One Moon At A Time

The sun came up today....as it does every day.  Before the sun made its grand appearance, the sky was lit up by the full moon.  It was beautiful and commanded my undivided attention for a whole minute.  Just so you know...a full minute is impressive by today's standards.  A full sixty seconds of silence, being motionless, and appreciating the beauty of the moon and what it did to the sky around it.  Not wishing it away to usher in the sun, but appreciating it in that moment.  Stunning.

It never fails, lately when I go into town I encounter at least one person who says "Have you moved yet?"  It is the same irksome feeling as when I was heavy pregnant in my last month and people would bug out their eyes when they saw you and asked "You haven't had that baby yet?"  You struggle to be polite but silently you scream on the inside.  You reason they are just making conversation and are not privy to the constant ticking clock inside your head.  You hear it so loudly...that clock ticking...it wears on your nerves.  Painfully aware of what all needs to be done within a roughly estimated time frame.  A time not yet revealed...the suspense of when has worn me out.

OK...so I am a control freak.  A planner.  A list maker.  A doer.  Asking me to stand still and be patient is not in my bag of tricks. My internal wiring is at constant conflict with this whole process.  I hate those things in life that are out of my control.  Things I have to wait and let happen on their own...or worse yet...are in the hands of somebody else.

I walk from room to room looking at our stuff knowing that what we have will not fit where we are going.  Editing what stays and what goes.  I have relinquished a large amount of things already.  Mentally it was easy to rationalize and let go...but the physical act of packing it and handing it over...actually letting go...was a small struggle.  I did it...I'm glad I did it...and I'll be glad when I can stop doing it...even if it means it's all gone.

Always having a song to sing at any given moment, I find myself going back to "One day at a time sweet Jesus."  OK....so I change it to Sweet Infant Jesus when I sing it.  Keep reminding myself that I am only required to do this one day at a time.  Each day trying to enjoy still being where I am....cause I do love where I live and am in no hurry to leave just yet.  Trying to embrace the changes...all of them.  Trying to come to terms with not being in control. 

Then I burst out into song again, "I got the sun in the morning and the moon at night..."

The First Proposal

It was the fall of 1999 and we were on our way to compete in the Permian Basin Ranch Rodeo in Odessa, Texas.  Somewhere outside of Midland, one of the tires on the trailer we were pulling behind Ed's truck had a blow out.

You can't change a tire on a trailer without first unloading the horses, so there I was holding three horses in the median of Interstate 20 with Ed trying to replace the tire.  Three horses that may or may not get along well.  Cars zipping past us on both sides.  I looked around at the terminally flat desolate horizon.  There were no trees.....nothing green...just shades of grey with giant tumbleweeds dotting the landscape.  It was hopelessly ugly to me. 

Shortly after the jack broke and the whole process became extended, Ed looks over at me grinning.  Without stopping his work, he asks me to marry him.  In the middle of I-20...holding three horses.  This was his first of three proposals he would make.  I told him as long as he promised to never make me live in Midland, Texas...yes, I would marry him.

We finally get to the fairgrounds where the rodeo was held.  Ed's parents drove there to watch their sons compete in the rodeo and meet me for the first time. Big Ed (Ed's dad) sits off quietly to himself to focus on the rodeo and not be distracted by all the chatter.  His mama sits next to me in the stands so she can size up this woman her son is dating.  Getting straight to the point, she asks me if I wear a uniform at work.  I tried to explain that my job at the casino didn't have a uniform but I wore nice clothes, especially when I went to court. She looks at me puzzled as asks, "Court?  Why would the girl who swings on the trapeze and rings the bell with her toes need to go to court?" 

This has to be one of rare times I was ever momentarily speechless.  Whoa.  I do what?  And who told you this?  Ed has a seriously twisted sense of humor which I enjoy when I am not at the center of it.  Over the next couple of hours we separated fact from fiction and I got my first glimpse into Ed's childhood.  Good bonding time with my mother-in-law to be. 

It was a weekend full of firsts...first rodeo I watched Ed compete in, first time to meet his parents, his first proposal.....and...the first time that I heard I swung from a trapeze and rang a bell with my toes.

Be

For eight years I was a full time mom at home with my children.  Twenty-four hours a day seven days a week without fail or much help.  My husband and I agreed that it was important for us to raise our children this way, and we were fortunate to be in a position where it was possible.  Although I was dedicated to the task and considered it a privilege to be able to stay at home with my girls, I often felt as though I was doing a job any monkey could do.  I had degrees and years of work experience that were not being utilized and I craved adult conversations.  I missed the mental and intellectual stimulation that quite frankly Dora just can't provide. 

Confession:  I hate Swiper, back packs, and maps.  Still.

It was the first day of school for my youngest daughter. That day would be the first day that both kids were in school and I would be alone.  Alone.  I couldn't wait to rush home and pee all by myself without anybody standing there asking questions.  No fingers wiggling under the space of the locked door pleading for something.  It was going to be my time to figure out who I am again too.  No longer just the maker of peanut butter sandwiches, doer of laundry removing mysterious stains, and finder of all things lost.

In the hallways of the school there were tearful mothers who now felt incomplete when parting with their child, like half of them literally had been removed and they were forced to leave without it.  Muttering how sad they were and they couldn't believe this time was here so soon.  Then there were the children who clung to their mothers with what can only be described as a death grip.  Wrapped firmly around the mother's leg and she struggled with trying to walk with the dead weight.  The children pleading for their mothers not to leave them there like school was a war crimes camp from which no one ever returned. 

There I was doing a touch down dance end zone style outside the school.  A victory celebration of spiking an imaginary football that signified that I had been there 24/7, had willingly sacrificed it all and left nothing on the field...exhausted and triumphant...and still managed to have some of my mind left!  Can I get an amen?!!

It's true...I was not like the other mothers that day.  I was not crying or reluctant to let go.  Neither was Sophie.  Self confident, happy, and ready to face whatever might be.  She did not look back or even give it a second thought.  I was proud.  My girls were what they were supposed to be.  What I had helped make them be.  I know they will both be fine no matter what comes their way and face the world passionately, finding their rightful place in it no doubt. 

Message to my children:  I have been there this whole time holding your hand.  I am still there.  I will always be there.

A Time To Heal

The last week has not been a long clean hair flowing in the wind, make up on, dressed up nice kinda week.  It has been about going down to the barn every day twice a day to doctor on my colt. 

This horse is special to me (confession:  they all are special) because I've been the one to work with him. Daily trips to the barn to halter him, lead him around, picking up his feet, and placing blankets on his back that will be replaced with a saddle. These rituals of exposing him to these things make him gentle and much easier to break to ride. Shotgun has always been easy. He wants to please and prefers the company of people to other horses. A true gem.

Horses are like kids, they hurt themselves and sometimes you're not sure how they did it.  You just notice the injury and then dedicate yourself to the mending process.  Horses heal from the inside out so it is very important to not let the outside scab over and the inside fester.  A wound takes time, patience, and dedication.  You take a water hose and spray the area for twenty minutes to clean it and draw the blood back to the surface.  You have to forcefully spray the water too, to get the circulation going.  In the end, you're soaking wet and muddy...so is everything else.  This is not an event you get dressed up for and since there are no bonus points awarded for appearance, practical is best.

The entire time I've spent with Shotgun to help him heal, he has stood there like a true gentlemen.  He doesn't give me any problems...just returned love and appreciation.  I wish they all could be this easy.  During this extensive quality time, it occurred to me that people should be no different.  We should daily expose ourselves to the things that build our character so they are customary, put into practice good habits til they become second nature.  We should also learn to heal from the inside out and not let things fester.   File it under "life is too short" or Tourette's, but honesty is usually the best policy.  Get it all out there...drawing it to the surface; get over it.....let it heal properly and not sabatoge potential progress with infection; and get on with it...don't make it hard when it doesn't have to be. 

I am always amazed at what I lessons I learn at the barn.

To everything there is a season...and a time to every purpose under heaven. 

The Veteran

I was on my way back to Alva from taking my six year old daughter, Sophie, to a doctor appointment in Enid.   As is my custom, I stopped to gas up at the usual place on the edge of town - very nice, clean, big bathrooms and usually has the cheapest gas.  It seems as I get older the more obsessed I am about finding the lowest priced gasoline.

Always trying to be aware of my surroundings, I noticed an old man next to me putting gas in his car.  He had to be a 100.  I observed him slightly bent over and wearing clothes that old men wear with dark sensible shoes.  He was also wearing a ball cap with the Marine eagle/anchor on it.  His license plate noted that he was a veteran and was awarded a purple heart.

Over whelmed by emotion and compelled by my heart, I stopped washing my windows for a minute and approached him. I stuck out my hand and said "Sir, I don't know you, but I see you proudly served our country and I just want to tell you thank you and I appreciate your sacrifice."

He gently took my hand and then grasped the other side of it with his other hand. You can tell a lot about people by their hands and as I looked down at his...old, wrinkled and worn, but not worn out completely...I was wondering if he even heard me as old as he was.  He studied my face for a full minute and then he spoke. He told me he hadn't heard that in a long time and thanked me. I told him no thanks was needed on his part and further added that our great country was built by the blood, sweat, and tears of good men like him and we owe them a huge debt of gratitude. He just smiled an old man smile and tilted his head to the side and said "that's good to know." He seemed half choked up when he said it and I could have sworn there was much more he wanted to say...which I would have gladly listened to.   He straightened his posture, held his head high and managed a solid, dignified "Semper Fi" and then slowly turned around and got back into his car.

When I returned to my car, Sophie asked who that old man was that I was talking to. I told her he was an American hero. She looked at me funny, crinkled her nose up, and then wanted to know if he could fly....I told her "I think so."

Left At The Alter

Sitting in the parking lot of Monjunni's restaurant in Bossier City, Louisiana, Ed handed me a credit card and said "I want a ring on your second left finger by the end of next week."  My eyes widened as I stared at the plastic card.  How much can I spend, I asked?  He said he was only buying one ring and to "knock myself out."  There was also the explanation that I was terribly picky and he wanted me to be thrilled with a ring that signified our union.  It doesn't get any more romantic than that I tell you.

A short five months later, I came down the aisle like a grown woman with a purpose, not like a child bride playing dress up.  There was organ music playing and I noticed the fifty people who were kind and crazy enough to come to a remote location to bear witness to it all.  At the end of my path, there was the man I was going to marry.  After facing Ed at the front of the church, my hands touched his and I felt my beautiful ring on the end of his finger.  That warm and fuzzy feeling lasted about thirty seconds before a feeling of panic took over.  I did not have his ring with me.  I knew right where I had left...on the stairs where I was hiding out before the wedding. 

The groom's ring belonged to my grandfather.  He was a man who was the strong silent type.  Robust with moral character and deeply private.  Ed shares a lot of characteristics with this man and it seemed more than fitting that I should use his ring in our ceremony. 

It was a split second reaction which took what seemed like an eternity in my head.  I could either fake the part of the ceremony with the exchanging of rings, or I could take 60 seconds to make it right.  I don't fake things and pride myself on always being real. There was only one choice to make.   I looked at the preacher and softly whispered...."pardon me, I forgot something."  With that and no more, I was headed back down the aisle to collect the ring from the place I left it.  Ed turns to watch me leave and yells "are you coming back?"  I could hear my mother lean over to explain "she probably just has to pee."  I snatched up the sentimental gold band and marched rapidly back down the aisle with the organist trying to keep up with my quickened pace for the second time.  I joined Ed back at the alter and told the preacher "you may proceed."

Ed loves to tell people I left him at the alter....but not as much as he loves to tell them I came back.

 

Full Circle

Nothing really prepares you emotionally for the birth of your child.  You can read countless books that describe every minute detail and scenario, watch TV programs that show women graphically giving birth, or be in the room with a friend and witness it all first hand....but until it is you...you really have no idea.

When the nurse brought my daughter to me that first night to stay with me in the room, she was all wadded up in a blanket a mile long.  Just a small part of her face was peeking out.  I carefully unwrapped her like a special treasure that was fragile and rare.  This baby girl was mine and she would not be spending the night in a cold plastic nursery bassinet alone in a room full of stranger babies.  I wanted to see the tiny toes and count the little fingers.  To marvel at what I had created that was no longer inside me but out in the world...and in my arms.

I spent the whole night gazing at her and singing to her.  I sang Elvis, Patsy Cline, gospel music, You Are My Sunshine, and countless songs from the 80's.  I think I sang so I wouldn't fall asleep.  As tired as I was, I wanted the moment to last as long as possible.  So, I sang...nursed...and studied my child. 

Staring at the dark eyes of this child and the insane mop of inky dark hair on her head, I beamed with pride.  It was starting to wash over me in waves.  I realized that the torch had been passed. The circle was moving and I had a new role.  I was no longer a child of my mother's...I was a mother to this child.  In that moment I gained a new appreciation for the sacrifices my mother had made for me.  Grasping completely and instantly what this new role meant.

Then the waves crashed again.  Driving deeper still this time.  All this love I felt for this child...all the responsibility...my pride and joy...this creation lovingly knit and nourished in my body....knowing that no matter what she ever would do or say....that I loved her unconditionally.  It struck me hard....this is the same love that our heavenly Father has for each one of us.   I am His pride and joy.   He knit me together so carefully and knew me before anybody else.  That He still loves me even though I am not perfect and have run away from Him from time to time. I can lash out all I want to and He is still right there with a love that is abundant. I am His child and He loves me unconditionally.

It was a full circle moment.  Washed away in love.

Quiet Your Mind

Sunday was not a day of rest.  Ed took the day off from his regular work at the feedyard (this never ever happens) and he and the girls went for doughnuts first thing.  I got a whole bag of doughnut holes to myself and enjoyed the moment with creamer and splash of coffee.  Then we set about cleaning the horse barn and the tack room where we store the saddles, blankets, and other riding equipment.  It was time for the task any way and would help with putting a best foot forward with listing the house on the market, making sure things are tidy and neat.

What an odd feeling this is, having a house for sale.  People you don't know coming into your home and making judgements about you based off of what they see.  We are quiet, private people and have escaped this examination up to this point.  I feel violated like I've been striped naked and forced to walk down the freezer section of Wal-Mart. My nerves are raw and exposed.  I am a little concerned to write or speak, feeling like too much has all ready been revealed.  My obsessive compulsive disorder is at an all time high as you can imagine.  I have worn myself out stalking the house inside and out with a discerning eye, looking for any imperfections.  It is the Salem witch hunt of cleaning expeditions. 

While we were at the barn clearing cobwebs and organizing, I thought it was a good time to groom some of the horses.  This is one of my fondest ways to release stress.  Ed knows this and kindly did not say a word about me leaving him with the rest of the cleaning.  I set about combing out manes and tails carefully like they are tender headed children, brushing off fuzzy coats that are thickening for the winter, oiling hooves that are dry and cracking from drought conditions.  Something about pressing your face into the neck of a horse and breathing in that wonderful smell sets the world back on its axis.  Each horse lightened the mental load. 

In between grooming horses, I noticed the girls were riding their new horses in the arena.  Smiles on their faces and practicing their stops, spins, and patterns.  So confident and totally content in the moment.  Not worried about what changes lie ahead or over analyzing what it all means. 

Everything is happening so quickly it is almost blurred.  I reach out to grasp it...to stop it....and it is already gone.  Instinctively I feel the need to hurry my pace...to catch up...struggling with doing it all or getting it all done.  A quiet voice within hushes me and tells me to be still.  Conflicted, I consider both options.  At the barn I chose to be still.  Just for a little bit and in my own way.  Returning to the ways of a child and allowing myself to be in the moment. 

Quiet your mind.  Soak it all in.  It's a game you can't win.  Enjoy the ride.