on your mark, get set.....

As of late, I have noticed a peculiar pattern I have developed. Quite unheeded at first...kind of like crept upon my subconscious and just took over. I was running a pitcher of water to take outside for my cocker spaniel, LaKota. But I wasn't "running a pitcher of water" , I had myself poised as if ready for the starting pistol to go off, one foot angled and my weight ready to bear. Gosh, what am I in a rush for? What is so important that I am anxiously staged to bolt to my next project/goal?? I've gotta get back to the tv so no one will change my channel?? What? As I came upon this ephiphany I slowed down, relaxed my stance, listened to the water fill the faucet, the birds were dancing in the feeder just outside the window and the melody they sang was priceless. The breeze softly moving the lace curtain and the cool crisp wintery air wrapped around my face. Why have I become so anxious? So out of tune with the joys and wonders of my life that I am prepared to race off to some other monotonous task at hand and never enjoying any of it?

So I have made it a conscious choice to wake up every morning and say "this is the best day, this is the best day ever." And to go about noticing, and feeling, and smelling, and tasting, and experiencing the whole joyous journey that is my life. I am so blessed with a truly rich and satisfying life. Not that I don't have blue days, and really firey ornery days, and everything is an irritant day, but I have a spectacularly amazing life. I just have to find ways to realize, and feel, and enjoy what has been given me. And to revel in this particular spectacular monotous task at hand, and just be thankful for how much God must love me to bless me so greatly.

And on a lighter note, the other day I was getting ready to go to the gym and was putting on my sports bra. Bry was talking to me as I got dressed. She looked up at me and asked, "is that your training bra?" I wanted to tip over laughing but instead I told her, 'Yeah, it is. I'm training to defy gravity." And one day she'll understand.

Saige and Pretty School

Today I watched the little mini school bus putting down the street with it's load of precious cargo. I smiled. My heart smiled. I am immediately taken back to the late 90's and Saige was 3 and 4. And she had taken it upon herself to take the scissors to her bangs. Which were no longer bangs but 1/8" snippets of blonde sticking straight in the air and spiking in whichever direction the shower had decided. Momma had taken the curling iron and shaped and sprayed and styled the best she could. She dressed my Angel-Bugg in her cutest little clothes, hung her tiny back pack on her shoulders and sent her to the bus stop where Ms. Kathy picks her up. She is on her way to Pre-School, Head Start to be specific. But she thought we said 'pretty school' so that is exactly what it has been and exactly where she has been going for the past few months. Pretty School. And Ms. Jean (Tong) is her very most favorite-est person there. She is magnificent. She is awesome. She is her heroine. It is a special bond. Ms. Jean is very special. Now flash forward and Saige is turning 15 and she and Ms. Jean still love each other. They still have saved mementos, they still hug each other when they run into each other, they still make plans to catch up, sometime. There are special people in our lives who come and go, are never constant fixtures, but are always in our hearts, always in our souls, always making a positive difference, somehow. Pretty School. Ms. Jean. Wish every child had one of each.

Father's Day

It's Father's Day. Sometimes it feels like a lifetime, sometimes it was only yesterday, that daddy was here. He was always a bit larger than life, you know, like John Wayne. Kind of immortal. Except he was. Sitting with my sisters and a brother in the house we all shared with momma and daddy always turns into a "remember" session-and that was always punctuated with a lot of laughter. And daddy was a lot about laughter. And practical jokes. And incessant teasing that sometimes turned one of the sisters to tears. My brother was too much like daddy, from the sound of his voice to the way he chuckles when he thinks he has one over on you. Amazing since daddy was called to heaven to cowboy there when my brother was only 19. But anyway.....
We always list off the things daddy said....and how funny they are today. And how momma sometimes just shakes her head.
**The toilet is not a trash can. (so don't blow your nose and toss the tissue in the toilet...)
**Strike a match! (but if it was him to last use the bathroom it was...)
**Smells like roses!
**Why don't you buy your britches to fit you butt instead of your head?
**If you want attention I'll give you more than you want.
I never remember daddy missing work because he was sick, ever. He always went to work. His hard hat, his lunch box, the smell of the pines, the black dirt, the diesel fuel smell. And weekends were cowboy boots, spurs, cowboy hat, the smell of sagebrush and alfalfa and sometimes cowpies and horse puckey. And he expected everyone else to know how to work. And he taught us what employers want and that he expected us to give an honest days work for an honest days pay. He loved Lawrence Welk, and he loved to watch them dance. He loved Hee Haw, and he chuckled a lot. He watched all the cowboy movies and picked them apart. Like pointing out in the middle of something very interesting that there was a jet stream in the sky, or a power line in the horizon, or tire tracks through the sand. What? Are you kidding? Do you have to ruin it for the rest of us? He watched Gunsmoke and Bonanza. Would remark that the lightning in a summer thunderstorm is not going to stampede a herd of cattle. Man.
Anyway....I could never in a book say it all. Could never do daddy justice. I just sit as I type and smile.....kind of like his half hidden chuckles. I miss that man. I have very blessed to have been borne into the family I have. I'll see him on the other side...he'll probably be whistling "I Love You Truly" and tipping his cowboy hat, he'll look at me and say, "Couldn't you have gotten white sheet to fit your butt instead of your head?" And I'll be home, too.

Live An Exceptional Life by Robin Sharma

I love to read. I would read all day (well, some days) if it were possible. I enjoy all kinds of books. And I relish learning something new. Especially if it is designed, and I accept, to make me a better me. In some fashion or another. Well, I came across this article and it spoke to me, very faintly, and in often interrupted spasms, but I finally got it. And I printed it out. And I carry it with me to remind me that I have some refining to do.....

So I am sharing....

Mr. Sharma asks how one crafts an exceptional life? ...Life goes by in a blink. And too many people live the same year 80 times. To avoid getting to the end and feeling flooded with regret over a live half lived, read, and apply.....(he lists 60 ways---I, not so many) but they are all his.

1. Exercise daily. 2. Get serious about gratitude. 3. Keep a journal. 4. Know the 5 highest priorities of your life. 5. Say no to distractions. 6. Improve your work every single day. 7. Eat less food. 8. Find more heros. 9. Be the most ethical person you know. 10. Don't settle for anything less than excellence. 11. Savor lifes' simplest pleasures. 12. Save 10% of your income. 13. Write thank you letters to those who've helped you. 14. Forgive those who've wronged you. 15. Creat unforgettable moments with those you love. 16. Become stunningly polite. 17. Unplug the tv. 18. Read daily. 19. Avoid the news. 20. Be content with what you have. 21. Be passionate. 22. Never miss a moment to celebrate another. 23. Be patient. 24. Clean up your messes. 25. Be a great teammate. 26. Shift from being busy to achieving results. 27. Speak less. Listen more. 28. Be the best person you know. 29. Make your life matter.

I know I can never attain all of these. I can not even come close to some. But I can make my life, my attitude, my outlook closer to ideal every single day. Which means it's on the opposite end of the teeter-totter than becoming less and less like the woman I want to be. Like the person I want to be. And it would be oh so pleasant if I could leave some positive attributes to my favorite people.....

NOT a Hollywood Starlet......

Some days one can get caught up in the frenzied muddle of images, notions and sometimes shallow beliefs that bombard us. The forever pounding of a "perfect, have it all, do it all, symbolize it all" image of what a woman 'should' be. The perfect hair, the perfect clothes, the perfect size 0 body, the shiniest car, the well behaved/well dressed children, the husband that dotes on his 'princess'...and the perfect career. And, I admit, I get caught up at times only to find myself a little depressed and delusional. Can't keep up. Too tired. Too broken to fix......

It usually takes a good swift kick in the butt to regain my position in this narcissitic society. Yes, me, sometimes.

I am truly happiest, finding the most joy in life, when I remember that I AM a small town country girl from Glendale, Utah. That I grew up learning how to work and to work hard. To give a day and a half's work for a days pay. That running through freshly mown grass in my bare feet and wading in the creek with the same was sheer majesty. Sleeping outside under nothing but the stars, and being awed by the whole thing time after time. I am happiest in these kinds of scenarios.....not the superficial advertised and always unattainable "what I should be". I am a barefoot, simple, forever energetic and curious, blessed with talents that sometimes I shelf for a time. I am a little sister. I am a big sister to my one an only brother. I am a daughter, a grand daughter, a niece, an aunt, a friend, a babysitter. I ride a hand me down bicycle for years. I wear hand me down clothes for the same years. I took piano lessons and practiced thirty long long minutes every day- day in and day out. I have a grandmother that is a wonderful artist and school teacher and proper,and a grandfather that is an always learning, always reading, always studying, always expanding his intellect. And they both shared all of that with me. So I am blessed. I am fortunate. I am the person put here to be me. No one else has all the training possible to be the me that I am. (Not that anyone would trade me places!!) So, I smile, and I think back, and I think forward. I take all that is me and all that I would like to be and meld them together and live each day with all that sunshine in my past. And look ahead to all the sunshine coming up. Mingled of course with snow, and rain, and wind and rain, and clouds and rainbows. And it makes that 'muffin top' and that less than toned abs/butt/legs/arms a little less disgusting. The laugh lines around my eyes and mouth are there because I've had many, many happy hours. And though I wouldn't ask to do them all over, every experience that has been mine has brought me to loftier heights than a physical image could ever compensate for.

So when my grandson says I'm too heavy to go down the slide, that my arm looks like a horses' butt, that I am NOT his mother-she doesn't have that many wrinkles, I can just smile because what I got in return-the love of grandkids and the like-is so well worth it.

Screen doors and front porches

Little skinny girl with baby fine hair running amok through the house, usually chasing or being chased by my little brother. We plow through the screen door and the sound of the wood banging shut against wood, and bouncing back for a repeat, and the metal door latch clangs and swings. I so love the sound of a wooden screen door banging shut. I love the little grove the latch makes over time as it swings with the movements of company and family in, company and family out. I like peering out through the screen door at the seasons changing. At who is coming up the lane. At the sheets and towels gently swaying in the breeze on the clothesline. At daddy coming home from work, swinging his lunch box in one hand~and I knew there was going to be a candy bar for me and my brother to call dibs on. And some warm mornings would find me in a chair positioned in front of the screen door as momma french braided my hair so I could leave for school. And I watched the sun rise over the hills and complained about the braids most of the time. So now I am a homeowner and I chose to have a wooden screen door (or two) custom made for my little cottage of a home. I still cherish the same sounds and feelings evoked by the banging of the screen door. And then I sit on the front porch in my rocking chair enveloped by the evening air. Usually with a book. Or maybe some crocheting. Maybe just solitude watching the kids play on the lawn, or riding their bicycles up and down the lane. I take my childhood with me and I bask in the tranquil sounds and sights that made growing up in a small country town priceless and one of my greatest treasures. And I can call them up whenever I want. I just bang the screen door and sit in the rocker on the front porch for good measure.

G'ma Emily

This is the time of year for growing, renewing, and enjoying. Out in my front yard is a mound that seperates my yard from the neighbors. It is profuse with quakies whose leaves shimmer in the slightest of breezes. Roses and English Yew grow in a meandering fashion throughout. The earth around is piled thickly with bark that smells just like the Kaibab once a long time ago. I love sitting on the grass and watching everything grow and change and makes any time spent there relaxing and joyful. A yard takes a lot of work. A lot of watering. A lot of tlc. And money here and there. So we enjoy what we have helped to create. I always think of my g'ma Emily. She was a petite, proper, white haired g'ma. I adore her. I admire her. For many reasons. She reminded us, often, on no uncertain terms, that we were not to "cut across" someone's yard. We were to go around, preferably on the path. She would say, "Whether your name be James or John, the path was made to walk upon." That also went for her yard. That also goes for my yard......