Crash

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mirror Images

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

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

What about my heart?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I knew it.

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

It has started.

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

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

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

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

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

Time passed.

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

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

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

Movie Madness

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

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

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

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

I had no idea how spot-on she was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Waiting for Monday

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

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

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

So I read the article.

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

Marie writes:

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

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

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

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

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

What if Monday doesn't come?

All is right in the world

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sweaters For Chickens

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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