The Acoustic Life

Once upon a time I was just about as plugged in as you can get. Twitter. Facebook. LinkedIn. Skype. Emails. Text messages. You name it, I was sending and receiving it on an hourly basis. Part of that is because the technology was newish (at least, newish to me), and it was all so exciting. I couldn't help but forward, retweet, share, and comment on all the fascinating, informative, and inspiring things I was discovering out in the vastness of cyberspace. And that doesn't even include all the hilarious cat, wiener dog, and panda pictures with funny captions. There are enough of those, alone, to have consumed several months of my online time.

Besides just enjoying the novelty of the endless smorgasbord that is social media, I was also busy online for 23.765 hours per day (give or take) because I kind of had to be. Someone in our extended family was facing a major health crisis, and it was vital that we be able to stay in contact, moment by moment, with everyone involved. I was working two almost-full-time, part-time jobs from home, (while being a full-time stay-at-home mom) and needed to be "present" at a minute's notice in all of those capacities and places, even when I couldn't physically be present. Science may not have figured out how to allow a person to be two places at once, but technology sure has! (Kinda...)

I can't even tell you how many times a day I thanked God for the online resources that got me through those challenging years. Back then, those programs and social media sites were my life lines. My time savers. My life savers. But I'm not living back then anymore. The pace of my life, thankfully, has slowed considerably. I've gone from needing to be command central or Union Station, to just being a remote outpost in some dusty, backwoods hamlet.  I couldn't be more pleased!

Learning how to function in my new role, however, took time, especially in regard to all of those fancy, high-tech communication tools I'd come to love (read: become addicted to). When we first moved here, I kept engaging in my online life as often and as fully as I was accustomed to doing before. But, it wasn't the same. There was no joy in it. It felt empty, and even irritating. Could it be true!? I suddenly was inconvenienced by the very conveniences I had previously loved so much.

Well, shoot! How does one go about figuring out how often one "needs" to check social media, when one truly doesn't need to check it at all, anymore? (Probably a more profound question than meets the eye...) At first I just cut back on my reposting and forwards. That, inevitably, lead to less messaging, commenting, and replies. At this point (much to the chagrin of many technophiles I know) I'm barely even checking email or Facebook at all. That's right - this former addict has practically unplugged. Turns out, the acoustic life is a pretty good one.

Acoustic life. I like that. I've liked it since the first moment it entered my brain (probably because I wasn't using those synapses and cells trying to think of a witty comeback to a post about being middle aged).  It's a good way to define what it's like to be less attached to the electronics of this age. And, it is a metaphor that makes sense to me.

In acoustic music, there is nothing artificial to boost the volume or reach of the sounds being created. If you want to be heard by a bigger audience, you have to work a little harder. But, it's worth it. When you're unplugged, your message has so much more fidelity to your audience, and the relationship you create with them is infinitely more authentic and intimate. Being unplugged also gives you freedom to express yourself anywhere, anytime; not just within the confines of outlets, hotspots, or cell towers. But, best of all, is the resonance available to those living the acoustic life. Think about it. Rather than 'noise' being squeezed, amplified, and regurgitated electronically, acoustic sound requires room and time to resonate. Personally, I think we could use a little more of those in modern life: more room, more time, more resonance. Don't you?

But, what do I know? I haven't even read any Tweets about the new Pope, seen any of the newest memes about Justin Bieber, or re-posted a single TGIF funny on Facebook in months. I'm awfully grateful that social media and modern technological opportunities (like blogspot, for example), exist. But, I'm even more grateful that I don't have to rely on them all of the time anymore, and that I've been able to discover the many quiet joys of the acoustic life.

Chasing Butterflies with Sarah

Listen up folks - I've got an important announcement to make. I've been saying it to my children for years, and have even lectured students in my classes about it. It's time I sit you all down and have the talk with you as well. Get comfy, 'cuz there's some preachin' comin' your way.

If your life isn't poignant, you aren't paying attention.

That's it. Do you need me to repeat it? If.your.life.isn't.poignant.you.aren't.paying.attention. It's as simple as that. Go ahead - let it sink in for a minute.

I think it's important to start off with a good, solid understanding of what poignancy really is, and what it isn't. Most of the time this word evokes feelings of deep sadness or mourning for people. And, it can be that. But, it's so much more, too. Merriam-Webster dictionary describes the word poignant as piercing, deeply affecting, cutting, designed to make a lasting impression. There can be pain in the poignant, to be sure, but there can also be unfathomable joy, peace, revelation, desire, empathy, epiphany... the list goes on and on. The best moments of poignancy, if you ask me, are the ones that contain both ends of the spectrum - the comfortable and the uncomfortable - at the same time. Those highly acute moments - which stretch our emotional muscles to their fullest, until they are positively taut and buzzing - are the places where we truly experience what it feels like to live; where the most complex things in life are boiled down into one self-contained, momentary emotional high note.

Let me give you an example. The other day I took my girls to the zoo. We ambled through the ape house, traipsed by the tigers, and loitered in front the baby lions. We shared happiness, jokes, questions, gestures, and memories. These things were good, but they were not poignant. That didn't come until we sat ourselves down in the theater, giggled at each other in our goofy 3-D glasses, and watched as the a movie scrolled across the giant IMAX screen in front of us. Typically, I do not find that screen moments = poignant moments, which made it all the more painfully and startlingly wonderful when I looked over and saw my youngest child chasing the butterflies that appeared to leap off of the screen toward her.

She is allllllllllllllmost six years old. That means something. Anyone who has ever had kids, and watched them grow beyond that age, or anyone who honestly remembers what it was like to be a child of five years old, knows that five is significant. It is special in a way that no other age is. (Yes, yes... I know that can be said equally of every other age as well. But, that doesn't make it any less true.) Since she is our last, this is the last time I will be a mother to a five year old. In the fleeting days of this year of her life, in the shadowy darkness of that theater, I witnessed the special gift of five-years-old in the most poignant of ways possible. All of the innocence and incorruptible curiosity that is five was positively leaping from her dancing eyes and outstretched hands. Elation! Abandon! Freedom! Excitement! It was all there, on display, for what I knew would probably be one of the very last times ever for her as my child, and me as her mother. As I watched her, I couldn't help but feel an immensely proud pain in my heart. It was as though that bubble of joy that she exuded was being drawn up with the rushing winds of time. I could not experience her five-ness without the immediate and stinging realization of her imminent six-ness following behind to swallow it up. The moment was as delicate as the butterflies she was chasing, and every bit as fleeting, as well.

That was poignancy. It was dropped into my lap like a bittersweet gift. Thankfully, I've learned enough to savor such moments. When Sarah's joy had subsided, and she took her seat again, I looked around and noticed a handful of other beautiful, young children reaching toward the dancing images. A few parents took note, wearing knowing smiles like my own. Many shushed their excited kiddos, coaxing them to sit down once again and be quiet. Most, however - most! -  missed the experience entirely. That is why I am lecturing you. I don't want you to miss out.

It seems to me that so many people today, tired of their lives of quiet desperation, seek the calm, the smooth, the easy, the expected. Contentment is enough. Complacency. Sameness. Equanimity. I understand the urge to have these things. We should know them well, and live much of our lives in their comfortable embrace. However, a heartbeat requires peaks and valleys. Without them, we are flatlined. We are dead. It is the same for our emotional hearts. Relying on the safety of the known narrows our capacity to feel the highs and lows; to learn from what they have to teach us, to be filled with the knowledge and reality of their existence - even when painful.

I guess that's it. Lecture over. I truly hope you either really enjoyed it, or really didn't. Whichever it is, I win, since either reaction causes a bit of a blip to the heart rate on the ol' emotional EKG. Like any good teacher, I can't leave without giving you some homework. Below are several opportunities for you to work your poignancy muscle. I hope they help you hit some peaks and valleys, in order to get warmed up for the rest of your day, the rest of your week, and the rest of your life. Trust me on this - poignancy is out there - all around you - all the time. I truly believe that there is beauty, love, pain, grace, mercy, challenge, joy, etc, etc, etc. in every circumstance and every life. In short, the poignant is all around you. At least, the capacity for it is. Whether or not you allow yourself to find and experience it is often more about whether you are willing to look, than where, or even how hard.

Oh, and one more thing - there will be a test on this. It's called life, and I sincerely hope you do well on it. 

Not Your Typical Sports Report

1.) Read synopsis. 2.) Look Through Photos. 3.) Think and Be Moved

Big Baby, Little Baby

The Ending to an Old Fashioned Love Story

A Day at the Park 
And Yet, He Loves Us Still

Happy New Second!

Well, it's 2013. Despite what those rascally Mayans might have predicted, the world didn't end (at least, not here in Western Iowa), and the inexorable parade of time keeps bass-drumming its way down the avenue of life. New Year's Eve has never really been a highlight holiday for me. Around here, we tend to celebrate in as low-key of style as possible - generally in jammies. (Sure, we get strange looks at the black-tie parties we attend, but at least our dry cleaning bill is lower!) All joking aside, the reason you'll find the Farrier family at home on December 31st has as much to do with our philosophy in life as it does with our desire to be comfortable.

My understanding is that at a typical, big New Year's Eve party, the celebrants eat tiny food off of toothpicks, drink way too many mixed alcoholic drinks, then finish the evening off with a countdown, confetti, noisemakers, and a single kiss at midnight. What's up with that!? First off, if the food is any good, why would you want tiny portions? And, if it's not good, why would you want to eat it? How fancy can a party be if they're too cheap to get out the silverware, and force you to use toothpicks instead? That concept right there is enough to keep me at home.  Secondly, how much fun can a party be if the hosts have to ply me with enough liquor that I won't remember the party? How much fun can a party be if all the other guests have been plied with enough liquor that they won't remember the party, either?  See? Doesn't make much sense when you stop to think about it, does it? The only good thing about being at a party with that much free-flowing booze is that you won't be able to recall having acted like a total idiot, and neither will anyone else who was there. Don't be fooled into thinking that means none of you acted like total idiots, though - especially in the days of camera phones.

Finally, there's the fanfare and hoopty-doo of the countdown itself. I don't get this. At all. Are we really that desperate to be done with one year, that we're literally counting down the seconds until its demise? Seems a little macabre and mean spirited if you ask me. Sure, there are some times when I'd like to see the clock tick a tiny bit faster - during boring meetings, while driving on long trips, and when someone else is in the bathroom and I really need to go. Most often, however, I find myself wishing I could slow the clock and savor the precious moments of life a little bit longer, not the other way around. It seems like only yesterday that my children were born, yet I now find myself surrounded by graceful, intelligent, lovely young ladies. The reality of desperately wishing for time to fly by - even if it is only the last few seconds of a year - is that you're also wishing yourself out of the best stuff that life has to offer: time. Time to hug your kids. Time to tell your friends and family how much they mean to you. Time to put your hands to a task that will make the world a better place. Time - it's already a finite, vanishing resource in each life. Why would you wish it away faster than it's already disappearing?

Perhaps, however, I've got it all wrong. Maybe it's not the ending of the old year that gets people so audibly excited, but the beginning of the new one. Can that be true? Are all the streamers and noisemakers really about the fact that the last digit of the date will now be one bigger than it was before? To be honest, that's always brought more hassle than excitement to me. My checks almost always wear a strange, smudged, hybrid number until well in January, when I finally get the hang of writing the new one correctly. I sometimes wonder if the people at my bank worry that perhaps I've had a small stroke, or something.

What is it about the rolling over of the clock on New Year's Eve that causes us to be made aware of the freshness of possibilities for our lives? I understand the importance of a brand new calendar, a brand new year, and brand new chance for things to be brand new. But, while the symbolism, vocabulary, and hype might make it seem that January 1st is the only (or best) time of year to embrace such sentiments, I'd like to offer an alternative philosophy. It's a good one, I think, and the very same philosophy that I mentioned at the end of the first paragraph, and which keeps me on the couch instead of out and about on New Year's Eve.

Every day is a new day, filled with new opportunity. That's it. It's not just the January 1sts of life that give us the chance to renewed. It's every day. More than that, it's every hour, every minute, every second. Literally. How long does it take to make the decision to do the right thing? How long does it take to say the words, "I love you"? How long does it take to share a smile? To open a door? To savor the sunset? To give someone hope? This, people, is the good stuff in life. This is the substance of what we're here for. And, the best news of all, is that we have the chance to be brand new (and help others be brand new) each and every second of each and every day. Even if you're at home, and in your jammies.That's the beauty of this philosophy.

So, I want to wish you all a very happy New Year. But, more importantly, I also want to wish you a very happy New Month, New Day, New Hour, New Moment, and New Second. Because, honestly, these are the things worth celebrating.

Brassiere Basics

I'm a big girl. You know - curvy. Feminine. Buxom. I guess what I'm trying to delicately hint at is that I've got boobs. Which, of course, leads to the inevitable need for a bra. I say need, here, in the most fundamental sense. I don't wear one to ensure a 'smoother profile' or 'better posture'  - two of the many lies promulgated by bra manufacturers. No. My motivation for struggling into one each and every day is more a sense of self-preservation. You see, after breastfeeding three babies, they've become a tripping hazard. I can't say for sure, but my guess is that I'd be violating an OSHA mandate if I didn't keep 'the girls' safely contained - for my own safety, and the safety of others. A bra for a well-endowed woman is really more about structural support than sex appeal, which is all the more reason why you'd think someone like me would invest in top-of-the-line gear. Alas, that is sadly not the case.

Why am I exposing myself (figuratively and a bit literally) and writing about such things? It's all my bestie's fault. She is one of those people who is funny, cute, and always looks pulled-together and neat. During a break in a conference we attended together, she commented about how much she loved my dress, and asked me to take off my jacket so she could see the back. Thrilled to have impressed my fashionista friend, I started to slip my arm out of the sleeve, and then froze. I hemmed. I hawed. I made excuses, and blushed furiously. Finally, I had no choice but to admit the truth - I couldn't take my jacket off because the halter neckline of the dress would expose the back of my bra. Usually, this would not be a problem between buddies. However, my bra, on that particular day, looked like something out of a redneck fix-it shop. You can see, then, why I was hesitant to show it off.

The implement itself wasn't all that unusual. It was your typical Walmart bra - white, with a three hook closure in the back, and made for nursing. The problem was, I hadn't nursed a baby in two years. Since the time it was purchased, I'd also gained some girth, and had added a handy extender to give me some extra breathing room. The extender was black. And six hooks wide. And had been repaired in hot-pink thread. I might as well have used duct tape and baling twine when it came to aesthetics. The final result couldn't have been much worse.

My friend, being the intuitive gal that she is, began to throw questions my way about the offending item of clothing. In short order she had guessed that I was ashamed to show it because it was a nursing bra, despite the fact that I was no longer a nursing mother. Thankfully, she accepted that as the reason why I was hesitant to flash some skin and show off the back of my dress, so I was spared the embarrassment of having to actually reveal my neon stitches and mismatched extender.  I did, however, have to sit through a mild chiding about the importance of finding the right bra. Arguing was out of the question - partly because I knew I deserved the lecture, and partly because I was afraid she'd want to point something out and discover just how shockingly bad my undergarment really was.

At any rate, she was right. Since then, I've tried to be more mindful of my choice in brassieres. I no longer own a single nursing bra, and am down to just one extender, which happens to be the same color and width as the bra it is affixed to. Moreover, just last week I actually discarded a bra after the underwire broke, rather than simply pulling both wires out and continuing to wear it as-is, which is (I'm ashamed to say) something I've done in the past (Hey, at least it's economical...)

All in all, I'm glad to report that I've taken some major steps in the right direction, and am well on my way toward having an arsenal of support garments that's both attractive and strong enough to tote the load. And, not a moment too soon. After all, I'm raising three daughters who (if genetics are any indicator) are likely to be similarly well-endowed. I'm determined to not let them down when it comes to brassiere basics. I'm sure the answers are out there - some mysterious combination of fact, science, lore, and spandex - hidden deep within the pages of the Victoria's Secret catalogs, blueprints in the basement of the Vatican, and the annual OSHA safety guidelines. If all else fails, I can always get out the extenders and pink thread. They may not be pretty, but at least they work.

On Getting Older

I'm getting older. At least I'm in good company, though. Turns out, you're getting older too. We all are. Despite scientific, medical, pharmaceutical, cosmetic, and even surgical advances,  you cannot stop the onslaught of time. It is relentless. I have recently come to discover that it is hairy, as well. Allow me to explain.

Picture it - Mother's Day. After church my adoring family had announced that they were going to take me out to the restaurant of my choice to celebrate my role as matriarch of our little clan, since that's what tradition (and Hallmark) require on this made-up May holiday. A few minutes later we were perched on greasy seats at a wobbly table in a local fast food joint.  (Yes, that's what I chose. Partly because I love their burgers so very, very much, and partly because the faster we ate our food, the sooner I would be able to go home for a  much-anticipated Mother's Day nap. Don't judge me.) 

Anyway... the sun was streaming through the window. My children were grinning in my direction (they liked that I chose the fast food place too.) My husband was staring intently at me. I was just thinking how lucky I was to have a healthy, happy family, and a man who still found me beautiful after so many years of marriage, when he leaned forward, brushed my cheek softly, wrinkled his brow, and said, "Is that a hair?" I paused, french fry in midair.

"Is what a hair?"

"That." He pointed. "That thing. On your mole."

Oy. Now those are words you don't ever, ever want to come out of anyone's mouth about you. Especially not your husband's. Especially not on Mother's Day. Especially not in public. My greasy hand instinctively went to my face. (Which, in hindsight, wasn't such a smart thing. Who wants a pimple on top of a hairy mole, after all?)

"I think it is. I think there are two, actually." He said, with great interest.

"Nu - uh!" I gasped in horror, and excused myself to rush to the bathroom. 

In the ladies' room, I locked the door and peered into the mirror. He was right. Though the hairs were blonde (thank goodness!), they were there, nonetheless - long, mocking, and a reminder of the fact that I was getting older. I think all women eventually come to the place of thinking they've either turned into hideous old crones, or (even worse) their own mothers. That's how I felt. I plucked the hairs, washed my hands (because touching mole hairs is gross, you know), and returned to the table. My husband grinned, and inspected my face closely.

"You got 'em, eh? Nice job!" He offered an upheld hand for a high-five.

I figured that since I had officially turned into a witch, I would be able to vaporize him on the spot with one glare from my wizened, cloudy eye. After all, though he hadn't technically caused my facial follicles to explode, he had been the one who noticed them doing so. Same difference, right? When I realized that my pouty stare hadn't worked, I couldn't help but grin back at him, though, and return the high-five - an action typically reserved for victors in sporting events or for moments of great triumph or importance. In retrospect, I realized that it was the perfect gesture.

For one thing, life is a great race. The most we can do is endeavor to run our race well, to the very end, until we cross the finish line and share the fullness of the victory of Christ. The mole hairs and other unpleasantries we get along the way are simply indicators of the mile markers passing by. High five - you're still running your race! And, the fact that I have someone to share my life with - even the unpleasant bits - who loves me through thick and thin is a great triumph in and of itself. High five - there are people in your life who will run your race with you, from the highest highs, to the lowest lows, even if you turn into a troll.  That's pretty sweet stuff indeed.

Since then, I've discovered a few more signs of age, and I'm sure that trend will continue. But, it's all good. Every hair, sag, and wrinkle I come across is another reminder of the fact that I'm still here, and still going strong. Life may not always be pretty, but it certainly is something to celebrate.  I'm getting older. But, I'm in good company. You're getting older too. Can I get a high five for that?

Lee Ann

It's my best friend's birthday, and I want to shout it from the rooftops! (Actually, six months and three days ago, when I first started this blog post, was my best friend's birthday. But one of the many reasons I love her so much is that she tolerates my procrastination.) I have a really good plan for a really cool birthday gift that I'm really going to make for her eventually. Really. Honest. But, since I am a procrastinator and always run late (see previous sentence), I at least wanted to take this chance to tell all of you (my devoted, faithful readers) about my best friend, Lee Annie.

Ok - first off, her name is just Lee Ann, not Lee Annie. But, she and I have been like two peas in a pod since I was born (and she was six weeks old), and we used to giggle in utter abandon and delight about how well our names fit together -  just like us. We would skip through the park, hand-in-hand, in our matching, hooded capes when we were little and be content in the knowledge that we had the world by the tail. To be honest, I still feel that way when we get to hang out (though the capes no longer fit, and matching clothing is a bit strange for honest-to-goodness grownup ladies like ourselves).

It helped, of course, that we have a shared red-neck upbringing during our tender, formative years. Though, truth be told, if push ever came to shove, she'd out redneck me in a competition any day of the week.After all, I've never had a pet raccoon, squirrel or alligator. Let alone several of each. She has. True story. Anyway - even if that were to happen (is there such a thing as a redneck competition?),  I'm pretty certain that our attachment would survive. I think it can make it through whatever life might throw our way. In fact, it kind of already has. We've done everything from living a few blocks apart, to having several states separating us. Even more amazing, we've even survived living together! (Briefly, and when we were very young. There were no squabbles over the division of rent or utilities, but the nightly arguments about whose turn it was to wash and whose turn it was to dry was every bit as rough as any adult disagreement could ever be. I'm sure of it.)

Despite such seemingly-insurmountable challenges, our friendship is holding strong. I'm sure there are a lot of reasons for that. First off, our mothers are still friends. Our children are as well, which makes us the gooey center of a lovely, multi-generational friend sandwich. We also, finally, have the joy of being buddies within fairly close geographic proximity (not as close as we were before I had the nerve to move to the other side of the state, mind you...) But, most of all, we are still friends because we both know waaaay too much about the other to leave the friendship without serious fallout. I'm pretty sure either of us could ruin a potential presidential campaign for the other, for example, just from the information we know about the other's teenage years. The thing is, though- we wouldn't.

I know I can trust Lee Ann to keep my secrets - from what I looked like the one and only time I wore a two-piece swimming suit, to just how ratty I let my undergarments get before buying new ones - to the very end. She still chuckles at my lame jokes, and guffaws at the really good ones. Hearing her ring tone on my cell phone is enough to cheer me up. When I pulled the first nasty, long hair from a mole on my face, I texted a picture of it to her (along with a friendly reminder that I might be turning into an old crone, but she is 6 weeks ahead of me in the process, since she's the older one.) And, I'm pretty sure the only reason we haven't each jumped the parenting ship and headed for the border is because we remind one another - on a daily basis - that it's normal for children to scream and whine, that it doesn't mean we're bad parents if our children scream and whine, and that if we don't stick around for the long haul we won't be able to re-tell the stories of when our children screamed and whined when they are listening to their own children scream and whine. And that, my friends, is what real friendship looks like.

Let the Commencement Commence

Seems like they'll let just anyone do a commencement speech these days! I had the honor of giving the key note address to the 2012 graduates of the Mid-Prairie Home School Assistance Program. I couldn't be more honored. While there were lots of things that I could have said, here's what the final draft looked like. Seems like prudent advice to all of us:

Graduates, teachers, parents, students, and distinguished guests – Welcome. We are here today to celebrate a monumental achieve…

Ok – I’m just kidding. I’ve always wanted to start a speech in some fancy, high-falutin way. But, I’ve got it out of my system now, so we can move on.  I think most of you know me, and know that’s not really the kind of person I am. For those of you who don’t know, my name is Andrea Farrier. I was a supervising teacher in the MPHSAP for 10 years, and loved every minute of it. Three weeks ago, however, our family embarked on a new adventure, and moved to the town of Atlantic, in western-central Iowa.

I really, really miss you guys, but am totally enjoying ‘only’ being a stay-at-home, full-time home schooling mom. To be honest, I’ve never worked harder in my life, and I’m exhausted. I salute you all!  I’m open to the idea of skipping the rest of the speech so all of you moms out there can get a well-deserved catnap, but somehow I don’t think that’s what Jan had in mind when she asked me to speak to you all today.

In fact, I’m not 100% sure what it is that I’m supposed to be talking about, so I’m just gonna wing it, alright? I think the general theme is transitions, which I’ve had a few of in the past couple months, and our new graduates will have a few of in the months to come. Maybe some of the things I’ve observed and lessons I’ve learned will be helpful to you as well. So – here goes:

1.)    Don’t Take Junk. For me, this was a somewhat literal lesson. When trying to fit a whole household of stuff for 5 people into one moving truck, you’ve got to be selective. Let me give you an example. I, like many people my age, sort of had two wardrobes. You know what I’m talkin’ about ladies? I had my regular clothes, that I wore everyday. And, I had my skinny clothes. You know – the ones I used to fit into, that I really, really, really wanted to fit into again someday, and that made me feel miserable about myself every time I looked at them. Some of them – I kid you not – I’d had since I got married. There was one skirt in particular that I wore on my honeymoon that I adored, and it had been mocking me from my closet for 12 ½ years.

When I was packing up my clothes, I really debated whether or not to throw it in with the rest, even though I know full well I will never wear that skirt again. What I realized – and it was very, very freeing for me – was that that just because you’ve spent a lot of time with something, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s something you need or something that’s good for you. I had loved that skirt when it served a positive purpose in my life, and I would always have those memories. I didn’t need to drag it halfway across the state, though, so it could continue reminding me of what I’m not. Get what I’m saying, here? Familiar isn’t always helpful. 

Graduates – I encourage you to stop and think in the days ahead - are there things you’re keeping, habits you’ve formed, ways you think or talk about yourself or others that aren’t going to be helpful in your next steps? This – right here, right now - is an opportunity to choose what you put into your box to carry into your future. Don’t drag something along just because you’ve had it a while or it feels familiar. Instead, be selective, and make sure you’re not packing junk

2.)    Don’t Forget People. Newsflash – I wouldn’t be where I am today without all of you, and so many others who have invested in my life. And, you wouldn’t be where you are today without all the people who have cared, loved, worked, helped, prayed, hugged, taught, etc…  you, either. Don’t forget about them. Don’t forget about the person who taught you how to tie your shoes. Don’t forget about your buddy in fourth grade. Don’t forget about the person who cleans the toilets in your church. Don’t forget about your family. Don’t forget about your friends.

Some of them will not continue to be in your life in your next steps. That’s ok. You need to make peace with that. Learning to let go of relationships – good and bad ones – gracefully is a necessary life skill. One of the people I thought I’d be best friends with forever is still my best friend. The other one is not. We haven’t spoken in years. And, that’s alright. Our friendship served its purpose at the right time, and we drifted apart at the right time.

Some of the people in your life, however, are destined to be a part of your next steps. Call them. Email them. Send smoke signals if you have to. These are the people who were put into your lives to be a support. They’ve already earned your trust, and proven you can count on them. That’s worth more than any pay check, or college class, or cute new boy or girl could ever be. Don’t neglect those relationships. When hospice workers ask dying patients to reflect on their regrets in life, one that comes up almost universally is not tending important relationships like they wish they would have. Don’t make that mistake.

3.)    Be Flexible. True story – when Mark (my husband) and I first started feeling like we were supposed to move in a different direction in life, we kept thinking that direction was North Carolina. We felt called there. He interviewed for jobs there. We just knew we were going to end up living on the Atlantic coast. Instead, God moved us to Atlantic, Iowa. Now, as much as I have come to love my new little town, it is not the ocean. There are no endless beaches. There are no coastal breezes. There is no marine life. And, that’s ok.

Don’t get me wrong – at first it wasn’t really ok. Not in my heart of hearts. Mark interviewed for the job in winter, and I was seeing more white snowbanks in my future than white, sandy beaches. I grumbled a bit, more than I should have, but then I did one of the most important things that anyone can do – I got over it. I moved on. I got flexible and embraced what was happening, not what I thought would happen.

Graduates – you better start brushing up on your yoga, because you’re going to need to be flexible too. A lot. Like, all the time. You’ll need to flexible in the little things – like where you live, what your job or class schedule will be, how much money you make. And, you’ll have to flexible in the big things, as well. Statistics show that most of you, ten years from now, will not be doing the job you think you’ll be doing. Neither will the person next to you. Your life – most likely – is not going to end up how you think it is going to right now. But – if you’re flexible along the way – it’ll end up being exactly where you need to be, which is even better.

4.)     It’s Good to Be Scared Did that last one scare you a bit? You know, someone standing up here telling you that your life’s not gonna turn out like you want it to? Good! It’s good to be scared. If you’re not feeling at least a bit apprehensive, that means you’re not trying something new. I tell my kids all the time that learning only takes place beyond what you already know. It sounds simple, but is rather profound when you think about it.

If you only eat the foods you already know you like, hang out with the people you already know everything about, go to the places you’ve already gone a million times before, watch the movies you’ve already watched before, and do the things you already know how to do, there is no room for growth and change. The most productive times in your life are probably going to be the scariest. My husband was, with all respect in the world, scared to death when he started his new job, and I couldn’t be more proud of him for taking that step. It has turned out to be a wonderful thing for him, his employees, the City of Atlantic, our family, and so many more. But, it didn’t come easily.  Most great things don’t.

I encourage you to live enough on the edge of life to know apprehension, and to be a bit scared sometimes. Don’t get me wrong (please, please, please don’t get me wrong!). I am not telling you to drive at 95 miles per hour, make unwise financial decisions, or even to watch scary horror movies. That’s not what I’m saying. Don’t misquote me here. But, going into the unknown is the only way you’re going to broaden your horizons. Don’t be afraid of being afraid once in a while in life.

5.)    Enjoy the Ride Seriously. On the good days, take time to look around and recognize that it’s a good day. Savor it. On the tough days, take time and look around and recognize that it’s still a good day. We all woke up this morning – hooray! We have food to eat, clothes on our backs, a place to live, people around us – there is always, always, always something to thankful for. Take the time to be grateful. Every day. Period.

You will not always be able to choose how things turn out in your life. But, you always have the power to decide how you will react to them. And that, my friends, will make all the difference in the long run. I’m talking about big things – choosing to learn the beautiful life lessons that a dying loved one is imparting rather than wallowing in feelings of sadness during the final days, hours, and moments. And, the little things – have you noticed how sweet the air smells sometimes, how many colors God puts into each sunset for us to enjoy, or even just how beautiful the smiles of the people around you are?

Graduates – fifteen years from now you will almost certainly look back on pictures from this time of your life and marvel at how pretty, skinny, strong, and beautiful you were. Trust me on this. Why not go ahead and give yourself permission to feel that way right now? In fact, why don’t we all go ahead and give ourselves permission to feel that way right now? Why not choose to savor all the good stuff life has to offer right here, right now, in this moment? We will never again get the chance to be here and now. Let’s enjoy it, shall we?

In the interest of not overstaying my welcome, I’ve decided to condense the rest of my pithy advice down to a simple list. Here goes: floss your teeth; start saving for your retirement today;  eat well most of the time, but pig out every once in a while on something truly delicious; be nice to old people; don’t ever think too highly of yourself, or let someone make you think to little of yourself; don’t whine; don’t forget how to play; walk in the woods at least once a year – it’s good for the soul; be polite to police officers, soldiers, waitresses and waiters, librarians, checkout people – oh, what the heck – be polite to everyone; don’t use cuss words; wear clothes you like, not clothes that everyone says you should wear; be an active and informed citizen;  make a budget and stick to it; hug people; sit up straight, be on time (still working on this one myself).

And, remember – it’s not just in the big transitions – like moves and graduations – that we have the chance to make the changes we want to in our lives. Every moment is an opportunity to take a step toward becoming the person that this world needs us to be. Happy trails, everyone. Here’s to a roads well traveled, and lives well lived….

Smart Woman / Stupid Moments

I am a smart gal. I've even got test scores from high school to prove it. I certainly am no Einstein, and there will be probably not be anything named after me when I am dead, but I like to think I can hold my own in the realm of ideas. Even after having had three children (which does, let's be honest, tend to diminish capacity just a tiny bit, at least in the eyes of your teenagers), I still get at least 60% of the questions right when I watch re-runs of Jeopardy on TV, and can generally fill in ten to fifteen words in the Sunday crossword puzzle before I get bored, distracted, or need to clean up a spill. I guess you could say that I've got it goin' on in the brain department.

This is why I am all the more amused and confused when I get bemused. (See - only a smart person could string those words together, right?) My problem is that I am kind of book smart, and not always real-world smart. My friend laughs at me for being so capable of deconstructing the obscure literature of unknown writers, but unable to order a sandwich at the drive-thru without practically breaking into tears. I am the woman ahead of you at the grocery store, holding up the line, because I have forgotten to push the 'do you want cash back' button on the credit card machine. (Seriously - I just want to pay for my groceries, not have a relationship. Why does it ask so many questions!?)

Vending machines cause me a bit of anxiety. The main reason I never started drinking coffee was my profound fear of ordering at Starbucks. Seriously... people who can do that without quaking in fear (or because of the caffeine overload) deserve Noble prizes.  In short, I am a smart woman who has trouble with the simple things, which has led to many, many stupid moments. Typically, I try to keep these to myself (you know - to preserve the whole 'smart woman' reputation I'm trying to cultivate). However, my last trip to Oklahoma brought several of these to the surface, and I thought that it would be cathartic to confess my stupidity, rather than holding it in any longer. (That, and since I experienced them with several people around, I can no longer be assured that they will be kept secret without having to pay off or kill some folks.) Perhaps admitting to my problem it will help me overcome it. At the very least, I hope it will provide a bit of comfort if you've had similar moments, or a bit of mirth if you have not.

So, I present to you, my top five 'Duh' moments (that I can remember and am willing to admit to)...

1.) As we drove into Oklahoma, I started seeing lots of signs for Indian smoke shops. I was very excited, since I really like smoked meat. My imagination started to run away with me, as I envisioned wizened native Americans offering smoked buffalo, venison, perhaps even something exotic like rattlesnake or turtle. It was at the point that I was actually trying to figure out how much room we would have in the cargo area of the van that I realized that Indian smoke shops sell smokes. You know - cigarettes. Cuz they can. Without as many taxes attached. Cuz it's Oklahoma. Duh.

2.) Last year we went to the International Cattle Dog trials. You know - where people train fuzzy, black-and-white collies to go and fetch the cows. (Why has no one thought to train dogs to do the same for children in parking lots and grocery stores? Hmm....) Anyway, there were only about 100 people there total, including the trainers and audience. After the sixth white cane that I saw, I started to wonder what it was about this sport that drew so many blind people. I mean, surely it couldn't that interesting to just listen to the whistles and moos, could it? What kind of a spectator sport would this be for someone who couldn't see? Yep - that's right. I actually thought that for a few minutes, before it dawned on me that the cattle dog owners use the white canes to point out instructions and directions to the dogs. Does make you wonder, though - how much more challenging would it be if you had to blindfold the owners. Or the dogs... Just sayin'. Duh.

3.) (You might need to be from the south to understand this one.) On our way down to Oklahoma, I mentioned that I didn't know the names of the Duke boys from the popular TV show from the 80's called The Dukes of Hazard. (This, for you Yankees, is akin to not knowing how to wipe your own nose or spell your own name. In the south, the latter two are optional, but knowing about the Dukes is not.) I said something about hearing the names Crockett and Tubbs on a movie, and thinking, "Oh - that must be the names of the Dukes boys." (Even as I type this, I am filled with shame.) See - that was my mistake. I thought I had been dumb for not knowing something, and smart once I finally figured it out. Although (and, you've probably already noticed this by now, especially if you've ever lived south of the Mason-Dixon line) Crockett and Tubbs are not the Dukes brothers. They, apparently, are from the equally-popular 1980's television show called Miami Vice. For the record, the Dukes boys are named Bo and Luke. If you ever get confused about that yourself (which I doubt you would), you can simply call anyone - literally, anyone - in a southern area code and ask. They'll be able to tell you. Even a five-year old, though I cannot be trusted when it comes to these things. Duh.

4.) We had just finished with a lovely meal, and I was clearing the table. Noting that there was a lot of liquid wax in the candle, I wondered what I should do with it. (Note - the right answer is JUST LEAVE IT! Trust me on this one.) I decided - because I am brilliant - that I should dump it down the drain. Now, lest you think that I am a total idiot, I want to point out that I was smart enough to know that wax does cool. So, to counteract the cooling effect, I ran hot water down the drain with the wax. (Yes, I was trying to mitigate my own stupid, but sometimes effort does not replace intelligence.) As I'm sure you can imagine, the wax hardened in the trap, and clogged the sink. You'd think - as many times as I had put my finger into liquid wax (and felt the burn), and watched that wax harden on my finger - that I would be able to foresee the hazards of my dumb decision. But, I did not. That's what we call a stupid moment. Duh.

5.) And, finally - the piece de resistance. (See - I AM smart. I know some fancy French words!) I wish I could say that the last stupid moment ended there, but it did not. (I guess you could call this a whole stupid evening.)

After clogging the sink, I called to my dear, saintly husband (who rescues me in such situations), and told him what had happened. After looking at me and shaking his head ruefully, he put a pan under the sink and began loosening the plumbing. Once he got the trap off, the water from the sink drained into the pan, and quickly filled it up. He hollered for me to hand him a big bowl, which I did, and asked me to dump the pan. I grabbed it and (oh yes I did - you can see it coming) promptly dumped it back down the drain. (He told me to empty it. That's where you empty stuff, right!?)  Duh.

Have I mentioned that my husband is a saint? Sputtering (both from the water that had cascaded down on him from above and the utter stupidity that his very smart wife had just exhibited) he thanked me and said he would handle plumbing situations by himself in the future. That is probably the smartest decision he has ever made. But, then again - he doesn't suffer from stupid moments like I do, so his decisions are almost always smart.

Note: He did get his revenge (which resulted in another 'Duh' moment for me.) Several months later I was watching TV at my parents' house. They have Dish Network. This, also, confuses me. I wanted to see what shows were going to be on a particular channel much later that afternoon, so I kept hitting the right arrow button. The screen would blink momentarily before revealing the next two hours of programming. I had done this three or four times when my dear, sweet husband (have I mentioned that he's not always a saint?) casually said, "You know it costs your parents a quarter every time you do that, don't you?" I froze - desperately trying to calculate how much cost I had incurred - a task made all the more difficult because I'm not so hot at math or remembering details like how many times I had hit a button. He finally couldn't contain himself, and grinned. Duh!

Don't worry - I'll get back at him, though. I'm pretty sure there's a drip in the bathroom sink, and I'll just offer to help him fix it. Stay tuned for more stupid moments to come...

Presenting My Findings

I was chatting with my husband on the phone today and he told me how sweet our youngest daughter has been to him this morning. Before he leaves for work each day he always goes in, kisses the girls, and tells them goodbye. Typically, he gets snores, snorts, drool, and grumbles in response (especially from me, I'm ashamed to admit). But, apparently this morning our four-year-old opened her deep, dark eyes for a moment, smiled the biggest smile you can imagine, and told him how much she loved him, and couldn't wait until he got home from work again. Then, she insisted on one more hug before rolling over and going back to sleep.

Fast forward about an hour. The same, sweet child had come into my room sometime in the interim, and snuggled down in bed next to me. I awoke to see her precious little face, and I wrapped my arms around her, marveling at what a miracle each and every new morning is. After a moment, she opened her deep, dark eyes, stared intently into mine, and said, "When are you making shrimpy noodles for me?" Hmmm... Somehow that didn't go like I thought it would. But, that's okay, because a mom is not a dad.

Dad is fun and spontaneous. Dad is the bringer of treats. The taker to new places. The fun driver. The adventure seeker. The excitement in an otherwise monotonous life. Dad has cool stuff that is off limits and infinitely  more appealing because of it. Even though he is a grownup, he still buys stuff just for the pleasure of having it - the quintessential definition of a toy. Plus, to my girls at least, Dad has gifts and talents that they can only dream of. Not only can he fix any broken item and always find the right battery or bulb, but his mysterious anatomy allows Dad to pee outside. Awesome.

Mom, on the other hand, is not so spontaneous. Mom is the maker of food. The everyday chauffeur. The monotony in an otherwise exciting life. Mom has ordinary stuff that is (at least, in the minds of the kids) common property and infinitely more expendable because of it. Mom never was a child, and only buys things that are useful, necessary, and on sale. Not only is Mom the essence of prudence, but her anatomy doesn't do any cool tricks except, apparently, for enabling her to find things.

Look, I watched 'the film' in fourth grade and paid avid attention to the wonder and magic of the female reproductive system. I understand fallopian tubes, and ovaries, and complicated hormones as well as the next gal. Yet, despite three pregnancies, two ultrasounds, and full-color photographs of the exploratory surgery to my lower abdomen (I'll have to explain later), I have yet to understand how a uterus helps women find things. But, it must be so. No one wanders around my house plaintively whining, "Daddy, can you help me find my..." And, I'm certainly not the one who constantly asks the other members of the household where things are. Nope. Quite the contrary - apparently I am the one who always knows where things are (or, at least, should).

Naturally, I have concluded that beyond just being able to create and grow a baby, a uterus must also be a tracking device. Someday a white-coated scientist will discover a little, blipping microchip-like structure embedded deep inside a womb, and the mystery will finally be solved. Mind you, for such a find as that, it will have to be a female scientist, of course.

Until then, I will be content to not be able to water the flowers anatomically. I will also be more than happy to be the finder of lost things, the ho-hum helper, and the maker of shrimpy noodles. Dad may get the morning and evening hugs, but I get all the rest while he has to be at work. The greeting he gets tides him over until he returns home again at the end of the day. The greeting I get is filled with the promise of hours and hours together. Dad's spontaneity and my monotony make a fine balance for our family, and one that serves us all very well. In fact, I think you'd be hard pressed to find a better combination. And I should know - apparently I'm equipped to find anything...

Photoblog - A Camping How-To

 Last week I introduced a new type of post on Musings entitled 'Cheaterblog', where I borrowed (stole) a really good idea and presented it to you - my readers. This saved me valuable time and brainpower that I was able to put to use for such important things as websurfing, watching movies, and Spider Solitaire. You should expect to see further such posts in future.

Following those themes of flexibility and trying new things, I've decided to create yet another new type of post for my Musings - the Photoblog. Up to this point I've included only one image per post, usually taken off the internet - a habit for which I am fully expecting to be sued, jailed, or written a very nasty letter eventually. Before that happens, however, I thought I'd at least try throwing in a few of my own feeble photos. Voila - the photoblog...

A Camping How-To

 Have you ever wanted to go camping, but not known how to go about it? Do you dread the preparation it takes to get a family ready for a weekend outing in the woods? Or, are you just overwhelmed by the thought of undertaking such an expedition? Dear friends - camping needn't be a chore! Just follow these easy steps, and you'll be enjoying the great outdoors in no time!

Step 1: Preparations at Home

 Before you set off for the weekend, you'll want to be sure that you've left everything at home in tip-top order. Doing the little things like shutting windows, turning off the hot water heater, and making sure that no electronics are left running will save you money and peace of mind in the long run. Oh - and don't forget to leave plenty of food and water for your pets. The new 'self feed' systems are very convenient. 

The next step involves gathering the items you'll need for your weekend. While packing up your supplies, it's important not to go overboard and pack too much. Generally you'll know it's time to stop just before the liftgate no longer shuts. If you have extra room in the back, you've forgotten something. Go back and start over. 

 Step Two: Travel

 Now that you're all set, it's time to start your adventures. A map (or GPS), clean windows, and plenty of snackage are important for the drive - especially if you have children. The first two can be skipped entirely and still result in a successful trip as long as there is plenty of the latter. Since space might be an issue, you will want to emphasize the fun of 'snuggling' before you set off. Also, take pictures of traveling children early in the trip (before they are angry at you and one another). The best time to snap a candid shot of your happy tots is right before you pull out of the driveway. 

Teaching children to look at the beautiful things all around them out the windows not only helps them develop a keen sense of observation and an appreciation of the splendors of the great outdoors, but it also provides microseconds of silence and prevents you from having to play the license plate game for the entirety of the trip. Things you might teach them to look for include interesting buildings, beautiful scenery, and roadsigns that will be helpful to get you back on your intended path after you get lost.

Step Three: Arrival and Setup

Upon arrival, it's important to follow all of the required protocol for the campground in which you'll be staying. Usually this is simply a matter of filling out some paperwork, providing a method of payment, and then spending 25 minutes trying to get the registration card (3 x 5) to fit into the rigid plastic sleeve in the campsite marker (2 x 4). It will usually be close to dark by the time this is done.

Of course, the rest of your setup varies widely, depending on your method of camping. Those who have RV's simply pull into their space, press a button to level the vehicle, then (and this is the most important part) figure out which way to point the satellite in order to pick up the best TV stations. If you are not fortunate enough to have such a camping rig, you can at least hope to be related to (or make friends with) someone who is. The availability of indoor plumbing in the middle of the night is a powerful motivator for relationships.

 
For old-fashioned campers (like us) setting up the tent takes anywhere from approximately 30 to 234,345,054 minutes, depending on how long it's been since your last camping trip, and how much your children try to help. It will most assuredly be dark by the time you attempt this feat, making it all the more challenging and rewarding. Anyone can set up a tent in broad daylight. It takes a real outdoorsperson to best all those poles and stakes in the pitch black.

After your shelter is set up, the next step is to make it homey and comfortable. Hanging pictures, installing custom curtains, and re-carpeting are not advised. The usual method involves throwing sleeping bags, blankets, and pillows inside, and falling into a heap in your grubby clothing. Regardless of how careful you are in putting bedding inside, it will go from this:

to this: 

in a matter of hours. Don't worry too much about it. Order can be restored, and the loss of blankets throughout the night is one of the natural mysteries that goes along with camping. 

Note: site selection has a lot to do with how enjoyable and memorable your trip will be. The best campsites will provide both qualities. Some will be pleasant, but soon forgotten. Others will be memorable, but for all the wrong reasons. The subtle and crucial differences between memorable and enjoyable can sometimes be hard to anticipate. For example, selecting a sight close to the train tracks might *seem* like it would fulfill both criteria. However, after the 15th train has passed 20 feet from your tent in the middle of the night (horns blaring and lights flashing) you will realize that this trip might be heavy on the memorable, but light on the enjoyable. The best you can hope is to keep a positive outlook, take some interesting pictures, and plan on sleeping in when you get home. 

Step Four: Food
 There are many schools of thought when it comes to camp cooking. Some say that 'roughing it' requires the exclusive use of cast-iron cookware over an open fire. Others take advantage of the conveniences available through modern technology and rely on cook stoves, electric skillets, or state-of-the-art, built-in convection ovens when they're in the great outdoors. While I can see the benefits and detriments of all of the various options, I have found one fool-proof secret for camp cookery: bacon. Regardless of the meal, time of day, camp setup, or weather, bacon is a proven winner. Observe: 

Camper Without Bacon

Camper With Bacon

 Note the smile in the second picture. And the bacon. Other foods, of course, can be added to the meal. Toast and eggs are a particularly good choice.

Step Five: Entertainment
While the exercise it takes to setup your campsite and the consumption of bacon alone can be enough to ensure a successful outdoor experience, most people choose to engage in other forms of entertainment as well. Common camping pastimes include hiking, fishing, biking, sightseeing, and trying to find firewood.

In our family, one of the chief pleasures of camping (or any other get-together, for that matter) is card playing. I don't mean to brag, but we can pretty much beat the pants off any anyone, at any game, at any time of the day or night. Ever. Just sayin'

Playing cards while camping requires only a few things. The right supplies (note the card try - a *must* in our game of choice),

Finesse (look how carefully he's settling that card into the tray),

And, enough room (both for the cards to be laid out, and for the egos of the players. The latter is much bigger.)

Caution: playing too late into the night can sometimes cause a nasty case of card zombieism. The initial warning signs include:

Euphoria at winning,

Exhaustion,

And full-blown zombie symptoms.

The only known cure is to beat the pants off the afflicted persons (figuratively at first, literally if it's a particularly nasty case). Be sure to keep some sort of proof of your win, because poor card playing and excellent lying often go hand in hand. (Publishing the results on a famous blog with millions of readers world-wide is a nice added precaution.)

Step Six: Packing Up and Heading Home
Eventually, the fun of camping is overcome by the financial need to get home and back to work. That, or lack of sleep from the passing train will compel your physical body toward home and bed, sometimes even bypassing your brain and any conscious thought entirely. Either way - at some point you've got to clean up the mess - er, campsite - you've made. One final photograph of your site will serve as a pleasant reminder of your trip. Cuteness during the pic is both hard to come by (after not showering or sleeping) but nice to include if possible. Note how adorable the duo in this picture is...

 The first step to cleanup is to empty the contents of the tent. After that has been done, you may take the tent down. Failure to complete step one will almost assuredly complicate step two, and make it even more unlikely that your tent will fit back into its original packaging. This is, by means, necessary for a successful camping experience, but does provide plenty of opportunity for bragging rights. If you are unable to shrink an entire shelter back into a nylon bag the size of a loaf of bread, you can always use a duffel bag, suitcase, or plastic tote. For those of you who engage in one of the latter activities, just note - you are not as cool as my rockin' husband, who has been successfully re-rolling our tent into its original packaging for 12 years. Just sayin'.

After your site is empty and your vehicle is full, it is time to get on the road. But - don't despair. The fun of your few days of camping will not soon be forgotten, especially since it takes approximately ten times longer to clean up and unpack than it did to actually take the trip. But, such is the life of an outdoor enthusiast.

Step Six: Gratuitous Photos
I had a few more pics that were just too cute to not include. Enjoy!