Category Archives: blog

While I was minding my own business …

reading during my lunch hour, I felt that prickly feeling one gets when they know someone is looking at them.  Looking intently.  I ignored it at first, because unless I am doing something odd, people don’t generally look in my direction for long periods of time.

But the prickly feeling continued until I was compelled to look up.  When I did, it was into the soft, dark chocolate eyes of one of the prettiest people I have ever seen.

Obviously, I did the first thing that came to my mind.  I looked behind me to see who he was focusing those eyes on.  But I was alone.  And perplexed.

And drowning in those beautiful brown eyes.

I know nothing about flirting.  I don’t know that anyone has ever flirted with me in person, so for all I knew, he had something stuck in those beautiful brown eyes that made them soft and dreamy as they looked in my direction.

I stared at him like some kind of idiot.

There are women who make flirting and being flirted with an art form.  I am not one of those women.  I am as plain as a potato sack and could find no good reason why he was focusing those incredible eyes so intently on me.

Then he smiled.  Not just any smile, but a natural smile with good teeth and smile lines around those eyes, with humor and playfulness, or so it seemed.

I tried to remember the last time a smile reached my eyes but then I forgot what I was thinking about because I was mesmerized by his prettiness.

I think I smiled back, but very well could have grimaced as it is difficult, sometimes, to discern one from the other.  I  decided, in the end, that one of us, either myself or he, was having some kind of episode.

Since my week thus far has been filled with more episodes than I care to dwell on, I decided it was his problem.  I didn’t look back in his direction again.

A coward to the core.

But, I will see those eyes in my mind for a while.  A truly beautiful human.  I think I should like to photograph him.

A dilemma for another day.

Posts about Mother’s Day …

and how much we love and appreciate our mothers will likely be abundant.  My mother knows already how much I love and cherish her as I tell her every day.  My daughter tells me regularly that she loves me and shows it in a thousand beautiful little ways.

This post is, in a round-about way about Mother’s Day, and yet along a different vein altogether.

While for many, even those who have lost their mothers to death, Mother’s Day weekend is a time of tearful celebration.  It is a time to reflect on family, on love, on life itself.

But the celebratory spirit doesn’t reach everyone.

My heart is heavy tonight for those that I both know personally and those I simply know of, who have been unable to conceive a child.  A child that would be cherished above all else.  A child to complete the circle of life as far as they are concerned.

Imagine a day where children are celebrating their mothers,  mothers are celebrating their children and yet, for so many, there is no child to celebrate.

No hand print cards.

No artwork on the refrigerator.

No smells of talcum powder and baby shampoo.

Only an emptiness that threatens to consume them; mind, body and spirit.  A brokenness that soon leads to feelings of failure and inadequacy that fill each waking hour of every single day.   Knowing that they would give the last drop of blood in their body for a single moment of holding that tiny life, born of themselves, in their arms.

Imagine the anger and frustration, the anxiety, depression and psychological pain that comes from the anticipation followed by disappointment, month after year after decade until there is nothing left but a hopelessness that destroys everything good and pure in their lives.

It would, I imagine, be all-consuming and destructive on many levels.

Mother’s day, for them, must be like pouring salt in a wound, shattering an already broken heart.

Yes, my heart goes out to them and I am, even as I write this, crying openly for the hopes and fears that they harbor inside themselves.

I wish I could encourage them, hold them against my breast and tell them that everything will be ok.  But in their minds and hearts, everything is not ok.

So I will do the only thing I know to do … I will pray for peace, for hope, for the fulfillment of their dreams and the for the courage  to face whatever tomorrow may bring.  I believe, with everything in me, in the love of a faithful Heavenly Father and while I don’t always understand His ways, I trust him.

I know that such prayers are answered, for I have seen it with my own eyes, felt it with my own heart and rejoiced in the glory of it with my own spirit.

1John 14-15 ~ 14 And this is the confidence that we have in him, that, if we ask any thing according to his will, he heareth us: 15 And if we know that he hears us, whatsoever we ask, we know that we have the petitions that we desired of him.

Hope is a good thing … and no good thing every dies.

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Waiting on lightning bugs …

is one of the trials of my patience when it come to summer.  Each night, since the first day of May, I sit, watching out the window across the fields in hopes of seeing one of the blinking lights that screams, boldly and with great emphasis,  SUMMER IS HERE!

I realize it is too early, too cool, too soon, too much still May, and therefore, still springtime,  for them to appear; I watch anyway.

And I wait.

There are few things more glorious than sitting on the front porch under the sweltering heat of a hot summer night with the myriad of stars and planets pulsing and shimmering overhead and watching the flicker and fade of one of nature’s triumphs.

I’m pretty sure that in the rest of the world (by the rest, I am referring to “not the South”), they are called fireflies.  A rose by any other name and all that jazz.  Around here, we call them lightning bugs.

The sky has already changed.  The daylight lasts longer, the clouds in the evening (and with the seemingly constant rain of late, the clouds are abundant) are laced with tinges of red and gold from the setting sun.  The beauty of that light never fails to take my breath away.

I am spellbound by it.

In the mountains, it isn’t always easy, especially living in a valley, to see the sunset.  The remnants of it in the clouds, however, is an awesome and spectacular experience.

The only thing more awesome are the Godlights that, although few and far between, show their stunning beauty as the rays of the sun spear upward, demanding to be noticed, across a not quite, but nearly summer sky.

May has, since the death of my husband a few years ago, been a hard month for me.  Not this year, though.  I made a conscious decision that I wasn’t going to let the memory of his upcoming birthday diminish my joy of late spring.  I decided to, instead of dreading it, dedicate it to him, to my Jim,  in a remembrance, of sorts, of he who cherished me in a way that I still struggle with understanding.

So I did.  I dedicated May to Jim for it is a glorious thing to be cherished.  I miss him sometimes in a way that threatens to destroy my hard-won independence … but life goes on, whether I am up to the task or not.

So far, it has been a thrilling, energizing, encouraging experience.  I should have done it long ago, but I suppose I wasn’t ready before now.  I reckon, on some level, I was hoping to find that one person that I could say anything to and know that I would, even when I was confusing, incoherent, rambling and discombobulating, be understood.

Sometimes, I think I have found them and others, I wonder if I’m only wishing for something that will never be again.  I try, sometimes in vain, not to dwell on it.

I am a dreamer, first and foremost, after all.  To put that burden off on someone who doesn’t really understand me on the most basic level is, at the very least, unfair, and even as I seek it, I understand that it is too much to ask.

There will never be another Jim.  I understand that now, after nearly four years.  I know that.  I accept it, finally.  I don’t expect, anymore, for anyone to understand me so perfectly, so completely.  At day’s end, I look to myself and my Heavenly Father, who understands me even better than Jim, to fulfill my needs.

I do, however, wish fervently, for lightning bugs.   I suppose, it is in part, due to my Sagittarius nature , for I am optimistic to a fault and hope for things that are well beyond the scope of normalcy.

I am not ashamed of this.  I live life with my glass half-full, my eyes wide open and my heart always seeking the best in everyone around me.

Long live the Centaur.

My ox was in the ditch …

in this case, my “Ox” was the looming chore of cleaning out the refrigerator.  I haven’t cooked in so long, it became commonplace to buy a gallon of milk, let it go bad, buy another gallon of milk and push the bad milk to the back of the fridge.

And so it went.  For weeks.  For months.  For years. For decades.  For centuries.  Ok, so maybe I’m embellishing a bit, but not much.

There were untold gallons of undrinkable milk, containers of unusable yogurt, rancid cottage cheese, a carton of eggs that Noah may have gathered on the Ark and a few things that I wasn’t able to identify.

Sad.

Sorry.

Inexcusable.

All of the above.

This is an undertaking that has been needing, desperately, to be tackled for a long time.  A very long time.  I would feel hungry and think I might fix a bite to eat then open the refrigerator door and see that nothing had changed.  I would, again, find the task to be more daunting than I could wrap my mind around, close the door and settle for toast-chee crackers.

I performed the same ritual, again and again, with the same result.  I felt a bit guilty, but obviously not enough to actually get on with the task at hand.

Until now.

Today dawned rainy and gray and I found I had a yen to make some red sauce.  Not the “open a can and heat it up” kind, but the “from the tomatoes up” kind.  I was once very adept at homemade cooking and enjoyed it immensely.  I would like to do so again and didn’t want to smother this bright thought in my head.

Then I opened the refrigerator door.

This time, however, it wasn’t enough to settle for crackers.  I rolled up my sleeves, double bagged several industrial sized, toxic waste approved garbage bags and got to work.

It was an arduous and, as you can imagine, rather ugly scene.  I thought I was going to have to find a hired hand just to carry the heavy bags to the garbage truck, but a strong back is a terrible thing to waste.

After much scrubbing, rinsing, bleaching then scrubbing, rinsing and bleaching some more, I have found it to be a respectable appliance worthy of edible food.  It is mostly empty now, sporting only a few jars of condiments and some jalapeno peppers, but I intend to rectify that this week.

The freezer got a dose of scrubbing, too.  The sum of everything in my freezer equals half a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, a pack of peanut butter Oreos, a wedge of Pecorino Romano and a bag of broccoli.

But it’s clean.

With that unseemly chore completed, I was able to get on with the fun stuff.  The tomatoes are even now simmering, along with red wine, fresh basil from my porch garden, anchovies, a garlic clove and an onion that somehow survived the prolonged neglect.

I felt the familiar thrill of making the knife dance across the cutting board while avoiding my fingers and I’m pretty sure I started humming.  I didn’t have any fresh cilantro to put in it, but I will, for next time.

It’s too early yet for the scents to make the mouth water, but in a bit of while, it will smell like glory.  My “Ox” turned out to be a blessing and I am thankful to have cleared out the cobwebs, so to speak and taken something, even if it is only red sauce, back.

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Wet roads and 18-wheelers …

isn’t my first choice when it comes to driving conditions, but considering what I have found myself driving in from time to time, it also isn’t my last.

I like to drive.

The mindless task of following the road is among my favorite things to do.  It doesn’t matter, really, whether it is barely a ditch carved out of dirt, a steep ribbon of pavement curving and winding into a mountain or long stretches of interstate that seem, at times, to fade into infinity.

My thoughts flow freely, my mind wanders aimlessly and I feel as uninhibited as the birds in the air when I am behind the wheel.  If the weather is so that I can put the convertible top down, the pleasure is multiplied tenfold.

The destination isn’t all that important; going somewhere specific,  heading nowhere in particular or coming home.

It doesn’t matter.

Heading home today from a weekend out of town, it didn’t occur to me to concern myself with the rain falling in torrential sheets, pooling on the already wet road.  It didn’t make me nervous or anxious or fearful … even when coming up behind the tractor-trailers spewing a nearly blinding mist up in the road, it didn’t occur to me.

I figure, at those times, the two choices are to either take my place behind them and suffer the constant barrage of what they throw up from the asphalt or speed up and pass them.

There was something ethereal about the verdant greens along the sides of the interstate, beneath the falling rain.  I had a hard time finding fault as long as I could see the yellow line and, at the same time, take in the sulking, brooding gray of the heavy sky above the greenery and blooming things of late April.

My intentions were to spend today hiking in the Smoky Mountains, however, the weather did not cooperate.  While I don’t mind taking a risk or two to get to the places I wish to see, I’m not going to invite disaster.

Hiking on the wet, steep, rocky trails alone would have been careless and while I have my moments of carelessness, I try not to make a habit of being so on purpose.

I started home in the rain and muck with a song on the radio and the highway stretching out before me.  When I came to the last few miles, a narrow country road (in my mind, “my road”), an offshoot of a country highway, I was stunned.

In the two days I have been gone, it seems that Spring exploded on Big Moccasin; the fields edging up to the base of Clinch Mountain are greener, fuller.  The high grass, dancing in the wind and the wildflowers, now abundant, unfurling their vibrant, colorful blooms without shyness or fear of frost took my breath away.

The sheer magnitude of the beauty of it, of home, of Spring, brought tears to my eyes.

I was reminded, once again, that no matter what I may have seen today had I stayed where I was, it wouldn’t have been any more beautiful than the height of spring in my own back yard.

On a larger scale than the peaks and valleys of Clinch Mountain, perhaps.  But not more beautiful.

It just goes to show that springtime in the mountains, irregardless of which mountains, is a stimulating treat for the senses.  As for the rain … well, nothing smells quite so wonderful as the Spring mountains after a rain, now does it?

Today, I had to go to court …

because I let my driver’s license expire.  I’m not certain how it happened as I renew all of my licenses, passport, tags and anything else I can, online.  But I did and I found myself sitting in a courtroom waiting to be chastised by a Judge who, though he seemed friendly enough, intimidated me to the point of nausea.

If an officer hadn’t pulled me over on a snowy evening as I was coming home from art class just to inform me that I had a tail light out, I would still be driving around on an expired license.  I didn’t look at the date.  Why would I?  That is what I have email reminders for.  But this time, the reminder didn’t come and I was told that I had been driving around for SEVERAL MONTHS on an expired license.

It only occurred to me later that he didn’t have me call someone to come get me, but let me drive away on that expired license.

The officer was kind and I think he actually felt a bit guilty that he had to ticket me, but what else, really, could he do?  He told me that all I had to do was call “the number noted in red” on the ticket, could pay it over the phone and avoid an appearance in court.

Sounds simple enough doesn’t it?  Well, there was a flip-side to this particular coin.

I called the number a few days later to pay the ticket and hung up the phone feeling like a common criminal.  The lady told me that “people who are charged with driving on an expired, revoked or suspended license are not allowed to pay over the phone”.  So I requested the afternoon off and prepared to show up, pay my fine and be done with it.

As the day drew nearer, the butterflies in my stomach increased.  Each day, I thought of little else and began to imagine all manner of scenarios in my mind (and my imagination is top notch).  I started having nightmares, sleepless nights and long, stress-laden days.

I kept reminding myself that this is only a ticket, and I encouraged myself by remembering that I renewed my driver’s license within 48-hours of getting the ticket.  It was all good, all OK and there was nothing, in reality, to get all worked up about.

This morning, however, when I woke up, after spending the night plagued by nightmares, complete with creepy music and all, the first thought that came into my head was COURT!! (a reminder to be careful what I pray for, for the other “the minute my eyes open thoughts” were much more pleasant, even if they were annoying)

I went through my usual routine, minus coffee, for somewhere along the way, I had used the last of it and didn’t have a back-up bag in the pantry … but I digress.

I went to work and tried as best I could to focus on what had to be done and keep the nagging worry to a minimum.  I kept re-reminding myself that this was only a ticket.  Only a ticket.  Only a ticket.

I showed up well before my appointed time, in my nursing uniform, complete with band-aids that hadn’t been used stuck to my name badge and took my place at the back of the courtroom.  The light above the Judge flickered continuously and I wondered how he could sit there, hour after hour, with that going on.  I focused on that silly light until I had worked myself up even more, convincing myself that by the time my turn came, he would be half-crazed, as was I, from that constant, maddening flickering.

And I never moved a muscle.

For nearly two hours.

I had the beginnings of palpitations before I ever reached the courthouse, but after sitting in the courtroom, my resting heart rate (which is usually between 55-65) was well over 100.  I was certain that I was going to either pass out, throw up or die.  Dying, at this point, was the best choice.  How sad is that?

After what seemed like hours, my name was called and, instead of going directly in front of the Judge through the gate that separates the criminals from the Bench, I went the long way around and entered through the exit.  I apologized  when he commented on it and his laughter should have eased my mind, but it didn’t.  It took every ounce I will I could muster to not simply burst into tears in front of him and humiliate myself the rest of way.

I remembered to say “Sir”, “Your Honor” and “thank you” while the officer who gave me the ticket never uttered a single word.  I’m not certain it was even him, though, because at the time of the ticket-giving, his bright headlights were in my rear-view mirror and his flashlight in my eyes making him completely back-lit.

I couldn’t have picked him, with any confidence, out of a line-up.

When I finally was given my leave, paid my fine and left the building, I made it nearly to my car before I vomited and then burst into sobbing tears.  I put my convertible top down as that usually calms me, but I cried all the way home.  What a day.

I can promise this … I have looked at the expiration date on my driver’s license no less than a hundred times since I renewed it.  I will likely renew it a year early just to avoid the situation I found myself in today.

I am eternally grateful that I have a full pack of Oreo Double-Stuff cookies on hand and an unopened pint of Ben and Jerry’s Cannoli ice cream in the freezer because if there ever was a day for it, this was it.

Gallery

I know a trail shoot was succesful …

This gallery contains 25 photos.

when I come home filthy, covered in mud, bleeding from my brush with thorns and other sharp things of nature and smelling of the earth that I was crawling around on.  There are few things in this life that renew … Continue reading

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Being a parent …

has many challenges.  I’m not a new parent.  My daughter is twenty-two years old, but that fact has no bearing what-so-ever on reality.  I look at the people around me who have small children and I, on some level, feel sorry for them.

The only bloody nose I ever gave anyone was my girl’s elementary school principal.  It’s funny, in a sick sort of way, that I will take it and take it, whatever it may be, but when my child is threatened, I become a different human.  Or maybe I become less human and more animal, a mama bear, a she-wolf … whatever works.  What I do know is that I would go to the ends of the earth for her.

I am certain, beyond anything else, that were she to know I speak so of her, she would be mortified.  I don’t care.  Not one whit.  What I do care about is that she is happy.  That she is safe.  That she is where she is supposed to be at this particular moment.  I, in some ways, live vicariously through her.  She is so much of what I wanted to be.  A  musician, a fighter, confident and brainy.  I always hoped, as she grew up, that she would be herself and not like me.  That sounds overdramatic, I’m sure, but it is true.

I was so backward.  Being one who was bullied and too shy to stand up for myself, I spent much of my life alone.  I learned to be alone and, at some point, began to thrive on it.  I decided early on that I didn’t deserve to be loved and when someone said they did, I immediately assumed they were lying.  The sad truth is that they usually were.  It is like a line from a Billy Joel song that says “she’ll ask for the truth but she’ll never believe  you”.

But all of that being said, it doesn’t matter how old our children become, they are still our babies.  My mom said that to me, but until I had my own, I couldn’t understand it.  She is a wise woman, my mom.  A wise woman indeed.

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It’s not easy …

to look over decisions that we’ve made, roads we have taken, choices we have labored over only to find that they weren’t the right decisions, were the wrong turns and were bad choices.  But it is a constant in our lives.  Not every crossroad we come to will have an outcome that is favorable.  Sometimes, the results can be downright devastating.

If the only person such things effected was ourselves, it wouldn’t, I suppose, matter, quite so much.  But our decisions, our outbursts, our tantrums, our misdirects … they, like a long, intricate line of dominoes, fall, one against another, starting a chain reaction that can last for years and through multiple lifetimes.  Purity and innocence can be taken away so quickly that it would seem as though they never existed.

I have a wealth of understanding on making mistakes and living with them; learning from them.  Some of my mistakes have hurt no one but myself, others have touched the people I love the most, causing pain that was never intended, hurt that, though time has surely layered with a cushion, can never, ever, be completely erased.

I understand pain and insecurity.  I have known joy and heartache with equal measure.  I have lain, curled in a ball while sobs wracked my body to the point that I feared my bones would break and didn’t care if they did.  I have known despair and felt the icy fingers of death claw at my mind.  I have thought long and hard about how easy it would be to simply drift away into nothingness where life could no longer kick me senseless.

It is because of these things that I have more understanding than I wish to, that I stand now, with my head up and my spirit intact.  Life did not break me.  It bent me, at times nearly beyond redemption, but it did not break me.  I look around and see others that have been bruised and bent themselves.  They weren’t broken either, but none of us came out of the fire unscathed.  None of us came away from it all whole, but full of holes that left room for the pain and suffering of others to fill.

Because of my broken road, I have found compassion, I have found empathy and I have found beauty that is so stunning that, at times, it nearly breaks my heart.  And along the path strewn with shards of brokenness, I have found others, stumbling along trying to find their way.  And through discouragement, faith and determination, I was encouraged.  We are all, in one way or another, broken and simply knowing that makes me feel less alone.

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Matthew 12:20 ~ A bruised reed shall he not break, and smoking flax shall he not quench

a single day in a remarkable journey

Early this morning, well before sunrise, I was up because I had planned to go to Sunrise Service at church.  Had been looking forward to it.  There is something inexplicably peaceful about standing in the cemetery on Easter as the first blush of morning blooms behind the quaint little country church.  There is a knowing that this is real, that what I have believed, what I have based my life on, is true.

Standing there in the cemetery.

But the sound of the pouring rain and knowing that because of it, the service would be held inside the church, changed my mind.

I tooled around the house a bit, restless.  During lulls in the rain, I stood on the back porch, absorbing the heavy, moisture-laden air, smelling the scents that can only be found during springtime in the mountains.  Thinking about things.

As the seemingly random thoughts passed through my mind, I found myself immersed in memory and longing.  It has been over three years since Jim died and I haven’t dreamed of him once.   Now, though, images that have been building over the past few days floated before me in a lovely haze.  Annie’s song.  The bagpiper in the cemetery.  A sharp tux at my first gallery showing.  The painting of the tree in my closet.  Looking back, the signs were there.  I think the memories were likely kindled last week when I was fiddling around with his clarinet.

Out of nowhere, it occurred to me that in all the years we were married, he never played for me.  Not once.

Of course, thinking of such things can do nothing but ruin an otherwise lovely day and I said as much to myself as I turned on the music.  It didn’t matter what kind, just anything would do until, as usual, I migrated to what was on my mind all along.  The melodies and verse filled my mind.  It didn’t stop the memories, though; they came anyway, unbidden and uninvited.   That’s the way of it sometimes.

The more I listened, the more I allowed myself to be carried along as I stepped back, in my mind, in time.  The music continued to play as  background to my thoughts while scenes long past wavered and became clear on the edges of my subconscious.   Jim and I had a great deal in common when it came to music.    It was a huge part of our lives, both a joy and a heartache; a double-edged sword.  At least it was how it seemed to me.

We took something very different away from it.  I shared with him the thoughts and feelings the music evoked; the way it made me want to weep or laugh or scream … to dance in the grass under the light of a full, summer moon … the excitement in the pit of my stomach.  To him, it was only sound and what I was trying to explain made sense only to me.  Seeing it now years later, with eyes unobstructed by grief, I realize I wanted him to want to understand me and was perplexed when he didn’t.

That knowledge chipped away at something vital to my well-being and made me feel foolish and insecure.  It was hurtful.  It wasn’t intentional, but it was still hurtful. I had not yet reached a point in my life when I trusted the way that music made me feel; didn’t realize that it held the same power over me whether anyone else felt it or not. I tried to bury, or at least quiet, the discombobulating range of emotion that it evoked in me … but the music was just too powerful.

It still is.  It will always be.  I not only know and understand what it can do to me, but embrace it and that in itself is freeing, like falling through the air.  Through his indifference, not just about music, but other things, came encouragement to find my own skin and be comfortable in it.    To everything, there is a season.

Memories teach me many things … for one, life goes on … my past doesn’t change, but my perception of it often does.  God takes the pieces that seem out of place and puts them in perspective.  Even with its ups, downs, doses of reality, complexities and melancholic rantings, life really is quite remarkable.  There is enough joy and wonder to balance out the rest if we embrace it.

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