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?
Monday, February 22, 2016
Monday, February 8, 2016
Waiting On The World To Change
The other day Shelby called me on the way home from work. Her day had gone a bit South of epic and she began processing. I've learned that Shelby typically finds her own way to an answer, so I sit, shut up and listen to her ramble back and forth until she lets go of her anger and lands. It's usually right where she needs to be looking.
"I just wonder what I'm doing to add to the problem."
There you go. That's my girl.
As my kids grew, arguments increased. You know the silly stuff. "She's wearing my shirt." "He doesn't clean anything." "Why do I always have to help?" "Why?" "How Come?" "What for?" "But HE... "But SHE..." "Why do you ALWAYS pick her side?" "You need to tell HIM..." My frustration level grew as they became more vocal and argumentative. I found I was constantly running interference and my questions were directed to the OTHER party in the argument. "Why did you do that to her?" "Why did you hit him?" The squeaky wheel gets the grease. Right?
One day I changed my focus. I've never looked back. I only address the complaining party. "What can you do to help fix it?" "Be a part of the solution. Don't create another problem." "Haven't you learned that the only person you can control is yourself?"
I've said it before. It's my belief that in an argument both parties are correct. Disagreements typically stem from emotion and how can your feelings be wrong? If yours aren't wrong, why is it that what the other party is feeling is in the wrong? Doesn't go that way. Sorry.
What you are doing isn't working? Do something different. Investigate. Study. Ask. And, yes, sometimes BE QUIET. What you have to say isn't nearly as important as the person you are saying it to. Silence can be golden. Be golden.
Knowledge is power. When knowledge turns inward, the power is held in our own hands. Trust me. I need all the power I can get. I would guess that you do too. Arrogance isn't power. Judgment isn't power. Arguments aren't power. Fear isn't power. Change. Belief. Hope. Humility. Sacrifice. Love. That's what our souls desire. You want power? Search your soul and be your own change. You'll find that your change will inspire the change you wish to see in those that surround you.
Mahatma Gandhi said:
Be it.
"I just wonder what I'm doing to add to the problem."
There you go. That's my girl.
As my kids grew, arguments increased. You know the silly stuff. "She's wearing my shirt." "He doesn't clean anything." "Why do I always have to help?" "Why?" "How Come?" "What for?" "But HE... "But SHE..." "Why do you ALWAYS pick her side?" "You need to tell HIM..." My frustration level grew as they became more vocal and argumentative. I found I was constantly running interference and my questions were directed to the OTHER party in the argument. "Why did you do that to her?" "Why did you hit him?" The squeaky wheel gets the grease. Right?
One day I changed my focus. I've never looked back. I only address the complaining party. "What can you do to help fix it?" "Be a part of the solution. Don't create another problem." "Haven't you learned that the only person you can control is yourself?"
I've said it before. It's my belief that in an argument both parties are correct. Disagreements typically stem from emotion and how can your feelings be wrong? If yours aren't wrong, why is it that what the other party is feeling is in the wrong? Doesn't go that way. Sorry.
What you are doing isn't working? Do something different. Investigate. Study. Ask. And, yes, sometimes BE QUIET. What you have to say isn't nearly as important as the person you are saying it to. Silence can be golden. Be golden.
Knowledge is power. When knowledge turns inward, the power is held in our own hands. Trust me. I need all the power I can get. I would guess that you do too. Arrogance isn't power. Judgment isn't power. Arguments aren't power. Fear isn't power. Change. Belief. Hope. Humility. Sacrifice. Love. That's what our souls desire. You want power? Search your soul and be your own change. You'll find that your change will inspire the change you wish to see in those that surround you.
Mahatma Gandhi said:
"You must be the change you wish to see in the world."
Be it.
Monday, January 18, 2016
That Familiar Pain
Friday falls into the awful-horrible-no good-terribly-painful category-list of how my days go. I had to put my dog down and it is KILLING me. I'm not kidding. I thought I could do this. I thought I could handle it. I know it was for the best. But I'm not kidding you when I say that I think of him EVERY single minute of the day right now. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't quit crying. I can't. I can't. I can't. And I don't see it happening any time soon.
Ernie came into my life seven years ago. A couple years before that, I had to put our Rottweiler friend, Bertha, down. I loved that dog. Immensely. I swore that I would never own another dog. Ever. No way. Wasn't going to happen. Nope. Nuh-uh.
Two years later, Mark and I were driving home and someone had puppies romping in a pen with a For Sale sign hanging on the post. We stopped. They were super cute and I surprisingly felt a tug on my heart. I told Mark that I thought I might be ready for a new dog. We asked the breeder if she had any Rotts or knew of anyone who bred them. She took our info, emailed us some pics and a few months later our Ernie flew in from Oklahoma.
Of course it was love at first sight.
Ernie kinda sorta resembled an animation. I swear to you, he was always smiling. Cracked me up. His eyes would smile, he would grin, roll his tongue out, wag his stump of a tail and promptly back up and sit on your feet. The dog was obsessed with his butt. Demands for butt rubbing were given to visitors. Feet were made for sitting on and there was no way to convince him differently. If you sat on the ground, he would sit on you. All the better for him if he was the one to knock you down. There was a time last summer that he rammed me so hard that my knee hyperextended. I was instantly on the ground, bawling like a little school girl. Ernie was so excited to have me in his territory that he promptly grinned from ear to ear, backed up and sat his big old 100 pound butt right on my chest. Great. I couldn't breathe, my knee was destroyed, I was bawling and laughing and howling and poor Mark didn't know what the crap to do for me.
This Fall, Ernie developed a limp. I wasn't horribly worried. Nebo (my Rhodesian Ridgeback grand puppy) had come to visit. He and Ernie loved to romp in the back yard. Because Nebo is a little more light on his feet, I figured Ernie had simply overdone it. Time passed and his limp didn't improve. We looked at his paw. We felt his leg. We stretched and pulled and examined and prodded and poked and found nothing. We figured he had done "something" and the continued stress of his weight was somehow preventing the healing.
A few weeks ago, we decided to take Ernie to get x-rays and find out what the crap was going on. Mark took him to our vet. They x-rayed and questioned and discussed and diagnosed. Bone cancer. Man, I'm starting to hate that vet.
Dr. Park wasn't too hip on the options available. This was a fast growing cancer and throwing money at the problem wouldn't make it go away and most likely wouldn't extend his life. He would just be sick and miserable and there was NO WAY that I wanted that for my pup. We took him home.
I watched my dog decline. I monitored his every sound and his every movement. I gauged his eating, his sleeping, his chewing of the bones, his pain pill intake, his "going outside" routine; if he did it, I watched it. Friday morning rolled around and I knew. I bawled and bawled and bawled and called STUPID Park Animal Hospital.
At 4:30 in the afternoon, Mark and I said good-bye to my furry friend. The room echoed with my sobs as I gripped Marks leg so he could hold my dog. And I felt that familiar pain.
If you are a pet lover, you know exactly what I mean. Ernie was a listening ear, a companion, a friend, a no-nonsense-I-love-you-unconditionally comrade. I miss my dog.
Ernie came into my life seven years ago. A couple years before that, I had to put our Rottweiler friend, Bertha, down. I loved that dog. Immensely. I swore that I would never own another dog. Ever. No way. Wasn't going to happen. Nope. Nuh-uh.
Two years later, Mark and I were driving home and someone had puppies romping in a pen with a For Sale sign hanging on the post. We stopped. They were super cute and I surprisingly felt a tug on my heart. I told Mark that I thought I might be ready for a new dog. We asked the breeder if she had any Rotts or knew of anyone who bred them. She took our info, emailed us some pics and a few months later our Ernie flew in from Oklahoma.
Of course it was love at first sight.
Ernie kinda sorta resembled an animation. I swear to you, he was always smiling. Cracked me up. His eyes would smile, he would grin, roll his tongue out, wag his stump of a tail and promptly back up and sit on your feet. The dog was obsessed with his butt. Demands for butt rubbing were given to visitors. Feet were made for sitting on and there was no way to convince him differently. If you sat on the ground, he would sit on you. All the better for him if he was the one to knock you down. There was a time last summer that he rammed me so hard that my knee hyperextended. I was instantly on the ground, bawling like a little school girl. Ernie was so excited to have me in his territory that he promptly grinned from ear to ear, backed up and sat his big old 100 pound butt right on my chest. Great. I couldn't breathe, my knee was destroyed, I was bawling and laughing and howling and poor Mark didn't know what the crap to do for me.
This Fall, Ernie developed a limp. I wasn't horribly worried. Nebo (my Rhodesian Ridgeback grand puppy) had come to visit. He and Ernie loved to romp in the back yard. Because Nebo is a little more light on his feet, I figured Ernie had simply overdone it. Time passed and his limp didn't improve. We looked at his paw. We felt his leg. We stretched and pulled and examined and prodded and poked and found nothing. We figured he had done "something" and the continued stress of his weight was somehow preventing the healing.
A few weeks ago, we decided to take Ernie to get x-rays and find out what the crap was going on. Mark took him to our vet. They x-rayed and questioned and discussed and diagnosed. Bone cancer. Man, I'm starting to hate that vet.
Dr. Park wasn't too hip on the options available. This was a fast growing cancer and throwing money at the problem wouldn't make it go away and most likely wouldn't extend his life. He would just be sick and miserable and there was NO WAY that I wanted that for my pup. We took him home.
I watched my dog decline. I monitored his every sound and his every movement. I gauged his eating, his sleeping, his chewing of the bones, his pain pill intake, his "going outside" routine; if he did it, I watched it. Friday morning rolled around and I knew. I bawled and bawled and bawled and called STUPID Park Animal Hospital.
At 4:30 in the afternoon, Mark and I said good-bye to my furry friend. The room echoed with my sobs as I gripped Marks leg so he could hold my dog. And I felt that familiar pain.
If you are a pet lover, you know exactly what I mean. Ernie was a listening ear, a companion, a friend, a no-nonsense-I-love-you-unconditionally comrade. I miss my dog.
Wednesday, January 6, 2016
Holding On To Heaven
Okay. You get it. Every year I create a video for my family at Christmas. I create sweatshirts to match.
I think and ponder and design and gather and work and edit until it is all just the way I want it. It's quite a process for me, because it is MY GIFT to my family and it has to express EVERYTHING I want them to know. AND I only have a few moments to wrap a year of thoughts into a picture.
I comb through photographs to ensure that I represent every member of the Deason clan. I pour over songs and lyrics until I find the "one". I look at sweatshirts and colors and envision design. There is meaning in every part of the creation. EVERY SINGLE PART. No lie.
I usually begin my Chirstmas-gift-hunt around June. I pay close attention to songs on the radio. I look at color and styles of clothing. I lock away memories and thoughts and actions of my family and try oh-so-hard not to forget "epic" moments in order to represent them correctly.
So when Daulton sent me a song and said "this makes me think of you." I knew I had found my song. I told her as much (which is like pulling my teeth. I DON'T share my song choice, video, or design with my family. EVER.)
I came up with the design and colors for the shirts. It was GOOD.
However, I kept going back and analyzing my choice. Things weren't settling like usual. The song was for ME and represented me and MY life. I know I always say that it's all about me, however, the video and sweatshirts are for US. All of us.
Shelby calls me every day on her way to work. One day she called and we were talking about our family and the difficulty behind 2015. "I think we need to get back to basics. I think we each need to remember the good that we have and focus on that."
Shelby was right.
I am a HUGE Tim McGraw fan. I go every single year to his concert. He could sing every single song he has EVER recorded and it wouldn't be enough. I love him. I love him. I LOVE HIM. I do.
Because I love him OHSOMUCH, when his new album came out, I couldn't drive my 1993 Jeep fast enough to Target. I seriously stood in front of the cd's for a VERY long time gazing at my soon-to-be-newest-treasure. That cd is still in my player and is listened to every day since the release.
Did I mention that I love him? Sigh....
Maybe it's because I listen to this album so much, or because I LOVE HIM. Whatever the reason, I couldn't get the song "Top Of The World" off of my mind. And guess what? It fit
I did something I have NEVER done before. I switched everything up.
If I could line my family up, I would tell them...EACH of them...not to forget to find happiness in the life we have been given. I used to always say that if it became necessary, I would find happiness and beauty living in a cardboard box. We may not have much in the thing-owning world that we live in, but we top the charts in the gifted-family-that-has-everything world. They need to remember that. I need to remember that.
So, I guess the song was for me after all. See? I TOLD YOU. It IS all about me. Right?
The song begins with:
We could have a little double wide planted in an empty field
We could have a big old white picket wrap around on a hill
Don't make a difference to me baby,
Where the wind takes me, long as I'm with you girl
We could have something or nothing still be sitting on top of the world
Cause when you got love, like we got love
I'm holding on to heaven, holding on to you
When you got one, like I got one
Anyway you looking it's a hell of a view
Don't know where we're gonna be
But I know we're gonna be
Sitting on top of the world
So keep hanging on to me
Yeah, don't you wanna be
Sitting on top of the world
According the personaltao.com the "starting" definition to yin yang is:
Here is my madness:
I created the world on our sweatshirts using the yin and yang symbol. The "offset" letters are to represent the singular personalities necessary to make the entire Deason family complete. Not one letter is a duplicate of another letter just as our family members are not a mirrored. Yet the typeface comes from ONE font just as the individual in our family stems from the whole Deason unit.
There you go. We ARE on top of the world. We are unique and lucky and TOGETHER in this life. Don't forget it.
Shirt FRONT:
I think and ponder and design and gather and work and edit until it is all just the way I want it. It's quite a process for me, because it is MY GIFT to my family and it has to express EVERYTHING I want them to know. AND I only have a few moments to wrap a year of thoughts into a picture.
I comb through photographs to ensure that I represent every member of the Deason clan. I pour over songs and lyrics until I find the "one". I look at sweatshirts and colors and envision design. There is meaning in every part of the creation. EVERY SINGLE PART. No lie.
I usually begin my Chirstmas-gift-hunt around June. I pay close attention to songs on the radio. I look at color and styles of clothing. I lock away memories and thoughts and actions of my family and try oh-so-hard not to forget "epic" moments in order to represent them correctly.
So when Daulton sent me a song and said "this makes me think of you." I knew I had found my song. I told her as much (which is like pulling my teeth. I DON'T share my song choice, video, or design with my family. EVER.)
I came up with the design and colors for the shirts. It was GOOD.
However, I kept going back and analyzing my choice. Things weren't settling like usual. The song was for ME and represented me and MY life. I know I always say that it's all about me, however, the video and sweatshirts are for US. All of us.
Shelby calls me every day on her way to work. One day she called and we were talking about our family and the difficulty behind 2015. "I think we need to get back to basics. I think we each need to remember the good that we have and focus on that."
Shelby was right.
I am a HUGE Tim McGraw fan. I go every single year to his concert. He could sing every single song he has EVER recorded and it wouldn't be enough. I love him. I love him. I LOVE HIM. I do.
Because I love him OHSOMUCH, when his new album came out, I couldn't drive my 1993 Jeep fast enough to Target. I seriously stood in front of the cd's for a VERY long time gazing at my soon-to-be-newest-treasure. That cd is still in my player and is listened to every day since the release.
Did I mention that I love him? Sigh....
Maybe it's because I listen to this album so much, or because I LOVE HIM. Whatever the reason, I couldn't get the song "Top Of The World" off of my mind. And guess what? It fit
I did something I have NEVER done before. I switched everything up.
If I could line my family up, I would tell them...EACH of them...not to forget to find happiness in the life we have been given. I used to always say that if it became necessary, I would find happiness and beauty living in a cardboard box. We may not have much in the thing-owning world that we live in, but we top the charts in the gifted-family-that-has-everything world. They need to remember that. I need to remember that.
So, I guess the song was for me after all. See? I TOLD YOU. It IS all about me. Right?
The song begins with:
We could have a little double wide planted in an empty field
We could have a big old white picket wrap around on a hill
Don't make a difference to me baby,
Where the wind takes me, long as I'm with you girl
We could have something or nothing still be sitting on top of the world
Cause when you got love, like we got love
I'm holding on to heaven, holding on to you
When you got one, like I got one
Anyway you looking it's a hell of a view
Don't know where we're gonna be
But I know we're gonna be
Sitting on top of the world
So keep hanging on to me
Yeah, don't you wanna be
Sitting on top of the world
According the personaltao.com the "starting" definition to yin yang is:
Two halves that together complete wholeness. Yin and yang are also a starting point for change. When something is whole by definition it is unchanging and complete. So when you split something into two halves - yin/yang, it upsets the equilibrium of wholeness. This starts both halves chasing after each other as they seek a new balance with each other.
Here is my madness:
I created the world on our sweatshirts using the yin and yang symbol. The "offset" letters are to represent the singular personalities necessary to make the entire Deason family complete. Not one letter is a duplicate of another letter just as our family members are not a mirrored. Yet the typeface comes from ONE font just as the individual in our family stems from the whole Deason unit.
There you go. We ARE on top of the world. We are unique and lucky and TOGETHER in this life. Don't forget it.
Shirt FRONT:
Duh. Because it IS pretty dang amazing..
Shirt BACK:
Enjoy my movie:
Friday, December 18, 2015
Maybe Christmas Is...
Christmas used to be easy. The kids were small and the magic within their little hearts held the true Christmas spirit. Christmas Eve was filled with laughter and chatter and cookies and stories and songs and love. I would tuck them in, kiss each on the head and wish a good nights sleep so Santa could come visit.
The message was huge. For standing in the cold, just doing what they were "told" to do, muttering some Christmas tune, was the Christmas spirit.
Merry Christmas to all.
I would then sit on the floor, watch "It's A Wonderful Life, sip hot cocoa and wrap the remaining gifts to place under the tree. My FAVORITE part was the arranging of the gifts for the perfect "Wow" moment. I would toss and turn all night with anticipation and excitement. I could hardly wait for 7:00 a.m. to roll around so we could start tearing into gifts. The kids knew that Christmas-present-unwrapping began at 7:00. Oh yes, they got up much earlier than 7:00. I would wait for their exclamation of glee. "Santa came!" and the shaking of the presents to start. I would hunker down under the covers and grin. I loved their excitement.
My kids are much much older now and starting families and traditions all their own. Gift giving is more difficult now that they are self sufficient and can buy whatever they want and need.
In the past, Mark's mantra has been "Christmas is such a financial burden." I would get so mad! "Don't say that! I love Christmas!" Tables turned and I found myself the other day saying out loud to Mark, "I hate Christmas."
I expected this whole conversation about the evils of Christmas. The financial burden. The commercialization. The lack of spirit. Blah. Blah. Blah. Oh, I had all the complaints lined up and ready to spew from my lips.
Then Mark said, "That breaks my heart that you said that." I was astounded. Let me tell you, there aren't many moments in my life that I am without words, but that statement left me speechless. I didn't say a word and acted like I hadn't said such a blatantly ugly statement.
I instantly began evaluating myself. Why do I hate it this year? Is it really THAT BAD?
I watched the Charlie Brown Christmas Special. Frosty the Snowman. Rudolph. Santa Claus Is Coming To Town. I watched every show that I loved as a kid trying to wrap my brain around what it is that I'm missing this year.
Then the other night the doorbell rang. I had taken a hot bath to warm my bones and decided "Why not" and threw on my jammies. I was IRRITATED that Mark was in the shop and I had to be the one to answer the door. I flung it open, all the while, wondering who the crap was at my house that late (it was only 6:00 p.m.) and why they rang the doorbell. Nobody ever rings my doorbell. They just walk in. Don't they know that?
In front of me stood a smattering of youth from my neighborhood. I was handed a blanket and a mug with hot cocoa in it and they began singing "Jingle Bell Rock". They won't be awarded ANY trophies for their musical ability. However, it was the mostest bestest song that I have heard all year.
The message was huge. For standing in the cold, just doing what they were "told" to do, muttering some Christmas tune, was the Christmas spirit.
I squealed in delight and clapped ferociously. I shut the door and didn't share it with anyone. Mark will "hear" about it in this blog with the rest of you.
I will remember the joy of THAT MOMENT. I will lock away the cold air, the coats they wore, my jammies, the twinkling lights across the street, the color of the mug and the blankie folded in my hands. It was MY moment and for some strange reason I felt that sharing it out loud would somehow diminish the impact.
I watched "How The Grinch Stole Christmas" (the cartoon). I know you've seen the movie and quite possibly have seen little blocks of wood embellished with the quote from Dr. Seuss. You might even struggle with Christmas and finances and commercialism and the whole meaning behind it like I do. But, you know what? The Grinch was right. When his heart grew three sizes? That was his moment. He got it.
My family is pretty rock solid when it comes to worldly thoughts and needs. They are humble and good and kind and giving. They know the meaning behind the gift-giving well before they see the gift. They get oh-so-excited when we draw names and they think and plan and find the perfect gift for the family member lucky enough to be on the gift-receiving end.
And that makes me proud.
And that, my friends, THAT is what Christmas is all about.
Love. Family. Kindness. Smiles. Simplicity. Giving. Joy.
"It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes, or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before. "Maybe Christmas", he thought, "doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas... perhaps...means a little bit more!" ~Dr. Seuss
Merry Christmas to all.
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
The Circle of My Life
A few months ago, I was pulled over. I wasn't wearing my seatbelt. I have asked Mark over and over and over again to fix my seatbelt. Guess what? It's fixed now.
While explaining to the officer that my husband is a loser and that the seatbelt would be fixed, the officer asked why I was slurring. "Are you on drugs?" "Are you drunk?"
"Um, no, I have a medical condition that affects my speech."
After talking with her for a minute, she slapped me on the butt with a warning ticket and sent me on my way.
I didn't think about it (much) until about a week later I received a letter from the Drivers License Division informing me that I had to get my butt into their offices, take a written test, have a physical evaluation, bring a Doctors note and perform a driving test.
WHAT?
I was beyond mad. Okay. Let's be honest. I was scared to death. I was so very worried that some random minimum wage employee was going to determine whether I could drive when I knew BEYOND certainty that I was fine to drive.
Ugh.
Test day came and I aced the written test as well as the physical evaluation. I wasn't worried NOT ONE BIT about the driving test. I can drive. Right? According to the Utah State Laws, I have a "signal when you're gonna turn" issue and they FAILED ME. My super up-to-date 1993 Jeep doesn't "click" when the blinker is on AND my signal switch needed replaced. (Sigh.) (Mark.) (Again.) So when the examiner took a gander at my dashboard, he didn't see a blinking light. Fail.
Upset. Crying. Gnashing of teeth. Seeing red. That was me.
Then depression set in. How am I going to handle the imminent loss of my independence? This soooooooo sucks.
Back in the day, we had a car that Mark and I lovingly called the La Bamba. Tanna and Shelby (not so lovingly) referred to it as the Loser Cruiser. They would come unglued if, while we were out and about, we happened upon someone they knew. For them, best case scenerio would be that their friends would be spotted BEFORE we rolled up and the extra time would enable my proud girls to slink WAY LOW in their seats so they couldn't be seen.
On the other hand? Goose and Tyson loved this car. They thought it was the coolest car that was ever built and proudly let EVERYONE share their joy in the 1974 Pontiac.
Goose was 13 or 14. He begged and bargained and petitioned and implored and desperately pled with me to let him drive. One day, I gave in. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I'm weak.
Goose and I took off for a spin around the block. We got 3/4 of the way home when I looked behind us and saw the flashing lights. Crap. We were being pulled over and Goose wasn't close to a practice-my-driving age.
"Hi officer. I'm just out practicing driving with my son TYSON." Yeah. I lied. Oh boy. Goose just froze and didn't say a word. If I was going down, he sure as crap wasn't going with me. Thanks Goose.
The officer simply thought that I looked too young to be THE mom (I say that proudly.), checked my license and sent us on our way. Whew.
Time passed. Tyson became a licensed driver. Goose learned. Tanna and Shelby became official. I spent endless amount of time teaching the rules of the road. "Push the clutch in BEFORE you stop." "Turn your blinker on." "Change gears" "Shift." "Shift." "SHIFT."
Today the Linnette Deason pancake finally flipped. Things in my life have been beginning to come full circle. It officially started in New York when Shelby had to help me put my shoes on before entering the buildings. I swear my feet are claustrophobic and I kept having to take off my shoes. I had (I do mean HAD) to get them off. Shelby used her BEST mom voice. "Why do you keep taking your shoes off?" However, she would get on her knees, slip my Converse on my feet, tie them and ALWAYS would ask "Is that too tight? How do they feel?"
A few weeks ago, I fell. My face was dirty and my pride was wounded. Tanna went and got a wet cloth and oh-so-lovingly washed my face.
Tyson periodically kidnaps me and takes me to lunch or to a movie. He gets SO MAD if I try to pay. Half of the time, I don't even bring my purse with me any longer.
EVERY SINGLE TIME Jaden hears me come into the house or stumble around in the kitchen or walk down the stairs or mow the lawn or carry a laundry basket he asks if I'm okay or if I need some help.
When I eat, I'm telling you that no matter how careful I am, I end up wearing my food with my make-up. Mark is forever grabbing a napkin or a towel or his bare fingers and cleaning my face for me.
Goose took me to my driving test today. He sat in the passenger seat while I gave his car a whirl and adjusted my driving skills to power steering. He giggled and gave advice (most times unsolicited) while I practiced parallel parking.
And a few things crossed my mind.
I have really, really, REALLY good kids. I'm going to be okay when I can't do it "all" any longer. I'm so fortunate to be in the "now" with my family.
I remember when the book "Love You Forever" by Robert Munsch came out.
The synopsis by Wikipedia is:
"The story details the cycle of life by chronicling the experiences of a young son and his mother throughout the course of the boy's life, and describing the exasperating behavior exhibited by him throughout his youth. In spite of her occasional aggravation caused by her son's behavior, the mother nonetheless visits his bedroom nightly to cradle him in her arms, and sing a brief lullaby promising to always love him. After her son enters adulthood and leaves home, his elderly mother occasionally sneaks into his bedroom at night to croon her customary lullaby. However she gradually grows old and frail, and her grown son visits his feeble, sickly mother for the final time. He sings an altered rendition of her lullaby in reciprocation of the unconditional love that she had shown him; vowing to always love her as she dies before him. After returning home in a scene implying the death of his mother, he cradles his newborn daughter and sings his mother's signature lullaby for her, implying that the cycle will continue."
I remember reading this book over and over to my kids. I thought it was cute. It struck a bit of a chord in my heart. However, it was simply a good book.
That book is on my mind. Heavy. Today, I learned the truth behind the circle of my life. For the first time EVER? I'm okay with it.
While explaining to the officer that my husband is a loser and that the seatbelt would be fixed, the officer asked why I was slurring. "Are you on drugs?" "Are you drunk?"
"Um, no, I have a medical condition that affects my speech."
After talking with her for a minute, she slapped me on the butt with a warning ticket and sent me on my way.
I didn't think about it (much) until about a week later I received a letter from the Drivers License Division informing me that I had to get my butt into their offices, take a written test, have a physical evaluation, bring a Doctors note and perform a driving test.
WHAT?
I was beyond mad. Okay. Let's be honest. I was scared to death. I was so very worried that some random minimum wage employee was going to determine whether I could drive when I knew BEYOND certainty that I was fine to drive.
Ugh.
Test day came and I aced the written test as well as the physical evaluation. I wasn't worried NOT ONE BIT about the driving test. I can drive. Right? According to the Utah State Laws, I have a "signal when you're gonna turn" issue and they FAILED ME. My super up-to-date 1993 Jeep doesn't "click" when the blinker is on AND my signal switch needed replaced. (Sigh.) (Mark.) (Again.) So when the examiner took a gander at my dashboard, he didn't see a blinking light. Fail.
Upset. Crying. Gnashing of teeth. Seeing red. That was me.
Then depression set in. How am I going to handle the imminent loss of my independence? This soooooooo sucks.
Back in the day, we had a car that Mark and I lovingly called the La Bamba. Tanna and Shelby (not so lovingly) referred to it as the Loser Cruiser. They would come unglued if, while we were out and about, we happened upon someone they knew. For them, best case scenerio would be that their friends would be spotted BEFORE we rolled up and the extra time would enable my proud girls to slink WAY LOW in their seats so they couldn't be seen.
On the other hand? Goose and Tyson loved this car. They thought it was the coolest car that was ever built and proudly let EVERYONE share their joy in the 1974 Pontiac.
Goose was 13 or 14. He begged and bargained and petitioned and implored and desperately pled with me to let him drive. One day, I gave in. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I'm weak.
Goose and I took off for a spin around the block. We got 3/4 of the way home when I looked behind us and saw the flashing lights. Crap. We were being pulled over and Goose wasn't close to a practice-my-driving age.
"Hi officer. I'm just out practicing driving with my son TYSON." Yeah. I lied. Oh boy. Goose just froze and didn't say a word. If I was going down, he sure as crap wasn't going with me. Thanks Goose.
The officer simply thought that I looked too young to be THE mom (I say that proudly.), checked my license and sent us on our way. Whew.
Time passed. Tyson became a licensed driver. Goose learned. Tanna and Shelby became official. I spent endless amount of time teaching the rules of the road. "Push the clutch in BEFORE you stop." "Turn your blinker on." "Change gears" "Shift." "Shift." "SHIFT."
Today the Linnette Deason pancake finally flipped. Things in my life have been beginning to come full circle. It officially started in New York when Shelby had to help me put my shoes on before entering the buildings. I swear my feet are claustrophobic and I kept having to take off my shoes. I had (I do mean HAD) to get them off. Shelby used her BEST mom voice. "Why do you keep taking your shoes off?" However, she would get on her knees, slip my Converse on my feet, tie them and ALWAYS would ask "Is that too tight? How do they feel?"
A few weeks ago, I fell. My face was dirty and my pride was wounded. Tanna went and got a wet cloth and oh-so-lovingly washed my face.
Tyson periodically kidnaps me and takes me to lunch or to a movie. He gets SO MAD if I try to pay. Half of the time, I don't even bring my purse with me any longer.
EVERY SINGLE TIME Jaden hears me come into the house or stumble around in the kitchen or walk down the stairs or mow the lawn or carry a laundry basket he asks if I'm okay or if I need some help.
When I eat, I'm telling you that no matter how careful I am, I end up wearing my food with my make-up. Mark is forever grabbing a napkin or a towel or his bare fingers and cleaning my face for me.
Goose took me to my driving test today. He sat in the passenger seat while I gave his car a whirl and adjusted my driving skills to power steering. He giggled and gave advice (most times unsolicited) while I practiced parallel parking.
And a few things crossed my mind.
I have really, really, REALLY good kids. I'm going to be okay when I can't do it "all" any longer. I'm so fortunate to be in the "now" with my family.
I remember when the book "Love You Forever" by Robert Munsch came out.
The synopsis by Wikipedia is:
"The story details the cycle of life by chronicling the experiences of a young son and his mother throughout the course of the boy's life, and describing the exasperating behavior exhibited by him throughout his youth. In spite of her occasional aggravation caused by her son's behavior, the mother nonetheless visits his bedroom nightly to cradle him in her arms, and sing a brief lullaby promising to always love him. After her son enters adulthood and leaves home, his elderly mother occasionally sneaks into his bedroom at night to croon her customary lullaby. However she gradually grows old and frail, and her grown son visits his feeble, sickly mother for the final time. He sings an altered rendition of her lullaby in reciprocation of the unconditional love that she had shown him; vowing to always love her as she dies before him. After returning home in a scene implying the death of his mother, he cradles his newborn daughter and sings his mother's signature lullaby for her, implying that the cycle will continue."
I remember reading this book over and over to my kids. I thought it was cute. It struck a bit of a chord in my heart. However, it was simply a good book.
That book is on my mind. Heavy. Today, I learned the truth behind the circle of my life. For the first time EVER? I'm okay with it.
P.S. I passed my driving test.
Friday, November 6, 2015
It's A Small World
There is a time in our lives where the world is huge. People enter our lives through work and school and neighborhoods and friends of our kids and parents of our friends and "regulars" at the Pepsi store, the gym, the grocery store. Then as we age, our world begins to shrink. People we love leave and absolutely CANNOT be replaced.
Max was one of those people in my life. Max had a way of finding beauty in the small things. If I said he loved nature, your mind would wander to the mountains and the trees and the wildlife that comes within the "huge-ness" of our world. He did love nature as you might define it. However, when I think of Max I think of the beauty he found in the simpler nature. He found form and intrigue in rocks. In a wooden stick. In a pine cone. He would think and plan and work and form a piece of art that was useful and aesthetically soothing to your soul.
Early this morning, Max Peery passed away. Max is Aunt Shannon's father. Shannon was lucky to be with him and her mom when he died. Last Saturday Shannon found out that Max had recently been diagnosed with leukemia. The poor family didn't have time to wrap their brains around something so horrible, when his kidneys began shutting down.
Max and Gabe live in St. George, Utah and Shannon left Monday to go see how she might be able to help. I am so grateful that she was lucky enough to see her dad, hold his hand, fluff his pillows, and let him know in action and word that she loves him ohsoverymuch.
Max enjoyed thinking outside of the box. He was kind and gracious and giving. Yes, it's a smaller world now.
Take that minute to hold those you love close. Discover your unique-ness. Learn from Max and embrace the beauty in the small gifts that are placed on our earth. Be loving and kind and give what you have. Envision potential in all that you see. Think outside of the box and challenge those you love to do so.
Max was one of those people in my life. Max had a way of finding beauty in the small things. If I said he loved nature, your mind would wander to the mountains and the trees and the wildlife that comes within the "huge-ness" of our world. He did love nature as you might define it. However, when I think of Max I think of the beauty he found in the simpler nature. He found form and intrigue in rocks. In a wooden stick. In a pine cone. He would think and plan and work and form a piece of art that was useful and aesthetically soothing to your soul.
Early this morning, Max Peery passed away. Max is Aunt Shannon's father. Shannon was lucky to be with him and her mom when he died. Last Saturday Shannon found out that Max had recently been diagnosed with leukemia. The poor family didn't have time to wrap their brains around something so horrible, when his kidneys began shutting down.
Max and Gabe live in St. George, Utah and Shannon left Monday to go see how she might be able to help. I am so grateful that she was lucky enough to see her dad, hold his hand, fluff his pillows, and let him know in action and word that she loves him ohsoverymuch.
Max enjoyed thinking outside of the box. He was kind and gracious and giving. Yes, it's a smaller world now.
Take that minute to hold those you love close. Discover your unique-ness. Learn from Max and embrace the beauty in the small gifts that are placed on our earth. Be loving and kind and give what you have. Envision potential in all that you see. Think outside of the box and challenge those you love to do so.
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