Five things I'm thankful for at this moment are....
1. New beginnings. Especially for ADD, shiny-objects-distract-me-all-day-long people like me, having new and fun adventures to look forward to is just pure bliss.
2. My sweet sister. Kim came to see me this past weekend, and as always, I have to marvel at the built-in best friend God gave me in her. For one thing, she puts up with me. And then, there's all the other sweet, saintly stuff that just comes so naturally to her. :-)
3. My brother-in-law. Steve made Kim's trip to BR happen, and happen fast. And he did this not just because I wanted time with her, but because she needed it. And he recognized that, and did something about it. How rare and precious. I love that -- and him -- so very much.
4. Home. I was able to see my parents and Nan very quickly this weekend, and truly, there is no place like home. ::happy sigh::
5. Pear cake. My mother made one for my birthday! It's like apple cake, but with pears. If you have not had it, you're totally missing out. Especially when the pears and pecans come from the yard you grew up playing in. :-)
I recently moved within Baton Rouge, and Foxy is my 87-year-old neighbor.
I've been itching to blog about Foxy, so if you're not already on my Foxy text list, or if the person who lived here before me is not a mutual friend of ours, this is your official intro.
Just to set the record straight, "Foxy" isn't some name I cheekily came up with on a whim. I don't know Foxy's first name. (And for the record, I don't want to, unless she tells me. Her storytelling is the best.)
Foxy originally hails from Opelousas, "stayed in Lafayette a bit," and has lived near downtown since she retired from the state. She likes to say, "M' momma was a Chachere and m' daddy was a Fox. An' I'm Foxy."
And boy, is she ever.
The picture here is of Foxy and me a couple of years ago -- around the time I first met her -- when my friend still lived here and was her neighbor. It was taken during Mardi Gras, when Foxy (and I quote) "isn't the same as when she was a young Fox, but still likes to pass a good time."
There is an amazing Miranda Lambert song that is out right now called "The House That Built Me." It is absolutely incredible, and though she didn't write it, and even if you totally loathe country music, I sincerely encourage you to step outside of your norm, take a trip down memory lane, and give it a listen:
I know they say you can’t go home again
I just had to come back one last time
Ma’am I know you don’t know me from Adam
But these handprints on the front steps are mine
Up those stairs in that little back bedroom
Is where I did my homework and I learned to play guitar
I bet you didn’t know under that live oak
My favorite dog is buried in the yard
I thought if I could touch this place or feeling
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could walk around I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me
Mama cut out pictures of houses for years
From Better Homes and Gardens magazine
Plans were drawn and concrete poured
Nail by nail and board by board
Daddy gave life to mama’s dream
I thought if I could touch this place or feeling
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could walk around in I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me
You leave home and you move on and you do the best you can
I got lost in this old world and forgot who I am
I thought if I could touch this place or feeling
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I walk around I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me
I sincerely appreciate Kelly Clarkson for recording "Beautiful Disaster." If it so aptly so applies to a couple of my past relationships, I know at least several of you must relate as well:
Lyrics:
Beautiful Disaster by Kelly Clarkson (written by Rebecca Johnson & Matthew Wilder)
He drowns in his dreams, an exquisite extreme I know
He's as damned as he seems and more Heaven than a heart could hold
And if I try to save him my whole world could cave in
It just ain't right, Lord, it just ain't right
Oh, and I don't know, I don't know what he's after
But he's so beautiful, he's such a beautiful disaster
And if I could hold on through the tears and the laughter
Lord, would it be beautiful or just a beautiful disaster?
He's magic and myth, as strong as what I believe
And a tragedy with more damage than a soul should see
But do I try to change him? So hard not to blame him
Hold me tight, baby, hold me tight
Oh, and I don't know, I don't know what he's after
But he's so beautiful, he's such a beautiful disaster
And if I could hold on through the tears and the laughter
Would it be beautiful or just a beautiful disaster?
I'm longing for love and the logical but he's only happy hysterical
I'm searching for some kind of miracle, waiting so long, I've waited so long
He's soft to the touch but frayed at the ends he breaks
He's never enough and still he's more than I can take
Oh, and I don't know, I don't know what he's after
But he's so beautiful, he's such a beautiful disaster
And if I could hold on through the tears and the laughter
Would it be beautiful or just a beautiful disaster?
He's beautiful, Lord, he's so beautiful
He's beautiful
God bless Kenny Chesney for recording "Boys of Fall." What a fabulous, deep South-rooted tribute to so much of what teaches so many of us our first elements teamwork, whether we participate or not. From the Saints, to d'Iberville, to Southern Miss, football remains a beautiful part of what I love about home. And now, the Tigers are added to the mix.
When I feel that chill, smell that fresh cut grass/
I'm back in my helmet, cleats and shoulder pads/
Standing in the huddle listening to the call/
Fans going crazy for the boys of fall/
They didn't let just anybody in that club/
Took every ounce of heart and sweat and blood/
To get to wear those game day jerseys down the hall/
Kings of the school man, we're the boys of fall/
(Chorus:)
Well it's turn and face the Stars and Stripes/
It's fighting back them butterflies/
It's call it in the air, alright yes sir we want the ball/
And it's knocking heads and talking trash/
It's slinging mud and dirt and grass/
It's I got your number, I got your back when your back's against the wall/
You mess with one man you got us all/
The boys of fall/
In little towns like mine that's all they got/
Newspaper clippings fill the coffee shops/
The old men will always think they know it all/
Young girls will dream about the boys of fall/
(Chorus:)
Well it's turn and face the Stars and Stripes/
It's fighting back them butterflies/
It's call it in the air, alright yes sir we want the ball/
And it's knocking heads and talking trash/
It's slinging mud and dirt and grass/
It's I got your number, I got your back when your back's against the wall/
You mess with one man you got us all/
The boys of fall/
(Chorus:)
Well it's turn and face the Stars and Stripes/
It's fighting back them butterflies/
It's call it in the air, alright yes sir we want the ball/
And it's knocking heads and talking trash/
It's slinging mud and dirt and grass/
It's I got your number, I got your back when your back's against the wall/
So I just learned that when you're incapable of blogging for 3 months, you check a lot of things off your list! I've updated my list (at the bottom of the blog), and bold items are completed. Yay!
In late August, my grandmother's nearly 89-year-old husband took his last breath.
It was a shame for many reasons, and more than just the obvious. The man was brilliant -- I'm talking sharp.as.a.tack -- but his body just wouldn't support that strong, thriving mind anymore. Even in his last days, he was giving my mom details about documents that I couldn't even keep up with at age 19, much less now.
Despite the terrible illness that was affecting his quality of life, it was really difficult to say goodbye, but it's been equally tough to know that Nan is now going it alone. Her best friend and last living sister, our great-aunt Mildred, passed away a few years ago. I can't imagine what it's like to lose your peers gradually. Nan is doing well, and is showing some major strength and stamina that I hope to have by my next birthday, not to mention at 84.
During the days after Pop Ball's death, the family did a lot of things. We laughed, we cried, we ate, we talked, we slept, we painted toenails (well, Nan and I did, at least), and we reminisced.
My mom, however, was asked to do something that she begged me to do for her: speak at the funeral about what Pop Ball meant to our family since he married Nan when we grandchildren were in junior high and high school. Knowing my mother's fear of public speaking despite her great talent for communicating, I worked with her on what to say and took the job on as, well, a job. Because of that, it was a lot more bearable to deliver than it would've been otherwise.
This is my part from the funeral, spoken after Cliff's granddaughter Helen beautifully read his obituary, and before my cousin Russ preached a poignant, moving funeral service detailing Cliff's life and death, and their eternal implications:
Cliff Ball was a brave soul -- and not just because he literally fought battles and flew fighter jets and managed crews of airmen throughout his career.
Despite all those accomplishments, I think we all realized how truly brave Cliff Ball was when he walked into my Nanny's family. We don't mean to be dysfunctional (who does?). We really think we're pretty great (who doesn't?). But for a career Air Force Colonel to merge his life with Woolmarket's orginal social networker and her happily protective family?
Definitely deserving of a purple heart.
In time, I think Cliff came to accept our family's penchant for over-hugging, long phone conversations, and even the ridiculous, neverending banter every Christmas Eve.
And we came to accept...well...the retired Air Force Colonel. Who still talked like a Colonel, operated like a Colonel, and all the while loved our grandmother like she hung the moon.
And in time, Colonel Cliff Ball became Pop Ball to my cousins' and my sister's children.
And, not too much longer after that -- especially having watched Cliff nurse Nan through a health scare -- I realized that even though my family is excellent at keeping memories alive, and I feel like I know the biological grandfather who died when I was a few months old, Cliff had been the only living grandfather I'd ever had.
Pop Ball spent a lifetime doing what I have benefitted from for nearly 20 years. He gave a little something extra in so many areas of his life.
I'm pretty sure he would've said he had some regrets. (I am not sure there's anyone who doesn't.) But the Pop Ball I knew and loved gave through volunteerism, and finances, and wise counsel. The man was driving cross-country road trips in his 80s, and tackling technology that some 30-year-olds still haven't mastered. He dedicated himself to things and people he believed in, and in true Air Force Colonel style, put some umpfh into it, always giving a little something extra.
After hurricane Katrina devastated their home in 2005, I couldn't help but chuckle through my tears at the familiarities in the front yard that showed we were at the right driveway: Nan's Slim Fast cans, and Pop Ball's Gideon Bible materials.
My mother worded it well the other day, and I think this sums up how our whole family feels: She said that after she lost her daddy, she never expected to love anyone like that again. When Nan & Cliff married, she accepted and loved him as Nan's husband, but never expected that her love for him would grow to the extent it has. I guess the combination of a gracious spirit, sweet smile, intelligent mind, accepting love, and incredibly quick wit are just hard to not adore.
When Pop Ball died, our family lost a dear friend.
The extra that he gave to the world, he also gave to our family. Because of Cliff Ball's bravery, the Moore family is far more blessed than we ever were before.
At the gravesite, my sister, her husband, and I sang "He Leadeth Me" a capella after a very dignified and moving full military service. It was definitely not easy, and undoubtedly did not sound as professional as the recording below, but we did get the idea years ago of singing this beautiful hymn a capella from this extraordinarily talented Southern gospel trio, The Martins:
He Leadeth Me
He leadeth me, O blessed thought!
O words with heav’nly comfort fraught!
Whate’er I do, where’er I be
Still ’tis God’s hand that leadeth me.
Refrain:
He leadeth me, He leadeth me,
By His own hand He leadeth me;
His faithful foll’wer I would be,
For by His hand He leadeth me.
Sometimes ’mid scenes of deepest gloom,
Sometimes where Eden’s bowers bloom,
By waters still, o’er troubled sea,
Still ’tis His hand that leadeth me.*
Lord, I would clasp Thy hand in mine,
Nor ever murmur nor repine;
Content, whatever lot I see,
Since ’tis Thy hand that leadeth me.
And when my task on earth is done,
When by Thy grace the vict’ry’s won,
E’en death’s cold wave I will not flee,
Since God through Jordan leadeth me.
*We did not sing the second verse (for brevity and emotions' sake), but it's one of my favorites.
A few months ago, a dear friend in Jackson, MS, died of cancer. It was way too early for this to happen. I guess we always say that, but Lynwood was only 42. And he was married to sweet Hiller for far too short of a time, and his daughters were both younger than 13. That's just ridiculous.
Lynwood did, however, spend his 42 years showing those of us around him how to live life to its fullest, and in the most hilarious ways possible. I mean, I only knew him for a few years, and I was an ancillary friend as someone who dated one of his close guy friends, and I was still impacted in a major way. So I can only imagine his entire life span's reach.
I was deeply grateful to have had the opportunity to say goodbye to Lynwood in person the night he left this earth, especially since I'd only learned of his illness a couple of weeks before.
And I was incredibly honored when Hiller asked me to read a blog I had posted as the eulogy at Lynwood's beautiful celebration of life. In fact, that memory still is an honor.
I did some editing for the funeral, and this was the final version:
A few years back, I met a guy who was larger than life. Not physically -- though he was very tall -- but he was larger than life in personality.
I'll even say it out loud: At first, Lynwood seemed kind of flashy to me. It wasn't just his wildly printed shirts or fashion dares, but also his penchant for grabbing life by the tail, seeing where it took him, and enjoying the ride, no matter what it involved.
Don't get me wrong.
From the minute I met him, Lynwood was an excellent daddy to Shelby and Kylie, and showed more true, honest devotion to his commitments each day than most people do to their favorite TV shows each week.
Lynwood just lived large. If he was involved, it was grandiose, and all out, and full throttle.
In time, I came to realize that in spite of -- or maybe even because of -- what I initially considered to be his flashiness, Lynwood's depth went far beyond the seats in his Humvee and the road to his deer camp. Lynwood's passion for life included play and work, and during the time I knew him, he succeeded at both, 1,000%.
One of the most fun things I got to do during my decade of living in Jackson was to be a front-row ticketholder to the love that blossomed between Lynwood and Hiller. She appreciated his spontaneity, and he adored her sweet heart of gold. And best of all, they weren't afraid to tell each other that, much less show it.
That's not as common as I once thought it would be, so I revered this trait as a rare gift I had the privilege to watch them give each other.
Hiller told me recently that Lynwood's motto was always "Don't wait." I didn’t know this prior to his illness, but looking back, it’s not too difficult to glimpse through my small window of his very large life and see that exact theory come into play. Whether he was talking houses with his real estate peeps, discussing fine points of neighborhood golf cart riding with Charlie, or convincing all of us to just get out of dodge for a trip to the Big Easy, Lynwood never waited.
Today, as I know where his body is, and the much better place where his soul is, I'm so grateful that the larger-than-life teddy bear of an entrepreneur that was Lynwood Vinson didn't wait to get to know this short, geeky redhead with glasses.
Not because it enhanced his life so much, but because his and Hiller's love and family and friendship have made such an indelible impression on my world.
I have had the honor of working, playing, vacationing, laughing, crying, mourning, celebrating, relaxing, and sharing comfortable silence with these two beautiful souls, and I'm so grateful for that. They've even seen me at my messiest, and still came back for more. And that, my friends, is true love.
So Lynwood, thanks for living out your “don’t wait” motto with me, too.
If you’d stalled on hanging out with the less than cool kid, I’d have never realized that my initial thoughts about your crazy shirts were wrong.
Truth is, I could learn some fashion tips from Lynwood, especially his motto of not waiting for things and people and ideals to come “in,” and of living and loving passionately, which will never go out of style.
I always have, and continue to wish you much love, my fun and colorful friend.
I will see you in Heaven, and be prepared. I will ask for a dance. :-)
Don Smith was a guy who worked, and worked hard, and his work actually invoked sweat. Mine does not always do that.
But not only was Don a great coworker, he was also a fun person to know. He had fabulous stories and comments, and one that has stuck with me in the three years that have passed since we wore the same badge was, "It all pays the same."
He'd usually say this when I was apologizing about asking him to do something that I found entirely unappetizing -- perhaps unloading a pallet of boxes, or sorting through a bunch of junk, or measuring random square footage so I'd have the proper dimensions for an upcoming event. The absolute best, though, was parking (and reparking, and reparking, and reparking) 50 Nissan trucks so that...get this...my aerial photo shots would be enticing to the media.
You KNOW he loved that.
For real. This man did WAY too much "beck-and-call" mess for my preference, but he did have a great point as he laughed and, without fail, shrugged and commented, "It all pays the same."
Maybe it's sad; maybe it's introspective. But fact is, I've probably mulled over that statement much more often than the deep, insightful career advice I've been fortunate enough to receive from PR/communications mentors and counterparts. Because on days like today, when I'm -- for real -- counting way too many rocks & seashells for my own good, or when I'm sweating my head off at an outdoors event, or when I'm practicing "the customer is always right" initiative, I have to remember, it all pays the same.
And that is something to be truly grateful for, whether I like what "it" is or not.
So thanks, Don Smith. I get it. And you're so right.
A few months ago, I took a road trip with my sister, her husband & their son. (I was invited. By her husband. Just to clear the air on any potential intrusion claims.)
One of my (very many) convos with my very talkative nephew (could I be prouder?!) included a discussion about cell phones. And how I use mine a lot. And how he doesn't have one. And how I didn't, either, at that age -- partly because my parents never would've stood for it AT AGE SIX, but mainly because they didn't exist...and when they did, they were in bags.
My favorite response from Caleb (with a similar expression to the embedded pic) was, "But....if you and my mom didn't have cell phones, how did y'all say hey?!"
It was SO cute (from my unbiased perspective, of course), and frighteningly, so telling.
I mean, from birth, this child has been totally used to us picking up the phone or texting at any given moment to "say hey." No boundaries, no long distance, no time constraints -- we just do what we need to do to get through that moment, or day, or hour.
Which is super nice. And makes me wonder how we survived before. Although I know we did. And even before email. (Which is enough to make this communications addict shudder.)
Friends know that I often refer to myself as "the last remaning Amy Grant fan." Clearly, I mean that in a good way. :-) But, one of my favorites by AG is one I think everyone could benefit from -- at least the lyrics.
I've recently gone through some junk that if I had been asked at the beginning of the process how long it would take me, I'd have never guessed a year or two. But you know, I didn't push it away. I processed, and dealt, and I refuse to apologize for that.
To get the titanic turned back around
It takes a little time sometimes
But baby you're not going down
It takes more than you've got right now
Give it time
No you can't fix this pain with money
You can't rush a weary soul
You can't sweep it under the rug now honey
It don't take a lot to know
It takes a little time sometimes
To get your feet back on the ground
It takes a little time sometimes
To get the titanic turned back around
It takes a little time sometimes
But baby you're not going down
It takes more than you've got right now
Give it time
I love this sooooo much. Because, really, if you're going to process something -- or many things -- and really feel them, rather than just brush them under the rug like yesterday's dirt, and deal with them with the kitchen floods, you know that it does take time to get through things.
I don't regret one second of my processes, even though I know they weren't fun for others. Shocker: they weren't so much fun for me, either. :-) Just necessary.
I didn't read Julie & Julia, but I did see the movie.
I love anything related to blogging, and setting a personal goal for oneself. The cooking part was great fun for me, too! As I understand it, had I read the book, I'd have been grossly -- in all senses of the word -- disappointed in the graphic, grody details of the book, yet the movie was just right for this particular chiquita banana.
A couple of takeaway quotes for me from the movie were:
It's 10:30 in the morning, and I'm already running behind. This is hardly unusual, but it pisses me off every single time.
It's a good thing there's always another disaster to poke a hole in the old self-esteem before it gets dangerously inflated.
The two quotes I took from that exhibit -- at this viewing time, at least -- were:
"What we play is life."
"Music has no age... There's no such thing as on the way out. As long as you are still doing something interesting and good. You are in business as long as you are breathing."
As a general, unspoken rule, I'm not a huge Nicholas Sparks fan. His work is always super sappy, sad, and I end up crying after I watch it. (Call me snobby, but I refuse to spend quality reading time on something that I know will make me cry in the end, but will probably not afford me any introspective, how-can-RJ-be-better moments.)
The first thing you should know is that it has Miley Cyrus in it. For real.
Secondly, it's full of angst. (Why did I expect anything else?)
Thirdly, it did the trick and made me cry.
Fourth, it was filmed in Savannah, a place I have mad love for.
And finally, I gleaned this quote (and a ridic craving for the beach) from it:
"Love is fragile, and we're not always its best caretakers. We just muddle through, and do the best we can, and hope this fragile thing survives, against all odds."
I wasn't sure I'd love it -- especially since the content didn't really apply to me as a content, unmarried person. To be honest, it wasn't my favorite. But as it turned out, my brain was so thirsty for her enchantingly refreshing writing style that I just drank that whole book up in spite of myself.
Some of my favorite quotes from the book are:
When you are the giant, alien visitor to a remote and foreign culture, it is sort of your job to become an object of ridicule. It's the least you can do, really, as a polite guest.
The happier twin sister of loneliness is privacy.
Lebensneid - life envy, the certainty that somebody else is much luckier than you.
When you have only one path set before you, you can generally feel confident that it was the correct path to have taken.
Marriage becomes hard work once you have poured the entirety of your life's expectations into the hands of one mere person. Keeping that going is hard work.
I need him because I happen to adore him, because his company brings me gladness & comfort, and because, as a friend's grandfather once put it, "Sometimes life is too hard to be alone, and sometimes life is too good to be alone."
The emergency that always gets you in the end is the one you didn't prepare for.
There is hardly a more gracious gift that we can offer somebody than to accept them fully, almost despite themselves.
At some point in our lives we must stop beating ourselves up over bygone blunders -- even blunders that seem so painfully obvious to us in retrospect -- and we must move on with our lives.
In my first job out of college, I went to Washington, D.C. every May for a conference. Stressful, huh? :-) Truly, we did have to go to meetings and such, but in those five years, I really got a feel and developed a strong love for our nation's capitol. I still fondly refer to those times as "DC in May."
Last night, during a rare lull in customer/prospect entertainment in our tent, I was mulling over these Wednesdays and how great they've been for me. Anything that can take a city I'm not familiar with -- or, in this case, a particular part of a city I'm not familiar with -- and make it part of who I am and what I do cannot be duly complained about. I try to complain, but really, it's not logical. Just because I sweat from 2-9pm each Wednesday does not mean I'm not in the Crescent City listening to fabulous jazz and smelling delish jambalaya. And...each week I get to see the Superdome in person. Really? I gripe?
I guess my rambling point is that things that were not once commonplace for me often become that way, but do I really stop to think about what I'm learning from them? A few of my examples are:
Having a nephew.
Knowing the streets of my new city.
Living what life is like before, during and after a massive natural disaster hits your hometown.
Dealing with death.
Experiencing heartache.
Experiencing it again.
Knowing what it feels like to gain weight.
Seeing the other side of the coin.
Having hurtful misunderstandings with friends as adults.
Hurting someone else's heart by being true to my own.
Realizing that change does not always equate lack of loyalty.
Prioritizing a healthy balance, knowing I'm the only one who can do that for me, and doing what it takes to get there.
(As most of you know, I truly could go on and on.)
I well remember the first time I complained because I needed to get my nails done but really didn't have time. As soon as that flittered through my mind, I increduously wondered, "Seriously. When did you get spoiled?"
Even though work is the primary reason, when DC each May becomes a chore and Wednesdays in New Orleans are just another thing to check off before the weekend finally gets here...wow.
Seizing the day isn't just about being in a fabulous city and not being acutely aware of that. It also applies to the not-so-fun stuff -- being hurt by a friend. Hurting someone else. Those aren't great. No one I know would look at those as great, or I doubt they'd very often say it out loud if that was their perspective.
But while I'd love to progress from my tenderhearted nature of those things rocking my world, I also really hope to never see those things as commonplace. I've been hardened before, and it's just not a good look for this redhead. I want to seize it all -- the good, the bad and the ugly. All those days have been given to me, and they're mine for the taking. Or the wasting. Totally my option.
So, in the words of Lee Ann Womack years ago, I hope I still feel small when I stand beside the ocean. Because really, it seems to be the only way to truly live.
I'm a huge fan of musicians who write their own music.
I also enjoy other musicians' work, but singing what you write...well, that's a very big thing with me.
In college, when I first heard the Christian band Caedmon's Call, I was naturally drawn to their cool, laid-back melodies, but also the dynamically rich lyrics.
In a recent effort to finally organize the trazillion CDs I've accumulated since CDs came out, I came across my Caedmon's Call music, and, in turn, some of my old favorites. The fun part about being such a huge procrastinator is that rediscovery sheds light on things that apply now that might not've before.
This is the case with "Walk With Me," a Caedmon's Call song I always enjoyed, but now embrace hourly, align with in spite of myself, and put on repeat in my car at least once a week. The video is here, and lyrics are below:
Walk With Me
Walk with me quiet, walk with me slow
With watered down coffee and words of gold
'Cause I can feel the edges of these things
When I hear you speak to me, so walk with me
Walk with me empty, walk with me strong
The hush of our voices, when the day seems so long
It is like a balm, it is like a jewel
It unravels all I thought I knew
Will you lead me, beside the still waters
Where the oil, it runs over, and my cup overflows
You restore my soul
Tell me the story, where old is made new
The promise of ages, and all things that are true
When the shadows fall and the wrecking ball
Swings and tears me through the heart
Will you lead me, beside the still waters
Where the oil, it runs over, and my cup overflows
You restore my soul
One of my favorite shows is Friday Night Lights. It has it all -- football, high school drama (that isn't yours), a sweet family, and small town life.
I also might have a small crush on the coach, and on one of the guys who used to play football (but he's not really just a year out of high school, he just plays that age, so it's ok).
I think my coach crush partly stems from that role's strong family values, and strong sense of equality and fairness. I'm a sucker for those things.
A great statement the coach makes after a pep talk has stuck with me since the first episode I watched last year: Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose.
Isn't that the truth? Not just with sports, or all team activities, but in life itself?
I'd think the balance would be easier to achieve. It's just two little things -- clear eyes, and a full heart. But not so little, as it turns out, when you're trying to balance them along with everything that muddies clearness, and empties the full.
It definitely takes work to maintain clear eyes and a full heart.
And in the end, we might think we lose, and to the naked eye, our outcome might be considered a loss. But really, it's a win. A huge one. And a definite game-changer.
And combined with a deep Texas accent and football gear...well, that pep talk is just right.
Books, movies, stories, plays, travel -- you name it.
And although I love movies like there's no tomorrow and prove that via Netflix each month, there have been very few times I can remember a movie following its precursor book closely enough to satisfy my cinematic expectations.
If you liked the book, I think you'll like the movie. If you didn't like the book, chances are you won't like the movie. If you didn't read the book, I still think you'd like the movie. If you are not okay with the premise of the whole thing, you probably won't like either.
It's been so long since I've posted five things I'm thankful for! I've missed it.
Today, the five things filling my heart in a big way are:
1. Family. Especially in the last few months, I'm more aware than ever of the brevity of life and how precious our time together is. I've been blessed with a crazy precious family, and it is humbling to receive their love, and to watch them receive mine.
2. Friends. See #1.
3. Security. You don't realize how important it is to you until you feel unsafe that first time -- in any way. Physically, emotionally, spiritually, professionally. Security can apply to all areas of our lives. And, thank the Lord, it does.
4. Fall weather. I love, love, LOVE fall. And I'm feeling it in the air. And that makes me so happy.
5. The broken road. I was thinking, Charlotte-style, today, "If I'd only stayed in Jackson a couple of years as originally intended, I might never have worked at Nissan, which changed my life professionally and personally. And if I had left earlier than I did, I might not've landed in Baton Rouge, which has been the best personal move of my decade," etc.
A few years ago, my nephew had what he realized was his first Christmas break from anything. In his case, the break was from "the Little Lambs School," his church's preschool. Throughout the break, he was convinced he was missing out on what his friends in his class were doing. No amount of discussion could change his mind or relay that actually, everyone had a break from Little Lambs. After Christmas when school started back, I asked my sister and brother-in-law how he felt about going back. They said he was excited to see his friends, and on his first day after the break, he marched into his classroom, shrugged off his little backpack, threw his arms wide open and yelled, "I back, everybody!"
That is how I feel today -- as though I am reentering a part of my world that I have missed like crazy. After a few VERY long months of moving and trying to get settled in and working around several milestones in between, I'm finally back in the blogosphere.
Since blogging is undoubtedly a therapeutical outlet for me, you can probably expect to see a few more posts than what have been coming through lately. Which would total...more than zero. :-)
I promise I'm not being melodramatic when I say that going for this long without blogging is just yucky for me.
Since my blog absenteeism was not at all by choice, re-entry should be interesting. I wonder if I'll binge like a starved puppy, or pace myself accordingly. We shall see. :-)
