Of Mice and Men

In 1937, John Steinback wrote a novel.  In 1939, a movie was made based on the book. In 1992, a new version of the movie was released. According to IMDb:

Two drifters, one a gentle but slow giant, try to make money working the fields during the Depression so they can fulfill their dreams. 

This movie is a favorite in the Deason household. The "gentle giant" played by John Malkovich is named Lenny. When Shelby decided to con her dad into letting her get a cat, her bargaining chip was "I already have a name picked out for him, Dad, it's Lenny." I now have a cat in my house. His name is Lenny.

I'm sitting here on a Saturday morning. Snow drifting down outside. Dogs curled at my feet. Wearing my favorite jammies. Wrapped in my favorite blanket.

I should be filled with comfort and peace. 

I'm not.

I got fired from my job.

First of all, I have never been fired from anything in my entire life. I'm usually well liked. I'm a hard worker and don't easily fall into distractions in the work environment. But, alas, when someone decides they don't like you (and that someone is your boss) there isn't much you can do about it but hold on tight and wait for the hammer to fall.

I've been dodging Jeff and his hammer for six months now. He found me. He axed me.

Jeff Clawson is the "Creative Director" for American Legacy publishing. This company puts out the Studies Weekly paper that is disbursed throughout some classrooms in the States. I was a designer there. It wasn't rocket science by any measure. The writers would submit articles for the paper and I had to slip in a graphic that fit the article. I liked my job and loved the "guys" I worked with.

The first Friday in June, Jeff called me into his office to inform me that I had made an error that cost the company over $4000. They had grounds to write me up and that I needed to follow the naming protocol of the company for my publications. I was fairly new to the company, so when he told me what had happened, I believed him. He WAS my boss, right? Why would he have any reason to be dishonest with me?

I was sick about it the entire weekend. I emailed the owner of my company and told him that I would do whatever is necessary to make this right.

When I got back to work on Monday, I went to Jeff and (after pondering all weekend about the situation) I told him that I believed that I hadn't been the one that had made the error. He told me to "cut the f*#%ing drama and get back to work". What?  

That lit a fire inside me to find out what had happened. As my investigation continued, I came to believe that the printing company had caused the error and we were being charged for something that we should not have to pay. I emailed the owner and told him what I had found out and that he should NOT have to pay for the error, but he should investigate it further.

Guess what. Long story short? Jeff had made the $4000 mistake. I didn't even work for Studies Weekly at the time the error was made. Jeff was attempting to pass it off on the "new" girl in order to avoid taking responsibility himself.

That is the day the wheels came off.

Jeff went from chatty and happy with me to sullen and negative towards me. He quit acknowledging my hellos. He started picking apart everything I touched. He took away publications from me. He did everything in his power to make my time at work as miserable as possible.

Most times, I didn't give him power over me. I kept thinking that I would kill him with kindness. I have repeated over and over to my kids that they need to remain true to who they are even in the face of mean and shallow people. How could I face my family if I did anything different?

So I kept my head low and tried VERY hard to stay out of the radar.

OBVIOUSLY it didn't work.

Somebody I work with went to my HR department and let them know that Jeff was creating a negative environment with me. HR came to me and requested a write up. I had been documenting everything that was going on. I submitted my write up. From what I hear, the "Powers That Be" brought Jeff in and talked to him. I was called into the HR office and was told that things should be getting better.

Didn't happen.

Within six weeks I was out of a job.

It's Christmas time. I need the money. I have a pretty screwed up disease. I need the benefits.

My family is happy to have me home. The house is clean again. Meals are cooked again. I'm having conversations with my kids again. Mark and I are becoming a stronger unit again. Yet, I worry and fret and fear and for our future.

I'm a believer in women. I think we are a pretty cool species and I'm proud to be strong and capable however, I can still be soft and vulnerable. I've always believed that men should be protective of women. ANY woman.

I have always known that there are "micey" men out there. I don't surround myself with little people, but in a work atmosphere, there isn't much choice.

So, I will "pick up my bootstraps" again. I will take what I need from this experience and discard the crap...again. Jeff Clawson will not win. Micey men NEVER do. He will remain shallow and mean and lonely and broken.

I, however, will fly.

Comfort Food

Last night I had a dream about my Aunt Jane and Uncle Phil. It was warm and comforting. I woke up thinking about my family. As per my usual, if I think about it, I end up writing about it.

As I was going about my morning, I rewound the dream in my head. I thought about Aunt Jane, Uncle Phil and began to reminisce on each Aunt and Uncle. Then I narrowed it to the women.

When I was a kid, we would gather for family functions that usually centered around food. I have many, MANY fond memories of family activities. I treasure the family reunions, the gatherings for new babies that have entered into the family, I hold tightly to the recollection of fishing trips with Grandma and Grandpa. I think back to times of late-night talks with Aunt Joanne and there isn't much that makes me happier.

I have always admired my family. I would watch my Aunt's being mothers and wives and friends. And I learned. Kindness, love, strength and sacrifice are characteristics that are cemented in my mind.

When I was divorced, each played a key role in "helping Linnette help herself." I wish I could find the words that would describe how important these women are to me. I wish I could sit each of them down and simply tell them "thank you" for believing in me and teaching me how to "be".

Here's to my comfort food.

Popcorn with Aunt Joanne. Okay. I do LOVE popcorn, but really the chats that came WITH the popcorn made it taste even better.

Aunt Jane's salsa. She always says how easy it is, but you can't buy her southern zest on a shelf.

Broken Glass candy. A staple for us kids at the family reunions. Sweetness that only Aunt June could provide.

Listening to Aunt Jeanne play electric piano. More satisfying than mashed potatoes and gravy. Trust me.

Aunt Nina's smile. Chicken Soup for my soul.

Hugs from my Aunt Patty. Imagine Hot Chocolate with TONS of marshmallows. Her hugs warm me just like that.

Grilled cheese sandwiches from Aunt Ellen. The story goes: Tyson was sent to the U of U to help determine why he CONTINUOUSLY quit breathing. Mark and I stayed with Uncle Pete and Aunt Ellen. She made me a cheese sandwich. I don't know why, but it meant the world to me. I still find comfort in grilled cheese.

To me, my Aunt Sue is a hearty beef stew with warm bread. When you are around her? You know you're home.

The only way to describe Aunt Marie is hot apple pie with LOTS of ice cream. You would have to hear her laughter to know exactly what I mean. Sweet and warm with a dash of cinnamon. 

So, Thanksgiving is upon us and my plate is already full. I TOLD you that I'm the luckiest girl alive. If you're going to have food, it might as well taste good, right?

How big is your brave?

Sara Bareilles has a song that plays regularly on the radio station that is programmed on my jeep stereo. "Brave". Love it. It was the song that was playing when I pulled in to my work this morning, so I kept the engine (and heater) running and sang along at the top of my lungs. I have a soft top on my jeep, so I am sure everyone around heard me. What can I say? I like the song and I HAD to sing along.

I have always struggled finding my voice. I still struggle with the balance of saying what needs to be said and the feelings of the person with whom I am speaking. I am ALWAYS telling my kids that "Sometimes what you have to say isn't nearly as important as the person you are saying it to." Except SOMETIMES it is.

I have always made sure that my kids have a voice and that it is heard. I have found myself talking to multiple teachers, principals and coaches through the years. I would sigh and tell each of them "When they are adults, you'll appreciate their honesty. You're just bugged that you are the target of it right now." Then I would get my kid alone and let them have it. Or tell them they were right.

Things didn't always work out as planned. I haven't always dealt with rational human beings. I am not typically profound when I am under duress. I used to lose my head and become part of the argument. I HAVE learned to keep silent about the things that don't really matter and try VERY hard to deal exclusively with the facts. Sometimes I win. Sometimes I lose. I guess the important thing is that I try.

And since your history of silence
Won’t do you any good,
Did you think it would?
Let your words be anything but empty
Why don’t you tell them the truth?

~Lyrics from "Brave"

Find your voice and speak. Loud enough to be heard. Scream to the heavens. Speak in a quivering whisper. Be brave.

Intentional Acts of Kindness

I admire kindness. I immediately hopped aboard the Random Acts of Kindness train when it became a buzz word.  I watch people constantly. It inevitably brings a smile to my face when I see little acts that make someone's day. I listen for the "thank you" and "have a great day" and watch as eyes light up and gratitude takes the place of angst.

As of late, although random acts of kindness still strike me, its the INTENTIONAL acts that are taking center stage. And I have been the benefactor of these acts.

I have said it before. I don't do well in the whole "asking for help" stuff. I don't really know why. I think that I'm stubborn and I tend to view this whole "needing help" thing as a sign of weakness. I know that's not true, but I'm not always known for my level head and rational thinking.

Soon after I was diagnosed, acts of kindness have become an every day occurance.

My friend, Korby, brings me dinner once a week EVERY SINGLE WEEK. She works full time and I know this is a huge sacrifice for her. I tell her not to. I have told her that it's too much. I have given her every out possible. Her answer?  "I don't know what to do. But I know how to cook." So she cooks. And I get terribly embarrassed and incredibly grateful.

Laurie texts me every single day now. The texts are light and silly and consistently make me grin. Sometimes she'll ask me random questions:  "What's your favorite color, and why?", "Did you ever have a terrible perm when you were younger?" I did. Ugh. THANKS mom.

Dawn knew that I was having a bad day. I didn't really say anything to her. She just knew. She CONSTANTLY tells me that I need to live in the "now" and take advantage of the life that I have been given. She bought me a canvas with the saying:

"Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away."

that I hung in my bedroom so I can remind myself every single day to live my life to the fullest.

Diane and Mark consistently come by to bring treats and love and good wishes and offers of help and support.

Lynnette and Pat and Shannon email me weekly to touch base and let me know that I matter.

Brittany sent me a card with a little golden key inside. She had written the most beautiful note to me. I bawled like a baby.

I have received so many letters and texts and cards and gifts and messages and phone calls. My loved ones have gone out of their way to check on me and let me know that they are thinking of ME and offer any love and support that I or my family might need.

How do I even describe the changes in my family? Little random notes, calls and texts have become every day occurrences.

Because of the thoughts and prayers and good wishes, I am becoming an aficionado of intentional acts. I periodically go through my texts and reread the good wishes. When I'm feeling gloomy, I sneak a peak at my facebook messages and remind myself that I'm okay.

So THANK YOU to my dear friends and family that consistently send love my way. Never, ever EVER will I take your love for granted. 

I have learned a big lesson in life and it is time to put my money where my mouth is. Take a moment in your busy schedule and let someone know they are loved. INTEND to send good wishes and thoughts their way. It only takes a minute and it can change someone's day.

Loyalty Makes Us Family

Shannon and I have been friends for many years. I met her through my awesomely cool friend Lynnette.  Years ago, Lynnette, Shannon and myself gathered at the home of Lynnette's mom and we made jam. I didn't see Shannon after that. We didn't live in the age of texting or facebook. Although we were "friendly" we weren't necessarily friends. She was that "cute gal that made jam with me that I had a good time talking to" type friend.

Later, Shannon met Mark's brother Tim and their story was written. Shannon became family.

Without going into detail and revealing information that is none of my business to reveal, Shannon is currently separated from Tim and quite possibly looking at divorce.

Thus begins the topic of my conversation with you.

Tanna was a baby when I met Shannon.  After Shelby was born, Shannon and Tim were one of the first in the family to meet her. Shannon has sent me surprise gifts in the mail, spent vacation days visiting our family, moved to Utah to be closer to family. Jaden and Devin were born within 6 months of each other. We went to movies every Friday night for a few years. Spending every Saturday at the pool with the kids was routine. We have laughed and cried and yelled and then cried some more together. Our friendship has been tried and tested and we came out on top. We are sisters. I will say that again in case there is some kind of misunderstanding. WE ARE SISTERS.

I have anguished and pondered and worried and fretted about Shannon. Trust me. I understand divorce. Don't forget that Mark and I took a "break" for a few years while we tried to "figure things out."  I know that, at times, it is a better option for the parties involved. EXCEPT what about the rest of us? What about the family members that sit in uncomfortable silence waiting to find out what the end result is going to be?

A couple of Saturdays back, my super amazingly wonderful friend, Diane, brought me some chicken soup. Not just ANY chicken soup, mind you. HOMEMADE chicken soup with HOMEMADE noodles and hand cut veggies. OHMYHECK it was nummy nummy NUMMY!

Oh yeah. Back to Shannon...

Shannon happened to be visiting. Introductions were made between Diane and Shannon when I popped in and said something to the effect of "Shannon used to be my sister-in-law, but she is going through a divorce. She's not just a friend though. HEY! I know. She's the mother to my nephews."  Giggles all the way around. Guess what. Shannon thought and thought about that stupid statement and didn't like it.

I look back now and I understand why it hurt her feelings. She's not upset at me. She's upset at circumstance.

What happens when the Aunt to all your kids that has been to ball games and graduations and weddings and baby showers and hospitals and surgeries and Thanksgiving dinner and Easter Egg hunts can't come to family events any longer because of some STUPID technicality like different blood coursing through their veins?

Years ago Dawn decided that all the Deason girls needed to get together. Regularly. She divided us into partners. Dawn has Shelby, Carissa is with me, and Shannon is partnered with Tanna. Randi and her daughter, Camryn, are in California, so they have yet to experience the awesomeness of our group. Daulton and Diana and Denise have been added. Hailey has to wait until she is 16 in order to be inducted into TRUE Deason Chick-hood.

I created a Deason Chick logo. Everyone has their own personalized chick. Dawn's chick carries a purse and has high heels. Carissa's is dressed as a cheerleader. Shelby's has a flower in her hair and high heels to represent the ballroom dancer in Shelby. Tanna's sports a bikini and sunglasses. Daulton's carries a violin and is wearing a skirt and necklace and Diana's chick has a feather (Duh. She IS an indian after all) and a flower pot at her feet. Shannon is the cowgirl of our group so her chick has a cowboy hat and boots. I gave my chick boxing gloves. Denise just became part of our group so her chick is yet to be developed. I'll get busy making her a cool chick that represents who she is.

I put our logo on shirts and keychains, blankets and bracelets. I gave my girls Christmas ornaments one year with their own chick on them. My chick adorns my jeep in a hot pink vinyl cut out. Being a Deason Chick is a pretty cool thing.

We have camped together. Crafted together. Danced together. Got in a fist fight (I'm not lying) together. We have gone to dinner and plays and dance productions. We laugh and giggle and tell stories and laugh some more. It has bonded us in many ways that just "normal" family get-togethers could never have accomplished.

Last weekend the Chicks all gathered for steak dinner (thank you Uncle Mike barbecuing for us) and to attend a dance production in Salt Lake City. After the festivities, we had a sleep over at Carissa's house.

We were all in the front room chatting when Shannon shared the story of being introduced to Diane and how it weighed on her. She is worried that we are going to somehow forget about her or leave her out or let her go. NEVER. I'll just get that out RIGHT NOW. NEVER. I know she worries. I understand her concern. But I'm not the only one saying that it won't happen. We ALL agree that Aunt Shannon is a chick to stay. We love her. We need her.

Shannon made a pic that (I think) she keeps on her desk. It's a pic of all the Deason Chick gals at one of our gatherings. Shannon typed on the pic:

Blood Makes You Related. Loyalty Makes You Family.

I realize how difficult this is for her. This divorce is uprooting all that Shannon has known for many many years. I've stated that my family is a force of spirit. I have to say that the ENTIRE Deason family has strength beyond measure. Shannon is part of that.

Shannon will learn to fly with her own wings. I do know that. She'll find a rhythm and it will become familiar and safe. Time will pass and much of this hurt will fade. I know she doesn't believe in tomorrows' promises right now, but they will come.

I will find a way to make sure that she celebrates events with us. The most important task at hand is assuring Shannon and the boys that, although they feel displaced right now, they are Deason. And Deason's don't leave anyone behind.

Living The Legacy

If you were to go through the history of the Deason family, you will find generations of hunters and fishermen. This family loves the outdoors and hold an unfailing respect for nature.

This last weekend was the muzzle loader deer hunt.

What this means to our family is after a YEAR of preparation, talk, shopping, planning, all hour phone calls, map reviews, GPS-looking-ats and event coordination, the mighty hunters are off to stock the freezers for the upcoming winter and revel in all their manliness.

I'm not a hunt fan. Need I say more? I used to enjoy a tasty elk steak or venison roast but while pregnant with Jaden, I cooked myself up an elk steak for lunch one day. I ate about three or four bites when my stomach began rumbling. After a few moments, I began vomiting profusely and continued to do so for three days. Much to Mark's chagrin, I no longer enjoy elk or venison of any kind. I don't touch it, cook it or eat it. Nope nope nope. Ain't gonna happen again. Ever.

My boys are all big hunters. During one of the strategizing/planning meetings, the Deason men decide if they are going to muzzle loader hunt for the year or if they are feeling the urge to sneak around and hunt with a bow and arrow. I prefer the bow hunt. It is in August. MUCH warmer than the end of September muzzle loader hunt when it inevitably snows on us and I complain and freeze and complain WHILE I freeze.

Mark developed a love for the outdoors at a very young age. Grandpa Jack was a big hunter/fisher and did a swell job of making sure that his off-spring knew how to take care of themselves in the great outdoors.

I remember the family gathering for BIG family hunts in Montana. We lived in California. Would that stop Mark from answering LOUDLY to the call of nature? No way. We would load our family up with Dawn, Mike and their kids and off we went to Arasta Creek, Montana. Little kids. Tents. Lots of dirt. Warm clothes and plenty of excitement to spare.

The men hunted. The women cooked and kept camp and monitored the kids while they investigated and scouted and practiced for the "show" that they would be performing after dinner. Tyson would watch in disdain while the other kids would practice their song and dance. My niece was the ringleader for these performances. She would line the kids up and give them all their cues. They learned VERY young that they could charge an entrance fee for these shows and people would pay BIG money to see the kids in their mismatched clothes singing monotone (Goose), dancing on logs and bouncing to the beat of the song in their head.

This last weekend Dawn and I were talking about our family hunts. Remember how Uncle Paul would set up camp before we got there? He would build chairs for the kids out of logs. He built a potty, a shower and a kitchen. The wood was gathered and split and a firepit was made. He was the patriarch of our family and we didn't want for anything.

Mark is venturing into the patriarch role. He loves the hunt and the camping that goes along with it. He has worked hard to teach his kids to respect nature and experience all it has to give. He plans and gathers and prepares all for the benefit of the family he so loves.

The hunt this year was not as well attended as I would have hoped. Schedules are busy. I get that. BUT we as parents are passing a cherished memory on to our own legacy. I told Dawn that I FEAR that when we "big kids" leave the earth that the Deason hunt/family reunion will subside. It frightens me. It worries me.

Ray Bradbury said:

Everyone must leave something behind when he dies . . . Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die . . . It doesn't matter what you do, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away.

So we will leave our gift. My hope is that our kids, our grandkids and the generations to come will hold tightly to it; that the Deason legacy will continue.

I Think It's Going To Rain Today

Oh! the things I have thought of to blog about over last couple of weeks. I haven't dropped off the planet! Promise. Just been crazy busy with work and yard-scaping and funerals (yuck) and family events (Hailey turned FOUR) and etc., etc., etc.

I have had ideas to write about. I've gone over words. I've almost decided to write about one of the different topics that seems anxious to get out of my head. However, I'm not going to write about a single subject that has crossed my mind.

I'm going to write about me.

I have been diagnosed with a rare brain disease called OPCA. According to the National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke:

Olivopontocerebellar atrophy (OPCA) is a term that describes the degeneration of neurons in specific areas of the brain – the cerebellum, pons, and inferior olives.

In other words, my brain is slowly going to quit working. If all goes the same as other patients, I'll eventually land in a wheelchair and lose ability to speak, etc. Life expectancy? They say 15-20 years from diagnosis.

Worse things have happened to better people, right? Ugh. I still get a stomach ache when I think about my future. It freaks me out that there is a 50% chance that my kids will have it. I know all the right words. "You didn't know.", "It's not your fault.", "They are not mad at you." I still feel guilty. I still feel overwhelmed with sadness. I still wish that I could take the worry and fear and stress and dissolve it into nothingness.  I just feel guilty.

From the time I was pregnant with Goose in 1986 until just after Tanna was born in 1989, I lived in Ojai, California. I LOVED it there. One of my favorite people in the ENTIRE world is Michele Skankey. I met her in Ojai. Michele, her husband Wayne, Mark Deason and Mark Allman were in a band together. Her boy Nathan is the same age as Tyson and she and I were LARGELY pregnant gals at the same time with Casey and Goose.  Michele can sing. I don't mean just carry a tune. She can SING.

Back on subject

In 1988, the movie Beaches came to the theaters. Because I LOVE Bette Midler and because it's a perfect chick flick and because I needed to get the crap out of my house, Dawn, Michele and myself went to see Beaches. I'm getting old and there MAY be other gals that went, but Dawn and Michele have stuck in my brain as my sisters in crime for the event.

Loved it. Sappy. Sweet. Predictable. Emotional. LOVED it.

IMDb describes the movie as:

A privileged rich debutante and a cynical struggling entertainer share a turbulent, but strong childhood friendship over the years. 

I suppose that is a decent synopsis of the movie. The debutante, Hillary, is played by Barbara Hershey and Bette Midler embraces the character of C. C. Bloom as an entertainer in every degree.

In the movie, Hillary is diagnosed with viral cardiomyopathy. This requires a heart transplant if she is to live. Having a rare tissue type, she realizes she will most likely die before a heart is found. Hillary is sitting in a medical reference library when the Bette Midler begins to sing "I Think It's Going To Rain". The song wraps up with Barbara Hershey staring blankly ahead as she is struck with the gravity of her illness.

This scene has always stuck with me. It seemed so sad. I used to wonder what it would feel like to hear the words that your life has just changed enormously. When I learned the wheels were coming off my own bus, that song is the first thought that went through my head. It thundered like a freight train. Trust me.

I searched and searched for the version I wanted to post. I found a direct link of the song from the movie, but it is poorly made. I settled on this one. Not happy with the "look" of it, but the sound is more clean with much less background noise.

I have always taken pride in being a "smart" girl. I've always been independent. I HATE asking for help and will find every avenue possible to avoid asking.

It stinks that it has become necessary to ask for help with something as simple as walking on uneven ground or maneuvering up and down stairs. I am angry that my family automatically waits for me and lifts their arms for me to hold while I shakily walk and THEN I'm angry if they don't and I have to ask them for aid. I see people playing basketball or running or biking or dancing and I'm jealous. I mark days in my mind when I say "I'll never do THAT again."  And it makes me sad.

So many people have shown me love and support. I am such a lucky girl. I have never denied it. I am surrounded by friends and family that love me EVER so much. I have received calls and cards and messages and offers of help and thoughts and prayers all to ensure that I know that I'm loved and that they are so very worried about me and my family. Me too. 

So, yeah, right now I'm angry and sad and frightened. I'm getting pelted by rain and can't move fast enough to escape. Instead, I have to charge into the storm with fists held high and pray that I find the courage to fight the good fight. And win.

Be Careful What You Wish For

I have a lawn to mow. Dog poop to scoop. Laundry to do. Walls to wash. Rooms to vacuum. Instead, I felt magnetized to my computer. To my blog page. To this posting.

Somewhere in all my "words" I have found a sort of therapy in writing. I think it's just getting stuff out and letting go, but whatever it is, you're cheaper than therapy and I don't have to hear how messed up I am. Win-win for me! And since you are cloaked in anonymity, I don't have to be embarrassed by my thoughts. Chalk up another win! AND you don't have to read my ramblings if you so desire. See? We ALL win. I get more wins, but it IS all about me anyway, right?

A disease runs dominantly through my biological mothers side of the family. It's a disease that hits your brain. It's called OPCA and I have been showing symptoms of it over that last few years. Little things. I don't run any longer. I can't. My body doesn't work that way. I stammer in my speech. It requires cognitive thought to master stairs. Blah. Blah. Blah. The list is long and cumbersome. In the whole scheme of things, who cares? It wasn't like I was some high jumping, run everywhere kind of girl to begin with. Right?

Who needs to close the garage door and try to jump over the sensor just to end up ramming their head into the garage door and rocketed to the ground so hard that their body bounces upon landing and looks around to make sure NOBODY has seen the theatrics and climb humbly into their jeep humiliated beyond words and then tells the family to gain a bit of sympathy and have to leave the room because they are laughing hysterically at you? Not me. I don't need that.

I went to doctor and was referred to the University of Utah to be seen by a neurologist. I had to gather all my medical information that I could find, fax it over to them, then a team of VERY qualified doctors go through the cases and the physician best suited to take your medical dilemma gives you a call and gets the ball rolling. Doctor Summer Gibson is my new best friend.

Young. Smart. Empathetic. Did I mention she was smart?

My family attended the appointment with me last Tuesday. I'm not sure if the office workers were prepared for the Deason entourage. There was standing room only as I spent about an hour with her asking me all sorts of questions and then pushing here, pulling there, "let me watch you walk", "can you feel this", "can you do that".

I kept my eyes focused on her. At one point when I "performed" poorly on a test, I glanced over to my family. I lost it for a minute. I hate seeing the fear in their eyes. I DESPISE that I am putting them through the pain associated with my ability to do less and less.

When the doc was done questing and testing, she said "Although you show many symptoms of OPCA, you have many that are not classic OPCA. You have symptoms of other brain diseases." I wasn't prepared for THAT statement.

I have dreaded getting an actual diagnosis of OPCA. It's such a nasty disease. But when I asked what she might be looking for, her only response was "they are diseases you don't want to have." Ugh.

I left with even MORE questions and less answers.

So I have cried and worried and fretted and raged and pondered and wept and hoped and believed in better this week. I have tried not to feel guilty when my family struggles or cries or yells.

I haven't been afraid of much in my life. I fear this. At times I am frozen with fear. I learned to fight many, many years ago. I'll continue fighting. I need my family and loved ones to know that. To believe that I won't give in. I still dream of a fairy tale ending that finds me old and feeble watching my grandkids rule the world. I plan to be a "based on a true story" event that requires good popcorn and a large coke.

How Great Thou Art

I saw this performance on the Country Music Awards last year. I fell in love with it. I put it on my Ipod. I ALWAYS have my Ipod on shuffle so when this song "magically" appears I pause whatever I'm doing to hear every minute of it.

I am not outwardly religious by any description of the word. Denise used to tell me that I walk a "fine line between class and white trash". I thought that was HILARIOUS but then she would say "Whenever I need spiritual advice or comfort you are the one I turn to".

So I assume that spirituality is somehow an ingredient in my melting pot of emotions.

I do know that this is HANDS DOWN my favorite religious song. The one thing I miss from my daily Sunday ritual is the gospel music.

Last weekend Mark took me on the motorcycle. We left Provo, went to Wallsburg to visit Rays' grave and then headed on to an adventure.

I love to ride the motorcycle. I love the sun. I love the wind. I love the smells. I love the freedom. I love the alone time with my husband. I have secretly desired a motorcycle of my own. I make do with the top off my jeep and a seatbelt securely around my waist. With all the texting and driving going on I worry that Mark is going to be hit by some dork who isn't paying attention to the road.

Off my soapbox and back to what I was writing about.... (Put the phones DOWN people).

We left on our little expedition. BEAUTIFUL.  We wound through mountains. Past Lakes. Stopped at a waterfall.

B E A U T I F U L. Again.

Sigh. How do I describe it?

Fast forward to this last week.

Dawn took me on vacation. She decided that I need a bucket list and she was going to contribute things for me to do. So she rented a car and took me to Southern California and up the Pacific Coast Highway.

B E A U T I F U L

Our first stop was in Vegas. Mark had taken his motorcycle down to Vegas. He wanted to avoid I-15 so he took the scenic route.  He meandered through Zions National Park. Across Devils Backbone. To the Grand Canyon. He was on the motorcycle 15 hours +.

Dawn is married to Mike (who is my age) and Mark's brother as well. Mike drives long haul and planned a run in his rig through Vegas. He was able to meet us there as well. We all dressed in 1970 attire and hit a nice dinner. I think Gerald celebrated his 40th in style and surrounded by many people he loves.

Sunday morning Mark headed back on the bike, we dropped Mike at his rig and headed off on our adventure to Cali.

The car was filled with girl talk and laughter.

Our first stop was in LA where we roomed across from Disneyland. I haven't been to Downtown Disney before so we shopped and ate and ended our evening with fireworks from the theme park.

The next day we went to Catalina Island. When I grow up and become rich and famous you'll be able to visit me there. I was BORN to live on a beach. Extra sun. The ocean. Sand. People. Shopping. What more can a girl ask for?

The following day ended in a Dodgers game. I WAS SO EXCITED! Witnessed a home run in the first inning by a Mets player and then cheered the Dodgers into victory.

FINALLY I have arrived to "why the crap did she title this blog How Great Thou Art and then write about vacation getaways?"

Dawn and I jumped in the car and hit the Pacific Coast Highway. Every turn we made one of us stated "This is the most amazing thing I have ever seen." It was so pretty. I LOVE THE OCEAN. If you haven't seen the ocean through Northern California? Get in your car and start driving until you hit the PCH. You won't be disappointed.

Goose asked me a couple of weeks ago if I believed in God. I paused for a moment and answered as honestly as was possible with "I don't know."

I still don't know. I see the beauty that surrounds us. I think we are so fortunate to live in a country that is so diverse in nature. I think it's amazing that we can see the ocean and put our toes in the water and then drive 30 seconds and smell the fresh scent of pine trees because the mountains are looming in the background.

When we passed through Carmel, we happened upon the Tour d'Elegance. Pebblebeachcouncous.net describes it as:

The Pebble Beach Tour d’Elegance presented by Rolex is an annual driving event that delights entrants and spectators alike.  

Initiated to showcase the elegance of the automobile in motion, the Tour also underscores the early history of the place that is Pebble Beach. Decades before golf links were laid out along the edge of the Pacific Ocean, this area was known for its scenic drive, winding for miles through pine and cypress forest, dancing alongside dramatic cliffs and leading, ultimately, to a beautiful crescent-shaped bay. 

The traditional Tour traces portions of the original 17-Mile Drive, traverses nearby mountains and valleys, and pauses for a time in charming Carmel-by-the-Sea. This year, for the first time in 10 years, the Tour will add a lap around Mazda Raceway Laguna Seca. Tour participants enjoy a catered gourmet lunch, a champagne celebration at the finish and commemorative gifts. 

We found a parking spot and made our way to the cars. The owners were in having their lunch so the cars are lined two deep through the district on both sides of the road. They are all vintage vehicles restored to their original grandeur.

It was at this time that I contemplated the abilities of man to create wonder. If God created Man in his own image, makes sense that we can create beauty as well, doesn't it? I found beauty in the art from the street vendors in Sacramento. The architecture throughout California left me breathless. The engineering of the Golden Gate Bridge is astounding.

So, Goose, I think I wasn't entirely truthful with you. I believe in "something". I believe mostly in humanity, but I choose to believe that our intelligence and our desire to create beautiful is a gift from a higher power.

Therefore, when you see something beautiful...when you do something amazing...when astounding surrounds you...pause and think "how great thou art."

Written In My Heart

A few years ago I did a breast cancer picture and titled it HOPE.  On the picture I put a quote from Norma Vincent:

What is hope? Hope is wishing for a thing to come true: faith is believing that it will come true. Hope is wanting something so eagerly that – in spite of all the evidence that you're not going to get it – you go right on wanting it. And the remarkable thing about it is that this very act of hoping produces a kind of strength of its own. 

I don't have faith in many things. Is that jaded? I don't know. I've found in MY life that just sitting and believing that something will come true doesn't seem to do me a lick of good. I'm sort of the "go out and get it" kind of gal. So I hope for things and then I go out and get those things. It wasn't until I read this quote that HOPE made so much more sense to me. The final sentence that states "the very act of hoping produces a kind of strength of its own" is what nailed it for me. 

I think we all hope for "a better tomorrow".  I think that hope is what gives us the strength to go out and create our tomorrows. I have had a couple of weeks filled with dread and worry and fear. I have let my strength ebb and hopelessness has filled up the empty spaces in my heart.

The other day a friend of mine shared:

Whether we like it or not, hope is written so deeply into our hearts that we just can't help ourselves, no matter how hard we try otherwise.

This simple statement has helped me "draw up my bootstraps" and get the fight back in me that I need in order to end the fear induced paralysis within me. I don't just hope for change anymore. I have gathered my strength to cause change. It's in ME to do it. Therefore, it WILL BE DONE.

Whimsy

A couple of weeks ago, Jaden, Daulton, Shelby and myself were in the jeep headed to the store. Because it is dead of summer and because I don't have an air conditioner and because I WORSHIP the sun, my top is off my jeep. Everywhere I go I feel the wind in my hair and the sun on my shoulders. Everyone complains about the heat. I don't. I love the sun. The hotter the better. I'm so happy in this weather!

Okay. Back on track. We were driving down the road and a sprinkler was spraying into our lane. There was nowhere to turn, so we went through it. We all screamed and ducked and got hit by the water. Then we laughed out loud.

Of course it triggered thoughts in my head.

Diana is a GREAT mom. When she has the kids they always look as if they stepped out of a magazine. Perfect hair. Perfectly matched clothes. Clean. Okay, let's be honest here, those two kids are the STINKIEST kids. Ever. But their cuteness makes up for the natural odor that befalls them, so it's an even trade.

Bill and Haily get dropped off at Grandmas house and if Diana and Tyson have learned anything about parenting, they have learned not to put the kids in their nice clothes when they visit me. Shoes are optional. A messy kid is inevitable.

We walk in the mud puddles. We dig in the dirt. We plant flowers. We weed the flower beds. We play in the sprinkler. We eat Otter Pops until the juice is oozing out of our t-shirts. I'm happy. They are happy. Win win situation.

Do you remember being a kid? Do you remember running and playing and laughing and shouting and dancing and singing without a care? Going through the sprinkler made me think of that. Watching the joy that Hailey and Bill show when they walk with me THROUGH the mud puddles instead of around them warms my heart clean through to my soul.

I said it before in another blog:

I'm not old (yet) but my time of wishes is more behind me than in front of me.

There will always be gardening and housework and bills to pay and dishes to wash and laundry to do and windows to wash. BUT I refuse to become stuffy and boring and grown up. When I can I will find that moment of whimsy and embrace it. I'll jot it down in my happy book and remember that moment forever.

Here are some things I highly recommend:

• walk through the mud puddle  • sing out loud • take your shoes off and feel the cool grass between your toes • put on that swimsuit and go to the pool. Listen to the pure joy that the kids share naturally • eat Otter Pops • buy some Converse tennis shoes and ROCK them. If you REALLY feel adventurous buy them in a blue or red or purple or multi color. Just wear them • walk through the sprinklers that cross your path • eat with your fingers. Don't even get out the silverware • skip rocks at the lake • turn off the air in your car and roll down the window • lay on your back and count the stars or make shapes out of the clouds or watch fireworks or make out with your soul mate. • talk to your kids about trivial-it-doesn't-really-matter stuff (because it really DOES matter most in the end) • play hopscotch or jacks or jump rope or hula hoop or kickball or Speed or tag or hide and seek • eat bubblegum and blow a REALLY BIG bubble • get in a food fight until your clothes are covered in mashed potatoes • make your kids roll their eyes at you • say "I love you" a lot

Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair. ~Kahlil Gibran

It's All About Perspective

I have always believed that in a fight, both parties are right. I think most arguments are based on emotion, and how can you be wrong if you are hurt or angry or lonely or confused? I am always telling my kids "take the emotion out and deal with the facts". Usually the facts aren't NEARLY as overwhelming as the emotion of the moment.

Daulton and Shelby have been best friends for quite a few years now. Mark and I always pushed for Goose to date Daulton. She was such a perfect fit for our family. We joked with her. We teased her that if Goose wouldn't date her that I would dump Mark and she could marry HIM so that we could guarantee that she would be a Deason. I'm SURE she is grateful that Goose stepped up and proposed.

I really didn't know for sure if she was interested in Goose. We just loved her and wanted her in the club. At Christmas time a few years back Shelby and Daulton had tagged along while I ran to Sam's Club to get some pictures developed. Above my piano in my "Pooh" room I have a wall with an 8 x 10" photo of each of the kids as a baby. Directly below their infant picture I put a current picture of their happy faces.

I had gone to Sam's to grab their pictures so I could update my wall and when the girls pulled out the picture of Tyson I was going on and on about how handsome Tyson is. (Which he IS terribly handsome) when Daulton said "Yeah, Tyson is handsome, but (she pulled out the pic of Goose) Goose is HOT".

I was so excited I about wrecked the jeep.

There has been a standing rule in the Deason home. This rule was VERY STRICTLY established by my boys. There was to be NO dating of friends. NONE. The girls honored the code. They have NEVER dated the friends of my boys. On the other hand, Tyson is with Diana who happens to be best friends with Tanna and Goose is happily married to Shelby's best friend.

I told Shelby that Goose really SHOULD ask Daulton out. Shelby talked to Goose. Goose talked with Shelby. Shelby talked to Daulton. Daulton talked to Shelby. The stars all aligned and Goose was dating Daulton.

Then the storms hit.

Things became complicated in the trifecta of Goose, Daulton and Shelby. There came a time when things were terribly tense and difficult and hard for each of them. I was worried about all of my kids.

My back porch is directly below my bedroom window. We use my window to access my roof. I (forcefully) told the kids to get out the window and sit down. I needed to talk to them.

We sat on the roof of the patio and I made them each tell me what they saw. They saw the trampoline. They saw the neighboring yards. They saw the wishing well in my yard. They saw the playhouse. They each stated the different items that they viewed.

They were each correct.

I talked to them about perspective. I shared my belief that in most emotional situations each party is right and that it is up to us as human beings to see the other side.

I don't know how much impact I made. Somehow they worked it out and came to terms with the emotions that were boiling inside of each of them. Daulton married Goose. Daulton and Shelby remain best friends. Goose and Shelby's relationship is still cemented in love.

I think EVERYONE should climb up on their roof from time to time. I believe we should all look around and see the world with different eyes. I am convinced that if we gain a different perspective during difficult times that most of the drama melts away and love will replace anger and hurt and fear.

Climb on your roof. What do you see?

Learning to Be Still

I've been a fighter my entire life. Nothing has ever come easily to me. I entered this world fighting and I am positive that I will exit this world with my fists held high.

Sometimes I feel like I am constantly on alert, that I always need to be aware of what is going on in order to run interference for myself or someone I love. Marilyn says that I throw on my cape of fairness and I feel it is my duty to "save the day". Makes me laugh, but she's probably right. I have always felt I was strong enough to fight battles that others are too weary to take on themselves.

A few blows have come my way and I'm finding myself in a position of having to be still and think before I act or react. A friend of mine shared the quote:

 "To the mind that is still, the whole universe surrenders."

I've thought about this quote HEAVILY over the last couple of months. The last two weeks I have thought about it every single day.

I'm learning to be still. I'm learning that I can't control everything. I'm learning to allow myself to depend on those that love me. I'm learning to forgive unfairness. I'm learning. I'm learning. I'm learning.

I'm succeeding. I'm failing. Depends on the moment.

I want the universe to surrender to me. I desire the beauty of peace to envelope me and embrace those I love. I long for comfort to wrap it's arms around us and never let go.

So, I will learn.

The Game of Life

When I was a little girl, I used to love to play the board game Life. Sometimes I would get out the game and just "pretend" to play it all by myself. Wikipedia describes the game as:

The game simulates a person's travels through his or her life, from college to retirement, with jobs, marriage, and possible children along the way.

The modern game consists of a track on which players travel by spinning a small wheel (in the center of the board) with spaces numbered 1 through 10. The board also contains small mountains, buildings, and other three-dimensional objects. Playing pieces are small, colored, plastic automobiles which come in red, blue, white, yellow, orange, and green; each car has six holes in the top in which blue and/or pink "people pegs" are placed throughout the game as the player "gets married" and has or adopts "children". Some "early modern" editions have eight automobiles. 

I ALWAYS chose the blue car. I would carefully place my little pink lady peg in the drivers seat and wait patiently for the marriage space so that I could sit that blue peg right beside me. I would cross my fingers and offer secret prayers that I would be able to fill the rest of the car with pegs that represented children. I wanted two blue pegs and two pink pegs. Two boys and two girls. If I was by myself pretending, I would just start off with the car loaded EXACTLY the way I wanted it to be and off I would go spinning the wheel to see what my future might hold.

I don't remember the spaces on board of the game. I never worried about how much money I was going to get or what really cool education I might receive. I didn't care if I was a doctor, lawyer or a bum on the street. I was just concerned that I would be able to fill my car with the kids. If I was unable to fill my car before the end of the game? I lost. Even if I "won" I considered it a loss.

In the real world, I always always ALWAYS wanted children. I never considered going off to college or traveling or moving to some exotic location. I was born to be a mom.

I got married 3 weeks out of high school. June 15, 1983. I was pregnant by the first of the year. I was beginning to fill my car and nothing made me happier.  Tyson was born August 19, 1984. He was two months early. So began some pretty scary adventures for us. But he was such a strong boy. He pulled through with flying colors and we never looked back.

Goose came in 1987. Tanna in 1989 and Shelby in 1991. My car was full of the EXACT pegs I had always wished for.

9 years later Jaden was born.

If I could have had more children I would have. If I could adopt kids, I would. If I could be a foster parent, I would. If I had the means to run a home for needy children, I would. I love kids. I'll say it again. I LOVE KIDS. All kids.

I finally went to college and got my degree in graphic design. I'm good at what I do. Right now I'm doing quite a few wedding announcements for different couples. I have them come to my house and I meet with them. I ask about their engagement and their wedding plans. I LOVE to ask about how they met and fell in love. We talk about their plans for the future and I wonder to myself where they are going to land in their game of Life.

My wheel has been spinning for 48 years now. I have landed on some spaces that I couldn't get off of fast enough. Other times, I wish I could have lingered a bit longer before I had to load my car and move on. Despite the twists and turns that my vehicle in Life has taken, I ALWAYS have loaded up my car. I have always carefully placed all the pegs in proper order. Three blue pegs are placed first, followed by two pink pegs. I have extended my car to add room for another blue peg to represent Jaden. My car keeps getting longer as I have needed to add three pink for Diana, Daulton, Hailey and another blue for Bill.

Throughout my life I have seen the need to add pegs here and there to just give them a lift to another destination. We laugh on our road trip. We play games, tell stories, eat great car candy and I drop them off to complete their spin. However, I always keep my car open for them to hitch a ride. If you need to place your peg in my car for a bit? I'll be glad to a have you on board. If you have room in your car for those children in need? Open your car and invite them in. Sometimes they just need a little rest from the spinning wheel that places them into the darkness.

The Deason pegs...

Stolen Flowers

To me, one of the most beautiful sights is a cemetery on Memorial Day. Provo Cemetery is no exception.

I went to see Keith on Memorial Day.  I don't usually go to cemeteries on Memorial Day. It's the rebellious streak in me. I am not one to be told when I should remember a loved one. I want to do it my way in my time. I know that's lame. But it's just me and I don't do it.

This year Keith has been heavy on my mind. I find myself talking about him more often which causes me to think about him more often which causes me to look for him again every time I see a guy walking down the street with his hat pulled low or skateboarding by with his shirt off. Yep. I still miss him in the silence between every heartbeat.

Tanna asked if I would go with her to the cemetery. We loaded up in the jeep, cranked up the radio and sat in silence while we drove to see my boy.

I go see Keith several times a year. Sometimes when I go there are little gifts left for him on his gravestone. This year someone had dropped of some flowers. I was a bit shocked. I don't think I have ever seen flowers on his grave. Usually it's a blue bandana or a penny or a pepsi. Not flowers.

I cried.

I was so touched by that simple act of love.  I took the flowers home.

I know all the reasons why I SHOULDN'T have taken them. However, the reasons of why I SHOULD won.

I planted them in the little flower bed right by my driveway. EVERY SINGLE TIME I pull into my house I see Keith. I think of Keith. I feel Keith there.

The flowers are a little "bendy" right now. They'll snap out of it and flourish and will remain a reminder of a life that left us too early.

When you drive by my place and you see the brilliant white mums in my flower bed...join me and think of Keith. If you didn't know Keith. You missed meeting a shooting star. If you knew him? Well then, you know exactly what I mean.

P.S.  If YOU are the one to leave the flowers at the gravesite...thank you. I'd tell you that I'm sorry that I took them. I know you left them for Keith. But. I don't think I AM sorry. I'm just grateful. Come by my house. We'll share stories of the boy that we all miss.

Crash

One of my all time favorite watch it over and over and never get tired of it movies is Crash. I remember sitting in the theater the night I went. I'm sure I had a popcorn and coke and was just happy to get out of my reality for a moment. I've told you that I'm a BIG movie fan. I see everything. But I LOVE Sandra Bullock and I was particularly excited to see this movie.

The opening of the movie had a voice over that said:

It's the sense of touch. In any real city, you walk, you know? You brush past people, people bump into you. In L.A., nobody touches you. We're always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something.

I think about this ALL the time.  I'm a friendly kind of gal. I walk down the street and try to make eye contact with all that I pass. I say "hi" and smile even when they avoid that eye contact or are lost in their Ipod-cell-phone world.

It's so easy to do. So why don't we do it often? 

Am I wrong to think that we ALL miss human contact? the letters in the mail? the phone calls? the walks in the park? laying on the grass and telling stories? holding hands and just being silent and still?

These things matter. They are what we will remember in the end. The little moments are what our stories are made of. 

I think it is important to help write each others' stories. It's so simple to smile and say "hello" to a stranger. Eye contact only takes a moment. Reach out and touch those around you. Turn off the Ipod, put down your phone and use your voice. I bet it's a good voice. 

Mirror Images

I recently read an article on MSN about how we see ourselves. I can't find the article now, (of course) but it said something to the effect that if we were to draw a self portrait, it would not be as attractive as if someone else were to sketch our image.

I've thought about that for a while now. I know my flaws. I wish I was taller. I hate my profile. My skin is imperfect. I've had 5 kids. Therefore, my body has been stretched and pulled and molded into an alien form. Trust me. It never snapped back into perfect shape.

What about my heart?

I have spent most of my life watching people. I watch how others act. I watch reactions.

When I was younger I would mirror the good that I saw. In the beginning, it wasn't always from my heart. I just liked what I saw somebody else do, so that was what I tried to emulate. I guess it wasn't really genuine, but I was learning to become the woman I wanted to be. As I have grown older, being nice to human beings comes more naturally to me.

Last week was Mother's Day. Daulton brought me flowers and a Home Depot gift card. Shelby HANDmade me these really cool hotpads. (She is secretly trying to get me to cook again.) Tyson came by and brought Bill just to see me. My entire family fussed over me.

I got phone calls. I received a texts.  Kids swung by to give me a hug. People wrote some really cool things on Facebook.

Brett texted me from the fire he was on in California. L.T. rode his longboard over to make sure I knew he was thinking about me.

I was filled with a sense of wonder over the kindness that was given to me. So, I'm writing them down. I have said that periodically I read over my blog, and these moments I never want to forget.

Dawn wrote:  "You have been the single most influencing Mom I have in my life. I love and cherish everything about you. Even...When you flip me off a Yoga."  

Kelli wrote: "There are some moms put on this earth to raise kids that are not technically their own.... You raised not only yours but the entire neighborhood. You have a special place in my heart as not only a friend- but a confidant, a shoulder to cry on, someone to tell it how it is, fearless to stand up for what you believe in. For that i can not explain the huge heart that is found within a tiny statured women. Love you Mama Nette!!!"

Ashley wrote:  "Happy mommy day I just want you to know you are a wonderful mother an in my heart an eyes you are my mother always will be always have been I miss you like mad you were always there for me an only wanted the best for me I may not see you lots or talk often but I always always love you more then life love you mommy!!!"

Shelby posted on Twitter:  "Not many can say they are as close to their moms as I am to mine. Anybody who has ever met my mom considers her a mom of theirs. I'm blessed to be a part of her wild journey. Not once in my entire life has my mom never been on my side. She's taken in & housed many children and buried a child of her own. Through everything, my mom is the most Christ-like person I've ever met. I'm proud to call her my own. I love you mommy, you are my sunshine."

Okay. Let's be honest here. These sentiments made me feel good. I was on an emotional high that day that is hard to beat.

I love how people see ME at times. I look into the mirror of my soul and I see the flaws. I see the anger, fear and jealousy that I am guilty of. I see the moments of chaos that I have brought upon my own shoulders. I have sketched a self portrait that MIGHT NOT be worthy of who I strive to be.

Thank goodness for the artists in our lives that draw us as beautiful human beings - the people that trace the good we try to give and wrap that image in love and place it gently in our hearts.

I knew it.

I knew it. I knew this time in my life was going to hit. I said "I hate the losses that are ahead of us". I fear losing family and friends and parents.

It has started.

Aunt Joy died yesterday afternoon. The world is a darker, sadder place. I'm not kidding.

Aunt Joy is Mark's aunt. Good woman. Good aunt. Good mother. Good friend. Good grandmother. Good person.

My heart literally aches for dear Uncle Bob. I want to comfort her children and grandchildren. There is no peace in death. I've heard all the canned answers. You know the ones.  "She's in a better place." "He's out of pain now." Whatever. I've said it before and I'll say it again. I'M SELFISH and I want the people I love around ME.

Mark has never known a life without Aunt Joy in it. And now we do.

In case you're wondering, nope, I didn't do everything right. I used to write letters EVERY SINGLE WEEK to grandparents, aunts, friends, etc. Time got in the way. I had little kids. I was single. I went to school. I stopped.

Time passed.

I started blogging. Aunt Joy called me last year and told me she read my blog all the time.

I vowed to start writing Joy and Bobby again. I NEEDED to tell them how much I love them. I needed them to know they have made a difference in this world. In my world.

I didn't write. I didn't follow my heart. And now Monday is upon me and found me wishing I had done more.

Movie Madness

I absolutely, positively, without a shadow of a doubt LOVE movies. I like them all. Science fictions, comedies, dramas, love stories, animations, shoot 'em ups. Doesn't matter. I love the movie, the popcorn, the coke and Milk Duds, the gathering of friends/family. Most of all I love the escape I get to enjoy for a couple of hours.

My friend Marilyn, says I'm "easily pleased" with movies. I don't really have high expectations in a movie so when I went last weekend to TWO movies (The Croods and 42) and was THRILLED with both of them...sigh...it was WONDERFUL.

We had a birthday shin-dig for Uncle Mike. We all gathered for dinner and not wanting to separate from the festivities, we decided to hit a movie. The only one playing in the time slot we had available was The Croods.

Shelby and Jaden had gone the weekend before. Shelby told me how great it was and that the story reminded her of her relationship with her dad.

I had no idea how spot-on she was.

That movie "had me" in the opening credits. I remember thinking, while munching on my LARGE tub no-butter-popcorn, that they took the Deason family and animated them. Oh man. They especially nailed Mark and Shelby.

Mark has a tendency of seeing the world through his eyes ONLY. If anyone disagrees or has a different vision, well (duh) they are wrong. Enter Shelby. She sees EVERYTHING differently. Drives Mark INSANE. Let's be honest. She drives Mark, Goose and Tyson absolutely batty. A note of reference here: The other day, Goose told me "You did a great job raising up the boys in the family, but the girls are really screwed up." Oh man. I about fell out of my chair laughing. 

The movie is full of tug and pull between the the dad (Grug) and daughter Eep. Grugs belief is "Be afraid of everything." That's how he has protected his family through the years. 

There is a point in the movie where the family becomes separated. Grug is in a cave and he draws a picture of his whole family, then draws himself wrapping his arms around each of them. 

That sums up Mark. Crazy, strong, loyal, and fiercely protective. 

Shelby has realized that her dad is crazy and mad and strong and tender and kind and lectures ALL the time. All of this is to protect her and the rest of us.

Our family is a force. I used to think that all families were like ours. I now believe we are different. I have found the unique qualities of the Deason's and I have not been left wanting.  When the end of the world strikes, the Deason's will be left standing. Because Mark said so.

I'm not going to spoil the movie. Go see it. 

Waiting for Monday

Yesterday, I decided to partake in one of my most favorite guilty pleasures. I went tanning. I know all the "why's and how's and what if's" about why I shouldn't do it. However, I love to go. I love the warmth and the tan (of course). I only find that I go in the Spring. Maybe it's because I'm digging out my short sleeve shirts and (sometimes) wearing my shorts and I HATE my lily-white-glow-in-the-dark skin. So I tan.

While waiting for the tanning bed to empty out and get cleaned, I was thumbing through People magazine when I ran across an article about Marie Osmond and a book she has written about her son that committed suicide in 2010.

I remember watching the Donny and Marie Show when I was a kid. I thought Marie was soooooo pretty. I wanted to dress like her. Sing like her. Roller skate like her. Nope. Never happened. But it was fun to pretend.

So I read the article.

Marie had performed a full week in Las Vegas and was staying at the Flamingo when her phone rang at about 1:30 in the morning. It was the guard at her gate from her Los Angeles home neighborhood. Someone was there from the coroner's office and they were sending someone to see her at the Flamingo in Vegas.

Marie writes:

On February 26, 2010,my sweet son left me, his family, and friends by jumping from the balcony of his eighth floor college apartment in Los Angeles. Even as I write this I want to cry out, "Please, don't let this be true." 

Marie had talked with Michael and they had made plans for Marie to fly home and to visit with him on Monday. Michael killed himself.

I guess the Osmond family gave Michael the nickname "Mallard". Apparently when he was younger he looked like a baby duck to them and the name stuck.

At the end of the article, Marie talked about ducks and said "on top they are serene and beautiful. Below they are paddling like crazy to stay afloat."

I wonder how many mallard ducks walk amongst us.  I worry about the times I think the people I love are fine, but are secretly paddling like crazy to stay afloat. How many times do I think "I'll do it on Monday."

What if Monday doesn't come?

All is right in the world

Mark, Jaden and I leave every morning at 7:15. Mark and Jaden head East towards the High School and I head West towards the freeway. When I get to the end of my street, before I turn right, I take a glance over the railroad tracks to make sure there isn't a car coming and off I go.

All winter as I looked over the tracks, I could see my friends' car warming up. I'm assuming she was warming her car to head to work. EVERY SINGLE TIME I saw her car, I smiled. The world just felt right. You know the feeling. Time is in sync and the stars are aligned correctly.

Rhonda has boys that grew up with my boys. Shelby and Matt Hinkley have been very good friends through the years. The Hinkleys have been a permanent staple in the growing up of the Deason clan. I consider them friends. 

Rhonda and I aren't the go-to-lunch-go-to-a-movie-go-shopping kind of friends. We're just friends. I think she is smart, beautiful, FUNNY, real, a great mom, and all around fantastically fabulous. And I'm guilt free when I see her.

I think we need those kinds of friends in our lives. At times there is so much pressure to "do". I think the "doing" is what I fail most at. I THINK about bringing cookies to new neighbors. I WANT to bring dinner to my Aunt that has cancer or my friend, Pat, that has cancer, or help my neighbor, Celeste, when she is out doing yard work with three little ones tugging and pulling at her trying to gain her attention. But I don't. I'm wrapped up in what I need to do. I juggle work and kids and hubby-ness and dogs and cleaning and gardening and personal time and sleep. Oh sure, I'll feel guilty and say that I feel like I should do more. I don't.

Therefore, I appreciate the smattering of people that are light and fun and free in our lives. The kind that share a smile, a kind word and unspoken support. The kind that when you see their cars warming up down the street, it brings a smile to your face and you know all is right in the world.

Sweaters For Chickens

As I stated in a previous post, I'm adopted. When I was little, I used to imagine what my birth parents were like. When I was super young, I had no doubt that they were in the circus. That was the coolest thing I could imagine.

When I met my family, I was super nervous. I worried and worried that they would find out the "real" me and run screaming for cover.

I met my dad. He hasn't screamed one time and he fills in the blanks of my biological make-up whenever I ask.

Many of my mom's side of the family live right in the same area as my dad, so it is up to them to fill me in on the how's and why's of the Vermeire's. I believe that I am VERY MUCH like them. And I really, really like that.

A few things have happened along our "getting to know each other" path and I have caught a glimpse of the true colors that flow through my blood. Every once in a while, I'll hear from my cousin, Brenda, in White Salmon. We are very close in age and EVERY SINGLE TIME she contacts me I think "If we had grown up together, we would have been great friends."

When something incredibly yucky crossed my path, another cousin, Sheila, was the first to contact me and let me know that I mattered. I still have that email and read it when my heart needs a boost.

I find myself drawn to my cousins, my uncle and my aunt. I keep abreast of happenings with my cousins on facebook and my aunt emails me regularly.

The other day I got an email from Aunt Alice. It was titled "sweaters".  I assumed it was another forwarded message that Alice likes to send. You know...warm, fuzzy, inspirational... The kind that if you don't forward in FIVE MINUTES, horribly rotten things will come your way.

Imagine my surprise when I opened the attachment and it was a photo of two chickens wearing knitted sweaters. Aunt Alice had made sweaters for her chickens.

I shook my head in wonderment. Who thinks about making sweaters for their chickens? Who in the world actually MAKES the sweaters? Aunt Alice.

That's my family. I come from a line of warm, caring people...the kind that make sweaters for chickens.

The Great Balancing Act

I now have a job. Yep, I'm a big girl now and work for a company called Studies Weekly. I love it there. Good company. Good people. They make educational magazines for kindergarten through sixth grade. Right now, I am over all of K-2 and four 4th grade states. I put out over 200 magazines a quarter.

I have been freelancing for years now and have created my routine. I work in my family room and my computer faces away from the television. Since I don't love the silence, I keep the tube on for the noise. I usually listen to Law and Order, Dateline, 20/20 or some kind of show that consists mostly of talking. I get distracted by comedies and I have a difficult time listening to music while I work because I find myself singing along and not getting a dang thing done. So, a plethora of murder mysteries it is.

Mark swears I am going to turn into a serial killer because I have listened to so many programs on homicide. He's probably right. I definitely know what NOT to do when I decide to go on my killing spree.

At work, there are 6 of us in the room feverishly developing the magazines. It can be terribly quiet. I plug in my ear buds, pull up Netflix and listen to Law and Order. It's just like home! I don't need to watch the program to know what is going on. It's perfect for me and makes the time FLY.

Today I had in my trusty ear phones and was listening to Law and Order. This episode was a whodunnit involving a child. At the end, one of the officers was in the hospital room reading "Oh the Places You'll Go" by Dr. Seuss.

I've heard snippets of this book. Most of the quotes are in a graduation speech. We've all heard it time and time again. It usually involves the Valedictorian detailing the opportunities that are just waiting for the graduating class to grasp. This time I heard something different.

This is what gave me pause:

You'll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know.
You'll get mixed up
with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step,
Step with care and great tact.
And remember that
life's a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.

I've discovered that the road to happiness isn't a straight shot for any of us. We find ourselves in dark places surrounded by strange birds and at times, all of our focus is directed toward simply keeping our feet on the path.

It can be really, really, REALLY hard, can't it?

My friend said to me the other day. "Sometimes, I wonder what all this is about."

Sometimes I wonder, too.

I think Dr. Seuss got it right when he said:

But on you will go
though the weather be foul.
On you will go
though your enemies prowl.
On you will go
though the Hakken-Kraks howl.
Onward up many
a frightening creek,
though your arms may get sore
and your sneakers may leak.
On and on you will hike
and I know you'll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.

The wolf you feed

I previously mentioned that our friend, Christian, was in a terrible car accident on Shelby's birthday. Christians mother does periodic updates on facebook to keep the masses informed of the progress of our dear friend. A few weeks ago Shelby had to do a short speech for her Public Speaking class at UVU. She went back to the posts on the Believe in CT facebook page to find the following story:

Upon today’s 5th floor departure, one of our favorite nurses, who knew of Christian’s obsession with wolves, shared the following Cherokee story about two wolves. It offers a message to consider.
An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life. “A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy.
“It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil—he is fear, sorrow, anger, envy, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.” He continued, “The other is good—he is hope, joy, peace, love, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you—and inside every person, too.”
The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?”
The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”

I heard her upstairs practicing over and over to Daulton to make sure she had it just right. Of course Shelby ROCKED the presentation. Because I could hear the story over and over, it hasn't left my mind, so I thought I would write about it.

While my brain was processing the story and my available time was trying to find an opening, my friend, Laurie, called me in tears.

Laurie had eye surgery a few weeks ago and is having trouble seeing right now. She is angry and frustrated. It's complicated (as if not being able to see isn't enough) this all comes after quite a few years of not being able to drive due to the fact that her little body has been racked with seizures. We went to Boston and she was able to see the LEADING AUTHORITY on her types of seizures and, guess what? No more seizures for my dear friend. 

I can count on one hand how many times Laurie has called me in tears directed at her frustrations with her physical health. Oh, she has cried about husbands and daughters and pets and anger mixed with confusion over the selfishness of others, but rarely does she have a pity party.

I wouldn't really call it a pity party, I guess. It's well deserved. Did I mention that she has Marfan's? For those that have no idea what that is (I was one of those) Pub Med Health states that:

Marfan syndrome is a disorder of connective tissue, the tissue that strengthens the body's structures.

In a short, not so medical synopsis, the arteries that lead to her heart have problems, her eyes have problems. She explained to to me once that all of her arteries and vessels are like rubber bands.  As they work and are used, they become stretched and can easily burst.

So Laurie is frustrated. And angry. She works very hard to be independent and the fact that she has to ask for everything she needs is driving her crazy.

I related this story to her.

It's always interesting to me to have to step out of my own crap for a minute and focus of the needs of somebody else. This was one of those moments. I stepped out of my box and took a look at what I am guilty of. What wolf have I been feeding?

I made a vow that morning that I would quit allowing evil into my life and feeding the insecurities that plague me. That wolf can wither and die. I choose the good fight. The good wolf.