Eulogy?

The problem with being involved with a writer or entertainer is that you are likely going to be an easy subject.

Sorry, Ryan.

Ryan is younger than myself. In fact, I about #die when I consider that I was a junior in highschool when he was in the 8th grade. Blech. Although, for the record, he is only two years my junior. (I guess one of us is either smart or stupid for the big school gap. 😛)

He was trying very hard to date me in the early years, but I wasn't having it so much for a few reasons. I was in college and he was in highschool. I was kind of his boss at work. And, I'm very sorry to say, that there was a small, or big, factor, regarding looks. He was the largest beanpole I had ever seen. And, frankly, to this day I prefer my people more round and sturdy like myself than thin and scrawny. If I hug you and I can like wrap my arms well around you, this is a problem, because my arms are not very big. You need to eat more. I want to see and feel some substance, right? If you need assistance here, I am great with distributing snacks.

Anyway, it apparently eventually worked out.

But I digress.

I want to talk about one of his character traits.

Undeniably Ryan is a servant. A very Christlike, pour himself out for you, person. His heart for others really knows no bounds. If you have a need, he wants to help you. His specialty includes anything with a motor, and aside from myself, this is his first love. He also is pretty handy with home projects, and, of course, electronics.

Over the course of time, much to my chagrin at times, he has left our own projects destitute and lonely while he has been in the service of others. We still joke about the walls in our hallway that remained drywall free for the three years we lived in the house. (It's okay, he also had to go to Iraq, Singapore, Veldhoven, and the Dominican Republic. I get it.)

He gave up his entire summer our last year in Utah to landscape for our new church building a decade in the making. When I say landscape, I mean tear out trees, clear the lot, and put in a commercial sprinkler system. What a monumental task. He designed it. He rented the machines. And he did a very large portion with just his own two hands.

Yesterday, he gave up his day to help a coworker relocating from Veldhoven, thus with limited English, rip out a backyard and lay sod. He did the legwork of renting all the machines, ordering the sod, and transporting said heavy machinery.

And, no, I'm not upset that my toilet is still in my living room. Because I'm so proud of the man that he is.

You don't find many selfless people these days, everyone is looking to their own affairs; but, Ryan is always looking out for someone else.

I hope one day I might be more like him.

These Are They

First up. I am not even kidding about these reading glasses. Amazing.

If I were to ask you what your favorite chapter is, could you answer? Can you point to one thing that stands out in memory? One occasion that changed your life?

My favorite chapters are the ones forming friendships. All my best and favorite friendships cannot be defined. I cannot point to the exact moment a line was crossed from, "Eh, you're okay" to "You are a very important person to me."

I love that. I love that true and deep relationships flow so naturally without definition. Something is the bonding agent. Something common. Something big or small. Without even trying you are drawn to each other.

Friendship can never be forced. It must come from the heart or it holds no value. I think this is why it takes more and more time to form close bonds as we age. We feel we have less time because we're aging by the moment. Because no one wants to be lonely. Because everyone desires a person to see their heart without explanation. We might try to skip some steps in the process in order to feel connected.

But that one person who would be your first call. That person who will come when you are in a coma. That person who will let you cry because they know you need it. That person who will buy you a box of Life cereal with a note attached that says "For Ang Only." These are they that flowed naturally.

One of my friends once said, "We are an odd pair, who would have ever thought we'd be friends?"

Love. Just love. That's what I feel when I picture us in the back of a van, heading to a show, hearing her say that. She was right. We are a bit of an odd pair.

But the beautiful thing? It doesn't matter.

Just like carbohydrates, only love matters.

I thought I'd never have opportunities, but time has a way of weaving moments and joy into our lives. Bonding happens when you aren't even looking, just like the lyric, "life is what happens while you're busy making other plans." One day you wake up, and have a dear friend.

This has been my experience. The best chapters. The very best chapters. My heart aches for the closed ones. Finds deep joy in the current ones. And hopes for the future ones.

If you need a bonding agent. Life cereal. Write it down.

Redefining

For the record.

I love being a "young" parent. I love that my children are self sufficient and I'm only slightly middle age.

I went to the school carnival last night. Since my oldest is a "senior," we couldn't miss the last opportunity. If you know me well, you know how much I love to people watch. I love to observe and study people. School functions are pure fodder for sociology.

I see the mothers. All of them. Talking. Gossiping. Worrying. Flip flops. Bad mouthing. Dyed hair. Posting. Texting. Bored. Yoga pants. Mildly interested. Giving cash. Receiving treasures or junk to hold. Genuine laughter. Discomfort. Desiring connection. Grey hair. Painted nails. Fake laughter.

It's the whole enchilada, folks. I can spot it all.

Since moving to New York, I have learned that I did it all wrong. I should JUST NOW be starting to consider becoming a mother. I should have had a lucrative career in something, amassing a small fortune in the bank, a nice 401K stash, a luxurious freshly built home with 5 bedrooms and four bathrooms; and, then basically, with the 10 eggs I had left hope to have two beautiful children. One boy. One girl.

Here's how my story went....

I married my only boyfriend. Just one, friends, just one.

We married in October 2004 while Ryan was still in college. We were expecting Noah by January 2005 and I was supporting our family. I threw up all day, every day of 2005, while I processed rates and pricing for third party home mortgages, and Ryan was finishing his degree.

I had had it by week 39 and demanded, okay begged pitifully, (today I would demand) we get this child out of my body, so after 13 hours start to finish induction, we welcomed Noah four days before our first wedding anniversary. Incidentally we took an hour baby break and went to Bob Evans for breakfast to celebrate on 10/16. What a difference a year makes.

I went back to work and Ryan finished his degree in June 2006. He got a job and began traveling for training in July and by August, I called Utah, home.

Ryan traveled a lot so I stayed home with Noah. These were very lean years. That fortune? Not amassing. We were expecting Aaron by February 2007 and I spent the rest of the year throwing up and sorta attempting to watch Noah from the couch. (Pregnancy. Is. The. Worst.) Aaron arrived in October right next to Noah. These brothers will always be close.

Life was busy. Very busy with young children, and a traveling husband. I was an uncertain person. I was the mother talking, worrying, fake laughing, sporting yoga pants, desiring connection.

These years, the Utah season, was tough. Start to finish in personal ways. I wouldn't trade the chubby, "Chee" saying babies, for all the cash I could have accumulated during my younger years.

But I do have one regret.

And I think it might happen to most young mothers.

I did not take the time to cultivate and pursue my own interests.

The New York season has brought me these options. Did anyone know I would adore cats? That writing would be so fulfilling? That I was actually ambitious for my own desires?

I compare Utah Angela to Melanie Wilkes (with the exception that I was never quite as demure). New York Angela has willingly embraced the Scarlett side she always had.

Ryan and I will celebrate 13 years of marriage, and the boys will turn 10 and 12, all this coming October.

I would not trade the whirlwind.

I would trade the vomiting.

I am satisfied with the mixing of Melanie and Scarlett.

History will prove the New York season to be defining.

Redefining.

Mother's Day Thoughts

A recipe for a perfect day for me might include some of the following....

Sleeping 12/24 hours.

Reese Pieces.

The pressure and warmth of a friendly hand on, or in, your own. (Human touch is so important and conveys so much)

Scrabble.

Pit.

The sight of daffodils waving in the breeze.

Thunderstorms.

Pedicure.

Banter.

Cornbread

The smell of lilacs.

The comforting presence of a dear friend.

A scarf.

BBQ ribs.

Cornhole. (Because I cannot hit the broad side of a barn but I get lucky occasionally. Pick me as your teammate.)

A Broadway show.

Time on a jet ski.

A ride on Top Thrill Dragster.

A large Diet Coke.

Snapping beans on the porch.

Someone washing, drying, and brushing my hair. Like every day for the rest of my life. Okay, one time is fine. (This is truly one of the simplest and best joys in life. Why does it feel so amazing?!)

Hearing old songs like "Yesterday," or "The Way You Look Tonight," or "My Way" for the afternoon.

Most of these things cost little or nothing. Remember when you are gift giving, money is often, less.

My son asked me what I wanted for mommy's day, and, frankly, any one of the above would be enough for me. Notice only one of them really involves standing. And none of them involve running.

How well do you know the people in your life? So many gifts will be given in the next few days. How much of it will be purchased in haste and mean little?

I feel like Mother's Day is kind of ridiculous. Always have. It makes, giving and appreciating, almost obligatory. (And who made it on a Sunday which involves no morning rest as we try to rally everyone for church?! Probably not a mother.)

I think most mothers would agree that the best gifts are those that involve a resting time with dear friends/family. Order in please. (For the working mothers) Go out (more than likely) - for the stay-at-homers.

As a person whose primary love language is gifts - I find it so important to express the importance for heartfelt, knowlegeable gifting. Know your people. Know what they like. Know what they don't. Know what will make them laugh. Know what will be of some meaning. Understand what it means to be a mother of littles. How some of the choices made are actually more work than we care to do on a day that is meant to give respite, however mandatory.

I might have just saved your marriage. Or made you angry. There is probably no middle ground on this one. But, I think this day often involves less thought and more, "this is what everyone does on this day." Like brunch. In my opinion, the absolute last thing I would ever want to do on any day, especially Mother's day. Or breakfast in bed. Do you know how difficult it is to eat pancakes in bed?!

I'm pretty easy, a box of Reese Pieces, and a game of Scrabble. It will be painful for you, Ryan, since you hate the game, but it will only cost you $1 and an hour of time. And I will be over the moon.

Give little gifts often. Not just on reserved days. And give them to everyone. Appreciation and kindnesses speak volumes. Time. Words. Touch. Candy.

May your household be able to say...

Love in any language. Fluently spoken here.

One Note

It might be a recurring theme...

Incorporating movies into a post...

Before you rise to judgment, I work very, very hard. I give 150% every time; therefore, when I have opportunity to sit down, I take my rest time very seriously.

Another of my all time favorite movies is Mr. Holland's Opus. I remember first watching it with my Dad in the theater, which is a very big deal because I was not allowed to go to the movie theater until about the time this movie was released.

If you've never seen it, I highly recommend it. Please watch it today. Invite me over. (I like Diet Coke and pepperoni pizza.) It is so. Heartwarming. Each and every time I am completely overwhelmed by one man's journey of passion which turns into a life purpose. I love that the central idea in the movie is music. The protagonist is immensely driven by his love for it; a passion he inevitably shares with generations to follow.

Music is definitely the language of emotion. Anyone who blasts the radio on the way home after a bad day of work can attest to that. Anyone who perks up hearing a song from 25 years ago is proof. It reveals our thoughts. It heals our wounds.

If we're honest it's how we communicated our deepest feelings in the 90s - mixed tapes, anyone?

I love singing. Absolutely love to belt out some tunes on a road trip. Unfortunately, God did not bless me, in any remote or blatant way, with abilities of the vocal variety. I don't​ let that stop me. And, if by chance, the radio gives out, I am always taken aback at how terribly I sing. Seriously. But. No one, no one, has more joy than I singing the part of Christine Daae. I was made for the music of the night. Or for defying gravity.

I will attend my son's first band concert on Monday. Then I will return the saxophone rental and spring for a saxophone purchase because he has decided to pursue it long-term. (And, unlike his mother singing, he is quite good.) Aaron has expressed a deep desire to play the cello next year. The cello. Have you seen a cello? More importantly, have you HEARD a cello? I love the sound of the cello. Deep and rich. Music is in my house. Music is in my car. Some of it is good. Some of it is not so good.

But all of it is moving. All of it comes from the soul.

Paint the sunset. Play the notes. Write the words.

Feel passion.

Feel joy.

Do take your son's cello to school every other night because it is not allowed on the bus.

Express emotion, be genuine, and change the world.

One note. One opus. At a time.

It will be the music of your life.

Bugs, Beer, Batman

If you know me personally, then you know that they do not come much more "girly" than myself.

I am not coordinated for the sporting events, nor do I have much understanding of how they transpire.

I do not find bodily functions hilarious, or appropriate.

I do not enjoy bugs and creatures.

I do not like beer. (But, yes, I will always try a sip when it's offered.)

I am not a pyromaniac.

Super Heros do not make my world go around.

I love pearls. I love pedicures. I love lip gloss. If my feet were large enough to wear high heels, I would love those too. I love to sip Tequila.

More than anything, I do love a good love story. The plot of two people intertwining throughout time and, and, somewhere down that far road they find their stories linked for moments, or a lifetime.

A few of my favorites include: Ever After, Shakespeare In Love, Hope Floats, Return To Me and You've Got Mail. I've seen these movies dozens of times; I can quote them, and yet, I get completely caught up in them every single time. If you need to speak to me, I will have to push pause so that I don't miss an emotional, magnetizing moment. I will STILL cry in every single one, especially, Return To Me. The story is pure emotional genius. I could never have thought it up in my wildest dreams. Perfection.

And.

For all this crying, princess-y​ness... For a lifetime I have lived surrounded almost solely by males. I have been plopped in the middle of bugs, grime, cars, motorcycles, oil, power tools, sports, beer, and the occasional laugh about bodily functions. (Occasional because​ that is all I will tolerate.)

Where my girls at?!

It seems interesting that someone so girly would have no one to share that with. No one to understand why I need a few moments to myself to watch the same heart wrenching movie for the 41st time.

Why God has placed only brothers in my life, mostly only male cousins. Only sons and not daughters.

As I was watching a movie just this morning and the men in my house came through on their way about their day, an answer came to me...

I'm daring to be a princess in a world of Batman. I'm uniquely positioned to be treasured. I'm showing all the men in my life what it means to love a lady. (Which may or may not be up for debate when it comes to eating things like chicken wraps or wings.) It's a special bond that mothers share with sons. A home base. A model for perhaps a future bride. Soft. But strong.

When I roll my eyes because I am the only one at the dinner table not laughing about pure male randomness, I'll tuck that away. When my sons bring home, "the one," I will swallow hard and know with such a deep joy that I loved them first and for always.

I couldn't and wouldn't trade what God has blessed me with. All my brothers that know my heart and look out for me. Cousins who built excellent forts and know stories. Sons that have captured every piece of my heart.

It's​ nice to be a princess.

Because that means I have a tribe of males to speak calm and rational logic into my world.

After this week....I'm certain it is exactly what I need.