(Did i mention he has ALWAYS been a snazzy dresser?)

……is the KING of corn.  In fact, when i mention this to him he without fail says “I know, I’m outstanding in my field” and then cracks up laughing every time. His sense of humor runs deep and if i had a nickle for every time he’s made me laugh id be a very rich woman.

…..is an outstanding cook. The man can simply work magic with anything edible. When i wander over to Nashville for a visit and he asks where i would like to go to dinner, the answer is always “Your house.” Ive yet to eat a meal in any restaurant that is as good as anything he can whip up in his kitchen. Yum. I’m getting hungry just writing about it.

……is the fixer of all things broken. If it can be repaired, refurbished, refinished or restored, he can do it. When anything i own ceases to function properly, he is always there to mend it. I simply can not number the times when he has whipped out his trusty tool box and solved the problems of my universe with its contents. He’s built science project displays and tree houses and overhauled more than one of my cars. Every time he comes to visit i have some project waiting for him such as hanging shelving or rewiring my speakers or installing new bathroom tile. He never complains and has on more than one occasion worked tirelessly well in to the night simply to make sure it all gets done…..and that it gets done right.  And the crazy thing is, he never once acts like it is a chore.  But more than all of that he has often been the fixer of my heart. He has this really funny ballet routine that he performs when i am down that makes me laugh until i can not breathe. Sometimes when I’m alone and feelin blue i picture him running thru the house and twirling like a ballerina and i find my smile once again. Even in the worst of times all it takes is the sound of his voice and i know that things will somehow be alright. I personally think his hugs could be marketed as the best cure-all medicine on the market.

My Daddy has been there for every milestone……every skinned knee, every dance recital, every graduation. He made sure that i knew from a very early age that ANYTHING was possible and that my being a woman wasn’t something to be overcome but rather celebrated. He is far and away my biggest fan. The knowledge that he is always in my corner has given me the courage to chase my sometimes wildly fantastic dreams…..because at the end of the day, no matter how big i get, i know i can still fit in his lap should the need arise. We certainly don’t agree on everything but I know he respects me. I wouldnt be the woman i am today were it not for him and simply doubt i will ever be able to thank him properly for that.

I love you, Dad. I will always be your “Babylegs”.

Happy Father’s Day.

I’m a SHORTY, people, and Ive learned to embrace it.

This is a picture of the “Fab Four” circa 1986.  To the left is myself and my cousin Greg. To the right, my brother Kent and Greg’s brother Brian.  We spent a lot of summers together growin’ up and for many of them we were all roughly the same size. (Sweet lordy Jesus, were we not cuter than cornbread??)

And this is the “Fab Four” today……over 20 years later. Wow. Where does the time go? While all three of the boys more than doubled in size, Ive scarcely seen more than a few inches of progress.  It simply isn’t fair. (But wouldn’t ya know, we are STILL cuter than cornbread.)

Ive grown accustomed to the fact that at five feet tall i will likely always be one of the shortest adults in any room. I can handle having to hem every single pair of pants i ever purchase and knowing i will require a step stool to reach anything above the first shelf in the kitchen.  I don’t mind that at 32 i STILL get carded at PG13 movies or mistaken for a junior higher upon occasion. But what really ruffles my feathers is when people make the mistake of assuming that my size, coupled with my slow southern cadence means i don’t possess crital thinking skills above that of your average third grader.

Sunday afternoon i rolled up to the local carwash to have the 8 layers of pollen and city smog knocked off my ride. I patiently idled in line until it was my turn to hand over my keys and pick out my car care package. As i gathered my belongings a rather official looking gentleman of some size saunters over and leans against my open door. He is dressed out in a shirt and tie, which clearly isn’t typical of the employees at this establishment. He is brandishing about a rather fancy name badge with all manner of small print and emblazoned  with a large state of GEORGIA seal of some sort. He rests his clipboard on his oversized abdomen and stares at me rather intently. He doesn’t say one single word, but rather just glares at me as though i am supposed to understand the meaning of all this.

“May i help you?” i inquire politely.

“I’m going to need to see your insurance card” he demands all tart and matter of fact.

“To get my car washed?” i puzzle.

Instinctively i reach for my information and hand it to him, afterall, my Mama raised me to be polite and to cooperate with most forms of authority. He glances at it for less than a nano second before returning it to me and giving me another stern grimace.

“We are conducting a somewhat mandatory inspection here today” he informs me.

With a sweeping gesture he waves his arm across the front of my car and says “You are aware that you are obligated to have all these windshield flaws repaired, aren’t you?”

I look at him….then at my windshield….. and then back at him.

“To what flaws are you referring, sir?” i ask.

He begins to place his finger tip on several small spots scattered across the glass.

“Clearly, i was referring to THESE.” he sasses. He is staring at me with such severe authoritative intensity that i find myself feeling very uncomfortable. To my knowledge there aren’t ANY cracks or nicks in my windshield…..and i look out of the thing every single day, i should know.

I get out of my car and approach said spots and easily remove them with my fingernail.

“You mean these SPECKS OF DIRT? The ones i came to the car wash to have removed in the first place?” I question.

At this point i am beginning to grow irritated. I don’t care WHAT agency you work for, I’m a law abiding tax paying HUMAN BEING and i don’t deserve to be treated so discourteously.

“They aren’t all dirt, and as i said, you are obligated to have them repaired before they begin to widen and spread. Its obvious car care isn’t a priority to you beginning drivers” he says with complete condescension, rolling his eyes and making notations on his clipboard.

I pause for a moment allowing the full weight of his rudeness to settle around me.

 ”First of all, would you care to explain to me just how this inspection can be SOMEWHAT MANDATORY?” I question.  ”I mean, that’s like saying someone is a little bit pregnant. Doesn’t make much sense. Either you are or you aren’t. End of story. Either this is mandatory or it isn’t? Do you care to clarify?”

 With each syllable my internal anger begins to rise.

“And to WHOM am i OBLIGATED, sir, to have these repairs done? Because i would REALLY like to know.” i ask.

He then leans all 300+ pounds of his imposing frame in my direction and says with complete derision, “Your insurance company.”

He removes a grease pencil from his shirt pocket and begins to circle small spots on my windshield.

“If you will step inside we will begin the repairs shortly while you wait. Cost varies according to severity and length of repair time therefore your total will be calculated once the repairs have been completed.”

Its clear this handytard thinks I’m a complete idiot. He doesn’t budge one inch but rather holds his intimidating pose inches from my face while pushing the clipboard into my chest and instructing me to sign on the bottom line. Clearly, he thinks this is a done deal.  I am absolutely astonished at this man’s behavior. The fact that he is acting as though i am one step away from being charged with criminal negligence and hauled off to the slammer is so absurd i simply cant wrap my mind around it.

“I see. So what you’re saying is, that my insurance company requires that I have these repairs made. Hmmmm. Even though, the whole reason i have car insurance in the first place is so THEY will cover the cost of repairs if my car should become damaged? Interesting. Very interesting indeed.”

He blinks quickly and says “I never said it was required.”

“You said and I QUOTE that i was OBLIGATED” i spit “In what world does that not imply that it is required.”

We must have been quite a site. Noses almost touching…..teeth practically bared….like two dogs locked in a snarl on the verge of battle.

“That depends on how you define the word OBLIGATED” he says.

I literally cackle with angry laughter and say “Are you seriously going to make this about semantics? seriously? SERIOUSLY?”

With such close proximity i was able to get a better look at his “badge” and could see that while from a distance it looked rather governmental and official, he was clearly a SALESMAN.  A low down dirty salesman, to be exact, that was attempting to lead me to believe that the services he was peddling were NOT OPTIONAL. Thru gritted teeth i informed him that he had 30 seconds to extract himself from my presence before I made a scene the likes of which he would never forget.

“You wanna see just how loudly i can holler?” I threaten. “I assure you, its impressive. Odds are they’ll hear me two counties over.”

 He blinked for a moment and realizing i was quite serious began to execute your classic back pedal.

“But i only….i didn’t mean…..i was just tryin…” blah blah blah he blathered on and on.

“The thing is, sir, you knew EXACTLY what you were doing. You simply misjudged my age…. probably because im shorter than average. You attempted to SCARE me into making a purchase i simply don’t want or even NEED for that matter. Me ten years ago just might have bought the crazy you are sellin’….. but while I may LOOK (and drive for that matter) like a young girl right out of the gate, I’m not. Its true i may have a harder time than most sitting high enough to see out the windshield, but i can clearly see past your scary smokescreen and vocabulary twisting shenanigans. Quite frankly, you should be ashamed of yourself.”

I took a moment of silent satisfaction to enjoy the look on his face as i finished my little diatribe. My Daddio is right…..dynamite comes in SMALL packages. I waltzed inside feeling TEN FEET TALL.

 In the winter of 1979 my parents flew to the wilds of Kansas to pick up a vehicle they had purchased there and drive it home to Tennessee…..a shiny bronze colored Chrysler Lebaron. My Daddio swears it was one of the most treacherous adventures of his life. It seems they crossed the entire state of Oklahoma on a solid sheet of ice and didnt see pavement til somewhere around Arkansas.  Daddio’s parentals kept my brother and i while they were gone and im pretty sure this was my first extended stay away from my folks. 

At some point i am told i asked my Grandpa, “TaTa, where’s Mama?”

To which he replied “Kansas.”

“TaTa, where’s Daddy?”

Again, “Kansas” he said. I paused for some time apparently mulling this over.

“TaTa, where’s Kansas?”

What can i say. I was 3.

I’m not sure why but the majority of my memories of that vehicle are centered around summertime. I can still remember the sharp, tangy smell of the camel-colored leather seats and the way they would stick to my legs in the Tennessee heat.  The front seats were divided by a cushioned armrest that my brother and i took turns sitting atop on trips into town. This of course was LONG before safety belts and car seats or anything even remotely resembling vehicular child safety laws. 

 Sadly not a lot of photos of this car remain in existence. But below are two of my favorites. A common thing for my brother and i when we were tired was to simply crawl into the floorboards and sleep. I’m not entirely certain how we found this comfortable, but it seems we did.

Here is one of my brother, Kent, kicked back and snoozin’ like he is not at all one second from Death’s door should the car careen into a ditch. Cute, aint he?

And here’s me…..all curled up underneath my towel (after swimming at the lake) because regardless of the fact that its 95 degrees outside and im stuffed into the steamy floorboard of a vehicle, i simply CAN NOT sleep without covers. (This is still true of me today)

In my lifetime thus far i have only had one regularly reoccurring dream and it involves this car.  Id say i was somewhere around the age of 8 when it began and over the years the dream has remained virtually unchanged.

First, its always dark outside. If you have never lived in the country you simply cant appreciate just how black the night can get once the sun has sunk low and there are no city lights on the horizon. My brother and I are in the back yard walking barefoot thru the cool wet grass. It doesn’t matter that its blindingly dark…..i mean, i haven’t lived in the house of my youth in well over a decade but i betcha i could still traverse that back acre blindfolded and in a hurricane and still know exactly where i was going. Once we reach the barn, Kent goes right and i go left each of us pushing open one of the massive double doors at the main entrance.  There inside sits that old bronze Chrysler bathed softly in a dewy light of unknown origin. We put the ole heap in gear and push it slowly out of the barn and all the way across the field to the driveway. For whatever reason we are trying not to wake anyone. At the top of the driveway Kent slides into the driver’s seat and i into the passenger’s.  Keep in mind that the first time i ever had this dream, Kent would’ve been about 6 years old. He looks down and realizes that his feet are just not going to reach the pedals. Without a word he slides into the floorboard and i scoot across beneath the wheel. I fold my legs beneath me so as to be able to see out the windshield, and crank the car right up. I give Kent the high sign to hit the gas and we are off. We always turn left out of the driveway which i should note is the exact opposite direction of anything resembling “town”.  We chat casually about all sorts of nonsense as if it isn’t the slightest bit odd for him to be lying down there pumping the brake pedal. He ALWAYS tells me that he wants to play G.I. Joes when we get home and i ALWAYS mention that this is OK by me and that i would like to have chocolate ice cream for breakfast. (Gotta love that fatty me thinks about sugary FOOD even while deeply ensconced in sleep.)

Its the exact same every time….with ONE exception. Whatever physical size and age Kent and i are at the moment i am having the dream, we are THAT size and age IN the dream. Meaning, the last time i had the dream my nearly 6 foot tall brother STILL couldn’t reach the pedals. And while its not exactly a stretch to think that modern day ME would still need to sit on her knees to see out the windshield, its highly entertaining to think of all 170+ lbs of Kent smashing himself down beneath the seat.

Seriously. All of THIS:

Crammed into THIS:

(By the way, was this ride BIG PIMPIN’ or what???) (Additional BTW- Kent is highly addicted to kayaking which explains his get-up in this photo. He is not in fact so “slow” he must wear a helmet at all times.)

This dream has always been sort of a comfort to me…..while i in no way understand it, I always wake from it feeling happy and relaxed….and i have always found it soothing that something from my childhood has stayed with me all these years.

I have no idea where we are headed in the dream because i always wake up before we arrive anywhere…… that is,  until a few nights ago.

The dream progressed as usual……we were cruising down the back roads in the dark just chitter chattering away when suddenly ahead in the distance i saw a very large, well-lit white tent. It was covered with twinkling lights and beneath it the stage was set for some kind of extremely formal dinner party that would accommodate a couple hundred people.

“We’re here,” i said to Kent as he unfolded his limbs and crawled up onto the seat of the car next to me. He looked at me and smiled that adorable lopsided grin of his that i adore and it made me giggle. I remember i felt extremely excited. We open the car doors to exit and…………………..i woke up.

It took me 20 YEARS of R.E.M. cycles to reach the destination and I WOKE UP!! Sweet Jesus. I felt a fervent need to get back to that big white tent and find out just what was going on so the past three nights i have willed myself to dream of cruisin’ in the Chrysler but sadly its been to no avail. Instead ive had two dreamless nights and one rather frightening nocturnal adventure that paired me playing doubles tennis with Sponge Bob Square Pants. We were facing off against Jamie Lee Curtis and Tony the Tiger, and we kept losing because SpongeBob the handy-tard couldn’t keep a grip on his racquet OR his temper.

Somehow i just know that one of these nights I’ll make it back to that pretty white tent. What answers lie there,if any, I have absolutely no idea…… but these two things i do know: One,  I will more than enjoy the ride….and Two, the very next morning i WILL have that chocolate ice cream for breakfast.

I’m one of the masses that got sucked in…..and i mean SUCKED IN…..to the literary phenomenon known as “Twilight“.

I read all four LENGHTY novels in the span of a week. I was so absorbed i pretty much lost touch with reality and couldn’t be bothered with trivial things like eating or sleeping…..it was FANTASTIC. Its been a really long time since anything has captured my attention in such an absurdly engrossing way, and when it ended i felt as if my friends were suddenly gone. I know i know, saying that out loud does leave me sounding a little like i may need to be involuntarily committed, doesn’t it?

My friend Eric and i were discussing the above mentioned series last night and all the ways that Edward (the central male character of the novels) made us swoon.   Take my word for it, only one other time in history has an author written a man more fall-in-loveable than Edward Cullen…..he is simply DELISH.

Eric and i spent some time laughing and exchanging our mutual thoughts on the nuances and subplots……because, well, we are entirely too nerdy for our own social good.  As we are drawing the conversation to a close he says to me:

“I should have known that you were certain to be a fan. I mean, it deals with love and desire and all things romantically complicated. If that isn’t right up your alley i don’t know what is.”

Its true. If it involves matters of the heart, SIGN ME UP. I’m not sure why i love having the ole heartstrings tugged so much, but heaven help me, i just do.

As we said good night and hung up the phone i felt a wide grin crease my cheeks. Eric and i have known each other for some time and during all these years he has rather enjoyed poking fun at my sense of sappy romantic style…..but the truth is, he isn’t nearly as cynical as he’d like me to believe and I’m not nearly as hopelessly doe-eyed either.

 Im only 32 but I’ve learned something that many women these days never learn: Prince Charming really is a toad. And the Beautiful Princess has halitosis. The bottom line is that PEOPLE are never perfect, but LOVE can be. That is the one and only way that the mediocre and vile can be transformed. We waste time looking for the perfect lover instead of creating the perfect love.  Wouldn’t that be the way to make love stay?

 Love is the ultimate outlaw. It just won’t adhere to any rules. The most any of us can do is to sign on as it accomplice. Instead of vowing to honor and obey, maybe we should swear to aid and abet.

Sounds like a plan to me. Now if i can just find someone to drive my get-away car……

Ive been a bridesmaid…. a lot.

It would be nice to one day be the Bride, but as I’ve yet to meet any princes, charming or otherwise, its not currently on this year’s agenda. Besides, I’m pretty sure you should you should be more focused on the man at the end of the isle than the idea of wearing something frothy and white and eating a gigantic multitiered cake with butter cream frosting. Currently, those two things, followed by a week in Tahiti would pretty much be my motivations so its pretty safe to say its a good thing I’m not currently slated to be gettin’ hitched. I’m certain that when the right one comes along, veils and vacations will actually be merely a footnote to the sheer joy of uniting myself forever with the love of my life. But in the meantime, I’ll settle for the fun of standing up next to the important ladies in my life as they say “I Do” to the men in theirs.

I imagine i have worn nearly every shade of tafetta in all the free world. Strapless, backless, two piece, or haltered, Ive sashayed down the isle in every fashion. I try not to be fussy (though God knows that gets more difficult as the years go by) because I’m of the opinion that this is “their day” not mine. If the Bride wants me in a burlap miniskirt with a bubble wrap sash, then so be it.  Oh don’t misunderstand me, i will gripe and moan about it….and loudly so….whenever she is not in ear shot, of course…..but in the end, if its crazy she wants, its crazy she gets.  It isn’t that I’m masochistic or don’t possess a sense of self esteem…..but i just really and truly want them to experience the wedding of their dreams….even if that vision is more akin to a waking nightmare to ME.

Personally, I’m beginning to think some brides simply attempt to surround themselves with attendants in the most atrocious attire possible in an effort to further enhance their splendor.  Let me me clear, that statement would not apply to ANY of my girlfriends. They have all been rather sweet and actually attempted to pick dresses that everyone in the bridal party could feel happy about….which is difficult when odds are none of you are even remotely built alike in the first place. But i have seen some that could NOT be simply an unfortunate accident by a misguided bride but rather an act of all out tyranny. For example, you tell me….. Does THIS look KIND to you?

or how bout THIS one…..can you say Striptease Barbie? Wonder if each dress came with its own stripper pole.

And i could be wrong, but i believe it was fashion choices like the one below that led Ike to beat Tina. Im just saying…..

Sweet. Jesus.

 At the moment, I’m currently embroiled in the wedding planning of my good friend and roommate, Nik. She is a lovely soul, who after herself being forced to wear many an unflattering bridesmaid’s get-up, really wanted the dresses to be something we wouldn’t mind parading around in.  She was also attempting to be mindful of today’s current economic climate and find something affordable. I tell you, there is little worse than purchasing a dress that you loathe the look of and that also happens to cost roughly the same price as a ride on the space shuttle.  After many failed excursions she made the long avoided decision that we should visit one of the Bridal megastores that we all so terribly abhor……David’s Bridal. Picture if you will a Costco type environment with too much tulle and no free food samples. The service is nearly always lousy and you can generally count on being insulted at least twice per visit. But unfortunately, because of their size they have the corner of the market on all things bridal.  You simply cant beat their wide selection and moderate pricing.  Nik picked a color and turned us loose. We had somewhere between 25 and 30 design choices and she didn’t care one whit if any of us picked the same one or not.  But would you believe….wonder of wonders….when given virtually unlimited alternatives, we all chose the exact same dress.  Isn’t it cute?

Let’s hear it for a dress that wont leaving me with reduced circulation to critical body parts or fighting back tears of absolute self loathing. Its the little things, people, its the little things.

I grew up in an area lovingly referred to as the BELT BUCKLE of the Bible Belt……i mean, that place is full of all kinds of Jesus.   No lie, there is a church nearly every thirty yards in that town.  Most all of them boast some form of sign near the roadway that more often than not delivers some fantastic thoroughfare theology. There are the classics such as “Turn or Burn” which not only offers a lovely visual but also has a kicky little rhyme and ring to it……or ”How do you make Holy Water? Boil the Hell out of it.”  While home this past weekend to celebrate the holiday I passed one claiming “The weather is always the same in hell.” Humorous for certain, however not my all time favorite.  Some entertaining ones over the years include:

“Download your worries, get online with God.”

“Why pay for GPS? Jesus gives directions for free.”

“Staying in bed and shouting Oh God! does not constitute going to church.”

“If Evolution were true, mothers would have 3 arms.”

“The fat lady is about to sing. Love, Satan.”

“Exercise daily. Walk with the Lord.”

“Try Jesus. If you dont like him, the Devil will take you back.”

It sometimes seems to me the deeper south you go, the more interesting these little ditties become. And i so enjoy how they attempt to tie in pop culture……I actually saw a sign during the holidays here in Atlanta that said ” Jesus is the rizzle for the sizzle.” Well, amen and amen to that. Because really, what says Salvation! better than a little Snoop Dog action. Seriously.

But below you will find, in my humble opinion, the BEST OF THE BEST in church signs dramatics. This is literally a ‘church signs’ debate, being played out in a Southern US town, between Our Lady of Martyrs Catholic Church, and Cumberland Presbyterian, a fundamentalist church.  From top to bottom shows you the response and counter-response over time.  I dare you not to laugh. God Bless the religeous few that not only acknowledge the sense of humor God endowed us with but learn to embrace it in all its fullness.

ALL DOGS GO TO HEAVEN

ONLY HUMANS GO TO HEAVEN READ THE BIBLE

GOD LOVES ALL HIS CREATURES DOGS INCLUDED

DOGS DONT HAVE SOULD THIS IS NOT OPEN FOR DEBATE

CATHOLICS DOGS GO TO HEAVEN PRESBYTERIAN DOGS CAN TALK TO THEIR PASTOR

CONVERTING TO CATHOLOCISM DOES NOT MAGICALLY GRANT YOUR DOG A SOUL

FREE DOG SOULS WITH CONVERSION

DOGS ARE ANIMALS THERE ARENT ANY ROCKS IN HEAVEN EITHER

ALL ROCKS GO TO HEAVEN

As a child I spent a great deal of time with my Gram……especially in the years following the death of my Gramps. I can hardly remember a day when she wasn’t at our house or we at hers.  This, of course, meant she was around on more than one occasion during family conflict.  It wasn’t as though we were constantly locked in battle, but like all families there were moments of tension from time to time. During said moments,  we began to notice Gram had the most curious little habit. She would quietly and mostly to herself begin to sing the little children’s song “Deep and Wide”.  I originally learned this little ditty in Sunday School, but truth be told I’m not sure just what religious concept it is supposed to be teaching. The lyrics are as follows:

Deep and Wide

Deep and Wide

There’s a fountain flowing deep and wide.

Deep and Wide

Deep and Wide

There”s a fountain flowing deep and wide

And that’s it……the next verse simply reverses the order:

Wide and Deep

Wide and Deep

There’s a fountain flowing wide and deep

……and so on…….you get the picture.

Gram would just sing this little number over and over until the drama was all played out.  We teased her about it often and soon it became a  social barometer of sorts. We knew SOMEONE was acting out of turn or getting needlessly cranky if Gram began to warble “Deep and Wide”.  One of us would always end up chuckling at Gram and her goofiness and the mood would lift almost immediately.

(Gram and Me on Mother’s Day 2009. Isnt she the cutest thing this side of the Mississippi??)

The other afternoon at work, i stood reading over a patient’s lab results before entering the exam room to discuss the outcome.  A colleague of mine  leans over and whispers, “That bad, huh?”

“What?” i question.

“Her labs. They must show the meds aren’t working. Right?” He answers.

“Yes, but how did you know that, Smarty Pants?” I return.

“Because you’re humming that curious little tune. The one you ALWAYS hum when the news is not what you would like for it to be.” He says.

“Tune? What tune? I hum?” i ask puzzled.

“Yes,” he smiles “Very quietly but its always the same.”

As soon as he begins to hum the melody a small grin creases my face. I recognize it instantly. “Deep and Wide”.

“I really hum THAT? often?” i ask.

“Only when you are tense or have uncomfortable news to deliver, but then, yes, you hum it every time. We all noticed it ages ago and find it rather endearing. We’ve been dieing to know what the song was.”

I look over at one of the medical assistants as she giggles and nods her head in agreement.  Suddenly i notice the entire staff is rapt with attention and i feel my face flush pink.

“Its called Deep and Wide” i mutter, “My Gram used to sing it all the time. I had no idea i hummed it at work AT ALL, let alone on a regular basis.”

“What does it mean?”  they all ask at once.

“Nothing really. Just a silly kid’s song my Gram used to sing when i was little.” I  chuckle.

Later i got to thinking about it and it DOES mean something. It means my Gram, even though she is hundreds of miles away and some days not even in her right mind, is still here with me during all the icky, uncomfortable times life throws my way. And that even when that dreaded day arrives when she leaves this world for the next, she’ll remain here in my head singing me thru the rough spots of life. I hear ya, Gram……Deep and Wide.

While my zip code plants me squarely in the middle of the suburbs, i still find my current location ridiculously urban compared to where i grew up.  For the most part i have learned to cope with the incessant traffic and the metropolitan madness, but some days i get downright itchy for some of the conveniences of my past.

For starters, it would be nice to walk into my local post office and not have to stand in line for roughly 1/4th of my lifetime in order to mail a small package.  Back home i might enter to find two or three others ahead of me but it wouldn’t be long before Ms. Susan would wave me on up to her counter and take care of me in a jiffy. She’d call me by name, ask how my Mama was, and probably show me the latest photos of her grandkids. She wouldn’t need 18 forms of ID and a blood sample because Ms. Susan has gone to church with me and my family since i was 4 years old.

But i really shouldn’t complain as my moving here was voluntarily just as is my resolve to remain. I enjoy many aspects of life here in a town with more than just 10 red lights, two Walmarts and an Applebees. I simply wish there was a way to combine the best of both worlds. (Sweet Jesus, i think i just quoted a Miley Cyrus song. That’s frightening on so many levels.)

For the most part, i really and truly love this place. I suppose i just get frustrated when i attempt to accomplish something that i feel SHOULD be simple and not the least bit problematic because it never has been before.

Let me give you an example.

There is a decent sized finished room in my basement just off the laundry room.  Ive had plans for that space for sometime……I’ll get all visionary and start mapping out this fabulous little guest bedroom with a nifty little craft corner on one side where i can paint and draw and perform all manner of artistic functions for which i hold absolutely no talent. But currently that room is packed from one end to the other with more miscellaneous items than “you can shake a stick at” as my Gram likes to say.

Because space in my home is limited, it has become the overflow room. Sort of like that junk drawer we ALL HAVE in the kitchen only on a much larger scale.The place where things go to die if you will.  Passing thru it the other morning i thought out loud, “I just need to have a yard sale and get RID of all this madness.” 

If you are a lifelong urbanite, you likely just wrinkled your nose and thought “redneck!” at that last statement, but im here to tell you, yard sales are the way to go for more than one reason. First of all, there are some very nice items amongst all that madness…..and while it generally doesn’t bode well to be wasteful at any time, it CERTAINLY doesn’t in today’s current economy. Secondly, even if i DID just want to throw it all away, or haul it all to a donation center its not like that is exactly a viable option. It would likely take me 27 trips in my small Ford Focus and three days off work to accomplish such a task. What i need is someone to come of their own accord and take it away…..and if i can get them to pay me for it in the process then WHY NOT?

My current residence is a three story townhome nestled in a little cove a couple blocks from the downtown historic district of Roswell. There are less than 2 dozen units altogether and they all face a rather grandiose, well-landscaped front courtyard. The back side of the townhomes is nothing but a concreted parking area. ….not exactly an ideal location for a yard sale of any sort, but Ive seen worse.  After making an inquiry or two i am told that there is an annual neighborhood yardsale each fall and that residents are STRONGLY encouraged to participate…..and as such, they make it nigh on to impossible for you to go it alone. First, you have to obtain written permission from EACH AND EVERY neighbor along with a typed description of the items you intend to sell. (Are these people SERIOUS?) Once that is compiled it must be submitted to the Home Owners Association for approval and IFit is granted you must sign some kind of release form in triplicate. RIDICULOUS. Im shocked they didn’t require i purchase a small business license, get issued a tax ID #, and place an accountant and an attorney on retainer.  Needless to say, i wont be hocking any of my personal items on the front lawn any time soon.

Oh for the comforts of small town America….

Some other things I also miss:

*Having pizza delivered in LESS THAN 3 hours.

*Being able to purchase a nice home for less than half a million dollars

*Knowing exactly who to call when i need a good plumber, mechanic or electrician

*Thinking nothing at all about running out to the store between the hours of 5-7pm.

*Yards larger than your average postage stamp

I realize that many situations in life are nothing but a well negotiated trade off. This city is full of life and energy and a thousand great places to eat brunch…..and we all know brunch makes up for a great deal.  In the end, i feel like I’ma pretty lucky girl to have known life on both sides of the residential fence.

First of all, while it goes without saying, I love my Mama.  She appears to love me too which is a good thing as it seems we are stuck with each other.

At this point the one thing she seems to want more than anything in this world is grandchildren.  She’s hedging her bets on my younger brother at the moment as he is actually bonded in holy matrimony and closer to reproduction than i her only daughter still dallying about in singlehood pursuing silly little things like careers and dreams and a boyfriend i can stand the site of for more than 30 days.

It would seem that something which means poverty, disorder and violence every single day should be avoided entirely, but the desire to beget children is a natural urge…..and one that even i share. Im just not in an overly big hurry. However, all my friends are joining the club at an alarmingly rapid rate these days. Quite frankly, i find it extremely advantageous. Im able to enjoy their little ones and be FUN AUNT MO! I can sneak them sugar and soda and teach them how to make funny faces all without having to worry about things like potty training and or the terrible two’s. In all seriousness though, I am immensely enjoying watching the fabulous women i am fortunate enough to call my close friends as they gracefully take on this new role in life.  It is so beautiful it sometimes makes my heart want to burst wide open.

To all you new little mamas out there…..just remember that while it is a huge responsibility, every day is a new begining and every second a teachable moment.

For example:

My Mother taught me LOGIC…
“If you fall off that swing and break your neck, you can’t go to the store with me. “

My Mother taught me MEDICINE…
“If you don’t stop crossing your eyes, they’re going to freeze that way.”

My Mother taught me TO THINK AHEAD…
“If you don’t pass your spelling test, you’ll never get a good job!”

My Mother taught me ESP…
“Put your sweater on; don’t you think that I know when you’re cold?”

My Mother taught me TO MEET A CHALLENGE…
“What were you thinking? Answer me when I talk to you…Don’t talk back to me!”

My Mother taught me HUMOR…
“When that lawn mower cuts off your toes, don’t come running to me.”

My Mother taught me how to BECOME AN ADULT…
“If you don’t eat your vegetables, you’ll never grow up.”

My mother taught me ABOUT SEX…
“How do you think you got here?”

My mother taught me about GENETICS…
“You are just like your father!”

My mother taught me about my ROOTS…
“Do you think you were born in a barn?”

My mother taught me about the WISDOM of AGE…
“When you get to be my age, you will understand.”

My mother taught me about RECEIVING…
“You are going to get it when we get home.”

Its a challenge for sure, ladies, but keep in mind no one expects you to be perfect. Just be sure to take lots of notes, so when its my turn you have plenty of wisdom of your own to impart.

God bless the hands that rock the cradles…..especially the ones that rocked mine.

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

In the early spring of my 25th year, i fell and i fell hard………for a piece of real estate. I was driving down a peaceful tree-lined street in the historic district of my hometown when my eyes swept across the small sign wedged in the corner of the sunny little yard. It was a white craftsman style home built sometime in the early 1900′s and I swear to you, the black shutters and window-panelled door almost seemed to wink and smile of their own accord. Houses in this neighborhood are always hard to come by for a multitude of reasons……mainly because all the homes are so distinctive and it’s also within walking distance to the University, the downtown scene, and the hospital/healthcare area at large. I sat in the middle of the wide empty street eyeing the sweeping porch and the cobblestone walk up. I was in love.

Clearly, it was vacant so i decided to turn in and sneak a peek inside the windows.  As i pulled down the drive and around to the rear i realized i wasnt alone. The back door stood open and on the stoop was a weathered old broad (I would come to know she went by the name of Mrs. G) and an eager young couple climbing into their car.  It was a sinking feeling realizing i was probably too late though i doubt the sign had even been in the  front yard more than 24 hours. I decided i would introduce myself nonetheless and maybe i could take a peak inside the house anyway just for curiosity’s sake.

Mr. G was a chatty old bat and we hit it off instantly. She’d retired some years back after the death of her beloved husband but from time to time did a little work for her son who bought and sold extensive amounts of property in the local area. Currently, she was in charge of showing this house and one other and she took her job with divine seriousness. We shuffled inside and she turned me loose to wonder thru on my own while she took a call on her archaic, cinder block sized cell phone.

The interior was far more spacious than the curb side view led one to believe. The ceilings were tall and ringed with very old, ornate crown moldings the likes of which they simply don’t make nowadays. The large dining room boasted two enormous french doors that swung open into the formal sitting room and entry in such a grand way i instantly began fantasizing about hosting large dinner parties and soiree’s……nevermind the fact that at the time all i owned was matching dinner service for 4, and an old Formica table with 2 wobbly legs and 3 chairs.

The former residents had left behind some godawful wallpaper in the kitchen and the cabinets therin were made of a curious metal/tin material i didn’t know even existed, but overall the place was ridiculously charming. I could practically feel the vibrating waves of 80+ years of history resonating in the walls. Ive always loved antiques and old homes for that very reason……to share the present with something that so obviously has a past…..to wonder just what happiness and heartache filled these rooms and to feel as though you were adding to that story just a little yourself.

I let myself out the back door just as Mrs. G was snapping shut her massive mobile. I was surprised that something so akin to the makings of a moderately sized alarm clock could actually make cellular transmissions. We stood their talking a bit longer about her aches and pains and general well-being. You see she’d discovered earlier in conversation that i was in healthcare and as i find often happens this prompted a string of questions regarding my opinions on all her bodily functions. As we walked towards our cars she informed me she thought i was “just delightful” and that she hated the previous couple had already made such a serious offer on the place. She took down my phone number with the promise that she would contact me should anything else in that area become available, and I left just a little weary feeling that id come so close yet so far away.

Two weeks later after a particularly grueling day at the office i came home to find a message on my machine. The deal with the couple had fallen thru and was i still interested? Still interested???? Does a one-legged duck swim in a circle? Of course i was! I threw on shorts and a t-shirt and raced over to meet her at the house.  We gabbed and giggled and i never really could tell who was more excited she or i.

A couple weeks later when i turned my key in its new lock for the first time i was over the moon. I couldn’t believe it had all worked out and the place was mine. I walked thru with my clipboard and notebook making notations of things that would need doing before i could officially move in. Obviously, that hideous wall paper HAD to go…….all the walls needed painting…. and cleaning in general was going to be a major chore. I could hardly wait to show my folks when they came in that next weekend from Nashville. They oooed and awed in all the right places but i saw my dad hiding the occasional chuckle.

“You know these old homes are a lot of work, Babylegs” he said with a sly grin.

“Well, what do you think YOU and my brother are for?” I laughed.

Not wanting to spoil my fun, they let me enjoy my fantasy for the moment.

The next day, my mama as usual, threw herself full-tilt-boogy into the project. I have no idea how many bottles of bleach and pine sol we went thru in 3 days times. My brother went over early in the mornings before work and taped off the wood work and covered the floors just in time for my friday night “Paint Party”. My friends showed up in full force to sling color on the walls and dance around to the Jackson Five while we chemically steamed the nasty wall paper glue from the sheetrock.

 Ive always been an outdoorsy girl with an above average love of nature, and with it coming on summertime i chose to focus my initial efforts on the yard. I built a lovely but small patio out back and planted flowers in every available space. By the way, i do NOT recommend this “patio building” thing to be done alone. The do-it-yourself wankers at my local Lowes made it appear to be a snap, but im hear to tell you, i stretched muscles that to this day are not the same. By the end of a mind numbing week of manual labor, my hands were raw and i was cursing all things paving stone related.  But in the end it turned out very lovely….and sitting out there in the cool of the evening sipping wine with friends, it seemed well worth it.

The first few months, there was little that could dampen my enthusiasm. My first major indoor project was a masterpiece. The house contained three spacious bedrooms but given that at the time i lived alone, i simply didn’t need them all. Two of the rooms were connected and the smaller of the two contained a bathroom. I decided i would combine those two and make one master-suite of sorts. And so i converted the smaller one into the world’s largest closet.                                                         IT.WAS.MAGNIFICENT.

I enlisted the help of Daddio for that one and we spent an entire weekend installing closet storage and shelving like it was going out of style.  I’m telling you, i could still weep with joy just thinking about its size and beauty. I remember Dad asking how in the world i was ever going to fill such a space and i laughed at his lack of faith. I may have been born a tomboy in some rights but i still inherited that almighty female shopping gene and i wasn’t the least bit afraid to exercise it. No lie, at one point there actually came a time when i seriously thought i couldn’t fit ANYTHING else in that closet. Tell me THAT’S not impressive…..or insane. I suppose its all in the eyes of the beholder.

Autumn came and went and eased in to early Winter. I woke up one morning with the house so cold i could see my own breathe. It was then i learned that the heating unit left MUCH to be desired. And by that i mean, if you desired the sort of above-freezing temperatures required to sustain human life, you were shit out of luck. Not to mention this thing ran on GAS which was far from cheap. The first bill was staggering  and i nearly had a seizure when i opened it. Id spent the last thirty days in a frigid hell sometimes wondering if my bones could actually get so cold they would shatter and for that intense pleasure i was paying $700+ dollars??? This was NOT part of the fantasy.

My friend Andrea moved in a few months later and together we discovered what can only be described as the eternal JOYS of living in a turn of the century home.  While the bedrooms were massive the bathrooms were akin to a coffin. The shower in the “master suite” was nothing more than a glorified shoe box. How we mastered shaving our legs in a space in which you could neither bend over or raise your knee higher than one quarter inch is beyond me…..but we did BECAUSE the other shower while much larger had a tiling issue that bordered on being a national health disaster. It seems that air pockets had formed behind the tile lining the back wall of the tub and whenever steam from the hot water was involved it would swell and become damp…….now, this occurred for SOME TIME before we ever noticed it and then ONE DAY we went into the bathroom to discover the tile buckled and bubbled out in a deformed sort of way because “things” were beginning to grow behind it in the damp and the dark.  The entire thing needed to be ripped out, cleaned and re-tiled.

If we weren’t being eaten alive by the mold in the bathroom, or fearing the dangers of freezing to death in the middle of the night, we were waging war with the plumbing. While i have no issue dealing with human tissue or gaping flesh wounds, I.DONT.DO.CLOGGED.DRAINS. I will never forget the sound of Andrea gagging during the multiple occasions she was forced to “snake ” the pipes with a wire hanger and some extra strength Draino. One evening as we sat swinging and chatting on the front porch swing, we heard a terrible crack and were suddenly dumped violently to the concrete below when the bolt suspending the swing to the rafters gave way revealing rotten timber. That place was one big carnival ride, i tell ya.

One saturday morning i was jostled awake at the crack of dawn by Andrea bounding across the hall and leaping in to my bed.

“There’s a bird in my room” she whispered.

“A WHAT?” i coughed.

“A bird. It was flying around my room and it kept smacking into the mirror above my dresser.”

“Am i dreaming? Are you really in here telling me that there is a BIRD in your bedroom” i chuckled in disbelief.

“Yes, that is exactly what i am telling you”  she says as she burrows deeper beneath the covers.

Like a moron i decided to “go investigate” the situation. This was akin to one of those dumbass decisions you see the lead character make in a horror flick, when they hear a creaking noise in the attic and head on up, UNARMED, to see if its the serial killer they keep talking about on the news. The second i walked into her room that little feathered fruitcake declared war. From his perched position atop the ceiling fan he began executing dive bomb maneuvers like a veteran warrior. I ducked and dodged and squealed tripping over my own two feet and banging in to the furniture. I managed to somehow how lure him into the oversized closet and slam the door. At some point that closet had been an entrance to the house and there was a door leading outside in there.  I dove back under the covers where Andrea lay laughing so hard tears were leaking down her face.

“Now what?” she gasped

“Well, if i can somehow get in there and get that door open, perhaps i can shoo the little Nazi outside” i giggled.

At this point the bird is flailing and crashing about violently in the closet to which its been confined.

“That thing BETTER not poop on our shoes!” I holler and Andrea roars with laughter again.

I take a deep breath and run head long in to the closet and fling open the outside door. There was a flash of feathers and feet and im not sure who squawked more…..me or the bird…..but at long last i managed to chase him out into the wild blue yonder. To this day, we have no idea how he got inside in the first place.

Over time we simply grew accustomed to the mayhem. When you literally deal with chaos on a daily basis, you somehow forget what its like to live any other way. While leaving that place to come to the wilds of the big city was in so many ways ridiculously exciting, i honestly wasn’t prepared for the overwhelming emotion that filled me when i walked thru it one last time before closing up the U-haul and leaving town. While i had lived in other homes for far longer stretches of time, i couldnt believe the massive ammount of memories i had managed to sqeeze into this one is less than 5 years. I had no way of knowing just how much my life was going to change during my short stint there, but every room was now filled with MY story…..and now it was MY heartaches and MY happiness that sang from the walls.  The truth is, as much as id overhauled that place….as many upgrades and improvements as id made…..I still think in the end it was I that walked away more changed.

The new owners did what really needed doing all along and completely gutted and revamped the ’ole girl. When i pass thru town i always make sure to drive down that wide tree-lined street to that sunny little yard that stole my heart all those years ago. Where before she was cute and charming she is now absolutely stunning.

And though little about her is the same, if i squint just right i can still see her wink and smile.

I saw a sign on the way to work the other morning that certainly testified to the crazy times in which we are currently living. “Two GOLD teeth for Sale: $200″ is what it said and i swear i nearly hit the telephone pole on which it was posted i was so taken aback by the ad. Clearly the economy is in the shitter when folks are out selling the caps right off their chompers for a little grocery money….I’m just sayin.

In all this madness its understandable that folks are looking for someone to blame for the current economic downfall. The Left blames Bush and the Right blames Clinton and meanwhile the current administration is spending money like there’s no tomorrow.  It is an absolute ridiculous mess. Its just about all anyone can talk about these days and rightly so…..its finally filtered down to the place where the average everyday citizen is effected…..because lord knows, most of us don’t get involved politically unless it hits home. I sometimes wonder just how many of the people standing around tooting their horn about policy change and tax relief ACTUALLY took the time to EVEN VOTE in any of the previous presidential elections. But these days, no one is spared it seems, and so NOW of course,  we have plenty to say about the matter.

I’m confronted daily with no less than 32 new emails regarding petitions to sign, tea partiesto attend, or which news anchors need to be burnt at the stake for the insistent bending of the truth. I’m runnin around throwing out phrases like “allocational efficiency” and “acquisition cost” with the ease of a Wall Street hedge fund manager and I actually know what they mean. Financial jargon has infiltrated the life of even the common man. Death may indeed be “the great equalizer” but MONEY is “the great motivator”.

The thing is, even during such a tumultuous time I’m thankful to be an American. I am one of the fortunate faction that has never once known what it was like to go hungry or homeless or experience anything remotely akin to true desperation. I daresay the majority of you reading this likely haven’t either. We have been blessed to come of age in a cushioned world….one in which not only do we not worry about the basic necessities of life we simply cant comprehend a world in which they would be difficult to obtain. Our quality of life is above average….and because these basic necessities are so easily afforded we lose perspective. Not only do we often fail in being appropriately thankful, we have developed a warped sense of ENTITLEMENT and EXPECTANCY. We have lost sight of the fact that so many of the things we have been afforded are not a RIGHT but rather a PRIVELAGE. The ”American Dream” is exactly that….A DREAM. It is something to be pursued and sought after and ACHIEVED……not demanded.  But instead we have become accustomed to the addictive high of gratification particularly of the INSTANT kind.

Id like to state for the record that I’m not even remotely a credible economist. I’m basically a high functioning juvenile when it comes to things such as high finance and market stabilization.  But even to an economic simpleton such as myself it appears pretty clear that we are finding out the hard way that mortgaging our future to finance today’s contentment is not the most intelligent of avenues.

What’s fascinating is we carry over this ridiculous thinking into even the emotional aspects of our lives sometimes.   I often see people commit to relationships that have absolutely no viable hope of prosperity. Why? Because we want it ALL…..which isnt honestly a bad thing to aim for…. but we want it NOW and therein lies the problem. I once knew a woman who was dating a musician. He lived for late nights and live gigs and long weeks out on the road. She however was a classic nine to fiver that craved pattern and routine such as dinner nightly at 6 pm and gardening and movies on the weekend. They were slated to be married soon and already it was obvious that their differing lifestyles were going to be a challenge. When i questioned her about the long terms effect she thought this might have she simply looked at me as though id asked her what color eggs did she think chickens might lay if they lived on Jupiter or Mars.  She hadn’t even given it a thought. She was too busy flashing that diamond around and reveling in her so-long-single status…..And her betrothed was so bewitched by her beauty he couldn’t see past the honeymoon. Though individually they were both seriously fantastic people, they simply couldn’t be bothered with the time consuming task of discovering who they were individually and what truly made them happy…..let alone what ramifications their union might have on their future quality of life. And yet they actually both seemed shocked when reality set in some years later breeding resentment and tension so strong that life became a waking nightmare. They’d both been so hypnotized by “White Picket Fence” syndrome they failed to calculate the obvious…and wound up leveraging all their emotional assets on a venture that left them both bankrupt of soul.

I am aware that Love is often a breaker of rules, but i am also a firm believer that within the madness some reason lies. I have no problem admitting i am a 32 year old woman that still believes in “Happily Ever After” even though i have kissed more than my fair share of frogs. Its not the fantastical delusion of yesteryear where some Prince rides in on a white steed and whisks me off into the purpley sunset…..but i believe in magic just the same. The kind where in spite of their imperfections and regardless of your shortcomings, you can still wake up next to each other each morning loving one another even more than you did the day before.

I believe the current crisis facing our nation has many lessons to teach us. Above all it should be an obvious reminder to remain thankful for the important things which we do have. As we say goodbye to the days of obscene dividends and excessive gains perhaps we will come to see that responsible, thoughtful investments are far more gratifying than the instant variety behind which there is little stability.  As we are forced to learn to spend our money with more wisdom and and intention, perhaps we will learn to spend our hearts more wisely just the same.

I have been fortunate in this life to have pretty much always been gainfully employed at a job i have enjoyed. My first gig straight out of high school was for a fantastic little white water rafting company where the staff was more like a family than a group of employees.  It was a spectacularly fun way to earn a buck but the drawback was it was seasonal.  Since holding up a “Will work for Old Navy Gift Card” sign along interstate exits didnt seem like a very viable plan, i figured i better find some other means of supporting my shopping addiction and those other annoying little habits id developed like eating and using electricity.

My schedule at the time was more than a little erratic due to the intensity of my undergrad major which didn’t leave me with a great number of options. I ended up taking on a job during the crucial Christmas season as a substitute teacher at a local preschool and what began as a temporary fix stretched into a four year profession. The money was far from grandiose, but the kiddos were cute and the hours worked with my aggravating educational agenda. I came to love those little youngins with a passion and though i was the one teaching them, i often found i was learning myself a great deal. Some lessons i don’t even think i realized the full impact of until years later.

One of the things about those little munchkins that i adored as well as admired was the way small children live life so completely free of inhibition. They are at ALL times their truest little selves. If they are cranky, sad or angry they will let you know in no uncertain terms regardless of time of day, who is present, or what they might be interrupting. Something as small as the discovery of a new-found favorite flavor of jello was cause for celebration. And you better believe if they were wearing cute new Barbie panties or big-boy Spiderman briefs they were proudly going to be displayed. They showed raw, real emotion without thought of consequence and in ways so genuine it sometimes made my heart want to burst wide open. I always found it a little bit sad when they would start to lose that lack of reservation and begin to experience the impact of things such a peer pressure and social conformity.

One of the greatest struggles of my life from adolescence to present is learning the ability to be my authentic self. I have a self inflicted people pleaser complex that at times can be downright ridiculous. Im not entirely sure why i developed such an advanced case of this disorder but over time it metastasized and in some areas became almost incapacitating.  In recent years ive realized just how silly it is to stifle the REAL you not to mention counterproductive in the relationship arena and so i am consciously working on being as bluntly and openly honest as possible these days…..to learn to live life without inhibition. Its a work in progress but im certainly gaining ground.

I have always found it fascinating that the one aspect of myself where i never felt the need to conform or censor myself was in my writing. I simply pour absolutely everything on paper without a moment thought of the consequences. The crazy thing is this has gotten me in to trouble on MORE than one occasion when my journal has been read by someone other than myself. The fall out was less than pretty. You’d think these experiences would render me unable to remain utterly transparent when i write but that isnt the case, though I admit my journal isnt nearly as easily accessible these days as it might once have been.

With the inception of this website i made the long thought about decision to remain true to who i am regardlessof who the readership might entail. Obviously, ive no desire to offend anyone, but i simply wont bend myself into another version simply to make everyone else comfortable. This is who i am. Unfiltered and uncensored. That means occasionally i say a word that makes my mama blush (sorry Mama!) or every now and then i embarrass the livin’ daylights out of myself. 

I had a good little chuckle at myself this morning though as i made notes for a new blog entry when i realized that today it wont actually be my conservitive readers that will be offended my the REAL me as is usually the case…….nope today, I’m likely to make you liberal, agnostic crazies a little uncomfortable.  But in keeping with my personal mandate of being my truest little self regardless of those who visit i am going to write it anyway. So here goes…..

 I’m diametrically opposed to violence. Blood and guts don’t bother me in the slightest…..in fact, i could stick my hand inside someone’s open thorax and touch their beating heart without a moment’s hesitation, but show me a video where some kid falls from a skateboard and shatters his femur and I’m liable to puke on my shoes. Once said kid is in the ER under my care i don’t miss a beat….i just don’t want to see the act of brutality that jarred his joints apart. I suppose this is merely a reflection of the strangely tender hear that lies within. I’m ridiculously soft, i tell ya. For example: When i was a child i had the most magnificent bedroom painted shades of lilac and white.

 My scrolling wrought iron daybed was the best thing about it and it was filled to capacity with stuffed animals. I hated messing it up at night and so i would often pull out the trundle bed below and sleep there as an alternative. I can recall not bringing a single stuffed animal or doll into bed with me because i would look at all the ones lying there and i just couldn’t bring myself to single one out. It seemed so unfair to all those left behind and i couldn’t bear for any of them to feel unimportant. While i may have grown up enough to realize inanimate objects don’t get their feelings hurt I’ve retained that liquid center that finds human pain and suffering almost a little too heartbreaking to bear sometimes. Which is why seeing someone beaten or shaken about, be it by a car or the hands of another, i simply break out into a cold sweat and get the spins.

I suppose this is why Easter has always been a difficult holiday for me. All those constant reenactments of the crucifixion of Christ make my knees weak and my palms sweat. Crucifixion is REAL, folks. Regardless of your belief system and whether you acknowledge the sacrifice made for mankind by the suffering of Jesus, you cant deny the act occurred. History is clear in its description of the Romans as brutal distributors of punishment and execution. So in spite of the fact that you may not believe that he rose afterwards and ascended to heaven, you cant deny his DIEING and in the most violent of ways. But that’s just it…..I do believe. And in doing so i acknowledge that not only did he suffer…..he suffered in part BECAUSE OF ME.  I find this a painful pill to swallow.

I’m beginning to think that I might not be the only one……and perhaps that is why at Easter we have created traditions that surround us with the very opposite of that brutal, bloody image of a man hanging on a cross with the life ebbing out of him. Instead we purchase fancy new dresses and hunt brightly colored eggs filled with confections. We buy soft pastel bunnies and marshmallow chickens and baskets filled with glittery straw. And don’t get me wrong….IM ALL FOR IT. Bring on the pretty, people, bring on the pretty.

But so as not to lose sight of the significance of this day, id like to take a minute to acknowledge my thankfulness for a God who would come to earth to provide redemption all while knowing just what a violent end he would meet…..I’m forever grateful…..and forever humbled.

“Jesus paid it all. All to him I owe. Sin had left a crimson stain. He washed it white as snow.”

(Contest: What YOU would bestow upon baby Jesus if you’d been given the choice of His three gifts. Submissions must include your TOP THREE gifts for baby Jesus and the REASONS WHY you feel they would be so fantastic. For further details/explanations please read blog entry entitled “Away in a Manger”)

I have to tell you folks, in my wildest dreams i never would have expected to receive so many responses to my “What Would Jesus Get” contest.  I have thoroughly enjoyed reading each and every entry.(There were a total of 441!!!) Though selecting a winner was difficult I have done it at long last, but i simply couldnt let the chance escape to share some of the many that i found wildly entertaining. In no particular order, here are 10 very honorable mentions:

1.  The Clapper so when he is older he could simply clap off his holy light.

2. Caller…or, rather…Prayer ID — “Ugh.  Not her again…that’s the 4th time today..I’m so not answering that!”

3. 2000 shares in a Galilee foundry which makes high end Camel-sized needles.

4. Febreeze for those times when he is resurrecting people he needs to really remove the odor.

5. TiVO — because, as much as He would feel obligated to keep up with the shenanigans of Judy Jacobs and Jan Crouch, it ain’t worth missing Lost!

6. Lead weights to facilitate swimming.

7. Johnny Jump Up  so he can practice at an early age the acension.

8. A dozen copies of “The Secret” to pass out amongst the Roman guard, because if ever there was a crowd that was in need of the power of positive thinking they were it.

9.The Ped Egg for those foot washing services gone wrong.

10. A case of Red Bull for those all night prayer meetings when his disciples need a pick-me-up.

While those are all truly entertaining there can be only one winner…….DRUM ROLL PLEASE!!!!!!

CONGRATULATIONS, PATRICK MCGUIRE OF SCOTLAND!!!!!

(Yes, ladies, he is SINGLE and ridiculously cute)

Below is Patrick’s entry and i believe you will see why he is far and away one of the funniest people on planet earth:

I think it’s important that jesus be given things that for the most part would be useful to him in his time.  For example, I was considering including this DVD . It is well known that Jesus is a Celtic fan, and I am sure he would enjoy it.  however, there were no DVD players in those times so it would be just a painful reminder that he would have to wait a long time to create Lubo in the future.

Instead I would propose something more practical.  Going to be spending 40 days in the desert?  need cut down your time between leper colonies?  I give you one of those Camelbak drinkybag things!

Secondly, a pen and paper and a map.  Jesus never wrote anything himself that we’re aware of (except the book of mormon, of course).  he left this to his followers.  LAZY!  And then people translated and translated and fought and fought.  So I would encourage him to write.  Now it’s not for me to say what he should include, but I would suggest that the following phrases might find their way in somewhere:  “a lot of my best friends are Arabs”, “I’m Jewish, you know”, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that”, “25 random things about me”.  the map… the map would be to where the Dead Sea Scrolls were found, so that said writings could be found, unaltered, at a later date.

Lastly a paddimir Barra 2009 calendar.  Now, clearly, it will be a long time (2009 years by my calculation) before he can get much use for it, other than simply enjoying the pretty pictures.  However, I have managed to sell an amazing 0 of these so far.  if I could put on the cover “as used by Jesus!” I think I could make a fortune.  Which I would of course use for philanthropic purposes.  Even better, if my calendar was advertised in every crib across the globe, there would be no need to advertise.

Something for him, something for humanity, and something for me…..seems fair enough to me.

 Well done, Patrick. A sincere thanks to everyone for playing!

After much soul searching and many trial runs,  I have at long last settled on a gym that is a good fit for me.  I say ”good fit” sort of tongue-n-cheek because while it is situated in a reasonably accessible location and its employees serve up a pretty good mixture of motivation and customer service, i still have moments when i fear that one more shoulder-press or ab-roll just might make me go postal.

Yesterday marked my 18th work out in a row and i swear to you, i think i may actually be getting fatter.  Its as though my body is aware that I’m trying to shed the cozy layer around my midsection and its holding on to the fat cells for dear life…..sort of an “I’ll never let go” moment ala Jack and Rose floating in the mighty Atlantic.

Ive started with a new trainer that i swear to you looks as though he is carved from a big ole slab of dark chocolate….and no, it isn’t just the reduction of sugar in my diet that has me eyeing everyday objects as though they were edible confections. This fella is just all around yummy.  Now settle down, ladies…..he’s happily married. Besides, its quite possible the sheer sight of my flailing body attempting to complete a series of squat thrusts MAY have turned the poor fella off women altogether.

Mr. YummyBritches hails from the Caribbean, and whenever he speaks i feel as though we should be standing surf-side listening to a dread-headed man playing steel drums. His accent is extremely thick making it painfully clear the poor fella hasn’t been ’round these parts long.  To put it mildly, we have communication ISSUES. I swear to you, yesterday i gave him a full 5 minute description of everything i had eaten that day because i thought he asked me about my “DIET” when in fact, he had asked me how my DAY had been. I was mortified. 

As delicious looking as he is, Mr YummyBritches takes his job seriously.  Once the session begins he’s an all business drill sergeant pushing me til my face turns what i imagine is a lovely shade of purple. I find that when i am in this state all rational thought goes out the window. So great is my strain that i need ALL energy- both physical AND mental- to keep from weeping. This is dangerous, as it clearly leaves my brain wildly unsupervised like a small child in a room full of sharp, shiny objects.

Last evening i found myself lying on my back, legs crossed at the ankles and raised high in the air. My spindly arms are anchored to the floor by the 10 lb barbells clutched in each fist. YummyBritches has me launching myself upward in alternating directions touching each barbell to the opposite toe. I feel my vision start to grey at the edges as i finish 30 reps. He signals me to drop my feet and relax and relief washes over me.

“Now, double time.” he barks.

“WHAT!” I squeak.

He raises my legs upright and holds them in position. I lie there for a moment giving myself an internal pep talk before squeezing my eyes shut and going for it only to run out of steam in just under 20 seconds. Seeing me falter, YummyBritches begins a pep rally.

“Come on!”

“You can DO this!”

“Show me what youre made of!”

“Thats it keep going!

“What are you made of!?!”

“I cant hear you, I said WHAT! ARE! YOU! MADE! OF!”

And suddenly the words just burst right out of me. I swear, even though i heard myself holler, i dont remember consciously deciding to do so…..and i sure as shit dont know WHY i shouted these two words in particular…..

“GUNPOWDER AND LEAD!” I scream.

And thats when YummyBritches lost it. He dropped my feet and dissolved into shaking waves of laughter the likes of which i have never seen.

“I have no idea where that came from” i giggle “clearly ive been listening to too much country music.”

As i drove towards home i chuckled at just how full of crazy i apparantly am…..and i wondered……just WHAT AM I made of?

Maybe i am finnally starting to figure that out.

It is no secret that i am easily moved to tears.  If i find it beautiful, heartbreaking or moving in ANY way, my emotions tend to liquefy and spill over.  I used to worry this meant i might be a tad on the crazy side…..but i no longer care if it deems me a bit odd. The truth is, id rather number among those who feel deeply than those who feel little at all. The folks in my inner circle have come to expect my zany waterworks displays and count it as something that just makes me, well, ME. But bless her heart, the pour little cashier at my local Super Target was NOT prepared for my mania this past Sunday.

Ive never understood why large retail stores bother to have 411 checkout stations when at any given moment you will only find 2 of them manned by personnel. I cant help but wonder if it is some sort of mind game and somewhere behind one-way glass are a bunch of men in lab coats glaring at me as i walk the distance of two football stadiums searching for someone to take my money.

Lab Coat #1: “Look at this one. See how she struggles with that buggy with a bad wheel? It keeps jamming up and refusing to roll and yet she slogs on regardless, when clearly she is exhausted.”

Lab coat #2: “Watch her reaction as i flip on the light above register 42 just ahead of her and then immediately flip it off as soon as she turns in and prepares to unload her purchases!”

Lab Coat #1: “Fascinating! You can see the veins in her temples throbbing with tremendous force, yet still she refuses to quit!”

Its true, i picture them back there trying their damnedest to see just what it will take to push me over the edge. And some days they have no idea how close i am to climbing atop one of the turnstiles and beating my chest Tarzan style and screaming profanities like a sailor on a four day bender. And yet i continue to wander the vast tundra searching for that one beacon of hope…..that beautiful oasis in the dessert….that one light in the darkness…..where i can CHECK THE HELL OUT.

Sunday i am standing six carts deep listening to the beep beep beep of the scanner and aimlessly reading that rag of a magazine, People. Dont lie. You know you love to hate it as much as i do. I mean seriously, who DOESNT want to know what JLo’s twins first words were? Or what Cameron Diaz may or may not have eaten for breakfast on vacation in Tahiti? Its riveting.

A man and his daughter fall in line behind me and settle in to wait. I turn, smile, and say hello and she grins at me all gap toothed and full on adorable. She’s somewhere around 5 or 6 and clearly still in the “princess phase”. I chuckle at her outfit……a soon to be too small Cinderella nightgown pulled on over a pair of embroidered jeans and a hello kitty purse. She’d capped it all off with sparkly pink mary janes and enough plastic jewelry to give Mr T. a run for his money. It was downright precious.

She flittered about humming and chattering and tapping her shoes on the tiled floor.

“Daddy, today at school Charlie said that we have butt cheeks because we cant just sit on our bare bones. Is that true?”  she inquires.

I grin as i listen to her father attempt a better explanation to the perplexing question of just why we have “butt cheeks”.

“Daddy, at lunch Sarah told the teacher that something was making her teeth cough. Mrs. Harris said it was called the hit-cups and that she caught them from drinking her juice too fast. Is that true?”

Dad fights a smile himself as he loosens the knot in his tie and unfastens the buttons in his collar. I smile and listen as a weary yet patient father once again tries to clarify the mysteries of the Kindergarten universe.

Little Miss Inquisitive Princess suddenly falls silent and momentarily still.

“Daddy,” she says her voice quivering just a bit ” Eli told me today that i couldnt play on his team because girls cant play baseball and especially not girls like me because my feet are too big. Is that true?”

And i couldnt help it…..I cried right along with her as her sweet, sweet daddy dropped to his knees and pulled her in tight against his chest.

“That is absolutely NOT true, baby. If you set your mind to it, you can do ANYTHING you want. You know how grandma is a lawyer and she talks to a big judge and stuff? Well, once upon a time, some silly little boy told grandma girls couldnt be lawyers but she didnt let that stop her. And you know how Aunt Karen wears that funny robe and sits up on the stage when we go to church on Sunday? Well, one time another silly boy told her she couldnt be a minister because girls couldnt become ministers and she didnt let that stop her either. And you know, once upon a time a silly boy doctor told your mommy she couldnt have babies. But she wanted you so bad that she didnt let that stop her either. And here you are. YOU, baby, are living proof that a girl can do ANYTHING in this world that she sets her mind to.”

He dried the tears from her cheeks and her sniveling began to cease.

“So,” he said, kissing her red little nose “just what did you say to silly Eli when he told you girls couldnt be on his team?”

“I told him he better be quiet or my big feet were going to kick his butt cheeks off so he had to sit on his bare bones!” she giggled.

I couldnt help but laugh as i thought to myself “Now THAT little munchkin is a KEEPER.”

“Im sorry” I said looking at the poor cashier who was clearly wondering if i was on the verge of some kind of mental break down. I quickly tried to stem the flow of tears spilling down my face. She scanned the contents of my cart in record time and was practically willing me out the door. Thank god it was simply silent tears because if i had phased into my full-on “ugly cry” she might have had a break down herself.

I drove home feeling sorry for the poor little Target employee that had the unfortunate experience of dealing with my weepy self……but more than that, i felt a greater sense of sorrow for those of us in this life (myself included) that sometimes let the silly little Eli’s in our worlds get the better of us. Maybe the grown up me just needed a little reminding that anything’s possible…..and those who dare you to think otherwise need their butt cheeks kicked off.

If north Georgia weather could declare a personality it would be BIPOLAR…..I’m talkin manic mood  swings and lithium-dependent kind of behavior. Two Sundays ago i was risking life and limb on the roads during a SNOWstorm, and exactly ONE WEEK later i managed to get sunburned sitting outside in nearly 80 degree weather…..insanity i tell you. Though we are scheduled to see a bit of a drop in temperature again over the next few days, it does appear the miserable cold weather of winter is behind us ’round here.  You Yankees, Midwesterners, and random Canadian readers feel free to take a moment of silence to hate our southern guts. There. Feel better? I know i do.

Honestly, this past winter we’ve seen some pretty miserable days for such a southern state. We are talkin temps in the teens and single digits which we rarely experience. Our skin just isn’t thick enough for that sort of madness…..if it dips below 30, we huddle by the fireplace and pray we make it til morning.

A few weeks ago after dinner, some friends and i exited the restaurant into piercing winds and a cold so bitter it almost set me catatonic. We crawled inside the car chattering our teeth with such force i worried one of us might shatter a molar. It was a brutal, bone-aching kind of cold. I was praying for the sweet release of death until Nikki hit the most magical of buttons. You see, her car comes with one of the greatest of all features…..THE HEATED SEAT. As my bum begin to warm i begin to think i might actually pull thru to see another day…..im serious folks, it was touch and go there for a while. It was glorious i tell you. I begin to sing the praises of this invention declaring to one and all that it was quite possible that this little gizmo could single-handedly bring about world peace and usher us all into shang-ri-la it was just that fantastic.

“I tell you what,” i burst out “if i had been a wiseman coming before baby Jesus bringin Him a gift, THIS is what i woulda brought. Forget that gold, frankincense, and myrrh nonsense, give that baby a HEATED SEAT!!! Now THAT’S a gift! Amen and Amen!”

We chuckled over this for some minutes and then we all began musing just what fabulousness we might have bestowed on the infant king had we been given the honor. We tossed around all sorts of wonderful ideas.

The general consensus was a Snuggie would hands down make the list. First of all, the thing just SCREAMS ROYALTY what with its whole cape/robe-like qualities and all. And what sort mini-monarch wouldnt appreciate the freedom of movement such a garment offers?

Keep in mind, we werent being irreverent….this was a serious discussion, albeit a humorous one.  ((Let me pause here for a moment and be absolutely clear. I am a Christian that believes in the immaculate conception and miraculous birth of Christ, and the salvation that event provided for a lost and dieing world. But, if you cant find some humor in religion then i question whether or not you are living up to your full potential as a human being.))

There was some discussion of a George Forman grill, Rachel Ray’s 30 minute meals and a Snackmaster because seriously, WHO doesnt love those? Fix-a-flat and the universal remote control also seemed wise choices as did leg warmers, visual voicemail and a wii-fit.  It soon became apparent we were going to have difficulty narrowing it down to three.

And so dear readers, this is where you come in. Id like to hear just what YOU would bestow upon baby Jesus if you’d been given the choice of His three gifts. OBVIOUSLY, they neednt apply to his time period…..if you havent clued in to the fact this is hypothetical and FAR from practical you may need to see about adjusting your meds.

I will be awarding the person with the most interesting submission a $15 Starbucks gift card, because in my opinion, caffeine is the gift that keeps on giving.

Submissions must include your TOP THREE gifts for baby Jesus and the REASONS WHY you feel they would be so fantastic. Entries will only be considered official if entered thru the CONTACT AUTHOR tab at the top of the home page  www.bigcitybarefeet.com. The contest will officially run from now (March 12, 2009) thru midnight March 19, 2009. After all entries have been read, i will post the one I have found the most interesting and award the prize. I realize this is COMPLETELY subjective because im the sole moderator and critic, but THEMS THE RULES, folks, and no one is forcing you to participate.

Now, get out there, get busy and DAZZLE ME! (and the baby Jesus)

So it appears there is some confusion out there among the masses regarding “redneck” vs. “southern”. I feel compelled to clarify things for those who lack education on such matters as there is no need to further perpetuate the misconceptions.

 Southerners are classified as folks who reside in the lower quadrant of the continental United States………from Texas east and below Kentucky and West Virginia.  Think verandas, magnolias and Gone With The Wind. Its Bealle St and barbecue and the Grand Ole Opry……Georgia peaches, Tennessee whisky and Texas rodeos…..Its N’awlins and Nashville and the Chattanooga Choo Choo.  We drink iced sweet tea, co-cola, and mint juleps. We farm peanuts, horses and tobacco. We love Jesus and our mamas and football.  We are Billy Graham, Elvis Presley and Patsy Cline. Its a state of mind and a way of life that are centered around LOCATION.

 Redneck is by definition a “glorious lack of  sophistication”. It includes the rural poor to the working class of rural extraction. Think bootleg moonshine, run down trailer parks and Hee-Haw…..mullets, and meth labs and Jerry Springer. As a general rule they enjoy cheap bear, lawlessness and Spam. But the point I’d most like to make is that they are NOT confined or defined simply by geographic location. While we have a healthy population here in the land of Dixie, they are EVERYWHERE.  North, South, East and West, they abide…..even Yankees and West Coasters have their fair share. Lots of folks make the mistake of assuming if one is Southern, one is also a redneck…..and while it IS possible to be both, its also possible to be simply one OR the other.

 As for me……if pressed, Id say, Im just Southern. But i have gotten quite a kick out of the fact that in the years since i moved down here to the big city, I have actually engaged in more redneck activity than all the rest of my small town years combined. Ive now been to a dirt track demolition derby, a monster truck rally and suddenly this past Sunday, i found myself headed towards a Nascar race……im my opinion, there couldnt be a better litmus test…..time would soon tell whether i was more hicktown hillbilly or steele magnolia.

Ive never been a racing fan…..in fact, id just about rather have three root canals and a good beating than sit thru watching one on tv. I was of the opinion it was the most terminally boring sport in existence.  But, somehow a group of us got wrangled into going and while i am certainly still NOT a fan, i wouldn’t have missed the experience for anything.

I’m aware that just because you foster a love for Jimmy Johnson or Dale Earnhardt Jr doesnt guarantee you are a redneck but it sure as shootin gives you a head start. I have never in all my days seen so many mullets and Rebel flags in one centralized location……and i once attended an ameture “wrastlin” match at a VFW folks, so that is saying something. Atlanta Motor Speedway was full of pretty much everything you could imagine except good judgement. I felt like i was in a three hour live taping of an episode of Cops. 

We pulled on to the scene fairly early, yet it was obvious most folks had arrived long before. The make-shift tailgate area was full of fascinating modified modes of transportation……the old school buses converted into make shift “RV’s” were my favorite….especially one that was sporting a wooden porch of sorts atop the back end that was accessed by a spiral staircase made of rusting metal.

We slathered on the sunscreen and waded thru the masses towards the stadium’s entrance. As we walked along, we were greeted by folks from every angle. I’ll say this about Nascar fans, they are a jovial and extremely friendly bunch. I was fascinated by not only the widespread number of states represented but the vastness of the dialects as well. Personally, i prefer the slow drawl of the Carolinas to the twang of lower Alabama, but all in all, the chorus of accents made an interesting soundtrack all its own.

It was decided that we would wrangle us up some lunch over by the midway and then head towards the stands to be seated. The food was delightfully unhealthy and delicious…..if it could be deep fried, it was on the menu…..you could practically hear folk’s arteries clogging around you.

After walking a quarter length of the track and ogling all the awesomely bad fashion choices of the day we found our seats and settled in. Though id been warned of the intensity of the noise, i was still far from prepared at the racket that greeted me at the announcement of “Gentlemen, start your engines!” The crowd went absolutely wild with excitement to the point of near frenzy. The drivers followed the pace car for a few laps and the suddenly it was ON. As they accelerated to top speed the ground beneath my feet began to hum……..the vibrations funneled up thru my body and settled in my abdomen like a giant swarm of honey bees…..it was truly a new sensation.

I’ll be the first to admit, you simply can not appreciate the speed at which the cars are moving unless you witness it first hand. Quite frankly i don’t know how fans keep track of their favorites because they pass in such a blurr you can scarcely identify the vehicles one from another.

Very shortly, the roar of the engines became overwhelming, and fearing long term hearing loss i stuffed my ear plugs in…….suddenly the world went soft. Though not totally silent, the noise around me was suddenly so muted i could hear myself breathing. It was the strangest phenomenon. There i was part of this living breathing organism of the crowd….. yet i felt completely isolated on the island of my thoughts. This is strangely how i feel i live most of my existence……part of the planet yet simultaneously so removed from it.  I am see-able, touchable and taste-able, but ONLY I really know the sound of my own heartbeat…..ONLY Ireally hear the regular pattern of my own breathing. Some days I appear such a part of the crowd around me, folks would be shocked to know just how much of me is actually rather absent…..far away in a little world full of personal secrets where i am the only citizen.  I often wonder if i am the only one that behaves this way….. or is the population more full of souls only half in attendance than most of us ever imagined? I started to chuckle quietly to myself for pondering such weighty matters in the middle of an all out hickfest, and wondered if perhaps we were inhaling more exhaust fumes than we thought.

250 laps later, after the hillbilly two rows in front of us was arrested for being drunk and disorderly, we decided to shuffle our sunburned bodies back towards the car. We snaked out of the parking lot following the long processional of vehicles back towards the city and i mentally checked NASCAR! off my list of things to experience……and i stand firmly behind the sentiment that I’m SIMPLY SOUTHERN…..and i cant believe i ever questioned such.

Outside of a couple of short stints living abroad in foreign countries, I have resided all of my life in the southeastern corner of the United States……specifically Tennessee and Georgia.  My father actually hails from Northern California and my mother spent most of her formative years as a resident of the great state of Pennsylvania ……so my life was not without influences beyond the realm of Dixie.  But the truth is, they did little to water down my innate “southerness. My atrocious accent has been a long standing joke amid my circle of friends and family because even for a native, my lilt is strong. My vocabulary includes words like “ya’ll” and “howdy” and i tend to refer endearingly to folks with pet names such as “sweet pea” or “tater chip”. Above the Mason Dixon or west of the Mississippi id be considered an oddity at best…..but round here, Im just a regular girl next door. 

Here in my neck of the woods, most folks equate our general climate with the hot stickiness of the summer. And i will be the first to tell you, the atmosphere can be downright thick in the dead of August. There are days when the humidity soars so high that the air itself seems to be sweating.  If you ever spent a significant portion of your day outside in a Tennessee heat wave, then you would understand our penchant for runnin round barefoot because you want as much body heat to escape as possible. Now, while we can withstand a rocketing heat index that would bring most northerners to their knees, we are absolutely ridiculous when it comes to cold weather. Our winters are typically mild and there have even been one or two Februaries in my lifetime when i was runnin round outside in shorts, a tshirt, and little else.  We spend most of our days fightin off gnats and mosquitoes and  heatstroke, so when we are faced with things like “windchill” or “wintry mix” we are downright pathetic. If the forecast calls for even the slightest chance of snow, there wont be milk or bread to be found on a grocery store shelf for 25 square miles. I’ll admit i have always wondered just what it is about these two staples that we feel will somehow magically carry us thru starvation and glacial conditions but Ive yet to figure that one out. Even people who dont typically eat milk and bread, purchase milk and bread if a winter storm threatens.

“Honey, the weatherman said there is a 20% chance of snow tonight! What will we do!?”

“Dont worry darlin, i will pick up two loaves and a gallon on my way home and bring up an extra cord of wood from the barn.”

If you think folks preparing for Y2K was intense, you should see a Georgian fortify for a possible dusting of the white stuff.

If the local meteorologists even HINT that flurries will be making an appearance, we shut down schools and businesses like we are preparing to escape the Holocaust.  However, its for good reason……have you ever seen any of us try to DRIVE in those sort of conditions? (Imagine if you will a mentally challenged canine using only two paws to navigate a full size pick-up truck down a curvy stretch of road and you will be close….it is NOT pretty.) Our counties dont own salt trucks or snow blowers and to us chains are meant for securing your grill to your tailgate in the parking lots of the football stadium and NOT for strapping to our tires for a drive.

This past Sunday came a winter storm here in North Georgia the likes of which ive never seen. It began as rain that progressed into hail that seized into alarmingly fast falling snow. The weather channel kept referring to it as “Thundersnow” which i am assuming is some form of thunderstorm snow shower combo…….whatever it was, it was coming down in buckets. Now somewhere around the time it was still in the freezing rain phase, i decided that if i was going to venture to the store, as i typically do on Sunday afternoons, i had better get a move on. And no, i was not on a quest for just bread and milk.  My usual weekly routine is to do my grocery shopping after the church time hour so i am stocked for the week and ready to go. I would have put it off, but there was little left in the house short of stale saltines and some olive oil and even Rachel Ray would be hard pressed to creatively turn that into to a meal of any sort. So off i went into the wild wet yonder.

And oh, sweet Jesus, you should have seen the local Publix. It was utter pandemonium. Folks were wielding buggies thru the isles like it was the final turn on the Atlanta Motor Speedway…..children screaming, people shouting…..i half expected to turn the corner and see villagers looting and pillaging in all out anarchy. I wondered if the Red Cross might have to be called in to tend to the injured. I made quick work of my errand, careful to avoid too much eye contact with the angry mob and shuffled my bags rapidly towards to the door.

As i exited the madness, the site of the sky was absolutely breathtaking. Big, fat, iridescent flakes were falling with such a furry you could scarcely see a foot in front of your face.  The store had been so full of noise and clatter that the silence of the snow was nearly deafening. I waded thru the sludge-filled parking lot and attempted to remove the big frigid blanket that had enveloped my car in just under half an hour. It took a great deal of effort but at long last i managed to secure my bounty and myself inside the frozen vehicle. I was absolutely soaked from head to foot and silently wondering just how many toes i might be losing at that moment to frostbite. I said a silent prayer and slowly creaked towards home.

Now, its true, ima terrible driver even without throwing in such things as “black ice” or “limited visablity”……i daresay, its my time spent driving that keeps my guardian angels the most busy. There i was, hands gripped at 10 and 2 blazing down the road at about 10 miles an hour. Even that seemed like a break neck speed at the time.  It was difficult to tell just what condition the roads beneath me were really in…….i felt like i was driving down a street paved by a Slush Puppy machine……it was some sort of element that flittered between rain and snow and ice so fast you couldnt distinguish. It took some doin, but finally i made it home.

That night as i lie in bed watching the news for school closings and delays i felt my stomach tighten at the mention of all the accidents blocking local roadways and filling up emergency rooms. I silently said a big THANK YOU to the man upstairs for seeing me home safely in spite of the fact that i was the moron that ventured out into the madness voluntarily.  As i watched the footage of the particularly gruesome vehicular carnage twisted across every major interstate and nearly half the back roads i heard the anchorman make the comment that the real danger lie in the fact the conditions were vacillating…….it wasnt snow, yet it wasnt rain……and that being somewhere in the middle was what was causing all the danger. Apparentlyfolks tend to become disoriented a bit from focusing on the swirling snowflakes in their immediate field of vision…..their reaction time becomes lethargic and twitchy all the while they are forgetting that the solid before them has gone liquid beneath their tires sending them skidding out of control.

It got me to thinking that my life itself is that way a bit as well……it seems the time spent dithering between major decisions is the most tricky…..the most difficult to navigate…..the most dangerous.  Do i want to be in this relationship or dont i? Do i want to take a chance on this new job or stick with the old one?  Do i stay put or try a new city? Its during the state of oscillation i find i make the most mistakes.  I spend so much time attempting to avoid making miscalculations and blunders that i begin to slide all over the road losing site of what i really wanted in the first place. Im currently wrestling with some big decisions and its time to stop straddlin the fence……  What they say is true, you cant ride two horses with one ass.

In my personal quest to find a fitness center that is just the right fit for me, I have discovered just how little clothing i currently own conducive to exercise. Let me rephrase that, just how little clothing i own that STILL FITS and is conducive to exercise. Because, lets face it folks, if it’s tight its going to chafe…..and if it chafes its going to blister…..and if it blisters I’ll just end up sitting on the couch for three days recovering only giving me time to pack on more chub. Its a vicious, vicious cycle.  Ive stopped worrying just how unfashionable i look these days as i hit the gym which is so unlike me. In days gone by i wore the cute matching sports bra and spandex shorts combos with perfectly accessorized socks and hair ties. Nowadays Im lucky if my yoga pants and t-shirt arent opposing shades on the color wheel. Oh, how the mighty have fallen……and last thursday night i saw just how far.

As a general rule, Im a pretty sociable person. It isnt often i feel i meet a stranger and i can hold my own both in large crowds and in one-on-one scenarios. I suppose years of working in the field of healthcare have given me the advantage of being able to chat amiably with people i dont know very well in an effort to put them at ease.  I dont know if you’ve noticed but sick folks arent always the most pleasant people to pass a day with. Physical pain often transforms even the kindest of human beings into serious sourpusses. But i get it…..it isnt personal….they just dont feel good. And so i pat, and coddle and hug em back to healthy and let their bad attitudes just roll right off me.  Its not always easy and certainly some days are more challenging than others…..but last thursday night i wouldve traded three of my all time most irritating patients for the neo-natal Nazi that masqueraded as my trainer.

At first glance i wondered if my running shoes were older than she was.  I noticed that the infant size shirt she was wearing was so small that the Adidas logo simply wouldnt fit across her midsection as intended……no, instead, the front of her jersey said A-D-I-D while the remaining A -S were forced to wrap themselves around the side of her ridiculously tiny body. I was mentally calculating just how much force it would take me to hog-tie her and force feed the little waif a cheeseburger and a snickers bar when she looked up from her clipboard for the first time and took a good gander at me.  She extended her perfectly manicured hand in my direction wafting the faint scent of Luv’s baby powder in my direction and i saw a clear view of just how shiny and obnoxious i must have appeared 10 years ago. She took in my ancient gray pants and faded worn out tank and crinkled her nose a bit.

“I hear grunge is the new Pink” i say without a smile. “I mean, matchy-matchy is SO 2008. Havent you seen Slumdog Millionaire?”

She doesnt seem to find my acerbic wit entertaining.  In fact, im not even sure she understands 3/4th of the English language so blank is the stare she is giving me.  Righty-Oh. Back to business.

“So Tiffany,” i say reading her sparkly name badge, “tell me a little about the gym here and what you would suggest for someone like myself that wants to get back in to shape.”

And that was all it took……that poor girl positively ignited with enthusiasm.  She pranced around the room exploding with information about form and resistance and strengthening one’s core. She prattled away about how she practically lived in this place because there was nothing she would rather do than work out……she proudly informs me she even passed up a trip to Europe this past summer because she didnt want to mess up her muscle conditioning rotation.  Each passing moment she seemed to build momentum like a tiny little blond rocket ship.

“Houston we have a problem” I think to myself.

At long last she places me on the elliptical machine with strict instruction to  GO! GO! GO! until her return. I watch her toddle off towards the front desk and sigh in relief.  One more second of Sporty Spice’s chatter was going to send me into early menopause. I set my body in motion and felt the muscles in my thighs begin to warm as i found a steady pace.  The heat of exertion began to melt my day away and i let my mind drift. 35 minutes later i am still drifting but at this point the mellow heat has become a raging internal inferno more akin to the fiery flames of hell than the lovely hearthside incandescence of moments earlier. But pride keeps me going as there is no way i am going to be lying prostrate on the floor under the giant ceiling fan when little miss sunshine returns even though that is exactly what i feel like doing. At long last she bounces over and begins tapping buttons across the front of torture device on which i am currently running like a rat in a wheel. Suddenly the pitch of the incline begins to rise as does the level of my internal panic…..i feel the last of my lifeforce liquify, seep from my pores and run down my spine.

Every cell in my body longs to wrap the cord from my ipod around her throat and squeeze until she turns purple. But im so near death i need what is left of the oxygen remaining in my lungs to keep from passing out.

 After 50 minutes of sheer torment the bloody machine comes to a stop. I look down in shock to see i am indeed still standing which is clearly a suprise as i have lost feeling in my upper extremities and my lower limbs feel as though they are made of jello. 

My quads and calves are pleading for mercy. “Look, we’re beggin ya. Negotiate a peace treaty with Exercise Barbie over there so we can go home” they say.

“Great warm up!” cheers Sporty Spice, “Now lets move on to weights!”

Im not sure how i managed to keep from dropping to the floor like a stone during those next 30 minutes, but somehow i endured. 

“Ohmygod! Wasnt! That! Like! The! Best! Ever!” she shrills.  “Dont! You! Just! Love! The! Rush! You! Get! From! Working! Out!”

I pull on my jacket and look her squarely in the face, “Sweetie,” i say guestering toward her person with my hand, “this kind of exuberance you are displaying should be reserved for the things in life that REALLY matter.”

She looks at me puzzled as though ive just asked her to solve the theories of quantum mechanics.

“Honey, if EXERCISE is the thing in this life that gets you the most worked up, youre doin something wrong.”

Again i see a shadow cross her features and i realize she has yet to grasp my point….. So i decide to put it language she can surely understand.

“You wanna know what i LOVE, Tiffany?” i question. “I! Love! A! Good! Glass! Of! Wine! And! A! Good! Book! And! Bubblebaths! And! Cookies! With! Too! Many! Fat! Grams!” i holler. …..at this point i am practically doing high kicks and arial toe touches as i edge towards the door.

I walk to my car absolutely shaking with laughter and drive directly to meet friends for dinner. Oh Tiffany, i hope one day soon you are able to see that the things in this world really worth cartwheeling over or bursting with excitment about will never be found inside a sweaty, dirty gym on a treadmill…..and if these few extra pounds mean i have figured that out, well, so be it.

Most times folks associate the South with a sense of lackadaisical laziness.  Small town life, like the one i was so fortunate to grow up in, on the outside may still seems to move with a rather sedate sense of time. Folks there will still take a moment to say howdy to one another at the check-out counter or linger after church to catch up on the latest gossip. They’ll make the drive over to the local hospital to visit an ailing friend or family member or load up on a Friday night to go see their cousin’s sophomore youngin play his first 10 minutes on the field as a member of the varsity football team.  But just like the rest of  over-stimulated, civilized humanity they juggle jobs and commutes and soccer games and ballet recitals. And most times no one feels there were enough hours in the day to accomplish even half what needed doin’.

But down here in the big city there are days when you can literally feel the sense of “hurry” permeate the atmosphere. Ive never seen folks in such a rush. I think i spent my first six months here in a constant state of dizzy. Half the folks i know keep schedules so insane it can make your knees weak just thinkin about it…..and Ive started to notice myself becoming one of them. Its monday morning and Im already planning things for a friday night two weeks out.  I live just 11 miles door to door from my good friend Stacy but sometimes trying to plan a lunch together takes 3 weeks and minor act of Congress.

And so when i read this the other day, I stopped short in my shoes:

A man sat at a metro station in Washington DC and started to play the
violin; it was a cold January morning. He played six Bach pieces for about
45 minutes. During that time, since it was rush hour, it was calculated
that thousands of people went through the station, most of them on their
way to work.

Three minutes went by and a middle aged man noticed there was musician
playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried
up to meet his schedule.

A minute later, the violinist received his first dollar tip: a woman threw
the money in the till and without stopping continued to walk.

A few minutes later, someone leaned against the wall to listen to him, but
the man looked at his watch and started to walk again. Clearly he was late
for work.

The one who paid the most attention was a 3 year old boy. His mother dragged
him along, hurried, but the kid stopped to look at the violinist. Finally
the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk turning his head all
the time. This action was repeated by several other children. All the
parents, without exception, forced them to move on.

In the 45 minutes the musician played, only 6 people stopped and stayed for
a while. About 20 gave him money but continued to walk their normal pace.
He collected $32. When he finished playing and silence took over, no one
noticed it. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.

 No one knew this but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the best
musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever
written with a violin worth $3.5 million.

Two days before his playing in the subway, Joshua Bell sold out at an entire
theater in Boston and the seats averaged $100.

This is a real story.  Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station
was organized by the Washington Post as part of an social experiment about
perception, taste and priorities of people. 

Wow.

If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians
in the world playing the best music ever written, how many other things are
we missing?  Im not even midway thru my 30′s and even i am starting to see it really does pass in a blink……and unless you’ve got a Delorean with a spare flux capacitor lying around in your garage, there isnt any way to get it back once its gone. In your commonplace environments at an inappropriate hours, do you perceive beauty? Do you stop to appreciate it? Do you recognize the talent in an unexpected context?

My Gram is so right…..youth is wasted on the young.

I sit  looking at my lunch with about as much enthusiasm as a prisoner in an old western eyes the gallows.

Carrot sticks and what i am told is a low fat turkey wrap…upon close examination there appear to be several thin, dry strips of material roughly the color and texture of a band-aid masquerading as meat- resting on a bed of something resembling frazzled yarn and rolled tightly inside a chartreuse shaded tortilla that smells faintly of feet. The only redeeming prospect is the cup of 60 calorie pudding so small i could practically snort it. I sigh deeply and wonder just when THIS became my life.

As a kid, lunchtime was one of two things……

During the 9 months of the year i was forcibly indoors “booklearnin” it was a respite from a long day of confinement. Don’t get me wrong, I adored school……how could i not…..it was all about books and backpacks and the sharp smell of brand new number two pencils. But the social butterfly within immensely enjoyed the mid-day half hour of chatter time. I wasnt a big fan of cafeteria food so nearly everyday my Dad would pack my lunch. It nearly always included a sandwhich and potato chips though occassionally he would change it up a bit. However, the one thing that was always present without fail was some form of little Debbie snack cake tucked between my napkin and sweet handwritten note on sticky paper wishing me a good day. It all came packaged in whatever magnificent lunch box Id chosen for the year and was washed down with a carton of chocolate milk or jungle juice. Delish. This pattern continued right up until high school at which point lunch boxes were no longer cool and suddenly i was given my choice of all sorts of hydrgogenated, sugar infused fabulousness. Why they think high school kids are smart enough to control their own eating habits is beyond me…..i honestly believe there were about two years there where i survived off the life giving sustancenance of powdered donuts and mountain dew alone.

Throughout the remaining months of the year when i wasnt sequestered in a classroom, lunch was just kind of a mild annoyance. Something that required me to come indoors and sit still for 15 minutes while my Mama saw to it i ingested at least half of my grilled cheese sandwhich and tomato soup combo before i was allowed to race back out to my bike, or my tree climbing or whatever else was on my energetic agenda for the day.

Back then i never gave my daily diet a single thought and i was still so skinny that according to my Mama i had to run around in the shower just to get wet.

But somewhere near the end of my 20′s there was a shift. Id say it was a combination of the fact that id embraced my adulthood by then which meant i was spending significant portions of my day at a real job along with the fact that my body was taking the natural course  of a hormone change. Reguardless of the reasons it wasnt pretty, people. And i learned in a hurry about the moment on the lips/lifetime on the hips theory.

On a typical weeknight, I arrive home from the clinic pretty well exhausted.  I spend most of my days in a perpetual state of motion but sadly not the calorie burning kind.  Ive decided that i just need to be more active even if it kills me.  I made a list of the local fitness centers in my area and have decided to check them out to see which is the most appropriate fit. I figure if im going to spend the equivalent of a monthly car payment for the sheer pleasure of sweating like a rat in a wool sock, i should at least be well informed as to what my options are. I’ll be posting my observations and experiences for your education and amusement.

I began my journey to better health with a jaunt to a little place called Cuts Fitness.

Its a privately owned little joint and i wondered if the less commercial appeal that their advertisement seemed to contain would spill over into the location itself. Their mission statement of “Making the world a better place one body, mind and soul at a time” sounded cozy yet inspiring. I rather liked the idea of my own personal “health handler” that would “acertain my level of fitness” and work with me one on one “to achieve my healthy lifestyle goals”.  I could just see it now……id become fast friends with my trainer and my fellow exercisers….we’d exchange light witty banter while stretching and straining through each routine…..we’d give each other nicknames and diet advice…..it would  be kind of like Cheers with less beer and more spandex and bascially we would hug and high five our way to the super model bodies of our dreams. (Have i mentioned my imagination sometimes runs WILD?)

I breezed in to the reception area filled with warm, low lighting and smiled at the sweatsuit clad gentleman behind the large mahogany desk.

“Hello, my name is Melissa.” I said extending my hand. “I have an appointment for an initial consulation.”

He raised his hollow eyes briefly and in a frightening monotone asked me to have a seat. I turned behind me expecting a chair and the usual pile of outdated magazines and such. But the room was empty other than massive wooden workspace behind which he reclined. I squinted in puzzlement but didnt have time to consider the conumdrum long as a woman dressed in a uniform of sorts appeared and asked me to follow her. She too seemed 2 dimensional in nature, speaking softly and with entirely too much ennunciation.  Her face remained absolutely motionless as she pointed to several strange looking machines and explained their functions. It was like her entire person had been botoxed within an inch of its life…..either that or she was one pill away from being catatonic.  Though there was only a handful of equipment in the room the tour seemed to take an eternity. I glanced at my watch and noticed it had only been five minutes.

“Come on. Pay attention” I told myself.

I jumped in and began asking questions, making jokes. She simply stared right thru me as though i were made of glass. Suddenly i noticed we were utterly alone in that space. There wasnt a single solitary person working out.  You could practically see the tumbleweed blowing across the studio.

She continued her diatribe moving slowly and methodically like an automaton. This place was about as inspiring as a 3 hours stint in the dentist chair. I glanced sideways at my nearly comatose tour guide and marveled at her severly tight pony tail and pale marble skin. Suddenly my mind is filled with visions of vampires and werewolves and covens.

“The only weight im gonna lose in this joint is the 8 grams that will dissappear when they suck the soul from my twitching corpse.” i thought quietly to myself.

I shuddered and secretly scolded my sister in law for getting me so sucked in to the tweeny Twilight series that suddenly i was seeing legends and myths materialize in the gym now. This place was about as cozy a crypt.

When the tour was over i practically sprinted to my car. Oh, i was motivated all right……motivated to run and warn the rest of the villagers that is. Maybe i will go big chain commercial after all. I mean there may be way too much flourescent lighting but at least all i know they will try to control is my wallet.

I started keeping a journal when i was just a yougin’, and Ive held onto the majority of them over the years….i believe of the ones that i currently have in my possession the oldest one dates back to the 3rd grade when i was still dancin’ thru my days in pigtails in my single digit years. Its a rather comical read with short entries composed in bubbly handwriting discussing mostly things like my favorite color, what i ate for lunch that day and how much i loved my dog. The cover is sparkly and boasts a lock that does little more than hold the pages together.  I still get a kick out of the sticker on the inside binding that warns  uninvited readers of their impending doom should i ever catch them snooping.

At some point it simply became habit to jot down my thoughts each night before turning out the light and drifting off to dream…..like brushing my teeth or saying my prayers…..i just couldnt surrender the day until id done so. But the truth is, i had no idea just how significant and vital this routine would become in the years of my life to come.

From the ages of 11 to 12 during the years of our Lord 1987 and 1988 respectively, I have very little memory. Aside from the occassional flashes that occur when i encounter certain smells or sounds, its all shrouded in a muddy blanket of nothingness. It was during that time that i was repeatedly sexually assaulted by someone. I begin to feel a darkness the likes of which i cant even begin to explain enveloping and evaporating the very core of WHO i was as a person. I lived in a state of fear that soon i would fade from existence altogether and the world would never know the real me. And so i began to pour myself on to paper. It was my way of saving the past while giving a future to the girl who was slowly vanishing from within. In the world of words i could live….in the world of words i was free to have thoughts and ideas…..to have emotion and even feel some pleasure. And the best part was….i was untouchable there. NO ONE, no matter how strong or how evil could  touch me in the world of words. It was all i had….it was all that was really mine….and soon it became all that was left of ME.

But grace be to God I survived…..Time moved on as it always does and i started rebuilding my life. I learned to smile again….and even to laugh. I graduated from high school and started college.  I decided the best revenge i could have was to have a life well lived. To prove that no matter what they had done to me, I HAD SURVIVED. They may have mangled my body but they didnt kill my spirit. By not letting them take THAT from me, i had emerged the victor. I realized that what i had endured had carved within me a heart of enormous size. It have softened me and made me atuned to what real suffering was….so that when i encountered it, I KNEW. Pain had flowed over me and like water over stone it had smoothed me into a new shape. I was stronger for it….what i went thru had given me the greatest of all gifts……it filled me with compassion….and  a desire to help the hurting heal in a way only someone who has been to where i had could.

And so i came to find myself on the egde of a river one day some 10 years later. I slid down the muddy bank until i was knee deep in the water. Alone and with tears streaming down my face, i lit each one of those journals from that dark time on fire with a small pack of matches…i set them afloat and vowed to NEVER look back. I didnt need those pages full of words anymore….because the REAL ME was alive and breathing and standing in that muddy water. I was back.

And so dear reader, now you will know why writing is so important to me…..i write because it helps me process-i write because it keeps me sane- I WRITE because WRITING once SAVED my life.

I would like to offer the sincerest of THANK YOU’s to those who have supported me in making the dream of this website a reality. i imagine my exuberance has at times been nearly unbearable. If you think my accent is bad now, you should hear me when i get excited……im downright inpossible to understand.

Im excited about sharing who I am and what i have to say with you, the great big world. I assure you not all the entries will be this intensely heavy……ive even been known to make folks chuckle on more than one occassion. But, thanks for indulging me nonetheless.

Here’s to the journey ya’ll, and the road less traveled.

I hail from a small town in a southern state that is often referred to as the Belt Buckle region of the Bible Belt, and where to this day you might actually hear it said that those who vote Democrat are likely to burn in the fiery pits of eternal hell. Somehow in this sector of the nation people developed the notion that true followers of Christ show loyalty only to the GOP. I’ve always found this to be extremely fascinating because while its true that the Republican party tends to shape legislation that further the ideals of things such as “the right to life” and “putting prayer back in schools” its typically Democrats that fashion laws and foundations to do things God himself commissioned us to in both the Old and New testaments such as feed the hungry and clothe the poor. But political parties are of human design and therefore riddled with flaws…..just as there will never be one religion that possesses a lock on all truth there will never be one party with all the right answers. Personally I believe that America holds itself back tremendously by perpetuating the two-party political system…..but I also think Condi Rice merits the label FABULOUS for her personal shoe savvy alone so what do I know?

I consider myself a Christian…..not the bun-wearing, Bible-beating hell-fire-and brimstone kind, but I most certainly believe in God. While raised in a home that most definitely leaned to the right, my folks were both intelligent and humble enough to encourage me to seek my own personal Truth and for that I am eternally grateful. I gather that they might lose their marbles over some viewpoints I have developed in my latter years, but they will have to hold tight to the fact they gave me insight, instruction and more than a little guidance…..and at the end of the day it’s my ship to sail. Im hoping that being that they were ushered into adulthood on the cresting wave of Woodstock and all manner of revolutions that they will remember what courage it actually takes to plot your own course in this life and not be strung along like every other generation, mindlessly swallowing the rhetoric of the one before without a single individual thought of one’s own. If you love those who gave you life…..and in return respect them….. it can prove to be difficult sometimes to allow yourself the luxury of disagreeing with them…..especially when it comes to fundamental human and religious ideals.

For the record, I would like to pull back the velvet curtain and reveal that I did NOT in fact, vote for Barrack Obama. Putting that in print suddenly leaves me feeling as though I am buck naked in Times Square on New Year’s Eve. It wasn’t a decision I made quickly or easily either for that matter. Im no big McRage fan either. God Bless the man for the sacrifices and services he willing gave for our country and its freedom but during many of his public appearances he always seemed one step away from biting the head off a bat Ozzy Osborn style to me. I, like most of the rest of the nation, was captivated by Obama’s charisma and outrageously charming grin. The man can flat out hold the attention of an audience…..and of course, after 8 years of Bush’s constant verbal diarrhea he was like a breath of fresh air. I saw the potential in some of his plans for our nation’s healthcare as well as a few other key things in his platform. But in the end, I simply couldn’t embrace his openly clear connection with the tenants of socialism and his ridiculous views on gun control. I realize that last statement combined with my disturbingly strong southern accent makes me appear to have arrived barefoot and billybob-toothed straight out of the trailer park, but I assure you, just because I talk slow doesn’t mean im simple minded. I’ve simply spent a substantial amount of time living amongst people such as the Cubans and seen first hand how repealing the right for everyday citizens to bear arms can lead to oppression and dictatorship in a hurry…..im not a fan. And I don’t know about you, but I tend to lose motivation to succeed when I know MY earnings produced from MY efforts are going to be taken away and then equally reallocated amongst myself and the three jokers down the street that sat on their asses all day not earning a dime. I am all about a hand up but not a hand out. One of the things that make this country unique and such a coveted place to live is the idea that we each have the opportunity to achieve success if we simply push long enough, hard enough and with enough force. It’s the economic equivalent of reaping what you sow which I think makes a great deal of sense. Changing that dynamic is, in my opinion, dangerous and asking for trouble.

But we are a nation ruled by democracy…..and while I may not have chosen the candidate, I willingly accept my contestant’s defeat because the majority has spoken and I respect the process of free election.

Its no secret that today’s inauguration is historical. And I don’t care what policies or parties with which you align yourself, it was simply inspiring to see a black man stand on the steps of a monument built less than 200 years ago by SLAVES and be sworn in as the leader of the free world. I haven’t forgotten that I am middle class white chick that grew up in the 80′s and couldn’t be more removed from the plight of the black man if I lived on the moon……but still. It renews my hope in humanity’s ability to change……That a little less of the suffering and injustice of those before will be passed to those to come……..That maybe one day equality will be more of a reality and less of an idea…..

Corny as it sounds, today, well, I was proud to be an American.

Likely one of the most profoundly moving experiences we encounter as human beings is the death of someone we love. Even when the hour and time it’s likely to occur are known, there is never really any way to prepare oneself for such a moment. It brings out the worst in us…..anger, resentment, bitterness……while simultaneously pulling from us the magnificent……compassion, empathy, and kindness. Its total emotional upheaval, and at any given moment you aren’t sure just which side is winning the war.

The world lost an amazing young man a few days ago by the name of Nathan Smith. I’ve known Nathan and his family for the better part of my time on this planet. And while I haven’t actually spent time with him in years, it saddened me to hear of his passing. We were never extremely close because I was several years older than he with just enough gap in our ages to prevent us from ever being at the same school at the same time or in one another’s peer group. But, I knew his older brothers and even spent some time traveling with his mother on a trip abroad where she acted as a translator for the expedition. Our lives circled over one another’s in many ways and I would certainly never have hesitated to call him friend. When I think of him, it’s likely the first thing I will always remember is his extremely warm smile. He was incredibly bright and sometimes goofy which made him all the more endearing. He faced many challenges in this life and he seemed to meet them all with a great deal of grace and perseverance which made him all the more admirable. He spent his relatively short time on this planet involved in the field of medicine and healing which will make him all the more unforgettable.

I suppose its only natural when someone with whom you are somehow connected leaves this world for the next that it ushers in memories of all those whom we have cared about and have lost before. And in the hours since I have heard of Nathan’s departure, ive been overwhelmed with thoughts of an old friend. It’s surprising even to me that I haven’t written of her before now. Being that I am prone to pouring my heart out via the written word, that is very interesting indeed. Perhaps it just took this long for me to find the courage. Her name was Samantha and she actually suffered from the same disease as Nathan (Cystic Fibrosis) though she lost her battle at a much earlier age than he.

I will never forget the day we met. Granted, I was young……4 years old actually…….but its one of those moments that lives like a leaf encased in amber…..perfectly frozen in time and etched in my mind. It was day 1 of Kindergarten. I bounced in positively electrified with excitement. Keep in mind I come from a small town and even though this was a private institution there were several children in that room whose mothers were friends with mine and with whom Id played with before on more than one occasion. I said hello to my friends, compared new shoes and the joys of owning my first Trapper Keeper and started looking for a place to put my Cabbage Patch lunch box. She was sitting next to the table by the bookshelves wearing a polka dot dress with lady bugs on it. Her hair was split into two thick braids that fell clear to her waist and were tied neatly with red ribbon. Id never seen her before and from the look on her face she didn’t know a soul in the room. Her eyes were a soft brown and seemed terribly large in her small pale face. I began to feel something very strange and new……she looked at me like one of my precious dollies come to life and I just wanted to wrap her up and put her in my pocket. I’ve had that feeling several times since as I have grown into adulthood and I see it as a real gift, because ive come to recognize it as my heart speaking directly to me. Now, because I don’t possess a completely perfect memory, im not sure just exactly what was spoken, but I imagine the conversation to have gone a little something like this:

Me: Hi
Sam: Hi
Me: I like your hair. Wanna see what my mom made me for lunch?
Sam: Sure

And that was it. The bonds of sisterhood we forged.

I’ve come to believe that there are certain people in this life with whom we just instantly share a connection……its indefinable, unpredictable and absolutely one of the best parts about being human. Even though in many ways we could not have been more different, I saw something in her that I instantly recognized as familiar and she seemed to feel the same. Its relationships like these that I believe led Aristotle to define friendship as a single soul inhabiting two separate bodies. In fact, I never really noticed that not only was she different from me, she was different from everyone else as well. I would later learn that wasn’t only true of her health but also of that brilliant mind behind those brown eyes too big for that small sweet face. By the end of that day, I swear, it was as though we known each other two full lifetimes and then some.

From then on, we took on Kindergarten and the World together. Her disease while ever present in things like daily routine somehow seemed removed to me. We made games out of swallowing her pills……with age they increased in size and number and the goal was to see how many she could swallow at once without gagging. When she was too weak for that, id break open the capsules and pour them into applesauce…..we’d see if she could eat the whole bowl in less than 5 spoonfuls. I became familiar with the ins and outs of the local pediatric ward of the hospital where she routinely went for treatment and therapy. When illness would extend her stay to more than a day or two, id sleep overnight curled up on the vinyl couch in the corner or directly in the bed next to her. It wasn’t that I didn’t understand her life was fragile……myself probably more than anyone knew that she suffered and struggled in ways many of us will never comprehend. But, we chose not to focus on that and instead plotted a strategy to become doctors when we grew up and fix this mess of a disease the current grown up population couldn’t seem to figure out. We certainly thought we were bright enough that’s for sure…..in confidence we were far from lacking. I look back on photographs of us over the years……together we were nothing but a mess of long thick hair, skinny gangly appendages and optimism.

We learned to ride bikes together…..went to summer camp….bought our first bras and discovered the wildly intense pleasure of falling for a boy. We taught each other sign language to communicate secrets while sitting in the same room with our parents…..and eventually as a way to speak to one another when tubes down her throat made using her voice impossible. But we would both learn that sometimes volumes can be spoken without either words or symbols when in junior high I became the victim of sexual assault. I melodramatically refer to that era of my life as the dark night of the soul. There were so many voices swirling around in my head it was impossible for me to single out the one that was my own and speak of these things. But when I couldn’t hear myself, Sam could because she knew my voice as well as she did her own. We’d lie side by side under the cottony pink gauze of her canopy bed and just BE. Sometimes we wouldn’t say a word for hours but id walk away feeling like she’d really heard me. And it was Sam who pushed me to work thru things on paper…..let my fingers say the words my tongue seemed to find so thick and difficult. And thus a writer was born…..

The summer before high school the fabulous Make a Wish Foundation granted Sam a wish. She asked for a vacation in Hawaii and they complied. For two weeks she and I and our crazy mothers traveled the islands. We saw active volcanoes and dipped our toes in the tide on the beautiful black beaches. We snorkeled and rode boats and even tried to learn how to surf. We stayed in fancy hotels, rode around in flashy convertibles and had every bit of our inner princesses pampered. Thanks to my mother who saw most of the scenery through the lens of an 18 lbs video camera, I have 10 hours worth of recorded viewing pleasure. We returned home tan and exhausted but ridiculously happy.

A few months later Sam landed in the hospital with an infection. In accordance with routine procedure, I gathered together the survival kit: contraband chocolate, fashion magazines, nail polish, my walkman and my headphones…..and had my mom drop me at the hospital. We’d paint our toenails and then lying with our heads super close together on the pillow we would stretch the headphones apart until one pad was on her left ear and the other was on my right. We’d crank up the music (more often than not Bon Jovi) and thumb thru the magazines wiggling our toenails till they were dry. How silly we must have looked with two heads squeezed between one headset……it never occurred to us to just take turns or buy a walkman that had a port for more than one pair. Mom picked me up at dinner time and I told Sam Id be back the next day after school. It was a Monday night. Tuesday it was raining and cold. I was in the cafeteria eating a nutritionally packed lunch of powdered donuts and mountain dew when I heard my name being called to come to the office. Mom was there to check me out and I knew then something was wrong. It seemed Sam had endured a pretty rough night and asked for me several times. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when we arrived at the hospital. It seemed like a nano second since id last seen her but she’d shriveled away to bones. Her eyes were shrunken and set off by ugly shades of purple bruising. I remember thinking how shocking that shade of indigo seemed next to the paleness of the rest of her. Tubes snaked out her nose and mouth and ran down her body to lie across the sheets. It was as though she were a small flower resting on a wild vine. She lifted her hands to sign but fatigue and the massive amounts of narcotics made it difficult. So I just crawled up next to her, made myself very still and said…..”It’s ok. I hear you. Let’s just BE.”

After some time she fell asleep and they made me get out of the bed. The doctors informed me she was more stable than she had been in hours and that i should go home and rest. We’d just gotten home when they called to tell me she was gone. I’d had her for almost a decade…..she died just 8 days shy of my 14th birthday.

To say Sam was my “friend” seems almost ridiculous when she was SO much more than that……she could evolve from playmate to teacher to co-conspirator and back again all in the span of a day. She inspired me and challenged me and heard me when no one else could. You know, as adults we seek to harness the relationships in our lives…..to define them, give them boundaries, labels and absolutes. Oh but that we could learn to not put people into boxes stamped with titles….we just might see that parents that teach might also challenge and inspire…..that those we mentor may actually have lessons for us to learn…..or that the person we call best friend could actually be the love of a lifetime we have been waiting for.

I miss you, Sam. Hug Nathan for me and you two try to stay out of trouble up there.

Lately, it seems the Universe is intent on blowing one reoccurring theme in my direction…..AUTHENTICTY. What it is and what it isn’t and how to judge the difference. And in particular, the areas in my own life where im guilty of the “isnt”.

I certainly get that its simply human nature to want to portray the most positive YOU possible. Most of us just put the highlight reel on endless loop and let it roll. For example, I’m a halfway decent singer…..I don’t claim to be Broadway bound or anything but I can carry a tune in a bucket, a teacup, AND a champagne flute. You visit my mama’s house more than once and she is at some point going to brag on this…..odds are she may even force, I mean invite, you to watch a video of any number of my recorded performances. (God help you, if you’ve been subjected to this already or ever are in the future. I offer my sincerest apologies.) But, another personal fact about yours truly, is im a mouth breather…..which pleasantly means that at night in my sleep, I tend to drool like a toddler cutting 2 eye teeth and a molar. It aint pretty, people. But, I highly doubt you will ever be subjected to endless photos of THAT…… and god knows, im certainly not going to ever bring it up intentionally in conversation. Promote the Affirmative/Camouflage the Adverse. Case in Point: these social networking sites that myself and so much of the planet are addicted to. We fling up photo albums full of happy family moments, good hair days and finish line crossings like its going out of style. To read most of these bios you’d think Coke-a-Cola really did teach the world to sing. I mean, seriously. It’s as though we are all only one step away from our own personal shang-gri-la and world peace. I was looking at some adorable Thanksgiving photos on a friend of mine’s blog the other day. Said friend has two adorable little demons that smile like cherubim but would likely feel downright at home working at the right hand of Satan. I know these guys…..I was present at their births, yet even IM not entirely convinced they are human. These little monsters don’t sit still even in their sleep, yet there they were side-by-side, arms slung over each other’s shoulders in matching britches, hats and scarves like something straight out of a Gap ad. It made me laugh out loud. I personally once posted a picture of myself crossing the finish line at my first charity 5k…..im all dewy and radiant with charisma…..hands thrust in the air in triumph……what you don’t see, is the time it took me to run those wretched 3.2 miles or the ambulance parked nearby that I nearly needed.

But this sort of “advertise the positive” line of thinking isn’t all evil…..it’s understandable to want others to view you in a pleasant light. I’m a natural born people-pleaser myself and would just about rather be hog tied and drug behind a moving vehicle down a gravel road than be a boat-rocker or a facer of confrontation. Like most everyone else, I feed the strong inner desire to be liked and loved and accepted. Personally, im not sure how well it would go over if we all posted photos of every aspect of our real selves. I have no desire to see you sitting on the couch in the middle of a three day Twinkie binge or fighting on camera with that husband of yours you love so much. Ok, ok….I might get sucked in to that out of mere curiosity for like 3 or 4 days but sooner or later it would just get depressing. So keep on posting those fabulous pageant shots and award winning moments of joy.
But, while I was enjoying a kicky little cinematic ditty the other evening, I heard someone on screen say “Love never means having to say your sorry”…..I nearly choked on my overpriced refreshments. If you subscribe to that line of thinking I’d wager my next two paychecks on the fact that you are SINGLE. Love, and relationships in general, actually mean having to say you are sorry A GREAT DEAL. But, what im starting to believe is that while real love may not mean “never having to say you’re sorry”…..it SHOULD mean, never having to say you’re sorry FOR WHO YOU ARE. And that means ALL of who you are. But how can you expect someone to appreciate and accept authentic you, if you aren’t brave enough to show the world who that really is?
I’m certainly not throwing stones here, people, I am gloriously guilty of this myself. The vocation on my resume may read: “Healthcare Professional” but I bet I exert nearly as much if not more energy in the form of “Personal Publicist”. Say my life were a novel….. I might pen the inside book jacket to read: “Im the girl that will send you cards in the mail for absolutely no reason. I will drive 20 minutes out of my way to feed your dog when you are away on vacation. I will call you back at 2 am to field your random medical questions and do whatever is within my power to ease your suffering when possible. I will lend you pretty much anything I own regardless of value from clothes to camping equipment to my car. I’ll hold your hand and pour the wine while you pour your heart out about love gone wrong. I will drop everything at the last minute to baby-sit your children when emergencies arise. I’ll remember your birthday, dance at your wedding and attend funerals when you lose someone you love”……on and on ad nauseum…..
And while all of that IS TRUE…..somewhere in there, right next to all that inner goodness is a small closet in my heart where I hide all my secrets. I tend to pick and choose whom I grant access…..like an air traffic controller, waving in only those that meet my strict security clearance, and the list of those who qualify seems to be ever-shrinking. It’s my own personal version of “emotional transit management”. On some days you’re more likely to break the ranks of the CIA then to crack my internal code. This is a rather stark contrast to my general overall demeanor. I typically come off as rather warm and unassuming and for the most part rather confident. I tend to gush over babies and cry at the weddings of total strangers. But on certain levels I have become fairly adept at keeping folks at bay emotionally when I want to. The strange fact, is that on the rare occasion when I have been courageous enough to allow someone I have grown to trust to see every aspect of myself, even the parts I find the most deplorable, I have been met with a surprising amount of understanding and acceptance. You would think that positive experiences such as these would encourage me to relax some of the strict borders and emotional boundaries I have placed upon myself. But strangely I find that as the years roll by I tend to only add more emotional camouflage.

The more relationships I develop in this life, the more I realize this behavior is actually rather common. But the question is WHY? At what point did we come to define being loveable as meaning we must be a person that never behaves in such a way that would mean we would need make an apology? Where did we get the concept that we are only worthy of love when we behave as though we aren’t flawed?

The fabric of human nature is by definition riddle with imperfection. We are all aware that perfect people don’t exist so why do we waste our time trying to pretend we are one? It’s the intellectual equivalent of pretending the world is flat. You’d have a better chance of convincing the population that you are a unicorn or a descendent of Big Foot. Why waste so much energy marketing that which people aren’t buying in the first place? Its just simple economics, folks.
Some people claim love is a choice…..while others would tell you it’s a sacrifice or the ultimate act of service. And while at times it may be all of those things, it is first and foremost a GIFT……if it is performance driven or something you must work tirelessly to retain, people, that isn’t love…..that’s called a JOB.

Love of the most profound kind is forged and fixed by the flaws. Certain bonds can only be formed by experiencing the less than ideal. It isn’t the blemishes themselves that do the binding, but rather the process of refining them that does. It’s like forging steel. It must be subjected to the intensity of heat in order to rid itself of the imperfections and become the most effective and malleable version of itself. If one chose to ignore the impurities within and casually construct something without purifying it first the product would simply be inferior. While it might have the desired appearance it likely wouldn’t have the strength to stand the test of time.
When we choose to keep parts of ourselves hidden from those we care about and who care about us, it’s really ourselves to whom we do the greatest damage. We obstruct from our lives one of the greatest of all human experiences……and in my humble opinion the kind of intimacy that makes being alive worthwhile….and that is being loved for no other reason than because you are YOU…..not in spite of yourself, but rather BECAUSE of it……mouth breather tendencies and all.

The beauty of the fallibility of human nature is the fact that it gives birth to uniqueness. If we were all cut from the same cloth of perfection, there would be no individualism. The truth is, it’s often that which we find the most odd or unlovable about ourselves that can with the right person be the very things that endear us to them the most…..and love like that is authentic as it gets.

This particular evening I am exhausted to the point of near crazy. I can see the weariness of the day tugging at the corners of his eyes as well. We are seated on the patio of my favorite local restaurants, and the night smells of the rapid approach of Fall. The air swirling against my bare legs beneath my dress gives me a light chill, but it’s a delicious contrast to the warmth sliding into my belly from the glass of wine in my hand. It had been a difficult day….you know, the kind where you get the itch to sell most of what you own, shove the rest in a locker at the train station and hop the next ride out of the country. Ok, so maybe you don’t know. But, personally, I have those days every so often. I’m not sure what makes me think I will somehow become spontaneously brilliant and less of a mess if I simply make a drastic change in location, but I think it nonetheless. He tells me this insanely funny anecdote about one of his students that while trying to entertain his peers with a rather immature and brain damaged stunt managed to lose control of his bodily functions and shit his britches. The vibrations of laughter thru my chest begin to loosen the tension wound tightly inside and for the first time all day I take a deep breath.
He begins another story pertaining to one of his students and I am content to sit and allow his voice to wash over me. If I focus solely on him, I can momentarily silence all the other worries in my head and just BE. I notice one small curl of dark hair that seems intent on falling down across his forehead and I grin remembering how distressed he’d been when just a few short weeks ago a Nazi hair stylist went all Edward Scissorhands on his noggin and left him looking like a chemo patient. Suddenly he shifts gears. Drastically. I’ve grown accustomed to this and now it feels natural, but the first few conversations of this kind felt like driving 180 mph down a straight stretch of road with your foot on the floor and having someone suddenly jerk the wheel hard to the left.

“That’s the thing about love ” he says, “Do you know how to tell if it’s authentic?”

I’m always amazed at his ability to round mental corners at the speed of light. He’s practically the only person I know that can go from a discussion on the literary nuances of Moby Dick to a full blown explanation on the inner workings of the greatest of all human emotions all without getting dizzy.

“No, enlighten me, wont you” I mutter.

“It’s Free,” he says.

“Free?”

“Absolutely. Without question. I may not have a lock on the truth, but THIS I know.”

“Care to elaborate, your Holiness?” I quip.

“It’s simple. Real love doesn’t ask for anything in return. It’s simply given away for free. It doesn’t expect a reciprocating gesture or even acknowledgment. It doesn’t coerce or attempt to impress. It doesn’t say well if only you hadn’t failed me in this way or if only you had been better then you would be worthy of me. Nope. It doesn’t care about the flaws.”

“Interesting little interpretation you have there. Sounds similar to this passage in a little book called THE BIBLE.” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “This isnt exactly late breaking news, Sugar.”

“Perhaps. But it’s clear that though you’ve heard this before you don’t GET IT. Because if you did, you would recognize it when you see it…..or rather, recognize what ISNT Love but claims to be. It irritates me because you are bright. You should get this. I’m confused as to why you are wasting time. But, you’re not alone. I meet very few folks that do.”

I raise my brows and look at him in a squint. I’m torn between fascination and irritation because I don’t particularly like to be analyzed. He grins because he has seen this look before. Often. Suddenly my eyes fill with tears and brim over. Oddly, he is one of the few men I’ve encountered that isn’t the least bit awkward with crying women and he simply leans over and pats my arm.

“I’m sorry; I don’t know where that came from. Ok, that’s a lie. I do know, but I don’t want to talk about it.” I mutter.

“So, how do you feel about New York City in the Fall?” he grins. And just like that he’s on to something new as though the last 10 minutes hadn’t happened.

I crawl into bed that night thinking about that exchange. Why do we as humans find it so hard to wrap our minds around the concept of love without conditions? Why do we have such difficulty recognizing what real love looks like? I mean, I learned early on how to identify CHOCOLATE. Smash it flat into a bar and wrap it in tinfoil…..hallow it out and mold it into the shape of a bunny……or liquefy it and hide it in the middle of a sponge-filled cake and I can STILL identify it. The shape doesn’t matter…..the source doesn’t matter…….the amount doesn’t matter. I know INSTANTLY – Yep, this is chocolate, people. I can smell that margarine-infused, hydrogenated, fake coco-flavored candy shit from a mile away…..I am NOT fooled. One look at that shiny waxy mess and I know it’s not the real deal. Oh, it looks the same, but because I KNOW chocolate, I’m not fooled, Mr. Hershey…..even when its closetoalmostnearly-madewithSplenda-stampedwiththelogo-butstillnotchocolate…..I KNOW. And here is the kicker, I don’t settle for it either. Hmmmm……and that’s just CHOCOLATE.

Ok Ok….so chocolate is tangible…..but let’s face it, it’s also often times almost a transcendental experience just the same. Am I right, ladies???? But if I am as educated about and as picky over simply my choice of sugar infused indulgences, it does seem a little weak that im not better at identifying other things in my life as authentic and worth the investment……

Isn’t it just a kick in the pants that Love-the most PRICELESS of all commodities- is actually only of real VALUE when it is FREE…….and the second you put a price on it, it becomes worthless.

To My Mother Upon the Occassion of Her Upcoming 60th Birthday…..

My Mama………makes the BEST fried chicken in the universe. Absolutely. No question. End of story. And incidentally she somehow manages to burn herself EVERY single time.

………..responds to every request posed to her with the same phrase, “I’ll do it for a quarter”. “Hey Mama, will you sew this button on for me?” “Yep, for a quarter!” “Hey Betty, can you give me a ride to the airport?” “Sure thing….for a quarter!” I would go as far as to say if the president of the United States called upon her to perform some top secret duty saying, “Mrs. Holmes, your assistance is needed at the Pentagon. Could you fly to Washington immediately for a briefing?” Betty Jo would look directly at him and say, “For a quarter.”

………..can make anything grow, anywhere, in any soil. Its likely the reason one of my favorite smells on earth is freshly cut grass and i can not help but think of her anytime i see ANYTHING in bloom.

…….is an annointed shopper. The woman can smell a bargain upwind and three states away. Forget coupons. If you wanna save money, shop with Betty Jo.

……..is a GIVER. You wont come to visit her without being fed and you wont leave empty handed. If you even hint that you like something decorating her home she will take it directly off the wall and give it to you. Like that plant? Before you know it, she has dug the sucker up and stuck it in a bucket in your back seat. She delights in sharing with others more than anyone i have ever known.

…..she is warm and kind and quick to laugh. There is, without doubt, NO ONE else like her.

Mama-

Though Im well aware that you had a life well before I came on the scene, its often hard for me to grasp this completely. While you have only worn the label “Mama” for only HALF of YOUR existence, you’ve worn it for ALL of MINE. I sometimes look at old photographs of you that look astonishingly like my own reflection in the mirror and i wonder what you were like then. What were your big dreams? What plans did you have for your life and did they turn out at all like you expected? While i may never know the secrets of your heart back then, what i do know for certain, is you were born to be a mother….more importantly, you were born to be mine.

They say that it takes 6 weeks for you to return to normal after having a baby, but i would wager that from the moment you give birth, “normal” pretty much goes right out the window. I imagine raising a child as precocious as myself was often far more difficult than you let on. I remember clearly the day that i decided it was high time i grew up and became sophisticated. I marched up to you and said “Mama, if you will stop calling me Missy and refer to me as Melissa, I will call you Mother instead of Mama”. I was 7 and this seemed like a pretty good bargain to me. I will never forget how much that made you laugh. This was merely the begining of signs i was one independent and head strong little bugger. And knowing you as i now do, Im certain this was often hard on you. I know very few 3rd graders that rise from bed to the sound of their own personal alarm clock, but you bought me one and let me do just that because that’s what i wanted. This independent streak often meant i would become hellbent on blazing a trail all my own and would come to learn many of Life’s lessons the hard way…..sometimes with great suffering. But the thing is…the suffering….well, THAT part i never did alone…..because YOU were there….and i didnt even have to give you a quarter.

Anyone who has ever thought that motherhood was boring has never ridden in a vehicle operated by a teenager with a learner’s permit. Im fairly certain that was actually the first time i ever heard you swear. I can still see your face in the window the day i got my liscense and Kent and I sped off down the driveway totally alone for the first time. Ive seen that same look several times since……the day i started college…..the day i moved in to my very first apartment……the day I moved to Atlanta. Anyone who thinks that labor and delivery is the hardest part of bringing a child into the world has never had to watch them walk in to school all by themselves for the first time. Its not the all nighters when i was sick or the eternal helping with the homework or even the teenage agnst and attitude that were the hard parts for you…..its been the letting go. But here is the funny thing, Mama. Its kinda like in junior high when I would say “Brian and I are GOING TOGETHER” and you and dad would laugh and say “Just where are you going, you cant drive!” ……i wasnt really GOING anywhere then…..and i havent GONE anywhere now. And i never will….but thanks for being brave enough to let me cutt the strings.

I know you are going to find this hard to believe…..but I am in fact, NOT perfect. And I am slowly begining to see that after 3 complete decades on the planet, I am still a very long way from acheiving any such state. Put it this way, if the Buhdists have it right and reincarnation is the real deal, i’ll be coming back as a free range chicken. HINDsight may indeed be 20/20, but i often feel as though i move FORWARD in step with the legally blind.Many a night, I crawl beneath the covers in wonderment that i survived another day and seriously believing i couldnt make more of a mess of my life if i made it my full time job. But im able to brave morning because I know you are in my corner. Even when i make decisions you diagree with or disapprove of, I know you love me. You’ve supported me even when I do downright crazy things like consider chucking 10 years of medical training to pursue the notion that the soul of a writer lives within me.

Thank you for being my greatest of fans. Thank you for seeing me thru the darkest of moments. Thank you for the nights i know you stood in the gap just for me.

It is my sincere hope that this birthday is just the begining of a whole new chapter in your life…..the best chapter yet. May it see adventures beyond your wildest imaginations and moments that take your breath away completely. May it be filled with all the love your heart can hold and then some.

I love you with all my heart and gizzard.

I’ve spent some time as of late pouring over a book written about Sir Charles Darwin and his theories on evolution. If you’re of the mind that such research is hazardous to my health as a Creationist you couldn’t be more incorrect. God Himself endowed me with this inquisitive mind and isn’t the least bit frightened by my need to explore all possible conclusions and explanations concerning the why’s and how’s of which I came to be. I don’t believe in the one true God as the author and finisher of my existence simply because I’ve ingested the contents of Genesis countless times, and conversely won’t be convinced my ancestors crawled from some primordial soup simply by reading the works of the world’s most renowned theorist on the opposing view. My beliefs, like everyone else’s, are deeply rooted in faith. For whether you choose to believe it or not, it’s a matter of such either way. Empirical, undeniable proof for either side of the argument doesn’t exist. Either God is or He isn’t….you simply have Faith in one or the other.

But my diatribe today isn’t concerning such weighty matters as the existence of God or the Big Bang Theory. Frankly, I’m too weak for such a discussion from eating like a citizen of a third world nation for 6 weeks all in an effort to slide into a bridesmaids dress. I was simply struck by something Darwin said from an angle of new perspective.

It was 5 am….I had returned to my hotel room, removed my party dress and a thousand bobby pins from my hair …..everyone had at long last settled down and I was alone in the quiet. My little brother had just gotten married. I let my mind drift back over the events and memorable moments of the day and this quote floated in from the recesses of my memory where I was unaware I had even tucked it away: “It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent that survives. It is the one that is the most adaptable to change.”

I have to tell you folks, ole Charlie got THAT one right. And nowhere is this theory more evidently true than in the arena of human relationships…..for here, evolution is inevitable…..without it, things simply cease. I thought of my brother and the new chapter he’d just written into his own existence and realized that even while I hadn’t been looking I had seen him evolve from a young boy full of mischief and wonder into a strong intelligent man of integrity and further still into a capable and willing husband. I thought of Amanda, his new bride, and how in a matter of months she’d evolved from a stranger to a friend and now into a sister.

Every relationship in my life has encountered Change…..chased by the emotional predators of Life we are forced into rabbit holes, underbrush and landscapes completely unfamiliar with anything we have ever experienced. We either grow the thick skin and sharp teeth necessary to reinvent all that we were into something even grander or we never learn to breathe under water. Parents begin as providers evolve into mentors and eventually into dependents of those once dependent on them. Friends become lovers that sometimes melt back to friends. Love is fluid and will follow and fill no matter what shape the container becomes. If we only had the insight to realize that as we become flexible in the winds of change, we bend our lives back over one another’s in new and intricate ways creating bonds infinitely stronger.

I lie there in the dark thinking of all the ways in which I feel my life shifting in new directions. I once saw Change as some to be leery of…..to approach with caution and apprehension. I pray now for the grace to see if for what it is, a chance to evolve into an even greater version of my truest self….a me that will not only survive, but one that will flourish.

I may have grown up riding bikes in my cutt-offs or building forts in the woods barefoot, but at the heart of me, I am very much a girly-girl. The kind that enjoys matching jewelry and finds anything to be more appealing if it comes in the color pink. I paint flowers on my toenails, wear earings even while im sleeping and send Hallmark cards with a passion matched by few others. I gush over babies, watch chick flick tear jerkers with a big box of kleenex, and still daydream about Prince Charming. One of the absolute pinnacles of excitement for a hopeless romantic such as myself is the modern day wedding. How could it not be? Its soulmates and centerpieces and candlelight. Its poetry and dancing and shiny new shoes. Its I-love-you-forever, til-death-do-us-part and layer upon layer of cake. Quite simply, its FABULOUS.

And this year, I am in wedding overdrive. I will help celebrate three in a matter of 6 weeks time, two of which I will be participating as a bridesmaid, and one of those being my one and only much-loved kid brother’s. Im up to my eyeballs in showers and dress fittings and luncheons. I’m casing gift registries and scrapbooking invitations all while searching for the perfect pair of strappy sandals that will somehow magically make me look less of an ogre when my water-proof mascara gives way under the strain of my overflowing tears during the ceremony. Im booking hair salon appointments, finalizing shades of nail polish and running every imaginable errand for the panic striken brides. Im planning bachelorette weekends and lingerie get togethers and brushing up on my seriously lacking caligraphy skills. Ive logged over a thousand hours in my car and far fewer in actual sleep. Not to mention the boderline dehydration due to stamp lickage.

I breezed in to work this morning with my coffee and today’s lengthy checklist of things that need doing, as i have every day for the past several months. A co-worker marveled once again at the process of it all, and posed the question, “WHY do you do it?” I paused only for a second, because the answer really seemed quite clear. “Because for a moment, im able to be part of the magic. Im there when two souls become one…..when they take the first steps down the path of forever.” Her response, “Lifetime called. They want their movie script back. And P.S. the part of YOU will be cast as one Miss Kelly Martin of Life Goes On fame.”

If i can ever stop laughing long enough, i might realize she is right that I have quite frankly lost my mind.

Over the years, I have developed many a curious habit regarding the celebration of the consecrated Christmas Holiday. Some are standard traditions but others are uniquely my very own. One such trend, is that I remember specific Christmases more by theme than by actual numerical years….and such themes are thusly applied to the entire year leading up to that Christmas. For example, if you said, “what happened in your life in the year 1983″, I would be hard pressed to tell you. But if you said, “what happened in The Year of the Easy Bake Oven” I could fill volumes.  But hey, at least I am painfully aware of how bizarre I am, and knowing is half the battle? Right? (If you didn’t immediately sing the G.I. Joe theme song after reading that last line, you need to be deleted from my friends list)

1984 was and evermore shall be, The Year of the Cabbage Patch Kids. I viewed it as my first true humanitarian work. How noble it was to opt to ADOPT, thereby freeing them from a life of foster homes and certain abject poverty. It’s true, I began my philanthropic ways at an early age, which I am sure comes as no surprise. That year, I received not one, but two of the little urchins and so great was my joy that I do believe the Earth temporarily tilted on its axis.

1986 was The Year of Goodbye Grumpy. My Grandfather (Gram’s beloved “better half”) lost his long fought battle with heart disease a few weeks before the Holiday leaving a gaping hole in all our hearts. Though we tried desperately to incite Christmas cheer, it did little to stifle the grief. After pushing food around my plate for a sufficient amount of time and being excused from the dinner table, Mama gave me the o.k. to abandon my dress-up clothes. Slipping off down the hall toward my room, I caught a glimpse of Gram. She was seated on the bench before the piano, and though she is, in general, diminutive in stature, I recall thinking she looked smaller than I’d ever seen her. I wondered how I had never noticed before that her feet didn’t quite reach the ground. I crawled up beside her and snuggled into that familiar warm spot beneath her shoulder. Hands clasped, we spoke not a word and yet I knew we were both reliving the same memory…..Grumpy, as he was affectionately called by his gaggle of grandchildren, sitting at this very bench only weeks before tickling the ivories and the atmosphere with his melodic baritone. Silent tears flowed as we swung our feet to the rhythm of a tune heard only in our hearts. It’s been 20 years since that day, and yet, I will never forget the look of heart-breaking love etched upon Gram’s face….it’s one that only the loss of a soul mate can incite. That piano remains in my home to this day, and each and every time I brush the keys, I am reminded of the Grandfather that was taken from me too soon and the Christmas I sat with Gram on a piano bench and heard the story of how they fell in love for the very first time.

1989 was The Year of the Thieving Bastards (please note that the “Bastards” portion of the title was added in more recent years because contrary to popular belief, I have not always had the irreverent speech of a drunken sailor)

We’d spent the whole of Christmas Day exchanging presents and pleasantries with extended family at my Aunt D’s home. My Aunt D is the anti-Santa. Picture if you will, a Chihuahua with the demeanor of a rabid pit bull, the fashion sense of Tammy Faye Baker, and a heart of absolute stone. She makes the Grinch look like Gandhi. After swearing that we would NEVER again be forced to spend Christmas in such a fashion, my parents loaded us into the car for the long drive home. As a bonus, my brother who rarely experiences illness suddenly became a vomiting machine, requiring stops at every rest stop and/or gas station along the way. I still firmly believe that it was neither food nor germ that sickened him, but rather overexposure to PURE EVIL in human form.

As the car rolled to a stop in our driveway, we all breathed a sigh of relief.

            Trudging up the sidewalk, we all seemed to sense it at once……something didn’t feel right. Then we saw it……the front door standing wide open. We were immediately shuffled back to the car and locked in tight by Dad, who in a matter of seconds had transformed into Braveheart, Rambo and the Incredible Hulk all rolled into one. If I hadn’t been so frightened, I might have found his 007 behavior quite humorous. He grabbed the guns (yes, I said GUNS plural….and yes they were handy, um, HELLO, we are SOUTHERNERS, people) and took off to check out the scene.  What seemed like hours later he returned to let us know the coast was clear. I half expected to see him in war paint, a loin cloth and holding a beating heart, so intense was his focus when he left.

            He filled us in on what we had already assumed…..our home had been burglarized. The presents were gone, the house a disaster.  The police came and went, and somehow we managed to once again secure all the broken windows and doors. That night, all four of us squeezed into my parent’s king size bed knowing we probably wouldn’t actually sleep a wink. We told stupid jokes and sang songs, each in their own way, trying to comfort the others. Tucked beneath the covers, I can recall seeing the sunrise out the bedroom window and something dawned deep inside me just the same. All the things that mattered most in this world were lying beside me in that bed…..and the true treasures of this life aren’t things that can be carried off by thieves in the night, but rather remain safely locked within your heart.

Last year of course, was The Year of the Big City Move. I exchanged my small hometown for a teaming metropolis full of excitement and constant traffic jams. It was probably the single most life changing year of my existence, and 2006 was equally developmental. At no other time, has the phrase “What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger” seemed more apropos. But in a bold move, I have opted not to give this year a label and instead have chosen to adopt a new way of thinking. May I learn to embrace the here and now, cherishing EVERY second of this journey….even the painful ones. And may there be so many moments remembered that I can no longer single out just one.

“The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough.”

Its no secret that Autumn is by far the season I adore most. She wraps the world in a warm and vibrant quilt of color that simultaneously soothes and stimulates. And like all things extraordinary, she seems to pass too quickly. Today ,she was simply at her best.
Late this afternoon, I wandered off on my bike in search of a little exercise and escape. The familiar mellow ache of my muscles begining to heat urged me forward. Soon, my thoughts begin churning as rapidly as my legs…..a raging storm of emotions suddenly funneled up through my being and unexpected tears rained down my face. I pedaled and sobbed until utterly drained. When I could go no further, I abandoned my bike and collapsed on the curb.
Now, its true I am easily moved to tears. I have been known to cry at commercials advertising local grocery stores, people. But this was the kind of weeping that dehydrates you to your toenails. The past few days I have watched some dear friends lose people they love and stood helplessly on the sidelines not knowing how to comfort. And of course, these events have conjured thoughts of how quickly Life escapes us all and that Tommorow is promised to no one. I suppose with things having been bottled too tightly and for too long an eruption was inevitable.
I rode home slowly, the fading sun drying the dampness on my cheeks. I thought of all the people in my life I am wildy lucky to know…..and the urgency to make sure they realize their importance. I’m going to make it a priority to not only love stronger, but to love SMARTER. So Life, deal the cards and ante up…..I’m ALL IN.