Pushing Daisies

Have you ever looked fear in the face and said, "I just don't care?"

The first time I ever heard that lyric, I thought back to a sermon some years back. I know, right? What's P!nk got to do with the pulpit? Turns out, a lot  - if you venture into the cobwebbed canals of my brain vault, anyway.

"Control isn't about confidence. It isn't about capability. It's about fear. You want control because you don't want to be afraid." Yep. That's what he said. Not what you want to hear if you are, in fact, embroiled in a great love affair with control (like moi). Moreover, some fibers of your weave you just can't change - you can only snip and retwist and wind in better strands, hoping the tapestry changes for the better. There I was, Control Freak freak, wondering, "Does that flask hold water? Am I really afraid?"

Uh huh.
You already know the answer.
Two clues: I'm writing this post. I also know I'm not the only control freak out there.

Then we had this year. This 365-day (almost on the dot) cycle of hell. Life became a b*&$% on a lawnmower looking to raze our hitherto daisied meadow of love and joy. She did a pretty good job. Now, I interrupt this programming to announce to you - da da da DA! - I'm for Jesus. I don't believe in coincidence. I can't buy random twists of fate. There is no Mother Nature. And destiny doesn't turn on a dime. I believe one God is in control. I believe He does the best job, even (especially?) when I don't get Him. Which is usually when He's messin' with my fascade of control.

That year was a knock-you-while-you're-down stretch of one of those times. We survived. We even thrived. How come?

I learned to look fear in the face and say, "I just don't care." My brother would probably correct me and say, "You mean, you told fear to just f- off?" Ya. That, too. Sometimes you just have to get ugly. Crass. Dirty. Foul. This is war: in the absence of random kismit or strange fate, you have to face that bad must have a reason, must be providential. You've only got one or the other, you know? And life is hard - not always because you blew that choice or misjudged the outcome of that action. Nope. Sometimes life's just the b*&$% on the lawnmower, gunning for you from six yards over. Sometimes there's nothing you can do but say goodbye to your daisies, with a chaser of  "I just don't care. Do what you will. I have purpose. I have meaning. You can't beat me. You can't ruin me. He controls what's meant to be."

These days, I don't need to be in control...as much. Hey, I told you - didn't you read the whole snip, twist, wind bit? I find I need the control less because the fear doesn't dominate anymore. Not a bad ratio to tender come end of the day.

Know what else is true?
When I'm less afraid, I notice one, teeeeeeensy detail...that packs a pert good wallop.

There aren't as many lawnmowers out there.
Quite a few more daisies, though.

Now, Would I Lie to You?

I could lie to you.

I could tell you I am not usually uncomfortable with time. That I don't attempt to wrest the minute hands from God at most inclinations, either to wind time round or to turn it back.  I don't always care which. I could tell you that it is easy to live in any moment, never wondering what's ahead or regretting what lies behind.

Maybe I should tell you that.

But I'd be lying.

My friend, Lynne, shared this quote today because she thought it was powerful.
I agree with Lynne.

"Patience is not waiting passively until someone else does something. Patience asks us to live the moment to the fullest, to be completely present to the moment, to taste the here and now, to be where we are. When we are impatient, we try to get away from where we are. We behave as if the real thing will happen tomorrow, later, and somewhere else. Let’s be patient and trust that the treasure we look for is hidden in the ground on which we stand." - Henri J.M. Nouwen

Patience is active.
It's tasting.
     Being.
         Trusting.
               Looking.
                     Standing.

It's the now.
This moment.
This presence.
This treasure.
This ground.

I could tell you the this is what gets me to forfeit the wresting. I can't win anyway. Besides, guessing and regretting have never brought good times - not a single one.

I could tell you that now's the best I'm going to get.
For now.

I wouldn't be lying.

Prostitute Turned Virgin

I love words. In the manner others love food or air or blood pushing life through their bodies, I love words.

When you speak, I am listening to your words.
      What ones did you pick? 
I am wondering about your words.
      Why did you pick that one? 
Sometimes, I am laughing at your words.
      Uh, don't think you know what that one means!
And, every once in a rapture of rhetoric, I am staggered by your words.
      Did you just say  ____________?! Ultra. Cool.

Words are the guide you give to the honeycomb of you: that peculiar maze that defines your nature, coming with no particular map so much as a red signifier of "You Are Here". In any given word exchange, we each proffer two significant articles: the You Are Here of that moment and the red lines of direction to the next layer of maze. Your words are tells - and I love to watch your cues.

Not everyone is gifted with words - and that's okay. My brother can say more with a profanity, for instance, than I would ever have enough blush to relate. But I get his message, nevertheless. This means, I think, that words aren't about elitism in its strictest sense; more like elitism in its best sense. For how many people can drop a great F bomb, but do it with little to no aplomb? If you have to look up aplomb, then you've got your answer. The gist? High words come from high folk - but not necessarily better folk.

So, if Month of Love is about considering all the ways, means, efforts, considerations, manners, and content of what our bulleted banner of "Love", then (for me) words have to make the list. Incidentally, I ain't alone in my love, however weird some of you might think it. I am fully aware that there are those who read here and share this precise pseudo-obsession. But, just in case you're wondering about all the other yahoos who've jumped this bandwagon, here are some highlights.

Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.  ~Anton Chekhov

Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.  ~William Wordsworth

 A word is not the same with one writer as with another.  One tears it from his guts.  The other pulls it out of his overcoat pocket.  ~Charles Peguy

No one means all he says, and yet very few say all they mean, for words are slippery and thought is viscous.  ~Henry Brooks Adams, The Education of Henry Adams, 1907

My language is the common prostitute that I turn into a virgin.  ~Karl Kraus

Words are but the vague shadows of the volumes we mean.  Little audible links, they are, chaining together great inaudible feelings and purposes.  ~Theodore Dreiser, 1900

Proofread carefully to see if you any words out.  ~Author Unknown

Branded

While we're on the subject of the Month of Love...how about those items that fall into the category of what we love? Given that Americans have the absurd notion of rampantly overusing words like love, awesome, and hate (naming a few is an understatement), "what we love" is the wrong phrasing. Yep, I'm guilty, too.

But what about those little life extras that leave us up in our giddy when we find our hot little hands clutching our ..... what? Fill in your blank.  Ahem: keep it clean: I left that field of rhetoric wide open...

I've got a few. Most aren't even in my use everyday; rather, they're those lovely little whatsis's I find and, with a sigh of repletion, say, "Yes! That's what I've been looking for!" (Geek) Of course, I didn't know I was looking for the lovely...which, rather absurdly, makes it all the more valuable.

Here's one such gadget.

Craig bought this embosser plate for me when I was in grad school. With its opening came a sigh and a "Yes! That's what I've been looking for!" (Nerd) For folks like me who are more than persnickety about loaning books (your coffee stains, baby vomit, and boogers should not come back on my now torn, dog-eared, and otherwise abused folio), this is a must have. Most companies offer more variety than I care to recount (think shape, size, font, style, phrasing, and so on), and they are an investment (handhelds like mine run about $50). Still, if you're a connoisseur of books, then considering your favorites branded makes their value skyrocket.
Indelibly marks them as sacred.
Enriches their message tenfold.
Nay, a hundredfold.

Nah, it's just cool when you open the jacket of a beloved text, and see your brand. To be fair, I've already used the words geek and nerd.

 And one could argue you'd have to be one to appreciate such nonsense: except that we brand all the time. Why, a tattoo is no more than a branding of skin! How about a label on your jeans or a nameplate on that $400 bag you're carrying? Own a sweatshirt with your alma mater or fave NCAA team logo emblazoned across the front? 

It's how we communicate belonging. How we say, "Heck yes, I'm for that!" It's a shorthand of communicating. Of signifying love. Or like. Or being up in our giddy when something's in our hot little hands.

Such notions are good. What's even better is recognizing My Love knew I'd relish it before I even knew it existed. Which is just another way 

       of being loved, 

               known,

                     recognized as belonging.

Rather like being branded.

Thanks...to You

Today has been a good day.
I needed a good day.

I'm talkin' a really, really, good day: the kind that promotes the blatant and unapologetic use of copious amounts of deadwood to accentuate how really good it actually was.

Of the many splendors of this day, I made not one. Not in any way, by any stretch of my hand, did I create the good. Which left me sopping up the gravy of a day I didn't imagine, certainly didn't create, and undoubtedly don't deserve.

It was a Pilates class, a dress exchange, and an appointment with a horse. It was escalators in a mall and a voice in the mail. It was a thank you note, a stranger, and seven of the most delightful digits on the number line. It was the voice at the end of 0936, moonlight in 9-8 time, and a reminder that it is You.

It is always You.

Today has been a good day.
I needed a good day.

So, thanks...
    to You.

But I Don't Think So

Family time a few nights ago included Horton Hears a Who - the movie, not the book - because the kiddos love it. Also because it was an I-Spied $4.95 quickie purchase at Target. Hey: expect more, pay less.

The first time we saw it, not long after its dvd release, I hit two peaks of giggles. The first was this scene. It's Grace's favorite. She erupts into full-fledged belly-laughs every time she sees it. I reckon it's the combination of ponies, rainbows, and pooping butterflies. I could be wrong. But I don't think so.

The second was this scene. From the second Horton sees the bridge, I get him. Nay, I become him. I can recall every step of how I've played this out. And I've learned a few things are true about me.

I've heard the "whoosh" of air as he grasps his - er, gaping - dilemma, and I've thought, "Oh, yes. I've seen this bridge before." I, too, have muttered, "This looks kind of...precarious" while tunneling mine eyes over an impossibly plummeting chasm. (Doubt)

I'm the thinker who has posited, "Of course I can do this. Obviously, others have done this...considered I'd be doing this, too...clearly, I can conquer this." (Hubris)

I have taken a first tentative step. Testing. Assessing. Measuring. Weighing. (Mistrust) When the ricketiest planks give way I, too, have quipped an "Eh! Looks like insert observation here." (Criticism) Rather than changing my method, though, I sensibly choose to get off the bridge altogether force my way ahead with a new, carefully pontificated plan of logical foolhardy attack. (Stubborn)

Because my learning curve is so shallow steep, I decide that I can still think my way out of my predicament. (Just plain dumb) I mean, after all, it's only a bridge! (Clueless) I deduce my best tactic is to simply push through, much  like the proverbial bull in a china shop, since if at first one doesn't succeed, one must (with great gusto, yes?) try, try again. (Myopic)

So, as my tipping toes leave a wake of devastation, I traipse cheerily along never lifting my eyes from the horizon of success. (Ridiculously obtuse).

And then - Hack my legs and call me stumpy! - I make it.
Only to fall.
Before I realize I haven't, in fact, fallen at all.
I've been saved.
By some unseen source?

I rather doubt it. No, I suspect that, regardless of my doubt, my hubris, my mistrust, and my criticism; in spite of being stubborn, cluless, myopic, ridiculously obtuse, and (let us not forget) just plain dumb...

   He saves me.
       Every time.
          Alllllll the time.

Which leaves me wiping my brow, acknowledging His grace, and admitting, "Phew! That could have been a disaster!"

Rather makes me feel like I'm living in a world where everyone's a pony, and they all eat rainbows and poop butterflies.

I could be wrong.

But I don't think so.

No witing About tmountains

Ahhh, Christmas cards. What say you on the subject? If taking a multiple-choice test, would your answer most likely be:

    A. Strangely curious fabrications of life and joy mailed solely to propagate falsities at Christmas?
    B. Mildly irritating notions on what can be labeled interesting, but products of the festive season
        nonetheless
    C. Enjoyable ditties on lives you love near, far, and in-between. Sure, why not?
    D. A critical imparting of soul juice for the celebration of friendship and family. Absolutely - how
        can you not?!

Well, depending on your letter option, you're somewhere between a craven Eboneezer or a candy-coma'd Cratchit. Wherever you fall, reflect on this: it's an option, not a requirement. It's a gift to receive, not a curse to begrudge. It's an opportunity to love and laugh - and maybe get a pretty good story, too.

This is our card this year. It's got a story. I mean, other than the one written on it. 

What's the short of the long?

 There is no witing about tmountains.

The long of the long? I found a great deal that would, essentially, take a nickel from my pocket for each print. Yeee-aH: sold! I fast found this template and plucked it from the bed of options because it let me use some candids rather than a full family pic. Why not the full fam? Well, it's a whole other story involving hair and clothes and meltdown possibilities- mine, not theirs - so I'll spare you the brutals. Suffice to say, my happy equation that day was candids + letter space = done deal.

Course my joy took the fast way downhill. I open the template. I place the photos. And I begin to write our ditty...in 4.5 point cruel even to the biggest, buggiest, micro-vision eyes on God's green earth. I zoomed, I widened, I got glasses. I squinted, I scrunched, I groused. I gave up.

And now there's two typos. TWO! Yes, yes: I could give it up.
Let it go.
   Roast some chestnuts over an open fire.
     Put a partridge in my pear tree.
        But I cannot. Why?
          Um, because I'm book smart, street stupid:
            have we not met?

What's that mean? Future post, for sure. Summarily, it's a keen intelligence capable of recalling volumes of data but lacking any singular ability to often apply it common-sensically. Yeah. That's me. To an "A" - for Anal-retentive.

It bears no surprise, then, that while complaining to my treasured friend, Amy, badmouthing and blundering the bits for a good 10 minutes, Amy (I did call her treasured, yeah?) calmly...but with that quake of "Seriously, Candy, you really are prone to missing the simple, aren't you?") quips, "Why didn't you copy it, paste it into Word so you could see it?"

Well, oBviously, the answer is this:

Because there would then be no witing about tmountains.

Which could make for one sad card

            ...except that it turns out to be a pretty good story.           

30 Days of Thankful

Each year for the last three, I've purposed every day of November to faithfully carve time on Facebook to write one entry. It's quite the important entry, I dare say, because it's shaped my entire month - one 24 hour chunk at a time.

I hear the murmurs in increased numbers - the plaintive melodies decrying FB's lack of merriment, of honesty, of good 'ol kindness even. Okay. I see that. But I offer this in retort to said decriers: You do realize, do you not, that the networkers et al - NOT the actual network - are the guilty offenders? Because, see, the network's not alive: it's nothing without the content we put in it, post on it, spread through it. And - yes, yes - we can hide some posters, limit our feed exposure, or flat out unfriend, if you're really interested in spreading your point. But, then again, few people accompany their unfriend with any feasible explanation. So, here's the rub for you....

Why not change the content we post? Better choose what we spread? How about we claim Facebook for the beauty it can offer rather than the crud it can spew? (I suddenly feel a bit like Amy Madigan's character, Annie, at the PTA meeting on banning books..."Come on! Come on! Let's see those hands!" Yeah, think it. Post it. See it for fun.)

So, come October, I start compiling my list of 30 - which isn't a lot when you see your life through the lens of thankful, I note. I think of who matters deeply; what's changed me; which nouns fill my happy place of want; which nouns faithfully fill my treasured column of need. I reflect and pray and smile quite a bit actually because, in the end, I'm left with nothing but a cup running over...nothing but love.

So, come November, I practice what I preach. Some were on the list...some strolled in just by being.

Either way, it's good to contemplate your content. To contemplate your life. It's even better for the soul. Well, my soul, anyways. And just maybe yours, too.Which doesn't have to happen solely in the eleventh month.

  

     Thankful is funny like that: 

it's cool any month of the year, like a superpower that never runs out of juice.

So here's my contribution to the good juice...in the order I posted my thankful's.

For stacks of essays waiting to be graded that remind me teaching is who I am, not just what I do...I am truly thankful.

For a treasured friend - a necessary part of my core - whose quiet strength and Godly perspective signifies Comfort to all whom she loves...for Amy Roek Cunningham, I am truly thankful. Love you.

For 9 pounds 9 ounces of miniature Craig who has grown into 4 feet of his own soul-blessing self...I am gloriously thankful. Happy Birthday, Elijah: you will always be my best reminder to laugh hard and live big. I love you.

For words - long and short, skinny and tall, juicy and dry, clean and...not - for the way they are alive and fail only when they should: I am thankful for words.

For the "A-Ha!" moment that lights my students' faces when they get it, do it, and like it once they're done...for that singular moment of superb connection, I am thankful.

For the moments that have defined me and for the grace that made them sacred...I am blessedly thankful.

For a day to celebrate the birth of my friend who represents depths of loyalty and devotion I can only aspire to reach...for my hysterically insightful Jessi Chavez, I am beyond thankful.

(Here's to one that's true every year. Of course.) For indoor plumbing - and the creature comforts it so faithfully provides through cold, infirmity, and dark of night...I am blissfully thankful.

For having had the extraordinary opportunity to live in The Last Frontier, where all that is most beautiful remains still untouched...and called Alaska - I am an awe-inspired thankful.

For pumpkin. For bread, coffee, creamer, muffins, cheesecake, candles, lotions, and even the big ol' orbs we place on the stoop...for pumpkin, my scents are delightfully thankful.

For your bravery, your resilience, your valiant belief in duty before self and God above all...you are my daddy, my friends, and my beloved Craig most of all...for my freedom, I am humbly thankful.

For the Chai Spice walls of a cozy parlor awash in the glow of afternoon sunshine...and a Kindle to go along with it...I am thankful.

Because I woke this morning with his arm around me and listened to him breathing beside me...for the presence of my soul mate Craig, saturating every day of life until it's just the right side of dream come true - I am ever thankful.

For 4'11'" of golden locks, dimpled cheeks, artist's hands, blue-green eyes, and the warmest heart of compassion I've ever encountered...for my only begotten beauty-girl, Grace Abigail, my mothering heart is thankful.

For my Someone, my Peach, my reminder that wisdom isn't separate from humor and all that glitters really IS golden...Michelle Rice Zitzmann, there aren't words for the depth of thankful I am for you. Love you.

For lists that get trumped and goals that get traded in favor of what's better, grander, more beautiful than any I'd imagined...for learning to yield my Type A to His "Type Perfect", I am infinitely thankful.

For a warm bed to climb into come night's fall; for a roof that shelters the heart as much as it does the home; for a full pantry, a cool fridge, clothes that fit, and soap that cleans...for having everything I need more than than everything I want, I am thankful.

For coffee - all kinds; and its packaging - cups or mugs or paper carriers; and its smell - nutty, sweet, slightly bitter; and its warmth - through my hands, across my lips, down my tummy...for my sensory love affair with coffee, my taste buds are thankful.

Gettin' this one in under the wire: for the simple pleasure of cuddling with Elijah beneath a fuzzy blanket, belly-laughing-until-tears watching old The Cosby Show episodes...my merry heart is thankful.

For the gift of knowing and being known, for counting people as gifts and realizing, "They see me and let me seem them, too...no hiding required" - for the gift of acceptance, my friendship meter is thankful.

For Good Wife dates with Jill Singleton Bailey including decaf, pumpkin pie, pajamas (for me), and delightful chats on solving life's great puzzles...the plot of the show among them - for a 30 second drive to hang with one of the smartest, wittiest gals I know, I am thankful.

For my last name: a tangible gift my husband gave to say I belong to him. It's a reminder of legacy and of love. It's alliterative (and that's just cool) AND, even after 15 years, I never tire of being called "Mrs. Covak"...for a name far greater than mere signature, I am thankful.

For our house - more than walls and paint and windows, it's a dream we built together with sacrifice and faith, stitched together by three hands intertwined...His, Craig's, and mine. We've brought our babies home to this house, watched them take their first steps here and, one day, will watch them walk out of it to build their own homes. For the realization that a house loved becomes a home where your story begins, I am thankful.

For the perspective of joy: realizing I have a blessed life is rarely based solely on circumstances and always based on perspective. When I see through eyes of love and peace, I don't see circumstances...I see the bounty of the good life. And I am blessed. For the perspective of joy, my happy heart is thankful...and hoping yours is, too!

For the Day After traditions: halls are decked, leftovers consumed, carols a playin', and pizza is gettin' eaten. Welcome Holidays!

For beer. That's right - beer. For blondes and pales and schillings and every seasonal there is. For the foam and the hops and the finishes, too. For the pilsner, the stein, the pint, and the weizen...for all the fashions in which beer arrives to please the the palate, I am thankful. (No belching, please.)

For LG 47, boys, girls, men, women - Christ the center of all: you are a rich group who make me laugh and think and feel and DO better and bigger than without you...for Steve, Michelle, Jessica, David, Lynne, Micah, Becca, KJ, and Craig, my never-alone heart is thankful.

For my second-favorite lefty who's all giggles and smiles...until he's not; who lives life all in and teaches me what it means to love with heart wide open, especially when he says, "I love you, Mommy" about 50 times a day - for my miracle Judsen Ames, my smile is surely thankful.

For the unexpected gifts that rearrange moments, days, and even years of my life: for every one from snow days to drop-in guests, from marriage proposals to sticks with two lines, my life has been full of rearranging...and I am thankful for it.

(And, to be posted tomorrow….) For the memories of what made me then, the adventures carving me now, and the dreams and hopes deferred for tomorrow…for His promise of “the best is yet to come”, I am eternally thankful.

The Fiery Colors of Living

We sat last night on our patio with the 47 family, captured in Colorado's near perfect net of crisp mountain air and warm autumn colors. It occurred to me, sitting there, that those cantaloupes, sages, burnt embers, and goldenrods of our backyard grove wouldn't be there tomorrow. Not precisely. Not the same hues. By morning - heck, even by nightfall - leaves will have fallen, wind-shaken by the same breeze chilling our skin the same way it was chilling the remaining foliage into still deeper shades before they, too, drifted away to places unknown.

Instantly, the mind vault pulls James 4:14 from its depths: "Yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes." (ESV) Rather gives new meaning to the sentiment "Here today, gone tomorrow", yes?

But in what way is that not true? I mean, what moment can we possibly recapture? I can't go back to the whimsy of childhood or time travel to the beach at the moment I whispered "I will." I can't relive the first time Craig said he loved me; the first moment each of our children took breath or slip inside the second we knew our other's ceased. Nor, truthfully, would I want to. We must capture it in the now because it's the now that gives it worth: the reliving is just the memory's shallow grave of event without the emotion that first made it alive.   

Last night, it may have been the season's finery rushing me to reflection, but it was the people that made that moment alive. It was my beloved to my left or my Zee diagonally across. It was her guy to her right and two other of the best couples I know surrounding. It was the loved ones absent yet fondly included. It was the presence of friendship and the life it brings to that - and every - moment.

In this season of my life, I am changing. I know that I am changing. Awareness of it puts butterflies in my stomach and weight upon my chest. I am learning, among other truths, that I need to live more fully in the moment. To refrain from analysis and worry and too-close inspection of what would otherwise simply be. Recently, on Facebook, my status read, "If you want to be happy, be." (Thanks, Leo Tolstoy: that sentiment's way easier to grab than War and Peace.)

I'm going for the moment these days. I'm getting better at being. 

I'm finding rest. 

Ease. Peace.

In the moment. 

In the being.

In the fiery colors of living.

Go Big

I love my job.

I'm not speaking of the one that's hour-marked by loads of laundry, bags of groceries, floors of sweeping, bills of paying, buckets of organizing, menus of cooking, errands of running.....BIIIIIGGGG inhale.

Because I do, in fact, love that job.

But I'm also a teacher. Which is more than a job. When you can say your job isn't just what you do, but who you are - well, you're living the working man's dream. Or woman's. Whatever.

I remembered why I love my job last Saturday: with one student completing a writing task and two others waiting with their queries, I spared a moment to (internally) shout: "I LOVE MY JOB!" Challenging young minds to think - to actually consider with their frontal lobes the surroundings they call the world - until I see their eyes widen, heads lift, and shoulder rise...well, that supersonics past what I do to become affixed in the firmament of who I am.

In that little moment, I felt big.

 Big in what I do.

Big in who I am.

In how I want to be.

We credit Confucius with the original observation, but the variant that follows has become its own rendering: "Wherever you go, there you are." 

So be there.

Completely.

Unabashedly.

Full throttle.

Whether it's a job, a relationship, a phase, a conversation, a drive, or a longneck coated in frost...

Relish it. 

Prize it.

Live in the little, revel in the much...but whatever you do...

Go Big.

When You Go

C.S. Lewis wrote, "No book is really worth reading at the age of ten which is not equally – and often far more – worth reading at the age of fifty and beyond." Of course, he also wrote, "A children's story that can only be enjoyed by children is not a good children's story in the slightest."

I imagine it's a rare production of the written word that satisfies both such requirements.

 But I'd say The Potter 7 fits the bill.

Last night, in a parade of well-orchestrated plans about which I'll spare you the details, Zee and I hit the Cineplex for The Deathly Hallows, Part 2. At this point in our lives, such a date must be greatly wanted (by us) and then heavily supported (by Steve and Craig). But, when we get them, they are an oh-so-good treat.

Watching the film actually felt (Dare I confess?) a bit like history in the making. Grace was a wee babe when first I entered the hallowed halls of Hogwarts; first explored the sundries of Diagon Alley; imbibed my first mug of butterbeer; and painted the skies on my first Nimbus 2000. Now you allege I wasn't actually there, I know. But, when you encounter such a spectacular writer as J.K. Rowling, you truly enter the world - her world...a magical envelope containing bravery, sacrifice, destiny, and secrets enshrouded within the choices that define us all - the ones that cost us the most.

And I got to see it with this dear friend.

Which made it all the better. You really should go see it with your Ron. Or your Hermione. Or your Gryffindors even. Because we're all a little bit of Harry Potter, with our longings to do what's right in the face of it all going so wrong. We all want to have our loyals standing tall beside us, vowing never to leave us in the face of our greatest fears. We all want to fight the good fight...and win it in the end.

If you have those someones, then go with them.

Then you'll enter the world, too.

And discover a bit of history while you're at it.

As the gal next to me expressed to her friends, "That was the last first time we'll see a Harry Potter movie in the theater." True that. But you don't have to leave all of the world of wizardry and magic behind.

You can always take your Ron's and Hermione's with you when you go.

The Prettiest Picture of All

"The Lovely 47" is what my sweet friend, Becca, calls the group of us gals in Life Group 47.

Our church expresses care, community, and connection to one another through the medium of Life Groups which are, essentially, little pods of families you can join across city, age, gender, and family demographics with the hope of finding smaller, more intimate relationships within a larger family of believers.

If you love family, then you love this concept.

And it's hard because (is there a mockingbird in here?) relationship is hard. But this group of fantastic women bless me just by letting me know them; they are unequivocal proof that an investment of love made through the gesture of friendship yields only monumental rewards.

 (l-r, me, Zee, Becca, Lynn, Jessica)

Into their lives, I am welcomed to come inside and sit for a spell. Within their families, I find example and sacrifice beyond self. In their company, I find wisdom, insight, perspective, spunk, bouts of hysterical giggles, gentility, encouragement, silly candor, and spontaneous hugs with love galore. We are meandering the cobblestone roads of life together...and I am loving our journey.

Recently, we spent our Mother's Day evening getting pedicures then sipping wine and margaritas over some yummy eats.

As you can see, our toes were gorgeous...

...but the way we bring His light out of one another...

...while sharing a few laughs along the way...

...well, that's the prettiest picture of all.

It's Summertime!

I know summer has officially begun for a number of reasons:

1. It's finally warm here. And the statistic that the Springs sees 330 days of sunshine per year is seeming a bit truer these days.
2. No more twice-daily walks to school twice, early-morning choir practices, lunchbox menus, and endless paperwork to sign.
3. My morning cup of coffee is taller, sipped longer, and enjoyed outside because of #1 and #2.
4. My stack of paperbacks has grown from 0 to 12 overnight. Taxes paid for our public library are my favorite investment.
5. My Kindle is locked and loaded with a Queue just waiting to be devoured on a road trip.

But let us not forget the biggest signpost on the road to summer: the songs!

I love music...truly love it. Yet, it's during the summer that I most link music to mood. I listen to it more. I sing it more. I put it on in random places more often and take more of an effort to enjoy it with the kids. This, I've surmised, is likely because (much like my reading) my listening tastes bend toward fun and ridiculous which lends itself more easily to equally fun and ridiculous behavior.

Prior to the age of Facebook, you might never know this about me...unless you were woefully trapped in my kitchen, my car, my backyard or stuck running alongside me on the street. Outside of these circumstances, the world was largely safe from my lyrical renderings. Now the status update bar querying, "What's on Your Mind?" seems the perfect place to post the eclectic and often giddy phrasings from some of my summer faves - as they come to ear.

Post some of your own! I know I'll be watching to discover some tunes heretofore overlooked while I get a sense of what your day, your hour, your moment is yielding.

It's fun! 

It's ridiculous!

It's Summertime!

35

On May 3rd, I turned 35.

I don't mind being another year older; birthdays are a reminder to consider and embrace the good, the blessings. In fact, the "big number" birthdays (the ones on the 5's) prompt me to reflect even more on the myriad of ways I want to be better. Do better. But also to remind me of what I've kicked in the teeth; how I've said "No, thanks" to the junk and "Hel-lo, good lookin!'" to the opportunities.

35 is a big number birthday. And it was one of the best ever.

I started the day with cards: the first from my sweet son and daughter who burst into my bedroom caroling tidings for a merry day.
      
E drew us walking hand-in-hand.         Grace drew my favorite animal: yep, it's free-hand.

Wow! to both of these...they started my day perfectly.

At my bedside, my traveling husband had left a love letter.
And my beautiful friend, Amy, timed her card to arrive for my birthday: so I tore into it the morning of...to find a Bux card inside. Drink with Aim...yeaaaaa! (Miss you sweet friend: SC doesn't know how lucky it is!

There's nothing quite like getting mail in your box, just for you, just because you're special. No bill attached. No "reply by" deadline. Just a love note.
Now that's a gift.


(the Hot Tamales are from Zee...my fave candy. Good with honey-wheat pretzels, btw)

My mom phoned first thing (I thanked her for bringing me into the world). Zee called to sing me "Happy Birthday" and was quickly tailed by Bee...I so love the friends who love you so deeply they're actually silly. Silly! And every lyric held joy. Big smile.

Then I hit the gym. Every May 3rd- whether it's a regularly-scheduled sweat-it-out, burn-it-up day or not, I strap those sneakers on. One of my fave instructors taught my fave weights class; every year, she whispers this beautiful bday prayer wish dear to her family -  it taps the tear faucet every time. Got the birthday song - hip style - and worked out next to another beloved Amy...whose shoulder blades literally held me up at the end (what??!! It's ok, Amy gets it, don't ya' lady?)

At home, I checked the FB wall...where 113 messages found their way to my heart. Wow. As usual, I thanked each and every one because, put quite simply, why would I not? Thanks again to all who took a moment (through voicemail, email, FB, or card) to express a wish, a prayer, a memory, a thought of goodness...my ticker treasures every line.

Then it was a quiet time and cuddling with Judd before Mom came to Nana-sit...so I could meet the gals for some comida y margaritas! Thankfully, Bee and I shared the Daily Special...three sips was E-nough...Holy Triple Sec! (or was it the Peach Schnapps? Or the tequila?)


(from left) Jessica, Zee, and Bee

Along with another gem, Becca, these ladies closed the day with a blessing, a reminder of how I'm never alone but am fully understood...and treasured just as I am. No return receipt required. None desired.

These gals are the steady kind. They'll last forever, if you'll let 'em. Through thick and thin. Up and down. Stinky and perfume. Skinny and...well...post-baby. I admire them. I'm better with them than without them.

And they are a sample of others I'm blessed to know and mark in the same category - even though they live states and states away.

How, dear Father, did my pockets end up so full? How is it possible that my cup runs over so completely, so steadfastly?

Only You could provide all I need for all the life I need it...and leave me to relish it, celebrating the much I have in the year You've planned as

35.

A Week in Review

Last week is a happy black hole. I know, I know - usually the idiom "black hole" is a less-than-friendly metaphor for a treacherous foray into the abyss of yuck. For me, the black hole shows just how greatly I was blessed and busy and full and loved: it all went so quickly, so fully, I whipped through it in a blur.

The worst part? Craig being gone. Definitely. Always.

The best part? Well, the next few entries will cover that. But the overview is this: I've discovered a great recipe for a happy life (for me) is just 4 simple words...

balance
moderation
perspective
faith

I saw all of these last week when I...

• stood in the blustering Colorado winds (again) to watch my son run plays at football practice - and saw him turn and smile at my presence the whole time.
• celebrated a birthday with no less than the best folks on the planet - near and far- eating, drinking, laughing, and sending sentiments of love and warmth...some from miles away (future post).
  
• savored store-bought cake - because my mother-in-law knows there's nothing in my world quite like butter-cream frosting. Love that...and her.
• opened my door to my most-wished gift: a Kindle. Delivered on the actual day. By my husband. While he was in Nebraska. That's some superb planning (future post).
  
• chaperoned E's field trip to the zoo and "hurrayed" when he took my hand and said, "Mommy, you MUST sit by me on the bus!"
• welcomed my husband home with a home-cooked meal and hugs galore, praising God for his safety after flying on the day after such a tumultuous event in our nation's history (he flew out on May 2nd, the day after bin Laden's death).
• unwrapped the best gifts a girl could ask for - and found love inside each box (future post).

Until the posts appear, I sign off with just one thought:

the older I get, the more balance, moderation, perspective, and faith I want to have.
The more I have, the more I realize I am loved.
That we all matter, one to another.
That we are rich in gifts that far transcend this world.

I realize I am happy...proven by my week in review.

Candidly

When I take pictures, they're meh. You know, fairly posed. Nothing to see here.
I've got great subjects, though, so I might come out of the developing (aka digital window) with this in tow:

Or this:                                                     Or this:
                          

But when Craig takes pictures...well, they're much better than meh. He just snaps and snaps without much thought to the matter except to wait for a moment. An expression. A whisper in time. Then he clicks and clicks and clicks some more.

Until he gets shots like these...

  

 
...to mark the memories of hugs and giggles and hunting a few eggs in between.

Then it's back to the ho-hum when the lens finds me again...

...proving that Easter photos, much like life, offer turn out best when you capture the moment.

Candidly.

I Sat in the Sun With a Winner...Again

Today, I Sat in the Sun With a Winner.
Again.
As we've done many times before.

But, every time I leave this winner, I think, "That was our best time!"
To her, I hear myself saying, "I know just what you mean!" again and again.

Today, we talked about text and narrative arcs
and gushed over our mutual love of the genre "memoir".
We spoke of mothering and marriage and what's ahead for the summer.
Of MLA, APA, and who-the-heck-can-figure-out-Chicago.
Of classrooms and churches and all types of friends.

But the best was just dwelling.
Thanking God for how He sent her to me...in the most unusual of ways.
And pondering how each of us should have this type of friend...
even if you find He's sent you just one.
Because mornings spent like this one create memories that linger...

if you find that you Sat in the Sun With a Winner.

I Like My Odds

I'm at a point in life where I'm more interested in letting it go than hanging on to it.

I'm warmed to know so many of my friends from high school are married to the loves of their lives.

I'm excited that Blue Bell ice cream really is pretty good - it wasn't just spin.

I'm proud of those I'm proud of...and they know who they are. I tell them every chance I get while I'm wondering how I got so blessed to find them.

I'm happy to be in love and happier still to know it's real.

I'm far more intoxicated by the praises of life than by the complaints against it.

I'm less for random emotion and more for solid thinking. (Okay, that's not new. But still important.)

I'm celebrating a friend at a party tonight. Just because she was born.

And I spent the afternoon playing with my youngest son and marveling at his tiny body which, to him, could leap a tall building.

If all of life were a Facebook wall, I'd be hitting Like way more than Dislike.

I have found perspective.

Which wasn't all that hard to do actually.

It's holding on to it that's the challenge.

But if my progress so far is any indication...
well...
I like my odds.

With Great Honor

This was my Facebook status today.

Pick battles big enough to matter, small enough to win. ~Jonathan Kozel

So applicable to my life this season. As every day amounts to a battle against the
ever-draining sands in the hourglass, prioritization matters more to my sanity than ever before. Does it seem to you, as it does to me, that all the tickers of time I once reserved for "old timers" suddenly mark me? An expression like, "Where has this year gone?" and needing to do math to recall my age have become part of my everyday routine.

Or how about this: My dearest Zee recently recounted that, as she reviewed some work-related documents, she realized one gal's birth date was later than her wedding date...meaning Zee got married before the lass was even born - EGADS!!

Yes, the travels of Old Man Time hearkens this paradigm, if it does nothing else: life really does pass us by...seemingly while we're standing watching the clock waiting for the next big thing to happen. (Or as John Lennon put it, life is what happens while we're busy making other plans).

So, I count that which matters most as (surprise) actually mattering most.

And I choose those battles.
And, if I can't win it, I try to let it go.
And if, as a friend from high school posted on that status today, I must ask,
"What if one has no choice?",
I can only hope my response to him will prevail:

Then fight to the finish with great honor.

After All

To take a cue from Alexander, last week I had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. My brother did, too, as an aside, and there was a point when I could've easily borrowed his status update (warning: if blotted-out profanity offends you, click away now) for it read, quite simply: "S#^* on this day. I'm out." Doesn't that just say it all?

The day's fallout was as exhausting to process and it was to address but, as is the case with all terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days, I had opportunity to learn a thing or two. Like that, despite my many faults, standing up and taking ownership for where I blow it is still a strength in my character. And I learned that trying to live outside your skin is rarely (what I want to say is never but never say never, right?) a good idea.

But the biggest lesson I learned wasn't a new one at all; rather, it was more of a boxing of the ear or clocking on the head that reminded me of what I already know. All waves eventually wash to ripples and nothing is as big as the emotion behind it pushes to swell. Or, in a twist of the obvious: it's only as complicated as we make it, so just choose to let it go as you file another in the live and learn column.

So what was the lesson?

Perspective. For me, it seems it always is. Friday night was a long-ago scheduled Girls Night Sleepover at my mother-in-law's house for me and Grace. We ate, we laughed, we snuggled up by a fire, and dwelled as family....not one tension to be had. Saturday brought dinner with old friends and recollections of fond memories while simply being. And Sunday I stood in our church with many people I didn't know and reflected on how small and contrived our issues can actually be in the face of Africa or massive strokes.

But best of all, I remembered anew the power of marriage to my best friend who understands me better than even I do and never fails to have my back.

I am so thankful for the markers in life that remind us to just calm down. To breathe. To celebrate the "so much" we have rather than the bits of what we've lost. Or, as I recently posted on FB, to know that we are blessed beyond measure...and that's sayin' somethin'.

Kind of makes a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day not nearly so much after all.