Music From the Heart

Last night Shelby, Tanna, Jaden and I were in the family room chatting. As per normal for twenty-something gals, Shelby had out her cell phone and was scrolling through random stuff when she gasped and said "This is probably the coolest thing I have ever heard." Then she read from thefreeproject.com:

Here is a tribe in Africa where the birth date of a child is counted not from when they were born, nor from when they are conceived but from the day that the child was a thought in its mother’s mind. And when a woman decides that she will have a child, she goes off and sits under a tree, by herself, and she listens until she can hear the song of the child that wants to come. And after she’s heard the song of this child, she comes back to the man who will be the child’s father, and teaches it to him. And then, when they make love to physically conceive the child, some of that time they sing the song of the child, as a way to invite it.

And then, when the mother is pregnant, the mother teaches that child’s song to the midwives and the old women of the village, so that when the child is born, the old women and the people around her sing the child’s song to welcome it. And then, as the child grows up, the other villagers are taught the child’s song. If the child falls, or hurts its knee, someone picks it up and sings its song to it. Or perhaps the child does something wonderful, or goes through the rites of puberty, then as a way of honoring this person, the people of the village sing his or her song.

In the African tribe there is one other occasion upon which the villagers sing to the child. If at any time during his or her life, the person commits a crime or aberrant social act, the individual is called to the center of the village and the people in the community form a circle around them. Then they sing their song to them.

The tribe recognizes that the correction for antisocial behavior is not punishment; it is love and the remembrance of identity. When you recognize your own song, you have no desire or need to do anything that would hurt another.

And it goes this way through their life. In marriage, the songs are sung, together. And finally, when this child is lying in bed, ready to die, all the villagers know his or her song, and they sing—for the last time—the song to that person.

Mark was blessed with the gift of music. Not just the ability to play the guitar and sing along (which he does VERY well) but he UNDERSTANDS how music works and can create songs that are appealing and all-around wonderful. I'll plunk away at the piano and inevitably Mark will make his way into the Pooh room and start speaking with words like "G Minor 7th" or "C Major".  I just look at him stupidly and keep plunking. I finally get exasperated with him and tell him (not so lovingly) "Not everyone understands music like you. Just let me be content to READ the music and play the notes that are in front of me." Which FREAKS him out and he starts in with "I don't understand how you just read music and don't think of other things you can do to ADD to it". Ugh. I usually abruptly end the session by exiting the room and secretly sticking my tongue out at him behind his back. So there.

Oh yeah. Back to the topic at hand.

I love how this tribe attributes music to the human. I've always felt that music from the heart is perfection. It doesn't matter who is singing, if it comes from the heart, it can transcend your soul.

I know that the crime and bad behavior that haunts our society has by-passed the simplicity of music to turn it around. But what if it was a possibility? What if a mother KNEW her child so well before it was placed gently into her arms? And what if the parents cared SO MUCH for that child that they taught EVERYONE they knew the music of that child's heart? What if we could hear our OWN song at times when we need comfort or love or discipline? What if those around us knew us SO WELL that they could bandage our knees while reminding us who we are?

I love the idea of that. When I'm sad or lonely, hopeless or angry, I'm going to remember my song. It's a simple song, I'm sure. Filled with easy chords and lyrics that are precise and to the point. I'm going to make Mark write it for me.

Come by. I'll teach it to you.

With Every Broken Bone

I've said it before. Each year for Christmas I make sweatshirts and a family movie reflecting the past year in pictures. The planning for this usually begins in June. I look for the PERFECT song to set the movie to. It needs to represent something I want to say to my family without me sitting them down and giving them the "mom talk". I sift through pictures that are funny or meaningful to represent our year. I plan and design a sweatshirt that suits our family. It's a process that I love.

I had a perfect song. I had a design in my mind. I was ready to go and thrilled with the memory I was going to create. Then Shelby sent me a text:

"I know the perfect song for the Christmas video. It's called I lived by one republic. Look it up and read the lyrics. You'll DIE."

I don't let my kids know what I'm doing. I DON'T share the song I'm using. They don't see the design of the shirts. Heck. I don't even let them tell me what color of sweatshirt that I'm going to use. So when I answered "Hmmmmm okay. I have one already picked out but..." I really had no intention of changing the song, let alone letting Shelby in on my gift. 

I listened to the song. 

I changed my choice of music to "I Lived" by One Republic.

2013 visited the Deason clan with a vengeance. Difficult. Scary. Heartbreaking. Overwhelming. Hopeless. These emotions have pummeled us at every turn. There were times that I wondered if we would ever get through the turmoil visited upon our shoulders. 

We did it.

I'm grateful for so many things. I find myself grateful for the difficult times that I slug my way through. Maybe that sounds weird, I don't know. I do believe when I "own" something, I take the power from the problem and the power becomes engrained in my soul. I find honor in overcoming pain and heartache. That door isn't presented to everyone and in turn, not all choose to step through the opening. Those of us that choose not to turn and run?  The blessings are endless.

I put the birthday of each member of our family at the bottom of the design. Within those date, the blue number (if put together) is the date of the beginning of our family - 06/15/1983. Let me say it loudly - THE DEASON's HAVE LIVED.

Sweatshirt Back:

Sleeve:

Ernest Holmen said "Today I live in the quiet, joyous expectation of good."

It will be good. I know it.

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.