Sheets

 

She stood in front of the mirror that hung in the crematorium lobby, checking her hair and makeup

She wore his favorite dress

This would be the last time she would see him

And just in case he was able to see her….

She wanted to look her best.

She stood in front of the cold steel table where his body lay.

Layers of blankets and sheets and blankets and sheets, covering everything but his face .

She turned slightly, this way and that in each direction, as she read our letters to him out loud. 

She held each paper up a little, just in case he was there and wanted to read over her shoulder.

And he would.  We all knew he would want to see the words that he was hopefully hearing.

He would want to read over her shoulder

Because he would never believe it otherwise. How much we loved him.

She and we had 10 years to show him a world that wasn’t ugly or cruel. 

To show him a world unlike the childhood he knew, full of fear and pain.

To hold his hand for no reason other than joy

To try big things together for no reason other than life

To love him for no other reason than he was Jerry

She laid our letters, along with orange daisies, on his chest.

“Are we sure he’s really dead?” asked their little boy

We turned and walked back through the massive metal doors. 

Which were light compared to our sadness.  

Which were ephemeral compared to our parting. 

We walked back towards the lobby and past the mirror.

Noticing every chip in the tile floor, crack in the wall, and finger smudge on the door.

Noticing the smell of wet pavement outside, resting under sheets of fresh rain

Feeling the weight of southern air. 

All of our senses trying hard to distract us

And move us forward

Back into the car. 

Acceptance vs Disdain

 

She got up and left.  She drove away for 37 miles and then a few hours later, she drove back.  In the meantime, I just laid there, like nothing had happened.   

When she came home, did she come see me? No.  She had a bowl of cereal and watched the end of a football game.   By her exuberant cheering, I can only guess that it was a good game.  But how would I know…I was still just lying there, disregarded.

Wow.

I mean....I was there for her.  Really there for her. Her old bedsheets, well they'd just rip and tear and she'd duct tape them just to wake the next morning to more rips and tears.  

But not me.  I'm 1,000 thread count Egyptian cotton, next day delivery. 

I’m sorry.  I get it.  I really do understand.  You can duct tape a worn bedsheet, but you can’t duct tape a worn woman.

So, right after she took me out of the package and stretched me over her mattress, I lay there for 18 minutes while she tried to take selfies.  I wanted it as much as she did. I liked how much she cared. It was endearingly pathetic.

I hoped, like she, that if she just twisted and turned that aged body enough, she would find that magic angle and make all those years disappear.  So I lay beneath her nakedness, supporting her the only way a bedsheet knows how.  She stretched to conceal the sags and writhed to disguise the rolls.     I cheered for her the same way she cheered for that football team.  Hoping she too could pull off an improbable win, late in her fourth quarter. This too was going to be a very close game, but instead of it being Chiefs vs Broncos, the contest would be Acceptance vs Disdain.  

Then, after all was said and done, I watched her delete, delete, delete.

We both just lay there wrinkled until she thought of trying one last pose.

Rolling on to her tummy and resting her chin on her fist.  She smirked the most beautiful smirk ever smirked, pressed the photo button one more time and captured perfection.  Then she got up, put on her pickleball clothes and left.

Now, another game is about to start on the TV and this time we will watch it together in bed.  Tonight we will rest and wake up to a bright tomorrow.

 

Hello!  It's me again.  

I've been gone for a while.  I stole the keys to my parents car and took it for a joy ride.  I did all kinds of grown-up things.  In fact, I thought I had actually grown-up.  

So, did you know cars run out of gas?   Yeah, neither did I.   It ran out of gas in the most inconvenient spot too, in an intersection.  The intersection of Mo Fo Interstate and Bad Ass Expressway, to be exact.

I'm still here and I don't quite know what to do.  I'm confused and scared and everyone seems mad at me.  I don't feel like a grown-up at all.  

That's as far as this metaphor goes.   Turns out metaphors run out of gas as well.

In case you are new here, let me bring you up to speed. I recently extricated myself from a 26 year marriage.  Recently.  Okay, it was like five years ago. But it was a Mormon marriage which are supposedly eternal so the math is a little different.  Something like 26 + 5, divided by forever = recently.  

After years of post extrication deliberation,  I think I know what I did wrong.   I also think I know what he did wrong. But that's not what I want to talk about.  What I want to talk about is what marriage itself did wrong.  The institution of marriage needs to carry some of the blame on this.

So what did marriage itself, as an institution do wrong?  Let's start with it's existence.  It exists.  It exists when technically it no longer needs to.   At least in America and other First World countries, there are no economic or reproductive reasons that humans must, above all else, contractually be bound to a mate. 

It seems that in today's world, two people in love should just be able to casually stay together without getting married.  So why are we still tying the knot? What's with the shackles?

The answer is: Fear, but I'll get to that later.  

Here's the thing.... I love the idea of being committed to a life-partner.  I want to go full-throttle with a fellow "ghost who is driving a meat covered skeleton".  I want to hurl through space on a rock together, sharing all the beauty and terror that that would bring. I want that! I just want to want it for the right reasons.    

So if I want it so bad, why does the idea of marriage terrify me?  Because the idea of marriage is terrifying.  It needs to be fixed.  We need to take a break from trying to fix the people in a marriage and  fix marriage itself.  We keep putting fixed people back into a broken vehicle.

Sometimes people don't break marriages.  Sometimes marriage breaks people.

That's a harsh thing to say.  I know.  It hurt me just typing it.  After all, I do want to get married again someday, but I think I just heard my love-life fly out the window, forever.  But I promise that if you keep reading you will be surprised to see that I am actually pro-marriage.

Let me explain. 

1.  The foundation of marriage: Fear.

You've found your person.  You are building your dreams together.  Quick!  Sign them before someone else does!  That's fear.  Fear that you'll lose them if you don't formalize something.  Like being together won't be enough.  I think there's better things to build a relationship on than fear.  Trust, possibilities, mutual admiration...love.

2.  Quality vs Quantity

That being said, commitment is important.  Commitment helps us reach goals and grow as individuals.  It protects us from our own flighty foibles.  But let's not get carried away.  Commitment should be meted out in quality not quantity.  It seems careless and reckless (and a little cowardly, in my opinion) to make such immense commitments as til death do we part, or in some cases for time and all eternity.  That feels like running to "base" during a game of childhood tag and claiming "I'm safe" as long as you were touching that "base".   It's like quitting, only covertly. 

3.  So here's how we change 1 and 2.  Marriages come with a time-frame, like eight years or ten years or whatever.  At the end of those years, both parties are free to walk away.  Guilt free, blame free, drama free.   It's just over, like you always knew it would be.  Of course, you are free to re-sign and extend for another eight years or whatever, if you'd like, but that's up to you.  It's not up to the expectations of society or your family or your church.  Just you.  

Here comes the good part:

4.  This will save the children.  After all, in this scenario they have grown up knowing all along what is going to happen on such and such a date.  The kids are free from guilt, blame and trauma, just like you.  They are raised with peaceful, rational expectations and conversations.  

5.  Knowing that on such and such a date, the privilege of living with your partner will come to an end, will you ever take them for granted?  Won't you cherish your time together even more and really make it count?  Love like you were dying, so to speak?

6. Even more importantly.  Won't you treat yourself better?  Knowing that in the end you will be responsible for your own happiness, for your own health, for your own hobbies, friendships and interests.  Won't you take better care of yourself ?  Often in marriage, one can let their individuality atrophy from lack of use.  They kind of drop it off at the alter and expect their partner to take care of it.  If you are going to wake up with just yourself one day, won't you make sure that version of yourself is really awesome to wake up to?

7.  Won't 5 and 6 teach your children how to love and respect others and themselves better than the dysfunctional lessons they learn from today's traditional marriage model?

I've run this idea past a few people.  Most of them react as if I am a "player". Like I have commitment issues. But they are wrong.  Because I truly believe that in this model of marriage, people will not only stay together longer (through re-upping) but that their level of marital happiness will be exponentially higher as well. This plan or idea does not demolish marriage, it improves it.  

I Play Pickleball

It took everything I had to walk into that huge gymnasium alone.  I clutched my stolen pickleball paddle and walked as confidently as I could across the room, towards the informational pickleball poster hanging on the cinderblock wall.  As I carefully digested the drop-in rules of that facility, a voice sounded behind me. 

 

"This isn't your game."  it said.

I turned around to see the owner of the voice. He was motioning with his paddle towards the group he was playing with.  The rule I had just read, Rule #4,  stated: Observe the games in progress to determine which group best matches your skill level. This player was making sure I clearly understood what that meant.  He was confident in his assessment of my skills, even though he had never before laid eyes on me.

I must have looked like a total newbie.  I was.  I'm guessing my Chuck Taylors were the giveaway. If you are new to pickleball, you should know....Chuck Taylors aren't exactly court shoes, especially if they are covered in glitter. 

Fortunately there were more voices in the gym that night.  Someone else a few courts away called out "Put your paddle down here!"  Whatever that meant.  I made my way across the room to a pile of paddles on the floor, trying to casually spin-toss-catch my paddle as I went.  Yes, my paddle was stolen, but only in the sense that it belonged to a former boyfriend.  I had never given it back after the break up.  

And that is how I met my pickleball family. 

In just a couple months, it will be four years since I walked into that gym all by myself.  Not only was "alone" a new thing for me at the time, being divorced for just a little while, but sports were new to me then as well. That's why it took everything I had to walk into that gymnasium.  

But what it took is nothing in comparison to what it has given back. It has given me play. And boy did I need play.  Sometimes you have to go back, before you can go forward. I needed to go back to that sandlot (which in my neighborhood was the street)  where I played ball until the street lights came on.  Then it was inside for some dinner before heading out again, this time for capture the flag. 

Photo credit: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/202028733255230469/

When we play we recreate.  We re-create.  Life continually puts us in situations that require us to do such.  Either re-create or break, baby. It's your choice.  I choose the former.  I choose to learn and laugh.  To push myself mentally and physically.  To adjust...and heal.  And I choose to do these things in good company.  In other words, I choose to play. 

If you choose that as well,  I hope you pick something like pickleball.  Something that is accessible to a vast participant group (One of my favorite rallies to date included a player 40 years younger than me and another one, 20 years older).  I hope you pick something social, where the time and space between players and plays just so happens to be the same amount of time and space needed to build comradery.  Simply put, it's like a support group, only with paddles. 

And just so you know: "this isn't your game" guy?  We are now good friends. 

 

Before I Broke Your Heart

 

Before I broke your heart

Our sentences 

Would gradually fade

Into gentle smiles and thoughtful gazes.

The words that we thought we'd say

Appeared instead as silent sighs of “oh...there you are. I've been looking for you."

No, we wouldn't finish speaking

But these moments,

The ones that felt like peanut butter whiskey

Said it all.

What was it we were going to say, any way?

These moments 

Before I broke your heart, 

I miss the most.

Loneliness Potato

You know how sometimes you have a problem and you need to say it out loud, but not because you need someone to solve it? You just want to be heard?  Well, I have one of those problems.  

I'm lonely.

Ew! You're not supposed to say that out loud.  It means you're a loser, right?  Well, I'm not so sure. 

Obviously, it would be nice if it were solved.  I mean, nobody wants to be lonely. But I don't want it to be solved by anyone's penis or anyone's empty promises.  I've been there and done that. I even have the t-shirt.  Literally.

But before I go racing off to some social media site to fill this need, or even worse, a dating app, let's come to some kind of consensus first:  Is lonely even a problem?

My answer is: not yet.  Like most other situations, something only achieves "problem" status when it reaches a certain mass.  Hunger isn't a problem, unless it goes on too long.  Not doing your dishes isn't a problem, unless it goes on too long, etc.  So, no.  Loneliness isn't a problem.  Yet.

If you are trying to decide if you have a problem, whether it's loneliness or hunger, you have to ask the question: can you end it?  That's really the defining factor of problemhood.  Is there a solution and can you implement it?  If the answer is yes, then you don't have a problem.  You have a situation.  You have an opportunity.  You are basically, alive.  

So now that we've cleared that up, I guess I really don't have a loneliness problem.  Because I can easily end it.  It's more like I have a loneliness...potato.  There's so much I can do with it, and it's completely up to me!  Fry it, mash it, bake it. Or I can do nothing at all and just wait for those little sprouty things to pop up. 

For now, I feel okay with just letting it be.   It's amazing how one deep breath and one step back can de-fang so many a monster.  

Thank you, Sarah Silverman, for helping with this particular fang extraction.  On a recent podcast she addressed a listener's break-up angst with this advice: 

"I think you should work on being alone. Being your own best friend. You can't be alone for a week?  Then you are not ready for a healthy relationship right now.  You gotta become your own best friend. Get comfortable with that. You're talking to a woman who went from relationship to relationship to relationship, but this last time I was single for maybe two years and it was a real gift because I really fell in love with being alone and realized about myself that I need to be alone for long periods of time every day and that I like myself and I, ya know, I would come home and be like "whatta ya' wanna do tonight, me?" And I did it; exactly what I wanted to do. Pretty uh...it's kind of a revelation.  So maybe work on that.  That's what I say.  Work on your shit first, be happy being alone.  Put yourself together first, and then have a relationship."   

Listen for yourself!  Go to time marker 27:32 and see what you think: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q4etbUMD9R8   

What We Need to Know

We need to know that no matter how big of a mess we make, there will be at least one person in our life who won't just "be there", but who will actually FEEL there.

What I Learned from Goo-Goo Dolls

The best concert that I ever attended has got to be the Novell Brainshare 2007 concert in Salt Lake City, Utah.  It featured the Goo Goo Dolls.  But if the Goo Goo Dolls ever heard me say this, I bet they would have to pause for at least a moment.  During that pause they would be debating if they even played Salt Lake in '07.  Not because they were too stoned to remember or anything like that, but because for performers...I imagine it had to be the most boring audience ever assembled.  At Brainshare '07 they played to an arena full of 20,000 mega-geeks, half of which I think spoke math better than they did English.

It was surreal to sit there while Rzeznik and the boys busted out their amazing repertoire on stage just to look around and see a room full of people idly watching as if a quartet were playing Mozart.  It was such an un-rock concertish way to respond to what was happening.  I really thought the band would lose their energy and the show would die.  BUT...

Rzeznik kept playing and singing like the house was hoppin' and all of his best friends were there pumping their fists.  I was in awe.   I was also in heaven, because with me were my oldest children.
This was their first rock concert.  I thrive on getting to watch their firsts.  They've been GGD fans ever since. 

Parenthetically, John Rzeznik, the lead singer of the band, originally was not the lead singer.  He was too shy.  This fact makes his energy in the face of such hardened party-poopers that night, even more respectable. 

So what did I learn from Goo Goo Dolls?  

Don't let the audience dictate your performance.   

Everything You Own, Owns You Back a Little Bit

One way or another, this picture to the left probably looks familiar to you.  If you are lucky, it will bring back fond memories of watching Snoopy and Woodstock retrieve a ping-pong table for Thanksgiving dinner. If you are not so lucky, it may hit closer to home.  It may be home.

I recently helped a friend sort through two storage units that looked pretty similar to this. They had been collecting dust (and rent) for years.  No pun intended, it was a weighty experience.  

Weighty because of the significant time and physical expenditure involved, and weighty because of the mental and emotional toll as well.   As the lock came off the door and it rolled out of the way, I knew immediately that I had to take a backseat role.  I would be there for support; to "grab that end while I grab this one". I could help with the lifting, but my friend had to do all the driving.  This was his "stuff journey" and it started well before I came into the picture.

Two days and two swept-clean storage units later, I came away from the experience even more convinced than I was before that everything you own, owns you back a little bit.  Possessions possessed possess. That is why we call it a vacation when we go away.  We vacate, abandon, and relinquish not just our jobs and daily responsibilities, but the ties to our other obligation ...our things.
And boy does it feel good! Anchors aweigh!

Think about it.  When you buy something, you agree to give up things you already own for that new thing: Your money and your space.  You sacrifice for it. It has taken something from you.  But it goes deeper than that... then you have to care for it: Clean it, store it, insure it, and nowadays...update it.  Heaven forbid you have to relocate.  Then you have to pack and move it.

What if a new "need" comes along and requires the space that your old "want" is taking up?  Like a crib or a work table?  Then you have to go through the mental exercises of lament or compromise or maybe even resentment.  I have done that before and it's a workout.

So this Christmas, instead of gifts, I am giving experiences.  I realize that this is a total Grandma-move and that yes, I am being that Grandma.  I am spending just as much money on my lovelies, but I am not burdening them with things.  They will get life instead.  Memories, interactions, etc.  December 26th will come and they will awake with happiness and freedom, instead of happiness and burdens.  Well, that's the plan at least.

"The wisdom of nature continues to teach humanity that the material...is immaterial."  -Jason Versey

Pee You Later

As a category 3 germaphobe, the advent of the self-flushing toilet was significant to me.  Sure, I had long since mastered the one-legged-foot flush but now not even the bottom of my shoe had to touch the toilet.  Brilliant! Or at least that's what I thought.  As awesome as these fecal-focused feats of technology are, it has become apparent to me that we need to change at least one thing; voice activation instead of motion activation. Here's why: You know how sometimes after you have done everything on your part to "close the deal" but it’s still not flushing so you’re waving your hand in front of it and pushing things that look like they should be buttons but they’re not buttons and before you know it you realize that you have touched the toilet way more than you ever touched a manual one? Clearly, no matter how many times you reenact the lifting of your tooshie off the seat for the sensor device, motion activation isn't the most reliable approach.  And you can't just leave.  You can't just abandon shit, so to speak.  You have to stay. So what I'm saying is let's make them voice-activated. When you are ready to wrap things up you could just turn around and say “get out of here”, or “it’s go time” or “bye”. "Pee you later?"

I think it would be a good change; and quite empowering too. Just think of how accustomed we'd become to telling crap to get out of lives.  Because frankly, turning our toosh to the problem can be too oblique; too passive.  Sometimes to avoid being 'stalled in the stall', we just need to assert ourselves, take action, say what needs to be said and hear what needs to be heard.  Kerplush!  Time to move on.

Gravy Baby

We did a lot of shopping yesterday morning.  Jumping into the car just to go and grab one or two items at the market; only to return an hour later to grab one or two more. It  probably looked a little schizo to some people.  OCD to others.  But it was time to create and our errands were to us as the thumb is to the artist.  Details, vision; a little more of this here, a little dab of that there....

That's how you get ready for Thanksgiving dinner when family is coming over.  You prepare the canvas with aromas and sounds, flavors and illumination.  And then you sit back and wait for the medium to arrive, and they do.

A pile of coats no sooner builds up on a chair in the den than the hues of each individual begin to blend, compliment and contrast with each other.  Laid out.  Trusting. The space fills rapidly... but at the same time, love allows it to expand. Yes, love will ensure there's room for every different palette and brush stroke, where expectations would have otherwise stifled.  The coats soon end up on the floor because the desk chair is now needed at the table.

In the end you don't see, but you hear the masterpiece... and it sounds a lot like laughing.

 "Good art is art that allows you to enter it from a variety of angles and to emerge with a variety of views."    -Mary Schmich, American Journalist

Love is Blind

I had come to the end of a long day of pickleballing and poker when I fell into bed, a happy but exhausted little camper. Oh, and don't forget beautiful. I was was a happy, exhausted, beautiful little camper because without thinking, I had hit the sack that night with all of my jewelry and my fake eyelashes still on. As soon as it occurred to me that I was still all blinged out,  I rolled over and carefully removed the adornments and set them on the table for the next day.

At least that's what I thought.  I thought I'd wake up and find everything as I left them, but I was wrong.  The next morning one of my eyelash pieces was missing.

For those of you that don't have any experience with false eyelashes, there is one thing you should know....they don't walk away. In fact one of their best qualities is their inanimateness. So, finding one of them missing, as you can imagine, was unusual.

The list of possible scenarios leading up to it's disappearance was almost non-existent.  In fact, I could only think of one. Perhaps a modest breeze blew it away? Maybe, unless you consider the facts that: 1. Other items would have been blown out of place as well and everything else was still exactly as I left them.  2. There was nothing in the room that could have produced such a breeze in the first place.

So without a plausible scenario, I was left to focus on a plausible culprit instead. Some"thing" didn't happen to it; some"one" did.  And...because I am unfairly prejudiced against spiders I had no other choice than to blame an arachnid.  Species profiling.  It happens.

But don't get me wrong.  I am quite generous when it comes to the scapegoats in my life.  This spider, this eyelash thief, isn't to be condemned for his actions.  He is to be understood.  After all, my eyelashes have flittered their way in to many a lonely man's heart.  They are beguiling and sensuous and from a spider's point of view...quite leggy.

So who's to say that when this eight legged culprit met my eyelash in the middle of the night on my nightstand and realized that she wasn't going to eat him alive after sex or lay eggs on his head...that he didn't fall madly and deeply in love with her?  Who's to say that the two of them aren't right now at this very moment sitting across from each other at a tiny, romantic table for two somewhere...utterly twitter-pated?

It's "awe, how sweet" and "awe, how sad" all at once, isn't it?  A broken heart looms glaringly in this little critter's near future as soon as he realizes who she really is (or isn't). Because love is blind and SO very drenched in optimism, we can...

Oh hey...my eyelash.  I just found it stuck in my hair.  Never mind....

 

You Have to Pick One

Girl:  Am I “a girlfriend” or am I “your girlfriend”?

Boy:  I’m somewhere in the middle on this.

Girl:  That’s not an answer, that’s like wishing for more wishes. You have to pick one.

Boy:  I will buy you clothes

Girl:  Ok

My Top Movies

Seen and Loved:
Dan In Real Life
Groundhog Day
Princess Bride
Life Is Beautiful
It's a Wonderful Life
Where Do We Go Now?
Forest Gump
Mr. Smith Goes to Washington
Walk the Line
Cinderella Man
Slumdog Millionaire
Goodwill Hunting
Shawshank Redemption
Cinema Paradiso
12 Dates of Christmas
Phenomenon
Iron Giant
Lego Movie
Valentin
Mustang
I Am Dragon
The Help

Movies I Would Like to See:
The Patriot
Twelve Years a Slave
Taxi Driver
Fargo
Eternal Sunshine....
Tootsie
Kes
Room for Romeo Brass

Top 25 Random Things about Me...Then and Now

I wrote this in 2009, before my cancer diagnosis and divorce.

 

 1. I love surprises...love being surprised, love surprising others. 

 2. My perfect day starts with waking up early on a summer day in a cabin in the mountains. 

 3. I can sleep through almost anything.

 4. My dream car is a 1954 Chevy 3100 (stepside pick-up) any color.

 5. I am a germaphobe. 

 6. I was raised by the BEST parents in the world! (who are now the BEST grandparents in the world.

 7. I was interviewed by Greta Van Something live on FOX News. 

 8. Band-aid Politicians irritate me to no end.

 9. Road trips make me happy. 

 10. I have lived in 9 different states. Washington, Maryland, North Carolina, Utah, Colorado, Missouri, Florida, California, Georgia (in order of most loved to least) 

 11. I believe in mind over matter. I can go for years without getting sick. 

 12. I go indoor skydiving any time the opportunity presents itself, and some other times too. 

 13. I like to be on time. 

 14. I have won over $5k on silly call-in radio contests in the last ten years. 

 15. I have reported all of that to the IRS 

 16. I hate the IRS 

 17. I love the smell of hotels. 

 18. I coach basketball for 8 year olds.

 19. I think Jim Henson was a genius. 

 20. I am an optimist. There is ALWAYS hope, ALWAYS! Just wait. 

 21. I know that God lives and that His son is my Savior. 

 22. I want to be better about doing things His way.

 23. I'll take good memories over money anyday. 

 24. I am an audiophile. Give me 24 hours after I hear a song that I like and I'll own it. iTunes has made that affordable now. Thank you Apple! 

 25. More than anything, I want my children to leave my home as adults who know how to love people.

 This is me now. Some has changed, some has stood the test of time. 

 1. I love surprises...love being surprised, love surprising others. 

 2. My perfect day starts with waking up early on a summer day in a cabin in the mountains. 

 3. I can sleep through almost anything. 

 4. My dream car is a 1991 Jeep Grand Wagoneer, Dover Gray.

 5. I am a germaphobe but to maintain balance and not give up my power, I will often steal drinks from the cup of another.

 6. I was raised by the BEST parents in the world! (who are now the BEST grandparents in the world.)

 7. I was interviewed by Greta Van Something live on FOX News.

 8. Band-aid Politicians irritate me to no end, but I am NOT political anymore. 

9. Road trips make me happy. 

 10. I have lived in 12 different states. Washington, Maryland, Wisconsin, North Carolina, Utah, Illinois, Virginia, Colorado, Missouri, Florida, California, Georgia (in order of most loved to least) 

 11. I believe in mind over matter. I can go for years without getting sick, except I got cancer. 

 12. I play pickleball any time the opportunity presents itself, and some other times too.

 13. I like to be on time. 

 14. I have won over $5k on silly call-in radio contests in the last ten years.

 15. I have reported all of that to the IRS 

 16. I hate the IRS

 17. I love the smell of hotels. 

 18. I coached basketball for 8 year olds.

 19. I think Jim Henson was a genius. 

 20. I am an optimist. There is ALWAYS hope, ALWAYS! Just wait.

 21. I hope that God lives and that His son is my Savior, but I am wary of ANY religion. 

 22. I want to be better about living in the present with LOVE.

 23. I'll take good memories over money any day. 

 24. I am an audiophile. Give me 24 hours after I hear a song that I like and I'll own it. iTunes has made that affordable now. Thank you Apple! 

 25. More than anything, I want my children to leave my home as adults who know how to love people.

My Broken Umbrella

I should just believe you
When you tell me
That I'm beautiful

I should be mature
And confident
And past self-doubt

I should love me
Even when
I'm outnumbered by she

And you leave
And love
What I'll never be

I should
I can
And I do.

I can handle
Some rain.

But not
A typhoon.

The Big D

I am 47 years old.  For at least the past five of those 47 years, I have lived with a recurring mantra of sorts.  Maybe it was more like a silent threat.  Or was it a reassurance?  Whatever you want to call it...it sounded like this: I'm getting a divorce.

Like the Wasatch Fault Line, it lay hidden under an otherwise peaceful environment.  I heard it's rumblings several times a month but spoke of it to no one, ever keeping up the peaceful, happy landscape that was to everyone the essence of who I was.

Why?  You want to know reasons.  I have reasons, three of them to be exact, but for the time being...they are not what is important.  In fact, I would discourage you from asking the reasons for a divorce of anyone unless you are yourself entering a relationship with them.  They just took giant, courageous steps to leave their yesterday so they could have a healthier today.  Meet them where they are.  Help them now.  You can gawk at their back then's later...when they are ready to bring it up.  Instead, just know that it was a heavy, painful decision and one that, just like any natural disaster, will alter the landscape of multiple lives for a long time.

So the thing with mantras or promises or whatever it is, the longer you listen to them, the bigger and more powerful they grow until they manifest themselves like a magnitude 8.5 earthquake.  All the dirt, homes and streets will move aside to loose the monster.

And that's exactly what happened in my case.  I took the echoing four words that rang inside my head from ear to ear for years and I invited them to come out of my mouth.  I invited them to leave. They left my head and entered that of my husbands.  And of my children.

That was a year ago.

We have all since walked through the rubble.   This is critical information.  We WALKED through it, which means we are NOT lying beneath it.  We were not buried or destroyed.  Our futures are still wide open and ready to be whatever we decide to make them.  The pieces of yesterday stare back up at as we kick them around, but we decide if and how to use them and then we move on.

You are View-tiful

I'm sitting on the stoop of my duplex in my underwear.  I can't decide if this makes me trashy or classy.  They are boyshort underwear for your information, so as far as skivvies go...these could easily pass for exercise shorts.  But technicalities aside...I'm sitting outside on my stoop...in my underwear.

Let me tell you some more.  My stoop is in the shade of this enormous tree whose branches stretch out wide and low and that cover the entire width of a three car driveway.  So as far as stoops go, this one is pretty chill, both aesthetically and climatically.

I don't know what kind of tree it is. The leaves don't match the standard and easily identifiable shapes of the oak, maple or pine. It's pretty.  It's old. It's big and often messy.  I'm obviously no expert...but I think it's doing a kick-ass job of being a tree.  That's all I know.  Thank you tree, for being you.

Some people cut trees down, because they are messy.  Or because they block their view of something they would like to view. An old neighbor of mine campaigned to cut down a huge maple tree that blocked his view of the mountains.  The tree in question didn't just sit on my property next to my bedroom, it hugged my bedroom.  Branches from the same tree graced the window behind my bed as well as the window next to my bed.  Reason after reason as to why I would not let him cut down my tree fell on deaf ears until one day I simply said "You can't cut down that tree because every time I wake up and see those branches outside my window, I know God loves me."  The campaign ended.

He wanted to cut it down because it blocked a view.   How come he couldn't accept that the tree was a view? A perfectly good, useful view.  Who better to ask that question than nature observer extraordinaire himself,  Henry David Thoreau? He is quoted as saying "It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see."

To be honest, I can't help but wonder if some people will want to cut me down because I'm blocking their view.  I mean right now.  If I post this, will someone be upset that I'm sitting outside in my underwear, and that I had the nerve to write about it publicly?  Scandalous, I know.  Will they want a different view of the world, where 47 year old women do not sit on fabulously cool stoops on lazy summer evenings and quote Thoreau on the internet in their undies?

Me and my tree. Not pictured: my underwear.

Of course they will. They (and when I say they, I mean WE) do it all the time.  We decide how we want people to be and then when they show up as just themselves; just old, big, pretty, messy themselves, we fire up the chainsaw. "Hey....you're blocking my view of the pretend people that I made up in my head.  Please don't be you right now."  Brrr...umbrumbrumbrumbrumbrummmmm.

But wouldn't it be more fun to find out why I'm out here without pants on?  Oh yes.  The answer is yes.  If you saddled up here next to Henry and I, I promise you'd have way more fun hearing my story than you would by merely walking by and rolling your eyes at me in disdain. Way, way more fun.

So back to my original question: am I trashy or am I classy?

My Aunt Holly says, "You are at your best when you are true to yourself.  Classy all the way."

So there lies the answer.  I'm not sure what kind of tree I am, but I'm me.  I'm a view.  And I don't know what kind of tree you are either, but it doesn't matter because you're a view.  And he's a view and she's a view and I'll be damned if we aren't doing a kick-ass job of being our own view-tiful little selves. Look at us being all classy and stuff.  And when you look at us, I hope you see a bouquet of incredible persons all ready to open up their worlds to you; give and receive light and love in ways unique to each of us.

So thank you, for being you. I see you, you're amazing.

Love Always Wins

I’m just a little

Freckle-faced girl

Who wears a scar

From a crazy home-base slide.

Who loves that scar

Because she played with all her heart

To get it.

You, you threw the ball

That put me there; pushed me there

Where I met me

Now I proudly wear

A jersey spun of sun and dust and grins

And though I've never played it
Without the pain

It's always been love

That wins the game.