messy life

Life is like a bag of dog food that spills its entire contents into the dog bowl when you're not ready for it.



And then you curse-murmur under your breath, or at least I do.

Or I yell, "I wasn't ready for that shit!"

But ready or not, prepared or not, blindsided or not, life has arrived in all its slippery unpredeictable glory.

Life might provide the music, but we can choose the dance.

What was intended as a roadblock can become a bridge.
What was hurled as a diversion can become a new path.
What was destined for destruction can become our most fertile ground.

Life has arrived. Well, it's been here for awhile, but in whatever circumstance we're dealing with right now...it's here.

And it becomes our stage.

Goodbye and Hello

I don’t like goodbyes because I don’t like change.

I know. It feels like a contradiction coming from someone who thrives on adventure and taking risks. Consider it a flexible contradiction.

You see, I do love adventure and I take as many opportunities to fulfill it as possible. I spontaneously slept in a deer blind Saturday night in below-freezing temperatures and then hunted Sunday morning. (And by “hunted,” I mean “slept-sitting-up-in-a-chair-waiting-for-deer.)

But I don’t like change.

But life likes to change.

And it’s the change that feeds the adventure so it’s a universe-balancing act.

I get it.

But.

When I hugged my brother good-bye, I didn’t think about it being the last time I’d hug him for a few months. I pretended that I was heading back to my house and he was staying at his and I’d “see him later.”

I did hug him tighter and longer. And mid-hug he cracked a joke that threw me into a fit of laughter-tears and hysteria. We did walk to the door together and before we parted, I hugged him again. Kissed him on the cheek.

We’ve known since October that this was his day, but in sneaky little ways, time evaporated and it was here before I knew what hit me. Last week, sadness was edging out any other emotion I was feeling about his departure, and true-to-my-nature I was laying in bed thinking about it.

In the midst of thinking about all the things he’s not going to be here for and the void his absence will leave at the dinner table, the baseball field, the afternoons on the couch watching football, the dance hall, the Cottage, our hearts – a new thought took dominance over all the other ones.

This is his time.

Duh, right?

But it really is.

I’ve cried since he left. I wasn’t able to be one of the ones dropping him off, but the pictures from the scene made me cry. And I cried when I heard about other people crying and when I read Facebook statuses and notes on his wall. And when I wanted to play 4-handed Pinochile this afternoon and thought, “I’ll invite Emily, Katie and Daniel…” and then remembered that I can’t.

I’m proud of this kid and I’m proud of the way we love him and the people who are missing him. I’m proud he’s serving our country and pursuing his dreams. I’m proud to be his sister.

wild and precious

I get this way every once in awhile.

This wondering what's happening on the other side of the world.
This wanting to see it for myself.

This crushing need for adventure.
This nostalgic gratitude for my simplicity.

This reminiscent mindset.
This peace like a river.

This urge to write quotes on mirrors and window frames.
This humor when I've done so in permanent marker.

This appreciation of house and home, faith and family.
This desire to make it all bigger.

This pride for plans and dreams.
This determination to make it all happen.

Tell me, what it is you plan to do with your one wild and precious life...

I plan on living it this way.

comin' home

Before you read this and think that I'm some sort of angel who comes home every day and speaks in the most pleasant of tones, let me assure you that does not always happen.

Case in point:

The last two nights I've been rude to my dogs.

I did not want to play. I did not want to cuddle. I was not amused by antics that are usually amusing. I wanted them to go lay down and leave me alone. And then I wanted to curl up in bed and watch college basketball and sleep for 12 hours for the second night in a row. Eh, fatigue.

But most nights, I acknowledge my blessings.

Skye and the Old Man are always glad to see me. I can hear them barking and whining for me as soon as I get out of my car and their jubilation only intensifies when I unlock the door. I can be gone for 5 minutes or hours and their level of excitement doesn't waver.

At that moment, I am a rock star.

Tonight's a sampling of what we do when I get home.

I let them out.
I change as quickly as possible.
I get Skye's ball and the dog brush and we go outside.

While Skye tracks down her ball in the darkness, I brush the Old Man and then throw the ball, brush the Old Man, throw the ball....

Then it's time to do a little housework and make my salad:


It's simple.

But it's what I do when I come home.

every girl should do (this) to stay young

I don't particularly like sleeping on a mattress on my mother's living room floor.

But I do it often.

Nearly every time I go home.

One of my siblings asks me to and what can I say? "No" is not an option.

And since we live in a household where mattresses are just as easily taken off their box springs as they are put back on, there's little dispute when we build our makeshift bed.

Don't put it past us to one day put a roof over it and call it a fort.

At one point during the weekend, I was reading a woman's magazine and there was a list outlining things women should do every once in awhile to stay young at heart.

Two of the things that made the list:

Have a sleepover
Build a fort

Who cares that I'm 28 and would rather not want to sleep in the living room?

Heck, I'm doing it, and I'll even help haul the mattress out.

there's a sock in my hair

Sock buns are all the rage at the Cottage.

Someone asked me today: "So what are you doing different with your hair? Sleeping in curlers or what?"

I don't usually tout my beautifying secrets, but she asked so I answered.

"I just discovered the sock bun," and she replied with: "You are a 90-year-old grandmother."

"Have you ever heard of the sock bun?" I asked in defense.

"Yes," was her reply. "From my 90-year-old grandmother."

I am addicted to this notion. I'm barely through the door of the Cottage, after having left the dogs out, and my hair is entwined in a sock.

I discovered this while visiting a long-haired friend. Her hair was up and she casually said: "Yeah, I have a sock in it."

Um, tell me more. A sock in my hair sounds like something I can handle.

And it is, and it's even better now that I've had practice.

Naturally, I'm behind the times, because when I mentioned my newly-discovered craze, my sister nonchalantly replied that she'd be doing it for awhile.

"Why haven't you told me?!"

"Well, I didn't think I had to."

Yes. Anything that involves a sock in my hair should be told to me. She redeemed herself by giving me pointers. (your hair should be completely dry.)

I'm too tired right now to explain how to put a sock in your hair, but if you have long locks and you're looking for something quick and that serves the purpose of giving you curls in the morning when you take it (yes, you can sleep in the sock bun!), this is for you.

tell me why, electric lady

It’s true that my emotions are all over my face, but they’re in my voice too.

I guarantee you that the woman at my electric company knew I was incredulous over the phone when she told me how much my electric bill was.

First, the obvious question from me: “Um…why?”

Internally, I was screaming: why the hell is my electric bill more than $100?

The kind woman explained that it’s gotten colder and therefore I’m using my heater more.

“But I live in like 600-square feet of space…I don’t understand,” I replied. It’s not that I doubted her, it’s that I was suddenly not an adult anymore. I was a five-year-old kid in mourning. But why….

“Well, when you moved in, it was October and so the weather was mild and you didn’t have the heat on, or anything for that matter, and so you were only using 3,4,5 kilowatt hours each day,” she said. “But now that the weather has cooled down, you’re using about 25 kilowatt hours a day and it’s because of the heater.”

This woman is brilliant. She must have eyes everywhere and sees me at night crank up the furnace to 71 because this old-body-in-a-young-age is freezing.

Curl up, dogs, and humans, grab a sweatshirt. We’re not using 25 kilowatt hours a day of electricity. No. No, we’re not.

(I’ve joined the 21st century according to Facebook and have a subscribe option on my page. So, subscribe away!)