A Story About Friendship

I wrote a book. I've had it safely tucked away in my file for 9 years now. I wrote it right after my friend died on January 05, 2002. It's not in the realm of great novels such as Little Women, Lord of the Rings or Tom Sawyer.  It falls more in the category of Dick and Jane (except I highly doubt it will be read and remembered by every single first grade student in the nation.)  You can check the book out at blurb.com. Just type my name Linnette Deason in the search field. I think if you type the name of the book My Best Friend Ray you'll get to it as well. Here is a small preview, but I think it's more legible on the Blurb website.

My Best Friend...

Hard Cover with Dus...

By Linnette Deason

Book Preview

I gave it to my kids for Christmas this year. I have waited for a way to be able to print the book, and FINALLY I found a site on the internet that does print-on-demand so I didn't have to pay for a grundle of books to gather dust in my closet somewhere.

I'm very proud of my endeavor. It's cute. The story is short and sweet and the illustrations are simple. (Although this SIMPLE book took over 50 hours to create....HA!)

This blog isn't about my accomplishment (although I am very proud.  Yes, I've patted my back a couple of times.)  I wanted to write about Ray. I wanted to share more of the story.

Ray was our neighbor for 5 years before I came to know him. I would see him pass by my house in his pick-up truck with his trusty dog, Bandit, sitting in the passenger seat. Sometimes we would do the obligatory wave to each other, but quite honestly, most times I found something to occupy my hands so I wouldn't have to acknowledge him.

He was a beast of a neighbor. He was constantly swearing at me. He swore at the *#! damn dogs and my *#! damn kids. As my kids got older and the boys began skating, he would stop his truck on his way home to yell at them to get out of the *#! damn road.  He got my phone number and would call me OFTEN to tell me that my dogs were barking, or the kids were playing too loud, or that I needed to get my kids off the skateboards.  Yes, he was a nightmare. I avoided his calls, his gaze and his hellos at ALL costs.

Fast forward to the early summer of 2001. I can't remember why, but the power was out. It had been out for a few hours and Mark, the kids and I were outside in the back yard. The kids were playing football with Mark and I was folding a load of laundry at the picnic table.

Dusk fell upon us and we began breaking out the candles and flashlights. I was watching the kids scamper around the yard when I saw Ray exit his truck and make his way up his back stairs and into his house. I know my first thought was something like "Looks like the Grumpy-Old-Man-Around-The-Corner is home". Then, I caught myself and thought "I wonder if he has a flashlight with working batteries, or candles to light up this darkness."  I decided that we had better go check on him and see if he needed anything.

Quite honestly, I don't remember if I went over to his house, or if I sent the girls over, but either way, he was checked on and despite all voiced worries and complaints from the kids, he was invited to dinner the following night.  I was certain Ray would not want to come. I could have sworn that he despised our family and dogs and that there was no way under the heavens that he would set foot in our home.  I had told the kids that I knew he wouldn't come so there would be no harm in asking. I told them "sometimes grumpy people are just lonely" so we would just invite him to be nice and then it would be over and we had done the "right thing".  Nearly blew me away when he accepted. Crap! Now I not only had to make dinner for this ornery old fart, but I had to think of CONVERSATION. Ugh.

We barbecued. Ray came over and brought along his dog. We had a great time. He told stories about his horses, his youth, his dog and experiences he had while on the job as a police officer. He was witty and charming and a genuine pleasure to have. That was the beginning of one of my greatest friendships. Ever.

There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't take the time to swing by his house and visit. However brief or extended our visits, I made sure he was healthy and fed. I told him daily that I loved him. And I meant it. I drove him to doctor appointments, shopping, and any errands that he needed to see to. He still drove himself to breakfast every morning and dinner on week nights and on Saturdays. But Sundays were ours.

Ray came every Sunday for dinner. Most times I would make mashed potatoes, or some kind of side dish and he would have me take him to Kentucky Fried Chicken and he would get a bucket of chicken. He loved that stuff.

Tanna and Shelby cleaned his house two or three times a week. They would do some general cleaning and most times the cleaning led to sitting in the front room and chatting with Ray. They adored him and enjoyed this time immensely.

I worried about Ray. I am able to see his back yard from my bedroom window and I would check several times a day to see when his truck made it home, if his sidewalks needed shoveled or if he was making his way in or out of his house. He was aging and with that came a sort of shuffle-walk. He took FOREVER to get from point A to point B. I would watch the tedious progress and my heart would fill with a mixture of amusement and concern.

My circumstances changed and I found myself temporarily adding three more children to my own five. I went to work. I worked nights and Sunday mornings to help balance the additional monetary demands that were placed on our family.

Saturday, January 05, 2002 rolled around and for some reason I had to work that day.  I didn't usually work Saturdays, and after working a full shift, I was anticipating my sweats, a movie and a dinner of "if you can find it, you can eat it".  Mark was out of town on a golf trip and I wasn't cooking. Period.

My bliss (or more like my idea of bliss) came to a screeching halt when I walked into my house and was informed that Ray had called.  I was supposed to go to his house at 5:00, but that was an hour away and I was oh-so-tired and in serious need of a break. I went up to my room and while I was changing my clothes, he called the house AGAIN. Arrrrrrrgh.

When I picked up the phone, Ray told me he was "ready to go get the chicken." Remember that we did dinner on SUNDAY?  Well, Ray didn't remember. I told him that I was going to be there to visit in an hour, but we weren't doing dinner until tomorrow and that since I wasn't coming for an hour he still had time to go grab his dinner at Nates Diner (that's where he ate EVERY night) and I would come over when he got back. He told me he'd see me in a minute.

Sigh. Looked like we were having chicken.

I got dressed and half-heartedly headed out the door. I made my way around the block to Ray's house and went inside.

Ray had on his cowboy finest. He had his good hat (black felt cowboy hat), a new shirt (tan with blue, black and red vertical stripes and pearl button/snaps), blue jean Wranglers and his good boots. He had shaved and got himself all "pertied up" for dinner. He was so spunky that it quickly rubbed off onto me and I snapped myself into good spirits.

We had a routine. While he was getting his stuff gathered, I would take his keys, load up Bandit (we didn't go ANYWHERE without her) and start up the truck to get it warming up while I went back into the house and made the shuffle/walk trek from his back door to the truck.

I got the truck started and headed in to help him down the stairs. Ray told me a joke. I remembered the joke for years, but it now eludes me. Anyhow, we were laughing and teasing with each other. Ray would brace himself with the handrail on his left side and I would keep his right side steady as we maneuvered the five stairs leading down to his sidewalk.

We were maneuvering, laughing, and holding hands when IT happened. We had made it down two stairs and had three to go when Ray turned purple, gasped and fell on me. Down we both went.

I'm sure what came next was only a few minutes, but honestly, it felt like hours. You know in movies when someone is screaming for help and the neighbors hear and come running and an ambulance is called and all live happily ever after? It's all a lie.

I scrambled from underneath him. I began screaming for help. Nobody heard me. I began CPR on him. I remember crying and begging him not to "make me do this".  I remember being filled with such hope as I blew life into his lungs. For a split second his color would return. But as I would pump his heart, his color would slowly ebb and he would return to grey.

After a few minutes, I knew nobody was going to hear my cries and that I would have to briefly leave him to get to a phone. Can I tell you that was one of the most difficult things I have ever done? It was only about 30 seconds, but I knew each second would count. I prayed that I would find wind beneath my wings.

I ran into the house and grabbed the phone and was dialing 9-1-1 as I busted back to him. Once the dispatcher answered, I threw the phone on the ground beside his head and began yelling into the phone that I needed help. Problem was, I didn't know his exact address, and I wasn't about to stop performing CPR again to find his address.  I gave them the address to my house and gave them directions to Ray's house from that point. I yelled his name to them and told them they had dang well better find me.

My best friend died in my arms.

I don't know if it was fate or some Higher Power that had intervened that day. I don't know why he was so insistent that I come right then, but I'm glad I did.

I wish I had something great and inspiring to say to end this. I don't. I know that I'm glad I listened to the "Jiminy Cricket" in my heart when he said to invite Ray over. I'm glad that I shared the last stage of his life. I'm glad that I was the one to hold him when he passed.

Listen. Watch. See. Feel.

I don't think those four things can lead you astray.

...And She Lived Happily Ever After Until The End Of Her Days

Each December my family watches the Lord of the Rings movies. Extended edition. When the movies were first released to the theater, we went three years consecutively for our Christmas movie and the tradition has continued onward with the release of the DVD's.

We don't always get to watch them together. Currently, Shelby is watching them with friends, Tyson and Diana are watching at their house, Goose is catching them at his place and Jaden and I are here. It's one of those things we share even if we're apart.

Jaden and I will watch the third and final on Wednesday night and then the movies will gather dust for a year until we wipe them off, pop the popcorn and see the world saved again next year.

I don't tire of these movies. Each year I say "I forget how great that movie is." Time passes, and I do forget.

There is a bit in the second movie, The Two Towers, that brings me to tears every single time. There are times I feel like boo-hooing when I see it, but most times I allow a quiet tear to slip down my cheek.

If you're familiar with the story, you know that there is a ring that allows evil to walk on this planet. The ring must be destroyed. The task of this destruction befalls an unlikely hero by the name of Frodo Baggins. The ring has the capability of ruling the ring bearer and Frodo is constantly in a mental battle to ensure success. He and his friend, Sam, are off to Mordor to throw the ring into the very fires that were responsible for the creation of this ring. There is a fellowship that is sworn to aid in the destruction of the ring. Long story short, the fellowship is separated from Frodo and Sam and the two small hobbits steadfastly continue. The journey is arduous.  All around them is war, death, fear and discontent. They grow weary of the constant anguish surrounding them.

Frodo: I can’t do this, Sam.
Sam: I know. It’s all wrong. By rights we shouldn’t even be here. But we are. It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn’t. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.
Frodo: What are we holding onto, Sam?
Sam: That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo… and it’s worth fighting for.

I like this statement. I know that it's from a book. Yes, yes, I'm aware there really isn't a struggle. There aren't elves, hobbits, wizards, dwarfs, dragons or other mystical characters. We don't bear swords and wander around dressed in armor calling each other "My Lord" or "My Lady".  Yet, I find we live in a parallel universe.

I find that I have fought my own dragons. Most of them I slew. Some of them kicked my trash, but I promise you, they knew I was there.

Be willing to slay your dragons. Stand and join the fellowship when your friends and family need a hand to cast their burdens into the fire. I think we're in charge of our own story. I choose a happy ending. . .

It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

Bah Humbug...

I'm not a big fan of Christmas any longer. It's over commercialized, over priced, and quite frankly over rated. There is no "real meaning of Christmas". Those people that say those words are blowing smoke out of their nether-regions.  They're just like everyone else, trying to figure out who to buy for, who they don't dare leave out, gifts for the family, friends, co-workers, church people, even random office parties that require a gift exchange. There are treats to be made for neighbors.  Let's be honest ... Some of those neighbors don't even like us. How about the expense of stockings and all the crap that goes into them?  Stamps for the Christmas cards?  I said it once, I'll say it again...BAH HUMBUG.

Except...
I DO like candy canes, hot chocolate and new jammies.  I thoroughly enjoy seeing the little ones lined up to see Santa and to see their little faces filled with excitement over seeing THE MAN.  I love the anticipation that is in the air. I like that people (in general) attempt to put on a better version of themselves for a month out of the year.  I am giddy when I finish creating my Christmas cards and my new addition of a DVD of pictures set to music so everyone can see updated pics of the kids.  (My form of the brag letter.)  I watch with pure pleasure as my kids draw names for their sibling gift exchange.   I share their excitement when they pull me aside to tell me of the really-cool-can't-live-without-gift that they bought. I like the quiet of LATE Christmas eve when I sit with all the lights out and watch the lights twinkling on the tree.  I watch It's A Wonderful Life every year as I wrap presents and we read The Polar Express each Christmas Eve before bed.  (And, yes, I cry EVERY time.) Oh yeah, and I LOVE that minute of anticipation when my family is gathered around the tree for a family picture right before we open presents.  I watch as Mark dons the Santa hat and hands the kids their gifts one at a time so that we can all be excited and amazed at the presents. I think it's HILARIOUS that he'll grab a present, walk up to hand it to Tanna and then while she has her hands outstretched to grab it, he'll blow by her and give it to Jaden...because it really was Jaden's to begin with.  I think that Christmas dinner is the best dinner of the year.  I love that my house is chaos...filled with laughter, teasing, yelling and joy.

This year we aren't going to be able to provide an expensive gift-laden Christmas.  Okay, let's be honest, we probably never have and probably never will.  I guess it really isn't the gifts that make Christmas so magical.  I think it's ALL the other stuff. It's the most wonderful time of the year to reflect on the people that bring joy and love into our lives. It doesn't cost a dime to wear a smile, so wear it with pride. Be the better version of yourself and wouldn't it be great if the gift you received in return was a bit of kindness?

So, my family will get all the love I can give.  We'll have a really FANTASTIC dinner on Christmas day.  We'll laugh and fight and joke and yell and sleep and eat and game and watch movies.  We'll do it all with love in our hearts.  Deason-style. You can't buy that off a shelf, now can you?

Unsung Heroes

I've had this blog on my mind for a little more than a week.  I have been so focused on getting Thanksgiving taken care of (and for your information, I did that in STYLE!) But now with Christmas looming, I find my time more and more limited. So, I'm writing in my pajamas...minus contacts, add slippers, hair uncombed ... don't worry too much,  I did brush my teeth!

The Wednesday night before Thanksgiving, we gave Goose a gift. I created concert-style t-shirts of his 2011 tour for firefighting.  Yeah, they rock!  I'm proud of them.  Good job, Mom!

I handed the shirts to our family members and when I went to hand one to my eldest son, Tyson, I was overwhelmed with emotion. It wasn't the warm, fuzzy emotion, either.  It was GUILT.  I think that I'm guilty of giving Goose so much attention for the work he does and that I don't always recognize what the rest of my family is doing that benefits their lives and the lives of the people that surround them.

I think we all have heros within our grasp. I'm not the talking about the "swoop-in-and-save-the-day" kind of heros. More like the people that are filled with such incredible strength, kindness, hope, love and unselfish generosity with NEVER a thought for their own needs or discomforts.  BAM!  You're thinking of someone right now, aren't you?

My unsung hero is Tyson. Those who know Tyson, aren't shocked by this statement. In fact, they might be thinking of him right now, too.  Those who don't know Tyson, well, let me be the one to tell you, this world is a better place with him in it.

Tyson has all the characteristics that you expect in your average-every-day-kind-of-hero. He's strong, handsome, kind, generous, unselfish, giving, etc.  Although these things put him on hero status in my eyes, it could be argued that many people possess these characteristics and they don't necessarily make him SO special.

Maybe so ... maybe not.  Years ago I was doing a family "brag" letter at Christmas, and Mark and I were talking about what we wanted to put in that letter to describe the kids and what was going on in their lives.  When Tyson's name was brought up, Mark said it best.  He said, "When I grow up, I want to be like Tyson."  Tyson was 15.

I'm sitting here thinking of stories to tell that would back up my statement and make you understand why I would say something so bold. The list is so long and the stories are SO complicated that it would take a novel to complete them.  So I'm going to keep it simple.  Stephen King is quoted as saying "The most important things are the hardest to say because words diminish them."  I find that to be the case here.

I love my son.  MANY people love my son. They have relied on him through the hard times and took pleasure in the good times. There isn't a person in his life that he hasn't shared with unselfishly. He gives the best gifts to our family and has never asked for anything in return.  In fact, I can't name a time that he has ever asked me for anything.  Most kids ask for new clothes, shoes, money, cars or whatever they want or need.  Not Tyson.

Rudyard Kipling wrote a very famous poem.  I swear he took the words from my heart.

If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or, being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise; If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;  If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;  If you can meet with triumph and disaster  And treat those two imposters just the same;  If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken  Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,  Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,  And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools; If you can make one heap of all your winnings  And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,  And lose, and start again at your beginnings  And never breath a word about your loss;  If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew  To serve your turn long after they are gone,  And so hold on when there is nothing in you  Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on"; If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,  Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;  If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;  If all men count with you, but none too much;  If you can fill the unforgiving minute  With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -  Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,  And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

So, Tyson doesn't get a t-shirt with his accomplishments on it. He gets a quiet "thank you" from friends, family, and the strangers he helps on the way. Yep, he's my hero. And if you don't have a hero in your life, you need to get to know my son. If you're one of the lucky ones, he'll be your hero, too.

It's Just A Step

I've been wanting to write this for a while. Then (stupid) Daulton wrote about it and rained on my parade. Except I can't get it off my mind. So I'm writing it. Too bad for you, Daulton.  You'll have to suck it up and read what I have to say about it. So there!


FYI Daulton will soon be my daughter-in-law, so she needs to get used to being bossed around by me anyhow...HA!


So...


This blog is about a woman. Just an ordinary woman who lives in Provo. My friend, Korby, lost her mother a few years ago to breast cancer. I guess that's not exceptional in and of itself. There are many, many people walking this planet who have been touched by cancer.  It's what she did about it that makes her extra-ordinary.


I didn't know Korby at that time. I didn't know Daulton. I didn't get to meet Korby's mom. Yet, she has impacted my life. Not in some in-your-face-sort-of-way, but through the stories that Korby shares. I glimpse the love of music that she endowed upon Daulton and her sister Shea.  This is the way I get to see a glimmer of Sue.


But, this isn't about Sue. It's about Korby. When I got to know Daulton, I soon heard about the fund raising dinner that her mother was putting on in hopes to raise some money to attend the Susan G. Komen 3-Day. 


I didn't know what the Susan G. Komen foundation was, but I (somewhat lackadaisically) went along with the event. I donated a couple of pictures I create to help with her raffle that year and went to attend the dinner not really knowing what to expect.


Korby presents a video of pictures from the previous years' walk. That's when I was hooked. This is no ordinary stroll through the park. These people cover 60 miles in the three days. Yep. That's right SIX-TY miles. And there were THOUSANDS of people in attendance.


I have seen pictures of the swollen, bleeding feet after the walk. I have heard Korby tell stories that bring me to tears. I can't believe the dedication and love that Korby must possess in order to complete the walk. Rain, sunshine, illness, stress, sore muscles, blistered feet. It doesn't matter. She's there. And she does it.


I admire Korby for this. She doesn't wave a banner expressing her accomplishment. Instead, she quietly has raised over $50,000 for the cure. And she does it even though her mother isn't here to reap the benefits. She does it because it matters.


Korby started out with just a step. Her journey didn't start with "the walk". It began with an idea. She had a desire. This desire stemmed from a small inkling that she might be able to make a difference.  


The reason that there even is a 3-walk for the cure is because another ordinary woman promised her sister that she would do everything in her power to cure breast cancer.  According to the website, they have raised over 1.9 BILLION dollars. Dollars that are dedicated to the fight against breast cancer. That's pretty cool. That means that there are a number of men and women out there that had an idea that led to an inkling that they, too, might make a difference.


Many, many of these people don't have breast cancer. Many, many of them never will. They either know someone personally, or know someone-who-knows-someone who has had breast cancer and was cured, is currently fighting it ... or has lost the battle. Whatever the reason, these people walk because it matters.


Makes me wonder, what if we all followed our "inkling"?  It doesn't have to be something as involved as attending a walk, sponsoring a walk, or raising billions of dollars.  What if it's something as simple as holding the door for a frazzled mother at your local convenience store, or raking the leaves for your elderly neighbor? What if you made a promise to your sister and that promise has prevented millions of people from having to go through the struggle you witnessed your sister experience?


It all begins somewhere. Just take a step. And start changing your world.

The Price Of Freedom

My husband was in the Navy. He served from 1982 through the end of 1985. I know there are thousands of service members, and I know there are a million of stories that they share. But, I married him and we lived OUR story.

Mark doesn't talk about the service. He's not ashamed or anything silly like that. In fact, it's the exact opposite. He's proud. He did the right thing at a time in his life when the right thing was hard for him to do. He signed up with a friend of his by the name of Randy Christmas. They joined up on the "buddy system".  He was guaranteed to serve with Randy and he was also guaranteed to serve on the West Coast.  He was stationed in Virginia (East Coast) and Randy was on the West Coast. So much for promises.

We got married and off he went to Virginia without me. I followed a few months later with everything we owned packed in the back of a mustang. We set up home and off he went on a cruise. It was a time of no cell phones, no personal computers with email and internet. We had no house phone. It wasn't as though he could call from a pile of tin floating in the Atlantic ocean, anyway. I wrote him every single day. I sometimes wrote him two or three times a day. It was hard.

Mark was gone when I found out I was pregnant with Tyson. He was gone on birthdays, anniversary's, holidays. He wasn't there when someone threw a rock through my kitchen window in the middle of the night. He couldn't come to my rescue when some weird-o followed me home from the beach (we lived across the street from the beach) and tried to break into the apartment and I had to grab a shot gun and snuck out my bedroom window to run to the pay phone to call the cops.

Two hurricanes struck in the time we lived there. When I was evacuated with the first one, I had no car and didn't know where to go. We didn't have a phone and I didn't know anyone in Virginia to call anyhow. So I promptly hid under the bed. Don't ask me how I thought that would help. But, that's what I did. I cried all night. The waters flooded up to the edge of my windows, but didn't come into my apartment.  The second hurricane he was home. We got a knock on the door from one of his shipmates. He had to go to the ship. When a hurricane is eminent, the ships pull out of port so they don't bang against the docks and cause damage to either the ship or the dock. We had Tyson, and this time I followed the evacuation orders. We were put in a gymnasium of a school. There was no food. No water. It was terrifying. I watched the skies turn black and watched winds whip trees into formations that aren't natural.

Mark was a boiler technician on the U.S.S. Canisteo. He worked in unbelievable heat. He worked hard. When you are in the service, there isn't "thinking for yourself". He was told when he could sleep, eat, work. There wasn't much free time. He was told when he had to cut his hair and how short it was to be. He was told how to dress, when he was allowed to have facial hair, and how to make his bed. He slept on a bunk in a room filled with other sailors (gross).  He had to strap himself in the bunk to keep from being thrown out by the pitch of the ship. The price of our freedom came at the cost of his freedom.

It wasn't all gloom and doom. He saw places that he would have never been able to see. He had experiences that will be told for years. He fished off the end of the boat and caught sharks. He passed the equator and crossed the North Pole.

We were so lucky to serve in peace time. He experienced a few times when the ship went to battle status, but they did not engage. He served his country and was prepared to go to war or follow the steps commanded by the "powers that be".

The slogan for the ship was "If freedom were easy we wouldn't be here." Our service members give their all to our country.  And in turn, they serve each of us and I'm grateful that my husband is a part of this group of men who gave their all.

Time Is On Your Side

I remember being young.  It really wasn't THAT long ago. I remember the fashions, the music (ESPECIALLY) the music. I can still recall the vehicles that were on the road and the "special effects" that were so AWESOME in the movie theater.  Jaws was SUPER scary.  ET was phenomenal and Star Wars was the COOLEST MOVIE EVER.  I rocked the Farrah hair and light blue eye shadow.

I now live with my kids making fun of my Farrah hair, my clothes, my movies.  Sigh.  At least they still like my music.  (I think 80's rock will forever rule the airwaves.)

I think about all I have experienced.  Some of what I went through, I really don't care to recall.  I don't necessarily speak of all I have experienced. There really isn't much to gain from recalling the ick in my life. But, I did it. I survived. I grew. I blossomed. I'm proud.

There are things I wish I could have done. I wish I had set myself up better financially. I wish I had gone to college young and without 4 kids ... I wish I had dabbled in photography at a young age ... I wish I could go to Europe and see all the art ... I wish I had been able to get a piano earlier and had kept playing ... I wish I had gotten braces YEARS ago. Yep ... I have wished.  I have wanted different.  Sometimes I even hoped for more.  I'm not unhappy with what I have. I have a life to envy. I am talented, strong, independent and I really am a great Mom. I know this.  No, my wishes aren't regrets, they're just wishes.

I have watched my kids go through some tough things. It makes me incredibly sad. Taylor Swift has a song called "Never Grow Up".  She talks about a time when "Nobody hurt you. Nobody broke your heart."  I wish I could give that to my kids. I want to line up the people that hurt them and smack them good and hard upside the head.  That would be TOTALLY AWESOME.

Instead, I try to understand something that isn't understandable. I try to soothe pain that is not sootheable, I try to fix what cannot be fixed, to mend something that should have never been broken.  Yet, I will never truly succeed in my efforts. The strength and power to overcome these things are built within them.

So, I tell them the lame words "hang in there".  Maybe what they don't know is that time is on their side. They have so much ahead of them that they get to experience. Don't waste time on wishes. Spend time accomplishing wishes. Knock your dreams out of the park and get out there and grab some more.

No, I'm not old (yet) but my time of wishes is more behind me than in front of me. That's not all bad. I find my wishes are more focused on my kids. My wish for Tyson is that his family stays strong and healthy. That he will know pure joy as his family grows.

My wish for both my older boys is to be able to rid themselves of the demons that haunt them. To know that they could not control the decisions that their friends faced. I wish I could erase the pain for them.

My wish for Goose is always to be the man I know he keeps locked inside. To always be honorable and strong, yet to make sure to look at the other side of the story and remember that most people are just trying to do their best.

My wish for Tanna would be to find peace in her life. To make peace with loved ones and to remember what she is made of. To not let the circumstances of her past rule her future.

My wish for Shelby would be to be vulnerable. To let her emotions show on the outside as they rumble around her inside. That she will find peace in the knowledge that some day the time will come when a boy will hear the song of her heart. And it's a great song.

My wish for Jaden would be the greatest of all wishes. He has the most time. His path in life hasn't be scarred with the pits and valleys of growing up. I wish for him to take advantage of the opportunities he can't even see yet.

Just as my past is my own, my future is my own. I hold the keys. I didn't get braces young, but I got them and I love my smile. I'll get a camera and dabble in photography now. I'll probably never be great, but I know I'll be good. I may never get to Europe to see the art, but I see as many plays, museums, art shows that I can find here in Utah and am inspired. I'll traipse through the rest of my life barefoot and full of wishes and hopes. Time is on my side.

I Am

I make sweatshirts for my family each year for Christmas.  The tradition began 4 years ago when we had absolutely NO money for gifts, so I came up with the idea to make the kids a sweatshirt. I did. They were a hit.  The tradition began and I spend many hours developing a design that will "one-up" the year before.  I mull over my ideas for several months before I decide what I want on the sweatshirts.  The story for last years' shirts goes as follows:


Goose is a wildland firefighter.  Not only is he a wildland firefighter, but he is a Lonepeak Hotshot. Goose worked for this. He worked hard. Goose had spent a few years wandering around Provo not sure what he was going to do when he "grew up".  He was working at laying concrete flooring. He worked in the weather and worked for a company that didn't value him or his work ethics. He spent the winter either working in the cold or collecting unemployment because the company didn't have enough work to keep him busy. He was a lost soul. He was unsure of what he wanted and lacked the confidence to pursue anything more than what he had.  He was driving me crazy. He had no money, and his future seemed hopeless.  I called Goose one day and told him that I was putting him in school. I told him that he was going to be a wildland firefighter, that he could change the degree if he wanted to, but he had to know exactly what he wanted to do and that he wasn't allowed to drop out for any reason. He agreed and his future began.


Goose rocked school. The family spent countless hours quizzing him, testing him, helping him research and typing up endless quizzes and papers for him to study. We each held our breath on test days, sometimes waiting up late so he could call after class and let us know how the testing went.  We counted out push-ups and sit-ups. We timed runs. We each gave heart and soul to the success of Goose. Graduation came and he graduated with a solid A-.  As the saying goes, the crowd went wild.


Alas, our joy was short lived as the struggle to find work began, and Goose was consistently passed up for employment. It made me physically sick. I don't do well when my kids are disappointed/hurt. We worked and worked at finding him employment, but to no avail. He just wasn't going to be hired.


Enter Brett. Brett is a friend of ours. He is a wildland firefighter and was hired to work on a crew in Salt Lake. As fate would have it, there was a member on Brett's crew that was moving to another crew which left an opening on Dromedary. Brett told his boss about Goose, the boss called Goose. We got the job.


When you certify to be a Wildland firefighter, you receive a Red Card. When Goose earned his Red Card, he came to the house, walked up to me and handed me his Red Card and said, "Here's your card Mom, you earned it."


That was my "light bulb" moment. Right then, I realized how our family is not made up of individuals. We are who we are because we support each other and believe in each other. It is this support system that we each rely on when we face tough times. And we as a family form a bond together that cannot be penetrated.


Each of us are part of a fraction that make a whole.  Because Shelby dances, I am a dancer. Because I create, we all create. We not only share the good, but the heartache as well. If there is loss, disappointment, pain...we each share that as well.

So, I made shirts. I used words that I have heard describe a family member at one time or another. I am a whole person because Mark, Tyson, Diana, Goose, Tanna, Shelby, Jaden, Hailey, Bill and my soon-to-be-daughter-in-law Daulton make it so. We are Deason. And I say that with pride.

(The shirt front.)

(The shirt back.)

The DNA Of My Heart

I remember when Keith died.  I remember the day his whole body died, but mostly I remember the day his brain died.  I remember what I was wearing.  I remember where I was exactly.  I remember the dog under my feet.  I remember the sound of the phone ringing, the smells in my house and the noises outside.  They are forever locked in my mind.  They aren't vivid and bright images.  More like that after image you get when you look at something and then close your eyes and can still see the negative for a fleeting moment.

That effect makes it seem surreal to me.  Almost like I saw the events unfold through someone else's eyes.

The days following that phone call have a buzz to them.  I have bits of memory.  Pieces of images that float up out of my heart.  Some memory.  Not alot.  I spent countless hours and what energy I could muster to focus on giving Keith a funeral that would make my boys proud.

We did, you know.  We sent him off in the best way we could.  There were no regrets.  We told stories of Keith.  We laughed about all the quirky habits he had.  We shared happiness and joy in the knowledge that he was ours and that we loved him.  The day of the funeral was a beautiful gathering.  The church was packed.  Standing room only.  It was filled with love.  I've always found funerals to be such a contradiction.  You are so sad at the passing of someone dear to your heart, but it's such a reunion to see so many friends and loved one's together sharing a common bond.  I remember Laurie calling me to check on me after the funeral was over.  I think she expected tears, but at that moment I was filled with such joy.  We had several kids here and we were watching a slideshow of pictures of Keith and we were laughing and sharing stories with each other.  It was a brief respite from the bone crushing pain that we had all experienced.

I loved that boy.  I loved him like my own.  Sometimes I drive down the street and I see someone walking with a ball cap on and I catch my breath - and then I remember. I still can't talk about it without crying.  I still can't listen to my kids tell stories of him.  It is still so hard. I miss him in the silences between every heart beat.

Keith wasn't my own.  It has been argued that I don't "really" know what it's like to lose a son.  Maybe those people are right. I haven't lost Tyson, Goose or Jaden.  I lost Keith.  I can testify that it's pain that takes hold and never, never goes away.  You just work around it.  And when it's too much to bear, well you bear it anyhow because there really isn't anyone who knows enough to share the agony with them.  The pain and the loss is so personal.

I have many, many, many kids that call me "Mom." I like to think that they view me with that kind of love, but regardless, I love with them with every inch of my being. I celebrate their victories and secretly cry at their pain.  Not many of them know this. I think I would freak them out.  Keith was most certainly one of those kids.  If you were to check the DNA from Tyson, Goose, Tanna, Shelby or Jaden you'll get a perfect match.  To match it with all my other kids...take the DNA from my heart.

Yeah...What She Said....

Shelby wrote on her blog last night.  shelbydeason.blogspot.com

I had an inkling it was for Tanna.  It was hard for me to read.  Bawled like a baby.  I'm babysitting Bill, I was crying so hard it upset him and we were both howling.  It was awful.  I'm mad at her for writing it. I'm mad that I have to feel what I'm feeling.  I'm mad that it hurts so much to love someone.  I'm mad that it's hard to mend wounds and heal the hurts that are in a family.  I'm mad that we hurt people that we love so very much.

I'm mad. I'm mad. I'm mad.  And...I miss her too, Shelby.

The House That Built Me

The first time I heard this song I teared up. It's a pretty song sung by a pretty girl with a pretty voice. It struck a chord deep inside me and stuck.  It's on my Ipod and I sing it ferociously each time it plays. At times, I repeat and repeat and repeat and repeat the song.  I like it that much.

It makes me think of MY home.  I want to believe it's how my kids will feel whenever I become rich and famous and move on to the mansion that is waiting for me.  But until that day arrives, this is my home...our home. 

I remember the very first time I noticed this house. Tyson had a paper route and this house was one of the homes we delivered to.  The first time I saw it, I loved it.  I remember thinking that it was such a pretty house and I thought through the "if only's".  You know... "if only I had such a pretty house like that for my kids."  "If only I had such a large yard for them to play in."  "If only I had a garage to park my car in." If only...if only...if only.  

Time passed on and I found myself in the market to buy a home.  I looked and looked for a house that wasn't a "cookie cutter" home.  I wanted a home with a yard, in the boundaries of the school that my kids were attending.  Nothing struck me.  Then while out looking I passed this house and saw it was for sale.  Too good to be true.  Long story short, here I am.  In my "if only" home.

I have raised a family in this home. I have memories oozing from the pores of the walls surrounding me. There has been laughter and tears, hope and disappointment, life and death...and more love than any human has a right to.

There isn't a room in this home that I haven't brought to life with a vision.  I have painted, nailed, ripped carpet, refinished floors, refinished cabinets.  My family has helped immensely.  Sometimes with blood, sweat, and swearing, (Goose and Mark)...and at other times quite simply by staying out of the way.  : )

Sometimes I think of moving on and it's too hard to swallow.  The next owners won't till the garden or mow the lawn and think of the animals that are buried beneath.  They won't laugh when they remodel the upstairs bathroom because how will they know about my best friend, Laurie, falling through the floor while removing the oh-my-gosh-it's-so-ugly-wallpaper and ending up with one leg dangling in the garage and me beside her screaming like a crazy woman because I thought her leg was broken...and the kids all yelling "cool" and running to the garage to check out her leg and Mark coming to see what all the ruckus was about and then only shaking his head in dismay while walking away without lifting a hand to help.  

How will they know that the reason there are flowers painted on my back porch is because my dear friend Denise died and her favorite flowers were poppies and that I missed her so badly and the ache was so immense that I painted them as a reminder to always tell the people you love that you love them.

Or the reason I have a back flower bed is because Mark chained the dogs to the trees and how he and I fought about it because I knew they would kill all the grass around them (and they did) because they were ALWAYS running back and forth attempting to reach the kids.

Or that the hole in the stairway is from Ernie making a quick U-Turn on the stairs and slamming his butt into the wall with Shelby laughing hysterically on the phone while telling me the story while I envisioned a little hole only to come home to a gaping cavern in my wall.

It seems (at times) that I get in the way of my own happiness.  I have wasted time wanting more.  When Miranda sings "I got lost in this old world and forgotten who I am".  I think of these times.  I think of the wasted time lost in the "if only's".  I don't want to do that.  I want to embrace the life that I have. I want to remember the very moment when this house became mine.  I am the blood, sweat and tears in the corners of these rooms.  This home has sheltered me through heartache and sorrow, through times when it hurt too much to stand.  Yet in these walls this family has built laughter, strength, courage and hope. 

This is the house that built me.

It's Not What You See

I own a fridge. I know that statement alone isn't anything special. Most people own a fridge. In fact, mine is small. There isn't a cool ice maker, cold water dispenser. It's not an awesome stainless steel designer fridge. In fact, I can guarantee that there aren't many refrigerator's on the market that you can purchase for less.  But you see, it's not the fridge that matters to me...it's what's ON the fridge.

Many years ago, my grandmother, Elizabeth Adamson, gave me a magnet.  I was in High School and it sort of kicked around in the drawers of my dresser for a few years. Somehow, after I was married, that magnet made it to my fridge. I still have it. At the time, (sadly), it didn't hold much meaning for me. My grandmother's passing has upped the value significantly.

Time has passed and through the years, I have purchased a magnet here and there to memorialize a trip or a special occasion. No magnet had any express value. I had a few that were "space fillers" and held no meaning.

A few years ago, a friend of my boys' came and spent the weekend while his grandparents went to California. When Grandma came and picked him up, she brought me in a magnet. She related to me that through the years when she would come to pick Josh up, she would sit in the driveway and from that vantage point was able to see my fridge and the menagerie of magnets I had. She thought she wanted to give me something that I would use and would remind me of how grateful she was for me to be a part of Josh's life.  Little did she know that she would begin a tradition.

My fridge is COVERED in magnets. I can tell you who gave me each one. I have magnets from all over the world.  They come from friends, family, kids' friends, the girl at the Pepsi store, neighbors...you name it. I may not be able to go to the countries, cities, states, etc.  But a part of the experience is given to me in magnetic form. I love to hear the stories of the experience of the trip, but my secret pleasure is the tale behind the search and purchase of the magnet that they (whomever it may be) thought would be best for ME.

I know where each magnet is placed. In fact, the standing joke is to turn them upside down and see how long it will take Mom to notice.  Yeah, about 1 minute....  The proper placement is in my heart. It's a constant reminder that I am important.

And that, my friends, is why I'm known to say... "You're in the family if you make the fridge."

Yep! That's A Deason

My first grandson was born three days ago.  His name is Bill.  Although my father's name is Bill, baby boy Bill is named after Tyson's favorite football team...the Buffalo Bills.  That's what happens when you leave a man in charge of something as important as naming a son.

I remember when I was pregnant with Jaden.  We didn't cheat and find out what we were having.  (Note: I didn't cheat with any of the 5 kids.)  Anyhow, Mark was golfing, came home and informed me that he had a name picked for a girl.  Callie Taylor.  I was quite impressed.  I thought it was super cute.  He proudly announced that it was after two golf brands - Calloway and Taylor Made.  Wow.  Hold that thought...I'm not done with our proud bonding moment...He then informed me that if we had a boy he would be named after his favorite club.  You guessed it - Ping.  Imagine my horror at that statement.  I promptly cut a deal that he could name the girl and I would pick the boys name.  No compromise on that one.  I must admit that I am thrilled that I can tell my child that HE is named after my grandfather and Uncle and that I'm not the parent explaining that "Yes, darling, you're beautiful name is after Dad's golf clubs."  Wow.

It's so fun to see bits of yourself run a bit further down the line.  I still love watching my kids and finding things that they do or say that reminds me of something Mark or I have done or still do.  I love to hear how much my kids look like me or sound like me or yell like me or sing like me.  How they run like Mark or work like Mark or smile like Mark, love the outdoors like Mark.  It's those things that will keep Mark and I in stories for some time to come.

So, we welcome Bill.  We'll teach you to protect those you love.  Be true to who you are.  When you do something good...when you do something bad... It's a Deason thing!

A Gentle Ripple

So, I think I'm a good person. I try very hard to make wise choices and to inspire those around me to be a better version of themselves. Not because people are bad, but because I think that we forget we are good.

It's important to me to treat others fair...to be kind and to always put others' needs ahead of my own. I am a believer that you learn to truly love when you serve.

There are times that I wonder if I have made some kind of an impact. Not in a sonic boom sort of way, but more of a gentle ripple in the hearts of those with whom I come in contact.

When doubt flits through my mind, I think of my kids. I think of how generous they are. How they are strength to their friends and how they are willing to help anyone - friend or stranger.

Then I know that I have accomplished all that I have set out to do. I did make a ripple. I taught my family that others matter and that they should always fight for those who can't fend for themselves. I'm proud of them. I'm proud of who they are, who they have been and who they are to become.

With Abandon

I recently attended a wedding for a friend of the family. Cute girl marrying a cute guy. In love. The world at their feet. Etc. Etc. Etc.

The wedding was an outdoor event held at a church pavilion in their neighborhood. Yellow ribbon rippled everywhere.  I showed up at the tail end of the wedding; when everything was winding down and the wedding party was properly exhausted from greeting friends/family.  Perfect time for everyone to let their hair down and just "be".  


I've become a peeper. I stand back and watch people when I (hopefully) don't think they know they are being watched.  (Sidebar:  I've always wanted to do a coffee table book filled with photos of people doing everyday things in their everyday life. We are so interesting when nobody is watching.)  I think we are a beautiful species when we allow joy to surround us. And what's more joyful than a wedding?


There was music and dancing for those who wanted to give it a swing on the dance floor.  There's a secret dance star inside of all of us. We feel a beat without thinking about it. We tap our feet, or bob our heads. We sway to the music and feel the rhythm. Although, some are more capable of bringing that beat to life, each of us at least feel it.


I was sitting at a table, picking at a cupcake and watching the dance floor. There were probably 10-12 kids (I call them kids but they were probably 18-20 years in age) on the dance floor cutting it up with moves and grooves that would put Michael Jackson to shame. Okay - not that extreme but THEY thought they were bringing it on.


As I watched them, I felt their abandon. Freedom from life's weight. They spun and twirled with ease and grace. They watched each other, tried new moves; laughed when they maneuvered gracefully and laughed when they didn't. 


It made me smile to watch them. I think it was an important lesson for me. A lesson without a teacher standing before me with a life changing lecture. Yes, it's something we see daily (or at least I'd like to think we get to see it often.) It was simply something I needed to be reminded of. Live life with abandon. Don't get old and develop fear because of past failures. Dance. Laugh when you're good and laugh when you're bad. Just dance. And do it all with abandon.

It's All In The Name

My daughter, Shelby, started a blog. I laughed at her. I rolled my eyes and told her I couldn't believe she was doing "that". I went to bed that night and wondered what in the world she was going to write about. Then I really thought about the whole blogging craze and realized that maybe it was some kind of connection to others in these busy times. Maybe I, too, might have something that I want to say.


I have never been big on journals. I wigged out when I read my childhood journals. I was so dismayed over my "stupidity" that I disposed of them (quite properly) in the wood burning stove. Yeah, they weren't something I was about to hand down from Goof,to Goof, to Goof. I thought that maybe I could write some of my thoughts and if I have a small inkling that someone in this big universe might be slightly interested in reading this, I might not write things that would:
 a) embarrass me or anyone close to me, or
 b) keep me from being President of the US.


I couldn't believe the anxiety involved in finding the name of my blog. I wanted to "wow" my audience. I wanted people to say "why didn't I think of that." It needed to be inspirational, joyous, simple, fun, empowering, strong...ETC...all in three to five words (remember I wanted simple).


I thought of a movie I recently watched. All About Steve. Sandra Bullock plays an eccentric crossword puzzle creator who is convinced that this CNN camera man is her true love. This girl knows her English language. She uses words really well. She is smart, funny, kind, cute (in her own way). She totally freaks Steve out.


Nothing gets this poor girl down. She doesn't "get it". She remains naive to all criticism until a point in the story where she begins to break. She yells (more to herself than anyone) "They're words people. There are meaningful words. There are useless words. And there are words that hurt." 


I'm just going to write words. They might make sense, they might ramble, they might be insignificant and small or, they might just matter. The most important part to me is that they'll be MY words.