Happy Anniversary!

Since 1990 every time I have given a wedding gift in the card I have written these words: husbands and wives are a dime a dozen but a best friend to spend the rest of your life with is one in a million. I learned this twenty seven years ago TODAY when my daddy walked me down the aisle to join my very young life with that guy I live with.
This is not the first anniversary we have spent in different time zones but this year I have this handy dandy blog to broadcast the secrets of a blessed relationship:
1. I met that guy I live with in 1984 when I was 15 years old. He came over to my house to court my sister but she was not interested. Yes, little sister gets the hand-me-downs.
2. Our first “date” was to a Junior High football game in Elysian Fields to watch Lance play. It came a down pour and we retreated innocently to the car. Most of the night we listened to Bryan Adams sing “straight from the heart”.
3. With Lance still in the back seat we held hands for the first time on the way home. Journey was playing on the radio, “Sender my love” and that guy I live with bumped my hand accidentally. I thought he was shyly attempting to hold my hand so I grabbed his like a bass on top water bait.
4. The first time we kissed our teeth bumped. It was his fault.
5. When we started ‘going together’ (80’s term) we were standing at the top of the bleachers at a football game in Beckville.
“People keep asking me if we are going together”, he said.
“What do you tell them?”
“What should I tell them?” From the very beginning he answered questions with questions.
“Tell them we are.”

Since then there have been days when I have wanted more, days when I have wanted less, and days when I didn’t know what I wanted.

Together we have had 5 pregnancies and three sons; we have buried our fathers and grandparents; we completed our four year degrees. Today, if he is reading this from Mississippi or Louisiana then he will know that I have left a surprise for him in the capable hands of my mother.
The Claddaugh Ring: the symbolism dates back centuries. According to Google University:
1. The hands represent friendship; to me they represent history, where we started, the past that we drag along with us daily.
2. The heart represents love but to me it is today and the opportunity to make today better than yesterday.
3. The crown represents loyalty. The future, the potential, possibilities, and purposeful intention to live happily ever after.
Happy Anniversary to that guy I live with!

Five things I can see from here:

1. I see a family sitting at the bar. I suspect they don’t recognize they are in a hotel tavern but think it is an extension of the atrium. The children are tumbling about on the furniture and seem to be waiting for something. One of the young youngsters is about 10 years old and is wearing purple soccer socks.
2. The Pizza delivery guy and the Chinese food deliver guy are waiting at the ‘circle table’ of the lobby. They exchange casual dialogue in an almost tragic fashion while anticipating that at any moment their caller will meander into the lobby and rescue them.
3. A fireplace in Florida. I assume it is there for the sole purpose of dangling the Christmas decorations. When do you use a fireplace in Florida? By the way, the family in the bar is now playing Patty-cake or something as unpleasant.
4. The revolving door and its exhausting crusade and determination to bring people in and take people out in chorus and without disruption.
5. Five American flags in a spray of cut flowers, (also red, white and blue) poised in graceful partisanship, exhibiting independence, and placed in celebration of the birthdate of American.
Oddly enough this seems to some extent like work.

It's not about you

I'm a little bit frazzled and rightly so. Last week I laid around in airports from Shreveport to Chicago and back. After spending 36 consecutive hours in the in six different terminals, in four different cities I took a day of mental R&R. I slept twelve hours in my own wallowed out gel top king-sized bed. I twisted and wiggled and I tried to recuperate and I guess I did just in time to start over this week. Out of Bush Intercontinental on Sunday evening, through Dallas Fort Worth into Oklahoma city. Monday night I boarded in Oklahoma City to Omaha, Nebraska and then back to OKC on Tuesday. I worked late on Wednesday but after three nights in the airports I was happy to catch up on some employee online education and emails. It's Thursday night and I have managed to get to the Delta terminal of Tulsa International Airport. Destination: Jackson, Mississippi.
This morning I drove off with my day planner lying on top of the rental car while I talked on the phone to a customer in Hutchinson, Kansas. On my way to the airport I pulled a half inch long (thankfully) blonde hair from my chin that no one bothered to tell me existed. It's all okay though because I like my job and because in seat 23B, next to me, on a dark plane into Jackson, Mississippi, I saw a reflection if myself.
I started off thinking, no, of all the crazy people on this plane, why do I have to sit by 'the guy.' You know ‘the guy’; the one who sat in the bar too long; the one that thinks his jokes are funnier than they really are; the guy in the Hawaiian shirt headed to Mississippi.
Before we were to the runway I knew he was a drug rep for Upshur Smith out of Minnesota. He's been there two years and he loves it. Before that he was in pharmaceutical sales for a global company but not happy. Before we had the wheels up he told me his life was changed and that today he was a better man. He brought it up so I asked, “what event changed your life?” If Ron was telling this he might say it was turning 49 years old and realizing that he's living on borrowed time since his Dad died at 49. He might say it was the realization that life is too short and he has much to laugh about and live for. He might tell you about the day in 2010 when he hit his knees and gave his life to the Jesus that his step grandmother told him about when he was just a kid. Maybe he would tell you it was his own kids and his determination to do right by them or the love of his life that they called mom that divorced him a few years back.
His jokes still aren't that funny (sorry, Ron) but through his stories and his willingness to share them I could see a little bit of myself and the places I could grow. He shared this simple motto: it starts with me but it's not about me.
I've heard that before; I've said that before but tonight I heard that from someone in seat 23B that needed to say it and be heard.

Fashion nonsense

Any of you that know me very well know that I am by no means a fashion expert. I wear sweat pants and converse tennis shoes way too often. I don't like to get my hair cut so I often look shaggier than I should. I don't color my hair so I have that dishwater blonde that no one would ever request and most wouldn't tolerate. My nails are jagged and natural, yeah, let’s say they are natural. And truth be known, I celebrate 'no shave November' two months longer than most Bass Pro shoppers. Maybe you've noticed.
Regardless I have a few opinions on the subject. I can handle a man in a leotard if he's a dancer or a gymnast or aspiring to be but I don't know what to do with the man in the hotel hobby in a black leotard and a sports bra. He doesn't fit into any of the categories that society has taught me to acknowledge. Maybe I am condescending, judgmental, or a backwoods redneck hick; I can own that. Forgive me, but then tell me what does it mean if a grown man is wearing a sports bra in public (or elsewhere)?
In my travels I see many things that I just don't understand. Most recently I have noted more and more entire families with colored hair. Mom has blue streaks, Dad has purple, one kids has green, the other has orange. My boys are probably glad we didn't do the family hair dyeing trend because I would have made them having matching or at the very least coordinating colors like their Easter outfits or our Christmas pajamas. I wonder if it was the mom's idea. Did she beg the dad to participate? Did they lose a bet? Did they fight over who got which color?
Speaking of pajamas when did it become acceptable to wear your sleeping clothes out in public? It's been allowed for some time to drag through Wal-Mart in nighties you would never wear anywhere else but the airports are crawling with grown women in footy pajamas and no bra! I have a simple rule: if you're schedule is so tight that you don't have time to put on under garments you should skip something else from your morning routine. Or better yet if you know you are going to have get up early to be at the airport by 10:00 o'clock maybe just sleep in your sports bra.
People are full of fashion rules about what color shoes should be worn after Labor Day, walking in heels the correct way, and chipped and flaking toe nail polish with sandals. I have one more rule specifically for the heavy girl and then I will put on my tie dye T-shirt and walk away. Just because it comes in your size doesn't mean you should wear it. I tip the scales that way too so I understand. If you want to wear a bathing suit on the beach you run a definite risk of being referred to as a beached whale and that’s ok. It happens to the best of us but please don't parade around the mall in a tube top and booty shorts. It kills my fashion appetite.

the pumpkin tattoo

Several months ago I sat in a meeting with my team, my coworkers and people I am developing strong and lasting friendships with. We were asked to introduce ourselves and to share a personal fun fact. Directly across the room from me sat a sales coworker just a little older than me. She dresses stylish yet conservative. Her hair is short, her nails long; both attended to nicely. She has grown children, two grandchildren, a husband and a soft spot for her forelegged friend of the canine variety. She is very normal, middle America, mom next door, PTA president, Mac and cheese making lady. In her job she's successful and admired. Her fun fact was that she has a rose tattoo on her shoulder. I wasn't shocked at all but immediately I started envisioning how she came to have a rose tattoo on her body. Was she drunk? Maybe a dare? Is that the only tattoo she has? Did she go at night to the ink shop or after brunch with the PTA ladies? Was it a sketchy neighborhood or maybe she had a friend in the business? What other designs did she consider? Unfortunately, we where not encouraged to linger on any one fun fact during the introductions. Still why the rose? Maybe that's her middle name our her mothers name (it's my mothers name but I never thought of getting it on my body) . She didn't say what color it is or the type of rose? Is it opened or a bud? I wonder if it has thorns. Strangely the meaning of all these different characteristics is available online for your googling enjoyment. I haven't yet seen the coworkers rose ut given what I know about her I expect it is a traditional red rose representing true love. I bet it has a couple of leaves showing and it is a partially opened bloom. The number of pedals can also contain symbolism. Curiosity plays a big role in fueling my imagination. So yesterday whilst in Memphis we toured the Sun Studio. We had a fabulous tour guide! She was energetic and engaging in a surprising and welcoming manner. However, as I listened to her I couldn't help but notice the large tattoos across her chest and down the outside of her right arm. The neck line of shirt left most of the lettering on her chest visible and it appeared to read 'honkytonk angel'. At the top of her right arm she had a rocket with a cowgirl lassoing into space. Just above that concerned me. No, it wasn't vulger or inappropriate. It was Jack O'latternO'lattern. I didn't Google the meaning of the pumpkin tat because all II could think of was how drunk must you get at Octoberfest to get a pumpkin tattoo? I don't have any tattoos but it's not because I haven't thought about it from time to time. It's because I could never decide on an image that would represent me for the rest of my life. I have many friends that sport many artful designs across their bodies. My oldest son has some tattoos that only his mother loves as much as he does. But as I said, I am curious. Why did you, blog reader, friend, family, get the tattoo that you did? What does it symbolize to you? Are you happy with it? Does it make you smile in your heart when you look at it and think about the time when it was new? Please share.

while in Memphis...

It's been a great week in Memphis, TN. I'm exhausted but I have enjoyed myself and I have learned a few things. I've never been what some would call an Elvis Presley fan. I like some of his music, some not so much. I think he was very attractive in some of his younger pictures but I would not claim to be attracted to him. But I did learn a few things about Elvis this week. Like: 1. he had a toe fetish...I won't explain. You can google it. 2. There were rumors that he was 'funny' 3. Lisa Marie was born nine months to the day after Elvis and Priscilla were married.

Shoot low, Sheriff

In my very simple southern life talking to God was often, expected, and typically understood. We went to bed with a prayer; we ate with a prayer; we started events and parted ways with a prayer; we prayed with all emotions, in celebration and sadness, in fellowship and funeral. We prayed out loud, silently, and in unison. We prayed as children and as adults and were taught that prayer without ceasing means not only constantly but as long as you are alive. I am no stranger to talking to God.
In addition I believe with all my being that God hears my prayers. He hears the prayers that I have no right to whisper. He hears the silent prayers and the prayers I sing as I travel the highways and byways. He hears the tear soaked prayers and the shouts of joy. He hears me when I say, 'God, I'm not ready to talk about it yet.' Sometimes as I lay my head down at night I say, 'God, do you mind if I just talk to you until I fall asleep?' And I know he hears me.
I remember as a children being taught prayers to say and memorizing the Lord’s Prayer. My daddy used to jokingly say, 'praise the Lord and the holy ghost, who eats the fastest gets the most!' It seemed so rogue to me as a child that I would only say it to myself quietly and never as a replacement for 'turning thanks'.
Listening to God, on the other hand is not as easy. Don't get me wrong, I believe God communicates with us. I don't necessarily believe he uses an audible voice but I do believe that in many ways he can get our attention, convey his instructions, show his approval or disapproval in some cases, and grant our requests if he so chooses. He has his ways and they are not our ways.
Thinking about God, the father, and how he communicates with me makes me think about the way my earthly father talked to me, what he said, what he meant. Those that knew my daddy knew that he had a very colorful way of speaking and a very colorful way of saying nothing. He was funny and jovial and descriptive in a manner somewhat like I am. Among his favorite sayings, “horse mess and gun smoke!", “He don't even suspect nothin" and my personal favorite, "shoot low, sheriff. He's riding a Shetland."
I spend a lot of time in the car by myself between radio stations and somewhere down one of those long highways I began to ponder the thought, if God, my heavenly father said, “shoot low, sheriff, he's riding a Shetland" what would it mean?
I guess I would interpret it this way: He referred to me as sheriff so I must have some authority and probably a large amount of responsibility. I would imagine that this is a position of respect and likely conflict or controversy. It's also a job and a title, not my name, so I would expect that he was going to address something to do with work. He’s telling me to shoot, destroy, disenable, render un-operational someone and he's telling me to do it in a logical manner. If he's riding a short horse I need to aim low. If the enemy is walking on stilts shooting low might not be the best option. If alcoholism is my battle I should probably stay out of bars and away from places where drinking is prominent. If I have difficulty staying out of gossip sessions I should stay away from the social settings that enable that type of behavior.
Knowing my enemies, taking the path of logic, with the instruction of God…I think I could draw a few more points out of this but instead I will ask you to leave your comments. Use your imagination, what can you see in this?