Some Days Are Rare

Here's the thing, dear readers, there are moments in life that you expect, anticipate and for which you prepare. There are also moments, friends, that are rare, unanticipated, and for which you cannot prepare.

I'll let you in on a secret. When there are no other words to describe the situation at hand, when you just cannot for the life of you... Yeah. In Angelese this is referred to as, "rare." One of my brothers and I share a bond where a simple look indicates "rare" is possibly occurring at this very moment.

I wish you rare days. Rare moments. Rareness in many forms. Because this is the stuff of memories, legends and tall tales. It will bury itself in the walls and spaces and annals of your history. These bits of time will come to you when you have forgotten everything about yourself and those you love. I promise.

I have many rare moments over the course of a lifetime. Windows of time that open and close but never lock. It just takes a bit of a breeze to open and laughter generally follows...

As I was driving along today, I spotted Canadian geese which instantly transported me to Portage Lakes circa - who knows less than six years ago?- on which occasion I was doing one of my favorite things​, riding a jet ski. On such blessed, sunny day, I was ever.so.randomly. attacked. By a swan. This white, graceful creature flew right into my back and assaulted me continuously. You might not know this. But. Swans are beautiful. They are also big, heavy, strong, aggressive and maintain a never-say-die mindset. I am making my way to the dock so I am unable to accelerate much at this point in time. I'm not too proud to say I was feeling physically injured by said gentle, delicate, ballerina swan, but I couldn't stop laughing. It was quite a spectacle as people are milling around loading and unloading watercraft, observing my predicament. I'm laughing and yelling, Ryan is on the shoreline and my brother is on the jet ski ahead of me; and, we're​ all subsequently laughing and yelling and trying to help me. Random. Unanticipated. Rare.

Traveling by plane, as a one parent show, with two babies will create the most rare of all the days. Such a day went something like this...

Toddlers cannot be reasoned with. I will not wax philosophical on my resulting convictions about various parenting methods. Just. Don't​. Okay?

Noah was hell bent on doing his own thing when traveling by foot, thus it seemed most appropriate to purchase a leash for all things airport. I strapped that sucker on buddy #1, placed buddy #2 in the stroller and thought we'd proceed on our way to Gate 49 presently. Well. A leash is a good way to keep someone close at hand but there has to be a will to walk written in the plan. We didn't have that on this day. Halfway to our destination Noah plopped down and gave up the ghost. Then he had to go to the bathroom. Then Aaron needed a diaper change. Then more bull headed opinions on walking. When I arrived at the gate, with about 0.025% patience left, the gate attendant(s), all three, proceeded to give me their opinions on my apparent tardiness. "Your plane landed 15 minutes ago, we've been holding this flight for you, where have you been?"

Folks. Friends. Dearly beloved. These three are ever so very lucky that Angela allowed Jesus to take the wheel... And scene.

We proceed onto the plane where every last paying customer hated every gut that I ever had. I plop down next to a niceish looking lady, "Thank you Lord for keeping the business man in the next row." The flight is turbulent as is Noah's stomach. He begs me to take him to the bathroom. The seatbelt light is on, Aaron is finally sleeping in my arms, seriously? He says he cannot wait, and I can tell the situation is now dire. I throw Aaron into the arms of the lady next to me, and precariously start us down the aisle. The flight attendants are yelling, seriously yelling, at me to sit back down. I proceed anyway. I get us into the bathroom. But it's too late. The flight attendant bangs repeatedly on the door ordering me to my seat. I open the door and in no uncertain terms inform her that I will not be moving until the bathroom situation is rectified. We did the best we could with what we had, which wasn't much, and headed back to our row.

In all my imaginations, I don't think I would have come up with such a travel day as that.

Messy. Very messy. Angry. Precious. Bits of time. Rare.

Some of the best laughs come from these. (Noah loves hearing about this day.)

Next time you see me, and we're having a day, give me the "rare" look, I'll know it from a mile away. I'll return it, no words spoken, and I'll smile to myself.

Filed away for a day down the road. Promise.

What Did You Like Best?

Saturday afternoon. It's delicious.

The remaining day stretches in front of me.

Games? Food? Movies? PJs? Coffee? That last Christmas 5th Avenue? It's been waiting.

I'm​ in a tough place. Been there for awhile. A long while. I can't seem to figure it out. I just get up everyday and do my best. But. Saturday. Saturday is not for dwelling, but dreaming.

The sun is thinking about sharing a ray or two with me. I close my eyes. And dream.

About the one time I went snorkeling in Malaysia. It was new and intimidating and exciting; breathtaking, yet over quickly. It was overcast, then sunny, then frigid and rainy. The, ahem, accommodations were less than ideal, but the shower was mostly warm and I was never so grateful for hot-ish water and a blanket or two to block the mosquitoes. It was like the fourth time in my life my face erupted (appeared to, anyway,) with chicken pox. Bless Ryan for taking the bed above the massive hole in the floor, where the sidewalk light beckoned our tiny, ruthless enemy straight up into our room. He was tore up.

I have to constantly remind myself to take risks. Be brave, Angela, be brave. Chicken pox is temporary.

I would not naturally classify myself as a brave individual. I wish I could because I think bravery is such a fine quality. I admire those who are not ruled by fear, those who embrace uncertainty so easily.

When I am old. Well. Older than I am now. I am certain the parts of my life I will be able to say that I liked best, were the parts when I was brave. When I was a single mother. When I tried new foods. (Like prawn soup - are you kidding me?!) When I traveled to new places. When I forgave others. When I decided to be a friend, instead of waiting for one. (I can't tell you the numerous blessings that have come to me by this route.) When I have performed or given speeches.

And.

When I chose to write.

When I chose, months ago, to pursue a passion, to embrace what I love most of all.

It's a brave thing to be vulnerable. It displays a strength most often unrecognized. To write, to blog, is to allow others that you might not even know personally to enter your world. Be a part of your life. To see through your eyes. Sometimes I hit, "publish" and cringe, knowing that others will criticize, whether they comment or not.

Be brave, Angela, be brave. Chicken pox is temporary.

When you ask me what I liked best about this life...

Moments of bravery. Because on the wings of bravery, you fly...

Pen, paper, and all.

Have You Ever Seen A Tumbleweed?

I have. Literally and figuratively.

I am a rooter married to one.

As such, I find myself in migration patterns, and currently consider myself more than halfway through the current one. While the transition periods are difficult, I have learned that this type of moveable effort is actually quite good for me. I've lived in various parts of the country, something I never thought I would do. My family tends to stay put in one specific area, and to this day, my immediate family all lives within a few miles of each other.

I've been thinking about the person who moved to Utah at the ripe old age of 26. I trekked across the country on I-80 for three days, in a '96 Ford Explorer holding some belongings, my mother, and my infant son, and following a 36 foot Penske truck.  What a trip!  Gas was outrageous at the time. The scenery was, and shall always be, boring. Lots of corn. Lots of windmills. Lots of cattle. Lots of. Nothing.

I remember crying some as we drove along. Sometimes Noah joined in with me if it was time to eat. He was a pure angel on that trip. The sunniest of dispositions you would ever find resided in that sweet boy. His smile lit up an entire room. Or car.

I learned that one should be mindful of the gas gauge. I learned that the amazing "oasis" called "Little America" was a joke to a Midwesterner, but pure, unadulterated truth to a person from Wyoming. I laughed a lot as the miles added up, enjoying the presence of my mother, with the stresses of the pre-moving process behind us. But, as the miles left in front of that well used vehicle became less than the miles behind, my anxiety increased. As we crossed the state line, my heart sank. Mom knew. And she let me sort it out in silence. Noah had no pertinent comments to add so he kept to himself. And we rode thus for quite some time.

We had some difficulty finding our new place out in the wilderness of Eagle Mountain. And by the time we arrived it was late afternoon. The house was gorgeous. It really was. Placed on a postage stamp of .11 acres, was a 4 bedroom, 3 bath house with a very nice kitchen and open floor plan. I'd still love to live in that house, in just about ANY place but Eagle Mountain. Eagle Mountain is where social lives go to die. (I apologize to any of my EM readers, but you have to admit, a decade ago it did not have nearly the connections it has today.)

I was basically a hermit the year we lived there. I didn't know too many people. I was expecting Aaron which meant I was vomiting daily/hourly(minutely?)for eight months. Ryan left several times for civilian and military trainings. I don't know how I survived that. Just me. And baby Noah. And. No one. Honestly, I try to picture that year and I see snippets, but it was a blur of housework, baby tending, lawn mowing, desperate loneliness, and the horror that is pregnancy.

I did survive. And the years that followed became precious to me. The memories and friendships will last through my lifetime.

New York has proven to have many of the same, but also many different transitions. At more than halfway, (I don't​ know if we are really counting but Tennessee is calling) I have some memories, and some kindred spirits that happened along my way.  True friends. Scrabble players.  Also some truly difficult times and experiences.  A lot of personal growth.

The summation is a life lived. Experienced. Rooted. Uprooted. Loved. Re-loved. I can't believe some of the things I've done. And I am certain I can't believe some of the things I will do.

It's exciting and intimidating and usually not too boring.

I am hoping at my next stop, the stop where the cost of living is less astronomical, I can devote myself to writing as more than a hobby.

Perhaps I am also becoming a tumbleweed....

Should I Write An Advice Column?

What are your thoughts about love?

Do you believe in love-at-first-sight?

Do you believe love heals all things?

Do you believe love is worth seeking?

Do you believe love happens only once?

Do you believe that you are worthy of love?

Do you know what love is and what love is not?

I have nieces, nephews, cousins, "adopted" kids in my heart that are on the threshold of life. The message the world spreads about love is so deceiving. Dear all-special-people-in-my-life, please ponder some things with me a few moments. I wear reading glasses now so I am aged and have leveled up in wisdom. Please laugh it up, enjoy, and then allow me to share with you my experience.

First. Love at first sight is a complete myth. It does not mean that you are not "carefree or romantic enough" when you wisely dismiss this notion. Your "heart" might tell you otherwise but I caution you to think with your head in this matter. Your visual attraction to someone means nothing about your ability to care for them personally.

Secondly. Love does not heal all things. Love covers a multitude of things. A multitude. Love forgives, and forgives, and forgives. But it does not erase the scars and deep wounds. Those linger. And sometimes they linger for a lifetime. Remember that. Our words and actions last.

Thirdly. I would unequivocally tell you that love is worth seeking, but be sure you know what it is and what it is not. Seek understanding. Seek compatability. Seek comfortable silence. Seek laughter. Please, please remember that physical attraction, while important, does not win the day. I remember, a lifetime ago, "falling" (in my mind) for a pair of deep brown eyes. This person and I could not have been more incompatible with the exception of our ability to banter. I was gullible, and I could not see past the two things that seemed like a solid bargain; I wasted a lot of writing time in that pursuit. I would now tell a much younger Angela to be watchful of the people who would use you, pay more heed to what you want, and all talk should be taken with a grain of salt. Words have so much more power than we give credit. Do yourself a big favor in potential relationships. Measure them carefully. Weigh them. And disregard the disingenuous honeyed.

Fourthly. Everyone is worthy of love.

Period.

Beware of those telling you that you must change to receive their affection. These beans are not your beans. Move on. Quickly.

Lastly, the question I do not feel qualified to remotely address.

Do you believe love happens only once?

If Ryan dies tomorrow, I'm not sure I would ever find someone willing to love me like he does. It seems once-in-a-lifetime. He knows all there is to know, I irritate him, I make him listen to all the talking, but I buy us Dunkin Donuts, and I bring him drinks while he watches TV. He says things, after 12 years, that melt my heart, like, "You are the whole package."

Can someone love you enough to tolerate you, but also thoroughly enjoy who you are....once? More than once?

I hope there are ever so many opportunities for love... but do grab the opportunities that you find. Cherish them for as long as you have breath. Work at resolution. Be willing to lessen your pride. Allow yourself to forgive.

Love deeply.

And laugh. Laugh.

Simply, Thank You

I've been surprised often in my life during times of sadness and discouragement. When the load has been quite heavy, someone has come alongside to share the burden and walk a spell. These walkers and I have had quite a time. We've chatted. We've grown. We've laughed. We've loved. We've lost touch...

But we have lived in parts of the others' story.

I lived in your story. And you have lived in mine.

I know who you are. I know your names. Your voices. Your faces.

I would be remiss if I did not herein express my heartfelt gratitude for all those who have walked with me. We have traveled many roads and experienced a variety of seasons. I know that because of you my heart is strong from burden bearing. My hands are worn just so from holding yours in moments of comfort and prayer.

Memories are sweet, and painful. Scenes from the long past haunt me, but interlaced are patches of smiles, and hugs, and folded notes, and shared chocolate.

Thank you for loving me fiercely even though I am flawed. It's such a gift. The very best gift you can offer another soul. That, and a 5th Avenue, of course.

I look forward to all the future kindred spirits that will drift across my path. God is writing our stories for the perfect time.

Find A Lighthouse

Technology, gadgets and gizmos are fairly beyond me.

I've seen few movies that were made prior to say, 1997, which incidentally is the year I graduated high school. (Shout out to my MCS peeps.)

I love the idea of technology. I enjoy my phone, some social media, GPS (because I lack any positive sense of direction.), and the idea that things can be done more quickly and efficiently.

I find I don't feel entirely comfortable in a world with technology. I couldn't do one blessed thing in Excel for you. I can barely scan a document and send it. I'll likely never apply for a job that has to do with office work because I am more a laborer with my hands. A legacy I've received from a simpler time.

With these constraints, few people understand me. I think often I am judged as less intelligent, less effective, less sure. Certainly in some cases all of the above apply. But I would caution you to not dismiss me so readily. If the task is equal to my strengths, you will not find a more dedicated soul. I find I am addicted to the idea of excellence. To the pursuit of accomplishment.

Accomplishment comes in so many ways, and I have been mentally pursuing what will best define me. Change? Growth? Do I need to hoe a new row? How much water and sunshine am I pouring in? What result do I see after the pursuit of excellence?

Down this avenue, I feel mentors are an excellent resource. An outside, guiding force with no agenda. Providing insight without emotion or investments, other than concern for your well being. These types of relationships will prove invaluable over the course of your lifetime. I think grandparents fall right in line in this category.

I saw a photo of my grandparents today and the immediate joy and heartache I felt was overwhelming. I miss the opportunity to visit their home, to drop in unannounced, to grab a snack from the snack drawer. Simple times. For simple people.

I feel very anxious for the wisdom of age to pour into my life. I am not less intelligent, but I am less certain.

I think I need to take a trip to visit my Grandpa. He gives the best hugs of anyone I have ever known. In his embrace I am the safest and most cherished that I will ever be. (This does not discount other relationships, but it acknowledges the deep assurance I have in this one.) He is the king of Scrabble and he taught me to love the game. He steered me from working at McDonald's which might now be unfortunate for him since he eats there and I could potentially get him a sweet discount. He loves fried chicken, hot sauce, and Texas sheetcake as much as I do. I adore him with my whole heart and his advice is always spot on.

Grandparents are a lighthouse. A built in mentoring program by God for when we are drifting, worried, or unsure. I will forever be thankful for the gift of all of them in my life.

Now I need to get to Atlanta...