...phenomenal woman...

Unplugged.

There is a beautiful calm in not being enslaved to the buzz and beep and ring of each incoming notification. But there is also much that is missed. Maya Angelou's passing was a surprise to me, and though I never knew her, I am affected by the loss.

Today, I pulled the poetry books off our dusty bookshelf and sat down on the patio to remember her, to honor her in the only way I knew how. I read through her thoughts, her poems, pausing over certain phrases and words. I reread many, considering what the words might have meant to her and what they now mean to me. I read my favorites aloud, some repeatedly, getting lost in the rhythms and rhymes. Many still move me.

My introduction to Maya Angelou came through her poem "Phenomenal Woman."

As an intensely insecure young woman, I found courage in this poem. Courage to embrace myself, faults and all; courage to embrace others, faults and all. I used to think that it was wrong of me to find such freedom in her words, as I had never experienced the deep pain that she endured. But, as I continued to read and reread and be moved by her poetry, I learned that her words transcended specific groups, speaking to all people in all walks of life.

While "Phenomenal Woman" and "Still I Rise" are probably her most famous poems, if you aren't familiar with her work, take a moment to pause and consider "Human Family" "Thank You, Lord" or "Ailey, Baldwin, Floyd, Killens and Mayfield."

Is there a specific Maya Angelou poem that has echoed in your own heart? Will you share it with me?

...through the storm...

Andy rubbed my shoulders yesterday and remarked, "Wow, there's no tension!" I so enjoyed the respite found in a few days with no responsibilities, and my body appreciated it. 

It didn't last long. Our return journey back into the land of the living took over 18 hours. 

First, the plane was late to arrive. Pretty standard.

Then, someone had locked themselves in the lavatory and needed to be rescued. Um, really?! No...really?!?

After that, they had to perform some "minor" maintenance. Does replacing a windshield count as "minor" maintenance?

Finally, there was the weather. Oh the weather! With little else to do, I snapped pictures. Here are just a few:

The storm seemed far away, until we saw lightning start to flash.

Our pilot pulled over and parked us on the side of the tarmac to wait out the storm.

Over an hour later, under a promising sky, we sped away.

As I took picture after picture, I was most captured by this one:

Incredible, isn't it? Perspective is everything!

When we are ravaged by life's storms, it's difficult to remember that the sun still shines on us brightly, unrelentingly. No matter the situation, it's light and warmth are not lost to us forever. Soon...

Three...

Two...

One...

...the sun will come bursting forth again.

While the r&r was much needed, the best part about these last few days was time spent with Andy. My eyes might have been dripping a bit when he drove off to work tonight.

I hope you had the most amazing week! Thank you for letting us run away together to focus on just us. There were many adventures had, but we're going to keep those to ourselves. Maybe someday we'll share them with you all.

(Airplane-ography) 

Have a wonderful Sunday! xoxo

...flying the coup...

It's time, and we're ready...

Andy and I are "getting out of Dodge" for the next few days, and we have decided to keep all the details to ourselves. Since we will have little to know access to wifi, I would not be able to update you on our adventures anyway, but I promise to have many on our mini break.

Thank you for spending your precious time reading about my little life. You encourage me in ways you will never even know!

Have a wonderful week! xoxo

I promise not to get eaten by giant turtles! I mean, I'll try not to...

...in remembrance...

My family is filled with men who have chosen to lay down their lives for their family, their friends and their fellow man. Not many died in war, but most passed on into eternity long ago. Those that remain rarely speak of their war experiences, except the good memories, like stories of their comrades.

Shamefully, I forget that they have survived such horrors.

Memorial Day is a wonderful opportunity to stop the business of life and honor, appreciate and thank those that have shown us such great love.

Today, our small municipality held a parade, a small service and an antique car show. My father-in-law is a veteran, and he loves antique cars, so we invited Andy's family to enjoy the festivities.

The memorial in our little park.

Classic cars! I'm not a car girl, but even I can appreciate these babies!

This paint job was absolutely stunning!

So pretty!

My muscle car of choice? The Mustang!

So flawless! Just impressive!

Okay, I just liked that it had a face. Cute!

Yeah, we're motorcycle people.

This poor guy had to be melting!

So these ladies were singing and dancing...

...and my in-laws decided to practice their dance moves in the street! (They take lessons.)

We didn't stay long because of the intense heat and humidity, but returned to the house and grilled our lunch and played Apples to Apples.

Ever since the service, my mind has been stuck on the sacrifice of these men and women. What can be said to these people who have given their lives so that others can live free? Is thank you enough? Is it sufficient?

"Greater love has no man than this: To lay down one's life for one's friends." Jesus

...anyone want to analyze this dream?...

Weird side effect:

2:25am

The lights had been out for quite some time, but I simply couldn't force myself fall asleep. My hair, still wet from my shower, was dampening my pillow and causing a consistent chill. My eyes pressed shut, I tried to imagine him here with me...

...when suddenly I found myself in a kitchen, intended to be my parents kitchen, but not my parents kitchen. We were celebrating, I'm not sure what, maybe the fact that I was home. There was lots of hugging, and extended family were present. And there were men wearing wife beaters, looking like they had just finished working on some part of the house.

One of them was an old high school crush, who reached out and pulled my mom into a big bear hug. I blushed as if I was in 11^th grade all over again and with my eyes down, pretending to be nonchalant, I prepared my arms for his hug as well, only to be pulled into the grasp of a scruffy, dirty blonde. Not that his hair was dirty blonde in color, just that he was dirty and blonde.

And in this odd dream coma, everyone was much, much taller than me.

There was an elderly aunt in the kitchen, but it was blurry, and I couldn't make out her features to know which aunt it was, so I squinted, only to find her features becoming more melty with a terrifying Voldemort look about her nose (or lack there of.) I stared only because I was so horrified I could look away. She pulled me into a hug and then held onto both my hands as I pulled away, curious for another glimpse at her face.

And this elderly, Voldemort-impersonating aunt, also a giant to my small frame, closed her eyes and tilted her head from side to side, as if praying, I thought. Until her head began to jerk from side to side violently, and I thought she was possessed, and I wondered what voice would come out of her when she finally did speak, and what the voice would say. I unsuccessfully tried to yank my hands away and move toward the dining room where everyone else was gathering for dinner, but she pulled as well, and soon we were swirling, and spinning and swelling around the kitchen and through the dining room and into a wide, open universe, with limitless stars scattered across a black sky.

I gave myself over to the sensation of flying through the air, weightless, spinning, but not to the point of dizziness, so much so that I let it continue for longer than I would have expected.

We spun around and soon we were floating in a dance hall, with an open roof, and other people floating and swirling, and there were lasers, but not the cool rhythmic kind you'd see in a club, more like, one or two, that gave a pink and green hue to the whole room.

And that part of me that was still me somewhere in the recesses of my mind, still awake, still in control, began to say, This is fun, but if this is something demon-y, I belong to Jesus.

Just FYI.

...yep, I totally said it...

And then I was driving. Apparently, I was a camera man/photographer for a local news station. I was traveling with a reporter down our small town streets. A man dressed as the local team's mascot (a chicken) was beaten and battered and bloody signifying yet another loss by his team, and he kept jumping in front of our car, feigning being run over. He was cute, so I slowed down and played along, then rolled down the window and said, So if I park the car, will you lay under it like I ran you over?

Sure, he agreed with a bigger smile than I thought possible.

I dropped off the reporter and parked the car on a side street, then ran barefoot back toward them with my camera. I could hear momentary screams escaping the building entrance where they stood, a building that seemed to be a museum or sanctuary of some sort for all sorts of exotic spiders and tarantulas. I, of course, freaked out and ran back toward my car.

Crash!

Oh shit! A man's voice rang out down the street.

I knew I should, but I just couldn't look away, mostly because I couldn't figure out what was going on, and I was so curious. There stood a giant turkey with several black squiggly, worm-like things hanging from it's mouth, and two men standing back from the scene, laughing callously, perhaps a bit fearfully. I was mesmerized by the whole thing, and kept walking closer and closer, only to realize that the crash had been a cage, which was shattered on the street and the squiggly worms were actually the legs of a tarantula. Thankfully, the turkey was winning.

It was hunting the turkey and the turkey just grabbed it! one man exclaimed.

At least there was only one, I thought to myself.

Then, a huge clump of dry dirt lunged passed the turkey and onto some grass. My eyes, wide with terror, couldn't look away as the dirt cracked apart to reveal a spider, a jumping spider, that in one bound had leapt it's way across the parking lot.

Frozen with fear, I watched in slow motion as he lowered his body toward the ground and launched himself off the pavement, his eight legs spread eagle, gliding, soaring straight for my face.

...and that's when I woke up...or, rather, that's when I ripped myself back into reality...

Shudder. I'm not sure I'll be sleeping tonight.

What was in that spray tan?!

Never again...never, ever again...

...i smell funny...

I'm sitting here taking shallow breaths so as not to breathe in too much of my own scent.

I'm a white, white girl, who could go out in the sun for twenty minutes and end up looking like a lobster. Even with loads of sunscreen, after a long day in the sun, my skin is only hot pink, and it never fades into that beautiful tan everyone longs for, but instead just fades back to white, with a few extra freckles.

After witnessing Ross's Mississippi-ly mishap, I was never interested in getting a spray tan. But it's been a busy week and I haven't had much time for new adventures, so when I saw that Shine gives first timers a free spray, and they're open until 10pm, I decided to pop in tonight for a bit of color.

The woman at the desk was so helpful, and she ran through all the procedures with me, and I felt completely confident in their product and my ability to navigate the booth.

I obediently did all that she had instructed. Strip. Put on shower cap. Apply lotion to heels, in between toes, palms, in between fingers, nails and knuckles. Step inside booth. Press the flashing green light. She had reviewed all the movements with me, and I executed them semi-flawlessly (I turned right when I should have turn left, and vise versa, but that's what I always do. I'm a little messed up like that.)

At first I was excited about my new adventure, and as I drove home, I imagined how awesome I was going to look with my first tan ever. I ate some dinner while I worked on this post, (I was much more positive then) and finally at about 11 I found myself face to face with a mirror and gasped.

I have the tangerine glow of an Oompa-Loompa.

I tried to have faith in the system, but by 1am, I jumped in the shower and scrubbed myself as hard as I could.

The result?

Well, she did tell me to lift my chin when the sprayers began, but I was so shocked at the sudden burst of cool mist that I tilted my head downward, and now my neck is extra white compared with the rest of me.

And I did apply that special cream to my hands and feet, but apparently not enough on my right hand, because it's officially darker than my left one.

Also, they said the smell would go away once I showered. They lied.

Looks like my Sunday adventure will be researching how to make this fade faster.

Hope your weekend adventures are infinitely more successful!

...happy hour...

Can you believe that I've never been to a happy hour?

I'd seen them on TV, those crowded parties where people gather after a hard day's work for drinks and appetizers, where they mingle and meet and maybe...fall in love. Yes, I'm a dreamer...a silly, romantic dreamer.

In my early teaching days, I taught from 1pm – 9:30pm, and that didn't lend itself to finding a happy hour to enjoy. I frequently felt that I was missing out on something amazing, like some rite of passage into adulthood. But all that changed today! Our friend, Karen, won a happy hour party for herself and some guests, and Andy and I were invited!

We were so excited to gorge ourselves on free food and mingle with a new crowd that we hardly noticed the traffic. Besides, it was a gorgeous day for a drive. A day so filled with this cool warmth that you rolled down the windows, blasting Jay-Z and JT through the stereo while you sang, rapped or mumbled along. It didn't matter if you knew all the words, or any of the words...today was that kind of driving day.

Howl at the Moon is a dueling piano bar in the newly established Ballpark Village downtown. We arrived to find that there were no tables left available, and so we jumped into the food line while Karen grabbed us a place at the bar. We chatted and laughed, and then chatted and laughed some more.

The place filled quite quickly and soon the pianos were dueling it out with songs from Me and Bobby McGee to Rednecked Woman. (That's an unfair sampling, I just can't remember the others because those are the first two that had me dancing and singing along.) A plethora of people were milling about, waiting in line for food, waiting for drinks at the bar. We positioned ourselves as far from the din as possible, though chatting still proved a challenge with all the ambient noise.

I didn't mingle, but, I'm married, so there's probably rules against mingling once your married. Still, I stayed with my own crew, mostly because I really like them and focusing on them seemed to take the most energy and time.

Of course, on the drive home I found myself wondering if I had experienced a true happy hour. True happy hour? I thought. What does that even mean? Images flashed in my mind of what happy hour looked like on TV and in the movies and I chided myself for being momentarily swayed. Does it matter what happy hour looks like to anyone else?

For the hour that we were there, I was super happy!  

See how much fun we have!