Bucket Lists

After many years of squinting and proclaiming loudly to anyone who would listen "I can't see." My parents finally took me to the eye doctor. The verdict? "Yep. She needs glasses."

I didn't really want glasses. They were bulky and heavy and cumbersome. I didn't want them. No way. Nuh-uh. Wasn't going to wear them. You can't make me. I didn't want to so I didn't. Vanity prevailed and the world remained blurry.

In my eyes the world consisted of swatches of color. I didn't really focus on objects because I couldn't see with precision. Because I couldn't see objects, color reigned and my fascination with color and textures began.

Since my memory EVER came to be, I have longed to travel to Europe and see the art that resides there. Specifically, the Sistine Chapel weighed in extremely high on the you-have-GOT-to-see-the-beauty list. The colors had to be amazing. Right? The artists took bits of horsetails and managed to paint wondrous works of art that continue to inspire.

When I was diagnosed with this stupid, absolutely useless and ever-so-much-an-inconvenience brain disease, Dawn decided that I needed to develop a bucket list. I had two travel events on my list. New York and Europe. That's it.

Christmas came and one item was granted. I got to see New York. I love people and smells and colors and textures. Oh. And cheesecake. I LOVE cheesecake. What better place to experience all that than New York City? Loved it. I mean beyond-a-shadow-of-doubt LOVED IT!

The beginning of 2016 rolled around. Goose and Daulton informed me that they were going to Europe this year. Again. They went a couple of years ago and I was tinged a tad bit with envy. However, I was happy for them and spent hours with Goose looking at pictures post-visit to the land of my dreams. When they told me they were going yet again? I was GREEN with envy. Jealous isn't strong enough to tell you how I felt. To add insult to injury? Shelby was going. THEY would get to see the art. THEY would get to walk the cobblestones of Rome. THEY would get to see Michelangelo and Raphael and Rembrandt and Van Gogh and the Sistine Chapel and ALL of the art that I yearned to see. Yep. Jealous. Jealous. JEALOUS. That was me.

The kids came to me one day and told me they wanted to take me with them. What? Really? Me? Yep. I was going.

I didn't tell too many people that I was going. Not because I'm an ungrateful brat, simply because I kept waiting to hear the hammer fall with the words "We changed our minds, we aren't going." Daulton booked airline tickets. I still didn't believe. Daulton reserved hotels. Nope. STILL didn't believe. Daulton, Shelby and Goose tagged me in links and pictures and Facebook posts. I continued to wait for the hammer to fall.

We left the morning November 28th. I swear to you, I was on the plane and STILL doubting that I was really, truly, no-doubt-about-it heading off on an epic adventure. But I did. I lived it. I walked on cobblestone. I felt Roman pillars with my hands. I saw an entire museum of Van Gogh's work. I reverently viewed Raphael, Rembrandt and more art than my eyes could behold. I wept when I walked into the Sistine Chapel. When the kids were ready to leave the chapel, Goose viewed my tear-filled eyes and led me back in to gaze upon the single most amazing room that I will ever behold.

How do I tell you all that I experienced in the two weeks of wonder? How do I relate the smells and the textures and the people and the food? I have NO idea. I do know that I felt very much like the emoji that is smiling with the eyes shaped like hearts. Yep. That was me. I'm SURE my pupils were heart shaped the entire time.

I walked the streets of Amsterdam. I toured the house where Anne Frank hid from the Nazi regime. I walked through awe inspiring churches, rode on a boat through beautiful canals and my cup runneth over with joy.

That was ONE city.

We hopped onto a train that swept us to Heidelberg, Germany where we rented a car and toured the countryside. NOT before we wandered the Christmas market in old town. I listened to German carolers in the Christmas square. We were able to see the Heidelberg Schloss Castle light up the night and could hardly wait to investigate the still standing monolith the following morning.

We jumped in the car and headed toward Triberg, Germany. I crossed the Reine River and traveled many dirt roads through the Black Forest. I saw castles and vineyards and climbed to the highest waterfall in Germany. I even saw the world's largest cuckoo clock!

All these adventures led us to Lucerne, Switzerland where the most expressive monument of a dying lion was carved into the stone. We strolled along the river and viewed the lights and the people and felt the evening air.

We conquered Mount Pilatus and viewed Switzerland while standing above the clouds. Mr. Easter Rabbit all dressed in orange (down to his sparkly orange hat) became our friend and we listened to pretty-dang-good artists sing cover tunes during the open mic night at a pub.

Our car extravaganza came to an end in Zurich where we flew off to Rome. The kids had saved this event for the end of our journey. The climax to my adventure would indeed be the Sistine Chapel. I had waited 51 years to gaze upon this miraculous craftsmanship. I could feel the build-up of excitement as Rome drew closer to reality.

I had seen pictures of the chapel. I had imagined the beauty and the art and the reverence in that room. I was wrong. I will never find the words big enough or strong enough or flowery enough to describe the wonder I felt as my eyes tried so desperately to drink in all that they viewed.

I heard the roar of the Trevi Fountain and gazed with wonder upon the Roman Coliseum. I walked on paths in the Roman Palatine Hill that were laid as early as 509BC. We wandered from the ruins of Rome to the opulence of St. Peter's Basilica where Shelby was able to see her favorite work of art, the chilling masterpiece of Michelangelo the Pietà.

Rome came to an end and we found ourselves on a train to Venice. Gondola rides through the canal, shopping and some much needed rest overtook the end of our journey. Fog added to the mystery as we were awed by the wondrous beauty of the water and architectural settings. Our gondolier pointed out where Casanova lived as well as Marco Polo's home.

Taylor Swift wrote a song that my heart played over and over throughout my adventure.

"I said remember this moment In the back of my mind..."

I will, you know. I'll remember the smells and the textures and the art and the food and the people and the wonderment of living my dream. Most of all? I'll embed the generosity of this gift and etch the unfailing love of my family deep within my heart. Yep. I'm a lucky girl.

Making Spaghetti

Last week a friend reached out to me. Distraught. Crying. Angry. Hurt. She felt all of this and more. I listened to her rant and cry and holler and yell. I heard the resignation in her voice and feared for her. This friend of mine has always been strong and kind and good. To hear that she had all but given up was not AT ALL something I was prepared to hear. I heard my self saying, "I get your anger. I understand the hurt. However, you don't get to quit. Sorry. Your purpose here is bigger than this. When I get sad or distraught or angry I remind myself that I have a life that can be envied. I remember that there are so many in this world that long for a life just like mine."

Was I fibbing? I don't know.

There have been a few things that have happened this last week that have left me licking wounds and wondering how in the world I'm going to get through "this". Much of what is going on is less-than-enviable.

After that call, I contemplated how hard everything has been. I got myself in a funk and NOTHING could pull me out.

Then I went downstairs to make dinner. Spaghetti.

I stood in MY kitchen, pulled out MY stainless steel pans, threw tomato sauce in MY programmable crockpot, opened MY cupboard full of seasoning to find the right concoction to make a delicious meal for MY family.

And it WAS good.

I watched MY television, I read MY book, I talked to MY spoiled rotten dogs, I cleaned MY house, I did MY dishes and I thought about all that I have.

Some days I wish I had a bigger house AND a maid to go with the added space. If I could do ANYTHING I wanted, I would travel the world over and go to EVERY SINGLE museum on the planet. I would hire a nutritionist and a cook. My personal seamstress would create a wardrobe designed by me. I would give my kids EVERYTHING they wanted or needed or desired and I wouldn't care one lick that they were spoiled rotten little brats. I would have. And get. And buy. I would want for nothing and those I know and love would have all they wish for.

However, I realize that I really don't want spoiled rotten entitled children. I love how giving and kind my kids are. Honest, good, generous, loyal, driven. Good qualities that each of my children possess because of the life experiences that have befallen them.

I really don't want a housekeeper. I enjoy cleaning. I LOVE my house and yard and dogs. I enjoy simple no-nonsense foods. My clothing is simple by choice. I am barefoot as often as I can because I choose bare feet. If I can't be shoeless? I have a closet FULL of hardly worn soles.

I have coats and gloves and shorts and tanks. I have a car and motorcycle. I have food when I'm hungry and a soft bed to lie upon when I need to rest. I have family and friends and loved ones to hold my hand and walk with me through the storms.

Maybe, just MAYBE I have all I need. I am. I have. I experience. I laugh. I cry. I feel.

I have learned that all I need is right here. It's in me. The times I despair and desire reflects on my own lost touch from within. It's not because I don't have. It's because I don't SEE what I have.

Mark has read The Book of Five Rings over and over and over again. His reading glasses adorn the book sitting on the bedside table easily within his grasp.  This quote by Miyamoto Musashi remains one of his favorite.

Something to think about, right?

Everything That Glitters Is NOT Gold

I sold my jeep yesterday. Crap. I loved that jeep. I know. I know. "You needed a new car." "You can't drive the jeep anymore." "You've been wanting a new ride for a while now." Blah. Blah. Blah.

I sold my jeep and then cried like a freaking baby. You know the kind of bawling that leaves snot rolling and mascara dripping. I couldn't be consoled and my racking sobs WOULD NOT END.

Today the cheery, hopeful and awe inspiring blog does NOT exist. You get the raw, angry, not-so-nice side of me that NOBODY likes or even pretends to tolerate. Tough. I'm angry. I'm pissed. I'm sad. I'm scared. I'm sick. And I'm so very tired.

I have stated over and over and over again. I don't like what is in my future. Can you hear my ragged, breathless scream? I DON'T LIKE WHAT IS IN MY FUTURE. It's scary. It's sad. It's not AT ALL what I had planned. It sucks in general. The suck part is absolute, positive, and UNEQUIVOCAL. It's beyond words, beyond description and beyond cheerfulness. It just sucks. That's all.

I didn't want to sell my jeep. I don't want to sell my house. I don't want to use a walker. I don't want to be bound to a wheelchair. I don't want to spit and slur and choke. In fact, I'm TERRIFIED of choking. I despise asking for help. I don't want to be lifted by my butt into the truck. I don't want to fall down EVER again. I don't want to need help in order to simply walk and lift and carry.

I want to sing and dance and run and twirl and hike and swim. I want to talk without exhaustion. I want to yell or laugh or cry without spittle dripping down my chin. I want to work in my yard unassisted. I want to clean my house quickly. I want to hop down my stairs and dash outside. I want to hold my grand babies hands and walk with them without seeing their worry that I'm going to fall. I want to design on the computer until I'm old and frail without my stupid hands stuttering over the keys and inevitably cramping up. I want to jump on the motorcycle without my legs cramping and aching until I can't stand riding even one more second. In fact, I want my own dang motorcycle. I want the feel the wind in my face and let the sun shine on my shoulders. I want to wear heels with my dresses and feel sexy again. I want to wear my make up like I used to.

I don't want to swear every time I stand up to get a drink or pee or clean. I don't want to shake so badly that contact lenses are out of the question. I don't want to give up my independence and freedom. I don't want to lose my license and NEVER drive again.

I DON'T WANT TO HEAR THAT I NEED TO BUCK UP. I know that others are a part of the ugly brunt of my weakness. People have to be aware ALWAYS to walk with me, dish my plate for me, carry my water to the table, lift me, carry me, watch me, help me, babysit me, etc. And etc. AND etc.

However, it's ME that can't. It's ME that chokes. It's ME that slurs. It's ME that can't write. It's ME that cramps. It's ME that falls. It's ME that aches. It's ME that has to "find the bright side" of EVERYTHING. It's ME that has to find the humor in order to make things easier for those around me because they just don't know how to deal with all this crap.

I see the "looks" and I hear the comments from those that have no idea what is going on. I deal with the accusations that I blow off and make light of. I'm judged. I'm angry that people are so shallow and self-righteous.

I feel like a freight train is bearing down on me and there is absolutely NO WAY to stop the impact. It's going to hit and there isn't a dang thing I can do about it.

Today I'll be angry. Who knows? Maybe I'll be angry tomorrow. However, I will try over and over to be better. For the most part, I know that I will laugh and smile and enjoy the simple things in life. I will face the obstacles placed before me with as much grace as I can muster.

As Dan Seals serenaded in his same-named song:

And that's okay.

There's Good in Goodbye

September 9th found me loading up in my car and driving to White Salmon, Washington to participate in a memorial for my dad.

This was the first time I would ever go to Washington and my dad wouldn't be there. I didn't want to go. I had a stomach ache for days. I had no energy. I cried a ton. I have been sad and depressed and I missed my dad. Terribly.

Mark got off work early and after rushing around to complete my task sheet, we loaded up the suitcases and road food and headed out. By the way, I do NOTHING fast anymore. I walk slow. I talk slow. I move slow. I AM SLOW. So quickly for me is not necessarily very fast. However, progress was made and eventually we got out of here and directed our car towards the adventure. We ended up staying in a motel on Friday night in Boise, Idaho and left Saturday morning to complete the journeys final leg.

We wound around the Columbia River and climbed passes to get over the mountains. The scenery was green and beautiful and peaceful. I watched fishing boats and tug boats. I smelled the majestic pines. I watched for deer and goats and elk and birds. And before I knew it, I arrived in White Salmon and was able to wrap my arms around mom and cry. Hard.

I gazed at dad's chair. Empty. I kept waiting to hear "hello kid". The room remained quiet.

Arlene had worked super hard to get the house clean and the property in tip-top shape for the barbecue. The kids had gathered pictures and Cheryl made a I-loved-it-so-much movie of dad's life.

I think that's when it all hit me. I watched the pictures flash across the screen and I had absolutely no fond memories to attach with the pictures. No smells to go with the campfires. No sounds of laughter and singing with the guitar playing.

I thought I would be even more sad. Guess what? I wasn't.

Many many MANY people came to the barbecue. Food was abundant. The sun warmed our shoulders. Laughter filled the air. I clung to the stories of dad and thought how lucky am I to have found this family?

I really really REALLY like my siblings. I adore my nieces and nephews. My cousins are amazing and my aunts and uncles are the coolest people in the history of EVER.

I spend much of my time at these gatherings trying to remember "who is that? or asking "am I related to him?" or pretending that I know who I am talking to but in actuality I have NO IDEA. So I fake it, nod my head, smile and hug.

And I watched and listened and embraced every single goodbye to my dad. He had to be watching over us and grinning from ear to ear. It was beautiful and magical and just what this girl needed. I AM lucky. I'm blessed to have TWO wonderful fathers and mothers that love me beyond words. Not many people get to add an abundance of family and friends to their life. I did. I'm better for it. I'm grateful for it and I'm beyond lucky for it.

Shotgun Rider

I've come full circle now. Out of kids. Out of birthdays to write about. Last year I wrote about Shelby on her birthday - for her birthday. However, since I decided THIS year to write a tribute to each of my kids on their special day, I HAVE to write about Shelby. Right?

Captured audience. I'm writing, which means by default, you're reading. So neener-neener-neener.

Today is Shelby's birthday. Dang girl turned 25. What? Why oh why is she growing up? Isn't she going to stay FIVE forever? In my addled brain she's five. So there. I'm always right. Just ask me.

When Shelby was young I tired very quickly of my kids yelling "shotgun" and running in the parking lot to get to the car. First, I worried that they would be hit by a coming car and I wouldn't be able to get all my errands completed that day AND I despised the fighting and yelling that ensued with the word "shotgun". I developed a rule. Oldest kid gets front seat. Don't ask. Don't fight. If friends were older, THEY got the front seat. My theory was that eventually everyone would get a turn up front where they could rule the window and the radio.

Guess what? There came a time that all the kids went to school and Shelby got to sit in the coveted front seat.

I've always been big on holding hands with with my kids in the car. The radio would be TURNED UP. High. We would sing at the top of our lungs and hold hands. That's what mom did. Oh, you don't like it? You don't WANT to hold hands? You're mad at me? Deal with it.

Email and internet had not taken off in the '90's. In order to proof my graphic clients, Shelby and I would load up, crank up the radio, hold hands, run to Kinkos to print the job and then head out to make the delivery. Quite often I would swing in to McDonald's to get her a Happy Neal for her to snarf down before being dropped off to afternoon Kindergarten class at Franklin Elementary.

Just this morning, Shelby came over and we reminisced on the gathering of sunflowers. Sunflowers grow in random places. I would see fields of weeds, and then a sunflower would poke up to add some beauty to the ugliness around. We would cut limitless amounts of sunflowers to brighten our kitchen. But really? The outings brightened US. We would talk about five year old business. Discussions ranged from good food, great books, dogs, cats and colors to family, friends, neighbors and loved ones. We would sing a song, then Shelby would analyze the song. "Do you think he really meant that he was leaving? Do you think he has a dog? Do you think he likes spaghetti? Do you think he's lonely?" Sigh. HUGE sigh. "I don't know, Shelby. Just sing the song."

Everyone loves Shelby. I mean EVERYONE LOVES Shelby. I have friends. Lots of friends. They are ALL friends with Shelby as well. Shelby will say "We need to go see Marilyn." Hmmmm. "Shelby, she's MY friend." "No mom. She's my friend."

Shelb has been a bridesmaid or maid of honor for multiple weddings. She is friend to everyone. She is loyal and true and talented and kind and - yep - she's beautiful. But the real draw to Shelby? She listens. She doesn't judge and she wants nothing more than the best. For everyone.

That makes me happy. And proud. Oh-so-proud.

So here's to you Shelby-Kar Deason. Enjoy every single minute of 25. Share your beauty and your talents with all you see. You are the world to so many. However, never, ever, EVER forget that there isn't a single person in this entire universe that can possible love you more than your mom.

Why Did The Chicken Cross The Road?

My I-love-him-oh-so-very-much-he-really-is-the-coolest-kid nephew Mat is getting married tomorrow. Nope. He's not old enough to get married. He seems to think he's gonna do it anyway. Sigh. I GUESS I'll let him. Reluctantly.

Dawn and I were BFF's in high school. Long story (Yep. It's a whopper of a story) short, we married brothers and quickly grew in the sister-in-law role. Family is full of adventure, isn't it? We embraced the adventures wildly.

We cooked. We shopped. We cleaned. We watched movies. We talked for hours on the phone. We did holidays and birthdays and average days. Yep. We did it all together, so when the time came to have families? It was only natural that we did that together as well. Tyson arrived in August. Carissa made her appearence in September. There was a bit of a break while we all prepared for Goose. From that point on, we were blessed each year with a new Deason to add to the list. Mat was fourth.

Dawn and Mike lived around the block from Mark and myself. The quick way to get to their place was to hop the fence in our backyard. Many MANY items (and bodies) were handed over that fence. If I needed to borrow sugar? I'd call Dawn and she would "meet me at the fence". When the kids were wound up and too hard to tame? "I'll meet you at the fence." And the kids would climb over so the other mother could get a nap or simple PEACE and QUIET for a minute.

Many, many, MANY times, Mat crossed that fence into Aunt Nette's waiting arms.

Mat has always been one of the kindest people I know. If you need something? Simply ask Mat and he will make it happen. Kind, handsome, smart, talented. The most stand-out characteristic he possesses? Funny. I mean smack-your-leg-with-laughter FUNNY.

When Mat was little he would sit in the back of the car and start telling jokes. His favorite go-to line? "Why did the chicken cross the road?" The answers varied from "because he likes blue" or "because he liked it better over there" or how about "because he saw a basketball". What? OHMYGOSH!  Mike would try over and over and over to explain "That's not a joke Mat. It has to be FUNNY." Mat would just howl with laughter and guess what? His laughter was contagious and we would all end up laughing. It WAS funny. Dang funny.

Mat has always found the silly side to most things. I like that best about him. He doesn't make light of horrible situations, however, there is something about his wisdom and the artful way he expresses himself that leaves even the saddest moments highlighted with a smile.

To say that Mat will ROCK this marriage is an understatement. He will, you know. When his wife has had a hard day? Mat will be there to gently lift her spirits and bring a smile to her face. How cool is that?

 "Why did the chicken cross the road?" "To get married and have babies and live happily-ever-after."

The Final Creation

I'm a designer. I know what it takes to create an all-around-feel-good piece of art. I peruse shapes and colors and fonts to find the perfectly perfect item that fits. As time has passed and my experience has grown, I have discovered fonts and colors and shapes that I use more often because they just "work".

Last year the Deason gang all gathered to camp in Oregon. Some of the cousins decided that it was silly that we never got together. Boy. Was that about to change. Plans were made. We were taking motorcycles to Glacier National Park the next summer.

Mark has been to Glacier several times. He takes off on his bike and visits his "favorite place on earth." He has gone with friends and family and I hear all about it.  I view the pictures while he tells stories. I knew it must be beautiful, however, Mark must be exaggerating a titch. Right? Oh boy. Was I oh-so-wrong.

The morning of July 30, Mark, myself and Uncle Ron left Utah to join the rest of the group in Idaho. Cousin Rick and Theresa, Cousin Paul and Jessica, new and FABULOUS friends, Randy and Jan McCollam hooked up with the three of us and so began our epic adventure.

Five bikes headed toward Grand Teton National Park, Yellowstone National Park and Glacier National Park. Rick had happily mapped our adventure. We traveled scenic routes. We ate super great food. We slept in oh-my-gosh-I'm-so excited-about-this-hotel rooms. We shared laughter and stories. We exclaimed over the beauty of the scenery and excitement over the animals. We smelled the wonderful smells and heard the incredible sounds of nature. Yep. It was a wonderful and fun and happy and stress free adventure.

As we moved forward towards Glacier, my excitement grew. Remember I had never seen what all the hoopla was about and I was ready to tie Mark's stories into my memories.

We hit Glacier National Park Tuesday morning.

This is where I lose the capability of finding the words to describe the beauty of that park. I now know why Mark emphatically proclaims that it is the single most beautiful place on earth.

Waterfalls, green trees, wildflowers, animals, lakes, mountains, grass and animals. This all sounds "nice". Right? Get up there. See it. Smell it. Feel it. Hear it. The description "nice" fades with the impact of the beauty in which you are immersed.

I was overwhelmed with emotion while riding through the park. The sun was hitting my shoulders. I was surrounded by beautiful family and friends. I was gazing at the kingdom before my eyes. That's when I knew. Glacier National Park was God's final creation.

I imagined Him at his desk. He had bare feet up and His fingers were steepled below His chin in concentration. He had to be ruminating over past work. He had already created heavens and water and continents and animals and rocks and plants. I believe He knew that his final creation had to speak on it's own. It had to be viewed in wonder with humble adoration and would need to inspire speechless silence.

And He began.

He took the best of the best from his previous designs. He placed waterfalls in precise locations that would accent not dominate. He made the grasses so green yet they complimented the blue of the mountains. The lakes were created so amazingly still and clear that they mirrored their surroundings in such a way that the park seemed as deep as it was tall. He scattered wildflower seed to add smatterings of color throughout.

And when he finished? He sat back, looked at his work and said "This is good."

L-R:  Paul Pergson, Jessica Pergson, Linnette Deason, Mark Deason, Rick Deason, Theresa Deason, Ron Jones, Jan McCollam, Randy McCollam.

T H I R T Y T W O

Today Tyson turns thirty two. T H I R T Y  T W O. What the heck? No way am I old enough to have an old man for a son. Sigh. I guess I am. Crap.

To understand Tyson slightly, you have to hear a bit of his early years.

Mark was in the Navy and we lived in Norfolk, Virginia in a time where email and cell phones didn't exist. Not long after Mark deployed, I found out I was pregnant with our first baby. I was so excited that I hollered and screamed my joy to the nurse through the drop-a-dime-and-wait-for-a-dial-tone phone. Poor thing hung up on me. I'm sure her ears were bleeding from the LOUD screams that rocked through the phone lines. When I had calmed down enough, I dug another dime out of my pocket, called back to find out what to do next. Remember, my family is all adopted and I had NO idea how this childbirth stuff even worked.

After hanging up with the nurse (who, yes, hated my guts), I wrote Mark a letter. "We're having a baby!" I wrote with swirls and hearts and tons of kisses.

My excitement continued through Mark's arrival home. I was HUGE. I don't mean a little big, I had doubled my weight and was still going strong. I was wearing Mark's Navy pants and keeping them tight around my tremendous belly with a rope. Yep. You read it right. A rope. Oh and by-the-way, I had taken a huge bite from a Big Hunk candy bar and the cap on my front tooth stuck in the remainder of the candy. Snaggle tooth and HUGE. Yep. That was me. Poor Mark. He came home to THAT sight and I'm sure wanted to run screaming back to the ship. Sigh. Not my most beautiful moment.

August 18 rolled around and we were hanging out with some friends at their house. We had all decided that we were going out to dinner that night. Italian. And I was super excited to have a date night with my hubby. Problem was, throughout the day, I kept getting a stomach ache. My due date was two months away. It didn't even cross my mind that I could possibly be in labor. Young and naive. Yep. That described me.

I borrowed the phone to call my mom. "I keep having these stomach aches that don't seem to go away." I called the hospital. By then, the pain was coming more frequently and my enormous belly would go hard as a rock.. "You can come in if you want, but, it doesn't sound like anything serious."

No way was I going to miss my date night and spaghetti dinner. The hospital was about twenty minutes away, involved a toll bridge and I HAD A DATE scheduled. The hospital said not to worry so I didn't.

I began showing tension from the pain and Mark said that we were going to check everything out. Crap. Looks like spaghetti would have to wait.

We arrived at the hospital and I was whisked into a back area where they hooked me up to I.V.'s and performed an ultrasound. I was having the baby. They tried to give me stuff in my I.V. to stop the labor. No go. I was having that baby. Today.

The nurse went out to the waiting room and told Mark to get me admitted. It was an OLD hospital built like a campus. Different buildings for different needs. Mark had to drive to the Admission Building. In all the discombobulation of bad directions and nerves and WHAT-THE-CRAP's, Mark left the Naval Hospital, drove down the street and attempted to admit me in the civilian hospital.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Deason, we have no record of your wife." "Well, she's here. I was told to admit her. We're having the baby. Check again." Nurse finally takes a good look at the haircut and realization dawns on her. Wrong hospital, buddy.

Mark finally got me admitted to the RIGHT hospital and made it back to me. "WHERE THE CRAP HAVE YOU BEEN? " as I moaned and groaned through my pain.

It was 1984. Not much in the lines of doctor bedside manners. PLUS we were at a Navy training hospital. I had different a doctor every time someone walked in the room. Felt like a circus and I was the main attraction. By then, I hurt so bad I could have cared less if it was in the middle of main street. I wanted that baby OUT.

2:30 in the morning of August 19, Tyson Jack Deason was born. All 5 lb. 6 oz. of him. There was a crew of emergency technicians to whisk him away and begin working on him. As they were running out the door, I yelled "Can I see my baby?" someone held him up for me and hollered back "It's a boy." and ran out with my son.

They told us there was only a 50% that our boy would make it. "Screw that. He's a Deason."

Tyson spent his first days in an incubator. He was in a room with babies half his size. He was so tiny, yet the other babies were dwarfed next to him. We were allowed to sit by the incubator, stick our hands through and hold his hand. That's it. No cuddling.  A few days passed. We were finally allowed to hold and ROCK our baby. The sweetness that emanated from that little bundle remains locked in my mind.

I stroked his beautiful head of hair. Swirled the hair on his back. Tickled his tiny toes and told him how important he would be in this world.

Tyson grew and flourished and came home to a VERY PROUD mother and daddy.

I dug out the handy-dandy click it camera. Mark was holding Tyson against his chest. I aimed the camera to snap a picture, and Tyson lifted his head off Mark's chest and turned away from the camera. That's when I knew. I had the strongest kid in the history of EVER.

We turned his head back. I drew back to snap the picture and again he turned his head. So began Tyson's stubbornness over picture taking. I swear he does it just to get a rise out of mom. I yell. I holler. I beg, plead and make promises TO THIS DAY to get that kid to pose for a picture.

Tyson strength remains a central part of his being. He has never let himself or others remain stagnant. He endures and learns and grows in epic proportion. Tyson is super smart. Always has been.  He is handsome and kind. He is the kindest person I know. Seriously. He will do anything you ask of him. There are times when he is alone in the "doing". That doesn't stop him. He continues forward and will not stop.

Tyson is the epitome of one of my all-time favorite quotes:

"I did then what I knew how to do. Now that I know better I do better." Maya Angelou

Thirty-two is just the beginning for this boy. He will continue to grow and learn and BE. I'm so proud of him. I'm proud to know him and ever so proud to be his mom. I jokingly say (when people ask if I am mom to Tanna, Shelby, Goose or Jaden) "Why do you ask?" and then I screw up my eyes in disgust and ask "Was he/she nice to you?" and we laugh and laugh. Sometimes they WEREN'T nice. HA!

However with Tyson? I NEVER ask that. I don't even joke about it. I know that my son represented himself and our family remarkably. In fact, I inevitably wonder what he gave to them, what he did for them or how he shared something that changed their lives for the good.

That's my boy. Honest. Kind. Handsome. Caring. Unselfish. Smart. Hopeful. Valiant.

He is the best person I know and I'm ever so proud of him.

Happy thirty two, son. I can't wait to see what you do with the rest of your life.

Aloha 'Oe

A few weeks ago I received a phone call from Arlene. "Your dad's cancer has spread and it doesn't look good." What? I had no idea there were more problems. Crap. Not good. Not good. Not good. Those words echoed through my head over and over until I thought I might go mad.

I booked a flight to see him and on July 12 I landed in Portland where Uncle Ed, Aunt Alice and cousin Brenda scooped me up and took me to see my dad in the Hood River hospital.

Dad had been put on life support. They had removed half his colon and for a bit, it was touch and go for him. Guess what? He pulled through like the trooper he is. They kept saying "I can't believe how good he is doing." And he did, you know? He pulled every ounce of strength necessary to get home. He walked and sat and joked while being poked and prodded and groped all in the name of getting better and getting home.

When I arrived at the hospital to see my dad, he was on a ventilator. They had removed the tape from his eyes. He was drugged and miserable and it BROKE MY HEART to see him in such disarray. I remember sitting by his bed and holding his hand. I was so very cold in that hospital. Don't they have a heater? They sure charge enough. You would think that they would pay the heating bill. Geesh.

As I held my dad's hand, his warmth coursed through me. And my thoughts played through the song by Pink "Please, please don't leave me."

Do I need to tell you how hard it was to leave when it was time to fly home? I tried so very hard to keep my grown-up-I'm-a-big-girl game face on as I hugged my dad for the last time. Of course, I told him I loved him. Did he really know? Did he know how he had changed my life? Did he know how grateful I was to be a part of his journey? Did he know? Did he know? DID HE KNOW? I left my dad sitting in his bed in the hospital with I.V.'s dripping and monitors flashing. I shut the door to his room and fell into the waiting arms of Uncle ED, Aunt Alice and Brenda. Then I sobbed. I mean I SOBBED. From my toes to the top of my head I cried. NO WAY did he know the depths of my love.

I got home and life resumed. Bills still came. Emails still dinged. Phones still rang. But not a single day went by that I didn't worry and fret and fear for my dad.

He went home with Arlene. He went back to the hospital.

This time the doctors sent him home with hospice. And, indeed, things didn't look good.

I wrote dad nearly every day. Since he and Arlene live in the BOONIES without cell phone coverage and only dial-up internet, (Yep. I'm not joking. Dial-up internet still exists and yes, it's still frustrating.) I decided that I would send a short letter and a blog post daily. I truly believed that if I had an agenda that the good Lord would put his plans on hold and let my dad read all that I had written.

I wrote dad every chance I got. When we left on the motorcycle? I made the group stop for post cards and mailings. I wanted dad to know he was in my thoughts. I NEEDED dad to know he mattered. Ugh. WHY OH WHY do we wait to share our true feelings?

Last night came.

Mark's job has him leaving at midnight on Sunday and Monday night, so he attempts to hit the hay Sunday afternoon to sneak in as much sleep as possible.

The house was quiet. The dogs were sleeping. Jaden was with his friends. Mark was snoozing. I was watching the Olympics and decided that I would get a head-start on writing dad. I sat down to the computer and it hit me. Hard. There isn't much time left and I need to say the words to him.

I wrote "This is the deal, dad. We are nearing the end and I'm freaking out a bit. I know all the right words I should be saying, yet I am a selfish, selfish, selfish girl and I want you here. With me...
I love you. More than words can express. I'm so lucky to have been able to get to know you and love you without bounds. And I do, you know, I love you endlessly."

When I first met my dad, I wrote a blog called "It's a good story. And it's mine." It IS a good story. Unsure whether he had ever read the posting, I put that in the envelope.

I took the dogs outside to do their business. While enjoying the night sky, the cool air on my shoulders the tears began streaming down my face and realization hit me. I uttered the words "I'm never going to see my dad again."

I came upstairs, sealed dad's envelope, kissed it, set it aside for tomorrows mailing, sat on the couch and my phone rang. It was my brother Ron. "Hey. Can I talk to Mark? I've called his phone a few time and he isn't answering." "Sure. But he's sleeping for work tonight. Is everything okay?" "I just want to ask him a question about my motorcycle." You're not a good liar Ronnie. I knew. I knew. I knew. Dad had died.

My all-time-favorite-cartoon-movie-in-the-history-of-EVER is Disney's Lilo and Stitch. I love Lilo. If you haven't seen the movie? Watch it!

The basis of the move is: (According to my search on Bing)

A tale of a young girl's encounter with the galaxy's most wanted extraterrestrial. Lilo is a lonely Hawaiian girl who adopts a small ugly 'dog', whom she names Stitch. Stitch would be the perfect pet if he weren't in reality a genetic experiment who has escaped from an alien planet and crash-landed on earth. Through her love, faith and unwavering belief in "ohana" (the Hawaiian concept of family), Lilo helps unlock Stitch's heart and gives him the one thing he was never designed to have – the ability to care for someone else.

Lilo's parents were killed and Nani (the sister) is left to care for her rambunctious and often difficult younger sister. This dysfunctional family is about to be ripped apart by a Social Worker. Nani sits with Lilo in a hammock and attempts to explain the precarious situation in which she finds themselves. Inevitably, Nani pulls Lilo into her arms and begins to sing:

Aloha 'oe, aloha 'oe
E ke onaona noho i ka lipo
One fond embrace,
A ho'i a'e au,
Until we meet again.

While waiting for Mark to break the news to me, that was the song that played in my head. Over and over and over I heard the words. So, I say loudly. Aloha my dear dad. Rest. Thank you for your warmth. Your hugs. Your love. Your strength. Your kindness. Thank you for giving me your eyes. The curl in your hair. The stubbornness that kept you going against all odds. Your emotional attachment to family and friends. And the silence of my words when my heart and mind are running away.

Most of all? Thanks dad, for letting me share these last years with you. I love you.

My shining star

My Tanna had a birthday on Thursday. This is the year I have decided to write a tribute to each of my children on the day they were born. I was away on Thursday (yep, another blog for another time) and between checking 297 emails, shifting design work to another day, getting Jaden registered for school, going through icky bills and getting the house back in order, I thought I would take a break and write about my girl.

My parents had come to California to see my baby be born. Nope. I had no idea if I was having a boy or a girl. I love the surprise and I love hearing the doctor say "It's a boy." or "It's a girl." Not much in my life has brought me as much joy. When the doctor said "It's a girl." I wept. I was beyond thrilled. She had taken her sweet old time getting here and OF COURSE it was by her own rules and on her own timeline.

I was VERY pregnant when Mark and I decided to invite my mom and dad to the birth of our baby. Normally, I feel like births should only be shared by the parents of the baby, but since my mother had never given birth (we are all adopted) I wanted her to experience this special moment.

My parents drove from Utah to California and we waited. And waited. And waited. And went to the hospital 30 miles away. False labor. Home we went. Went back to the hospital. False labor. Home again. What the crap? Went for a high speed boat ride. Bingo. August 4th came and along with the sunshine? Well, you know the rest of the story. A star was born.

Tanna has always been a beauty. As a baby, I would take her shopping and people would walk aisles over to gaze at her. Inevitably they let me know that I had the most beautiful baby they had ever seen. And they were right. Wow. Was this girl something.

As soon as she could form thoughts, Tanna decided right away who the boss of our household would be. Need I say that adults were not part of the chain of command? Well, they weren't. Tanna was boss. CEO. Commander in Chief.

Those who have met Tanna have witnessed that this girl holds NOTHING back. There are times that people don't want to hear what she has to say. Too bad for them. She says it anyway.

My favorite memory of Tanna developed before she could walk. Tanna was crawling. By crawling, I mean she had this oh-my-gosh-I'm-gonna-die army fling her arms in front of herself and pull with all her might scoot. The boys had gone outside to play. Tanna scooted/crawled/flung herself to the front screen door. The bottom screen was missing and next thing you heard was Tanna hollering at the boys in her garbled I-don't-understand-a-thing-you-are-saying voice, all the while wagging her finger at them and laying out the rules in no uncertain terms.

As Tanna grew, her beauty increased and kindness became part of her demeanor. Tanna will and HAS given to everyone she knows. Her strength in spirit has been shared and at times has been taken advantage of by fellow human beings. I FOREVER am saying to this girl "If you don't take care of you, who will?"

Some of my most epic adventures have happened with this girl. There was the time that a moth the size of a BIRD (I'm not kidding) flew at our car while we were at an intersection waiting for the light to turn. We both screamed and flung ourselves out of the car. Yeah, I know, we went right into the supposed lions den. Whatever. I was getting as far away from that moth/bird as I could possibly get. Except we had left Jaden to fend for himself while strapped in his carseat. Oops.

We laughed and laughed until we were all laughed out. Then we laughed some more. To this day, periodically, one of us will say "remember that moth?" and we ERUPT into uncontrollable laughter yet again.

Tanna loves music. I mean, this girl loves music. She listens to chords and lyrics and beats and rhythm with intensity. There isn't a new song released that I don't immediately think "I wonder if Tanna has heard this."

I'm going to end with song lyrics. Know I love this girl more that words can say. I love her beauty. Her calm. Her crazy. Her smile. I adore her laugh. Her kindness. Her drive. Her honesty.

If you have shared all or part of these things from my girl, you, my friend, have witnessed a shining star. You will carry her in your heart forever. How lucky are you?

Star
Bryan Adams
Written for the movie Jack.

What ya wanna be when you grow up?

What ya gonna do when your time is up?

What ya gonna say when things go wrong?

What ya gonna do when you're on your own?

There's a road...

Long and winding

The lights are blinding but it gets there.

Don't give up.

Don't look back.

There's a silver lining

Out there somewhere.

Everbody wants an answer.

Everybody needs a friend.

We all need a shining star on which we can depend.

So tonight we're gonna wish upon a star

We never wished upon before.

There'll be times

In your life

When you'll be dancing, but you ain't getting it.

Don't get disillusioned, no don't expect too much

'Cuz if what you have is all you can get

Just keep trying

It just ain't happened yet.

Everybody wants to be a winner.

Everybody has a dream.

We all need a shining star

When things ain't what they seem.

So tonight we're gonna wish upon a star

We've never wished upon before.

Everybody wants some kindness.

Everybody needs a break.

We all need a shining star when things get hard to take.

So tonight we're gonna wish upon a star

We've never wished upon before.

Lane Change

My nephew is getting married on Thursday. That's the day after tomorrow. Nope I'm not ready. Did I mention that Lane is only SIX? Okay. Not really. He's a little bit older. But that's not how I remember him. So six he remains in my scrawny brain.

Yep. Six. Swimming. Eating popsicles. Dirty face. Underwear wearing, snotty nosed, mouthy, arrogant little booger from unknown regions. He was an AWFUL child. We argued. We fought. I disciplined. He pouted. We laughed and cried and loved together. And despite ALL evidence to the contrary, Lane has flourished and grown into a most impressive adult.

When Lane was a little guy (I swear it was just yesterday) Uncle Mark would call him "Lane Change." Lane would howl and holler and protest VERY loudly "THAT'S NOT MY NAME." So of course, Mark would continue "Lane Change. Lane Change. Lane Change." (Yeah, I'm married to a two year old.)

Fast forward a few years and Lane Change is just what he did. I swear to you, I have NEVER seen anything like it. I watched this boy drop his friends, drop his bad habits and drop his self destructive behavior. He looked down the road and recognized that he was heading for disaster. That was NOT flying with this boy. Nope. No way. No how.

So Lane changed.

Lane is strong and kind and good and generous and loyal. Oh, and handsome.

I read through this writing and it sounds as if Lane was not strong and kind and good before he made the switch. You would be wrong. He was all that. And more. However, Lane just forgot to show all these qualities and soon enough they got lost in the mud and the mire of bad behavior. Lane simply began to tap into his strength and kindness and goodness and loyalty THAT WAS ALREADY THERE waiting for his acknowledgement.

Oh yeah, and guess what? He loves his Aunt Nette. Despite all the yelling and discipline and warnings and butt-smacking. Lane loves me and I'm better for it.

I'm so lucky to be a part of his life. The Deason's are lucky to have him. Tim and Shannon and Devin were blessed to raise him. Bayley is lucky to marry him. The world is a better place with Lane in it.

Don't tell me that change can't happen. Don't tell me that it is too hard to make the changes to better your life. Don't tell me that it's not fair to have to change. Don't say the words.

I've seen it.

I've witnessed it.

My all-time favorite quote is from Mahatma Ghandi.

"Be the change you wish to see in the world."

Lane did it. So can you.

Introducing Lane and Bayley Deason. Together they'll do wonderful things.

Beyond Cereal Bowls

So Jaden turned SIXTEEN today. What? How did that happen? I swear I didn't blink. I swear I didn't turn my head. I swear ON MY HONOR that I have treasured every single moment with him. I don't know how it came to be, but 16 he is and will stay that way for one whole year.

Quite a few blog writings back, I stated the wishes that I have for each of my kids. I wrote:

"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."

He's had a broken heart now. He has experienced disappointment and sadness. He's seen disloyalty, greed, fear, pain and all the things that come with growing up. Yet, he's funny, kind, generous, smart, and fierce in the face of a storm. And now I'm glad that he has seen the dark and turned it into light.

Jaden has always idolized his siblings. He has blossomed and grown while silently watching and learning from Tyson, Goose, Tanna and Shelby. Nope. Hasn't always been an easy road. I like to say that Jaden has six parents. The other "kids" are so much older than he, that I find myself quite often saying to them, "I'm the parent." Mark believes that Jaden is his easiest teen because if a screw-up happens, Tyson or Goose will take care of him. Oh geesh. Poor kid. The village that raised my youngest all share the same DNA and the last name of Deason.

My younger Jaden was obsessed with spiderman. He had all of the toys, t-shirts, costumes and gear necessary to look the part. If it had spiderman's picture on it? He wanted it. He climbed the wall of our staircase. He shot "webs" from his fingers. He dressed the part and talked the talk.

Maybe spiderman is a super hero that YOU know, but Jaden is a super hero that I know. Nope. No comic books written about him. There isn't a movie showing his lifesaving tactics. You won't find toys, action figures, coloring books, t-shirts, costumes or books blaring his face and screaming his name. He IS a super hero nonetheless.

According to quora.com the three most vital (and indispensable) traits a super hero must possess are: 

1. Extraordinary powers and abilities
2. Courage
3. A strong moral code

That's my boy. His strength and courage is remarkable. His moral code is enviable.  A super hero? Without a doubt.

Jaden saved me. I argued and argued AND ARGUED with my doctor. I was NOT pregnant with my fifth child. I wasn't. I wasn't. I WASN'T. I was. Crap.

I bawled and howled and hollered and stubbornly pouted and on June 15, 2000 my son was born.

Giving birth to Jaden about killed me, you know. After seven blood transfusions, many days and nights in the hospital, two emergency surgeries, one scheduled surgery, tons of worry and fear and swearing and work, my body mended and for the fifth and final time, I slipped into the role of being a mother to an infant.

Jaden taught me to notice the small things again. I remembered the significance of bugs and leaves and butterflies and puddles. I reveled in walks and talks and cartoons and warm blankets. I reaffirmed the value of rice crispy treats, ice cream, popsicles and cheetos. Once again, I could recall nursery rhymes and songs and childhood dances. We did it all and loved each moment immensely  Even better? We have loved each other without boundary. Yep. He saved me.

You won't find a cape in Jaden's closet. There isn't a cool uniform with a logo emblazened across the chest. No spandex or tight-fitting-muscle-showing outfit folded nicely in his dresser drawer. Nope. Looking through the jumbled mess you'll find jeans, plain t-shirts, Nike socks and Vans. A chess set, a television and cereal bowls adorn his room.

Keep looking. You'll find more love than you can handle. You'll find loyalty beyond measure. You'll find a true friend and a simple boy that will save your day. He saved me. He might just be the one to save you.

I Think I'll Go To Boston

I must like music. I (once in a while) read back through my blogs and there are quite a few times I write about a song that has struck me. Here we go again. Another blog about another song.

In 2005 the rock band Augustana released a song "Boston" on their album called "All The Stars and Boulevards". I don't know where I first heard it. It has played in the background on some television shows. But I think I heard it on the radio. However it came to be, I heard it, loved it and bought it. I put it on my iPod which is on "shuffle" and periodically the song comes on and I fill with whimsical thinking.

"In the light of the sun
Is there anyone?"

I just went with my gal pals/sisters-in-law to Cabo San Lucas. Oh what fun we had! No worries. No stress. No obligations. No timetables. No cooking. No cleaning. No laundry.

Lots of fun. Lots of sun. Lots of pool time. The ocean. The sun. The sun. The sun. Oh how I love being in the sun.

I came home and what the crap happened? Everything is falling to pieces and it feels oh-so-out-of-control. It seems the more I work on fixing "things" the farther the puzzle pieces seem to fall. And I feel so very alone. 

My kids were students at Franklin Elementary and one of our most favorite teachers IN THE HISTORY OF EVER was Miss Sutton. Oh how we love that lady! Shelby used to "babysit" her dogs when she left town. They were the best of friends and Miss Sutton will forever remain a soft spot in the heart of the Deason family.

One of the times Shelby was asked to keep track of the dogs and house, Miss Sutton was headed home to bury her father. She was oh-so-sad. I tell you, it's my biggest fear. Age is creeping up on my parents and their time is getting shorter on this earth. Therefore, when "parents" leave and kids are left behind I weep right with them. I cry for my beloved friends, and I cry for myself - out of fear of what is yet to come.

Miss Sutton and I were sitting on her couch talking about her dear father that she loved so much. She was telling stories of youth. Of her dad. Of her home. 

As the stories progressed, Miss Sutton began to cry. And cry. And cry. Through her tears she whispered, "I tell myself to BE STILL, but it is so hard."

Through the years I have thought about the words "Be still." At times I have emulated stillness. Other times I SHOULD have stilled my tongue.

These last few weeks those words have echoed in my mind. Over and over like a mantra. Be still. Be still. Be still.

And I wait. For patience. For forgiveness. For gratitude. For kindness. For hope. For power. For love and grace and peace.

"I think I'll go to Boston I think that I'm just tired I think I need a new town to leave this all behind.
 I think I need a sunrise. I'm tired of a sunset...

 Boston. Where noone knows you're name."

My Goose

Goose turned 29 today. I know you hear it all the time, however, I REALLY can't believe my baby is growing up. And doing it so well.

April 28, 1987. That day changed my life and I've never looked back.

Goose has a real name. It's Kadell Mark Deason. Yep. Kadell. While half-heartedly browsing through name-your-baby books, I ran across the name Cadell. I HATED IT. I couldn't believe that name made "the list" and I vocalized to anyone who would listen how much I hated that name. Problem is, I couldn't get it off my mind. I substituted a K for the C. I loved it. And that became his name.

Until...

Kadell was young when Mark flung him in the air while asking "How's my little goosebump?" And the name Goose came to be. On the first day of school, his desk was found because "Goose" was displayed loud and clear. He learned to write Goose long before Kadell was memorized. Friends, classmates, co-workers and family all know him as Goose.

I have been thinking about this blog for over a month now. I have combed through stories and thoughts and memories to share, yet, words elude me. Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe the stories are too long to write. Maybe, just maybe, as I think of words to describe my son, they seem SO small, so inadequate, so trivial in the world that Goose has created.

My boy works harder than anyone I know. He loves immensely. His laugh is contagious. He's honorable and gracious and kind and generous in spirit and action. He is sentimental, loyal and is consistently and fearlessly compelled to do what is right. Don't mistake his kindness for weakness. He might cry while doing it, but he will knock you upside the head if needed.

When Daulton and Goose got married, I wrote Daul a letter symbolically giving "one of my five treasures" over to her. It was all a lie. Goose is MINE. I don't want to share his spirit or his strength with anyone. Yet, I puff with pride as I hear stories of how great my kid is. And he is, you know? He is.

And I'm proud.

Goose rocked 28 and year 29 holds limitless boundaries for this guy. Up is the only direction he can see and that's right where he goes.

Yes, he is kind and wholesomely good. But most of all? He loves his mom. And there is nothing finer.

It's a BAD word, but I used it. ALOT.

Let's face the facts. I swear. All the time. I swear when I'm happy. I swear when I'm mad. I swear when I'm excited, glad, upset, sick, or feeling absolutely nothing at all. I make an honest effort not to subject my readers to my potty mouth on social media of any kind. I have friends and family that don't have filthy language and I try to keep my sailor-talk to myself.

Except now.

Late Thursday night (March 31) my I-love-him-EVER-so-much brother-in-law, Gerald, brought his pretty-amazingly-awesomely-fabulous wife, Randi, and my cooler-than-cool-super-beautiful-inside-and-out niece, Camryn, from California for a visit while killing two birds with one stone. They came to watch my super-talented-handsomely-gifted nephew, Cody, pitch for the Arizona Wildcats as they played the Utah Utes and the BYU Cougars and of course the other stone was to visit ME and (I suppose) the rest of the family.

I spent Thursday cleaning the house, washing bedding and getting the house presentable for the visit and I was ever-so-tired when I collapsed into bed. Therefore, when the Deason clan came rolling in, I didn't lift my sleepy head from my pillow to greet them and left the welcoming job to Mark.

7:00 am rolled around and I figured the California visitors were brutally tired from their journey and had decided to run to the grocery store and get some food in the house before they awoke. I was throwing on some jeans, Mark was heading out of the house and Jaden was showering for school when I heard Mark come back in the house. "Oh good," I thought, "I'm going to ask Mark to start my jeep to get it warming up for me."

Nope. Didn't go that way.

"You're jeep is gone."

"What?"

"Yep. It's gone. Call the police."

"What?"

I looked out he window. My jeep was gone. I looked again, thinking I had maybe missed seeing it. It was gone. I called the police. I looked out the window. I couldn't believe it was gone. It was.

The police came. Took my statement. "Was there anything of value in the jeep?" "Heck yeah. My Tim McGraw CD was in it."

I went down the stairs to ask Gerald if my jeep had been there when he pulled in late last night. It was. Later, as we were all talking about it, Mark, Gerald and I had heard an engine rev up. I remember hearing it. And then I passed it off to someone speeding down the street.

I spent Friday and Saturday in a HUGE funk. I was shocked. I felt violated. I was angry and sad all at once. I kept looking out the window awaiting it's appearance in my driveway.

Yes. I had left the keys in it.

I have lived in this house for many, many, MANY years. I NEVER locked my front door. Mark and I used to leave our keys in our vehicles. I've left my purse in my jeep. My i-pod, my phone, cash, checks and personal belongings have all resided at one time or another without EVER being disturbed. Our neighborhood has changed enough that we have been locking our front door for a while now.

About a week before the stealing-of-the-jeep incident, someone broke into my jeep and Mark's truck. They took a few things. They were of NO value to the thieves. But the the realization hit that (duh) I need to remove my keys and valuables every night.

Tyson broke his ankle while playing basketball. Surgery was required and I found myself Thursday morning waiting at the Surgery Center to hear that my son was alive and well and would be back on his feet in no time.

Surgery went well. Tyson survived and will walk again.  I headed home. I was super upset about something that had happened and wanted to get home to Marks rational thinking. I pulled into my driveway, jumped out of my jeep and wobbled into the house. I didn't think NOT ONE TIME about my keys dangling from the ignition.

Is this my fault? I have relived that moment over and over and over. If I had just grabbed my keys. If I wasn't so dang emotional. If... If... If...

Whatever. I didn't do this. I didn't ask some moron to violate my trust. I didn't invite some stranger onto my property. And I sure as crap didn't give permission for my jeep to be stolen.

Sunday morning around 10:30 my phone rang. Provo Police. "We found your jeep." OHMYGOSH! They had found my JEEP! It was in American Fork. Mark got the address and we madly drove to the location. We pulled up to the house and a sinking feeling hit my gut.

"That's not my jeep." They had it wrong. This jeep was silver and ugly and dirty. My jeep is teal and clean and cuter than cute.

Mark's answer? "Yes, it is."

Mark got out of the truck to talk to the cop-guy waiting for us. I wobbled up the driveway to look at the hunk of junk that they kept calling my jeep. Yep. They were right. It was my jeep. You could see my Deason chick sticker. Albeit it was covered in this awful silver paint, but the outline of the sticker could still be seen. And I started crying. I opened the passenger door. The filth was abundant. I have had my jeep for years now. It is NEVER dirty. Ever.

I cried harder. My stereo was gone. My speakers? Gone. The ignition was ripped out and the jeep was not drive-able at all. What the crap did they do? They had the dang key!

The spray paint, the filth, the violation, the sick feeling... all of it summed up to "dumb ass." I said it over and over and over again. Then I lost it. I opened the passenger door and flung all the crap out.

Mark had called Goose and Daulton on our way to American Fork and they had met us at the stealer-of-my-jeep house. Goose yelled for Daulton to "Get mom out of here." I was having no part of it. I threw and swore and threw and swore. I kicked and hollered and yelled and bawled.

And we towed the jeep to our house.

Tuesday I began removing the spray paint. 3 gallons of paint thinner and scrubbing and working and swearing brought my jeep closer to the jeep that was before it was stolen. I scrubbed the inside. Gerald had found a needle in the jeep. Apparently the dippety-do-dah had overdosed in my jeep, someone had called the police, he was revived and carted off to jail. The tags were off the jeep. It was OBVIOUSLY spray painted and the police ran the VIN. Stolen. Mine. NOT YOURS.

His name is Kevin Ontiveors. Nope. I don't know him. He's a lost soul who decided that it would be easier to grab my stuff instead of working and getting a jeep of his own.

To every bad, there is a good. Yin and yang. Right? Sometimes it's more difficult to sift through the horrible. But it's usually there. This time it came in the words of the American Fork police officer who found my jeep and witnessed my mental and emotional breakdown.

When all was said and done and the tow truck was on the way. Mark pulled me out of the truck for a photo op with my new BFF.

"I'm sorry this happened to you."

"It's okay. I forever say that 'worse things have happened to better people.'"

"Well, I don't think so."

I Need A Smoke Break

In August of 2015 Carrie Underwood released her album Storyteller. Smoke Break is one of songs. There was a period when the tune was played OFTEN on the radio, however, as the year progressed and new songs were released, I have heard it less often. Yep. I like her. I like the song. Good stuff.

The other day I was toodle-ing along, enjoying the warm sun and blasting my radio when this song came on. I boisterously sang along and thought "Man, I need a smoke break."

Things can be rough, can't they? 

Family. Kids. Relationships. Pets. Chores. Bills. Age. Health. Life. They all have ups and downs, don't they? At times, it feels like the stress and worry grabs control and dominates all waking thought.  

I had a pretty-amazingly-radically-awesome-oh-I-love-her-so-much neighbor that would periodically sit on her front porch and take a smoke break. I could see her chatting on the phone or sitting in silence. At times, I would wander over and sit and chat with her. Sometimes the smoke would waft through my open windows and I would fondly think of Brit. There were times that I vocalized "I wish I smoked." My reasoning? I envied that "take a break from life" opportunity a smoke break can provide.

I am a believer that it's the little moments that matter. The small talk at the dinner table. Snippets of conversation while driving to run errands. Comfortable silence while walking in a park. These moments speak volumes in a relationship. 

Maybe it's just as important to take those little moments and turn them inward. Maybe it's not so bad to forget the big things that smother us and take a moment to focus on the little things that inspire us. Maybe the crud that surrounds us will ALWAYS surround us but maybe we forget that joy is patiently waiting to be noticed. Maybe stress is the hare in the race we call life, but maybe, just MAYBE happiness is the tortoise. MAYBE peace and joy and happiness and comfort will prevail if we just be patient. Just maybe....

She said, I don't drink
But sometimes I need a stiff drink
Sipping from a high, full glass
Let the world fade away
She said, I don't smoke
But sometimes I need a long drag
Yeah, I know it might sound bad
But sometimes I need a smoke break

Angels Drive Mini Vans

A few months back, I found myself needing to go to the mall by my house. It was a quick run in and out event, so I gave no thought to swinging in there while I was "out and about". Epic fail. Oh, I can enter the mall without a problem. Leaving? Not so easy. I can climb steps and walk on an uphill grade unassisted like a "big girl". However, walking DOWN steps of any kind and/or if there is ANY sort of a downward slope a handrail is required.

I exited the front doors of the mall and was seized by anxiety. There was a step from the curb to the parking lot and it was HUGE. The only way to avoid the curb was to toddle down a sloped grade. There wasn't a handrail in sight.

I stood there. I looked at the curb and quickly determined that it simply wasn't going to happen. My gaze fell on the sloped cement. Nope. Couldn't do it. I began to panic. How was I going to get to my jeep? I debated walking in to ask someone at the customer service desk to render me aid. My face must have been plastered with pure panic because a guy walked up to me and asked if I needed something. I tearfully asked if I could hold his arm to step down the curb. He gallantly held it out for me and allowed me to clutch it in a death grip. I thanked him profusely and wobbled humbly to my jeep. I thought, "Well, that's it. I'll never again go to the mall unassisted." Then I bawled the entire way home.

My tiny little brain compartmentalized the event in the "Let's just forget it ever happened" drawer and a few weeks later I found myself needing to run in to the Provo Towne Center Mall REALLY QUICK. So that's exactly what I did. Sort of.

I made my dash in, hit the kiosk that I had to get to, turned around, walked out the doors and FROZE. What the crap was I thinking? I can't get to my jeep. I can't. I can't. I can't.

I had parked in a handicap space in the upper parking lot. I needed to go about 50 feet to the left in order to get to my jeep. I saw that I could follow the sidewalk to the front of my jeep and use the vehicle as a handhold to step off the curb. EXCEPT the sidewalk sloped downward toward the lot. That slope NO KIDDING looked like a gaping cavernous hole in the ground.

I began making my way along the sidewalk. As the ground sloped more and more, my legs shook and my strides decreased to minute proportions. The realization came that there was no way possible for my sidewalk strategy to work. BUT, if I could walk in the grass for three feet, I could circumvent the slope, get back on the sidewalk, head to my jeep and get the crap out of there.

No problem, right? I walk on my grass ALL THE TIME. I got this.

I stepped off to the grass and embraced my epic mistake. This grass was plush. Spongy. Mushy. Squishy. Deep. And I was stuck. I do mean STUCK. I couldn't get back up to the sidewalk and I could not make a SINGLE step in the grass.

I know you're probably thinking "Oh, quit being so dramatic." You would be wrong. I was going to be in the grass until hell froze over. There was no way around it.

A minivan was parked in the lot. Unbeknownst to me, a gal had exited the mall WITHOUT A PROBLEM and got in her van to drive away. She must have been eyeing my meltdown. Through my tears I heard, "Do you need some help?"

I grasped her arm and shook VIOLENTLY the entire way to my jeep. But I made it.

I watched with tears streaming down my face as she drove her van away.

Have I not said it a MILLION times? Take a minute and LOOK around you. Be the person that helps. Be the strong arm, the shoulder, the friend, the angel to those in need. You'll be better for it. I promise.

Yep. Angels drive mini vans. Who knew?