Please, Don't Take The Girl

For Christmas this year, Shelby and her friend gathered all my blog posts and put them in a book. It's so pretty! The book cover is cream linen, hardback and a simple wrap with "Just Words" jackets the outside. There is a pretty awesome dedicatory page and best of all? The book has all of my blogs and pics from 2011 - 2016. Yep. It's a beautiful treasure and I love it OH-SO-MUCH!

Christmas morning came around. Presents were opened and we were killing time until the movie at 12:45. The family was still gathered upstairs and the book was passed around as each person took a turn reading their favorite blog. I fought back tears as my loved ones read the words from my heart that had touched their own heart. Have I ever told you that I'm a lucky girl? I am, you know.

I have mentioned that I periodically read through my blogs. I find that I remember exactly how I felt while sitting down to type each one.

On January 30, 2012, I wrote a blog titled "Can I Borrow A Nail?" I talk about sharing information and knowledge and skills and lessons and successes and failures and hopes and dreams. Was I arrogantly writing? I don't think so. I usually share everything. I talk and pick at conversations to glean any information to help me and - truth be told - I'm not known to hold back on advice. It's not usually taken, but at least I feel better for sharing. After all, it's all about me, right?

EXCEPT I don't talk about the very thing that weighs on my heart right now. So I'm sharing. I have felt the need to "verbally vomit"  for a while now, so you get to hear my words. It's MY truth - as I know it. May not be truth as you know it, but I have said that I write what I know. Write, I will.

My daughter is a drug addict. Full blown, heroin shooting, pill popping, skin picking, bleary eyed drug addict. It's killing her and it's killing me. No lie.

I am so very thankful when she is picked up and put into jail. That's such a contradiction of how I should feel. I should be embarrassed, humiliated and frightened when she is put away for a bit. Instead, I am grateful beyond words. She'll remain alive and will be clean for a bit and I hope and pray and hope against all hope that this will be the time that she changes her ways.

I get such a stomach ache when the judge releases her. So far, I have been right. She doesn't stay clean. She ends up back with the same selfish human-beings that suck her dry and leave her dangling in the wind. She uses. We give her the boot, she goes back to people who do not want good for her, she lands in jail, she makes empty promises to the judge who then releases her and the cycle starts over again. And again. And yet again.

I've called the police more than once. We had her arrested. I watched her attempt suicide. I've written letters to judges. I've called government offices. I've talked and begged and pleaded and yelled and cried and hoped and fretted. I've answered the door to the police and knew without a doubt that they were there to tell me they had found her. Dead. I've investigated and studied and researched and always end up chasing my tail wondering "What the crap do I do to fix this?"

I think in the end, the "why's" don't matter. We can go on and on and on with the reasons that drove her to using the first time. However, I find the focus needing to be on quitting; on stopping the madness and the hurt and the bad decisions. How do I find the words that will light the fire of change in her very being?

Her siblings struggle with her decisions. Some don't talk about it at all. Some yell. Some cry. Some worry. Some stress. None of us forget. It's always there....waiting...to hurt and claw and gouge our hearts.

I was listening to my music the other day and "Fight Song" by Rachel Platten began playing. I sang along and when I got to the part where she sings:

"...My power's turned on
Starting right now I'll be strong
I'll play my fight song
And I don't really care if nobody else believes
'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me."

That's what it all comes down to, doesn't it? We get better, we grow, we become and we learn for ourselves. Others may want better for us, however, the real work, the final struggle and the complete glory lies within.

So, I will pray daily that I will see Tanna win this battle. I will hold my breath in hopes that she will see herself through my eyes, the eyes of her dad and siblings and friends and family. That she will see the beauty within that is hidden below the hurt and pain and damage that came with the path she chose to wander. That there will come a day that drug use is what "used to be". That the family forgets how it feels to long for better times. That we soon hear her contagious laughter. That her warm spirit will envelope us again. That the kids can all fight and holler and yell and love without the dominating hurt.

These things I hope for. I pray for. I long for.

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."