grateful celebration of turning {30}

 

In October 2012 I was driving from Kentucky back to Texas and I thought, "I want to return here for my 30th birthday party and I want to celebrate with some of my most favorite people."

Fast forward to September 2013 and that's what happened. 

When I look at the pictures from that weekend and when I think about being surrounded by that much love, I'm grateful.

I'm grateful for acceptance.

...for the friends who drove a lot of miles to get there.

And for the friend who flew across time zones.

I'm grateful for a friend's lake house and their inspiring generosity.

I'm grateful for the photos and the memories we created.

...for morning coffee on the floating dock.

...and for conversations till 2 a.m.

I'm grateful for falling asleep mid-sentence.

I'm grateful for the kids who sang me original birthday songs.

...for their handwritten notes and cards.

I'm grateful for the gifts my friends brought - the kind they knew would mean the most.

I'm grateful for laughing, for crying, for reminiscing and for creating.

I'm grateful for a town that is home, a campus that welcomes me the same as it did 11 years ago, and for streets that are as familiar to me as, well, home.

I'm grateful for the women who cradled me and for my mom who organized that surprise.

I'm grateful for our "love fest" and for the affirming gift-words we gave each other (I WAS SO EXCITED TO DO THIS!!)

I'm grateful for friends who couldn't come, but sent me a party hat.

...and homemade beer.

...and a beautiful letter.

I'm grateful for the football games that played, the football conversations, and the "hook 'em, Horns!" pictures with my 3-year-old friend.

I'm grateful for my mom who did most of the driving, for friends who watched Skye, and for the terrific boarder who cared for Tuck.

I'm grateful for the quilts I gave as gifts and for all the things they symbolized.

I'm grateful for sunsets over the lake, and for a sturdy deck with rocking chairs.

I'm grateful for turning 30.

...to be living this new decade with so much love.

Y'all give me the warm fuzzies.

(and not in a moldy-kind-of-way)

 

 

the day I realized I'm 29 and single

I was hiking. I wasn't lost yet.
The sun was shining brilliantly and there was a magnificent breeze.
I was alone (with my dogs) as I often am.
There was no music, no conversation. Just me, holding my water bottle, walking, thinking.

I was thinking about my new year. You know, I turned 29 on the second and have spent the past 10 days celebrating with family and friends and feeling splendidly loved and spoiled by the richness of the relationships in my life.

It's my last year in my 20s and I'm not sad or regretful or melancholic over that notion. I'm delightfully hopeful and expectant about the adventures Year 29 will deliver.

What will I get myself into?
What will I lose?
What will I gain?
Where will I be?
What will I learn?
What will I do for the first time?
Will I hate it? Love it? Repeat it?
What mistakes will I make? Apologies will I say? Condolences give?
How will I improve? What will I improve?
What will get stronger? Weaker?
What will I accomplish? Relinguish?

I smiled out loud in anticipation. The sun, the breeze, the exploring adventure, the dogs...my {crazy beautiful} life.

Hopeful expectancy.
Or sometimes impatience.

I LOVE THE JOURNEY.
But where are we going?

I LOVE THE MOMENTS.
But what will they create when added together?

I LOVE TODAY.
And tomorrow?

Then somewhere in all the hopeful expectancy and on the plains of some state park in the middle of ranchland, and while I was smiling...

And you're single.

The trailing thought made me smile wider, because I realized this was the first time I'd thought that in the first week of my 29th year, and because the anticipation deepened.

What will happen next?

fall into fall, and a bit of rambling

Starbucks has introduced their great fall line-up, football season has started, it's forecasted to be 68 degrees Saturday night, and everywhere there are orange scarves and pumpkins.

I think fall is about to be here.
But, you know, in Texas that still means 100+ degree days for most of this glorious month of September, which is really my favorite month of the whole year.

It starts with my birthday, celebrated four days ago by attending the season opening game of the Texas Longhorns with 101,000 other people, and a new friend. Nothing says "welcome to fall" than sitting at the very top of the Longhorns stadium for an evening game, and watching the moon glow over the Austin skyline while a breeze cooled everyone. Plus, we won, so that was awesome.

Texas Longhorns vs. Wyoming Cowboys

My Facebook page lit up Saturday and Sunday with birthday wishes, all of which I deeply appreciated. The one that made me cry, though, was a text message I got Monday from my former nanny-child's mom. She wished me a happy birthday from her and Josey, and said they went to the circus a few days ago and Josey said she wished I was with them. And then tears stung my eyes. It's funny how after all these years one little girl can still have a grip on your heart, and she remembers me. And then yesterday my best friend sent me a picture message of her two-year-old son with a Longhorns shirt on and a caption, "Making Auntie Holly proud!" I'm truly blessed by the little squirts in my life.

I'm fighting off a cold, or whatever it is. Whatever-it-is is a sore throat and mild congestion capped off with some ol' fashioned fatigue. Last night I had a strict regiment: leave work early, get Vitamin C, go home, rest, run, eat, make chili, shower, sleep. So that's what I did, and I was not deterred by the books scattered across the kitchen floor because Skye had knocked over the bookshelf. Nope. Cleaning up books and fixing a bookshelf was not on the evening's agenda and so I left them.

And I slept for 10 hours, which in my world is a glorious, glorious thing.

I've got a 5K coming up on Saturday and I'm so, so, so glad for my birthday-present-to-myself running shoes. Can you believe I bought running shoes?  I still catch myself, like last night post-run while washing dishes, thinking: You ran. YOU RAN. And this is monumental because I've always said, "I am not a runner," despite my great admiration of all my running friends. But now, here I am, running a little at a time and a little bit more at a time.

And judging myself for not running more. Why do I that? Tuck and I had a good run last night and on our way back, I was frustrated that I couldn't run anymore. That's my adversarial side talking, and then I become my own coach: "You've only been running for two months, you've got a couple diseases, you started at zero and look at where you are today. Get over it! And be satisfied."

So I told myself, "OK, self. You're right."

And I walked the rest of the way home. 

the falls

I like to be adventerous.

Well, I like to think I am.

Two trips down this series of three waterfalls yesterday and I was seriously questioning my capacity for bravery.

You might know I like plans. I like to know where I'm going and what's waiting for me at the bottom, say, of three waterfalls. So when I asked, I was informed that there were steps off the side leading back up to shore. I can handle steps.

Ha!

Nobody mentioned the fact that the current would be so effing strong that after baling out of my tube, I would be struggling to just stand upright on a sharp rocky ledge in the middle of the river, much less get my ass to unseen steps by the shore. A spry-looking woman just in front of me was struggling too. And when I say struggling, folks, I mean that had we stopped fighting to just stay standing, the current would have swept us down the river so fast we'd be gone for hours. She had a husband. And husband managed to get their kid to shore and then she begged him to come back for her.

We were reaching near crisis mode, and this thought flashed through my mind:

"I would never last on Survivor." Eff that shit. I wanted my feet on shore, not on the sharp rocks that had now deeply cut the bottom of one foot. I knew it had to be bleeding profusely. Sharks would be there any minute.

My peeps were on the shore telling me to come on, and I was yelling that I couldn't. My little brother came to get me, and told me I'd have to swim just a little ways to the rock ledge.

But I can't swim across this current!! Pretty sure I whined that out.

I mustered whatever swimming capability I had and prepared for the long haul. Two strokes later, I could touch again.

"Wow, really. Two strokes? Why didn't you tell me?" And then I felt like the person who was drowning in two feet of water (Stand up, just stand up!) I turned back to my water-friend who was still waiting for hubby (taking forever!) and I encouraged her that once you swam like two strokes, you could touch again.

So, I survived that round.

Let's go again.

First waterfall flipped me out of my tube, which sent me headfirst into the water and through a maze of death, I swear. Primarily, I could not breath, which is always concerning for me. Secondly, the water through the falls is shallow and there are big-ass rocks waiting, taunting. I imagined my face (the one still underwater.....God, if you love me, bring me to the surface!) being smashed into an underwater rock. Maybe I would pass out and drown. Maybe I would need plastic surgery. But since breathing was still a top priority at this point, I didn't dwell on it.

God loves me. I could breath again. And just in time to hear my brother yell that the next waterfall was coming and to plug my nose.

Eff my life.

What nose? I didn't even have time to touch it before I was plunged and pinned underwater again.

How is this fun?! I think I made a lot of promises I knew I wouldn't be able to keep while I was swirling around in the crevices of water-darkness. Now I know what toilet paper feels like when it's flushed. So not pleasant.

I found the surface again and just before the third waterfall. I did not fall off a watermelon truck yesterday. There was no way in hell I was tumbling over a third one.

The ravage woman-survivor in me reared up and clawed my way out of the path of the most heavy current and to big rocks, cutting in front of a fellow tuber who did not appreciate me interrupting his ride. Dude, I'm sorry. I've escaped death three times today. I'm no fool.

And then, while I'm on my hands and knees, completely not caring if the people in front of me were getting a full view of the girls, crawling my way out of the water and muttering, "That was not fun, that was not fun," I realized: You are not brave. You are a little bit of a pussy.

I did not go down the waterfalls again. Instead, I nursed my wounds (seen here):

and threatened to go find one of the little paramedics on four-wheelers for a first aid kit. I was advised not to do that, for the sake of honor.

I stared death in its watery eye, folks.

I lived. Limping, but surviving.



it's been one of those days and weeks when...

... the basket of clean laundry that I set on my handmade dining room table still sits there.

... the book that I'll be writing a review for soon hasn't been read.

... my dinner was eaten in shifts. First through the Starbucks drive-thru, and then when a colleague brought me fried rice in a box.

... I spend 6 minutes in my front yard at 10 p.m. playing fetch with Skye. It's my way of saying "Sorry for working so long today, and please don't run laps in the Cottage."

... I execute my housekeeping in 10 minute spurts at the end of long work days because that's all I have energy for.

... conversations with my mom last for four minutes in hushed tones over my work computer.

... I miss my sisters.

... I could barely walk today after two days of working out. Could I be any more out of shape???

... plans and dreams and aspirations seem so close.

... this glass of wine and conversations with two friends in one night is enough to call this day good, and go to bed.

pssstt...my family is dysfunctional

I heard a man pray for my family and I felt as if I could have listened to him for hours.

The pieces of my family need a lot of prayer right now. Hatred has fragmented us and we've splintered off to our respective corners, each of us feeling justified in the wounds we're licking.

I've lost track of time in the middle of the bitterness swirling around me.

Has it been a week since my mother was dry-heaving in sobs on the phone? Or was that 10 days? Or has it been 10 days since the last time I've spoken to one of my sisters and only a week since half of my family defriended me on Facebook?

There's a problem with bitterness and hatred, many problems. I've been told it's like taking poison and expecting the other person to die, yet you're the one withering in gross death from the inside out.

The beauty of bitterness is that there's an anecdote and hopefully soon we'll all be taking that medicine. Maybe not together, probably not synchronized, but perhaps free of hate, free of malice and able to live our lives uninhibited by our own weaknesses.

If you were to ask me how I'm doing, I would say I'm blessed by so many people, I love every member of my dysfunctional family, and I'm hopeful. I'm hopeful that one day, maybe sooner than later, we'll be put back together.

Without hope, what else is there?

conversations with Katie

Katie is my sister/former housemate/bestest friend/personal shopper/middle-of-the-night call-her/OMG-you're-never-going-to-believe this-her.

Some of our recent text conversations have been indicative of the range in our friendship and I thought I'd share.

ME: How's your day?
HER: Good. I'm at the zoo with Will, Mike, Rose and the kids.
ME: Oh fun!!! That sounds great. It's a beautiful day!
HER: It is!! It's a mad house, tho. Semi stressful.
ME: Oh, I bet. :(
...
HER: And I just got shit on by a bird.
ME: HAHA!!!!
ME: Sorry.

I sent her a picture of my garden area.

HER: Yay!! That looks great!
ME: Thanks! It's all stuff I either had or found and then put my thinking cap on and put it all together. I had to haul the dirt from a field up a long ass hill.
HER: How funny!! I bet it was good farm soil tho!!
ME: I hope so. It felt like a Biggest Loser-style work out.
HER: Oh man!!
ME: I did 2 push-ups today and thought I would die.
ME: Two.
ME: Not 22. Two.
HER: It's a start!!
HER: Better than 1. Or none.
ME: Ha. Good point, coach.
HER: :) I do what I can.
ME: I mean, you're no Bob, but I'll take what I can get.

ME: I'm worried about my plants b/c Blue won't stay out of the dirt. I swear, if he destroys my plants, he's goin' down.
HER: Ohh no, isn't that back area fenced?
ME: No. And it's out of the sun. My plan is to maybe find a table or something to set them on. But still...
HER: That'd be so sad.
ME: Um, yes. Literally, I would probably cry.
HER: Umm I would too. I would cry for you.
ME: You know I'm going to go ape shit when these things start producing, right?
HER: Umm ya. I guessed that.

ME: Is it OK if Skye spends the weekend w/ you while I'm in Dallas?
HER: Getting the same text as the sis sitting next to me isn't cool FYI.
ME: Haha! I dig mass texts.
HER: I don't.
ME: Oh god. I'll have to bring my plants too. F**k.
HER: Haha. Her auntie Kate will love to have her.
ME: Much appreciated!
ME: Do you want me to bring her crate?
ME: Never mind, I just will. It'll be an easy place to put her when you've had enough of her.
ME: And lord knows, you WILL have enough of her.

ME: EXCLUSIVE TEXT MSG TO YOU: maybe there will be a hot editor at the conference this weekend.
HER: Thx for the exclusive text. That'd be totally awesome!! You should be looking and available.
ME: I will be a hungry cougar.
HER: That's a little aggressive.
ME: Don't underestimate me.
HER: Hahaha never.

I sent her a picture of Skye.

ME: She's looking forward to being with her auntie Katie! I sent this to four other people, by the way.
HER: I appreciate you being honest about the mass texts and Skye won't be spoiled at auntie Kate's house. She'll have to mind her manners for special treatment.
ME: She will melt your heart of stone with her liquid brown eyes and long tongue. Mark my words.
ME: Also, she didn't tear up carpet today. Basically, she's perfect.
HER: yay Skye. She minded her manner. Not manners, manner. one.
ME: Oh, there's more. She didn't run away and came every time she was told.
HER: Wow. I'm blown away!!
ME: I know. What can I say?
ME: OK. I have to go to bed. I'm getting up @ 7 to exercise for Day #2. Gotta lose 10by May 19. Gotta not die while doing push-ups.
ME: Gotta do a lot of shit tomorrow.
HER: You're a bad ass!!!
ME: Oh yeah, my 2/10 of a mile run. I'm a beast.
HER: Hey it counts!!!
ME: It will eventually when 2/10 becomes like 210. OK, possible exaggeration. But you get the picture. And yes, for the record, I'm running in circles around my neighbor's house.
HER: Classic!!! Better than the highway!!
ME: Heck yes. OK. Good night. Love you.
HER: Night. Love you too.

plants and tables

It's been awhile since my little brother and I built my dining room table from some old window panes and wood found in a burn pile.

But the table is finally home in the Cottage, and doesn't she look good?



And nearly all my plants have sprouted on the window sill, which makes me a proud plant-mama.

some words strung together

Wind and rain is slapping against the front of the Cottage and incidentally the windows my desk sits in front of. There's something comforting about a Texas thunderstorm.

My 80-pound German shepherd doesn't agree with me. She's currently in her hiding spot next to the toilet in the bathroom. And to think she's my personal protection dog! I guess we all have our fears.

My niece is asleep in the bedroom next to me. I checked on her a moment ago and found her asleep on the carpet. Apparently she rolled.

I hired a babysitter the past two days for the first time in my life. It's not surprising given that I'm not a mother, but traditionally I've been the one on the babysitter/nanny end. The moment of departure was awkward. What's a good thing to say when you leave a babysitter with your precious child/niece? I'd already given her the run down (twice, I'm sure, in my semi-frazzled state), I'd kissed Evalyn, told her goodbye and then....

Thirty minutes later I wanted to check and see if everything was going OK, but I managed to hold off for 50 minutes. I was glad to hear they were getting along splendidly and watching Mary Poppins.

You can't really make scrambled eggs in a Crock pot.

I found a flea on Skye two days ago and went ape shit on the Cottage. I lose my mind over fleas. Hopefully I've taken care of these suckers.

I really like March Madness and think college football should be structured in the same way. I especially like this year's tournament because my Murray State Racers are in it to win it.

My brother is a sailor!!

The past two days at work were especially stressful. It's always stressful, but this was compounded. We made it, though.

Speaking of work, I have to go back there tomorrow. I might need to go to bed now.

he's a sailor!

On the spectrum of pride, mine is off the charts.



It's hard to believe we said goodbye two months ago and now here we are - graduation day!

As every big sister should, I cried when I watched the graduation videos this morning that one of my sisters was sending to my cell phone. And then, two hours later, I got a text message:

"Hey! It's Daniel!!"

And I screamed via text and replied:
"I wish I was there to touch your face!"

I've missed that kid a lot and can't wait to see where his journey takes him.

Eeeeeeeeekkkkkkk....I'm so happy for him!

mommy for 3.5 days

It hasn't even been 24 hours and I've got little outfits hanging from the shower curtain rod, drying from their impromptu wash in the bathroom sink this morning.

I've comforted a fussy girl who didn't want to go to sleep for the first hour of bedtime, and then worried all night about her getting too cold.

I've already had one episode of flipping on nearly every light in the bedroom when I couldn't see her chest rising and falling before I went to bed.

The first nearly sleepless night is under my belt. I was worrying about if she was too hot or too cold, and then at 4 a.m. she decided it was time to wake up, but it wasn't.

This morning I tugged her into bed with me from her little pallet besides my bed and we snuggled for a few minutes. Later, she had a coughing fit and threw up. I almost did too.

The babysitter came and I told her goodbye, but I didn't really want to leave her. Thirty minutes later I wanted to check and see how she was doing. I held off for an hour and then was glad to hear that she was laughing and smiling and watching Mary Poppins.

And it hasn't even been 24 hours yet.

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.

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.

this is not a family photo

Ah, Christmas. It came back around again this year, didn't it?

It was a good day with good food, good family, good card games, good movies, good wrestling, good photo shoot, good time spent together.

It was good.

weight comparison and my shallow PoV

I've been going back and checking myself out from a few years ago, thanks to Facebook.

Funny thing is, these photos weren't taken that long ago - two years, in fact.




And then this is the one taken Saturday. Thank goodness.


When I talk about weight, weight loss and the journey to get there, it is, in fact, a JOURNEY. It's one foot in front of the other, one small step at a time.

I texted my sister yesterday and the reason I'm sharing it because it exemplifies how quickly weight can become a problem without you or the people around you recognizing it.

"Do you realize how fat I was?"

"Yes, I do. I'm sorry I didn't say anything."

"Oh wow, I wasn't expecting that. Ummmm....I'm just not sure why I didn't realize it. I think it's an indicator of where I was mentally and emotionally at the time."

"Oh for sure, and honestly I never saw you as fat...which is weird..."

"I know what you mean! It sounds mean, but..." and then I say something rude about myself...

"How horrible!!!"

"I know. I just apologized to myself."

"OK good. But ya, I didn't realize it was so bad...I guess your personality made up for it."

"It is charming."

"At times."

"Whoa, easy there."

Everyone around me is sworn to sound the alarm if I start gaining weight again.

when she calls, I answer

It's been like that since before she was born.

Irresistable. Compelling. Adrenaline-rushing.

My niece, Evalyn Grace, was born in June 2006, and when I got the call that she was coming, myself and a good friend boarded a plane in Nashville, Tennessee, and arrived in Austin as quickly as possible.

I can't walk through the Austin airport without remembering the moment we deplaned. I wanted to collapse, to kneel somewhere, to rewind and do it all over again. But I couldn't. We were running now to the exit to meet a friend of my sister's we didn't know.

He would take us to the hospital. To the neo-natal intensive care unit.

I don't remember much, except walking into the waiting room and seeing people, people with somber faces, tears, and people who wouldn't have been there unless something terrible was happening.

Something terrible was happening, did happen, and for many days Evalyn and my sister's lives were uncertain.

Evalyn would spend the first six weeks of her life in the NICU.

It was the first of many hospital visits and extended stays.

Some of these visits were fresh on my mind Thursday as I was driving to Austin to the children's hospital.

I'd gotten the text that drove me out of newsroom about an hour earlier: Evalyn was unresponsive, intubated and on her way in an amublance to the hospital. For some reason, this time felt different than her last couple hospital visits in recent months.

It felt like I needed to be there, and so I went.

Like the time we drove directly from the airport to the children's hospital after visiting home for the holidays. Or the time we left our house in the middle of the night to get her to the hospital. Or the time she was transported by helicopter. Or the time I got a speeding ticket trying to get there. Or the time the nurse overdosed her on medication. Or the time I yelled at a medical resident, and the times we've directed nursing care. The time we've hit the red button and the times the room has been flooded with medical personnel. The times we've eaten in Vanderbilt's food court and the times we've slept in a twin bed in an overflow room in their emergency department.

When she calls, I answer, and I'm not the only one.

There's a convergence of prayer and now that we all live within 40 miles of each other, there's usually more than one of us on the way.

Her's is an unresistable call.

High five in the face

I hit myself in the face with a hammer.

Who does that?

People like me, who get so involved with the umph needed to pull out a nail that I get my face so close, and my brother says, "Be careful, you're going to hit yourself in the face."

A couple plays later (football talk), it happened.

I couldn't get the nail out and before I knew it, my face (mouth, more specifically) was perfectly aligned with the hammer handle that when its inevitable slip happened, I felt like I was in a bar fight and had been sucker punched.

My hand immediately flew to my mouth and I could feel tears marinating in my ducts.

"Are you okay?" my brother asked, not missing a beat in the nail he was extracting. "I told you to be careful."

I wasn't speaking. Just holding onto my face.

"I called it," he chuckled. "Are you okay?"

And then, my line:

"I don't know, am I? Are my teeth okay?" And then I started crying.

At this point, I can tell you I'm breathing, which I suppose means I'm okay. But I need you to tell me that I have all my extremities and that I'm not bleeding out.

I just have a fat lip. It's cut on the inside and bruised, and my gum above my front teeth is cut.

Later that night, my brother said, "I bet you $5 you're either going to have this as a Facebook status or a blog...wait, probably both."

Consider it done.

a budget isn't a bad thing

"We have $15 to spend, that's our budget."

I was speaking to my brother, and he hopped back out of the truck.

"There is noooooo way we can get what we need for $15. It's not even worth going."

I convinced him that, yes, we could go and that we could get what we needed on a budget. And if we needed more, we would have to wait.

Off to Lowes we went.

In fashion true to the nature of my family, it became a competition.

We needed two 2x4s. We found 16' long ones for $5.71. But they were the first ones we found and I suggested browsing a little bit more.

We found 10' long ones for $2.37. I let him do the math.

"If we get two of the 10-foot long ones, that's still less than the 16-foot long board and we get four extra feet."

Exactly.

The same scenario repeated itself when we chose a 1x3. And in the screws/hardware aisle, he compared prices to what we needed, checking, reading labels, checking again.

Then it was a drill bit for the drill.

All the while, I'm maintaining my position that we are not fighting in Lowes.

We typically always do, and trust me, there was plenty of opportunity today. I don't get mental images of projects and therefore, I question everything. Do we really need that? What's that for? I don't think it has to be that size. And since I'm always right, of course I'm right in Lowes!

Today, I questioned out of curiousity so as not to offend his creative genius. Truth is, he does know what he's talking about in Lowes and I should just push the cart.

We went $7 over budget. The screws got us. But, later we had to return them and purchase another 1x3, which set us forward about $3.

He was keeping track and I think it clicked.

On the way home, he said working a project on a budget makes sense, because it allows you to do other things with the money you might have overspent.

I emphasized the point that a budget doesn't mean you can't afford to make a purchase, it's that you're choosing to allocate your money elsewhere and more wisely.

We got home with our goods and he got right to work on our project.

"After we're done with this," he said, in between him sawing and me holding, "we need to make something that we can sell so we have money in our budget for the next project."

I like the way he's thinking.

smelling a memory

I used to scrub toilets for a living in the not-so-distant past, relatively speaking.

But I had completely forgotten about this one place, until I poured a good dose of Pine-Sol in my kitchen sink and before I knew it, I was back within those cinderblock walls.

It wasn't jail! Not those kind of cinderblock walls, although at the time it felt like it.

It was a summer, maybe 2004 or 2005, and it was in Kentucky. It was me and my three sisters and we found work just down the road from our house at a couple different Kentucky Lake resorts. Me and my two sisters were cleaning ladies; our other sister was the cook in the little resort cafe.

This is where people spent their money to spend a week or ten days in cinderblock barracks. Or poorly decorated cabins. But they were on the lake and daddies got to fish with their sons and mothers got to lay out with their daughters. More power to ya.

While the over eager youth groups camped out in the barracks, rows and rows of shady, Pine-Sol drenched hotel rooms were available for the single person or couple.

And we, the cleaning ladies, sped around on golf carts with our industrial-strength Pine-Sol, which is now on my kitchen floor.

We didn't last there very long. The owners of the joint were aggressive assholes. Cleaning ladies and cooks we may have been, but respect we will deserved.

We migrated just a bit farther down the road to another resort with actual condos and rustic cabins with hot tubs and whirlpool jets.

And a higher grade of golf cart.

"Hey, do you remember that shady resort we used to work at? And () was the cook?" I texted my sister.

This was in the midst of a rapid fire texting conversation that involved her telling me she couldn't bring an orange snack to our all-orange Texas Longhorns watch party this afternoon. As a matter of fact, it's a red snack.

"Where was this? I don't recall," she replied.

"In Kentucky. It wasn't Tracy's place; it was the other one. They tried to not pay () one time so we all quit. It had nasty-ass cabins and huge barracks with cinderblock walls."

"Yessss!!!!! Haha, I remember."

What is it with us and cinderblock walls jarring our memory?

"What about it?" she followed up.

"I remembered it this morning because I poured pine-sol in my kitchen sink and my whole house smells like it."

"Ahhh, the memories!"

A few seconds later:

"Do you remember the toilets we cleaned at Riverside RV park for $1 a day?"

No, no, I do not.

That, dear sister, is a memory I am not privvy to. I will leave it to you.