A Woman's Work

Years ago I asked Mark to hang our Christmas lights. Wasn't the brightest thing I've ever done. (No pun intended). Oh my word! He had decided that it would be amazingly-awesome to take the lights and create an outline of the Wasatch Mountains on our rooftop. AND since there were leftover lights it would look "really cool" if he scattered the lights on top of the grass in front of our house. WHAT THE CRAP? Imagine my dismay when the lights were all "hung" and I hear "Come out and see how cool they look". The kids and I hurried outside to view the Christmas miracle. I about lost my lunch right there on the twinkling lights. Adding insult to injury? My beloved stood on the sidewalk and began to sing "Oh Christmas Tree". The kids and I were absolutely-without-a-shadow-of-a-doubt at a loss for words. Astounded. Yes. Yes. Yes, I was.

I never, ever, EVER asked him to hang lights again.

That's when it hit me. He must have done a horrible job so I wouldn't ask for his help again. OHMYGOSH! I'm right. Nobody in their right mind would do Christmas lights like that ON PURPOSE. Right?

The Steel Horse family took to the road again. Sunday found us donning our helmets, leather chaps and jackets and (for me) heated gear. What did I ever do without heated gear? Froze. That's what I did. That dang heated gear is absolutely the best thing EVER invented for I'm-going-to-head-out-on-the-motorcycle wear.

We rode through Castle Valley, Moab, Arches, Monument Valley, the North rim of the Grand Canyon, and Bryce Canyon before landing on my front stoop.

Last year the gang rode to Glacier National Park via the Tetons and Yellowstone. I blogged about the beauty of the parks and the wonders of God's creation.

This year as I sat on the back of the bike drinking in the views of the flat mountains smattered with boulders balanced on pristine pinnacles and complemented with visible layers of rock and sand, it hit me. God hadn't done this. It was ALL Mother Nature.

I can loosely imagine how that day went. Just as Glacier was God's FINAL creation, the flat-topped-red-rocked desert views had to be his FIRST creation and Mother Nature got left holding the clean-up bag.

"Hey! You need to get busy with that creation stuff."

"I will later"

"No. Now. Here are some materials"

I imagine the flinging of stone and seeds and dirt and sand followed with the words "There. I did it. You happy now?"

Then Mother Nature saw what happened. And it WAS NOT good.

How in the crap was she EVER going to make this mess okay?

She did. She added wind and rain and elements to wipe away the mess and begin formation. In the end? The most beautiful creation came.

Arches and hills and valleys and winding rivers are viewed with wonder. Pinnacles of rock leave you awestruck. Canyons and valleys and crevices as far as the eye can see will leave you speechless with delight. The views are breathtaking and will inevitably leave you marveling in reverence at the beauty of this versatile planet.

We were about half-way through our adventure when Theresa asked "What was your favorite?".  I thought for a minute and answered with a sight that astounded me. Theresa took her turn and the question landed with Jan. I loved her answer. "This. Right here. I love the people we are with." She was right.

We had to cut our trip a bit short. Rick "Rain Cloud" Deason had to be home to fly out for work. Let me embellish on the "Rain Cloud" name. Last year on the Glacier ride, we ran into some rain. Since Rick was in charge and Randy has stated that if Rick is involved it always rains, we hit rain.

We joked about it. We snorted and laughed and shucked and jived.

Randy wasn't kidding.

It rained on us again. Rick has been fired, so NEXT year should be dry. (Sorry, Rick.)

Anyhow, our trip was cut a bit short and it didn't look like we would make it to Bryce Canyon. I was understanding of Rick's dang work stuff, however, I'm a PRINCESS and was a bit disappointed. I've heard over and over again "Bryce is my favorite" and I was looking forward to forming my own opinion.

Oh well. Some other time.

We turned to head home and the turn-off to Bryce loomed ahead. Rain hit. We took cover and when we fired up the bikes and headed towards home? Rick headed towards Bryce. What? I was SOOOOOOOOOOOO EXCITED.

Rick, Theresa, Jan and Randy had decided to add more time and more miles on their own shoulders in order to give me Bryce. Let me tell you, I wasn't let down not ONE SINGLE BIT.

If you have vacation coming your way, plan a trip to the deserts of Utah and Arizona. View the artistic elegance of Mother Nature and see the world through Her eyes. You won't be disappointed.  I sure wasn't.

Food. Laughter. Stories. Sun. Wind. Wondrous beauty. Friends. Family.

I'm a lucky girl. Right?

You Will Leave Footprints On The World

Another year has passed and I find myself coming full circle and landing on Goose's birthday. My boy turns 30 today and BOTH Mark and I are having a bit of anxiety that our kids keep getting older. Which means - you know- that I am too. I don't want to talk about age. Ugh. Not one tiny bit. Let's talk about Goose.

I lived in Seattle when Mark and I got the news that - sure enough - my barfing and mood swings and tiredness and soreness was for a good cause. I was pregnant with our second baby.

We had a problem, though. Mark simply could not find the kind of work that he had trained for in the Navy. He ran boilers -  which were becoming obsolete.

Dawn and Mike lived in Ojai, California. We moved to Ojai, California.

My pregnancy went super-just-fine. I babysat to help with finances. And by saying I babysat, there was a time that I had 13 kids under the age of two ruling the house. Eventually it did even out, some left, and my regulars prevailed.

It was a Tuesday, Mark went to work, and I stayed on the couch. I just didn't feel good. I still had two weeks until my due date. Goose had a different plan. (Surprise) He was ready to greet Dad, admire Tyson, kiss his mom and familiarize himself with the surrounding world.

Mark came home at lunch and found me in the same spot. Ick. "Make your own dang lunch." I had phoned and sworn off tending that day and only Tyson was running around the house. He would check on me by grabbing my face with his fat toddler finger. "You okay mommy?" "Yes, Tyson, I'm fine." And off he'd run to avenge the world from the bad guys.

Around 2:00 I called Mark. "I can't stand it any longer. I'm having this baby."

I'd like to say that Mark was calm, cool, and collected. However, I'd be lying. He wasn't even close to calm.

Mark raced home, grabbed a grocery sack, threw some clothes in for Tyson, strapped him into the car, walked me down to the car, sped to the gals house that had agreed to keep Tyson while I was in the hospital, honked to let her know Tyson was there and - get this - LEFT HIM STANDING IN THE ROAD while we sped off. No, I'm not kidding. Gula (the gal watching Tyson) was running out of the door, so I assume that Mark saw her and thought all was fine. But HOLY HANNAH, Dude, CALM DOWN.

We made it to Ojai Valley Community Hospital with 7 hours to spare. The fun began.

Goose was BY FAR the worst labor of all five kids. OHMYGOSH! Awful doesn't describe it. However, labor does come to an end and at 9:46 pm, the doctor announced that we had a boy.

Mark has helped deliver each of our kids, witnessed their first breath and has been able to cut the umbilical cord - forcing them to live. I love that. I'm so very grateful that the first thing they feel is their father's love. And then? I found myself holding a beautiful, blue eyed, golden haired baby boy and had already forgotten how much it hurt to bring him here.

The other day, Mark and I were driving and we were talking about Goose turning thirty. Mark said, "I still remember him sitting on the bed, playing his guitar."

I think that's my memory of Goose, as well. Mark played guitar and his practice buddy would be right beside him. Goose had a red, plastic guitar. He would grab a rope and pretend to plug his guitar into the television (that was his amp) and he would sit for hours and "play". At the time, we used the VCR to record anything on television, and the only way I could get Goose to quiet down for nap time was to play his favorite videos from MTV (back when MTV played music videos).

I read to Tyson. Goose sang and watched videos.

You might be asking "What is the POINT?" and my answer is "I'm not sure." I can't wrap this all up in a pretty package with a bow on top.

How - oh how - does anyone put THIRTY years of success, failure, honor, kindness, absurdity, humor, integrity, stubbornness and LOVE - more love than a human has a right to receive - in a few short paragraphs?

I can't.

I was digging in my file trying to find Kadell's birth certificate. I found his "hospital" certificate and on the back were his teeny, tiny footprints.

I think about footprints. And this thought leads me to my Goose. Not his "man" footprints, but these prints made from the newly born, wonder-filled, boy with the world at his feet.

Ernest Ayemang Yeboah said:

"True success is not the end of the journey; true success is a journey without an end. So many people relax after achieving something and they forget the undone. They neglect their untapped destiny and they halt their journey of life not reaching their real and true destination. Whilst we have life, we must live life. Whilst we have life, we must give a true meaning to life. Whilst we have life, we must dare to do the undone; though the road is weary; though we may be having a sense of fulfillment, and though we might have done something! Let us awake and pursue with all zeal and tenacity until we get to the real end of our true purpose and destiny, such that long after we are gone, the voice of our footprints will speak to inspire, build and raise a generation of champions!"

Right Here. These are the footprints that will speak.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

Saturday morning, I made Mark go with me to my Pepsi Store. I was in need of my morning pick-me-up (an ice cold Pepsi) and Mark was grabbing his coffee.

I won't allow Mark to have a coffee pot in the house. At times he gets WICKED mad at me, however, he only has himself to blame. While pregnant with Shelby I was grabbing cereal at the grocery store, and somebody recently had ground coffee beans. The smell was ohmygosh so strong. I began vomiting. I puked and groaned and left a HUGE mess from the cereal aisle all the way out the doors to my car. Therefore, Mark doesn't get a coffee pot. Too bad for him, right?

We drug ourselves out of bed, showered, brushed teeth and climbed in the car to get our guilty pleasure. Mark says EVERY SINGLE TIME, "Let's go see WamBamPam."

Pam works weekends at my store. As the years have passed, I have grown to love this lady. She is good and honest and kind and beautiful (inside and out) and kind and kind and kind. Did I mention she is kind? She is. I really really, REALLY like her and look forward to seeing her each Saturday and Sunday.

I wobbled into the store. Pam isn't there. Pam is ALWAYS there. This lady works SEVEN days a week. No lie. She works full-time at another place and then weekends at the Phillips 66 where I met her.

"Where's Pam?"

"Her daughter died last night and I am covering her shift."

Tears dripped from my chin as ice clunked and Pepsi streamed into my cup.

Oh, Pam. I am so very sorry. I am SO VERY SORRY. 

On the afternoon of March 14, my phone rang. It was Shelby.

"Mom, do you remember Katie?"

Duh. OF COURSE I remember Katie.

Katie danced Ballroom Dance with Shelby. She is such a beautiful girl with the most humble, sweet spirit. She soared through High School. She married a handsome, kind, pretty-dang-cool man and then Philip grabbed his beautiful bride and landed in Ireland for work. 

Katie and I are Facebook friends and periodically I see her posts that feature places seen, places been and then the OHMYGOSH post. Katie was pregnant. We found out she was having a boy and the due date was given. March 13.

"Mom. Katie's baby died."

"What? Oh NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. What happened?"

"They don't know. He was fine. She went into labor. His heart just stopped."

And together my daughter and I wept.

I spend a lot of time thinking about how bad things happen to good people. I don't know why it happens. I don't know what we need to learn. What are we to take from the heart wrenching, gut turning experiences?

I don't know.

What I do know is that hurt and pain and unfairness are a part of this thing we call "Life". It just is and always will be. Does that bring me comfort? No. Does that bring dear Pam and beautiful Katie a sense of purpose behind the hurt and the pain and the loss? Heck no. 

Strength and hope and love and faith in new beginnings will carry them.

So, my dear friends, cry and howl and mourn. Then begin. Heal and grow and believe.

May we all find peace. May we all find joy. May we ALL believe again. Until that time...

(Thank you for sharing this beautiful prayer, Katie, you are wise beyond your years.)

                                       

Tick Tock Tick Tock

I have been wanting to write for a while now. I got slammed with graphics. No. I'm not complaining. Not one bit. Me? No way.

Sigh.

I'm super busy. And super stressed.

Since blogging and (weirdly) cleaning is great therapy for me, I cleaned my house this morning. It looks good. It smells better. I went on the motorcycle with Mark for a bit. I felt the wind. I smelled the great outdoors. AND the sun landed on my shoulders. Now, I'm sitting down for part three of the therapy session. Tag. You're IT!

[insert evil laugh]

Anyone who knows a lick about me knows that I LOVE Tim McGraw. Not just a little. A whole lot.

When I found out that he was in the movie "The Shack", I counted the days to opening night at Cinemark. Tanna was my date. Extra large popcorn (Half kettle corn and half regular popcorn. No butter. Mark taught me no butter - you can eat more popcorn without butter weighing it down. Pat taught me to do half-and-half - because it's simply delicious.) Blankets. Water. Reclining chairs. Tim McGraw. Yep. I was set for a good time.

I won't go much into what the movie is about. I thoroughly enjoyed every minute. I found it humorous in unanticipated ways. I loved how the holy figure was represented unexpectedly.

Time is discussed. I can't find the exact quote from the movie. My memory SUCKS anymore, but the quote was something to the effect of "It's not about the destination, it's about the journey."

Something we hear ALL the time right?

I am a worry-er. I fret. I ponder. I stress. Tons. I live my life according to what the future might hold.  I'm so afraid of change that I freak out over what's ahead in the great unknown. I don't live in the now.

I so want to change that.

I've stated over and over again that I love being a mom. I was made for motherhood. I am strong because my kids are strong. I AM because my family expects absolutely nothing different. I am not allowed to be stagnate, so I wobble forward and learn and grow and become. In case you're wondering, it's why I swear so dang much. However, I do it. And for the most part, I'm grateful that I did.

I usually read every night. I slip on my jammies, climb into bed and after I let loose with a heavy sigh, I grab my book and begin living vicariously through the adventures of the main character.

Except when I'm too exhausted to read. At that time, Mark takes over and reads out loud to me. It's so lame, isn't it? Two old people reading in bed. However, I absolutely-without-a-shadow-of-doubt love this time with Mark and I adore when he reads to me.

Mark keeps the Book of Five Rings within easy grasp. Another book that the Sensei from his karate class gave him to read and we have never returned because Mark has yet to "be done" with it resides on the nightstand as well. We just ordered and received a book by Bruce Lee titled Striking Thoughts that now ornaments the table as well.

Yesterday was an I'm-so-tired-I-can't-stand-it day. Mark read to me. I'm finding the reoccurring theme from these larger-than-life Masters is time. Don't waste it. The past should stay there. The future is unknown. Why not live in today? Don't take preconceived thoughts with you on your daily journey. Be ready to learn and grow and become. No excuses. Just do it.

I was not the Mom that wanted "more" from my kids. I enjoyed baby-hood, terrible twos, toddler-hood, the elementary years, middle school time and alas, the dreaded high school years. I bawled and cried and howled and mourned as each journey came to an end and the door opened for a new adventure.

I worried so much about the changes that might come, that I (at times) forgot to relish the moment.

Then, this dang disease struck.

I find myself paralyzed with fear. I am so scared of what is ahead that I forget to be grateful for the NOW.

I begin my new journey today. At the risk of being lame (and I'm SO lame - trust me) I hereby vow to cherish moments. The things that matter are surrounded by time. Time to laugh. Time to share. Time to simply STOP and be still.

Time IS a gift. Isn't it?

Valentines Day

Yep. Today is Valentines Day. Admittedly, not my favorite day of the year. I don't do well with commercialized anything, and Valentines Day falls right in that category.

Mark and I don't make a big deal of this day. In fact, we never really have. Nope. No hearts. No flowers. We don't exchange you-have-to-buy-a-gift-to-express-your-love gifts. 

I awoke today with a simple text from Mark. "Happy Valentines Day babe I love you."

And my heart soared.

I met Mark the summer before my sophomore year. He moved into the neighborhood that I lived in. I was fascinated by this long haired, hippy boy who had no fear. 

1983 brought marriage. 1984 brought Tyson, 1987 Goose came, in 1989 Tanna entered and in 1991 Shelby made her appearance. Followed by divorce. Rotten words. Worse actions. Still in love, but HELL NO, wasn't about to show it to each other. Reunited. Remarried. And in 2000, our family came full circle when Jaden entered this world.

Mark has taught me the meaning of persistence. Never, ever, ever, EVER give up. No matter the obstacle. No matter what others say. Don't talk about it. Don't brag about it. Don't cry about it. Just do it. Use all the power within and simply "do".

Our family is strong and loyal and true because of Mark. Happy Valentines Day, Babe. I love you.

Possibility

In 2016 I shared a post on Facebook. You know how your history appears periodically on your current Facebook feed? This posting appeared on mine. I reposted. I watched the video again. I moved upstairs to my computer to do a quick design job that has been patiently waiting creation. I thought about the video. Watched again. Decided to blog and get my thoughts out of my mind and vomit them in black and white print.

The video is from aplus.com and is titled "What's Your Biggest Regret?"

"A blackboard stood in the middle of New York City asking passersby to write down their biggest regret."

I think about what I would write? Maybe I'd write that I regret getting in my own way. I wonder if I'd write that I didn't say "I love you" enough. Maybe I let anger and hurt and distrust rule my actions. Maybe I AM too emotional (I hear it all the time). 

As the short video progresses, you see the board contemplated. The question is viewed and observers begin to write on the board. I'm struck by the sadness on their faces as people begin to think about all the regrets that come with growing up. "Why didn't I...", "I wish...", "I should have...". 

Ah. Regret. Thinking about it is NOT fun at all. I flippantly say that don't regret. That my mistakes have made me who I am.

However, it is all a lie. OF COURSE I have regrets. And wishes. And possibilities not realized.

As the short movie progresses you hear people talk about fear and failing and regret and time. The common theme of the writings seems to begin with the word "Not". "Not getting...", "Not pursuing...", "Not having...".

It's hard isn't it? It's tough to rewind your life story and view it through muddied eyes. I don't want wasted time. I don't want regrets. I don't want my personal mirror looking back with the words "I wish" scrawled in red lipstick.

About 1.5 minutes into the 3.5 minute video, participants are handed an eraser. Faces light up as regrets are expunged with the swipe of a hand. The general aspect is smiling and hopeful and beautiful.

And filled with possibility.

The message:

EVERY DAY IS A CLEAN SLATE
DO THE THINGS YOU'LL REGRET NOT DOING

is viewed and the final screen is shown. A blackboard. THE BLACKBOARD. With two words written.

CLEAN SLATE

What does YOUR clean slate begin with? Only thoughts and dreams and hopes and possibilities are written on mine.

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.