The Best Things

The Best Things

One of the best things about a blog is that it’s your own.  It’s like being the alpha dog with the bone.  It’s mine; all mine.  If you don’t like it that’s okay--- it’s really not about anyone but me.  My little moment in time where I can be myself, say the things I want to say and leave my children an image of who their mother was.  It’s for the real me that can’t come out and play all the time because whoever was in charge that day would have to duct tape me to a chair and put tape over my mouth.

So, this (writing) is one of the best things that I have discovered.   Some mornings I wake up and my mind is running 80 miles per hour with lists.  It’s like an interstate system in there sometimes; I’m supposed to be on the main thoroughfare, but thoughts keep entering from the on ramps and exiting on the off ones.  My mind is one big list.

Lists… great things.  I have them everywhere. By my chair in the living room, kitchen, sewing room, bedroom, car, garage, lawnmower, the really important ones get taped to the door to the garage so I have to see them nine times a day—yet how come that item on that particular list never gets accomplished?  Post-it pads… priceless.

Rising in the morning, turning the corner of the hall and seeing the sunrise cutting a slash across the sky with a ribbon of crimson, orange and yellow—colors unknown to anyone but God himself.  Watching the storms roll in, rushing in and out, around and through the house trying to get the best view.  Standing outside when the front moves through and the temperature drops 20 degrees and it takes your breath away.

Sitting in my chair in the late afternoon waiting for my phone to ping with the message that The Hubby is “heading home”.  So I watch the clock and give him thirty minutes to arrive.  I wait to hear the garage door rise; that is the best sound of my day.

The best thing for a cranky mama is to take a break and go play with the animals.  Finding that long-haired kitten and rolling him over and rubbing his fluffy little belly, scratching them under the chin and behind the ears trying to get them to purr.  Putting peanut butter on your fingers and letting them lick it off with their raspy, pink tongues.   Giving the dog the attention he deserves. I roll him over and find his tickle spot that makes his hind leg go wild.  Soon it will be time to brush him out.  Nothing better than doting on your pets.  They need you, they rely on you, and they love and adore you unconditionally.  Pets—the best thing.

Waking up and finding that The Hubby has started the dishwasher or hung up the clothes in the dryer because you forgot about them.  Finding the honey-do notes… ‘make an appointment’, ‘get six fuji and two gala apples’ (he knows me so well… I need specifics!) and signing the note with ‘I love you’.

They say the best things in life are free.  It’s true. Things that you can never buy in a store.  A smile, a touch, a grin, a pinch, a look, a laugh, a sigh… the intangibles.  Those are the best.

The ultimate best thing?  Children.  Especially your own.  Pitter-patter of little feet in the middle of the night, tapping on your arm:  “I had a bad dream, mommy.”  Letting them climb in bed and be protected by the best thing they know.  Isn’t it nice to know that at one time (anyway!) that you were the best thing in your child’s life?  Now, that is too cool!  Tiny little helpless creatures that grow into gangly teenagers with moods to match and then magically transforming into young adults.  Watching them grow, seeing the little quirks of genetic magic that was deposited in them from you and your spouse.  Their passions, humor and emotions—those kids rock my world.  I exhaust myself with worry over them one day, and the next I am bursting with pride.  How did I get so lucky?  How come I am so blessed?  I think it’s because God gives us only the best and nothing less. 

Some days you have to scratch and dig a little deeper to find the best.  It hides around each corner in every situation and in everyone you meet.  If you're willing to take some risks and have some adventure, it’s there… waiting.  Go for it, go find the best things.

Curiosity

Ah. Yes, curiosity.

Just how do they put the cotton on the end of Q-tips?

How does that magnificent spray of water come out of that nozzle?

How do birds fly?

For me curiosity is lifting and peeking inside every closed lid I can find.  It is walking through the fabric store touching every piece of fabric--- gently fingering to test the weight and texture.  It’s shopping with my friend and getting lost in the store and she has to call me on her cell to find me.

As a child I was curious about everything, as any child is.  I have two wonderful scars on each of my palms as testimony.  It was climbing a metal cabinet to get at the candy on the top shelf… cabinet tumbles on top… my palm is sliced open from a broken mason jar.  Curisoity is climbing onto a gas tank supported by t-posts and ‘riding my pony into the wind’.  That pony was one wild ride; I caught the palm of my hand on the top of the steel post and now I have a y-scar on my other hand.

Those scars have long healed and are almost hidden into the creases of my skin.  They are good scars of good memories.

Curiosity.

Now we have ‘How It’s Made’ & ‘Mythbusters’ on television.  But what about ‘Cooking With the Neeley’s’?  Are they that loving to each other when the camera is off?  I hope so, because they are so sweet.

Curiosity was my son eating antique Christmas ornaments, drinking paint water and perfume and exploring the sewer ditch.  Just how does that smell manage to permeate everything—including my memories?

Curiosity is turning down that gravel road to see where it goes, and usually it turns into some muddy mess through a flood plain.  It’s the furrow lines on both of my children’s foreheads when they are contemplating or puzzled by something.  Only I can see those lines… and know exactly what they mean.  They are little dimples in the lives of my kids.

Today I go to a Lenten retreat; to study and be curious about Jesus and his journey in the desert.  I hope my curiosity for life never fades.  I keeps me growing and learning…

PERSPECTIVE

Perspective.

“People Change.  Memories Don’t.

Most all of us bear some scars of hurtful words or actions. Saying a prayer for you now that the Lord will heal your hearts and free you so that your memories will no longer be a source of pain.”

The above words are not mine, they came from a Facebook post of a beautiful young girl sitting on a dock at the edge of water, head bowed.  Her hair is up in a ponytail, flannel shirt is oversized and untucked and faded jeans cover her legs.

You cannot see this girl’s face… however… you know she is beautiful.  In the deepest recesses of your soul you just know that she is innocent, stunning and filled with a pain larger than anyone of her size should ever carry.

When I first read the caption my neck snapped back, I took a sharp breath and my world halted for a split second.  Just who is this girl and what happened to her to bring such despondency to her world?  Someone hurt this beautiful child.

Someone had the audacity to cut her with cruel words. Someone bigger than her took advantage of her goodness.

Just who is this delightful creature? Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls--- that girl is us.

I went about my day yesterday and I kept coming back to those words:  “People Change.  Memories Don’t”

Maybe I was looking at this picture in the wrong perspective.  What did the author intend to say to us?  Who changes?  Do the people who hurt us change?  Maybe… Possibly.  Do our memories change?  Mine don’t.

Just who is it that does the changing?  Does the abuser come to see the error of his/her ways and make a transformation into someone good?  Or does the victim change into a survivor?

People Change.  Memories Don’t.

Do I/we need to change?   Most assuredly I do.  We must always strive to be better people, stronger and healthier.

If I change, do the memories change?  Nope.  Those words are branded into me like hot iron on a piece of meat.  Those words scar me forever.  Those wounds are never going to disappear entirely.  There will always be a remnant of those injuries… I will take them to the grave with me.

Have I changed?  Oh, yes.  Most decidedly, I have changed.  I have grown from a meek little girl to a woman of independence… Miss Sassy Pants, if you will.  I am a mama bear.  Maybe I will choose to confront you.  Maybe I will choose to walk away and chalk the loss onto the scoreboard of defeats and failures in my life.

Or maybe, just maybe, I should give someone a second chance—because—who knows, maybe they can change into a better person.  So into this circus we invite Risk.  And Forgiveness.  And Courage.  Perhaps Bitterness and Pain will diminish as Memories fade.

What is my perspective of this young girl in the picture?  Is it me?  Could it possibly be that I have said those cutting remarks and am in need of repentance?  Most certainly, without a doubt, it could be me sitting on that dock contemplating on what I have done wrong and what I need to change.  I am not perfect.  I inflict pain and injury on others and need to be reminded to ask for forgiveness so that my memories can change.

Perspective.  Just how do we look at life and embrace its lessons?

Moderation

Today’s word for reflection today will be MODERATION.

This word does not actually exist in my vocabulary… well… it exists… I just don’t know how to use it.

Example:  Today’s challenge was banana bread.  Not just one loaf.  Oh no--------- can’t do just one!  If we’re gonna do something, we are going to go all the way.

First, I must preface this with the explanation that I do not cook. I am seriously unable to function in the realm of the kitchen.  So, last night I begin planning (actually the planning started three days ago with a trip to the grocery for flour, sugar, eggs, etc.)  Anyway--- I took my bananas from the freezer, carefully counting them; I needed twelve.  Did I mention that I don’t do math either?  This morning when I went to peel them I was one short.  Not surprising.  I pop a frozen one in the microwave to thaw, praying that it doesn’t explode.

I make some coffee, crank my radio to some good old rock-n-roll and let the party begin.

I proceed.  I figure if I have to go to the trouble of dragging out all the tools for the task I might as well double the recipe.

That was my first mistake.

Does anyone know JUST HOW MASSIVE A NINE CUP pile of flour is????  Add the fact that I can’t add… well… you get the picture.

The recipe said to ‘cream’ the butter & sugar.  Cream?  What exactly does that mean?  Can I do that by hand? Ummm…NO.  Now I must rearrange my counter and drag my mixer out (also known as The Devil Machine).

I transfer to the bowl (too small.)  I go to the laundry room, drag my ladder out and climb to the top shelf and drag out the Holy Big Red Tupperware Emergency Bowl.  Whew!

Mix, pour, grease--- which is a whole other issue--- CRISCO?  Really?  Who needs hand moisturizer when you have to plunge your hands into the Crisco can.  Ewwwwwww.

I mix.  I stir.  I cuss.  I sweat.  I look up to Heaven and say ‘Why me, Lord?’ I step back to look at –technical term here- My Massive Bowl of Goo.  All I have in my head is the vision of a scene from the Ray Romano show where Frank comes in the room and says “Holy Crap.”

How am I going to get THAT stuff from the bowl into the baking pan?  Soup ladle?  Measuring cup? Bare hands?  The latter is definitely not an option, because I am not touching The Goo.

Finally, I get my courage up, grab a spoon and begin to slop (another technical term) The Goo into the pans.  Holy Cow--- not enough pans.  Now what?  I rummage and find two more.  I have to re-plunge my hands into Crisco and repeat the moisturizing procedure.

I now have eight loaves happily baking in the oven with two more waiting their turn. 

I post to my Facebook that somewhere long ago there must have been a cave man who told his woman to go out into the wilderness, pick some bananas, grind some wheat, go to the salt plain, build a fire and cook.  That man is one lucky dude not to have me as his woman!

Moderation.

Don’t have it, don’t think I ever will.  I have two speeds.  All or nothing.  Happy or sad, black or white, right or wrong, hot or cold.  There is no in between.  We all have disabilities; some of them are just invisible.

As I sit and write this the aroma of fresh bread wafts through the house.  Ah--- life is good.  I told myself yesterday for Lent I would give several hours of my day to domestic duties.  It’s been frenzy but it is accomplished.  I have triumphed over my kitchen.  Battle won.

Jesus stands over me this morning, chuckling, I’m just sure of it, as He watches His child in the mad dash of the life of his beloved child.  I smile.  Let’s just hope I read the recipe correctly and in order and that it tastes good.

Ash Wednesday.

Imposition of Ashes.

Ever, as a child, find yourself playing inside an old, lightening-struck, burned-out, hollowed-out tree?   Did you ever wonder how in the heck did that tree ever survive such a catastrophic event?  The mere fact that the shell continued to grow with bark, branches and leaves amazed me.

Today I think of that tree, you all know the one… the one with the rope and tire swinging from the lowest branch.  That big old maple that sat down at the edge of the field or cow lot; a child’s paradise; the safe haven on a summer afternoon.

I remember taking a running leap at that old tire one day, giving it my all.  I charged at that tire with all my strength thinking that when I made contact it would swing me up.  Up into the sky and oblivion.  Well, that wasn’t meant to be that day.  Perhaps it was wear and tear on the rope.  Perhaps it was me getting older and bigger and nature was telling me to move on to other things.  That rope gave way that day, plunging me face down- smack dab in the dirt.  I remember that feeling of having the wind knocked out of me that day, struggling for each breath, gasping and moaning.

Damn tree.  Damn rope.  Damn tire.  Damn me.

I recovered.  Embarrassed… even if was only God who saw me tumble that day.  That tree on that particular day on the exact day at that very moment.  Lesson learned:  Always check your life line.

It’s now some 40 years later.  I wake up this morning trying to figure out what to give up for Lent.  That’s not going so well.

The Lord has thrown me more than my share of lifelines, many more than I ever deserve.  He has never given up on me.  That rope has never worn thin or frayed.  I have, in my humanness.  But, the Lord?  Never.  Always there to pick me up and dust me off and give be a kick in the pants and breath the breath of life back into these sorry old lungs.

So, today I go out into this world, with an outside shell that continues to grow.  Today I will walk up to that altar and kneel, receive the ashes that represent the Death that Christ died for us.  For our charred, hollowed out interior of sin, darkness and imperfection.

Today begins our 40 days of wandering, traveling with Jesus as he fights the devil and all his evil schemes.  We head out into the desert today, another year, and another journey.  Thank you Father, for mercies received.

Make me a stronger, more compassionate person this year.  Make me more loving and more loveable.  Make me your servant.  Use me, bend me, break me, mold me, burn me… use me for Your Glory.  Amen

Risk.

The dictionary defines it as:  exposure to the chance of injury or loss; a hazard or dangerous chance; (It's not worth the risk.)

Risk, or if we are lucky enough, risks- the plural.  Yeah, baby.  What are the risks we take?  The first thing that comes to mind is getting behind the wheel of the car and wondering if this day is going to be the day that that proverbial Mac truck will come barreling down the highway and crash into me.  Yep.  That’s me… the worrywart.  I have a cross hanging on my mirror so that whoever finds me will know that I am a Believer and they will pray for me.

I also mutter innumerable prayers as I travel… “Lord, keep me safe from harm; Lord, please let no one be in the lane I’m merging into;  Lord, keep me in Your care and watch out over my loved ones; etc. etc. etc.”  And that only covers the prayers for me. 

At night when I lay in bed and I know the kids or the hubby is traveling my mind races with prayers for them.  I know their welfare is beyond my control but still I struggle with letting go.

Risk.

What of the risks of the heart?  To love anyone or anything is taking risk.  To put yourself out there knowing that at some moment in time we will lose the ones we love.  That is the cost of loving someone… that payment comes due far too soon in many lives and circumstances. 

Risk.

To risk walking away from a situation (the Hubby calls it ‘cutting and running’) is sometimes the most courageous thing one can do.  I discovered many years ago that no one in this worldly life will or can take better care of me than myself.  Only one person is going to pull my bootstraps up every morning.  No one is going to brush my teeth for me, feed me, clothe me, drag my sorry behind into the shower each day.

I’m tired of standing on the outside looking in on relationships.  I’m tired of the battle of jealously and envy.  I’m tired of the battle of keeping up with the ‘Joneses’.  So, I take a risk.  I choose not to play that game.  I risk relationships because I don’t enable abusive behavior.  I cannot count the number of relationship causalities on the highway of life.  But I’m getting better.  And I hope I’m getting better because I choose to risk becoming ‘Miss Sassy Pants’ to people who choose to say hurtful things.

Every relationship is risky.  That’s not necessarily a bad thing.  It’s more of an adventure.  Life is an adventure, it’s a risk--- a risk that I am willing to take.

There's a streaming video site out in internet world of a pair of nesting bald eagles in Decorah, Iowa. They are amazing to check in on several times a day.

The patience and dedication to their egg is so motivating. It makes me reflect on the years of nurturing our children. The waiting, watching, caring and encouraging that parents do for their children is wonderful to reflect on. Of course, today--- 27 & 24 years later, I know I could have done better... And I could have done a whole lot worse. Hindsight is always 20/20. But I loved every minute of it. Bath time, tea parties, Ty plush babies, Monopoly marathons, Discovery Channel Shark Week, Mercer Mayer Little Critter books, big wheel races, dress up and all the road trips. Those are the intangibles that will never be taken away. We had a collapsable pool in the back yard... We would set up the little tykes slide and hours of fun were had. The magic of Christmas. Making tents out of blankets and chairs.

Watching Poltergeist in the green house. The memories go on and on. Endless (and I do mean endless!) hours of Disney cartoons and movies. Priceless moments forever trapped in memories.

Now they are on their own, each with loves of their own. I keep telling them to enjoy the adventure that life holds for them. I only hope they have as much fun as their daddy and I had!

Still getting used to navigating... I would like to post a picture each day and perhaps say a few things...

Today... Transfiguration.  When Jesus appeared to three of the Disciples in garments that were gleaming, brighter than bright; "in garments that could not be made brighter even if bleached".  Now, to us moms out there... that would be bright, indeed.

Pastor asked how we envision Christ.  I would have to say that I see Christ as my safe place, a healing place.  A place of comfort and completeness.  He stands there in all of His Glory extending his arms to me- waiting and welcoming.

I chose the picture of the horizon at Lake Perry today.  We constantly stand at a place of separation and a place of joining.  Either leading or following, facing each day with love or anger.  The choice we make will make us or break us.  I visited with a friend this morning and she shared that each day was a struggle.  Throughout my years I have tried to learn the lesson of baby steps.  One day at a time.  We're going to mess up and stumble.  We're going to conquer and soar.  But at the end of each day as we lay our heads down and (hopefully) say our prayers- Jesus will be standing before us- bidding us a good night.

In the morning we will rise and He will be beside us to carry, encourage, support and comfort us.  May we see His Glory each day and treat the people around us with the love and respect each of us deserves.

Horizon

Field at Lake Perry in watercolor

My afternoon project for 02.18.2012...

The Striped 'Betty' Bag
13x 6.5x 2
w/ interior pocket 5 x 6.5

Oh my... what a hoot!  The Hubby said over lunch yesterday how quiet I was and what was wrong.  Couldn't bring myself to tell him that I wanted to do a blog or a web page. 

Ummm...well... as you can see, we took care of that little problem this morning!

Thinking of my friends and how I should
a.  do housework
b.  photos
c.  sew

Gonna go sew!  Everyone have a joyous and blessed day!

My bags...

one of the first of MANY bags... been having loads of fun!  working on several new designs...

Words of Wisdom Photos



I have had this greeting card for close to 20 years and always wanted to frame it.  Never got it done- but that third line!
It's a keeper.  Wish I would apply it more often!



from Pacific Ocean near Coronodo Island 2011



from the barb wire at the south edge of our pasture, rural Jefferson County Kansas 2011



Taken at Kansas Museum of History, Topeka Kansas 2011



Attributed to 4-star general Joe 'Vinegar' Stillwell.  My life's motto... put it on my tombstone!
I bought this little gear over the internet from a site.  Pretty much says it all.

My world and how I see it... an accumulation of photos thru the years. From coast to coast, from mountains to the oceans. My husband flatters me with the comment "You know, honey... I have never met anyone who can see the smallest things... you are able to see things that no one else does." Wow. I guess that's why I love him so darn much. Because he loves me. Just for me. I am so blessed. Please enjoy the world how I see it... in it's simplicity, complication, darkness, emotion, light and joy.