April 12, 2008

I Love Lamp

I got the idea to write an "I Love" post from ClearlyKels on her blog, Clearly Ridiculous. It's nice to read what someone loves instead of what someone hates. I seem to complain on here a lot, even though I don't think I do much of that in real life. I guess it's just easier on your blog.

I am reminded of the movie Anchorman when Steve Carell's character, Brick, starts talking about things he loves:

Brick Tamland: I love... carpet.
Brick Tamland: I love... desk.
Ron Burgundy: Brick, are you just looking at things in the office and saying that you love them?
Brick Tamland: I love lamp.
Ron Burgundy: Do you really love the lamp, or are you just saying it because you saw it?
Brick Tamland: I love lamp. I love lamp.

Okay...now my love post:

I love moments that make you wonder if that moment is what life is all about. I love daisies, especially the ones that sprout up in clumps alongside busy roads. I love folded cloth napkins. I love the smell of pizza. I love Spring and watching flowers, trees, and bushes come alive with color after the bland winter. I love sleeping with the window above my bed open. I love the way Katie shrugs as she laughs. I love stargazing. I love being barefoot, especially outside in the summer. I love pistachios. I love walking during a lazy snow storm and feeling the big, fat flakes falling on my face. I love to sleep late on the weekends.

I love rubbing my feet on the floor when I take my shoes off after a long day. I love the smell of clean sheets. I love lying alongside Dan and feeling like we're the only ones who have ever been this much in love. I love being a stay-at-home mother. I love farms and open fields. I love imagining what it was like living in another place and time. I love listening to music. I love candlelight. I love talking to my mom on the phone. I love how Katelyn's face lights up when she sees me first thing in the morning. I love Christmas and all the wonderful memories that come to mind when I think of it. I love spending time with my brother and his family. I love historical sites, especially homes and landmarks. I love visiting Civil War battlefields.

I love to sing, although I wouldn't sing in in public (as a service to everyone). I love Christmas shopping, especially with my dad. I love when I could eat a meal from one plate and nothing touches. I love Katie's laugh. I love the feeling of being in New York City. I love the smell of rain right before it falls. I love the poem "O! Captain! My Captain!" I love the sound of crickets. I love hugs. I love the feel of Dan's hair right after he gets it cut. I love taking pictures. I love lightning bugs.

I love writing and knowing that people are reading my words.

April 06, 2008

Talking Tall

When I was in fifth grade, I was in the girls' room with my friend. A younger girl walked in, took one look at me, and said: "The boys' room is down the hall!" Therein lies the source of my haircut phobia since I had just gotten a shorter haircut. I wanted to punch the little twirp, especially since I didn't have boy hair.

My cousin's kid came to our house for the first time last year and immediately headed for the bathroom. A few minutes later he came out, came over to me, and said: "You have horrible water pressure!" We don't. I wanted to punch the little twirp, especially since we don't have any water problems (he was turning the facet the wrong way) and a simple hello would have been a lot nicer.

Last week I took Katie to a play area and as I sat there, a young man came in with his sister. She played in the rafters and Katie was amused by watching her. But what followed was not what I had come to expect from a kid.

"We're trying to tire her out," he said to me with a smile.

"Oh. That's good," I said. I am horrible at basic responses, especially when caught off guard.

"Yeah, we're on our way to Florida so we thought we'd stop and let her play so she could sleep part of the way." His words flowed so clearly, so freely. He just wanted to have a nice conversation with me. Suddenly I felt stupid because this child of maybe ten was able to converse much easier and much better than I can. I was so honored that he would want to talk to me. I've gotten used to kids not giving a damn about their surroundings, not saying hello when you walk in the room, and not showing any amount of maturity.

He was on his way back to Florida, where he lives. They were driving. They were going to go to Disney World and he was excited for his sister since it would be the first time she would be going there. He doesn't like the hot weather.

He talked circles around me, but never seemed overly talkative or insensitive to the conversation's flow. He delighted me and I was actually disappointed when he had to leave.

"Well, it was great talking to you!" he exclaimed as he walked away.

Indeed, it was.

April 04, 2008

Inside My Insides

Okay, I must admit that I'm writing out of pure pressure. I feel like I should since I haven't in a while. Sometimes I think of what I'm going to write in my head, usually at times when I cannot get to a computer and type out my thoughts. And, usually, by the time I DO get to type out my thoughts, most of them have fluttered away and left me.

The only new thing around here is a huge gazebo in my backyard. Right now it's only the frame (the wind has been pretty fierce), but I can't wait to use it since my yard tends to be like a broiler in the summer. I hate to sit out in the sun, but a little playhouse outside beckons Katie and I have a feeling I will also need a retreat.

The empty frame of the gazebo reminds me of part of an anonymous mail message we received recently: "What matters to Jesus most is what's on the inside." That's good news to me because I actually agree with that. Well, I agree with the idea that your own personal thoughts are what make you spiritual or not, not how often you show up at church or what you say to others. If there's a God or Jesus or someone judging us at the end of our lives, it should matter what we were inside. As an agnostic, I am judged now. Some people think that since I don't believe I will have anyone judging me when I die, I must be hell-bent (pun intended) on being the worst person I could. It seems like most Catholics I know are behaving good because of their fear in Hell. (And most aren't behaving good. In the words of Jimmy Buffett: There's a a thin line between Saturday night and Sunday morning.)

I am a good person, my husband is a good person, and our daughter probably will be, too. Our little anonymous sender is trying to imply that we are not good inside, but I bet that person(s) has had more hateful and selfish thoughts than I could ever have. It must be nice to sit somewhere and judge others when your world is showing what kind of person you have been in your life.

I live my life in a simple way with one simple idea: Live your life the way you think life should be lived. Against abortion? Don't have one. Don't think you should have premarital sex? Wait until you're hitched. Don't like homosexuality? Don't worry about who others love. Be an example to your children and to others and at the end of it, you could look back say that you did it the way you believe it should be done. Of course, I don't know if an honest person could say that they intended every course of travel on their life line. What I have found out is that what you think and what you do sometimes aren't the same thing. It's easy to map out your life, your love, your children's lives, but actually living it that way is very difficult. Just worry about your own life and leave other people alone! If someone else chooses to live a life that is contradictory to yours, just continue on your path and wish them well on theirs.

I don't live my life for someone or something that might be there after I take my last breath. I live my life for now. I live for my family and for myself. I am not afraid of death. I don't believe in hell. Heaven would be nice, but just not existing anymore is fine with me. I'm not so full of myself that I think a parade will be thrown amongst the heavens when I float up there. Besides, I hate parades. I always have, although a parade in front of my Grandmother's house as a kid was a lot of fun because as the trucks and cars went by, they threw candy. It was a free-for-all as we rushed to get it. I swear, you would think we never had candy. Of course I see adults do that now when anything is free.

And guess what, adults? Love is free. Awwwwwww.