today is different from last year's Dec. 1ish

I didn't blog Dec. 1, 2009 mostly because I was on a New Mexico mountain in the middle of 32,000 acres with feet of snow on the ground and no power.

But I journaled Dec. 3 and then posted it when power was back on.

It's a different life now but the same in many aspects. My family's still together but better and stronger because we live within 10 miles of each other. We're still feeding animals but we've left behind the isolation and loneliness of the mountain; we're in civilization now. And if you caught my man-drama hater rant from the other day, you'll know I'm glad we don't deal with that anymore.

I think the thing that is really the same is the nature of us. We sit and laugh and tell old jokes. We discuss latest politics and religion and news. We eat good food and leave the dirty dishes in the sink sometimes. We work together, play together, play tug-of-war together. I grab the nearest item (last night it was a straw) and declare everyone be quiet, listen to me and stop interrupting me. I do that sometimes, you know.

This Dec. 1, I'm sitting at my desk - an editor again with a lengthy to-do list today. I don't have to carry a knife with me anymore nor do I have to dress in layers. I'm better, I'm more healed, I'm happy, I'm thrilled and I'm realizing that this post is kind of a jumbled mess, which means I'll stop now and graciously allow you to exit my ramblings.

three things I need; two things I need to remember

If there's one thing I've made clear on this blog, it's how much I love, love, love simplicity. And if I've said it once, I've said it a million times - it's the little things that matter.

So when my brother's girlfriend (who also doubles as a longtime family friend) came back from a trip to Oklahoma with gifts for everyone that she hand selected with each person in mind, I was ecstatic to receive mine.

See. Nothing big. Nothing major.

But completely me!

She even has her telephone and paper and a pen and a tape dispenser and an eraser.

Could it get any more perfect?

Our Thanksgiving

I commented Saturday (the day we celebrated our Thanksgiving) while I was trying to carve the turkey how thankful I was that our holiday was so low-key and no stress.

Well, that's kind of what I said.

What I actually said was, "It's so nice to have Thanksgiving be so low-key without silly men making it stressful."

To be honest, I said, "stupid men," not silly men.

Call me a man-hater - I'm sure if you're one of the silly men I'm referring to you want to. I can take it.

I consider myself more of a man-drama hater. The man who got his panties in a wad over the fact that we all didn't gather around the table for lunches would not have been okay with Thanksgiving dinner served on paper plates and eaten in the living room. Nor would he have been alright with me carving (ripping) the turkey. Or that it was nearly 8 by the time we ate. Or that halfway through the meal preparation, none of us really felt like eating turkey and we considered postponing the meal another day, which would have been totally fine with us. But not with him.

We did all gather in a circle and hold hands. I held Evalyn and prayed. It wasn't a very good prayer, I'll admit. Someone even joked about having it "rehearsed", which it clearly wasn't. Stuff like that is okay with us.

"Damn, it feels good to be me...."

Thank you, Uncle Kracker for stealing the words right out of my mouth.

It does feel good to be me, to be us, in all our imperfections and quirkiness.

We're messy, we don't play by the rules sometimes, we break traditions and start our own, we're loud, we laugh constantly and sometimes our prayers suck.

I hurled my body at her

Our house was recently disrupted by a four-pound bundle of orange and white fluff that we said we weren't keeping but whose name is now Bengal.

Once they get a name, they're staying, which is probably why Micah rushed to solidify the animal's position in our family.

I mean, Bengal, really? Totally rushed-sounding name.

Anyway.

Shortly after Bengal's arrival to the house, in those first few days when we were going to take her to the animal shelter and then nobody did and then mom said, "We've done everything we can to find her a new home" and I said, "No, we haven't!" and then she got a name ... yeah, those first few days - I wrote an e-mail to a very dear friend who I e-mail very often and I said:

"So Micah brought home a kitten the other day that someone left at his school. It's really cute and everything, blah, blah, blah. But I swear - this 4 pound bundle of fur has disrupted the entire balance of our household! And I'll tell you why.

In case anyone forgot, I have a German Shepherd who enjoys chasing and killing small (and large) animals. And she is obsessed with hunting down this kitten. So my usual routine of letting Skye out in the morning, taking her to feed horses with me, letting her run around before I pen her up for the day and then repeating the whole process when I get home from work has been completely disrupted by the fact that now I have to make sure the 4-pound creature with a target on her head is out of reach. It's annoying."

This morning, it became more personal because, literally, I gave a part of myself for the life of this kitten named Bengal.

I opened the front door this morning - purse, camera and miscellaneous items in hand - I let Skye out so I could put her in the pen and suddenly all I see is a little pile of orange and white fur waiting on the front step. And Skye.

It was a weird moment. Even Skye was caught by surprise. She's been hunting this thing for who knows how long and suddenly, it's waiting right in front of her. She stood over it, pawed it, and then playfully nipped at it.

The kitten cowered and sat still. Thankfully.

Then there's me. Hyperactive, over-imaginative, thinker. All I could see was a dismembered kitten, a bloody mess and my ass getting chewed for allowing Bengal to be slaughtered.

In slow-mo, I think I yelled and then I threw my body at Skye.

Stop.

At what point did I think that was a good idea?!

Why not try yelling. Or grabbing Skye's collar. Or, better yet, the kitten. All very novel ideas.

But no.

Out of all the plausible options, I chose launching myself with enough projection that I sent myself sprawling down the slight front step and onto the concrete patio. My purse and camera flew out in front of me and I landed in the fetal position.

It worked, which was my plan all along.

Skye was scared spitless and watched me tumble with a "WTF?!" look on her face, which gave the kitten enough time to scale a nearby tree.

I sat on the front step and tried not to cry.

fractions of time - I believe in them

If I ask you what time it is, I want to know what time it is.

I have friends (dare I say family members?!) who, when I ask for the time, will say, "Oh, it's 12:30" when I know it's not. It's actually 12:20. Those are important ten minutes; a lot can happen in ten minutes.

I just looked at the time on my work phone - 11:24 a.m. And I thought, "I'll take six minutes to finish eating my lunch and that'll give me an hour to write this story before my 12:30 engagement."

See? Six minutes are important.

Every morning, I at some point will announce, "Three minutes, guys! We've got three minutes before we need to leave." Those three minutes are the deciding factor between them going to school with a clean shirt or not. Important.

I arrived at my CPA graduation last night with three minutes to spare. Technically I wasn't late, although I felt like I was running behind.

Five, 10, 15 minutes is the difference between a great story and a shitty story when you're writing on deadline. Heck, even one minute is a deal breaker/maker then.

So here I am, six minutes past when I should've been done here and writing something else. Something on deadline. Kinda important.

Cheers to the under-appreciated minute.

I sprain my ankle standing still

I am quite possibly the only person I know who can twist my ankle standing still. At my deputy managing editor's desk. While talking about tithing and Christmas donations.

This was nothing like the last time I twisted it. In that case, I had extenuating circumstances.

This time? Nada one.

As a matter of fact, the probability of me twisting my ankle was slim to none. If you had asked me, "Hey Holly, do you think it's possible for you to sprain your ankle while you're standing still at the DME's desk talking about tithing and Christmas donations?"

Preposterous! would've been my response.

Nevertheless, there I was. Talking about whether one should tithe off the gross or net amount of lottery winnings (these are the important things we talk about in newsrooms!) and suddenly, my right ankle folded, I'm sure a grimace crossed my face and I limped the rest of the day.

I was even shoeless.

You can laugh because I am.

graduating ... again

In 29 minutes I will be graduating from the Copperas Cove Police Department Citizen's Police Academy. It's a process I decided to go through and chronicle in a column format.

And if you think I'm dumb for putting location-ary information on my blog, don't panic. Number one, it's not my address and number two, (not to toot my own Google horn) I'm a big deal on the internet. Google me and once you get past the YouTube videos and images (which I have nothing to do with), you'll find me on the third link down.

I told you.

I hope you sensed the sarcasm and don't think I'm really an internet-fame junkie.

But here I am, now 25 minutes pre-CPA graduation, and it's got me thinking about graduations period and how many 'things' I'll actually graduate from in my lifetime.

I graduated with my GED, then my bachelor's and masters degrees. I graduated from the World Journalism Institute and now the citizen's police academy.

Not bad for having been raised in a travel trailer with no formal education till the age of 19.

I've graduated from other things too.
Like, the Discovery! program that has completely changed my life (and I say that in all honesty - no sarcasm).
I've graduated from ...
... being a baby reporter to an editor for the first time and hopefully a better one now.
... from legalistically judging people to allowing God's grace and freedom to flow freely.
... from social awkwardness to not-keeping-my-mouth-shut.
... from building walls around my heart to keeping them down.
... from a prickly pear to a vulnerable human being.
... graduated from stress and worry to peace and courage.