Trees

I just heard the first bird of the morning sing a wake up song.  "Focus!" he said. "Remember what is beautiful!" he said.

Trees are an important symbol in my life.  Fortunately I live in an older neighborhood with many trees.  A walk to school is mostly shaded and my family is serenaded on the way by a woodpecker, blue jay, cardinal, and the ever-present grackle.

What a tree means to me:

A tree in our backyard.

If I'm talking about faith, a tree represents how, many years ago, I was rooted in faith and my faith grows deeper and wider.  I have experienced seasons of withering faith where the leaves fell off my branches, but spring/Easter/resurrection have always followed a season of winter.

If I'm talking about my marriage, a tree represents my relationship with my husband.  A carelessly planted seed of friendship sprouted a twig and as we've weathered winters and springs together, we've grown stronger and our love has grown deeper and wider. (We've been married almost 12 years!)

If I'm talking about my children, their life is like a tree.  When they were born, they needed constant nurture and care and shelter from their parents.  As they are growing, they are sprouting little timid branches, slowly stepping out into the world.  Some of their branches will break, but I am hopeful that the nurture Adam and I are providing while they are saplings will help them maintain inner strength and the ability to weather the storms of their lives.

If I'm talking about love, we all start out small and only loving ourselves and the people in our immediate environment.  As we age, we start branching out and loving others, and that love begins to feed our core so we can grow deeper and branch out more to love more and more until we have taken up the entire neighborhood with our love branches.

Trees are an important metaphor to my life.

Seeing the world through writer's eyes

Since I was a young girl, I have enjoyed writing.  I have boxes of journals dating all the way back to second grade when I had my first crush and though I can't remember his name, I can remember the fun and excitement of writing in my pink journal with the gold heart clasp that locked.
When  I look back on my life and my journals, I can see how much I've grown.  I can relive some uncomfortable moments and happy times.  One day I will offer them to my children as an emotional history of their mother.
I have a journal on me at all times.  In my purse, in my car door, in my kitchen, in the living room, in the bedroom.  The thought is that by practicing and writing down what I feel and what I observe, I can get better at it and one day write a book.
One day I will write a book.  It has been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember, but only recently did I realize that I won't have a "road to Damascus" experience. I had misplaced hope that I will be travelling down the road and see a bright light and hear angels sing while I obtain enlightenment.  Apparently writers don't wake up one morning with a book already written in their head.  They don't sit down at the computer and pour out perfection.
In her book Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott describes seeing the world through "writer's eyes."  Basically that means paying close attention to the world around you and listening and watching for story.
"There is real skill in hearing all those words that real people--and your characters--say and to recording what you have heard--and the latter is or should be more interesting and concise and even more true than what was actually said."
So I'm practicing paying attention.  I'm listening, really listening, to people around me and observing.  I'm searching for stories.  I love a good story and I'm learning to write one.

Intentionally Slow

Today I am moving slowly intentionally.
I'm not being lazy and I'm not lacking for tasks to be completed, I just decided today will be a slow day.
Yesterday was a whirlwind, the day before as well.  In fact, life is more whirlwind than not, so that is why I feel the need to put on the brakes and slow down today.  How can I focus on the goodness of life when I can't even see it?
For me, slowing down means that I slept in a little.  I didn't hit the ground running, crossing tasks off my to-do list as soon as I woke up.  Instead, I left the computer turned off.  I grabbed a cup of coffee and read a book rather than my Bible study.  I ate breakfast instead of grabbing a granola bar.  I wrote thank you cards for birthday gifts.  I walked Claire to school and back and then trimmed the rose bushes at an abandoned house on my street.
I am ecstatic to say that even though I'm not full of frantic energy and productivity, everything is still getting done.  Claire and Paul both got to school on time and I was on time for work.
Oddly, less frantic today means more focused.  I've completed all my urgent tasks and still have two hours left in my work day.  I even sat and talked with friends for a few minutes!
About a year ago I read A.J. Jacob's book The Guinea Pig Diaries.  In it he describes several social experiments he participated in like brutal honesty, online dating, and outsourcing his life.  The book is funny and at some times appalling, but the chapter that stuck with me was "The Uni-tasker."  Jacobs sites scientific evidence that we are handicapping ourselves by trying to do too many activities at once.  As a mother and an American living in the 21st century, I can relate.
Some days I can wake up productive and some days I need to just focus on one task at a time.  So today I am a productive uni-tasker.  I am pausing to take a breath and focus on the task at hand.  I am reaching out of the whirlwind to touch base.  I am stopping to be thankful.

Bird by Bird, a book review

I discovered Anne Lamott when I was in college, working at Half Price Books.  I read Operating Instructions at the recommendation of a friend.  I loved it so much I still give it as a gift to new mothers.  I also started buying everything that Anne Lamott was tangentially related to.

One book of hers that has been staring me in the face since 2001 is Bird by Bird.  It's about writing, and I have been gearing myself up to read it for 12 years.  (I know this because it still has the HPB sticker with the date on it.)  After hearing her in person say, "Put your butt in the chair and write because today is all you have," I did just that.  I also decided now was the time to read this book.

The cover says the book is about writing, and truly, that's half of it.  The other half is about life and being real and immersed in reality, and paying attention.

Here are some quotes that resonated with me from the book:

She quotes G.K. Chesterton: "Hope is the power of being cheerful in circumstances we know to be desperate."

"Clutter is wonderfully fertile ground -- You can still discover new treasures under all those piles, clean things up, edit things out, fix things, get a grip."

"Geneen Roth says awareness is learning to keep yourself company.  And then learn to be more compassionate company, as if you were somebody you are fond of and wish to encourage."

"Perfection is a mean, frozen form of idealism, while messes are the artist's true friend.  What people somehow (inadvertently, I'm sure) forgot to mention when we were children was that we need to make messes in order to find out who we are and why we are here--and by extension, what we're supposed to be writing."

"Think of reverence as awe, as presence in openness to the world."

"There is ecstasy in paying attention....to see the world sacramentally, to see everything as an outward and visible sign of inward, invisible grace."

My absolute favorite quote is this one:

"A big heart is both a clumsy and delicate thing; it doesn't protect itself and it doesn't  hide.  It stands out, like a baby's fontanel, where you can see the soul pulse through.  You can see this pulse in them now."

Life-Giving Vs. Life-Draining

In the 21st century, it's easy to be busy. I hate being busy, but sometimes it's unavoidable.  More often than not, though, my kids will be found playing in their own backyard, reading books leisurely or fighting imaginary battles with each other rather than racing around town.
I believe down-time, low-stress time, time at home is essential for all of us, so Adam and I are both intentional about what we schedule.  Every Sunday, we schedule time at  home.  We go to church, then we eat lunch and go home to take a nap and spend time together.

For me, before an event goes on our calendar I ask myself, "Will this be life-giving or life-draining?"  Life-giving events are those that we can make a difference at and will make a difference to us.  Life-draining events leave a negative impact by being a waste of our valuable time.  Here are some questions I ask myself mentally before I raise my hand to volunteer or RSVP.

Are we actually needed here and can we be useful, or are we attending an event that will cause us to rush to it only to be sitting down not enjoying ourselves?  Is this an event that will be positive for me or my family or is this just a bunch of people sitting around gossiping?  Is this event unique or does it happen every week?

With this intentionality we are able to filter activities and fill our calendar with almost-completely life-giving events.  The life-giving, life-draining scale doesn't just apply to events before they happen.  I also use it to decide when to leave.

Yesterday was my day to tutor students on reading.  It was also the day before a state-mandated test, so the school administration didn't actually need me the whole day.  I spent my morning hanging butcher paper on walls to cover instructional material.  I also bubbled in test manual numbers.  Once I finished that I realized that my work for the day was done and the rest of the day would be life-draining.  So instead of just wandering around the school gossiping or trying not to be underfoot, I asked if I could leave.  I did.  Then the day switched from being life-draining to life-giving.  I picked up a delighted Paul from preschool and we went to the zoo.  We had a fabulous time, just the two of us.

My paycheck from this week will be smaller than normal, but it was worth every penny.

Paul was excited about this particular trip to the zoo because he got a snow cone, caught a unique bird, and was able to pet a squirrel's tail.

Sometimes I'm caught in a life-draining activity.  Unfortunately, some are unavoidable.  But what I like to do is flip it into a life-giving one.  I'll clean out my purse, organize my coupons, write in my journal, or just think and pray. With the kids, I'll play tic-tac-toe or try to teach them an unfamiliar concept.  I find that on most activities, you can flip a switch or just leave.

Life is too short to be a drain.

Working on the Outside

Yesterday Adam and I had a dilemma.  After our Sunday afternoon nap (mandatory around here) we had about two and a half hours flex time before we needed to begin our school night routines.  We talked.  What would we do?  Claire wanted to take a walk around the whole neighborhood.  I wanted to spend at least an hour cleaning the inside of the house.  Adam needed to mow.
We decided to focus on yard work with the possibility of coming inside to clean house later.
Apart from tending to my little garden and flowerbeds around the house, I don't do much yard work.  I'm not opposed to it; it just usually falls under Adam's domain.  Yesterday was different.  Each family member pitched in.
Paul and Claire tackled the leaves that were everywhere.  They rotated between using the good rake and the super-cool leaf blower.
Adam focused on trimming bush/trees.
I rotated between the groups bagging whatever they had collected.
We ended up having such a good time working together that we spend the entire time outdoors.  Toward the end, the kids got tired and switched to playing Frisbee, which was fine.  They worked hard at manual labor for about two hours, so 30 minutes of play was totally acceptable.  Adam and I circled wagons and focused on one side of the house, which is now free of leaves and unsightly branches.
While we were working, though, I began to see that was where we needed to be.  At home, I spend most of my time indoors, so I often have an urgency about maintenance for the inside of the house.  There's always a load of laundry to hang, dishes to wash, floors to vacuum, and the dust bunnies yell at me daily.
I rarely think about maintaining the outside of our home.  Sure, that bush is half dead and needs trimming and/or uprooting, but look at the dust in the house!  Yes, there are piles of leaves that are slowly turning to coal and diamonds around our driveway, but the dishes are overflowing!
This inside/outside struggle is parallel to another struggle I have.
I spend little time maintaining my outward appearance.  As long as I'm clean, I don't really think too much about being in fashion, wearing makeup, having the latest hairstyle or being physically fit.  Instead, I spend many hours working on inward maintenance.  In my life, inward beauty is more important than outward beauty, so I am constantly praying, journaling, replaying my day and analyzing how I can be a better person.
The problem with that is that I get so focused on that I forget the outside needs maintenance, too.
So today I have both read my Bible and done a short Pilates workout.
Today I will try to focus on not forgetting I have an inside and an outside.

Female Fun in Fort Worth

Yesterday was beautiful.  Not just the weather, the entire day.  My family strolled through the day without a care in the world and no agenda until Adam took the kids camping.  They are currently asleep on the TCU baseball field.  I like camping, but when given the option of going camping or spending some time by myself, I choose myself.
Last night I met my friends Stacy and Helen at Rodeo Goat for burgers and fun.  Stacy and Helen both went to high school with me, and oddly, they still don't mind being seen in public with me.
After burgers, we piled in my car and went downtown for Main Street Arts Festival.
I love festivals in downtown Fort Worth.  I know how to get around, so instead of wondering which way to walk or decide on a defined route, I get to focus on people. It makes me happy to be in a familiar place full of people because I know I will meet fascinating folks.
Since I was driving, I also gave Stacy and Helen a mini-tour of downtown FW, Boyette-style. ("That sign says Burnett Plaza is for tired moms.  That is FUMCFW.  The guy that owns that restaurant makes sandwiches for  homeless ladies.  Best burgers in town at Blue Tower.  Police Cat Fluffy lives there.  Library!")
Here are some photos of our adventures:

At this point, we had just parked the car.  Woohoo!  After at least 15 minutes of sitting in traffic we got a parking space! (Yes I know it's kind of lame to take a picture after parking a car.)

Inside the old Fire Station No. 1 is Fort Worth's smallest museum.  150 years of Fort Worth all celebrated in one room.  Here Stacy reaches for the stars and hopes for 150 more.

Helen who is a marathon runner.  If you call her that, she'll blow it off like it's no big deal, but this lady runs marathons!

I decided to sit side saddle and try to make the cheesiest picture possible.  

Here was our first new friend.  We all got to touch that awesome hair!  Really, anyone that spends that much time to perfect a look deserves applause.

This was our friend Willie at Green Mountain Energy.  Stacy actually filled out an advertisement form (she loves the environment), so we got to talk to him for a long time.  Another lady came up and was patiently waiting to ask if she could have some candy.  Helen and I tried to fill her purse.  She acted like she was really hungry and this was the only food she was going to get.  We kept urging her to get more, and then even Willie said, "Girl, you help yourself."

The lady that took this photo for us missed how to use the flash.  Oh well.  We are supposed to be the Wild Bunch.

Street preacher.

One of the highlights of the night was the street preachers.  As a person of faith myself, I am always fascinated at how differently the message of God's grace sounds from a street preacher.  Also, I have to applaud these people who feel that the only way they can save the world is by doing this.  They suffer ridicule but are still out on the corner preaching.

I didn't get to have a long conversation because Stacy and Helen were with me and I had embarrassed them enough, but I would have liked to compare notes.  If their goal is to share the consequences of people's actions, I think they got me beat.  I don't do that.  But if their goal was to share the message of God's love, I would be curious to how many people they were able to engage in conversation or to offer love to.  Because for me, sharing God's love last night included lifting a stroller over a curb for a frustrated dad, offering my koozie to a starving artist, sharing Willie's candy with a hungry lady, admiring an afro, offering compliments and admiration on artwork, and actually looking for people to engage in conversation with.

All the street preachers were on one quadrant and at each corner, they had a different tract about going to hell.  I made sure to get all of them for my pal Jason.  The best one was a "Get out of hell free" card.  At the last corner, when I engaged the preacher in conversation, I complimented him on the marketing brilliance of creating a tract that looked like a Monopoly game card.  He asked where I got it and I pointed to another corner of the square, where the African-American man that gave me the card stood.  The preacher said, "Oh, I don't know about him.  He's not with us."  That was so interesting to me, because these guys are standing about 20 feet apart doing the same thing, and they hadn't talked to each other?  

Then the street preacher asked me if I had been saved.  I told him I was a big-time Jesus lover.  He looked confused.  "I love Jesus.  Big time.  Go ask my friends."  He looked very uncomfortable like he wasn't sure if I was lying or not.  I guess people don't often come up to him and admit to being a Jesus lover.  I enjoyed throwing him for a loop.

I can't wait to hear how the camping trip went.

What floors and zombies have in common

Many years ago, Adam Boyette and I went to a haunted house.  I was absolutely terrified, and then there was a guy with a chainsaw, and I will never go to a haunted house again.
Even though I won't do it, I was able to learn fascinating stories about haunted houses yesterday while I was in the safety and sunlight of my own home.
Our flooring contractor showed up to measure the floor in car that had a Zombie Response Team logo on it. I was curious about the logo on his car, so I asked him.
When he's not measuring floors, this guy is on staff at The Parker House, a haunted house located in Denton.
Here are some facts that I learned about haunted houses:
1. If you are in the industry, or in the know, you call them "haunts." My new friend kept saying, "The haunt I work does it this way..."
2. Most haunts have story lines to go with them.  This was probably the most fascinating fact to me and one that I kept asking him more about.  For his haunt, the organizers did historical research, found a creepy story, and built a haunted house around it.  I had assumed haunts were just collections of really scary things, but most of them tell a story line.  You can read the story for his haunt on the website. Haunts with stories are called "theme haunts."
3. There are "touch haunts" and "no-touch haunts." The Parker House is currently a no-touch haunt, but discussions are underway to make a change.  In their current position their staff consists of many teenagers, and no one under the age of 18 is desirable for a "touch haunt."  I incorrectly assumed that had to do with hormones, but in reality it has to do with controlled touching.  Touching in a situation like this is just supposed to be a gentle brush of the legs or upper arm and teens just have a harder time with that.
4.  This place is so organized, they even have a 10 year plan.  Their latest addition will be an asylum, where their main character is sent to after she murders people.  Eventually they will open a small bed and breakfast on the property so people can spend the night at a haunt.
5.  In the past, blood was a mixture of Karo syrup and food coloring, but not anymore.  Karo syrup attracts ants and food coloring stains skin and clothes.  The blood on the walls of this haunt is made of Elmer's glue and leather tanner.  Mixed together, this gives the blood a wet, exposed blood look.  (Apparently the color in the tanner is much more authentic than food coloring.)
6.  Even though haunts are only open during the Halloween season, the staff literally works year-round to build and organize it.  My friend had just worked late two nights before.
7.  Working at a haunt is a lifestyle, not just a job.  My friend had tattoos on both arms that were related to his haunt.  In telling me about his haunt, he showed me his tattoos as a visual for the story.  "This part looks like this...."
8. Port-a-potties are located right next to the entrance.  This is crucial.  Go to the bathroom before you enter a haunt.  I was unable to get any hard numbers, but using the bathroom on yourself, vomiting, or passing out is a common occurrence for visitors of this particular haunt.  This is handled in this way: 1. Wet or soil yourself?  Move along.  Port-a-potties are outside.   2. Vomit? The haunt pauses and distracts other visitors while cleanup takes place.  3. Pass out?  Medical attention immediately.
I was grateful to this gentleman and thanked him several times for giving me all this information.  I have much more respect for haunts now.  As he left, I asked him about his schedule, because he obviously has a full-time job working for the flooring people and he also pulls in close to full-time during off season for the haunt.  He doesn't mind.  It's what he loves to do.  I congratulated him on his luck in his ability to spend time doing what he loves.  "You really are blessed, you know."  He agreed.
I shared all this information last night with Adam.  His eyes began twinkling and he asked me, "So will you go again now?"  No, sorry.  But isn't it fascinating?

Five Minute Friday:Jump

So I have recently stumbled upon Lisa Jo-Baker's blog.  She's a mama and a professional blogger. Every Friday she posts a prompt and readers are supposed to write about it for exactly five minutes.  Since I'm running a little late this morning anyway, I thought I could do that with a focus.  Today's prompt is Jump.



Today I will jump in the day late, oversleeping, but patient with myself because that's okay.  I will make the kids jump out of bed and later, Adam will jump on a plane and fly home.
Claire, Paul, and I will walk to school in this breeze, chilly air, and hopefully jump for joy at a few miracles we see along the way.  Look at the bird on our Little Free Library!  Look at that new rose blooming on that bush; better go back and cut that one.  Who will we give it to?
Look at me as I speed past you on my scooter.  You are an old lady.  Yes, that's right, I am sooo old.
Jump as we look at our watches.  Five minutes to go!  We can get there in time.
Jump as we see Claire's best friend getting out of the car.  Lola!  Wait for me!
Jump as we head home, just Paul and I because we don't have an agenda today, except for waiting for Home Depot to come measure our floors.
Jump because our day will be full of washing dishes, playing baseball, petting dogs, and maybe planting our sprouts.
Jump on the trampoline.

All I can do is hug you

On Monday explosions devastated Boston.  Last night a fertilizer plant in West, Texas caught fire and exploded, injuring hundreds and evacuating a town.
News like that makes some want to crawl in a hole and hide from the world.  Not me.  I want to run outside right now at 5:24 a.m. in my nightgown to go wake my neighbors and tell them they're fantastic and can I hug you?  I want to drag my kids out of bed so I can hug and kiss every inch of their precious hands and feet and tell them  how much I love them and what I dream for their future.  I want to teleport myself to St. Louis to interrupt the Steel Conference to inform Adam Boyette that I love him.  (Flying or driving would take too long.  I would like to be there now and a phone call isn't the same as a hug.)
I want to get in the car and take a road trip to visit every single one of our friends to personally hug them and tell them I love them.  Even Wayne in Saudi Arabia, although there's not a direct road route there, so I'd settle for hugging his wife in California.
Unfortunately my schedule doesn't permit that, so what I will do today is radical hugging of the people I can see.
I can't stop bad things from happening and I can't even predict the future so I can warn people.  I can't even give blood to the blood bank today because I have a terrible cold and possibly will end up on antibiotics before the end of the day.  I can't give millions of dollars to non-profits.  I can't go rescue people myself; I know little about first aid anyway.
But what I can do is hug people.  I can tell you that I love you and that I believe love is the most powerful force in the world.  I believe God is love and when you feel love you are experiencing God.  I believe love is our soul and sole purpose in life and can I share with you that I love you?
So if you are in my path today, especially if you're not a hugger, be prepared.  You will get hugged.

Stepping into the Sunlight

Today I'm sick.  I've got a disgusting nose and cough and I'm staying home from work to avoid sharing germs and getting worse.
Since I'm staying home sick today, oddly my to-do list is longer than normal.  I'll be at home, so why can't I do a full day's work from the office as well as clean the entire house and fold and hang up eight loads of laundry?
I'd never expect that much from anyone else, but for some reason, I expect more from myself.
I had these grandiose and impossible plans for the day, but then I stepped outside.  It is a beautiful day in Fort Worth, Texas and the only sounds I can hear right now are my fingers on the keyboard and an orchestra of birds in the backyard.

www.sxu.hu

Stepping outside in the sunlight always helps me gain perspective and remind myself where I am.
At both of my jobs, I work in a classroom or an office without windows.  I get frantically busy and focused on the tasks at hand.  Some days I am teaching my heart out, trying to get third graders to comprehend reading enough to pass their test.  Other days I am engulfed in trying to communicate every important activity at our church in many mediums.
But just when that molehill starts looking like a mountain, I have the privilege of stepping outside.  I can only work away from home during the same time Paul is in preschool, so about 2 every afternoon, I step outside.
When I exit the building and feel the sun on my face, the mountains shrink back into molehills and I know that I am loved.
Even on a rainy or cold day, when I step outside and feel wetness on my cheeks or cold wind, I am reminded of how small my problems are and how big God is.
Switching from an indoor frenzy to a walk outside to my car allows me to transition and reset.  I'm able to put my tasks in perspective and not worry so much about what is happening inside the building.  I remind myself once again that I am not the Messiah and I can't fix everything and save the world.
I am just one person who loves God, loves my family, and loves sunlight.

I am not the Messiah

A couple of years ago,  my friend Rev. Jason Valendy shared something with me that I constantly run through my head.
We were packing food for hungry people and I was saddened that it didn't seem like enough.  I wanted to run to the grocery store and spend all my money buying food for hungry poor people.
Jason said to me something one of his friends had told him.
"The good news is that there is a Messiah and He will save the world.  The bad news is that it's not you."
That has constantly been difficult for me to learn.  Not that I believe I am high and mighty, but that it's not my job to save everyone.
I'm the kind of person that sees a need and then does everything in her power to meet the need.  If I meet you and you are hungry, it is my instinct to run into my house and give you food.  If you need an ink pen, I will give you my last one.  If I can help people in any way, I do.
That's not always the best thing for any of us, however, and that is a life lesson for me.
Last week I volunteered at Claire's school to prepare for the silent auction.  As I was packing up the baskets, I was thinking, "If I had only known they needed, X, I would have bought it.  I have some great things that could have gone in that basket.  If this had been more organized, just think how great it could be.  I should organize this."  Fortunately before I said any of these things out loud, I reminded myself that it is not my job to save the world and that it was my job simply to pack the baskets with items available.  I didn't have time to go shopping or scour my home looking for other additions.  I did have time to pack baskets.
Several years ago, our family made friends with a family from another country.  They are fascinating and I loved hearing their stories.  They are also poor and had almost no food in their house.  I decided that I would save them.  I spent my own money and collected donations from the church to help them.  The problem with that was that it altered our relationship.  Instead of two friends on equal footing, we switched to a Giver and a Taker relationship.  They started calling me with any need they had because they knew I would help them.  I started avoiding their calls because I knew they were calling me to meet their needs and I couldn't do that all the time.  The friendship eventually fizzled because of this.
When I'm teaching at school, I constantly have to remind myself of my job function.  It is not my job to feed and clothe all 800 kids at my school.  It is my job to listen to them and read with them.
When I'm at church, I have to remind myself of my job.  It is not to fix the organization of every event or get volunteers every place they are needed.  My job is to communicate the needs to others.
When I'm at home, it is not my job to jump into every sibling argument and provide explanation for both sides.  It is my job to make sure the kids resolve their own conflicts and that they don't hurt themselves.
It is so hard for me not to try to fix the world, but I am not the Messiah.  I can't do it.

Fun at Shaw-Kemp

A few years ago, a librarian friend of ours invited us to this place in Weatherford where they have amazing bluebonnets.  It sounded fun, so we looked up the address and we went, not knowing what to expect.  Every April since then, we've made the trek to the Shaw-Kemp Open House.
If you've ever been to the Log Cabin Village in Fort Worth, this is similar.  They have a small town of antique buildings filled with antiques and people in period costume.  Everyone is happy to discuss local Parker County history and the entire event is free.
Most of the event organizers are part of either the Shaw or Kemp family, and I think most of their advertising is done by word of mouth.  Every year in January,  my friend Stacy and I start searching online for the dates for the Open House that year.  It's hard to find and when I ask around at the event, they all tell me that they never know until a few weeks ahead of time when the event will run.  Sometimes there are fields of bluebonnets, but apparently this year is a bad one for them.  We found a few, though.

Here are some photos of our fun yesterday.  We had a lot of laughs and finished off the day in downtown Weatherford.

Paul and Pengie in a teepee.  (We brought Pengie from home.  He wasn't part of the exhibits.)

Have your kids taken pictures with a Native American mannequin with blue eyeshadow?  No?  I'm sorry.

A horse-drawn carriage driven by a penguin.

Taxidermy animal in the bluebonnets.

When was the last time you petted at taxidermy dog in a field of bluebonnets?  Well that's too long!

Dog.

Old-fashioned see saw.  The kids loved it! 

There were lots of dogs to pet!

Adam and the kids on an old merry go round.

Paul getting a shave at the barber shop.  This is one of his favorite things to do each year.  The barber uses a plastic knife to scrape shave cream off his face.  

A random beautiful bead mosaic.

Bluebonnets!

This dog's name is Tinkerbell.  Every year Tinkerbell and her mother dress in matching Minnie Pearl outfits.

Paul pretending to be an outlaw.

Claire wanted a shave, too.  She was laughing so hard Adam had to hold her still.

This is not a real cannon.

Gnomes.

My life as a cussing tour guide

Before I had kids, I was a teacher.  As such, when Paul was born, I quit my career to teach my own children.  Claire was two at the time and arrived home from day care counting to 10.  Most parents would rejoice at that, but I nearly cried.  I was crushed that I wasn't able to teach her that fundamental skill.
Since then, my children's worlds grow every day.  Try as I might, it is impossible for me to teach them everything about the world as well as all the book knowledge they will need to succeed.

I often view myself as a tour guide in my children's lives.  Sometimes I take them places where I can explain what they are experiencing as they are experiencing it.  And sometimes they see something and I have to stop the tour bus to go back and explain it.

Lately, that has manifested itself in the area of foul language.  I really don't curse in front of the kids.  I like to think I'm creative enough to avoid it.  "Oh, Shhhhenanigans!"

Claire came home at the beginning of the year and asked me what cruss words were.  It took me a few minutes to realize she had combined curse words and cuss words.  Explaining what curse words were piqued her interest and she was asking me all sorts of questions:  "Is stupid a cuss word?  Is butt?  Is dumb?" Knowing that she wouldn't quit until she had one in her head to meet the formula, I shared the word "sh**" with her.  She then understood that these were words she hadn't been exposed to and wasn't supposed to say.  I told Adam about this exchange and he couldn't believe I actually shared a forbidden word with our daughter.  I'm not sure what he would have done had he been in the car at that moment.  He wasn't mad at me, just perplexed.

So over the course of this first grade year, I've had to navigate through the minefield of okay and not okay words.  Never before was I so aware of all the gray area in our language.  No, stupid is not a cuss word, but you shouldn't say it because it's not nice.  I think I've done a successful job of confusing Claire, and definitely Paul when he's been in earshot of these conversations.

Two weeks ago Claire was sharing with me, her tour guide, a fact she had learned at school that day.  "Mama, I know what the middle finger means now.  It means F---."  I nearly choked at her nonchalance, but she was just sharing knowledge with me, like she always does.  She didn't realize this was a forbidden word.

The curse word situation has escalated at the playground and classroom.  Other students, whom I love, who are good kids, are dropping F bombs on the playground or flipping each other off when the teacher's not looking.  I know this because Claire is like a news reporter.  Everything that happens in at school is recorded for repeat to me later.  I often check her facts and find them to be pretty near true and uneditorialized.

This situation sounds pretty out of control and horrifying, but I know each and every person involved, and I'm not horrified.  Claire has an excellent teacher who loves her students, including Claire.  She works just as hard as she can to meet each student's needs.  She really is awesome and I've got nothing but respect for her.  She has her class under control, but she cannot avoid ever turning around or hold each child's hand on the playground to make sure they are using appropriate language.

And for the kids, I know from asking questions, that this is not an angry thing.  This is about growing older and obtaining new knowledge.  This is about trying out new things to see if they work.  They are not angry at each other when they use the F word or when they flip each other off.  They are stretching their legs, learning independence, and figuring out what works for them.  This is about obtaining a new vocabulary word and trying it on for size.

And the kicker for me is that I can't raise my child in a bubble.  Even if I had the money to enroll her in an expensive private school, chances are, the kids there know these words too and the same thing would happen.

For me, the way I deal with this is with prayer, many deep breaths, and ears to listen.  As the kids gain new knowledge, it is my job as their tour guide and mother to help them understand the world around them.  Unfortunately I cannot travel everywhere with them, ready to cover their eyes and ears to the inappropriate.  I can be here to listen and offer some advice and a hug.

Learning about prayer from kids

Yesterday I had the opportunity to talk with eight preteens about prayer.

We started with prayer mandalas, so the kids would be focused on prayer.  (If you would like to meditate and pray while coloring a mandala, I get mine here.)  Coloring can be a centering activity, where you clear your mind and focus on your relationship with God.

We talked about the different times people pray, at church, before dinner, before bed, when you're feeling sad.  We also talked about praying when we were overwhelmed.  Each child offered an example of when they are overwhelmed.  Of the eight, three listed a problem on a screen "When I accidentally drown my character on my X box game."  "When I'm playing with my friend online and he chooses a hard opponent."  "When I'm trying to avoid being killed on the game."  It was fascinating to me because they weren't being silly.  These are real times when these young people feel overwhelmed.  Before the evening, I had anticipated their responses to be something like too much homework, extracurricular activities, or stressful relationships with parents, siblings, or friends.  The other half of the room listed these.

One of the ways to pray that I introduced them to was breath prayer.  The prayer repeats a one sentence prayer with each breath.  The one I use most is inhale: "I want to feel" and exhale "Your peace and grace."  (If you want to know more about breath prayer, there's an excellent explanation here.)

Usually I use breath prayer to request something intangible like peace or grace.  But it can also be used for tangible items.  I recently taught my six year old daughter how to do this and encouraged her to craft her own.  After a period of time I asked her what hers was.  She said, "I want to  make....good grades at school."  I was surprised for two reasons 1. She makes great grades...her lowest was 98 this six weeks and 2. I never thought about using breath prayer for something tangible.  For me it's a centering, calming, focusing, spiritual tool.  

I just love how when I think I'm smart and have something figured out, a child comes and teaches me something new.  (Luckily I usually don't tell others I've got it figured out so when I continue learning, I'm the only embarrassed one.)

Running on Grace

Since Holy Week, the Boyette household has been running non-stop.  Every few days I've had a brief chance (an hour or so) to catch my breath, wash dishes, and carry on.  It is neither desirable or healthy to live life on the go, but sometimes life requires it of us.
When I was studying to become a teacher, one of my professors made me memorize the four stages of teaching.  I wish I had committed it to long-term memory because all I can remember is the first stage: survival mode, and the last stage: proficiency.
You could say that today I am living in survival mode, but I prefer to think that I'm running on grace.  I've been saying prayers of gratitude all morning that things are going better than they could be.

Here's a few examples of moments of grace that I've been aware of today:

1. I woke up late; at 6 a.m.  I usually get up at 5, so when I realized the time, I panicked, but our automatic coffeemaker greeted me with a fresh cup of coffee, already brewed.

2. The kids and Adam were able to get themselves out of bed mostly on time today by themselves.  Usually I have to stop what I'm doing multiple times each morning to get them all awake.  I only did that once today.

3. Last night was museum night, so both kids stayed up past their bedtimes, but neither one was grouchy and falling apart this morning.  Paul delighted in watching our hamster and announcing he was also a hamster.

4.  After we dropped Claire off at school, I was able to wash the dishes from last night.  That made me feel better.

5.  While I was washing dishes, Adam called to warn me of two policeman patrolling the area around Claire's school.  Since life has been frantic lately,  I am currently driving with an expired inspection sticker, so I was so grateful for the warning and took a different route.

6.  I didn't have time to eat breakfast this morning, but was able to have a healthy granola bar in the car.  On days like that, we often stop for donuts, but today Paul and I made healthy choices.

7.  It was barely sprinkling when Claire went to school, but as Paul and I started getting in the car, the rain came, just in time to remind me the umbrellas were in the house.  I was able to go back in and get them and avoid wet heads and grouchiness later.

8.  We were running a little late to church, but Paul prefers that I walk him to class, so I was parking the car to do that.  Then he decided he wanted to go through the carpool line, which eliminates me having to leave the car and saves me five minutes at least.

9.  I was able to arrive at school exactly on time and due to planning, already had my lesson prepared to go. I was able to immediately get to work and start a productive day.

I am so grateful for days like this when you see all the things that could have gone wrong, but none of them did.  It's a good day.  Tomorrow will be calmer and we'll all be able to catch our breath.

Continuing the birthday list with my mother-in-law!

April is a birthday-heavy month around here.  It's also a happy month.  Today we celebrate the birth of my mother-in-law, Sarita.  She is a gifted and giving woman and we're all proud to be part of her family.

Sarita grew up in Chandler, a suburb of Tyler, Texas.  Her brother and his wife still live in the family house, which is called the farm, though we're not sure what they grow.  

East Texas was her stomping ground through college.  She met Stan Boyette in college and they were later married.  They moved to DFW and raised one son (Adam) and twin daughters.

Sarita taught special education at MacArthur high school for about 30 years.  She retired when I was pregnant with Claire.  She and Stan spend their days tinkering around the house and playing with their dogs, Britches and Pockets.  Sarita is a talented scrapbooker and handmade card creator.  Our home is adorned with both.  She's completed at least five scrapbooks for each of my children.

Sarita is both resourceful and thoughtful.  She always has her thinking cap on trying to find a way to reuse or recycle everything that comes in her house.  

You know you are a favorite of Sarita when you are elevated to bag status.  That means every time she sees you, she gives you a bag of random items you will find useful.  (Not to brag, but I usually get two bags.)  Inside your bag, you will find all sorts of surprises from canned goods to Campbell's soup labels, to pocket packs of kleenex, or a bag of dog treats she got free in the mail.  Every time she goes to Sonic she saves the mints to send to my kids.  She cuts the front of all her greeting cards off to use in scrapbooks or to give to the kids for art projects.  Calendars are treated the same way.

Sarita and I are both passionate coupon cutters, so when we cut the coupons out of our newspaper insert, we save them to swap.  She is also well-versed in the free giveaways on the web, so she often sends us something random and useful she won online.

I was surprised when I started dating Adam and realized that in his family, all the pets are taught to speak.  They always introduce themselves before speaking, and it is often Sarita who helps.  A conversation with the family dog often goes like this:

"This is Pockets.  I am madder than hell that Wesley Eugene got blessed at church and I had to stay here in Grapevine with these old folks.  I am sick of that dog trying to say I am condemned to hell.  How can I get baptized if these old folks never leave their house?  This is Pockets and I am furious!"

Or

"This is Britches.  That Pockets has overstepped his boundaries one too many times.  I was the first dog in this house and now everyone is all, 'Pockets, Pockets, Pockets.'  I am fed up and as soon as I can find a suitcase in this messy house, I am hitting the road.  Plus, I am sick of this dog food they make me eat!  Where's the Porterhouse steak?  This is Grapevine, and word on the street is that it's supposed to be hoity-toity."

The dogs are usually angry about something.  Sometimes they even send each other letters in the mail.

In honor of Sarita's birthday, our dogs Wesley Eugene and Cpt. Midnight Sugar Dot Express have something to say:

"Happy birthday to you, old woman!  This is Wesley Eugene and Sugar Dot.  Don't even come into the Fort Worth city limits today unless you come bearing treats for us!  Oh, and happy birthday."

Happy birthday to my granddad

Today is my grandfather's 88 birthday.  His name is Jerry, but everyone in the family calls him Mi.  He's old enough to know exactly what he wants and ask for it.  My cousin Jeff and I constantly are searching the entire DFW metroplex for said item.  Jeff actually drives into Oklahoma once a month or so to buy Mi's snuff. Apparently snuff isn't a hot seller in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, so Jeff contacted a friend in Oklahoma, who meets him halfway with a case whenever Mi is running low.
Currently my shopping list for Mi is to find Febreeze air freshener with Gain in it.  I bought him a substitute Febreeze last week, but it wasn't acceptable.  Mi admittedly can't smell it, but his visitors like the scent and he wants that particular one.
My grandfather is particular, and sometimes grouchy in his particularity.  But every bit of that has been earned and he deserves exactly what he wants.
He was born in Emhouse, Texas, a little town close to Corsicana.  His father died when he was a child, and my granddad was raised by his mother and grandfather in Corsicana.  He had 10 brothers and sisters, and he is the last one alive.
He contracted pneumonia when he was 18 months old, but lived through it.  He grew up picking cotton and working on the farm.  He still remembers the big snow of 1929 when Corsicana measured 19 inches on top of a hill.  His father would go squirrel hunting on Sundays and they had a delicious meal of squirrel gravy.
World War II started when he was a teenager, and my grandfather lied about his age so he could join the Navy.  He worked as a cook on a hospital ship through the end of the war.  Days after the bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, my grandfather walked the beach there.
He met my grandmother in 1946.  I still wear the locket he gave her that Valentine's Day.  They were married in December of the same year.  They raised a family in Irving where my grandfather worked as a lineman for TU Electric.  To this day, there are line insulators in Irving that he installed.  When I drive to visit him, I always look at the power lines and wonder which ones he helped hang.
When my father was graduating high school, my granddad went back to school to finish his high school diploma.  They both graduated the same year.
He and my grandmother paid the hospital bill when I was born because my parents didn't have insurance then.
Mi loves to tell jokes again and again and again, and laughs harder than the listener at the punch line.
Mi favors my son Paul because Paul wears a costume every time to his retirement home and picks up lots of girlfriends.  Many eligible ladies are knocking on Mi's apartment door now to see when that cute little boy will come visit again.
I've been documenting his life for some time and have many snippets and stories of his 88 years.  This little blog just isn't quite enough to communicate Jerry Baker's goodness, generosity, and sense of humor.  He is a giant and I love him.

Adventures in Birthday

Yesterday was my birthday.  I turned 35, and I'm quite happy with that.  I'm not too young and I'm not too old.  Old enough to accept that I'm an adult but young enough not to act like one sometimes.

We have a friend who used to be a missionary and a pilot.  About nine months ago the kids started showing an interest in learning more about planes, so I asked him if he could possibly take us for a flight in his.  He agreed and we've been trying to schedule it since then.  With unpredictable weather and busy schedules, we finally decided  yesterday would be the day.

The kids and I were excited.  We'd be in the plane and Adam had plans to stand on the roof waving at us.  When our friend arrived at our house, he gave me several ziploc and shopping bags just in case we got sick in the air.  I laughed and on the plane, put them in back, almost out of reach.

Yesterday was a very windy day, and to sum up our 45 minutes in the air, it was bumpy, Paul got scared, and Claire and I had to reach for the bags.  We did get to see Adam on the roof, but I was nearly immobile with nausea and couldn't take photos in the air. Our pilot was so kind and generous, but we just couldn't take it. Luckily, I don't think the kids will be scarred for life from this.  For me, I am glad I am wearing the "adult" label now because I am adult enough to say, I don't need to do that again.  I am so grateful we had the experience, and now I can go on with life.

Besides that, I took a lovely nap, went to the grocery store by myself, and then we had friends over.  I decided that I didn't want to mess with a restaurant on a Saturday night and feeding people makes me happy, so that's what we did.  The boys manned the grill and the girls chopped vegetables and chatted while I made homemade tortillas.  We finished the night by playing the Awkward Family Photos game, which every time, makes me laugh so hard I can't breathe.

I received two birthday cakes.  My dear friend Stacy made one for me: (lemon poke cake)

And Adam bought the other:

You might wonder why my name isn't on that cake.  We have a friend named BettieCarol who instructed the kids on the proper North-Carolina way to say her name.  "BettieCarol" pronounced something like "BayCarl" is the kid's new catch phrase.  They run around the house saying, "Oh BettieCarol!"  Paul invented this knock knock joke and every time he tells me it I have to take a moment to stop laughing.  Adam wanted the cake to say something funny, and as he puts it, "What's funnier than this?"  I loved it!

It was a good birthday.

The first 35 years of my life

I turn 35 tomorrow.  Here's a short autobiography of my life so far:

I was born at Harris Hospital downtown.  Some could say I was born a Methodist.

My parents went to the Birdville ISD school board and petitioned for me to attend the elementary school of their choice because the one in our area was across from the high school.  As I remember, they said they were afraid high school kids would try to sell me drugs.  I attended Snow Heights Elementary.  In my day, Snow wasn't just the name of the school.  It was an all-white campus.

I received something of a culture shock in middle school when I switched to attend the correct school.  Haltom Middle was a cultural melting pot, and I loved that about it.  I didn't know anyone at first, though, so for my first year, my best friend was a book at lunch.

I caught my social stride at Haltom High where I was friends with everyone and usually succeeded in saying a personalized greeting to every single person that crossed my path.

During my senior year in high school, my father's job moved him to Austin.  I stayed in Fort Worth with my mother so I could graduate from Haltom and she could sell the house.

I went to Tarrant County Junior College and made great friends with a girl who was dating my future husband.  He was extremely skinny and I remember wondering about his nutrition.  We all hung out together for a bit.  I worked for the school newspaper and in my spare time, wrote features for two local branches of the Star-Telegram.

During college, I roomed with my uncle.  He's eight years older than me and a world record holder in wheelchair races.  He was an aerospace engineer starting his own business.  I pitched in on rent and made up the extra with cooking and cleaning.  He also was in a christian rock band and I was a huge groupie.  We had a lot of fun.

At the University of Texas at Arlington I wrote for the school newspaper and magazine, eventually becoming the last editor of the Tempo.  Adam and I became best friends and eventually we shared enough beers and laughs that we found out we were in love.

The week after college graduation, Adam and I married and moved to Fort Worth.  We visited many churches of various denominations but finally ended up in a pretty building on Camp Bowie.  We still attend Arlington Heights UMC.  For me at least, joining the Methodist church was like finding my home.  Although I was raised, saved, and baptized in a Southern Baptist Church, the more I learned about the Methodist doctrines and beliefs, I realized I had been a closet Methodist my whole life.

My final years at UTA, I worked at Half Price Books, but when we moved to Fort Worth, I decided to use my college degree and become a teacher.  The school I taught at was the cultural opposite of the one I attended growing up.  I learned just as much as my students when I worked there.

In 2005 I got my wisdom teeth removed, we had just bought a house, and I decided, while on painkillers, that it was time for us to start having children around the house.  I didn't change my mind when my gums healed.  Claire was born the next year.

Adam and I attended Love and Logic parenting classes, which set us on a parenting style we stick to together.  I continued to teach for a couple of years.

Paul William Boyette was born and I quit teaching for pay to be a stay-at-home mom and teach my own children.

The year before Claire started kindergarten, I began working at church.  Paul still attends preschool there.  Now I rotate between church work and tutoring elementary students on reading.

Tomorrow is my birthday.  I am mother to two kids, two dogs, two fish, and one hamster.  I am wife of Adam.  I am a Jesus lover, a writer, a church staffer, a teacher, a cook, a voracious reader, and a person constantly striving to improve myself.  I love to help others, give hugs, and talk to friends.  My house is a mess but my kids are smart.  I am part of a happy family.  I am content.

Paul and I at the Mother-Son Dance in Grapevine this year.

Sanctuary

From Houghton Mifflin's online dictionary:
sanc·tu·ar·y    (sngkch-r) KEY 

NOUN:
pl. sanc·tu·ar·ies

1. 1. A sacred place, such as a church, temple, or mosque.
   2. The holiest part of a sacred place, as the part of a Christian church around the altar.
2. 1. A sacred place, such as a church, in which fugitives formerly were immune to arrest.
   2. Immunity to arrest afforded by a sanctuary.
3. A place of refuge or asylum.
4. A reserved area in which birds and other animals, especially wild animals, are protected from hunting or molestation.

I work at a church, so sanctuary is a word I use frequently.  We have a room at our church called the "sanctuary" where we "worship."  I attend worship services here, too, but this room is not my preferred sanctuary.  My sanctuary is in my kitchen.

For our small house, we have a large kitchen.  The kitchen is my sacred place, place of refuge, a place where I am protected from the pressures of my world.

Our kitchen is adorned with artwork from our children.  We've also got baby photos from the cutest kids in world.  The freezer portion of our refrigerator is completely covered with photos of our best friends.  It is hard not to feel love in this room.

I've got a speaker for my I-pod in the kitchen, and plenty of dance floor.  Claire and Paul have decided, like me, that they enjoy dancing to Billy Joel.  His songs are so upbeat and happy.  The kids love screaming and dancing to "Uptown Girl."  (Please don't tell them this is an old song.  They think it's new and hip.)

Sword fights and Hot Wheel races also are a near-daily occurrence in the kitchen.  I am always prepared to be a "bad guy" and dodge Paul's sword or light saber.  

Beyond play, we have a beautiful coffee pot in the kitchen. Drinking my first cup of coffee in the mornings while doing my Bible study is a sacred ritual.

The counter, the stove, the refrigerator, are all magical instruments used to transform ordinary ingredients into  food for loved ones.  My KitchenAid mixer is from my grandparent's kitchen and used regularly to make baked goods for others.  The kids love mixing chocolate chip cookies in it and sticking their fingers in the batter.

We have a window above the sink that overlooks the oleander bush my grandparents gave us for a housewarming present nearly 10 years ago.  When I open the window, I can always hear birds singing.  We also have a family of lizards that likes to run across the screen at night.  Bugs are drawn to the light from the kitchen, so the lizards find the kitchen window is a great hunting ground.  Some evenings Adam and I stand in front of the window watching the lizard show for a long time.

Herbs are growing on the window sill and I snip them when I need some fresh ingredients for dinner. Ivy from my grandfather's house trails the tops of the cabinets, which are decorated with gifts of roosters and special wine bottles from friends.

Last week and the beginning of this week was busy, and I wasn't able to get in the kitchen and cook a decent meal.  I just threw together quick fixes to feed us on the go.  Yesterday, though, I had time and took it to thoughtfully prepare a home-cooked meal.  When I have time to do that, all the stress goes away.  Paul came in and searched for his Darth Vader costume and Claire wanted me to give her a dog for a baby.  

This morning, like all mornings, Adam will come in with his coffee and iron his clothes.  We'll discuss the plans for the day as I prepare the children's lunches.  Our routines in the kitchen are so normal and so sacred.

In the Bible, there is a famous story about two sisters, Mary and Martha.  Martha worked in the kitchen and complained, and Mary sat and listened to Jesus.  I find that for me, the opposite is true.  I work in the kitchen to listen to Jesus.  There is only love here, and that speaks of God.

Pure Awesomeness

Yesterday was pure awesomeness.  Today will be hard because I've got to be a test monitor at school, but the good part about that is that my job will be to walk up and down the hallway non-stop....good exercise, and I'll be able to remember and savor all the wonderful parts of my day yesterday.

We had our church staff random birthday party yesterday.  Yesterday was the fake birthday of Rev. Nancy and Sue.  The theme was Maxine and Paula went all out in thoughtful planning.  We all had a blast.

All day long I was distracted though, (I got five minutes of productive work done.) because Anne Lamott was coming to town!  Anne Lamott is one of my favorite authors.  She and Barbara Brown Taylor have the knack of speaking directly to me.  I couldn't wait to see her in person.

What I love about Anne is that she cusses and she loves Jesus.  No, really.  She is humble, honest, and real.

Anne was scheduled to speak at Arborlawn UMC at 6:30 p.m. I was so excited and so afraid it'd be a packed house (it was) that I arrived at 4:50.  They weren't letting anyone in the sanctuary, so I sat in the foyer.  The only other non-church member there at that early hour was a man named Mike who introduced himself and immediately asked me if I was a writer.  Weird.  He isn't a writer, but he wanted to know if I was. I told him no, but then he started telling me I should start journaling, and then I stopped him and corrected myself.  "I am a writer, actually," I told him.

I spent quite a while with my new best friend Mike, who told me I should be taking deep breaths because he was afraid I was so excited I might hyperventilate.  (No, I did not.  I did take deep breaths, though, because they are always good.)  I told him that I knew I was being rude, but I was going to constantly look at the door instead of him so we could be the first ones in the sanctuary.  I think I might have intimidated him a little.

We finally got to go inside.  I showed my UMC nametag in hopes that would get me in early, but alas, Anne Lamott fans were all treated fairly, so I had to wait like everyone else.  I was able to nab half a pew on the second row, which was my goal anyway, so it all worked out perfectly.  I had recruited my friends Rev. Nancy and Robin to sit with me and they were so kind and tolerant of my enthusiasm.

Anne was fabulous.  She was funny, honest, and said many thought-provoking bits that I will work on remembering so I can quote her later.  I've got a few down, but am thinking about it all.

On rough drafts...."The first draft is child writing, the second draft is the adult, and the third draft is..."...I forgot.  Must try to remember all the details.

"Addictions are all the same in that you desperately want something that is terrible for you."  She spoke of being addicted to things I hadn't thought of before (shopping, being needed, and some more things I have to go think about.)

There was a question and answer time, so I jumped up, and stepped all over poor Rev. Nancy (she said she wasn't injured), and got to the microphone first.  I said, "My name is Sarah and I want to tell you thank you.  I love you.  Can I hug you?"  Cheesy, yes, but true, and guess what?  I got a hug from Anne Lamott!  She is a great hugger, I might add.  Not some impersonal, one arm hug; she gave me a full-body embrace.  Woohoo!  It was awesome and after the event, at least 10 strangers told me they were jealous of me.

I got to give Anne a hug during the book signing.  When you know so much about a person through books or talking or whatever, it means a lot to be able to touch them in the flesh.  "I love you and you are real."